SSS-Grade Acceleration Talent made me Fastest Lord of Apocalypse
Chapter 97: Despair

Chapter 97: Despair

Barely alive—but not for long.

Before Damien could even suck in a ragged breath, John materialized in front of him like a demon summoned straight from hell, his eyes glowing with the cold gleam of finality.

Then came the punch.

A detonation at point-blank range.

It felt less like a fist and more like a small bomb erupting in his chest.

Crack!

Damien’s ribs didn’t just break—they evaporated, reduced to dust before the shockwave could even finish rippling through his flesh. His vision dimmed as pure agony surged through every vein, searing him from the inside out.

He tried to scream.

He tried to howl.

But no sound came—because another punch landed, squarely on his chin, the force so brutal it nearly atomized his jaw, turning bone to powder and rattling his skull like a cracked bell.

Then another.

And another.

A storm of fists followed—each strike an execution, each blow a collapse of his fragile form. Damien didn’t know how many times he had been hit. How many times he had died and been forced back to life by the stubborn trickle of mana in his soul.

Bones shattered, healed, and shattered again.

His body was caught in a cycle of destruction and rebirth, a sickening rhythm that blurred the line between survival and torment.

Within his spiritual space, the acceleration marble throbbed like a heartbeat gone wild, pulsing frantically to push mana into his ruined body—trying to save him, rebuild him, resurrect him.

But all for nothing.

The moment the marble poured in its power, it was drained dry, like a leaking cup trying to hold a storm.

The fatigue was becoming unbearable—a drowning weight in his mind, pressing down until his consciousness trembled at the edge of collapse.

And then came the final blow.

Bang!

Another punch—this one louder, heavier. Damien’s battered body flew across the hall like a broken doll, smashing into the ceiling with a wet crunch, bits of stone and blood showering down.

He hadn’t even begun to fall when John appeared again, as if teleporting through space, and slammed a fist upward.

A hammer blow from the heavens.

Crack!

Damien’s face was driven through the roof, his limbs flailing as he spun through the air like a broken fidget spinner, bones crunching with every violent rotation.

Everything spun.

His vision blurred into gray and red.

His limbs no longer responded. His muscles screamed but refused to move. His thoughts slowed.

And then it crept in.

A strange numbness.

A quiet voice in the back of his mind, whispering with bittersweet calm.

"Is this... how it ends?"

Cough.

A violent shudder wracked Damien’s body as blood spewed from his lips, splattering the ground below. He instinctively raised a trembling hand to wipe it—but froze when he saw what clung to his palm.

Not just blood.

Black-red sludge.

Finely ground particles of his internal organs.

His heart sank. Even my insides are disintegrating...

Before the thought could fully settle, his body completed a full arc midair—a ragdoll in the wind—and crashed through the roof of another nearby building, wood and clay tiles collapsing like brittle paper beneath him.

Boom!

He smashed through rafters and beams, finally slamming hard into the cold, wet floor.

Then—darkness.

A choking stench assaulted his nostrils.

What is this place...?

His eyes flickered open, then shut again—burning from the overwhelming, nauseating rot.

It smelled of urine, sewage, and centuries-old filth.

Did I get thrown into a fucking gutter...?

He tried to rise, but even moving his fingers felt like lifting mountains.

Then, his body tensed.

A familiar pressure was closing in.

His skin prickled, his spine screamed.

John.

He was coming.

Even in this filth, even half-dead, Damien could feel that suffocating aura approaching with terrifying speed.

He had barely processed it when—

Bang!

A blur of silver and blue, then a hammer blow straight to the jaw.

His teeth flew out like broken pearls, scattered across the stone floor, and a spiderweb of cracks bloomed across his face. His cheekbone shifted unnaturally—part of it had caved in.

Damn... fucking... hell...

A deep growl echoed in his chest.

How could the gap be this vast?

He had slaughtered golden rankers like wolves tearing through sheep.

He was undefeated—dominant.

But now?

Now, in front of a Channel Forging Realm expert, he was a toy, an insect flailing under a divine gaze.

From the first moment this battle began, Damien had been reduced to a mere punching bag, dragged through the earth and heavens by a force he could not resist.

Still, even in this state—half-blind, half-dead, barely conscious—he gritted his bloodied teeth and clenched his fists.

No.

He wouldn’t go down like this.

Not without fighting.

Not without biting back, even if it was with broken fangs.

But how he was supposed to fight, every single one of his attack seemed to have no affect on the monster that john was.

He braced himself, his fractured body trembling in anticipation of the next blow.

Damien did his best to gather as much mana as posible, to heal his body so that it could withstand another punch.

But...

The punch never came.

Instead, echoing through the darkness, came a sound far more chilling:

Laughter.

Cold.

Cruel.

Mocking.

John’s voice, laced with sadistic amusement, drifted through the broken structure like the whisper of death itself.

"Jeez..."

John exhaled mockingly, tilting his head with a twisted smile. "For one second, you almost made me afraid."

He chuckled.

"But in the end... you’re nothing more than a paper tiger."

His voice was light, but his eyes were cold and merciless.

Each step he took echoed through the ruined space like a death knell.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Damien lay sprawled on the broken floor, blood pooling beneath him. His vision was a red haze, his breath shallow and raspy.

John was just one step away.

Then—

Crack.

Like the hammer of a god descending from the heavens, John’s foot landed directly on Damien’s chest.

It wasn’t just a stomp—it was a statement.

A crushing verdict delivered with terrifying finality.

Bones shattered. Ribs split apart like snapped branches.

Damien’s body bent inward under the impact, nearly folding in half. A sharp gasp escaped his throat, but he couldn’t even scream—his lungs had deflated from the pressure.

For a split second, the world went white.

Pain so intense it bordered on numbness shot through every nerve in his body.

He was on the edge of consciousness.

Despite the multiple boosts from his acceleration talent, Damien’s abilities were largely offensive—built for explosive movement and overwhelming force. But defense?

Against a being like John?

There was nothing they could do.

His skin—reinforced by cycles of healing and battle-tempered endurance—ripped open like wet parchment. Flesh and bone ruptured together, and blood exploded outward in a grotesque fountain.

A red mist filled the air, painting the nearby walls, soaking the earth.

Damien didn’t faint—but perhaps that was worse.

He remained awake, forced to feel every fractured piece of himself.

John looked down at him, still smiling, as if pleased by how utterly pathetic Damien now looked.

"Weren’t you acting all badass just now? What happened, little prince?"

John’s voice dripped with mockery, his words laced with venomous glee.

"Didn’t listen when I told you to stop, did you?"

His tone was calm—too calm. The kind of calm that made your skin crawl.

John’s foot pressed down slowly, deliberately, grinding Damien’s head into the cracked stone floor.

A sickening creak echoed out.

The sensation was unbearable—as if his skull had been pinned beneath a divine nail, driven into the earth with cruel precision. No matter how hard he tried to move, to twist away, his head was trapped, locked beneath that crushing weight.

Damien’s arms twitched feebly.

His vision blurred.

Darkness crept in at the edges of his sight.

So this was it.

Was this... how it ends?

Even after everything?

For the first time, Damien felt the cold breath of death on his neck. It whispered in his ear, seductive and final.

His heart, already battered, began to sink into the black depths of despair.

But then—

A face flashed before his eyes.

A young woman.

Bright eyes, calloused hands, and a crooked smile.

She had been his anchor, the one who stayed beside him when he was nothing but a street rat, begging in alleyways, polishing the shoes of pompous nobles just to survive.

His body was broken, yes—but his spirit... it wasn’t dead.

Not yet.

No.

He couldn’t die.

Not like this.

Not after being given a second chance.

A spark of rage bloomed in his heart, fanned by the flame of memories that refused to die. Even as John’s foot ground deeper, even as his skull threatened to split—something inside refused to break.

His soul screamed.

[Acceleration EXP +23]

And in that moment—

A flicker of blue light sparked before his eyes.

Tiny. Flickering.

But radiant like a dying star refusing to be extinguished.

Damien’s lips twitched. A breath—ragged, weak, but determined—escaped his lungs.

The fight... wasn’t over.

Not yet.

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