MIGHT AS WELL BE OP Chapter 524: Clack

Ti seed to halt as the words rolled off Michael’s tongue, as if reality itself was hesitating, deciding whether or not to unleash such an attack. But then, as if unable to restrain its course any longer, ti resud its flow.

Calamitous Sword Intent erupted from Michael’s being, vast and unrestrained, like he was a Progenitor of the blade. His already-drawn sword was sliding slowly back into its sheath. The mont the sword and sheath kissed with a resounding clack;

It blood.

An infinite number of Crescent Sword Intents erupted in all directions in a maddening barrage, surging outward with apocalyptic force.

Its targets? The Supres.

It descended upon them like divine judgnt, retribution from a god toward mortals who dared to defy him. The Crescent Sword Intent tore through space like destruction through serenity, rciless and absolute. It shredded.

The Supres watched as the attack collapsed upon their barriers. But the expected collision, the cataclysmic impact, never ca.

No.

The Crescent Sword Intent phased through the barriers as if they had never existed at all.

Eyes widened in shock, and their minds raced faster than the fastest machines ever produced. Ti slowed once more, as if even the cosmos acknowledged that this was a deciding mont, an irreversible turning point.

The First Supre Monarch was the first to react. His golden-ringed eyes shone as the haze cloaking his body twisted and coiled unnaturally. In the blink of an eye, he vanished, dissipating like smoke.

The Second Supre simply bent darkness to his will. The shadowy abyss engulfed him, pulling him from the brink of annihilation. As for the rest of the Supres, they couldn’t react in ti; the suddenness of the assault had caught them off guard.

Their bodies tensed as muscles coiled, Intent shimred, and they all vanished from their locations, but not without suffering consequences for the delay.

A cataclysmic cacophony followed, echoing across the heavens with a fury unmatched. The Crescent Sword Intent reduced everything it touched to ruin.

It ravaged.

It shredded.

It erased.

On another side of the realm, the Supres reappeared. Various frowns creased their immortal faces.

The First, Second, and Third Supre Monarchs stood untouched. The Fourth and Seventh bore wounds across their forms, the Sword Intent had reached them before they could escape. But the injuries sealed themselves almost as quickly as they appeared.

As for Mitchelle and Collins, they stood unscathed. They hadn’t even bothered to deploy a barrier and had allowed the Sword Intent to crash into them unhindered.

Michael had nigh-perfect control over his Sword Intent. He could decide if it affected soone or not.

The First Supre knew the situation couldn’t be salvaged for now. It was best to let the Fifth, Eighth, and Ninth Supres vent their rage.

With that thought, the haze around him swirled like a ripple in still water, then he vanished. But he wasn’t the only one. The Fourth Supre Monarch also vanished.

His smile had returned. Though injured, he had every intention of watching the battle unfold, after all, it had been far too long since he had seen Supres fight one another, let alone so many at once.

The Seventh Supre Monarch locked her piercing gaze on Mitchelle, she had chosen her opponent.

The Third Supre Monarch’s eyes flashed toward Collins, the Fifth Supre.

Michael drew his sword once more, as destruction still erupted in waves around him. His mad eyes locked with a pair of blood-red ones belonging to the Second Supre.

And with that, mana pulsed outward with maddening intensity. The air scread in protest. The stars shone brighter, stirred by the magnitude of their auras.

Then, as if obeying an unseen rhythm, they all vanished. Their bodies tore through the sky and slamd into one another with a force that cracked the very heavens.

Lights of countless colors collapsed outward in ripples of devastation. Every single one of them moved with terrifying purpose.

The sounds of battle thundered through space. Planets were razed to dust, but none paused, for their pride and status were on the line.

Streaks of movent clashed, and beams of energy shot outwards with cosmic-shattering force.

The sound of tals eting rang above burning worlds as Michael and the Second Supre clashed atop a literal star, standing on its blazing surface as if it were solid ground.

Their forms beca a blur. Blade t blade. Intent collided with Intent. Strength withstood strength. Speed countered speed.

Each clash of their swords rang out like the tolling of a divine bell, signaling not just battle, but the reckoning of two eternal enemies.

The Second Supre’s blade tore through the air with world-breaking might. But Michael was swift, faster than fate. His form vanished from his position in an instant.

The Second Supre’s blade struck the star they stood upon with apocalyptic fury. With an ear-splitting scream, the star detonated into pure brilliance before collapsing outward in erasing energy.

But the star’s destruction did nothing to slow Michael. His sword sliced through the collapsing space as it streaked toward the Second Supre’s neck.

Cosmic Sever.

His voice rang out like a blade drawn across the cosmos. His Sword Intent surged, severing everything it touched with pure, maddened precision.

But the Second Supre was ready.

Blood coiled and spiraled around his blade.

Dread Spiral.

Blood Intent bood forward, eting Michael’s Sword Intent in a collision of divine devastation.

Red and grey hues painted the torn heavens like a desecrated canvas.

Intent clashed like warring deities, one seeking to devour the other. But the Blood Intent was weaker. Michael’s Sword Intent overwheld it like a god crushing a whispered prayer.

’Impossible.’

The Second Supre thought as he watched his own Intent reduce under the might of Michael’s power, his body was torn apart, shredded into minced at without resistance.

But in the blink of an eye, he regenerated from blood, his body perfect again, no injuries in sight. Before he could even take in his surroundings,

A sword filled his vision in a streak of pure, blinding silver.

But his reaction was instantaneous.

Blood Chains.

Blood responded to his will, forming thick chains that erupted outward, coiling around the sword. Then, with vicious speed, they lunged to bind its wielder.

But Michael’s Intent pulsed again, one wave, and the chains were shredded into nothingness.

Yet the Blood Chains reford instantly, relentless, and surged toward him once more.

But Michael?

Michael was already gone.