The First Crack in the Metal

**Chapter Eight**
Back into the Fire

One by one they came, warriors and hopefuls, the best of the best, all gathered for the most prestigious tournament in all of the Martial Arts world. A veritable who’s who of each of the most respected talents in their fields.

Julia Chang. Yoshimitsu. Paul Pheonix and Marshall Law, Nina Williams, lurking in the shadows like the typical assassin she was. The masked Wrestler King and another large man, Craig Marduk. Christie Montiero from Brazil, a well dressed man calling himself Violet. The Super Cop, Lei Wulong.

Hwoarang entered the gathering, flipping the keys to his bike along one finger of his cut off gloves before stuffing them into an overly tight pocket. The Korean surveyed the area. The same old faces, same boring routine. Why the fuck do I show up to these lame ass things? He huffed, rolling his eyes as he made his way to the bar. There was enough ambition and testosterone in this place to choke a horse. To much postering and swaying, to many fighters thinking only they were worth the prize. In Hwoarangs opinion, none of these tournament competitors could hold a candle to his skill or his arrogance.

Ordering a scotch and soda, the Blood Talon leaned his elbows on the bar, facing the crowd. He scanned over the area one last time. Yeah, he was looking for Jin. He had some questions that needed answering and he knew, the Japanese youth would not miss this gathering for all the world. Another glimpse at Heihachi, another reaffirmation of hate. Jin was fractured down to his very essence. Hwoarang knew that like a second nature. The vendetta game was one he had honed to a fucking science, after all.

“Hwoarang Do San?” Came a familiar voice, overtly American. The Blood Talon turned his eyes, framed beneath copper tendrils to find Julia Chang, excitedly waving as she rushed up closer to the Blood Talon. So much for a quiet fucking night.

The Blood Talon cocked a grin as Julia approached, rushing up and wrapping her arms around him unexpectedly. “Just Hwoarang. Do San was my teacher, not my father, not my last name. Don’t know why people just don’t fucking get it.” He smirked, patting the Native American female on the back. “How the hell you been, Julia?”

She smiled, leaning in to tap the bar with obvious nervous energy. Julia must have still had a wicked crush on him. But then again, didn’t everyone? “I have been good, nearly done with my degree in archeology now. Working on this incredible reforestation project, I have to tell you all about it!“

Just what the world needs, another tree huggin hippie. “You can save it for another time.” Hwoarang said, disinterestedly. “Otherwise, things are good with you?”

“Yeah…you could say that. Hey, I am going to find out if Ling wants to go to the club tonight after this, blow off some pre tournament jitters. Would you like to come with?”

“I might consider making an appearance.” He said with a devilish smile that drove the ladies wild. What was it about the bad boy, good girls could not leave alone?

“Um, alright.” Julia said with a flush, biting her lip slightly. “Well, I am going to go look for Ling. I guess I will see you later.”

The Blood Talon nodded as Julia walked off, catching her turning to look back in his direction with that continual nervous energy. It made him chuckle on the inside to be such a center of attention.

“Arent you quite the attention getter?” Steve said, drawing up slowly, quiet enough that Hwoarangs normally paranoid senses didn’t even pick the sneaky Brit up.

“Yeah, you could say that.” The Korean smiled as Steve walked up, ordering a drink from the bar. “Took you long enough to get here.” He commented, giving the boxer a side long glance.

“I like to be fashionably late. But I see our host has expected that. I thought the party would be in full swing?” He turned to indicate the crowd with a head nod. Steve did not know a single face there, not really an active part of the martial arts scene, surprised in fact a boxer would be found amongst the elite of the circuit. Elite enough to an invite to this tournament, anyway.

“The real party doesn’t kick off till after this lame ass shindig.” Hwoarang said, leaning into his pocket for a cigarette. Drawing it to his lips as Steve sat on one of the stools provided. There was no smoking in this area, unless at the bar. A perfect positioning for Hwoarang.

“Your unusually short.” Steve said, taking a sip of his own rum and coke, observing Hwoarang and his quick answers. There was a heavy atmosphere around the Korean and it was nearly tangible.

“Yeah, well, I have things on my mind.” Hwoarang said, inhaling sharply.

“You have him on the mind. You know he will be here.” Steve said so blatantly, Hwoarang shot him a narrow glance.

“Fuck him.” Hwoarang said with a hiss, lifting his drink to his lips while flicking the ashes of his cigarette, fully entrenched behind the walls of self defense and pride, ego posted as sentry.

Steve was not sure what to truly make of this foul mood the Blood Talon was firmly encased in and it had started with early in the afternoon till, obviously, now. The Brit had tried to initiate desire between the two and for all the Koreans bolstering, the situation had not turned out favorable for reciprocation. Not that Steve had started it with that intent…but after some oral affections, he believed Hwoarang would respond favorably. That had not been the case. Steve knew precisely why. Jin.

Hwoarang turned to crush his cigarette into the clean ashtray as Steve reached in to capture a cylinder from the Koreans pack. As the two came around, almost in unison, a slightly shorter stature Chinese female was waiting, with her head tilted to the side.

“Hello, Hwoarang.” Ling said with a smile.

“Midget.” the Korean said almost expecting Jins messenger to be there and in that second, it was cold hard fact. It made sense Xiaoyu would precede Jins arrival, much like a Tsunami is preceded by a sickly green sky.

“So, where is he?” Ling said, her gaze cast for a single moment to Steve beside the Blood Talon before returning full attention to Hwoarang.

“Couldn’t fucking tell ya.” The Korean said with impending fury. Why did it seem everything was a link back to Kazama.

Ling sensed something in Hwoarangs avoidance, a vibe that confirmed her thoughts about Steve. There was no reason the Gaijin should have been standing there, not in the place Jin would be….should be. “Can I talk to you, alone?” She asked with that feminine tone that spoke volumes about the shit he was about to be knee deep in.

“Like I have a choice.” The Korean huffed, shrugging his shoulders. This was about to be a lecture the Blood Talon knew he wanted no part of. “Excuse me.” He said, half fleeting as he followed Ling out to the main hall.

The area here was quiet, most fighters gathered inside for the kick off celebration. Only the wait staff, preparing for the extravagant buffet was milling about. “So, go on, get it over with.” Hwoarang said, lips pursed.

Ling put her hands on her hips. “Now, what makes you think I have something that important to say? Maybe I just wanted to get you away from that pasty faced goon?”

Hwoarang shrugged his shoulders, looking to Ling as he kicked non existent particles from the floor with the heel of his spurred boot. “Look, lets spare us both the bullshit and get to the point. You got something to say, so, say it.”

The Chinese beauty placed her hands on her hip. “You sure do have a lot of ‘friends’, don’t you, Hwoarang? Must be nice to fill the void in your bed with a new face every night.”

“Well, I have to say, its everything it is cracked up to be.” He said out of pure retaliation. Truth being, Steve wanted to share his bed, but for some reason, he could not, at least, not in the way his former lover and recently reignited flame had wanted. Not on the bed he and Jin had first reunited after two long years upon. Not after the revelations that were shared in heavy, moaning breaths.

“You’re an asshole.” Ling said, crossing her arms across her chest, her foot tapping like a scorned lover.

“I’ve been called worse.” He said with a snicker. Sarcasm to hide delicate emotions.

“I know Jin said some things, jumped to some conclusions pretty fast between the two of you the other day. I have not seen him since then…and he led me to believe he would be near or around you if I wanted to find him. So, I want to find him…and there you are, making eyes at this British guy.” She said accusingly, lips pursed with no chance of salvation.

“None of your fucking business.” Hwoarang let out, falling back onto one leg, in a comfortable stance, distributing 70 percent of his weight on the dangerous stem to alleviate tension.

“Jin might not say it, but I will. Bullshit.” She cursed, her features flared with the effort.

“Whatever.” The Korean replied, refusing to meet that gaze.

“Your with that guy, aren’t you? Turned your back on Jin and forgotten he even existed?” Ling accused, boring into Hwoarang, even as he shot a glance up to meet her hard fixed eyes.

“You don’t know a fucking thing about him or me.” The Blood Talon retorted, anger flaring in his voice. That was evidence enough for Ling to prosecute her case.

“I know enough about you, Hwoarang. I am the one who has been trying to remind Jin all about you. And just when I started believing in you…just when I started to think you really gave a damn about Jin…”

“Fuck you.” Hwoarang said with a hiss, this time, he met those eyes like a combatant.

“Yeah. I struck a nerve didn’t I…but only because its true!” Ling said, rife with venom. She was beside herself, not really thinking Hwoarang could do this, again. “He loves you! Don’t you understand that? Even after two years he could not get you out of his system and now, you are giving him away without so much as a thought.”

“He fucking rejected me!” The Korean snapped defensively, drawing up to full height, no longer able to distract himself with meager posturing. “You were there, you know its not a line of bullshit. I did what I could but in the end, it just wasn’t good enough, now was it?”

“Coward.” Ling hissed. “After all you have done to him, how could you?”

“Don’t you dare turn this on me you fucking bitch!” He rose to the challenge like an injured beast raising to the threat of another in his territory.

“Jin is not himself, Hwoarang!” Ling growled like a mother cub defending her young from danger all around. “He has been through so much more than he lets on. I know you have seen it, the fracture of his spirit…talking with two mouths..one moment calm, the next raging like a captured animal!” That was the only way she could describe the end of the Japanese youths patience. Jin truly was not the person she recalled him to be.

“That’s not my fucking problem.” The Korean growled, boring into Lings eyes.

“It should be your problem..but no, not you. Not Mr. Untouchable. You know what you are, Hwoarang? You’re a disease…that weakens your victims..till every last one of them is infected…infected…till they die inside. Is that what you want from Jin?”

“I don’t fucking want anything from Jin!” He growled, those forces at his defensive wall holding tight to their ground. No order to retreat, no chance of redemption.

“And that’s the problem, Hwoarang. By not wanting anything from Jin…you expect nothing…and you push him away like he doesn’t matter. He nearly broke in half for you…” Ling said with the most emotion she had shown since this verbal throw down.

“What the fuck about me!” The Korean shouted, his anger inflamed to a new level. How badly he wanted to strike the Chinese youth, send her to the ground before him like a worshipping suppliant. “Don’t I fucking factor into your equation? How about how I feel…what about what I went through, thinking he is dead for two years? Do you know what it did to me?” That omission flew past the Blood Talons lips before he had any chance of retaking them and crafting them like metal beneath a sword smiths hands.

“You have a funny way of showing it, don’t you?” Ling said, nearly satisfied in her gloating victory over the saucy Korean. “If the roles had been reversed, Jin would have made undying vows to you, never to let you go again. But you are not half the man he is.”

Hwoarang winced at that comment, his gaze holding steady to the floor, watching the shine on the expensive marble tile. More than he could ever afford, by honest means, worth more than his own life…whose passing would be recorded with only an epitaph…and a history of blood money.

“Well, think about that, Hwoarang. Think on it real hard.” She hissed before turning on her heels and storming off to the double doors from whence they came.

Disease. Was that what he was? Sucking the life around him dry till only he was left alive and satisfied? In all his rapacious wanderings, is that what he had become…cold and calculating, transparent as glass?

For someone so demure, Ling had a way with her words that struck to the heart as though each inflection was laced with an arrow aimed directly to the pulsing organ. Had he really let Jin down? Did Jin really love him…like Ling said…?

**

Jin exited the Limousine and walked to the doors of the hotel, hood drawn sharply over his features. He awaited his father with a strong glance to the street as Kazuya stepped out onto the concrete, dressed impeccably, far more respectable than the Japanese youth that accompanied him.

This was time honored tradition. It had been only two years ago when Jin was at the center of the soiree as host to the King of Iron Fist Tournament 3, backed by the Mishima Financial Empire. In those days, the gathering had been held in honor of Kazuya Mishima…now, the first born blood of Heihachi was his accompaniment.

“Are you ready for this, Jin?” Kazuya asked, adjusting his suit jacket, eyes watching his son from behind dark glasses.

“Yes.” Jin answered simply, making sure to hold the glint of his fathers eyes behind dark enshrouding.

“He will try to deceive you, try to weaken you. He will use everything around you to destroy you. Not merely your body, Jin, but your spirit as well.” Kazuya said, nodding to his son, speaking truthful warnings from his own time in Jins place, the first to feel the abuses of Mishima Heihachi.

“I understand, father.” Jin said respectfully as he reached for the door, holding it open and bowing his head in respect as Kazuya entered. The words that crossed his lips were still cold. Never had he done more than practice what it would be to call someone his father. Now, Jin actually had one.

**

The room darkened as the fighters took their seats at the dinner tables. Waiters began to unveil the warm, enticing smell of the vast buffet, mouth watering to anxious, hungry stomachs.

Hwoarang returned to his place at the bar, lighting a cigarette as Steve sipped his second drink. A spot light shone on a podium at the front of the hall, drawing eyes to the well lit area. “So, what is all of this?” The Brit asked, chewing on an errant sliver of ice.

“Just the ol’ man showing off. Likes to give a little speech before dinner is served and the lists are posted. Smoke and mirrors.” Hwoarang said with a snicker, reaching back for his third drink, the private conversation between he and Ling still playing across his thoughts. Right now, he did not want to be there, did not want to be a part of this gathering, too many people choking up all the air in the room. But he knew, if he left now, he would not know the fight schedule for the round of 16 and he would not find Jin, either.

“Going to the club tonight?” Steve said, still not looking at Hwoarang, eyes focused on that lone, still spotlight.

“Thinking about it. Don’t know yet. Too soon to tell.” The Korean snickered. His mind was obviously preoccupied.

Steve was feeling a little shot down. Not that he expected anything out of the Blood Talon. In their brief two weeks together, over a year ago, both had spent most of the time talking, drinking, walking around streets the Korean had never before seen. The sex had been incredible and so was the intimacy. The Brit had half expected them to pick up where they left off, but it was obvious the Blood Talons mind was only on Jin. He wasn’t giving up on recapturing those glorious weeks and he understood this was something Hwoarang had to work through, on his own even if he did want to be there and show his support.

As Steve took in another cube of ice, the movement on the stage caught his eyes. He had barely seen images of Heihachi Mishima before and now, faced with the full on, massive presence, he could not turn his gaze away. The Tournament sponsor was obviously an elder…and yet, his presence was awesome, in physique and in aura. No one Steve had ever known in advanced years looked so strong…could contend with so many energetic and youthful challengers. And yet this man was about to. It was awe inspiring.

“Good evening, honored participants. I am Heihachi Mishima, Former Tournament Competitor Title holder and CEO of the Mishima Zaibatsu, a world renowned Conglomerate focused on the financial markets of a growing, global economy. But enough about that. I am here to welcome you as the Creator of the King of Iron Fist Tournament to this, the fourth installment of the sport.” A charming and yet powerful tone spoke out amongst the room. It seemed to Steve not a single eye that turned to Heihachi in this dim light, looked on the old man favorably.

Hwoarang turned his eyes from Heihachi and scanned the room once more. No sign of anything out of the ordinary. Lifting his drink, a bright sliver from the back of the room captured the Korean like the glint of money beneath a neon sign. He knew it before he saw the shadows move…knew it was Jin…and the Japanese was not alone.

Heihachi seemed to snicker into the provided microphone at the podium, his eyes drawn to that same sliver of light. “If you are here, then you have been selected as the most prominent talent in your respective Martial Arts today, to compete for an immense prize. Not only the substantial cash prize but also the control of my empire, the Zaibatsu, along with the renown granted by the United Martial Arts and Competitions Federation sanctioned title of ‘Worlds Strongest Martial Artist’. You, Ladies and Gentlemen, are the best of the best, the brightest future..and past of the Martial Arts circle. It is with great pleasure I welcome you to the commencement of the King of Iron Fist Tournament.”

Hwoarang glanced back at the podium and noticed another had turned, had felt the presence. The one called Violet, a well dressed man from what the Blood Talon could see, indiscernible in age or stature from his far off seated position. Yet, something about Violet was drawn to the figures entering…

Mishima Heihachi smiled now, raising his hands like a furor to the salivating masses. “Eat, drink and be Merry this night, my accomplished colleagues. For the friends you make today may well be your opponents come the morrow. The Round of 16 will begin in the morning. You will find your initial matches posted on the boards in the outside lobby of the hotel, available after this Inauguration ceremony. I wish you all strength and luck. May the gods be with your Tekken. Thank you.”

**

Jin stepped into the back of the room, leaning against the wall, crossing his arms before his chest. Kazuya joined him, watching the familiar scene unfold. The first glance of Heihachi after all these years was like a rage building inside of him and apparently it was the same for Jin, who seemed to breath heavier beside his father, seething with unspoken rage. The younger Mishima sensed the presence of the Devil within Jin…the first time he could nearly smell it and it made the demon from whence the young Kazamas spirit originated twitched with recognition inside of Kazuyas body.

Jin listened to the speech he had heard two years ago, nearly word for word. Sable eyes were glittering with hatred, using every bit of strength to keep his fatal lightning in place…keep the demon within his cage. The cold steel of the gun, the near fatal shot that released from the never ending chamber…the feeling of wings tearing through flesh. It was as familiar as a lover, a hatred so soothing inside of him, it could have been a lullaby.

Beneath all the pomp and circumstance, Jin turned his eyes, feeling the amber orbs that held him. His breath lost itself between his lungs and his lips, blood tingling for more reasons than just hatred. Hwoarang was there, at the bar and his body craved…craved like a junkie.

The Japanese youth noticed Steve beside the Korean and the rage built, heady and fast inside of him. He had never wanted to injure…for no other reason than to show the Blood Talons current fling…where Hwoarang truly belonged. It was a rare and alien concept, the same one that had gripped him in the shower unexpectedly.

“Jin?” Kazuya asked as Heihachi raised his hands up over the guests, signifying the buffet should soon be served, and yet the Elder Mishima looked like a tyrant preaching to the masses. But Jin was not watching Heihachi. Infact, his eyes were drawn to a Korean with flamboyant dyed copper hair…and the rage inside Jin, the devil, was nearly salivating at the sight.

“Yes, Father?” He said, shaking his head slightly and turning his eyes to Kazuya.

“Are you alright?” Kazuya asked but knew otherwise. Jins innocent eyes were tainted. The Japanese youth seemed to know little of his own power, the aura that emanated like waves from his body. One day, they would have to have the talk…about the Devil. But not now, when emotions were obviously running high. Jin could more than likely not control the beast. It had taken Kazuya nearly 20 years to learn to put a leash on the demon and even then, there were times it did not work.

“I am fine.” Jin said. Yet another lie. He was slowly growing accustomed to this. He turned his glance back toward Hwoarang, even as he faced his father….but the Blood Talon was lost to his line of sight as the fighters rose for the buffet, led by the American Paul Pheonix. Where had he gone?

**

“The Cubs have come home to the den.” Heihachi said, crossing his arms before his chest. Jin had never noticed how much Kazuya looked like his sire. How intense the expressions were, reflected between the two. Both with such hard eyes and a posture that spoke of long nights in training until Kazuya resembled Heihachi in more mannerisms than the younger Mishima would ever agree he possessed.

Jin hardened his jaw, the flash of that bullet released from the chamber, the flash that had heralded the change in his spirit all echoed back at him now. There was hatred, pure and seething in the Japanese youths eyes. Three circles of hell. Three levels of hate that flowed like ice through a stream between three generations of blood.

“Do not waste words old man. They will be short in supply when you gasp your last breath.” Kazuya said with such civility it cut the air between them like a hard rain.

“As you have promised before, boy. This time, I will assure there is no chance of salvation.” Heihachi too kept a tone so simple and even, a passerby would have thought the two were exchanging pleasantries. His eyes held Kazuyas, a bare white glint behind dark shades. That left eye was reddening like a glare of heat lightning. Yes, the Devil was still within him.

“And you, Jin. I am pleased to see you have returned. We have unfinished business, you and I. A shame to see your father has found you before I could. Trust not the word of the devil, Jin.” Heihachi smiled darkly. The gods shone upon him to grant him such a boon, such a perfectly syndicated chance to grasp the Devil Gene. There would be offerings left on the alter of his worship tonight, someday soon to be replaced by the shorn bodies of his own blood, as enemies.

The Devil comment made Jin feel…confused. What precisely did Heihachi mean…or was this once more a game made of words to slide concrete in the center of a stream and divide the forces. “I trust not the forked tongue that promises love and deals out murder.”

Heihachi half cocked a maniacal smile. “Then let what has been said, hold like a carving in stone. There will be no rod spared, no hand to shield you from this demon you call a father. The injury he has given to you…and will continue to give to you, I wash my hands of.”

“So be it.” Jin hissed, his tone much less controlled than his forebears.

Kazuya watched Heihachi walk away, turning his head to follow the old man till he was out of sight. Jin had been impressive in his conviction and the younger Mishima could taste it in the air around him like the familiar swallow of ozone from fatal lightning.

“Now, you are enemies.” Kazuya said, releasing his arms that had remained crossed at his chest.

“We have been enemies.” Jin said, truthfully. Though he had not yet told his father of what had happened between he and Heihachi in South America, more intent on listening to the story Kazuya told of his love for Kazama Jun and the events surrounding his own, near death. That time would come.

Jin cracked his neck to the side, removing the hood from over his features. It still awed Kazuya how his son could look like the perfect mix of his two parents. A pride he could never truly explain. “That man there, with the purple hair, wearing the white pinstripe suit has been watching you, father.”

Kazuya snickered. “Yes. We have a long history, Jin. He has been watching me all of his life. But there will be time for that.” He was not fooled by the elaborate disguise the man wore. There was still a slight limp to the mans walk that spoke of horrific tragedy to his legs, long ago, but none that were here, save Lei Wulong might recall it. For the time being, Violets secret was safe with him.

Jin was feeling restless, eyes still scanning over the crowd. He needed to breathe. The scent of food, the feeling of anxiety in the air…the reuniting with both father and grandfather were heavy on his spine like boulders pinning him down. “I must find a moment of peace, father. Excuse me.”

“That is well, Jin. I have someone I must speak with as well.” Kazuya said, watching the Interpol operative across the way. Someone he needed to thank for a deed done 22 years ago and had been long overdue to be recognized.