A/N: Apologies for the huge lateness of the update. 'Real life' got in the way for a while back there, but then I got Tekken 5 and my Tekken fandom kinda got a boost. :D After the disappointment of Tekken 4, 5 is a more than worthy addition to the Tekken saga - if you haven't got it, I strongly urge you too, it's not to be missed by Tekken fans!

Anyway, here's the next update - I don't know whether it's worth it, just keep in mind that at the time Tekken 3 had only just been released and I had no idea Kazuya was even going to make a return. I've tried to rewrite certain bits so that a Kazuya revival would be possible, hopefully that shows through. If I ever get the time or inclination I may carry on with the saga - I've been sufficiently inspired by Tekken 5 to want to - but I have so many other things on my plate right now, it may not happen...

Read, review, enjoy!

-Ludi x

-oOo-

(18) The Final Sacrifice

Winter in Neo-Tokyo had drawn on, and the vibrant lights of the city were punctuated by the arrival of crisp, new snow. The Mishima Building stood starkly in the middle of it all, its window-lit, dominating form dramatically enhanced by the backdrop of an indigo sky. From the window of his top-floor room, Heihachi stared down onto the glaring metropolis, his knuckles white as he clutched at the pane. Three months had passed now, and there had been no sign of either Kazuya or Jun. Even his best scouts had been unable to locate them.

Heihachi gritted his teeth, a low menacing growl emanating from his throat. At first he had kept his scouts searching the Neo-Tokyo area, but now, with months gone and no success, Heihachi had sent them to search throughout Japan. And still there had been no sign of them. They had all but vanished off the face of the earth. Heihachi would not be able to rest until they were found. The fact that Kazuya was still alive caused him many a sleepless night. Heihachi loathed the thought that his son was walking and breathing, somewhere in the world. Yes – perhaps he had left the country. Perhaps Heihachi would have to widen the search to an international level.

With a hiss of disgust Heihachi turned away from the window, and melted back into his dark realm.

-oOo-

Kazuya had had several apartments situated throughout Neo-Tokyo, and each had been ransacked by Heihachi's scouts soon after Kazuya's disappearance long ago. It was a risk returning to the city, but for the time being Kazuya had been relatively convinced of their safety – albeit temporarily. By now reasonably satisfied that he and Jun had left Neo-Tokyo at the outset, Heihachi would not think to look for them in such an obvious place – at least not for now. In the long-run they could not afford to stay in the capital for too long.

At first, Kazuya had avoided the question of his father. There had been the old hate still firmly lodged inside him, like a scar that would not fully heal. But Kazuya had slowly begun to face the memory of his father, the truth of what he really was – an old man, a mad one; but an old man just the same. And the more objectively he came to view Heihachi, the less he began to hate him. In fact, he even began to feel sorry for him. Though he despised his father and could feel no love for him, Kazuya no longer felt the old violent rage towards him. The irony of the matter was that Heihachi's own madness had made him weak. Weak because he could not see a world beyond hate and greed and power. Kazuya had freed himself of all these things. But his soul was still the Devil's. Kazuya did not care about that much anymore. What he wanted was for his unborn child to be free from both lust for power – and the Devil.

The snow had stopped falling for one night, and Kazuya had been walking through the frozen streets, hands in pockets, his eyes every so often roaming curiously over the crawling cars and the glowing shop windows that flowed beside him. He stopped underneath the Mishima Building, carefully assessing the sight of the place that so signified his years of madness. Imposing though it seemed, it was a dismal, lonely kind of building, one that struck one's heart with respect, but not with warmth. He stayed looking up at it for some time. The more he stared at it, the less personal and subsequently the less menacing it seemed. Something had moved within in that inexplicable moment, and he suddenly felt impelled to do the thing that he had known to be inevitable. Removing his hands from his pockets, he pushed through the glass double doors and walked inside the main reception hall.

The woman at the desk looked up at him, smiled superficially, did not recognise him.

"Good evening, can I help you, sir?"

He faintly returned her smile.

"I want to see Heihachi," he said flatly.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I'm afraid that's quite impossible at the moment." The woman was apologetic despite her confusion. "Mr. Mishima is very busy right now, and he rarely sees anyone except his business associates these days…I can try to make an appointment for you…"

"You don't understand." Kazuya's voice was quiet but firm. "I want to see my father."

At his words a look of sudden realisation crossed the woman's face, and her hands began to tremble.

"Mr.…Mr. Mishima!" she gasped, picking up the phone and promptly dropping it. She took a few moments to regain herself, saying: "I'll just put you through to head office now…"

"You and I both know that will not be necessary," he replied softly. "I will see my father now."

He turned to the elevators, leaving her standing there staring at him, the phone handset still clutched between her fingers. As he looked back over his shoulder he saw her speaking urgently into the receiver, gazing wildly at him as he finally disappeared into the lifts.

He stepped out onto the uppermost floor, the place where he knew he would find his father. Part of this floor had been built by his grandfather in the hey-day of the Mishima and emulated a garden in the traditional Japanese style, a place of peace and reflection, a haven of running water, cherry blossoms and soft-petalled peonies. This was the only place in the Mishima Building that Kazuya had loved. It was quiet and tranquil here, so much so that whenever he had been here he had almost forgotten himself. He understood why Heihachi had loved this place whilst Kazuya had been a child. It was the only thing he and Heihachi had in common.

He walked slowly past the sparse yet well-groomed flower beds, along the winding path towards the outer balcony. The snow lay thick and white here, accentuating the beauty of the gardens. The moon, full and bright as the snow itself, gazed down on him like an all-seeing eye, watching with indifferent curiosity. After a moment Kazuya stopped. Sitting cross-legged on a rock by the miniature pool was Heihachi, facing away from his son. Kazuya stood quite still, his eyes narrowed. He felt inside that somehow this was right, that this was meant to be. He'd never been afraid – he wasn't going to start now.

"So," Heihachi spoke into the cool silence, his voice half mocking, half contemptuous, "you have dared to show yourself." He stood up, the powerful muscles rippling in his back. "You surprise me, Kazuya. I thought you were running away with your tail between your legs." He turned, his mouth twisted into a sinister smile. "How come you evaded us for so long? Where did you go?"

"I've been here all along," Kazuya stated, his face deadpan. "Right under your nose. But I didn't come here to tell you all this. I came here for a more important reason."

"Ah." There was a look of relish on Heihachi's face. "So the time has come for our little showdown."

"Yes. It's time to finish this."

Heihachi grinned insidiously. "Indeed. A pity that you have found your strengths so late, Kazuya. Perhaps if you had realised them a little sooner I would not have to kill you now."

Kazuya said nothing. Something had called him here, to this point, this end. There was no turning back now.

"What's the matter, Kazuya," Heihachi sneered, "are you afraid?"

"No, father," Kazuya shook his head slowly. "I'm not afraid. I'm not afraid to fight you anymore."

"Then what are you waiting for?" Heihachi grimaced, moving forwards, fists bared. "Let us fight. But be prepared. This will be a fight to the death."

Kazuya made no reply. There was no time left for talking. He too moved forwards and there were no more thoughts, no more words, only action. They began to fight, almost with a detached apathy, as though this moment was a necessity, not something acted out from the heart or their emotions. They parried back and forth without success on either side, until they stopped to catch their breath. And then there was silence, and the soft tinkle of the water in the stream, and then the ragged sharpness of their breaths as they caught in their throats.

"It's funny," Kazuya spoke, looking up at his father, sweat dripping from his brow. "For all this time my life depended on this building and everything in it. Now when I see it I feel nothing. It holds nothing over me anymore."

"Nothing?" Heihachi's face was contorted in disgust. "This building symbolises the power of your family-line! Your grandfather and I built this with our own hands! It is as much as part of you as it is me! And that is how it still holds you, however much you despise the fact!"

"This place was never meant to be mine," Kazuya retorted, a calmness in his voice. "After your plan with the Devil went wrong and your scheme to make me 'strong' soured….all you wanted was to get rid of me instead. The 'family-line' means nothing to you father. If it gets in the way of your lust for power you'd give it up gladly."

Heihachi listened to Kazuya's words with a growing sense of hatred and fury. The fact that Kazuya knew, that he had sensed these things, dug into Heihachi like talons. The twisted cunning of Heihachi's plans suddenly seemed wasted and worthless when spoken of in the deprecating tone of Kazuya's voice. That his son, his own, weak son should say such heresies to him filled what heart he had with a wrath beyond compare. With a cry that voiced his mad and passionate upsurge of rage, he struck out at his son without warning, silencing, or so he thought, the potency of his words. Kazuya took the blow without fighting back, keeling back onto the floor with a calm insouciance on his face.

"How is it that I can make you understand," Heihachi roared at the bloody figure on the floor before him, "that it is the strong who thrive in this world! What is it that I told you on that cliff top! Say it to me!"

Kazuya looked up at the insane, ranting figure of his father, opened his mouth, his voice weary.

"That the strong eat the weak, that the weak must die."

"Yes, you see, you remember, even now," Heihachi murmured, disdain curling his lips. "And it is the strong that have power. When you looked out of the window of your office Kazuya, what was it you saw? Was it not the beauty of a world that lived under your dominion, that catered to your every whim, that symbolised your own power because you owned it!"

Kazuya remained silent, only inwardly marvelling at the brilliant lunacy of his father. Heihachi, goaded into action by his silence, lashed out with his foot and such was its violence that Kazuya felt the blood flow freely to his mouth.

"Answer me!" Heihachi roared, his voice grating in the stillness of the night.

Kazuya closed his eyes and remembered the lights of the city as he'd looked down on it. he remembered how it was he used to feel. He opened his eyes again and answered, his throat choked with blood.

"At first I felt all that you say," he rasped. "I felt power and might and greatness. But then all I saw when I looked at the city was something I hated. All I saw was your face. It meant nothing to me. Power meant nothing to me."

Heihachi snarled, his foot smashing down into Kazuya's chest with savage brutality, causing him to splutter more blood.

"And what, pray tell me, did mean something to you Kazuya? The so-called search for truth, for happiness!" He laughed in spite of himself, a deranged bark of a laugh. "Happiness! Nothing more than an empty concept devised by man to comfort him in times of adversity!" He laughed again at his own philosophy, almost seeming to forget Kazuya as he praised his own genius. "What are these things, happiness, truth, justice? Can you tell me that? How do men know when they are happy? What is happiness? Men spend their whole lives looking for it, and in the end they achieve nothing!" He lowered his face to within an inch of his son's, his features twisted, sinister. "Power is the only thing that stands as truly as truth itself is bent and shackled. There is no grey area in power. There is only black and white. Instead of fighting for empty concepts like truth and justice, why not fight for power instead? Instead of trying to achieve 'happiness', why not aim for power? Power is not an empty concept. Power is real."

"Power is corrupting," Kazuya spoke on a laboured breath.

"Yes and why not?" Heihachi cried, rising and moving to face the city, ecstasy on his face. "To feel the fear of those underneath you, those weak nothings! To me, that is true happiness!" He paused, the climax of his theory fading away. After a moment or so, he turned back to Kazuya. "Why can you not understand the simplicity of it all? The world cares nothing for the complications of those empty philosophies. It moves on away! This," and he spread out his arms wide against the backdrop of the city, "this is the better way."

"And to help me see this you planted the Devil inside me," Kazuya breathed, swiping the back of his hand across his bloodied mouth.

"Yes." Heihachi nodded. "And that was my greatest mistake. Instead of making you stronger, the Devil sought to make itself stronger. It craved the Mishima power. It became my rival. It must not be allowed to control the Mishima any longer. I must be the one who has the power. No one else must share it with me."

"You will not live forever," Kazuya informed him quietly.

"I know," Heihachi conceded with a frown. "And it was my plan that you, my blood son, would carry on the line. But you wouldn't understand. Even now you look on the family ideal with contempt. You think you have found redemption in turning your back on it, but all you will find is hell."

"I have found no redemption, father," Kazuya returned. "But away from here I have found what I wanted. I have found happiness."

The blood drained from Heihachi's face, and the wild look came into his eyes again. "Happiness!" he shrieked, and for a second the word echoed like the laugh of a hyena on the still, silent air. With a scream of crazed violence, Heihachi pounced on the other and lashed out with both fists in a fit of disgust and rage. Such was his vehemence that he hardly cared to check the swing of his knuckles. Kazuya made no attempt to hold him back. He had known this would happen. Despite his growing weakness, he still felt like laughing. Here and now all was laid out before him, he could see it as clearly as day. Perhaps he would die facing it, but he did not care as long as he finally knew the truth – that he was being set free. Something was telling him to give into this moment, that this was meant to happen, that he would be protected, that through this he would overcome his father, the Mishima, everything, forever.

He would return.

When Heihachi stopped, it must have been minutes later. There was blood dripping from his hands, both his own and Kazuya's, and as he noticed the faint smile on Kazuya's split and shattered face, a suddenly impotent, even frightened glow entered his eyes.

"Why are you smiling?" he demanded, shaking the bloodied and broken body before him. "Why are you smiling, Kazuya?"

"Because…I am happy," he murmured, as though delirious.

'Shut up! Shut up!" Heihachi cried, shaking him again. "Even in death you defy me!"

Kazuya laughed weakly at his words, gazed without fear into the other's eyes.

"Know this, father," he spat, choking on his own blood. "There will be another. Another child of the Mishima. The blood-line continues."

"What!" Once again, Hehiachi's face was filled with foreboding. "You mean… your child?" He stopped, began again, a look of realization crossing his lined features. "The Kazama girl…"

Kazuya smiled again.

"The Devil will want a new vessel…you see, it's not ended… not really…"

"Heihachi's expression was one of fury, fury and helplessness.

"Damn you, Kazuya! Damn you!"

Still, the smile did not leave Kazuya's face.

"You see, now I'm stronger than you, father… Not because I'm going to have a child… but because… I no longer hate you…father…"

He stopped, his last word lingering poignantly on his final breath. Then the word ended, and the silently smiling face said no more. For a moment Heihachi said nothing, but gazed vacantly at the unintentional expression of defiance on the lifeless face before him. Then, with a snort of disgust, he threw the body down and spat on it with contempt, feeling nothing but hate for the son whose life he had just taken.

But Kazuya's body took no heed of that hate, as it lay, crimson blood staining the pure white snow beneath it. For now – at least for a while – Kazuya was free.

-oOo-

Next: The aftermath of Kazuya's death...