ne of humanity’s most effective tools. Though seemingly simple, the art of fist fighting is profoundly intricate, akin to mastering an engineering marvel. Brutols, highly skilled in this art, knew that height, reach, and size could give athletes like basketball players an advantage, but nothing surpassed the feel, practice, and passion for combat.

In that moment, Brutols felt possessed by a pugilist spirit, entering an unparalleled state of exhilaration and perfection, fully absorbing himself in this sublime and flawless state of being.

Chapter 9: Battle in Heaven (1)

The corrupted angels surged forward maniacally, far more numerous than Brutols had anticipated. Yet, he felt no fear. Despite an initial sword wound, it did nothing to faze him. Brutols was accustomed to triumphing in adversity; regardless of the direction chaos flowed, he always retained the confidence to grasp victory. This resilience is the hallmark of a true warrior. Excitement filled Brutols, who brimmed with tactical brilliance that the corrupted angels could neither foresee nor counter. His attacks landed before they even had a chance to react.

With a fierce roar—an act of intimidation rather than actual rage—Brutols watched the angels tremble before him. Smirking, he launched his punches, each one like a merciless hammer, accelerating to unimaginable speeds. As his fists neared the corrupted angels’ faces, their velocity peaked, unleashing their full force without waste, toppling the angels effortlessly.

Although these angels had traded their souls for greater power, retaining consciousness, their minds were corrupt and filled with malevolence. Still, Brutols saw a glimmer of light within them and chose to subdue rather than kill. His every strike, as if guided by a pugilist virtuoso, was perfectly balanced and devastatingly effective.

The initial shock of Brutols’ overwhelming strength sent the angels into a frenzy, but their madness proved futile. Brutols leaped forward, delivering finishing blows with deadly precision—as simple and flawless as a masterwork art, lacking any need for embellishment. Those yet to fall began to dread him, while the fallen angels gradually regained clarity and realized their grave errors, thankful to the man who saved them from darkness.

Brutols’ relentless pummeling carried no lethal intent, only a seamless, fluid perfection. Reacting instinctually, enjoying the well-armored yet resilient opponents, Brutols felt an exhilarating challenge. He reveled in their capacity to endure blows; quick defeats would have been unsatisfactory. His strength had reached new heights, and he took a brief rest, recognizing the strategic value of recuperation in enduring prolonged battles.

During his respite, Brutols spotted an exceptionally powerful angel amo

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