MIGHT AS WELL BE OP

Chapter 962: Pain

Anthony, seeing Kingsley’s stance, simply smiled, the Martial Rhythm covering his hand vanishing for a moment. He didn’t enter any stance like Kingsley; he didn’t need to. He was Null Anthony.

With that, he blurred forward with a booming sound, the earth below his feet shattering in a violent blast as sand and stones geysered upward like volcanic spray, cracks spiderwebbing across the ground in every direction as though the land itself had been struck by lightning. He arrived beside Kingsley in a blur, his fist tearing toward Kingsley’s temples with the force of a descending sledgehammer, the air screaming and splitting around his knuckles.

Kingsley’s reaction was instantaneous, honed by countless battles and tempered by instinct rather than thought, and he moved without hesitation, his elbow snapping outward toward Anthony’s chest as he ignored defense entirely and went wholly on the offensive, choosing aggression over caution with absolute conviction.

But as his elbow was about to connect with Anthony’s chest, Anthony was gone, Kingsley’s elbow simply tearing through an afterimage he left in his place. He arrived behind Kingsley like a nimble and silent assassin, his presence so faint it felt unreal. Without pausing or hesitating, his fist tore through the wind barrier and the sound barrier as both collapsed against Kingsley’s spine with the force of an exploding cannon, the impact distorting the air and bending space itself from the sheer violence of the strike.

Kingsley felt as though an entire galaxy had collapsed onto his back, his spine shattering, bones reduced to fragments of what they once were, his skin tearing apart, muscles ripped open as crimson blood splattered into the air like paint flung across a canvas. Inertia acted instantly, merciless and absolute, his body tearing forward as he slammed into a building some distance away, concrete and steel bending around him like paper beneath a hammer.

Pain exploded within his mind, pain he could usually ignore now felt unbearably present and demanded a reaction from him, clawing at his nerves and flooding his senses until he felt as though his brain was overloading. He coughed, and even blood splattered from his throat, hot and metallic, the building he had slammed into collapsing upon him in a thunderous cascade of rubble and dust.

’This much damage with a single attack, the Martial Rhythm is truly dangerous and different,’ he thought to himself as he staggered to his feet, his vision swimming yet his resolve unbroken. With a single attack, it seemed as though his entire body had been reduced to nothing but a mash of meat and broken bone, a grotesque mockery of what a human frame should be.

But as usual, his body started to regenerate swiftly, another spine snapping into place with an audible crack, injuries closing as though they were never there, flesh weaving together, muscle reconnecting, blood vessels reforming with unnatural precision, his recovery almost grotesque in its efficiency.

Although he was just coming into contact with Martial Rhythm, he understood that Anthony was holding back a great deal so he could learn and awaken the Martial Rhythm; after all, that was the purpose of this spar, a brutal lesson disguised as combat, a trial by suffering meant to force growth through sheer necessity.

The moment he rose to his feet, Anthony was already before him, his forefoot rocketing toward Kingsley’s chest with the force of a comet. But Kingsley was swift with his reaction, his senses screaming danger, and he immediately dodged as he leaped upward, narrowly evading the attack entirely. Anthony’s attack missed, his foot tearing through the wind and space where Kingsley’s chest should have been, the shockwave ripping away buildings and skyscrapers in the distance as though they were made of sand, the skyline trembling from the residual force.

Kingsley’s counterattack was instant and immediate, just because he needed to endure pain for him to awaken the Martial Rhythm didn’t mean he wouldn’t try to unleash attacks of his own; they might fail, but that didn’t matter, he would attack with the belief that every strike carried the potential to change the tide, that each movement mattered, that hesitation would only spell defeat.

His fists boomed out like air cannons, the blasts screaming toward Anthony’s back while he was still midair. Anthony didn’t react; the moment he landed, he vanished from his position like a phantom, as though he had never been there to begin with, his body blurring and shifting between each of Kingsley’s attacks with effortless precision, every step calculated, every movement minimal and perfect.

In a blink, he had closed the distance, arriving before Kingsley, who was still attacking and didn’t even know when Anthony had crossed the gap between them. Anthony didn’t hesitate, Martial Rhythm cloaking his fist, and with the force of a war drum echoing across a battlefield, he punched out directly into Kingsley’s gut, the sound of impact reverberating like thunder.

The world seemed to still, time halting reality for a moment as everything turned white, silence swallowing all noise, then the next instant it all snapped back into place, and the force erupted with maddening intensity. Kingsley’s feet left the earth as the power jerked him upward violently, a concurrent wind blast in the shape of a ring erupting outward from his back and shredding everything it touched.

He spat out blood as his organs collapsed, his blood moving to splash against Anthony, but Infinity activated as they bounced off space itself before splattering uselessly against the earth. His body tore upward this time around, cutting through the wind, blood trailing before him as his stomach had literally burst open from Anthony’s attack, his intestines threatening to fall out as gravity fought to reclaim him.

With a booming crash, he collapsed against the roof of a building, the structure shaking within its foundations. Kingsley felt his world blur, felt pain like never before, even the Executioner he met in the Fragmented World didn’t deal this much pain. His consciousness threatened to give in to the darkness, the edges of his vision fading, but he refused, clenching his teeth, forcing himself to stay awake, because if he fainted, who knew if Anthony would grant him such an opportunity again.

So, he moved, even as his bones and body regenerated, he moved without wasting a split second, and the moment he did, Anthony’s feet stomped into his location, the roof stretching inward like a trampoline before imploding violently as every floor from the hundredth floor to the ground floor collapsed upon itself in a catastrophic chain reaction.

But Anthony didn’t care about any of them, he simply followed Kingsley with a smile on his face, calm and relaxed, like a master observing a student’s progress. The moment he closed the distance, Kingsley threw a car at him, to which Anthony simply leaped over with a calm somersault, effortless and graceful. As he was midair and upside down, Kingsley closed the distance, a fist blitzing toward Anthony’s head with desperate speed and lethal intent.

Anthony’s blue eyes met the incoming attack as though it moved in slow motion toward him, every detail clear, every motion predictable, and with a smirk, he dodged as though the laws of gravity and space didn’t exist, as though they obeyed only him and no one else, the world itself seemingly bending to his will.