Falling Moon
Rhythmic pounding was heard all throughout. Rhythmic pounding that seemed to make all shake filled the air, and hidden beneath its sound, a smaller tapping and the sound of exhausted fear: flight.
On normal days, the gardens would be oddly quiet, separated from the rest of the world. The loudest screams wound would appear as quiet echoes behind the walls. On normal days, all the strife of a culture of war attempting to embrace peace would be absorbed and forgotten among the soft grass and leaves of trees. On normal days, serenity would rule in the gardens.
But, it was not a normal day.
Aang kept running. His lungs no longer felt like husks coughing out burning air. The feeling of his skin aflame had turned to a slight tingling. His eyes were clearing up, enough to see more than blurry colors through tears. The gas was gone, but the man in the gas mask was not. His footsteps: a constant pounding against the ground, a constant reminder to Aang that he was not safe. Tripping, giving into fatigue, looking back, and he would be crushed before a man of iron mere steps behind him.
"Tell me my child, what do you know of elements?"
"Master? Well, they're what separates us from those idiot flamers and the dirty..."
"No, no. What do you know of nature's elements?"
"Oh. They're stupid master."
"Do you at least know their names?"
"Well of course master! What are you getting at master? Do you want me to say them out loud or something?"
"Yes."
Water.
Cold frigid water, up to his ankle, splashing against his leg. He hadn't even noticed it before. The stream in the gardens: impossible to miss, yet he seemed to have blinked and his foot was in it.
Aang couldn't stop running. The man of metal was mere seconds away, ready to crush him.
His foot pushed against the rocks. He had to keep running, but the rocks gave way. His foot slid backwards, twisting, his legs jerking desperately trying to keep on his feet, but he still fell.
He could the man of metal moving closer to him, hear the pounding growing louder and louder. As he laid on his chest, his shoulder ached, and his ankle throbbed. Had he sprained it? Had he broken it? He couldn't run on it. He could sense the man growing closer, mere seconds from being atop him.
A quick flick of the wrist as Aang rolled onto his back: that was his hope. A tiny whip of water moving faster than he had ever before: that was Aang's only hope to defeat the man. A tiny strike aimed at the man's eye: that was Aang's only hope: to stall the man somehow.
A hopeless strike: a small attack trying to stop a man moving as stones rolling downhill. The water struck at the mask's lens, cracking it, but doing little else to stop the man from moving to the crush the boy.
The man leaped into the air, moving to crush the boy in a single strike, a single downward punch striking from the heavens themselves.
Aang rolled again, watching the strike hit the ground near him. A strike that seemed to make the earth itself buckle and fold. Aang kept rolling, pulling himself to his feet, staring as the man rose to his feet.
Aang couldn't run. His ankle throbbed. He could limp, but escape was not an option.
The man turned toward him, looking as a monster from a nightmares: a faceless metal man looming over him.
Water.
Aang struck, throwing gallons of the stream's water at the man. He hoped that the man would be washed away in the torrent of water he unleashed.
Right as the water struck the man, he seemed to flinch, thrown a single step in the flood.
Earth.
Aang watched the step, recognizing the oddly heavy way the man stepped down. He was Earthbending, simple Earthbending: making pillars of rock and dirt rise from the ground, interrupting Aang's Waterbending.
The man turned toward Aang, rushing toward him. Aang inhaled.
Fire.
Aang puched, exhaling and watching as the flames poured toward the man. He did not stop. The flames surrounded him. He ran through them, slamming Aang across the chest, throwing him to the ground. Aang swirled the air around his hands. The man was practically atop him. Aang was at his desperate last option.
Air.
Winds whipped against the man's armor, winds ripped against them, but all for naught. The man was unaffected.
Aang froze. The man's arms flexed, causing dirt and small rocks to surround them. Aang thought he was about to be beaten to death by the man. Aang through wrong. The rocks and dirt turned black, sickly looking and began falling off the man's arms, revealing new metal: corrupted black metal.
"You will leave immediately, or I will drag your broken remains back to"
GOOONG. GOOOOONG. "Intruder!" GOOOOONG. GOOOOOONG. "Intruder in the gardens!" GOOOoong. "I CAN SEE HIM!" Gooooooong. "MOVE MOVE MOVE!" Goooong.
Within seconds, the man was running, fleeing the guards moving to capture the new intruder. Aang could feel his thumping. He couldn't escape.
He rolled onto his stomach, looking toward the man.
Aang inhaled.
It was ironic. All throughout the war, he had fought Firebender after Firebender, all of them trying to kill him or capture him. But, one year later, they were saving him.
He exhaled. Frigid air exited his lungs, gusting toward the man of iron.
Clothes soaked by Aang's Waterbending froze in seconds. Armor became coated in frost, sticking to itself. The man was stopped, surrounded by guards.
Aang inhaled and exhaled slowly. The gardens were a mess of sound and action. Aang closed his eyes, wishing it was an ordinary day, wishing the gardens were peaceful once more.
"Yes."
"Water. Earth. Fire. Air.
"They're still stupid, master!"
"No, my child, not so much stupid as outdated. They served their purpose well, bettering man for millenia. But, their age is ending. They are getting too old. They will die out soon. The Avatar is no different. He has served his purpose well. He maintained this world for centuries. But, all must die.
"A new world must rise in its place. We are the way of progress. The Scorched Earth Colonials, my children, you: you are the future. You are the way.
"A new world is being forged by its new god. Their borders of old: crumbling, fading. Their elements of old: reforming, being born anew for the new way.
"Slag. Holocaust. Darkness. Flesh."