The storm had passed.
The sky hung low and bruised, streaked with fading lightning. The air that once screamed with fury now only whispered, a soft hum of wind weaving through broken clouds. Far below, the cliffs lay shattered—scars carved by wind, stone, and will.
Hunnt descended slowly, each Geppo step faint and deliberate, like walking down a staircase made of air. His body trembled from exhaustion. His knuckles were split, his legs burned, and the metallic taste of blood lingered on his tongue. But his eyes—his eyes were calm.
The Apex lay in the valley below, wings half-folded, one torn and bleeding. Its chest rose and fell with labored breaths. Every exhale stirred the dust around it, a low, rumbling growl escaping through clenched jaws.
The sight wasn't victory. It was survival.
Hunnt landed on the ground a short distance away, boots sinking into the scorched soil. The world was quiet except for the wind shifting between them. He could hear his own heartbeat again.
The creature's head lifted slightly. Its eyes—bright, sharp, alive—fixed on him. There was no hate there, only exhaustion and defiance.
Hunnt straightened, rolling his shoulders. "You're not done yet, huh?" he said quietly.
The Apex spread its wings weakly, wind curling around its body. It let out a roar—less power now, more warning. The sound rolled through the canyon like distant thunder.
Hunnt didn't move. He watched the air bend around the beast, felt the faint tremor beneath his feet. His Observation Haki whispered through the quiet, reading the faint traces of will within that roar. The creature wasn't trying to kill him anymore. It was trying to protect what little pride it had left.
He took a slow step forward. "Then let's end it properly."
The Apex lunged.
Its claws tore up the ground, its wings snapping forward in one final burst of fury. The air cracked into a wall of pressure. Hunnt didn't dodge. He closed his eyes, his breath falling into rhythm with the storm's memory.
He whispered, "Anchor."
The impact hit like a hammer. Dust exploded around him. But he didn't move. His stance held firm, the ground cracking beneath his feet yet refusing to give way. The next strike came faster—he turned his shoulder, Redirect, letting the force slide by. The third came from above. Hunnt stepped into it, exhaled, and threw a single punch.
Pulse Drive.
The sound was deep and heavy, cutting through the air. The shockwave stopped the monster mid-lunge. Its roar faltered.
When the dust settled, Hunnt stood unmoving. The Apex staggered back, breathing raggedly.
Their eyes met—human and beast, predator and prey, both unwilling to fall.
The silence stretched. The world seemed to hold its breath.
Then Hunnt's aura changed.
It was subtle at first, like the air thickening, the temperature dropping. The faint shimmer of his Armament Haki dimmed as something older, deeper, began to rise from within him. His heartbeat slowed. The world around him sharpened.
He wasn't angry. He wasn't afraid.
He simply decided.
The pressure hit like a wave.
It rolled outward in an expanding ring of will, invisible yet crushing. Pebbles rose from the ground only to shatter midair. The wind stopped moving entirely.
Conqueror's Haki.
The Apex froze mid-breath. The wild fire in its eyes flickered, replaced by confusion, then awe. Its wings quivered as the weight of Hunnt's presence pressed down—not as violence, but as command.
The air trembled.
Hunnt stepped forward, one deliberate stride at a time. With each step, the ground cracked beneath his feet. His aura wasn't fury—it was gravity.
"Stay down," he said quietly. His voice didn't rise above the wind, but it didn't need to. The words carried through the Haki itself, pulsing with intent.
The Apex let out a strangled growl, its body shaking. It tried to rise, wings twitching—but the weight of will forced it still.
Hunnt stopped within arm's reach, the storm-light reflecting in his eyes. "I'm not here to kill you," he said softly. "You've already proven your strength."
The pressure around them shifted—less crushing, more encompassing.
The beast's gaze held his, searching for something it couldn't understand. Hunnt's Haki didn't strike; it enveloped, like the calm eye of a storm.
"Rest," he said.
The Apex lowered its head. Its claws sank into the earth, its wings folding tight against its body. Its breath came slow, steady, no longer in defiance but acceptance.
The air released its tension with a long, low sigh.
Hunnt exhaled, letting the Haki fade. His knees buckled slightly, the exhaustion finally catching up. The world tilted as his aura withdrew, leaving behind only silence.
He sat down slowly on the edge of a broken rock, chest rising and falling with deep, tired breaths. His hands trembled, the skin along his arms faintly burned from overexertion.
The creature watched him quietly from a few paces away. Its eyes no longer glared—they followed him with cautious understanding.
Hunnt leaned back, head tilted toward the sky. The clouds were breaking apart now, revealing streaks of sunlight. A faint breeze brushed across his face.
He smiled. "We both lived. That's enough."
The Apex rumbled low in its throat—a sound not of anger, but acknowledgment. It unfurled its damaged wings, beating them once, twice, stirring the dust. Then, with a single powerful motion, it lifted off the ground, ascending through the golden light until its form disappeared into the clouds.
Hunnt watched until it was gone.
For a long time, he sat there, listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat and the distant wind. The world felt lighter somehow. The storm inside him was quiet now, replaced by steady calm.
He looked down at his hands—the same hands that had struck with fury, now open and still. He chuckled softly. "Guess that's what they meant by control."
A gust of wind passed by, brushing against his hair as if in answer.
He stood slowly, body sore but unbroken. The cliffs stretched before him, endless and scarred, yet beautiful in their ruin. Every breath, every ache, every scar felt earned.
He whispered to the empty air, "The hunt's over."
The wind moved gently in reply.
Hunnt turned his gaze toward the horizon, where the volcanic glow of Draconis flickered faintly in the distance. A new journey awaited, but for now, he allowed himself peace.
He began walking, his steps steady, the world around him alive once more. The silence that followed wasn't emptiness—it was respect.
Behind him, the cliffs carried the echo of his will—the unyielding rhythm of the Fist that refused to break.