MIGHT AS WELL BE OP

The galaxy lay in ruins, a graveyard of fractured stars and shattered worlds, as six Supremes clashed in a ballet of annihilation. Wherever they passed, cataclysm followed like a shadow with purpose.

Elsewhere, amidst the chaos, Mitchelle battled the Seventh Supreme. Her form tore through space with blistering speed, each collision between them resonating like the clash of titans.

The Aetheris Codex followed in her wake, its ethereal pages fluttering as spell after spell erupted from its core. Mitchelle cast without pause, without restraint, like one with an infinite well of mana.

But the Seventh Supreme was no mere opponent. She was a sovereign of arcane mastery, and her counterattack was immediate.

[Arcane Art: Poison Style: Mist Of Dread]

Power surged from her body. Intricate arcane symbols spiraled into the air, and in an instant, her spell was born.

From no single direction,.from above, from beside, from nowhere, an abyssal black mist bled into existence. It pulsed like a sentient organism, devouring everything in its path. Within seconds, it expanded across thousands of kilometers.

Planets and asteroids disintegrated as though they were dust brushed aside by wind.

But Mitchelle was gone the moment the symbols formed, her body a blur of motion. Yet the mist, like a cursed revenant, followed her relentlessly.

The Aetheris Codex stirred once more.

[Light Magic: Radiant Dominion]

Waves of mana surged outward under her command. A dome of purifying light burst from her core, expanding with divine brilliance.

The black mist met the light, and was undone. Transmuted, reduced, rendered harmless, a mere fog in the face of a celestial purge.

The Seventh Supreme narrowed her eyes, unshaken. She had expected as much. Her senses swept through the remnants of mist, searching.

Then she felt it, a flicker behind her. She moved without hesitation, spellwork forming in her mind, but froze.

Mitchelle was no longer there.

The surge came from below.

[Sun Magic: Solar Pillar]

Mana convulsed as the Codex unfurled again.

Fire was born, then it changed. Its color brightened, its temperature soared. In nanoseconds, it transcended flame, becoming something purer, crueler.

From Mitchelle's palm erupted an overwhelming stream of energy, condensed into a cylindrical beam, radiant and unrelenting. It carved through space with a scream, melting the fabric of reality, devouring all in its path.

But the Seventh Supreme had already begun to respond. Her energy swirled, arcane sigils shifted into a new configuration as her hand moved through the air.

[Arcane Art: Void Style: Event Collapse]

Reality trembled.

A silent ripple passed through space.

Then — cracks.

The cosmos fractured like shattered glass, and from the breaks poured void, older than light, darker than nonexistence.

The solar beam struck the void.

And vanished.

It did not collide. It did not explode. It ceased.

Event Collapse did not block. It did not resist. It denied.

Then, seamlessly, the Seventh Supreme moved from defense to offense. Her sigils flipped like cards in a well-rehearsed sequence.

[Arcane Art: Water Style: Heaven's Drown]

The heavens split. From the cracks came an ocean, cosmic, star-swallowing. A maelstrom of death descended, its pressure enough to crush civilizations.

Mitchelle saw the torrent approach. She smiled.

No spell. No movement.

She watched it come.

The energy within was immense, if it touched her, drowning would be mercy.

As the wave descended, Mitchelle vanished.

She reappeared above the Seventh Supreme.

'This move again?' the Seventh Supreme thought grimly.

Her energy twisted. A green barrier formed in a shimmer of resilience.

But Mitchelle's foot was already crashing down, like a comet born of wrath.

A thunderous crack shattered the silence, the sound wave rupturing the void.

Then her instincts screamed.

She turned, just in time to see a fist descending from the side, layered in roaring flame.

Space warped as she prepared to vanish — too late.

'A clone,' she realized, as the previous Mitchelle faded like mist.

Then the real fist struck.

A battering ram against the temple.

Heat slammed into flesh.

Flesh collided with bone.

Bone reverberated with force.

The Seventh Supreme's vision blurred. Her mind staggered within her skull.

Even as a Supreme, she was not immune to inertia.

Her body shot across the cosmos like a dying star, crashing through debris, celestial remnants bouncing off her as fire scorched her once-flawless face.

Mitchelle floated in her position, eyes fixed on her fist with a satisfied smile. She had never struck a Supreme before, or anyone, for that matter.

Her husband had always been the brute. But today, she allowed herself a single indulgence: to know what it felt like. And indeed, she had never known such satisfaction.

Yet she didn't linger in the moment. Pages fluttered in her Aetheris Codex, glowing faintly as she raised her hand and invoked another spell.

[Moon Magic: Lunar Cataclysm]

Mana thundered from the Codex, its power surging like a tide. A spell of overwhelming devastation began to form.

The stars dimmed. The air froze. Then it appeared, a second moon, not born of stone and reflected sunlight, but of raw annihilation.

Pale and ghostly, it hovered above her outstretched palm, twice the size of the real moon, emanating a cold, fatal brilliance.

And then — it cracked.

From its shattered core erupted a barrage of lunar devastation, silver beams that did not sear, but obliterated. These were not mere rays of light; they were concentrated gravitational collapses, cloaked in the illusion of moonlight.

They tore through the atmosphere toward the Seventh Supreme, an endless torrent of curving beams, radiant lances, silvery streams, each one indifferent, merciless, and absolute.

The Seventh Supreme frowned, space itself twisted around her, instantly locking her in place. Her charred face regenerated in an instant, without so much as a thought or gesture.

Her gaze snapped toward the incoming calamity. Eyes narrowed, brows furrowed, she sensed the ludicrous density of mana woven into the spell's fabric.

In response, an immense and suffocating surge of energy erupted from her being, radiating in a blinding vertical pillar of light as her arcane power flared.

Arcane symbols ignited around her, shifting into an ancient formation, one meant for defiance, not mere defense.

[Arcane Art: Earth Style: Worldheart Bastion]

From the void, a monolithic fortress emerged, an awe-inspiring bastion not hewn from common stone, but from the condensed essence of asteroid cores. Its surface shimmered with molten magma runes, and golden veins of primeval ore pulsed like a living heartbeat.

The Worldheart Bastion didn't merely shield, it resisted the very concept of destruction.

And then the heavens fell.

The lunar incandescence rained down like divine judgment, crashing upon the bastion with force enough to unmake worlds. Light eclipsed all, devouring the scene in brilliance that erased color, shape, and sense.

The void detonated in a flash so intense that the stars themselves seemed to vanish, reduced to flickering remnants of dispersing energy. It was annihilation given form, so absolute that the notion of resistance felt absurd.