Teacher by day, Farmer by passion

CRACK!

Ace's foot slammed against the air, launching him toward Amon like a missile wrapped in silver flame.

His blade shimmered into view; pure soul energy, unbound by steel and he swung.

Amon tilted back, the tip of the strike kissing the edge of his monocle. It didn't so much as crack.

Another strike, horizontal. A blur of vines and silver force.

Amon weaved beneath it like a ribbon caught in wind, his cane flicking up to parry—not strike, but redirect, like a conductor refusing to let the music go off-key.

They clashed.

And clashed again.

A flurry of movement, so fast that even the snowflakes seemed suspended in time.

Ace swung with abandon—wide arcs, twisting slashes, bursts of elemental fury bursting from his strikes.

Yet not a single direct attack landed on Amon.

He stepped over, leaned under, spun with elegance that bordered on arrogance.

His cane danced between them, not once striking Ace only guiding, guiding, guiding.

A step forward, a twist of the wrist—WHAM!

A strike landed. Right on Ace's side.

The impact should've shattered ribs.

But the cloak flared.

And Ace barely felt more than a strong push, like being hit by a particularly determined goose.

He grinned. "That all you got?"

Amon narrowed his eyes.

Ace dove in again.

Vertical slash, evaded.

Thrust to the chest, redirected.

Backhand with a burst of fire—Amon twirled midair and stepped past it like a man sidestepping a falling leaf.

Then—CRACK!—another strike landed, this time to Ace's shoulder.

The shockwave sent a tremor down his arm.

But again, only ten percent.

Amon's expression twitched.

He was landing strikes.

Clean, precise, deliberate.

But they weren't doing anything.

Ace's cloak shimmered with every hit, greedily swallowing the force, turning killing blows into harmless taps.

Ace let out a low laugh, breathless and wild.

"Oh man," he said through clenched teeth, lunging again, "this is way more fun when I don't have to worry about dying!"

His sword crashed down in a wild, looping arc.

Amon blocked it and frowned.

For the first time, it was taking effort.

Ace didn't stop. Didn't think. He became the storm itself.

Every step came with a roar of wind. Every movement was exaggerated, wild, erratic—intentional insanity.

He moved like someone who didn't care if he got hit…

…because he didn't.

Strike.

Evade.

Strike again.

Take a blow. Ignore it.

Laugh.

Push forward.

Each hit from Amon was perfect but each one landed with all the sting of a foam bat, while Ace's momentum only grew.

Amon's jaw tightened.

This was no longer a duel.

This was a momentum engine on two legs, powered by audacity and a cheat-code cloak.

And Ace was loving every second of it.

Amon's cane struck once more, harmless against Ace's cloak—then halted midair.

His body stilled.

The monocle gleamed unnaturally, and then—

RIP.

Like silk tearing in reverse, Amon's form split open from within, shedding his elegant robes as a shimmer of energy exploded outward.

Fur surged over his body.

His limbs elongated, his bones cracked and reshaped with sickening fluidity.

Claws like obsidian scythes tore free from his hands.

A monstrous figure emerged—striped, rippling muscle under velvet black and gold fur, teeth gleaming like ivory daggers under a jaw that could bite through stone.

Amon, no longer quite human.

The transformation was seamless.

Terrifyingly seamless.

A beast cloaked in dignity, pride, and suppressed hunger.

A Spirit Tiger.

His eyes now burned yellow, slitted and ancient.

And then… the tiger spoke.

Its voice rumbled like distant thunder laced with disdain.

"Should've done this from the start. You puny humans and your pride…"

Ace took a cautious step back, blade pulsing softly in his hand.

"Wait, are you—?"

But the tiger cut him off with a deep, weary growl, this time quieter.

"Less talking. Take care of the human. That's the only reason I let you come out. I'm resting."

Then the voice went silent receding like a presence slinking into the shadows of Amon's consciousness..

Ace stared, breath caught in his chest.

It felt as though everything he had witnessed inside the Illusion Abyss hadn't been illusion at all.

But reality.

A hidden reality.

What else had he forgotten? What truths had slipped through the cracks of his mind, masquerading as dreams?

He had no time to search for answers.

Amon, now in his fearsome tiger-like form, didn't grant him even a heartbeat.

With a guttural snarl, the beast lunged forward—relentless, merciless, and far too real.

This was no ordinary transformation.

This was a coexistence. A pact.

A beast and a man, layered into one, each wearing the other when needed.

Ace's breath caught.

What else had he seen in that abyss that wasn't a lie?

But Amon—or rather, the beast—didn't give him time to think.

With a low snarl, the tiger-man coiled—

And pounced.

WHOOSH!

A blur of black and gold streaked through the sky.

Fangs bared.

Claws outstretched.

Aiming straight for Ace's throat.

Reflex kicked in.

Ace barely raised his sword in time—steel clashing against claw, sparks flying like miniature stars.

But the force—

Even at ten percent—

Still hurt.

He was flung back through the air, cloak fluttering like a torn flag, the impact ringing through his bones.

He flipped midair, landing on a floating spirit's back with a heavy thud.

"Alright…" Ace muttered, wiping the blood from his lip and squinting up at the now-fanged silhouette.

Amon—or rather, the beast now wearing his form—launched through the air like a cannonball of muscle and malice, golden fur rippling with each surge of power.

He came fast, claws extended, a roar tearing through the sky.

Ace didn't flinch.

Instead, he stretched his arms forward—

Then crossed them—bracing.

The moment Amon's strike closed in, Ace flowed into motion.

Left hand up. Right hand down.

A perfect redirection—his arms moved like flowing water, catching the momentum of the incoming blow.

CRACK!

He caught Amon's punch—redirected it just enough to kill its angle—then pivoted on his heel.

THUD!

His leg snapped upward in a rising arc, a clean, brutal kick to the beast's chest, sending Amon soaring backward through the air.

Snow and wind exploded around the impact as the tiger-form was flung back like a meteor with no grace.

Ace stood tall, cloak fluttering, chest rising and falling.

"You're not the only one who can switch forms," he muttered under his breath.

Amon tumbled through the air, catching himself mid-spin, claws carving grooves in the wind as he slowed to a growling hover.

But Ace wasn't watching him anymore.

His hand moved slowly to his side beneath the folds of his cloak, where a slender, violet-lacquered box lay nestled.

As the box snapped open, divine energy spilled upward like starlight torn from the heavens.

Ace stepped forward, cloak rippling in the rising tide of power.

He drew out the item inside—a comb, its surface etched with diamonds that pulsed faintly like heartbeat stars:

"For the Pure of Heart and the Unbroken of Bed."

It could forcibly elevate a Peak Legend to the Divine Step Realm—but only for a single day, and only when used by one who had never tasted carnal delight.

A virgin.

A Peak Legend.

A unicorn among cultivators.

Ace tilted his head, flexing his fingers.

"Turns out being single saves lives."

He rose slowly but surely as his aura surged past mortal thresholds. The sky shivered.