She walks through the streets, fire blazing around her.
The heat licks down her spine, its intensity making her shiver. Her rage had set the town ablaze—an overwhelming burst of her Semblance.
A manifestation of her chaos and wrath.
Her stride is steady and steadfast. Her footing sure despite the flames that threaten to overtake her.
It will take more than a bit of fire to daunt the Sun Dragon.
Here are the women with ancient
anger in their veins and the cruelty
of a goddess in their hearts.
"That isn't the Hunter's way," her father tells her.
She doesn't look at him, content to scowl at her reflection. "Well then maybe I shouldn't be a Hunter!" she snaps back, contempt lining her words.
She catches her father's expression crumble in the mirror. "This will pass," he tires to reason. "These…feelings. These thoughts. You're angry—and rightfully so. But hurting other people isn't going to make the anger go away. Only time can do that."
The girl has amassed something of a disdain for time—the way it's thrown around as a cure for all her ailments.
"I'm tired of waiting," she spits, turning to face him, features twisted with anger. "I want to fight."
He shakes his head, and her temper spikes again. She's tired of that, too. Those actions that scream pity and charity.
"There's nothing to fight, sweetheart," he explains. "The only fight's up here." He reaches out to touch her head, but she catches his hand before her can.
Their eyes clash as her metal fingers flex where she grips his wrist.
"There's an army of crazy, violent extremists being led by a madman in a mask outside our door." Her words burn with anger and honesty. "But you tell me there's no fight?"
He frowns at her, expression cleaved—half-worry, half-impatience.
"That isn't your fight," he tells her firmly. "Your uncle and I—"
"You?" she pulls away, eyes narrowed, expression starkly scandalized. "You think this is your fight?"
He grimaces, realizing his misstep. "Please, I didn't mean—"
"Did you lose an arm? Did you lose your teammates? Did your sister and mother and best friend leave you behind to rot?" She spits the words like poison, eyes like violet fire.
He shakes his head. "No one has left you," he insists. "We just don't want you to get hurt anymore than you already are. If you'd just wait a little bit—"
Her derisive scoff cuts him off, eyes shining with unshed tears.
"I'm tired of waiting," she whispers. "I've waited for Mom to come back. I've waited for her to come back." She looks away, shaking her head. "And what do I have to show for it?" She drops her gaze to her metal arm, anger darkening her expression.
"Nothing. Not a damn thing."
Her father's forehead creases with worry. "You can't think like that," he contends. "You have to rise above it."
But she isn't listening. She stares down at her hand, mind made up.
She doesn't have to rise above anything.
Not when she can burn it to the ground.
-0-
She sees him before he sees her.
He's standing with his back to her, studying the burning cityscape around them. She glares at the insignia on the back of his coat, hate and anger and pain blaze up like a hot wrath in her heart as she approaches.
She hears his voice then—just loud enough to be heard over the roar of the fire. His words carry a taunting cut to them, and she clenches her fists.
But there's no time left. No time left for words, or insults, or mockery. No time left to beg for forgiveness. No time left to plea for mercy. Not time left for anything but a fight.
She has bided her time.
Now it's time to collect.
You will beg before her, you
will scream; but Hera never flinched
from the words of a mortal,
so why should she?
"What'd your dad say?" he asks, looking askance at the blonde.
She shoots him a dirty look, violet eyes alight with anger.
"Why does it matter?" she snaps. "It's my choice, isn't it?"
His eyebrows rise at her temper.
"Easy, kid," he tries to soothe. "I'm in your corner. No need to get testy."
She looks away from him, irritation simmering. She can feel his blood-red gaze on her.
"If you have something to say," she all but growls, "then just say it."
He doesn't reply immediately, and she wonders if he's tasting his words.
"This temper's gonna kill you, kid," there's no easiness to his tone—no trace of a jest. She turns to frown at him and his crimson gaze cuts her to the quick. "If you don't get a hold of yourself, it's gonna ruin you."
She stares him down—her own eyes flickering between that telltale ruby—like she's trying to match him.
"You act like you've never been angry," she accuses lowly. "Like it's wrong to be angry."
Her uncle stuffs his hands in his pockets, looking askance at her.
"It's alright to be angry," he answers carefully. "But you're not talking about anger, kid. You're talking about revenge. That's a whole different beast."
She scoffs, crossing her arms and looking away, trying and failing to ignore the way the cold metal of her right arm bites into her warm skin.
"And I'm sure you've never taken revenge," she remarks doubtfully.
He mimics her own scoff, shaking his head. He sounds exhausted.
"God…you sound like Raven," he mutters. He stares out at the city before them, and she wonders what he's seeing—what's leaving him with such a haunted look in his eye.
"You act like it's you against the world," he says quietly. "But really it's just you against yourself."
She turns to leave. She's heard enough.
"Doesn't matter who it's against," she snaps back at him, striding away. "I don't pick fights I can't win."
-0-
The fight is quick. She almost forgets to savor it.
A few swings. A precise punch. Three cracks of Ember Celica.
He wilts in the devastating presence of the Sun Dragon. Time has doused his fire, dulled his passion. She feels no pity.
She disarms him with a brutal backswing, and he doesn't react when his weapon goes clattering away.
He stands there, mask askew, waiting for the final blow.
And as she clutches his mask—eyes as red as the blood on her hands—and the flames roar around her, she feels nothing.
No relief. No reprieve.
Just anger.
Do not stand in her way.
She will burn down your kingdoms,
herself with it, if it meant your ruin.
"Please," the girl's voice trembles. "Stop this. Just take a breath—you're losing yourself!"
"Well then maybe I'm meant to be lost!" she flings back, voice tearing through several octaves and cracking magnificently. The girl watches with wide silver eyes.
"Then I'm meant to be lost too!" she shrieks back. "You're my sister, I can't just let you—"
The blonde rounds on the younger girl, looming over her smaller frame.
"You don't let me do anything." Her words carry a deadly cadence—as sharp as a double-edged blade. "Nobody is every going to let me do anything again, because I'm not going to give anyone the option to stop me."
Tears leak from the girl's eyes. "This isn't you," she whispers. "Please. Let me help you. Tell me what you need."
The blonde glares down at her sister, chest heaving, her emotions spiraling out.
"You should have stayed gone," she whispers, her voice is low and coarse and bites with a vengeance. Her sister recoils at the malice in her words before narrowing her eyes.
"I'm not going to let you do this," her scythe gives off a dull sheen as she grips it firmly.
Violet gives way to crimson. "You can't stop me," she snaps.
Her sister lifts her chin, staring defiantly up at her.
"I have to," she insists. "I won't let you ruin yourself like this!"
Once upon a time, maybe those words would have given her pause.
Once upon a time, the blonde knows she would have cut down anything that made her sister's voice shake like it shakes now.
But time has been her enemy for too long, and the thing hurting her sister is her own self.
"The only fight's up here," her father whispers.
"It's really just you against yourself," her uncle warns.
Rage burns a hole in her chest where her heart might have been.
"You are not as above this as you think you are!" she cries. Her eyes sting with tears. "You act like you're…you're some perfect pillar of righteousness, but you're not."She throws her arms wide, the light catching the metal of her right arm, making it gleam.
"You will never be like Summer!"
She turns to march away before she can see the pain her words wrought.
Heat and pressure and time turn coal into diamonds.
The same grants the Sun Dragon a pair of ruby eyes and a thirst for revenge.
I had a really bad few days. This is what came out of it.
This was inspired by puz lee's piece Yang's Revenge. This could almost serve as a companion to my Nevermore AU, as they both have considerably darker interpretations of Yang.
The poem I used in between scenes is called "Medea" by lydbranwells .
Before you ask, no, I do not for a second believe this is what's going to happen. This was cathartic more than anything else. Sorry if you didn't like it. I needed it.
I also purposely omitted names, kinda just to see if I could.
Sorry to everyone who sent me messages, I'm working on replying to them. Just know you're all lovely people.
Unless you sent me rude anons. Then you need a hobby.
Take care of yourself, team. Have a good rest of the week.
Also people always ask why I call Yang the Sun Dragon in my pieces and it is because her name literally translates as 'little sun dragon'