Aang centers himself until he can feel the gentle pull of the spirit world. He opens his eyes and sees an equally translucent Azula floating in the physical world. Huh.
"That's new."
Azula's eyes dart around before narrowing in on him, "Stop staring and put an end to this nonsense!"
Aang looks down and spots a collapsed body. "Are you…dead?" he asks hesitantly.
Azula's glare doesn't lose any heat despite being in spirit form. "No," she says coldly.
Aang gently floats to the ground and tilts his head. "Are you sure? You're facedown."
"I felt the glow. This," Azula gestures at her spirit form, "is your fault."
"My fault? Oh! You mean it's a double bending thing?"
Azula nods. "How do you return to physical form?"
"I sort of sink back into my body like it's a spirit sponge."
Azula stares at him with an unreadable expression on her face.
"I've never had to explain it to someone before," defends Aang.
"…and how do you move," asks Azula in a strangled voice.
"The same way you do in the real world."
"I don't fly in the real world!"
"Oh," Aang thinks for a bit. "Try imagining gravity?"
Azula huffs and closes her eyes. A moment later a now singular Azula is rubbing her face and glaring at him.
Aang winces. Maybe her glare did lose heat. He gives a quick "Sorry!" and heads towards the river.
Aang has a gut feeling that the disappearances are related to a spirit. The unnatural stillness of the river only accentuates the feeling.
He calls out to the river, "Hello? Spirit? I'm the Avatar. I've come to bring peace between our worlds."
The water ripples in reply.
Aang steps into the river. It's a strange feeling, stepping into water as a spirit. He can feel the tug of water, can see the small waves formed by his steps, but the telltale feeling of water against skin remains a memory. He sees a shadow spread across the river, and he looks up. The sky has turned dark. That's also new.
This day is full of surprises, but Aang has a feeling Azula isn't the reason why the sky has changed from light blue to murky mulberry.
Aang steps out of the river. The sky returns to normal.
"What happened?" he asks, "Did the village hurt you?"
Not even a ripple this time.
Aang takes a moment to steady himself and steps back into the water.
He tries again. "How can I help?"
The water murmurs in response. The slow tug turning into a soft current.
Aang wades deeper into the water until half floating half treading. Even as a spirit, the water somehow weighs him down. It's a constant downward pull but Aang pays the extra weight little heed because, in this form, his arms will never strain against the weight.
He shouts, "What did you do with the people?"
The gurgles of the river blend and rumble into an almost whisper of a voice. Aang cups a hand over his ear, straining to hear a reply, when the river suddenly goes silent and Aang looks down and sees the water has turned the same color as the sky. Too late, he realizes, too late that he is now swimming in blood.
Thank you, Aang
He's back at the air temple with the other airbenders. They stare at him, silent, judging, as his body moves against his own accord towards the window. Aang tries to speak. There's blood in his mouth.
Thank you, Aang
It's dark and his stomach hurts. There's cold stone against his back and straw in his mouth. His eyes adjust and he sees Smellerbee and Longshot crying over him, he sees himself leave the room. He coughs a dying man's cough, breathless and desperate and full of blood.
Thank you, Aang
He's kneeling. There are hands on his face. Aang can't see but he can hear. He hears the voices of his past lives say as one, "Thank you, Aang", and then his insides begin to burn. He tries to scream, but no sound comes out, only light, and he's drowning in the sensation. "Thank you for your mercy," they say, and Aang feels himself slip away.
You're welcome
…
..
.
..
…
I hide
in the belly
of the beast
and wait
for God
to return
from His visit
to the holy land.
Sometimes we suffer
more than we
can bear.
…
..
.
..
…
God slits
the throat
of the beast
and frees me
from the darkness
that haunts
the living.
Sometimes we choose
our suffering.
-Harley King
The floor is moist. There is a staleness in the air that coats his skin and lays claim to his nostrils with the overwhelming scent of slowly rotting meat. Aang pulls himself to his hands and knees, and tries not to vomit. He shakily lights a flame in his hand—Agni's light—and feels a surge of relief when he sees that the floor is not wet with blood, but rather with what looks to be warm drool.
Aang cups the flame in his hands and brings it closer to his core, drawing on the warmth. Something is wrong with this spirit. He centers himself with his breath until the flame in his hand is steady.
He's the Avatar and there are people to save. He shouldn't be resting.
Aang rises to his feet and extends his hands, spreading the fire out and trading in warmth for light. What he sees confirms his suspicions; walls and floor made of flesh. He's been eaten like in the stories of selfish boys and hippowhales.
He's an airbender. He could probably escape. But they're counting on him. He can't—
The floor rumbles.
He has to save them. Quickly.
Aang walks fast but it's dark and the floor is wet. His foot slips, and he tumbles. He tries to catch himself with blasts of air, but when Aang fell he forgot he was the Avatar-that he could bend both fire and air. He let his flame go out and, in the darkness, he couldn't stop himself from falling down and down into the most uninviting home until his hand grips onto something solid. Something familiar.
Please be alive.
Aang's fingers find purchase on telltale grooves; the divots underneath the nose and lips. He twists his fingers, confirming the clammy feel of skin. Aang is pretty sure he is holding onto a face.
He tries to raise his other hand and coax out another flame, but it feels like he's moving the hollow hand of a puppet, instead of warmth there is a cold numbness.
Don't panic, thinks Aang as he sits alone in the belly of a beast with one hand on either a person or a corpse. Remember, fire draws on air. Aang times his breathing to the dripping of the cavern walls. He tries again. He will always try again. Fire roars against his hand like a dragon and Aang looks from flame to face.
It is a man with a face gouged with wrinkles and topped with a crooked nose. Aang doesn't know if he's alive or not, the skin devoid of a strong vein and smothered in the pulsating wall. Aang makes to hold the flame closer, till it was underneath the man's nose, so that he could see proof of life in the swaying of the flame, but the light first reflects off of the glistening walls; revealing that flesh had wrapped itself securely around the man as tightly and as uncomfortable as a sopping blanket.
Aang takes another breath, the wrongness of the air filling his lungs, and braces himself against the slice of flesh covering the man from the chest down. Flames hug his hands and wrists as he slowly presses into the pulsating cocoon.
This is taking too long, thinks Aang. Although he cannot say for certain how long it has been. The heaviness of the air drapes over him, making him feel slow and lethargic while the beating, moist, room makes any time spent here feel far too long.
He swallows and regrets the taste. If he was a better Avatar, perhaps the man would be freed by now. He was wasting time, time spent on a corpse, all because he couldn't let go of sentimentalities.
His foot dips into the flesh and Aang bumps his head against the wall, the feeling of warm goo against his face grounding him back into the present.
Uck.
Aang stares at the fire in his hands and wills it blue. The smell of burnt flesh soon permeating the heavy air.
Of course, blue flames would only remind him of her; the woman responsible for both the scar and soulmark upon his back, Azula.
"You could try taking away her bending," suggested Sokka, ever the pragmatic.
"I don't know if I can," said Aang.
He had listed enough reasons to convince the others, but with Ozai escaped and the world in danger, it was hard not to see them as excuses.
Maybe Aang was weak. He wanted to be loved—
"You need people to like you," said Azula, her gold eyes cutting through to him as they always did whether on the battlefield or on the same side. She reminded him that he was a mortal, that he was Aang, who she could kill as easily as she could any other.
It wasn't fair. All Aang wanted was a soulmate who loved him. Was that so wrong? To want to receive without requiring to give, just this once?
"You hate that the Fire Nation doesn't want an Avatar." You hate it. You hate that I'm not required to love you.
No she wasn't required to love him or to even like him. Soulmates were supposed to be a sign of true love, but destiny consisted of choices. Aang chose Katara but she didn't choose to love him back. There was no one who would love him the way he wanted, and who could blame them?
The blue in his hands does not falter but Aang lacks the will to push any further.
Aang had put too many expectations on Katara, it was his fault. He had pushed and assumed she would pull. He didn't bother to check. He didn't read the signs. No wonder she chose Zuko over him. Would they even be friends after this; when Katara no longer needed the Avatar?
The last of the meaty support melts away and the man or the corpse drops down and hits the floor with a plop.
Aang stands there unmoving. "Inadequate…" he mumbles, lacking the will to avoid the moist flesh slithering over and encasing his feet. "I feel inadequate…"
*ding*
Aang points an accusing finger into the air. "You're feeding off of my sadness!"
The beast lurches and Aang nearly falls backwards as the floor suddenly becomes vertical. He aims a blast of fire and air Flamey-o Hotman! at his feet and lunges.
Man or corpse, he should be reunited with his family.
Aang grabs ahold of the man
The beast roars. An image of Gyatso's skeleton flashes through Aang's mind. The corpse slips free.
No!
Aang pushes off the floor-now-wall with a gust of wind and falls after the man. But it's dark in the belly of the beast. So dark that if it wasn't for the stinging of air in his eyes Aang wouldn't know they were open.
This must be what it feels like to be blind. It's a comforting thought, if only because of Toph, and it's enough to shake the sadness away for a second.
Aang takes a deep breath. He can't save him unless he finds him. He didn't save Toph, he took her away from her family just as he did to Sokka and Katara. He wanted them to suffer. He hated how they had a home to return to while he didn't. He ruined Zuko's family—
"I'm here but that's not enough for you, is it?"
Blue flames wrap around his arms, vibrant and insolent of the surrounding darkness. He glimpses a shape below him and flings his arms backwards, propelling himself forward with a burst of blue.
Gotcha.
Aang catches the man between his legs and then tries to catch himself by burning his hands into the beast. His descent slows to the smell of burning flesh until Aang hangs in place, alone in the belly of the beast with nothing but darkness, his thoughts, and a corpse.
It's not enough, is it?
Aang closes his eyes and tries to ignore the burning in his arms and throat. Blood trickles down his knuckles. Blood of the beast. Aang extends his chi, pushing and pulling with each pulse of blood until he feels their heartbeats merge into one.
The beast stills.
"Let us go," Aang intones.
It is not a request.
thank you shipaycon for editing
