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!
