CERAUNOPHILE | mako

零

it began like this:

a bitter man

a dangerous set of skills

a semi-happy family (that was not his)

too much exposure to too much of the wrong thing

(too much kindness to a man who was too far gone)

and a spark of anger and loathing that was fanned until it grew into a flame and the flame danced until it grew into a fire and the fire blazed hot and all-consuming and

oh

so

bright.

anger flowed within him, pumping in his veins like blood, and then when the world had stomped on and cut and wounded him, what else was he to do but let it bleed out?

his life had been spared, and he was damned if he was going to waste the rest of it sitting in jail.

so he didn't.

he nursed his anger for years, figuring out the best way for it to bleed. he had time. jail provided plenty of time to think, and slowly, carefully, patiently, he crafted a revenge plan.

when he finally broke out, he began setting the plan into action. first, he practiced. he perfected his craft. he found a nice wealth of mixed-nation families in republic city and put a stop to them. when it became too dangerous for him there, he became a nomad, disguising himself, finding mixed-blood families scattered across the nations and ending their tainted bloodlines. few times he didn't manage to succeed, but most of the time he did, and every time he managed to get away.

and then finally—finally—after years of seething and searching, he found the man he was looking for, the man he had practiced for, the man who he had imagined each time he honed his craft. a simple water tribe man, a nonbender, living on an island in between the earth, air, and water nations with his mixed-blood child.

in retrospect, perhaps he should have been a bit more patient. but he was eager, and he figured the child wouldn't survive long without a parent anyway.

he confronted the man when the child was away. the water tribe scum recognized him, eyes wide and clearly frightened, but had the audacity to lift his chin high, to hold his gaze, trembling, and demanding that he leave.

he chose to defy the water tribe man's request.

his hands blazed with long-fed rage and he bled it out, into the air, into the house, into the floor, but mostly, onto the man. he lit the man on fire, relishing in his horror and fear and anger, enjoying the destruction. he hadn't planned to burn the man alive—burning often took too long without fuel, and he was so eager he hadn't made the proper preparations, but maybe it was better this way anyway. the water tribe man deserved a slow death, and he wanted to soak in this moment as long as he could.

he didn't think of regret. he didn't think of shame. he didn't think of morals. he thought of himself as an avenging angel, performing justice, purifying the world. never mind that his mission and position had been born out of his own bitterness and loneliness. it was part of a collection of thoughts he had carefully trained himself to believe in, wearing railroad tracks in his mind until his thoughts couldn't help but slip into them, consciously or unconsciously, as a method of coping with the world and the way it dealt with him, and justifying his actions and beliefs and himself.

though, despite all his claims for acting upon a righteous and pure cause, he couldn't deny the satisfaction he felt in watching the water tribe man burn.

justice, he told himself. justice. purification.

but what he really meant was, revenge.

he didn't know when he noticed the figure. the child—the mixed-blood, the disgusting child—had returned at some point, eyes wide in horror. the water tribe man saw the child too, and screamed, kallik, kallik, stay away, and the child was a waterbender but only had a small bit of water and was a child besides. it was too late for the house, it was too late for the father, it was too late for the child to do anything but watch and die alongside everything she loved.

he had already made his way out of the collapsing house and was watching from a safe distance. the child hadn't noticed him on her way in, but suddenly, she stiffened and looked in his direction.

they made eye contact.

unsure of what to do, he held it, his own eyes narrow and disapproving, hoping to convey all of his hatred to the child.

the child's eyes were a mirror, and reflected that hatred right back at him. the house burned in the background, around them, but the child remained untouched and unmoving, staying near the father's side.

slightly unsettled, he gave one last glare at the child and hurried out, satisfied that the house would burn, that the wretched bloodline would burn, that they would all burn

burn

burn.