MIGHT AS WELL BE OP

Lilithra absorbed Anthony's words, the advice to abandon every theory, every assumption, and every preconceived thought she held about him.

She listened as he spoke of only engaging his opponents at a level that matched their own.

The meaning was clear, until now, he had merely mirrored her capabilities, never exceeding them.

But, Lilithra neither doubted nor mocked his declaration. No, she received it with cold seriousness.

A sovereign of battle, honed by countless lifetimes of experience, she could sense it in every fiber of her being: the youth before her was not jesting.

Without hesitation, she shifted into a battle stance, her voice sharp and lethal.

"Come."

One word, and that was all Anthony required.

He vanished forward, his form blurring, space itself fracturing beneath the absurd velocity of his advance. His right leg streaked upward toward Lilithra's jaw, swift and devastating, like a star collapsing into itself.

Lilithra reacted on instinct, her movements fluid, her body twisting to evade... or so she believed.

Anthony's foot halted midair. The left foot, anchored against the moon's surface, shifted subtly; his waist and shoulder turned in perfect unison, and his right leg lowered in a motion so precise it cut into her path of escape.

Lilithra's eyes widened in disbelief as she caught sight of a fist hurtling toward her abdomen.

'Impossible.'

The earlier kick had not appeared to be a feint, because it was not. Anthony had simply adapted to her reaction before she had even committed to it.

Then came the impact.

With a blast that seemed to reverberate across the cosmos, Anthony's fist slammed into Lilithra's midsection.

Agony ripped through her frame as the breath was driven from her lungs, fleeing as though in terror.

Momentum seized her instantly, her body folding like paper before she was sent hurtling backward, spinning away like a severed kite lost to the void.

But she adjusted mid-motion, her body twisting with precise control, halting her flight in the void as if she had seized the very air itself.

Her blood-red eyes snapped toward Anthony's position, only to find him already before her, as though he had been there all along.

A kick cleaved through the space between them, swift and merciless, like a stormwind honed into a blade.

Lilithra's hand rose instinctively, a living shield to guard her face.

The impact came, cataclysmic, unrelenting. The force roared through her body, rattling bone and sinew alike. Beneath them, the moon's surface groaned in protest, then collapsed inward, unable to withstand the violence of the blow. Even Lilithra's form, formidable as it was, failed to absorb the full brunt of the strike.

Before Lilithra could react, Anthony's fist surged upward from below, his combat instincts reading the flaw in her defense like an open book.

Her crimson eyes widened as the strike came for her chin, but the realization hit too late, she had not anticipated the angle, nor the speed.

BAM

The blow landed with bone-crushing force. Her head snapped back, neck following the violent arc. Her lips split instantly, black blood spraying into the void, white teeth scattering in its wake.

But she was a Demon Monarch, her regeneration surged to life, knitting flesh and bone in the blink of an eye.

Anthony did not grant her the mercy of recovery.

A left hook tore in from the side, slamming into her like a sledgehammer. Lilithra's footing faltered; her senses blurred, scrambling to recalibrate, as though her mind itself was struggling to grasp what in the abyss was happening.

Anthony's knuckles struck with the precision of a master sculptor's chisel carving unyielding marble.

A forearm followed, descending like an executioner's axe. It split into her shoulder with ruthless finality, rending through flesh and bone alike.

She did not scream. Her tolerance for pain was carved from centuries of war. She had endured agony more times than she could count.

Anthony moved again, but this time Lilithra reacted with uncanny precision, as though she had finally adapted to his rhythm.

She spun, her heel cutting through the void with the lethal grace of a predator's tail, arcing toward Anthony's temple.

But he had already read her, utterly and completely, like a master deciphering a child's intent. His hands flowed upward, catching her ankle with effortless precision, the motion almost instructional, as though a teacher correcting a student's form.

With that same fluidity, he dropped to the lunar surface, rolling with her leg still in his grip.

The momentum wrenched Lilithra into the motion, her frame unwillingly dragged along, the two of them spiraling across the moon's dust.

As Anthony completed the roll, his body flattened to the ground, and his right leg shot upward, a blade pointed to the heavens, before the heel descended with the weight of a collapsing universe.

Lilithra had barely recovered from the roll when her gaze snapped toward him, just in time to see the descending strike. The heel slammed into her outstretched arm with a deafening impact.

The blast was devastating. Bone shattered, muscle tore, and her limb was instantly reduced to mangled flesh.

She did not scream. Instead, she wrenched herself free, twisting midair to disengage from the hold, though she escaped with an arm hanging in ruin.

But she had no time.

Before her feet could even kiss the moon's surface, Anthony was already upon her, moving with the explosive agility of a wildcat. His fist flashed forward, deadly, unhesitating, driving straight toward her exposed flank.

But Lilithra had anticipated it. Her arm had already healed, and with feline grace she twisted aside, as if even the void itself could not bind her in place.

But Anthony had anticipated her anticipation. His form shifted in perfect harmony with hers, like a reflection in a flawless mirror, except this reflection struck... again.

He did not merely mimic her movement; he wove his attack into it, the two motions indistinguishable. An open-hand strike lashed across her jaw, the crack echoing like a dry branch snapping in the wind.

He followed without pause, the assault unfolding like a seamless midair combination.

A hook drove in from the side, heavy as a falling hammer, and before the force had even dispersed, the heel of his foot whipped into her temple, fluid as silk, crushing as iron.

Still, he was not finished.

An elbow crashed down upon her collarbone with a sharp, decisive impact, the sound ringing with finality.

The blow sent Lilithra hurtling sideways like a fired cannonball, her body skipping across the lunar surface in a chain of bone-jarring impacts.

Anthony did not pursue.

He stood with his hands clasped calmly behind his back, the very image of a master delivering a lesson.

His breathing was unhurried, his heartbeat steady, his form untouched by sweat or dust, as though the battle itself was nothing more than a passing exercise.