And now, a word from our sponsor: For some reason this didn't upload properly the first time I put it up. Sorry for any confusion, and I hope it works now.

Everyone, a round of applause to my two fantabulous beta readers, Lucawindmover and D-Bronze, without whom I couldn't have done it. Unfortunately, this is going to be the last chapter for a few weeks [the story is being put on temporary hiatus while my work continues to pile up]. You see, the past month or so, I've been ignoring my real life, and let's just say that the deadlines have started to nip me in the bud. Consequently I'm taking a brief pause on writing this. Am I stopping this? Hell no, this is the best thing I've ever written. And when it comes back, you can be sure that I'm bringing in the kick-butt action.

And thank you all who have supported me this far. My life's been a mess lately, and sometimes your reviews are the only thing that keep me going. Really, thank you.

The United Forces Dating Hotline, for all of our proud warriors who just don't know how to get the ladies. Unsure what to say beyond barking battle commands? Flustered because your dates seem to revolve around destroying biplanes in mid-air and invading the enemy's defences? Worried the love of your life isn't one to be impressed by your giant . . . ship? Then call the United Forces Dating Hotline today!

Back to the show.

It'll be nice to forget her own problems and focus on someone else's for once.

The clank of boots on the metal floor of the ship alerts her, and she glances back, noticing Iroh waiting for an acknowledgement a metre away, his uniform as crisp and proper as always, his hair slightly mussed from the wind. "Thank you for taking me to Air Temple Island."

He bows. "It is my pleasure, Miss—Asami." She smiles. "It is the least I can do; you saved my life."

"Beifong saved your life," Asami corrects, warmth spreading through her in a way it hasn't for months, the feeling so bittersweet and familiar she turns away to look at the island, a frown stealing onto her face before she can stop it. The last time she arrived here she thought that Mako was going to be the one for her, forever. She remembers the weight of his arm curving protectively around her, hugging her to him, assuring her that it was going to be okay.

How wrong she was.

How very, very wrong she was.

"So did you . . ." Iroh hesitates, shifting his weight, the tips of his boots tapping lightly once on the metal as he rolls on the balls of his feet. She can sense him about to speak. "Asami, I—"

"I think we're almost at the island." Asami looks at him from the corner of her vision, noting his slightly surprised and crestfallen expression. "I should get ready."

To his credit, he nods curtly and steps aside, allowing her to walk past him, though she feels his gaze on her back. She's cold for a reason she cannot fathom. Rubbing her arms, Asami reflexively touches the sash around her waist, reminding herself that she hasfriends, that she isn't alone this time, dependent on the comfort of her father and later on a man who broke her heart.

As much as she wants to dance this waltz with Iroh, she doesn't know if she has much of a heart left to give him, isn't sure that she can trust anyone with the remains ever again.

"I'm sorry." Asami pauses and turns back to gaze at Air Temple Island, growing closer and closer, a sense of foreboding fuelling a pit in her stomach, and she returns to the railing.

Iroh coughs. "Pardon? Are you all right, Asami?"

"I'm fine, Iroh." The wind lifts up her hair once more, caressing her face, but this time she isn't soaring but falling off of the cliff-side, the ground toppling and dropping away beneath her feet, the formerly stable stone transformed into dust. "I'm fine."

Though the city above is shining still with the light of the sun, the labyrinth of sewers stretching beneath the buildings and streets knows naught but night, never-ending night, deep and dark and suffocating but for those who walk amongst the shadows and feel no fear, the water lapping at their feet not a beast to drown them but salvation.

Within one of the larger chambers, several statues of stone shark rats strewn about the sewage, the crowd of Red Monsoons mills, waiting for their leader to speak. He stands atop a stage of glistening ice waterbent up from the ground, his arms and face bloodied, a squirming shark rat in his arms. The creature arches its back, slicing its sharp fin into Shakku's chest, but the Red Monsoon drops the beast and dances backwards, wearing nothing but a loincloth to protect himself from the cornered animal's wrath. The shark rat leaps forward, opening a maw filled with daggers of teeth angled inwards. Whatever enters its jaws will not come out again. Shakku dives down, allowing himself to slip under the creature's mass, and twitches his fingers, a blade of ice freezing into place within his palm as he kicks upwards, hitting the beast squarely in the stomach. Hissing, the shark rat soars across the stage, scrambles to its paws, and jolts at him again, livid wrath in its beady black eyes, its scaly finned tail swinging back and forth as it moves. A ferocious inanity in his blood-splattered face, Shakku howls as he fearlessly flings his arm towards the speeding shark rat, allowing it to do its worst.

Speedily the creature kicks up water from its bounds, one, two, three, and then leap. It jumps up, flying through the air, nostrils flaring with the fragrance of blood infused into the atmosphere. Shakku merely opens his palm, the blade of ice caught between two fingers. The blood coursing through the beast's body informs of its exact motion, a split-second future-sight. His eyes narrow suddenly; the Red Monsoon raises his arm and brings it down in the space of a second, the knife digging into the shark rat's head between its eyes. The rest of its body swings down from its momentum. His hand snaps out like a zebra heron's neck, the nails digging into the slippery flesh of the tail. The shark rat flails, crimson spurting from the wound on its head, its limbs too short to reach him. His mouth open with his panting, Shakku forces the animal down onto the floor of the stage, the water morphing into a dull pink.

Cacophonously, the audience bursts into applause and cheers, clapping onwards, those sprayed with blood in the front envied by the rest, the shouting and pleading for more, more, more vibrating the chamber around them.

When she awakens, disorientated, she doesn't immediately know where she is. Her limbs are cramped, her neck even worse, but she doesn't want to move from the comfort and warmth of her current position, something soft all around her, warm breath on her neck. "Naga," she whispers, moving to scratch her behind the ear, but instead she feels skin and fabric, and her eyes snap open. Green tan black red white green.

Whatever is holding her flinches. In her confusion and fear Korra punches it—a gut?—and airbends herself away only to be halted by another mass, one that barks and lets her know that it is, in fact, Naga. Shaking her head and blinking swiftly, she rubs her eyes and looks up to see a very bedraggled-looking Bolin lying on the floor with Pabu on his face, knocked over by her stream of air. "Bolin?"

"Why is everything red?" he mumbles, abruptly sitting up when he fully awakens, the fire ferret plopping into his hands. "Pabu?" He blinks, his hair messed up from the wind, his curl still bobbing against his forehead, and glances up, his eyes brightening. "Korra?" He looks perplexed. "Why am I over here?"

Korra ogles at him, realising her surroundings to be the stables, the rumbling of sleeping sky bison a few stalls away. "What's going on?"

"I was about to ask you." Bolin grins sheepishly and rubs the back of his neck with his left hand. "You came in here and looked so upset. . . ."

"I was upset?" She glances at Naga, who nuzzles her cheek gently, whining softly. "Hey, girl. I'm sorry you're not sleeping in my room anymore." Korra scratches her head, and the polar bear dog licks her face. "But you know Mako thinks you smell." Mako. She gasps suddenly, her argument with the firebender coming back to her. "Mako!"

Bolin cocks his head. "What?"

"Mako." Her heart pounds. Korra collapses into Naga's fur, drained. "We had a fight."

"But you're okay now, right?" He lurches to his feet and walks unsteadily across the room towards her, clearly still somewhat sleepy. Stroking the polar bear dog's flank gently, Bolin sits down next to her, folding himself into a cross-legged position. She hugs her knees. "Right?"

Korra shakes her head. "I think . . . I think I broke up with him."

"You what?" She's hurt by the shock on his face, but he quickly throws her arms around her, hugging her fiercely. "What happened?"

She squirms away from him, and unlike Mako with his insistence to find out every last thing about her, Bolin lets his arms drop, returning them forlornly to his lap, and unlike Mako with his rare displays of affection, she knows that another embrace is waiting for her if she leans in. Or asks. Or merely peeks at him with sadness on her features.

"I don't know what happened," she admits, squeezing her knees tightly to her body. Her hands run subconsciously over the thin scars from the rushed shaving jobs, her middle still recalling the painful squeezing from the tight dresses he asked her to wear, her feet twinging from the shoes, and even now she feels ugly and unnecessary in her boots, baggy pants, and turtle ducknecked shirt. "He was scared of me because . . . I went into the Avatar State, and then I couldn't control it." Unable to bear the thought of Bolin being disappointed, Korra looks away, towards the wall, towards the floor. Pabu squeaks. "Mako was looking at me like I'm a monster or something." Terrified, she swings her head back to stare at Bolin, grabbing his hands, his eyes expressing nothing but trust and hope and friendship. "I'm not a monster, am I?"

He lets out a laugh, and she pulls away, fighting to keep the hurt from showing on her face. "Are you kidding me? 'Course you're not a monster. You're Korra. You're the bravest, strongest, tryingest girl I know." Bolin smiles and nudges her. "Come on, I believe in you. Remember when you thought you couldn't airbend, either?" Lowly, Korra nods. He grins. "But I knew you could. And you did!"

"Yeah, it only took Amon taking my bending away and almost killing Mako." All of those months chasing Mako desperately start to settle on her. All of the pain she felt watching him spend his life with whom she thought was the wrong woman. All of the pain Asami must have felt watching him fall in love with her. Not with her, but with rescuing her. Korra closes her eyes. And for what? A failed relationship spanning a couple months?

"Hey, so you couldn't master the Avatar State in three seconds flat." Bolin touches her shoulder, and Korra glances at him. "But you know what? None of the Avatars did. Not Aang, not Roku, not that lady with the crazy fans."

A small smile parts her lips. "Kyoshi. You mean Avatar Kyoshi."

"Yeah, her. She made an entire new island." He whistles. "That's some pretty powerful bending. But you're going to be even more powerful than that. Like I told Mako the first time I saw you—before I even knew you were the Avatar—there's something special about you." Korra feels a blush rise to her cheeks. "And you're okay now, right? You'll master the Avatar State, and then you'll be unstoppable!"

She nods and scoots closer to him, something about his laid-back position calling to her. "Hey, how's your metalbending, tough guy?"

Bolin smiles sheepishly. "It's coming." He exhales. "Not." Reaching out to touch his knee, she frowns. "Every time I think I get close to metalbending, it's like there's this block stopping me from really metalbending. And now that Sifu Beifong's been working on the case with the councilpeople, she's sort of postponed her morning classes. Without them, I'm just a big, useless lump." His face is brightened by a grin, the kind of grin that makes the world a little lighter. "But at least I'm getting good with seismic sense."

"Apparently not good enough to sense me." The stable door creaks, and Naga lifts her head at the same time as Korra and Bolin; Asami leans against the doorframe, smiling gently. Pabu leaps from Bolin's lap and runs towards her, curling himself around her ankle and arching his back into her leg, purring. Laughing, she reaches down to scratch the fire ferret behind the ears, eliciting even louder purrs from the red puffball.

"Asami!" Bolin waves her over and she allows Pabu to scurry up her arm and nuzzle her neck, nestling himself in her hair.

For once Korra is unbearably, indescribably glad to see her. She glances at Bolin. "Hey, do you mind if Asami and I talk really quick?" She can already imagine the response, his tongue touching the roof of his mouth on the N, his lips forming the O, that protective expression that appears so often on Mako's face, darkening his eyes for a moment, his mouth becoming a thin line, his eyebrows turning into a V, the irregular corners conveying his anger more than any part of him except perhaps for his voice, sounding betrayed, hurt, agonised as if her very question had tortured him beyond belief, like the entire world had ended and the only thing that could set it right was her immediate apology.

But instead Bolin shrugs and leans back into Naga's soft fur, the polar bear dog licking his face, causing him to laugh. "No problem. Go ahead."

She is more grateful for that than she could ever explain, and she settles for a shoulder squeeze, the same shoulder that she healed those months ago at one of their pro-bending matches, when he injured his shoulder enough for a thin ring of blood to escape the confines of his pro-bending uniform. "Thanks." Korra stands and gestures for Asami to follow her outside of the stables, the door oddly stable and solid beneath her fingers, like it has more substance to it than she does.

She never thought that Asami would be her friend, not the kind of friend that she has become, the closest she has to a sister. As soon as she has stepped outside, the sudden blaze of sunlight necessitates a lifted hand to block out the extra infusion of light. "Korra, what's wrong?"

The genuine concern in her voice and in her green eyes—concern at its core completely and wholly unconditional, concern that isn't based off of a current love or a past crush or anything, concern that shouldn't even be there considering that Korra destroyed her relationship with Mako—makes Korra feel more wanted than almost anything else.

It's funny that both of the people who are the nicest to her both have green eyes.

"You used to date Mako," Korra starts, and Asami narrows her eyes.

"Korra, please don't tell me you think he could still have feelings for me." She shakes her head and puts a hand on her hip, bringing attention to her new sash straddling her hips, accenting the curves.

Korra gives her head a shake and laughs. "No, no, it's not that. Actually, I wanted to say . . ." Her heartbeat is up tenfold. Nervously she wipes her suddenly sweaty palms on her fur skirt.

"What's going on?" Asami reaches out to take her hand, their fingers lacing, and the feeling of another hand in hers calms her, soothes her quick pulse and her quicker breathing. Her eyes glimmer with worry and encouragement. "You know you can tell me anything."

"I know." Korra glances up at the sky, ruefully wondering why her past lives can't help her with her greatest enemy: Her love life. "It's just—" She can't quite explain it. Right now, if she tries to go speak to Mako, she's sure that she can set it right, apologise over and over, give everything she's got to their relationship. But she's tired of giving, tired of fighting for their love, tired of the uphill battle each and every day to make him stay with her and not go off to the next beautiful, protection-needing woman around. Still, it's not final—nothing's final—it can all be repaired—until she says it. And that's the thought that causes the words to die at her lips.

Asami squeezes her hand. "Just what?"

She glances up at the nonbender, the image of Mako's terrified expression flashing through her mind, and she focuses on her friend instead. Asami appears framed by the sun, casting a glowing halo around her profile, the blue sky stretching out behind her like the ink from a broken well. "I . . ." The words yet refuse to come out, something in her innards tightening and twisting, a sharp knife wedged in her belly and shaken by an unseen hand. But she knows she's stronger than this, and she pulls away from her friend to gesture wildly with her arms, the flurry of motion making up for the lack of confidence within her. "Asami, I broke up with Mako."

Her friend's smile surprises her, as though she were laughing at Korra's misery, and the Avatar stumbles backwards, her entire life crashing around her, a cloud of dust puffing up around her, eliciting cough after cough. Immediately Asami offers her a hand, pulling her up and brushing the dust off. "How do you feel?" she asks quietly.

"Light-headed." Korra tries to laugh it off. "I thought you'd want to know. Since you like him and all." The moment she says it, she regrets it, but she can't snatch it back now, her stupidly blurted turn of phrase free as a bird.

Asami plucks a wiry blade of grass from the Avatar's hair, flicking it onto the ground. "Are you kidding me? Korra, I'm over him." She smiles, and Korra is shocked to see her cheeks redden faintly. "I think I've found someone else."

"Who?"

Her green eyes shine like emeralds, the expression on her face almost the same as the one Bolin gives Korra on occasion. "Remember the United Forces general?"

Korra blinks. "Iroh?" Her friend nods, the blush deepening, and Korra lightly punches her shoulder, barely able to keep herself up from the wave of relief rolling over her. "That's great. Anyway, just wanted to let you know about Mako." Asami purses her lips slightly, about to speak. "What?"

"Do you remember what happened with you in the Avatar State?" she questions pointedly.

A sudden anger flares in her chest. "Why won't people leave me alone about that?" the Avatar snarls, her hands balling involuntarily into fists, her knuckles cracking with the sheer force of the clench. Pabu squeaks with fear and hides in her hair. "I already know I messed up! Whoop de do, worst Avatar in the world, right?"

"Stop that." Her friend lifts a hand as though to slap her, and Korra pauses, breathing through her mouth. "I meant . . . do you know who got you out of the Avatar State?"

She raises her eyebrows, her fury vanished and replaced with surprise, recalling the scream—hisscream—that brought her from her stupor. "Mako?"

Asami laughs. "No, Korra, not Mako.

"Bolin."

If he could have anything in the world at the moment, it would be a bolt of lightning straight into his chest.

Closing his eyes, Mako buries his face in his palms, smashing the pillow into his thighs with his elbows. Angrily he pounds the cushion, tossing it into the air and wrenching it out of shape, flames springing unbidden to the tips of his outstretched fingers. His ears ring at the pillow tears along a seam, exploding in his face, charred turtle duck feathers puffing him in a storm of white. Coughing, Mako waves his hand in front of his mouth, sending the feathers spiralling away from him, the less burned ones curling softly in the air, the ashen ones dropping like stones.

"She's the Avatar, and I'm an idiot." He allows himself to fall back onto the bed, mentally throwing himself over a bridge for his own stubborn stupidity. "How was I supposed to know she was going to get that upset?" Groaning from the effort, the firebender props himself up on elbow and stares distantly at the closed window, willing it to open from the push of his gaze, but it stays firmly shut, much to his annoyance. "She could have given some warning before she dropped that on me. Right, I just smacked you into a wall and nearly broke your spine, but I'm going to ask you why you love me." Sighing, Mako crosses his arms and braces his shoulder blades against the back of the bed. With his right hand he unconsciously pulls his scarf over his mouth, inhaling the scent, one that no longer carries his father's scent but that stills calms him down.

"Maybe she asked because you've been acting like a jerk, jerkbender."

That voice. Cocky, smug, self-assured. Mako sits up in a second, his amber eyes narrowing and darkening at the image of the former pro-bender leaning nonchalantly against the door, glancing at the nails of his right hand, uncoiling himself when Mako notices him.

"What are you doing here?" the firebender snarls, scrambling out of the bed and instantly raising his arms in defence, a flame blazing in his palm.

"Don't get your scarf into a twist." The former pro-bender sneers. "Be careful getting up, loser. Don't want to sprain anything. It's not every guy who gets kicked around by his lady like a paper sack."

His rage threatens to boil over as it always does whenever he finds himself in Tahno's presence, as if the former Wolfbat carried an aura of anger about him. "Get off of my island, Tahno. Now."

The waterbender glances back and forth, putting a hand mockingly to his cheek. "I had no idea this was your island. I've never seen your arrow, after all." He arches his eyebrows. "Unless you'd like to . . . show me?"

"I don't need you creeping around. Korra already gave you back your bending. What else do you want?"

Tahno runs his tongue over his lower lip. "I'm merely here to see the Uhvatar. No need to zap me with your little sparkler." He laughs. "Besides, don't you remember what happened after your girlfriend showed just how weak you are?" Mako fights to restrain himself, forcing himself to remain calm, breathing through his nose, recalling his cool under fire approach to pro-bending, all of the times he soothed Bolin and Hasook—and later Korra—before a match. "Oh, right, you were unconscious by then." Tahno's tone has taken on the tone used to speak to infants. The firebender grinds his teeth but allows him to continue, not bothering to get upset over it. "I had to carry widdle baby Mako all the way out of there, since your former girlfriend and your loser brother were busy carrying the Uhvatar."

Mako's eyes widen. "You carried me out? You were there?"

The waterbender shrugs. "Guess it's my turn to be the good guy, right? You've had your chance, sparky. Now step aside and let me show you how a real pro does it."

He takes an unsteady step towards Tahno, his limbs still aching from his injury, a dull throb settled into the base of his spine. "I'm wounded at the moment. Taking me on would be cheating."

"This isn't pro-bending anymore, Mako-man." The former Wolfbat makes a slow shrugging movement. "All's fair in love and war. Isn't that right, heartbreaker?"

"How do you know about that?" Mako snaps. "I don't need you scrutinising my love life!"

"Well well well. I don't need you scrutinising my reasons to hang around after saving the Uhvatar's life." Holding on to the door as though it were a pole, Tahno swings himself in the most suggestive way possible, waving a hand dismissively. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've a date with the Uhvatar."

Mako watches him as he leaves, wishing he could burn through the waterbender's back with his burning gaze.

"A jerkbender." He exhales, thinking of Korra's tears, and immediately berates himself. "I'm still an idiot. But what am I supposed to do?"

The shark rat is screaming.

The noises tearing from its open maw are strangely human, the rapid breaths and twitching limbs almost like that of a man about to die. The tail whips back and forth, thumping frantically against the stone. His teeth yellow-white against the brown of his skin, Shakku smirks at the poor creature writhing under him, his blue eyes glittering with the thought of the shark rat's heart shuddering in the beast's chest.

Abruptly there comes a yell from the back of the crowd, loud enough to be heard by Shakku. The leader of the Red Monsoons lifts his head and glares at the audience. He closes his eyes for a moment and clasps his hands in front of him. "Spirits, let it be mine daughter, finally come to her senses at last. Please, spirits, for you I sacrifice this shark rat tonight." His eyelids fluttering, he looks back at the new arrivals. When he sees her—barefoot, her hair scraggly, her form shivering like the weak, fragile little girl she is—his heart sings with happiness, more joy flooding him than if he were to be given complete control of the city.

This, being here with the only family he has left on this world, is the truest happiness he could ever experience.

"Mine daughter has returned!" Shakku crows triumphantly, and his people erupt into cheering of every kind, a massive ovation of clapping hands and stomping feet. "Koko, come and partake in the sacrifice to the spirits so that they might give you the strength they have given me!"

The girl raises a shaking arm, and a wave of water swirls up from the ground, moving over the heads of those in the crowd and pausing next to the stage. Her eyes closed, she steps off of it, allowing it to crash behind her.

Shakku smiles and gestures towards the shark rat as the crowd continues to applaud, whistles and noises of approval rolling over him like a tidal wave. Aware of his daughter's distaste for the pain of animals, he hopes that this time she will not be afraid, that this time she will feast upon the creature's heart, that this time she will become a true Shark Rat. "Come, daughter mine, share in the wealth the spirits have given us. Share in mine power, in mine strength. Eat the heart of the shark rat!"

Koko takes one careful step towards him, her face reminding him of her mother before she passed, the same soft cheekbones, the same peak in the hair, the same rounded button nose, but with something shadowed within her indigo eyes. Nonetheless, he waves her over with careful, fluid motions. Her movements bring to mind a coiled viper cat, ready to spring, muscles stretching to their full lengths in a firestorm of tooth and claw.

Below him the shark rat continues to struggle, growing weaker by the moment as the blood continues to dampen the fur on its shell, dripping down into the water. Koko gazes at him silently, almost judgmentally, and Shakku wonders what is going through her mind, her expression entirely blank.

"Father," she inquires, her tone soft and warm as silk. "You are the greatest bloodbender in the world."

The leader of the Red Monsoons smiles. "Yes, daughter mine."

Koko's eyes sparkle, and she tilts her head inquisitively to one side. "But you told me that bloodbending can only be done under the full moon."

"Other than the scourge that twisted it about and destroyed the spirits' domain—" The word leaves his lips like poison. "—I told you truth."

"You lied." Her voice tinkles, the silver bells' tintinnabulation swelling.

Shakku hesitates, frowning. "Daughter mine, have the spirits possessed you?"

"You lied." She lifts her arms up. "You are not the most powerful bloodbender in the world."

"Koko, I do not—" Then he feels it, the blood in his veins slowing, stopping, running the other way, his heartbeat erratic, irregular, and then no longer there at all, the sole sound he can hear his own shrieks silenced, leaving him limp and ragged, at the mercy of his puppetmaster. Shakku fights against himself, his eyes squeezed shut, his every tortured breath another attempt to change the course of his own blood, but his body is beyond his control. His eyelids are forced up, his eyes bulging painfully as he ogles at his own daughter, a girl of ten, controlling him—him—Shakku, the Shark Rat of the sewer—the leader of the Red Monsoons—the most powerful bloodbender in the world—

He suddenly realises he is not breathing, the blood in his jugular pounding agonisingly, but he has no mouth and he must scream. Sable shades eat away at the corners of his vision, becoming black as the icy night he once considered his lover, his light-headedness beginning to get to him. His lungs burn with fire, his body frozen with ice, his mind fading away from him.

Beneath him, the dying shark rat wrenches out of his grip, sharp claws slashing him. The pain shoots through him, but he does not move, held in place, the blood in him replaced with the physical manifestation of fear itself.

Koko smiles. "You lied, Father."

The shark rat twists about, the blood from the wound still spurting, lessened now, a few drops splattering his face. Its tail thrashes weakly, and it stares up at the former hunter turned hunted, and the shark rat roars, snorting air into its snout, and opens his maw. Slamming its tail on the stage, it flips its three-metre-length up, its jaws spread wide, and engulfs Shakku's head whole.

She watches quietly as the shark rat snaps his fangs together, attempting to bite through her father's neck, and she says nothing. Moving quickly now, Koko waterbends herself forward and takes the ice blade from him, holding it carefully in her fingers.

"You told me to eat the heart of a shark rat." She presses the knife to his sternum, wanting to finish it while he is still alive, and she pushes it into him, his bones cracking and coming apart. With a shiver of her fingers, she pulls the meat and muscle away, revealing the heart, dead and still. "So I will eat the heart of the Shark Rat." Her hands shake as she tries to cut through the arteries holding it within his chest cavity, but she cannot seem to cut through it, and so she clenches her fist, and the heart shears itself free.

And then Koko lets her puppet free, and the shark rat's jaws come together with a clack.

Nothing has ever tasted so sweet or so delicious than the heart of the Shark Rat, of the man who has abused her and used her all of these years, of the man who killed her mother.

Then she turns towards the crowd and smiles brightly. The Red Monsoons stir. Someone in the back demands for her to be put down for killing Shakku, but Koko merely lifts a hand, feeling his blood at her fingertips, and she closes her fingers.

A gasp runs through the audience.

Koko continues to smile.

"Koko!" Amongst the crowd is one lone voice, somewhere in the front, loud and important. "Koko, the greatest bloodbender in the world!"

"She can bloodbend without the full moon," agrees another, shouting back.

Without glancing backwards, Koko heals the shark rat's wounds, returning the blood to its veins and healing the skin with the water afforded by the crimson liquid; though it may yet die, she might be able to pull it through. Weakly, the beast falls upon her father's meat, devouring it, its massive gullet churning with the flesh caught in its razor teeth, its whispers twitching speedily.

The chant starts, swelling as the rising tide: "Koko! Koko! Koko!"

Koko says nothing but laughs, silver bells tinkling.

And the Red Monsoons start to clap and applaud and cheer, repeating her name over and over until it no longer her name but the sound of the tsunami flooding the world.

For it will flood the world.

Behind her, the shark rat rears, roaring from the pain of the injuries Shakku inflicted upon it and the primal thrill of the blood seeping down its jaws. It lands into the water and the liquid splashes her, droplets in the ringlets of her hair.

A few Red Monsoons cry out from fear of the hulking animal stalking towards her, but somehow she senses that it will not hurt her, having recognised her as its saviour, and she turns about towards the shark rat, its beady black eyes carrying a faint hint of molten sapphire, one she never noticed because she never looked.

She never noticed she could bloodbending without a full moon because she never looked.

But now she will look.

For in the game of triads, she wins or she dies.

Written by

Flutflutflyer

Directed by

Lucawindmover

D-Bronze