Lightning stitched the sky.
Wind howled through the storm like a beast in pain, tearing clouds apart with every pulse of thunder. The world had become a blur of motion—gray, white, and gold flashing between chaos.
Hunnt flew through it all.
Each step on the air cracked like thunder, his feet finding rhythm where none should exist. Geppo and Soru merged into one fluid motion, letting him move through the storm as if it were solid ground. His cloak tore, his body burned, but his focus sharpened to a blade's edge.
The Apex came from above—a streak of silver through the clouds, its wings carving pressure waves strong enough to break stone.
Hunnt saw it before it moved.
His Observation Haki pulsed outward, reaching farther than before, tracing every fold of air, every twitch of motion. The storm itself carried whispers of its intent—like threads woven through the chaos. He didn't just see movement anymore. He felt the creature's will.
The beast dived, claws glowing white with compressed air.
Hunnt vanished in an instant—Soru—reappearing above its path. The rush of wind that followed nearly tore his breath away. He spun midair, exhaling sharply, and drove his heel down onto the monster's wing joint.
The impact echoed like a hammer on metal. Armament Haki flared across his leg, black lightning crawling for an instant. The Apex shrieked, body spiraling.
Hunnt didn't let up. His next step was already in motion—Geppo bursting beneath his foot—sending him after it. The air twisted around him as he descended, eyes glowing faint with focus.
He struck again, fists driving in precise rhythm.
Anchor. Redirect. Pulse.
Each hit landed where the wind bent, each strike following the currents instead of fighting them. The storm stopped resisting him. It moved with him.
The Apex spun violently, wings beating to regain balance, but Hunnt's Observation Haki caught the faint flicker of fear in its aura—a sharp pulse of uncertainty beneath the rage.
He froze for a moment midair, realization breaking through the chaos.
He wasn't just reading its movements anymore. He was reading its emotion.
The storm's rhythm pulsed through his chest—fear, anger, pain—all tangled together. The creature's will screamed at him not as an enemy but as something that simply refused to fall.
Hunnt inhaled deeply. The air burned his lungs, but his heart steadied.
"Then I'll meet you there," he said quietly.
He shot forward again, a blur of motion and pressure. The Apex roared, lashing out with claws wreathed in gale force. Hunnt bent low, Kami-e softening his body as the attack grazed past. He countered with Pulse Drive, short and precise.
The impact tore scales free, scattering silver fragments into the wind.
They clashed again and again, spiraling higher and higher, until the air thinned and the light from below looked like molten rivers. Every movement was instinct now—no hesitation, no waste.
The Apex's roars mixed with thunder; Hunnt's breath with the wind. The world had no ground, no direction, no separation between them.
He felt the shift inside his mind—the calm clarity of understanding that came after exhaustion. His Observation Haki deepened, threads of awareness connecting everything: his heartbeat, the creature's pulse, the rhythm of the storm itself.
He could see it all.
The flow of air.
The curve of the next strike.
The spark of fear before it came.
This was Stage II – The Silent Thread.
The world slowed to its purest form—soundless, still.
Hunnt moved.
His body blurred between steps, Soru propelling him through lightning and wind. Every Geppo was an anchor point in the storm, every strike perfectly timed between heartbeats.
He vanished from the creature's sight and reappeared at its flank, fists glowing faintly with Armament. His punch didn't look like much—short, compact—but the sound it made broke the storm apart.
The shockwave bent the air.
Lightning scattered.
Wind collapsed inward.
The Apex screamed, its wings folding as the force sent it spinning downward. It crashed through the lower cloud layer, breaking the storm's rhythm entirely.
Hunnt landed on invisible air, breathing hard, body trembling from the recoil. His arms felt heavy, but his gaze stayed fixed on the falling shadow below.
He wasn't chasing victory anymore. He was listening.
The storm had quieted. It no longer raged against him—it circled him, following his movement. Each gust responded to his breath, each swirl of air aligned with his heartbeat.
He closed his eyes. The wind wrapped around him like silk.
"I see now," he whispered. "The wind doesn't fight. It waits."
Far below, the Apex rose again, battered but unbroken. Its body glowed faintly from friction and flame, wings trembling but still defiant. It roared—less rage now, more desperation.
Hunnt tightened his gauntlets, every motion slow, deliberate.
This wasn't a monster to destroy. It was a storm to understand.
He dropped through the air, arms loose at his sides, feeling the pull of gravity and wind. The Apex charged upward to meet him, both of them converging through the last pillars of cloud.
Their auras collided—Haki and instinct, wind and will.
Hunnt drew one final breath. "Anchor. Redirect. Pulse."
The world vanished in white.
A single sound followed—a deep, resonant crack that rippled through the clouds like a heartbeat.
Then silence.
---
The storm slowly opened above the cliffs, sunlight cutting through layers of gray. Steam rose from the broken air currents, shimmering like heat.
Hunnt floated in the still air, one foot on invisible sky, eyes half-open. His breathing was steady again. The Apex hung far in the distance, its massive form retreating into the fading wind.
He didn't chase it.
He lowered his fists and whispered, "The wind yields… only to rhythm."
The storm gave no answer, only a soft breeze brushing against his face.
Hunnt smiled faintly, exhaustion finally catching up with him. "Fist of the Wind," he said under his breath, the name feeling half like a joke, half like truth.
He turned toward the horizon where the light met the clouds. The wind followed him now, quiet and obedient.
The storm had ended. But his path was only beginning.