MIGHT AS WELL BE OP

Chapter 885: Opinion Of A Weakling

The cosmic air seemed to grow heavy with anticipation as they stared at one another. It was as though, if any of them made even the slightest unexpected movement, the others would immediately pounce, and the battle would erupt without warning. Invisible pressure bore down upon the space between them, distorting the silence itself, as intent clashed silently before a single blow had been thrown.

The Older Generation sensed the tension clearly, yet none of them spoke. Instead, they simply observed the five figures before them with calm, knowing gazes, as though they too wished to watch the spectacle unfold. After all, these five were anything but normal, and moments like this were rare even for beings who had lived for countless ages.

But before the tension could finally shatter and the inevitable clash could begin, Vega’s voice sliced cleanly through the air.

“This is neither the time nor the place for that.”

Her words landed with unmistakable authority. Almost immediately, the suffocating anticipation softened, as though a switch had been flipped. The battle intent burning fiercely in their eyes vanished in the next second, becoming strangely docile, restrained by sheer force of will.

Among them all, Anthony wore the widest smile. He knew, without a doubt, that he had become Aaaninja’s, Lucian’s, and Aura Nova’s primary target. Yet rather than being unsettled by the fact, he found it amusing. If possible, he would have preferred to battle the three of them at the same time instead of facing them one after another, purely to flex his superiority in every conceivable way.

Although he was not a show-off by nature, a man was allowed to show off once in a while… right?

“I will pick the perfect place and date,” Aaaninja’s voice rang out calmly.

Everyone immediately arched an eyebrow.

“When and where?” Lucian asked without hesitation.

“I know the coordinates to a special timeline famous for its various forms of delicious media ramen,” Aaaninja explained. “Within this timeline exists a lineage of cooks who do nothing but recreate and perfect increasingly superior versions of ramen. I’ve always wanted to visit it.” He paused briefly before adding with finality, “After this meeting, we will go there, have a few meals, then battle on a full stomach.”

His words caused everyone present to stare at him as though they were seeing him for the first time. It seemed none of them had realized he was… like this.

Aaaninja merely shook his head dismissively. “I’m simply interested in a timeline dedicated to refining a single dish for eons. Don’t mistake me for a foodie,” he said, waving a hand as if brushing aside the accusation.

No one believed him.

“I suppose exploring an entire timeline does sound like a fun trip,” Vega said, her eyes brightening slightly. Even as the daughter of Klaus and Amara, she had never visited a separate timeline before.

‘How powerful must his time manipulation be to know of such a place, let alone jump there at will?’ Vega wondered silently. However, she quickly shook her head, deciding not to dwell on the matter.

All that truly mattered was exploring the timeline, sampling every possible variation of ramen they had to offer, and perhaps watching as the group beat the living daylights out of one another, or rather, watching Anthony do it.

Everyone nodded in agreement, curiosity evident in their expressions.

With that, the meeting drew to a close. One by one, individuals prepared to shoot into the cosmic expanse and return to their respective planets. However, just before they could depart, a voice spoke.

“I’m sorry, but there is something we seem to have forgotten to address.”

A smile stretched across the face of a man from the Netherborn race as he spoke.

“Did we all simply overlook the fact that Null Anthony used Chaotic Energy, an energy known to be wielded by demons and those who have bowed to them, throughout his battle with the Eleven-Winged Angel?”

His words immediately caused many to frown, all except those from the Blue Planet and Anthony’s companions.

Anthony paused. He had used his Perfect One skill to fabricate false information, but he had concluded that the Older Generation would no longer act on it, especially since everyone knew he had battled, and defeated, an Eleven-Winged Angel. Now, however, someone was implying that he had bowed to demons.

“Don’t you have anything to say in your defense, Anthony?” the Netherborn man asked, staring directly at him.

All eyes shifted toward Anthony, waiting for his response. At the same time, many glanced discreetly toward the Older Generation of the Blue Planet, attempting to gauge their reactions. Their complete lack of response only deepened the confusion.

Anthony stared at the Netherborn calmly before speaking with utter indifference. “And why would I say anything in my defense against the opinion of a weakling?” His words were slow, deliberate, and sharply articulated, as though he wanted the man to understand every syllable clearly.

The Netherborn’s expression darkened instantly. “We fight demons every single day, every waking moment of our lives. Yet here you are, wielding their power, and you care not to explain yourself?”

Anthony studied him for a brief moment before replying, “Are you going to do something about it, or are you just going to stand there talking?” He extended a hand, curling his fingers in a beckoning motion. “Come.”

Silence fell between them.

The Netherborn man did not move. He was not foolish. He could see the other races watching silently, neither intervening nor supporting him, as though they were waiting to see what would happen next.

“If you won’t come,” Anthony said calmly, “then I will.”

The instant those words left his lips, he took a step forward.

Reality blinked.

In less than a split millisecond, the distance between them vanished entirely. Anthony was suddenly standing directly in front of the Netherborn man.

Before the man could react, Anthony’s hand landed on his blue-skinned shoulder. In the next instant, the weight of reality itself descended upon him. His knees buckled violently, and his kneecaps slammed into the cosmic surface beneath them. Horror filled the man’s eyes. He could not comprehend how he had failed to react at all.

The other Netherborns from the Older Generation attempted to move, but a single word left Anthony’s lips.

“Kneel.”

It was as though the word itself became law. Reality bent obediently, existence making way for Anthony’s will. In an instant, every Netherborn present dropped to their knees.

“Since the Netherborn race enjoys playing with souls,” Anthony intoned calmly, his voice chilling to their very cores, “I wonder how strong your own souls truly are.”

He raised his other hand. Mana pulsed gently around his fingers. The moment it appeared, eyes widened in shock across the gathering. They could not comprehend how Anthony wielded both mana and Chaotic Energy.

With a snap of his fingers, mana flooded the air, crashing into their bodies and tearing directly into their souls. Their screams ripped through the cosmic void as the masters of soul manipulation experienced their own souls being shredded in real time.

Previously, Anthony might have toyed with them longer, as he had once intended when fabricating his information. But now, something far more amusing awaited him.

The mana vanished just as suddenly.

Each Netherborn convulsed violently, blood spilling from their mouths as they activated their innate abilities to stabilize their souls.

Anthony had not killed them. He simply chose not to, because he could. “Think of your lives as your Christmas present,” he mused casually as he turned and walked away, his steps unhurried and calm.