F3 Thunderer

     Breathing. Breathing came first. Heavy breaths that went all the way down to the stomach, pushing it out as far as it could go. Each breath in gathered strength into me. Not physical strength, the strength of the storm, the strength of the cloud around me. I was going to do this.
     My fist opened and closed in time with
the breathing. Each lungful became deeper, but not longer. I took in more air than I thought I could. I took in more air than any person should be able to, but I was a Storm Rider. Each exhale emptied me out, taking almost no time before the next breath filled me back up. I couldn't explain how I could breathe so much, I just did.
     Jack watched from his perch, a cloud that looked like a cresting wave. He looked bored, going so far as to yawn, a not-so-subtle reminder that I took too long to get this right.
     I made my fist, sucked in the air, feeling the pressure in my lungs build until it became painful, then I shoved that pressure into my arm as I pivoted and punched the cloud at my feet. The pressure shot out of my fist like a cannon. I expected it to lance through the cloud, but instead my fist never reached it. An inch above the cloud, the pressure erupted from my fist, expending in a spherical wave that I felt more than saw. Simultaneously, the air reverberated with the crack of thunder.
     My thunder.