SSS-Grade Acceleration Talent made me Fastest Lord of Apocalypse
Chapter 102: Unexpected

Chapter 102: Unexpected

"Come out!"

"What are you waiting for?"

Damien’s voice cut through the blood-soaked air like a drawn blade. His words echoed, sharp and taunting, as his eyes swept across the battlefield with cold precision.

But the Supreme Golden General remained elusive—like a ghost refusing to be summoned. It was as if the man had melted into the shadows of the carnage, choosing to observe instead of act.

All around Damien, the once-formidable Blue Hammer army had been reduced to little more than crimson mush and shattered steel.

Bodies lay strewn across the cracked earth like broken dolls, limbs twisted in unnatural angles, faces frozen in fear or fury. And at the center of this blood-drenched canvas stood Damien—silent, regal, and absolutely merciless.

His royal armor, once gleaming with pride, was now soaked in blood—thick and dark, painting him like a butcher fresh from slaughter. Yet, not a drop of it was his own.

The earth itself had begun to change. The once-loamy soil had turned viscous, rich with death. The scent of iron overwhelmed even the wind. A stifling silence had begun to take root, pierced only by the faint sizzle of burning mana and the distant roll of thunder.

Then suddenly—a ripple.

Barely detectable, subtle as a whisper in a storm.

But Damien noticed.

His eyes sharpened like a hawk locking onto prey. Tens of meters away, the flow of mana shifted—not violently, but delicately, like a silk thread tugged by an unseen hand.

It was enough.

His lips curled into a cold, knowing grin. His voice dropped, more to himself than anyone else:

"Checkmate."

In that instant, his acceleration surged—the aura flaring around his body like a supernova going silent.

The world dissolved.

The corpses, the sticky blood, the broken swords half-buried in muck—all of it vanished from his awareness.

Even fear itself, that ancient voice of survival, flickered away like a snuffed-out candle.

Damien’s heart beat once.

And then... emptiness.

No future. No past. No thoughts of vengeance or glory. Just the razor-thin edge of the present—sharper than any blade, colder than death itself.

Nothing mattered anymore. Not the outcome. Not victory. Not defeat.

Whether he’d win with a single punch or be torn to pieces—

That wasn’t the point.

What mattered was this moment.

This leap.

This blow.

Was he holding back?

Or was he giving everything?

As time stretched thin and the world slowed into molasses, Damien’s soul surged forward—ready to gamble it all.

Then, for a fleeting moment, Damien’s eyes no longer seemed rooted in the present. It was as if time itself faltered in his gaze—his pupils sharpening like a hawk zeroing in on its prey, narrowing with an intensity that could carve through fate itself. Behind those eyes blazed not anger, not hatred, but a terrifying clarity—unyielding focus forged in the crucible of countless battles.

This was his best punch.

Not because he sought to defeat the Supreme Golden General. Not because he thirsted for vengeance or glory.

No—he gave everything because that was the only way he knew how to fight.

Every punch had to be his best.

Every strike had to define him.

There was no room for hesitation. No inch reserved for doubt.

And then—

The world broke.

A thunderous explosion split the heavens, like the sky itself had ruptured from the sheer violence of his will. The sound echoed for hundreds of kilometers, ripping through forests and mountains, shattering silence like fragile glass.

In Dreamy Sky City, people dropped to their knees.

The shockwave hit like the fist of a god—raw, absolute, and merciless.

Structures groaned. Glass cracked. A pressure surged through the air thick enough to crush bone.

Many were flung off their feet, blood leaking from eyes and ears, as if their very souls had been rattled.

---

Elsewhere—high above it all, cloaked in fury and golden divine essence—

The Supreme Golden General stood, motionless yet seething.

His thoughts burned hotter than the sun:

How dare this lowborn prince... this insect... kill my daughter.

Not even the gods will shield him from my wrath. Not today.

There will be no accident this time.

The past year had been a curse—a frustrating parade of interference and stolen kills.

Every time he neared his prey, every time justice—or vengeance—was within reach, someone would appear.

A cloaked guardian.

A forgotten master.

A silent angel wrapped in silver flame.

Always something.

Always someone.

Always at the final moment.

But not today.

The Supreme Golden General had endured enough.

He had tasted bitterness and swallowed humiliation.

And from that suffering, a cruel patience had been born.

He had planned everything.

Checked every possible outcome.

Accounted for every last variable.

No savior would arrive.

No miracle would interfere.

Today, the arrogant prince would die.

No matter the cost.

No matter the heavens.

The Supreme Golden General’s golden aura pulsed with divine fury as he stepped forward—each movement deliberate, each breath laced with murderous resolve.

He had taken every step with the precision of a man who had been robbed too many times.

He didn’t spare a single thought for the lives of his soldiers. They were nothing more than pawns, expendable shadows meant to stall and bleed while he waited for that one perfect opening—the fatal instant to end Damien’s life in a single, devastating strike.

And finally, his patience bore fruit.

The moment he had waited for—the still point in the chaos, the sliver of vulnerability—arrived like a whisper through the battlefield’s roar.

After witnessing Damien summon that mysterious weapon over and over, he was convinced:

There could be no mana left.

No tricks.

No energy.

Just a depleted prince moments away from death.

But just as he prepared to strike—just as his body tensed, ready to become judgment itself—a strange sensation prickled at the edge of his soul.

A flicker, then a shiver in the air.

Then an alarm—sharp and primal—his danger sense screamed.

He blinked.

And in that split-second—

Everything vanished.

There was no battlefield.

There were No soldiers, neither there was any sky or even the mighty earth.

Only a fist.

A fist that grew larger with every heartbeat—swallowing everything in his vision, blotting out all thought, all light.

It was no longer a punch.

It was a declaration.

Then—

BOOOOOOOOM!

A cataclysmic blast shook the heavens. The explosion wasn’t just sound—it was a wave of destruction that reordered the very air itself.

The skies trembled.

The ground fractured.

A radius of hundreds of meters around Damien was annihilated.

The pressure stripped trees from their roots, turned stone into dust, and sent entire chunks of debris flying like feathers caught in a storm.

Everything in the path of that punch was torn apart or erased entirely—a brief, silent tribute to overwhelming force.

And when the dust cleared—

When the sound faded into stunned silence—

Only one figure remained standing amidst the carnage.

Damien.

His body cast a long shadow across the ruin.

He was completely Unmoving, Unshaken.

Unmatched.

There was no sign of the Supreme Golden General.

Not even a trace.

The battlefield, once filled with tension and death, now stood eerily silent—a crater of devastation centered around Damien.

For a brief moment, he wondered if the Golden General had escaped, slipping away through some desperate technique or hidden artifact. Maybe he had retreated to some distant corner, lurking, wounded but alive.

But then—

a glint.

Something gleamed in the corner of his vision, catching the waning light just right.

Damien turned his gaze upward, eyes narrowing.

And there it was—falling fast from the sky, tumbling end over end through the air like discarded scrap.

An arm.

A single, severed arm made entirely of shimmering gold.

It spun as it descended, light dancing across its polished surface like sunlight on a blade. It crashed into the ruined earth with a heavy, metallic thud.

Damien stared at it.

Then he smiled.

The aura it gave off—it was unmistakable.

That divine gleam. That pressure.

It was nearly identical to the treasure Meguro Rosewood had wielded.

And in that instant, everything clicked into place.

He had struck first.

Before the Supreme Golden General could even lift a finger, Damien’s blow had landed. So fast, so sudden—it had obliterated not only his defense but his chance to even react.

The thought pulled a chuckle from deep within his chest.

If the Golden General hadn’t been so arrogant...

If he’d kept his golden treasures on auto-defense instead of waiting for the perfect counterstrike...

He might still be alive.

But this was war.

This was life—unforgiving, merciless, without second chances.

The smile lingered on Damien’s face, subtle but sharp, as the wind howled past the scorched remains of the battlefield.

Although he had won, the battle left behind more than just destruction—it had taught him an unexpected lesson.

Always be prepared for the worst.

Victory was no guarantee of safety. In a world filled with secrets, hidden weapons, and monstrous talents, he could never truly know what an opponent might be hiding.

Anyone he faced could very well be like him—

Someone with a second chance.

Someone who had clawed their way back from death or fate, bearing the will to rewrite their story at any cost.

And so, even as the dust settled and silence returned, Damien’s eyes remained sharp.

Because from this moment on, he knew—complacency was more dangerous than any enemy.