Reincarnated as a Flower, Fine then I'll bloom my own way

Shiro slowly opened his eyes and found himself standing alone in a landscape filled with flowers, surrounded by hills. He looked around in confusion. "What the hell...?"

Then, from behind, he heard the sound of footsteps. He quickly turned and saw Lunara walking toward him, a smile on her face.

"It looks like the goddess wants to lose her servant," Shiro teased.

Lunara smiled, replying, "And it looks like someone is going to get killed by a servant."

They both assumed fighting stances, grinning at one another.

The flowers rustled softly in the breeze as silence fell between them—a silence thick with tension and mutual understanding. The sun shone brightly above, illuminating the colorful land, but neither warrior paid it any mind. In their eyes, there was only each other.

Then, they moved.

In a split second, their bodies clashed—fists against fists, legs against legs. A barrage of blows echoed across the hills like distant thunder. And yet, despite the rapid pace and brutal strength behind every strike, neither of them showed any sign of pain. Every punch was matched. Every kick parried. Their bodies were perfect weapons, forged from centuries of battle and hardened wills.

Shiro’s right fist shot forward with terrifying speed. Lunara twisted, blocking with her left forearm, and countered with a sweeping high kick. Shiro ducked, pivoted on one foot, and sent a rising knee toward her side. Lunara met it with her elbow, neutralizing the blow with grace. The two danced in a deadly rhythm, their movements fluid and lightning-fast.

Their strikes collided like meteors crashing into each other. The ground beneath them trembled with the sheer power of their exchanges. And yet—no bruises formed. No blood spilled. For now, their physical prowess was perfectly matched, their bodies refusing to yield.

"Is that all?" Shiro said mid-strike, ducking a spinning back kick.