Morning came, blinding bright, as thick and red as the blood that stained the earth. It dripped through the branches of trees and made the green leaves fall to the earth; it soaked the valley like wave upon wave of crimson ocean; it poured through broken windows and mirrored the fires that still burned, hot and heavy as ever, in the ashes of houses, the ashes of homes, the ashes of people. It made the ravens cry and the beasts awaken, beasts who rose from sleep only to breathe fresh smoke into their lungs. It met the forest in its demonic glory, met the horned devil helmets of the Fire Nation as they patrolled the burning streets. But Jet was not there to meet it.

Run, run, run. They won't catch me.

There was a flash of shadow through the bowing trees and the darkness of Jet's eyes glittered faintly. His silence was complete and terrible, bleeding into the creaking trees around him and causing an eerie quiet to flood the woods. His feet hardly touched the brown earth, his clothes making o ruffle in the breeze, his heels flying as if the wind chased him. His concentration was ahead of him, his ears taking in whatever lay behind him, his senses erupted to full awareness from the anguish he withheld. If a passerby should've seen him - a rare thing, for the speed he developed was of a frightening pace - they would see a shell, a frame full of quenchless vengeance, the transparent monster of a wrathful, desperate ghost.

He did not stop running until the bloody sun caught up with him. He wanted to outrun the despair, outrun the horror, outrun the blood. But as the red light soaked into his clothes, his skin, his eyes, he stumbled to the earth, imprisoned by the memory.

His face scraped along the ground and he lay there for a few minutes, breathing hard and heavy into the dust. His knees were bleeding and the rocks in the earth jutted into his body like a bed of nails. Blood ran across his mouth and he glared hatefully into the red light, panting, his eyes beginning to water. The blood-streaked face of his mother came into view and he closed his eyes for a brief moment.

"Hey! You!"

A tremor went up his spine and he leapt dodgily from the earth, stumbling backwards into a towering, red-stained tree. It took a moment for his gaze to clear, for his head to quit spinning; but when it did, his heart stopped.

The man wasn't wearing a helmet, but he recognized the armor instantly. Red as the cursed sun that mocked him, red as the fire that burned in the streets, red as the shed blood of his mother. There was a blade at his belt and embers glowing in his palm. A confused look was in his eyes at the sight of the bloody, exhausted boy. He took a step towards him, unsure of himself.

"You alright? Kid? What Nation you from?"

Nation? Fire Nation. Soldier. MOTHER. FATHER.

There was an internal snap. The bounds around reason vanished; the laws of conduct, the code of civilized man, disappeared in a violent and barbaric flash. Rules no longer applied.

Jet's fingernails dug into the bark and he let out a primal scream, his eyes swirled dark with hatred.

The next thing the soldier knew was that he couldn't breathe. Jet's hands were at his throat, his adrenaline fed from fury and rushing to his muscles with ten times more strength than the young boy was normally capable of. The soldier stumbled back, but he was much better trained and he knocked the rabid child away from him with one decisive blow. Jet tumbled to the earth, his body winded, but neither pain nor fatigue would phase him now. In a moment his hands had found the earth and he leapt like a cat, digging his fingernails into the man's eyes and kicking him, fast and hard, in his armored stomach.

The soldier roared and shoved him off, his left eye bleeding profusely. His hand lit to flame and he turned to Jet, but Jet had vanished. While he wondered where the screaming terror had disappeared to, Jet's eye had focused on the blade at the man's belt. The soldier felt a fierce tug at his side and the casing on the sword gave a deafening rip and shredded the sheath to pieces. Jet stumbled back, trying to gain footing, but the blade was too heavy for his hand and it dragged along the ground with a dull ring.

The soldier's hand flamed and Jet dived from the blast. The tree behind him ignited in a hellfire and the soldier cursed loudly. In that moment of distraction Jet gave one last demanding effort and the sword arched in a graceful circle before slicing into the back of the man's ankle.

Blood spurted from the wound. The ligament severed. The soldier howled and collapsed, fumbling towards the cut. His leg gave several violent tremors and the man roared as each wave of pain shot up his leg.

Jet did not pause. He smiled, hearing the scream of that demon, knowing that the man was at his mercy. But the blood made him falter, his stomach still queasy at the sight. He convulsed as though he would throw up.

No. Mother. Father. Remember why you fight.

The darkness in his eyes deepened. He gave a huge, tremendous roar and lifted the blade above his head.

"YOU TOOK MY FAMILY!"

A glimmer flickered down the blade as it sliced through the man's pale, scream-filled throat.

Jet panted and let the sword fall from his grasp. The man's body was twitching involuntarily, his head completely severed, his eyes glazed over with what Jet knew was a death mist. Suddenly he realized what he had done - he had killed a Fire Nation soldier. He had taken revenge. But...but...

Its not enough.

His heart still tore. His mind still wavered on insanity. He still wanted to kill, to destroy, to murder.

He sank down onto his knees and stared, long and hard, at the cold body. Several pockets were sown into the sides of his uniform and a sudden idea came to Jet. He leaned over the man and searched him, looking quizzically in the pockets for anything that seemed of useful value. But the man carried nothing, and Jet gave an irritated groan before he caught sight of the man's bleeding leg and his red, blood-soaked boot.

He discovered something much more useful within the man's thick, black shoe. It was much more convenient than the weighty sword; the blade was ten times sharper, lighter, and more accurate than he could've hoped for. A hidden dagger, part of the uniform of a soldier, rested in his palm and he took the handle, wondering what his grip would feel like on it.

To his surprise he unclipped a fastening on the end of the knife and a slender case slipped out. He caught it quickly before it smashed against the ground and gasped when he saw it. Poison. But no...that may be useful later. He slipped the poison back into the knife and secured the clasp. His eyes fell back with disgust on the body and he felt a rage rise in him again.

He had killed him, but he had not suffered. He had not lived with agony like Jet had too, he didn't have to keep on surviving with a cruelty dwelling in his heart, the flashes of demons stirring in his gaze. He was dead. And the dead do not suffer. He wanted the Fire Nation...to suffer.

There was a low neigh and Jet looked up the path. A form was riding towards him, a feminine form mounted on a black horse. She was leading the mare very cautiously, very slowly, as though she was looking for something. A small bundle, cradled in one of her arms, stirred slightly and let out a faint cry. Jet's eyes slitted and he disappeared like a phantom's shadow.

The woman was calling something softly into the trees, her voice shaking slightly with uncertainty. She paused the horse as the body of the dead soldier came into view. There was a moment where she stared, speechless, immobile, the toddler shifting in her arms. Jet glared at her between the branches, between the locks of his long, dark hair, waiting.

"..Ru...Rugato? Why are you..."

Her words failed in oncoming horror. She had finally allowed the pool of blood to enter her gaze and she held the bundle closer to her, her eyes wavering on the twisted scene. Trembling, she glanced in panic around her and turned her mare, keeping her eyes on the path behind her. As she turned away, her gaze a mask of fear, her eyes focused on a small form blocking her path.

Jet stood before her with his eyes glittering. His shoulders hunched and his feet spread onto the dusty earth. He caught the crimson color of her clothing, the flaming emblem on her tunic. His empty fist clenched and his fingers tightened on the glimmering dagger.

The woman swallowed and her hands shook at the reins. She did not at first comprehend the fierceness of the aura around him, the shadows of rage that dripped from his eyes. She opened her mouth to speak when she realized that he wasn't looking at her at all.

He was glaring, fixedly, unblinking, at the baby in her arms.

You took my family.