Shattered
Chapter One: A Day in the Life of the Dark Prince
The gloom of the depressing evening loomed overhead of him. The cold and indifferent snowflakes fell from the dreary sky incessantly. The boy did not notice the icy touch of the snowflakes as they drifted onto him and soaked through his suit. The frigid grasp of winter was nothing compared to the indescribable pain that welled up in his heart.
He approached the gravestone with slow footsteps, as if gravity was attempting to hold him down. He stopped and fell to his knees in front of the blue and purple irises that rested upon the snow. He read the words over and over again that were forever marked on the monument. Although he was literate and able to read them, he could not comprehend the words that were etched on that grave. He threw himself onto the gravestone, his arms enveloping themselves around it and his sorrowful tears streaming from his eyes.
"Mother, please come back...don't leave me..."
* * * *
Kazuya groggily woke from his sleep, the brass alarm clock bringing him against his will to the conscious world of reality. He slammed his fist onto the clock and at once the racket ceased. He threw his blankets off of his scrawny, yet slightly muscular body, which was somewhat unusual for a boy of twelve years of age. He stalked over to his private bathroom to prepare for another uneventful morning.
As he brushed his teeth, he ran his hand through the unruly strands of his jet-black hair in a pitiful attempt to smooth it. Even if he was the only son of the powerful CEO of the Mishima Zaibatsu, he could not care less what he looked like. As long as he showed up in school in that stiff uniform that all the boys were assigned to wear, his father did not complain.
After a few more minutes he entered his chamber once more. His body was awake and functioning, but his mind was still numbed by the alluring embrace of slumber. He threw his homework into the confines of his knapsack and headed out of his room where breakfast awaited him downstairs in the dining room.
As usual his father hid his face behind the open pages of a newspaper, not that Kazuya was protesting. He is accustomed to his father not paying any mind to him unless he was pummeling him against the ground during a training session in the dojo. The young Mishima seated himself in front of his breakfast, the smell of the warm bacon and eggs bringing him somewhat out of his stupor. He ate, taking a few bites out of his toast as the silence hung in the air between father and son.
"Boy, I expect you to go to your appointment right after school today," the gruff voice of his father commanded.
Kazuya said nothing, beginning to consume his scrambled eggs.
"Is something wrong with your hearing?" the elder Mishima's voice rose.
Kazuya wiped his mouth cleanly with his napkin and forced a smile. "Why no, Father. Whatever gave you that idea?"
Before he knew it, his father had wrung him by the collar, the newspaper lying forgotten on the table. His face was lined with a few wrinkles at the corners of his mouth and forehead. His dark hair stood from his head like two eagle's wings and facial hair ran from above his upper lip and around his mouth in some sort of mustache. "I will not have you mocking me, you little wench. I know that you have been skipping your sessions with that psychiatrist I've hired-"
"What good is he anyway?" Kazuya protested, his youthful eyes glaring back at his father's steely ones.
Heihachi Mishima's grip tightened onto the collar of his shirt like a boa constrictor squeezing the life out of its prey. "You WILL go to those two hour appointments that I have scheduled. This is the fourth psychiatrist that I have employed. Do you have any idea in that dense head of yours how much money I paid them?"
"I never asked you to pay for them!" The boy yelled. "I never asked for these stupid appointments in the first place!!!"
"DON'T YOU DARE RAISE YOUR VOICE AT ME!!!" Heihachi thrust Kazuya back into his chair with such force that the legs tipped over.
In one loud crash, the boy fell back into his chair as it collided with the polished wooden ground. He felt the solidity of the floor, the searing pain shooting up through his head and neck. Kazuya made his best effort not to make any noise that indicated that he was hurt: he did not want to give his father that pleasure.
His father towered over him as he lied upon the floor defenselessly. "Mark my words boy, you will continue to go to those sessions. If I hear that you have skipped another one, you will be punished dearly for it."
With that, he watched as his father walked away in disgust and departed for his limousine to go to work. Kazuya just laid there for a moment staring intently at the humongous crystal chandelier that dangled from the ceiling. The rays of the morning sun pierced through the crystals, the light bouncing onto the beautifully furnished walls of the mansion in the form of iridescent prisms. There was a time when he saw splendor in it, but now he could not see it. There was no hope or beauty in this house any longer.
* * * *
"So, you guys want to hang out at the arcade after school?"
"No way! We ALWAYS go there. Can't we do anything else?"
"We can check out what's playing at the theaters. There's this one movie that I've wanted to see."
"No, I better not. I'm already behind all of my classes as it is."
"C'mon, don't be a wuss-"
Footsteps were heard entering the brightly lit room, and when they saw whom it was the group of four boys fell dead silent.
Kazuya walked into the classroom, clad in blue and green pinstriped slacks, a long white button-downed shirt and a blue vest over his chest with the Mishima emblem embroidered onto the right breast. He dismissed the stares of his fellow classmates as he passed them and made his way to his seat in the back of the room. He sat down onto his assigned chair and rummaged through his knapsack. He pulled out a thick book and opened it, his peers still goggling at him with attentive and frightened eyes as if they had just seen a demon in Kazuya's place.
"That Mishima kid is freaky," one boy commented, still keeping an eye on the young Mishima boy.
"Yeah right," another one disagreed. "What's so freaky about him?"
"I agree with Kenji, Akio. There's something about that guy that isn't right."
"Yeah, all he does is read. He never speaks a word to anyone." A fourth boy added to the analysis of their enigmatic classmate.
Akio scoffed. "Whatever. You guys are just scared."
"Oh yeah? Why don't you go over and talk to him and prove to us that he isn't a freak?" Kenji dared his friend.
A glimpse of fear crossed Akio's face. "W-what? No, I don't want to bother him. Why don't you guys go?"
"You said it yourself, Akio. We're all too scared to go. Since you're the bravest one, we nominate you to." Kenji mocked him, and the other two boys nodded.
Seeing that he was cornered, Akio gulped and turned away from his friends. He slowly approached Kazuya as if he were approaching an executioner. He glanced back at his friends and saw that they were watching his every move with a look of anxiety. He could not turn back now and be ridiculed for not taking up a dare. He marched towards the heir of the Mishima Empire and finally reached him. He stood next to his desk trembling, but Kazuya paid no mind while he read his books with great concentration.
Akio cleared his throat. "Um, hi," he started, his voice slightly shaking. "N-nice day, huh?"
Kazuya did not answer. His ebony eyes only focused on the fine print of the crisp pages that were opened before him. Once again Akio cleared his throat in hopes of getting his attention. "Ha ha...yeah. It's a bummer that we're cooped up in school when it's so bright and sunny outside today..."
Suddenly in an act of annoyance, Kazuya closed his book with his thumb within the pages to keep his place. He glared at the now frightened Akio, his ebony eyes throwing looks of unfathomable irritation. To his classmate, it was as if Kazuya was brandishing a razor-sharp knife to the poor boy's throat. "Listen to me, you moron. I'm fed up with you trying to prove yourself to your friends."
Nervousness has now altered to downright fear: Akio felt cold beads of sweat forming on his forehead. "W-what...are you talking about-"
"You must truly be more ignorant than I took you for. I'm tired of your friends talking about me when they think it's convenient for them to do so. You really don't think I can't hear you and the rest of those idiots?"
"You got it all wrong...n-no one is-"
"I don't want to waste any more of my breath talking to you. Leave me alone already and run back to your little friends. And if you didn't happen to notice this morning, it's raining."
Kazuya once again opened his book and continued reading while Akio went back to his friends, making his best effort not to sprint towards them. He took one more look back at him as he read. Any traces of Kazuya's agitation were not present on his face: he kept an appearance of collectiveness, as if the conversation between him and Akio never took place at all.
"You guys were right. He IS a freak."
The sharp piercing shriek of the late bell sounded, and all of the students hurried to their seats. A tall middle-aged man walked into the room, welcomed by the drooping eyes and weary yawns of his students.
"Good morning, everyone," he called rather loudly out to his students as he always did in hopes of freeing them from their usual tiredness from lack of sleep. His class answered automatically with a feeble 'good morning'.
"I hope everyone remembered to do their assignment today," the teacher continued. "Speaking of which, please pass them up now."
Kazuya closed his book and placed it back in his large knapsack, his hand now searching for his Literature folder. He pulled it out and found his homework assignment in the left pocket of the folder. He took it and passed it up to the girl who sat in front of him and who always had her hair kept in two long plaits down her back. She snatched the paper from his hand without looking at him and quickly turned around, just as she always had done from the start of the school year. Everyone in his classes avoided Kazuya's stare as if looking into those deep brown eyes of his would turn them all into stone. However, he was accustomed to it. Kazuya was never the social type, and that did not bother him in the least.
The papers were collected and put onto a pile on the teacher's desk. "All right then. If you will all please turn to page ninety-eight of your books, we can begin this morning's lesson with a little more poetry.
The whole class suppressed their urge to groan out of respect for their superior. They did as they were told without hesitation just as a machine would do once an order was inputted in it by an operator. The shuffling of pages was heard for a few moments and then silence fell once more.
"Now, let's continue with the poem we left off of yesterday..." By the time the class was reading all together with the teacher, Kazuya was already nearly finished with the poem. He absorbed every word that his ebony eyes scanned as if he was a wanderer in the desert in desperate need of water. He was always ahead of his class in Literature, for it had been his best subject. Whereas some of his classmates were on the same level, Kazuya's skill and knowledge could rival that of someone attending high school. However, he had no desire to skip grades as of yet. Why bother, when he had nothing to gain from it whatsoever?
It was nearly an hour until the bell sounded, concluding first period. All of the students gathered their belongings and rose from their seats, forming a line out of the classroom. Kazuya was usually the last one to exit, and today was of no exception. His right foot was out of the door, until someone had stopped him.
"Mr. Mishima," the strict voice of his teacher beckoned him. "May I see you for a moment?"
Kazuya obeyed and walked over to his teacher's desk. He observed the pile of assignments that had dwindled from the beginning of class. The graded papers were arranged in another pile of their own. Kazuya noticed that a certain paper was in the hands of his teacher and he recognized that the handwriting was his own.
"I'd like to discuss your assignment with you."
"What about it, Nakamura-sama?" Kazuya asked without a hint of anxiety in his tone.
"I've always loved reading your works, don't get me wrong," Mr. Nakamura started. "In my fourteen years of teaching I have never encountered such a student like you. You are advanced for your age and you comprehend literature more so than your classmates. However, your poetry is..." he stopped as he groped for the word that he wanted. "Your poetry is...dark."
"What do you mean, if I may ask?"
"What I'm saying is that for someone who is twelve years old, your works are quite morbid. Although you have talent, I am still slightly troubled. A poem is a way to express the emotions of the person who writes it. Words are often used to describe one's self, even if the person isn't aware of it. Anyway, I've been disturbed by your...eccentric poetry as of late."
Kazuya was growing slightly annoyed by the time that his teacher was consuming attempting to explain his motives for wanting to speak with him. He wished that he could just get to the heart of matters already.
"Has something gone wrong at your house that is upsetting you?" Mr. Nakamura finally asked. "Are there problems within your family?"
Kazuya forced a thin smile. "No, nothing has happened Nakamura-sama."
"Are you sure? As your teacher, you can tell me anything."
"Everything is fine. My poetry is just the way it is because I was mostly inspired by Gothic writers, is all."
Mr. Nakamura's brown eyes eased a bit. "Good...that's good. Well, sorry for taking up your time. Off to second period, now."
Kazuya nodded and left the room and walked into the now deserted hallway. He was glad that his excuse threw off his teacher's so-called 'concerns'. Now Mr. Nakamura could tell himself how good of a person he is now that he had confronted his 'disturbing' student and supposedly set matters straight. Kazuya had always wondered whether or not teachers received promotions for preventing students from committing suicide.
* * * *
"Now, your father has told me that your mother died when you were five, correct?"
"Yes. What of it?"
"There is no need to be defensive."
"I'm not being defensive. It's just I've answered that question more times than I can count by you alone and it's never gotten us anywhere."
"Please refrain from outbursts during the remainder of this session, Kazuya." The dull voice of the psychiatrist told him. "We still have an hour and forty-five minutes to go."
Kazuya did not say anything more as he rested on his back against the reclined chair, restraining himself from actually yelling at the psychiatrist as he sat on the large couch across from him. He did his best from shouting at the plump, balding man while he kept his stout face hidden behind his clipboard where he scribbled down useless notes. All of the other psychiatrists had done the same: never making eye contact with Kazuya, always writing while pretending to listen to him, always asking the same questions about his past. In the end, the session always ended with Kazuya having to take more anti-depressants and various other pills to push into his mouth.
"Your father also told me that you do not associate with other children at school. Why is that?"
"Because I don't feel like talking to anyone at my school."
"Is it because they tease you? Or are you afraid of making friends?"
Kazuya suppressed a laugh. He knew as well as his peers that they were too frightened to ever even think of mocking him. And he would not be caught dead being seen with any of the senseless morons that he was forced to attend classes with. "No, I just don't want to talk to them."
"Hmmmm..." The tapping of a pen was heard through the air-conditioned room as the psychiatrist feigned interest.
Kazuya glanced at the clock that was hung on the wall opposite to him. He read the aligned hands as the psychiatrist had begun asking him yet another question. He only had to sit through this tedious session for another hour and forty minutes.
* * * *
"Get up, damn you!" Heihachi's voice thundered, reverberating off the walls of the private dojo.
A part of Kazuya wanted to remain on the wooden floor just to see the look of contempt on his father's face, but before he could even lift himself up Heihachi had hoisted him by the collar of his gi. His feet dangled as he writhed helplessly in his father's grip.
"You're no son of mine," Heihachi seethed through his clenched teeth. "You are no Mishima, you pathetic little bastard. You can only bring shame to our name!"
He threw Kazuya with such strength that his body collided soundly with the wall of the dojo. He then fell onto the ground, pain wracking each bone in his body. He felt the warm blood dripping from his wounds and his vision was blurred. He could hardly make out the soft glow of the candles that surrounded the room or the infuriated face of his father. Death would be so much sweeter than going through this torment...
He heard footsteps heading towards the exit. His father threw another glance of loathing at his injured son. "You should have died in the ravine where I left you. That way I would not have to waste my time on a weakling such as you."
His father was gone, the large iron doors shutting loudly behind him. Kazuya rolled onto his back and stared at the dark ceiling, the shadows dancing apathetically around him. He felt the blood pooling from him, the white fabric of his gi stained with the crimson liquid. It was as if he were on the boundary of life and death as he rested there as motionless as a corpse.
"My poor little Kazuya," A supernatural voice said, breaking the heavy silence in the dojo. "Look at what your father has done to you now."
The fatigue was replaced by anger as Kazuya pulled himself up to a sitting position. "He...he isn't my father..."
The demon laughed in scorn. "You cannot deny your own blood, my dear child. But do not worry. We will take care of him someday..."
"You keep telling me that! But someday never seems to come soon enough, does it? Why do you let him do this to me? When I need help you never give it to me. You promised that you would!"
"Now, now. There's no need to take that tone with me." There was a sound of sympathy that underlined the demon's voice. "Things take time. There will be a day when you will be able to hear your father's screams of pain. I promise that I will help you attain the salvation that you solely deserve."
"...salvation...?"
"Yes, my dear Kazuya. Your salvation. Your chance to redeem yourself and make your father pay for the torture that he has forced upon you. Your chance to punish him for what he has done to you. Only then will you finally be happy."
"I...I want that...to be happy..."
"He has deprived you of so many things, Kazuya. Happiness, pride, love...I can get all of that for you. You only need to depend on me."
Kazuya rose to his feet, indifferent to his bleeding wounds. He was somewhat calmed by the demon's reassuring words: they were a soothing wave that had washed him of all doubt and fear.
"I am the only person that you will ever need in your life. Everyone and everything else is meaningless."
Kazuya no longer could sense the demon's presence any longer. He took a moment to regain his composure, watching the quiet flames consuming the wax of the candles from their stands. He approached the double iron doors and slowly pushed them aside with what little strength that remained from training with his father. The sun was dying, disappearing onto the horizon in a wondrous explosion of gold and scarlet. He staggered towards the mansion, his feet dragging themselves along the cobblestone path. He passed the courtyard, paying no mind to the trail of blood that was trailing behind him as he walked. He entered the mansion through a backdoor that led to the kitchen. He traveled through the dining room and through the living room to the front foyer of the mansion. The white marble floors were speckled with warm drops of crimson as Kazuya headed up the large staircase and into his chamber. He went into the comfort of his room and lurched into his bathroom.
He stopped at his bathtub and turned the faucet, the hot water immediately gushing out. He waited until the ceramic tub was almost full to the brim with steaming water and he threw himself in, not caring that he still had his gi on. He felt the warmth rushing over him like a blissful remedy. The clear water was gradually tinted with crimson as his blood intermixed with it. He was so exhausted that he had fallen asleep, never noticing that he had not turned off the faucet. And so the Dark Prince slumbered in his bath while the water flooded onto the ground, painted red with his blood.
Chapter One: A Day in the Life of the Dark Prince
The gloom of the depressing evening loomed overhead of him. The cold and indifferent snowflakes fell from the dreary sky incessantly. The boy did not notice the icy touch of the snowflakes as they drifted onto him and soaked through his suit. The frigid grasp of winter was nothing compared to the indescribable pain that welled up in his heart.
He approached the gravestone with slow footsteps, as if gravity was attempting to hold him down. He stopped and fell to his knees in front of the blue and purple irises that rested upon the snow. He read the words over and over again that were forever marked on the monument. Although he was literate and able to read them, he could not comprehend the words that were etched on that grave. He threw himself onto the gravestone, his arms enveloping themselves around it and his sorrowful tears streaming from his eyes.
"Mother, please come back...don't leave me..."
* * * *
Kazuya groggily woke from his sleep, the brass alarm clock bringing him against his will to the conscious world of reality. He slammed his fist onto the clock and at once the racket ceased. He threw his blankets off of his scrawny, yet slightly muscular body, which was somewhat unusual for a boy of twelve years of age. He stalked over to his private bathroom to prepare for another uneventful morning.
As he brushed his teeth, he ran his hand through the unruly strands of his jet-black hair in a pitiful attempt to smooth it. Even if he was the only son of the powerful CEO of the Mishima Zaibatsu, he could not care less what he looked like. As long as he showed up in school in that stiff uniform that all the boys were assigned to wear, his father did not complain.
After a few more minutes he entered his chamber once more. His body was awake and functioning, but his mind was still numbed by the alluring embrace of slumber. He threw his homework into the confines of his knapsack and headed out of his room where breakfast awaited him downstairs in the dining room.
As usual his father hid his face behind the open pages of a newspaper, not that Kazuya was protesting. He is accustomed to his father not paying any mind to him unless he was pummeling him against the ground during a training session in the dojo. The young Mishima seated himself in front of his breakfast, the smell of the warm bacon and eggs bringing him somewhat out of his stupor. He ate, taking a few bites out of his toast as the silence hung in the air between father and son.
"Boy, I expect you to go to your appointment right after school today," the gruff voice of his father commanded.
Kazuya said nothing, beginning to consume his scrambled eggs.
"Is something wrong with your hearing?" the elder Mishima's voice rose.
Kazuya wiped his mouth cleanly with his napkin and forced a smile. "Why no, Father. Whatever gave you that idea?"
Before he knew it, his father had wrung him by the collar, the newspaper lying forgotten on the table. His face was lined with a few wrinkles at the corners of his mouth and forehead. His dark hair stood from his head like two eagle's wings and facial hair ran from above his upper lip and around his mouth in some sort of mustache. "I will not have you mocking me, you little wench. I know that you have been skipping your sessions with that psychiatrist I've hired-"
"What good is he anyway?" Kazuya protested, his youthful eyes glaring back at his father's steely ones.
Heihachi Mishima's grip tightened onto the collar of his shirt like a boa constrictor squeezing the life out of its prey. "You WILL go to those two hour appointments that I have scheduled. This is the fourth psychiatrist that I have employed. Do you have any idea in that dense head of yours how much money I paid them?"
"I never asked you to pay for them!" The boy yelled. "I never asked for these stupid appointments in the first place!!!"
"DON'T YOU DARE RAISE YOUR VOICE AT ME!!!" Heihachi thrust Kazuya back into his chair with such force that the legs tipped over.
In one loud crash, the boy fell back into his chair as it collided with the polished wooden ground. He felt the solidity of the floor, the searing pain shooting up through his head and neck. Kazuya made his best effort not to make any noise that indicated that he was hurt: he did not want to give his father that pleasure.
His father towered over him as he lied upon the floor defenselessly. "Mark my words boy, you will continue to go to those sessions. If I hear that you have skipped another one, you will be punished dearly for it."
With that, he watched as his father walked away in disgust and departed for his limousine to go to work. Kazuya just laid there for a moment staring intently at the humongous crystal chandelier that dangled from the ceiling. The rays of the morning sun pierced through the crystals, the light bouncing onto the beautifully furnished walls of the mansion in the form of iridescent prisms. There was a time when he saw splendor in it, but now he could not see it. There was no hope or beauty in this house any longer.
* * * *
"So, you guys want to hang out at the arcade after school?"
"No way! We ALWAYS go there. Can't we do anything else?"
"We can check out what's playing at the theaters. There's this one movie that I've wanted to see."
"No, I better not. I'm already behind all of my classes as it is."
"C'mon, don't be a wuss-"
Footsteps were heard entering the brightly lit room, and when they saw whom it was the group of four boys fell dead silent.
Kazuya walked into the classroom, clad in blue and green pinstriped slacks, a long white button-downed shirt and a blue vest over his chest with the Mishima emblem embroidered onto the right breast. He dismissed the stares of his fellow classmates as he passed them and made his way to his seat in the back of the room. He sat down onto his assigned chair and rummaged through his knapsack. He pulled out a thick book and opened it, his peers still goggling at him with attentive and frightened eyes as if they had just seen a demon in Kazuya's place.
"That Mishima kid is freaky," one boy commented, still keeping an eye on the young Mishima boy.
"Yeah right," another one disagreed. "What's so freaky about him?"
"I agree with Kenji, Akio. There's something about that guy that isn't right."
"Yeah, all he does is read. He never speaks a word to anyone." A fourth boy added to the analysis of their enigmatic classmate.
Akio scoffed. "Whatever. You guys are just scared."
"Oh yeah? Why don't you go over and talk to him and prove to us that he isn't a freak?" Kenji dared his friend.
A glimpse of fear crossed Akio's face. "W-what? No, I don't want to bother him. Why don't you guys go?"
"You said it yourself, Akio. We're all too scared to go. Since you're the bravest one, we nominate you to." Kenji mocked him, and the other two boys nodded.
Seeing that he was cornered, Akio gulped and turned away from his friends. He slowly approached Kazuya as if he were approaching an executioner. He glanced back at his friends and saw that they were watching his every move with a look of anxiety. He could not turn back now and be ridiculed for not taking up a dare. He marched towards the heir of the Mishima Empire and finally reached him. He stood next to his desk trembling, but Kazuya paid no mind while he read his books with great concentration.
Akio cleared his throat. "Um, hi," he started, his voice slightly shaking. "N-nice day, huh?"
Kazuya did not answer. His ebony eyes only focused on the fine print of the crisp pages that were opened before him. Once again Akio cleared his throat in hopes of getting his attention. "Ha ha...yeah. It's a bummer that we're cooped up in school when it's so bright and sunny outside today..."
Suddenly in an act of annoyance, Kazuya closed his book with his thumb within the pages to keep his place. He glared at the now frightened Akio, his ebony eyes throwing looks of unfathomable irritation. To his classmate, it was as if Kazuya was brandishing a razor-sharp knife to the poor boy's throat. "Listen to me, you moron. I'm fed up with you trying to prove yourself to your friends."
Nervousness has now altered to downright fear: Akio felt cold beads of sweat forming on his forehead. "W-what...are you talking about-"
"You must truly be more ignorant than I took you for. I'm tired of your friends talking about me when they think it's convenient for them to do so. You really don't think I can't hear you and the rest of those idiots?"
"You got it all wrong...n-no one is-"
"I don't want to waste any more of my breath talking to you. Leave me alone already and run back to your little friends. And if you didn't happen to notice this morning, it's raining."
Kazuya once again opened his book and continued reading while Akio went back to his friends, making his best effort not to sprint towards them. He took one more look back at him as he read. Any traces of Kazuya's agitation were not present on his face: he kept an appearance of collectiveness, as if the conversation between him and Akio never took place at all.
"You guys were right. He IS a freak."
The sharp piercing shriek of the late bell sounded, and all of the students hurried to their seats. A tall middle-aged man walked into the room, welcomed by the drooping eyes and weary yawns of his students.
"Good morning, everyone," he called rather loudly out to his students as he always did in hopes of freeing them from their usual tiredness from lack of sleep. His class answered automatically with a feeble 'good morning'.
"I hope everyone remembered to do their assignment today," the teacher continued. "Speaking of which, please pass them up now."
Kazuya closed his book and placed it back in his large knapsack, his hand now searching for his Literature folder. He pulled it out and found his homework assignment in the left pocket of the folder. He took it and passed it up to the girl who sat in front of him and who always had her hair kept in two long plaits down her back. She snatched the paper from his hand without looking at him and quickly turned around, just as she always had done from the start of the school year. Everyone in his classes avoided Kazuya's stare as if looking into those deep brown eyes of his would turn them all into stone. However, he was accustomed to it. Kazuya was never the social type, and that did not bother him in the least.
The papers were collected and put onto a pile on the teacher's desk. "All right then. If you will all please turn to page ninety-eight of your books, we can begin this morning's lesson with a little more poetry.
The whole class suppressed their urge to groan out of respect for their superior. They did as they were told without hesitation just as a machine would do once an order was inputted in it by an operator. The shuffling of pages was heard for a few moments and then silence fell once more.
"Now, let's continue with the poem we left off of yesterday..." By the time the class was reading all together with the teacher, Kazuya was already nearly finished with the poem. He absorbed every word that his ebony eyes scanned as if he was a wanderer in the desert in desperate need of water. He was always ahead of his class in Literature, for it had been his best subject. Whereas some of his classmates were on the same level, Kazuya's skill and knowledge could rival that of someone attending high school. However, he had no desire to skip grades as of yet. Why bother, when he had nothing to gain from it whatsoever?
It was nearly an hour until the bell sounded, concluding first period. All of the students gathered their belongings and rose from their seats, forming a line out of the classroom. Kazuya was usually the last one to exit, and today was of no exception. His right foot was out of the door, until someone had stopped him.
"Mr. Mishima," the strict voice of his teacher beckoned him. "May I see you for a moment?"
Kazuya obeyed and walked over to his teacher's desk. He observed the pile of assignments that had dwindled from the beginning of class. The graded papers were arranged in another pile of their own. Kazuya noticed that a certain paper was in the hands of his teacher and he recognized that the handwriting was his own.
"I'd like to discuss your assignment with you."
"What about it, Nakamura-sama?" Kazuya asked without a hint of anxiety in his tone.
"I've always loved reading your works, don't get me wrong," Mr. Nakamura started. "In my fourteen years of teaching I have never encountered such a student like you. You are advanced for your age and you comprehend literature more so than your classmates. However, your poetry is..." he stopped as he groped for the word that he wanted. "Your poetry is...dark."
"What do you mean, if I may ask?"
"What I'm saying is that for someone who is twelve years old, your works are quite morbid. Although you have talent, I am still slightly troubled. A poem is a way to express the emotions of the person who writes it. Words are often used to describe one's self, even if the person isn't aware of it. Anyway, I've been disturbed by your...eccentric poetry as of late."
Kazuya was growing slightly annoyed by the time that his teacher was consuming attempting to explain his motives for wanting to speak with him. He wished that he could just get to the heart of matters already.
"Has something gone wrong at your house that is upsetting you?" Mr. Nakamura finally asked. "Are there problems within your family?"
Kazuya forced a thin smile. "No, nothing has happened Nakamura-sama."
"Are you sure? As your teacher, you can tell me anything."
"Everything is fine. My poetry is just the way it is because I was mostly inspired by Gothic writers, is all."
Mr. Nakamura's brown eyes eased a bit. "Good...that's good. Well, sorry for taking up your time. Off to second period, now."
Kazuya nodded and left the room and walked into the now deserted hallway. He was glad that his excuse threw off his teacher's so-called 'concerns'. Now Mr. Nakamura could tell himself how good of a person he is now that he had confronted his 'disturbing' student and supposedly set matters straight. Kazuya had always wondered whether or not teachers received promotions for preventing students from committing suicide.
* * * *
"Now, your father has told me that your mother died when you were five, correct?"
"Yes. What of it?"
"There is no need to be defensive."
"I'm not being defensive. It's just I've answered that question more times than I can count by you alone and it's never gotten us anywhere."
"Please refrain from outbursts during the remainder of this session, Kazuya." The dull voice of the psychiatrist told him. "We still have an hour and forty-five minutes to go."
Kazuya did not say anything more as he rested on his back against the reclined chair, restraining himself from actually yelling at the psychiatrist as he sat on the large couch across from him. He did his best from shouting at the plump, balding man while he kept his stout face hidden behind his clipboard where he scribbled down useless notes. All of the other psychiatrists had done the same: never making eye contact with Kazuya, always writing while pretending to listen to him, always asking the same questions about his past. In the end, the session always ended with Kazuya having to take more anti-depressants and various other pills to push into his mouth.
"Your father also told me that you do not associate with other children at school. Why is that?"
"Because I don't feel like talking to anyone at my school."
"Is it because they tease you? Or are you afraid of making friends?"
Kazuya suppressed a laugh. He knew as well as his peers that they were too frightened to ever even think of mocking him. And he would not be caught dead being seen with any of the senseless morons that he was forced to attend classes with. "No, I just don't want to talk to them."
"Hmmmm..." The tapping of a pen was heard through the air-conditioned room as the psychiatrist feigned interest.
Kazuya glanced at the clock that was hung on the wall opposite to him. He read the aligned hands as the psychiatrist had begun asking him yet another question. He only had to sit through this tedious session for another hour and forty minutes.
* * * *
"Get up, damn you!" Heihachi's voice thundered, reverberating off the walls of the private dojo.
A part of Kazuya wanted to remain on the wooden floor just to see the look of contempt on his father's face, but before he could even lift himself up Heihachi had hoisted him by the collar of his gi. His feet dangled as he writhed helplessly in his father's grip.
"You're no son of mine," Heihachi seethed through his clenched teeth. "You are no Mishima, you pathetic little bastard. You can only bring shame to our name!"
He threw Kazuya with such strength that his body collided soundly with the wall of the dojo. He then fell onto the ground, pain wracking each bone in his body. He felt the warm blood dripping from his wounds and his vision was blurred. He could hardly make out the soft glow of the candles that surrounded the room or the infuriated face of his father. Death would be so much sweeter than going through this torment...
He heard footsteps heading towards the exit. His father threw another glance of loathing at his injured son. "You should have died in the ravine where I left you. That way I would not have to waste my time on a weakling such as you."
His father was gone, the large iron doors shutting loudly behind him. Kazuya rolled onto his back and stared at the dark ceiling, the shadows dancing apathetically around him. He felt the blood pooling from him, the white fabric of his gi stained with the crimson liquid. It was as if he were on the boundary of life and death as he rested there as motionless as a corpse.
"My poor little Kazuya," A supernatural voice said, breaking the heavy silence in the dojo. "Look at what your father has done to you now."
The fatigue was replaced by anger as Kazuya pulled himself up to a sitting position. "He...he isn't my father..."
The demon laughed in scorn. "You cannot deny your own blood, my dear child. But do not worry. We will take care of him someday..."
"You keep telling me that! But someday never seems to come soon enough, does it? Why do you let him do this to me? When I need help you never give it to me. You promised that you would!"
"Now, now. There's no need to take that tone with me." There was a sound of sympathy that underlined the demon's voice. "Things take time. There will be a day when you will be able to hear your father's screams of pain. I promise that I will help you attain the salvation that you solely deserve."
"...salvation...?"
"Yes, my dear Kazuya. Your salvation. Your chance to redeem yourself and make your father pay for the torture that he has forced upon you. Your chance to punish him for what he has done to you. Only then will you finally be happy."
"I...I want that...to be happy..."
"He has deprived you of so many things, Kazuya. Happiness, pride, love...I can get all of that for you. You only need to depend on me."
Kazuya rose to his feet, indifferent to his bleeding wounds. He was somewhat calmed by the demon's reassuring words: they were a soothing wave that had washed him of all doubt and fear.
"I am the only person that you will ever need in your life. Everyone and everything else is meaningless."
Kazuya no longer could sense the demon's presence any longer. He took a moment to regain his composure, watching the quiet flames consuming the wax of the candles from their stands. He approached the double iron doors and slowly pushed them aside with what little strength that remained from training with his father. The sun was dying, disappearing onto the horizon in a wondrous explosion of gold and scarlet. He staggered towards the mansion, his feet dragging themselves along the cobblestone path. He passed the courtyard, paying no mind to the trail of blood that was trailing behind him as he walked. He entered the mansion through a backdoor that led to the kitchen. He traveled through the dining room and through the living room to the front foyer of the mansion. The white marble floors were speckled with warm drops of crimson as Kazuya headed up the large staircase and into his chamber. He went into the comfort of his room and lurched into his bathroom.
He stopped at his bathtub and turned the faucet, the hot water immediately gushing out. He waited until the ceramic tub was almost full to the brim with steaming water and he threw himself in, not caring that he still had his gi on. He felt the warmth rushing over him like a blissful remedy. The clear water was gradually tinted with crimson as his blood intermixed with it. He was so exhausted that he had fallen asleep, never noticing that he had not turned off the faucet. And so the Dark Prince slumbered in his bath while the water flooded onto the ground, painted red with his blood.