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Heart of a Storm

They say storms are nothing more than angry, raging beasts, created to bathe the land in the blood and tears of its victims. Creatures of pure, unthinking evil that only exist to raze the ground into makeshift graves which then are buried with a lifetime of memories. There is no sympathy from them, no sorrow within their gleaming eyes, only an extreme hunger that can never be satiated. In a way it is a sad fate, destined to be born hungry and to die starving, never knowing what it meant to be full. That does not, however, excuse their actions against others in their gluttonous tantrums, and it was only natural that they were punished for them.

The Storm Hunters were a proud group, riding upon their dusty steeds into any battle that called for them. The thundering of their hooves and the dirt that followed them was legendary, both as a sign of their imminent arrival as well as a means to weaken the prey they hunted. Wind was not infallible, and the inflow that was the storm’s lifeline was choked by the heavy grains. It slowed it down and halted its building strength, allowing them ample opportunity to head it off and prepare. It then became a vicious battle as they fought and tired the behemoths swirling before them, aiming for the core in order to finish it. It was commonly called “core punching” even though there was a distinct lack of actual fists being used; it meant that they were breaking through the defenses – ergo punching – to get at the core within.

Despite the knowledge of how these monstrosities formed and, inevitably, how to kill them, very little was actually known of their anatomy. While I previously called them “unthinking”, that was only a common theory about them. The few that managed to survive for an extended period of time seemed to be able to learn basic hazards – such as a river or mountain – and even to attack the Storm Hunters. Some, after seeing a sibling felled, even retreated away from them in an act of self defense. This desire to preserve themselves seemed to hint at some basic form of sentience, but because asking one was clearly off limits, I elected to find a different method.

Like many cliché stories, it was dark and stormy, but it was in fact day, not night. I could see building wisps of grey gathering on the horizon, ever looming, ever ominous. Flashes of light danced within the shroud to a booming rhythm, the heat of the land fueling the energy needed for the frenzied tempo. I had dealt with these storms before and lost – badly – so my home was currently within a cave, perched within a mountain. The town a few miles away was considerably more exposed, and I knew they would be in for a nightmare.

Storms rolled in quickly, and this one was no exception. I had barely been able to go over my own plans again before the rattle of rain on stone brought my attention back outside. As I gazed toward the darkness, I could hear the wail of a horn being sounded, telling the inhabitants below to seek safety. It was then I could see why; the clouds roiled and frothed as they turned inward, circling more quickly as minutes went by. It distended downward like some terrible tumor, the ground stirring up dirt in a feeble defense against the intrusion. It was not enough to stop it and instead gave the funnel a visible shape, shortly before a pair of glowing amber eyes opened to gaze upon the world. It opened its mouth to reveal several rows of teeth, each beginning to rotate in opposite directions like a terrible saw blade, while bolts of lightning stabilized into crooked replicas of hands.

The tornado stayed where it was for a few seconds, perhaps a bit mystified after being born, before the infant began to charge forth. It was relatively small but quickly growing, churning up the earth as it played before finding itself next to the town. It halted, temporarily, before putting on a burst of speed and smashing into the local tailor shop. Needles flew through the air and broke windows while yarn snaked its way around trees, and still it continued. It crashed into a few smaller businesses that I did not know before it found itself in the residential district, ripping livelihoods apart as easily as it tore the roofs off of each building.

It was not alone as other siblings were being birthed nearby, but none dared to come close to each other. Tornadoes were cannibalistic, willing to work side by side until one of them overstepped bounds. It then became a ravenous feeding frenzy, sometimes resulting in the death of all cyclones involved. That was considered a lucky break, as the survivor was often left stronger than before the confrontation, and thus more of a handful to deal with for the Storm Hunters. It was a dangerous job, and taking any advantage they could get was pivotal.

Speaking of the Storm Hunters, I could not see any hint of their sandstorm. The storm was widespread, it seemed, and they must have been thinned out to deal with the issue. This was a problem, however, as this particular tornado was already leveling the town. Bad news for them, but the fact the hunters were not here was good news for me. I had long since decided to try and understand these beasts, and discover if their savage nature could be nurtured into a gentler one. Even if that failed, I could still learn more about them and, at the very least, provide a safer and faster means of dispatching them.

It was a win-win situation, except for the town that was currently being destroyed. I would figure that one out later, but for now, I needed to get its attention. That was simple and I had planned ahead, as I usually did. I placed some fireworks outside my cave and lit the fuse, and for a few brief seconds, the lightning was overshadowed by a rainbow of explosions. This caught the tornado’s eye, and it turned to head toward the source. Step one completed, but now the riskier part was about to start.

The wind picked up around my cave and I shuddered at the force, a chill running up my spine. Rain pounded my face along with small, pebble sized hailstones that painted the floor white. It was roaring at me as it grew close, enraged that such a colorful display led to such a pitiful prize. Perhaps it was even angrier over the fact it could not touch my home, nestled safely and deeply within its stone fortress. Whatever the case may be, it now desired to finish me off, and that was not something I was going to allow.

Opening my hands up, I began to recite an incantation. It stopped, mesmerized and curious, by the strange lilting words coming from my lips. I lit a pot, the contents being herbs and other items deemed to have magical properties, and the light began to catch the enchantment. It coiled and gained substance, trickling towards the cyclone that hovered so terribly over me, unaffected by the raging wind.

Everything happened all at once. The curse took effect, and the cyclone suddenly began to twist and shudder in apparent agony. It reached for me with its arms, but they were already beginning to disintegrate, unable to withstand the effect imposed upon them. I felt sorry for it as it writhed in pain, but at the same time it had just destroyed lives mere moments before. On the horizon, I could see dust gathering, and I knew my timing had been impeccable. Any later and it would have been slain by the Storm Hunters.

When I looked back, I was shocked. The tornado had completely disappeared, and what lay before me was a pulsing heart, which shared the texture and color of a brain. It seemed their core was both their mind and life, and his was wrapped in two strands of golden light, the words of the curse eloquently written on them. I snatched it up and brought it inside.

Days later it gathered enough condensation to form a small white cloud, and from it the amber eyes emerged once more. This time they were consumed by curiosity…and fear. I could not believe it. It was afraid of me, after having wrecked so much damage? I had to wonder if it could even remember the events of its birth, but trying to ask it was pointless. It could not understand me currently, so I elected to teach it.

Its hunger returned, but this time it was for knowledge. I could not believe how quickly it learned! After only a few months it was speaking fluently, calling me by my name, and inquiring about where it had come from. I even gave it a name, Cyclo, for as uncreative as it was it held a considerable amount of power. Having a name gave one meaning. Without it, everything that person did was pointless, as they could never truly claim their achievements as their own.

Cyclo eventually learned to assume a smaller form of what it once was and I was very glad it did not keep the rotating mouth from hell. In fact, it took great pride in how big its toothy grin was, and I frequently found it at the mirror, using its two electric arms to make humorous faces. As I watched, I could not help but wonder about this intriguing result. Cyclo was, admittedly, cocky and a bit destructive – my vase collection could attest to that – but it seemed to have a genuinely kind heart. This was such a far cry from what it once was, it was a complete slap in the face. It went against everything we knew.

Yet Cyclo was the only case of this ever happening, which was why I had done the experiment. It had learned to be kind, to enjoy life and pursue things other than destroying. It still ate quite a bit, but it was a relief that even something like wood could satiate it, and perhaps because it was not attached to a parent storm, it was capable of getting full. If every tornado was like this, perhaps it was not that they were evil, but the storm that birthed them forced them to be.

There was only one way to test my theory out, and three years after I had cursed it, I summoned the Storm Hunters. They had known about what I had done, and while cautious, they were elated to see and talk to a cyclone that would not kill them. I informed them the reason I had brought them there was so I could undo the curse, and see if what I had taught it had stuck. The pot burned once more, and this time the incantation formed a thick putrid smoke. Cyclo began to choke and expand, pain written upon its face, and I honestly felt bad about what I had just done.

We all waited as its storm cloud grew enough to support its newfound girth, multiple arms reaching down toward the ground. It did not move for several minutes, but when it turned, we were faced with that awful mouth once more. The noise was terrible, and all but I backed up, unsure of what its reaction would be. I sent forth my words, trying to get sly little Cyclo to talk, but I received an impassive response.

Then, to my horror, it began to move towards the Storm Hunters. Dust flew up as it began to lash out and electrocute as many as it could, throwing others into its mouth to consume them. They began to launch a counterattack, trying to choke it. It cleverly moved, zigzagging to break up their lines and plow through the smallest amount of dust possible. Cyclo had learned, and it knew how to deal with them. It broke their steed’s legs, crippling them from fighting, and moved onward.

Eventually, however, even the mighty fell. Cyclo grew cocky in its repeated victories, and foolishly let itself get trapped between two mountains. From there the Storm Hunters were able to launch pinpoint attacks at the tornado, aiming for its core. They hit it several times, yet Cyclo refused to die, trudging forward. It withered, fluctuating wildly as it struggled to survive, growing smaller with each passing second.

In its final hours it ignored any towns it came across and even denied attacking the Storm Hunters that pursued. Instead, it came back to its birthplace. As I stood there, staring at this pitiful creature before me, I could not help but wonder if it was aware it was on the doorstep of death. It could barely make it to the base of where my home was located, and even then it was but a wisp of itself. The entire scene was just pathetic, and I could feel a lump forming in my throat as I stared at Cyclo. I wondered if it remembered who I was or was merely staring at the victim it failed to claim all those years ago. There was a silence between us save the whispering of its labored breathing, and neither of us moved, locked in our visual embrace.

Then, suddenly, it lifted what remained of its arms to its stalled mouth, and tugged it into a grin.