Chapter Fourteen: Divide

Fear of the nightmare didn't allow him to sleep or even nap for the rest of the day.

He had to stay awake anyway, he reasoned with himself, because he had a battle within the next few hours regardless. He really wanted to go back to sleep and get rid of the paranoia that was beginning to chew him from the inside out. Although that dream terrified him, it did make him realise three things. The first one was that there was some big, bad monster coming, again. The second one was that he truly feared loneliness – he knew he didn't like it, but not to that extent. The last one was that, over time and because of how long she was there and what they'd done for each other, he'd become heavily dependent on Razer. He didn't know why he didn't see it before, and really, he didn't care.

He'd found himself being quite 'on-the-lookout' when around her now. Looking out for those red eyes, looking out for anything or anyone that might've wanted to come and grab her, and steal her away, and so on. She noticed, but paid no mind, reasoning that he was probably just being protective. What she was quite worried about, though, was the perplexed, angry, confused and scared look on his face he had in that very moment, as he stood before his opponent.

She was a newcomer, for she'd only been seen in this tournament – just like Razer's next foe, the young girl with the pink hair. Her hair was black and tied up, she had a maroon skirt on, she had a pale-gold and maroon, low cut shirt on, as well as numerous other exotic bits and pieces all over her curvy body. She was clearly of Middle Eastern appearance, and it was when she looked past Hwoarang and at her for a few moments with a lingering, brief, acknowledging grin did she realise that this had been Lars' Tag partner, the silent and mysterious Zafina.

…Why her best friend was incredibly irked by her presence was beyond her.

She was given an answer when Hwoarang growled, "You're the chick that's been following me and Julia."

She inclined her head slightly, essentially agreeing with his statement, before squaring her shoulders and sliding into stance. Hwo managed to rein in the urge to quirk his eyebrow at the stance, and merely got into his in response, awaiting the referee's countdown and waiting for the word 'FIGHT!' to sound. It was when he was waiting did he realise he had trouble looking at her emotionless face – the same one that watched him die in his dream.

As soon as he heard the word, he lashed out at her, as though she was a figment of his imagination that would waver upon contact. Instead, he felt her warm arm rise in defence against his quick, left-handed punches. She didn't manage to block the low left kick though, and when he sidestepped out of the way to try and continue his assault, he was met with two arm strikes, coming down on him like thunder from above. He didn't block it. He was sloppy.

"Did you not sleep well last night?" she questioned with a slight smirk on her face. She was now in a different stance – standing on one leg, the other bent, and her arms close to her body, but poised to attack at any moment. The Korean rushed to attack, but, in his annoyance and frustration, he was struck by a spinning leg. The attack catapulted him into the air, before one – two – three quick jabs got him, and then those arms came crashing down once again.

He rolled out of the way of a coming heel stomp, and, already frustrated, lashed out with a low kick. As he rose to a standing position, he threw his right leg out, watching as the Tsunami Kicks collided too. Feigning a few jabs and throwing in real kicks for good measure, he watched as Zafina's – or so that's what the announcer called her, and what he remembered her saying to Lars all that time ago – face remained void of emotion. He was amazed that she did not even wince whenever she was struck. She merely stared, like a spider with its eight, unblinking eyes.

And then she was suddenly crawling up to him – and completely perplexed, he merely watched as she threw her leg out and caught him in the chest, before the other one joined it. She was then standing again, sweeping her leg across the ground to hit him in the head. He stood, dizzy from the strike, and furrowed his eyebrows. Her moves were so foreign, so strange, that, he realised, he had no idea how to counter them. At all.

He was in a guessing game.

From her leg sweep, she rose, slamming her hand up and into what she hoped was his jaw. He managed to avoid it and grabbed her from the side, conducting his Bring It On throw. Several attacks later, she was on the ground, still emotionless – but quickly lurched forward, striking him in the stomach, before another arm whacked him hard in the shoulder.

"Your attacks are sloppy and uncoordinated," she stated blandly, standing and stretching a little, "You are considered by the world to be a truly prized fighter – the strongest after the Mishima Family, no doubt. You are considered even to be a possible hope for bringing down the Tyrant, seeing as you fought him to a draw in the previous tournament…" The smirk burst forward fully, "Oh, my mistake. You didn't get to finish fighting him. You were interrupted," her voice lowered so that only he could hear him, "You died."

He froze. Memories began to burn him. They ran before his eyes, just staying there. He could see all sorts of things – he mainly saw grey, and rain, and blood. He saw fighting, bickering, furrowed eyebrows, tightly clenched fists; and he could feel an old determination swirling about in his stomach. And only one year had passed.

"Hwoarang, Hwoarang drop your stance, quickly."

"The fuck should I listen to you for?"

Anger began to crawl under his skin as he continued to pale, "How do you know this?"

He saw a mutated man. Seven feet tall, or so, with rippling muscles, dark pink skin, horns and a fierce glare. He had a few chains on him – everything just screamed 'demon' and 'transformed' and 'different' and 'Mishima'. He who'd been bound for so long under the Earth, freed only to die in the end.

"Foolish mortals… Even with refuelled hope, you'll still fail by my mighty hand!"

Zafina did nothing. She merely stood there and smirked, chuckling a little.

He remembered himself, running past the man, running through the rain and the mud and the grey; running to her to save her so that she could still fight and live and love. He remembered just how hoarse his voice had gotten when he was screaming her name to snap her out of that stupid fucking trance –

"Razer!"

Him, dying; her, crying. The memories he fought to bury breathed again.

"I love you!"

Everything else hit him in a rush after that.

As expected, Hwoarang immediately lashed out with a kick and a hiss, "How do you know this?"

Zafina evaded it, sliding around the strings, blocking where necessary. She even managed to get in a few attacks, causing her to grin slightly at how he was merely lashing out at her in blind rage. The very fact that he was missing so many hits and being punished for it only pushed his anger upwards, and she continued to push his buttons, recounting small details of his nightmare, recounting small details of his death, like she was there the entire time for both, like she was in his mind, walking from one memory to the other effortlessly. He, the dreamer. She, the walker.

"You were an adorable child," she suddenly remarked, weaving underneath yet another flurry of flying feet, "You really should have kept your black hair. A shame I could only see you sob and wail for your family instead of smiling and laughing, and playing with your little toy rockets."

He was shaking with such rage that he ended up punching her squarely in the nose. He could feel it shift below his fingers, and Zafina cried out, surprised and hurt, blood starting to pour from her nostrils, swelling already starting. Hwoarang was surprised – he figured she would've been able to handle more than that – and watched as she retreated, one hand to her nose, the other to her head. The hit clearly threw her off and made her dizzy. There was something in her eyes, too. Like a small acceptance.

Still angry, he carefully approached again, getting ready to throw a kick out, "Either tell me how you know this shit, or be prepared for more of a beating."

Zafina raised a hand, silently announcing her surrender. If she couldn't handle the Korean, then there was no way that she would be able to handle Jin. She could feel his anger hide for a few moments, being replaced by true confusion as her opponent was announced as the victor. She looked up at him, angry, but not blaming him. After all, it was only by chance that during her meditation she stumbled into his mind. It was clear that he was somehow connected to this.

"You have to beat him," she said suddenly.

He furrowed his eyebrows, "Pardon?"

"Jin," she hissed, "You must beat him. He and Kazuya cannot be allowed to fight. The stars must remain divided. They can never join… not unless you want the Beast to come out of his hiding place and make your premonition become a solid reality. And even then… There is no escaping some of the things that may happen. But no matter what happens, Hwoarang…" she narrowed her eyes at him, thereafter turning to leave, "You. Cannot. Lose."

Before she got off the stage, Hwoarang grabbed her free, thin arm. She turned her head, one hand still holding her nose and trying to keep the blood from flowing through the cracks of her fingers, and watched as he offered her a tissue from his back pocket. She snatched it up, narrowing her eyebrows, and used it to soak up the blood, feeling a little relief when the strength of his grip subsided.

His sienna eyes were full of questions – she could see that immediately. He was slowly processing something, like the dream or his thoughts, or even what to say next to her in English without making a mistake. He was clearly still haunted by the fact that she knew he'd died – she felt it and could see it in one of her premonitions last year – and he slowly, almost softly stated, "Tell me everything."