Disclaimer: I do not own Tekken or any of its characters, logos, etc.

Author's Note: Okay, so this is my very first Tekken FanFic, so bear with me. Please be sure to review after reading. Also, I know that in King's official character bio it says that he's 30, but I've made him a bit younger so that the story would be more realistic. Thanks much to all the readers.

Warning: This chapter contains both lemon and slash. Don't like, don't read. Thanks. :

Chapter One

Prologue-

"Tears Behind the Mask"

The crowd was mute.

In the center of the ring, Armor King crouched atop his opponent, his large fist clenched violently around the other man's neck. He wanted nothing more than to choke the life out of his adversary, to choke out the embarrassment that he had caused them both. This match was supposed to be the highlight of both of their careers, but because of his foe's lack of desire, lack of drive, they both had been shunned by the crowd. Never in the history of the WNW had a main event matchup been hated by so many fans. Armor King's free hand was raised above him, his clenched fist angled perfectly so that he could strike the helpless being in his grasp with ease, ready to punish. Through the black jaguar mask Armor King's demonic eyes twinkled, hungry for the sight of pain.

Below him, barely breathing, his body tingling in pain, King stared back into the eyes of his master. He knew as well as Armor King did that he deserved every ounce of punishment being delivered to him. Every blow, every slam...King had brought it upon himself. The pain surging throughout his body was a well-earned consequence of his good-hearted nature, and he was well aware of it. To the naked eye it might have seemed as if King was the victim of this simple test of master against pupil, of predator against prey...but in all reality, King knew that he was the one who had done wrong. This match was supposed to be Armor King's last, the match where King finally surpassed his master's legacy. At the end of this final bout, King was supposed to be crowned champion and inherit Armor King's blessing of strength and mercilessness, to live on and devour any competitor in his way.

But tonight, King's performance said just the opposite, and now he found himself beaten, battered, and ashamed. Armor King continued to stare at his pupil, angry, confused, but most of all, disappointed. He tightened his grip around the younger wrestler's neck and brought his head forward so that he could whisper, sadistically, into King's ear:

"Meet me in my dressing room, so I can make you scream like the little bitch you are."

With that, Armor King shoved King's head onto the mat and stood upright. The crowd was still silent as he reclaimed the championship belt that was still his own and exited the ring. Without any applause, any recognition, Armor King stormed up the ramp and made his way backstage. King watched, dumbfounded, from the ring as Armor King disappeared without looking back.

King stood up from his place on the ground and stared into the crowd, who was staring right back at him, their eyes like bullets pelting the wrestler's skin. King knew that there was no hope left. This had been the final straw, and he had gone against his better instinct once again and had hurt his master. He wasn't sure what kind of odd or unusual punishment awaited him back in the dressing room, but King knew that there was still much, much more pain to come.

Mirroring Armor King's gestures, King stepped out of the ring and made his way up the ramp in shame. He swung his head down and refused to look at the fans that were glaring at him in utter dissatisfaction. As he neared the end of the ramp and pulled back the curtain to enter the backstage area, he looked back. Finally, a reaction from the crowd:

"Boo! You suck!"

An array of filthy remarks followed the first one, and as King exited the arena completely, the crowd had become an avid mob of fury. To them, King was no longer a hero nor a champion, but now a good-for-nothing sellout that the world would soon come to hate entirely. King wasn't really used to this kind of treatment, but he knew that this was what came with the package of being a wrestler. One minute, they love you, the next, you're lower than dirt. This sort of lifestyle was both a cruel and skeptical one.

Now, though, King walked nervously to Armor King's dressing room, and he disregarded anything that the crowd had to say. His heart was beating rapidly within his chest, for he was unsure of what his master had in store for him tonight. The last thing King wanted to see was Armor King in a fit of anger, especially after the stunt King had pulled tonight.

Soon King stood in front of the oak wood door with a sign attached to it reading "Armor King" in bold black letters. Hesitantly, he turned the knob and stepped into a dark room with only a single lamp lit within it. Closing the door behind him, King's eyes scanned the room for his master, but Armor King was nowhere to be found.

"Take a shower," said a deep voice from within the room, "and hurry up."

As King made his way his way to the bathroom, stepping quietly as he did so, he spotted Armor King sitting in a chair in a corner, wearing only a towel. His dark skin of many origins sparkled with droplets of water, and steam rolled off of his muscled shoulders. "I may have used up all of the hot water," Armor King said softly.

King knew that Armor King's kindness was actually anger in disguise. He knew that he had really fucked up this time. Once in the bathroom, he slowly tugged off his wrestling tights and boots and tossed away the gloves and elbow pads. Turning his back from the mirror, he took off his mask and placed it on the ground. After fully undressing himself, King stepped into the shower and turned on the water, wincing as the ice-cold droplets stung his skin.

The shower lasted less than King would have liked. It was just enough time for him to cleanse his body and wash his hair. As he stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel, he caught the sight of the black jaguar mask charging toward him. Just as King turned to look, Armor King had already tackled him up against the wall of the bathroom, his warm breath nipping the back of his pupil's neck.

"Forgive me, my master." King said quietly, leaning his forehead against the wall. Armor King's hands were placed firmly on King's hips, his firm, round ass angled perfectly against his own naked crotch.

"Forgive you?" Armor King said, in his mysterious, darkened tone. He took his hand and slammed King's head against the wall. King winced in pain as he brought his head back up. "You're spineless. You don't even deserve my tutelage, not after what all you have done."

"I couldn't kill him, master. It's not of my nature--"

Another face-plant to the wall.

"Not of you nature? After all we've been through, and you're still as weak as when you first started?" Armor King questioned his student's intentions. "You disappoint me, King."

King tasted blood that had streamed downward from a cut above his eyebrow. He no longer knew what to say. He couldn't just admit to himself that he should've killed Craig Marduk when he had the chance. Yet, he couldn't just agree that he was spineless, either. King had the spirit of two champions instilled within him. Lately, his good-hearted nature had taken over control most of the time. King knew that killing Craig Marduk wouldn't have solved anything. He also knew that gaining the championship belt from Armor King wouldn't help him understand his true calling in life.

"The belt isn't mine, master." King said softly. "Nor do I want it."

"I'm well aware that you don't want it," Armor King scoffed, tightening his grip on his student's hips. "You showed that to me in your performance tonight. You made me look like a fucking idiot."

"I didn't mean to," King said in almost a whisper. "...I just couldn't take something from you that you've protected so long."

"Don't try to justify your fear," Armor King replied. "You're a fuck-up. I trained you all this time, and for what? Nothing. You get the chance to surpass my legend, and you throw it away. Six fucking years of my life dedicated to you. Six fucking years down the drain."

King remembered six years ago, back when he was twenty, back when all he wanted to do was save his orphanage and the lives of his brothers and sisters. Armor King had taken him under his wing and taught him all he knew. Soon the young orphan had been transformed into the ultimate fighter, strong enough to bare the name 'King'.

"Forgive me," was all King, now twenty-six and maturing, could say.

"Put the mask on." Armor King ordered to his student.

The mask. The ultimate form of shame. King knew instantly that this was his punishment. He would have to wear the mask. As a young man, the intimate connection between him and his master had always been pure because neither fighter wore their masks. Aside from King's predecessor, King was the only person to have ever seen his master's face. Throughout the years, Armor King's form of punishments had varied, but they both were aware of the extent of this one. Wearing the mask was the most intense.

"Please, I beg of you..."

"Shut the hell up and put it on."

King felt his body tense up as he reached over and retrieved his mask from its place on the floor. As he pulled it over his head, he shut his eyes, not wanting to view his embarrassment through the slits in the mask that gave him a cat-like vision. No form of quick-wit or cunning could help him through this endeavor. He put his head forward and let it rest against the bathroom's tiled wall once more. Now all he could do was wait.

Armor King's large fists cupped the bone of King's hip and brought his pupil close.

"The becoming of one," Armor King spoke solemnly. "You're familiar with it. I've taught it to you since your training begun. Remind me again, what is it, exactly?"

"The giving of the ultimate power from master to pupil. Naked, the bestowing of such power is pure and pleasurable; the most intimate and important bonding between teacher and student." King recited. He felt disgust within himself as he remembered the days when he was actually worthy of the power that Armor King had given him. Now, those memories were all just a blur.

"Very good, that's the smartest thing you've done all night." Armor King teased, digging his fingers into King's skin, feeling the softness of it and how cold it was. Fear.

"However, if a student should disobey his master, the becoming of one acts as a form of discipline. The most degrading form of discipline." King added softly. He never would have expected to be in the situation he was in at this moment. "The masks shall be worn, and no energy will be instilled within the pupil. Instead, he shall feel pain, shame, and filth throughout. He shall never remain the same fighter he once was."

Armor King let out a gruesome chuckle from behind the black Jaguar mask.

"Ah, I remember the first day you recited that reading. You read it perfectly from its scroll, and promised yourself that you would never sink this low. But look at you now."

King said nothing, but instead replied with his gestures. He bent his torso forward so that his ass was completely shoved against his master's pelvis. Both men could feel the heat of the other's body against their own.

"You seem eager," replied Armor King. "Very well then."

Armor King's large, dark hands moved from King's hips down to the crack of his ass. Usually he pleasured his student with foreplay, but he remembered instantaneously that those times were gone. Stroking his now erect member, Armor King forcefully spread King's plump ass cheeks and took a mere second to glance at his student's ever-eager hole. It was a shame that he couldn't take his time.

Without any warning, Armor King thrust his hips forward and lunged himself inside King. The younger man writhed in pain, arching his back and letting out a small grunt. King had never experienced this without lube, without anything. It was like an eight-inch lead pipe penetrating his entrance. He could feel his whole body going limp, and he used his hands to push against the wall to keep himself standing. Soon the slight pain turned into a throbbing ache, becoming more and more intense with each monstrous thrust.

Armor King kept his entire body erect, with only his hips moving rapidly and forcefully against the flesh of the younger fighter. From the looks of it, Armor King would have looked like he was enjoying every second of delivering this punishment, but behind the black Jaguar mask his eyes were closed tightly in hurt. Despite the outer appearance of his attitude and the anger in his tone, Armor King knew that he was just as crushed as King to be doing this. But he couldn't let his student sense his true feelings. That would've been a sign of weakness, and Armor King had to prove that he was nothing of the sort. He continuously thrust his hips, harder, faster, stronger.

King's head was completely lowered at this point, and the pain from his torso surged throughout his entire body. This caused him to open his eyes and stare at the bathroom floor through a blurred vision. He could feel his fingers clawing at the wall he was pinned up against.

"Fuck," King finally let out a moan.

Armor King dug his fingers harder into the flesh of the other man's ass. With each rapid push he could feel himself nearing explosion, but over the years he'd learned how to compose himself. In order to do so, he altered his forceful thrusts into a more rhythmic motion, causing the swell of his meat to lessen.

This was what King liked. He loved when his master made love to him, instead of roughhousing him like he was some kind of toy. For one single instant he felt himself move his hips along with his master's insertions, but that's where he went wrong. Armor King, catching himself off guard, felt the shift in their movement and stood erect once more. In one quick, violent movement he wrapped his arm across King's neck and arched him back with his forearm so that their masks touched.

"Wrong move," hissed Armor King into King's ear.

Effortlessly, the older man flung King down onto the counter, bashing his head against the mirror and cracking it in the process. King was bent over now, his arms limp at his sides, his head uncomfortably placed against the broken glass. As much as he wanted to fight back, he knew that he wouldn't.

Once positioning King to his liking, Armor King began demolishing the younger man's hole once more with his resentful thrusts. Armor King could see King's mask through the mirror, numb with pain. The liveliness that had been there once years ago was now entirely absent.

Armor King's hips stayed focused, lunging in and out of King with irate momentum. "It won't be long now," he purred to his student, feeling the slightest bit of sympathy. Looking into the mirror once more, he saw that King had no reaction. He was dead to him now.

Below the darker soul, King's eyes bled with shame. For once within this whole process he was glad to have the mask on because it hid his tears of pain, hurt, and remorse. Though he was physically damaged, it was more so his character that had taken the beating. All he could think about was what was to come of him once the punishment had ceased.

One more shove and Armor King new he'd burst. He had to make the final heave the most memorable. Ever so slowly, he slid himself out of King's hole so that he could stroke his entire self with ease. He was damp with the mixture of the moisture of his student's opening as well as his own pre-cum. As much as he wanted to take pleasure in his final blow, Armor King let but a single tear stream down his face behind the mask.

Without a word, using all his strength, he injected himself into King one last time. Armor King slowly tossed his head back and clenched his eyes shut. He felt himself explode within King upon arrival.

King felt himself release as well, but he felt no satisfaction. All he could feel was agony and that of his physical throbbing. He stayed bent over on the sink until he felt his master pull himself out completely. As he tried standing, the twinge of his hole stayed constant, and he had to rest himself against the sink once more.

Armor King cleaned himself off with a towel and exited the bathroom without a word. Back in the dressing room, he pulled on his track suit and tennis shoes and gathered his things. This would be the last he'd see of his wrestling career. He knew that this time his retirement would be final.

With no goodbye, no words at all, Armor King stepped out of the room, and also out of King's life.

As much as King wanted to chase after his master, he stayed lifeless against the counter. Naked, beaten, and numb—the becoming of one had been warped to rape. King knew that Armor King's morals spoke of this day as being the most sinister for a master and pupil. From here on out, they could never see one another again. King had been disowned by the only father figure he'd known, and now the tears poured behind the mask.