“Heard what, Lieutenant?!” Azula snapped, bursting from her seat. She flinched as a searing pain shot through her shoulder, knees bending and almost taking her down.
“General,” Connor started, alarmed, rushing towards her.
“Stay back,” she growled, holding a hand up.
She averted her gaze from her lieutenant, willing her body back upright, and let out a deep, healing breath. She swallowed the hurt; there was no fucking way she was going to let anyone see her in pain, not even one of her lieutenants. She knew that she didn’t have to prove that she wasn’t weak — she was Azula, so that much was evident already.
The fire princess’ face contorted into a scowl as she adjusted the wrap on her shoulder. It seemed she’d made a name for herself already in a short amount of time. It was no matter — the clown at the head of this horde of frankly ridiculous looking creatures would answer to her soon enough. Whoever it was, it would rue the day that it challenged her, rue the day that it brought itself into her sights. For a while, she’d been content to follow Mustang’s orders to the letter, bide her time until the proper moment to make her mark.
Well, it seemed that the proper time had presented itself earlier than usual. The unmade commander had forced her hand, now.
People always forced her hand. She’d gone her whole life chasing after the expectations of others — or running from them. She didn’t know why she had ever thought it would be different in this realm. First Hela, then everyone in this goddamn war game. What was she left to do except light them all on fire and watch them burn before her very eyes? What was she supposed to except step back and let them all face her wrath?
“Connor,” she almost whispered, “gather the troops. I’d like to speak to them.”
John Connor nodded, and turned to go, but his general wasn’t done with him quite yet.
“And Connor,” she said, “thank you for checking on me.”
***
It wasn’t long before every soldier in the Burning Legion had gathered in the half-burnt town square of what had once been Bedlam, before the unmade had gotten a hold of it. As Azula had surveyed the town, she’d been able to see shadows of its former glory. Spires spiraled out of the tops of buildings, spiking into the sky like twisted fingers holding back the storm that threatened to come crashing down upon them. Little did they know they’d been destined for it, destined to be caught up in the machinations of these monsters and whatever abomination stood at the seat of power.
Azula stood atop one of the rooftops, leaning on one of the spires. Her shoulder pain had begun to subside for now, though she knew it probably wouldn’t go away completely without significant medical help. It twinged a bit as she pushed herself off the spire and towards the edge of the rooftop to speak to her charges.
“Soldiers,” she shouted. “Today… we’ve won.”
She didn’t expect shouts of victory, but the complete silence caught her off guard. Below, her troops passed looks of confusion down the line. Yes, they’d smashed the unmade force in the village, but everyone had heard about the assassination attempt on their would-be leader. Not many of them… liked her, to be fair, but she’d led them to a victory in combat now, and they’d started to get used to her… abrasive style.
“The enemy fears us,” she clarified. “Today, I survived an attempt on my life by the pathetic assassins these fools choose to send, and to me, all they really accomplished was to betray their master’s fear. To betray all of their fear. They are scared of the Burning Legion, because they know we are here, and they know we are coming to raze their castle to the ground.”
She folded her hands behind her back. “Get used to being feared,” she nodded, “because we will live up to everything about us they’re terrified of. We will scare them literally to death.”
A breath caught in her throat as she looked at the group before her. Smaller now than when she’d left Caer Thannith, but hardier. Full of fire, full of fervor, full of ferocity.
“Fear is an expectation,” she held up a hand. “It’s the scary stories that someone tells about you in the dark. It’s the pit in their stomach when they think about you. I look out on all of you and see an army bogged down by the expectations of others — bogged down by what these monsters see in us, what Commander Mustang hopes for us, and what I want from you.
“Those chains — rip them off. We are a Legion, and the only people who can tell us how we are going to slice our way through the countryside of this island are ourselves.”
She took a deep breath. “I have lived my whole life under the thumb of what someone else expected of me,” she said, a little quieter, but still loud enough to be heard. “My own mother thought I was a monster,” she scowled, sucking in a breath as she felt the tiniest drop of water slip into her eye, “and I’m sure there are some of you who would agree.”
“Well,” she raised her voice again, “if I am a monster, mother… so be it.”
At the head of the army below, Stheno stepped out of line, carrying a flag of the Miniskirt Armada and slamming it into the ground.
“I, General Azula,” she screamed, “claim this town in the name of the… Miniskirt Armada!” She paused briefly before spitting out the name of her army, still seething over Commander Mustang’s ridiculous nomenclature. “And I proclaim this village’s name Ursa — my mother’s name. Mother — may you prosper under my rule, and may I always remember that I don’t serve your opinion. Your opinion serves me.”
She cleared her throat. “And may we always remember that these unmade wretches serve us.”
This time, a resounding cheer.
Her lips curled into a sinister smile. They’d learn soon enough just what sort of dragon they’d awakened.
“Now let’s give them something to fear.”
