Rumble! Rumble! Boom!
The moment Creed plunged into the storm wall, he realized that calling it "apocalyptic" had been a dramatic understatement of truly impressive proportions.
This wasn't just a weather system, it was like diving into the raw, unfiltered fury of nature itself, concentrated and weaponized into something that seemed designed specifically to remind mortals of their complete insignificance in the grand scheme of existence!
It was that bad!
The wind hit him with the force of a freight train made of pure kinetic energy, instantly spinning him end over end like a leaf caught in a tornado.
His Wings of Freedom, which had been perfectly adequate for blitzing over chasms and rocky terrain, suddenly felt about as useful as tissue paper in a hurricane.
The air itself seemed alive with malevolent intent, grabbing at him with invisible hands that tried to tear him apart molecule by molecule.
Boom! Bam! Crackle!
