Chapter 64: Freedom Fighters
The last word, "forest," hung in the humid night air, a smug pronouncement from the wild-haired boy with the sword on his back. Jet. Around him, the other ragged youths of the Freedom Fighters tightened their circles, their faces smudged with dirt and triumph, their eyes glinting in the dim light of hastily lit torches. The Fire Nation column, once so disciplined and fearsome, lay utterly undone. Ropes bit into wrists and ankles, nets still tangled around some, and the proud crimson armor of the soldiers was marred by dust and the indignity of capture. Zuko, Azula, Rin, Lee, and the rest were splayed on the forest floor, their weapons scattered, their dignity stripped away.
Jet took a slow, deliberate walk around his captives, his boots crunching on fallen leaves. A smirk played on his lips, a mixture of youthful arrogance and hardened cruelty. He stopped before a young Fire Nation soldier, no older than himself, bound tight against a tree. "Look at them, boys," he announced, his voice carrying just enough to be heard over the chirping crickets and distant croak of frogs. "The mighty Fire Nation. The butchers who burn our homes, steal our food, slaughter our families. And here they are, trussed up like boars for the feast."
His gaze swept over them, lingering on Zuko, then Azula. "You think you're so special, don't you? With your fancy uniforms and your fire-spitting magic." He kicked gently at a discarded helmet, sending it skittering. "Well, your magic doesn't work so well when you're caught like rats in a trap, does it? Even the great Crown Prince," he sneered, finally stopping before Zuko, who lay face down, his hands bound behind his back. "Just a boy in the dirt, like the rest of them."
Azula, though bound tightly enough to strain the ropes across her chest, managed to lift her head, her golden eyes flashing with pure unadulterated venom. "You dirty little peasant," she hissed, her voice low and cutting. "When I get free, I'll roast you alive. I'll make you scream for mercy."
Jet chuckled, a hollow, humorless sound. He knelt, bringing his face close to hers, his smirk widening. "Oh, is that a promise, Princess? Because right now, all I hear is a lot of words from a girl who can't even move her fingers. You Fire Nation nobles," he spat, "you all think you're untouchable. You think your name shields you. Well, not here. Here, you bleed like the rest of us." He poked her cheek with a dirty finger, drawing a furious snarl from Azula.
"And these," Jet continued, pushing himself back to his feet and gesturing to his followers, "these are the people you burn. These are the ones who fight back." He started to introduce them, each stepping forward with their own brand of menace. "This is Smellerbee." A girl with tangled brown hair and a sharp, calculating stare stepped forward. She wore a tattered green tunic and carried a pair of wickedly curved blades. She eyed Azula. "She's not so pretty without her makeup, is she, Jet? Looks just like any other Fire Nation piglet."
"And Longshot," Jet pointed to a tall, lanky boy who said nothing, merely raising his longbow and nocking an arrow, aiming it silently at the bound soldiers, his eyes impassive. The tension in the clearing ratcheted up a notch.
"Pipsqueak, here," Jet clapped a hand on the shoulder of a towering boy who looked more like a giant, armed with a club made from a tree branch. "He thinks you're all 'Fire Nation pigs trussed up for slaughter.'" Pipsqueak grunted in agreement, flexing his thick arms.
"And The Duke," a much younger boy, barely older than a child, eagerly stepped forward, clutching a small, crude spear. His eyes shone with a zealot's fervor as he parroted Jet. "Yeah! Pigs for slaughter! You burned our homes!"
Rin, straining against his bindings, spat on the dirt nearby, his face contorted with rage. "Children playing soldier! You think you're heroes? You're just a band of pathetic, unwashed brats!"
Jet's eyes narrowed, the lightness draining from his face, replaced by a cold, hard glint. "Children?" he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "These 'children' have killed more Fire Nation than you could count, old man. Every scar you see here," he gestured to the visible marks on his own arms and the faces of his comrades, "every blade, every trick, it's all been bought with Fire Nation blood. Your blood."
He turned back to Zuko, a more intense focus in his gaze. He had sensed it from the moment of capture, the way the others, even Azula, had subtly deferred to him. His armor, though now dusty, was of finer make, his bearing, even in defeat, carried an undeniable weight. "So, who's the man of the hour? The great Fire Prince, eh? What's your name, boy? And your rank, if you still have one."
Zuko, his spine stiff even while prone, slowly lifted his head. His golden eyes, usually so expressive, were now like chips of amber, burning with a contained fury. He said nothing, only glared.
"Cat got your tongue?" Jet mocked. He knelt again, pulling one of Zuko's bound wrists, forcing him to shift uncomfortably. "Going to keep your little secrets? Doesn't matter. We know who you are. The banished son, the scarred boy chasing after shadows." Jet leaned in close, his voice dropping to a whisper that was more menacing than any shout. "And now look at you, caught like a rat in my forest."
Zuko gave a low growl, a sound of pure animalistic rage. "You'll regret this," he rasped, his voice raw.
Rin, meanwhile, was thrashing against his ropes. "Let me go, you coward! Fight me like a man! Not with your nets and your traps!"
Jet merely laughed again, a harsh, dismissive sound that grated on the nerves. "Why should I? You think honor wins wars? Honor gets people killed. Cunning keeps us alive. Ask your Princess here how well 'honor' worked for her when we dropped a net on her head." Azula let out a frustrated hiss, biting back a retort.
Lee, bound but surprisingly composed, spoke with his usual precise, intellectual cadence. He had observed Jet carefully since the ambush. "Your confidence, while impressive in its execution of this ambush, is also your greatest weakness. Rashness and arrogance often precede downfall, especially when confronting an enemy whose capabilities you do not fully comprehend. We are merely a scouting party."
Jet sneered at Lee. "Capabilities? Sounds like fancy Fire Nation schooling talking. We comprehend just fine, 'scholar.' We comprehend that you came into our forest, and now you're our prisoners." He stood, signaling his fighters. "Alright, boys, girls. Time for a little souvenir hunting. Let's see what treasures these Fire Nation 'scouts' are carrying."
The Freedom Fighters moved in, hands reaching, roughly searching the bound soldiers. Weapons were quickly confiscated: Zuko's broadswords, Azula's sharp daggers, the soldiers' spears and daggers. Pouches were emptied, revealing rations, jerky, dried fruit, hardtack which were eagerly snatched up by the hungry youths. Their water skins were taken, their meager personal effects rifled through. The humiliation deepened as armor pieces were unbuckled and stripped away with rough hands, leaving the soldiers shivering slightly in their lighter under-tunics against the cool night air. Azula, in particular, was incandescent with fury as her chest plate and armguards were removed, her face contorted into a mask of pure hatred, hissing threats under her breath that Jet merely ignored with a smirk.
One of the younger Freedom Fighters, a boy with a chipped tooth, gripped his spear tightly. "Jet, why not just finish them? Save us the trouble."
Jet spun on him, his eyes hard. "No. Not yet. We need information. And more importantly," he gazed at Zuko and Azula, a cruel glint in his eyes, "we need to show everyone what happens when the Fire Nation dares to step foot in our territory. We're taking them back to the hideout. To the swamp. They'll be paraded as trophies for all to see."
A murmur of agreement went through the Freedom Fighters. Ropes were tightened again, and the prisoners were roughly pulled to their feet, stumbling forward, forced to move. The march through the forest began anew, but this time, the roles were reversed. The Fire Nation soldiers, bound and beaten, were dragged along, their feet catching on roots and stones.
The air grew heavier, the scent of damp earth and decay replacing the fresh forest aroma. The ground became soft, squelching underfoot. The buzz of cicadas faded, replaced by the droning hum of mosquitos and the croaking symphony of unseen swamp creatures. The trees grew thicker, their branches draped with moss, creating a dark, oppressive canopy.
Finally, through a dense thicket, a clearing opened up, revealing a hidden stronghold. It was a ruined, overgrown camp, built into the ancient trees and partially submerged in the swampy water. Banners crudely fashioned from scavenged cloth hung between trees, rope bridges swayed precariously, connecting makeshift wooden platforms, and rickety watchtowers peered over the canopy. Lights flickered from within, casting eerie shadows.
As they were dragged into the heart of this crude encampment, past the surprised faces of other Freedom Fighters, Jet cast a final, cold glance back at Zuko.
"Welcome to your new home, Prince. Hope you like the dirt, you'll be eating it for a long time."
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