Seven Instances
A/N: Hola from the Middle East, where Internet connection problems run amock at present ( I heard that the same thing goes for some South East Asia countries too). As for this piece here, it's a series of (hopefully) original one-shots that initially occurred to me when I first wrote the Lily-centric chapter in "An Alternate Life", but I'd been too busy to give it any further thought. No, it doesn't tie in much with the aforementioned fic, except where Jin's pre-Tekken 6 personality is concerned. I'm breaking away from strict tradition and offering 3 chapters in a row( there's no telling when this site will fail on me because of the crappy cable issues). And we all know who Tekken belongs to.
Introduction
If you had ever taken Jin Kazama aside, at any one point preceding the 5th Iron Fist mess that he became embroiled in, and confronted him with evidence to suggest that his obsession with extripating his bloodline was slowly but surely driving him down the path of insanity; that he was soon to abandon all his mother's teachings; that he would morph into an even monstrous version of his father, a creature that would be at the forefront of the force heralding world destruction, he would have balked. A bout of righteous rage would have ensued, during which he would have subjected to you to his most intense, smoldering stares, and vehemently declared that he would never succumb to the darkness. What transpired at the end of the day was a stark contrast to his solemn oaths.
His darkness prevailed.
The scourge was unleashed.
The Mishima war machine went on a rampage.
And Hwoarang was flabbergasted.
" What the hell?! That guy never had a single bad-ass bone in his body! It's all bullshit!" That statement, denial at its zenith, and as concocted by the Korean, served as a perfect summing-up of the shell-shocked reactions of anyone and everyone who had ever brushed shoulders with Jin Kazama, however briefly.
Including seven young women.
Seven young women who had believed themselves to be nondescript and yet found themselves thriving under his protective wing, free to realise their dreams and aspirations, unshackled by the burdens of the world, which he himself willingly shouldered in their stead.
For the red-head's statement had been true.
Once.
When Jin Kazama's features had still reeked of tranquillity. When his voice had still resonated with gentle assurances. When, human embodiment of a serene sun that he was, he had still afforded those around him with all the security and warmth they had desired.
And seven instances were the ultimate proof.
Proof of his empathy and compassion.
Of the richness of his soul.
Seven instances......
XXXXXXX
A/N: Um, okay, so hopefully the theme of the fic had been established. You can tell it's gonna be sorta similar to the theme in the "Helping Out" Story-Arc.