Disclaimer:
Avatar: The last Airbender and all the characters therein are the intellectual property of Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko and I, like all the other fans, only get to play with them every once in a while.
Summary:
Pitted against an insane enemy, trickery might gain him an advantage. But at what cost?
Author's note:
Anything in cursive script is a thought that's especially clear.
Also, Delivered into Darkness is a multi-part "chapter" and this one is kinda the middle bit. I would have held it back until the scene was completely finished and posted it together with the rest, but ArrayePL suggested it might be a good idea to post it now. I concur. ^_^
SPECIAL THANKS
Special thanks go to my beloved Sunshader, who did the dishes, the washing and lots of other stuff so I could write a bit. *HUGS*
Another special thanks goes to ArrayePL, whose thoughtful questions and comments have helped improve the story and whose prodding is very motivating. *HUGS*
WARNINGS !
Things are still bad.
Graphic descriptions of injuries which, if I've done my job right, are not for the faint of heart.
TORTURE, death, swearing, general NC-17'ess.
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It's hard to concentrate on anything but keeping the pain at bay, hard to hold himself perfectly limp and motionless, when every fibre of his body is screaming with the white hot agony that blazes up from his roasting feet and rips through every nerve like lightning.
Still, there's yet a small part of him that's able to register the frantic rustling of clothes, the hurried footsteps along the top of the dais, the breathy, raspy voice whispering an anxious request.
"My Lord, with your permission…."
Someone's worried.
He has lost the habit of praying or saying thanks ages ago, even though the presence of the Firelord is requested for a seemingly endless number of seasonal rituals and spiritual practices.
He remembers being a small boy, watching his father don the ceremonial robes for the Midsummer Festival, all the while making some scathing remarks to one of his generals about the gullibility of people and the deplorable necessity of engaging in these pompous, time-wasting affairs in order to please and appease the public. Over the years, he has come to agree with his fathers' assessment.
Despite this, he now finds himself calling on the spirits his people revere, asking them for a little luck, a little bit of good fortune, just so that whoever is whispering in Nishima's ear right now has enough influence to have that guard stop bending Fire's heat into the steel plates beneath him.
Now.
He's about to pass out, and if he does, all of his efforts will have been for nothing.
"Oh…you think? Already?" A higher, whiny voice. Nishima.
"Yes my lord. Please my Lord. As I've explained, this kind of undertaking requires a precise application of damage. Precise. If it would please you, my Lord?"
A clapping of hands.
And just like that, the heat beneath him is gone.
The pain however…isn't.
It ebbs a bit, but like a wildfire that has gone out, it has left its' mark.
The skin of his lower body is stretched taut to the breaking point, like that of a sausage that's been fried over glowing coals until its' casing is about to burst apart.
The blisters on his calves smoulder with a red-hot ache that licks along his nerves with tongues of broken glass. A few of the blisters have ruptured and he can feel their oily, sticky contents running down his legs, leaving behind an itchy trail that stings his burnt flesh like nettles.
Worse than the pain though is the fact that he can feel neither his toes nor the balls of his feet any longer, which is a bad sign.
A…..VERY…. bad sign.
It means that the burns go down beyond his skin, down to flesh, sinew and bone and now there's nothing left there to feel the pain.
He hadn't really thought that Nishima would go this far, this fast.
He'll loose his toes and, if he's lucky, only about half of each foot.
Despite the lingering heat, he can feel a sliver of cold run down his back, stabbing deeply, and a chill wisps across his heart.
He's been crippled.
One needs a whole foot to run swiftly, to jump with agility, to land surely.
The balance and speed that made him into an exceptionally deadly opponent in any given fight…gone.
How will he make his generals respect a man who hobbles along, instead of walking briskly?
Will Nishima truly finish the job the Avatar started, by cutting away at his body until there's nothing left?
It takes a few moments until he can tell himself that when the Avatar maimed him by taking away his firebending, he was still confident in his ability to lead. And what was true then is still true now.
Even though his people are quick to weed out the weak, he never based his leadership on his battle prowess or his bending alone.
What kept him on his throne was his ability to come up with bold strategies that won his army's battles….his ability to ferret out the secrets and vices of his subordinates and his skill at using those to ensure their cooperation….and his willingness to suppress any opposition with a ruthlessness that even impressed the Fire Nation's Nobles whose' cutthroat attitude turned court-intrigue into something that made jumping into a scorpion-snake pit a boring experience by comparison.
His generals will still follow him.
Some of them because they are loyal, to their nation, to their cause, to him.
Some of them because over the years, they grudgingly had to acknowledge that he is their superior where it comes to strategy and planning, and they have a better chance of winning if he is the one to lead.
Some of them so he can bribe and threaten them until they fall back in line.
Still there's a niggling little voice at the back of his mind, asking him if he's still sure that he can get out before Nishima has whittled him down to nothing, and a first hint of nausea blossoms in the depths of his gut.
He HAS to get out of here.
….and he will. He has no other choice left.
He will fight his way out of here and back to the top….or die trying.
"Get him down, quickly." The same voice as before, the same nervous tone.
Why are they nervous?
Maybe the damage they've done so far was more than they had intended?
That would bode well, meaning that at least for now, they won't maim him any further.
His heart beats faster and the pain seems to recede a little more at the prospect.
Blessed Sun, please warm me with you light once more. Soon.
Two guards detach themselves from the bulk of the massed spectators.
Their steps echo on the hard ground as they approach, quick, but not hurried.
They haven't realized that he's only faking his unconsciousness; otherwise they'd approach him more cautiously. Despite the dire straits he's in, he can't help but grin inwardly.
The pain he's in now will seem as mild as a light sunburn compared to the agony he'll be in once he starts moving, but it will be worth every bit of it.
The guard to the right slows down and going by the clinking sounds coming from about waist-height, he's fumbling for the keys.
The guard to the left is yet about an arm's length away. Perfect.
His eyes snap open and he meets the eyes of the guard to the left, flashing the bastard a grin that's all teeth.
Time seems to slow to almost to a stop.
…
He feels air rush into his lungs like a squall that dances at the front line of a gale, his heart taking up the galloping rhythm of a horse that races along the steppe.
…
The pain is still there, but suddenly, it seems far away, as if it belonged to somebody else.
…
Despite the gloom of flickering torches and dim green glowing crystals, all the colours seem suddenly rich and vibrant, as if they had been hit by the beacon of a lighthouse, and in the play of light and shadow, each line, each shape stands out clear and crisp.
…
Sound becomes muted and slow, peoples' voices mere foghorns in the distance.
…
The guards' muddy brown eyes go wide with shock and his unshaven jaw drops open, displaying a set of teeth turned a dirty brown by chewing tobacco, a nasty habit introduced a few years ago to the Firenation by soldiers doing their duty on the southern front in the Earthkingdom, who picked it up from the local farmers.
…
As the guard freezes with shock and surprise, he himself flashes into action.
He pushes himself off the ground by what remains of his feet, hard, and grabs the chains that hold him as high above his head as he can. Then, he yanks himself even further upward with all his might, jack-knifing in the middle and bringing his legs up in front of his chest at the same time, so his knees almost touch his chin.
…
His hips are now about level with the guard's chest, which means that his next move has a good chance of working. Fortunately, the guard is only of average height, so his tactic is bound to work perfectly.
…
He'd have had trouble getting enough leverage if the fucking asshole was too tall or too small.
…
With a speed born out of grim determination, he lashes out with his left leg, a sweeping motion from the left to the right, going high, at the level of the man's neck. As he moves, he rotates his lower leg inward in one fluid motion, until his shin his parallel to the ground.
…
He focuses on the mindless panic that spreads across his enemies' face, seemingly at the speed of thickened oil that drips from a malfunctioning engine.
From the corner of his eye, he glances at the second guard, who is yet about 5 feet away and seems dumbstruck, listless fingers clutching the keys that dangle uselessly from his hand
He kicks out, and as he does, he gets a glimpse at the blackened ruin of what once was his foot.
…
What skin remains is burned to a shiny black crisp, twisted into lumps and flaking, blood and bodily fluids leaking from the cracks.
The skin of his legs is mottled in angry reds and the sickening brownish white of broiled skin, the surface pockmarked by a myriad of blisters, most of them the size of needle-heads, some of them as large as an egg. Where blisters have burst, his skin hangs in shreds that have curled up in the intense heat.
Somewhere deep down, he knows that sooner or later, he'll look down at the mutilated wrecks that once were his legs, and he'll puke his guts out, not stopping until there's not even bile left and the dry heaving feels like it's tearing him apart….
…but right now, with battle lust singing, howling, screaming its' sweet melody in his ear, seeing the damage inflicted on his body barely registers.
…
The hollow of his knee hits his opponent at throat-level, just underneath the right ear. He hooks his leg around the man's neck, so his calf comes to rest on the unlucky guy's left shoulder. Then, he wrenches the man forward and down.
…
At the same time, he slightly lowers his right leg, only to bring it back up with all the speed and strength he can muster, knee leading.
…
The knee hits his opponent's jaw with a loud crack, which almost drowns out the dry little snap as the man's upper vertebrae, caught between the impact of the former Firelord's knee and the bracing crux formed by the leg wrapped around his neck, break.
It's the sweetest music he can imagine.
Victory is like a heady nectar, the rush of pleasure that courses through his body like the sweetest and strongest plum brandy, intoxicating and thrilling.
Like sledding down a rugged glacier at break-neck speed.
Like diving off a high cliff into the deep-blue ocean below.
The guard's eyes cloud over, death sucking the spark of life out of them, and almost instantly, the body starts to sag to the ground, like a puppet whose' strings have been cut.
…
Before the dead man has hit the ground, Ozai turns his full attention on the second guard.
The man has turned white as a sheet, mouth hanging open, his hands still on the keys.
Perfect.
Using the corpse underneath his feet as a stepping stone, he pushes back to gain some momentum and then swings himself forward, snapping his whole body forth like a whip to breach the considerable distance.
He straightens his right leg, heel leading, he only part of his foot that's yet moderately stable and won't crumple upon the impact.
His left leg, he keeps tucked tight to his body so maximize the driving weight behind his strike.
His heel hits slightly above the right upper quadrant of the guard's abdomen and the man folds up in the middle, even as he his propelled backwards, flying through the air in an arch and landing with a dull thud back on the ground, only to slide a few feet more.
The hard-boiled leather of the chicken-shit's armour offered only a fraction of a moments' resistance before it caved in. The ribs beneath were even less of a protection, the faint popping as they crack more of a feeling than an actual sound. Experience tells him that the force of the impact was enough to drive the spiked fragments into the liver beneath.
The guard doesn't move, doesn't even twitch or move. Unconscious. If he does not receive expert medical soon, it's likely that he will die, bleeding out from a burst liver.
Two down, a couple more to go.
His smile is wild and savage as he levels his gaze on the remaining guards.
…
They are milling about, shocked, confused. There are cries of outrage here and there and a fair amount of sword rattling, but a burly guard, slightly better dressed than the rest, with gold trimmings to his breastplate, is shouting at them, keeping them in line. Looks like he's the guard-captain.
There's a second man, thin as a sea-snake, slipping through the ranks, stopping in front of a guard here and there, sometimes whispering a few words at the man's face, sometimes punching the guard in question on the shoulder and snarling at him. When he moves on, the soldier has usually found his discipline again and stands to attention. Looks like that one knows the men, inside and out, and he works well together with his superior. The troops might be undisciplined, but their superiors are not.
Fuck.
Can't will them all, though.
…
Despite the fact that the uproar is being handled, he sees one of Nishima's "courtiers" descend from the dais, movements swift and sure as he discreetly positions himself between the guards and Ozai. The man wears fine velvet robes of a red so dark, it seems almost black, trimmed with fine black fur.
The front of his head is clean-shaven but at the back, a round patch of hair remains. The hair as longer than even what most women at court would deem fashionable, almost reaching the guys' knees and it has been braided into a thin queue. It's a really uncommon hairstyle to be found amongst Fire Nation citizens. Even most colonists wouldn't go so far as to lower themselves to sporting a hairdo that could usually be found in the Earth Kingdom.
Strange.
It's interesting though, that Nishima does not quite trust in the competency of his officers to handle things. But he does seem to trust the bunch of sycophants that he has assembled around his little throne. At least as far as a psychotic maniac like Nishima could be said to trust anybody.
Even those that had the crime-lord's favour and "trust" weren't really safe from the madman's erratic bouts of bloodthirst.
He received a report once about Nishima having an old retainer, who had served his family loyally for years, sawed in half while the man was still alive.
The reason hadn't exactly been…sane.
The old man had worn an orange vest, on a day where one of the numerous sooth-sayers that Nishima routinely consulted had predicted that on this particular day, seeing the colour orange would be supremely unlucky.
And it had been unlucky indeed. For the old retainer.
Granted, Nishima had informed his household that he wished to see NOTHING orange on that day, but the old man had somehow been kept out of the loop and was unaware of his masters' orders. The old man's pleas that he hadn't KNOWN, hadn't meant to give offence…they had fallen on deaf ears.
Nishima had never bothered to find out why his old retainer had not followed orders like the rest of the household.
Ozai had.
Turned out that the retainers' wife had bribed the sooth-sayer and then laid out the offending garment for her husband on that day, because she wanted to be free to re-marry her lover. This little gem of information had allowed the Firelord to discreetly bribe a sooth-sayer here and there himself, to make Nishima more pliable.
Granted, Nishima had a tendency to interpret any given divination in his very own special way, making his reactions somewhat unpredictable, but overall, the tactic had yielded acceptable results.
And of course, the old retainers wife, confronted with the evidence of her crimes by the Firelord's secret police, proved to be a valuable spy and saboteur in Nishima's household.
Was she still in Nishima's employ? If she was, one of his loyal followers was bound to contact her sooner or later and maybe she knew where Ozai was being held and would pass on the information. It would sting his pride to get rescued like a high-born lady in distress, but right now, he wasn't about to be choosy.
Any port in a storm.
…
The guard-captain and his second had almost finished restoring order to their troops. The courtier standing near the dais was still looking over to at the guards, his eyes hooded and wary, but his stance had relaxed a fraction.
Time to poke the hornet's nest again.
The guards were angry and more than just a little bit afraid now.
He needed to stoke that particular fire just a bit more, so the lesson he was about to teach them would stick for sure.
His options were as limited as his movement right now, and if fear was one of the tools he could forge in the heat of the moment, then that was what he'd do.
Anger and rage were sources of strength, but only if there was no underlying fear.
Anger fuelled by fear made people act rashly and without caution, and even as it could be used to tempt an enemy into attacking, it also saw to it that the very same enemy would be so blinded by his ire, he'd be paying less attention to keeping his guard up.
Such distraction, provided at an opportune moment, could be very valuable indeed.
He didn't know when or how such an opportunity would arise, but he could already imagine an example or two.
Maybe he could bait one guard into attacking when there were only no other guards around, and when he was in a position where he might reach out with his hands and grab a dagger or a set of keys from the belt of the attacking guard.
Maybe, if he couldn't escape fast enough, he'd come close to betraying his secrets, and thus his people. Under no circumstances must Nishima gain access to all the information and the treasure he had horded.
Better to provoke a guard into killing him, rather than turn traitor.
A last resort, but also one he would only be able to use if he laid the groundwork now.
He'd have to make sure that he could provoke the guards up to a point where rage blinded them so much, they forgot they had to keep him alive to get information out of him.
Forgot what Nishima would do to them if they offed Nishima's prize captive before the crime-lord had gotten what he wanted.
Considering that they all had seen the cruelties the little bastard indulged in, had indeed participated in inflicting those cruelties….in order to forget that, even for a moment, they'd have to be enraged indeed.
…
He sought the eyes of one of the guards in the front row, one wearing a stringy black moustache that framed his mouth like the barbels on a catgator and whose eyes shone with hatred behind his face-guard. The man was still fidgeting, despite the fact that the guard-captain was standing almost right next to him.
Maybe the wretched lowlife had been close to one of the guards he had just killed?
Going by the fact that stringy moustache also kept glancing at the dead guard lying at the Firelord's feet and that his mouth would twist like that of a pet monkey that just had its' tail trodden on when he did so, it was likely.
He grinned at the man, until he was sure that he had the assholes' undivided attention.
Then he spat on the rapidly cooling carcass lying at his feet.
Stringy Moustache uttered a cry as wild and insane as that of a hog monkey gone rabid and charged. About ten other guards, who had also watched Ozai spit on the corpse, took this as their cue to rush forward too.
None of them got very far.
Stringy Moustache was tripped up by the guard-captain and sprawled gracelessly on the ground. The guard-captain growled sombrely and kicked the downed man in the ribs so the fucker curled up like a worm, writhing in pain and wheezing like a leaky boiler, trying to find his breath again.
The other guards get a few steps further. Then the red-robed courtier steps forth, squares his shoulders, and lets his feet slide apart, going into a wide horse-stance, one leg slipped slightly forward. He raises his fists, arms bent, together with the forward leg, and then brings them down again in a forceful movement, his foot hitting the ground with a resounding thud.
Rock columns erupt from the ground beneath the charging guards, throwing them back into the ranks, bowling over some of their compatriots like pegs in a game of skittles.
An Earthbender? As one of Nishima's cronies?
That certainly explained why the man wore his hair in a queue. It was quite unusual though. Neither Azulas' Dai Li nor any colony earthbender with a limited citizenship would have ever risen to a position where he would share the dais with his master.
What were the man's motives for following Nishima? Was it just greed? Then maybe he could be bought. If however the source of the man's loyalty was resentment towards the Fire Nation for having put the Earth Kingdom's people in their place, then maybe he could make the man understand that supporting Nishima to get back at the Fire Nation was like a hens seeking protection against the egg-collecting farmer by invoking the help of a ferret-marten. Granted, it was unlikely he could get the man to directly assist him, but even if he only managed to goad the foppish dirt-eater into sabotaging the crime-lords' efforts somewhat, it might prove useful to his cause.
…
The guard-captain and his second in command had becalmed their troops once more and the guards were standing at attention.
If the dirty looks the thickset man was shooting him were any indication, the guard-captain was deeply unhappy about how Ozai's provocation had made his troops break rank and thus lose face in front of their employer.
As the squadron's leader, he was bound to enact some severe disciplinary measures later on, which with these scumbags, would lower morale, even as it improved obedience.
A pack of rats like this one didn't look beyond their own greed and selfish desires.
Unlike the soldiers in his army, this bunch of wretched slopsuckers had no pride and no honour, and unlike his own troops, they wouldn't feel disgraced by their failure up to the point where punishment was perceived as a just and welcome measure which would allow them to wash the slate clean. Instead, they would resent their officer for enforcing much needed discipline and order.
He smirked at the guard-captain and then chuckled, the deep, low sound that rumbled through the stone hall like an approaching storm.
Always nice to help a fellow officer improve his relationship with his troops.
…
Unlike with the first stunts that Ozai had pulled, Nishima had not lost his self control this time. The crooked merchant had remained seated and silent at the whole spectacle and right now, he was sporting a pleasant, vapid little smile. When push came to shove, Nishima did have good self control. The only hint that the buggering little shit wasn't quite as calm as he pretended to be, was the fact that he was gripping the arms of his chair so hard, his knuckles showed almost white in the pale green light of the glowing crystal rocks at the foot of the dais.
The room seemed to start swirling and tilting, like a fishing boat being buoyed gently by the waves. And the light seemed dimmer all of a sudden. Had someone extinguished some of the torches in the back without him noticing? He looked up to verify, not an easy feat with a neck that suddenly seemed to be made of noodle-dough. His vision was a bit blurry, as if he were looking through water. Strangely, even thought the light had dimmed, there seemed to be twice as many torches now. They were also swaying, just like the fishing boat.
Maybe Nishima was gripping the chair so hard not because he was angry, but because he was trying not to fall from the boat?
He almost giggled. But he didn't. Giggling was undignified.
And there was no boat.
Was there?
Have to focus.
Over on the dais, the man with the breathy, raspy voice, the one who had been babbling on about "this kind of undertaking" requiring a "precise application of damage" was kneeling by Nishisma's side, furiously whispering into the crime-lord's ear.
Ozai could snatch a few words here and there: "if this is to succeed"…."as I said it will take time"…."erode slowly"…"more pliable".
The man was of average proportions, if a bit on the tall side. He wore a dusky grey outfit trimmed with red: a knee-length overcoat and wide pants tucked into boots. His grey-streaked hair was bound up in an orderly topknot.
As he talked, he shot a short glance in the Firelord's direction, and Ozai could see that the man had a wide tooth-gap.
He knew the man. Wasn't he the guy who….no, not that….hadn't the guy a fat, warty wife….no…no no….children's rhyme, that one….wait a moment….he almost had it….
Doctor Luo.
….Focus. Stay awake.
Old gap-tooth was reputed to be one of the finest doctors in the capital. In the last years, the man had also raked in quite a bit of money selling a fortifying tonic that was said to ward off a multitude of diseases. Doctor Luo's Herb Cordial was a fixture in many Fire Nation households.
He'd been aware that there was a connection between Nishima and the good doctor, since it was one of the myriad companies that Nishima owned which produced the cordial, but the evaluation of his spies and agents hadn't hinted at the fact that the connection between Nishima and the Doctor went deeper than that. If there had been, he would have had the doctor investigated more closely. As things stood, his information on the man was sketchy at best.
….damn...
Nishima was nodding now, and Doctor Luo turned around and signalled another one of the guards. The man stepped forth and produced a blowpipe from a narrow satchel hanging from his belt.
Darts. Probably laced with some kind of narcotic.
Can't 'vade them forever, even if I try.
'd look silly, swinging from side to side, trying to get away, anyway.
Swinging.
'zula liked swinging.
Tired.
Hurts.
Hurts so bad.
So tired.
….better finish up now…
Eyes fixed on Nishima, he used his last bit of strength to stretch his lips into a hard, condescending smile.
He barely felt the little dart hit as his world lost the last bit of colour and focus and he slipped back into the welcoming darkness.
.
.
.
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For Cowardice:
I'm glad you stumbled on this story too. Feedback is a rare currency and I'd like to say "Thank you" for your kind words. I'm glad you're enjoying the story and the characters so far.
It's also incredibly reassuring for any author to hear from the readers that yes, your characters are still realistic and believable and even though you've dared to experiment a bit with the style, the whole thing flows well.
One of the things that I've always appreciated most about A:tlA and now Korra, is that their characters have real depth and that the problems they face always have more than one side. If I have managed to reflect a little bit of that, then I'm a lucky writer indeed!
For Leddie:
*tacklehugs*
Welcome back!
*beams* I'm pleased as punch that I could make your day.
I understand completely by the way about life just getting carried a bit away. I've got a job, a family, household chores and the occasional bit of fun to keep me busy….and before you know it, another week has gone by, without anyone noticing…o_O
I loved your feedback about the relationship between Ozai and Kian not being the main focus behind the story. Thank you. That was a spot on analysis and one of the things that are really important to me.
There are too many romantic stories out there, where the bad boy changes to good, just because the good girl gives him googly eyes, flutters her eyelashes at him and says "Pretty Please, will you be nice from now on?".
Sorry, but that's NOT how it works out in the real world most of the time.
All to often, in the real world, a good woman / good girl will stick with an abusive partner in a twisted relationship, hoping that if she's just giving enough, if she just sacrifices enough, the positive character traits she can see in her partner (and even total a******* tend to have at least one or two of those) will grow into something more, and it will heal the relationship and turn an abusive partner into a partner who treats her with respect. And it never happens. The woman just burns herself out and the man ends up moving on, to fresher and greener pastures.
Now, Kian and Ozai's relationship can't be framed in exactly the same context. If Kian had had a choice, she'd have been out of the Palace so fast, lightning would have seemed slow by comparison. And if Ozai had wanted her back, he'd have had to prove worthy of that, e.g. by ending the war and making a serious effort towards peace.
So yes, she's definitely attracted to him, since the first moment they met (and vice versa!). But they both have other priorities and loyalties, which supercede any kind of affection they feel for each other. And in the end, no matter how hard Kian falls for him, she realizes that she CAN'T MAKE HIM CHANGE and that he WON'T change, at least not for her sake, and so she leaves him in the only way she knows how. (Note: Ozai tries to make her change too, to give up her loyalties and become his…pretty much like one of the conquered territories. And when she draws her line in the sand, making it clear that no, he'll NEVER have her on those terms? He doesn't take that too well. o_O) So, as it says in the blurb for this fic, it's "NOT "tru lurve" that saves the day."
As for being fascinated by Ozai (as you've probably guessed ^_~) it's something we share. Often, the villain in a story will be pretty one-dimensional, which Ozai in the show WASN'T. More than once, the show hinted that Ozai once was a kinder man, with love for his family….and that this was something that both Azula and Zuko deeply missed. Would Azula have otherwise said that their Summer Residence on Ember Island, where the family spent happier times, a place that was "too depressing"? And as Mayor Morishita says in "The Promise" : Ozai was NEVER a coward or a traitor, despite his flaws. However, the show never explained when or why Ozai changed, and I found myself trying to fill in the blanks, which is one of the things that got this story started!
Thanks again for your review and I'll be looking forward to seeing you around!
For ShoeNinja
Thank you very much for giving "Owned by Fire" a shot, despite the fact that it has an OC paired up with the main villain. Saying that this story is "the best piece of Ozai fanfiction" that you've read on this site is an IMMENSE compliment and I feel very flattered. Especially since you feel that my OC is up to par!
I must say, I'm very lucky, because the story got some thoughtful reviews, which emphasized the stories' strengths and talked a bit about its' basic premises, so that people who are interested in the story can get a well-rounded impression of what "Owned by Fire" is about. So I also owe you (and the other reviewers) a ton of thanks for that! ^_^
As for being able to get into people's heads, I blame my literature teacher, who was big on analyzing character motives and LARP'ing, which showed me that in order to play (or write) a character well, you need to understand what makes him (or her) tick.
Also, I've been lucky in having had the opportunity to live abroad, and more than once, I got hit over the head with the fact that other cultures don't just boil down to strange clothes and strange food, but that it often involves a totally different way of looking at things.
And as for witnessing how history affects people: I remember my family sending care packages to other family members, who lived in the in the German Democratic Republic and didn't have regular access to all the things that were the norm for me: chocolate, Barbie dolls, cassette tape deck….And they couldn't travel freely either.
And then the Wall in Berlin fell.
I've never seen people so exited before or since. There was a kind of hopeful energy in the air…it was fabulous. I kind of imagine that the people in the world of Avatar (even though it is fictious), would feel similarly. Ozai himself is taking a position that is comparable to that of Erich Honecker after the Fall of the Berlin Wall: "What I did was right, and the country that I helped build was way better than what people are doing now".
In my experience, people (especially on a national level) being ruthless and callous is something that usually can be explained and often is founded in a complex motivation. If I've managed to put some of that into the story, then I'm a happy camper indeed.
Mind, I think it is important to explain and understand why people can commit such horrors towards other people…that doesn't mean that such behaviour should be excused. People have to be held accountable for what they do. ^_~
Also, by understanding what motivates the bad guys, maybe we can avoid falling into the same faulty, unethical reasoning.
For Art of the Artichoke
Well, eventually, Ozai will get out of this really bad situation. Kind of. But it will take a while. Certainly a lot longer than he'd like it too. He's a survivor, but, as he knows already, there'll be hell to pay.
And yes, Ozai will be thinking about Azula. He doesn't have much time or energy to spare right now to think about anybody but himself and his own survival right now (Nishima is kind of an attention hog ^_~), but in the near future, he'll have plenty of opportunity AND incentive to think about Azula, Ursa, Zuko….and Kian.
Concerning Azula, I totally agree with you that in the end, he was disappointed in her and didn't trust her as much anymore, though I don't think he blamed her much for not killing Zuko. After all, he didn't have much luck with that either.
However, he's bound to be pissed about her lying about Zuko killing the Avatar. If she hadn't had her own Agenda and subsequently lied to him, he'd never have re-instated Zuko as the heir….and thus he'd have avoided the whole Zuko deserting during the day of the Black Sun debacle.
I think the fact that he DIDN'T take her with him on the day of the Comet, to conquer the Earth Kingdom says a lot about how little he trust her. Still, she's his only remaining heir and I figure he was going to keep a very tight rein on her, with his authority as the Phoenix King always exceeding hers as the FireLord.
Zuko never met Kian (at least not until she started wrecking his father's living quarters….) and was QUITE shocked to hear about her existence.
Azula, on the other hand, has always made a point of being very well informed of everything going on at court (I mean, hello, remember how unlike Zuko, she knew what was going on politically, even as a kid, and how she snuck behind the curtains to spy on Ozai's and Azulon's conversation?) so yes, she learned about Kian's existence and snuck into her father's quarters to see for herself. The scene will get included somewhere sooner or later ^_~
As for why Nishima is torturing Ozai, Ozai has got that one pretty much figured out:
"He's fairly certain that he knows exactly what Nishima will demand from him. The Fire Nations' treasury for one, which he split up and hid in several locations…a wealth of information memorized on almost everybody who is of any consequence… the support of the Fire Nation loyalists"
But of course, Nishima, perverted psychopath that he is, is also pretty much enjoying the show ^_~
As a kid, I read Orson Welles "1984" (incredibly impressive book) and I'll never forget how being tortured and witnessing torture changed the characters. We'll have to see just how well Nishima's henchmen succeed in bringing the Firelord to heel…
For sakurazukamori
Thank you a LOT for your review. It means much to me ^_^
When I watched the show, there were several things that struck me (probably much the same as they did you)
One was Zuko's speech when he confronted Ozai:
"Growing up, we were taught that the Fire Nation was the greatest civilization in history and somehow, the war was our way of sharing our greatness with the rest of the world. What an amazing lie that was."
Quite obviously, Zuko bought into the Fire Nation propaganda too until recently. Most other Fire Nation folks, e.g. Mai and Ty Lee also seem rather loyal to their homeland (despite the fact that Azula isn't the easiest person to live with).
The other one was the thing with Iroh being loyal to his nation, which seems to have struck a cord with both of us. The scene where he's close to Ba Sing Se as a conquering general and writes about it to Ursa and her kids:
"If the city is as magnificent as its wall, Ba Sing Se must be something to behold. (cut to a younger Iroh sitting at a desk, flanked by two guards, writing the letter) I hope you all may see it someday, if we don't burn it to the ground first.
(He laughs at this, then cut back to a frontal shot of Ursa, the letter scroll spread open in the foreground, with Zuko and Azula on either side. They laugh with Iroh at this comment.)
People always say that Ozai was a monster for wanting to burn down the Earth Kingdom. But Iroh didn't seem to have a lot of qualms about burning down Ba Sing Se...a pretty densely populated city.
And even Ursa...friendly, gentle Ursa, descendant of Roku...SHE laughs at it too.
As for the next chapter...here it is!