A/N: Alright, here we go. The Tekken ball Z rewrite. So, without further ado, here we go!

Disclaimer:

I do not own

Tekken

Dragon ball Z

The full moon was out, its light shining down on the mountain pass, however that did not stop young Kazuya Mishima. He had ventured out to the grand mountain that loomed over the town. He needed to get stronger, and this was the perfect place to train. Plus getting away from his father was a bonus. Wild cats roamed the mountain, making perfect training partners.

As the ten year old boy walked, he found a trail of blood. "What on earth," Curiosity got the better of him, and he decided to check it out. As he neared the peak, the narrow trail of blood ended and something else caught Kazuya's interest. A young, beautiful girl was sitting at the edge of the cliff, crying. He wondered what was wrong, unless. Was the blood hers?.

Kazuya ran towards her, and as he got close, he saw that she was holding a rabbit.

"Why are you crying," Kazuya asked in a compassionate voice, "are you hurt? Do you want me to get help?"

Her head whipped to him, startled. The girl wiped the tears from her eyes. "A wild cat attacked her, and I can't stop the bleeding."

"Don't cry. If you want, I can kill the wild cat for you. I'm training to be a great fighter, so this will be a piece of cake"

She shook her head. "That won't help."

Suddenly a figure jumped out at her, and she cried out from shock. Kazuya moved with blinding speed, punching the beast away before it got close to the girl. The wild cat fell to the ground, knocked unconscious.

"Thank you," The girl said.

"Don't worry. While I'm here, nothing bad will happen to either of you."

The girl smiled, "My name's Jun, what's yours?"

"Kazuya"

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS!" they both jumped at the new voice. A man jumped out and grabbed Kazuya by the shirt.

"Father!" Kazuya cried in surprise.

"What did you call me?" the man growled, "and why are you still warring this idiotic pendent. Come, it's about time you dispose of it." Heihachi grabbed a pendent that was hanging around Kazuya's neck, and ripped it off.

"No please, that's all I have to remember mother by!" Kazuya pleaded.

The man sneered. "So what?" Heihachi threw the pendent over the edge of the cliff.

"No!" Kazuya cried.

"Now, we shall see if you are worthy to be my son. One final test. One final chance to prove yourself. If you can climb up this cliff, then you may call me father, if not, then obviously you are unworthy of my name." Heihachi growled.

"Y-you can't be serious!" Kazuya cried, mortified.

"Stop!" Jun cried

"Silence yourself, girl!" Heihachi said before kicking Jun in the head. She fell silent.

"Jun!" Kazuya called out. She was unconscious … hopefully.

"This is for your own good! Now, prepare yourself!" Heihachi shouted, throwing his only child off the cliff. He fell, terrified, frozen. He was going to die. There was no chance for him.

"I-I don't want die" Kazuya thought as Heihachi grew smaller, and smaller, "I'm gonna die, I don't want to die, somebody, anybody. Help me! I'll do anything!"

The world around him froze, and Kazuya heard laughter.

"So, you will do anything will you, would you give anything as will"

"Yes, w-who are you"

"Call me Devil, and I believe we can help each other."

"Please, save me and anything is yours. Even my soul!"

"Your soul is mine, even if I let you die. What I need is a body I can use as a vessel, give me that and you may live to see another day. You may live to have revenge."

"I accept! Just don't let me Die!"

Suddenly, a rush of energy came over Kazuya that he had never felt before, and then, he blacked out.

40 years later

The streets of west city were buzzing with activity. The twenty-eighth Tenkaichi Budokai tournament had concluded. Goku had obtained victory in the semi-final match, defeating Vegeta with a ring out. Neither admitted the victory though, due to it being on a technicality. He then promptly threw the match against Mr. Satan out of good will.

"There will be no ring when we have our match," Vegeta promised as their family and friends filed into the restaurant.

Law's restaurant: It's a working title.

Trunks read the sign out loud, before shrugging and entering. Whoever was running the restaurant had better have stocked up. They were going to need it.

About an hour later in the kitchen, the fighting chef Martial Law wiped a bead of sweat off his brow. The orders had started coming in by the pile. Good news, if he raked in enough, he'll be that much closer to paying off his debts. Bad news, at this rate, they were gonna run out of ingredients.

"Five pork bone ramen, fried rice, chicken Chou mien. Three soy Ramen. Ten spring rolls. Table six!"

Damn, table six again. They'd just sent them an order a few minutes ago. How the hell could anyone eat so much? "Young, we need ingredients," he called to his sous-chef, "go now."

"but everywhere's closed, aren't they?"

"Not the one on thirty-first. Go now!"

"Yes chef!" the man replied, racing out of the kitchen.

"Everyone else," he said, turning his attention to the rest of the kitchen staff, "double your pace."

He hadn't worked like this in ages. Table six was giving him a workout he hadn't seen in a year, since the fifth king of iron fist tournament. He sighed, depressed as he remembered not only his abysmal performance, but all his debts that had piled up like the snow at the door during a blizzard. His son's medical bills. Paul's repair bill for his motorbike. His doctor's bill. Chronic depression. He didn't need to pay someone to tell him he was depressed.

But this wasn't the time for that. Now was the time to cook, and though it didn't seem as enjoyable as it once had, he was going to keep at it, no matter what.

Paul huffed along, pedalling the little pink bicycle under him. It creaked once, then twice, then it fell apart, launching him onto his face.

"Ouch," he grumbled, standing up onto his feet and walking down the sidewalk, abandoning the broken bike.

He stopped in front of a restaurant. Law's restaurant. The sweet aroma of the cooking food hijacked his nostrils, and he began to drool. His stomach rumbled, and he licked his lips.

He entered the building. "Martial. You in here?"

"You're not the health inspector, are-" Law left the kitchen, and when he saw him, let out a girlish scream. "Paul, hey how have you— this isn't about your money is it?"

"What? No, it's about food. Make me some of your chicken fried rice, would ya?" He looked up, seeing a television set, though it wasn't on. "Where's the remote?"

"Over there somewhere," Law replied, waving his hand toward the back of the restaurant. Paul headed over there and found it. He wasted no time in turning it on and finding a table.

A group of waiters came out of the kitchen, each with half a dozen plates, and took them to a nearby table. He turned his attention to the TV set, flipping through the channels. News. Soap opera. Regular opera. Shitty action movie. Playboy channel? He grinned, his nostrils flaring as he watched the questionable content. Someone cleared their throat, gaining his attention.

It was a middle aged woman with raven hair from the table with all the food. Evidently, she had noticed what he was watching, and had sent him a glare that, quite frankly, scared the shit out of him. He quickly changed the channel, hoping that she would be more satisfied. This channel seemed to have an interview show. It had Hercule, or Mr. Satan, laughing like an idiot. He changed the channel once more, this time, settling on the Zaibatsu channel. It was some kind of 'ultimate fighter' type match, mostly wrestling. The traditional kind, not the other one. It was between King, and some burly son of a bitch.

King was being pummelled on the ground, slowly crawling to the edge of the ring and slapping hands with his partner, Craig Marduk. Evidently, it was a tag team match. Marduk jumped over the wires and threw his opponent to the other side of the ring. The big fighter, though not as big as Marduck, got to his feet and ran at the Astralian wrestler, but he grabbed him, turned him upside down and jumped high. As he came down, he slammed his opponents head into the floor, knocking him out, and winning the match.

"Eh, I've seen way better," Paul said with a shrug, turning the TV off. Law soon came out with his meal. "Hope you enjoy."

"That I will," Paul grinned. Law returned, and he began to eat.

Someone new entered. She was a young woman, maybe twenty. Her eyes were red and puffy, likely from crying. She took a seat, and Paul returned to his meal. It had nothing to do with him.

"Damn it Kakarot, I was gonna have that spring roll and you know it."

Kakarot? That was a stupid name.

"You snooze, you lose," was the response.

Paul turned to them, his mouth fall. It was the table with the frightening woman. The two talking were both tough looking men. They were fighters, he could tell. He double took with the second man. For a minute, he mistook him for Kazuya, but that soon disappeared. Kazuya was much more muscular and scarred than this man. This man was more handsome too. Not that he thought he was handsome, 'cause he didn't swing that way.

Paul was half way through his meal when trouble started. He heard them coming. Bikers. They pulled up, their engines halting, before they started filing in, shouting with as much volume as their bikes were making before. Great. He hated riff-raff, and apparently, so did those at the other table. The Kazuya look-alike was discussing with some of his party whether or not he should "blast them to hell" Paul would have loved to see that, but as long as they didn't do anything, he also wouldn't.

Any hope for a peaceful conclusion were quickly thrown out the window as they approached the girl from before. They were very drunk, he could tell, and they were evidently trying to impress her with manly displays of strength, braking tables and throwing chairs through windows. They acted and sounded more like baboons than men.

"Just leave me alone, would you?" the woman finally said. She sounded frustrated, though he didn't know whether that was from the bikers, or from something completely different.

"No one says no to the boss!" the bikers' behaviour changed. Instead of trying to impress her, they had begun to surround her.

"Well I did." She said. "Find someone else to bother, or better yet, go home and sober up." Paul heard a shift in the seats of some from the other table. It sounded like they were going to intervene, but he was there first.

"Sounds like she isn't interested," he said, cracking his knuckles. "maybe you should back off."

"Fuck you!" one of the bikers, perhaps the leader, growled, "I got a cock that need sucking."

"You also got an ass that needs kicking." The leader turned, as did the others.

"You wanna go?!"

"Oh, I do. I really do," Paul smirked.

"Come on then, grandpa. I'm ready when you are!?"

Paul grinned with glee as he threw his arm back, clenching it into a fist, but before he launched it, someone caught his arm. He quickly turned to see who. It was that same woman from before.

"What up, bitch?" the leader questioned, trying to hold himself in a menacing way. He failed. The woman stepped forward, and she slapped him. She slapped him very hard. Hard enough to propel him out of the broken window. The rest of the gang cowered.

"You people should be ashamed of yourselves talking to a young lady like that! Stop acting like such children. Look at what you've done!"

"We-we-we're sorry!" They blubbered, "We-we'll leave."

"No you won't. You're going to march into that kitchen and work off all the damage you've caused!" They all nodded, and rushed towards the kitchen as fast as they could. Paul chuckled. That'll show 'em. "And you!" paul jumped as she turned her attention to him. "When are you men going to learn that you can't solve all you're problems with your fists! Bring your food over here so I can keep an eye on you!"

"Yes ma'am!" he cried. She turned to the young woman, and smiled.

"You can join us as well if you'd like."

She took her up on her offer, and the two joined the other table. They all introduced one another. The woman's name was Chi-Chi. The Kazuya look-alike was Vegeta, though he seemed to ignore him mostly. 'Kakarot' was actually named Goku. They talked, about the tournament mostly. Apparently, Goku was runner up to Mr. Satan. Speaking of whom, the champ entered and joined them, along with a chubby pink guy. He was as much of a ham as he was on TV. Their orders were taken, and they soon joined in the conversation.

"Jay Neartsu," the young girl finally introduced herself.

"Neartsu…" Mr. Satan trailed off. "Hey, you're brother was in the tournament, wasn't he?"

"Yes but," Jay paused, "he was badly injured in the first round."

"Noah Septa, wasn't it?"

She nodded, and then turned to Vegeta, "You beat him in the second match."

"He was trash," Vegeta replied, almost dismissively.

Eventually, Law came out and approached the one occupied table, a plastic bag with wrapped up goods. "Hey, something really strange happened today. A bunch of bikers came into my restaurant and started washing all our dishes. I hear that you had something to do with that."

"That was me," Chi-chi answered.

"I heard. Thanks for that. Anyway," he turned to Jay, handing her the bag. "Sorry your order took so long, but we kind of ran out of ingredients. Free of charge."

"Thank you," she took the bag, and bowed to the rest of the party, thanking them for their company.

Paul checked his watch. It read nine-fifteen. Paul stood, bid them farewell, and left. "Take it off my bill, okay."

About half an hour and two courses later, Goku's party was done. Law returned to their table with their bill.

"So, how will you be paying?" he asked with no hint of subtlety.

"I'll take care of that." Mr. Satan announced. Law charged the man's credit card and the rest of the group left.

The Son family returned home a minute later via instant transmission. Chi-chi unlocked the door and turned on the light. Then, on the inside of the door, she saw them. Three envelops. She picked them up, and read the writing.

King of iron fist.

It was the same on all of them, the only difference being to whom they were addressed. Goku, Gohan, and Goten.

How dare G-corporation betray him! Kazuya growled, tossing a broken Jack aside and exiting the dark temple. Dirty bastards. No matter, he disposed of their would-be assassins, about a dozen Jack-5's easily enough. His new powers were more than they could have expected. Kazuya smirked at the notion as he exited and walked into the setting sun.

There was a powerful wind, pushing sand into his face.

Disgusting. Kazuya tried to spit some out that got into his mouth, but to no avail. It didn't matter. It wasn't enough to spoil his good mood.

After a year's mental training, his power had tripled. Devil, the being with whom he had once lived in harmony, had all but been dissolved and absorbed into his being. His smirk widened. He was a god.

He had nothing to fear. Almost nothing. In his meditations, he had a vision. A man clad in gold aura, with such presence and power that, for the first time since he was a child, he trembled. But it was nothing. Nothing at all. No one could stand up to him. No one. And with that, he transformed. A magnificent burst of power coursed through him, utterly dwarfing his original form. He gave a dark chuckle, before flying into the sky.