Sukuna: The Last Sorcerer 6

The arena held its breath, four converging lances of fire illuminating every frozen expression in the stands. Ozai watched from his elevated position, golden eyes alight as he watched the events proceed as expected. A necessary spectacle.

It was most unfortunate that Azula’s ambition had outpaced her judgment. I had thought better of Azula. She bore none of her brother’s stain; the sentimentality, naivety and loyalty to foolish ideas that had poisoned the boy since words first left his mouth.

Worst of all, there had been little sign of it; no warning of the stain Ursa and Iroh both had left on his eldest.

This oddly dark Water Tribe cur bleeding on his arena floor was a tangible stain on his daughter’s otherwise flawless record of performance. A boy with no discernible bending talent, no strategic value, no utility beyond serving as a lesson in the consequences of disappointing the Fire Lord with fabricated nonsense… and this is what she brings before my court. 

His father would have had his head, and it was only Ozai’s magnanimous heart and overflowing kindness that prevented him from doing the same. One does not present a faulty weapon to the Fire Lord. And one especially does not present a lying fool.

He had not wished to humiliate his daughter publicly, but her hubris and foolishness had risen past what could be tolerated. Bringing to him some half-breed with the appearance of Water Tribe filth and the crude strength of an Earth Kingdom peasant, claiming mythical powers that existed only in children’s stories.

This was necessary.

His hands rested on the arms of his chair as he prepared to rise, the announcement of the boy’s death sitting on his tongue. A year of reduced public appearances for Azula would suffice to let this incident fade from court memory. Perhaps assignment to a remote military outpost where her tactical gifts could be properly channeled.

As he opened his mouth, the air itself thickened.

Pressure dropped throughout the arena, a sensation that made his skin tense. A low, dry chuckle seemed to leak from the very atmosphere, a sound soaked in ancient amusement that had no identifiable source.

“For thousands of years I lay dormant. Who has disturbed my…?”

The voice rolled out unconcerned, consonants soft but carrying weight that pressed against his chest. Ozai froze, imperial certainty fracturing for the first time in decades. The chi in the air was wrong; ancient, dense, utterly contemptuous of the ordered power he commanded.

What sorcery is this?

The fire lances didn’t simply dissipate. They were consumed, drawn into the boy’s prone form as the flames swirled inward, transforming from orange to a blood-red black that hurt to look at directly.

The figure that emerged bore the boy’s frame, somewhat broader now, but the presence was immense. Four crimson eyes opened, two primary and two smaller ones set directly below, fixing on his Ri Qiang with nothing but contempt. The black markings across the creature’s skin glowed like fresh embers pulled from a forge.

Ozai’s fingers tightened on his chair arms, every instinct screaming that the power radiating from this thing was older than the Fire Nation itself, older than bending, older than the careful order he had spent his life maintaining.

“…oh. Benders.”

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

This is it. 

The princess of the Fire Nation remained in her seat, the power pushing her spine flat against the back of it. Her heart pounded like a raparoo, her body frozen with fear, but the raw smile she wore was enough sign that the fear was not alone. The power I witnessed. The power Father dismissed as children’s tales.

The chi washing over the royal dais was intoxicating and suffocating both, twisted, toxic, raw and untamed in ways that made her own blue flames feel like parlor tricks. The air itself seemed to thicken with malevolent presence, waves of power rippling outward from the creature standing where Ryo had fallen.

Her Lord Father was motionless as he watched the arena below. The daughter’s eyes went wide as her father’s did the same as she spotted genuine disbelief, a crack in that impenetrable armor of imperial certainty. He sees it now. He finally sees.

Her heart hammered against her ribs as she took in the Dark Avatar for the first time since the volcano, since that moment when molten death had nearly claimed her before he quelled it with a gesture. No trace remained of the boy she had once seen as merely a vessel for something greater, the full weight of his power a vicegrip against her lungs.

The bein  stood tall in the arena’s center, surveying his surroundings with casual arrogance that made the Ri Qiang — men she knew as near-masters, veterans of at least a dozen campaigns each — look no more than frightened children.

He lifted his hands, observing the charred stumps with detached curiosity, studying the damage as one might examine an interesting insect. Four red eyes flicked to the side, landing firmly on the severed right hand lying on white stone, and his lips curved into a grin that made her spine straighten involuntarily.

“Now… who was it that took my hand?” The words rolled out slow, amused, carrying weight that seemed to press against her eardrums.

The first captain’s discipline shattered, the man unleashing a desperate, wild blast of fire with almost none of his former control.

The Dark Avatar gestured with a severed wrist and dark red chi sparked to life.

A mass of it coalesced around the stump and, in the blink of an eye, the hand was whole in an instant, flesh knitted and fingers flexing.

Five new fingers caught the raw blast of fire, crushing it like a paper lantern, and a slash of amused contempt ripped across his face. “Don’t bother answering.”

Azula’s eyes struggled to follow what happened next. One moment, the Dark Avatar stood in the arena’s center. The next, he was gone.

Not moved. Gone.

Then he was there, directly in front of the captain who threw fire at him, his fresh hand cupping the man’s face with deceptive gentleness.

A heartbeat later, a wet, pulping crunch echoed through the silent arena.

The captain’s skull collapsed inward like an eggshell; bone, brain and so much blood painting the floor. Ryo’s body held the corpse up for a moment, shaking it with the casual indifference of a child discarding a broken toy, before letting it drop.

Grinning wide, he lifted his foot and brought it down, a single, contemptuous press against ancient stone.

The Agni Kai arena fractured outward in lines of devastation that raced across centuries-old masonry, cracks spreading faster than her eyes could track. The sound was thunder contained in stone, a deep rumbling that she felt in her bones.

By Agni…

The rest of the Ri Qiang attacked, the once-perfect formation of the four dissolving into a frantic, desperate assault of three. Perfectly manicured fingers tightened on the railing as Azula watched her father’s finest warriors reduced to panicked animals.

The largest captain charged forward with a bellow worthy of a komodo rhino, fists wreathed in flames that would have melted steel.

The Dark Avatar sidestepped the charge in another blur of motion, movement too fast for Azula track. Flesh squelched and a fist appeared on the other side of the captain’s chest, buried knuckle-deep through ribs and muscle.

A geyser of blood erupted from the man’s back, spattering across white stone in patterns that reminded her of calligraphy practice.

The spirit-in-flesh retracted his arm slowly, holding something dark and wet that still pulsed with life. He examined the heart with mild interest, turning it over in his palm before casually tossing it over his shoulder. 

He tore out a heart. The body collapsed with a wet thud that echoed through the silent arena, Azula staring with her mouth open. With his bare hand.

The third captain unleashed whips of fire, desperate lashes that would have carved through armor and bone.

Sukuna didn’t dodge. He raised one hand, fingers slightly curled in a gesture she didn’t recognize.

A flick of the wrist.

The captain’s legs severed cleanly at the knee, no flame involved, no visible force, and Azula’s breath caught. Some form of airbending. No wonder Fire Lord Sozin struck the Air Nomads first.

The captain toppled forward, screaming, before Sukuna appeared in front of him in another impossible blur of motion. 

A single step. 

The throat crushed beneath his foot.

Four movements. Three dead.

The final captain; the one who had taken the hand, who had drawn first blood; turned to flee. Terror had shattered his discipline completely, reducing a near-master to a mewling child.

“Pathetic.” The word rolled out slow, genuinely bored, carrying more contempt than she had ever managed to pack into her cruelest dismissals.

He raised a single finger. A concentrated orb of fire appeared at the tip, no bigger than her fist. Not the grand, explosive flames of a master bender; this was dense, controlled, malevolent in ways that made her blue fire feel crude.

The orb shot forward with a low hiss that cut through the arena’s silence.

It struck the fleeing captain between the shoulder blades.

No explosion. Just silent, impossibly fast incineration. The man dissolved into a cloud of black ash that drifted on hot air currents, nothing left to mark his existence save the acrid smell of burned flesh.

Complete annihilation. In seconds.

The Dark Avatar turned toward the royal box, four corpses arranged around him in an artwork of brutal efficiency. He spread his arms wide, displaying the glowing markings across his bare chest that pulsed with power she could taste on her tongue.

“Ah. So the oh-so-proud Sun Warriors have become the lofted Fire Nation. I like it.” His crimson gaze swept across the horrified court, and Azula felt herself lean forward despite every instinct screaming danger. “Tell me, do you have any dragons to eat?”

Sun Warriors?

The words sparked something in her memory, fragments of ancient history lessons about the original firebenders, the civilization that predated the Fire Nation by millennia.

Eating dragons?

“No? Well, and here I was so excited.” His laugh was dry, breathy, genuinely entertained by their terror.

His four eyes locked onto Father, and the amusement drained from his voice, replaced by something that made the air itself feel heavier. Ancient authority that pressed against her chest.

“If you ever try something against my body again…” The threat hung in superheated air, incomplete but devastating. His grin returned, sharp and malicious. “I will show this entire nation why beings of both worlds all feared the name Ryomen Sukuna.”

This power… it is not a tool to be wielded. It is a force to be appeased.

The realization struck her with crystalline clarity. She had not brought Father a weapon. She had brought him a god. And gods required worship, required priestesses who understood their nature.

A god can have a high priestess.

The immense presence receded like tide pulling back from shore. The form softened, extra eyes fading, glowing marks dimming to black ink. Ryo’s body slumped forward before catching itself, blinking in obvious confusion.

He looked at his regrown right hand, flexing fingers that had been severed moments ago. His gaze swept over the mangled corpses, the shattered arena floor, and his expression shifted to pure bewilderment.

He looked up at the silent, terrified court, then at her smiling face.

“Did I win?”