Author's Note: Where was I again? Ah yes.I'm supposed to be doing.Kazuya.
Damn. You'll have to forgive me if this one seems odd, but I'm having a
hard time picturing what Kazuya would do after winning the Fourth
Tournament. But I shall try regardless. Now, reviewer shoutz.
Spifferfish: Glad you're happy, and your wish is my command.
Jamila: Uhh.you'll have to excuse me if I feel a tad nervous about giving out my phone number to someone I hardly know, and I think I'm a bit young to have a stalker.but thanks for the compliments.
And now.THE CONTINUATION! Mwuhahahahaaaa!
*******
Ending 5.0: Kazuya Mishima
The night was young, but dark clouds seemed to gather, obscuring the moon's glow as two powerful figures clashed in the Hon-Maru of the Mishima Zaibatsu compound. This contest had continued for two hours now, with neither of the fighters seeming fatigued or injured, despite having all but pounded each other into dust. One was undoubtedly younger, and fought with a furious zeal; the other was more.calm, more methodical, and had not yet dropped the sneer on his face since the fight began. That said, such an action was not without reason; I mean, if someone came sprinting up to you, screaming "Once I kill you, it'll all be over!" at the top of their lungs, you'd be laughing too. Particularly if such a person was your ungrateful son.
"Come on, stop being such a coward!" roared the younger one, after having his left jab evaded for seemingly the thousandth time.
"Coward?" the older man's voice was little more than a dark whisper in the wind. "Coward, I hear you say? My dear boy, it is you who is afraid; afraid of yourself.afraid of what you have become."
"NEVER!" the boy's voice seemed fuelled by his anger, increasing in volume as his fury rose. Taking a quick step back, the boy hopped slightly upwards and forwards, kicking once with each leg in midair.
"Too risky, Kazama!" the older taunted, ducking and weaving to the left and remaining crouched. As soon as the boy landed, the older man leapt up, with surprising speed, and landed one solid fist under Kazama's jaw, lifting him up off the ground again with a satisfying of broken teeth.
Kazama landed about ten feet away, the floorboards creaking under the impact. This seemed to cause the boy's injuries to catch up on him, and his breathing became slow and laboured as he struggled to stand, favouring his right leg.
Kazuya knew the end was near. Soon, he would have everything he would ever want, need, and more.
Well.not quite everything.
*Why do you hesitate? Destroy him at once! We will be whole again!* The voice of the Devil resounded in Kazuya's mind, spurring him to action. But he still did not move.
(You really loved her, didn't you?) Another voice, the delicate tones of Angel, brought Kazuya's feelings into the light. In fact, it was surprising that Devil couldn't have guessed the reasoning beforehand.
*That weakling female again? All she ever did was allow you to lose your focus and create the fool who stands before you! Why do you think of her in such a way?!*
(Because love isn't something that the human mind - or yours, for that matter - is capable of understanding. Yet we are all slaves to it.)
"Shut up, both of you." Kazuya was unaware he'd spoken those words aloud.
"DIE!" screamed his seemingly deranged son, who charged Kazuya in a manner far more reckless than anything all the other Mishimas put together had ever done. It was sickening to watch.
Kazuya could only laugh in the face of such spite and idiocy. Carefully picking the right moment, he brought his right fist down in an overhand strike, landing clean on his son's fringe, and followed through with a lunging hook into the boy's ribs. While the young man staggered, his momentum lost, Kazuya took a deep breath and hunched over, revolving slowly on the spot. As his spinning increased in speed, he slowly approached Kazama, whose face paled slightly as comprehension of what was to come hit home. But, as ever, he was just too slow.
As Kazuya's spinning reached its quickest, blue lightning crackled around his right hand, and Kazuya focused his will, his sheer determination, into his arm. Then he struck, leaping upward and outstretching his right arm to its fullest, driving upwards.
The boy had no chance. All he saw was his father straightening and then sheer pain, a sense of weightlessness as he flew through the air, and a brief second of greater agony as his neck connected with the floor, hard. Then nothing but darkness and peace.
Stepping over to the crumpled corpse, Kazuya's thoughts again turned to his deceased lover. How would she view his actions? Despite how well she seemed to know his mind, he doubted she would approve of this, an act which she would see as nothing more than cold-blooded murder. But as far as Kazuya was concerned, such acts were the heart of his life.
Standing tall over the crumpled body before him - it had a name once, now it was nothing more than worthless cadaver - and outstretched his palm, allowing the Devil Gene to override his actions as he used to do so frequently.too frequently. A swirl of mystic energy was drawn from the lifeless corpse and into Kazuya; a tingling sensation ran up and down his spine and he quietly giggled.
"Finally.everything is mine!" With that, Kazuya threw his head back and burst into full-out laughter, laughter that echoed throughout the building and faded slowly as dawn broke.
~One month later~
The Mishima Zaibatsu Main headquarters.a building Kazuya once thought he may never see again. How foolish of him.
Looking down through the window, Kazuya stared at the relentless flow of traffic of Japan's capital city. Just like ants.and they would all serve him as such. The Devil Gene's mysteries had been unlocked at last, thanks to technological support 'offered' by the Zaibatsu competitors. Soon, this miracle, this next stage in human evolution would be bred en masse in disguised factories the world over. Soon, all of mankind would bow before or become one of these titans, these gods, with the ability to heal and harm, create and destroy.
And soon, they would be reunited.
**********
Ending 6.0: King (the Second)
A lone man sat on a wall, overlooking a dock. The birds had taken to their nest for the night, and none of the boats were being worked on or taken out for a ride. But this was none of the man's concern tonight.
The man was holding an animal mask, which appeared to be the head of a jaguar or similar, and was staring at it as if he intended to drop it in the water and wash it from his memory. Several whiskey and liquor bottles lay on the ground beside him, all empty, so it looked as if that wasn't the only thing the guy was likely to forget any time soon.
If you looked past the blank expression and strange lack of distinction on the face's features, you may notice something different in this guy's eyes. A core of ice, and a thick layer of confusion enshrouding it. If the average passer-by just happened to be a rather avid sports fan, and looked between man and mask, they'd probably be able to piece two and two together, and recognise the man as King, a wrestler who, against all odds and bets, triumphed in the Fourth Iron fist Tournament.
One of the theories about his victory was the presence of a new mean streak in the fighter. The main proof for this would be King's entertaining performance, or lack thereof, during all of his matches. Long time Iron Fist followers were used to the King who would show off with his jazziest moves to please the crowd, though knowing that such tactics could be his downfall, and were so on several occasions. They were used to the larger- than-life taunts and, most importantly, the constant shadowing by Armour King, the enigmatic mentor, and long time rival of the previous wearer of the enchanted mask. All of these were missing in the Fourth Tournament.
Instead, King came closer to fighting like a robot than any other non- mechanical competitor to grace the competition to date. His attacking style was quick and decisive, all matches were won with at least ten seconds remaining after the knockout, and he fought alone. There was one exception to this rule; another fighter of roughly larger stature and a background in the Vale Tudo circuit, an organisation similar to that of UFC. That match showed King at his finest ever, but was also acknowledged as being his worst fight ever. Five more competitors were needed to restrain King and prevent him from killing his opponent right then and there.
And even that didn't stop him.
Once the cameras were off and the reporters were away back to whatever broken-down gutter slime paper they work for, King decided to pay a visit to his opponent in hospital. The security guards had been tipped off about a possible kidnapping occurring on the premises, which amounted to be nothing more than a frisky young couple, and it was during this time that King made his move.
Except no moves were made.
The fighter was released from hospital six weeks later, and went back to his old career in the Vale Tudo circuit. But no-one had seen King since he left the hospital that night. Many strange and ridiculous stories sprung up regarding his disappearance, with theories being formed regarding retirement, assassination and alien abduction. What was really happening was a period of soul-searching.
King had discovered that his opponent, Marduk, was a family guy. He was as close to his now elderly parents as King was to the orphans he had sworn to protect in the place of his predecessor, and this reminded King of the enormity of his actions. He couldn't possibly get away clean with a murder in a hospital.and one of Armour King's main lessons was that of trusting your conscience. Without it, you cannot truly be considered as human. Plus, the original King would listen to his conscience. And he would listen to Armour King.
And so, it was a full two years before King ever felt ready to return to the ring. And when he did, it was without the mask that had become so stained with angst and hatred. This was a new beginning for King, and he once again became the icon of the current generation of sportsmen, taking a full twenty years before calling it quits and leaving the work to somebody else. Who he insisted on also being named King.
**********
Author's Note: There we go, six down..well, quite a few more to go. I can't decide on which ones to do next, so I'd like some suggestions. You lot feel up to it? Drop me a line to pass along your ideas. Sayonara/Au revoir/G'bye!
Microwave Jockey
Spifferfish: Glad you're happy, and your wish is my command.
Jamila: Uhh.you'll have to excuse me if I feel a tad nervous about giving out my phone number to someone I hardly know, and I think I'm a bit young to have a stalker.but thanks for the compliments.
And now.THE CONTINUATION! Mwuhahahahaaaa!
*******
Ending 5.0: Kazuya Mishima
The night was young, but dark clouds seemed to gather, obscuring the moon's glow as two powerful figures clashed in the Hon-Maru of the Mishima Zaibatsu compound. This contest had continued for two hours now, with neither of the fighters seeming fatigued or injured, despite having all but pounded each other into dust. One was undoubtedly younger, and fought with a furious zeal; the other was more.calm, more methodical, and had not yet dropped the sneer on his face since the fight began. That said, such an action was not without reason; I mean, if someone came sprinting up to you, screaming "Once I kill you, it'll all be over!" at the top of their lungs, you'd be laughing too. Particularly if such a person was your ungrateful son.
"Come on, stop being such a coward!" roared the younger one, after having his left jab evaded for seemingly the thousandth time.
"Coward?" the older man's voice was little more than a dark whisper in the wind. "Coward, I hear you say? My dear boy, it is you who is afraid; afraid of yourself.afraid of what you have become."
"NEVER!" the boy's voice seemed fuelled by his anger, increasing in volume as his fury rose. Taking a quick step back, the boy hopped slightly upwards and forwards, kicking once with each leg in midair.
"Too risky, Kazama!" the older taunted, ducking and weaving to the left and remaining crouched. As soon as the boy landed, the older man leapt up, with surprising speed, and landed one solid fist under Kazama's jaw, lifting him up off the ground again with a satisfying of broken teeth.
Kazama landed about ten feet away, the floorboards creaking under the impact. This seemed to cause the boy's injuries to catch up on him, and his breathing became slow and laboured as he struggled to stand, favouring his right leg.
Kazuya knew the end was near. Soon, he would have everything he would ever want, need, and more.
Well.not quite everything.
*Why do you hesitate? Destroy him at once! We will be whole again!* The voice of the Devil resounded in Kazuya's mind, spurring him to action. But he still did not move.
(You really loved her, didn't you?) Another voice, the delicate tones of Angel, brought Kazuya's feelings into the light. In fact, it was surprising that Devil couldn't have guessed the reasoning beforehand.
*That weakling female again? All she ever did was allow you to lose your focus and create the fool who stands before you! Why do you think of her in such a way?!*
(Because love isn't something that the human mind - or yours, for that matter - is capable of understanding. Yet we are all slaves to it.)
"Shut up, both of you." Kazuya was unaware he'd spoken those words aloud.
"DIE!" screamed his seemingly deranged son, who charged Kazuya in a manner far more reckless than anything all the other Mishimas put together had ever done. It was sickening to watch.
Kazuya could only laugh in the face of such spite and idiocy. Carefully picking the right moment, he brought his right fist down in an overhand strike, landing clean on his son's fringe, and followed through with a lunging hook into the boy's ribs. While the young man staggered, his momentum lost, Kazuya took a deep breath and hunched over, revolving slowly on the spot. As his spinning increased in speed, he slowly approached Kazama, whose face paled slightly as comprehension of what was to come hit home. But, as ever, he was just too slow.
As Kazuya's spinning reached its quickest, blue lightning crackled around his right hand, and Kazuya focused his will, his sheer determination, into his arm. Then he struck, leaping upward and outstretching his right arm to its fullest, driving upwards.
The boy had no chance. All he saw was his father straightening and then sheer pain, a sense of weightlessness as he flew through the air, and a brief second of greater agony as his neck connected with the floor, hard. Then nothing but darkness and peace.
Stepping over to the crumpled corpse, Kazuya's thoughts again turned to his deceased lover. How would she view his actions? Despite how well she seemed to know his mind, he doubted she would approve of this, an act which she would see as nothing more than cold-blooded murder. But as far as Kazuya was concerned, such acts were the heart of his life.
Standing tall over the crumpled body before him - it had a name once, now it was nothing more than worthless cadaver - and outstretched his palm, allowing the Devil Gene to override his actions as he used to do so frequently.too frequently. A swirl of mystic energy was drawn from the lifeless corpse and into Kazuya; a tingling sensation ran up and down his spine and he quietly giggled.
"Finally.everything is mine!" With that, Kazuya threw his head back and burst into full-out laughter, laughter that echoed throughout the building and faded slowly as dawn broke.
~One month later~
The Mishima Zaibatsu Main headquarters.a building Kazuya once thought he may never see again. How foolish of him.
Looking down through the window, Kazuya stared at the relentless flow of traffic of Japan's capital city. Just like ants.and they would all serve him as such. The Devil Gene's mysteries had been unlocked at last, thanks to technological support 'offered' by the Zaibatsu competitors. Soon, this miracle, this next stage in human evolution would be bred en masse in disguised factories the world over. Soon, all of mankind would bow before or become one of these titans, these gods, with the ability to heal and harm, create and destroy.
And soon, they would be reunited.
**********
Ending 6.0: King (the Second)
A lone man sat on a wall, overlooking a dock. The birds had taken to their nest for the night, and none of the boats were being worked on or taken out for a ride. But this was none of the man's concern tonight.
The man was holding an animal mask, which appeared to be the head of a jaguar or similar, and was staring at it as if he intended to drop it in the water and wash it from his memory. Several whiskey and liquor bottles lay on the ground beside him, all empty, so it looked as if that wasn't the only thing the guy was likely to forget any time soon.
If you looked past the blank expression and strange lack of distinction on the face's features, you may notice something different in this guy's eyes. A core of ice, and a thick layer of confusion enshrouding it. If the average passer-by just happened to be a rather avid sports fan, and looked between man and mask, they'd probably be able to piece two and two together, and recognise the man as King, a wrestler who, against all odds and bets, triumphed in the Fourth Iron fist Tournament.
One of the theories about his victory was the presence of a new mean streak in the fighter. The main proof for this would be King's entertaining performance, or lack thereof, during all of his matches. Long time Iron Fist followers were used to the King who would show off with his jazziest moves to please the crowd, though knowing that such tactics could be his downfall, and were so on several occasions. They were used to the larger- than-life taunts and, most importantly, the constant shadowing by Armour King, the enigmatic mentor, and long time rival of the previous wearer of the enchanted mask. All of these were missing in the Fourth Tournament.
Instead, King came closer to fighting like a robot than any other non- mechanical competitor to grace the competition to date. His attacking style was quick and decisive, all matches were won with at least ten seconds remaining after the knockout, and he fought alone. There was one exception to this rule; another fighter of roughly larger stature and a background in the Vale Tudo circuit, an organisation similar to that of UFC. That match showed King at his finest ever, but was also acknowledged as being his worst fight ever. Five more competitors were needed to restrain King and prevent him from killing his opponent right then and there.
And even that didn't stop him.
Once the cameras were off and the reporters were away back to whatever broken-down gutter slime paper they work for, King decided to pay a visit to his opponent in hospital. The security guards had been tipped off about a possible kidnapping occurring on the premises, which amounted to be nothing more than a frisky young couple, and it was during this time that King made his move.
Except no moves were made.
The fighter was released from hospital six weeks later, and went back to his old career in the Vale Tudo circuit. But no-one had seen King since he left the hospital that night. Many strange and ridiculous stories sprung up regarding his disappearance, with theories being formed regarding retirement, assassination and alien abduction. What was really happening was a period of soul-searching.
King had discovered that his opponent, Marduk, was a family guy. He was as close to his now elderly parents as King was to the orphans he had sworn to protect in the place of his predecessor, and this reminded King of the enormity of his actions. He couldn't possibly get away clean with a murder in a hospital.and one of Armour King's main lessons was that of trusting your conscience. Without it, you cannot truly be considered as human. Plus, the original King would listen to his conscience. And he would listen to Armour King.
And so, it was a full two years before King ever felt ready to return to the ring. And when he did, it was without the mask that had become so stained with angst and hatred. This was a new beginning for King, and he once again became the icon of the current generation of sportsmen, taking a full twenty years before calling it quits and leaving the work to somebody else. Who he insisted on also being named King.
**********
Author's Note: There we go, six down..well, quite a few more to go. I can't decide on which ones to do next, so I'd like some suggestions. You lot feel up to it? Drop me a line to pass along your ideas. Sayonara/Au revoir/G'bye!
Microwave Jockey