Hi everyone; just a quick note to sort the story into context; this is set shortly before the fourth tournament, in a situation I basically made up - the whole thing is basically a little device for me to express my thoughts on the inner workings of the mind of my favourite character. I was very tired, halfway through an assignment due the next day, and I wrote this while I was taking a break. I seem to be able to come up with adjectives a lot easier in zombie mode...anyway, this is just my quick little take on Kazuya's power-lusting, so I hope it's half-decent and at least a little bit fun for everyone. Enjoy
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Kazuya rounded through a sidestreet – one that stirred a distant memory from his childhood with Lee, which he abrasively brushed aside – and found himself staring into the glowing blue eyes of three Tekken soldiers' helmets. Before the sounds of their automatic weapons cocking had faded, two more had dropped from the sky to land behind him. In the tight alley, he was trapped.
"Mishima san, get down on your knees and surrender yourself. You are under arrest, by order of Heihachi Mishima. If you resist, we have both the authorisation and the orders to kill you, and will not hesitate." The squad leader standing in front of Kazuya, identified by the metallic stripes of red emblazoned across his soldier, spoke calmly and clearly. Keeping his face rock steady, Kazuya smiled inwardly; the man either did not fear him, or commanded terrific control over the terror that pervaded any man who came face-to-face with a Mishima who called him an enemy.
A moment passed, with neither party moving at all. "Will you comply, Mishima san?" Even in the uncertainty of the situation, his voice did not waver. Kazuya decided that this man did not fear him; the puzzle now was whether he was just stupid, or perhaps skilled enough for Heihachi to consider him capable of defeating Kazuya.
Kazuya decided not to underestimate this unknown foe; he had done so to a known foe in the past – the one man in the world he knew best, in fact – and it had cost him his wealth, his life, and twenty years. Without removing his dark glasses, he lowered himself first to one knee, then the other, bringing his hands up behind his head and interlocking his fingers. He didn't know what he was going to do next, but that was how he fought best – to abandon the concept of the future and planning, and allow his subconscious, his heart, and the Devil within him to guide his fists.
"Seven-One, cuff him." the leader said carefully, and a hint of relief was evident in his voice. A sense of pride accompanied it; not only had he brought a Mishima to his knees, he had successfully completed a mission briefed to him by the great Heihachi himself. Impatience and frustration showed in his following sentence, however, when the soldier holding the wristcuffs, standing behind Kazuya, hesitated.
"Damn it, Seven-One, he's on his knees. He can't dodge bullets, can he?"
Hastening to obey the squad leader, the soldier shouldered his rifle and slowly approached the kneeling man.
It was as though Kazuya Mishima caused the alley to explode.
He snapped to his feet faster than the eye could follow, and snared the soldier by the wrist. He turned again blindingly fast, blocking the three soldiers' shot at him with his human shield. Before any of them could even pull the trigger on reflex, Kazuya had lashed out his foot behind him, and kicked the rifle away from the other soldier behind him. With strength borne of the demon shrouding inside him, he lifted his human shield and hurled him straight up into the air, reaching a peak of a full ten feet. The three men left armed followed his ascent with their eyes – for less than one fatal second. Before gravity had taken hold ofthehurtling soldieragain, Kazuya had whirled on one foot, then lifted both off the ground, performing a wide and powerful roundhouse kick which had knocked the three remaining guns clear of the soldiers' hands.
As the first soldier thudded loudly to the ground behind Kazuya, they all realised that they now faced a crazed, vengeful and stunningly powerful fighter – completely unarmed. Their guns were by now far too far away to retrieve before the son of Heihachi murdered them together, and retreat was also out of the question – to flee Kazuya and face his father instead was to leap out of the frying pan and into the fire.
One soldier lay groaning, three more stood momentarily stunned at the lightning speed of the attack, but only the squad leader was disciplined enough to react instantly by drawing his knives, and assume a defensive position.
Kazuya retained his scowl, but inside a passionate fire burned away at him, and he felt alive again – he was fighting, he was killing, he was doing what he was born to do. The power he had over each of these men, over them all together – it was mind-boggling, but it was his. Kazuya Mishima, in less than four seconds, had gained control over the lives of five men that stood around him, and he would decide whether they lived or died. Such supremacy, he had not felt since before that final fading into darkness in the Honmaru, when he had died. Since he had been resurrected, he had been helpless, another mere human wandering through the masses, but now, he felt ultimate.
The fury at his father and his betrayal and the roaring drive to dominate in his heart fuelled his muscles as he began his terrible onslaught. Knives, fists and feet swirled around him; he ignored everything but those aspects of his surroundings which tried to attack him. His Mishima-Ryu fighting style suited the situation perfectly; he blocked his opponents' attacks effortlessly, attacked viciously, and savagely turned the enemies' moves against them. A soldier's sidekick became a spine-shattering hurl into the nearest brick wall. A headbutt was twisted into a sickening neck-snapping grab-throw. A simple punch was dodged nimbly, and used to break the would-be striker's arm.
Kazuya rushed from enemy to enemy, sometimes two at once, shoving them away to engage the next one, growing in rage and energy with each blow he landed. The devil within was feeding on the pain and agonizing terror of all five people Kazuya was mercilessly and brutally killing with his bare hands – and the still-young Mishima was feeling more alive than he had in weeks. He felt as he had twenty years ago, though it was still just two months to Kazuya; the way he had felt when all Japan fell under his fist, and the entire world was slowly slipping into his sphere of influence.
It was invincibility. Kazuya knew, and had known from the second he had heard the G-Corporation scientist tell him he had been reborn, that he was not going to die. He was destined to live forever, to rule every person on the planet – to dodge bullets. Every bone broken, every blood vessel ripped open, every organ crushed beneath the force of his indomitable hands screamed that he could not be killed – not again, not ever.
Three men were left. A bone-crunching punch to the skull. Two men were left. A kick of astonishing force to the chest, sending the receiver flying into an unwavering brick wall. One man was left. A snapping-quick slap to the face to stun him, and a lightning-screw uppercut, shocking the very life from his body through his thick armour.
No men were left.
Even the grotesque, disfiguring scars hidden beneath Kazuya's purple suit screamed with furious energy; he could have fought on for hours, hundreds more opponents, and yet the fight was finished in less than two minutes. He panted furiously, not out of exhaustion, but out of a struggle to contain the pounding, raging, screeching force inside him that wanted to explode and use the vessel that was Kazuya to savage a thousand more victims; the devil within. He sucked in air, desperately using his meditation to subdue his demon and contain himself. It took longer than the actual fight, but Kazuya gained control.
Making sure he was no longer shaking, and self-composed once more, Kazuya continued on through the alley, toward the Zaibatsu.