The Fire Nation Prince

[A/N: Special shoutout to my newest s this past week. Kurupt, MiketheDog98, RazorTheRamon, ShisuiSharinganUchiha, Tadoku, Mitorito and Mbaku. I thank you all for your support. I appreciate it.]

Chapter 46: Red Dragon of Destruction

Zuko’s boots ground into the churned earth as he circled General Fong, the chaos of the battlefield a constant roar at the edge of his senses. All around them, fire clashed against stone, screams mingled with explosions, and the acrid tang of smoke stung the air. But here, between the two of them, there was a pocket of stillness. A space that existed for one purpose alone.

The general’s stance was wide and rooted, shoulders squared beneath the weight of green lacquered armor. The sun caught the bronze of his pauldrons, making them gleam like polished stone. His hands hovered low, fingers twitching, ready to seize the earth beneath his feet.

Zuko shifted lightly on the balls of his feet, his stance more narrow, weight coiled in his legs like a spring. He moved like a predator measuring the distance before the pounce, his hands loose, one forward and one drawn back, ready to weave fire with speed and precision.

They didn’t charge at once. Instead, Fong sent the first test, a sharp stomp that tore a jagged line of rock up from the ground, racing toward Zuko like a spear point. Zuko pivoted on his heel, twisting his torso and sweeping one arm down. A crescent of blue flame hissed into being, slicing across the stone. The rock split in two with a sharp crack, each half skidding harmlessly past.

Fong didn’t pause. His left arm came up and the earth responded, rising in a knee-high wave meant to trip and slow. Zuko didn’t leap it, he let the rising wave push him upward as he bent his knees and kicked off, a twin plume of fire bursting from his feet to launch him higher still. He landed light, already spinning into a whip-like strike that sent a ribbon of fire snapping toward Fong’s flank.

The general’s arm swept wide, pulling a slab of earth into place. The fire struck it in a burst of sparks, leaving black scorch marks but not breaking through. Fong smirked behind his wall, then pushed forward, the slab became a battering ram, hurtling toward Zuko.

Zuko dropped low, one hand touching the ground for balance, the other flaring fire beneath him. He slid aside in a burst of heat, feeling the rush of displaced air as the slab thundered past. His slide turned into a roll, and from that roll, he sprung forward, acrobatics flowing into aggression.

He lashed out with a rapid series of kicks, each one trailing a short burst of blue fire. Fong blocked with arms like stone, literally, rock plating grew over his forearms to take the hits, sparks scattering off them in showers. Zuko didn’t stop. His movements were quick, almost serpentine, twisting from one attack to the next, making it harder for the general to predict the angle.

Fong shoved him back with a sudden palm strike to the ground, sending a shockwave through the dirt that buckled the ground under Zuko’s feet. Zuko vaulted over the collapsing ground, twisting midair to hurl a concentrated fireball from both palms.

The blast struck at Fong’s feet, detonating in a sharp bloom of blue and orange. Dirt and smoke billowed upward. But even before it cleared, Zuko saw the shape moving, Fong, untouched, riding a pillar of earth that had lifted him above the blast at the last instant.

From his elevated perch, the general brought both fists down. A cluster of boulders tore free from the ground, spinning before they fell like a rain of stone. Zuko darted in a zig-zag sprint, fire jets kicking from his hands and feet to accelerate each sidestep. One boulder grazed his shoulder, the impact jarring but not enough to slow him.

As the last rock crashed down, Zuko leapt into a spinning aerial kick, a tight spiral of fire exploding outward from his foot. The flames weren’t just an attack, they cloaked his position, buying him a moment of concealment.

Fong narrowed his eyes, stepping back into a defensive crouch. He knew Zuko was inside the cloud. But when the prince emerged, it was from low to the ground, sliding forward with his palm extended. A stream of fire shot out in a tight, compressed beam, white-hot at its center.

The general reacted fast, stomping and pulling a thick wall up in front of him. The beam hit, molten cracks spiderwebbing across the surface, but the wall held. Zuko didn’t waste the moment, he was already circling, flames curling from his heels as he sprinted to find another opening.

They met again in a violent clash, Fong swinging his arm like a club, a block of earth forming at the end, Zuko meeting it with both forearms shrouded in flame. The impact rattled his bones, but he twisted with it, turning the block’s momentum into an opening for a point-blank kick to the general’s ribs. Fire exploded from the strike, forcing Fong to stagger back.

It was still only testing, still probing. Neither man had committed to their killing stroke yet. But both knew the next exchange could be the one where the fight truly began.

And neither was planning to hold back.

The momentary lull broke when Fong’s right foot slammed into the earth, the sound a dull boom that rolled through the battlefield. Zuko’s eyes flicked downward just in time to see the ground ripple toward him like a living thing. He sprang to the side, flames bursting from his boots to propel him, but Fong was already moving, no wasted motion, just brutal efficiency.

The general’s left hand clenched into a fist, pulling up a waist-high wall of rock that shot forward like a battering ram. Zuko twisted to avoid it, only for a second wall to rise in his new path, forcing him to leap upward.

That was exactly what Fong wanted.

From below, two thick stone columns erupted at an angle, slamming together like jaws. Zuko barely tucked his legs in time, the closing stone scraping across his boots and tearing a chunk from the sole. He landed in a roll, but his momentum carried him into Fong’s range.

The general surged forward, swinging a stone-covered arm like a hammer. Zuko ducked, the blow whistling over his head, but a follow-up backhand caught him in the ribs. Pain exploded through his side as the rock plating scraped skin and bit into muscle. He stumbled, the taste of copper blooming in his mouth.

Fong didn’t let up. His palm slammed down, the earth under Zuko’s feet splitting open into a jagged pit. Zuko kicked off the edge, a spiral of blue flame erupting from his foot to clear the gap. But as he landed, a massive boulder, half his height, came hurtling toward him.

He thrust both palms forward, unleashing a roaring gout of flame that cracked the surface of the rock, turning it red-hot before it exploded into shards. But even as the fragments rained down, Fong was there, bursting through the smoke, driving a knee of stone straight toward Zuko’s chest.

The prince crossed his forearms in a block, fire bursting to soften the blow, but the force still sent him skidding backward. His boots dug trenches in the dirt, the skin along his forearms raw from the heat and impact.

Zuko tried to press back with speed, low dashes, bursts of flame, a spinning heel kick trailing fire but Fong matched him step for step. The general’s earthbending had shifted; it was faster now, sharper, as though he’d stopped testing and started hunting.

A spear of stone jutted from the ground, forcing Zuko to vault over it. Midair, a hail of jagged rocks shot up toward him. One grazed his calf, tearing cloth and opening a shallow gash that immediately burned with pain. Another clipped his shoulder, spinning him in the air. He landed awkwardly, his palm slapping into the dirt to steady himself, just in time for Fong to send a shockwave through the ground that jarred his bones and rattled his teeth.

The prince’s footing faltered, and that was all the opening the general needed. Fong stomped once, hard. The ground beneath Zuko erupted in a jagged spike that caught him in the thigh. Not deep enough to impale, but enough to punch through muscle and send a blinding flash of pain through his body.

Zuko hissed between clenched teeth, stumbling back as blood ran warm down his leg, soaking into his boot.

Fong advanced with cold precision, his arms sweeping in brutal arcs. Massive slabs of earth ripped free from the ground, forcing Zuko to weave and duck. One caught him across the shoulder, spinning him half around, and before he could recover, a second slammed into his side, driving the air from his lungs.

The prince staggered to one knee, his hand clutching the dirt. The battlefield smell of scorched stone and iron-heavy blood filled his nostrils. All around, soldiers screamed and died, but here, in this brutal duel, it was just him and the general and Fong’s relentless, crushing advance.

Zuko rose, flames flickering around his fists, but blood was already dripping from his side and his movements had slowed. Fong’s expression didn’t change as he stepped forward again, raising both hands.

From the ground behind the prince, two massive boulders surged upward, each the size of a small hut, grinding and cracking as they hovered for a heartbeat, before hurtling forward to crush him.

Zuko inhaled sharply, tasting blood, the heat of his own fire pooling in his lungs. He had seconds, maybe less, to decide whether to dodge, deflect… or try something far more dangerous.

The twin boulders slammed together with a deafening crack. Dust and fragments of rock blasted outward, swallowing Zuko whole in a storm of stone. For a heartbeat, nothing could be seen through the haze but shadows twisting inside.

When it cleared, the prince lay broken in the dirt. His uniform was shredded, his chestplate cracked, and blood painted his arms, his face, his ribs. One eye was half-swollen shut. His breaths came ragged, every inhale stinging his lungs as if they were filled with glass.

The world narrowed into flashes, faces of screaming soldiers around him, streaks of flame colliding with shards of stone, the battlefield a canvas of gore and steel. But for him, there was only the sound of his own shallow breath and the cold weight of the dirt beneath his cheek.

His limbs trembled as he tried to rise, but they refused him. His body was numb with pain, yet each throb reminded him he was still alive. Damn it… what do I need to do to end this fool?

He remembered their first clash upon arriving in Nan-Hai, the overwhelming force of Fong’s earth, the humiliation of retreat. He had trained since then, sharpened his fire into swifter, deadlier shapes, honed his body into a weapon of acrobatics and speed. But now, bleeding and sprawled in the mud, he realized the truth: speed without weight, finesse without force, was just a spark against the avalanche that was General Fong.

It was naïve. Too soon.

Yet something stirred inside him, deeper than pain, deeper than despair. His Ki. The reservoir within him that had always seemed broader, vaster than the Zuko of this world. And now, with the noon sun pouring down, every ray was fuel, every breath of warmth coursing through his veins like liquid fire.

Even as blood leaked from a dozen wounds, he felt it, the endless, searing tide of Ki waiting to be drawn out. Trying to stick to the bending style of this world had limited. Fortunately, he had knowledge beyond this world and he was going to use it.

Fong had already begun advancing again, his boots cracking the earth beneath each step, his shadow growing long across the prince’s prone body. The general’s tone was half mocking, half admiring.

“You should not even be standing,” Fong growled. “Yet you do not yield. Truly, the resilience of the royal bloodline is something to behold.”

Zuko spat blood into the dirt, then forced his palm against the ground. His arm shook violently, but it held. Slowly, painfully, he rose. First to one knee. Then, with a grunt torn from his throat, to both. Blood dripped freely, streaking his chin, soaking into the scorched remains of his uniform.

The general paused, eyes narrowing as if unable to believe the sight.

Zuko lifted his head, his good eye burning with something beyond fury. His voice rasped at first, then swelled into a bellow that carried across the battlefield, silencing even the clash of soldiers nearby.

“I, who am about to awaken,

Am the Heavenly Dragon who has stolen the principles of domination from God…”

The air thickened, trembling as heat began to ripple from his body. Fong’s jaw clenched, but he did not move.

“I laugh at the infinite, and I fret over the dream…”

The ground around Zuko cracked, lines of molten red glowing beneath the soil. His aura flared, not the calm orange of ordinary firebenders, nor even the cold blue he had toyed with in the past but something raw, crimson, alive.

“I shall become the Red Dragon of Domination…”

The words vibrated through the air like the beat of a war drum. The soldiers, both Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom alike, turned their heads, caught in the gravity of the moment.

“And I shall sink you to the depths of the crimson purgatory!”

Zuko roared, his voice splitting into rage and defiance. “JUGGERNAUT DRIVE!!!”

The battlefield erupted.

From the ground around him, a wall of red and orange fire surged upward, spiraling into a vortex that stretched toward the heavens. The vortex screamed as if it had a voice of its own, a living tempest of flame wrapping Zuko in its embrace. The heat blasted outward, making even Fire Nation soldiers shield their faces. The very air shimmered, bending and warping, as if reality itself recoiled from the force of it.

There he stood within the inferno, bloodied and broken yet unyielding, like a demon reborn. The flames spun around him three stories high, a cyclone of incandescent wrath that painted the world in crimson light.

The sun was no longer in the sky. It was here, summoned, alive in Zuko’s hands.

[A/N: Can’t wait to see what happens next? Get exclusive early access on .com/saiyanprincenovels.]