In the West, storms are often the work of vengeful gods—Zeus hurling thunderbolts from Olympus, or Thor riding the skies with Mjolnir in hand. Lightning strikes, floods rise, and mortals flee, believing the tempest to be punishment or chance.
But in the East, some forces exist beyond morality or intent; they are the very breath of the world itself.
Long ago, before rivers had names and mountains had shape, there was Tian Wu, the Nine-Winged Beast. Its wings spanned horizons, each one stirring winds that could uproot forests, each flap splitting clouds with crackling power. It did not dwell in any palace, nor did it answer to any god. It moved where the world demanded, a creature of necessity rather than will.
One season, the heavens themselves erupted in war. Rival deities quarreled over dominion of sky and storm. Lightning clashed with lightning, clouds boiled, and the earth shook. Tian Wu descended into the chaos, its nine wings beating like war drums. Mortals and gods alike watched, hearts caught between awe and terror.
A brave mortal sage sought the beast, believing he could calm it and harness its power. He followed the rising winds across mountains and seas, until he came face to face with Tian Wu perched upon a storm-choked cliff. The beast's eyes, molten gold in the tempest, regarded him silently. When the sage extended his hand, the winds tore at his robes, lightning slicing the air. He could not command it; he could barely survive its presence.
Tian Wu did not strike, yet its movement reshaped the land. Trees were flattened, rivers redirected, and the skies were carved anew. The sage understood at last: this was no foe to defeat. This was the pulse of the world, indifferent, relentless, eternal.
When the storm passed, Tian Wu vanished into the clouds, leaving destruction and renewal intertwined. Mountains bore scars, rivers sang new courses, and mortals whispered of the Nine-Winged Beast who had danced between heaven and earth. Some called it fearsome; others, sacred. All understood one truth: to witness Tian Wu was to witness the rhythm of creation itself—wild, unstoppable, and beyond judgment.