The Path Of A True King.
Chapter 45: Tony (2)

Chapter 45: Tony (2)

Chapter 84:

A breath passed.

Then another.

The world held still caught in the magnetic pull of two auras, too potent to ignore.

Orion moved first.

A blink and he was already mid-strike, katana carving a crescent moon through the air.

The pressure of the slash alone split the stone beneath them, a fine line of fractured earth blooming outward.

Tony met it head-on.

His bat, wreathed in blue Ki, surged with momentum as he parried the blow.

Sparks lit the air like fireflies in a storm.

He slid half a meter back, boots scraping, but his balance held firm.

Orion didn’t pause.

He vanished again appearing behind Tony in a blur of black and silver.

Tony twisted, bat raised.

Clang!

Their weapons collided once more Ki howling, sound warping at the point of impact.

"Your style is brute force," Orion said, low, precise. "Crude. Wild. But you won’t win."

Tony grinned, eyes sharp. "You keep talking like you’re writing my eulogy. I’m still standing, aren’t I?"

The next exchange was brutal.

Tony lunged, bat crashing forward in a two-handed swing. Orion sidestepped—but just barely.

The wind of the strike shaved clean through a tree trunk behind him, which toppled with a groan.

He retaliated instantly.

Katana to the ribs.

Tony grunted as the blade grazed him—blood welled beneath his jacket, but he didn’t slow.

He stepped into the pain, locking Orion’s sword arm with his own and slamming his head forward.

A sickening crack echoed.

Orion reeled, nose bloodied, retreating two steps.

Tony exhaled heavily, rolling his shoulder. "Still think I’m just some street brawler?"

"No," Orion said, straightening, wiping blood from his lip. "You’re an anomaly."

Then his expression hardened.

He pressed his fingers to the flat of his katana.

Symbols ignited complex, shifting burning with a pale azure light.

Runes.

Tony’s grin faltered.

Orion spoke a word in a language older than kingdoms.

The katana shivered.

Then split—once, twice—until three blades hovered in a rotating spiral around him, each one suspended in air, humming with ancient Ki.

Tony’s eyes widened. "Oh, hell."

"You’ve impressed me," Orion said. "That earns you this."

He stepped forward.

"The Falling Star Style."

The three blades launched in perfect sync.

Tony’s bat met one and then the second but the third grazed his thigh, slicing clean through his pants and into muscle.

He growled, pivoted, and used the momentum to hurl himself backward, gaining distance.

Blood flowed freely now.

His breathing grew heavier.

But he wasn’t done.

Not yet.

He dropped into a wide stance, feet planted.

His Ki flared brighter blue shifting to white, light erupting in cracks along his bat like it couldn’t contain the force within.

Orion’s eyes narrowed.

Tony spoke, voice low, reverent.

"This move doesn’t have a name. I never needed one."

He lifted the bat over his shoulder, gripping it tight.

"I just know it breaks everything it touches."

And then he charged.

The final clash lit up the night.

Tony’s roar tore through the battlefield like thunder, rattling the ribs of every soul who heard it.

His body surged forward, a comet of blue Ki streaking through the haze, trailing light and pressure behind him.

Earth cracked beneath his steps.

Air raged around him.

Orion reacted instantly, arms a blur.

A flash of steel—one of his phantom blades screamed through the air.

Tony batted it aside, the swing of his bat like a falling bell tower.

The impact didn’t just knock the sword away—it howled, Ki bursting at the point of contact with a crack like lightning.

The blade skidded through the dirt, skimming across stone and vanishing into the mist.

A second sword spun inward, whistling toward Tony’s neck.

He dipped low—hair fluttering in the gust of the pass, a few white strands torn loose and cast to the wind.

He twisted on the balls of his feet, coiling like a spring—

Then exploded upward.

He rose like a geyser, like a pillar of fury, wind curling behind him. His bat sang in his hands.

The third sword was waiting, arcing toward his exposed back.

But Tony twisted in the air—an unnatural, whip-like motion that sent a ripple through the fabric of the fight.

His bat swung behind him mid-spin, catching the blade not with brute strength but with exacting placement—Ki reinforcement flaring along the bar like a spine of energy.

The sword caught.

For a second.

Then it snapped.

The shards spiraled out like throwing knives, embedding into trees and soil with deadly precision.

A sharp ring echoed, and a silence hung in its wake.

Orion’s brow twitched.

That moment of shock—tiny, imperceptible to most—was enough.

Tony was already there.

Feet digging into the dirt. Muscles drawn tight. Bat raised.

He swung.

And Orion was forced to meet him—not with a phantom blade, but with the real one. The true katana, drawn in a flash of steel and desperation. Both hands gripped it, Ki surging in defense.

Steel met steel.

Ki met Ki.

Force met force.

The world reacted.

The ground gave way beneath their clash, concaving with a sound like stone groaning under a mountain’s weight.

A shockwave surged outward, tearing bark from trees, flinging fighters from both factions into the air like ragdolls.

Rubble bounced.

The sky boomed.

Dust engulfed them.

A storm of Black and Blue swallowed their figures, turning them into shadows, silhouettes etched in vibrating air.

Inside the chaos, they held still—locked together.

Tony’s bat against Orion’s blade, a meeting of will.

Muscles strained.

Sparks spat from the grinding clash.

The Ki around them crackled, unstable, volatile.

Orion’s arms shook.

Veins bulged at his neck. "Damn You."

Tony leaned in, breath hot and feral. "HAHAHA I WIN."

And then—

He let go.

Of control.

Of technique.

Of restraint.

His Ki exploded—not a flare, but a detonation.

White-hot light poured from his pores, leaking from his eyes, his wounds, his soul.

His bat shimmered, lines along the metal glowing like molten runes.

He swung again.

No form.

No grace.

Only intent.

To break through.

The katana screamed.

Then it shattered, shards launching like shrapnel in every direction, carried by the force of Tony’s strike.

Orion was flung backward, limbs flailing.

He skidded once, twice—then slammed through a beam with enough force to snap it clean in two.

Dust bloomed around the impact.

And then, stillness.

Silence fell like a curtain.

And only Tony stood in the clearing.

Bat lowered, steaming, Ki dispersing in trails of heat and breath.

Sweat and blood trickled down his brow, his arms, his ribs.

His chest heaved. But his feet never moved.

He was still standing.

On the edges of the battlefield, the remnants of the Moon Gang faltered.

Those still standing froze.

Others fell to their knees, stunned.

Whispers crept out of dry throats like curses.

"He beat Orion..."

"No way..."

"Is he even human?"

Their fear was real now.

Tony spat blood to the side, jaw clenched.

He rolled his shoulders, feeling the familiar ache return beneath the adrenaline.

His voice came low, hoarse. "Should’ve fought the actual leader."

A soft clink of metal announced a presence behind him.

Rio strolled into view, a crooked grin on his face, chain spinning lazily around his arm like a bored predator’s tail.

"Well damn," Rio said, his voice edged with amusement. "You finish faster than I thought."

Tony didn’t turn fully, only glanced back, breathing heavy. "He talks too much."

Rio barked a laugh, sharp and genuine. "Let’s hope the next guy brings a little more fun."

Together, they turned their attention forward again.

The battlefield stretched ahead, smoke curling, fires smoldering in the forest.

But something fundamental had changed.

The Moon Gang had lost their ace.