A/N: Well, I'm back...and I've challenged myself to probably the bravest and stupidest thing I've ever done.

The 100 Challenge.

For those of you who don't know, it's a list of 100 prompts that you write a small one-shot for based on a certain fandom (ATLA in my case, but you can do whatever you want). So that means I get to write 100 stories for you all to read. Sounds like fun, huh? :)

We'll see how this goes. And, since I tend to read/write whatever, you may find some really crazy stuff in these 100 stories. Don't worry, I'll post a warning beforehand, so please make sure to read my author's notes. I don't just write them for fun, you know ;)

Here's the first installment. 99 more to go...Enjoy, and don't forget to review!

This chapter is rated T for disturbing war scenes.

"I'm gonna get you, Dad!"

"Argh!" A young man dropped his wooden sword and fell to the ground, clutching his chest dramatically. The boy beside him, who had just poked the man with his own pretend weapon, was laughing, his eyes lighting up with amusement. He sat on his father's chest victoriously, quite pleased with himself. Feigning death, the man's tongue lolled out of his mouth, causing drool to drip over the grass. Rather quickly, and much to his son's surprise, he snapped his eyes open and roared, grabbing the little boy around the waist.

"You'll never defeat me!" he growled playfully, spinning the boy around in the air. "I am the master!"

"Put me down!" the boy said, but he was giggling.

The man sat on the ground, laughing as well, and pulled his son into his lap. "Okay, you win this round," he said with a smile. "But I'll get you next time."

A huge smirk spread across the boy's face. "You'll have to catch me first!" With that, he sprung out of his father's grasp and began to run across the field. His game was cut short, however, by a large blast in the distance, the ground trembling underneath him and causing him to lose his balance and fall.

The next second, he was in his father's arms, the strong man sprinting across the field and back towards a small village, where cries of fear could be heard from the civilians. He placed his son by a tree on the outskirts of the village and knelt down, looking him in the eye.

"Stay here," he warned. "Stay safe."

The little boy could do nothing but watch as his father ran towards the houses, many of which were ablaze. His small body shook with terror, his eyes darting back and forth as flame upon flame engulfed the village. He had only heard of such dangers, but had been so naïve and optimistic, believing that the war would cease before it reached his small community. Now, on the brink of battle, he could only hope for a positive end to the fight.

And it was then that he heard it. Loud, high-pitched, and petrified.

The scream.

Completely disobeying his father's orders, the boy ran as fast as his eight-year-old legs could carry him, into the burning inferno that was the only home he ever knew. Staying put was no longer an option with the lives of those he loved at stake. He panted and coughed heavily, the smoke filling his tiny lungs, yet he shouted with full force.

"Mom!" he bellowed, tearing his way through the streets. The air was thick with fire and crowded with people, calling for their families, begging for life, trying to escape the raging destruction. While running, he tripped over something in the streets and nearly collapsed to the ground. Bile rose in his throat when he saw that it was the village shopkeeper, a sweet elderly lady who had always given him extra dumplings in secret. Now, her face was covered in burns and her kind blue eyes were wide open, dead.

The image haunted him, but he had no choice except to continue on. "Mom! Mom, where are you?"

The village that had once been so familiar to him was being swallowed by war and death. It seemed like an eternity before he reached a small hut towards the center, the one he had spent his entire life in. He became choked with panic as he saw the flames pouring from the windows, his mother's shrieks of pain and torture emitting from the house.

Before he knew what was happening, the boy heard a small object whizz through the air, and his house exploded in front of him.

His screams inhuman, his fists clenched in horror and sorrow, the boy collapsed to the ground, tears flowing down his cheeks. The combination of the wracking sobs, smoke, and surrounding hell were enough to make him retch on his hands and knees. His parents were dead. His world was being destroyed around him, and there was nothing he wanted more than to be submerged in it and escape the terror around him. There would be no mercy.

The boy's thoughts were interrupted by a loud thundering sound, and he managed to turn his body to see the source. There they were: five of them, five men of the Fire Nation, all riding on the backs of rhinos and terrorizing everyone in their path. The leader of the group had his hair tied back and was shouting orders to the others, the rhinos pounding the ground in adrenaline. As the man slowly turned around, his eyes happened to catch those of the little boy.

They were unlike any the boy had ever seen: cold, dark, empty. A grin spread across his face, the fires reflecting in his soulless gaze. A large flame burned in his hand, and all the boy could think of was what it had done to his parents. Overcome with fright, the boy scrambled off the ground and bolted, the man's face still fresh in his mind.

He didn't know where he was going; he only knew that he had to escape the village, escape his previous life, escape the firestorm that was rapidly becoming his new world. His feet pounded the earth as he ran with impossible speed, away from the screams and smoke. He could not look back. He could never look back.

The boy stumbled out of the village and headed for the woods, his ears ringing with his mother's shrieks. It would be a sound that he would remember for the rest of his life. The Fire Nation had made a permanent scar on his mind, body, and soul, and he would never, never forgive them for it.

At long last, he collapsed on the ground, so deep in the woods that the Fire Nation could not find him. The sun had set completely, and he flopped on his back, having used all of his tears. His chest rose and fell heavily as he tried to catch his breath, too exhausted to carry on. Beyond the tops of the trees was the blackened sky, lit up with winking stars. The boy normally found the silence of night to be calming, but tonight, he could not feel its peace. He only felt anger, hatred, sadness, as if every positive emotion had been sucked out of him.

Suddenly, he sat up, squinting at the sky. It may have been his imagination, it may have been a flicker of hope he used to have, or it may even have been real, but the boy could have sworn he saw a shooting star, a jet of light across the darkness.

Jet.

His family gone, his home gone, the boy had no choice but to settle against a tree trunk, his eyes heavy with fatigue. The air was warm and the crickets were chirping softly, and he felt drowsiness overcome him almost instantly.

Before he fell asleep, however, he came to a conclusion. No matter what the cost, no matter how much effort it took, he would make sure the Fire Nation would rue the day they destroyed his life.

He would hate them.

He would end them.

He would fight for his freedom.

April 26, 2012