Disclaimer: I don't own Tekken or any of it's characters; Namco does. I'm not making any profit off of this; it is done merely for fun.
In the deep crevice of this mountain, there lies a body, barely alive. Time is running out for him; for hours, he has laid unconscious; mercifully unconscious as his body bleeds, both from inside and out. He awakens now, but he is not truly awake, not yet. He is merely aware of his body.
He is not getting enough air, and so he attempts to take a big breath to fill his lungs with the sweet oxygen his kind requires. The first breath is the hardest, and he struggles to work the air into his lungs. The workings of breath in and out of his body is unfamiliar to it now; the movements of his chest severe and his body unable to help him breathe. He is a fighter, however, and soon he is breathing, a broken sad kind of breathing but breathing none the less. He is alive...For now.
It's only after a few of these agonizing breaths that he can think about what happened. When he remembers his father, he screams. And screams. Oh child, I know this scream's sweet meaning; it is the scream of the desperate. He screams and screams and screams, until his voice is hoarse, until he realizes that no one can hear him, and, even if they could, no one is likely to save him. He would cry, if he were still truly a child, but that was taken from him long before this by his wretch of a father; this boy's soul is as ugly and tainted as an adult's is; what he lacks for in years, he makes up for in cynicism. He knows no man will lift a finger to stop his father's crime; his blood soaked hand will gather no pity, no help, no salvation.
The cliff's peak looms above him, and from the valley he's sitting in,it's as far away as the moon. There is no way to climb, even if he were in condition to - the rocks are shiny and smooth; erosion perfected by thousands years of soil being gently washed away by the ocean. You can not climb, child; your salvation is blocked by natural geography, as if the Gods themselves wished you dead. And there is no where to go but to the water here, and the water here is barren; no fishermen to hear his screams, no quiet well-meaning fishwife to take him into her home and heal him. No one to hear him and not even a well-meaning friend to keep him company. There is no escape, not here.His flesh screams for mercy, but the boy's spirit is strong; he will not give up, not yet.
With a deep breath, he pushes himself off the floor - or attempts to anyway, as his flesh quickly quivers and falls. It hurts. Oh, how it hurts, child, this I know. His arms and legs are in a pain he's never known before, and one leg is at an odd angle, even he can see it - it's not broken through the skin, but certainly not in the right place. To his credit, when he sees it, he does not scream. The damage is done, though, not just physically, but mentally as well. With a cry of despair, the boy flops on his back, like a fish who cannot get enough air; it is a soul whose body begs for release. He has given up; should no one intercede, this child will die.
And this child is fated to die tonight. The angels, I am told, hath it writ in their celestial books; to them, it is an unavoidable if tragic death. His soul will come to their 'loving' dominion tonight, smothered in kisses and hugs and reunions with long-dead relatives who care for him, love him. An eternity of toys and rainbows, of loving mothers and caring friends; that is the fate of this child.
But he will not die; not tonight. His fate will be altered, and the world's with it. For this is where I shall write myself into this story; this is where the story shall truly begin. I will take the child's weak form and mold him into something great. I will fashion clay into steel. No mere alchemist could ever commit such glorious transmutation as I will accomplish here tonight.
Do not feel sorry for him, for his loss of innocence. As I said, the form of this soul is deceiving. He is not innocent. He is not a child sunshine, rainbows, and love could ever nourish. He is a boy of hatred, a boy of revenge, a child that lusts for blood and death; not puppies and snails. Without me, he will never achieve his dreams. Without me, he is nothing. Hold your pity; he does not deserve it.
I will appear to him now, in a form he knows well. It is all to easy to shift my form, and when I appear to him, I will bring him the greatest of delights, the kind of which no mere trickster or angel could ever hold for him. It is all too easy to take on the form of one of your kind, child; all too easy to manipulate you through that tragic emotion you know as love.
Child, behold your mother.
Oh yes, he recognizes her, I can see it in his eyes. A strangled cry spills forth from his bloody lips when he sees me, a mere gurgle now as his throat is slowly filling with blood. I kneel before him, careful to sit as a high lady of Japanese society would; the guise must be kept until the deal is sealed. I put on a sorrowful face and turn my eyes to him; oh my child, I turn your mother's amber eyes to you.
"Muh…ther…" Ah, child, your kind are so weak; so easily led through your heart. In this guise, I could make you do anything. And you will do something very important tonight, though you don't know it yet; oh child, tonight you will dance your most important dance. It is the beginning of the play but already, for you, it is the climax. Soon, your curtain will come crashing down...But before then there is time enough to get what I need from you.
"Kazuya-chan." Your mother's voice; my voice, they are one, child. I shall hide my disgust at your wretched humanity; I shall instead wear the mask of compassion, of that pathetic emotion love. "Kazuya-chan. I have come to help you."
"he...hel..p?" Oh, and how your spirits soar at that, child. You're even more excited by this than you were at the prospect of death. Fool.
"Oh, yes, my son. I am here to help you. You want revenge on your father, don't you?" The apple is before you, child. Will you bite?
"Y…yes…" Your lips are upon the apple, child. He gasps, as if telling me this knowledge has freed him;his gasp was merely because his lungs need air, but the moment is none the less poetic and fitting.
"Then you must survive, Kazuya-chan." I say, in his mother's dulcet tones. The deal is sealed. Now is the time to discuss the terms. I morph again now, to another form. It is not my true form – your weak kind cannot stand my true, glorious form, child – but it is the form he will know me by for the rest of his life. Though he does not know it yet, it is a perfect image of what he will look like in his adult life. "I will give you that power." I motion my hand towards his form, and find myself only smirking when I catch how his eyes follow every motion I make. "Do you want it, Kazuya?"
"Ye…yes, I…I want it." Ah, such a gloriously simple pawn.
"I will give it to you; I will give you revenge beyond your wildest dreams. I will give your father back every bit of pain he has given you, and I will return it to him ten fold." In return…" He would lean closer at this point, if he could; by his eyes, I can see that he is completely enraptured in my words. The lamb is caught in the trap. When he emerges, he will be not lamb but lion. "In return, I ask but one thing."
"Any…thing."
"To bond with your soul. From now on, the two of us," I motion to himself and then to my own form, "will be one; forever. There will be no going back; should you refuse my offer or try to dislodge me from your soul…You will die." Once done, our combined strength will be unstoppable; once done, my plan will have completely succeeded. Once done, you will come to regret it, child – but not until long after I have done everything with you that I have need of. Oh child, do you know how special you are?
"I…ac..accept." And the deal is complete.
"Then let it be done."
I enter your soul and body, and quickly move to fix the damage done by your fall. An ordinary human doctor could perhaps repair him, had he reached the child in time, but I will make him so much more; I will improve him beyond what any mere human could do. The transmutation, it is happening now…and it is glorious. All things that pass from this point are merely the epilogue to this night. Already, his senses are ever so much sharper; his body, ever so much more powerful; his mind, ever so much more intelligent. But I do not heal everything; along hischest, there lies a long gash, from shoulder to sternum. This will behis reminder of our deal and of his father's malice;this scar shall be the focal point of his anger.
The child finally manages to get up; a lack of strength is no problem, not now that he is whole; he is, in fact, better than whole. "Thank you." Ah, so polite. I guess your father did teach you one thing that is useful, child. He glances at your surroundings; there is only one question on his mind. "What now?"
We Climb. Now, child, you will accomplish the impossible. Slowly, he places his hands on the rock, and feels it.
"It is smooth…There is no way to climb this." Ah, ye of little faith, mortal barriers no longer impede thy progress.
You Do Not Need Footholds. Slowly, he grasps the rock; it is perfectly smooth and at first he does not trust me, but then he slowly crushes it in his fist. Millions on years of rock crumbles between his fingertips, and the feeling of hope and power within him is glorious to witness. Slowly, he repeats the process with his other hand; then he reaches higher and repeats the process again with the first. You can climb now, child. Hand after hand, as he climbs, he ruins the plans of nature; hand after hand, he destroys the future. Hand after hand, he takes his first steps toward his glorious destiny.
Today, we shall climb out of this pit; we shall return to your family's home, child. And then, I will train him. His strength will grow in ways that even he shall not know.
And this, my boy, I promise you; we will defeat your wretch of a father. We will soar to unknown heights. You will have your power; I will have my blood. It will be a glorious future; I have foreseen it.
Written for #15 minute ficlets word #100: Karma
Total time: 15 minutes
Total # of words (according to MS word): 1,883
Reviews - especially constructive criticism - very much wanted and adored.