She Who Called the Lightning

The rain fell so hard it hurt. The sky was an open wound, roaring without end.

She had her leg resting on his knee. Not her hands, not her gaze. Only that steady weight keeping him grounded. Behind them, the other warriors watched, soaked to the bone, trembling, fists clenched. Their silhouettes danced beneath the storm, half-mad with it. Then she raised her arm toward the sky in defiance.

And the lightning came down to meet her.

She took the strike and channeled it whole, as if her body were a bridge of flesh and bone. The energy ran down her leg and crashed into the warrior like a whip.

A massive, beastly heartbeat surged through his back, his arms, his fingers. Something began to scream from inside him. It was not a voice. It was the storm itself.

«Rise. Leap. Run. Fly. Smash into them. Break bones. Break shields. Break fear. Break the world if it stands before you. Don’t stop. Don’t think. Don’t hesitate. Destroy.»