The Re-Forging of the Blade

The Re-Forging of the Blade (Reveals a Superior Design)

**Prologue**





The walls of the holding cell had become bloody badges of frustrated fist marks, curled fingers holding the wells of drying essence like trapped, staunched rivers. The Blood Talon nurtured the congealing substance, refusing to release the sanctified and still ebb, as he sat with his back to the wall, knees curled against his chest….face buried into crossed forearms.



The unbelievable, unexpected rage had come hours after capture, sometime after the blurred unconsciousness of a rifle butt to the back of the head had worn off. It had to be after noon by his reckoning of the small barred window held high in the cell.



The anger that had suddenly descended was heavy and instant, drawing the pacing Korean out of his nail biting, nicotine fit reverie into a tirade of streaming curses….a barrage of fists pounding and slamming again and again into unmoving walls. The guards that stood sentry over the holding pen, stared in wonder as blood spattered onto grey walls, watching the suddenly possessed AWOL soldier decimate his fists and growl obscenities that raged in three languages, Korean, English and what sounded like Japanese.



Now, the insanity borne frenzy had passed…like a demonic tide coursing the land, bent on its destruction before receding back into hell. Something shifted, something changed….it was in the air and it was in his blood.



Jin.



A feeling of death…and a feeling of flight. The overwhelming cloud suffocated the Korean from the inside out, bringing him to subjection, helpless against the cinder blocked and cemented walls. Jin. I will find a way to get to you, hold on baby. Please, hold on.



“Private,” came the address from a third voice, appearing like sunlight through the fog of the Blood Talons exhaustion. Hwoarang lifted his eyes above the tangle of his forearms to see an officer addressing the two guards at the bars of his cell.



“Sir!” The guards said in unison, straightening instantly before the addressing, higher ranking officer.



“I have come to escort the detainee into the Embassy Proper. Open the cell and prepare him for departure,” the Officer said, his words instantly bringing the two sentry to life…followed by the sharp metal sound of the cell being opened.



“On your feet, Soldier,” the first guard spoke, the sneer in his voice nearly tangible as he reached down and grasped Hwoarang by the forearm.



“Get your fucking hands off of me,” the Blood Talon spat, rushing upward with tremendous speed, breaking the hold the guard had placed on him.



The butt of the second guard’s rifle connected to Hwoarang’s already tender ribcage, doubling him over for a brief second before the Blood Talon righted himself. The fire of indignance burned through his eyes as the Officer stepped into the cell, waving a sealed envelope from between his fingers.



“Soldier. I expect you will not increase your crimes by striking a Military Private. Court Marshall would certainly be the least of your concerns then.” His words were stern and yet, almost daring the AWOL soldier to do something...stupid.



Hwoarang’s eyes narrowed, shoulders shaking with the venom already refilling at the edge of his talons. “Call your fucking goons off. Now.”



“You are in no position to make threats or demands, Soldier. You are to be brought upstairs to face the brass and determine the punishment for your offences. I would not hesitate to put you in chains for that walk, but it may look better on your part if you go willingly and not in irons,” the Officer said with a smug smile. “Is this understood?”



Hwoarang set his eyes on the Officer that addressed him, his angular features firmly affixing themselves into smoldering stone. “Yes, Sir.” How he wanted to choke those words back…but he very well could not get out of here to find Jin if he did not play by their rules.



“Private. Bring the appropriate fatigues and a bag for his personal effects,” the Officer said as he turned and prepared to exit the cell. “See to it the wounds on his hands are addressed and I will return momentarily.”



“Sir, Yes Sir.” The Private saluted and rushed from the cell as the Officer turned once more to face Hwoarang.



“You have received a correspondence from Seoul,” he said, handing over the letter he had previously waved about like a flag. “You have 15 minutes to prepare yourself and I will return.”



Hwoarang took the offered envelope, finding no writing or indicating marks on the plain white surface other than his name. As the Officer and second guard walked from the cell and re-closed the bars, the Blood Talon tore into the envelope, curious and slightly fearful of the contents.



Sienna eyes scanned the handwriting….read the contents…and found his fingers shaking hard enough to release the correspondence he had wearily grasped.



“Soldier. Dress and prepare,” the returned guard stated, tossing fatigues and long forgotten dog tags into the cell.



Hwoarang looked up blankly as his lips formed around the most disbelieving name to grace the signature of that correspondence. ”…Do San”.



**



“What have you done with him?” Jin hissed, fury raging through his blood just as easily as the lightning sparked and licked against his bare fists. He had scaled the Mishima Zaibatsu’s highest peak, the Honmaru Temple with speed so fast he might as well have been flying.



Kazuya looked over the quaking, angry form of his son…a cool smile playing against his lips as he imagined Kazama Jin’s slow, beautiful unraveling. “Whom, precisely, are we speaking of, my son?”



“If I must ask you again, it will be with my fists,” Jin growled, his voice low and dark…anger flickering as the scent of ozone burned the air all around him.



“The Korean street rat you have taken to your bed? Is that to whom we are referring? Can you not sense him, blood drinker that you have become?” Kazuya replied with near velvet eloquence that belayed his smug sense of pride.



Jin hardened his jaw as he stepped forward. Truth be told, he could not seem to link to Hwoarang, there was only the blackness in his mind... the dark arms of unconsciousness or death when searching for Seung. Trusting in Kazuya Mishima, the latter was the spark of truth….and that is what drew the Japanese youth to the Honmaru…to make peace with destiny and the undoubted passing of his lover’s soul.



“Let us say…he is…indisposed of.” The Younger Mishima’s voice was cool and collected as though confirming his son’s very personal thoughts. His words were daring Jin to transform…to vindicate the Korean lover he had taken. No plan could have worked more appropriately…to have Saatchi notify the Korean Military via the Embassy and leave a well placed, well planned and handwritten note at the scene of the disturbance. By now, it was undoubted that Jin believed his lover misplaced… or dead at the hands of his own sire. How perfect the trap was and subsequent transformation would be…



“This will end now.” Jin hissed, biting back the heavy urge to transform as Mishima Kazuya struck a familiar stance…a stance and art Jin had once begged to learn from Mishima Heihachi, years ago. “I will lick his blood from your hands…and stain my own with your death.”



**



“The Honmaru has suffered a severe explosion. I understand the casualties are great. Unidentified and possibly hostile aircraft has been spotted hovering over the peak of the Zaibatsu headquarters,” the returned Officer stated to the two Privates that guarded the former AWOL prisoner’s cell. “I will escort our wayward Soldier to his appointment. The both of you are to report to the squad requested by the US military to prepare for any evacuations should the area continue to erupt.”



Hwoarang stopped pacing in his cell and turned his angular chin to brace against his shoulder. The Honmaru…the Zaibatsu…the King of Iron Fist Tournament finale, no doubt. Panic widened already fiery sienna eyes. Jin….Jin….



“I have to get the fuck out of here, now,” the Blood Talon hissed, his hands wrapping around the metal bars as the two guards spoke with the Officer, disturbing the continuing trend of the conversation. “Let me out!”



The Officer paused, looking to the captive, now dressed in fatigues and gleaming metal dog tags. “You have an appointment with a Court Marshal, Soldier. You are to remain in the custody of the Korean Embassy until sentence is passed.”



“You don’t understand…someone…I care about is up there! God damn it!” Hwoarang hissed, even though his voice was pleading. If only he had Jin’s demonic strength; he could have bent these bars, laid waste to his captors and flown to the unfolding scene.



“Soldier. Any further disturbances from you and I will recommend myself this Court Marshal is carried out to the fullest possible incarceration. I will tolerate no further disturbances.” The Officers voice was heavy, hard and threatening. If he carried through on what he said, Hwoarang might never see the light of day…or Jin, again.



“Yes, Sir.” The Blood Talon grit his teeth as he spoke, stepping back as one of the Privates unlocked his cage. Is that why I can’t feel you anymore, Jin? …I am sorry….I have failed you… That was when it hit him…as he closed his eyes and prepared for the long walk to fate. Jin…had to be gone…because he truly could not…feel him beneath his skin.



**



The walk into the Embassy proper seemed so much longer than the stroll to the clink. Hwoarang had only been semi conscious then, enough to straggle his feet as he was assisted by the two guards who nearly carried him to his cell. Now, the heavy double doors parted…inquisitors lights shone, meant to stand the accused at trial with as much intimidation and confusion as possible.



“Soldier,” came a guttural voice, heavy in inflection and deep in its authoritative power, “You stand before this Tribunal apprehended from an AWOL status. You stand charged and accused of desertion of the Korean Military in service to our Korean Homeland. How do you plead?”



The charges came significantly faster than the Blood Talon could believe. Surely there had to be a chance to defend himself? Cupping one hand over his brow, Hwoarang tried to look past the intrusive high wattage light to see the faces of this supposed tribunal. “I plead…”



Hwoarang’s words were cut short as another voice overtook his own, “I would counsel the accused prior to the plead, your honors, surely our Country can permit such in lieu of my service.”



The Blood Talon turned his head in the direction of the voice…so familiar, like a hand out of time, drawing him into the past. The creak of leather sole shoes heralded narrowed amber eyes…and the silhouette slowly came into focus….



“Master Do-San. We will grant your request. You may hold private counsel with the accused.” The Authoritative Justice spoke as the older male turned, bowing his head in respect before continuing on to stand before the Blood Talon.



“Baek?” Hwoarang said with disbelieving lips, even as Do San placed a finger to his lips to indicate a time for silence.



“Soldier. Come with me,” Baek replied in a curt manner, taking his former student by the upper arm to lead him out of the bright light and into an antechamber guarded by Korean Military Police.



Once the door was closed behind them, granting privacy, Baek stood facing a pale Blood Talon. He beheld his former student with all the stern eyes of a father, disapproval and yet happiness to see the copper haired youth visible in his eyes.



“How…how is it you are here? I thought the letter a lie…and yet, here you are? Ogre? The disappearance?” Hwoarang could not get his words out fast enough, the gears inside his mind spinning with rapid intensity.



“That is a long story, Seung. A very long story indeed. We will have time for that, if you listen to me now…like you have never listened to me before,” Baek said with a hard tenure in his voice, Master before Student once again.



Baek moved in the small antechamber, arms folded at his chest as Hwoarang’s dazzled eyes beheld him like a phantom…a portent from some ghost story told to frighten children into bizarre and fitful sleep. With a sudden motion, Do San grasped the Blood Talon by the ear, pulling his student closer to him.



“Are you listening to me now, Seung?” Baek said as the Blood Talon twisted downward, forced to look up into disapproving eyes.



“Yes, Master,” he replied, but not in fear…in remembrance of all the times Baek had done precisely this when his attentions would go errant in the dojang…like a disciplining father. It was still a matter of disbelief….Baek Do San…alive…and here…



“You are in serious trouble, Seung. Desertion of the Military…is a tremendous offence, regardless of how you might try to explain it away.” Baek spoke and released the capture on the Blood Talons ear, giving his former student a chance to recover.



“I know…and I have to get out of here. Someone needs me…like now…” Hwoarang adjusted his fatigues, his eyes pleading with Do San.



“I do not see that as a possibility, Seung. You have to understand, they will not suffer this lightly.” Baek returned to pacing, one hand braced beneath his chin as he moved, watching the dejected and wild look in his pupil’s eyes. Time had been good to him, Hwoarang noted…though his hair had softened and gone grey he still was an impressive form.



“I will give my word for you. I have been in the employ of the Military for over two years and I have trained most of their recruits in the time after they found me unconscious and near death,” Do San continued. “I will recommend you are returned to your service to complete its duration and assist me with training of new recruits…we can only hope my word and recommendation will be enough to save your hide from tanning.”