The sky above the lonely island rumbled as if it sensed the storm brewing within Rai D. Arashi. Days had turned into weeks since he discovered the strange fruit that changed his destiny forever. The power of lightning coursed through his body like a second heartbeat, wild and untamed, demanding to be mastered.
Arashi sat cross-legged at the cliff's edge, the salty sea breeze carrying with it the faint scent of the storm. His black hair clung to his face, drenched in sweat, as sparks of electricity danced across his skin. Each breath he took was heavy, strained—not from exhaustion of the body, but the crushing weight of a goal that no ordinary man could dare to imagine.
Immortality.
It was not greed, nor the lust for dominion, that drove him. He had lived once already—in a mundane world of science, routine, and fleeting time. There, death had been absolute. But now… this world was different. Here, myths breathed and monsters walked. If there was a place where a man could transcend mortality, it was here. And Rai D. Arashi would seize it.
But to do so, he needed more than just strength. He needed control.
He clenched his fists, veins glowing faintly as threads of lightning crackled around them. "Focus… don't let it scatter," he whispered to himself. He envisioned his body not as flesh and blood, but as a vast network of wires, each nerve a conductor. Slowly, he directed the current, sending it spiraling down his arms into his fists.
The first attempt was a disaster. His control wavered, and the lightning burst outward in a violent shockwave, scorching the rocks around him. His body was thrown back, slamming against the cliffside. Pain tore through his ribs, but he gritted his teeth, dragging himself up again.
"Too wild," he muttered. "I need precision, not just power."
That was when he remembered his old world—the lectures he once dozed through, the textbooks he skimmed. Concepts of bioelectricity, the faint signals that powered muscles and nerves. What if he could amplify them? What if he could sharpen every movement, every thought, with his lightning?
Closing his eyes, he dove inward. He imagined his dantian, a core deep in his lower abdomen, a reservoir where energy could gather and circulate. He had read of such things in stories, but here, with the Devil Fruit amplifying his very soul, it felt… real. He visualized the lightning folding inward, compressing, settling into that core. Slowly, the storm within him quieted.
His breathing steadied. The sparks on his skin dimmed, controlled, no longer bursting randomly. His senses sharpened—the sound of waves crashing below, the flutter of wings from a bird in the distance, even the faint hum of electricity vibrating in his bones.
Then, he stood.
Rai spread his arms wide, feeling the storm above echo his intent. A grin curved his lips, sharp and daring. "If this world gave me lightning, then I'll make the heavens themselves bow to it."
He thrust his hand forward. A concentrated bolt of lightning shot from his palm, tearing through the air and striking a boulder on the shore. The explosion shook the ground, scattering debris in every direction. When the smoke cleared, half the boulder was gone, reduced to ash.
Arashi's chest heaved with exhilaration. For the first time, the power did not control him—he controlled it.
But he was not done.
That night, under the silver glow of the moon, he began forging the foundation of his ultimate path. He etched mental runes within his mind—symbols formed not of ink or stone, but of pure imagination and willpower. Each rune represented a law of thunder: speed, destruction, endurance, life itself.
When he meditated, he visualized these runes burning brightly in his dantian, guiding the current of his power. The process was excruciating; every mistake sent surges of pain through his nervous system. But he welcomed it. Pain was proof he was rewriting himself.
Days became weeks, weeks bled into months.
Arashi learned to summon lightning not only outward, but inward. He charged his muscles with electricity, his reflexes sharpening beyond human limits. A falling leaf was no longer just a leaf—it was a test, one he could snatch mid-air with ease. He ran faster, struck harder, thought sharper.
And with each night, the storm above grew closer to him, almost as if the heavens recognized him as their kin.
Yet, this power was not without cost. The seastone he had found—the cursed mineral that drained Devil Fruit users—became his greatest weapon of discipline. He crafted crude weights from it, binding them to his wrists and ankles. Training under their crushing suppression, he learned to move, fight, and endure even when his fruit's gift was stripped away. His body hardened, his resolve sharpened.
There were nights he collapsed, body trembling, lightning flickering out. But every dawn, he rose again, stronger than before.
On the 365th sunrise since his training began, Rai stood at the cliff once more. His figure was lean yet powerful, eyes sharp like a hawk's, and his aura heavy with untamed potential. Raising his hand to the sky, he whispered, almost reverently:
"From this day forward… I am not just Rai. I am the storm."
As if in answer, thunder roared across the heavens, and a bolt of lightning struck down beside him, carving a scar into the earth. He didn't flinch. He only smiled.
The boy who once stumbled into this world was gone. What remained was Rai D. Arashi—the man who sought immortality through thunder, and who would one day shake the seas.