Chaolan sat in the armchair next to his dresser, twirling the phone wire in his finger as he listened. He stretched legs clad in teal silk and fiddled with the silver brocade on his royal blue jacket. The tabloid paper lay across his lap.
"Columbia University? Thank you so much. And do you happen to have a number that I could reach the university secretary on?" He jotted down a number in the newspaper margins. "Thank-you, what an absolute dream you are. No, not at all, madam. The pleasure was all mine. Really? Well, you're quite the charmer yourself, good day, my dear." The graceful smile snapped off Chaolan's lips as soon as he terminated the call. He put his finger in the dial pad and span it, dialling up the number he'd been given.
"Hello, I'm a chief editor just looking to check up on the credentials of a potential employee. Please could you confirm for me that a Mr Randall Miller graduated from Columbia University with a BA in Journalism, and could I please have the year of his graduation." Chaolan kicked his foot idly in the air and let the coils in the telephone wire snake around his index finger, "'84 to '87? Ceremony late '87. Excellent. Thank you. No, that will be all."
His smile wiped off again as he hung up. The next number he dialled was from memory, and he didn't bother with his fake smile.
"Matsuda, it's Lee. Run our databases. I want to know which corporation currently owns the student debt for Columbia University, years 1984 to 1987 inclusive. Yes, of course while I wait, I'm not just calling because I like the sound of your voice." Chaolan drummed his fingers impatiently on the dresser. "ExCorp? No, that's good. I know someone who works in finance there. Get me the number for Ma Xiuying. She should be in the ExCorp folder, but there's an address book on my desk that will also- you've got it? Good. Have some funds ready to clear, I'll be making a transaction shortly."
He clicked off the call and dialled Ma Xiuying of ExCorp.
"Ms Ma, a delight to hear from you again. It's Lee Chaolan. Mishima Zaibatsu, that's right," he gave a silvery laugh, "no, not here to buy your own stock and sell it back to you, that trick only works once, I think. I'm here for something quite trivial actually. I want to purchase off you full ownership of all student fee debt from Columbia University in the United States, for the years 1984 to 1987. Am I being a petty bitch to someone? My dear Ma, you know me so well, of course I am. Now, will you sell it? What will I give you? A backrub to die for when we next meet?" he laughed again, "alright, I'll mention ExCorp when we're next thinking of developing property out that way. Not got anything in the Bahamas do you? I'd murder for a little of that tranquillity. Well, hey, reserve it for me and I'll think about it. Fax some nice pictures through to my office. But do it after hours, my father doesn't need to know. You're such a darling. Catch you next time."
He dialled one more number.
"Matsuda. Me again. Ma will fax you confirmation. Get her the money and check over the paperwork. As soon as you have the documentation, raise the interest on all unpaid loans three-hundred percent. Did I stutter? Yes, three-hundred. I don't give a shit, Matsuda. Just do it."
Chaolan clacked the phone back on its stand and leaned back, folding his hands behind his head. The world was beginning to feel manageable again. Revenge felt deep and sweet. He pushed on his sunglasses and swept out of his bedroom.
Kazuya was sitting in an armed chair at the Zaibatsu Expo stall, one leg crossed lazily over the other as he chatted with potential clients. Chaolan came and stood behind him, resting his hands on the back of the chair.
"Is it done?" Kazuya asked when there was a pause in the influx of people demanding his attention.
"Mr Miller will certainly think twice about writing ill of the Mishima again."
"I love it when you're screwing someone over. You have such a delightful tone in your voice."
"And I love it when you compliment me, it makes me feel like a supervillain."
Kazuya flashed him a cruel smile, then returned his attention forwards, awaiting his next attendee.
"Are you still thinking of taking part in this tournament tonight?" Chaolan already knew the answer, but he could still hope.
"Of course."
"Even after what was written in that article? Those rumours that you take part in underground fights?"
"The rumours, in this instance, are correct."
"Kaz,-"
"I need this."
Chaolan blinked in surprise. Kazuya was still looking forward. He had a chin propped on one hand and an easy, approachable slouch to his frame. He looked even, calm, in control. His voice was soft and strange by comparison, as though a ventriloquist were speaking:
"I need a fucking moment away from all this. Before I have to go back home and explain myself to Father and crush my identity into a submissive-shaped box for him to use as a punching bag for the next month."
Chaolan's fingers went to to his brother's shoulders and he squeezed tightly. Pricks of tears slunk treacherously from the corners of his eyes. Chaolan was glad for the sunglasses hiding his face.
"Mr Mishima, do you have a moment to talk about the new propulsion system the Mishima Zaibatsu have developed for ground to air missiles?" A man in a charcoal pinstripe suit stepped up to Kazuya, hands folded deferentially, face hopeful.
"Of course," Kazuya said regally and without a trace of emotion, "what would you like to hear about them?"
Kazuya was wrapping his fists and trying to ignore Chaolan sighing next to him on the bench. He looked jarringly out of place in his embroidered knee-length jacket of crushed blue velvet, expensive glasses and immaculately combed hair. The plaster was peeling in the wing of the ex-bunker that was being used as a changing room. Fine reams of dusts cascaded from the ceiling every time there was a loud cheer or feedback on the microphone. There were pock-marks in the concrete floor and brownish smudges that might have been blood.
"I don't know why you insist on doing this," Chaolan muttered.
Kazuya's face twisted into a half smile. He tested the tightness of his hand wrap, then started on the next one.
"You know why."
"Beating up hungry people in forty different countries won't bring you closer to destroying our father."
"They hone my skill."
"They hone your ego."
"That too." He wound the wrap in and out his fingers, alternating it with lines across his palm until the material formed a tight glove. "I can't punch him yet. But I can punch everyone else until then."
"Kaz…"
Kazuya tugged his red gloves on over the wraps and tested the air with a few punches. Then he nudged around in his sportsbag with his clumsy mits before giving up.
"Light me a cigarette, Chaolan."
"Light me a cigarette, Chaolan, what?"
"Light me a cigarette, Chaolan, now," Kazuya amended.
Chaolan scowled at him, but found the packet, pulled a cigarette out, stood and placed it in his brother's mouth. He felt around his jacket for a lighter, but before he could get any further, a tall african-american had power-walked into the room, snatched the cigarette out of Kazuya's mouth and tossed it aside.
"Right before a match, Boss?" the man said by way of greeting.
Chaolan's face was a picture of shock. Kazuya scowled, but his irritation gradually lessened. He sighed.
"Chaolan, meet Bruce Irvin, an acquaintance of mine who's recently entered my employment. Bruce, meet my brother."
Bruce was dressed in garishly bright boxing shorts and a loose open shirt revealing tattoos across a well-muscled chest. He towered over Chaolan in his dapper suit.
"Charmed," Chaolan said sourly. "What do you mean employment?" he asked Kazuya, "this man works for the Zaibatsu? I've never heard of him before, and I'm sure I would have noticed…"
"I work for Kazuya," Bruce stared down at Chaolan and pulled back his shoulders.
Kazuya raised an eyebrow, amused by the exchange.
"And what is it you do for my brother exactly?" Chaolan addressed Bruce directly as soon as it was clear Kazuya wasn't stepping in, "other than arranging fights for him and running around in hot pants."
Bruce stepped up into Chaolan's face, eyes going menacing. Chaolan twisted his silver hair lazily, unintimidated.
"Play nicely, Chaolan," Kazuya said mildly, "Bruce is a friend of mine."
"You have friends?" Chaolan skirted around Bruce's bulk and put Kazuya between them, "I thought you only had lackeys."
Kazuya gave him a sly knowing look,
"Jealousy doesn't become you, little brother."
"I'm not jealous!" Chaolan spat and immediately folded his arms and seethed in a corner.
Kazuya gave a huff of amusement before returning his attention to Bruce.
"How are things looking?"
"Other rounds of the first heat are finishing up. I got you set up as the last match to give you time to get here."
"And my opponent?"
Bruce's face became unreadable. Kazuya folded his arms and drummed his fingers on his biceps.
"Mexican wrestler. Wears a face mask. A full jaguar face mask. He's some kind of priest. Takes fights all over to win money for an orphanage he set up."
"Are you fucking with me?"
"No," Bruce said testily, although he looked uncomfortable.
"A priest out to win money for orphan kids? I'm fucking ended if the press get hold of this."
Chaolan sniggered behind him. Kazuya shot him a look that shut him up.
"I didn't think… it would bother you. You never seemed like the sort to be bothered by this sort of thing in the past," Bruce said carefully.
"It doesn't bother me, it bothers the vultures out there trying to tear my reputation to shreds. This is ridiculous. Chaolan, sort this out."
"Me?" Chaolan gestured to himself, "the fuck do you expect me to do?"
"Buy him off. Tell him to forfeit and we'll make a charitable donation to one of his magical orphanages."
Chaolan scowled at him, but then straightened out his coat and stalked out of the bunker.
"And don't set me up with fights that make me look like the devil, there's this thing called public relations, Bruce. It means pulling the wool over people's eyes so they think you're less of a monster than you actually are. Have a little fucking tact."
Bruce ran his thumb over his jawline, looking a little contrite,
"I only know about fighting, Boss-"
"It's not that hard, don't put privileged corporate mobsters in the ring with streetfighting saviour figures, got it?" Kazuya snapped.
Bruces mouth tugged slightly in amusement at Kazuya's description of himself,
"Got it."
Kazuya sat back down heavily. He was already beginning to regret coming here. He was too highly strung from the disasters of the last two days. He collected himself back together and inspected his gloves.
"Who's the favourite to win?"
Bruce jumped on the subject,
"Oh, you'll hate him. Loud, pushy, American, hair the size of his ego, one of those old drifter types – motorcycles and bravado."
"Now that's more fucking like it."
"He's good though, Boss."
"So am I."
"I mean, he's really good. Might stand a shot."
"Good, I like a challenge. Especially since your tactlessness has robbed me of my first heat fight."
Chaolan stamped back in ten minutes later.
"Done?" Kazuya asked.
"He didn't like it."
"But he took it?"
Chaolan nodded. He glanced imperiously at Bruce as he did.
They wound their way together out of the concrete changing room into warehouse filled with benches arranged like an amphitheatre. A number of floodlights that looked like they'd been stolen off a football pitch glared straight down onto a raised wrestling ring. An overhead board showing the names 'Mishima K.' and 'King' started to tick over as a blaring megaphone announced the resignation of King, the 'Beast Priest', giving an automatic win to Kazuya. A dissatisfied crowd spread across the four levels of benches booed at the lack of action.
"Listen to them, they love you almost as much as the folk back at the arms convention." All Chaolan's energy seemed to have been drained, leaving only a bitter sarcastic version of him behind. Kazuya merely raised an eyebrow and sat down next to him, a towel hung over his shoulders. Bruce sat on his other side, large tattooed limbs folding until he only slightly dwarfed Kazuya. His eyes were fixed on the announcement board.
"Oh."
Kazuya's gaze followed his. 'Mishima K.' vs 'Irvin B.'.
"You entered the tournament?" Kazuya turned to Bruce.
"I wasn't gonna fly all the way round the world just to set up a fight for you. I want in on the action! Was just banking on that match-up not coming up immediately." Bruce looked uncomfortable, "So… uh, do I have to forfeit too?"
"Why would you have to forfeit?"
Bruce shot him a look,
"Well, are you gonna fire me if I beat you?"
"You're not going to beat me." Kazuya sat back. Once over the shock of the announcement, a fight with Bruce sounded like just the sort of challenge he needed to occupy his pent up energy. He could see the disapproval in Chaolan's face out the corner of his eye.
"I ain't fighting unless I've got your word. Job security is worth more to me than one admittedly tempting victory over you."
"Fine, I won't fire you if you beat me," Kazuya stood and stretched. The sooner he was hitting things the better. "Now are we going or what?"
The discontent in the room shifted as Kazuya and Bruce made their way down to the ring. They vaulted over the ring fence to streams of applause and excitement as a woman with a megaphone announced them. Kazuya's senses dimmed and the holler of noise became a muted mass beyond the red fence. White floodlights glared off the floor and made it impossible to see the shadowy crowds beyond. The megaphone was blaring in his ear and a microphone somewhere else was clipping. He became aware of small things, like a patch of starlight coming through a skylight far above them, and a steady patter as a leak spattered water onto hard concrete somewhere. The stage under foot was slightly pliant and squeaked slightly as he tested it with his trainers. They were a comfortable pair and the only casual shoes he'd allowed himself to bring with him. He wondered faintly if they'd stain if he got blood on them. Then the announcer was standing in front of him and Bruce was looking at him with wild eyes, like he had the first time one of Kazuya's militias had found him wandering the wilds. Kazuya had a number of loyal heavily militarised corps drifting about various cities in his homeland. On paper they were old-school style enforcers ensuring the less legal side of Mishima business went down without a hitch. Neither Heihachi nor anyone else was meant to know quite how well armed and trained they were. Once an amnesiac Bruce Irvin had met them, he either needed to join them or be silenced. Luckily the man had accepted the first option before Kazuya ever mentioned the second.
"Keep it clean," the compere was shouting down her megaphone, "no below the belt dirty fighting!" then she squeezed out of the ring fence and a bell rung and the crowd roared.
Kazuya tossed his towel into one corner and cricked his neck. Bruce was already in stance, fists raised in an outward-facing guard, front leg tapping the ground like an impatient horse. Kazuya kept an eye on that leg as he raised his own guard, he knew it had a habit of propelling kicks out of nowhere.
"Ready, Boss?" Bruce fixed him with that unwavering stare, already trying to pick apart his stance for openings.
"There are no bosses in the ring, Bruce. Only winners and losers."
A grin split Bruce's usually hard face. He tilted his head in acceptance. Then the grin was gone and there was only concentration.
Bruce came in light, testing a punch between them. Kazuya watched him gauge the distance, sidestepping to keep Bruce before him. He frowned slightly. Bruce wasn't closing the distance despite still being out of reach. That meant- he brought his cover up high and blocked a full round house kick to the head that came off Bruce's back leg, then the front leg came in with a flying knee. Kazuya lifted a knee and blocked it, covering his face as jab and straight punch followed through. He could feel Bruce trying to get in close, pull in for a clinch which would favour his size, strength and style. Kazuya drew back enough to put in a powerful front kick, ramming into Bruce's chest and forcing him to hop back and gain his balance. His longer legs gave him an advantage in range over Kazuya, while the tight knit of his Muay Thai meant he was lethal in close. Kazuya set his teeth.
He held his guard loose. He'd have to play by the tactics Chaolan used on him then. Speed and deception. Bruce was hunched over in his guard, hulking shoulders hugged high to guard his neck. His arms were tense and his front legs was tapping the ground between them. Kazuya came in fast with another front kick. Bruce brought his knee across him and blocked it, then brought an elbow down on Kazuya's head. Kazuya ducked low, wary of coming close to those knees, but hoping the surprise move would give him a second. He came back up fast with a spinning uppercut, snapping into Bruce's jaw. Bruce staggered back, head reeling. He kept his guard high despite his disorientation. Kazuya pressed his advantage and followed through with a series of punches. Bruce met them all with his guard, gradually regaining his footing as he did. He threw back one punch of his own and the force of it was enough to send Kazuya spinning.
Kazuya backed off. Speed not force, he thought to himself again, speed not force. Like it'll have to be for Heihachi. That thought snapped him back into focus. He felt more than saw the next kick. Bruce brought his back leg forward in a knee that closed the distance, then his next knee came in straight for Kazuya's chest. Kazuya caught it, landed one punch on the opposite side of Bruce's chest to ruin his balance, then swept his other leg through. Bruce came down like a tree and Kazuya was on him in a second, pounding his face with punches. That irritating guard was still there even on the ground and before Kazuya had landed a good blow there was a foot in his stomach that cleared him off the floor and pushed him a good metre away. That gave Bruce all the space he needed to get back up and stalk the ring again.
There was energy behind his step this time. Buoyant. Excited. Irritated. Kazuya waited for Bruce to make his move. Bruce's front leg came up, turned and slammed into Kazuya's side. It snapped back and came again, and again, and again each time with power enough to swing Kazuya wildly to his left. As soon as Kazuya grabbed the leg, Bruce jumped into the grab, using it to propel his other knee into Kazuya's chest. Then Kazuya knew he was in trouble. A clinch came hard around his neck, as Bruce's arms locked about his neck and hung on his head. He got his arms between his face and Bruce's knees, preventing those strikes from smashing into his skull. Fuck, was the only coherent thought he could think, because the lock on his head was tight and the power in those knees was ploughing into his forearms. Kazuya stepped into the clinch, closing the space between them and latching his arms behind Bruce's back, taking away the opportunity for those knees to come at him. He planted his feet, took a low horse stance and heaved Bruce's entire body up into the air before dumping him on the ground. He got one solid kick into Bruce's rib cage before the surprised man rolled over and bounced back up.
Kazuya retreated, using the precious moments to right his head and catch his breath. Bruce barely looked like he'd been working. Kazuya rolled his shoulders, he could feel the places in his side where he'd taken Bruce's kicks and Chaolan's the day before. He expelled his breath, then drew it back in slowly, tightening his stomach muscles and raising his fists. He kept his eyes on Bruce's chest where he could see the movement of all his limbs, but focussed on counting the rhythm of that stamping front foot. Stamp, stamp, stamp-stamp, back, stamp, stamp – Kazuya powered forward, while that leg was airbourne, but it snapped forward and caught him in the chest, forcing him back like his lungs had been stepped on. He snarled and spat as the distance opened up between them again.
He took a higher guard with his fists like Bruce's and came in more slowly. That front kick came up again and he blocked it with a knee. He let his guard widen a little and Bruce punched straight through, left-right. Kazuya brought his forearms together, crushing Bruce's punches into his block, then he rolled up the forearms with a series of strikes that went for vital points – until his fist clipped Bruce's jaw. He saw that flicker that meant he'd grazed the knockout point. Bruce seemed aware of his trouble and brought a knee into Kazuya's side. Kazuya took with a grunt, but didn't let up. He locked up one of Bruce's arms and kept turning him so that he other arm couldn't get a shot in. He put another solid punch into Bruce's face and took another knee to his side for his efforts. Bruce pulled back his head for a headbutt to disrupt that lock but Kazuya pounded his fist into that point on his jaw again. Flesh went slack all around him. There was a sound blurred by sweat and lights and din and suddenly Bruce wasn't standing any more. He was a pile of limbs on the ground. Kazuya took a step back, breathing hard. There was a moment's quiet, then uproar all around him. A crowd burst into cheers. Lights were moving. A megaphone was blaring. The compere was vaulting back into the ring holding his arm aloft declaring him the winner. Bruce was out cold on the ring floor.
Kazuya picked up his towel and water bottle from his corner. He vaguely thought he should see to Bruce, but it looked like a couple of people were bringing him round. He drank deeply and pulled apart the ring fence, squeezed through and dropped to the ground. He tousled his hair, not caring that he might be messing up the gel. He ran his hand down his face and aimed for where he'd last seen Chaolan. He'd been vaguely hoping his brother would be at the edge of the ring ready to enthusiastically regale him with his praises. He put that image from his mind. It was childish and stupid. Before he got back to his seat he was confronted with a large obstacle. A man as tall as Bruce stood before him with a thick muscled bare chest and a full jaguar face mask. Kazuya stared sullenly up into the open jaguar mouth, wondering faintly where he was meant to look for eye contact.
"You fight well," the luchador said to him in English almost as accented as Kazuya's. "You have an honesty behind your attacks. At one point I was worried you cared only for prestige and to win when Señor Lee came over to me earlier, but I can see now that you have personal integrity – all of your spirit goes into your fight." Kazuya was caught off guard, unsure what to say. The luchador nodded once more, mask obscuring all his emotion and leaving Kazuya only with his tone of voice to go on, "I am glad there are still people like you in the world," he went on, "I had long grown to believe that men with power were capable of nothing but corruption and an obsession with more power." Kazuya stared at him, unsure if the man was now mocking him. His senses were still in overdrive from the fight and he could feel his heartbeat only just starting to find its old pace. The wrestler seemed to sense Kazuya's unease and clarified for him, "Señor Lee explained that my case was an unusual one that was personal to you. I would not, of course, had forfeit the match otherwise: the product of my labour is worth more to me than a corporate buy off, Señor Mishima. But Señor Lee explained his background, and I believe we see eye to eye on this matter."
Kazuya had an uncomfortable feeling growing in his chest. He glanced over to where his brother sat in the stalls, chin resting on his hands, elbows resting on his knees. His glamorous clothes looked out of place in the run-down warehouse, but his easy mannerisms did not.
"Yes… indeed," Kazuya said carefully. The discomfort wedged itself more firmly in his stomach. The match was fading from the forefront of his thoughts as he took full stock of the slump in his brother's posture. "What exactly did he say to you?"
"That he was your brother by adoption, and had been taken into your family as an orphan himself. That he and you were close, and you care for him, and that you expressed reservations about fighting against someone who was here seeking to do good for people like him. That you had asked him to tender your resignation, but that he instead had come to me and asked me to forfeit so that you might continue in the tournament. And that your company would make a donation to a number of charities after being reminded again and confronted by the reality of poverty and hunger in the lives of so many children still out there who did not have Señor Lee's good fortune."
Kazuya swallowed. He gave a slightly strained smile,
"Indeed," he said again, feeling like that cardboard cutout Mishima Heihachi standing back at the expo. "I'm glad we could come to an arrangement, Mr King." His eyes wandered back to Chaolan as he spoke. "I wish you all the best in your honourable endeavours. I will personally ensure that the Mishima Zaibatsu gives generously to some suitable charities. Thank you for your understanding." He gave a curt bow and excused himself.
He made his way quickly between the rows of benches. There were a few cheers and some legs moved to allow him through. He ignored everything as he went and sat next to Chaolan. Bruce had been helped off the stage and was sitting heavily in a foldaway chair with a cold compress pressed to his chin and plastic bottle in the other hand. The ring before them was being hosed down for the next fight. The floodlights caught the water and the jets briefly looked bright gold.
"I owe you an apology," Kazuya said abruptly.
Chaolan glanced sideways at him then looked forward.
"Hm? Not like you to offer one so freely. Why, what have I done to deserve this honour?"
"The… matter that was dealt with earlier. Orphanages and the like. The way I dealt with it was… insensitive."
Chaolan stiffened, but his voice stayed light,
"You're always insensitive, Kaz, no one's surprised by that and no one expects an apology for it."
"I'm sorry." This time Chaolan blinked and looked at him. "Sometimes I forget that there was a time before you were my brother. I wasn't thinking when I asked you to deal with this. It was callous of me."
"I was the best person to send," Chaolan said, just a little coolly. "I'm always good at presenting you in a good light."
"The wrestler told me you said we were close, and that my reservation over fighting him came out of my concern for you."
"I told him what he wanted to hear," Chaolan's voice was terse. Kazuya could see he was glancing away and embarrassed.
"I do care for you, Chaolan," Kazuya insisted.
"Kaz, it's fine. It doesn't matter. It doesn't bother me."
"It does bother you. It bothers you a lot. You wish I was kinder, more open, that I cared about more than just my ambition, that I appreciated you more-"
Chaolan turned to him sharply with a fierce look in his eye,
"Kaz, I didn't say that stuff to King because I made it up. And neither did I say it so that you could parrot it back to me guiltily. People look at you and see only the person you've had to become to withstand the shit you've grown up with. It annoys me that they can't see the cage you live in because it's so expensively decorated. There isn't an easy way to express to people the things you've done for me. It doesn't look like their conventional sort of kindness – like the priest who helps orphan kids sort – and it pisses me off that they can just write stuff in a newspaper like you're some kind of monster and Heihachi isn't. You are who you are, and who you are is the only kind of person who could have come out the end of twenty-one-years living under the roof of that man. And no one can see that. No one can see the Kazuya I can see. It's true we don't always get on, and that sometimes you can be a real fucking dick, and yeah of course who doesn't wish their brother was a little kinder, but I'm not going to whine about it because when it comes down to it you have my back when things are tough and that's what actually matters. So fuck anyone who says otherwise."
Chaolan's breath was coming short and wisps of his hair fluttered in time with his anger. He swivelled his eyes forward and tightened the hands that were folded together before him. Kazuya regarded him slowly. There was a long drawn out silence between them. The impatience of the crowd droned beyond their cocoon, along with the click of the flip boards above keeping track of scores, the hiss of the hose jetting down the arena, and the crackle of microphone feedback as someone tested it.
"You give me too much credit," Kazuya said softly. "I might have been worthy of your defence at some point. But I am no King with his noble ends. Everyone has a sad story they can blame for their choices if they wish. Perhaps mine is more difficult than others, but I suspect not. At some point we must accept that we are who we've chosen to be. If we let demons in, we must not be surprised when they possess us."
"Fuck that." Chaolan still glowered forward, as if trying to set fire to the arena with his eyes alone.
"Your faith in me is flattering, but do not worry," Kazuya's eyes lit with a strange light, "I regret nothing. Every step in my life has made me stronger. There will come a day when I return to the forsaken clifftop where this all began and I will break my father. I will cast him down and watch as his broken body falls. The way mine did when he did not expect me to crawl back up and live another sixteen years out of spite. Then the Mishima Zaibatsu will be mine. The world will be mine. And everyone who opposes me will burn."
Chaolan glanced at him. Kazuya blinked as if waking from a dream and caught Chaolan looking at him.
"Too much?" he asked.
"Yeah, just a fucking little," Chaolan returned.
Kazuya gave a sly half smile and put a hand on his brother's shoulder.
"I'll get you that secretary job so that you can stand by my side and watch the flames. I'm going to go check on Bruce."
He stepped up onto a bench then down onto the next one in the row in front, using them as steps down to the arena. The light winked off the sweat still gleaming on his scarred torso as people parted to let him past. Chaolan felt cold as he watched Kazuya leave. There was a certain kind of inevitability to Kazuya's path as he walked down to the ring. For a moment Chaolan saw his brother's life set like those descending benches before his feet, always leading him down and down towards fated confrontation.
Author Note: I realised too late King is a lot of fun to write and the only window of light in this story. Some day maybe I'll write a story where I get to give him more dialogue and moments to shine.
Thanks very much for the reviews and faves! It's really encouraging seeing people enjoy this as I've not written for Tekken before.
