For the first few months, the glory of his unpredicted slaughter hovered in Jet's mind; not so much as a trophy, but as a teacher. He had watched death envelop the lives of four separate beings, four chess pieces beneath the hand of the Fire Nation, four devils in elaborate disguise.

The man was easy. A soldier, a killer, a demon. For all Jet knew he had aided the raid on his village and was responsible, personally, for his parents. Such a thing could never be proven, but it did not matter to Jet. Every firebender was a murderer, a roaring devil consumed by the taste of blood, and no argument could ever persuade him otherwise. He alone had survived the gruesome deaths that haunted his ghost village, and he alone would reap repentance for each life lost. The soldier was a pawn in an army of thousands, but he retained more evil than a million free men. This was Jet's belief, from the moment the blade sliced through the man's neck and, so he it seemed, until the moment he died. Blood had spurted from the great vein in the soldier's neck and stained him, but he soon found justice in this. He was a knight, robed with righteousness, soaked in the blood of a slain dragon. The boy who killed the giant.

The horse was a similar case. A servant, a bearer of killers. It rode them into battle, possessed by the demons mounted in their saddles, screaming a raging bloodlust across the metal bit. It trampled innocents into the dust beneath iron-clad hooves, hot as hellfire, flailing like a gale in every direction. Such a creature was in no way unaccountable for its actions. Good horses, Jet decided, threw off their riders if they were firebenders. Good horses would attune themselves with their surroundings, being much closer to nature than man, and realize the weight of evil they carried. That is why the mare who bore the woman died; because it willfully aided those who sought destruction, those who sought death. And anything that aided such a man Jet swore to kill.

The woman was a harder matter. Most would've thought his cruelty beyond reason to stab a helpless woman; but she was Fire Nation, born and bread, and the same demonic blood ran through her cursed veins. Her vicious nature was only curbed by society, and had she the chance she would've gladly joined the holocaust that devastating night. But what Jet mainly knew was this: that women bore children.

The baby was the most offensive of all in Jet's eyes. He had cried loudly upon seeing the strange, dark-haired Earth Kingdom boy glare at him with a laughing knife, his swirling black eyes clouded with untold depths of hatred. But that small bundle of insignificant, sobbing human flesh was something far greater, something Jet wrapped his mind around only after several long days of concentration and training. That baby was the future, and the devils of Fire Nation did not deserve a future.

All these things Jet managed in his head and repeated to himself, forming the basis of his life, the basis of his belief. He knew what purpose he would serve, but the beliefs yet escaped him. The deaths he had brought had taught him where to begin his beliefs. Soon he no longer had to tell himself certain things. He had worried that killing was sinful. But he was killing Fire Nation, the Land of Devils, and to rid the world of evil was a crusade of holiest degree. Would his parents be upset?

Remember why you fight. They killed your parents. You can't know if they'd be upset.

Remember why you fight.

And with the vision of his parents in mind, Jet settled to his first task.

Building an army.


Jet had never dreamed of being a leader, and even as he began to plan he did not fancy himself one. He was overwhelmed by daily life, which had suddenly become dreadfully difficult and dangerous. His first home was occupied by a large badger – something he found out too late, though he came away with a beautiful pelt and a boastful stomach scar. After that he concentrated more on secrecy, on the location of his home; and that was when he looked to the trees.

For a ten year old boy Jet was devilishly smart. Fire Nation soldiers – despite the archers – did not climb trees unless they could burn them down first. To create his hideout among the branches could either be perfect genius or creative suicide, both of which Jet's mind could easily comprehend. The forest was much to large and lush to be burned down quickly, and Jet's palace was located directly in the midst of it. Any escape from a fire would be pitifully easy.

But with the discovery of a treetop home, Jet focused on another problem: food. While the forest was abundant with delicacies such as the hardly digestible Leechy Nut, it would take a good source of protein to keep Jet's body at full strength. And that was how Jet learned to fish.

The details are all either boring or hilarious, but in the end Jet stumbled back to the half-rotting horse carcass and managed to make a net out of horse hair. This living, however, was almost unendurable, and Jet – to keep his mind of the roars of his stomach – spent most of his time mapping out the forest. On his third voyage, he happened to pass the spot where the dead bodies lay, nauseous and decaying, on the brown earth. He froze behind a nearby tree at the scene and watched, captivated. Seven soldiers stood there.

This time, Jet did not have the immediate desire to kill them. He was growing cunning, and a malicious new idea came to him, compliments of his rumbling belly.

He would steal.