Avatar: The Last Airbender
Book 4-Shadow
Summary: 5 years have past since Aang failed to defeat the Fire Lord. The world has now been taken over by Phoenix King Ozai. He only has the rebellion in his way of gaining total control. The world believes that Aang is dead, causing the Earth Kingdom to lose their hope. Though, the Avatar is alive and is ready to take his place as the Avatar and defeat The Phoenix King.
Note of Prologue: This prologue is inspired by the opening sequence of the Prince of Egypt. The song, 'Deliver Us', is used in this part. Feel free to listen to it while reading. Though some parts are different in the lyrics from the actual song to make it fit
Translation: 廣 means 'Life' in Chinese.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything
Water, Earth, Fire, Air
Long ago, the four nations lived together in harmony
Until war was erupted by the Fire Nation
100 years later, I discovered the Avatar, the savior of our world
Being a kid, he struggled learning the elements but I believed in him,
We all did
When the day came to face the Fire Lord, we went our separate ways
Though, to my greatest fear and surprise, Aang was defeated by the Fire and failed his task,
The Fire Nation had succeeded
It is 5 years later,
And the world that was once hopeful for peace
Is gone...
Mud...Sand...Water...Straw...Faster!
The man cringed at the crackle of the whip. He fell to his knees in the mud, only to find himself being hoisted back up, his back burning from a hot hand on his shoulder. He screamed, the attention of other slaves causing them to stop working.
The guard scowled, drawing a fire whip to the workers.
"Faster!" he bellowed, sending the whip to the older men. They shielded themselves, moving their sacks of sand to cover themselves from the sting. Several guards rounded at them, collecting a few and leading them to the south end of the construction site.
An older was kicked to the mud, the unraveling rope beneath him. He was pulled to his feet, a hand to his face, burning his right cheek as blood seeped through the guards fingers as he burned his face. The old man took the rope.
Mud...And lift...Sand...And Pull
The old man and others gripped tightly to the rough rope, pulling it unconditionally hard to their waists. The platform rose with wood, perhaps 10 tons. The old man twisted his foot, bending the mud around his foot to harden and keep steady.
Water...And raise up...Straw...Faster!
Even with the mud hard at his feet the strength of is own hands failed and the old man fell to his knees, the mud in his burned face. The platform collapsed and the other men jolted back. the old man had strained his muscles beyond repair. The taste of his sweat burdened him and stung his face.
"What the hell was that!"
The old man buried his face in his hands, sobbing uncontrollably as he heard the clanking of a heavy armored man approach him. The guard's eyes even stung the old man's back as he thought of the unimaginable humiliation and pain that was to come.
"Don't take him!" A young voice called our from all the instinctive chatter throughout the construction site. The old man felt himself being pulled to his feet and met with a pair of young eyes checking his condition. The old man groaned and collapsed into the boy's arms. He smiled rather miserably at the old man but frowned as the guards came at the two.
They pulled them apart, the boy being sent into the pile of wood, cracking his skull. The old man was held by the guard.
"That's it! Give him to the catgators!"
"What? No! Please, anything but that! My death isn't now!" the old man sobbed. The guard frowned.
"Says an old man who can't even do his job," the guard said. Two guards took the old man, binding his hands in fire. The man screamed, his wrists burning as the skin turned to ash.
"Take him away!"
The old man sobbed, tears burning his face as he tried to squirm, only to find himself being dragged away. His shrilling scream echoed across the work station, all workers being reminded of a somber thought. Though, a second later, the cry was silenced with a splash and a hungry slobber.
The guard smirked and arched a brow as he sensed several pairs of eyes on him. He turned abruptly at them, drawing his whip.
"Enough staring, dammit! Back to work!" he thundered. The men snapped out of thought. The guards rounded at them.
"Clear the boy," the guard said disinterestedly and turning back to the other sites etched across the plains.
With the sting of the whip on my shoulder
With the salt of my sweat on my brow
Rows of men in chains, sacks of sand on their backs stretched for miles across the busy site. The ones who collapsed were usually the older men, or boys with no strength for jobs that men do. Even injured benders from the war collapsed if their chi gave out or broken body part killed them.
A group of men looked up from under a shelter hut as a resting station. Several guards approached them, staring at the men carefully and selecting a few to their stations.
The east side, by the river were stations of men pulling grates of water by rope and into channels around the stations. The benders were sought out and killed if bending was used. Water as a refreshment for the slaves was prohibited. If men were to slip and fall, the gators were the solution.
The west side had lava seeping through the base of monument being built. The slaves used their bare hands to cool the lava and even move the lava to the other sites for brick usage. Shackled children were usually there, as well as new arrivals. The idea of strong hands and the pain of fire to be used to was the main priority.
Though, for all, they could only pray.
廣, Avatar of Light
Can you hear your people cry:
Help us now
This dark hour...
The people felt betrayed. A lost savior with no hope of return shamed the workers. The collapsed could only wonder why were they burdened? Where were the spirits? They begged for death.
Deliver us
Hear our call
Deliver us
Some who couldn't stand the pain of work could only sob. The guards were use to this and concluded to burn their necks to silence them. Children were usually mute with this. Some were even dead within the hour of the burning.
The pray turned from tradition to a myth.
Spirit of all
Remember us, here in this burning sand
Deliver us
Mothers were on the streets, sobbing on their knees as their children were being dragged out of their arms and into the construction site. They lifted their faces to find the towering monument of Phoenix King Ozai. His crafted face imposed a dark and dour look to the slaves and an idolizing figure to the guards.
If there was a Spirit or an Avatar, they would be here, destroying the monument. But after 5 years of the heavy burden of men, their wives, and their children, no one could hope for anything any more.
Only death.
There's a land you promised us
Deliver us to the promised land...