Within the island's heart, bathed in the raw, untamed energy of its volcanic core, Michael began to truly command the power that flowed through him. The chaotic surges of energy became focused conduits of his will, responding to his thoughts, his emotions. His energy blasts sharpened into precise beams of emerald light, capable of slicing through thick jungle vines with effortless ease. His illusions became intricate and believable, capable of fooling even the island's surprisingly perceptive wildlife. His control over shadows deepened, allowing him to move unseen, to manipulate the darkness itself as a tangible shield or a disorienting weapon.
He trained with a fierce intensity, pushing his body and his burgeoning powers to their absolute limits, the memories of his captivity and loss fueling his relentless drive. The islanders, witnessing his transformation, regarded him with a mixture of awe and a healthy dose of apprehension. Kanoa, observing one particularly impressive display of energy manipulation, had raised a sardonic eyebrow. "You have a… certain flair for the dramatic, child." Keahi, however, had cautioned, "Remember the balance, Michael. Power without control is a storm without direction." Michael, practicing conjuring shimmering emerald constructs, had replied with a wry grin, "Don't worry. I plan on directing this particular storm right at the Overseer's doorstep. Preferably during his tea time." The captive boy was gone, replaced by a formidable force, a weapon forged in the darkness of Lian Yu, honed by pain and loss, and now poised for his final, decisive move.