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The sky still had some brightness when Azula made her nightly visit. He was thankful for her earlier arrival, he desperately needed the sleep her company deprived him of. But somehow, he thought that the peculiar time was means for concern. This time the princess didn't have much to say, apparently the presence of Zuko alone was well enough. She lingered about looking both ancient and much younger all at once. Her posture was rigid and battle ready but the look in her eyes was timid and fearful. She was toying with her hair—out of anxiety or boredom, he couldn't tell. She seemed worse off somehow, then she was the night before. He realized that the tears in her delicate spirit skin were wider, more angry looking. The soles of her feet were tattered and in shambles. Nothing remained of her armor and the cloth the lie beneath was torn away in places and ripped all over. She had her head turned so that he could only see one side of her face as she peered out of the window.
"I want to come home Zuko." She mumbled.
"You are home." He replied.
"It doesn't look the same. It's…" she trailed off, trying to articulate what she was seeing. "The palace is like a living being, Zu-Zu and I willingly walk into its mouth so that I can get here. This place, from where I am, it looks like the inside of some kind of animal. And it feels like you've been swallowed whole." She paused. "The walls pulse, the floors are wet or slimey…or wet with slime, and there are bones. I think that the throne room is its heart."
Zuko stared at her with a look of puzzlement. "I—I…that sounds awful."
"Yes, quite." She answered.
"So, you really can come back then?" Zuko inquired.
"I can. I just have to avoid them for the rest of tonight and part of tomorrow." She explained. "The pond out front has some special spiritual properties, I dive in and swim and then I resurface in the flesh." She smiled at the thought of feeling her own heartbeat, at the notion of seeing her chest rising and falling—a reminder that she could breathe once more. She looked forward to the feeling of a deep inhale and a slow exhale. The simplicity of seeing color on opaque skin was a heavenly prospect. "It's a long story, it makes sense if you know the whole thing." She brushed a curtain of hair in front of her face and turned to look at him.
"It must be frightening." He said plainly. "All of this. Dying, being stuck here."
She was quiet for a moment. "Very." She stared down at her hands. One heavily lacerated and the other missing a fingernail or two. She leaned her head against the chair and in doing so exposed her cheek. Or what was left of it. Zuko could quite plainly see a set of teeth and the bone of her jaw.
"What happened?" Zuko questioned, taking her abused hand in his own.
"You can see this?" She asked.
He nodded.
"Honō-guchi." She revealed. "I was too close. I felt its fire before I saw it. And then there were more of them. Maybe three or four. They were all ripping a tearing." She pushed up her sleeve to reveal an arm nearly torn away at the elbow. All at once she seemed that much more fragile.
It was a ridiculous response, but he spoke it anyhow. "That must have hurt a lot."
"Yeah." She whispered. She was staring more intensely out of the window. She closed her eyes and shuddered.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Make it quick." Azula replied.
"Can I help you?" She cocked her head curiously and he elaborated, "can I help you get to the pond?"
"I don't think so." Azula answered. "I'm pretty sure I'm on my own."
"There has to be some way." Zuko insisted. The candles on his nightstand sputter and go out. Azula flinches. He doesn't quite understand her reaction until they flicker on again and die out. "Why are they doing that?"
Zuko's mouth was moving but she could no longer make out what he was saying over the piercing wails. She knew that she had stayed too long and now she had put him in danger too. They were in the place infecting it with their other-worldly poison. She could gauge from the look on his face that he could sense them, maybe even hear them. She dared a glance into the hallway. A sharp shriek had her falling abruptly back into Zuko's room. She didn't miss the green glow of the spirit fire coming around the corner. She needed to get out of there. But she knew the rules very well; if you can see the glow then its too late already.
She chided herself for being so careless. She successfully conversed with Zuko enough times without an issue to get comfortable. She'd become over confident and now it was going to cost her.
"What is that sound?" She heard Zuko ask. She longed to give him the answer but she hadn't the time. The best thing for her to do would be to take a nice leap from the window, she had nothing to lose after all. But that was just it, it was the best thing for her. They couldn't hurt Zuko in the same way that they hurt her…but they could deal some unspeakable damage, mentally and physically. So she bolted down the hall again. Tense and horrified, Azula ran as fast as she could possibly manage. Each and every harsh footfall sent a bolt of pain flaring up her legs. She could see her bloody footprints on the floor and wondered if the palace was tasting her blood. Did it like the taste? She was overwhelmed by the feeling she was digested within the palace's living walls. Such a sense was only highlighted by the pursuit. The unsettling knowledge that her adrenaline wasn't surged by a thrill to capture but rather to not be captured.
Azula had to give herself some credit though—the demons didn't even give Zuko a first glance. She was the only thing they focused on. Her soul. Her spiritual remains. Their fiery maws opened wide. The Bōryoku lingered behind, hovering lazily, waiting for his turn to deal pain as his ghouls feasted on her body.
She came to a set of double doors, bolted and pad locked with a special lock that could only be opened through a series of special firebending stances. She worked through them effortlessly. The door to the palace armory creaked open. She thought briefly of hiding out there until the demons had come to pass. She dismissed the idea immediately; they would be able to get to her. She picked up a blade and tested the feel of it. She prayed that these weapons were weapons of the spirit realm—weapons that would work effectively. Azula pricked her finger on its edge and watched a bead of blood trickle down her pointer. If she could hurt her spirit body, she could hurt theirs.
That vile green glow appeared in the door way. She supposed that then was as good a time as any to test her luck. With swift hands she cut the being down and sprinted down the hall.
She tore down the stairs, her heart, if it could have been, would have been racing much faster. The Honō-guchi were there waiting. A whole horde of them, with the Bōryoku in the center of the swarm. They didn't wait until put her foot on the floor. They simply pounced. Sword or no sword she knew that she'd be taking some damage. There were simply too many of them. Her blade cut through the air with a merciless swish. She twirled it in every direction taking out as many of the Honō-guchi as she could. She had produced a sizable amount of Honō-guchi residue—a fine grey powder with flecks of shimmery green—before they managed to seize her. One clamped down on her good arm, splaying white-hot fire up and down her skin. Its victory screech was somehow more deeply disturbing than its hunting wails. Another took her by the left leg and another on her right. Another victory shriek. High-pitched like the scream of a vixen fox crossed with the mechanical groan of a Fire Nation war ship. Unlike it's hunting cry, there was nothing human about it.
The Honō-guchi that had latched itself onto nearly useless arm gave a steady tug. This time the shriek was her own, as her arm severed completely. She may have been dead but lord, the pain. It was crippling and like nothing she'd ever felt before. The sight of a part of her arm not attached to her body…
Her stomach heaved a cruel and mocking left-over human reflex. Part of her was glad that there was nothing in her stomach for it to empty.
Azula watched the demon latched onto her leg shake its head aggressively to the left and right like some crazed animal. They were going to rip her apart. This is what the welcoming spirit had meant by, "they devour your soul." She was so close. She only had a few more miserable hours left before she could go home. She cried out in anguish and rage. With nothing left but raw instinct, she took a blind swing of her sword.