The First Crack in the Metal

**Chapter 15**
Incantations on the Blade

The King of Iron Fist, Round of 8

Ling Xiaoyu Vs. Hwoarang
Steve Fox Vs. Julia Chang
Jin Kazama Vs. Violet
Kazuya Mishima Vs. Lei Wulong

Hwoarang flicked off the burnt down end of his cigarette, watching the slight embers spark as the spent cylinder toppled from the cradling breeze to the hard concrete. For all his recollections, he had never been inside of the largest mall in Uptown Tokyo..or any mall for that matter. Not really his speed. But, if it was not for the hellish attempt to capture true lighting, and the taste of stagnant re-circulated air…he would have marveled at the way the Japanese architects had brought the outside, indoors.

“Disrespectful wretch!” Ling said, hands on her hips, pigtails still swinging from the sudden motion that forced her to whirl around. “Where do you get off being late to our match?”

Hwoarang let a smirk taint his lips as he looked to Ling, her body still moist from preparation and stretching. “Had more important things get off.“ the innuendo, dripping from the corners of his mouth, left nothing to the imagination.

“Don’t you ever think about anything else?” the Chinese beauty crinkled her nose but could not help that smile. If the Korean youth ever stopped being his sarcastic, high strung, fiery self, she would find her grasp on the world had fled her fingertips. Some things might change, but never Hwoarang. That was comforting. “Well, enough about that, already. Your in for the fight of your life!”

“Since when do you smack talk, midget? You cant psyche me out. Period.” Hwoarang said, jolting with a sudden, agile motion that left his untied dobok top slithering against his muscular upper body. One leg shot up, held at the height of his shoulder, before the Korean swung the deadly appendage around with complete poise and control you would never expect from a thug. “You ready to dance, midget?”

“Dance with you, never. Kick your ass, most definitely.” Ling said with a smile, drawing into a ‘false salute taunt‘.

“Well then, lets not keep the referee waiting.” Hwoarang fell into Right Flamingo, a smile planted over his lips, even if his heart felt suddenly, heavy.

**

Ling sat on crossed legs before Hwoarang, long after the officials had left and the match was recorded. There was nothing she could say for those long moments but look into the Blood Talons amber eyes…never before noticing how crisp they were…never before, truly appreciating the intense skill the roguish criminal possessed.

Hwoarang knelt, his breath coming hard enough to make his ribs shiver inside his chest cavity. It had been a hard fought battle, doubled by the fact the Korean had not had a wink of sleep in 24 hour period….with constant, strenuous exercise to drain his body. He felt the effects of it now…in this incredible moment.

“Good fight.” Ling said softly, watching Hwoarang still glistening with sweat, long coppery tendrils splaying across his angular cheeks in chunky splashes. It was no wonder Jin could not keep himself from the Korean.

“I’d like to think so. You hurt?” The Korean asked with uncharacteristic concern..which Ling picked up on and smiled.

“I think I strained some muscles and my face feels a little tight…but otherwise, I think I am alright.” The tournament round was a long one and though the Korean would never admit it, he was holding back on her. And she had been doing the same. Fighting and friendship made for strange bed fellows.

“Yeah, my hip is acting up, think you landed a few good ones there.” The Korean rose slowly, offering Ling a hand up. The area just to the side of his hip was still sore from Jins teeth, the torn skin was slow to reknit itself. “I gotta make a few stops before I pick Kazama up from his match, want me to ride you anywhere?”

Ling shook her head. “I think I need to walk some of this off. Wonder how Steve and Julia are doing in their match…talk about awkward. Ever think about having to fight Jin…in the tournament?”

Hwoarang took the last drag of his cigarette, walking onto the street with Ling. “Yeah, I think about it sometimes.” he said, honestly. “But getting that side of my fire up is not something I look forward to. Damn near destroyed everything between us the last time I could not get my shit in control, dwelling on that one fight that changed my life. I don’t want that to happen again, you know?”

“Your not the same person you were then, Hwoarang.” Ling smiled, tilting her head to the side and wincing slightly as she found yet another strained muscle. “And neither is Jin. If you both have made it this far, maybe its for the long haul.” She paused and looked out over the street, following Hwoarangs eyes to his American motorcycle. Probably the one thing he loved as much as Jin. “Did you tell him yet?”

Hwoarang watched the sun glinting from the polished chrome on his bike, recalling the day, two years ago, he had ridden up to find Jin at the school after being detained by Wulong for that little bar room scuffle. “No, not yet. Then again, he isn’t saying much either, too much shit on his plate right now to complicate things with my feelings.”

“Maybe that is what he needs to take some of the things off his plate.” Ling said with an honesty, masked as innocence.

“Maybe theres some logic to that, Midget.” The Blood Talon kicked his shin guards against the concrete, lost in thought for a moment. “Well, hey, I gotta get going. Maybe we will catch you up later at the club, if Jin isn’t too beat up by this Violet guy.” Hwoarang did not like the idea of anyone laying violent hands on Jin during a fight…not even himself. But he knew Jin could take whatever his opponent was dishing out.

“That sounds good. Alright, see you later.” Ling said with a smile, already walking off as Hwoarang moved to his bike, leaning against the leather and chrome to remove his shin guards and slide his boots on.

**

“It has been a long time, Kazama Jin.” The Violet haired man said with a smile, smoothing the pinstripe white slacks that had bunched against his hips during his stretching. His legs would never again be what they had been, in the prime of his youth. It was penance for turning his back on Kazuya and helping Mishima Heihachi find a way into the King of Iron Fist Tournament 2.…his art nearly lost when he had attempted to make good on the wrongs he had committed….at the vicious stomping of Heihachi’s geta feet.

Twenty years had passed and Violet had come through the worst of it to be standing across from Kazama Jin now. It was amazing, this sense of generation, looking to his opponent as though seeing a young version of his step brother, reborn to glory.

Jin narrowed his eyes, arms held at his sides as he watched the older man draw up to full height. “How do you know me? Have we met before this?” There was paranoia in the Japanese youths voice.

“You were but a child in the mountains. But yes, you could say our fates are tied…through one string or another.” Violet commented, still unable to tear his eyes from the youths features. How like the father, the son had become…the same handsome, sturdy features tempered like a blade with Kazama Juns soft, almost demure nature. Such gifts to bear and with it, equal portions of curse.

There was little doubt Jin would have carried the curse of his father, an entity Violet knew almost too well…for too long. That feeling surrounded Kazuyas’ son…the difference residing in the lack of vehemence to use the dark gift and it read like a battle waging behind Jins dark eyes.

Jin strained to recall from his childhood, where he could have met the purple haired man. It was obviously a disguise and that made the reckonings of his young mind feel…blurred. He recalled Lei Wulong…and another, though the memory was fuzzy at best…Jin would have been all but 5 years old then. One recollection did stand out, the sword cane and cut on the arm…but the thought could not find complete connection.

“You will think on my words later, Kazama Jin. For now, the referee is waiting.” Violet said with a smile, falling into hitman, leaning heavy weight on his left leg, right more open and ready to strike, should the boy be foolish enough to move too close.

Jin came into stance, his eyes watching his opponent closely. He swore he could almost see the indignance of youth behind older flesh..a aura that made him taste the color silver..the color of a sword reaching back to swing the arc of ages, slicing time as it cut its path. He would have time to think on this revelation…later….

**

Hwoarang found the front door to the den open and narrowed his eyes. He listened for a moment, finding the run down insides of the makeshift thieves quarters to be..quiet. Unusually quiet. The blackening roots beneath dyed copper tendrils on the back of his neck, felt suddenly electrified.

Quirking a dark brow, Hwoarang pushed the door open and stepped inside. No one was milling about, no frantic repairs made to broken and bruised flesh. There was nothing but the echo of silence, deafening to the Koreans ears.

The Blood Talon made his way into the confines, eyes scanning the area as he drew along the hallway to the sparring room the den had set up. That’s when he saw the first signs of struggle…two sand bags that should have been directly across from the hall were destroyed, dripping what granuals remained…blood on the walls, starting to brown with exposure to the air…

“What the fuck?” He charged past the hallway and into a scene of unfolding disaster. Bodies lay strewn about, some of the new recruits and older gang members, propped against the wall, heavy with ragged breath…and the smell of flesh…and ozone. The room looked like a war zone…and in the center of it sat a man dressed in a deep purple, expensive suit, sunglasses covering his eyes…

“Kazuya!” The Blood Talons breath cut the air as his teeth clenched around that name.

“That is right, Hwoarang.” the Younger Mishima said with a smile that dripped carnage. “Welcome home. I trust you like what I have done with the place.” A taloned hand motioned outward with a sickening sense of elegance, gesturing over the broken, barely living bodies littered like trash along the sparring floor.

“You son of a bitch!” Hwoarang fell into stance, his body tense and ready…when he heard one dim voice echo like an undercurrent to his own.

“Seung…” the detached groan found Hwoarangs ears and he rushed over to find Chang, propped against the wall, holding onto his gut. Blood sputtered over his mouth like a froth…

“Chang. Hang on man…just hang on. I will get somebody…” Hwoarang said in a rush, holding his hand over his blood brothers.

“There will be no one to come, Hwoarang.” Kazuya said as he rose. “Why have you done this to your own people? Do Koreans truly have no honour…or is it only Korean thieves?”

“Just..hold on for me, alright, Chang.” Hwoarang said with a painful breath, forcing himself to stand upright and release his grip on his friends hand. He eyed Kazuya down, the rage building to destroy this man…and save as many of his den as he could…

“I expect an answer when I am addressing you.” Kazuya stepped over a lifeless arm, the heel of his shoe crunching bone with a sickening snap. When no sound issued forth from below that foot, it was obvious no spirit inhibited the body that belonged to the arm.

“You sick mother fucker…” Hwoarang fell into stance, his lips curling back in a sneer.

“That was not the answer I expected, but then again, I assume you know no better.“ Kazuya hissed, watching the Korean fall back into stance. “You don’t want to fight me boy….you will end up like all of these lovely little pillars of your society. Liars, cheats, thieves, all of them. How your kind try to corrupt polite society with your street demon ways.” Kazuya continued to draw closer. “I warned you to stay away from my son. But you did not listen…continuing to infect his superior Japanese flesh…with vile Korean skin. How like a parasite you are, Hwoarang. To lay your seed into something pure, only to watch it corrupt and transform, to twist into something like yourself. You have forced my hand, Hwoarang.”

“You will eat those words.” Hwoarang could taste the ozone before the first manifestation of blue tinged lightning began to fork against Kazuyas arms. He felt the first twinge of sickness come over him as the younger Mishima slowly withdrew his glasses to reveal a glowing, nearly ephemeral red eye. “Its go time, old man.”

“Somehow, I knew you would say that. And yes, it is now time to set all proper things in motion.” Kazuya smiled, his hands protected by bright red gloves, held bands of brown blood as they drew up…the stench mingled with ozone as the blood fried at the iron rivets.

//The scent of our blood is strong in this Korean rat. He has tasted much more of us, Kazuya…and that will bring the one we seek. Yes. He will come.//

**

Jin waited for as long as he could before walking back to the apartment. It had been nearly two hours and still no sign of Hwoarang. The area was desolate, barely a whisper of breeze to calm the worry at his lovers absence. Something had to be keeping the Korean unless, Hwoarang had forgotten him.

The Japanese youth opened the door and stepped inside, looking around for any signs of life or movement. Nothing. Hwoarang had not returned here without him.

Jin stepped into the bedroom, ready to change from the pair of black and white gi pants he had purchased and wore for the next round of the tournament….when a pull of his blood, like the ocean itself, forced him to lose his breath.

Agony shot through him as the Fatal Lightning swirled his arms. He stumbled, catching himself on the wall, eyes flickering open. A sound like a thunderclap beneath his skin, into his very core Chi resonated….and panic overcame him.

Hwoarang.

It was a feeling that could only be explained in that one simple word, that street corner catch phrase of a persona that surrounded the Blood Talon like an aura. Something was horribly wrong. He did not know just how he knew it, or why he felt it so intrinsically but something told Jin, Hwoarang….Seung…was in danger…

Jin bolted off of the wall as red lightning swirled his body. He tore through the apartment and out onto the street, looking left to right…trying to recapture the feeling of pulling blood that filled him. “Seung…I am coming..”

**

The door to the “den” was wide open and Jin entered it slowly. There was no need to hide himself, no need to run…

Jin followed his gut instincts, knowing with the pull of his blood, the one he sought was here and close. He came through the hallway, the scent unfolding itself…as he moved. Blood and ozone, the stench of released electrical current…

As the Japanese youth moved from the confines of the long hallway, the overwhelming scene displaying before him. The bodies of at least 20 young street soldiers lay motionless on the floor, a flood of humanity covered over in the red rain of violence. There was an undercurrent of low moans of pain…and that drew Jins eyes up…

Kazuya sat amidst the scene like a feudal war lord presiding over victory, one leg crossed over the next. One hand dripped down to the side of the chair he languished upon, stroking copper dyed tendrils as though stroking a beloved pet.

Hwoarang was slumped against the side of Kazuyas chair, his eyes lowered as heavy breath issued from past bloodied lips. One arm cradled itself against the Blood Talons lap…and it seemed only the younger Mishimas stroking hand kept the Korean seated, upright.

Jins eyes narrowed as the fatal lightning coursed around him. “What have you done.” It was less a question than a statement…the pain was returning, the sharp, dark sensation of flesh ready to rip at his shoulders as the Japanese youths gaze followed the stroking curve of Kazuyas fingers.

“With what, precisely? The thieves den…or this, useless thing?” The Younger Mishimas hand grasped Hwoarangs hair heavily, eliciting a pained groan from the unconscious Korean. With a powerful motion, Kazuya rose and dragged Hwoarang with him by those tendrils, streaks of blood making the copper seem faint compared to the splashes of crimson. Hwoarang, in the arms of blackness, was forced to move like a puppet onto his knees.

“I think it is a vast improvement…he looks well covered in my black and blue kisses. Skin so fair needs color, don’t you agree, Jin?” Kazuya smiled, demonically. “But no, I do not suppose you find joy in the sadistic pleasures of life. Much too willing to let yourself be taken like a common whore by something so classless. Well, admire him now…before I steal the last spark from his eyes…”

Jin was trembling with rage, fighting back the devil within. “Get your hands off of him.” He hissed, taking Hwoarangs entire bruised being into his vision before lunging at Kazuya.

The younger Mishima flung Hwoarang backward as the Korean groaned, head rolling to the side. He grasped Jin by the shoulders, talons ripping past the shirt his son wore…to see the bruised vision of shorn skin that was already healing. The font of the Koreans mouth had left a sturdy and disgusting mark. “That’s right. Show me what you really are, Kazama Jin.”

Jin was locked into Kazuya with his own hands, unable to move his father…and unable to be moved by him. Blue and Red lightning swirled, collided as the two held a stand off. The Japanese youths mouth began to ache as elongating canines extended…his nails slowly becoming talons that ripped into the expensive suit Kazuya wore.

“No!” He hissed, thrusting all his force into the shoulders he clasped, finally feeling Kazuyas body give with a sudden backward motion. His shoulders…were heaving, the flesh moving as though something…was growing beneath the surface, ready to break through.

//His control is strong, but it is slowly beginning to slacken. I taste the nearness of our other half…but that damn Kazama blood is keeping from me what is mine.//

Kazuya smiled darkly, eyes stone set on Jins face…watching the black markings etch over those features…only to shiver as though Jin was keeping them at bay by force alone. It was not the time…not yet. He had struck the first blow…but there would be more to follow…the wheels had been set in motion and that control the Devil spoke of, would indeed lose itself, soon enough. “I will have the devil inside of you…or I will destroy your lover. Do you hear me, Jin. The next blow..will be the fatal one. His death will be on your hands…”

Jin could barely catch his breath, his eyes stalking Kazuyas motions with deadly intent as his father calmly, almost placidly walked past him…down the long hallway…to the door. He could not battle them both, his father and the devil within himself…and either choice he made, Hwoarangs time was running out.

Not knowing what else to do, Jin rushed over to where the Korean lay…no longer giving a damn for what happened to himself or if Kazuya had truly left the den. He knelt down beside the Blood Talon tightened his hands into fists. There was a sound approaching, the echo of sirens….

…Jin grasped Hwoarang close to him, hearing the heavy gurgle of breath wrack past those bloodied lips. Unable to hold back the devil any longer, he let the feeling take him, abandoning all hope for himself as he cradled his broken lover. The markings returned, tribal obsidian, leaking down his skin like fresh ink, tingling the flesh at it moved. “Get him to safety.” Jin managed before the distant sound of his own scream filled the room…

…black wings tore through flesh, unfolding with horrific majesty…sending Jin into convulsions as he wrapped himself around Hwoarangs body…a banished demon to protect a broken angel…