The air in the Crucible crackled with tension, like a storm on the brink of collapse.
Klaus's breath came in shallow gasps, pain flaring from his ribs with every inhalation, but his mind was sharper than ever. His eyes locked on the colossal figure of the construct, standing imposingly before him—a force of nature woven into the shape of a man, towering over him, its body radiating violent gales.
His first slash had struck true, cutting through the construct's shoulder with the raw power of wind itself. The construct staggered back, but in a split second, it was charging again, its massive arms swinging with a terrifying, inexorable force.
Klaus crouched low, his senses alert, as the wind roared around him, pulling at his hair and clothes. The ground beneath him shook with each step the construct took. The sheer weight of the creature was like a mountain crashing into the earth. But Klaus was no longer just reacting.
He was thinking, moving with the storm, his mind attuned to every shift in the air, every subtle change in the flow of wind. He felt it—the relentless power in the atmosphere, the weight of each gust, the sharpness of every current. And he would use it.
The construct's fist swung down again, aimed with devastating precision.
Klaus reacted in an instant.
He leapt backward, twisting his body in mid-air, his boots barely scraping the surface of the platform before he shot up again, using the wind itself to propel him higher. The construct's massive fist smashed into the ground with the force of an avalanche, sending debris flying in all directions. Klaus had already landed several meters away, eyes narrowed, his movements fluid and calculated.
The wind howled, and Klaus did not hesitate. He surged forward, his body a blur as he rode the storm, arms extended, fists clenched.
He slammed his palm into the air.
The force of his wind attack collided with the construct's torso, sending shockwaves rippling through its body. The creature recoiled, stumbling back several paces, but once again, it wasn't finished. A low, guttural roar erupted from its throat, and it charged Klaus once more.
"You're still fighting it, Klaus. You must become the wind," the Echo's voice thundered in his mind. "Don't just direct the storm. Flow with it."
Klaus's eyes flashed, a fierce determination settling over him. He wasn't just going to use the wind. He would become it. He had the power—he had the bloodline, the knowledge, the legacy. It was time to embrace the storm, to be the storm.
He didn't wait for the construct to close the distance. Instead, he pushed off the ground with every ounce of his power, his body soaring upward in a wild arc, the wind rushing beneath him. As the construct swung its arm at him in a blind fury, Klaus twisted in mid-air, narrowly avoiding the swing by inches.
He felt the rush of the wind, heard the deafening whoosh as the air collided with the construct's fist. Klaus flared his hand outwards, and the winds responded—gathering in an instant, pulling from every corner of the Crucible. His arms became a whirlwind, his movements sharp and precise. The wind swirled around him in violent currents, forming a vortex of pressure and force.
The construct's attack was no longer a threat.
Klaus had already become the storm.
With a roar, Klaus slammed both hands into the construct's chest, releasing an overwhelming blast of compressed air. The wind compressed, spiraled, and then exploded outward in a devastating shockwave that sent the construct careening back. It skidded across the platform, its enormous feet grinding against the stone, leaving deep gashes in its wake.
But Klaus wasn't finished.
He could feel it—the wind was alive now, like a companion, like an extension of himself. Every breath he took fueled it, every movement he made shaped it.
The construct righted itself with an earth-shattering crash, but Klaus was already moving again. He shot forward, his body a blur, propelled by gusts of wind. He twisted in the air, diving between two columns of shifting platforms, narrowly avoiding the construct's outstretched arm. Klaus kicked off the ground and spiraled, his body spinning into an intricate roll as the wind lifted him higher.
The air shifted.
And Klaus turned it into his weapon.
He extended his arms, palms facing forward. His wind vortex gathered force, more concentrated this time—tighter, sharper. He thrust his hands toward the construct's midsection. A blast of compressed wind surged forward with a terrifying howl, the force so powerful it rattled the platforms beneath their feet. The construct was pushed back, its massive body sliding across the platform, groaning under the pressure.
But it didn't fall.
It was relentless.
With a roar of fury, the construct raised both arms, summoning a storm of its own—pressurized air surged around it, crackling with destructive intent. The wind collided with Klaus's storm, creating a thunderous clash that shook the entire Crucible. Klaus grit his teeth as he struggled to hold his ground. His body ached from the effort, his muscles straining under the onslaught of the construct's wind pressure.
"Don't stop!" The Echo's voice was urgent now, the storm rising higher in its intensity. "You are the wind! Control it!"
Klaus's grip tightened.
His body hummed with the wind, his connection to it growing stronger, more intimate with every passing moment. He pulled it tighter, focused it inwards, molding the air around him with a single, concentrated thought.
Then he pushed.
The storm obeyed.
A sudden burst of wind tore through the construct's defenses, sending it spiraling backward. Its massive form stumbled as the pressure cracked its chestplate, and Klaus wasted no time.
He launched himself at the construct, his body a comet through the sky. His fists clenched, charged with the full force of his power. The construct tried to block, but it was too slow. Klaus's fists slammed into its chest, tearing through its armor with the precision of a hurricane's eye.
The wind cracked through the air, filling the space with a deafening roar, as Klaus's blows connected with the construct's center. Each hit shook the battlefield like a violent quake, every strike amplifying the force of the wind itself.
The construct's body trembled, its movements becoming sluggish, uneven, as if the very air itself was betraying it. Klaus's wind surrounded it, whipped it, trapped it in a cage of pure, unrelenting force.
And then, with a final, deafening roar, Klaus slammed both fists into the construct's chest with the full fury of the storm.
The wind exploded.
A wave of pressure tore through the air, shattering the platforms beneath them. The construct's massive frame was flung backward, its body crumpling under the force of Klaus's blow. The very air seemed to collapse in on itself, as the construct's massive form crashed into the ground in a cacophony of breaking stone and shattering wind.
Klaus stood, chest heaving, eyes narrowed with grim satisfaction. His body hummed with power, every breath echoing through the storm. The Crucible trembled beneath him as the wind settled, its energy still crackling in the air.
But Klaus didn't lower his guard. He knew this was only the beginning. The storm hadn't stopped. Not yet.
He turned his head slightly, the Echo's voice whispering in the depths of his mind.
"Do you understand now?" it asked, its tone no longer filled with command, but with something else—something approving. "The storm is you. And you are its master."
Klaus's lip curled into a thin, determined smile. His grip tightened on his fists.
"I've only just begun," he muttered.
And the storm swirled once more.