The sun blazed high in the sky, its golden light piercing through the scattered clouds.


    The wind carried the rustling whispers of the leaves, but beneath the peaceful scenery, war loomed like an unspoken promise.


    Above, Talon and his bird beastmen soared through the sky, their keen eyes scanning the land below.


    The sunlight gleamed off their sharp talons, their wings slicing through the air with deadly precision.


    Each beat of their wings stirred the dust and leaves beneath them, a silent warning to all below: the hunt had begun.


    On the ground, the massive gorilla-like warriors led by Kevin swung through the towering trees with a terrifying grace.


    Their powerful arms propelled them forward like relentless hunters, their deep growls blending with the creaking branches.


    The earth trembled beneath their weight as they landed, muscles rippling with raw, untamed power.


    And in the shadows, Morales and his pack of canine beastmen slithered through the underbrush, their movements eerily quiet.


    Their ears twitched, noses flaring as they caught the faintest traces of their quarry’s scent.


    Their claws scraped against the dirt, their breath a whisper of hunger and bloodlust.


    They could smell it—the fear, the tension.


    It only made the hunt more exhilarating.


    Their mission was clear: capture the Hero.


    If anyone stood in the way, kill them.


    Meanwhile, Asael and his hidden team moved soundlessly through the dense forest, their presence masked by Hemel’s invisibility spell.


    Every step was careful, every breath controlled.


    They had one task—to reach Korran.


    To strike before the enemy knew they were even there.


    But not all moved in silence.


    Steven, Lily, Magnum, and the Dwarf King strode forward in plain sight, their steps deliberate and loud.


    They were the bait, the distraction—a trap disguised as prey.


    Talon’s sharp gaze caught the movement instantly.


    His wings tightened, his piercing eyes narrowing as he locked onto them.


    "There! Below!" His voice was sharp, commanding.


    With a powerful downward thrust, he led his troops into a dive, the wind screaming past them.


    The moment they moved in—


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    A crack split the air.


    A blinding bolt of lightning tore through the sky, slamming into the descending beastmen.


    Screams filled the air as feathers burned, wings contorted, and bodies tumbled from the sky.


    Some managed to recover mid-air, but others spiraled helplessly, crashing into the trees with bone-snapping force.


    Talon pulled back, his wings flaring as he steadied himself, his keen eyes locking onto the culprit.


    "The Thunder Duke''s son," he muttered, his beak tightening in irritation.


    With a single motion, he rallied his remaining forces.


    The sky was theirs, and they would take it back.


    Below, Steven clenched his teeth as he and the others ran.


    Arrows rained down around them, slicing through the air with deadly speed.


    Every few steps, he thrust his hand skyward—


    Boom.


    Another flash of lightning.


    Another beastman wrenched from the heavens.


    But their enemies were relentless.


    From the shadows, Morales’ pack was closing in, their low growls weaving together like a song of death.


    And from the trees, Kevin’s gorilla warriors swung ever closer, their hulking forms crashing through the branches with terrifying ease.


    Then, the forest ended.


    Before them stretched an open plain, bathed in sunlight.


    The grass swayed gently under the breeze, oblivious to the blood that was about to stain it.


    There were no trees to hide beneath.


    No cover to take advantage of.


    Here, in this vast emptiness, the skies belonged to the enemy.


    Steven came to a sudden stop.


    His breath was steady, his gaze unwavering.


    "Running any further is pointless," he said.


    His voice carried the weight of certainty. "This is where we make our stand."


    The others fell into place beside him.


    Steven, lightning crackling at his fingertips, the air around him humming with power.


    Lily, arrow nocked, her hands steady as her sharp eyes locked onto the incoming enemy.


    Magnum, spirit magic coiling around his hands like a living entity, ready to lash out.


    And the Dwarf King, standing firm, his axe resting heavily in his grip, the reflection of the sun glinting off its deadly edge.


    Above them, the sky darkened with circling figures.


    Talon and his remaining beastmen hovered like vultures, waiting to strike.


    The ground trembled beneath the relentless march of the beastmen surging from the depths of the forest.


    Dust swirled into the air, carried by the force of their charge, as their roars and snarls filled the battlefield with a primal, unrelenting hunger.


    Monkeys, gorillas, and canines—each a deadly predator in their own right—stormed forward, their bodies sleek with tension, their muscles rippling with anticipation.


    Morales and Kevin led the hunt, their eyes gleaming with bloodlust, their warriors moving as one unstoppable force.


    Every step they took sent vibrations through the earth, an unspoken promise that nothing would stand in their way.


    Steven watched them approach, his grip tightening around his sword.


    The weight of the moment pressed against his chest, but he remained steady.


    His breathing was slow, measured.


    "Magnum, can you summon pillars to slow them down?" he asked, his voice firm but calm.


    Magnum hesitated, his eyes darting toward the horde. "I can, but what good will that do?"


    "Just do it," Steven said, his gaze locked on the advancing army.


    Magnum swallowed hard before nodding.


    Taking a deep breath, he spread his arms, his fingers curling as if reaching for something unseen.


    The air shifted.


    A low hum vibrated through the battlefield, subtle at first, but quickly growing into a howl.


    "Heed my call, O benevolent spirit of the forest!"


    The ground cracked.


    A deep rumble echoed through the earth, like the growl of a waking beast.


    Then, with a sudden, violent burst, thick wooden pillars erupted from the soil, their roots twisting and clawing their way upward as they soared toward the sky.


    The trees formed an intricate maze, jagged and towering, a wall of nature itself meant to halt the oncoming storm.


    But it wasn''t enough.


    The monkeys leaped effortlessly from branch to branch, their agile forms flickering between the twisting limbs.


    The gorillas charged forward, their colossal fists smashing through wood and bark as if it were nothing more than brittle glass.


    The canines slithered through the narrow gaps, their sleek bodies weaving through the barriers with chilling precision.


    They were still coming.


    Steven exhaled, slow and steady, his fingers trembling as he loosened his stance.


    The memories of his father’s words stirred within him, etched into his mind like lightning scars across the sky.


    The Driesell family’s Thunderstorm Techniques.


    A fighting style that transcended mere swordsmanship.


    It was the mastery of thunder itself.


    There were four known stages.


    The first: Thunder Charge—where electricity infused a weapon, each strike laced with a crackling shock.


    The second: Thunder Wave—arcs of lightning unleashed in controlled bursts, striking enemies from a distance.


    The third: Thunder Split—a concentrated, high-voltage slash, sharp enough to cleave through steel.


    The fourth: Thunder Strike—summoning lightning from the heavens, a storm’s wrath made flesh.


    And then, the forbidden fifth.


    Thunderous Rampage.


    Not just infusing lightning into steel, but becoming the storm itself.


    It was a technique few dared to attempt, for it demanded more than just mastery—it demanded sacrifice.


    Every vein would burn, every muscle would tear beneath the overwhelming power.


    The body was never meant to wield the storm in its entirety.


    The price was agony.


    The risk was death.


    Steven knew this.


    And yet, as he watched the enemy advance, as he saw the gleam of fangs and the flicker of claws in the failing light, he made his choice.


    He would become the storm.


    Electricity crackled along his skin, racing through his veins like wildfire.


    Sparks danced across his armor, flickering along the edges of his blade as it trembled beneath the power surging through it.


    Pain lanced through his body, hot and unforgiving, his muscles seizing under the sheer voltage coursing through him.


    The scent of scorched flesh filled the air, but he gritted his teeth, refusing to falter.


    Thunder roared in his chest.


    Lightning bled from his fingertips.


    The storm had awakened.