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This Kataang one-shot takes place in Nightmares and Daydreams. |
Chapter Seventeen: Blood[]
Her blood seeps over the floor, a crimson sea of flame. Of fire. Of passion. Of desire.
She is dying.
And he . . .
He can do nothing.
He runs towards her, but he is frozen, rooted to the ground, the hoarfrost covering his feet, his legs, his torso, his chest, his arms, his head—
She is screaming, and the screams cut the inferno for a single instant, and he can see the firelight reflected in her terrified, terrified eyes, wider than anything he'd thought possible, so large, no needy . . .
And he can do nothing.
He is crying out from his fear, crying, shrieking, pleading. It overwhelms it, an endless flood of hate, a tide of dread, a sea of . . . of . . .
A sea of death.
She falls through the floor, consumed, her corpse blackened, shriveled, deformed beyond anything he can make out.
And the Fire Lord laughs.
He can no longer breathe. It is like ice, but it is like the creeping crystal, Bumi's creeping crystal—and why does the Fire Lord have it? No, he captured Omashu—he has Bumi—he has the creeping crystal now.
The Fire Lord towers over him, made of living flame, and brings his terrible face close, the heat and stench and roar of the fire making him retch again and again, a lake of blood lapping at the end of his consciousness, threatening to drown him.
At this point, he would welcome the intervention.
The spokes of heat stab into the ice, and tiny droplets of water begin to form upon the side, but something is wrong—something is so wrong—because he—he is melting as well—and the Fire Lord is laughing, laughing, laughing at his misery and his grief and his pain.
And he can do nothing.
And there she is.
Katara.
But not Katara.
For this Katara has been stripped of her skin, leaving a mutilated, pulsating slab of blood. The not Katara smiles at him, and he tries to close his eyes, because he can't see it anymore, he can't see her corpse, he can't see the maggots crawling amongst her hair, he can't—he can't—he can't—
And he vomits blood again, on his hands and knees now, the scarlet flooding out of him, pumping, desperately fleeing him before the Fire Lord can play with him, too.
The edges of his vision are crimson.
The ice, inexplicably, is gone, and wisps of precious cold still surround him, a temporary shield against the flame.
But the Fire Lord is closing in.
The Fire Lord is coming.
The Fire Lord is coming for him.
And he can do nothing.
He pants, his chest rising and falling, moving backwards, trying to get away from the not Katara coming towards him—
And the Fire Lord laughs—
And he screams—
And all he can see—
The only thing he can see—
Is a lake—
A world—
Of blood.
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