Prayer Wheel
Chapter 5

A/N: I haven't updated this in over a year. Recently, however, I've started to get re-interested in Tekken, what with the fast-approaching advent of Tekken 5 kindling my desire to play the games once again. Though my Jun game isn't nearly as good as it ever was a year back, I still consider her one of my favorite characters, and that got me warmed back up to the idea of continuing this old fic.







The convent had once represented a peaceful area for Jun; it was one of the only places where she could flee from the horrific tethers of fighting. A subdued lifestyle was what she needed after too many years of getting blood on her hands, and Shinryuu was the perfect getaway. In her final years of combat, Jun had developed an interest in the Shinto philosophies and the austere purity that they promoted. Everything in Jun's life returned to simplicity eventually; she lived simply, loved simply, even fought simply, and would likely die simply. Shinryuu was one of the few Shinto convents left in Japan, and Jun's decision to join the nunnery had taken everyone by surprise, even herself. Though the thought of fleeing from her obligations pierced her with apprehension, she had realized then that those obligations were, in those simple times, few in number.
So Jun left. Jin was perfectly capable of taking care of himself at the competent age of 20, and she was hardly needed anywhere else. Her violent lifestyle was, conversely, an impermanent one, and she never had truly established any sort of ties or friendships, despite her friendly nature. She couldn't bring herself to – the people who she may have become friends with one day may be the people that she needed to fight with the next. All she needed to do was get in touch with the less violent side of herself, a decision that her beloved son understood well. As Jun left, bags in hand, she took one final look at Jin. His strong black eyes were filled with a hate that made Jun's battle-scarred heart ache.
Rage only breeds more rage.
The convent was no longer that peaceful area. The rage that she had fled from only followed her; it was manifested in some malignancy, now out to destroy her. It was a carnal bloodlust, something more horrible than she'd ever seen in any opponent, and the most frightening part of it was that she couldn't even see it. Not even the hallowed heights of Shinryuu could protect her from this.
But what was this?
Jun found herself in the library. It was night again. She was highly reluctant to go back outside at late hours after her experience two nights ago, but reading at night was the only way she could go undisturbed by the other nuns, especially the nosy Sister Riyu. The soft rays of candlelight fell upon the weathered old pages of The History of Shinryuu Convent, Jun's eyes greeting them on their descent, the sweeping katakana spinning through her brain like onyx ballerinas. That hour of the evening where everything becomes indiscernible had fast approached, and had hit Jun with merciless ferocity. Though the exact time was difficult to determine at the monastery, it couldn't have been any earlier than 1 AM. Jun's concept of time had slowly begun to fade as she stayed at the convent; she knew only the date from the little calendar she kept at her bedside, and that was all. She had no timepiece.
A cold wind blew through the window, chilling Jun through her night gown, straight to the bone. The window shutters slammed against the walls with the force of the breeze, and Jun's candle quickly puffed out. She gave a disconcerted gasp with the sudden departure of the light, and quickly fumbled about in her habit for the matchbook. Jun had cheated at the life of simplicity she'd vowed herself to as soon as she stepped through the ornamental red gates, but there were some modern conveniences that she couldn't bid farewell, and matches were one of them. It was a grungy little book she'd picked up from some hotel on the Shouso Strip; some of the hotels that she'd stayed at previous to lower-level competitions were truly horrifying in every sense of the word. Jun struck the match deftly and held the tiny flame to the candle's wick, but it wouldn't light. A little alarmed, she frowned at the match and struck another, which bore equally fruitless results.
All of a sudden Jun felt the fear she'd felt two nights ago well up inside of her stomach, and it churned up awful memories. She whimpered and attempted to strike another match, but her shaking hands caused her to drop it on the cold stone ground. She decided to leave the library, but as soon as she rose from the little padded chair the wick burst into flame as if it had never blown out. Jun gasped again. What is going on here? she thought, her thoughts swimming with terrifying possibilities. She didn't know what she'd do if her attacker returned; the library was a small area and it wouldn't take much effort for him to corner her. Jun looked to the door, but a peculiarly familiar instinct flashed through her heart. It was the childish apprehension of knowing what needed to be done for safety's sake, but not wanting to because there was a precious few seconds left to continue reaping the ill-gotten rewards. Jun's gaze fell back down to the book she was perusing, only to find that the page had changed, likely blown by the wind. Not entirely conscious of her actions, she read the page.
"Sister Yoma Komatsu had lived in Shinryuu since the young age of 7 years old. She was a dutiful girl who excelled in her studies and displayed talents in various fields, especially artistic ones. As time wore on, however, she began to grow restless with life at the convent, and at the age of 22 she left to pursue other paths in life. One of our sisters received word that Yoma would be participating in the first sanctioned King of Iron Fist Tournament, news that greatly distressed Mother Azami." Jun gave a little chuckle at this. Mother Azami had been around Shinryuu since the dawn of time, it seemed.
"Despite Azami's attempts to contact and dissuade Yoma from competing in the tournament, she seemed all but dead-set. This struck Azami as unusual, because Yoma had never trained in any sort of martial art. In fact, all of her motivations for joining the tournament remained a complete mystery to anyone. Yoma advanced to the final round, much to the surprise of spectators, who described her fighting style as 'some hybrid of primal assaults and masterful art'. The form of martial arts she used, however, was completely unrecognizable. Heihachi Mishima finally defeated Yoma in this round, and upon sustaining this defeat she suffered a violent seizure. Before medical help could arrive, Yoma died of an advanced cerebral hemorrhage. The nunnery managed to stifle this sensation from the media, declaring religious protection for Yoma, but rumors spread like wildfire about 'the lost Iron Fist fighter'."
The end of this passage quickly segued into more dry history about the first nuns of the convent and their personal histories. The information was failing to sink into Jun's brain quite correctly, so in a half-asleep stupor she closed the book, took it under her arm and stumbled out the library door.
Hundreds of shadows with red, sunken eyes were glaring at her. Their humanoid forms stood throughout the courtyard, fingertips trailing off into oblivion, faces indiscernibly contorted masks of pain and hatred. They were all screaming silently at her, screams quite like the ones that had ripped through her brain two nights previously, and Jun screamed in an all-too- familiar agony. She tried to recede into the library, only to find her back against the closed door. Painfully black shadows were twisted around the doorknob, a cruel chain of thorns lain to rip into only her flesh. As the legion of specters slowly encroached on her, tears rolled down her face; her body, spirit and mind would not allow her to go through this hell again. She had never felt so vulnerable or weak, and it was then that she realized that people needed other people. It was a peculiar time for this revelation to cross her mind, but desperation often stirs genius.
"Yoma! Go away from this place! Take your misery and go!" she cried out. These shadows were not Yoma, but Jun had nothing more to say. They were the only words that her tongue could push out. She screamed in guttural agony and dropped the book; it seemed like the only action she could take. As the leather-bound tome hit the cobblestone ground, Jun's eyes flashed with one blinding glare of red, and the shadows were gone. They had faded just as easily as they had appeared. The History of Shinryuu Convent looked up at her benignly, its aged text concealing the fruits of her frantic study.
Jun, her mind in shambles, kneeled down to pick up the book, but was overcome by a dominant feeling of helplessness and fear. Her outstretched arms instead returned to her, and she curled up into a ball, wrapped protectively around her knees.
She had no one but herself.
And with this, she began to cry.









A/N: It's 2:50 AM as I write this; I like writing late at night because my prose tends to flow better. I don't really know why. Anyway, it was fun re- familiarizing myself with this old dinosaur again...Please read and review! =)