Hey, thanks for reading my first fic! I was always interested in Tekken since I got the third one for Christmas. x) Hwoarang was my favorite character: one, because he was Korean and I'm very KP. x) Two, because he was freaking hot, hotter than Jin by a million times.
This fic is going to be about Hwoarang's life told by others...not himself. These peoples' lives have all been affected by Hwoarang. Or these people all affected Hwoarang in some way. I figured the IC point of view had been done too many times, lol.
Sorry for the forced sounding description here...I went a little overboard. The next one won't be so flowery, I promise.
A pale blue smoke, reeking of menthol and tobacco, issued like a mass of lazily writhing snakes from a pair of pale, thin lips. Light brown eyes, catlike and lively, were clouded briefly with a blue tinge until a gentle sea wind dissipated the menthol smoke into the crisp autumn air.
On a black beach of Inchon, South Korea a young man stood stock still with his silhouette accented by a giant moon and a thousand stars. Salty seawater lapped gently against the inky-black sand, claiming some with each ebb and flow of the waves. The strident cries of seagulls had long since died away, giving into the rush the waves and the occasional scuttle of a hermit crab. A dog howling in the distance suddenly stopped its piteous cries. Its owner probably had hit it across the head to stop its whining; there was no such thing as animal rights legislation in South Korea. The dog was a living thing, natured to be imperfect, yet it was punished for something it couldn't control. A smirk twisted the face of the young man as flashes of memory flitted across his mind. How ironic…
As if automatically, his right hand, illuminated by the orange-red glow of the burning tip, raised up to fit the paper filter of the cigarette in his lips again. After a long moment where he savored the acrid burning of the powerful menthol in his throat and lungs, he released his breath quickly, expelling a nebula of pale blueness into the salty air. But the sea wind blew the stinging smoke right back into his cat-like eyes.
He jerked his head forward in reaction; the faint ethereal light of the moon now revealed a head of violently orange hair, pushed back with terribly old motorcycle goggles, the lenses scratched and grimy, the woven nylon of the straps fraying at the sides.
A now irritated Hwoarang stood straight up again. Slowly, he approached the mass of boulders behind him. With his free hand, he brushed away a little hermit crab and sat down. Nonchalantly, he flicked his still burning cigarette into the sand just before a wave rushed in to claim the burning tip.
Many things happened right here in this beach.
Love.
Joy.
Estrangement.
Loss.
…Murder.
Hwoarang's body grew still as memories flitted through his mind like a terrible sort of slideshow. Long sunsets… joyous laughter…honest smiles…a retreating ship…bloody hands…an anguished face…a smoking gun…
Something about the rushing waves brought up repressed feelings, hidden inside him for years. Regret, guilt, fear, anger…all-consuming, all-destroying…everything. They ate away at his soul…it was tangible; he could feel himself turning into a churning barrel of shame. How did it happen? How could he have let it happen? Why couldn't he have stopped it? If he wasn't so selfish…if he could have prevented it…if he just didn't pull the trigger…
The deluge wouldn't stop.
A consuming feeling of…sensitivity to being alive filled him up. He could feel invisible strands of long black hair against his tingling fingertips…he could feel the tentative touch of soft lips against his…he could feel an innocent, frightened blood pulsing under his trembling hands…he could feel the trigger under his reluctant fingers lurching backward…he could feel a life escape from beneath his killing grip on a tender neck…
Suddenly, everything around him was overpowering. The moon seemed as bright as a hundred suns, the stars like brightly flashing halogen lights. The rush of the ocean waves tore at his ear drums. The scuttle of a thousand hermit crabs scraped at his senses. The heart in his chest sent a shooting pain through his body each time it staggered clumsily for one more pulse.
He had to calm down. He had to stop this overpowering guilt from devouring him…his mind, his body, his soul…Hwoarang shut his eyes.
…
Blackness filled his vision, obscuring everything into darkness, attuning him more acutely with himself. He was vulnerable, but…he liked it. The bliss that this descent into oblivion created in Hwoarang's body made his fingers tingle, his mind swirl, his stomach loosen…the pumps of his blood slowed, slowed, slowed, until the rushing of the waves were in tempo with his heart. His body became the sea, his heart became the waves…ebb…and flow…ebb…and flow…
…
With his eyes shut, Hwoarang meditated quietly as the wind caressed his skin. The hermit crabs stopped scuttling. The waves were quieter with the tide out. Peace permeated the quiet autumn air as he slipped silently into his self, purging the sense of life, and all of its crosses, away.
…
Darkness and blackness filled his mind. He began to lose himself in the sheer nothingness that this meditation brought him…He could feel nothing…see nothing…hear nothing. Where were his arms? Where were his legs? This strange process of having presence of being yet also intangibility was almost sensual to him…euphoric…beauty…
…
This must be the ultimate pleasure. Hwoarang had almost completely given in to the void in his mind, his soul, his utter existence…
…
Consuming darkness, unconditional blankness, raven colored nonbeing…
…!!
A piercing cry shattered Hwoarang's concentration, forcing his amber colored eyes to flutter open to a powerfully silver moon. The shock of being awoken from such a deep trance almost unseated him from the boulder. An unjustifiable anger overwhelmed him. His features twisted into a disappointed grimace, as if he was denied a real treat.
The feeling of existence flooded his being, solidifying him, filling him up. An inundation of frustration assaulted his body.
Damn that dog…
The pleasure of becoming something that wasn't tangible, something abstract…that was what he wanted. It was the best high he ever reached on this earth. It had happened to him once before…just once…ever since then, he pursued that feeling relentlessly. But it was always out of his reach. He had tried everything…anything that could possibly give him that high…it teased and taunted him; he could touch it with his fingertips…but he could never grab hold.
Damn that fucking dog…
He stood from his place on the edge of the beach unsteadily; the effects of his deep meditation weren't completely dissipated from his body. Like a toddler just taking his first steps, Hwoarang stumbled to his motorcycle and grasped the handlebars. They were comforting, melding perfectly with the grip of his hands. He kicked his animal into life and it roared mightily, as if angered at being woken up after a long slumber. With another earsplitting shriek, it jetted forward into the neon signs and bright lights of downtown Inchon.
God fucking damn that stupid fucking dog.