Ocean waves never seemed more turbulent and tumultuous than ever before. The ocean was raging a nautical war on itself to expunge of the corruption that was sinking further into its depths. The once glorious, valiant Admiral of the Fire Nation was reduced to nothing more than a wretched man drowning in his own mistakes and arrogance. The seas he once sailed were now becoming his watery grave, the nations he tried to conquer rose against him, and the country he loved banished him. Depravity has no mercy for the depraved, let alone cowards. He grew colder and colder in the magnificent sea waves.
He was fashioned from metal and stone, the image of the Fire Nation. A soldier of war and imperialism, a pawn in a game of Pai Sho, he could easily be disposed of by the gambler. Now he sees his dreams in every thing he touches, feeling with cold hands. Glory and war became trivial as his death was rapidly approaching. Spiraling, spiraling further down, ocean waves crashed onto him. The indigo, icy seas encased him in a violent current that thrashed his body to and fro, back and forth from side to side. His maroon armor served as weight that made his efforts to resurface backfire. His hands clawed away at the armor as he sunk further down. He could not breathe because his squashed lungs were filled with water. His rib cage ached and his body began to fracture under the pressure. A man's body was so delicate and weak in the hands of the Ocean Spirit, so easy to crush under a violent force. It was put to the test against the incredible power of the supernatural. The force of the currents was unbearable, he wished for a quick death to put him out of his misery.
The life he lived rushed before his eyes in a fast blur of infinitesimal memories: the manifestation of his ideal self, the ascension to power, and now his fall from grace. He was taught that soldiers died in glory but he was dying in vain. Soldiers died at the hands of the enemy or with a band of brothers by their side. And if they were blessed, they would be able to gaze into a woman's beautiful face and perish in the warm arms of a lover. But not him, he was dying alone with no one to witness him or to offer him comfort from his excruciating pain. Where is she? Zhao's eyes blinked open to the ethereal image of a girl in white. Her presence mocked him; the girl he helped kill decided to grace him with her presence. Such a beautiful face yet so cherubically hideous. Her ocean blue eyes pierced his heart, reading his spirit's flaws: ignominy, greed, and bloodlust. His siege of the Northern Water Tribe was to be the testimonial of his superior military abilities, the epitome of achievements and pacification his hunger-stricken ambition. Now this old soldier was dying with ideals of a new age world. A new world where fire was the greatest element and Fire Nation's empire dominated all four corners of the globe. His map of the world was becoming smaller and smaller as he hung unto its strands. The Avatar had wiped away those ideals when he unleashed a massive wave upon the Admiral's fleet. The great Admiral Zhao was dying a lonely, miserable man.
Yue placed a delicate hand under his chin, lifting his gaze to hers. His eyes meet hers and locked on them for a moment, he saw his pitiful reflection. As he shut his eyes, he felt himself spiraling and whirling farther down. Her hand extended down to his hands, pulling him back up into a closed embrace. Zhao drifted into deep coma, his last breath escaped his mouth and his eyes closed. Perhaps death would finally offer him peace and protection from the cruel world that would slander his name. With the last of his energy he drew his arms and legs to his chest in a fetal position. If reincarnation existed, he would be ready for it at least if not, may the spirits have mercy on him.
