Blood
Prologue: Severance
By Fool's Gold
Disclaimer: Garou Densetsu (Fatal Fury) and all related characters are the property of SNK-Playmore. No profit has been made from this fic.
It was two in the afternoon when the bombshell struck.
Rock Howard padded down the hallway silently, propelling himself towards his office through sheer willpower. His demeanour betrayed nothing, not even the faintest suggestion that anything was out of the ordinary. To all appearances, he was just a young entrepreneur – a little too young for the profession, some would say – making his way through the treacherous world of business.
Of course, none knew just how treacherous his real business was, or just how close he kept his demons to his heart. Certainly not his secretary, who greeted him with her usual familiarity.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Howard," she said, as he walked past her desk.
"Just call me Rock. It's easier that way." The corners of his mouth dipped downwards – an expression that went unnoticed by the matronly woman – and he asked, "Is there anything on my schedule today?"
"No, sir. You have no appointments. However, a delivery arrived for you this morning, marked 'Confidential'." Her eyebrows arched as she continued, "There wasn't any return address listed, but Security scanned it and found nothing. It's just paperwork. Would you like me to handle it?"
"Thanks, Mrs. Yardsley, but I'll look through it later. I'll hang on to it for the time being." He retrieved the envelope from her desk, perplexed by this sudden delivery. Clearly, it warranted further investigation. "I'll be in my office for the rest of the day, and I... I need some rest. I don't suppose you could..." He trailed off, embarrassed by the nature of his request, and his features shifted into a sheepish grin. The flush on his cheeks was evident to the secretary, who attributed it to his innate shyness: the young man seemed to have a permanent nervous streak when it came to women.
"Certainly, sir. I'll notify anyone who asks that you are not to be disturbed." She gave him a knowing glance, and added, "If you don't mind me saying so, sir, you need the rest. You seem to be rather tired these days, with your red eyes and everything."
His cheeks turned an even deeper shade of crimson, but he managed to keep his composure as he laughed nervously. "They're naturally red anyway – it's not like I can do anything about it. But thanks for your concern." He gave her a grateful nod and entered his office, closing and locking the door behind him.
Rock looked around the office with distaste. It was not as though he hated the sparse furnishing: the room had been laid out and fitted according to his own specifications, and he had been satisfied with it. And every single item in the room, from the high-end computer on his desk to the clock on the wall, had been provided to suit his specific needs. No, the problem lay elsewhere.
To Rock, the room was tainted. The entire building exuded an evil aura: it bore the stench of dirty money and spilt blood, of dark deeds and corruption. Everywhere he turned, his consciousness was constantly assailed by the ever-present signs of his captivity, an unceasing reminder of the forces that held him in the shadows. The building formerly known as Geese Tower still bore the mark of the man who had once owned it; though Rock refused to recognise him as father, he was still forced to acknowledge his legacy – a lifetime of crime that Geese Howard had built up into an empire, and which had now been handed down to his inheritors by marriage. The place now bore a different man's mark...
The mark of Kain, he thought cynically as he slumped into his chair. I'm doing that double-crossing villain's dirty work... and he can keep on manipulating me as long as he knows about Mom.
In the solitude of his office, he felt safe enough to let out a sigh. The man held the one secret that tied Rock to Kain's cabal. In his hands lay the truth about Marie Heinlein, Kain's sister... and Geese's wife. As long as Rock remained in the dark about her life and death, he was beholden to the puppetmaster. Kain was the one holding the strings now, and he was unlikely to relinquish them any time soon.
So that's how it is. Three years, and I'm no closer to finding out about Mom than I was after the tournament. He's playing me along, and I have to dance to his tune.
He tossed the thick manila envelope down onto his desk, and its contents burst forth, the sheets of paper scattering all across the tabletop. At the top of the stack lay a letter, written in a familiar, heavy-handed scrawl that Rock recognised on sight.
Terry?
He picked up the small sheet of paper, staring blankly at the script even as his mind made out the words, seeing them but not comprehending their meaning.
Dear Rock,
It's been a while, hasn't it? Hope you're doing well. There's some really interesting stuff in the package... Not that I understood any of it, of course, but you always did better than me in the brains department.
I know you'll do fine, no matter where you go. Just know I believe in you.
Best regards,
Terry Bogard.
The final line sent a pang of sadness down Rock's spine. He remembered when he had heard it last. How could he forget?
Terry Bogard wandered the hallways of Kain's mansion, searching desperately in the shadows for his protégé.
He didn't have to go very far. The crimelord of Second Southtown stood in an open doorway, smirking at him.
"Welcome, Terry Bogard." From his lips, the greeting sounded more like an insult. And that wasn't good.
"Why you! Where's Rock?" he demanded, anxiety building up in the pit of his stomach.
In response, Kain simply pointed to the shadows behind him. "Rock? He's here, of course." To Terry's horror, Rock slowly stepped through the doorway to take his place beside Kain. The smirk turned into a full-blown sneer, as Kain crowed triumphantly, "He's with me now, blondie! We're a team now." His eyes were wild with the elation of victory. "So back off, wolf boy."
Terry could not believe his ears. The boy whom he had raised and trained, all these years, in the hope that he could one day outgrow his father's legacy... had he succumbed to his evil blood, in spite of everything? "What's going on, Rock?" The Legendary Wolf howled, despair and desperation clouding his features.
It was then that he saw the boy's face. There was no scheming in his eyes, no blazing hatred or evil intent in his gaze... but his face was a mask, barely hiding the conflux of turmoil, self-loathing and resignation that lurked in his heart. And yet, Terry made out the one feature that gave him hope – in spite of all those, the determination that Rock had held still boiled beneath the mask.
Rock replied, his face still unreadable, "Don't talk me out of this. When my accounts are settled, I shall return to this town."
Of course. The boy was a young man now – it was his choice to make. And if the only way to find out about his mother was to go along with Kain's schemes...
"So be it! It's your choice. Just know I believe in you!" Terry's voice was confident once more, secure in the knowledge that the boy's better nature would one day prevail. And with that, he turned to leave, his profile silhouetted in the hallway – the twilight of a great fighter and a good man.
Rock watched him leave, burying his sorrow at having failed his mentor deep within his heart.
Forgive me... Terry.
And so the past had come to haunt him once more, with its dark secrets and bitter legacies. Rock's fingers flew to the remaining sheets of paper that lay scattered across his desk, scooping them up and scanning through them feverishly as he tried to make sense of their contents. They were facsimiles of all kinds of records from the Southtown Archives: official documents pertaining to births and deaths, police statements, ward records, post-mortems and autopsies... He fished out a particularly strange-looking stack of paper that looked like a meaningless mess of letters and closely checked its title: it read, "Results of DNA Tests".
He pored on and on, examining the documents that had been given to him, and as he read, his face was darkened by the slow madness of rage. His free hand clenched into a fist, a blue nimbus glowing around it – his cursed blood boiled with an unparalleled fury.
The clock struck two. To Rock Howard, the chimes sounded like a death knell.
In all her years, Katherine Yardsley had never felt such a strange sensation as what she was feeling now. The trickle of fear that had begun rolling down her back had suddenly intensified into a raging cascade, sending her into a panic that was barely suppressed. She looked down the hallway at the closed door of Rock's office, sensing that the terror came from within, and quailed at the thought of the evil that possibly lurked beneath the innocent-looking frame of that young man.
It came as a surprise, then, when the sensation abruptly stopped and Rock Howard nonchalantly walked out of the door. To all appearances, nothing seemed amiss – his expression was carefully neutral, giving nothing away that linked him to the violent presence that had flowed from the office.
"No offence, Mrs. Yardsley, but I think I'll be taking a walk instead. Thanks for fielding my calls and everything." A forced grin appeared on his face, one that seemed almost... feral.
"M-m-my pleasure, Sir," she stammered, trying to shake the lingering feeling of dread that had overwhelmed her moments before.
"Call me Rock, really. It won't matter anyway – I... how should I put it?" He ran a hand through his hair, lost for words. "I'd advise you to hand in your letter of resignation soon."
The news, coming so shortly after the terror, was doubly shocking. "But why? Hasn't my service been satisfactory?"
A chagrined look came over the youth's face, and he replied, "Don't worry. The problem isn't with you... it's with this place." And with those ominous words, he stalked back down the hallway, almost like a predator searching for his prey.
Mrs. Yardsley watched his departing form in fear, and turned back to look at the empty office – or more precisely, what had once been his office.
Not a single splinter of furniture was left intact in the devastated room.
"Excuse me, but I'm looking for Kain. Would you happen to know where he is?"
"I'm sorry, but Mr. Heinlein isn't around right now. He's... at a business meeting."
"Ah. Thank you."
"Mr. Howard, you don't look too well. Should we..."
There was a sudden blur of movement, and the guard found himself hurled through the office door, his body wracked by the sudden burst of power that had erupted from Rock's outstretched arm. He was barely able to reach for his commlink, screaming in a voice fuelled by pain and fear, "Howard's gone berserk! Call for backup immediately!"
Rock stepped from the elevator into the foyer and found himself encircled by a dozen burly men in suits. More goons, he thought. One of them stepped out of rank and raised his hand, saying, "Excuse me, Mr. Howard. If you would just wait here..."
The cruel light flared in Rock's eyes.
I'm done with that.
He hurled himself forward without warning, slamming his elbow into the man's stomach and sending him skidding across the polished marble floor. The other thugs were stunned: they had not expected him to fight against such odds. But they were still eleven, and he was but one boy... They began to tighten the half-circle, hoping to force him to submit.
But he had disappeared.
"Looking for me?"
The voice had come from behind them. Their heads turned in unison, just in time to witness another one of their number flung into the air like a rag doll, soaring for a brief moment until gravity took over and slammed him face-first into the ground. And like a raging demon, Rock Howard rose into a standing position, a cold grin on his face.
The remaining men braced themselves. They had been told of the youth's fighting abilities and his lineage when he had joined their organisation three years ago. But now they were facing off against it – a completely different matter altogether, especially when they had never expected such a force to turn against them. And they were afraid. Frantically, they spread out around the foyer in an attempt to catch him from his blind side.
One of the men ran up to Rock, lashing out with a spinning kick that would have floored any normal person. But to the young man, the assault was humiliatingly slow; he caught the foot in mid-strike and vaulted over his opponent's head before slamming his foot into the man's skull. The bodyguard crashed to the ground, unconscious.
Three down, nine to go.
In the heat of the battle, Rock recognised a distinctive sound from behind him: the soft whisper of metal sliding against fabric reached his ears. He instinctively whipped himself into the air, twisting in his flight even as the first bullets ricocheted off the ground. The gunmen froze, shocked by the boy's sudden evasion; they were still staring when he landed on the first man's head, knocking him cold. Panicking, the second shooter turned towards his fallen comrade, only to receive a swift blow to the face for his pains.
Rock turned from the collapsing man and faced the rest of his opponents; seven pairs of eyes stared back. Suddenly, whether out of bravado or the thought of safety in numbers, the thugs rushed at him simultaneously.
Rock grinned and swept his arm up at them, launching a wave of purple energy that skimmed across the floor at the oncoming assailants. The pack scattered, leaping and rolling out of the way of the blast – two of them were too slow, and they found themselves flung heavily backwards into a pillar, nearly immolated by the explosion of ki. The remaining five approached him from all directions, trying desperately to take him down.
He gripped the closest bodyguard by the lapels of his shirt and threw him over his shoulder, the man's back and the floor making contact with a sickening crack. The next threw a haymaker punch at Rock's chest – Rock parried the blow easily and swept him off his feet with a low kick, following up with a quick chop to the throat that laid him out for good.
The three thugs left standing continued their attacks in an almost suicidal fashion. Rock floored the first comer with a pair of well-aimed kicks to the stomach and head, even as the second one tried to sucker-punch him in the solar plexus. The attempt failed miserably. Rock simply blocked the punch and returned it in kind, sending his opponent crumpling to the ground in pain, where a hard kick to the temple finished him off.
The last man surveyed the foyer in utter panic, and all he saw was the ground littered with his comrades' bodies and the angel of Death before him. Turning towards the exit, he bolted, hoping to escape the fate of his partners.
Rock simply rushed forward and soared into the air, his fist raised high. The ki surrounding it took shape: an ethereal wing formed along the margin of his arm even as he swooped down, laying the fleeing gangster flat with a dreadful blow.
There was silence. A pair of red eyes hungrily surveyed the foyer, searching for more fools to take this rage out upon, but all that Rock Howard saw was the bodies of the fallen. And for a brief moment, pain and horror overcame his anger; a stabbing torment seared his vitals and he bent double, struggling to contain the energies that he had brought forth.
The power he had wielded was truly terrifying, destined only to bring terror and destruction to all those who surrounded him. He desperately wanted to give it up, to simply cast it aside and stop the unholy fires that raged in his veins before they consumed him. Staring at his hands, still crackling with the terrible energies that he had used to defeat the men, he was aghast: it was a resort that he took no pleasure in turning to.
From the silence came the slow sound of clapping, a harsh, mocking sound to his ears. Rock whirled around, his rage re-igniting as he was suddenly reminded of why he had started this in the first place.
Kain R. Heinlein stood in the entrance, applauding Rock's victory in unconcealed mockery. There was cold amusement in his eyes, a chilling sort of humour that danced in his red irises as he stepped among the fallen bodies of his minions, completely uncaring as to their welfare.
Rock's fists blazed once more, and his voice lowered to a menacing growl as he contained his rage – just barely – enough to announce, "I quit."
If Kain was at all surprised by this sudden announcement, he failed to show it. But his thin, bloodless lips pressed together, and he replied in a voice of honey and poison, "Of course, my dear boy. But don't you have some affairs to settle before you leave this company?"
Mother. Rock was livid. He forced out a response through clenched teeth. "My mother is dead."
Kain began to speak, but he found himself immediately silenced by Rock's menacing glare as the young man continued speaking. "She's dead, Kain. The documents only came in this afternoon. Would you like me to read them out to you?"
Even Kain, a master of manipulation and control, found himself unnerved by Rock's sureness. He masked it well, though. In an even voice, he replied, "Certainly. Please do."
"Listen well. These are the medical bills incurred by one Marie Heinlein during her stay in Southtown General Hospital." Rock withdrew a sheaf of papers from an inner pocket in his coat and thrust them into the older man's face. "She was warded in the pauper's wards – no one paid for her chemotherapy. The course of treatment had to be stopped, and she eventually relapsed. She disappeared from the wards under mysterious circumstances." He choked, letting out a guttural growl from his throat, but the rage channelled itself into a force that kept him speaking. Another handful of papers emerged from within the folds of his suit, and he tossed them at his uncle. "It's the death certificate of one Jane Doe, signed by the state coroner. Cause of death: leukaemia. Attached is the police report relating to the discovery of her body in an alleyway." And finally, a third stack of documents was sent scattering in Kain's face. "These are the DNA tests conducted on an unidentified body in Southtown Cemetery, purported to be the body of Marie Heinlein, last reported as missing from Southtown General Hospital. Results show 99.97 percent probability that this woman was Marie Heinlein, and also that she was the Jane Doe from the alleyway. The body was re-interred in a marked grave. All these documents were presumed destroyed following the Zero incident."
He paused, gasping for breath as his emotions threatened to overcome him, struggling to keep the rage from spilling over into madness. But the questions kept flowing out, uncontrollable: "Where were you when Mother died? Why didn't you do anything for her?" And most damning of all:
"Why – did – you – lie?"
Kain had remained silent all this while, his demeanour unruffled by the onslaught of accusations. And now that his nephew had fallen silent, it was his turn to speak, in an emotionless tone that froze Rock to the core.
"She chose her own path." Rock's outraged protestations were cut off by Kain's upraised hand, and the crimelord continued to speak. "I told her that Geese would come to no good end, but she wouldn't listen. She was... enamoured by your father, it seems, and she refused to heed my warning. So I cut off all communications with her – to me, she was a Howard and no longer a Heinlein, even though she insisted on keeping the family name. But you know how it is with blood." He grinned chillingly. "I tried to help her, of course, but your father had seen to it that I would be... otherwise engaged, shall we say, by the police at that time."
It was Rock's turn to fall silent.
"Your father ruined my sister, young master Howard, and so I shed no tears when he died at the hands of your beloved Terry. And since I was denied the chance to kill Geese, what other way was there to take my revenge..." Kain's lips curled with scorn, "...than to remake his legacy in my image?"
"What are you talking about, you fool?"
Kain laughed harshly. "Look in the mirror, Rock, and you'll see what I mean."
Rock didn't need any more hints to know what the man referred to. He stared at the silvered panel that had been mounted behind the counter, seeing the reflections of uncle and nephew in the sunlight: mirror images of blonde hair, red eyes, suits and tarnished souls stared back at him.
His voice was barely a whisper. "You used Mother to get at me... and you used me to get at..."
"That's right. Geese. I suppose he'd be proud of you, in a way, to see what you've become now. After all, I'm sure he would have wanted for his son to take over his empire." Kain allowed himself a smirk; Rock desperately wanted to wipe it off his face with his fists. "But for the last of the Howards to be transformed, along with his empire, into the pawns of a Heinlein... I think I shall be having the last laugh."
"You won't be laughing very much when I break your jaw," Rock snarled, his fists now burning brightly in shame and anger.
Kain merely laughed at Rock's threat. "If you want to quit... you'll just have to leave the same way you came in, won't you?" He swept his gloved hand aside, and purple flames, the heritage of the Heinleins, ignited around his body. And in response to their shared blood, Rock's own aura began to take form, sending the power and the pain that lurked within to unimaginable levels. Rock staggered under the crushing weight of his boiling hatred, his control on the brink of dissolution.
His uncle watched the boy's discomfort, and mocked him. "Nerves, Rock?" He shaped a lance of flame in his hands and hurled it at Rock, yelling, "Perhaps this will help!"
It did. The added pain was enough to drive Rock over the edge, and he screamed; his consciousness faded away, and the beast within roared in exultation.
"Much better." Kain tossed another fireball in Rock's direction, but the youth leapt over it with ease this time, arcing through the air with his fist cocked. Kain met him in the air, launching himself from the ground in a trail of fire and smashing him to the ground. Rock went with the impact, rolling backwards into a crouch, but by then Kain had alreadypropelled himself into a blazing charge towards him. The berserk boy threw himself into a dash, matching speed for speed, and the two combatants collided in a blinding burst of ki.
Rock found himself being thrown backwards with incredible force, barely able to control his landing. He came down heavily on his feet, the impact jarring his entire body even as he tried unsuccessfully to stand. But Kain, the more experienced fighter, had already recovered from the collision and was now in flight, flames burning around his arms. There was no room left to dodge...
He found himself flipped upside-down, his entire lower body twisting into a spinning drill. And suddenly, he launched into the air, kicking desperately at his enemy, his feet a blur of motion.
In his maddened state, he barely felt his feet slamming into Kain's body, stopping his uncle's attack prematurely. But when he landed and looked up, there was a trickle of blood flowing from Kain's lips. The elegant man's calm composure had broken with his skin, and he raced forwards, his face twisted into a grimace of hatred as a burst of fire erupted around his body. Rock grinned maniacally, and ran up to meet him blow for blow...
Too late, he saw the glowing ball of energy that Kain had launched – the attack had been a feint. Rock found himself trapped, pummelled by countless waves that tore through every fibre of his body until he howled like a damned soul. And Kain watched, smiling like a tormenting devil, enjoying the torture that his erstwhile protégé was being put through...
His eyes saw the opening that appeared as Kain prepared to make the final blow, but it was not his conscious mind that made the decision to act. He had relinquished all control over his own body; his last desperate attack was made, not through his own volition, but by an instinct that lurked deeper within.
Rock dashed forward in a final burst of speed, barely having enough time to note Kain's startled reaction before he slammed into the crimelord with reckless abandon. His fists and feet struck out automatically, a whirlwind of attacks, smashing away at Kain with sledgehammer blows. And the cursed blood cried out in response, relishing each and every strike that was made, until it released its violence in a bone-shattering pulse of ki that blew Kain away.
Kain fell to the ground, and only Rock remained standing, hunched over once more as the last lingering traces of the dark energies subsided. All he felt was the grim satisfaction of having defeated the man who had manipulated him for the past three years, using nothing more than a false hope. But he could not afford to let the blood control him anymore: the price was simply too great.
Two fresh bodyguards rushed through the entrance to Kain's aid, shouting, "Mr. Heinlein! Do you need help?"
"I'm fine." He rose up from his fallen position, wiping off the traces of dust on his suit, and turned to his nephew. "So you are your father's son after all."
Rock turned around swiftly, his eyes betraying one last flash of anger. "No, I'm not. I'm myself... and you'd better remember that."
His uncle dabbed at the trace of blood on his lips with a handkerchief, and smiled in condescension. "Really? I'm sure you'll have second thoughts about your decision... Gentlemen, kindly escort Mr. Howard off the premises."
They stepped up to Rock, but he brushed their hands off with a contemptuous snort. "I know the way." He turned his back on the men, walking out the entrance for the last time without a second glance.
"Mr. Heinlein, do you want us to go after him...?"
"No need for that." Kain shook his head, watching the young man leave. "He'll come back soon enough, in his own time. After all..." He smirked, arrogant even in defeat.
"...some day, he will inherit all this, whether he likes it or not."
The sun set over Southtown Cemetery, casting long shadows across the final resting places of the dead. Two stood out in particular, shadows of the living and not the dead – those of a youth and an older man. They stood in silence, paying their respects until the orange sky began to fade into shades of dark red.
Finally Terry Bogard asked, "What will you do now?"
Rock turned to his mentor, sighing, and replied, "I promised you before, didn't I? When my accounts were settled, I would return to this town."
The older man smiled. "So..."
"Yes. I'm going back. I don't know what will happen, of course, but it's as good a place as any to start." There was a note of uncertainty in Rock's voice, but he suppressed it well. His mind had been made up.
Terry clapped his hand on his shoulder. "All the best, then. If you need help, you can always look for us. We're living on the outskirts of town."
"Thanks for everything, Terry. I owe you." And with those parting words, Rock walked off to his motorcycle, having paid his last respects to his mother, and drove off into the sunset.
Terry returned to his own bike, parked outside the gates of the cemetery, and to the woman who waited for him. He gave her a smile. "Thanks for helping me dig up all those documents, Mary."
The blonde, petite woman winked at him and complained playfully, "You owe me one week's worth of housekeeping, Terry. Those files were nearly impossible to locate after the Zero Cannon nuked the archives – I had to pull rank for some of them, and as for the others... It wasn't easy." She leant back, watching the departing figure vanish into the distance. "It was worth it, though, wasn't it?"
"Yeah, it was." Terry locked his fingers together, deep in thought.
"So, you think he'll be okay?"
"He'll be fine. When it comes to winning, it's always about heart... and that kid's got heart to spare." He straddled the bike, Blue Mary riding pillion, and gunned the engine into life as they rode away.
The wolf departed with a triumphant roar, knowing full well that the future now lay with the young cub.
Notes:
Comments, corrections and constructive criticism will be greatly appreciated, especially regarding the comparative city layout of Southtown and Second Southtown.
A large number of details in this fic have been taken from Kailu Lantis's story FAQs for Fatal Fury and The King of Fighters. I know it isn't canon, but it comes close.
Edited 20/05: Well, proofing proved abortive (pardon the pun). Still, here's a reworked version of the prologue. Credit goes to Rubberchicken for editing.
