The horizon darkened.
The land they crossed had once been open plains, a rare place where grass swayed in peace and skies stretched wide and clear. But now the heavens churned. Clouds gathered unnaturally fast, spiraling into a vortex above the earth. Thunder cracked like the roar of a furious god, and the winds howled with such force they tore trees from their roots and flung stones across the fields.
Volcan spat on the ground, his fist still faintly glowing from the Titan fight. "That's no storm. That's a monster."
Stream's eyes narrowed. His shard of Poseidon's trident pulsed faintly, reacting to the unnatural surge of air and water above. "The sea stirs when storms rise… and this is no ordinary storm. Something's controlling it."
Prime said nothing. His mask tilted upward, silver-purple gleam catching flashes of lightning. He could feel it too. The storm wasn't just weather. It was alive.
Omega planted his broken blade into the ground and steadied himself against the winds. His voice rumbled through the storm. "Stand firm. Do not falter."
The sky split.
From the heart of the vortex, lightning descended in a pillar that struck the plains. The ground cracked open, wind tearing across the battlefield with merciless force. And from that chaos, a figure emerged.
He moved like the storm itself — erratic, sharp, unpredictable. Armor that seemed woven from scales of hardened shell clung to his form, jagged edges gleaming with every flash of lightning. His eyes were wild, untamed, glowing white as though the storm's fury poured through them.
He landed before them, wind shrieking in his wake, and grinned like a predator set loose.
"I am Typhoon. The storm is mine to command. And anyone standing in my way—" he lifted both arms, the winds howling louder around him, "—will be swept away."
---
Without hesitation, Typhoon struck.
Winds wrapped around his arms, forming blades sharper than steel. He slashed at the group, forcing Prime and Stream back. Volcan stood his ground, fire colliding against air in an explosive shockwave that tore apart the earth beneath them.
"Fast…" Stream muttered, barely blocking a gust-formed spear with water of his own.
Prime opened a portal before a blast of wind could strike his chest, redirecting it harmlessly into the void. His voice was calm, unreadable: "He's not corrupted."
"Doesn't matter," Volcan growled, fists blazing. "He wants a fight—he gets one."
Typhoon laughed, the sound carried by the storm itself. His movements were relentless, a blur of strikes from every direction. His speed rivaled lightning; his strength was raw, unrefined but devastating.
Omega raised his shield, bracing the team against the gales, but Typhoon's winds struck from every angle, wearing them down.
"You're strong," Prime finally spoke, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. "But strength without purpose… Hmph, such a waste."
For the briefest second, Typhoon hesitated. His grin faltered, his wild eyes flickering.
The storm cracked again, louder this time, as though answering his hesitation. The winds raged harder, nearly tearing the land apart. Typhoon clutched his head, stumbling as if the storm itself were consuming him.
"No…" he growled through clenched teeth. "I… am the storm…"
Prime stepped forward. His mask glowed faintly in the lightning. "No. You are more."
Leaving no rooms for second thoughts. "so spread your wings and show them."
---
The words hung in the chaos, strange in their simplicity.
Typhoon froze. His shell-like armor cracked faintly, as if the storm itself resisted the truth. But deep within, something stirred — a purpose he'd buried beneath the rage of endless winds.
For the first time, his grin softened into something else. Something closer to relief.
The storm began to calm. The vortex overhead slowed, thunder rolling farther away, the wind settling into a low, heavy breeze.
Typhoon exhaled, long and ragged, before finally lowering his arms.
"…Hnh. You lot fight different. Not like enemies. Not like beasts. Like…" he looked at each of them in turn — Prime's silent mask, Stream's steady stance, Volcan's burning fists, Omega's unwavering shield. "…a storm's eye. A center."
Prime nodded once. "Join us. Not as the storm. But As the man who commands it."
For a long moment, Typhoon said nothing. Then his grin returned, smaller this time, but real.
"…Fine. But don't expect me to sit still."
The winds around him eased completely, the storm breaking overhead. For the first time in ages, the plains were calm again.
And so the fifth had joined. Not with the fire of Volcan, nor the honor of Omega, nor the serenity of Stream, nor the silence of Prime.
But with the storm — wild, unpredictable, untamed — that promised to shake the world itself.
Thus it seems, the story upon thee, has begin!
---