Reborn As Sokka: Awakening Of the wolf's mind

"Who the hell was that bastard?!"

Commander Zhao's screams echoed throughout the warship. Just a few hours ago, he had planned the destruction of an important Earth Kingdom forest along with the nearby villages; however, his plans had been thwarted by the Avatar and, worse yet, his life had almost been taken by a dark-skinned young man marked by scars.

Not only had he fled like a coward, but he'd been forced to abandon the massive warship, which also carried several Tundra tanks. Now he feared the retaliation or punishment the Fire Lord might impose on him. The recent attacks on watchposts, villages, and Fire Nation camps were beginning to irritate the high command.

The worst part was that, according to the reports from the few survivors, the one responsible matched the description of that same young man who had faced him alongside the Avatar.

"Did you hear Commander Zhao ran from a fight again?" murmured a soldier, lowering his voice as he carried supply crates. "I still don't get why someone like him is still in the army. Attacking another from behind in an Agni Kai… even if he was an exile, that's dishonorable. If you ask me, he's the one who lost his honor."

Zhao stopped dead at hearing this. He turned his head so quickly that several of his guards stepped back.

"What did you say?" he spat, the vein in his neck bulging as he advanced.

The soldier, who hadn't noticed his closeness, went stiff as a corpse. The supply crate trembled in his hands.

"N-nothing, Commander! I was just repeating something I heard…!"

"Are you calling me a coward? Me?!" Zhao growled, clenching his fist. Fire crackled between his fingers, red embers escaping from his restrained fury.

The young man raised his hands pleadingly. "No, Commander! I didn't…"

Zhao let out a roar, a guttural sound like a beast wounded in its pride. He grabbed the soldier by the collar of his uniform and lifted him off the ground with one hand.

"I'll show you what it really means to lose honor!" he shouted, and without another word, a jet of flame burst from his other hand, straight into the young man's chest.

The soldier screamed, a cry choked off by the flames that instantly engulfed him. The stench of burning cloth and flesh spread, forcing the nearby sailors to look away and cover their mouths.

Zhao held him aloft for a few more seconds, watching as life was consumed in the orange blaze that lit up his rage-twisted face.

When all that was left was a charred corpse, he dropped it disdainfully. The body hit the deck with a dull thud.

Zhao swept the deck with his gaze, still panting like a cornered animal.

"ANYONE ELSE WANT TO COMMENT ON MY HONOR?!" he roared.

No one answered. No one even breathed. The sea breeze carried away the smoke of burnt flesh as Zhao stalked off, shoving a guard aside so hard he nearly sent him overboard.

Each step echoed on the ash-stained wood. The silence of terror followed him like a shroud.

"Wow, that was pretty impressive."

The playful voice of a woman made Zhao whirl around at once, fury still blazing in his eyes.

"Who the hell are you?" he spat when he saw the figure with a deep green hue, her hair braided like vines that moved like snakes. He recognized at once that she was a spirit; his studies in the Great Library had prepared him to identify them.

"Relax… I'm your ally," she replied, her voice soft, her sinuous body moving forward with an almost hypnotic grace. Each step seemed to enchant the air around her. "I can help you kill the Avatar. Imagine it, Zhao… your name written in history, a glory even your Fire Lord couldn't match."

Zhao narrowed his eyes. His hands, still sooty from the burned soldier, tensed. But his gaze fixed on that promise. Greed lit a sick spark in his smile.

"Speak. Tell me your plan. Whatever you ask, I'll do it."

The Wicked Lady's smile widened, a flash of fang showing between her lips. "All I want is that non-bender boy traveling with Raava's vessel."

Zhao frowned. The image of the boy who had dared humiliate him flared like an open wound. His hand twitched as if gripping an imaginary throat.

"Him…" he murmured, savoring the thought of revenge. "That bastard made me flee like a dog…"

The woman savored his fury with delight. "I can offer you more," she whispered, venomous. "If you still doubt, I can grant you the pleasure of seeing his sister kneeling before you, her tribe reduced to ashes. All as a gift, in exchange for him."

Zhao swallowed hard. For a second, cruelty and ambition danced together in his mind like fire on oil.

"Who exactly is that brat?" he demanded.

"He's the chief of the Southern Water Tribe," said the lady, an unholy glint in her green eyes. "But I don't care about his title. I want strong non-benders. And he… he is."

The roar of the waves against the ship's hull seemed to seal the pact in the darkness.

Several days after the battle, Aang, Katara, and Sokka were traveling once more on Appa, soaring through skies increasingly patrolled by the Fire Nation. The journey had been long and dangerous; enemy patrols had multiplied, and Sokka, with no other choice, had been forced to sink several ships. Although he wished he could seize those ships to strengthen his tribe, he had no way to move them.

While his companions slept wrapped in blankets, Sokka kept his eyes fixed on the horizon. The dull roar of something burning caught his attention: a flaming rock was heading straight for them.

"Aang, Katara… if you two don't wake up now, we might die." His tone was so flat it sounded like he was talking about the weather.

The two stirred, confused by words that seemed to make no sense. It was Katara who spotted the threat first; her face tightened when she saw the burning mass.

"You idiot! If we're under attack, act like you care!" she shouted, a mix of fear and fury.

His sister's outburst snapped Aang fully awake. With a leap, he launched himself at the rock, channeling air and strength to pulverize it and deflect the fragments away from Appa.

"Aang, take the reins," ordered Sokka, handing him the rope while he was already drawing a bow with strange-tipped arrows. No one asked where he'd gotten all that; they'd long since gotten used to his surprises.

Wasting no time, he drew the string and fired. Each projectile, loaded with a greenish slime, struck the burning rocks before they could hit. On impact, the substance detonated with a bang, tearing fireballs apart in mid-air.

With methodical precision, Sokka adjusted a burning coal bracelet and lit the fuses on other arrows, now explosive. He launched them in rapid succession, aiming at the catapults scattered among the enemy ships. Several explosions rumbled in the distance, lighting the night with orange flashes.

"I'm going to handle Zhao. I'm sure he's behind this," he announced, his calm unchanged.

"Zuko's after us too," Aang warned, still focused on keeping Appa steady.

"Zuko's not a problem," Sokka cut off, before leaping into the void.

In free fall, he fired his last arrows, blowing up the remaining catapults ready to fire. He stowed his bow inside the spirit strapped to his waist and drew his polished steel spear.

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes as the air whipped his face. His chi expanded like a pulse, merging with the surroundings until it sketched an invisible map. Dozens of red dots glowed in his mind; one outshone them all. Zhao.

He moved his arms deftly, channeling the air current to propel himself toward the next ship. A hundred meters separated him from his target. He charged his spear with energy until he felt it hum as if it breathed on its own.

When the metal struck the deck, the blast exploded like thunder. A shockwave swept away men and weapons, cushioning his landing so he could plant his feet on the steel railing.

In a heartbeat, he recovered his weapon. And then he launched into battle. Soldier after soldier fell without time to react, his spear cutting through with clean, lethal strikes. The deck ran red as Sokka advanced into the bowels of the ship, where he knew Zhao would be.

His path of blood and screams echoed in Sokka's ears. He couldn't pinpoint the moment when this kind of thing stopped affecting him, but he was grateful for it.

"Please, no!" cried a young Firebender, tears mixing with the grime on his face.

Sokka stopped his spear a few inches from his neck. The boy panted heavily, trembling like a leaf. Behind him, about thirty Firebenders stood upright only by inertia: exhausted, defeated, staring at Sokka as if he were their only way out.

A smile bloomed inside him; these soldiers were just like Daichi: their despair and disappointment were clear.

The rumors he'd spread about Zhao and his Agni Kai were finally bearing fruit: youths who had idealized war as glory were seeing its harsh reality for the first time. An incompetent and cruel leader, forcing them to do things they didn't want to do.

They would either break or get used to this. Sokka made sure it would be the former.

"Please, we surrender! We'll tell you where Zhao is…" The young man swallowed, his voice cracking. "He… he killed our friend…"

For a second, Sokka felt the warm blood dripping from the tip of his spear. His silence weighed more than the screams. He wanted to know what else they were willing to do for a bit of redemption, even if it was false.

"We can't stay here anymore," the boy blurted, almost choking on his own words. "Please, help us. Kill him. I beg you, kill him and we'll do whatever you want… We'll join you!"

Sokka's heart danced with joy; his newly acquired good luck was working better than he could've imagined.

Finding this new workforce to help him in the war was nothing short of a miracle.

"Join me and I promise Zhao will disappear. Swear loyalty to me and together we'll free your nation from tyrants like Zhao." Sokka's voice came out calm, radiating confidence, his performance so convincing that it seemed to work as he saw the hopeful faces of the young soldiers.

For an instant no one moved. The silence turned as dense as the mist covering the forest. One of the young Firebenders stepped forward; his eyes locked on the still-bloody tip of the spear. He swallowed, knelt down.

"I swear it." His voice trembled, but determination slipped through clenched teeth. "I swear loyalty to you."

As if that spark ignited the rest, another dropped to his knees beside him. Then another. And another. Until the thirty or so exhausted young men formed a circle on their knees, heads bowed before Sokka.

Some murmured oaths under their breath, others could barely stay standing before letting themselves drop. The desperation was so thick that Sokka felt a chill run up his neck: it was raw power, shaped by hopelessness.

He looked at them without smiling, letting the image burn into them: a leader drenched in blood, relentless and ready to give them a new purpose.

"Stand up," he finally ordered, his voice slicing through the fog like a blade. "Today you stop being Zhao's dogs. Today you begin to be something better."

The soldiers lifted their gaze toward him, eyes glinting with fear and a flicker of trembling faith. For them, he was the only hope of redemption.

"Take a warship… or more if you can. Secure Zhao's loyal crew and sail to the South Pole." His voice made it clear he didn't want arguments.

Since Zhao had attacked Zuko from behind. Since he'd burned that young soldier alive to silence him. Since then, the concept of glory and honor aboard had died.

"Zhao's in the cabin. I think he has half the crew with him." The young man who had surrendered first informed Sokka before he threw himself toward the next warship.

Sokka let out a sly grin at the information. In a blink, he dashed toward the navigation cabin, leaving behind the anguished screams of every soldier in his way.

Inside the cabin, the fear was so thick it felt like a heavy fog. Every scream, every agonized groan echoed off the metal door, reverberating in the chests of the men barricaded inside with Zhao.

Startled breaths, shallow gasps, trembling legs. No one there could remember ever feeling such raw, ravenous terror.

A few, however, tried to channel that terror into rage. With knuckles white around their spears and swords, they convinced themselves they would fight to the end. But Zhao… Zhao was petrified, beyond reason. That spirit woman had warned him Sokka was strong — comparable to a squad — but this… this was a demon, not a man. The fear devouring him was the same he'd felt when Wan Shi Tong chased him after he burned his nation's records in the Great Library.

Suddenly, a soldier's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Please let me in!" he shouted, banging desperately on the metal door. "Please, no! I'm sorry, I didn't—"

His pleas were choked off by a dull blow.

The pounding continued, forceful, like hammer strikes against the metal. Each impact echoed in the chests of those barricaded inside. Between each blow came muffled whimpers, growing weaker.

"P-please—" BAM.

The pleas faded, replaced by the wet, crushing sound of flesh reduced to silence.

One last blow echoed in the cabin. The metal door crumpled and collapsed with a dull crash.

Sokka had kicked it down, the brutal force echoing in the chamber.

The young Southern chief swept the room with his eyes. Soldiers with spears and others with helmets bearing white masks; most were trembling with their backs pressed to the wall, others crouched on the floor covering their ears as tears streamed down their cheeks.

But as soon as he stepped inside, a torrent of fire shot toward his face.

"You son of a bitch!" roared a brave soldier.

Sokka split the flames with his spear as he dodged more fire blasts; the attacks were fast, deadly, but above all desperate, loaded with rage and lacking any coordination.

To the Southern chief, each movement was like reading an open book: slow, predictable. In a single second, when the flames died down and the Firebender's face was exposed behind the mask, a precise strike found its mark.

The protective mask shattered, the helmet dented, and the soldier flew backward, crashing through the cabin windows. Teeth and blood spattered the floor: a silent warning to anyone else who still dared oppose Sokka.

"Shoot him!" Zhao screamed, his panic betraying his fear. "Don't let him get closer!"

Fire blasts burst toward Sokka, but he, with an instinct honed to a near sixth sense, dodged most of them. The few he couldn't avoid, he cut or deflected with the tip of his spear, steady and sure.

At the doorway, a figure fled: Zhao. A crooked smile spread across Sokka's lips. Ran like a rat.

"The leader ran," Sokka muttered, cold and calculating. "So what hope is left for his men, when they face only me?"

The soldiers faltered, wavering between doubt and fear, while a few threw themselves at him with desperate shouts.

"Everyone, charge!" one roared. "He's just a kid! There's more of us."

"Yes, no reason to fear."

"For Zhao's glory," another added, trying to muster courage.

But the false bravery crumbled. Sokka saw it all clearly: fear still ruled here, and it was time to sow terror.

He lunged forward with a grin bordering on madness.

"Come on! Fight me! Dance with the angel of death!"

Inside, he shivered at how ridiculous his words sounded, but to his surprise, most backed away, trembling at the madness they saw. No one wanted to fight someone who seemed to fear nothing.

Without giving them time to react, he advanced relentlessly, his spear slicing through and extinguishing flames with brutal ease.

"Is this all you've got?" he asked, looking at the empty balcony where Zhao used to stand. "You risk your lives for men like him? Don't you have families in the Fire Nation?"

His words cut deep. Some looked at their wounded comrades. Fac

es turned grim; doubt crept into their eyes.

Sokka stifled an urge to grin; he knew he was achieving something vital. In his past life, he'd read similar stories, where soldiers hesitated to kill their own people.

'Now is the time to break them,' he thought. Zhao was the target, and he had to fall before the invasion of the Northern Water Tribe. He had a speech prepared—one he'd heard in another life, used by a famous man.

—All of us, as humans, must put an end to war —he declared with passion, channeling every ounce of his acting skill—. Or war will put an end to us.

Every word rang with sincerity, leaving no room for doubt.

—We are brothers and sisters—why slaughter each other for false glory? Or for a cowardly commander who won't even fight for you? Why fight for a commander who would kill you on a whim?

His eyes swept over each soldier, daring their convictions to stand firm.

Some looked unconvinced, but no one dared to contradict him. Sokka knew he could end them here and now—and their comrades were too divided to do anything about it.

'This kid has them all wrapped around his finger,' one muttered in disbelief. But when he looked around, he saw men willing to listen, not fight.

—This is worse than I thought —whispered another—. These men carry their guilt like an unbearable weight. I can't help them now. I just hope the boy doesn't corrupt them. If they desert, it'll be chaos. Too many deserters in the Fire Nation could topple our ranks.

But Sokka heard him. He thought he'd crushed Zhao's followers already, but there were still some left.

—Don't judge people by their past —he murmured softly, his expression shifting to a look of compassion. A flawless act.

—The Fire Nation killed my mother —he added clearly—. But don't you have families too? Haven't you felt the weight of your actions? Killing women in front of their children? Do you really think greatness is built like that?

His words cracked something inside them; heads dropped, ashamed.

Sokka knew he'd struck their hearts.

—Now —one of the remaining loyalists whispered to the few who hadn't fallen for the boy's words.

With a battle cry, they unleashed blasts of fire, not caring if they hit their own comrades. But their false confidence shattered instantly—Sokka swung his spear in a flash. The soldiers' arms fell, the embers died before touching anyone… and then, their heads tumbled from their shoulders.

Silence filled the room. And then the unexpected happened: one by one, the soldiers dropped to their knees, removing their helmets to reveal faces marked by shame and regret.

—Sir! —they called him, with a respect that almost made Sokka laugh—. Please… forgive us. We don't want to die carrying this guilt. We can't keep committing atrocities in the name of rotten glory.

Sokka felt the weight of the moment. He hadn't expected his speech to work this well. His good fortune seemed to twist in his favor… or maybe against him.

He stayed silent, letting the tension do the talking. In the distance, he heard explosions on the ships to the left and right; seeing two warships break away from the formation, a sly grin spread across his face.

At last, he planted the tip of his spear on the floor and spoke, voice calm:

—I'm not the one to forgive anyone… but I can guide you down a path to redemption.

They nodded, some trembling. The makeshift leader—a bearded man with a weary face—looked up and asked seriously:

—What should we do now?

Sokka stifled the bitter laugh that almost slipped out. What should they do? If they couldn't even decide that for themselves, they were even more useless than he thought.

—That's for you to decide —he answered calmly, masking his annoyance—. You can surrender to the Earth Kingdom, go to the Southern Water Tribe… it doesn't matter. But if you really want to wash away some of this filth… your commander Zhao is the one who gave the orders that killed thousands. Why not start with him?

As he spoke, he saw Appa descending onto the prow of the ship. The sky bison's low rumble announced his exit.

—You know what to do. Trust your conscience… if you still have any left.

The soldiers answered with a hoarse, fierce roar. The fire of vengeance burned in their eyes.

Perfect. Deserters, mutiny, traitor troops burning resources from the inside… Ozai would lose his mind trying to plug cracks everywhere. For Sokka, this was gold—every rebel soldier meant less pressure on his tribe.

He couldn't stay to watch the end. Aang still hated death… and the solstice was near.

As he stepped onto the deck, the ocean breeze hit his face. Appa's low growl and the pounding of his massive feet on the deck brought familiar voices with it.

Katara jumped down first from the saddle, barely wrapped in a blanket. She landed on the wood and ran straight to him.

—Sokka! —she gasped, grabbing his arms as if afraid he might vanish—. You're okay… thank the spirits. Are you hurt? —Her hands ran over his chest and shoulders, searching for burns or open wounds.

Sokka let her fuss, a tired smile on his lips.

—I'm fine, Katara —he said calmly, his voice softer than he expected—. It was just… a bit more complicated than I thought.

Aang climbed down behind her, frowning but his eyes calm.

—You scared us —he said, letting out a nervous laugh at the sight of Sokka's torn clothes and soot stains—. When we saw that explosion… I thought…

—I'm fine, really —Sokka repeated, letting his spear drop to the deck as he wrapped one arm around them both—. It all turned out… better than I expected.

Katara let out a long sigh, resting her forehead against his chest for a moment before pulling back to look him in the eyes.

—Don't do that again. If you're going to jump into an army… —she tried to sound stern but a small laugh escaped her—. At least warn me first.

Aang nodded, glancing sideways at the surrendered soldiers drifting like shadows across the deck.

—Well… at least we're not alone —he murmured, letting the salty breeze carry away the smoke—. You did it, Sokka.

Sokka looked toward the horizon, where Appa waited for them.

—Let's go, Aang. Zhao shouldn't be a problem anymore.

Aang exhaled, relieved. —What happened to him?

—He ran —Sokka said, shrugging—. But I think I was a bit rough with what I told his men. In the end, just talking sent them after him.

Aang seemed to relax, though deep down he knew things weren't truly over.

As they lifted off on Appa once more, Sokka watched them from the railing.

They would kill Zhao. Or die trying. In the end, it didn't matter—the crack was made.

Sokka felt a twinge of pity for those men. Used by Zhao… used by him. But he wouldn't risk his life for them.

That day he learned another lesson: luck could be more dangerous than any spear. His words had been meant to sow doubt… but they had sown something bigger, something uncontrollable.

Beside him, Katara scoffed:

—You said you'd be rough… you just talked.

—Talking well is rougher than you think —Sokka shot back, a hint of mockery in his tone, not looking at her. He knew deep down Aang agreed.

—Convincing people not to fight is harder than killing them —Aang said, watching the black sails of the burning ships in the distance.

Sokka smiled, though inside he laughed at the irony. They hadn't stopped fighting. He'd just managed to steer their fury where it suited him best.

—Katara, you should be impressed by my charisma.

She rolled her eyes, giving him a light shove.

—If you didn't brag so much… maybe.

Sokka laughed, letting the wind carry away the smell of blood and gunpowder. Between jokes and wou

nds, he knew that for the first time in a long time, he could truly be himself. At least with them.

And that… was enough.