Ace lifted his hand.
Thumb and index finger joined.
The other three fingers outstretched.
A gesture ancient and arrogant.
His cloak rippled behind him like the banner of a rising god.
"I've been wanting to do this," he said, voice low, thick with power.
"Well… say this."
Amon narrowed his eyes.
There was a shift.
No—a surge.
Ace's aura didn't just flare—it expanded, rising like a tide, pressing against reality itself.
It was like watching a storm gather not in the sky, but within a man.
Amon's slitted pupils thinned.
"So this… this is what it means to be a Son of Fate?"
The air crackled with qi.
"Not bound by rules," Amon snarled, teeth bared, claws twitching like blades thirsting for flesh.
"Then so be it. I'll defy the heavens!"
With a roar, he launched forward, clawed arms spread like a demonic bird of prey.
But Ace—calm, unmoved—murmured:
"I am no longer the weak one."
He brought his joined fingers to chest level.
