A Torrent Arrival: Downwind the Tiger’s Claw

The rain drummed steadily against the earth, turning the dirt path into a slick, muddy trail. In the downpour, a solitary figure walked calmly, the tip of his black Pei umbrella* tilting forward as droplets danced off its surface. Beneath the umbrella's canopy, Tiger's sharp gaze remained fixed ahead, the faint light of the distant stronghold glimmering in the foggy horizon. His every step was measured, deliberate, like the calm before a storm.

The crest of the warlord's family—an unmistakable symbol—was etched into his chest armor, gleaming faintly beneath the raindrops. As he neared the stronghold gates, soldiers stationed on the walls recognized the emblem. Their faces turned pale beneath their helmets. 

"That's... the warlord’s son!" one soldier whispered urgently.

With a hardened face marked by years of battle, the commander stepped forward, narrowing his eyes. His grip tightened around his sword hilt as he gauged the lone figure in the rain.

"Prepare the archers!" the commander barked. "Release a volley! Cut him down before he reaches the gate."

Tiger continued his unhurried approach, his hand still loosely gripping the handle of his umbrella, oblivious to the commander's calls. The gate ahead creaked as it opened slightly, and from the battlements above, the archers drew back their bowstrings.

"Fire!" the commander shouted.

The sky darkened further as arrows blotted out what little light remained, descending like a deadly hailstorm toward Tiger. But he didn’t flinch. Tiger spun the umbrella above his head carelessly. The blades hidden within its edges unfurled in a shimmering circle. As the arrows struck, he spun faster, the deadly shafts deflecting harmlessly to the side or snapping in half.

When the storm of arrows ceased, Tiger remained unmoved, his gaze lifting slightly to meet the commander’s. The tension was palpable, the rain barely masking the fear that had gripped the soldiers.

“H-h-he’s still standing!” one of them stammered, stepping back.

The commander clenched his jaw. “Retreat! Fall back inside the stronghold!” he shouted, panic edging his voice.

But it was too late.

Tiger tilted his umbrella just enough to look at the massive wooden gates ahead. He closed his eyes, the air around him beginning to stir. Slowly, the wind picked up, pulling at the soldiers’ cloaks and ruffling the banners that hung from the stronghold walls. Then, in an instant, the calm shattered.

Tiger spun the umbrella again, this time faster, summoning a swirling vortex of air. The gusts howled, growing louder and more intense until the wind formed a violent cyclone. With a flick of his wrist, the tornado exploded forward, slamming into the gates with the force of a hurricane. The wood splintered and cracked under the sheer pressure, and within seconds, the mighty gates were reduced to rubble.

Tiger stepped through the wreckage as the windstorm followed, whipping around him like a feral beast eager for battle. Inside the stronghold, the soldiers scattered, their swords drawn but their movements frantic.

The commander, now at the center of the courtyard, gritted his teeth and raised his hand. Summoning his flare, energy crackled from his palm, swirling like black smoke before forming into a jagged spear. “You think you can destroy us so easily?” he sneered, hurling the spear toward Tiger. 

However, the young man instantly caught the spear between his fingers. He snapped it in half without missing a beat and flung the pieces back, piercing the men beside the commander. “Yeah, I do," Tiger murmured under his breath.

The remaining soldiers rushed at Tiger in a panicked assault. Driving his weapon into the ground, Tiger freed his hands and unleashed a flurry of strikes—elbows cracking against skulls, kicks hammering ribs, and strikes crushing throats. They dropped like sandbags one by one, not a single blow touching him. 

Tiger motioned his hand and spiraled the tornado outward, sweeping everything in the courtyard like tumbleweeds in the wind. Soldiers were lifted into the air, their cries lost to the howling wind as they were thrown into walls, debris, and one another. The commander looked in horror.

Cracking his knuckles, Tiger picks up his weapon and strolls towards his last victim–the wind roaring at his back. The commander, now desperate, summoned a massive shield of energy, hoping to stave off the inevitable. 

But Tiger didn’t stop. 

He strode forward, his umbrella resting on his shoulder. Tiger placed his hand gently on the barrier. Then, the wind around Tiger stirred. A low, eerie whistling filled the air, spiraling around his outstretched arm. His fingers curled, and the winds twisted. The ripple spread faster and faster until the entire barrier began to twist inward, warping and contorting as though being pulled apart from its very core.

The shield shattered, throwing the commander back—there was nowhere left to hide.

With a last burst of desperation, the commander again hurled a dark spear at him. Tiger sidestepped, the spear just grazing his cheek. Warm blood traced a line down his face, its path slow in the cold air. He paused, catching the drop on his tongue before it could fall, savoring it like a rare delicacy. A shiver of satisfaction rippled through him, his lips curling into a smile of pure ecstasy.

"Mhmm… yeahhh," he whispered, his voice laced with twisted pleasure.
"Wh-what are you, man or beast?" the commander stammered.

Tiger’s smile widened as he answered, "I am the punishment of God."

He drove his weapon into the commander’s shoulder and twisted his umbrella until it formed a giant whirlwind. He screamed out, 

Cyclone Flare: Whirling Death!!!

Aftermath,

Tiger sat atop the ruins, gnawing on a strip of Cloud cow jerky, tearing into the meat with the back teeth. From his perch, he noticed his sibling and the rest of the army approaching from below.

“You could have waited for us,” a large man with braided horns called up to him. Trailing behind was a hyperactive albino kid, practically bouncing on his feet.

“Oh wow, there are bodies EVERYWHERE!” the kid exclaimed.

Tiger jumped down to meet them and immediately faced an accusatory glare.

“Seriously, we could have taken this fort together,” said the man with large sideburns, his tone heavy with disapproval.

“Or maybe I wouldn’t have had to wait because SOMEBODY wanted to rest and bathe!” Tiger shot back, his voice rising. “No matter, this fort was full of weaklings, and I handled it.”

All three men exchanged a knowing look before fixing Tiger with a suspicious stare.

“You said the line, didn’t you?” Monkey asked with a grin, tugging at his lips.

Tiger’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Before he could respond, the albino kid—Rabbit—burst out laughing. “Oh, he totally said the line. I am the punishment of God,” Rabbit teased, mimicking his brother's voice.

“Not cool,” Ox muttered, crossing his arms.

“Shut up and focus!” Tiger snapped, clenching his fists. “We need to find that thing and report back to Father.”

“It’s not gonna be easy with this mess you’ve made,” Monkey said, examining the destruction around them.

“Well, you better start digging.” Tiger tore another bite from his jerky, turning his back to the group. Then, smugly, he added over his shoulder, “And I did say the line. And it was glorious.”