Sukuna: The Last Sorcerer 5
Sukuna: The Last Sorcerer
Book 1: Episode 5
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
The cold stone bit into her knees as the vastness of the throne room stretched empty around her. Princess Azula of the Fire Nation held the position, spine straight, head bowed in perfect submission. The room had long faded into silence, the whispered panic of the courtiers long swept away, along with Ryo’s insolence, leaving nothing but crackling flame and the unbearable weight of her father’s full attention.
Her Lord Father’s footsteps echoed as he descended from his raised dais, each step both measured and calculated. He moved like a predator, patient but dangerous, his footsteps shaep against polished stone as he traced a slow circle around her kneeling form.
His hands stayed loose at his sides, a sign that he was truly incensed and might be willing to punish in the old ways at an instant. “An odd fool, daughter. That is what you brought before me.”
The Fire Lord’s voice was not loud but a low, resonant murmur that cut deeper than shouting ever could; a tone that made ministers risk wetting themselves, the same one that made her spine straighten whenever she heard it. “An insolent Water Tribe child with the temerity to mark his skin and the audacity to speak to me as an equal.”
Water Tribe. The dismissal was a blow, one that stung even more than the accusation of falsehood. He is no such thing. Even if he was anywhere close in appearance, someone that predated the Water Tribe could not be one of their ilk simply by definition.
But it mattered little, if at all.
Her Lord Father had already swept Ryo aside, filed him away as something foreign and therefore lesser. As Fire Lord, Father prized his duty to the Nation above all else and, as such, he saw only what did and didn’t belong to it.
Ryo, by appearance alone, was undoubtedly other.
The Fire Lord came to a stop directly in front of her. The light from the flame pillars behind him cast his shadow long and menacing across her bent form, and she could feel the weight of his disappointment settling over her shoulders.
“You parade this… foreigner… before my court, claiming he is a figure of legend. Has your ambition finally eroded your sense?” Each word landed with surgical precision, and then came the blow she had been dreading. “You disappoint me.”
Her stomach clenched tight, muscles contracting involuntarily, but she kept her head bowed, her voice steady when she spoke. Showing weakness now would be fatal.
“Father, his appearance is strange, yes. But his power is real. I saw him emerge from molten lava unharmed. I saw him quiet an erupting volcano with a single gesture. I spoke to the spirit inside him.”
The words felt inadequate even as she spoke them. How could she explain the raw, untamed force that had rolled off Ryo when the demon stirred? The way the very air had seemed to thicken with malevolence? Father required proof, demonstrations, measurable results.
His tone shifted, becoming a slow, manipulative purr that she knew well. The sound of a predator toying with prey before the killing strike. A hand appeared under her chin, firm fingers forcing her head up until she met his gaze. His smile was devoid of warmth, perfect and terrible.
“You still believe in these old myths the Sages whisper about?”
The question was a trap, but she walked into it anyway. “Father, you told me of them as well.”
“As any parent would tell their child a story. As my father did to me when I was little more than an infant. Because tales are for infants, child. Those who know no better, and can not yet be trusted to handle the weight of reality.” She forced herself to still, fighting a flinch as her father’s voice carried the weight of absolute dismissal. “Power is not found in dusty scrolls, Azula. It is forged. It is taken. You have learned nothing.”
Azula forced herself to meet his gaze even as every single word cut deeper than any other, golden eyes steady despite the way her chest tightened. She had miscalculated, overplayed her hand, but retreat now would mean admitting complete failure. “I have seen it, Father. This, I promise. He wields fire that is not simple bending. It is raw, untamed creation.”
Father released her chin, his smile turning mockingly sweet, the expression she had learned to fear more than his rage. When Father smiled thus, someone was about to suffer.
“Very well. If your ‘Dark Avatar’ is as formidable as you claim, then a simple trial against my Ri Qiang will be nothing more than a trifle.” His pause stretched out, letting the words settle, letting her understand exactly what he was offering. “A trifle for him… and for your sake.”
Ri Qiang. The name sent ice through her veins despite the heat surrounding them. Father’s pet monster, the one who had never lost a battle, never shown mercy. If Ryo failed this test, it would not merely prove Father right.
It would kill them both.
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
His assigned chambers were nice enough that Ryo could almost forget they were just a fancy prison with better furniture.
Almost.
He was looking out the window, shoulders tight, trying to shake off the weird feeling that’d been crawling under his skin since the throne room. It was the same feeling that he noticed when he realized for the first time that he was in what was literally an evil kingdom. With a textbook evil overlord, too.
And of course, the evil princess who just walked into his room.
“My Lord Father has decreed a trial. While not an Agni Kai, you will demonstrate your power in the royal arena in an hour’s time.”
Azula’s voice was as cool as ever, but for some reason it felt different to him as he turned around, a smirk he only half-felt across his face. “A demonstration?”
His arms hummed with energy; the last week he spent on the boat was not enough for him to get used to his new strength, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t comfortable with it. Ryo flexed his hands, remembering the way the metal railing on the ship had felt under his grip, like it might bend if he squeezed too hard.
“So I gotta beat up some guards? Pfft.” He rolled his shoulders, trying to look bored. “Whatever. Sounds easy enough.” Finally, something I can actually do instead of standing around getting lectured.
Azula’s expression was flat as stone, the princess’s pretty golden eyes not showing any emotion he could use to guess how bad this actually was. “It will not be simple,” she continued. “You will not be facing common soldiers who throw messy gouts of flame. You will face four of the Ri Qiang. The Royal Guard Captains of the Imperial Procession.”
Azula blinked slowly, the girl in front of him silent for a moment.
Ryo just blinked back at her. I… okay?
She sighed, the sound low. “Each and every member of the venerated Ri Qiang is a near-master bender whose flames can melt steel. Where a normal firebender would throw gouts of flame, they project shaped lances. No matter their number, they fight as one, with a grace and lethality forged through daily training.”
Ryo felt the smile on his face almost fall before he caught it. “Near-master, huh?” He leaned against the wall, trying to stay chill even though something in his gut was starting to twist. “So, pretty much asscheeks compared to you, huh, princess?”
For the first time, a flicker of something other than control crossed Azula’s face. “Even as a master, I would not be so willing to face four of them at once. Do not underestimate them.”
Ryo’s eye twitched as the number finally hit him. “Wait… did you say F—!”
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
Four men stared at him from the four corners of the white stone arena, and Ryo could feel their eyes tracking every twitch of muscle as he stood there shirtless and barefoot, wearing nothing but a pair of pants that probably cost more than his old sneakers. The ground was hard and unforgiving under his feet, smooth stone that would hurt when he hit it.
And he was probably gonna hit it.
The stands were packed with a sea of judgmental eyes; Fire Nation courtiers and nobles dressed in their fancy reds and golds, all of them leaning forward like they were watching a pay-per-view fight. High above, Ozai sat on his royal dais with Azula standing silent beside him, both of them looking down at him like he was some kind of science experiment.
The Ri Qiang stood motionless at their corners, each man built like they bench-pressed small cars for fun. They were tall, powerfully built, and even standing still they moved wrong, all coiled energy and predator patience.
The one to his right had this smirk on his face, mocking eyes that said he was already planning how to make this hurt. The other three stayed stone-faced, professional killers waiting for the starting bell.
These guys aren’t like the old man on the boat. They move like they get paid to kill people.
Ryo felt his chest tighten as all those eyes pressed down on him. He tried to reach out mentally, the way he’d been doing for days now whenever things got weird.
Sukuna… you there?
His head stayed empty. Not even a whisper of that annoying voice that usually wouldn’t shut up.
I might need a little help here. The anxiety was creeping up his spine now, making his hands twitch. I know you made me strong or whatever, but I can’t throw fire and I’m definitely not fireproof.
Still nothing. The silence in his skull was complete, like trying to call someone whose phone was turned off.
…fuck you too, then.
The Fire Lord rose from his seat, and the entire arena went quiet, the whole space suddenly silent. “Members of the court. We are gathered today to test a claim. A claim brought by my daughter, Princess Azula.”
He gestured down at Ryo like he was pointing out a bug on the floor.
“On her journey to exceed mastery of the art of firebending, she believes to have stumbled upon someone that claims himself to be the ‘Dark Avatar,’ a spirit from a forgotten myth.” His tone carried just enough mockery to let everyone know what he thought about myths and spirits.
“I never claimed anything!” Ryo shouted back, hands cupped around his mouth, his voice echoing off the arena walls.
Ozai’s eyes narrowed for half a second, but he kept talking like Ryo hadn’t said a word, his gaze sweeping over the crowd before landing back on him.
“Today, we will have proof. This boy will face four captains of my Royal Guard. He will either demonstrate a power worthy of our attention, proving himself a valuable weapon for the Fire Nation…” The pause stretched out, letting everyone fill in the blanks. “Or he will be revealed as a worthless fraud, and disposed of as such.”
Ryo looked up at the royal dais, a scowl spreading across his face as the words sank in.
Amazing. Spectacular, even.
So it wasn’t just a test. It was an execution with extra steps. And Sukuna, the one entity that might actually help him not die horribly, had apparently decided to take a nap at the worst possible time.
Ozai seated himself with that same measured precision, his expression unreadable as stone. He raised a single hand, and the entire arena went dead quiet.
“Let the trial commence.”
A gong cracked through the arena air and Ryo didn’t hesitate, didn’t think, just moved the way his body wanted to move. He burst forward, aiming for the captain to his right, trying to drop at least one of these dudes before they could jump him proper.
Take out the smirky one first.
The Ri Qiang reacted with perfect coordination, and the fight immediately started going to shit.
The captain he was sprinting toward stomped his foot hard, and a low wall of intensely hot fire erupted from the stone, blocking his path and forcing him to skid to a halt on bare feet. Jesus! The heat hit his face and chest, making his eyes water.
From the side, another captain unleashed this narrow, piercing jet of fire that cut through the air, aimed right where he’d stopped. A scalpel of heat that would’ve cooked him medium-rare.
Ryo leaped backward instinctively, clearing over ten feet easy, his legs doing work he didn’t know they could do.
He landed and immediately threw a punch at the nearest captain’s head, putting everything behind it, the kind of blow that would turn concrete into powder.
The man didn’t dodge.
He met the punch with his elbow, his forearm wrapped in this tight sheath of orange flame, and the impact made a loud crack that echoed through the arena. The smell of burnt hair and skin hit Ryo’s nose as his knuckles got scorched raw, pain shooting up his arm.
“Aaaahhhhh!” Before he could pull back, the captain to his left snapped a perfectly straight kick at his ribs, his boot trailing a lance of fire that looked sharp enough to cut steel.
Ryo twisted away, the heat searing the side of his chest as he bit back another scream, but dodging that kick put him right where another captain wanted him. The guy swept a low, scything arc of fire at his ankles, forcing him into a desperate leap that left him hanging in the air with nowhere to go.
He landed hard and immediately shoved off the ground, using that explosive strength to rip a slab of stone from the arena floor. The chunk of rock was bigger than his whole chest, and he hurled it at the captains with enough force to cave in a car.
One of them shattered it mid-air with a single, precise jet of fire, stone fragments raining down as the other three used the dust cloud as cover. They advanced in perfect formation, their footsteps a measured, rhythmic stomp that sounded way too coordinated.
Shit, they’re not just working together. They’re working together.
As the dust cleared, Ryo could see each one was doing something different, playing a different role in this whole thing. He was already naming them in his head, going off what they were doing and what they looked like as he tried to keep track of each one.
The guy he’d gone for first, the one with the smirk who’d been taunting him into making that exact move: Point.
The one in the back who hadn’t made a real move yet, shifty eyes scanning everything, clearly calling the shots: Eyes.
The one moving sideways, closing off his escape routes: Sticky.
And the biggest one with the widest swings, the one who looked like he could bench press a truck: Heavy.
The fight shifted; from a raw brawl to a desperate dance, brutal and close-quarters.
More than anything, Ryo was learning real quick that being fast in a straight line didn’t mean shit when these guys moved all at once. They weren’t just fighting him; they were herding him, forming a cage he couldn’t break out of.
He ducked under Point’s fiery spear-hand thrust and lunged forward, hand out, as he tried to grab Heavy by the throat. “Aaaaghhhh!” Ryo flew back screaming, his chest burning from a palm-thrust that launched him offf his feet with heat and force.
Fucking…
He dodged, weaved, threw himself around the arena, and when frustration got too much he punched the stone floor hard enough to leave spiderweb cracks spreading out from his fist. But he couldn’t get close. Every time he tried, there was another lance of fire, another coordinated move that put him exactly where they wanted him.
He was a ragdoll caught in a vortex of precise, lethal fire, and the worst part was they weren’t even throwing massive fireballs or showing off. They were stabbing with lances of heat, forcing him around the arena like a rat in a maze, making him dance to their rhythm.
This is embarrassing.
Overwhelmed and pissed off beyond thinking, Ryo threw a wild, desperate punch at whoever was closest. It was sloppy, telegraphed, the kind of move that would’ve gotten him killed in Sukuna’s little torture sessions.
Point moved in with this flawless, powerful spinning hook kick, and Ryo saw the blade of white-hot fire surge from his heel, thin as a razor and twice as sharp.
He tried to pull back but he was too slow, too committed to the stupid punch. There was this high-pitched shing sound, like superheated metal cutting air, and the fire blade connected with his outstretched right arm.
No blood.
Just this searing, sizzling sound and the smell of ozone and cooked flesh that reminded him of barbecue in the worst possible way. His hand was gone, severed clean at the wrist, lying on the white stone and still twitching.
The agony hit him like a truck made of lightning, everything going white as he stumbled back screaming. His throat was raw before he realized he was making noise.
Well, that’s number twenty.
The thought came from nowhere, automatic, like counting wasn’t something he had to think about anymore. Twenty times I lose a hand.
Pain and shock were making his vision swim, but he brought his remaining hand up, trying to focus through the white haze. The captains didn’t give him time to recover, didn’t even pause to admire their work.
Point and Heavy stepped forward in unison, thrust their palms out, and unleashed this combined, powerful blast of fire that hit him head-on. A solid wall of force that charred the fingertips of his left hand and sent him flying backward.
His chest burned.
“AAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!” He crashed into the arena floor hard enough to crack the stone, his clothes scorched, his whole body screaming in protest. The only thing keeping him awake was this burning, stubborn pride that felt uncomfortably familiar, like it belonged to the voice in his head.
Ryo’s head snapped up, sweat and grime pouring down his face. His vision blurred, lungs choked as the heat made it impossible for him to draw an easy breath. No!
The four Ri Qiang were moving into final formation at the center of the arena, pivoting as one, combining their chi. Four powerful, concentrated lances of pure, white-hot fire erupted from their hands, converging on where he lay bleeding.
I’m going to die. The realization hit him not as fear but as pure, unadulterated rage. Humiliation burned hotter than any flame they could throw at him.
Four lances of fire closed in, as instinct, desperation, and fury took over completely.
“SUKUNAAAAAAAA!!!”