Tigress watched from a distance, her sharp eyes studying him. He's adapting too fast… A beginner shouldn't be able to keep up this well. Something about him didn't add up, and she intended to find out what it was.
She crossed her arms, her mind running through the day's events. His form was rough, but his instincts were sharp—too sharp. It wasn't just skill that allowed him to react, it was something deeper, something ingrained. The way he moved, the way he adjusted mid-fight... it reminded her of warriors far more experienced than he claimed to be.
Meanwhile, Master Bull stood near the entrance of the training hall, still staring at the shattered remains of the dummy. He let out a slow breath. "What are you hiding, outsider?" he whispered to himself before turning away. He knew strength when he saw it, and Maximilian's was something different, something raw. It wasn't just physical ability—there was something else there, something just beneath the surface waiting to awaken.
As night fell over the Jade Palace, Maximilian lay awake in his room, staring at the ceiling. His body ached, but his mind was restless. He flexed his fingers, trying to summon his Astral Sand again. Nothing happened.
Then he shifted his focus to the energy he felt when punching the dummy, the strange surge of power that had briefly surfaced. He closed his eyes, trying to call it back, trying to grasp whatever had flickered inside him. But again—nothing.
But he wasn't discouraged.
Because deep inside, he knew it was only a matter of time.
Then it happened.
A sudden jolt shot through his body, an uncontrollable surge of energy erupting from deep within. His muscles tensed, his bones creaked under invisible pressure, and a searing pain exploded through his limbs. His breath caught in his throat as his body underwent a transformation, evolving right before his eyes.
He gritted his teeth as the pain intensified, his very biology shifting. His bones became denser, his muscles compacted, refined into something stronger. His golden eyes shifted—one flickering into a crimson red, his irises glowing white. His wings trembled, the sinew and muscle within them strengthening, thickening. Then, from beneath them, another pair of smaller, leathery wings tore their way into existence. His breath hitched, his body spasming as he roared in agony, the raw power coursing through him, unlike anything he had ever experienced.
The very air in the room felt heavier, charged with an energy foreign yet familiar. The walls seemed to vibrate, responding to his transformation. He collapsed to the floor, panting heavily, his entire body drenched in sweat. The room felt smaller, his body heavier, his senses sharper. He could feel everything—the air brushing against his skin, the vibrations in the stone beneath him, the distant breathing of the other warriors resting in their rooms. He clenched his fists. What… is happening to me?
Sleep did not come easily, but exhaustion eventually claimed him.
The next day, Maximilian stirred, his body still throbbing from the night before. His entire being felt... different. He shifted to sit up, intending to push himself off the floor, but the moment he applied the slightest pressure to his legs—
He shot upward.
Too fast.
His body moved uncontrollably, almost as if gravity itself had weakened around him. His head nearly slammed into the ceiling, and his wings instinctively flared open to halt his ascent. He barely managed to control himself before hovering awkwardly in the air, his breath coming in short gasps. His limbs trembled, unused to the sudden changes in power coursing through him.
He forced himself to descend, landing on the floor with a thud. His entire frame felt heavier—yet, paradoxically, he felt lighter, as if he had more control over the space around him. He looked down at his hands, noticing subtle differences. His fingers were slightly longer, his nails sharper. When he moved, the world seemed slower, like he was perceiving everything at an accelerated rate.
Then, he noticed his reflection in the polished bronze mirror across the room.
He had grown taller—noticeably so. His physique had become leaner but more defined, his muscles compact yet strong. His skin looked tougher, almost imperceptibly reinforced. His golden eyes flickered as he examined himself, but then he caught another change—his irises had taken on a faint glow, shifting between gold and crimson. He opened his mouth slightly, inhaling sharply when he saw them—his teeth had elongated into razor-sharp fangs, eerily reminiscent of a predator's, glinting under the dim light.
His ears twitched. He could hear things—far more than before. The distant shuffle of footsteps outside his door, the faint heartbeat of a sleeping Po in the next room, the rustle of leaves from a tree swaying outside the palace walls. His sense of touch had also heightened; he could feel the subtle vibrations in the air, the tiny shifts in temperature against his skin.
His wings shifted instinctively, and for the first time, he felt the presence of the second pair—the smaller, leathery wings beneath his primary ones. He flexed them, feeling how they moved independently, granting him more control, and more maneuverability.
He clenched his fists.
I need to adjust…
The transformation had altered more than just his physical appearance. His strength, his speed, even the way his body reacted to movement—it had all changed. He needed to learn how to control it. And he needed to do it fast.
He started with the simplest thing—movement. He bent his knees slightly and pushed off the ground with minimal effort. Instead of a small hop, he launched himself several feet into the air, his wings instinctively flaring out to stabilize him. He flailed, trying to control the unexpected lift, before managing a rough landing.
"Okay… smaller movements," he muttered to himself. He crouched lower this time, focusing on controlling his strength. When he pushed off again, he managed a much shorter, more controlled jump, landing smoothly.
Next, he tested his reflexes. He reached for a small wooden stool near the corner of the room and flicked it into the air. As it tumbled downward, he reacted—his hand darting out faster than he could think. His fingers wrapped around the stool before it had fallen even halfway to the ground. His eyes widened.
Speed. Precision. These were more than just enhancements—they were instincts.
He continued testing his limits. He stretched his wings, flexing each individual muscle. The smaller, secondary wings moved independently, adjusting his balance as he experimented with slow, deliberate glides across the room. His ears twitched at every tiny noise, the sounds once distant now crisp and clear. He could hear the rhythmic heartbeat of someone walking in the hall outside, and the gentle rustle of leaves in the trees beyond the palace walls.
Then, he tested his strength. He placed his palm flat against the stone wall, gradually increasing pressure. At first, nothing happened, but when he pressed harder, cracks formed beneath his fingers. He immediately pulled back, staring at the damage.
He exhaled.
I need control, not just power.
He closed his eyes, breathing in and out, focusing on mastering the sensation of his enhanced body. He had to train, not just his strength, but his precision. Because if he didn't—if he let this newfound power run rampant—he could easily destroy more than just a wall.
The next day, Maximilian stirred, his body still throbbing from the night before. His entire being felt... different. He shifted to sit up, intending to push himself off the floor, but the moment he applied the slightest pressure to his legs—
He shot upward.
Too fast.
His body moved uncontrollably, almost as if gravity itself had weakened around him. His head nearly slammed into the ceiling, and his wings instinctively flared open to halt his ascent. He barely managed to control himself before hovering awkwardly in the air, his breath coming in short gasps. His limbs trembled, unused to the sudden changes in power coursing through him.
He forced himself to descend, landing on the floor with a thud. His entire frame felt heavier—yet, paradoxically, he felt lighter, as if he had more control over the space around him. He looked down at his hands, noticing subtle differences. His fingers were slightly longer, his nails sharper. When he moved, the world seemed slower, like he was perceiving everything at an accelerated rate.
His wings shifted instinctively, and for the first time, he felt the presence of the second pair—the smaller, leathery wings beneath his primary ones. He flexed them, feeling how they moved independently, granting him more control, and more maneuverability.
His training had to change.
Shifu, noticing his transformation, adapted his regimen. His combat training now focused on precision and restraint. His new strength meant he had to learn to control his strikes, or risk severely injuring his sparring partners. Tigress increased the intensity of their fights, forcing him to move faster, dodge quicker, and react with more than just brute force.
Crane led his flight training, helping him master his wings. Each lesson forced him to find balance mid-air, to maneuver through obstacles, to dive, and pivot in ways that his old body never could. The smaller wings allowed him to make sharper turns, while the larger ones provided power—but only if he learned how to coordinate them.
Master Shifu blindfolded him during combat drills, making him rely solely on his heightened senses. He had to predict movements, hear even the faintest shifts in the air, and react faster than thought itself. It was grueling, but every day, he improved.
He practiced alone at night, testing the limits of his senses, pushing himself beyond exhaustion, using his sharpened claws to carve shapes into stone, and honing his reflexes by catching falling leaves before they touched the ground. He was evolving into something more than a warrior—something primal, something deadly.
After a little while, the news came "Tai Lung has escaped his prison and he said he is coming for what is his."
The news that Tai Lung had escaped his prison shocked the valley.
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