fictitious fanfiction... its all lies... lies I tell ya!

it vanished... the older thread i stickied it... but i don't know where it went to
Image..... so just post your fanfictions... or others stories you wanna share
so hope you all will be entertained...

ok again while waiting for some other people to finish their own (guess me too)... so i'll post a fanfiction.. its kinda old... but its about hwoarang entitled Blood Talon: The rebirth by Kitana... i split into five parts... comments and bloody reactions are very much appreciated

BLOOD TALON: THE REBIRTH
by Kitana



They looked at the silhouette kneeling at a fresh grave, and
shook their heads in pity for the faithful student whose teacher and
master had been brutally murdered by a greater force. A force of which
no one knew of, a force of which even the student was unsure of. There
was only one thing certain of this force-- it was pure evil.

**************

TWO WEEKS EARLIER

Hwoarang narrowed his eyes menacingly as he watched the fight
between one of the members of his gang and a distant from a rival gang
from another town.
"Go Byong!" They yelled words of encouragement as he parried a
blow from his opponent, a burly, well-built Korean who seemed at least
thirty years of age.
Hwoarang said nothing. He merely watched as his underling got
beaten up.
As much as he hated for his team to suffer so much, he had no choice.
They HAD to eat, now didn't they?
Cheers erupted. Kim Hyuk Byong had fallen, and the victor now
held his hands up high in a show of triumph.
"Hey you!" The man arrogantly pointed towards Hwoarang next. "You
owe my gang two grand."
"This is barely over yet." Hwoarang whispered, concealing his
underlying anger well.
The man laughed aloud. "We've beaten every member of your gang;
surely you don't want us to humiliate you any further, now do you boy?"
Hwoarang smiled, a tight-lipped smile without any real mirth
behind it.
His boyish looks had always led people to underestimate him. This
time was of no exception. He said slowly, "If you fight me and I lose,
you get ten grand, U.S. However, if you lose, WE get ten thousand,
U.S."
The opponent's gang-members let out low whistles. Some even shook
Their heads in disbelief, but Hwoarang's team-members said and did
nothing.
The man laughed, and nodded. "Very well then." He gestured to the
powder-blue duffel bag that one of his henchmen had slung loosely
around his broad shoulder, and said, "We've already got ten grand here.
How about YOU?"
Hwoarang stared straight back and replied calmly, "Do not trouble
yourselves over so trivial a matter. If I lose, you WILL get your money."
"Then you had better get the cash ready, boy!" The man laughed in
arrogance, and shoved one of Hwoarang's team-members, rather
disrespectfully too, out of his path.
"We shall see." Hwoarang coolly replied, betraying nothing.

"LET THE MATCH BEGIN! FIGHT!" One of the rival gang-members
yelled.
The man, who had been grinning just before the match, had his
grin wiped off his face almost immediately by a ferocious kick by
Hwoarang, executed with such speed and fluidity it almost seemed unreal
when the blow landed and threw the opponent back several yards.
However, the boy did not for one second revel in his small
victory, but kept advancing and facing off with his flawlessly precise
kicks and punches that had earned him his eighth Black Dan a couple of
years back, and quite deservingly so. Hwoarang launched each move with
so much accuracy it was almost unthinkable, and his strength was
matched by his speed and agility, as well as his near swan-like grace
that was Skill.
This, however, was not good for his opponent. From the very
beginning he had gotten absolutely NO chance whatsoever to counter
Hwoarang, for he was definitely no match for the younger fighter.
Within a minute, Hwoarang's opponent was down and Hwoarang
himself had yet to be dealt a blow. The other gang-members of his
fallen opponent all could not believe that such a thing could have
happened, and even tried to justify the "error" by challenging the red-
haired boy one by one, but he was too skilled a fighter for their
rather amateur and inaccurate attacks.
When the last man had fallen, Hwoarang and his team-members
walked up to the rival gang. "Well?" A confident smile played on his
mouth. "Where's our money?"
"Y-y-you cheated!" cried his first victim indignantly. "That was
not possible! My men are all very highly-skilled!"
"They were PATHETIC." Hwoarang stated arrogantly before grabbing
him by his shirt and shaking him. Hard. "Now, WHERE'S OUR MONEY?!"
Under such an intimidating glare, the man could do nothing but
timidly hand over the duffel bag. Once Hwoarang and his gang turned to
leave the man made some kind of growl, as if about to attack them. This
would-be attack was only to be foiled the moment Hwoarang looked back,
though.

------------------------end of Part 1--------------------------------------------------------------
part two is coming out just wait

Part 2---------------------------------------------------------

FOUR DAYS LATER

The red-haired boy closed his eyes and meditated for a brief
moment with his legs crossed and his hands resting on his thighs, palms
distended.
The scenery around him was breathtaking; he was in a dojo that
overlooked a freshwater lake in a mountain terrain not far from the
town. Ever since young, Hwoarang would come here to learn his near-
perfected art of Taekwondo.
As he had a dedicated spirit, he would practise up to as many as
eight hours a day, thus he had always been Master Baek Doo San's best
student. Now that he led a gang of well, "Money-Makers" (he hated the name
Street Swindlers), he had had less time to devote himself to his
country's national martial art, but his standard was always well
maintained, mainly because he absolutely adored fighting and, as a
matter of fact, was also tolerably good at arguing.
Hwoarang was also much of an athlete, and simply loved the Great
Outdoors, especially sailing. Despite his rather distasteful
occupation, he also had very high taste, and was seemingly popular with
the girls because of his good looks and attitude.
Hwoarang had a sexy demeanor, and no one knew this better than
he. Besides his careless long, red strands that constantly fell over
his eyes, his cheeky brown eyes that could attract like magnets, he was
a magnificent charmer.
Lately however, he had been keeping away from the girls. He knew
not why; perhaps because he was tired of them, perhaps it was because
he felt he need not waste his valuable time and money on them...
Whatever it was, he just stayed away, and had been organizing more
gang-fights just to do so.
Hwoarang sensed a power of authority just at this moment, and
guessed who it was almost immediately. He got to his feet quickly and
bowed low respectfully to greet his teacher. "Annyong Haseyo, Master."
His teacher acknowledged this greeting with a slow nod. "Ye." He
replied in a soft but authoritative voice that made his status as a
fighter crystal clear.
Hwoarang took this as a cue to rise, and upon noticing his teacher's
troubled expression, asked in as subtle a tone as possible, "Master, is
anything the matter?"
Baek Doo San had been a near invincible fighter in his time, and
was known to have a hard personality of such. Despite all of this,
underneath there was a certain caring, and no one knew of this better
than Hwoarang, for his master usually treated him just like the son he
had never had.
Baek shook his head, as if trying to convince himself more than
his student.
"N-n-no, nothing's wrong..." He muttered lamely. Then he sighed.
Hwoarang, who had been with him for so long a time, could tell easily
that he was lying, just by judging from the look on his face.
After a long and awkward silence, Baek spoke up. "I had a dream
last night, a nightmare. Have I ever told you about this tournament I
had participated in, nearly twenty years ago?
"I-it was my biggest tournament ever. They called it the Iron
Fist, where Earth's greatest fighters got together to fight one another
for the title of King Of The Iron Fist, as well as quite a fortune."
Baek paused. It had been a painful decision to tell Hwoarang of this
secret he had kept so well hidden for the past two decades, but he had
to because of the Omen he had received the night before.
"We fought one another tooth and nail, but somewhere along the
line I... lost." He paused again. His student's face registered shock
at these words.
Baek knew all too well that Hwoarang had always regarded him as
invincible, as his idol. Perhaps that was the reason he had never
revealed this secret to him before; it would have been a great blow to
the boy. But in life everyone had to face blows, and this time was to
be of no exception.
"--But it wasn't just that. The victor, Kazuya Mishima of Mishima
Zaibatsu, who had also organized the tournament, was possessed by an
evil spirit. The Devil, to be precise. No one really knew how or why;
all that we knew was that his near-immortal prowess was sourced by the
demon within him.
"Anyway, when the tournament had finally ended, the various
fighters were returned to their lives. But--"
"...But?" Hwoarang coaxed gently, barely veiling his curiosity.
When Baek finally spoke again, his voice was shaky. Hwoarang
could actually feel fear in this man, which was a first as his master
had never seemed afraid of anything. Never. "--Last night, nearly
twenty years after that tournament, I had this dream, this vision, of
the demon within Kazuya's body. Although it was said that the evil
spirit had been killed along with the man himself when Heihachi
Mishima, the overall victor of the Iron Fist, had had his own son
thrown to his death in a flaming volcano, I think they were wrong. I
don't think the spirit perished at all...." His voice trailed off and
he closed his eyes.
Hours seemed to pass before Baek opened his eyes again, and when
he did, they were red; red with fear. "...And worse, I think it's after
all the former fighters in the Iron Fist. I think it's after ME."

----------------------------------end of part 2------------------------------------------------
i guess thats all for now... gotta wash the dishes first... lol

part 3---------------------------------------------------------------------------
THREE DAYS LATER

Dawn had broken mere moments ago, but for the red-haired boy
viewing the match between one of his team-members and a rival from a
different country altogether in silence, that was the least of his
object of focus.
As soon as Hwoarang had heard news that the Mishima Private Army
from the Land of the Rising Sun was in his beloved homeland, he let his
ego tell him of just how easy it would be to earn some cold cash,
especially from a team of people from an entirely different nation.
Despite his knowledge that the late Kazuya was once the chairman of the
organization that controlled this army, and that his father was now
ruling this organization, in his confidence, Hwoarang failed to SEE.
And had organized some kind of group-match.
Of course the MPA went along with his scheme well enough, and
things seemed to be going very smoothly. At first.
When the last man on Hwoarang's side was down, one of the
spokesman for the MPA, a well-built man who was roughly in his late-
twenties, demanded his two thousand U.S. bucks.
Of course the red-haired boy raised the prize to ten grand again,
and after the money-lusting spokesman agreed to this chance to earn
extra income, fought each man from the MPA, and beating every single
one of them very easily too.
Finally, only a black-haired boy with an outlandish hairstyle was
left to fight. He was clearly the youngest member in the group;
Hwoarang gauged his age to be about the same as his own. The black-
haired boy never said anything during the entire match, except to introduce
himself as "Jin Kazama" or something-- Hwoarang was not sure.
At first glance, Jin could have passed off as an ordinary youth.
His demeanor was gentle, and very unlike a fighter. This was what
caused the red-haired one to underestimate his skill, a grave error
which he soon regretted very bitterly. However, there was something
about his eyes; in spite of his youthful innocence which was clearly
displayed in them, there was this trace of hardness and unmistakable
bitterness that flickered in them every once in a while.
Also, when Jin took off his first layer of clothing to reveal his
black gi fighting pants with flame imprinted on the side, his muscular
arms and upper torso also signified hours of vigorous and probable
martial arts training, which Hwoarang also overlooked, of course.

"LET THE MATCH BEGIN! FIGHT!"
As always, Hwoarang attacked first with a Tsunami kick, which
only the very best could accomplish because of the speed and strength
which this style commanded. It was also perfectly executed save for one
flaw-- Jin Kazama had already foreseen the attack and had sidestepped
with matching speed before countering with a deadly move that shot
lightning bolts from his bare fist and shocked Hwoarang's unguarded
back.
Although the pain was kept to a minimum, Hwoarang was hurt. It
was clearly understandable for someone who had NEVER once been hit
before in a match, let alone defeated. Shock overcame hurt, and then blind
fury took over.
Hwoarang recovered with more of his spectacular attacks, from his
infamous set of Cutter kicks to his bone-shattering powerhouse punches,
of which his opponent skilfully evaded some, but was brought down by
others.
After what seemed like an eternity, when Jin was fast tiring out
and Hwoarang was overcome by frustration, both of their teams decided
to call it a draw as no conclusion could be drawn from the fight.
Hwoarang tried to protest, but his efforts were in vain as even his
gang-members had had enough for the day.
"Byong!" He near pleaded. "I have never been defeated in battle.
This is only a... small drawback. If we pair off again, I'm sure I can
beat the Japanese easily."
Byong replied with a shake of his head. "We've been watching the
whole fight, Hwoarang. As much as I'd hate to say this, that boy was
your match, and I don't think you can ever beat him. Besides, we do not
have the time. My mother needs me now as she is ill. I cannot stay here
all day; nor can the others."
The red-haired one bowed his head. There was only one thing to do
now, and as much as he would hate to do it, he had to. Hwoarang took a
deep breath and started back toward the dojo, where his master, Baek
was.
----------------------------------------end of part3----------------------------------------------------------

part 4----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Master Baek?" Hwoarang bowed low and addressed his master in a
small voice, one filled with undisguised dread.
"What is it?" Baek replied, never once opening his eyes or
breaking his meditational cross-legged stance, his voice as always,
hard, but this time marginally softened with mild concern.
"Master, I--" Hwoarang threw himself at his master's feet,
kneeling, head bowed. "I-I failed you."
Baek's eyes snapped open, as if struck by a lightning bolt. "What
did you just say?" He whispered almost dangerously.
"It was this match, me and this Japanese guy, Jin Kazama or
something...--"
Baek frowned. Kazama.... A familiar name. Then his look melted
into one of sheer distaste. "Do not tell me you were with your gang?"
he near spat. Baek never did approve of his student's undesirable
occupation, but even he, could not put a stop to this, for Hwoarang had
never shown one trace of penitence.
Hwoarang merely ignored this question, as he had many times
before. Instead he went on about the match. "He was as fast as light,
yet his strength was..." He broke off, then said decisively, "He was my
equivalent in skill."
Baek stared at him, a thoughtful frown etched upon his face. Then
he muttered something like "find out more about this Jin" before
resuming his meditational sequence.
"Ye, Master." Hwoarang sighed, tiredly.

Later that evening found Hwoarang, dejected, by his high-powered
computer monitor. Despite his attempts, the source of knowledge was
irrelevant.
Jin Kazama was nineteen this year, as was Hwoarang, and he was
the son of a woman known as Jun Kazama. However, there was no mention
of his style of fighting, nor his connection to the Mishima Zaibatsu.
At last, the red-haired boy gave up. Despairing, he left his
computer and slipped on a pair of jeans. Utterly exhausted, he decided
to cool himself off, the only way he could. He took a trip into the
town.

The sights were never new here. Neon lights, which hurt the eyes
flashed at every corner; the buildings and structures were contrasted
old and new, but in the midst of it all, Hwoarang never failed to see
the beauty in this place.
Hookers stood at almost every corner, trying their best to
imitate the Americans in fashion sense, behavior and even language.
Despite all the times he had come here with his gang to look for a good
time, he had never once been amused or impressed by their behavior.
Shrill laughter drew his attention. Not turning around, he began
to hear phrases he had never dreamt of being able to hear-- phrases on
the topic of a certain Japanese boy with charming eyes and strange but
appealing hair.
Narrowing his eyes ever so slightly, Hwoarang cleared his throat
loudly.
"Shille-hamnida," He greeted one of the girls politely. Annoyed at the
rude disruption, she whirled around, irritation clearly encased in her
heavily made-up features; it melted away almost as quickly when she saw
his face. It had always been said that no girl could resist the red-
haired boy anyway.
"How may I help you?" She smiled a near-irresistible smile that
Hwoarang was all too familiar with.
"You were talking about this Japanese guy. Jin Kazama. I would
like to know more about him." He stated bluntly, too tired to be
diplomatic.
"Know more about him?" The hooker's smile got even wider. "Most
certainly. But for a price. Come with me; my name's Mandy."

It was a few hours later. Hwoarang lay back in the small bed,
eyes closed. "Well?" He finally asked the woman beside him, barely
disguising his revulsion for her.
Oblivious to this, she smiled again and held up her hands. "Okay,
okay, I'll tell. So you want to know about Jin Kazama, huh? Well, for
one, he is drop-dead gorgeous, sort of like you here." She paused to
draw a packet of cigarettes, much to Hwoarang's disdain.
"But, here's the big but; he's some kind of, hell, I don't know.
He's a real teetotaler, won't touch alcohol of any type, and he's
probably still a virgin; we tried seducing him for over two freaking
hours, and failed. Can you believe it? I have NEVER once met any
nineteen year old as pure and innocent as he."
The red-haired boy was growing impatient. "Look, what else do you
know about him? Fighting style? Connections?"
"He never said anything, but a friend of his was boasting all
night of his fighting style. I Think it's Mishima Fighting Karate or
something, these long names usually get me down."
"Mishima Fighting Karate?" Hwoarang whispered, shocked. MISHIMA.
"Oh yeah, and as for connections, if you really want to know,
he's the grandson of the CEO of Mishima Zaibatsu, yeah."
Head swimming, Hwoarang instinctively jumped out of the bed and
hurriedly pulled on his clothing. This was very vital information, and
Master Baek had to be told immediately.

"Master?" Hwoarang tapped lightly on the carved wooden door of
his master's abode.
Almost immediately, Baek opened it. "What is it that you must
come at this hour?" Although he sounded tired, his eyes were still as alert
as the predator when hunting its prey.
"Master," Hwoarang bowed low as he spoke," I know who Jin Kazama
is. He is the son of Kazuya Mishima; is now living with his grandfather,
and fights with the style of Mishima Fighting Karate."
"Mishima Fighting Karate," Baek narrowed his eyes. "That is
indeed a formidable skill."
"But it is not invincible." Hwoarang interjected. "I am sure I
will correct my error by defeating this Jin Kazama if I practise hard
every day."
"No," Baek shook his head. "Try as you might, I do not think you
can defeat Kazama. I too, practised hard for THAT cursed tournament,
yet it was my fate to fall at the hands of the elder Mishima."
"No!" Hwoarang stated decisively. "That was a different story. I
can defeat Kazama, and I WILL!"
"Have it your way then, I will not stop you." Baek answered
quietly.
-------------------------------------------------end of part 4-----------------------------------------------
guess i'll just finish posting the rest...

finale---------------------------------------------------------------------------

THE NEXT WEEK

Muscles rippling, sweat glistening, Hwoarang trained as he had
never done before. Every exercise he would attempt; every technique and
fighting skill, he would practise again and again, even without Baek's
supervision. Be it poomse, shadow-boxing or otherwise, he trained with them
all for nearly ten hours each day. It was during this time that some said
his standard of Taekwondo even surpassed his teacher's, but Hwoarang never
did put this to the test. He also abstained from food and drink if possible,
eating only if there was a real necessity. Seven days flew past and
seven days no one save Baek had seen him.

Until...

***************

It was the fifth day of the week. Jin Kazama and the MPA had long
since returned to Japan, but had promised the red-haired boy a re-match
before leaving. Breathing heavily, Hwoarang ran through a couple more
of his kicks, executing each one with the utmost fluidity and skill before
moving on to poomse.
Just as he was running through Teguek Pal-Jung, he heard Baek calling
for him, which was rather unusual, not that Hwoarang suspected anything.
Yet.
"What is it, Master?" He asked when he arrived at his teacher's
abode.
"You have been practising hard enough, boy. Why do you not have a
short period of rest?"
Rest? Coming from the lips of the toughest man Hwoarang had ever
grown to know? This was, indeed, puzzling, but he knew better than to
pursue the matter.
"Ye, Master," Hwoarang once again, bowed respectfully before
taking his leave. Have a rest. This could also be the perfect time to
meet up wih friends; but for once, Hwoarang had no interest whatsoever
in holding any streetfights.

Two hours later, the red-haired boy and a whole gang of other boys
were at the bar, drinking.
"So, what made you come back here? Finally remembered us, eh?"
Mumbled one of them, who was half-drunk.
Hwoarang, however, was not even listening. His teacher's earlier
words made him unspeakably uneasy.
It was also at that moment that a bout of fear gripped him. Getting up
abruptly, Hwoarang mumbled an apology and headed back to the dojo.

The red-haired boy could already see the thick, black smoke some
distance away. Dread pounded relentlessly in his heart. Breaking into a
run, it was not long before he could see the flames.
The dojo had been burnt to the ground, reduced to nothing more
than cinders, and the flames still licked hungrily at the surroundings.
Hwoarang almost forsook his sanity then. Like a madman, he rushed
into the flames, not caring about his singed clothing or burnt skin, but was bent on one thing-- finding his teacher.
He did.
The broken body of Baek Doo San lay a few yards from the flames.
Hurrying as much he could, Hwoarang approached the body. Though not
charred, try as he might, he could not find a pulse. The reason was
clear enough-- Baek's neck was broken and his head was attached by
nothing save his skin. The rest of the corpse was also in terrible
shape; even if his neck had not been broken, there was still no way he
could have survived.
Subconscious tears arose in Hwoarang's eyes. "Anio," He
whispered, "Anio Master! You cannot die!"
He got up and away from the corpse. He could feel feelings,
different feelings rising, though he was too blurred to comprehend each
one. Involuntarily, he opened his mouth, and even a long time after he
was done, he could still hear his voice echo through the mountains.
His teacher was dead.

Just then, something fluttering in the wind caught his attention-
a piece of cloth with two characters on it. Instinctively, his hand
shot out. Just by feeling it, he could tell it was an expensive
material, most probable of silk. Turning it over, Hwoarang read the two
Japanese characters of thick brush strokes on the cloth. Although his
command in Nihon-go was not very good, it was adequate enough to
understand what these characters were-- Toshin, which meant the
God Of Fighting.

***************

PRESENT

It was three days after the funeral, but for Hwoarang, time
mattered not anymore. He had very recently received an invitation from
the Mishima Zaibatsu to participate in a tournament known only as The
King Of The Iron Fist, which seemed very much an instalment of the
tournament Master Baek had entered two decades ago.
It was a simple enough deal-- just combat other opponents for the
title of King of the Iron Fist. The prize would be enough money to last
a lifetime, sponsored by the Zaibatsu itself, if the champion could
successfully fight and defeat the God Of Fighting himself, the Toshin.
A list of the other participants was also attached to the invitation,
and Jin Kazama was apparently one of them, which meant that Hwoarang
would also be given a chance for a rematch.
Perfect.
The red-haired boy then glanced through the stated terms and
conditions, then tore up the sheet of paper. He was never one to abide
by the rules anyway. Then he looked at the form he would have to fill
up with his particulars, but had a problem with the blank that read
"Catch Copy".
He frowned thoughtfully and closed his eyes. Maybe it was fate,
or maybe he was just unbelievably weary. Whatever it was, it was enough
to render him to sleep.
During this short period, Hwoarang had some kind of vision, a
dream, a memory.

It was on his seventh birthday that Master Baek took him to the
summit. There, he pointed out a scene involving three birds, two of
which were native to Korea, and one of which was a rare sight since the
Dark Days-- the eagle.
"Hwoarang, child, do you know what is happening between these
beautiful creatures?"
"The eagle is playing with the two...--" Young Hwoarang answered
innocently.
"Hunting, child. It is hunting them."
"Hunting? As in KILLING?"
"Yes, my boy..." Baek paused, then continued. "Now look; SEE just
how majestic the eagle is in flight." He whispered as he pointed out the
magnificent bird to his pupil.
"How beautiful, how immaculate. SEE how it hunts them, notice the
ever-present strength, its speed and its skill. As elusive as quicksilver,
yet the immense strength it possesses in its talons, its claws, is...
unbelievable.
"This is how the perfect warrior is shaped, just like the eagle, a
hunter." It was at this moment that Baek's face turned serious, and he
said something that might have changed Hwoarang's life forever. "I see that
same spirit in you, child, do not let me down."
That had been the day Hwoarang had had a change of heart, from
the playful little boy he was, to a serious child who trained hard with
his master.

It was also then that Hwoarang awoke. He was enlightened. Wiping
the glistening sweat from his brow, Hwoarang recalled his teacher's
Catch Copy for the tournament twenty winters ago. Killing Hawk.
Displaying a small smile-- his first since his teacher's death (told ya i'ts old... lol)
to no one in particular, Hwoarang took out his pen and wrote neatly on
the form in just two words-- Blood Talon.
The old Hwoarang had died the day his teacher had, but the new
one had just been reborn.
As the Blood Talon.
----------------------------------------FIN---------------------------------------------------------------------
hope you enjoyed it... Pls. post also some of your fave fanfiction here, so that we can share THE LOVE ... anyway... it would be much much much better if you could also share your VERY OWN WORK ... it doesn't have to be long ,dramatic and mind boggling... whats needed is a very unique/weird way of presenting the tekken characters... which we all Wuv (LOL)... and the importance is that its entertaining

this is a good story nice post something about jin kazama???

yup... i will... i was gone for a while... i'll post it when i get some sleep

some things in my laptop...
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE LIGHTNING STRIKES TWICE
by Sapfarah

"Whether we like it or not, the impatient are those who can bring
any change."


This took place not too long ago, but the memory was strangely
clear. He, Heihachi Mishima stood at the exact position he was standing
that day almost four years ago and, just as then, the episode of the
eventful meeting unfolded in his memory.
He had been looking down the courtyard from the wide window while
listening to one of the guards' report of a non-daily incident.
"A young boy, you said?" he asked.
"Precisely, Sire. He insists to speak directly with you and won't
go, unless he does, Sire."
The face of the guard as he could perceive it from the corner of his
eye kept his firm expression but the blush on his face and the dampness on
his forehead revealed a slight perturbation which increased at sensing
Heihachi's indirect glare.
After a long pause, he spoke again.
"I have clearly marked I don't attend to beggars..."
"It's not alms he's here for, Sire."
"Did I make that question?" Heihachi coldly asked.
The guard didn't speak and he left silence work before speaking
again.
"Did he say what he wanted to see me for?"
"No, Sire, he insists he will only tell you."
"...and you have explained that is impossible."
"Yes Sire but he is really persisting..."
"Then, throw him away."
"We tried, Sire but he fights like a cub."
Heihachi remembered how this remark amused him.
"A cub against lions... That does certainly sound like a very unjust
proportion...", he murmured ironically, absorbed in his view.
The guard gulped in the effort to maintain his formal expression.
"What do you wish us to do, Sire?", he asked uneasily.
Heihachi Mishima set his narrow dark eyes below his furry eyebrows
on the guard. Although the times had placed snowflakes upon his tortuous
brows, his stare was not at the very least menacing.
"You are not supposed to ask, you ought to know what to do, that's
what you are here for." he stroke out.
"Yes Sire", replied the guard hastily.
Heihachi glared at him for some time to inflict himself.
"Let the boy in. I want to take a look at him."

He was hardly more than fifteen, looking even less among the four
guards leading him, lank and visibly exhausted. Heihachi's face didn't
alter exposing his astonishment. This boy created such trouble to his
guards?
The guards advanced until Heihachi signed them to stop. At his
gesture they left the boy who kept his bewildered eyes set on nowhere
instead of looking at the one he so eagerly demanded to see.
"Boy..." Heihachi addressed him.
The boy raised his eyes on him. Weariness was clearly written upon
his face but there was a vivid spark in his dark brown eyes, so strong
that Heihachi was startled at looking at it... He didn't know the boy, but
this flare in his eyes, he knew he had seen once before...
"You know who I am?" he instigated.
The boy's dark eyes narrowed determinative.
"I will speak to Heihachi Mishima alone." he said for the first time
and his boyish voice sounded too impudent to Heihachi's ears.
"You are speaking to him, boy... What do you have to say for
yourself?"
With no sign of hesitation, the boy looked directly at him.
"Great Mishima," he pronounced, "I need your help."
Heihachi stared at him and his narrow eyes darkened even more from
the shade of his thick brows but he saw that his austere gaze did not cause
any fear to the boy. He surely had enough nerve to persist coming all the
way to him and blatantly state his demand.
"And what makes you think you will get it?" he asked after a while.
"I am after the same thing you are, Great Mishima. The capture of
the War god, Toshin..."
Heihachi stopped looking at him in surprise. It was impossible but
as he looked at him and it was plain to see his words were true, he still
couldn't believe it. How did this boy know about Toshin?
It had only been recently when his Tekkenzu team exhumed a certain
life form in ruins of Central America. Over this, the leader of the
expedition sent only two messages. One reporting of the find and the last,
a distorted one from which all there was retrieved was one word:
'Toshin'...
Wanting to personally find out what happened, he had boarded on his
private jet. He reached the next day only to find leftovers of a massacre.
Ravaged corpses, sizzling equipment and everything else reduced to dust...
He had sent a fully equipped team of men, most highly trained in
martial arts. Moreover, they were armed with the latest weapons and sonar
detectors, direct from the most notorious paramilitary groups... What
could have been so strong as to overcome them?
Such force... Such an astonishment... He had not a clue on what had
been here, but if only he could control it... then nothing would stand
between him and the world!
He had to get this power source by all means. With his plan to win
over the world's leaders by tricking them to the universal peace idea, he
had enough to start seeking. But none of his expeditions proved futile. Not
even a second case of attack was mentioned. The unleashed War God didn't
compensate.
It had been about one month later when the series of mysterious
disappearances begun. The victims were always selected persons of strong
soul, especially masters of the martial arts and supporters of good and
noble causes. All were reported missing with no knowledge of their
whereabouts, not a hint as to where and why they might have gone...
Suspicions of connection between the missing people and the life form were
only going around in small circles of those who knew... Heihachi turned the
aim of the research to this way but every time he was only one step behind
a new disappearance...
He had almost given up hope and there was this young boy, speaking
about his ultimate goal. But could he really know what he was talking
about?
"Who do you claim to be, boy?" Heihachi incited him with apparent
interest.
The lad faced him with pride in his weariness.
"I am Jin Kazama, son of Jun Kazama... and... Kazuya Mishima...", he
added looking at him with his words clearly spoken and Heihachi couldn't
help a jolt in his head at the sound of the two last words...
For the first time he gave a careful look on the young boy. Feeble
and immature as he was, he saw how he bore great resemblance to someone he
used to know, someone he used to love, someone who paid him with the
greatest pain. He remembered the same flare in the same eyes, when it was
still burning, before it converted to that evil petrified glow to
eventually die...
More memories cleared in his head and fell into place.
"Jun Kazama..." he said more to himself. "Yes I remember her..." he
went on, trying to turn the conversation far from the distorting
declaration.
As he turned again to the youngster, he found him looking at him
into the eyes.
"My mother sent me to you... She said you will listen... She said...
you are family..." he went on, with less certainty this time. If anything,
he knew whom he was talking to. Still it was obvious admitting relationship
was under effort, urged by his despair. His flushed cheeks were a clear
sign.
Heihachi tried to look even more unapproachable than before. He
could clearly see, thankfully perhaps, his elder figure with the narrow so
black sedate eyes seemed no more family to the young boy than before.
With so many concerns in his mind, with the whole of the world
demanding process on affirming universal peace and chasing the ghost of a
Power that, if obtained, would bring him on top of the Globe, whoever the
boy was, the last thing he wanted in these hard times was taking care of a
child.
"These are her exact words?" he asked.
Jin Kazama didn't straightforward answer, from which Heihachi
understood he had a completely confused picture about him and was uncertain
on how to behave.
"Yes..." he finally said. "And really I don't know where else to
apply..."
Heihachi looked a little more at him.
"You see, my boy, your parents were not quite married..." he sternly
implied.
At his comment the youngster's eyes narrowed to a somewhat angry
look but Heihachi oversaw this indication of resentment.
"What I'm saying is that for all I am concerned, you are as good as
non existing..."
"This is not the reason I am here for!" he bluntly declared.
Heihachi snared his stare on him.
"And anyway, I knew I wouldn't get any response in here..." he went
on but there still was vigour in his voice.
Heihachi was curious to see how much further he was determined to
insist.
"So why did you bother coming?" he asked.
"Because..." he begun but his lips never completed the sentence as
he lowered his eyes in an intense look down to the so recent past. Then as
he raised them again, they were moist but his cracked voice spoke with no
breaks.
"Nearly a month ago, my mother warned me of a 'war god' who would
steal souls of fighters... It was after she learned of the death of someone
she knew..."
He paused to assure everyone's attention before speaking on.
"That day she told me who I am... She mentioned your name and said
you will be fighting this... War god... But now my mother is dead..."
He paused to breathe.
"We lived in this house at the mountains of Yakushima, in the
woods... It was a night unlike every other when..."
His eyes lowered again at the load of the memory.
"Mother told me to run... I... I couldn't even~"
He swallowed in effort.
"When I woke up... It was all in ruins... burned to the ground..."
Again he lifted his eyes on him and Heihachi saw them almost wet,
too proud to let go.
"She... She knew she was going to die... but she never told me... I
know that day she mentioned your name, she was implying..."
Heihachi looked inquiring upon him.
"Implying what?"
Jin breathed in and again his expression was that of a child
desperate to mature, still the flicker in his eyes was strong.
"Look, I know what you're thinking about my motives... But you are
wrong... I know you better than you think and I would never cross your
door but..."
"You are narrowing your chances, boy... First you, a young boy,
demand my help and obtrusively throw such attitude to my face... How do
you think that feels like?"
"Well, I've seen my mother slaughtered, how do you think that feels
like!"
Heihachi glared at him with his unreadable, so indiscernible stare.
The lean adolescent had used up all his courage to shout his last frenzied
words to the face of the great Mishima and he lowered his bewildered eyes
to the ground. He quivered as if all which he narrated of the one month
old incidents were taking place at the very moment he spoke them out.
Again after a short while, when silence became heavier than fear for
him to stand, the young boy lifted his head upon the great Mishima. His
wet eyes met the narrow so dark pupils of the elder's queer eyes, like
they would meet their reflection in a mirror. Yet Heihachi's expression
didn't alter at the very least, even though common agony besieged him at
looking after so long a time again into these eyes, the eyes with the
flare of his once beloved rebellious dead son, the eyes of this young boy
desperately standing before him.
"Great Mishima... It's the yearn to settle my accounts that brought
me to your doorstep... Why you want Toshin dead doesn't matter... I just
want him dead too and... if you are truly after Toshin, I want to be there
to help... I may not be very useful as I am now but I am eager to learn...
And in return... I will offer you... my services... that's all I have..."
Heihachi didn't do as much as nod. He had heard perfectly clear the
uttered words but didn't wish to correct the boy's distorted belief. A
brand new idea was born in his mind at looking at the hopeful vivid eyes
opposite him and the lips that had trembled as they spoke.
When he stood up majestically, looking at the young boy across him,
his mind was made up. It wasn't the common blood, if any, that ordered his
decision and certainly not sympathy for the innocent youth, not even the
frail little spark longing for revenge, burning so strong in his eyes,
hanging from his next word. It was the chance that so unexpectedly fell at
his hands. This boy was probably the only one who came in contact with
Toshin and survived to tell about it. Of course he was more of a burden
and he knew his honourable concept would be a dissonance in the
Corporation but he had deceived world's leaders. A boy shouldn't be a
problem.
"Jin Kazama..." he spelled. "I will help you"
The young boy's eyes doubtfully widened but he showed contented.
His soft immature features hardened with determination. At that moment
Heihachi knew he would be devoted. But lay faith on him, he knew better
not to.

The distant memory was strangely clear in his mind to the slightest
single detail, it was all there expanded before his eyes.
His drift to the past ended as the double door of the hall opened.
The harbinger announced the visitor and retreated.
He walked in unescorted along the red carpet and stopped at the very
same spot he had four years ago, only where the feeble boy once stood, a
young man had taken place. Standing barefoot on his strong legs enough to
not only support his robust body but also perform lethal kicks, Jin Kazama
stared at his grandfather with complete youthful arrogant assurance and
the bright spark was ever the same after all these years. His well built
arms eased next to his broad naked chest and tattooed on his left arm an
oddly spiked black symbol revealed.
Heihachi Mishima's heart eased at his sight. For an instant the load
of his current affairs lightened and looking at the young man he almost
smiled.
"May you have all you ever wished for, Jin-san, my pride... Come.
You wanted to see me... What is troubling you?"
Jin Kazama begun talking without hesitating.
"Great Mishima..." started a smooth yet deep voice. "For a while, I
have been thinking over the incidents that took place within the last
months... I took everything under consideration and I resolved to this
thought..."
He then breathed filling his lounges with excitement, Heihachi could
tell, as he spoke again.
"Great Mishima..." he said, "I think the time has finally come..."
Heihachi looked at him perplexed. Despite he didn't know what
exactly his thoughts were, his heart was seized by a cold suspicion.
"The time for what, Jin-san?" he asked and Jin's face brightened.
"The time to challenge Toshin, Great Mishima... It's been four
entire years since I've entered in your service and my tutelage next to
you is completed... I think I am ready now to meet with my destiny..."
As Heihachi's expression showed curiosity, Jin looked at him with
boldness in his dark attractive eyes.
"Great Mishima... I want you to call the King of the Iron fist
tournament." he concluded.
Heihachi's eyes declined in sorrow when he heard the young man's
words. He was faced with bold determination in his blazing eyes but his
haste excitement drowned him in sorrow.
"Whatever gave you this idea, Jin-san?" he asked after waiting for
a few moments.
Jin begun talking again.
"I realised Toshin is seeking for strong and pure souls of masters
to the arts of combat... Therefore, a tournament such as the Iron fist,
where only the elite of fighters gather is such a bait that would be too
much for him to resist... Call the tournament and Toshin is certain to
show up..."
Heihachi spent a moment examining the young man's face. He was full
of excitement which he barely constrained behind his calm talking. He
looked at him and he could sense the boiling of his heart.
"I want you to give me an honest answer to this, Jin-san..." he
begun. "Is your motivation really the wish to take part in a tournament
against great opponents and Toshin as the ultimate fighting challenge and
devastation that hit the world, or are you motivated by your yearn for
vengeance?"
Jin's eyes darkened and a grave shadow covered his still puerile
face.
"If I am to meet Toshin, the motives don't make any difference...
Do they?" he said.
Heihachi looked strictly at him.
"Jin-san... Your words are filled with rightful rage but have the
strength of an impatient toddler..."
"But, Great Mishima... I have practised... I am prepared for greater
challenges, you have said it yourself..."
"Yes I have..." Heihachi Mishima admitted. "But to talk of the Iron
Fist..."
As Jin looked hopeless, Heihachi fastened his eyes on him.
"Jin-san, the Iron Fist is not just another tournament like the ones
you participated during your training... Sometimes it goes as far as life
and death..."
He paused as he fought to suppress again escaping memories he
himself had of this tournament.
"The Iron Fist has brought misery to everyone who contested, like
every major tournament perhaps and to our family possibly even greater...
I have myself ended this constitution... It has been a long time since
the last Iron fist tournament was held..."
"Great Mishima, I have no desire for wealth and power, not even
glory..." Jin interrupted. "I've spent the past four years planning on
that day... Every single day I had only this one thought in my mind, the
chance to confront Toshin and make him pay for what he did... Vengeance or
not, I know he is on the road of my life... If I encounter him I might die
but if I avoid meeting with his challenge... I will never live..."
Heihachi looked at him for a while and then shook his head.
"Toshin... You don't even know what Toshin is... How can you face
something you don't know anything about?"
"I know enough, Great Mishima to despise him with all my
strength..." Jin immediately said. "I also know he is after strong souls
of fighters and the Iron fist tournament will be just the kind of feast he
wouldn't miss for the world... Call the tournament and we will both get
what we are after..."
Heihachi looked upon Jin's eager eyes.
"Jin-san... I don't think you are ready for it, my son..." he
concluded.
The young man's face winced with disappointment and Heihachi shared
his sorrow but he knew it was for his welfare... not to mention his own.
He had to convince him on it. He stood up.
"Come on. Let's take a stroll in the garden... It's such a beautiful
day... Let's not waste it inside, cooped up with inconsolable thoughts..."

It was a calm atmosphere over the settlement of the M.F.E.
Corporation. Jin Kazama and Heihachi Mishima idly walked on paths covered
with stone plates in the flourishing garden, relishing the beautiful
plantation of lush trees and flowered bushes.
"You have learned a lot, Jin-san" Heihachi mildly said, "but you
don't have patience, the greatest of the virtues..."
"Patience, patience... I can't wait anymore! How much longer must I
wait?" Jin broke in.
"Ah, Jin-san! Such rashness as you have when it comes to it! You see
what I mean? If you had this little patience, I would have managed to
explain!"
Their road led them to the courtyard where a group of the M.F.E.
special security forces trained under the command of the chief trainer,
Takeshi Fujoka. Both watched the class at the courtyard, responding to
every shouted command in snapping moves and fierce cries that reached them
loud enough, even though they were in open space and stood so far from
them.
"Patience is the only way to keep your balance." Heihachi continued
his lecture. "Be it in life or a fight, if you are not balanced,
physically and mentally, you don't stand many chances to succeed... How do
you feel when you fight, Jin-san? Don't you wait for your opponent to make
the wrong move? This is patience too..."
As Jin didn't answer, Heihachi shook his head.
"Of course I have many times seen you charge at your opponents with
blind fury... It's not always the best thing to do, Jin-san, especially as
some will try to lure you to such an attack you won't be able to halt and
get you when you are most vulnerable... Most opponents you will face in
the Iron Fist will be doing so..."
Jin appeared not to listen as he impatiently exhaled.
"Have you ever experienced fear in a tournament?" Heihachi asked.
"By that I don't mean fear of defeat but fear of death..."
Jin looked at him as the light air breeze swung his sharp pointed
long bangs. Indeed most contests he entered were among his fellow trainees,
or the M.F.E. security forces at the best. Fighting against them was a
matter of prestige but even at times when he lost, which very rarely
happened in the past year or so, he never had to risk his life. Yet, he
knew what it was to come at the merge of death; he'd been there. He had
tasted the extreme in fear and defeat, the sentiment of failure not for
anything less than the most beloved thing he had; his mother. But what
doesn't kill makes one stronger and the scorch of death had but skimmed
only a breath away from him. He did not at all try to avoid it. On the
complete contrary, he was seeking for a second chance to challenge it. He
was prepared for a second meeting with destiny as he was prepared for the
last wrathful four years...
"I know, Great Mishima..." he said setting his eyes far in the sky.
"But the rage boiling inside of me is too strong to permit fear..."
Heihachi looked at the young man as his translucent stare spread to
the vastness ahead. His breath had ceased to that of the air that plainly
existed about but he knew his tempers were of the like. They could as well
change to a swirling storm all of a sudden...
"You have to be patient, my son..." he softly started. "When I was
at your age... Don't make that face Jin-san, I know what you think... I,
an old man falter, trying to cut your young wings..."
Jin turned towards his grandfather.
"At your age, Jin-san I was obedient to my father..." Heihachi
continued. "I studied to make my sorcery stronger, I trained to perfect my
Karate... Don't think I'm trying to halt you... This is the last I ever
want to do, Jin-san, for I see in you such strength that if properly
directed can bring miracles..."
"I never doubted you..." Jin returned and, as it lately happened
when Jin declared his loyalty towards him, Heihachi was cursed by a bitter
sorrow.
Again the young man turned his face away from him to the horizon,
stretching his evenly lined chin to the sky and a tired sigh flew through
his lips. Heihachi knew the thoughts that besieged his mind.
"You hear me, Jin-san but I fear you will not listen..." he finally
said and the juvenile turned at him. There was block determination upon
his face.
"Look around, Jin-san...", he urged him. "Take a look... All you
see, every single stone, I have built in years of strenuous effort and
many times I had to mend and rebuild them..."
Jin floated his eyes to the area Heihachi had signed with his open
palm. It was a vast area with beautiful buildings among rich gardens, a
comfortable residence reflecting the wealth of a whole life. As far as
his eyes could stretch there were buildings emerging among tall trees,
including the settlement where they resided. All these, every single one
of them, gained through continuous effort...
"Jin-san..." Heihachi went on. "Someday all of these will become
yours... You are still very young... Be patient and don't waste it all
for a rash decision..."
Jin turned his face back to the elder at his side.
"I don't want to inherit something I haven't earned... I want to be
ready to defend it... But neither can I go against your will..."
Heihachi looked at the youngster's decisive face with the glimmering
eyes, until he turned to walk away at a leisurely pace, approaching the
training class. Takeshi Fujoka halted them and ordered a salutation. He
then bowed respectfully to him and Jin, returning the gesture, took his
place in the line, on the rightmost end.

Heihachi breathed heavily out, still not eased after his talk with
Jin. The young man had lately become very impatient and the matter of
Toshin was off too frequently brought about. He knew it was already hard
to hold the inevitable back, especially as there were signs that Jin had
been spotted by the Godly Predator...
Never for a single day did he give up his plan to elude Toshin.
Every day, he pursued this forceful blood-seeking spirit and he knew he
had done right keeping Jin within the Zaibatzu. It couldn't but so happen
that Toshin would soon return to eliminate the only human who survived
him, all the more at knowing he had the strong soul he was after...
Indeed, he was planning to disperse the young man at the cost of his
objective... Only now... he wasn't willing anymore.
Watching Jin training in line, being by far the best, surpassing
even the instructor, Takeshi Fujoka, Heihachi realised the War God had
deliberately spared the life of the juvenile. He knew there was in him a
soul consisted of the strongest elements, a perfect blend of blasting
power and abundant balance which radiated upon him. Heihachi could see it
clearly as he watched him excerpting among the rest, even without being
positioned at the rightmost place and along, he couldn't deny a feeling
he never believed he would ever have. His unbending heart was overwhelmed
with a certain fulfilment, seeing he had achieved something in life...
He had forgotten how it was having a young boy in the Corporation It
has been a long time his residence radiated with fresh stamina and energy
since very long...
Watching Jin's progress shaded every other of his achievements.
Ever since the day the youngster came begging for his help to when he
personally took him under his care, seeing him develop to a skilled
fighter, his attitude towards him changed. He grew sympathy of kinship
for him and he wouldn't regard him more family had he raised him from the
day of his birth. From his side, the bewildered boy slowly trusted him and
respected him, although he still appeared awkward at regarding him as his
grandfather. But they were bonded in a way Heihachi had long mistrusted:
the relation of Sire to Son...
Jin was full of energy and it elucidated upon him. He reminded him
how bright the young skin appears, so supple it fluctuated to the faintest
breath he took. He was a fresh touch in the old Corporation. But as he
admired the freshness of his descendant, he also regarded him with envy.
His very presence reminded him he had grown old...
Bearing the load of his age became harder. He didn't notice the
years passing by since the time he, Heihachi Mishima was a powerful
fighter, indisputable king of the Iron Fist for years in a row. It was
about two decades or more before he last experienced such feelings of
decline, when he lost it all, title, fame and self esteem to his very son,
the rebellious, never again to be mentioned, Kazuya. Now the feelings
returned the same in no other than his direct descendant... This could
hardly be a coincidence...
Despite his age, due to daily training, he still maintained a
hearty state but his dexterity was not the same anymore. More he would
notice that each time he trained along with Jin, when they worked out
together, side by side, oddly, like back then, when he was training his
successor, Kazuya and later his adoptive son, silver-hared Lee, in the
training yard of the Corporation.
Jin was always rash and sometimes he wasn't concentrated enough
but how remarkable his flexibility was! If he was completely focused
he could execute with great precision every move he instructed him,
even brand new moves and he was learning very fast. He envied him as
he was progressing day after day and he predicted he could achieve
high in due course, much better than he himself had. Sometimes when
he was training him he found himself reluctant to continue, not
wanting to aid him eventually surpassing him...
Jin was an eager student. He had caught him many times on his own
practising for long hours to perfection and at these moments he envied
him even more when the sunset glowed on his sweating body as he performed
with such exactness, combining skill and strength to a deadly art.
He wasn't surprised that the personnel of the Corporation had
developed fondness towards him, especially the females. Countless times
he had noticed them shooting ogles as he passed by and what hopeful
comments he had overheard in whispered conversations!
He wasn't certain of how to regard his grandson. At once he was
clearly envious, as the boy forced him to the acknowledgement of his
proceeding age. But how to reason the pride he felt whenever he saw him?
This young boy who came out of nowhere practically begging for his
assistance, did what all his accomplishments and pleasures in his life
failed to do. He had softened his heart and soothed him with the feeling
of completeness. This boy had made the stern president of the M.F.E. show
a face that nobody had considered possible...

As for Jin, it seemed that only expanding his fighting skills
mattered, in a frantic course to prepare for a fight against an entire
hell. In contrast to his daring implanting to the Mishima residence, he
appeared as if blaming himself for living within the property of the
Zaibatzu. Even as time went by, he still did very few use of his
liberties. He really meant what he said that he only came here to get the
only opportunity there was to avenge Toshin. Not for a moment did he
regard the Corporation as what it would be called a home.
He didn't feel comfortable within the Corporation. Neither did he
regard the great Mishima at all as family. The demon-looking elder caused
him a certain fright, especially when he would spot him watching over him
and realising he had been there long before he noticed him. Looking into
his narrow so dark eyes took much of his courage and having confessed
being his grandson made confronting him even harder. What scared him the
most though was how his presence was embodied everywhere in the
Corporation. Everything had a bit of his touch, everything emitted his
essence. This made the impression of him being on watch over him even
stronger.
He felt like there was no place where he would be safe from his
inspection within the limits of the Corporation's settlement, not even in
the room which was provided to be his own. It was on its own a small
palace, compared to the little corner he had on the wooden house he had
been living with his mother, before the holocaust that altered his life
from the foundations. Yet, even as he was brought there, immediately in
his heart became stronger the ache of the warm memories of his forever
lost home... When left alone, he took a look of his new room and the first
thing he did was to fall on the bed and dissolve into unstoppable tears.
Silently he whined, clenching his teeth, rolling himself, vowing avenge
for every teardrop he shed. But as he laid on the comfortable bed,
exhaustion of the past month unleashed. Slowly it took over and from tears
he sunk into a sad dreamless slumber.
He felt no security within this new room, as it could not provide
assurance of conceal from the mansion's lord. Especially there he felt
his watching was even stronger and there were nights, at the time before
he sunk into sleep, where in the faint light of the dark room, he would
swear he saw his broad face crowned with the sharp upwardly pointed ashy
strands, looking at him with his serene stare and at these times he would
cuddle and hide his face close to his hands, covering himself under the
sheets, praying it was just his imagination, until he fell into an uneasy
slumber...
And when he was asleep, the nightmares came. They crawled in his
head like the claws of a demon's hand and possessed him, in all details
and though he tried to keep them in the abode they had been hiding all
day, they were dragged out even stronger and he tossed, unable to even
wake up...
"What is a 'bastard' mom?"
He was five again and just back from the nursery school. His sweet
mother kneeled and embraced him. He felt the tremor of sadness possessing
her.
"It's a very cruel word, honey... To you and me, and to your
father..."
"But I don't have a father..." he ignorantly said and his mother
couldn't speak anymore. If she tried, she'd burst into tears, like he so
many times heard her do at night, when she thought he was sleeping...
He felt the burning of tears in his sealed lids and then, as he
tried to seek comfort in his mother's beloved face, nightmares came
stronger...
It was that windy night. He and his mother sat by the fireplace,
shivering in their blankets but he knew there was more than cold that
night. His mother was silent, looking ahead at what could be a duty she
had to take and she was almost praying... Many nights before she had been
so preoccupied, but that night of all nights, it was different... He
couldn't tell as to how...
He clearly remembered sitting by her side, trying hard to make her
look at him... If she did, he would understand what besieged her... When
she eventually did, there was so much pain in her eyes, it shocked him
more than anything... He remembered how she wrapped her arms around him
and he held back at her, how her heart was rattling like the hearts of the
little birds she would hold in her gentle hands...
Then the air flung the door wide open... and he saw it... again...
The windows shattered to pieces and Ogre was the best word that
could describe the monstrosity that rushed inside...
Tremendously tall and big in appearance, freakish green in colour
with blood red, blood sucking eyes. The God of War, the manifestation of
the Cruel Battle Lord, Toshin, had come to get his dues from them.
"Go away Jin, leave!" she had screamed, as the Monster ignored him
and attacked her...
He rushed to her rescue... and he tried... Heaven and Hell know he
tried. But what good would his attempts be, when he was hardly matured and
still an unpolished fighter?
"Run Jin, run, far, far away!" his mother screamed frantically.
Blindly, full of fear he had rushed at this monster, whatever it was. In
a brief squabble, all his moves were blocked and a strong blast crushed
him on the ground...
Before slipping into unconsciousness, he heard a wail of desperate
pain as his mother, even when her life came to an end would only care
about him... A wail he had ever since never forgotten and whenever it came
into his sleep, he just couldn't shut off...
The same wail possessed Heihachi's mind as he sat by the bed
and his fingers pressed over Jin's forehead at scanning through his
memories, holding the dream in his head a little more.
He was surprised at the strength of his young spirit. Even though
he was a powerful hypnotist, he had to fight very hard against the boy's
mind. Many nights he awaited until he fell asleep and when he did, placing
his palm over his forehead he saw inside his mind.
It wasn't as easy as he expected. The young boy tried so hard to
repress all the memories of Toshin's attack, the exact memories Heihachi
needed to learn more about his goal. But as he went further, the young
boy as if he found a shoulder to cry on, surrendered on his own all he
remembered... And in these moments, Heihachi saw a lot...
He saw the young feeble boy dash in a vain attempt on Toshin
charging at his mother, he felt the rushing tremor of his desperate heart.
Not even a few of his attempts worked... Even when he thought over and
figured out what he should have done, his imagination still returned to
where he was pushed violently crushing unconscious on the ground. His
mother's wail, that somehow still reached him before losing consciousness
echoed so clear in his head, just like he had himself heard it, so many
years before, when at his own hands...
Then, through Jin's eyes, he saw the ruins of the day after as he
recovered, awakened at bright morning sunlight... He saw the same hill,
only now burned to the ground and Jin run around frantically, calling for
his mother... He heard his voice, no more than a child's, loud and fervent,
then reduced to a melancholic lamentation... He felt exactly like he did
the distressing feeling of failure and utter loneliness...
He removed his palm and fell on his back, unable to see anymore.


"Was it... this tall?"
Leaning forward on his chair, the adolescent who had introduced
himself as Jin Kazama focused his eyes on the spot the Mishima officer
pointed with his arm stretched on the wall.
"I think so..." he said colourlessly, after some consideration.
The officer strictly eyed him a question but Jin didn't look back at
him.
"Maybe a little more, he was wearing this... helmet..." he said and
waved higher with his hand. "Or... a little..."
He grabbed his forehead below the bangs hanging down his eyes.
"Take your time... Think hard...", Heihachi said from his chair by
the wall. Next to him, the other person in the unadorned small room, mr
Nakaraki, wrote numbers down on a notepad on his knee.
The boy stood up and walked like lost towards the Mishima officer
who followed him with his eyes. The sleep on a comfortable bed, the good
breakfast and the new clothes had restored some of the vitality on his
face but the sorrowful expression was still there, if not worsened. It was
as if there had been few life left on him.
Stopping a step away from him, he raised his eyes on the wall and
digging into the painful mist of memories, he raised his hand.
"That tall. Almost certainly. About... that tall..." he concluded
after a little.
"It's of no importance, mr Yamada, we are talking about inches,
let's just take an approximation", mr Nakaraki intervened and mr Yamada
severely eyed him as he stuck a pin somewhere among the indicated points.
Jin walked back to his chair as mr Yamada measured the height of the
indicated point.
"Two metres, forty eight cents, you can write this down", he
mumbled.
Mr Nakaragi raised his eyes towards him then rested back.
"Could it really be?" he said and Heihachi, himself looking a little
wondering, opened his sealed lips.
"We have no reason to doubt... Write it down in a bracket..."
Jin bowed over his knees. He had been answering these questions for
quite some time and putting himself back to the recalling, cost him a lot.
His sight drifted to nowhere. He seemed oblivious to the eyes of the other
men upon him.
"What else do you remember, boy?" Heihachi's voice made him turn in
a start.
"I... I remember what he looked..."
The elder Mishima's face, unaltered, incited him to go on.
"He was... he had red eyes... bright red eyes... and... his colour
was..."
Once again he bent his head.
"You have mentioned coming in conflict with him... Tell us more
about it..." mr Yamada interceded.
Jin smiled as if sarcastically.
"I tried to... strike him... it was like... punching on a wall..."
"Any indications of magical shrouding?"
"I couldn't know..."
"Strange repulsion? Singeing?"
"No, I think not.... I doubt it..."
"It was like a normal human, only bigger then... and stronger..."
"No..."
Mr Yamada puffed out a trifle annoyed.
"You are not being much help, kid..."
"All, right, that's enough for one day" Heihachi's voice ended the
questioning. "We can get back to this later today, or tomorrow."
Mr Nakaragi closed his notepad and all stood up. Jin looked at the
elder.
"Mr Honsou is waiting for you. Your class starts in half an hour."
Jin bowed to him and left after him. He made it to the courtyard,
dressed in his karate uniform, to find the class of mr Honsou, much to his
discontentment, being a class of children much younger than himself,
nearly all of them beginners... For a little he stood gasping. This was
the training he was to receive?
"Well, don't take all day!" yelled the instructor, mr Honsou, a man
with a plumy red face and Jin accepted his fate in the humiliating end of
the line. Little did he know of Heihachi Mishima, observing him from his
office.
A week passed and still he was among the youngsters, until one day,
Heihachi Mishima came to attend the class himself... When the training
stopped to pay respect, Jin was in a hazard when the demonic looking elder
stood right before him.
"What are you doing here?" he asked with no indication in his voice.
"You have ordered me to..." was all he said.
Heihachi Mishima nodded once and left. The training was finished and
at dinner he announced Jin he was transferred.
"You will now on train along with the special forces, under mr
Fujoka. First training starts at eight in the morning."
Although a part of him was joyous that he had come to prove himself
to the elder, passing successfully through his first test, he still kept
his scepticism. He was ever ready to face a new testing.
As he had suspected, the new test came pretty soon.

Nori was one of the young recruits of the Mishima Special forces.
His progress was satisfactory and he kept up pretty good with the elder of
his fellow trainees. As a person, he wasn't one to be specifically
complacent, other than taking pride of his achievements for his younger
age, which he seldom did. Yet, one day, he and a couple of friends picked
on Jin.
It appeared like they were making a casual inquiry upon him... only
soon their questions revolved around the sensitive matters of family...
The mother, the father, the heritage...
Jin didn't have any idea as to how the boys got the notion. He would
have been stunned to find out it was initiated by no other than Heihachi
Mishima himself. He was not aware he was being tested. Whatever the case,
he tried to avoid them, but they just went on. Soon they started being
insulting and Nori as the leader, pushed him on his turned back. Jin
snapped around, his eyes sparked with enmity but it seemed it touched not
the laughing youths.
"Hey, he's going to cry!" one of them said and while the others,
jocularly wept, Nori stepped ahead.
"Aww... you want your mammy?" he mimicked.
He shouldn't have said that.
Barely had he finished his sentence, when a furious Jin grasped him
from the collar and hair, pulling so hard he almost choked him and nearly
dug his fingers into his skin.
A shout of surprise escaped from Nori's mouth and the laughter
stopped as his friends rushed to remove him from Jin's clutches. It wasn't
until then they realised they had seriously underestimated the boy, when
one of them who tried to get in between was headbutted by Nori's head as
Jin impelled him upon him.
By then, Nori had answered back, grabbing one wrist of Jin and the
other trying to catch him but Jin's palm on his face hurtfully blinded him
and he couldn't reverse his advantage, even as he had to parry all four
people at the same time.
Eventually the rest of the class surrounded them excited,
encouraging the fight and by that time, Jin only held Nori from the collar
and his clutched fist landed repeatedly on his face and neither the
anxious sounds of the bystanders or the flooding red pool from Nori's nose
stopped him but seemed to feed his rage, pulling his resigned enemy to
collide with his fist.
It was Takeshi Fujoka to brake the fighting as he locked with the
elbow Jin's arm holding onto Nori's collar and pushed both youths away.
By that time, Nori's lower face was covert with a thick red layer, the
same one that had smeared Jin's right fist.
"Who will tell me what went on!" the instructor furiously yelled but
neither of the boys said a word.
"You!" he returned with an angry finger at Jin. "It seems you are
the one who doesn't bleed. I want your explanations right now!"
Jin cast down his eyes with the same focusing to hold back, as when
Nori and his friends tried to pick on him.
A commotion begun as from the main building, nobody other than
Heihachi Mishima himself walked to the courtyard.
"There seems to be a problem?" he asked as he made his way to
Takeshi Fujoka.
"It looks like this young man has got into trouble" the instructor
said and nodded towards Jin.
"In that case I want to hear what it was all about..." Heihachi
Mishima insisted, shooting an indirect glare at Jin.
The young boy briefly returned the stare.
"Well? You've swallowed your tongue?" he asked.
"I lost my temper and attacked him. I'm sorry."
"Why may I ask?"
All he received from the young boy was utter silence.
"So I am free to assume you attacked without reason..."
"Perhaps it is better left this way", Jin said.
"What sort of a response is that?", intruded Takeshi Fujoka and
Jin's eyes narrowed at him, as if they would be shot like bullets towards
him.
"This is the answer I can give, ask the rest who witnessed!"
"Now listen here, young man! When the Great Mishima addresses you,
the only way you will reply is with respect! Don't think your heritage to
the Mishima house gives you extended liberation in behaviour!"
Jin's eyes widened and his lips sealed with wounded dignity. He
turned to look at Heihachi Mishima and as he found the elder's face
expressionless, his eyes appeared melting into sorrow. He turned back to
Takeshi Fujoka.
"Some things are too much for anyone to take, regardless of their
name. Besides, my name is Kazama. I don't wish to change it." he concluded
and there was silence in the gathering. Even the angry instructor ceased
before his honourable expression and Jin walked away from them. He wasn't
stopped by anybody.

The evening came and still there was no sign of Jin. Heihachi along
with the most trusted of his employees were in the dining room, all
silent. Jin was nowhere to be seen. It was when the dinner was served
that Heihachi, without a word, stood up to go seek him.
He didn't search for long among the unlit, empty corridors. He
found him inclining against a window and he could see he'd been crying
to himself. He approached him with slow steps and as he did so, the
youngster, without turning at him, having sensed him, straightened his
back appearing to gaze at the starry sky outside the window. He reached
him and still he looked at anywhere apart from the elder's eyes.
"I don't want you to think that I'm trying to profit from you..."
he begun as soon as he stopped. "I'll serve you until my training is done,
then I'll just leave... You'll never hear from me again..."
He swallowed in great effort through his aching throat.
"Tell me you don't think I'm trying to profit from you..." he added
and his voice was breaking under the pressure.
Heihachi watched the young boy sobbing, despite his effort to
constrain, avoiding to make eye contact with him. On the wet film of his
eyes the sparks of stars reflected like they would on precious jewels.
Strangely he felt disturbed.
He never cared for the boy in any other way than him being his agent
towards Toshin. Not until that moment when he made his declaration.
He had no reason to believe it was true, only... being sunk into
vice for so long, he could tell when a person was lying. This boy was
certainly not... His life was balanced on a deep, almost blunt sense of
justice... this kind of justice that can only be found once in a lifetime
in the world... He knew he would rather die than deceive him...
Even stranger, he was moved.
The boy had every reason to lie to him and yet... he chose the frank
approach... he had guts within him, he could tell. To see such strength of
spirit in such a young boy, strangely touched him...
Spontaneously he patted his hand over his shoulder and touching the
ripe warm skin, he recalled a feeling he hadn't experienced since long
ago. He was once again comforting a human being, specifically one of his
offspring...
His ancestry... was there ever any? Did he ever have a family? Did
he ever have a son? Children? Any form of relation?
When did he last ask himself these questions?
It seemed like all of his life he had been the evil tycoon, so
notorious the government of his very land denied his nationality... His
name was talked about in the circles of rulers of the world and he was as
important to global affairs as the President of the States, the owner of
Microsoft and the supplies of nuclear weapons hidden somewhere in
Siberia... The Mafia respected him, the Triad made sure to keep away of
his path and he practically ruled the Yakuza... Still, there was a gap
into his life... A vast emptiness he had no idea where, what or how it
was... or even should be...
A gap of the past... a gap in his vision... and in his memory, the
gap was full of images, a family, a son, sorrows, defeat, nearly death,
more sorrow and utter loneliness... His mind dashed through the gap and at
the other end, there he was... A young boy, one he had never seen, one
that was all he had considered as the void... A boy, so strange and so
kin, leaning against a window, his face retracted, only to preserve this
gap... the gap he so eagerly wanted to cover...
Family... What was the point in denying? He used to be a father...
once. He had failed. Or perhaps it wasn't destined to be. He had lost his
family... and right at his reach was the chance he wanted to get it back.
He moved and pulled the boy closer into an embrace. Jin's eyes shut
as he tried to prevent his tears and willingly embraced his grandfather
pulling him closer. It was a strange sensation... Neither knew each other
particularly well and yet... they held together, happy that they had
finally found each other.
Heihachi pulled back, looking into Jin's eyes.
"You are a Mishima Jin-san and my rightful descendant must not be
abashed of me..."
Jin nodded once. There was the same spirit of righteousness in his
eyes. Heihachi looked back at him and in his unresponsive heart... he was
proud.

Whether this was an honest declaration or just the signal for the
initiation of the last but most critical test for Jin, is not clear. But
that evening, Jin was visited by Takeshi Fujoka. The special forces
trainer stood firmly before the young boy who looked at him with wounded
curiosity.
"I ask you to forgive me for my improper behaviour earlier today,
young master..." the trainer clearly said.
Jin looked at him surprised and then turned his eyes away from him.
"First of all, don't call me master, I do not command you. And I
can't blame you for doing your job... I would have done just as you
did..."
Having finished, he looked back at Takeshi Fujoka and his stare was
crystal clear. The training instructor appeared to return the stare with
respect.
"I wouldn't have come if I didn't believe you to be right in the
first place... If you ever face trouble with any of your fellow trainees
again, I want you to find me."
Jin's eyes somewhat jumped in surprise and the firm lips of mr
Fujoka were slightly stretched to a smile. Then, bowing, he left the room
and Jin almost blurred as for the first time, someone at all had showed
him supportive feelings...
In the course of time, he and Takeshi Fujoka became two very good
friends.


Nightfall.
Utter silence reigned as nature slept under a cloudless, vivid
black, spring sky.
In the small room, with thick walls of cold grey stone, detached
from the rest of the construction, the wretched man raved helpless into
the darkness, at the clasp of the Evil hands. His eyes glowed insanely
bright, looking in terror at the absolute Death.
"I will assist you... into your planning... weakling... but I will
ask things in return..." came in effort the feeble sound of his voice.
Heihachi shook his shoulders in his tight grips.
"Give me your orders Almighty One!" he said.
"Under your... supervision... the boy..."
The body vibrated helplessly, incapable to take any more of the
godly power as his soul was slowly consumed. Foam came from his lips.
"Yes, tell me! You will have him!" Heihachi angrily said, shaking
the tormented person.
"You must... prepare him... he is the soul... I want..."
"Yes... Yes! He is granted!"
"I need... more souls... Strong souls... clean..."
The voice became incomprehensible as saliva poured down into the
poor man's throat and the muscles had snapped.
"Wait, War God! You can't leave yet!" Heihachi growled, shaking the
body stronger.
But the Lord of Evil had taken what he was there after and
abandoned the lifeless carcass. The glow was gone from his eyes and he
now hung helplessly at Heihachi's hands...
The elder discarded the weight on the floor as it was beginning to
sear and left the lonesome remote storage room.

One day later, the body was discovered.
Among the gathered people, Jin, who had come running from the main
house, forced his way to reach the centre of their circle. Before the
ravaged corpse of Takeshi Fujoka, he halted and for a moment he lost grip
of everything around him as it seemed the Earth tumbled and everything
spun in a horrific swirl.
He hurried to the dead man and grabbed the decomposed head in his
hands, the mouldered skin melting on his fingers. Helplessly he gazed
into the yellowing eyeballs, almost popped off their sockets, striving to
recognise the eyes of his friend...
The bemired scull slid from his hands and he remained lost into his
thoughts... For the first time, before the latest of his arched enemy's
victim, things fell into place...
"He came close... So very close..." he mumbled to himself...
The plot of the War God was inconceivable in his mind... He didn't
know why he chose to attack Takeshi instead of him. But he remembered how
Takeshi appeared anxious the last few days, the shivering in his voice...
just like... back then... his mother...
If only, if only he had listened...

"We insist on closing our eyes when we both know he is here! How
much longer Can we wait? How many more innocent must be wasted at the
hands of Toshin?"
The juvenile was raging insanely and Heihachi couldn't even lisp a
word.
"The killer of my mother was here... and there was nothing I have
done! Nothing!"
"There was nothing you could have done, Jin-san!" the elder intruded
and Jin turned a bewildered look towards him.
"I'm sick of that! And how can you say it? He took Takeshi! How much
more can I go on ignoring?"
"Jin-san, I share your ire... I'm quite as devastated about mr
Fujoka's death, I assure you but there is nothing we can do to revive
him!"
"So we just fold our hands, until the Toshin gets the need for the
life of one more unfortunate soul? And what about all these you said about
getting Toshin? When will that be? When he will get YOUR soul?"
"There's nothing to be done about it yet!" Heihachi angrily
interrupted. "We cannot stop Toshin as we are!"
His severe eyes pierced into Jin's but such was his anger that they
couldn't go through them. The young man confronted him with anger.
"Takeshi was a good man... He didn't deserve to die and you know
what is the right thing to do! But you are afraid!"
His words were like a slap on his face. He snared his thick brows,
regarding Jin below them.
"Recall your words, Jin-san!" he fumed after some time of eye
combat, still the tension was the same between them.
"Why won't you call the tournament?"
"Because it is unnecessary turmoil and you are not prepared!"
As his last words fell like a thunder in the room, sadness swelled
on Jin's soft eyes and Heihachi was started at seeing the anger, boiling
within them...
"You are lying! You are not waiting for the right time! You have
never wanted to do this fight! You will never call the Iron Fist because
you have lost your will to fight anymore!"
With these words he turned around and dashed towards the door.
"Jin-san!" shouted Heihachi with eyes widened at the apprehension,
but the juvenile didn't stop. "JIN-SAN!" he yelled again, walking a step
ahead, but neither his loud voice nor the yelling despair in it prevented
Jin from running out of the room, leaving him lost in a hazard...

The same scene. All over again. The same mistake. Again!...
He had been there before. He had seen this once before. Once again
he helplessly watched his pride running away from him, disgusted at his
overcoming vile...
It was long after Jin's running footsteps had gone for good when he,
Heihachi Mishima moved again.
"It is so destined that every Mishima shall go running out of this
house..." his lips involuntarily emitted, gazing blank at the flung open
door. Then, he turned to one of the servants standing alongside the wall.
"We shall find him. Order for the car. We are leaving now."
The servant bowed and left to execute his master's wish and Heihachi
himself left out of the room.


Blindly he run to wherever his feet lead him, furious tears streamed
down his face. He had well left the last traces of civilisation but hardly
had he noticed his course as he run into the loneliness. He kept on
dashing and it was after some time he realised he was making his way among
trees, through a brooding forest, so much like where he lived when his
mother was still alive... Fast as he run, still the memories rigorously
kept up with him, wailing like the wind into his ears...
It was as he had reached the end of the forest that he stopped,
where a vast bared, as if burned to the ground prairie spread before him,
clearly distinguishing its yellow dryness with the moist green of the
forest. He had reached the limit of his safety within the Corporation.
Clenching his fists he concentrated his rage in his eyes and if
anyone would see him now, he would be terrified from the strength there
was in them. His body quivered all tensed as he raised his fists to the
sky.
"TOSHIIIIIIN!" he roared and his voice resonated into the
nothingness.
His arms bulged and the rage building stronger in him emerged
frightfully on his face. So frenzied he was, it didn't disrupt him to see
sparks flying off his eyes. Real sparks emerged before his eyes and along
timid sparking snakes dared coil his clamped fists.
"DAMN YOU, WAR GOOOOD!!! WHY WON'T YOU FACE MY WRATH?" he yelled his
painful question louder than before and violent rage fluttered through his
body.
Then it happened.
The sky darkened as layers of grey clouds gathered, overlapping the
sun. Dark mist poured in a stream from the sky, mixing with clouds of dust
and ashes, The dust consorted to a more compound shape, forming the dark
shape of a monstrously tall human-like creature...
"WHO ARE YOU TO DARE CHALLENGE TOSHIN!" a hollow voice boomed.
Before his frightened eyes, Jin saw the formation of the same thing
he had seen four years ago, the nightmare that persecuted him each and
every single night ever since. The same fear surged in him and along with
it, absolute despair, so strong it defied the fear of death...
"REMEMBER ME, WAR GOD? REMEMBER ME?!?" he screamed out of his mind.
The Phantom had formed to the Ogre he recalled... the abominable
monster he had seen killing his mother...
"YOU FOOLISH MINOR! YOU DON'T HAVE THE STRENGTH OF SOUL I WANT AND
YOU DARE PROVOKE THE WRATH OF TOSHIN!" his loud brazen voice resonated.
The air swirled around him like it had that fatal day of his
mother's death, whizzing menacingly as was something so vigorous inside
him.
"AND HERE I AM, WAR GOD! COME FOR ME IF YOU DARE!" he cried and
prepared his fists by his side.
The Ogre's red eyes ignited.
"YOUR WISH IS GRANTED!" his voice resonated.
The air swirled faster and Toshin attacked.
Jin was rushed by a strong blast that forced him off his feet and
way back to the ground. He was prepared but not for such a strong attack.
He found himself crushed onto the ground... just like then...
He lay on his back, his head spun like that day when the same thing
brought all this misery upon him. The air yelled around him and it was
like the haunted death wail of his mother, back from the dark land where
she was held captive...
Towering above him there he was, the Demon of his mother's doom.
Despite his extreme pain, he jumped back on his feet in a guard stance,
speculating the Beast walking towards him.
"YOU WERE AFRAID THE FIRST TIME I MET YOU AND YOU ARE AFRAID NOW!"
But as the massive Monster was close enough, Jin was prepared. Using
all his strength, he charged with a leap kick that plunged into the
Beast's abdomen. The blow was strong enough to rip down a thick gate but
the Monster only retreated a few steps behind, still standing.
"YOU ARE NOT EVEN AMUSING!" resonated the Monster's voice.
Summoning his rage upon his face, Jin planned his next attack. He
estimated the Beast's head and jumping in the air, he attempted a swirling
kick...
He went through thin air and a blow on his back crushed him as he
passed by the Ogre.
He was rubbed against the ground and with great effort he resumed
himself to his hands.
"A FEW NEW TRICKS, THAT IS ALL YOU HAVE LEARNED!" boomed the doomed
voice and he saw the Monster again walking to him. He was just about on
time to jump away from where a mighty stomping fist landed.
"YOU WON'T BE ABLE TO RUN AWAY FOR EVER!" roared the voice.
Jin clenched his fists, boiling with wrath.
"WHO'S TALKING OF RUNNING AWAY?" he yelled as he stood, looking at
the Monster with unyielding resolution.
The Ogre's face darkened and only the eyes glowed red and frightful.
So did his huge fists clamp and with an uproar, he charged him.
Only this time, he was determined he wouldn't step back.
It took him less than a flash to realise the War God's attack and
estimate everything for the counterattack. Determination flew as strength
down his limbs and his fists were clenched, ready.
Then something very strange happened.
His rage was building so strong, he couldn't anymore hold it in his
body. His fist clenched and along with his strength, he felt there was
something more he was summoning. A power so strong that had been buried
inside of him since perhaps when he was born but now the seal holding him
was broken. Bright sparks of azure fatal lightning coiled around his
strong fist and he was so powerful that as he executed his uppercut, he
involuntarily spun around himself and what crushed on Toshin was a sheer
thunderbolt.
Before his bewildered eyes, Toshin was knocked above the ground
hitting it back with a heavy jerk.
The Monster tried to stand up once again. It was as he stood up to
his bending knees when Jin charged on him with a mighty yell and such was
his momentum, he tackled him back on the ground. He fastened him down
kneeling on him and his fists clenched with all the wrath inside of him
and looking at his face, he punched him. His fist collided with his face
and almost smashed it. He struck again and again with wild fury, shouting
in rage as he lambasted the hated face and his fists dived into the skull,
ignoring the pain and he hit repeatedly, more infuriated at seeing the
blood splashing from his face onto his fists and he went on hitting, until
Toshin gradually begun dissolving to the thin mist he was made off, his
non altering face fainted to none and he realised the blood came from his
own knuckles at hitting the rocky ground...
Toshin was gone and he snapped on his feet to find he was by himself
in the burned prairie. The sky was unclouded as it was before, only now
the veil of the night was slowly covering...
He looked to the horizon with bitter disappointment and tears nearly
streamed from his flustered eyes. Had this all been just an illusion? As
he finally was at the brink of revenge, did it have to be yanked from his
hands?
Then, sensing he wasn't alone anymore, he turned around and found
himself opposite to no other than Heihachi Mishima. The apprehension was
clear as he looked his face on which was set an expression he never saw
before. It was like he looked at him with respect...
"I knew I'd find you here..." the elder mildly said.
The air breezed through his swinging banks and still unbelieving, he
wouldn't even move. He looked at the elder, understanding he was the
creator of what occurred before, this yet one more illusion... yet one
more test... yet one more foolish hope...
"How... How

sorry... i tried if it can handle a story in a a single box... guess it was cut off... anyway here is the continuation... sorry again... enjoy
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"How... How did you..." he uttered.
"I have seen into your mind, Jin-san..." the elder admitted.
He swallowed heavily as he looked at him.
"...why?" he finally muttered.
Heihachi looked calmly upon him.
"I did this to test you... You have reached far beyond I had
expected... and far beyond I can take you... You are ready to take your
own road..."
Fresh tears swelled into his eyes as the elder declared his
approval... He was ever doubtful... but perhaps, there still was hope...
The light wind swept his face and stroke his tears like a gentle
hand.

The car speeded smoothly down the road, its engine didn't sound at
the slightest. Inside, the two men on the back seat were utterly silent.
The younger one bent his head before his chest and his strong arms were
folded together, apathetic to the elder, looking at him.
Silently, Heihachi observed him. Grievous cogitation had settled
upon his soft features, so awfully misplaced in a twinge of distress. He
didn't even give a sign on whether he was aware of him watching at him but
Heihachi knew he had chosen this way to proclaim his demur...
It was his persistent silence that forced Heihachi, on this drive
back to the mansion that had housed the Mishima Family for more than four
generations, to deal for the first time with the gap that resided within
him which he had himself created, however hard he refused to accept it.
He had spent his previous time in deviant acts instead of training.
He was so much engaged in feasts of hedonism and greed for more that he
didn't notice his degrading. When his adolescent son whom he so much
neglected, tried to reason with him, he shoved him aside and when the
youngster rightfully marked his corruption, he knocked him off with a
punch...
Even as he was sunk in disgrace, he could see through the haze,
bright like two stars the glimmering wet eyes of his son, full of
distraught frustration...
Kazuya left the Corporation the very night and it wasn't until many
years later they met again... It was the very arena they had trained
together when he was still young but this time the arena was crowded and
they were standing against each other in the final round of the Iron fist
Tournament...
He was still the undisputed champion that day when the loudspeakers
announced his challenger. What he saw was a man he didn't know, a powerful
man without any trace of compassion on his unrelenting face. Just for a
second he had met his eyes and as if his marble glare stroke him, he knew
he wouldn't win. His opponent faced him with hostile narrowed eyes and the
glow of hate he had seen years before was not sparkling anymore. It was
embodied in the powerful eyes that bared it.
He waved off his insecurity and the battle begun. What he faced was
a hailstorm. Kazuya had become very strong both in body and skills. His
demon powers of fatal lightning had reached their highest. He was far
beyond a worthy opponent. He was a tempest. He had the strength of demonic
winds and for him, hate of damned spirits. Heihachi fought his best but
he was confronting a sheer thunder...
It only took two minutes to lose it all, fame, fortune and family,
and nearly his life. Kazuya emerged King of the Iron Fist and as such he
took over his house and the Mishima Corporation, to which he was
unanimously accepted as CEO...
The car drove on down the highway. Jin was always resolved to
himself and Heihachi remembered more...
He had waken a day after, lying in bad shape at the bottom of a
cliff. The bushes and branches of trees had eased his fall. Vicious rain
awoke him and as soon as his body was obeying him again, when his memory
returned to him, painful sorrow drowned him. Then the pain transformed to
hatred. Vicious hatred, not towards the man who had defeated him and whom
he didn't even consider his own. It was hatred towards himself.
He forced himself all the climb back up the hill. In every acre he
covered, he boiled with rage. He had founded hopes upon him. He had
prepared everything for him. He deserved to be obeyed. He got to be thrown
down a cliff...
Embarrassed... Disrespected... Defeated...
He made it to the top of the cliff with hard persistence and on
every hand reaching higher, he built one more commitment... The rain
poured down on him when he reached the top of the cliff... and there,
raising a yell towards the sky, he vowed to regain all he had lost...
He isolated himself from the rest of the world. Living all by
himself he went back to his training and careful living. Day after day he
woke and slept with only this thought. Two years after, he was ready again
to challenge Kazuya in the Iron fist Tournament.
They met again. He remembered seeing the same traces of decline as
they had just made their appearance upon the CEO of the Mishima
Corporation. It was once again the final round to the King of the Iron
fist.
For years to follow this battle was talked about and marked for
being one of the most brutal and vigorous ones. Father and son met once
again in an all for all combat. The winner would take it all and rule the
Corporation. The loser would end in a funeral pyre in a volcano.
Facing Kazuya was still a hard job. He had double his age and not
as great strength and flexibility but he fought with more resolution. The
battle went on for long, in which they met in fierce juggles and parted
to plan their next attack. They were equal in strength and fighting but
Heihachi wouldn't lose. He would go to the end. He was determined. The
fight went through many critical stages at which both went close to death.
But at the end, Heihachi won.
The memory of that moment when he held Kazuya's head from around
the neck was ever so strong... He remember the might of his limbs at that
eternal moment, holding him from around the neck, kneeled on the ground
but there was still strength in his opponent's struggling hands... How
then all the strength slipped him and how the sound of his cracking neck
echoed in his ears, how the previously silent crowd stood up clapping in
wild enthusiasm as Kazuya's lifeless body receded... and how one
desperate yell that he alone heard tore through the cheers... The cry of
a young woman, Jun Kazama...
He defeated his usurping son and once again took over the Mishima
Corporation. He was once again the undisputed champion and master to his
property, standing on the highest position of the world and it was a fact,
even though he had to kill his own son to do that...
It was true he did not regard Kazuya as his borne any more. But no
one ever knew that the very day, after the awards ceremony, he closed
himself in his room and cried in sorrow... He mourned not of Kazuya's
death but of his son's, whom he had seen growing and admired as he
evolved to a young man... The son who was chaste enough to oppose him and
he had so unjustly shoved away until, when they met again, he had grown
up to be a powerful man, only his power, just like his own, had
corrupted...
He cried over his lost to his own hand son and the acknowledgement
that he died because if he lived, he would be too powerful and evil for
any world to handle, because he, Heihachi Mishima had made him this way...
He had indeed killed his son... but it was long before that day...
If he had to do this all over again, he would.
He never regretted any step he took in his life. He had a situation
to face and did what was best for him. He knew he had no other option...
Only... he wished he didn't have to go the hard way...
He looked once again down the gap in his life and he realised... he
didn't want to have to fight against his very flesh and blood... If there
was something he wished he could change, that was this enmity that loaded
his heart...
Again his vision returned at the young man... In his face he found
more than the renascence of his valorous son... He saw a second chance to
remedy these losses... A second chance to regain his family and finally
see it redeem to its long lost splendour...

"Jin-san..." he uttered.
The young man hesitantly faced him.
"The pain that besieges you... and I know it's tremendous... I feel
it too..."
As he expected, pain spattered the juvenile's face as he turned
ahead, shutting his eyes.
"I want to help you teem this pain from your heart... and I have
seen that you are ready... but how am I not to fear for you, my son? This
power... this Enemy you are preparing against is so much stronger than
you... You know there is a chance you will be wasted?"
Jin didn't answer back. He heard his grandfather speaking but all of
these didn't mean anything to him. For how could they, when his heart was
tormented under the death wail of his mother?
"I have seen one too many things in my life getting lost... I can't
bare to see you too getting lost, Jin-san..."
It seemed like his words slid down a barrier and Jin lifted his
head, facing a distant target...
"For this I must conform into apathy and ignore the injustice that
has happened? Can I be content, knowing I did nothing when I was capable
of? Can I be proud of myself when I just turned away, spared my life but
never fought for what I should have? Won't this be the same if not worse
than... death?"
Heihachi met into the dark, Jin's glimmering dark brown eyes. There
was a certain glow within them, rightful and at the same time, proud...Yet,
what upset him the more at looking at it, was the perception that... it
was familiar...
This same glow he had seen once before... He was too blind to admire
it then... and now, once again, it shone so bright that enlightened a vast
darkness that resided for almost twenty years in his heart...
"As if I hear your father talking, many years before..." his words
poured almost involuntarily from his mouth. "I just didn't listen... and
I lost him..." he confessed for the first time, after so many years.
He was no less shaken than Jin, who's eyes jumped in remorseful
surprise... Heihachi took a good look at him. Wouldn't someone else have
shown just the same surprise, if he were to tell him while he could, that
he was sorry?
The young boy tried hard to keep control. Heihachi could see his
eyes wobble and for the first time, a warm feeling flowered in his
heart...
"You are Kazuya's son, Jin-san... You are all the same... The
eagerness, this so proud stern spirit... even this damn haircut..." he
muttered and even though the juvenile bent his head, avoiding to face
him, in an attempt to restrain his tears, in his heart he knew he
couldn't have loved him any less, had he been next to him from the day he
was born.
He had asked for a chance to rectify his actions... Hard as it
was, he would do it...
"I will call the new Iron Fist Tournament..." he said and as his
words were spoken, Jin turned his doubtful eyes at him. Heihachi nodded
affirmatively. "...and I will too take part..."
"You will?" Jin asked in astonishment.
"I haven't aged that much, Jin-san...!" he replied and a smile came
as close as finding its way on his face.
"It's... It's not what I'm saying..." Jin tried to make up.
He looked hopefully into his grandfather's eyes and saw in them
something he had never seen before... it looked like faith...

The very next day, at the centre of a bustling Tokyo, on the tall
building that lodged the Mishima Financial Empire, the council was
gathered for a meeting. On the seat meant for the vice president, beside
his grandfather, sat Jin Kazama, a young man of no more than nineteen.
Boldness and pride were written in his clear brown eyes.
The council members sat and when all the turmoil ended and everyone
was settled, Heihachi, the Great Mishima stood up to address them.
"All right everybody, I want your attention. Today's conference
will be on the calling of the King of the Iron fist Tournament..."
Anxious murmurs came from the observers and mr Nakaraki took the
charge to inquire.
"The... Iron Fist, Mishima-sama?" he asked.
"Yes, mr Nakaraki, I believe you heard me clear enough. I have
gathered you here to discuss the rules and the financial behind it..."
And then, he turned towards the young man at his side. In his mind,
he was determined.
"This is my grandson, Jin Kazama. He will be one of the entrees. So
will I..."

So was the Tournament arranged and it was later that day, when the
two men were alone again. Gazing down a balcony, with the air stroking
their faces, the two of them spoke for the first time with consolation.
"The feeling of winning a tournament is a very complex thing,
Jin-san...", Heihachi said. "I know it very well... It is one of
controversial emotions... You struggle through many battles with only one
intention in your mind to surpass every obstacle on your way... then, when
the last of your opponents falls, this is the moment that matters... The
moment when you are full of energy and you have broken every constraint
with this world... and you are on top of it...
The crowd cheers, the lights shine for you alone and you fall into
a rapture... and there comes the turning point, Jin-san... the day
after..."
Jin gazed far into the horizon and nothing indicated whether he
actually heard his grandfather talking. The light breeze swung his long
bangs as he breathed.
"When the next day comes" Heihachi went on, "there is no splendour
left of the previous day... All this glory has vanished, left forever to
shine among the rest of the stars... I dare say... that day is more
fearful than every other day during the tournament... I have seen
champions and masters corrupt under the pressure of the next day...
Jin-san... one must be a true master to take the weight on his
shoulders... and even then, it isn't easy..."
Jin remained silent, his arms tied before his chest. Heihachi turned
his stare towards him.
"Are you afraid, Jin-san?" he asked.
The young man lifted his head and his bright eyes met the ones of
his grandfather. The look in them was decisive and proud.
"No." he said.
Heihachi's face hardened, his eyes were settled. He regarded the
young man with contentment. Then he proposed his hand, at the height of
his chest.
Jin's eyes flashed and in the same way, he clasped the proposed
hand. Sire and Son stood opposite to each other, looking in each other's
eyes with strength. Their fists joined and glowing currents of fatal
lightning curled around them.

Two months later, the curtains rose to the Iron Fist Tournament.
It gathered nearly a thousand fighters from around the world, of which
many famous names and even veteran contestants, like Paul Phoenix, King,
and Yoshimitzu. Many more emanated, many of those were related to past
competitors, others craving to push themselves to the limits of power,
each of them for their individual reason, all with one common goal: the
title of King of the Iron Fist.
It was the dawn on Jin's nineteenth birthday.
----------------------------------------------- THE END --------------------------------------------------------

a story about kinumitsu... it is entitled "Silent knight"
KUNIMITSU: A beautiful tale of a woman who cannot speak her of her love to the man who saved her, until it is too late and he is gone from her.
Foreword :
"Silent Knight" is not really a complete story... It has captions on
Kunimitzu's views of the tournament. She's perhaps the character I
love the most in Tekken2 and somehow... I don't know. Maybe, if she
tried to talk of what she had seen, that is how she would narrate it.
It will only be fair to warn you that a few scenes might pass as
unfit for underaged, as I doubted anyone would ever read Kunimitzu's
story and therefore I enhanced them a bit

" Because she had no voice, I will speak my words for her
My voice will be bestowed upon her and pray my ears are clear enough
to hear her truths. "
by: Sapfarah
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

i divided it into several parts ( i do not want to spoil the fun... it may be one to hundred parts... hehe)
----------------------------------------part 1---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Silent Knight
by Sapfarah

To speak of a sentiment, one has to know it. It has to be
identified, fastened and expressed.
Kunimitzu could not speak of what she felt.
She understood it was fear, because her heart was pounding so
fast she dreaded her persecutors would hear it and the sweat pouring
down her body was that cold sticky one the animals and primitive
beings have the power to detect. She could. In her grasp, she was
making her track only too clear for them.
Crawling wall by wall, she moved silently through the filthy
narrow streets of Tokyo, holding her long scythe knife always at
readiness.
Failure. But how was she to speak of an emotion so delicate for
her apprehension? She knew something was out of place, something that
had she done otherwise would have spared her this scary situation,
that being as far as she could think of and yet, she realised this
detriment in the way an animal would realise the rock that has fallen
has blocked the exit of the cave it was trapped inside.
She went on fleeing from her unseen pursuers. Only a day before
she was one of them. Now, all those she had joined them in doing,
hunting, stealing, slaughtering, were targeted upon her. It made no
difference she had almost risen to the leadership and induced so many
of them. Right now, she was a no one. She was the target and the past
was gone for good. The ones loyal to Yoshimitzu won over. She was to
be executed. She knew if they caught her, she would be.
Disappointment. That was an even heavier concept. To know
disappointment, she had to know, if not success, at least the feeling
of having a goal, left alone knowing she had missed it. Indeed she
had a vision in mind, vague and hardly detailed or deeply thought in
the following and materialising and she only knew what she saw was
not it.
Then again, she didn't have the margin to consider her
emotions, not when she knew her pursuers were only steps away. She
had just escaped their grasps only instants before. They couldn't
have lost her trail too much. They were around. Somewhere here...
"There she is!" yelled one of them and in a sprint she dashed
away, turning to another narrow street with them at her track.
How much more could she go on fleeing? If not for the physical
exhaustion, what about this other shaking fear inside her chest, this
thing that raised the ebb and flow of her breath to a manic thumping?
She had very little control of her running legs and only one thought
was in her mind. A quiet hideout, where they could never see her, a
shelter where she would disappear and all of these would be gone...
The streets were more crowded than before but they all stepped
away as she run ahead, dreading either her proposed knife or mostly
the four Manji ninjas at her track, all fearsomely adorned with
canine teeth and metallic objects, their faces being horrific
masquerades of beastly carnage. Those were the Manji. Evil was what
they were, death was what they brought. They belonged to no one, they
obeyed no rules but their own. Those rules instructed destruction.
Now the rules were those of Yoshimitzu and they did not apply to her
as being part of them. Certainly not a part to remain attached to the
clan.
The roads kept narrowing, her maddened speeding slowed down,
that not applying to her pursuers. This time it was for real. She
could not run away. There was few alternative and the fight she tried
to spare herself was steadily approaching her.
As the one closer to her raised a mace for her spine, she
halted and leaping backwards, plucked a heel on his abdomen, that
forcing him to fold in mid air. During the time though, the other
three had come close and rushed on her. She barely kept them away
with a swing of the knife and in a frantic attempt, she got into the
fight for her life.
People gathered around them but she didn't notice. She tried to
parry attacks of four people at a time, that forcing her to dance on
her feet, her hands working fast in fierce strikes. One blade sliced
her side and she was lucky to see it and step back before it was
inserted in her ribs.
She swung about, crying threatening purrs but she knew, as well
as everyone else, her pursuers especially, that she would soon befall
at their hands. They were one too many and merely trying to restrain
them to two opponents at a time was impossible. The crowd was
hostile, somehow they disliked her... why? She had no idea why they
chose to support her four attackers, maybe their outnumbering was
reason enough but all the same, they even appeared eager to see her
surrender. When she stepped a little behind to reach for the circle,
she was even pushed back. She was even denied the option of escape...
Antipathy? How far was she to distinguish the sense of
righteousness for the offence of her heart from the need to defend
herself? She didn't know where to owe this sensation but bitterness
spread in her heart, loading upon her chest in an emotion of her
being mouldering. But she wouldn't surrender. Never. Not without a
battle. A new slash down her thigh hindered her further but if they
wanted her dead, they would better kill her. She wouldn't go down
alive. She would not surrender, not while she still had strength
within her.
She was dangerously close to that turning point though. She
herself knew she couldn't keep sufficient distance anymore and she
had circled enough backwards. One approached a step too close and
although she slapped his face with a roundhouse, he had enough
momentum to push her all the way back.
She lost her balance. Reeling out of her control and for the
floor, she had known it to be her end.
She was mighty surprised when instead of impacting the hard
ground and following of severe battering, she was plaited in two
supportive hands.
Her mind halted as completely stunned she looked up at the man
who had seized her. An equally astonished expression was read upon
his exquisite face as she met his eyes... deep dark and strangely
dire as he stared at her and the immense power in them forced her to
an inner shudder. Somehow time halted where she looked at his face
which looked so substantial, crowned by dense, deeply black, upwardly
swept hair and despite his purely devilish thick brows pointing down
to his slight nose, accenting the intensely mean impression of his
person, she perceived him as nothing but the personification of
boldness and compassion.
One could argue how beings of inferior aptitude see beyond
pretensions or just see what they want to see, taking the first
impression without consideration. Arguably most do but there is
always the allowance of a second thought. Kunimitzu didn't even
consider that border but then, her initial perception was immediately
verified. Involuntarily she placed two clutching palms on his
sleeves, attempting to raise to her feet and so she felt him helping
her up, when, displaying amazing speed and stamina, he flung her to
his side. She didn't understand why he did so, until when she looked
back, she saw he had just saved her life by sweeping off his feet one
of the attackers who sneaked upon her back.
His hands released her and immediately she resumed her knife to
attack readiness. Around them, the crowd had silenced as they begun
backing off. The man appeared to realise his situation but he didn't
appear to be seized in fright. His fists clenched in readiness and
she stepped next to him, watching the other four preparing to attack
with their intentions upon him.
She gave a better look at him. He was dressed in expensive
clothes that fitted his apparently capable body to perfection and his
skin was of one who has the opulence to offer himself a healthy
nutrition and luxurious body care but at the same time it was like a
refined layer above one that wasn't unfamiliar with rough life such
as... hers... More she noticed how his hair were cropped in an
extraordinary manner, to sharp, lustrously black, tall strands and
though she could only see the side of his face, she was stunned to
read the omnipotence in his eyes... He didn't have to even snare
them. It would be impossible to look into these eyes for too long...
knowing there would be such determination to carry out their
intention of death...

(by lilykane of DA)

"This is our business, stranger!" one of her pursuers stated.
"Step out!"
"Attacking anyone behind the back is dishonourable, especially
if it's a woman", he said without hesitation and there was tremendous
decisiveness in his voice. His eyes augmented even more looking at
him.
By now she had suspected he was a fighter himself, his casualty
in dealing with the armed Manji was more than an indication. But he
would be as good as lost against them. Besides... he had showed
concern about her... she didn't want him to be caught into this. He
didn't deserve it, after standing up for her, he of all the others in
this crowd...
Affection? Could she have known this emotion and could she
direct it towards that stranger who had practically saved her life,
even if only for a few more moments? Could she trust him and repay
him with alike cordiality? Probably it was too early to tell and the
sentiment was not one clearly formed but she was determined to follow
it.
Stepping forward, she stretched her hand protectively before
him to make him back off, purring threateningly towards the others,
as the sharp edge of her knife greeted them. The man however didn't
move away. Instead he brought up his fists, ready to be shelled to
the first fool to come close enough.
"It's ok love... It's two of us." she heard him whisper and was
all the more surprised. She had no idea why a complete to her
stranger would choose to act at her side... but she surely was moved.
A little before it was a flee for whatever was left of her life, with
the only hope for another day, a futile fight to survive. This time,
it was something brand new. It was a fight for something new-found
she wanted to preserve. Friendship? Alliance? Whatever the word was,
it felt like a missing piece she did not intend to let go of. She
would fight over it.
Her hold of the blade tightened as the new fight begun.
They shared the opponents and fresh interest rose from the
spectators. Her knife slashed flesh and his punches bruised wherever
they contacted. They dealt with them in perfect accordance, his
strength and agility pairing her sly acute and swift blows. It was
soon over, as he locked the last left standing of his opponents with
an arm twist behind the back, finishing him with a pushing kick that
audibly cracked his spine and she sent hers with a jumping roundhouse
slamming on the nearby wall. As her victim was crashed at her
strength, she felt it was a heavy load she kicked away from her and
all of a sudden, she felt teemed, happy and free...
Freedom... She didn't have to be an intellectual to grasp that
emotion...
They stopped standing back to back, still in readiness, among
four smashed rivals, in the centre of the crowd. When the spectators
begun cheering at them, appraisingly waving their arms, as none of
their enemies moved as much as a limb, she looked back at him. He
slowly eased but didn't turn back at her as he walked away through
the crowd that parted for him. She regarded his stately walking and
how, even though he appeared indifferent and his expensive suit was
now irreparably damaged, somehow everyone still faced him with
expressions very close to even awe.
It wasn't after the crowd closed again that she took the
decision. She spun threateningly about her, purring with her knife
proposed and they opened up for her to leave too, the disregard was
no more on their faces. Ensuring she would not be further pursued,
she left, going straight after him.

From the crowded small opening she found herself into the
utterly destitute narrow dark streets. She followed him through the
paths he chose and as she fastened her knife at her belt, she took a
piece of cloth in her hand. She halted momentarily and her steps were
reduced to a reluctant pace after him.
He walked indifferently, perhaps tired... but he stopped,
having sensed her and when he looked back, she was fixed to where she
stood.
She looked upon his face, lacking any specific expression but
having a certain firmness in its stare. She dared not advance as his
permanent? stern look slightly eased.
"Oh, it's you..." he said with an almost colourless voice and
perhaps expected her to speak but she didn't. She just stuttered
where she stood and it was only by little she kept him before moving
away by slowly walking towards him.
Why did he have to be looking so intensely at her? He couldn't
see her eyes, so it was easier for him to straightforwardly regard
her face... but it wasn't the same for her. She had his dark chaotic
eyes opposite her and fatigue along with his stare, reduced her steps
to hesitant paces. By the time she had reached right before him, she
hardly had any control of her breath... or her heart.
He was looking upon her as with hands shaking, she raised the
cloth to his face, to sweep a scratch but he halted her. It was with
his palm that went on her way, gently refusing. She didn't dare to
move. Not when her hand was in his, even if only to refrain her...
He turned his back and walked away. But she came too far to go
by. She run to him again and tapped upon his shoulder. He looked back
at her and this time his eyes lowered. She had no way of knowing how
he acted in his life... yet somehow she knew this was the closest he
could do to a smile. She approached to his face again and again his
hand stopped her.
"That isn't necessary..." he muttered but gradually his voice
trailed away... would she be wrong to say he was mesmerised? She
wouldn't. She placed one more palm upon his shoulder and his lids
lowered, his hand too and she placed the cloth upon his cheek,
sweeping gently a swollen scratch. He didn't prevent her this third
time. He appeared comforted at her care as he swallowed, shutting his
eyes.
-----------------------------------------------------End of Part 1---------------------------------------------------------------------------

------------------------------Part 2-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"You've been a bad girl, haven't you?" he said in a low voice.
She did not reply. What was she to say, when she didn't
understand the manner of his question? She only knew it was in some
concern she faintly understood and all she could think of was the
devotion to relieving him from his pain... She knew she did that and
in her silence, a warm new feeling flowed in through her body. Her
hand smoothed the way down to his neck and in the unintended opening
of his shirt.
"You don't talk?" he asked again to her surprise. His voice,
even though hard and very deep was a mellifluous one at the same
time, so different to the steel like he used to his opponents only
minutes before, so comforting in contrast to his harsh fighting
yells. A voice so rich and smooth, with a stare so almost warm, it
benumbed her. She halted just looking at him but nowhere as much as
when his hand actually took a hold of hers resting upon him.
Her surprise was twice as much when his hand reached for her
face. Gently he got a hold of her foxen mask with firm intention to
take it off, only right there the magic stopped. She felt cold with
fright as he held onto the mask she'd been wearing nearly in every
moment of her life for the past so many years she couldn't count. She
only clasped around his hand and stopped him. She looked up to him
and it was a rare occasion in which she faced the eyes of Kazuya
Mishima, one occasion where they were not the hard cold granite eyes
but curious, with a wondering expression that faintly reminded a
child... Possibly since she was simple enough to see past his
pretensions...
"I can't..." she replied to his indirect question and saw his
eyelids hoisting in interest, but the knitting of his brows told her
he wasn't pleased. He wasn't the person to accept a denial and using
all her courage, she swallowed to clear her throat.
"I am a Manji... I am not allowed to take off my mask..."
With no further protest, his eyes were restored to nowhere
specifically but it took a while before he would retract his hand
from her. It was only when he did that she could breathe again
easily.
"OK Manji... Do you have a name?" he asked soon afterwards.
"Kunimitzu." she replied with few consideration. Within the
manjito clan, the speaking was also scanty but Kunimitzu was how they
referred to her. Besides, she couldn't think of another name. Yet a
slight smile curved his lips.
"Is that a name to call you by?" he asked and she found nothing
to tell him. By now she had bundled the cloth within her fists and
all she did was rotating it around her strong fingers.
Kazuya was about to move on. As if stung, she stirred again
towards him.
"I know you," she said resolutely and he only stopped to laugh
by himself.
"You are not the only one~"
"The Manji will come to your house tonight," she went on and
the smile was gone. When he looked again with suspicion in his eyes,
she was only pleased she could return the favour by giving away the
secret of the clan that was out to kill her and loot his house as
well. She stood firm before him, clenching at the piece of cloth.
"The Manji will come to your house tonight... They will... Take
my word."
The same smile came up again and the eyes tried to pierce
through hers but the mask was protecting her from revealing the
embarrassing truth.
"Why are you telling me?"
"Because I owe you."
"But you are a Manji."
"Not anymore."
A smile lined his lips and resolutely she nodded.
"I will come with you tonight and I will protect your house.
The manjis will not harm you..."
To her words, he raised one brow and scoffed.
"Nice try." he said and started walking on.
"Wait!"
To her call, he stopped and waited as she walked to him,
holding her knife by the blade and proposed the handle to his face,
her hand was steady but his eyes never looked at it, only remained
upon her.
"Take my knife. If I betray you, take my life with it."
Silently she waited and then his hand reached hers and run
along her coiled fingers as they climbed up to the handle and when he
pulled it away, it slid with ease through her grip. Cold sweat had
ensued on her real face and her heart was violently trembling,
violently trilling, eagerly waiting. He smiled at her, a smirk wicked
but... confident.
"OK... We will wait for them together. If you betray me... It's
going to be painful," he said. Then he pointed the tip of the blade
at the shallow recess of her throat. She didn't move, not at the very
least all the while until he removed the weapon from her neck. When
he did so and walked on, she dutifully followed him.
But she did not betray him. The Manji came indeed into his
house that night but they were prepared. She had too helped them
repel the attack and he had returned her the knife. But he didn't
dismiss her. He let her stay at his house, where she remained
afterwards, to the end.
It only took one whole day for confidence to build between
them. Possibly, since she was entirely artless, as she knew of no
feints, neither could she detect his very skilled own. And he,
probably didn't believe her to be as kind but seeing she didn't
comprehend the loaded with sarcasm and hints manner of speaking, he
used a plain way of talking with her. Thus, what she saw of him was
an equally honest person and in their meagre interrelation, there was
no misunderstanding.
Yet they never shared emotions. She couldn't grasp those hefty
sentiments that swarmed his mind and neither could she speak to him
of that warmth that had spread into her heart, one that was directed
to him... but how was she to tell him of a sentiment she didn't know
of?
He called her Manji afterwards. After a while, he used her
proper name but soon it was shortened to Kuni. She called him her
master and as such she obeyed and served him but he never abused her
affection. The relationship they have founded remained one on an
equal basis forever.

Kunimitzu found it easy to adapt into her new home. She had for
once in her life complete freedom, only that she didn't know of it,
for neither when with the Manji did she miss that. She was treated
respectfully by the rest of the employees of the house, who never
spoke to her, only received the commands she transferred from her
boss, if there were any.
The only other person who talked to her was Lee Chaolan, a
young man whom Kazuya seemed to regard as either his possession or a
burden he willingly carried. She hadn't learned at once how Lee was
Kazuya's foster brother, only from the first day she understood they
weren't at good terms. She didn't know either how Lee was gradually
turning into a drug addict. Yet she understood he didn't like her and
similarly she decided she would develop an equal antipathy for him.
She was introduced to Lee in a peculiar way, once she walked
through the main door of the mansion. Lee was fallen on a couch in a
state between consciousness and sleep, fixed as they say. She sensed
his eyes looking at her and then a long tired laughter begun rolling
through stunned lips.
"You went to find a woman, couldn't you have picked a nice
one?" he said.
"Be nice," Kazuya ordered. "Kunimitzu is staying with us from
now on.
"Aw, fuck!" Lee said, slamming his hand on the couch.
Kunimitzu only looked at him.
"Well, what do you know," Kazuya said. "I think she'll make a
perfect bodyguard for you."
"I don't want a fuckin bodyguard!" Lee shouted and as he stood
up, Kazuya moved to him and very fast, his hand grabbed his collar
and forced him back down, his fist pressing upon his neck, choking
him from all sides.
"You know... brother... The difference between you and her is
that when I beat up somebody, you call me cruel... She doesn't say
anything..." he said slowly. Lee didn't say a word.
"Take care of him..." he then told her. "He doesn't look fit to
stand on his own."
Then he left, leaving them alone. Lee looked angrily at her.
"You stay the hell away from me, bitch! You hear?" he
threatened and as she didn't react, he gave her the finger.

Life wasn't bad in the mansion... only there was some strange
quietness over it. She wouldn't be wrong to assume her master feared
for something... only she didn't know what it was, not until she saw
it in the main hall.
He had entered on his own will and the guards couldn't stop
him, as he demanded to see the lord of the house. To the commotion,
Kazuya went to look, from the balcony overlooking the main hall, she
and Lee with him. And then, at what she saw, she was stunned.
The face of the CEO of the Mishima Corporation... contorted to
nothing like it was. For nobody could ever imagine this cold,
calculating face dissolve to one of fading paleness, gasping for
fiendish breath and the cruel eyes widen to the absolute astonished
horror...
"No!..." he panted and his lips fluttered involuntarily.
"NO!..." he gasped louder and dashed at the bench, holding right at
the rod.
The large man in the black uniform merely faced him back and
the serenity in his narrow, tiny eyes was dismal. His thin, almost
unmarked lips below a lining moustache didn't stir and his breath
didn't do as much as hoist his broad chest, unlike the one he
confronted, who appeared ready to blow up.
"It CAN'T be!" Kazuya panted looking down at him with fear too
much to be reasoned solely upon the demonic appearance of two pointed
tall strands of hair at either side of his otherwise bald scull of
the one he confronted.
"You have Always been only shouts and cries!" the man slowly
pronounced, seemingly delighting the sheer fear in his face.
Kazuya shook his head to either side. He was trembling with
anxiety that did not befit either his age or his poise.
"YOU CAN'T BE! NO!!!" he cried and his teeth gnashed, along
with the clenching of his fists. His eyes scorched the man standing
opposite him and had it not been for the four meter height, he would
have pounced to his neck.
"I have come to reclaim my property!" the man seethed. "I am
here to challenge you in battle. Should you refuse, I will only work
another approach upon you..."
"SPELL YOUR CHALLENGE!" Kazuya yelled behind his teeth,
interrupting him.
"The King of the Iron Fist! The winner will take reign over the
Zaibatzu and all of the Mishima property. The loser, will be thrown
down a cliff..."
"GRANTED!" he gnarled and his eyes below his thick brows met
the ones so much like his own down the hall.
"A volcano!..." he undertoned, almost boiling. "Let it be a
volcano! I will make sure I will NEVER see you again!"
"You will not." the man had said, his last words spoken, he
cast a final loathing stare at his opponent and turned to leave.
Kazuya's rage was steaming as he watched him going away, at
ease. The guards didn't shoot him.
As the man left, his fingers clenched on the wooden reef and
growling he uprooted it from its foundations, throwing it down and
raving he spun to fiercely clash on the wall behind him, ramming with
his fists upon it.
Lee, frightened at his steaming rage, retained his position
away and swept his nose with the back of his palm, snorting at doing
so. Kunimitzu only looked, her muscled arms folded at her chest.
His palm leaned on the wall to support him. He wasn't even
punching it anymore. His knuckles were scratched but they didn't
bleed anymore. Not anymore. This strange calmness, whatever it was
had taken over him once more. Like a cloak it concealed his rage and
securely enfolded it, holding it deep inside of him. Everybody, even
the servants and the guards, knew he wouldn't enrage that day
anymore. They also knew they had more things to expect. Nobody
bothered him, nobody dared move while he faced the wall with bent
forehead.
----------------------------------------------end of part 2-------------------------------------------------------

who do you think is that guy?... ahh i think anyone can figure that out

just a little break... haha


by Goha7777

i am not trying to become a provocative person... just want to have a fecund day... haha