MIGHT AS WELL BE OP-Chapter 464: Embraces All

Unlike Aura, which could be divided into normal Aura, awakened by all beings, and Chaotic Aura, exclusive to demons, Intent was different.

Intent knew no divisions, no classifications.

There was no such thing as Chaotic Intent.

It was simply Intent.

Every being in existence could wield it, provided they carried enough sword accumulation in their lifetime, be they demon, abomination, or otherwise.

No matter how vile or monstrous, Intent made no distinctions. It embraced all as one, impartial and absolute.

Intent was an extension of one's will and very essence, some even claimed it to be an extension of the soul itself, though such notions remained unproven.

Unlike Aura, which required one to reach the S rank in cultivation before even approaching awakening, Intent answered to no such rules.

It mattered not whether one was S rank or SS rank; Intent awakened the moment a certain threshold was crossed through one's bond with the sword, independent of cultivation.

Intent embraced all who reached this point, good or evil, strong or weak, without discrimination.

Sword Intent flooded the space as two figures exchanged lightning-fast strikes.

Steel clashed against steel.

Intent collided with Intent.

The roar of metal meeting metal shattered the air, winds were torn asunder, trees splintered like twigs, and ravines cracked open beneath their feet.

The devastation around them was nothing short of cataclysmic.

Shockwaves and earthquakes sang the fierce hymn of their battle.

The raging war beyond their clash faded into oblivion, absent from their minds.

They thought of nothing else.

Only the adversary before them existed.

The battlefield became their forge, each strike tempering their thirsty resolve.

Their swords did not simply collide, they screamed in defiance against one another.

They moved with such relentless intensity that the very fabric of the world seemed strained to keep pace.

Their battle etched echoes into the air, imprints of raw power that refused to fade.

Anthony's katana cleaved through the air, a razor-sharp arc aimed straight at the Hyperion's chest, the very atmosphere howling under the weight of his strike.

The demon shifted effortlessly, his wrist and body flowing in perfect harmony as he raised his sword to block.

But Anthony was far from finished.

With seamless grace, his katana danced again, this time delivering a swift, precise slash toward the demon's neck, each movement fluid and effortless.

The Hyperion moved with unshakable calm, matching each of Anthony's strikes with equally refined precision.

They attacked and defended as if they could read each other's thoughts, anticipating every move before it happened.

Slash. Parry. Slice. Block. Thrust. Defend.

Their rhythm intensified, feet shuffling over the earth like dancers locked in a deadly ballet.

The Hyperion's attacks rained from every conceivable direction, left, right, center, above, below, exploiting every opening as it appeared.

Each strike was like masterful calligraphy, every stroke deliberate, every movement honed to perfection.

But Anthony defended with effortless grace, his feet barely grazing the earth as he glided across its surface.

His defense was nothing less than flawless.

His swordplay, an art measured in millimeters, a science of lethal precision.

His piercing blue eyes danced within their sockets, tracking with eerie anticipation as his katana moved in a chillingly perfect rhythm, as if he foresaw the attack before it was even launched.

Space itself fractured beneath the weight of their blows, Intent drowning reality with its relentless decree of death.

No one faltered.

No one breathed.

The Hyperion's demeanor shifted instantly, his movements flowing from one rhythm into an entirely different, yet strangely seamless cadence.

Flames danced along his sword's edge, intertwining effortlessly with his Intent.

His posture sharpened, embodying a new, more lethal facet of death itself.

[Demonic Sword Technique: Flickering Arcs]

His hand flickered, almost glitching out of existence as he pushed his speed to its absolute limit.

Arcs of Flame Intent rained across the sky above them, countless, numbering in the millionsm, each pulsing with a fierce, fevered intensity.

Beneath the crimson blaze, the sky transformed into a hauntingly beautiful canvas, bathed in the fiery glow of Intent and sun alike, casting an otherworldly light upon the battlefield.

Then, with a final, commanding motion, the demon's sword descended from above, an executioner's decree carved in steel.

Obedient to their maker, the flaming Intent arcs descended upon Anthony from every direction without mercy.

The onslaught left no room for evasion, only defense and parry remained.

A smile of entertainment curved Anthony's lips, accepting the challenge with unshakeable battle intent.

His stance shifted fluidly, adapting seamlessly to the torrent of attacks.

Mana surged within him, answering his call as he drew upon the tranquil power of the water element.

It flowed smoothly into his katana, intertwining with his Intent like long-lost allies reunited at last.

Before the flaming Intent arcs could engulf him, Anthony finally moved.

[Endless Technique: Katana Series: Continuous Slash]

Reality itself seemed to warp and bend as his attack bled into existence, an unstoppable force materializing in the very air.

Calm, blue Intent arcs surged forward, colliding headlong with the raging flameing arcs.

At the meeting of these opposing forces, the world around them seemed to fracture and implode beneath their gaze.

Two currents of Intent clashed, each striving to consume the other.

Fire met water, sparking a cataclysmic reaction.

Violent pulses of red and blue energies erupted outward, swallowing everything in their destructive path.

Colors dazzled across the sky, transforming it into a flawless canvas.

Had any painter beheld this moment, only one word would come to mind: Masterpiece.

Fissures rent the earth, sinkholes yawned wide, and the sky itself seemed to fracture as the clouds tore apart.

Dust, smoke, and mist enshrouded the battlefield in an eerie veil of mystery.

Anthony's Sense Dome detected a presence closing in from behind.

In an instant, his body responded, his sword a flash of steel as he twisted at the waist, meeting the oncoming strike.

Their blades collided in a brilliant eruption of sparks, a deadly symphony of carnage and precision.

Neither dust nor smoke dulled their senses; they stood restrained, far above such trivial obscurations.

With a fierce glint in their eyes, they vanished into the chaos of the battlefield.

No hesitation. No faltering. Only combat.

The battle was a storm, and they were its eye, an unbreaking center where only death held sway.

Neither would pause until one of them fell cold and still.