MIGHT AS WELL BE OP - Chapter 851
851: Boring 851: Boring Lucian’s figure materialized upon a distant moon, his ever-present smile lingering like a quiet declaration of dominance, as he fixed his gaze upon the Angel, who had now unleashed the full breadth of its formidable power.
Yet, Lucian made no dramatic display of his mana; he remained poised, composed, as though waiting for the Angel to deliver its retaliatory strike.
And retaliate, the Angel did.
The expanse of its wings expanded dramatically, each feather crystallizing, stiffening, and orienting itself with deadly precision toward Lucian, as if guided by an unseen homing signal.
Without hesitation, the feathers launched forward, faster than sound, faster than thought, tearing through the void with lethal intent.
They appeared in the millions, a swirling storm of immaculate white, ready to pierce and shred Lucian without mercy.
Lucian’s hand blurred, reaching toward the katana that hung effortlessly at his waist, already sheathed.
In one fluid, deliberate motion, he drew it halfway, only to immediately sheath it again, the motion seamless, almost ritualistic.
The instant the blade clicked gently into place, a piercing, ear-splitting chorus of dings echoed through the void, drowning out all other sound.
Every single feather, countless as they were, was deflected as if they had never existed, scattered like fragile fragments against an invisible wall of sheer will.
No matter the relentless multitude of feathers closing in, Lucian remained still, his black eyes fixed on the Angel floating ahead of him.
That simple, half-drawn katana motion had reduced an extremely devastating assault to nothing.
The lunar surface beneath him bore the scars of the impact, torn apart by the immense force, yet he stood, untouched, unmoved, and unshaken.
Finally, Lucian moved.
He stepped forward, his right foot advancing toward the moon’s surface.
But before his sole could touch the ground, he vanished.
Reality itself seemed to pause, suspended in disbelief, unable to comprehend how they had lost sight of a single human who had merely taken one step.
The Angel’s golden eyes widened in sudden terror, an unfamiliar sensation of primal dread tearing through its very essence, body, mind, and soul.
Death screamed across every fiber of its being, a fear unlike any it had experienced since the dawn of its existence.
‘Behind me,’ it thought, a shiver of recognition racing through its consciousness.
And indeed, Lucian was already there, materialized behind it, katana arcing downward toward the Angel’s skull with the inexorability of a judge’s gavel.
The Angel vanished in a flash, employing a desperate spatial technique to evade the blow at the last instant.
It reappeared beside a distant sun, its white fist colliding with the sun’s surface with titanic force.
The impact destabilized the sun, sending it hurtling toward Lucian like a celestial projectile, immense and suffused with untold energy.
Lucian didn’t even spare it a glance.
Mana danced along the edges of his katana, cascading like liquid water over its surface.
His hand blurred, a fluid motion as calm and precise as a still lake, and in an instant, he cleaved the sun into hundreds of smaller fragments.
There was no explosion, no catastrophic release of energy.
His water-infused katana had drowned the sun itself, quelling its ferocious heat and suppressing its overwhelming energy as effortlessly as if he had swatted aside a candle’s flame.
Lucian’s black eyes shifted toward the origin of the attack, landing on the Angel, which was now accumulating faith energy around its body.
The energy coalesced into a vast, swirling sun suspended behind the Angel, columns of radiating energy tearing outward in a screaming tempest of divine might.
Lucian did not bother to evade.
As the attacks approached, he merely snapped his fingers.
The void and the fabric of space halted instantly, freezing the columns of faith energy midair.
In the next heartbeat, space and void itself collapsed, and the attack shattered into motes of dissipating energy, utterly neutralized by his overwhelming presence.
Once again, Lucian’s hand moved to his katana.
When he touched the hilt, he withdrew it with incomprehensible speed, as though his hand had become something other than human, his motions too swift for comprehension.
Space and void cried out as millions of crescent-shaped void and space attacks materialized around him and the Angel.
They converged like a cyclone, a storm of pure destructive energy, encasing the Angel in a tempest beyond reckoning.
The Angel gritted its teeth.
Disdain had long fled from its face, replaced by terror and desperation as it realized it was fighting for survival against this human.
Faith energy erupted around it, elemental shields of fire, earth, light, and space forming in a desperate attempt at defense.
The impact came.
Lucian’s assault struck like a sledgehammer against fragile eggshells, shattering each elemental shield with effortless, devastating force.
The Angel could only brace for the onslaught, praying for survival as space and void exploded outward, elemental energy cascading in ruinous waves across the void.
Through the haze of destruction, the Angel was revealed: its chest rose and fell rapidly, the halo above its head dimmed to a ghost of its former brilliance, and its once-pristine form was battered, bloodied, and scarred.
Its innate regenerative ability could not keep pace with the sheer magnitude of the damage inflicted upon its essence.
Its gaze flickered toward Lucian, who floated calmly, a small, almost indulgent smile curving his lips, as if he were savoring the suffering of the Angel.
‘How can he be this strong?’ the Angel thought, horror and disbelief mingling with a surge of defiance.
It had come to fulfill the will of HIM, yet if it fell here, its soul would be rejected.
Eyes narrowing with renewed determination, it resolved to embrace mutual destruction if necessary.
Before it could act, Lucian finally spoke, his voice calm yet carrying the weight of unshakable certainty: “Boring.” The Angel froze, momentarily disoriented by the casual dismissal.
But Lucian’s attention was uninterested in the Angel’s thoughts or feelings.
“At least be useful for this new sword technique,” Lucian added with a sigh tinged with disappointment.
[Nothingness Katana Technique] The utterance of the technique’s name seemed to drown the entirety of existence itself, as if reality itself had paused to bear witness.
The Angel stood frozen, assaulted by the human before it, yet unable to sense the attack.
No scream of the soul, no pang of warning, only the overwhelming certainty that something catastrophic was imminent.
Black sword lines erupted across the Angel’s form, slicing from the crown of its head down the length of its body.
Another followed diagonally, then another, and another, until millions of invisible lines raked across its being, each one a harbinger of imminent erasure.
‘Could he truly rival the Twelve-Winged Angels?’ it wondered, terror mingling with awe as it felt the very essence of life slipping inexorably from its form.
Then, as if reality itself had chosen a final verdict, the Angel’s body shattered into nothingness, vanishing entirely from existence.
Lucian regarded the empty space where the Angel had stood, shaking his head with quiet amusement.
His attention drifted to other battles occurring nearby, where older generations contended with their own eleven-winged Angels with all their might, yet Lucian had eradicated one effortlessly, without deploying even the full breadth of his arsenal.
‘I hope these famed Twelve-Winged Angels do not disappoint when the true Galactic Conquest begins,’ he mused.
His black gaze shifted toward another cluster of eleven-winged Angels.
If a single opponent proved too weak, perhaps ten would at least provide entertainment.
With that thought, he vanished, a blur against the cosmic void.
Unknown to Lucian, it was not that these Angels were feeble and weak.
It was merely that he had ascended to a level of power that almost no being could hope to challenge.
_______ AUTHOR’S NOTE: Super gift?
Pretty please…