Work Text:
A gloved hand clutched her bare bicep and dragged her body across the scraping rocks and sticks. The muscles and joints across Korra’s body felt sore and bruised, and damp hair clung to her cheeks and forehead. Her weightless fingers feebly picked at the itching bolo cord binding her wrists.
“She’s in no shape for this, Amon,” a low voice said. It was hoarse and familiar.
Korra raised her stiff, aching neck towards her captor. She stared through the translucent green lenses of his goggles. His body was clad in a well buttoned and tight-fitting Equalist uniform; only the bottom of his face was exposed. Korra recognized his split mustache.
“She’s in perfect shape, Lieutenant,” Amon replied. Some part of Korra’s chest began to palpitate rapidly. “You underestimate the tenacity of youth such as her. We all do.”
The Lieutenant’s boots came to a stop. He glared down into Korra’s eyes, brow narrowing and his lips pursing. He jerked the girl’s body further from the ground and swung the open palm of his other hand against the side of her face. She grunted at the blow, and her head dropped limply towards the ground with rasping breaths. The Equalist tossed her forward into the dirt.
Korra rolled onto her side, her eyes squinting against the blinding row of motorcycle headlights. A blurry, silhouetted figure stepped closer. It eclipsed the burning whiteness and kneeled in front of the Avatar. A rough hand followed Korra’s hairline until it reached her ponytail. The fingers clenched the mass of hair and yanked her head up from the dirt.
“I’ve seen the way you fight, Young Avatar,” Amon said. “The way you behave. The way you bend.”
Korra’s throbbing eyes followed the paleness of Amon’s mask from the still mouth to its expressionless brow. She watched his unblinking eyes as he spoke.
“I know you don’t understand how disgusting you truly are. The way you dedicate your life to such an unnatural and frightening power; a power you yourself can’t even begin to comprehend. The corrupted people of this world are born into castes, these cultural prisons, and they embrace it. They welcome the linearity that bending brings to their empty and pointless lives. And they’re even praised and worshipped for it, made into spectacles like circus clowns.” Amon dropped the Avatar’s head back to the earth and reached into his hood.
“And then of course, there’s you,” Amon continued. His hand emerged from his hood pinching a razor no larger than his thumb.
Korra’s eyes widened. The Equalist leader still spoke as he reached at her feet and yanked her legs to him. Gasping, Korra shook and struggled her sore and weighted legs.
“You’re given the most narrow life of them all, and you relish it,” Amon said as he plunged the small knife into the Avatar’s calf.
Korra yelped and bit into her lip. The blade ripped from her flesh as soon as it had entered. She breathed into the dirt, now still and resigned like a stricken farm animal.
“You live in a prison, Young Avatar. Your cell is the smallest and darkest one, and you don’t even know it.”
Korra held her breath as Amon leisurely sawed through the bindings on her legs.
“But of course, the worst part is that you pitiful benders are not content with the ruination of your own lives, and we’re forced to endure your cruelty as well.”
Korra gasped as Amon whipped the severed wire away from her legs. His free hand slammed into her neck, gripping the flesh of her throat for a moment before pinching the niches of her jaw.
Amon laughed. “Scared? We all have fears, Korra. A fear of being burned alive. A fear of drowning. A fear of being crushed beneath the earth.” The masked Equalist tossed the reddened blade over his shoulder into the dirt, and traced the fingers of his hand over the Avatar’s face until his thumb was resting against her forehead.
Korra’s eyes began to shake. Her breathing was rapid and jarring. Sweat beaded down her face.
“But your fear, Young Avatar. There is nothing you fear more than the absence of power. The power you idolize as if it could think for itself. The power you would use to crush, to maim, and to kill. While others are fearing for their last breath, begging and pleading for their very lives, you sit here weak and paralyzed at the destruction of a foolish, hollow idea. An idea so revolting and controlling that you know you are nothing without it. What is an Avatar, but a husk to encapsulate all of the corruption and sin of this world?”
Amon gently lifted his hands from her, and rose back to his feet. He brushed his open palms against the front of his tunic. Amon was careful not to dirty the carved length of thin wood draped across his chest. “How fitting that such a barren person would be powerless and destroyed when she’s not being chained and blindfolded like a prisoner.” He lifted the length of ornate, polished wood over his head, and reached over his shoulder. Amon reeled his hand back from the quiver, holding a long shaft with a stone arrowhead clung to the end. He pointed the tip in between the Avatar’s eyes as he placed the arrow against the longbow, and fluidly strained the bowstring back to his shoulder. “Everything you are, Korra. Everything you believe, is a lie. A fabrication. A collective fallacy that I will correct.”
Amon nudged his head at his Lieutenant. The thin man stalked past his leader towards Korra and clasped her arm, pulling her to her feet. She stood with a limp, slouching and bruised, as she stared into Amon’s threatening eyes.
“I suggest you take a look behind you and familiarize yourself, since I’m going to give you sixty seconds before I release this arrow. I spared your impurity for tonight, Young Avatar, but if you do not discover the truth of yourself before I find you, I promise you that you will die.”