Lightening Crashes
Descent from Heaven
Small, bloodied fingers grasped along the jagged edge of the cliff face. It had taken all the boys strength to climb along the unfathomable chasm, writhing in agony with each upward thrust, gaining only inches of ground with each shaking handhold. For a time the child slid in and out of unconsciousness, succumbing to the blissful arms of blackness, only to reawaken in a pool of his own blood, growing colder...weaker, with each passing moment.
"The Arms of your Mother will not shield you now, boy. If you are my son, you will prove your strength to me by climbing from this chasm to take your place at my side. Should you fail, you may rejoin your Mother in the arms of death for all eternity." The voice of Heihachi Mishima barked as he held Kazuya suspended over the dark, yawning Chasm.
"Father...no...please..." Kazuya pleaded, swinging his small arms through the air, frightened to look into the rocky face of his destiny.
"Pleading is for the weak, boy. Embrace your fate and let the strength of your ambitions power your ascension." Heihachi smiled amidst the yawning sky. He would build the perfect machine...a most unfeeling aire, tempered in the forge of hatred and anger.
Kazuya could barely grasp the words Heihachi growled. In the instant of his desperation to understand, the trusting hand of his Father released its' hold, sending the boy tumbling through an endless flight, his tender body crashing against the jagged rocks like tides of ocean pounding the surf. The only sound to comfort Kazuya on his descent from the earth was the echoing chant of his screams...growing more faint with each gash of jagged rocks ripping into his body. Why....Why had his father done this to him?
Sniffling back tears of exhaustion, anguish, Kazuya reached his tiny hands along the lip of the ridge. Pulling up only a handful of clumped earth, he fell back, pressing himself to the small ledge that supported him. Kazuya's eyes rolled back as he fought to remain conscious. Drawing his fingers through the shredded whole in his shirt, he could feel the edges of his own tattered flesh matted with cold, dark blood. The boy felt his balance waning, threatening to send him spilling down the long road to his own demise. His face twisted and contorted in fear, rage and confusion. I am going to die, Kazuya realized. I am going die in the cold, alone...Mommy, where are you? With his heart, he called to his Mother who had only passed weeks before...her life expiring as she clutched her child tight to her chest.
A soft, smooth voice hissed through Kazuya's mind. The tone was so delicate, so comforting, he wondered if Mother had heard him, coming to take his hand and lead him into Eternity.
Do not fear, Child. The voice swirled along Kazuya's mind, drinking his thoughts like a ghost in the night. You will not fall. This is your beginning, not your end.
"Who...who is there?" Kazuya rubbed his dark eyes, teetering on the edge of fatal resignation.
You must reach the top, Kazuya Mishima. You and I have much to do... The comforting voice boomed through his mind once more.
Grasping the last bit of his dying resolve, Kazuya reached for the lip of earth, his fingers slick with blood, holding firm to the rocks above. With a heave of breath, Kazuya vowed to pull himself over, daring the heavens and earth to stop him. If for no other reason than to spite his father, to prove his strength...forged in the flames of hatred and mistrust...rage and disobedience.
Slamming his hand flat on the earth, Kazuya lifted himself over the lip of the chasm, his body broken, bruised...exhausted. Fresh salted tears danced along his blood stained cheeks, the flow of his life was ebbing before him.
"Mother...Mother..." Kazuya cried out, looking for the voice that filled him with a flicker of resolve. The world was quiet, unreckoned before him, locked in the cold grip of night.
"Please Mother...answer me..." His small frame heaved with the agony of his tears as his face pressed gently against the damp, cloy earth. "...why do you not answer me....please, don't leave me alone."
Kazuya Mishima, you have made it over the mouth of the chasm, as I have promised. But you are dying. In a moments worth of time, you will be no more. The voice whispered like the wind through the trees in the garden at the Mishima Estate, the Compound he called home.
Kazuya buried his face along the gashes and bruises of his small, sun kissed forearms. His chest, torn wide open, diagonal from his heart to his ribs leaked the last reserve of his vital essence. "I..I don't want to die..."
Ahhh...you do not have to die, little one. I can restore your life to you, fuel you with the vengeance over your Father, which you so desire. I can grant to you power beyond your wildest dreams. But there is a price, little Mishima. The cost of your body, the bounty of your soul. Should you accept my gifts, you will be mine for as long as you draw breath. I give you the choice. Will you die here, this night...on your belly like a pathetic worm...or...Will you chose life, and be my host for as long as the blood pulses through your veins? Your time is running out, Kazuya. Make your choice.... The voice was as velvet through his burning soul.
Kazuya rose up onto his knees, looking for the source of the voice. "Show yourself to me...." The young Mishima coughed, the air cracking along his bloodied lips. One hand rushed out along the ground to brace him.
You are quick to make demands on your knees before death. So be it. I grant you your request... The Demon appeared as a flash of dark purple flame, an incorporeal ghost, radiantly glowing with power...eyes of bloody fire staring down unto him. I am losing my patience, child. Make your choice and let us be done...
"You aren't an angel, are you?" Kazuya's head dropped low, his eyes feeling so blissfully heavy. His words were wrapped in the innocence of his 5 year old mind.
The demon laughed, the flames expanding into the yawning night. Your Choice, little Mishima. What is your choice....life or death?
Kazuya looked up into the eyes of the demon. "I..chose..life....I chose...life." He whispered with his last mortal breath. Instantly the purple flames surrounded him, driving the energy into the childs body as Kazuya's arms flung outward like the crucified Christ.
Kazuya screamed, his head swinging upward to the sky. With glowing red eyes superimposing over his own....Kazuya saw the most beautiful blue eyed gaze and golden mane of a white winged angel...soundlessly screaming to the heavens as tears rode down the beings' fair cheeks. Enfolding her weeping form with her gossamer feathers, the angel slowly faded...and Kazuya fell to the ground.
Kazuya rose slowly from the earth, his eyes glancing along the sky for the angelic visitor that wept at his acceptance of the Demon. Turning his hands over, palms facing up, the young Mishima inspected the gashes and scrapes. They were bleeding...but he could feel them healing.
With a gasp, Kazuya looked down along his chest. The vicious diagonal gaping wound...was now a large, blood red scar, pulsing with a strange energy. Though his body ached...he had cheated death. For the first time, Kazuya Mishima knew what it was to yield to the power of hate. There would be vengeance on Heihachi Mishima for what he had done. The air around Kazuya suddenly changed, sparking like charges from a rain soaked fuse box...licking his body with a pulse of sudden lightening that did not burn his flesh. Kazuya jolted as the power of his anger became...electric.
All in due time, little Kazuya. You are too small now to strike the crushing blow. Though I have given you the promise of power and restored your life, now is not time to seek your Vengeance. You must first learn and grow, bringing the death blow only when it seems the pain has been forgotten. You are yet molten metal, awaiting the processes at the forge to become a sword.
Kazuya stumbled, regaining his energy as the lightening which swirled around him died. His trembling form drew into the newly built East Wing. The remainder of his wounds dripping blood along the floor as he walked. Heihachi was waiting for him. The older man could see how his son was only held, walking...upright by the sheer force of his determination and hatred for the cruelty inflicted upon him by the once trusting hand of his father.
Crossing his arms before his massive chest, Heihachi nodded to him...alight with a sick sense of pride as his eyes gleamed with malevolent light. His large hand grasped the bleeding boy by his shoulder as the words nearly danced from his lips.
"Now you will learn Mishima-Style Karate and bring honor to your father, grandfather and the line of our ancestors before him."
Kazuya looked deeply into the cruel eyes of his Sire, watching as he seemed to glow with newfound darkness. "Your training starts tomorrow, boy. Clean yourself up and get to bed."
Heihachi released the grip on his sons shoulder. Kazuya turned, a new malevolence burning deep in his eyes. There was a strong resonance of ozone surrounding the boy. Could it be I have released the Fatal Lightening?, the older Mishima wondered as he watched Kazuya walk up along the spiralling stairs of the East wing. Was it possible that the deadly force of electric current that forked within the soul of all Mishima males had finally drawn itself outward to the physical body in a vulgar display of power? Was it finally ready to be unleashed, borne from the traumatic circumstances surrounding Kazuya's flight into the chasm?
Heihachi turned, walking into the library, his thoughts flooded with questions, too soon for answers. Resting his brow against his hand, the older Mishima closed his eyes, his thoughts inevitably drawn to the irresistible face of his wife, only recently deceased.
Kazumi had coddled the boy, spoiling him like brat prince of an empire, effectively squashing Heihachi's designs on the raising of his son. He had begun teaching Kazuya the basic forms of the ancestral art of his Karate early, though Kazumi fought him...going so far as to forbid her husband from raising the level of Kazuya's training after seeing the purple marks of rising bruises on her tender sons young flesh. Heihachi did not spare the rod when attacking his son and student. If Kazuya was to truly learn to block, punch and deflect, the Older Mishima felt it was his duty to come at the child with full strength. To please his incessantly unhappy wife, Heihachi proceeded no further than the basic kata's...with a cruel attention to perfection. A perfection the child only seldom attained.
Kazumi had tried to reason with Heihachi after an early morning practice from which Kazuya returned with a black eye. "A blackened eye, Heihaci? Why must you strike him carelessly hard enough, viciously enough even, to wound him with such?"
"Better a bruised eye than the broken bones that insolent whelp deserves. He is undisciplined...disrespectful to this household and the nature surrounding him. I will not accept any excuse you offer me for his laziness..."
"He is only a child, Heihachi..." her sweet voice cried out in anguish after seeing her sons condition. "...part of his growing is willfulness and even at times a lack of attention you might perceive as disrespect. He is all of nearly 8 years old...show mercy, else recant your vow to train him."
"Do not test me, woman!" Heihachi raised his hand, fighting back his intent to strike. "No blood of the Mishima line will go untrained in the ancestral art of our karate. Not so much as a cross glance will I tolerate! Kazuya will not grow into a worthless and weak man bearing the power of the Mishima name. I will not have it and I will no longer have you coddling him. Do you understand me, Kazumi? Or must I make myself clear with the back of my hand?"
Heihachi felt the bitter regret of his words the moment he set them free from his mind. Kazumi was horrified to see him in such a rage after he had so savagely bruised the child, marking him with a black eye. "You would dare to strike me? Your wife...the mother to your child?" Her eyes were wide....with fear.
Heihachi felt the coldness of his heart, glaring down into her eyes. "If it would save my son from dishonor...weakness...." Heihachi turned, averting his gaze, placing his back to her. This battle had become an obsession. Kazuya had become an obsession. Only under the tireless cruelty of training could Heihachi hope to temper the child now, before it was too late.
Kazumi died only a few weeks after that incident, Heihachi recalled, lifting a snifter of brandy to his lips. She had never regained her health completely after their son was born, often giving to boughts of tiredness and almost trance-like visions, from which only Kazuya could seem to rouse her. Kazumis' soul seemed bound to the child with a love far deeper than Heihachi had felt from her, since the boy was brought into the world. Even on her death bed, Kazumis' final words to Heihachi pleaded a case of mercy, patience...tempered kindness for the love she imparted to her son.
In the final hour, Kazumi clutched Kazuya tight to her chest, enfolding her arms...like wings over his heaving back. Heihachi stood as sentry, looking to the bed his dying wife lay upon, grasping their son. It was the very same bed Kazuya had been conceived...and delivered within. As Kasumi's soul passed, Kazuya pressed to the dead womans heart, Heihachi stepped forward to remove the weeping child, sending the boy with one of the house attendants though he pleaded not to be taken away.
Sitting along the edge of the bed, Heihachi wept in his own private grief for the loss of his first love...his wife, the angelic Kazumi Mishima. For several weeks after her passing, Heihachi refused to set his eyes on Kazuya, opting instead to surround himself with his powerful company, the Mishima Zaibatsu. When Heihachi returned home from the long hours that came with the title of CEO, he would retire himself to the library, making peace with his memories and the passing of his wife. Heihachi would talk to her departed soul, detailing his plans...to which he could hear her vehement protests. He would take the Zaibatsu to the next level from Financial Conglomerate to global militarized defense, and take to mercilessly training his son in the ways of Ancestral Karate...IF Kazuya could survive on his fathers proving grounds. Then the boy would be a tempered blade, forged in the bowels of hell, at one with his hatred in a dark understanding, a mirror image of his Father. Drawing upon it's power, only then would Kazuya be worthy to accept the proud family name and someday carry on at the helm of the Zaibatsu. If Kazuya did not survive, Kazumi may clutch her beloved child to her breast for all eternity.
Heihachi rubbed his eyes, placing the snifter down along his desk. Kazuya had surpassed his own expectations and succeeded on Heihachi's deadly proving grounds. The boy had won his right to life but he had not yet earned the Mishima name. A cruel lesson Heihachi would begin to teach Kazuya, with the rising of the son.
Kazuya slowly stripped away his tattered, blood soaked clothing, slipping his left foot ever so carefully into the bathtub; filled to nearly overflowing with steaming water. He shivered slightly as the scalding liquid swirled around his leg, biting away the cold, aching feeling from his bones. Drawing his right foot in, Kazuya sank down, wrapping his small arms around his knees. The threat of trauma had passed him by, and now, in this moment , there was no safety, no security. Kazuya half expected his father to storm into the room like some vicious animal, only to rip him from the comfort of the bathtub....to make him relive the ordeal of the Chasm...again.
The water surrounded his battered body, tainting with a dark crimson malevolence as the dried blood covering Kazuya's form was slowly washed away. He bit his lip, tears stinging his eyes. With trembling fingers he gently traced the jagged edges of torn flesh at his chest. The young Mishima's body was tortured. His skin was as a canvas, cruelly painted in strokes of black and blue bruises, accented with cuts, scrapes and gapping wounds...shadowed in dirt. Kazuya felt as if he might never scrub the filth of the chasm from his flesh...
Do not sink yourself into the darkness of these thoughts, else you will go mad before sunrise. These wounds..these scars are as badges, garnered by the force of our will. In time they will heal. But do not forget.... study each stroke of brutality, Kazuya. Mark and Remember he who has inflicted such cruelty upon you...
The echo of the Demon spoke into Kazuya's mind using a voice only a child could understand. Soft, comforting...the words were like flashes of distant memories..remniscent of a hot summer day playing hide and seek in the gardens surrounding the estate, with his mother Kazumi. Such thoughts were safe, comfortable against his tumultuous soul.
Lulled into a calm, Kazuya carefully rubbed the hot, soapy water along the cuts and scrapes that lined his form. Removing tiny grains of debris left by the chasm, his skin emerged tattered but clean.
Wrapping the towel around his body, Kazuya walked into his bedroom, switching on the light as he dressed in his pajamas. Rushing to the warmth of his bed, he snuggled the covers around him, wincing slightly as the material rubbed his tender wounds. Kazuya's eyes were drawn upward, staring into the light that hummed softly from aloft. He knew he should have risen to shut the switch...but suddenly he did not want to be left in the dark. Chewing his lip gently, he whispered to the glowing orb above him. "Goodnight, Mommy."
Yielding to exhaustion, Kazuya finally succumbed to a tumultuous sleep, shielded by the essence of vanquished angels; in lineage to demons who come to rule with the triumph of night.
Spare the Rod
Heihachi leaned against the doorjamb of Kazuya's bedroom, on the newly built east wing of the Mishima Compound. Looking down on the boy as he slept, Heihachi could taste his revulsion for his son, rising like bile to the back of his throat. Kazuya was marred with visible bruises. Heihachi could see where trickles of blood stained the chest of his night clothes from the gapping wound he had glimpsed on him the night before. His abhorrence was mixed with a sense of pride. His cub had returned from the dark trench, emerging somewhere between Heaven and Hell, as he was instructed to do.
How could he detest his own flesh and blood to such a chilling degree? Heihachi pondered the question as it entered his mind, buzzing through his thoughts like a pestering insect bent on distracting him from his work in progress. The child had been born from the bonds of love between Heihachi and Kazumi. The couple had waited many years for the arrival of an heir. At first, the Older Mishima was a doting Father, there to witness every milestone as his newborn son grew into childhood. There was not a cough or cry in the night to which Heihachi did not rise to inspect himself, allowing Kazumi to rest and rebuild her strength after such a long and arduous delivery.
At first it all seemed so perfect but the newly established fascination with being a father quickly wore thin, yielding little more than aggravations and annoyances as Heihachi tried to focus on the security and success of the Financial Empire, left to him by his father. The idea of expansion into markets outside of the Fiscal realm was a time consuming process but exceptionally profitable if the gamble paid off. Such a move would secure the future of the Zaibatsu, expanding into a previously unconquered defense market on a world wide scale. But Kazumi could not tear herself away from the toddler, too busy with fussing on the little prince to appreciate the necessity of Heihachi's stressful endeavors. When Kazumi finally had a moment of breath away from the overwhelming needs of her son, she would endlessly recant the tales of what cute little thing the boy had done today. It even seemed the demanding Kazuya perfectly planned his midnight tantrums with the deliberate purpose of preventing any intimate time between his parents. The frustration only escalated once the boy developed the ability to not only walk, but to talk in words other than baby gibberish.
Heihachi exhaled sharply, writhing along with the fuel of his past recollections. With a sharp voice he barked, "Boy, get up and dress. When you have finished your breakfast I expect you in the dojo. Your training begins this morning."
Kazuya jolted, pressing his back against the wall his bed rested against. His small hands gripped the covers, holding them to his chin as he seemed to pant like a cornered beast. "Y-Yes Sir..." He stammered, looking to his father with haunted, frightened eyes.
Heihachi turned slowly walking down the stairs to the main fore, disgusted by the reaction of his son. Yet, the idea that Kazuya now understood the fear of his own life when in the presence of his father was exceptionally uplifting. Heihachi now held complete control over the boy. Perhaps the child would listen much closer to the instructions his father would impart. Perhaps now Kazuya understood his mother was no longer there to protect him from the wrath of his Fathers' anger. The boy was all alone now and subject only to the force of his fathers will.
Kazuya wiped his eyes clean of sleep, sucking back a breath as the soreness of yesterdays events reaped a toll on his body. The booming voice of his Father ripped him from the arms of a sweat drenched sleep, awakening him with a sudden terror. To the eyes of the child, his father had become a cruel monster from a long forgotten fairytale. What did he ever do to make his father hate him so much? The question plagued Kazuya's mind as he rose from the bed, his shivering fingers removing the plain white gi uniform from his dresser drawer.
You must show your father strength, not fear. Though he may be bigger, stronger than you are now, you will grow to become his greatest rival. I have invested you with the powers to which he will temper for us, in time. You will never be alone, Kazuya. I am with you and I am all you will ever need.
Kazuya listened intently to the voice of the demon as he dressed, finding comfort in the words.
"Now that you are inside of me, can you hear all the things in think? Can you feel everything I feel?" Kazuya asked innocently, looking into the mirror as he combed his hair.
I see all, I hear all and I feel all. You will learn to understand my presence as well, all in due time. We are one, little Kazuya, as such we will be for all the days to which you draw breath.
"Can we play together? I don't really have any friends?" Kazuya studied his reflection, turning his head to the side, looking for the devil within himself.
Yes, we will play together and the games will become increasingly important as you grow. You must listen closely to the things I tell you and you must be sure to tell no one that we are joined. It must be our little secret Kazuya....
"Can I tell my mommy when I say my prayers to her at night?" he asked innocently.
You must tell no one. It must be our secret. You no longer need to offer prayers to dead gods, they are deaf and they no longer care for you. You are turned from the light, forsaken.
Kazuya quirked a brow slightly, trying to understand the words that echoed through his mind. Inquisitively he leaned closer to the mirror. "Can I see you inside of me?"
Kazuya felt the devil laugh, sending a cold chill up his spine. Look closely little Mishima and tell me what you see....
Kazuya watched his reflection and jolted back, startled. His eyes slowly began to glow, blood red, as did the immense chest wound beneath his gi uniform. He could feel the pulse of energy radiating from within. A dark gleaming slit emerged vertically down the center of his forehead, beginning just below the line of his hair and ending above the bridge of his nose. With his jaw agape, Kazuya reached his fingers up to touch the eye of the Demon, looking back at him from his reflection.
With a sudden burst from door, Heihachi was standing in his bedroom. Kazuya jumped back from the mirror, looking to him...a sense of hatred intermingling with fear. The pulsing red glow of the demon dissipated as quickly as it arrived.
"Boy did I not make myself clear with you? Does it take a half an hour to follow simple instructions?" Heihachi narrowed his eyes as Kazuya looked into him, offering no answer, brimming with inner fire.
"You speak when you are spoken to, do you understand me Kazuya?"
"Yes Sir." Kazuya snapped from his hateful daze, the twinge of fear creeping back into his voice.
Heihachi grasped him by the shirt, his knuckles brushing the tattered flesh of Kazuya's chest wound. The young Mishima was sent out of door and into the hallway with a burst of sudden velocity, Heihachi following behind like a grim shadow.
Kazuya ran down the steps and into the dining room in the main fore. Seating himself he raised his quivering fingertips, grasping his fork for a breakfast that was already served and half cold.
Heihachi entered to find Kazuya already eating. Retaking his seat at the table, the Older Mishima lifted his steaming cup of fresh brewed tea to his lips, thumbing his fingertip along the morning paper. They sat in silence until the meal was complete. Kazuya was excused to use the bathroom and wash his hands with instructions to meet his father in the dojo in 5 minutes time.
Kazuya ran along the dirt path leading from the compound to the dojo some distance away. Panting for fear of what lateness would reap, Kazuya slid the door open, bowing as he entered. Looking through the dark for his Father, he glimpsed the flicker of candles toward the back of the dojo. Drawn to the fiery essence, Kazuya stepped carefully until he could see the glint of his light on his father.
Heihachi stood, bare chested in his gi, his muscular arms crossed before his massive chest as he turned to his son. "Now that we will be focusing more on your training than we have been permitted in the past, you will begin each session, spar or match with cleansing meditation to honour yourself, your opponent and your ancestors. You will focus on flawless victory and once you have decimated your opponent, you will return here to extinguish the candle...accepting the Ki of your adversary into yourself. Now, kneel."
Kazuya drew down onto his knees, bowing his head before the candle flame. He could feel the energy shift around him as his father did the same, beside him. After several moments that dragged forever in the eyes of a child, Heihachi rose and bowed before the candle. Kazuya followed suit, mimicking the actions of his father.
Stepping away from his son, Heihachi lit the torches lining the walls of the dojo, leaving the candle in the back to burn. With his finger, he beckoned Kazuya forward to stand on the hardwood floor before him. "We will begin with a warm up and quick review of the basic Kata's. We will then focus on your punches, blocks and kicks." The older Mishima ordered.
Leading Kazuya through each of the promised movements, Heihachi did not spare the rod when attacking with various punches from different stances, forcing the boy to shift his blocking status. Kazuya would learn the art of changing moves fluidly else he would be caught with the full force of his fathers Ki. Knocked to the floor repeatedly, Kazuya rose, aching from the impact on his already aching body, each time his eyes becoming more determined to flow into the energy of the blocks.
Finally, the younger Mishima found his rhythm, managing to block and occasionally deflect the exceptional power of his father's angry fists. Somewhat satisfied, Heihachi allowed the boy to rest and catch his breath before he would take him to the next level of Kata's and his first full combination attack, the Flash Punch.
After several moments of sitting cross legged on the hard wood floor of the dojo, Heihachi motioned for his son to fall into stance. His muscles aching, Kazuya lifted himself upward...only to fall onto all fours, under the strain of over exertion.
Heihachi leaned down onto his haunches before the boy, his voice loud and disapproving. "Are you weak, boy? Get up and assume your stance, NOW!" The older Mishima barked causing a chill to rush through Kazuya's blood. Wincing slightly as the tension of his muscles threatened to lock him into place, Kazuya rose.
Heihachi instructed Kazuya to pay close attention to the next form as he demonstrated the Kata. After repeating the movement only one additional time, Kazuya was then ordered to duplicate the motions. It was evident after the first three steps, Kazuya was unable to replicate the Kata.
"Again!" The older Mishima barked as Kazuya assumed his ready stance, but made no other movement to begin.
"Is there a problem, boy? Did I not just instruct you to run the Kata?" Heihachi raised a brow, crossing his arms before his son and student.
"E..Everything hurts, Father...please, please may I stop, I will do better tomorrow. I promise."
Heihachi growled, sending his backhand flying into Kazuya's cheek. The younger Mishima fell to the ground, clutching his face. "In the walls of this dojo I am not your Father, boy. You will reap no benefits from my blood and I will not work you easily. Do you understand me, Kazuya? Get up and run the Kata, NOW!"
Kazuya felt tears of frustration push to the edge of his eyes. His body hurt more than he could understand, the ache refused to be ignored. Drawing up onto his hands and knees, his cheek blazoned with the reddened finger marks of an angered Father. Kazuya looked up, his eyes burning with hatred and the realization his legs would not support his weight, no matter how he commanded them to stand. "I-I can't, Sir..."
Heihachi was furious. "Do you think this is fun and games, boy?" he hissed. "We have covered nothing but your basics and you will not leave this dojo until that Kata is run. GET UP!"
Kazuya felt the threat of tears carry through, falling from his dark eyes to stain the length of his bruised cheek. Biting the edge of his lip, Kazuya drew one leg up..and then the other, cringing in pain...only to have them collapse beneath him, shaking and sending the young Mishima to his knees before his father.
"GOD DAMN IT!" Heihachi barked, throwing a power punch into Kazuya's chest, sending the boy tumbling backwards, his back slamming into the wall of the dojo several feet behind him.
Once more, Kazuya was down on his hands and knees, blood spiralling from the corners of his mouth. His eyes connected with Heihachi's, forking with electrical current dancing from his pupils to his irises. At that moment, Fatal Lightening crawled around his body, mimicking the motion from his gaze with deadly spiralling bolts. I hate you..., Kazuya whispered as he looked up into the startled eyes of his Father.
Heihachi looked on as the current of Fatal Lightening worked it's way down from Kazuya's malevolent gaze, through to his small, battered frame. He was right, the inherent ancestral current was strong in the boy. Raw with youthful energy and growing anger, the effect displayed itself in a vulgar motion.
Heihachi drew toward him, leaning down with narrowed eyes, beckoning Kazuya to make good on the threat in his gaze. "You are weak boy, far weaker than I. You have displayed the current of fatal lightening that flows through the Mishima line but you are not a Mishima, Until I say you are. You are nothing until I say so. This session is over. Complete your meditation and return to the house. You have 30 minutes. If you can not walk then you will crawl on your belly like the sniveling little whelp you are. Should you not return to the house inside of half an hour and I am forced to come for you, you will regret the day your Mother died and did not take you with her."
The charge of lightening surrounding Kazuya's form died as Heihachi walked from the dojo. Collapsing onto his belly, the young Mishima could not restrain his tears any longer. What was happening to him?
Kazuya hardened his jaw, trying to stand once more. Failing in his ability to command his muscles to react...he crawled toward the dying candle, dropping his cheek to the floor. I hate you father, he repeated like a mantra with each tear that fell. Removing his sparring gloves, Kazuya looked up, heaving it toward the candle flame. Extinguishing the light as the remainder of the stick and holder fell to the ground, Kazuya watched the wax spill along the hardwood floor, drying like blood to stain the ground.
Gathering what reserve of strength he had left, Kazuya began the demeaning act of crawling along the dirt path....on his belly.
Kazuya reached the steps, using the strength of his small arms to drag himself up. As his fingertips reached the door, Heihachi was already there, looking down on him with cruel, disapproving eyes.
Kazuya sat himself up, leaning his back on the banister, his eyes averted to the filth lining his gi uniform. Ripe with fresh blood from the reopened center of his chest wound caused by the crawl over the loose stones, Kazuya tried to brush away the gathered muck contrasting the virginal gi.
"You are a worm, boy." Heihachi hissed. "You may continue to crawl up the stairs of the east wing where you will clean yourself up. One of the servents will send your dinner up. I am too disgusted to even look across the dining room table to you." With that, Heihachi turned on his heel and walked into the house.
Kazuya hung his head, as errant tangles of dirt strewn ebony tendrils dipped down low, hanging against his filthy face. Even the soothing voice of the Demon was quiet in his mind as Kazuya silently wished he had fallen to his death in the treacherous chasm, never to rise again.
Disgraced, humiliated before the eyes of his Father, Kazuya set himself to crawl once more, this time on hands and knees...up the stairs and into the bathroom. Sitting up on his haunches, the muscles of his legs quivering, he ran the bath water, not bothering to strip his clothing as he crawled in, letting the hot water scald his flesh. The pain was good, it meant he was alive. Pain would become his friend, the only thing that would understand and never let him down. Pain makes no discrimination and Kazuya realized...at least the pain would be...familiar. In time it might replace the vision of kindness, the touch of his mother gently stroking his cheek.
The hot water loosened his muscles somewhat, giving him the ability to stand as he supported his slight weight against the wall, leaning in with his shoulder and hip as he made way to his bedroom. Kazuya stumbled as he braced his arms on either side of the doorjamb. Dinner was set on a serving tray, resting on the comforter of his bed. Leaning on his dresser, Kazuya stripped his drenched clothing for clean pajamas. Dropping to his knees, he slowly made his way to the bed, taking the tray into his hands as he fell back to sit on the floor...like a dog.
Kazuya ate greedily, filling his empty belly. Resting his head back against the wall, he looked up to the light hanging aloft. "What did I do that Father no longer loves me? Was I bad and that is why is hurting me so much?" Tears brimmed from inside Kazuya's eyes, though his face was stone set and cold. "Why did you leave me here Mommy? Why didn't you take me with you?"
Shhhhh...... The Voice of the Devil soothed. Your Mother can not hear you Kazuya, though I will answer your prayers. Silence your tears and accept your fate, the time will come when you will crawl before him no more. It is not enough to hate him, little Mishima. You must desire to bring death to him at the strength of your own hands.
Kazuya covered his ears with his hands, humming to try to drown the voice of the demon back into his mind. He wanted nothing...not even comfort, he simply wanted to cry until his eyes dried up inside of his own head. At almost 6 years old, Kazuya Mishima had learned the taste of death and the solace that only his tears could bring him.
Heihachi Mishima paced along the confines of his expansive library, his hands clutched behind his back as he pondered the fiasco in the dojo this morning. A disaster that lasted till the hours before dinner. Perhaps he did not give Kazuya enough time to recover from the trauma of the fall. Ahh, but what did it matter, the idea of recovery? Would an opponent let him take time to recover in the middle of a match? Certainly not.
Heihachi would have to break the boys willfulness in order to hone his Tekken properly. Kazuya possessed a strong aura of power but he lacked attention to detail, finesse and the killer instinct. All attributes Heihachi knew he could bring out in the boy and would do so, even if it might break him in the process. Heihachi would destroy Kazuya only rebuild him to be the perfect fighter, the perfect machine.
Stopping before an old black and white photo, framed on the wall beside the massive bookcases, Heihachi took a long moment to regard it. The face of his own father, Jinpachi Mishima stared back at him, solemn and reserved. The picture was a poor representation of the kind, jovial Senior Mishima. In life, Jinpachi had been a loving Father, hard working and devoted to the survival of his family during war time conflict. He was the calm center of a frightened community, a leader and a true business man with soft words a soft heart and an even softer hand.
Heihachi briefly reflected, lowering his eyes a moment in respect for his own fathers passing just over 6 years ago. He recalled vividly the first day Jinpachi had begun the extensive training of their ancestral style Karate. Although his father was kind and gentle, in the dojo he was Heihachi's teacher and made his son to understand that ties of blood do not affect the training young Heihachi was to undertake.
Jinpachi was impressed with the natural ability his son seemed to possess. His memory was almost edictict, able to see a Kata or movement once and able to repeat it to nearly perfect results. In time, Jinpachi took to training the young Heihachi more passionately drawing out the Fatal Lightening, though the stress of securing his family business and the war blaring around Japan had begun to take it's toll. Jinpachi began to train Heihachi harder to ensure his sons survival in the event the war might invade Japanese soil, bringing a host of Military personnel bent on increasing their numbers of confirmed kills, to which even a young boy would count toward the sum. Jinpachi's demeanor changed, his words becoming less and less soft until only the negative criticisms for a simple mistake remained.
"You must be strong and you must survive.." Jinpachi would speak as he paced before the young Heihachi in the dojo. "Our karate is not an open hand art, it is offensive...meant to inflict pain to procure the well being of the Mishima line. There must be nothing more important to you than our art and the ancestors from which the art originated. There are no mistakes in battle, Heihachi. You will kill or be killed and thus, each blow I strike from this point on...will spare the rod. Are you ready?"
Heihachi had possessed impressive skill and intense desire to learn. Once the training became more violent, he proved to grow increasingly stronger, almost enjoying it to a shocking degree. Inside of a year from that conversation, the war was nearly over and Americans dropped the fatal atomic bombs "Fat Man and Little boy" on Hiroshima, Nagasaki. No level of ancestral Karate could have prepared the Mishima family to the outcome.
The shockwave rode through the bustling city of Tokyo, spreading a deadly wave of radiation that sickened a majority of the population....though not as horribly as those small towns lining the epicenter of the impact zone. In the span of moments a rich culture was threatened to be decimated, a history left in ashes. Jinpachi Mishima had been poisoned with traces of radiation to which even the strength of his Fatal Lightening could not defeat. The strength of his Tekken brought him through, though he never regained the full force of his life after the incident.
Jinpachi took Heihachi under his wing then, teaching his son the family business that would someday be known as the Mishima Financial Empire...the Zaibatsu. In-depth, the Senior Mishima detailed plans to a teenage Heihachi to spread the diverse small time company into the beginning stages of the militarized defense markets. He had grown paranoid in those years that at the whim of the United States, once more the country of Japan would suffer. Jinpachi was positive the Zaibatsu could lead the way in this new market, securing the sanctity of the Mishima line and the beloved country from which the soil flowed through their blood...and Tekken. The senior Mishima needed the strength of his son in order to make this new mission a reality.
Heihachi completed High School and was forced to forego the idea of college and the wonder of travel abroad for the Martial Arts tournament circuit. Jinpachi enrolled him in every local contest, sometimes forcing Heihachi to fight several matches in a single day. Defeat was not permitted. The money was needed to fund the life blood of the Zaibatsu, to which Heihachi was forced to leave behind aspirations of pursuing a different way of life..sacrificed to his increasingly ailing father and the art of ancestral karate.
In time, Heihaci developed a strong reputation for his abilities, giving him a doorway to travel the world with his father at his side as Jinpachi developed important contacts for the dream of the Mishima Empire. Heihachi found himself competing for increasingly larger purses.
On the sweat of the young Mishima, the Zaibatsu was realized. Fighting on the circuit, it was then Heihachi met Kazumi who had entered a competition in Tokyo for the complicated art of dance that was in fact an ancient and nearly forgotten Kata. Instantly, they fell in love, much to Jinpachi's disapproval.
Jinpachi watched as his son slowly slipped through the rankings, his heart and mind replacing the passion of the art...for a woman. During a very important and lucrative tournament on the outskirts of Japan, Heihachi was defeated in the first round. Such an incident was simply unheard of in the young Mishima's short term career. It was the first time the Senior Mishima struck his son out of the dojo...and out of anger.
Unnerved, Heihachi Mishima refused to strike his father in return. Though as the Tournaments became increasingly popular and more demanding on his time...drawing him away from first love, Kazumi, the young Mishima felt the wrath of the older mans hands more than once.
Heihachi took the small savings he had secured, a percentage his father allowed him to keep from the tournaments, and ran away with Kazumi late one night. They were married almost instantly, staying with her family until Heihachi was able to more appropriately care for his new bride. Kazumi's father gave his new son-in-law a job at his factory just outside of Tokyo, where Heihachi worked his fingers to the bone day in and day out with dreams for a better life.
The younger Mishima's world took another winding turn when late one afternoon a knock came to Kazumi's parents door. Heihachi's mother was there to see her son. His father, Jinpachi had grown significantly ill, fostered by the loss of his dream and heartbreak over his run away son. With cold eyes and a selfish heart, Heihachi refused to return to his Fathers side..much to Kazumi's disapproval.
Jinpachi Mishima died inside of a month. In his will he left the dream of the Zaibatsu to his only son. At first, Heihachi refused to foster the responsibility, content to live as he wished with Kazumi. He was nearly ready to take his wife from the home of her parents, having saved enough money to afford a small house for them when Heihachi discovered Kazumi was pregnant. At 24, Heihachi was going to be a Father and the path of his life once more changed before him.
Heihachi went to his mother and she willingly relented control of the Empire to her son. Kazumi came with her husband, moving into the large home his Father had built with his very own hands many years before the young Mishima was born. Invested with a new sense of passion, Heihachi diverted all of his energy into the company his father had built from the ground up and in honor of his memory. Heihachi repented for his foolish and insolent youth, brandishing a sense of guilt for never making peace with his sire. In honor, Heihachi took up the dream of his father and set the plans for the next phase of the Empire into motion.
Heihachi's mother passed from this life on a warm august night, only a few months after her beloved husband. In part, the young Mishima believed his mother had died, from longing and heart ache for her husband.
Surmounted in sadness, Heihachi gave all his energy to the Zaibatsu, pushing Kazumi away from him as he swore redemption by the strength of his soul. Kazuya was born in November and the rest wrote a page in history, leading to this moment.
Bitterness was the only taste that seemed to remain in the 29 year old Mishima's life. Inside of 6 years, Heihachi had lost his Father, Mother and wife to the grip of death. Now Kazuya was all that remained and the insolent whelp, who would never know the horror of growing up in war time conditions, had begun the training in the ancestral form of Karate that was the life blood of the Mishima line.
My harshness with the boy is justified, Heihachi considered as he turned from his reflection to take a seat behind the desk in his library. Kazuya must be turned from the path of weakness and I am the strong hand to lead him into destiny. I am the only way he can be saved from a life of worthlessness. He will grow where I failed to grow. He will learn the lessons I failed to see. Kazuya will appreciate the strength and sacrifice that must be made for the art and the dream of the Zaibatsu. He will pay homage to the ancestors that passed from this plane of existence with each Kata and spirit shout.
Shaking his head slightly, Heihachi rubbed his eyes. The reflection of his life had drawn into the late hours of the night. The Zaibatsu awaited his arrival in a few hours. Heihachi Mishima's work was never done.
Kazuya awoke just before noon, stretching his sore body to full extension as he listened to the various pops and cracks emitting from the length of his spine. His muscles quivered as he rose, finding his balance with both feet stable against the floor.
Dressing slowly, Kazuya felt the pangs of hunger growl through his stomach. With slight trepidation, he carefully walked down the steps from the east wing, bringing him to the main fore. Peeking his glance around the corner, he waited a moment for any sign of his father before heading toward the kitchen.
He must be at work, Kazuya thought as he looked through the stainless steel refrigerator for the gallon of milk he would need to accompany his cereal. A weight seemed to be lifted from his aching shoulders at the thought his father was not home. Kazuya would have the remainder of the afternoon all to himself.
Finishing a late breakfast quickly, Kazuya retrieved his shoes, sliding them on before walking outside along the gardens. He enjoyed disappearing for short times, surrounded by the comfort and security of natures woods, where no one would come to bother him. Drawing up a fallen branch, Kazuya swung at the trunks of the trees he passed, absently, until he came upon something...interesting.
Kazuya pressed the edge of his stick to the body of a recently deceased squirrel, watching the stiff legs as it rolled with the force of the stick. Fascinating. The creature looked as if it had been frozen in time. It's body was locked into it's final motion, black eyes like those of a doll staring fixated ahead to the trunk of an old tree. Was the animal trying to get home just before it was struck mercilessly down?
Kazuya knelt down onto his haunches, more closely studying the critter. The dead squirrel seemed so at peace, its soul departed from its form. Was this what death looked like to someone who came upon a stiffened body? Is this what was supposed to happen to him? Is this what he should have looked like at the dark bottom of the chasm?
Drawing the soft, stiff squirrel into the gathered bend of his arm, Kazuya decided he would take the creature home and make it comfortable. Maybe he could ask his Father to call the people who had buried his mother and the squirrel could then be more properly laid to rest. The creature might have had a family...children or maybe even a mother. Why should they not have a nice place to visit and mourn?
Walking up the stairs to the east wing, Kazuya noticed the squirrel was starting to feel cold. Once he stepped into his bedroom, Kazuya laid the peaceful creature down on his bed, in the warmth of the midday sun that shone in strong ribbons through his window.
"Now, I am going to talk to my Father when he comes home. He is a very powerful man and I think he would find this cause befitting his attention, just like he has said many times to people who come to where he works looking for help. Rest comfortably, your family and friends will have a place to visit with you, soon enough."
Kazuya closed the door behind him, giving the creature it's peace. It would be some time before his Father would be home, that gave the mischievous child more of a chance to wander the estate and play.
Heihachi Mishima returned from work, just after 6 O'clock, cloaked by the promise of twilight. Walking into the door, he set his briefcase down and removed his suit jacket and shoes for the comfort of his light robe and well worn Geta.
As he walked into the dining room, Heihachi sniffed the air, scrunching his nose with a strong sense of displeasure at the aroma. It smelled like something rotting. "What in the blasted hell is that scent..." He barked, looking around for his most trusted of servents, "Baiko, where are you?"
From within the kitchen a middle aged attendant rushed out into the formal dining room, carrying dinner for the Master of House. "Yes Sir, your Dinner is ready. Was your day a strong day?"
Heihachi waved the plate away, pacing along the long formal table, sniffing the caustic air. "I can not possibly eat with that horrendous smell hanging in the air. What in the name of Holy Hell is that scent?"
Baiko set the plate down, bowing in respect as he stepped back. "The smell seems to be coming from the East Wing, near the young Masters room, though he will not let us in to see if that is the original point of the scent, sir."
Heihachi growled, storming up the stairs into the east wing. The scent was exceptionally stronger from this direction, it nearly choked the air from the main corridor leading to Kazuya's room. Knocking loudly with his knuckles, Heihachi reached his hand for the door. It was locked.
"Go away, I told you I only wanted to be told when Father has returned home."
With a growl, Heihachi pushed against the door, focusing the power of his Ki as the wood splintered off the hinges. "There will be no locked doors in this house, boy...." Heihachi stopped mid sentence, covering his mouth with the collar of his robe. "Dear God..." he hissed to find Kazuya sitting on the bed, his hand placed on the body of a small, dead creature.
"Father!" Kazuya startled, jumping up from the bed.
"Boy, what have you done?" Heihachi stormed into the room, his eyes growing wide as he glared down at the horrible corpse of a squirrel. Reaching a hand out to grasp Kazuya by the shoulder with extreme force, Heihachi drew the boy almost face to face with the dead animal. "Have you no respect for anything in this life, boy? To kill an innocent creature and then bring it here to pollute your bed with some twisted sense of fascination and reverie?"
Kazuya pushed back from the creature, his eyes looking up into his fathers horrified, angry gaze. "No...Father...that isn't..."
Heihachi turned and smacked Kazuya hard across the cheek, sending him onto the floor with a crashing thud. His leg came up to stomp the insolent, dishonorable child when Kazuya raised his arm to effectively block the sudden attack, only enraging his father more.
"How dare you raise a hand to block the right action of my hand in my own house." Heihachi grasped him up by the scruff of his hair, dragging him down the corridor as Kazuya screamed, kicking and fighting. Bringing Kazuya down the steps, his behind bouncing against the wood on the decline, Heihachi beat his son mercilessly in the main fore before the averted eyes of the servents ready to attend him.
Kazuya heaved tears, shaking on the cold floor as Heihachi turned and walked away. "You will find the source of the odor upstairs. Get rid of it and burn the sheets. I want his toys thrown in the inferno as well. The room will need to be completely disinfected, in the mean time, make up another room in the east wing to house him through the night."
Kazuya wiped his tears with the tips of his fingers. He was only trying to help the poor creature, but Heihachi would not listen to the explanation. He would never hurt the poor little animal, he only wanted to give it a nice place to rest so it's family could visit. Instead, all Kazuya felt was the agony of his fathers hands beaten over his form, leaving him to wonder if showing kindness was an act that would forever lead him to punishment.
Indoctrination
Kazuya Mishima pressed his leg into a split up against the wall of the dojo, stretching his limber form to the edge of human limitation. The growing warmth of his muscles was an incredible feeling, letting the 7 year old boy know that his body was now ready to be pushed through the strenuous motions of Mishima Style Karate. Over the course of a year and a half, Kazuya had felt himself growing in strength and knowledge to the inner workings of his ancestral art. The fighting style became less like a foreign teaching and more like a friend, even if it was delivered at the cold, unfeeling hands of his father.
Drawing himself to stand in full front position on the floor, Kazuya rapidly jabbed at the sand bag hung in the furthest corner. The squeak of the chain laboring under each of his impacts echoed through the quiet morning, breaking the serene silence of the dojo. Father would be arriving shortly with a list of criticisms from the completion of last evenings local tournament, to which the elder Mishima had entered an eager Kazuya. The young Mishima's victory was definite, as it had been for the past year, though Heihachi never seemed completely pleased with the results.
Kazuya brushed a hand down the front of his scarred chest, smiling secretly at the horrifying wound. As he grew in age, the Devils power had kept it's promise, making him more and more dangerous with each passing day. Kazuya wondered what else he could do with the force of hell behind him?
Heihachi walked in, dressed in a simple dark blue gi and old wooden Geta. He looked to Kazuya who instantly assumed his stance, bowing to his father as the older Mishima drew up infront of him. Kazuya could not help but smirk almost arrogantly as he awaited, in ready position, his hands drawn into fists, resting at his hips. With a dark hiss of breath, Heihachi's hand came around with force to impact the abdomen of his son, sending Kazuya back several paces...astonished.
"You fought like an insolent whelp, taking the tournament by the skin of your teeth." The older Mishima hissed. "Your combinations were sloppy and over extended, your Ki was erratic. Where was your Tekken boy, because it sure as hell did not come to the ring with you."
Kazuya could slowly feel himself getting angry. He had worked hard for the victory, sending a boy his own age onto his back...unable to rise without assistance after he tapped out. The judges were exceptionally impressed with Kazuya's skill level at such a tender age. They went so far to say his "Presence" was extraordinarily powerful, rivaling even the greatness of Heihachi Mishima when, as a boy, he fought on the tournament circuit.
"Forgive me Father." Kazuya growled through gritted teeth as Heihachi paced before him, his Geta making a soft clacking sound with each step.
"To beg forgiveness if for the weak, Kazuya. Now, you will run through all of your combinations, blocks, Katas and forms, starting now. Each time you decide to get sloppy you will be forced to start all over again from the beginning. Take front stance."
Kazuya did as instructed, drawing into his fighting form to take on the chore of running through nearly 50 intricate combinations. Somewhere inside he heard the mocking laugh of the demon make itself known, forcing him to fumble through the 32 Combination. His distraction instantly brought penance down by the lightening swirled fist of his father, sending Kazuya spilling onto the dojo floor with his right shoulder. Wincing he stood, his left hand grasping the injured appendage.
"Again. From the Beginning. We have all night Kazuya, my patience is everlasting." Heihachi growled, folding his arms before his chest as he looked down on his son.
Just before sunrise on Sunday morning, Heihachi sighed, regarding his son as he stood in deep L stance, awaiting his next instruction. The boy had completed the entirety of his learning up to this point, in a span of just under 20 non stop, grueling hours. He was not permitted to rest, eat or drink until the older Mishima's demands were finally met.
"The amount of times you were forced to start again is pitiful. Your attention to detail significantly impairs your ability to perform the moves as I want them performed. It is now 3am, Kazuya. You have until 8 o'clock to rest and then we will begin again." Heihachi exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he turned to leave the dojo. Taking one glance back to his son, Kazuya was ready to collapse on the hardwood from exhaustion.
Without another thought, Heihachi retreated to the comfort of the compound, leaving Kazuya in the dojo . His son would master the art of fighting till it came as second nature, able to be executed with perfection upon request. The ancestral style Karate must be the single most important lesson the young Mishima would ever learn from his sire. The boy had to learn that even a single slip in the most basic Kata was in fact a disgrace and dishonor to the Family line and all the ancestors whose spirits lingered, watching over their blood. Failure was not an acceptable option.
The moment Heihachi Mishima closed the dojo door, Kazuya fell onto one knee, grasping his strained shoulder. For a brief time he closed his eyes, focusing on his erratic breathing. Finally unable to take the pressure any longer, Kazuya collapsed onto the hard wood floor, drawing his hand into his hair...tugging on the ebony tendrils until he could have screamed, withdrawing a cluster of hair in the process. The pain was a relief from his frustration.
Drawing his eyes to the black strands of hair ripped viciously from his scalp, entwined through his fingers, Kazuya slowly began to laugh. A relaxed feeling seemed to overtake his body brought about by the sudden release he found in the act of self punishment. It felt incredibly good to hurt himself...
Such a beautiful release of all your tension and anger, is it not, Kazuya? There is so much more that can be done beside the subtle act of ripping out your own hair. Try the feeling of nails or teeth imbedded in the skin. There is something about the act of drawing blood that is almost...spiritual.
Laying on the floor of the dojo, Kazuya looked up along the torches that lined the walls, casting an eerie glimmering resilience over the sacred Japanese training ground. "You know, you did not exactly help me to get through this. Each time you decided to open your big fat mouth, I ended up having to start all over again..."
A sudden pain writhed through his chest, causing Kazuya to double over, drawing his knees up to his sternum.
It would be wise for you to keep such words from falling past your lips. I am the only friend you have....and you would hate me to leave you, would you not?
"I am sorry...." Kazuya grimaced, feeling the slight ebb of pain subside, stifling an exhausted yawn. Rolling over onto his back, Kazuya braced his left arm behind his head, allowing himself to fall into the bounty and comfort of sleep.
Heihachi stood over the sleeping form of Kazuya, rubbing his own tired eyes. The boy had no doubt collapsed on the floor from the extensive training he was forced to execute. Stomping one Geta foot down onto the hard wood, the shock jolted Kazuya nearly upright...his eyes drawn to the vulgar display of gold lightening writhing up his fathers leg.
"Is it time to begin again, father?" Kazuya asked, stretching his body which only felt slightly refreshed. His stomach growled obnoxiously and inwardly Kazuya hoped he would be granted just enough time to eat something. He had taken no food since breakfast, yesterday morning.
"it is." Heihachi nodded.
Kazuya back flipped himself up from the floor to warm up alongside the older Mishima. Once the muscles were vibrating with heat, Kazuya began once again with the initial 50 combinations.
Having made it through only the first one, Kazuya paused, setting is body for the next execution, looking to his father. "May I please be excused, I have to use the bathroom sir."
Heihachi raised a high arched brow. "You should have considered that before I returned to the dojo, Kazuya. You are not excused."
"But..I really have to go..." he protested softly, catching the disapproving look from his father.
"When you have executed a review of Yesterday you will then be excused, and not before. 50 combinations, starting over from #1. Begin."
Kazuya bit his lip softly, holding back on the sudden rising pressure, pulling the feeling tight into his belly to try to make it go away. His legs became jittery, rushing him through nearly two hours of the combinations with flawless execution.
Exhaling a breath, Kazuya hissed in mid combination, never faltering a step. "Please Father, please...I really have to go now...."
"After you have completed the final Spinning Demon to Left Splits kick." Heihachi barked. You have 5 combinations left."
Kazuya bit his lip harder, drawing a slight welt of blood. Just 5 combinations to go...he urged himself. Just 5 more....4 now...only 3...
Kazuya felt the warm explosion rush like a torrent of ocean down his leg. Gasping suddenly, he stopped, looking down at the stream of foul scented urine gathered along the floor. His jaw dropped agape as tears rushed to his eyes.
"You will start again, from the first combination." Heihachi stated matter-of-factly, crossing his arms before his chest.
"But...but...I am all..wet..." Kazuya felt the frustration rise in the back of his throat like bile. Tears of anguish and embarrassment catching on his long thick lashes, rather than show such lamentation before his own father.
"You have pissed yourself like a newborn and now you must suffer through it. Begin."
"No!" Kazuya hissed, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "I had an accident and now I am all dirty. I can not do this when I am...soiled...."
Heihachi growled, grasping Kazuya by the back of the throat and drawing the child in against him before sending him onto his knees, face to face with the yellow puddle on the hard wood dojo floor. "Are you defying me, boy?"
"no..no father...I am sorry...forgive me..." Kazuya placed his hands on either side of the stream, pressuring himself back away from it.
"You are no more worthy than a baby to learn the sacred art of our ancestors, with equally as much control. I would expect tears from a little girl, Kazuya. Is that what you are, a pissing cry baby little girl?"
Heihachi drove Kazuya's face into the puddle on the floor before releasing him. As Kazuya lifted his face, one side of his cheek whet with his own urine, his eyes fell onto his father....glowing with streaks of electric current as his anger seethed.
Heihachi took a breath, seeing the sudden threat in Kazuya's eyes. With a sharp kick of his Geta foot, he sent the boy tumbling back onto the floor. "Now, you will get up and run the review from yesterday or I will beat you till you piss once more. Do you understand me, boy?"
Kazuya rose, dropping his gaze. He felt disgusting, humiliated and filthy. How could he force himself to concentrate when he was soiled. The sensation was like 1000 bugs crawling all over his skin, to which he could not slake.
Falling into ready stance, Kazuya began the review at the first Combination, his rage pushing him through with perfection...he only wanted to make himself clean again.
Kazuya Mishima limped up the stairs on the East wing, disgustedly ripping his clothing off as he reached the bathroom. He felt...dirty and the strong smell of urine and sweat seemed to permeate and linger in the aire, following him.
Starting the scalding water, Kazuya wasted no time getting into the partially filled tub. With a bar of soap he began meticulously, almost viciously tearing at his flesh with the soapy essence, feeling as if nothing he could do would get his skin clean again. Dipping his face in the steaming liquid, Kazuya scratched along his cheeks and into his hair with the soap, nearly breaking the bar in two with the force. Kazuya swore he could still smell the urine on his skin...still feel the surging torrent of incontinence rushing down his left leg.
Falling back into the water, a wave crashed onto the floor as Kazuya adjusted his spine, stretching his legs out in the hot soapy tub. Why did he feel this horrible, this dirty, even when he knew he had carefully scrubbed himself clean...till a layer of skin was sluffed off, leaving his flesh pink and renewed.
Closing his eyes, Kazuya raised his hand up, digging his nails into the opposite forearm. Sucking back a breath with an intense rush of pain, Kazuya watched his knuckles and aggressive fingertips turning white from the force of the pressure he exerted. Tiny blood droplets emerged from beneath the nails assaulting his flesh. Rocking his hip forward, the pain was an incredible release.... It hurt so incredibly and yet felt so intensely good.
Unable to take the shifting ache between the two fields of sensation any longer, Kazuya released his nails from his flesh, watching the slow throbbing motion of his blood tender forearm. Gasping for breath, he felt his blood tingling like a low brush fire, Kazuya tilted his head back against the bath tub and felt the benevolence of release wash over him.