Here you go the rewritten version of Silent Wolf oneshot, since I finally decided on making the plot longer. The fic is set many years back, when Kazuya was the heir of the Mishima Zaibatsu.
The original title is hyphenated: Stone-Cold Sentry, but the site rejected the function. I also want to keep the nice reviews I got here, which is why I just edited and updated the former story.
Special thanks: Thunderxtw and Salysha were the proofreaders for this work, Chapter 1 and Chapter 2, respectively.
Disclaimer: I don't own the White Angel of Death. All Tekken characters in the fic are Namco's property, except for a few required OCs.
Chapter 1
Silent Wolf
Vladivostok, Russia.
He was like a wolf with pale seawater eyes, a shrewd, predatory soul; a true human weapon. Fire flowed through his veins instead of blood, the fire of war. Smelling live prey, the sights of his shrapnel were just like a bite, and as he pulled the trigger, it would mean the end of his hunting then.
Dragunov hit the ground as a mortar shell exploded, marring his camouflage clothing with mud. Finally, fire knocked down the wall that had shielded to shoot the Japanese soldiers unseen.
His sight blurred as the pain stabbed his arm. He never made a sound when he injured; he'd just squeeze it firmly against his chest.
"Don't move back, you bastards. You're fighting for Russia. We're the best army in the world, and never afraid of the bloodthirsty Mishima Zaibatsu. Got it? So, take your damn weapons and shoot back," Major Kuznetsov spat through a loudspeaker, forcing the survivor soldiers to counterattack after the explosion.
He then fixed his eyes on Dragunov, lying on the grass.
"You, soldier!" he shouted to him without the loudspeaker this time "Show me what you got!"
Kuznetsov tossed him a weapon. He knew Dragunov was the most skilled at sniping.
Sergei was Great General Dragunov's son, and a cold-hearted soldier in his early twenties, just like the place where he was born. His father had introduced him to the military, where honour and sacrifice were worthy of giving his life for the motherland. He didn't feel in a rage regarding his father's death, but since he had been a national hero, Dragunov was forced to keep up the implied and blood promise between them: death and revenge.
He looked around the battlefield: corpses, bloodshed, and weapons. There wasn't anything else that stirred him, not when he would rather that world nightmare in times of war than peace, where death could be smelt everywhere.
He then hastened to reach his shrapnel, since going unnoticed among smoke was the best way to mislead the Japanese army. Dragunov had found the perfect angle to hunt two coronels and a general from the opposite side as well; any of them had expected to find survivors after the mortar shell had exploded.
Dragunov sought to stand out from the Russian military; the sight of his father's murderer would be set on him then. He aimed his shrapnel to the target as the three men aligned, though that didn't happen purposely, but a different move kept them where he wanted: the general was ordering several soldiers. Behind him, the coronel looked at the battlefield through his binoculars and the last man loading his weapon.
Only one bullet hit the Japanese's men forehead as he shot, making a black smudge, and going through their skulls in seconds.
Dragunov sighted, dropping the shrapnel. He was sure about completing just one piece of his mission.