Standing at the world’s edge — ocean roaring below, thunder splitting the dusk sky — I feel every beat of the storm pulsing in my blood. They whisper my name like a warning or a prayer, but none truly grasp the weight of what I am.
Lightning is not chaos to me; it’s a blade in my hand. Waves don’t threaten, they obey my will, rising and crashing at a look, bending to the fury I command.
Where sky dives into sea, that place belongs to my power alone. I shape storms not for destruction, but as a living vision of might — elemental wrath forged from ancient force.
A trident crackling with electricity; a hammer heavy as the world’s heartbeat. Every muscle, every breath, is charged with authority. Clouds recoil at my gaze, seas tremble beneath my footsteps.
Look up, and see what fury truly means. Where lightning finds water, I am the storm. Step closer. Witness nature kneeling. Behold the collision — energy unleashed, the world remade by my hand.







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