~ We're almost close to the 200 Power Stone Bonus Chapter.
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Everything happened too fast—so fast that not only the spectators in the banquet hall but even Riser himself, who took the hit, had no time to react.
Half a minute ago, he was being looked down upon by Bokue Keikain, who wielded two massive castle gates. Now, he was standing higher than Bokue had been—capable, in principle, of looking down on him in turn.
Except…he was wedged shamefully into the wall.
Shifting one's gaze back to the outside arena, the young man in white still maintained his finishing-kick stance.
Clearly, that thunderous momentum had all come from that single kick.
"Wow…"
Acting as referee, the Magical-Girl Devil covered her mouth with one hand, letting out a hushed exclamation.
Though numerous small details already suggested the young man's strength was no joke, blowing Riser away with one kick into the wall was a bit over the top, wasn't it?
"A-an effective blow! T-that was really unexpected. Who would've thought Bokue-chan would land such a heavy attack on Riser-chan right off the bat? Can Riser-chan return to the battlefield and continue fighting?!"
Waving the fairy wand high, Serafall spoke in a tone reminiscent of a certain UFC commentator.
"Nnng…"
Within the banquet hall, high atop the main door, the battered Riser twitched faintly.
Agonizing pain racked his body, but he forced his eyes open, straining to pull his limbs free from the crater in the wall. Bits of plaster and shattered brick rained down with his efforts.
Clenching his teeth, Riser dug around the edges of the impact crater with arms and legs, prying loose the final portion of his torso. The moment he dropped back to the floor, he still staggered and nearly fell.
Even though he possessed the Phenex bloodline's near-immortality, mending all the damage took time.
He channeled his demonic power, making the caved-in chest visibly bulge back out; his fractured ribs realigned and welded together like two pieces of metal under a welder's torch.
As his injuries healed and pain subsided, the savage contortions on Riser's face eased to a sullen, grim cast.
Rotating his freshly healed arms and legs, Riser descended the hall's steps, once again igniting the Phoenix flames at his back. Swirling heat rolled forth, forcing bystanders to back away.
Stepping forth onto the arena, he glared at the white-clad young man, voice low and gritty, as though grinding his molars:
"…Seems I underestimated you."
"Not really. I'd say I—'Overestimated' you."
Bokue withdrew his kicking leg, then crooked a finger at the livid Riser, veins bulging at his temple.
"Should I let you take ten free shots first?"
"How dare you spout such arrogance!!"
Already having lost half his face from that earlier kick, Riser exploded with fury. The Phoenix flames behind him erupted like a volcano, their blazing wings expanding to three or four times the earlier size. In a flash, he accelerated from zero to top speed, launching himself at the young man.
His punch, so searingly hot it threatened to reduce everything in its path to ash, melted and fissured the ground with just its passing shockwave.
"Bokue-san!!"
Within the banquet hall, the blond-haired nun involuntarily clenched her little fists, anxiously crying out.
But that seemingly all-consuming fiery blow, mere inches from reaching its target, was halted by a single outstretched hand.
Its fierce flames, like floodwaters slamming a reef, split clean down the middle. When the inferno dissipated, Bokue still stood in place—robes pristine, untouched.
Riser gaped in disbelief:
"How—how is this possible…"
"Your power is paltry. Have you eaten?"
Bokue raised a brow.
"Besides, what's with all the lightshow? You wasted more than half your demonic energy on visual effects. The part you used for your actual attack is scattered and unfocused… Fine. Let me educate you on what it means to properly apply one's strength—"
"!!!"
Mid-sentence, before Bokue even raised a fist, Riser felt a chilling, deathly pressure wash over him.
Cold sweat soaked his shirt; heedless of dignity, he flung himself backward. The Phoenix wings behind him flapped wide, scorching gusts ripping into the night sky.
Close combat was a losing bet; at least in the air, Riser believed, he could get some advantage.
Reluctant as he was, Riser had to admit this young human warranted serious effort.
A Phoenix—a species born to fly, cloaked in fire.
Floating high overhead, he spread burning arms as if to set the whole land ablaze.
Yet—that very instant, a voice from even higher behind him made his hair stand on end:
"You think being able to fly makes you special?"
"Wha—?!"
Riser swiveled around in shock. High above in the night sky, the white-robed young man looked down upon him, fingers clenched. A crimson, dragon-claw-like crest manifested on his forehead; immeasurable power coalesced into his fist.
It seemed that once this punch descended, nothing in the world could stop it.
"W-wait—!"
Riser tried to speak, but he was already too late.
"God-Slaying Overlord Fist!"
Thump.
No deafening boom; no dazzling flare of light. Only the dull thunder of a heavy drum.
The punch traveled beyond supersonic; in that moment of impact, layers of rippling currents spread through space. Riser vanished on contact. Fully half a second later came the violent shockwave from the center of the arena—like a mountain crashing—sending a colossal airblast directly into the banquet hall.
"EVERYONE—STAND BACK!!"
Inside, many guests instinctively shrank back, fearful.
Sairaorg, who'd been about to step forward, found his motion halted by a hand from Sirzechs:
"Let me handle this." The Young Satan Sirzechs, palm outstretched, conjured The Power of Destruction that manifested as a protective barrier in front of the hall. The onrushing gale, carrying countless fragments of shattered rubble, was blocked with a thudding roar.
"Sirzechs…?"
Sairaorg turned to look. Sirzechs responded with a wry smile: "I'm a Satan, after all. In a situation like this, if even I don't step up, how 'would' that look?"
"…Heh," Sairaorg let out a short chuckle and backed off.
❁❁❁❁
A few moments later, once the dust had settled, the scene that emerged from beyond the barrier left everyone in the banquet hall gasping:
Centered on Riser's crash site, a ten-meter spiderweb crater covered the arena floor. At the nexus lay the scion of the Phenex clan in a pool of his own blood, with a perfectly shaped fist imprint punched into his chest.
That was a hallmark of perfectly channeled force—no wasted energy, no spillover, the entirety of one's might devoted to maximum destructive effect.
Naturally, Riser wasn't dead. With the Phenex's near-immortality, even a destroyed heart wouldn't instantly kill him. But there he lay, collapsed on still-warm ground, eyes bloodshot from the pain.
His blurred vision caught a glimpse of the white-robed figure high in the night sky. Once more, Bokue beckoned with a hooked finger:
"Get up. Let's keep going."
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