Almost since birth, people of all kinds and stations -- high-born, pathetic commoners, friends, enemies -- had told Princess Azula she’d go on to do great things. Everyone meant it in a different way, naturally. Some supposed her destiny would be to make her family proud the way women in the Fire Nation often did. Others, of course, wrote her off as a monster, assuming her hint of sadism would carry her to dark, bloody pastures. Still more saw her clear prowess as a leader and as a person of power… an heir apparent, especially as her brother sank further and further into his role as the family disappointment.
Whatever destiny she’d been put on that earth or in this realm to accomplish, greatness would undoubtedly greet her. This… was not it.
An underling? she seethed, leaning against a wall near to a prettyboy in golden armor. She scoffed under her breath as this ‘Roy Mustang’ laid out his plan, intricate details abounding and moralistic platitudes about the monsters in the north souring any tactical acumen he may have been displaying. In another corner, she saw him, the winner of last year’s competition who’d gone much-maligned in her thoughts, bouncing his foot absentmindedly — and still sporting that godforsaken cowboy hat. Every ounce of self-control she had, she poured into not matching over there and burning him alive right this very moment.
Pretenders, she thought. Every last one of them.
After what seemed like years already, the chief pretender finally wrapped up his dribble. The plans had been made, the paths had been set, and so his fancy moving desk folded itself back into place and he slid out from behind it to dismiss them all. For awhile, Azula simply stared at him through eyes so narrowed they almost disappeared. He made pleasantries with the others as everyone started to slowly make their way to their jobs.
“Something on your mind?” the blonde-haired, golden-armored man near her whispered. Azula’s eyes darted to her left to see that he’d taken a step forward and now gazed at her with what she could only describe as… suspicion.
“Nothing that concerns you, mongrel,” she spat, pushing herself up from the wall and turning away. The blonde sputtered as she walked away, but any words he’d had planned were halted by the appearance of their fearless leader himself in Azula’s path. The fire princess froze as she met eyes with Roy Mustang, and didn’t move; saluting, in particular, was far from her mind.
“General Azula,” he nodded.
“…Commander Mustang,” she scowled through gritted teeth.
Roy looked as though he was about to say something, but the princess had already whipped past. She’d heard enough from him during his speech. She didn’t need to be disrespected again by regurgitating her assignment with him.
She shuddered at the thought as she absconded from the room, trying her best not to speak to anyone else. As she made her way through Caer Thannith’s labyrinth of gorgeous hallways, a few lesser competitors tried to jockey for her attention — whether because they wanted to get in good with the general or because the idea of a sour young woman as a general offended them, most likely.
As she passed through the corridors and twisted into the armory, she could’ve laughed as many a supplier thought to hand her a weapon — a flamethrower, which seemed to have become the customary implement amongst her wouldbe comrades. Normally she wouldn’t have missed a beat to mock the fools, to show them a display of her abilities, but feeling as she did — livid — she couldn’t bring herself to care.
Azula let them all pass without sparing too many thoughts on them, because wheels were already spinning about how she could still prove her worth, how she could show them all… who really deserved their fucking respect.
Next to this Mustang, she would be a dragon.
***
Fire cannot kill a dragon, she reminded herself as she trudged at the head of her unit through the hot sun.
Morning had barely broken on the island when Azula and her not-underwhelming charge had set out from Caer Thannith. By now, however, the sun lingered above their heads, bending toward the west, casting its much too bright, indescribably hot glow on the entire cabal of soldiers. The fire princess wasn’t one to falter under a sweltering afternoon’s heat — being a firebender, that much was in her nature — but she remained, regrettably, human, so the humidity of this beach still made her sweat bullets. Behind her, a formidable band of servants marched along with her every step, but the occasional glance back showed they already tired from the nigh-unbearable heat.
She scoffed. She’d submitted the name ‘the Burning Legion’ to Mustang more as a commentary on their shared penchant for pyrokinetics, her best effort at finding common ground between them. At this rate, though, she’d have an actual burning legion on her hands if something didn’t change, and soon.
A few Lieutenants nipped at her heels. They seemed more qualified than the rest — seemed to be holding their own better, anyway — but she’d always assumed the higher-ranking officers would be made of sterner stuff. In some cases, they literally were; some were made of fucking metal.
The characteristic thump-thump of some weakling breaking under pressure reached her ears, and immediately, any idle chatter that persisted in the ranks near the general silenced. Her gaze drifted over her shoulder, and she saw a group of soldiers huddled together closer than their formation called for. If their ineptitude at keeping form hadn’t already alerted her to something amiss, the glances downward would have. Behind them, large swaths of soldiers dutifully marching slowed to a stop.
She turned fully around, clasping her hands behind her back and making an approach. The soldiers huddled closer together.
Hmph, she thought, disappointing. Disappointing that so soon in her tenure as general, so many dared to be insubordinate. She was certain she must’ve cut an intimidating figure — she’d been fashioned in a blue officers’ outfit not altogether unlike the one the commander swaggered around in, and had managed to tame her hair, finally grown back evenly after her disastrous cut, into a tight bun once again. She might’ve been shorter than many a soldier marching behind her, but not one of the men, women, or between folk there doubted how tall she stood. Even those who thought little more of her than a sniveling child would admit she carried herself with the confidence of ten hulking men.
That confidence was won and earned in moments like this one. She stared down the group of almost cowering soldiers, trademark scowl gracing her face. The simple lift of an eyebrow was enough to part them, and when they did acquiesce to her wishes, she saw a soldier in the worst position she could imagine — already on his knees.
She stalked through the path the parted soldiers had lain, and stood above the young man. He withered beneath the combined force of his general and the sun’s beatdown, probably no more than nineteen years old. This, of course, meant nothing to the girl before him two years his junior — simply put, if she could handle it out here, there was no reason for someone like him to be this pathetic.
Slowly, his trembling green eyes, swelling with either sweat or tears or both, lifted to look at Azula. “G-general,” he sputtered, forcing himself to his feet as his legs almost buckled again, “I—“
A finger pressed against his lips, and he shut up.
“That’s better,” Azula smirked. She removed her finger, wiping his dribble off on the side of her coat. Her eyes fell to his own uniform, and the name emblazoned on his dog tags. She reached out and grasped them, lifting them up for a closer look, twisting them this way and that just a tad too forcefully in an attempt to avoid the sun’s glare.
“Hmm,” she mused, “Gemrick, is it?”
“Y-yes, ma’am,” he sheepishly replied.
“Private Gemrick,” she nodded.
“Corporal, ma’am,” the young boy gulped. Azula caught the lump in his throat with her fingers, wrapping them around his neck and squeezing… gently.
“Private Gemrick,” she repeated, and he nodded in her grip. Tentatively, she released him, and spun on her heel, taking some steps away. A few meters removed, she turned over her shoulder again to get another look at him. “You’re too hot, I assume?”
He gulped again. “It… it is very hot, your generalship,” he swallowed his pride.
Azula chuckled. She lifted a hand — the same hand that, seconds ago, had been just a little force shy of choking him — and made a fist. Sapphire flames wreathed around it, dancing and bouncing around her knuckles with some speed. She let her eyes fall, once again, on the newly demoted Private Gemrick.
“Blue fire is the hottest fire on the planet,” she said, looking from Gemrick to the sun. She stared directly into it, barely squinting. “By the time her rays reach us, they are nothing.”
Soldiers around her began to squirm. Her gaze drifted over them, and she noted the push and pull of their moods. Intimidation was a tool at her disposal, yes, but… a leader simply was what they were. They thrived on respect, whether they respect came from fear or something else. For her part, Azula liked the fear. It fed her, in a way. It was what separated her already, she knew, from Commander Mustang, and what drew her to the thrall of so-called monsters amassing to the north. Deep down, those instincts emblazoned her with the same seal: the one they carried, the one her mother had bestowed on her when she was a mere child.
Monster.
And yet… being monstrous wasn’t necessarily always useful.
“Lieutenant… you,” she spat, reaching out and snapping her fingers at the ridiculously branded, spandex-clad robot who’d been at her left shoulder as they marched along the beach. Pepsiman bounded to attention, breaking through the trembling soldiers and rushing to her side.
“Yes, loyal customer?” the bot whirred. “Are you in need of refreshment?” As if from nowhere, the cyborg conjured a glass bottle full of this ‘Pepsi’ nonsense. Azula swatted at it, and stepped back.
“Not me, you imbecile,” she shuddered. “Take your swill away from me. It’s him.” She pointed to Private Gemrick, whose knees were fully knocking. “Make sure the private feels fully refreshed, will you?” She watched, in horror, as Gemrick’s face lit up. The sight disgusted her, so she turned away from it immediately and marched back toward her forward position, glancing up at the sun in the sky once again.
It sank deeper and deeper into the west with every passing moment.
“You,” she reached out and yanked a soldier out of formation, dragging them close. “Spread the word. We’re setting up camp on that cliff-face just ahead.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the girl replied.
“And tell everyone to use this rest to steel themselves,” she nearly threatened. “We won’t end our day so early again.” She turned away from everyone. Let them try and underestimate me, she thought.
It will be their doom.