The Agni Kai begins.

The arena was filled to the brim with spectators, a sea of faces all eager to witness the unprecedented Agni Kai between Prince Ozai and his wife, Ursa. Among them were Zuko, Azula, and Iroh, each bearing the weight of their own fears and concerns. Zuko sat with his knees drawn to his chest, his eyes wide with terror as he recalled the image of his mother's glowing red eyes. He couldn't shake off the chill that had settled in his bones, the gnawing dread that something was deeply, fundamentally wrong. Azula, on the other hand, was wary and on edge. She had woken up on her mother's bedroom floor, her body aching and her mind foggy, as if she had been drained of all her energy. She couldn't remember how she had gotten there, and the uncertainty made her uneasy. Iroh stood at the edge of the stands, his expression grave, his eyes filled with horror. He had heard the news and rushed back to the capital, but he had never imagined that it would come to this—a public duel to the **** between the Prince and his wife.

The gong sounded, its deep resonance echoing through the arena like a **** knell. Ozai and Ursa stood facing each other, their stances mirroring one another, their eyes locked in a silent battle of wills. Ozai struck first, a powerful jet of flame erupting from his fingertips, snaking through the air like a whip. Ursa dodged, but barely, her movements sluggish and uncoordinated. Ozai laughed, a cruel, mocking sound that echoed through the arena. "Is this the best you can do, Ursa?" he taunted. "Pathetic."

Ursa gritted her teeth, her body trembling with effort as she struggled to keep up with Ozai's relentless ****. She could feel the heat of his flames, the **** of his blows, and it took every ounce of her strength just to stay on her feet. Azula watched from the stands, her eyes widening in shock as she began to recognize the familiarity of her mother's movements. They were her own—the stances, the techniques, the rhythm. It was like watching a twisted mirror image of herself, and the realization sent a chill down her spine.

Ozai pressed his advantage, his attacks growing more brutal, more savage. He was toying with her, playing with her like a cat with a mouse. And then, with a final, powerful blow, he sent Ursa crashing to the ground. He stalked towards her, his eyes gleaming with malice, his fingers tangled in her hair as he wrenched her head back, forcing her to look at him. "You are weak, Ursa," he spat. "You always have been. But I will break you, just as I will break your son. And Azula—she will be molded, shaped into a weapon, a tool for my use."

Inside her mind, Ursa was a seething cauldron of hatred and rage. She hated Ozai, hated the world, hated herself for being so weak, so powerless. She could feel Vaatu's presence, his dark energy pulsing through her veins, feeding her anger, her despair. He vibrated with pleasure, his voice a seductive whisper in her mind. "Make him pay, Ursa," he urged. "Make him suffer for all that he has done, all that he will do."

And so, she snapped.

With a roar that echoed through the arena like thunder, Ursa breathed a blast of Azure fire directly into Ozai's face. He screamed, his hands flying to his eyes as he stumbled back, blinded and disoriented. The crowd gasping at the sight of the blue flame.

Ursa watched, a cold, malicious smile playing on her lips as Ozai thrashed and howled, his flames lashing out wildly, sending spectators scattering in terror. Iroh moved quickly, his body a shield as he blocked the errant blasts, protecting the children from the inferno.

Ursa sauntered towards Ozai, her hips swaying, her eyes gleaming with a dark, twisted glee. She circled him like a predator, her movements fluid and graceful, a stark contrast to the crude, brutal efficiency with which she began to dismantle him. She broke his knee with a swift, vicious kick, the crack of bone echoing through the arena like a gunshot. Ozai screamed, his body crumpling, his flames sputtering and dying as the pain overwhelmed him.

The arena was silent, the spectators watching in shock and horror as the Agni Kai became a one-sided slaughter. Ursa fought with a savage, primal ferocity, her bare hands and feet her only weapons as she broke Ozai apart, piece by piece. She was no longer bending, no longer fighting with the grace and skill of a firebender. This was a beating, a punishment, a cruel and twisted display of power and dominance.

Azulon watched from his throne, his eyes wide with outrage, his face contorted with fury. This was not an Agni Kai—this was a mockery, a desecration of the sacred ritual. But he was powerless to stop it, powerless to intervene as Ursa systematically destroyed his son and her husband.

Ursa's face was flushed, her eyes gleaming with a wild, feverish light as she reveled in the pain she was inflicting. She giggled, a high-pitched, manic sound that sent shivers down the spines of all who heard it. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her chest heaving, her body trembling with a dark, twisted arousal responding to the sheer, brutal dominance of it all. She taunted Ozai, her voice a sultry purr as she kicked and stomped and beat him, her footprints branded into his flesh like marks of ownership. "Fight back, Ozai," she mocked. "Show me how powerful you are!" Her grin widened as she stomped on his hand, Ozai's screams ringing out "Show me how smart you are!" Ozai's other hand goes out next, tears running down Ozai's cheeks. "SHOW ME!"

But Ozai was broken, his body a bloody, battered mess, his spirit shattered. He lay on the ground, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps, his eyes glazed with pain and defeat. Ursa stood over him, her shadow falling across his face like a shroud. She knelt, her knees pressing into his chest, her hands cupping his face, her fingers tracing the lines of his cheeks, his jaw, his lips. She leaned in, her voice a soft, gentle whisper, a cruel parody of intimacy and affection. "Goodbye, Ozai," she murmured. "You were a pathetic husband, a terrible father, and a weak, incompetent piece of trash. The world will be better off without you."

And then, with a slow, deliberate cruelty, she pressed her palms to his face, her fingers curling, her nails digging into his flesh. She ignited her hands, the flames blue and hot and fierce, and she burned him. She burned him slowly, savoring his screams, his pleas, his futile struggles. She ignored Iroh's cries to stop, ignored the looks of pure, unadulterated terror on her children's faces. All that mattered was the power, the control, the sheer, brutal dominance of the moment. She was the victor, the conqueror, the avenging angel, and she would have her pound of flesh.

Ozai's screams echoed through the arena, a chilling, haunting symphony of pain and despair. And then, with a final, shuddering gasp, he fell silent, his body still and lifeless, his face a charred, blackened ruin. Ursa stood, her body trembling with exhilaration and exhaustion, her face flushed with triumph and arousal. She turned to Azulon, her eyes gleaming with a dark, malevolent promise, her lips curled into a smirk that promised **** and destruction. And then, with one last, lingering glance at the broken, battered remains of her husband, she turned and walked away, leaving the arena in stunned, horrified silence.