Five hundred had passed and, just as always, The Storm had come. 

And how deadly it was once more…

The storms grew vast, surging as the rain melted rivers away and the fierce winds broke down mountains. The air crackled with raw energy, heavy with the metallic scent of rain and the foreboding chill of chaos. It's long-awaited power, bottled and bred from the borne of crystals.

It finally eased through.

The winds were so strong that they strung the trees backward, as if they were hunched in a cruel worship. It was a force so relentless that it seemed to rip the breath from the earth itself, leaving the world gasping in its wake, and brought down a violent downpour of rain. All of this was meant to drown, tumble, and break. To shatter. And if it wasn't these elements that killed the creatures on this crude little planet, then it was the lightning. Most died by the hands of falling infrastructure- their own man-made pilgrims toppling over to crush them- and those who burrowed were swept by strong currents. Structures once revered as symbols of progress, no matter how strong, crumbled into dust, their towering forms reduced to meaningless rubble in the face of ultimate power. This in itself left even nature to cry out for help, but If such cries could be heard over the wail of the winds and the ocean splitting, the screams alone would have deafened any who listened. But the cries were blacked out and, in the near-distance, a man who appeared seemingly unaffected and uncaring approached.

Solus.

White-bearded, estranged, and clefted. He wore his beard in a tight knit but had otherwise no hair on his head. Some of the Past Ones shredded features, others kept. But in the end, it didn't matter. 

The Storm mattered, and this was just the beginning.

In a tree, above all this catastrophe, a blue-backed creature tried to find comfort in the perilous winds. They jerked, clung, and bit, but the creature stayed on. It chirped and climbed up higher, then settled into a branch. Eyes closed and clinging for its life, the creature looked down.

It saw nothing but darkness. Darkness, and the Storm engulfing.

It was all-consuming, a ferocious thing meant to kill. Made to kill. And every living thing that still remained knew this. A sick feeling dawned on the creature and a pure, carnage fear devoured its body.

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The creature called out desperately into the darkness but nothing answered. There were no humans above the wails, no creatures above the screams and nothing but darkness, rain, and wind. 

But, moments later, the creature saw something emerge from the black pit below. It was a man of pure white skin approaching from above a hill. His hands were apart with palms bared, and in his hands he held a burning light. 

Beside him were his servants, Yin and Yang. They were in their natural forms of four-legged monsters and the embellishment on each of their foreheads glowed fiercely in the dark. One of them dragged blood across their sharp-toothed mouth while the other seemed to smile, gazing proudly at the chaos.

The creature cried out from the tree, trying to alert the others that danger was near. But no one came to help, not even their God.

The Gods' had abandoned them, left them to this fate, as they always have…for centuries.

The creature screamed one last time before taking cover in a small hole in the tree, having only heard its echo respond back to the calling.

Meanwhile, Solus bares his arms to the sky and calls out for the Great Storm. The wind is so icy and sharp that it seems to bite at his skin, but Solus can no longer feel it. He has grown so accustomed to the conditions of ice that the feeling only brings a chilling sense of comfort. 

Rain drenches his old skin and he cannot help but laugh. Years of training had led up to this very moment. He had begun living life as just an old cobbler providing for his wife and children…but those days are long gone. This is his true destiny. It always has been.

Now, he closes his eyes and attempts to focus his energy now. In distant lands, his power causes waves to surge high against shores, their frothy peaks reaching hungrily toward the land and sinking islands to their core. His power causes hills to be uprooted from the lands and thrown into the air where lightning strikes thunderously. His power causes kings to plead to the Makers, men and women alike to sacrifice themselves in hopes of being spared, and even the world itself to beg for forgiveness. But he knows that their attempts are futile. 

Beneath the ground, something seems to rumble. It is a deep, malevolent growl, but none are aware of it. 

And Yang puts a familiar hand on his shoulder.

"It is time," he says. His eyes glow a sharp and powerful green colour.

The Stormbringer nods and slowly steps forward. He begins to chant under his breath, moving his hands in a swift and sweeping motion despite the relentless pull of the wind. Above, the heavy clouds begin to part, opening up like a sifting whirlpool. Beyond, the moon becomes clearer and appears as an orbiting mass glaring down at him.

Glaring down at him.

And, instead of white, it illuminates a green-tinged aura. It whispers to him and he listens, and as the clouds sift, it begins building downward towards him. It was as if he were trapped in the center of a tornado that was extending downward to consume him.

As if he were the center of the rain, the wind, the moon and all the chaos carnaging the earth that very moment.

 The eye of the storm.

The growling beneath the earth ceases, and the Cycle is replenished.