Jin Kazama walked away from the baying audience, pulling his hood further over his face. He remembered the days when he would have enjoyed the battle, appreciated its savage artistry. Now he just wanted the whole thing to be over with; during the fight he had nearly lost control again, feeling the acidic touch the darkness within him, tugging at his soul. In a way it was easier now, not to succumb. A shudder ran through his core as he thought about the times he had naively called upon that power, used it in the most casual fashion.

You fool. You never even thought to think about where that power came from? Even after what your mother told you?

Heihachi. Heihachi knew. But he said nothing.

He slammed his fist against the wall, as thoughts of Heihachi's lessons exploded in his mind. Heihachi, praising Jin's technique, his power; Heihachi, pushing Jin further into darkness, fostering dreams of hate and vengeance.

Hmm. Anybody would have thought that it was you that had lost.

Jin turned to face the owner of the metallic, distorted voice, noticing the crumbling masonry beneath his fist. Brushing the dust from his gloves, he shrugged, eying the crowd of people that were fast accumulating around the two men, heaving with anticipation.

They seem to think you want seconds. Is that the case? Jin asked, his voice lacking any real bravado. He was tired. The other's shoulders shook with quiet laughter. For a moment the crowd was completely silent, the only sound being that of the defeated man's battered armour rustling with his movements. He shook his head.

No, my friend. A true sportsman, and a true warrior, knows when he is defeated - and as such, should retire gracefully from the battle.

The crowd moaned in collective disappointment, and quickly dissipated.

So what exactly is it that you do want, Yoshimitsu? Jin sighed. He had little patience for these sort of games. Perhaps he should just knock the ninja out and be done with it...

To give you a warning, the ninja began, his voice low. You seek to destroy your father, do you not?

Jin glared darkly at Yoshimitsu. That's my own business.

Yoshimitsu nodded. Perhaps...perhaps not. But consider this; you hate your father...do you really want to become him?

Jin choked down the swelling anger in his gut. It was not so much Yoshimitsu's interference that enraged him - it was the fact that the ninja had stuck a nerve, bringing forth a point which Jin had already tried to put to the back of his mind. After all, Kazuya had attempted to kill his father, Heihachi...what made his actions so different?

Because Kazuya wanted Heihachi dead to gain power - I want to rid the world of their accursed bloodline. That's the difference.

Jin pulled his attention back to the curious individual in front of him. You've seen the evil perpetrated by the Mishima Ziabatsu, both by Heihachi and Kazuya, he said softly. They have to be stopped.

Again, Yoshimitsu nodded. Indeed. But there are other ways, child. You have a good soul, Jin Kazama...don't let them take that from you.

The battered ninja walked away, limping slightly, leaving Jin in turmoil. On one hand, he knew that killing Kazuya and Heihachi in cold blood was wrong. But on the other...
He felt that he had to confront his father, and bring and end to his grandfather's tyrannical corporation. That, he was fairly certain, was his destiny.

Or perhaps to be a part of history repeating itself was his destiny.

He allowed his thoughts to drift back again to that fateful day when his mother had told him of his tainted lineage. He felt bile raise in his throat; it hurt to remember that day, to remember his mother's tears...to remember the confusion he had felt. At the time he had never heard of the Mishima Ziabatsu, or of any of the Mishima family.

Ignorance was bliss, Jin thought bitterly. Now everything that had been good in his life - his mother, his home, his innocence - it was all gone, replaced by rank, vile replacements.

He took his winnings and left the makeshift arena. He would head back to the mountains, he decided; he had at least a couple of days until his next bout. He took the entrant listing out of his pocket, glancing at the names, idly wondering who would be next. He knew already that the Vale Tudo fighter had defeated the Brazilian girl, Christie, and that Nina Williams had defeated Law - Marshall, not his son, Forest - in a display of elegant savagery. Paul Phoenix had returned to form, beating Julia Chang, apparently fuelled by the outrage of having his bike stolen, according to a conversation Jin had overheard.

He hadn't bothered to find the results for his father's fight - he could guess the outcome. Ling was fighting King, probably right now, and Jin felt a pang of concern for her. He shook it away; she was a capable fighter, and King was an honourable guy- he wouldn't overdo it.

Hwoarang's fight against Brian Fury was tonight, and despite his dark mood, Jin found himself smiling as he glanced at the names on the paper. He envied Hwoarang, whose sole motivation was to defeat him in battle, and prove that he, not Jin, was the best fighter. It must be nice to have such a simple life.