The First Crack in the Metal

**Chapter 16**
Bathed in Water and Prayer

Hwoarang groaned, his eyes shut tight as pain wracked his body like a seizure. He raised up slightly, coughing up the taste of blood…hands wrapping around a bruised chest to stop the wracking pain in his ribs.

“Fuck” the Korean managed, spitting out the red tinged sputum that filled his mouth. That sick feeling was still with him, like an undercurrent to the agony his body suffered, the exhaustion that threatened to claim him into unconsciousness again.

Motion caught the side of Hwoarangs glance as he released his chest, grasping the cracked stone beneath him. Every muscle in his neck strained as he tried to turn his head, feeling like a trapped cat in a cage. “Who…who is there?”

The glint of silver reflection, like a cats eyes absorbing the available light, flickered….moon glow casting heavy on the crumbling stone walls outside of the overrun Korean temple. A figure, that could have been mistaken for a gargoyle shifted, black wings encircling a massive form…though its body was clad in pink skin, not made of the stone of this place.

“What…the fuck…” Hwoarang forced his sprained foot to push himself back, one arm pressed limp against his ribs as the other aided the attempt to flee. The Korean felt his back hit against hewn rock and drew himself up to an agonizing sitting position. His eyes never left the…thing.

“Show yourself!” He demanded through frothing lips, gasping for breath as another cough wracked his chest cavity.

The Devil, perched like a statue atop the rocks, suddenly shifted down to its haunches, the violent motion echoed by the resounding thud of boots on stone. Black wings unfolded with the position shift, arching out like fresh oily ink in the dripping white moonlight.

Silver eyes, the color of moon kissed reflecting pools, outlined in unnatural kohl shifted, the demons head tilting to watch the shaking red head, just feet away from him.

The Blood Talon held his breath, the agony was forgotten in this moment…and there was nothing but fear…nothing but complete incomprehension at the figure before him. So close to him, watching him, the Korean felt that sickness abate…with a shaking realization. Those eyes, cast in silver and moon wash…were Jins eyes. Even in the haze of heavy, unnatural visions before him, the very pulse of his blood…confirmed it. And the blood he felt in his mouth…was Jins own coppery font.
The Demons arms, etched in unholy tribal ink were fully extended as he watched the Korean…watched amber eyes widen in fear and repulsion. Silver scanned the quaking form, barely able to remain upright…and knew, as only a demon could…that this human Kazama Jin loved…was injured but not fatally.

//You will not die of your injuries.//

Hwoarang heard the voice in his head, like a reverb of speakers he could not shut down. His hand caught along the wall as his head turned, feeling a vile vibe rush through him, making him want to flee from this place…from this thing. He used the scant strength of his normally deadly legs to hoist himself upright against the wall, blinking so rapidly and breathing so heavily, he thought he might fall faint.

//You are the one he covets. The one that tries to weaken us. I feel our blood inside of you, human. It is the only reason you…are not felled beneath my talons.//

Hwoarang let free a silent scream, his eyes shutting tightly. “Get out..of my head…”

The Demon remained on its haunches, wings folded back, cocking its head to the side like a bird watching the worm dance on the edge of a branch. //Does this voice not please you? Did you not want answers to your query?//

Hwoarang moved along the wall, shielding the side of his face, eyes still clenched shut tightly. This is a dream. A terrible night terror….if he believed it firmly enough, the creature would meld into his waking…

//I am no dream, Blood Talon. I am what you have been seeking…I am the answer to everything you have questioned…I am him…and he..is me. And that makes you, ours.//

“Jin!” Hwoarang let a scream tear from his lips, borne of pure fear and the sudden need for the safety of his lovers arms. The Koreans eyes opened, hearing the creature move.

The Demon drew to full height…bathed in the glow of lunar flares…highlighting every curve of a body Hwoarang knew better than his own…a face he would know, even if he had lost the power of sight.

//When he found you, you were at the mercy of my Siring half…he has allowed me freedom in exchange for your safety. I have granted that…for the time being.//

Hwoarang felt tears rush past his eyes, his body shivering against the cool, damp stone. It was all too much… “Jin! Please!” He screamed out again, this time his voice held no power, it was a mewl compared to a roar…and the Blood Talon could no longer stop himself from sobbing. “I’m…scared…”

The Demon turned its head once more, wings unfolding in a brilliant display, capturing the sky and its luminescence, blotting it out like a terrible shadow as the feathers twitched. //NO.//

The voice inside of Hwoarangs mind, screamed. It made the Koreans soul…shiver, his blood slake like fire as his heart rate increased. He was fighting off the sickness again, now like a wave over his spirit…as the creature struggled…

//You will not…abate me…I will..drink of his tears…as you have drunk…of his body…NO!//

Hwoarang collapsed to his backside, his arms wrapping around his shoulders as he rocked, the back of his head hitting the stone wall to try to blot out the demons voice in his mind. He could not stop himself from the heavy sobs that broke past his lips, lamentations running the course of his angular cheeks. “No more…please…Jin…help me…God..help me..”

The Demon crashed down onto the mineral, knees connecting to cracked foundation as black wings shivered, standing upright like a vulture preparing to take flight. Claws ripped at the molded stone and the creatures face shot up into the moonlight.

Silver eyes shifted between blackness and glow, the Devils lips forming the words into vocal speech, “Seung”.

Obsidian feathers crashed down like the shattering of glass, sending an inky cascade like black water tides out onto the stone. The markings abated…and Jin…coughed heavily, head dropping down as his body tensed on all fours before Hwoarang.

“Seung Roh…” Jin barely managed, reaching a hand out to the shivering Korean, only to fall onto the stone on his stomach. His body was drained, the transformation had taken so much of his energy, he could barely remain awake.

The Korean youth could not get his head around this whole event, could not understand it…fathom it..or believe it. Where the demon had fallen, Jin emerged…and it was all too much for Hwoarang to take.

“I am…sorry…” Jin tried to croak through the scant thread of consciousness he held on to. He had no strength to turn his head…no will left to hold onto as the blackness took him from everything he loved…from the only one…he loved.
**

Hwoarang sat in place, long into the night, watching Jin breath at a steady pace, still on laying on his torso; cheek pressed against the cool stone. He could not bring himself to move, the pain and the terror had been too great. None of this day and night had made any sense…in just a few short hours, the Blood Talons world had turned itself upside down.

Jin. This was the secret the Japanese youth had been hiding. The tattoo, the sickness, the silvery eyes, the feathers, the taste of blood Hwoarang could not get enough of, all led to this. How could he have known? How in the rational world, filled with logic and equal reaction, could the Korean ever believe the closely guarded secret his lover harbored…was…demonic. It was like something out of a nightmare or twisted dark fairytale…startling. But it was real. All of it…real.

Hwoarang closed his eyes tightly, trying to block it all out. How could he love what he did not know, what he could not understand. He wanted Jin more than anything in his life, had feelings stir inside of him that never before roused a pulse to his heart. And now, to love Jin…he had to accept what he had seen…and the Korean youth did not know that he could do that, not now…not after this.

A fucking demon! The thoughts played itself over in his mind. Inhuman. Evil. Borne from the Western idea of HELL, something that did not exist in his upbringing in the Buddhist and Korean Shamanistic teachings, even if he did not follow them…never giving a shit about enlightenment or inner peace. No such thing as inner peace when you are hustling down cash on the streets..Buddha wasn’t going to make food appear in a small hut before a starving boy…

If Hwoarang had been in his homeland, he would have sought a Mudang (Shamanistic spiritual advisor). He wondered if any jeomjip (Korean fortune telling establishment) existed on Japanese soil. Although the practices of ancient Shaman rites had been reduced to bright color costumes in a cultural parade…they were still revered…and ingrained in the Korean spirit…a jeomijip or Mudang only to be sought out when the obstacles of world and spirit…required intense, divine attentions.

It was too much to take. Hwoarang waited until sunrise, until he knew Jin was still alive…if a demon bound in flesh could ever be alive, and rose slowly, using the wall to brace himself upward as he stifled his groans of pain. He shuffled toward the inside of the temple, using the stone to hold himself until he was deep inside the ruined place.

For the first time in his life, since his mother had departed him, never to be seen again, Hwoarang felt the need to pray. The temple interior was in ruins, but as amber eyes looked for the signs, he found them, untouched by the superstitious Japanese.

The mud pond was undisturbed and uncared for, yet the wild lotus flower blossomed there. It was a calling to Hwoarang, who bent down to the side of the nearly fuschia bud, letting his shaking fingertips cradle the delicate, stunted flower. It was a symbol of the teachings of Buddha…untainted as the founder of the religion…and yet, symbolic of the cause and effect of humanity. It had to be a sign.

Hwoarang walked slowly toward the next, important space in the ruined Korean Buddhist temple, passing the sigal tattered tapestry of the circle and a circle and three specifically placed dots. The dots were representatives he learned of the three jewels of Buddha…the Buddha itself, the Dharma teachings of Buddha and the Sangha Disciplines of Buddha. The circle was represented as the mind…the fundamental form of the whole universe, without worldly distinctions such as good or bad.

The Blood Talon was walking in the right direction. He passed the Man, Korean word for the Buddhist cross,…the symbol for good fortune and compassion of Buddha himself. And there, in the expansive ruins of the temple worship room, stood the symbols, the instruments he needed.

The dharma drum, the wooden fish, the cloud-shaped gong, and a large brahma bell. Each of these instruments could emit sounds that would save the beings of other worlds…and it was now, to his childhood, Hwoarang sought the recollection of ancient prayers and chants.

The dharma drum. Hwoarang lifted the long abandoned sticks and slowly beat against it…long unused Korean chants rising to his lips as he offered a prayer to save all beings living on earth…the drum slowly finding a rhythm nearly forgotten, to recall to the mind Buddhas teachings.

The slow drum roll came to a close and Hwoarang moved with half slit eyes to the faded, painted wooden fish. He tried to recall, to all his ability, the tale meant to be told. He raised the sticks once more and began the slow rhythm on either side of the hollow painted symbol.

Long time ago, there was a monk who committed unwholesome deeds. He died and was reborn as a fish with a tree on its back. The Monk's old master was crossing the river, and the fish came to him sadly. The master looked into its past life and held a memorial ceremony to save the fish. That night, the fish appeared in the master's dream, appreciative of his master's kindness. He asked his master to please cut the tree from his back and make a fish-shaped instrument and tell this story as a lesson.

Hwoarang took a deep, shaking breath in as he moved to the next symbol in his ceremony for clarity. The cloud-shaped gong.

The Blood Talon drew the sticks toward the bronze symbol for saving all beings of the sky. He lingered only a moment before finding the Brahma Bell.

Hwoarang closed his eyes and recalled the inner prayer for peace and protection. He struck the bell 28 times. The symbolism of it reflected that as the bell is struck, all beings in hell are released from their suffering. He had no whale shaped instrument normally used for striking the bell, but the story of PO, a dragon of the sea who cried often at a fear of whales was still with him as he slowly stepped back.

The Korean youth slowly came around the temple to find the last thing he needed to find the solace within himself. Solace at his discovery of Jins secret…solace for those he feared lost.

The juk-bi, a single bamboo shoot cut down the center.

Hwoarang hobbled toward the shoot and fell to his knees as he grasped it, groaning with agony. “I know I am not one of the faithful and shit…but I really need some guidance.“ He said, lifting the center cut shoot of bamboo to his palm, slapping it against the inside as he winced slightly. This was the signal for the beginning of his mediation…and his desire to find some sense of scale…in a world that challenged that very balance.

The slow, easy chant left Korean lips. Eyes closed, body kneeling, the comforting sting of the bamboo against his palm…slowly made him rock….

**

Jin was awakened by the strike of a drum. He drew onto his knees, fingers rushing to his head to stop the pounding. It was scantly before sunrise…and always, as the day emerged, did the few memories of the Devil and its rare flights return to his mind.

Hwoarang had learned his secret…that much, he recalled. The Korean had faced the demon and called out to Jin…pleaded his fear…pleaded for help. What have I done?

The next sharp, distinctive sound reached him after long moments. It sounded like brass…or something close to the sharp coppery mineral. The Japanese youth rose, his hand holding out to feel the wall as he found his way to the inside of the Korean temple…leaning against the door as he watched silently.

Hwoarang had finished striking a bronze bell…and fell to his knees, slapping bamboo against his palm, rocking in slow, easy meditation as petal soft lips moved into something native and unknown to Jin.

The Japanese youth had been taught the practice of Shintoism by his mother and grandfather…not really knowing the name of the practices he had followed until his time living with Heihachi. This was a foreign practice to him…his own religion following the line of Confucianistic philosophy mixed with traditional, ancestral Japanese beliefs. Those beliefs centered around the four principles…Tradition and the family, Love of nature, Physical cleanliness, "Matsuri".

This practice of Hwoarangs beliefs, obviously Buddhist, was a new side to his Korean lover..something he never suspected to exist, not truly believing the Blood Talon had a spiritual bend to his fiery soul…not when the Blood Talons life was lived in the antithesis of spiritual reckoning…and the pursuit of hedonism.

//When faced with a devil, it is to gods and prayer, they all return.//

Jin ignored the voice that echoed through his thoughts. It was much clearer now than ever before. He watched as Hwoarang rocked painfully on his knees, the constant slap of the bamboo seeming to perpetuate a mediation…a trance like state of searching and clarity that seeing the devil within must have brought out within him.

The Japanese youth felt as though he was observing something hidden in the depths of the ruined Korean temple, the sacred space Hwoarang had so blatantly seemed to dismiss until now.

Pressing his back against the outside wall, the Japanese youth slid down to his backside, cradling his knees against his chest. Now more than ever, he felt helpless…as though he had lost something within himself, never to return to him again. And that very thing, the intrinsic part of his soul, bound in blood…was named Seung.

**

The Blood Talon clipped the tag onto his dobok-ki as he stepped into the hospital elevator. He hated these places, the cold sterile smells, the hard painted white walls…the atmosphere was too anesthetized…stark and filled with sickness.

When first Hwoarang entered, the attendant at the front desk thought he had wandered from emergency triage and was in need of medical care. He probably should have accepted the help but pride alone kept him nursing his injuries, quietly.

It took a long time to get here and Hwoarang contemplated going back to the apartment first to change and shower…but could not bring himself to the energy needed. He was not sure if Jin was still asleep in the back of the stone courtyard of the Korean temple…and though he wanted, he could not bring himself to go there…and face what repercussions that would come, if the Japanese youth…if the half demon was awake.

Mediation had brought him some clarity but he needed more time to find an answer to the challenge of balance. When he awoke from the trance like meditation in the serenity of the Temple inner sanctum, his palm was red and stinging…and all his thoughts turned to the den…

Hwoarang had gotten to the site by cab. He asked the driver to wait, as uncomfortable as the Japanese male had been in that district, he promised he would. What met the Blood Talon was nothing but a sea of caution tape in yellow with bold, black Japanese writing he knew must have read, “Do not enter.”

That led the Korean to his next logical deduction, if anyone was alive, the downtown Tokyo Hospital would be the place they would have been taken. He had made his way to the reception desk and ran down a list of names…but only Chang was registered and Hwoarang had to tell the reception desk he as Changs brother, but that was not far from the truth. Most Japanese could not tell one Korean apart from the next, if confronted. During the banter to claim kinship to Chang, Hwoarang hoped, silently, that his friend was not the only who made it out of that death trap alive.

The elevator doors parted and Hwoarang limped toward the room number written on the back of the laminated visitor pass. Critical Care Room 624, East. Holding his breath, the Blood Talon entered and cringed at the scene that unfolded.

Chang was in the bed, pale and stark beneath white sheets and white linens. IV tubes and a heart monitor hummed to the side of his blood brother. The face he loved since his own youthful days was badly bruised, nose broken, lips stitched from the break of knuckles against yielding flesh. One leg was suspended and casted, both arms were strapped down with restraints.

“Tongsaeng.” (younger brother), Hwoarang called out, using his hand to brace himself against the side rails of Changs bed. “Tongsaeng?”

There was no answer from Chang. Nothing but the hum of the monitors. Hwoarang walked around the side of the bed to the chair braced into the corner of the wall. He sank down, hoisting his bruised leg up to rest against the foot of his blood brothers bed. “I am not going anywhere, tongsaeng, until you open your eyes….until I know you are alright.”

Hwoarang winced slightly as his wounded leg fully settled and extended, letting his head tip against the high backed chair so he could watch Chang like a hawk over its nest. “I am sorry, Chang.” He said softly, taking a deep breath in.

“Why are you sorry, Blood Talon?” The strange voice filtered in from just outside the room. A head came around the doorway. Long, tied back hair and a badge. Chinese face. Super cop, Lei Wulong.

“Give me a fucking break.” Hwoarang said, never altering his position before Changs bed. “Don’t you have someone better to harass, Wulong?”

The detective came into the room, walking to the foot of Changs bed to withdraw the chart left there, scanning the pages. “Your friend here is in serious condition. Critical the doctors say.”

“Yeah, I already fucking knew that…otherwise why would they put him in the Critical Care unit?” The Blood Talon pursed his lips.

“Don’t get cute with me, Hwoarang. Doesn’t work to your benefit.” The operative smiled, setting the chart back down. “You know him long?”

“Half of my life.” He said, not offering any more information than necessary. Old habit when dealing with the police.

Hwoarangs voice gave away more than just words. There was genuine care there. That could be used to advantage. “Sorry for what you must be feeling.” He said simply but meaningfully. “Want to tell me where you were when all this took place?”

The Blood Talon tore his amber eyes from Chang to gaze, harsh at Wulong. “Where the fuck do you think I was? I was fighting in the tournament round, asshole. Same as you. Same as everyone.”

Wulong pressed his hands into the pockets of his brown slacks, shaking his head. Koreans. “And after your round against Ling Xiaoyu? Let me see…I think your opponent said…you made comment about going back to your den…and there you have it…”

“Have what, Wulong?” The cop wasn’t playing games, he had already done his homework. “You charging me with something?”

“Follow my train of thought here, Hwoarang. Gang leader gets a little pissed off about being cut out of profits…goes on a spree…”

Now, Hwoarangs eyes narrowed and he sat up with complete poise. “…don’t you dare even fucking dishonor me that way. I would never….”

“Never what, take out punishment on your gang? Come on, I have been investigating street thugs like your little entourage half of my career. I have known too many street chiefs to take down some members of the clutch that did not follow orders.“ He paused dramatically. “Wearing yesterdays gi. I see your all bruised up, looks pretty bad. Want to tell me how it happened?“ Wulong said suspiciously, verbally forcing the Korean into a corner.

“You should be out there trying to find the real fucking beast that did all this. Chang here, is like a fucking brother to me, like I would ever raise a hand to him…only a monster could do this.” Hwoarang nearly spit as he spoke.

“You have had problems with your gang before Hwoarang. Saatchi, one of your soldiers…how quick he was to chirp like a bird when I asked him about your little…tirades.” Now it was Wulong who had the advantage, making Hwoarang shift.

“What the fuck did he say? And where is Saatchi?” The Korean nearly spit. So, it was there at last, betrayed by his own.

“He’s safe…lucky for him he wasn’t there.” Wulong smiled. “So, why don’t you tell me…what happened…what made you lose your cool, this time?”

Hwoarang removed his numbing leg from Changs bed, coming to a stand, forced to catch himself on the heating vent near the chair or fall over in pain. “I walked into the scene, Wulong. Waltzed in and there it was, the gel haired freak, Kazama Jins father, Kazuya.”

“Your boyfriends, father.” The operative corrected, watching Hwoarangs face blanche though the youth did his best to recover. Wulong liked to hit raw emotion, it gave the kind of responses he needed.

“Kazama Jin father.” Hwoarang said with a hiss. “That’s the fucker who did this to me…and to my friends.”

“I find that hard to believe. Twenty plus of your best men…one little Mishima. He is a little too old to be dealing in groups, let alone take you out, don’t you think?” Wulong was lying. He knew Kazuya was deadly. He knew there were some secrets about the man even Jun could not speak of…but it was something far reaching enough to pull him back from death to this world.

“Well, detective. That’s your fucking job to solve the case, not mine.” Hwoarang drew up to full height, his body reacting on the short stores of adrenaline he still had left. “I gave you what I know. Now, scamper off and let me deal with the aftermath of this shit.”

“The glass window in the sparring room on the first floor was busted open. Makes a good escape, to be that close to the ground. Must be pretty fast on foot, for someone so hurt. Heres a word of advice. Next time, take your bike. We found it at the den…its impounded.“ Wulong ran his fingertip along the foot of Changs bed with a smile. He would have loved to torment this street thug some more, but he had an important date to keep with Steve Fox…helping his friend search for some answers regarding Nina Williams…and their connections, genetic or otherwise. “I wouldn’t stay here too long, Hwoarang. Word is, the Korean Military is looking for an AWOL redhead. Give them enough time and they just might track you.”

With that, the Interpol Operative walked to the edge of the room, turning back to see Hwoarang already trying to form a game plan, eyes searching left to right as though the answers were hidden in the Hospital floor white tiles. He winked and half cocked a smile. “Don’t worry, your secrets are safe with me, for now. I wont tell them where you are…but you got your work cut out for you, kid. And my best wishes for your friend here.”

Hwoarang was trembling as Wulong left, falling back into the chair beside Chang with a groan. No matter what he did, the world was closing in around him…and within him, forcing him into action. There was no rest, for the wicked.