Disclaimer: Tekken belongs to Namco. :D
Thick and dark, the smog hung over the world like an all-encompassing blanket. There were no gaps, no little moth holes in the blanket, for the light of day to break through. And humanity, weary-eyed and yearning, craving the searing taste of sunlight on their skin, waited for the tainted night to dissolve into nothingness and reveal whatever it was hiding from them. Humanity waited for morning.
They waited. As the blasphemy of Ogre shook the world and split the earth into two. They waited. As the once gentle features of one boy shifted into the coldest sneer. They waited. As the tides of war raged upon them and the Devil inside of that boy laughed and sat on his high throne.
And it had been asleep for almost a thousand years, oblivious to the state of mankind. It woke up one day and fell back to inexistence with splintered arms and a cleaved neck the next. But it always woke up. Always. And each time it woke up, called upon by the gods who made and undid it a long time ago, it felt the chilling presence of an entity(ies), felt malevolence shrouding the world in a thick, dank mist, growing fast, feeding surreptitiously on the rising fear and panic of the world. Each time it woke up, the air around it was worse, stale and reeking of decay, choking. And each time it woke up, trudging with mechanical precision to that arena of death, attempting to carry out the duties laid out to it by the gods, it got defeated. Broken and fractured, little dust motes of wood falling off from each crack in its limbs.
But this time it will do its duty without fail and honor the gods. This time, it will banish back the little Devil boy to the pit, and return morning to the world.
Because it doesn't understand the panic in the world's eyes. It doesn't comprehend the salty quality in men's cold sweat; does not understand the painful sensation of tearing limbs and trickling blood. Because it fights and fights until the cracks give way, until the little chains holding it together frays and shatters into a million metallic fragments. Because it is wooden – resilient and unafraid, strong like the great oak tree it came from.
The carmine glow of its eyes does not waver as the opponent forcefully jabs his hand into its body, the wood cracking under the pressure of its opponent's fist. But it is nothing. This is nothing. Mimicking the man's stance, it throws a metal fist into the man's gut, and sees the shocked looked in the man's eyes before he doubles over and lies still on the stadium floor.
Another win. But it is nothing because soon after this, it will spar against the Devil. And if it somehow clipped the Devil's wings and blinded him, destroyed him in every sense of the word, then humanity's wait will be over. And it could finally go back to sleep. One long, uninterrupted sleep.
a/n: Did I just write a fic about the most pointless character in the game's history evah…? Without it being crack-ish? Oh my... anyway, review, please? Thank you. And happy 2009!