Under the relentless assault of the red figures, Grey's aura began to rise subtly yet unmistakably. Although his forty-fifth spirit perforation did not shatter open, the pressure bearing down on him forced his body to undergo a silent transformation. Every strike, every collision, tempered his flesh and spirit alike. His meridians vibrated under the strain, and faint streams of energy coursed through him with increasing intensity.
His speed, too, rose naturally. Each movement became sharper, cleaner, as if the air itself was beginning to yield to his will.
Within the depths of his consciousness, the blurry inheritance of the Wind Monarch slowly began to take form. What was once indistinct and fragmented now stirred with growing clarity. Symbols flickered faintly in his mind, and a distant, majestic aura began to seep into his being. The inheritance was no longer dormant; it was awakening.
