SSS-Grade Acceleration Talent made me Fastest Lord of Apocalypse
Chapter 95: John vs Damien

Chapter 95: John vs Damien

The silent confrontation stretched, strained as a bowstring, neither side willing to yield.

Tension rippled across the hall like waves on a stormy sea. No one moved. No one dared to breathe too loudly. The air had grown thick—so thick it felt as though time itself had slowed.

Just as the hawk-eyed man thought Damien might buckle beneath the crushing pressure, his heart skipped a beat.

And why wouldn’t he?

After all, Damien’s opponent wasn’t some upstart warrior or inflated noble—he was a being that belonged to the legends of this world.

A Channel Forging Realm expert.

Someone who had crossed the boundary that separated mortals from the extraordinary. Someone who could weave mana as if it were silk, bending it to their will like a craftsman shaping clay.

What made Channel Forging experts truly terrifying wasn’t just their mana capacity or strength—it was the internal transformation. Through arduous cultivation, they forged channels within their bodies, allowing mana to flow at blistering speeds through their veins.

The difference between a Golden Rank warrior and a Channel Forging Realm expert was like the difference between a flowing stream and a roaring river.

And once that river reached a certain velocity, it formed something else entirely: a domain—an invisible battlefield the expert controlled, where every breath and blade bowed to their will.

Then, it happened.

Damien’s expression shifted subtly—his eyes narrowing as he felt it.

A terrifying force surged toward him, invisible yet immense, like the pressure of a collapsing sky.

Even before the wave touched him, his chest tightened. His breath caught in his throat, and a cold sweat began to form at his brow. Just staying on his feet began to feel like pushing against a mountain.

But instead of faltering, Damien’s gaze ignited.

Like flint struck against steel—a spark.

A heartbeat later, he moved.

No hesitation.

No words.

Just instinct—razor sharp.

His finger pulled the trigger.

Boom!

The barrel of Epoch Breaker flared with blinding mana, the roar of the shot louder than thunder. The recoil jolted through Damien’s arm, but he didn’t blink.

A compressed bullet of violent energy surged forward like a divine spear.

John’s eyes widened. He had sensed it the moment Damien made his move—but even with all his power, even with his speed, he was too late.

He turned, reaching out, but the shot had already struck its mark.

The Blue Hammer Crown Prince’s face froze in a twisted mask of disbelief... and then—

Bang!

His head detonated into a mist of blood and brain matter. Bits of bone scattered like shattered porcelain across the marble floor.

For a moment, there was only silence.

Damien stood still, face partially drenched in crimson, expression cold and calm—eerily calm.

Epoch Breaker hissed, cooling in his grip, while his red-streaked face glowed under the ceiling’s crystal chandeliers, creating an image that was equal parts divine and demonic.

The Blue Hammer Crown Prince, heir of one of the greatest empires in the continent, had been executed like a dog.

Right in front of John.

Right under his nose.

The hawk-eyed man’s lips trembled, and even the Valthorn soldiers behind Damien involuntarily stepped back, their gazes flicking between Damien and the stunned alchemist.

John’s expression, once unreadable, began to twist. His brows furrowed. A vein pulsed along his jawline.

He couldn’t believe it.

A lowly Iron Rank had ignored his warning and killed someone he had personally come to retrieve... in broad daylight... with a grin on his face.

The entire world seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the weight of John’s wrath to fall.

But Damien? Damien just stood there—his crimson-soaked face raised slightly, eyes gleaming.

Almost daring John to make a move.

Then—after that frozen instant of stunned silence—came the fury.

Not rage. Not mere anger.

But something vast, something raw and primordial that surged within John’s chest like a volcano on the verge of eruption. His mind blanked. Logic died.

A single, overwhelming emotion filled him—

Kill.

Never in his life had John—respected alchemist, channel-forging elite, cultivator of balance and refinement—felt such a visceral urge to end someone.

Not even when he was poisoned in enemy territory... not even when he had nearly been crippled by rival factions.

But now? Now he felt like his very soul was boiling over.

And all because of the man standing before him—no, the insect, smiling in the bloodied shadow of a prince’s corpse.

His glare locked onto Damien.

If gazes could kill, Damien would have been obliterated ten thousand times over.

Then it came. The breaking point.

John roared, his voice a guttural thunderclap:

"DIE, YOU PIECE—!"

BOOM!

The ground fractured. Air trembled. Space twisted.

From John’s body exploded an invisible shockwave—a violent pulse of power so dense and overwhelming that the very atmosphere screamed as it tore apart.

He was the eye of the storm.

Damien, still holding Epoch Breaker, didn’t even have a moment to brace.

The wave of energy slammed into him like a continent crashing down from the sky. His body bent unnaturally as he was hurled through the air like a ragdoll. Bones groaned. Vision blurred.

It felt like every organ in his body had been rearranged.

CRASH!

He struck the far wall with a thunderous impact, his body folding into it like wet clay before sliding down in a broken heap.

Dust choked the air. Cracks spider-webbed across the walls and ceiling. The golden chandeliers trembled violently, shedding crystals like falling stars.

And that... was just the beginning.

Because what happened next silenced even the echoes.

Pop!

Splat.

The fatty and the hawk-eyed man—who had been standing not far from the epicenter—had no time to react. Their bodies didn’t even fall. They detonated, reduced to nothing but a burst of red mist.

The only remnants of their existence were a pair of blood-slicked skeletons—one thick, one thin—clattering lifelessly to the polished marble floor.

The hall fell into ghastly silence.

Even the flickering flames on the torches seemed to dim in reverence to the carnage.

John stood in the center of it all—shoulders heaving, aura pulsating, eyes wild with madness.

"You lowly shit!"

He growled, voice shaking with fury and grief.

"Do you not understand human language?! I told you to STOP!"

His voice cracked as spittle flew from his lips.

"Because of YOU... because of you, all my years of work... down the drain!"

He paced in circles like a mad beast.

"You know how long I toiled in that filthy institute?! How many missions I took on just to secure my retirement?! Just one more—one more—and it would’ve been done!"

He glared at Damien, who was groaning, still slumped at the base of the shattered wall.

"But no... a piece of shit like you ruined it all!"

"Do you think you’re strong? That you’re righteous? You’re just a rabid dog with a stolen blade!"

The storm of his killing intent coiled again, rising like a tidal wave.

And for the first time in a long time, the legend known as John of the White Flame... was truly ready to kill.

Damien groaned as he pushed himself up, staggering like a puppet with its strings cut.

It felt as if all his internal organs had been liquefied, swimming uselessly in his gut. Every breath was pain, every movement a declaration of defiance against the world.

He wiped the blood off the corner of his lips with the back of his sleeve, then looked up, his expression unreadable.

His fingers slowly curled around the grip of Epoch Breaker, the soul weapon humming faintly in response, resonating with its master’s fury.

This was it.

This was exactly what he needed.

He had grown too cocky, too confident after bulldozing through Golden Rankers like they were toddlers.

Now, standing before a Channel Forging Realm monster, he felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time—true danger.

A smirk played across his blood-smeared lips.

"Good," he muttered. "I needed a reminder."

Then, without another thought, Damien vanished.

A thunderous BOOM echoed through the hall—the air itself rupturing under the force of his movement. A sonic boom shattered windows and sent chandeliers crashing from the ceiling.

At that moment, space bent.

The empty gap between Damien and John, which had once been nothing but air, turned to iron—a compressed slab of atmosphere folding beneath the speed of his charge.

Thousands of kilometers per hour in a heartbeat.

Damien’s body ripped through the space like a drill, cutting through the solidified void like paper.

He reappeared right in front of John—no flourish, no yell.

Just a single, silent punch.

CRACK—

Spiderweb-like fractures shot through the space as his fist barreled forward. The force ignited the very air, combusting mana and oxygen alike in a swirling inferno.

Flaming fragments flew in all directions, tearing through what was left of the once-magnificent hallway.

But John didn’t flinch. Not even a twitch.

At the final instant—just before the fist touched flesh—an invisible membrane shimmered into existence between them.

It wasn’t visible to the naked eye, but Damien felt it—like trying to punch through liquid stone.

This was John’s domain.

Formed by a mythical circulation of mana through expertly-forged channels in his body, it was a shield no ordinary warrior could hope to penetrate.

BOOOOOOM!

Damien’s punch collided with the membrane—and the world shook.

A shockwave erupted, bursting outward in all directions like a tidal wave of pure force.

The hallway exploded into a rolling cloud of debris. Marble shattered into dust. Pillars snapped like twigs. The gilded murals of ancient wars crumbled and dissolved into meaningless specks.

And yet—the wave didn’t stop.

It continued outward, shredding through walls, courtyards, even the outer gate, sending soldiers, servants, and banners flying into the air.

Even amid all that chaos, Damien stood firm.

His eyes were calm, his expression stoic—but his knuckles were bloodied from the impact.

John stood opposite him, expression unchanged, but this time... a faint ripple pulsed across his domain’s surface.