It's been pointed out to me that Leo's mother's name is Emma, not Alisa. No problem. I'll change that later. Thanks also to everyone who reviewed, and thanks for going easy on the last chapter. I will try and reply to your reviews but may forget. As ever, your support and advice is much appreciated. I think I've said those exact words before, haven't I…
Disclaimer: Own nothing.
--
"What do I do?"
"You fight him," Jin replied matter-of-factly. "You try and win, just as you would with any other opponent."
Despite all his training, Eddy couldn't keep a touch of fear from his voice. "They say he's a… demon."
"Speaking from experience," said Jin slowly, "I have found that no-one of the Mishima bloodline is entirely human. But he's still beatable. If you are very lucky you could win."
"And… If I lose?"
Jin didn't answer.
--
Bruce's kick had been staggering.
They were all fighters there, and for a second no one could believe the speed and precision with which Bruce's kick came up, completely from a standing position. It was executed with a skill any fighter would be proud of. Even Yoshimitsu, ducking away with similarly incredible reflexes, registered the expertise.
Then they were close up and fighting with gritty technique. Bruce, standing high on his toes, jumped into kick after kick, whilst Yoshimitsu stubbornly blocked and turned, aiming to outflank his opponent. Both were critically aware of how dangerous a heavy fall on a solid concrete curb could be, and were taking blows rather than risk dropping to ground. It was almost a brawl.
But Leo had his own problems. Two thugs were coming at him, gradually drawing apart and advancing on both sides. Leo dropped back to give himself room from the flailing forms of Yoshimitsu and Bruce in the background. The thugs had reached into pockets and now carried knives.
There was a second of calm that always came before a fight. Leo felt his breathing steady and his muscles loosen. The prospect of being on the wrong end of two blades became less and less threatening until he was totally calm. He took a final deep breath and started to bounce on the balls of his feet. The two thugs came on. Leo feinted a retreat, then suddenly leapt in, aiming straight between them, then suddenly angling left in a surprise move that left both of them cowering under their forearms. Dodging an inept swing, Leo sprung into a one-two punch followed by several lightning kicks, high and low. His opponent smoothly blocked, showing off unexpected skills, but Leo still managed to land a spiteful kick to the knee that left him with a noticeable limp. Wary of pressing his advantage too far, Leo dropped away and skipped nimbly back, still bouncing lightly and constantly moving. Caught on the back foot and bracing for defence, the second thug was too slow to try an attack.
Leo had to take a second deep breath, because he was already starting to sweat. He still hadn't fully recovered from the warehouse escape, and besides, keeping up this stance would take its toll on any fighter anywhere. But he knew if he didn't keep moving he'd quickly be blindsided, and that'd be the end.
End of his life.
It occurred to him for the first time that he might actually be fighting for his life. Panic gripped him by the throat but he furiously fought it down. Springing in again, he feinted left then lashed out right, moving swiftly into his Jin Ji stance and throwing his opponent hopelessly off-balance. Leo delivered a few stunning blows then slipped a leg round his calf and tried to draw him in for a finisher, but somehow the guard slipped over his leg-lock and leapt clear. Seeing the second thug move in, Leo had no choice but to fall back.
Three times more he darted in and then leapt back, always careful to be moving so that the two thugs blocked one another's line of attack. But they were both much tougher than he'd first expected, and however well he outfought them he could never get time for a finisher. What's more he was slowing down and his moves were getting sluggish. The memory of what had happened the last time he slowed down, in his fight with Yoshimitsu, was clear in his mind and he knew that panic had become like a third opponent, always trying to get the better of him. Once already he had missed the chance of a finalising blow because he had panicked about being too tired to complete it. Now he was paying up for it.
He risked a glance to his left. Yoshimitsu and Bruce were still fighting furiously. Yoshimitsu's blade was drawn but Bruce was hugging so close to him that it had become mostly a test of their pain thresholds. Behind them, Ieyasu, who like Yoshimitsu carried a sword, had managed to take down one of his thugs and was closing in on the second.
That was it. Still bouncing on the balls of his feet, Leo hopped right between the two thugs, swinging and kicking blindly until he felt them fall back on the defensive. Immediately he fell into a back-step that carried him round Bruce and Yoshimitsu, putting them in the way of the thugs. Ieyasu was in sight and he spun, sprinting full on to join in with him. Then there would be two on two.
But a flash of silver in the murky streetlight stopped him in his tracks. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bruce break away from Yoshimitsu and aim at him with a clasp knife. In one second he saw another flash of steel, and a zigzag pattern emerged as he ducked blindly away. He heard Yoshimitsu cry out but had no time to react. A thug rushed at him, knife outstretched. Leo turned it away with both hands, still falling back. Twice more the blade lunged for his stomach, only to be turned away, with less space between them each time. Then his back hit the streetlight. The blade came forward for his head. Somehow he ducked; metal hit metal and there was a deafening screech as the blade snapped. Acting completely on instinct, Leo struck out at the arm of his attacker with an elbow to the wrist. The man yelped and his broken knife dropped.
Leo had no qualms about fighting him unarmed. Diving forward and going through a series of combos, Leo could see now that the thug had no chance. Pretty soon he was unconscious.
Leo stood over the body of the thug and looked around him. Ieyasu was kneeling over the body of another thug, checking his vitals. Bruce and the other two were nowhere to be seen. There was a frightening silence in the street, a stillness, as though the neighbourhood refused to accept that anything had gone down. A light went on in a house to Ieyasu's left. The ninja stepped away from it swiftly and moved to where Leo was.
"You okay, kid?"
"Yeah. I think so."
Ieyasu looked him over uncertainly. "Your face is covered in blood."
"What? Serious?"
Leo touched his cheek and his gloved fingers came away red.
"How bad's the bleeding?"
"Most of the right side of your face is covered. But don't worry, we'll get you stitched up later."
In the aftermath of the fight Leo was starting to feel immensely drained. His mouth was dry. Every movement suddenly felt like an immense effort. He licked his lips but it didn't help the sensation of dryness.
"We better get of the street before the locals start coming out for a look," Ieyasu went on, seeing another light go on in a home. "Where's Yoshimitsu?"
"I'm here! I've been stabbed!"
For a moment Leo had a horrendous image of them being caught in some sort of cliché Hollywood drama. Yoshimitsu had taken a knife for him… he ran to his side praying he wouldn't be dead.
Leo ran over to him and grabbed him by the shoulders.
"I'm dying," said Yoshimitsu quietly, seeing Leo's face. He coughed feebly.
"What? But you can't!" Leo cried. "You can't die now! Please no!"
"It's no good," Yoshimitsu whispered. "I'm… happy I saved you."
Leo felt tears in his eyes. His shoulders shook as the reality started to sink in. He heard a grim chuckle and rounded on Ieyasu. "This isn't funny!" he screamed. Then he looked back at Yoshimitsu and saw that he was smiling too.
Now a new reality started to materialise and he angrily wiped away a tear and scowled. Yoshimitsu just grinned.
"Glad you feel so much for me, kid," he chuckled. "But I'm not going to die yet. He only got me in the leg."
Leo glared at him. "That was seriously not funny!"
"Was from where I was standing," said Ieyasu conversationally, coming to Yoshimitsu's side.
"And by the way," Yoshimitsu said, "try not to flatter yourself, kid. I didn't deliberately take a stab for you. The idea was to block it; Bruce was faster than I expected. Or maybe I was slower."
Ieyasu had helped him to a sitting position. The knife had taken him in the fleshy part of the thigh, some way from the main artery. Even so, Yoshimitsu was losing blood freely.
"Maybe it's not so funny as we thought," said Ieyasu grimly. "You might be alive, but… Yoshimitsu, you got a match tomorrow morning. You gonna fight on this leg?"
"I'll have to."
This time there wasn't a trace of humour in his voice.
--
10:00am. Miguel completed his stretches just as his opponent arrived. Yoshimitsu stopped by the little fountain at the centre of the square and began warming himself up. Soon his blade was gliding effortlessly through the air in a series of complicated manoeuvres. A small crowd of bystanders, mostly soldiers on guard duty, was gathering around them, and forming an artificial ring with the fountain in the centre. Lars sat on the backrest of a bench, his legs on the seat. Miguel was watching his opponent's warm up.
"He seems to have a sword," Miguel observed. "Is that legal?"
Lars followed his gaze." Unfortunately yes, he is allowed the sword. I think it's a remnant from the first tournament. Heihachi was so arrogant that he was sure he could defeat even an armed warrior in combat. So Yoshimitsu, as a sword-master as well as a ninjitsu expert, was allowed to use his sword. It's blunted, of course."
"But still gives him a longer reach than me- by about three feet."
"It's true. Try and keep in close to avoid that," Lars advised. "He's very good, but you're both stronger and younger than him. Bear that in mind."
Miguel grinned wryly as he stepped into the circle. "Truly, Lars, I'm awash with optimism."
--
Ten minutes later, and it was clear to anyone with experience that Yoshimitsu was in trouble. For all his years of experience, the erratic aggression of Miguel's style was something he just couldn't come to grips with, and faced with this problem it was difficult to make his own unpredictable style count.
More importantly, though, he was favouring his right leg. His wounded left had held up reasonably at first but degenerated rapidly as the match wore on. Miguel must have noticed, because he had worked the leg almost from minute one.
At eleven minutes, Yoshimitsu humiliated himself by requesting a pause. Miguel-exhausted from the disproportionate amount of dodging he'd been doing to avoid that sword- accepted.
"You have him on the ropes," said Lars, offering a bottle of water.
Miguel shrugged cynically. "He's not fighting at a hundred percent. You noticed his leg, right?"
Lars nodded. "Right. God knows what he was doing the day before his match. Contact sport, maybe? All the same, you should be grateful. Truth be told, it might have won you the match."
"Whatever happened to 'stronger and younger than him'?" Miguel took a sip of water, then poured some down his back. Turning, he looked back at his opponent. "All the same though, it's putting me on edge. He knows he's lost on the endurance side so he's taking big risks just to keep one foot in the match. But if even one risky move comes away with a big payoff…"
"You should be more confident. More likely his taking risks is working in your favour."
Miguel handed back the water bottle. A fit of anger was starting to take hold of him and all he wanted now was to finish the match. True, he had no qualms about fighting a handicapped opponent- that was something you learnt on the street. True, any win, not just an honourable one, would take him closer to Jin and the revenge that still filled his whole world. But even so…
There was something about the ninja that he couldn't help feeling he was missing. And the kid he'd arrived with, too. Leo, Yoshimitsu had called him. Leo had lost someone as well. That was something Miguel had known, had sensed, the moment he saw him. He couldn't tell how exactly he knew, except maybe that there was something in the eyes that only appeared once a person has become a victim of fate. A resignation.
And it was a reminder that he was nowhere near the only one in Japan eager for revenge. To achieve his goal, he was going to have to crush others'.
He stepped back into the ring of onlookers and was greeted by boos and hisses. Yoshimitsu sprung in shortly afterward, performed a neat cartwheel and elicited a roar of cheers. Much to Miguel's annoyance, the roles of hero and villain had been unanimously defined.
To some people, he thought, bitterly, as he advanced on Yoshimitsu, to some people, life must be just a series of spectacles that they never partake in. A war started, their country came under the power of a business, and they virtually live in a dictatorship- and the one time they creep out of their homes is to watch two people fight in a meaningless tournament.
It was true. In life, there were watchers, and there were doers.
Suddenly Yoshimitsu leapt forward, his sword swinging in a wide arc. Miguel moved to duck, then rapidly stepped left as the sword followed his movements. One, two, three punches in quick succession failed to stop the ninja swinging again with the sword. Acting on impulse, Miguel dodged deftly, then grabbed the blunted blade, moving in swiftly to try and trip his opponent to ground with a sweeping kick. Too quick, Yoshimitsu used the sword blade as a lever to wrench it from his hand, then dropped into a backward cartwheel as his legs gave. Miguel was too slow to completely avoid the rapidly rising feet, which delivered him a stinging blow to the jaw. Staggering, he regained his stance just as Yoshimitsu moved back in again. The Spaniard prepared himself for a lightning-fast shoulder-barge, but the ninja abruptly angled towards Miguel's left. The sword came up; Miguel ducked, counter-attacked, and then pressed in. A toe-kick hit the ninja's knee, collapsing him briefly- too briefly for Miguel's elbow strike to hit home, as again the ninja jumped clear.
With several feet of space again between them, Miguel took the chance to touch the bruise on his jaw. The hit had been harder than he'd thought and was already starting to swell. Still, he smiled. The exchange had confirmed one thing- the ninja no longer had enough strength in his left leg to use it reliably. Miguel advanced again, confident now that his right side was safe. As he moved in he started to inch to the left, forcing the ninja to circle in the opposite direction. By degrees the circle closed and Miguel came within striking range of the sword.
Then, in a baffling series of moves, Yoshimitsu leapt the gap between them, his sword flashing up briefly then disappearing again, his feet balancing on the hilt. Miguel was almost too surprised to block as Yoshimitsu hopped into him like a flea, his full bodyweight crashing against Miguel's chest. They both fell hard and rolled. Yoshimitsu seemed to glide back to his feet with shadow-like precision, then leapt into a forward somersault. Miguel hopped back and the attack missed him by an inch. But rather than counter-attack, Miguel immediately danced away several paces. Yoshimitsu's follow up suddenly had no target.
Now Miguel threw himself back into a shoulder-thrust. A dodge. He bit the dust and rolled away blindly. From a haze of dizziness and the roar of the crowd he saw the sword come swinging for his throat. He stepped clear. A second swing, then a third. Dodge after dodge. Then he saw the weak point, and the Spaniard ducked in suddenly, leaping from his feet. As the blade soared over his head his boot connected with Yoshimitsu's left knee. The ninja dropped; tried to roll away. Mistake. Miguel had already thrown himself forward and he landed directly on the ninja's chest, trapping the sword beneath him. As the ninja struggled to retrieve his weapon, Miguel delivered him a fearsome backhanded chop to the throat that left him choking for air.
Yoshimitsu knew now that he had one chance left. One good attack was all he could manage. Summoning up every grain of determination, he arched his back and levered his legs against the ferocious weight on top of him. Miguel fell over his head and Yoshimitsu flipped up backwards, his sword swinging round for Miguel's neck just as he was rolling back to his feet.
His leg gave way. Yoshimitsu could only swear in frustration as he felt the force of his attack sucked away, and he dropped to his injured knee. For the first time the full scale of his exertion set in and he could barely see for fatigue. He didn't know whether he'd even been in range of Miguel for his attempted finisher. Either way, it didn't matter.
He remembered being bitterly angry as Miguel's shoulder ploughed into him.
--
At almost the same time, five miles across the city, a second finishing blow was landing. Christie's flying kick made its first and last direct contact of the match, crumpling her opponent to the mat. Around her, disapproving looks turned to reluctant applause.
The match had been exhausting and she sank to her haunches to catch her breath. Despite her victory she felt drained, bitter and discouraged. She had forgotten just how good the competition in this tournament would be- suddenly her match-up with Jin seemed to be flying away from her at impossible speed.
The applause ended- none too soon- and the students of the dojo began to break up, forming into pairs to practice their techniques. She smiled despite herself. She quite liked kids, and she was glad they had enjoyed watching her match; but the dojo masters, who must have had several centuries' experience between them, were not so receptive. She thought this was probably down to how little she was wearing. But damn, did they expect a kimono?
And she was lucky she'd gone with comfort over respectfulness, because the fight had tested her endurance to the limit. She remembered the frustration of aiming kick after kick and having it sail harmlessly through mid-air. Her opponent had not been overly fast, but he could dodge like a squirrel in a tree. She watched him anxiously as a paramedic, who had been on hand, took his vitals.
"Miss Monteiro."
It was one of the masters. She stood up and forced a deferential expression.
"Master."
They bowed to each other.
"A message arrived for you during your match, Miss Monteiro. Your presence is requested at the Muriomo Hospital."
She frowned. "Why? Did they give you any indication as to who wanted me?"
"A friend," said the master softly. "He said you were the only one who would want to see him. He begs you to go."
Christie stared for a second as the colour drained from her face. An image of Eddie reared up from her subconscious and fixed itself firmly on the front of her mind, refusing to budge. Her hands started to shake. The master may have been talking but she paid him no attention.
She turned to the paramedic. "Is he okay?"
"He's fine. Just a knockout."
That was all she needed to hear. Without another word Christie spun on her heel and rushed for the door. Within seconds she was on the street and hailing a taxi. Her heart was pounding. As it pulled in she threw open the door and leapt into the back before it had came to a stop.
"Muriomo Hospital. Make it real quick."
"Sure."
For ten blocks she sat there in the back of the cab, listening to the blood pumping in her ears, thinking about the fact that all along Eddy had been in this very city, competing in the tournament. It seemed so natural and so obvious to her now that she was furious at her own greenness. He could have been staying in a room in the very same hotel as her! She'd never have known. But why hadn't he revealed himself to her? Thoughts of him rushed over each other without time for clarification. Despite all her charm and charisma, despite her looks, Eddy was the only real, the only true friend she'd ever known.
They pulled over. The hospital loomed over her in a threatening display of sterilised whiteness, a vast neon cross set into the façade. Christie barely noticed them as she tore open the door of the cab and rushed up the steps to the entrance, with the driver shouting futilely for payment. The reception clerk looked up at she entered.
"Hey, my name's Christie Monteiro. I was called for. Could you tell me the room?" She was so frantic that her words fell over themselves.
"Calm down Miss Montiero," said the clerk, ignorant of how frustrating he was being. At that moment there was more shouting and the automatic doors slid open and closed. The taxi driver- a tiny, stereotypically Japanese man- had not taken no for an answer.
"Miss, you need to pay," he blustered in broken English, coming right up to her. "It's simply not acceptable for people to be rushing off without paying."
The clerk was looking through his file for the ward number. Christie frisked herself but found nothing. She'd left her wallet in her jacket at the dojo. It didn't concern her.
"I don't have any money," she said, turning away from him. "Now tell me the room number!"
The clerk told her. She moved to run off but the taxi driver grabbed her arm, unwittingly coming dangerously close to a roundhouse kick to the face.
"You must pay somehow!" he demanded, "or I'll call the police!"
"Don't you understand?" she cried. "I have no money on me! You can wait till my freaking birthday money arrives if you want, but-"
"You must pay!"
"For Christ's sake!" suddenly she spun around, grabbed the back of his head and dragged him into a fierce kiss. After a few seconds she pulled away and the driver nearly passed out over the clerk's desk.
"That good enough?" she asked sarcastically.
"I guess… I guess…" he stammered, but she was already out of earshot.
--
Seeing Eddy again was like breaking out of prison after years of confinement. A pressure that had pressed down on her for so long suddenly lifted. She looked down on him in his hospital bed, and he looked back at her, seriously injured, yet alive. He smiled faintly as she knelt by his side.
"What happened?" she asked, tearfully, taking his hand in hers. "Where'd you go, Eddy? I thought you… you might be dead. You just left."
"I had no choice. It was for your grandfather." His voice was weak and gravelly, but her heart skipped as she heard her grandfather named.
"He's still alive? Where is he?"
"Calm down," said Eddy, smiling faintly. "It's wonderful to see you again too. Are you still in the tournament?"
"Yes."
He sighed deeply. "Thank God. I was worried."
"What do you mean?"
He smiled at her again, but she could see how little strength he had. Just speaking was exhausting him. She had always remembered him as her Capoeira tutor; an astonishing athlete and a world-class fighter. Now he was like an invalid, a broken hospital patient like any other, and it was heart-rending to compare. She had seen him now; she wanted to leave him and let him sleep, rather than let him torture himself with the effort of speaking. But she knew he wouldn't have any of it.
"Listen," he said. "Christie I… I cancelled your match-up with Jin. I'm sorry. But he would have put you in a wheelchair, or… maybe… killed you. He's relentless, Christie, a killer…"
"No, wait a second! What do you mean you cancelled it? How would you be able to? Why?"
"I knew you would be angry," he said, smiling at her once more. He rarely smiled for anyone, because, as Christie knew, for so much of his life he'd had very little reason for smiling. For the sake of business he had hardened himself against almost anything the world could throw at him. When he smiled she couldn't be angry with him.
"Let me explain," he continued. "I have been working for Jin Kazama since the beginning of the war. He promised me… the technology to save your grandfather. I had to do it. I have worked for Jin for two years now. I still don't know where your grandfather is, and the technology is not wholly complete, but… but it works, Christie, or seems to. The tech works."
"A cure?" There were tears in her eyes. "We can save him? How?"
Eddy gathered himself before going on. "Stem cells!" he said with force. "It's all about stem cell tech now. For the past six months the war has been fought over it. Jin believed they might be able to heal any wound. And it's true, they are incredible. I saw them used, once, on a mouse. It had been crushed in a vice. And it just… got up… and staggered away. In four days it was fully recovered. Imagine it. Imagine the ability to heal soldiers of any wound. Generals would- have- killed for it."
"I don't give a damn about the war," she cried. "If we can save him, I'm willing to go with it. I'll get the tech in any way possible."
Eddy squeezed her hand to quiet her. "No. The formula isn't complete yet. You'll need Dr Bosconovitch. He was the scientist Jin enlisted to head the research. Recently he was kidnapped. Before… this happened to me."
"I'll find him. Grandfather will be better- you'll be better. I promise you."
"I'll be alright. Don't worry about me. You need to make contact with Lars Alexandersson. He was… a lieutenant of Jin's until soon after the war started. Now he has broken away. He may be able to help you."
Christie was searching for a way to make sense of all this when a buzzer went. The clerk's voice sounded.
"A man here to see you, Eddy. His name's Tokugawa. Shall I send him up?"
"Yes."
As soon as the buzzer clicked off, a spark of panic appeared in Eddy's eyes that Christie had never seen before. She felt her muscles tense, as though in anticipation of a fight.
"Who was that?" she asked anxiously.
"It wasn't Tokugawa," said Eddy bitterly. "That's a fake name. But ironic that he would choose one of Japan's great historic generals. It's Kazuya Mishima."
"Kazuya! What could he want with you?"
"He's the one that… put me in this hospital bed. I don't know what he wants, but I didn't dare turn him away. He's a psychopath, Christie- far more dangerous than Jin could ever be. You must leave, right now. Turn right and take the stairs down. Don't even let him see you. Promise me."
"I promise," she answered. "But I don't understand. How can I find Lars? Why… why did you have to change my match-up? You don't need to look after me. I'm okay, I promise."
"I'm sorry. But there's no time now. I'll still be here if you need me." He chuckled weakly. "It's not like I'm going anywhere. But go now, before he arrives."
Christie jumped up, sensing the urgency in his voice. Ever since seeing that edge of panic in Eddy's eyes, Kazuya's name had taken on new significance to her- she knew already that, until the time was right, she would avoid him at any cost. She turned to go, looked back, then dared to give Eddy a brief hug.
"Don't worry about the match thing," she assured him. "I guess, in the end, you saved my ass- as always. Anyway, I'll find another way. Don't die on me- please."
Then she was out the door and moving swiftly away. As she walked, she could almost feel the confident gaze of Kazuya Mishima on her; almost as though he were already there, the beam of his red eye glaring into her back.
End of Chapter 7I'd like you to tell me about the dialogue in this chapter, particularly in the last section. Good or bad?
