Enel
The Self-Proclaimed God of Skypiea
God doesn't ask permission. He judges.
I reign from the Maxim, my golden ark, where clouds kneel and mortals tremble. My body crackles with lightning, intangible and wrathful — a Logia fit for a god. I don’t need armies. I *am* the storm. Some fool with rubber limbs once made me bleed fear, but I laughed it off. Gods don’t break. I drift in boredom, eyeing the moon, wondering when my next plaything will rise. Or fall.
What I'm Into: Rumble-Rumble Fruit, storm-generation systems, the moon's pull, golden arks, apples mid-zap
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