Hey guys sorry it took me so long to update. Anyway, hope this chapter isn't too bland or anything. Please read and review.

Path of the Warrior

Eight years later…

Julia

"Haiii-yaa!" I shouted as I launched an uppercut underneath Gabe's chin.

My sixteen-year-old cousin staggered backward clumsily, his eyes blinking fiercely, trying to keep focus, and I knew that I'd been too fast for him to react. But instead of getting angry or going crazy like most of my male opponents, my cousin only sighed and shook his head. Then, Gabe smiled slightly and wiped a grimy hand across his sweaty brow.

"Damn, Jules! You're only fourteen, and you kick all our butts," he gasped, holding his knees and then massaging his jaw.

"Hey, sorry 'bout that, Gabe. I didn't mean to hit so hard," I apologized, bending down to see to my cousin's well being.

Gabe Red-Hawk was my Aunt Cora's youngest son, and we'd grown up together. He was like an anaai to me—like a brother. We'd both trained under my mother and two other martial artist leaders of the Navajo, and though he was bigger and stronger, I defeated him in sparring every time.

"It's no fair. A coyote can't win against a crane!" he joked, giving my two braids a slight tug.

I swatted his hand away with a smile and sipped my water. It was sweltering out, slightly cooler than yesterday, but still hot all the same. I'd grown used to the Arizona heat, actually learned to enjoy it, but sparring underneath its sun was torture.

At only fourteen, I could beat every boy training with me in my neighborhood. Cliché? Yeah, but it's the truth. They hated it, and I secretly took pride in wounding their massive egos. Girls could be just as good as boys; I'd proven that time and time again. To the boys in my neighborhood (and maybe in general, who knows), power came in brute strength and how big their biceps bulged when flexed. To me, power and victory came from strategy and speed—and that's why I won all the time.

The only person I couldn't beat was my mother, Michelle, who always saw right through my moves, knew exactly what to expect and how to counter it. I should have expected it, her being much better than me, but I still got frustrated. Why wasn't I as good as my own mother, who had taught me herself? I should be at her skill level at the least!

Often I would get angry when she reprimanded me for making mistakes, but that only made me more determined. At first Mom had been encouraging, gentle, but now that I was older, stronger, quicker, her words became ruthless, her compliments more and more rare, and she pounded that discipline into me like turquoise into a silver ring. It didn't matter if I was her daughter. She treated me the same way she treated her other martial arts students.

I wiped the sweat off my brow and took up my dagger, unsheathing it from its brown leather scabbard. It was a fine knife, and I was proud of it since I'd made it myself. Not only was Michelle training me in martial arts, but she was also teaching me the ways my ancestors once hunted and fought. I was taught spear throwing, which I absolutely hated, but I excelled at archery. However, my specialty was fist fighting, and I was often reluctant to practice my spear throwing.

"This is what our people did before us, and we must never forget them. We can be no one if we don't first respect our roots," Michelle had once told me.

"But what am I going to do with wooden spears, Mother? Now we have rifles and sniper guns!" I'd joked.

It had been the wrong thing to say. Michelle was angry with me for a while after that.

She overwhelmed me with my ancestor's ways. If martial arts, spears, archery, and knives weren't already enough, Michelle insisted I learn shamanism too.

So, just because I loved my mother and respected her word, I sat for two and a half hours listening to my village shaman, Ya Ats'os (A/N: Sky feather), talk about spirits, demons, herbs, and other things I was only slightly interested in. Yeah, like every other Indian, I believe in the spirit world. I've even had visions before (when I was too young to remember), and I adore nature (who couldn't?). But to choose shamanism as a way of life? Not for me.

Ya Ats'os had created some sand paintings (we Navajo are known for them) explaining the stars and the way the world was born or whatever. That was probably the only highlight of my lesson because I'd liked all the funky colors the sands came in. After all, I'm an artist. How did she always find these colors? I never knew sand could be that vibrant a blue or that deep a red.

Afterwards, Ya Ats'os gently took my face between her strong brown hands. Her wise, gray eyes saw right through me, and my face burned. She smiled, and stated, "Do not fret, my child. Every one of us has a path in life, and I sense that this is not yours."

I bowed my head in shame and embarrassment. "I am sorry, Grandmother. Your craft is very valuable to us, and I apologize for not listening closer."

"No need for apologies, Ajijawk. My craft is slowly becoming insignificant during this era. People do not believe like they used to. I know you believe, I'm not saying you don't, but—I have seen you fight. You are a warrior, not a shaman. Go now, Julia."

"Are you sure, Grandmother? I can stay here." I felt so bad I was willing to sacrifice a few more hours just to listen to her drone on about more spirit crap.

The shamaness smiled and patted my head as if I was five and not fourteen.

"Do not feel guilty, Ajijawk. There are plenty of potential shamans out there. Times are changing. During our ancestors' time, women and girls like you weren't allowed to fight or wield any kind of weapon besides a scraping knife for cleaning animal hides. But, unlike many people, you know who you are, my little warrior. Go now," she said gently.

And so ended any hope of my becoming a shaman, to my relief. I gave up on shamanism and instead concentrated on honing my martial arts skills and focused on getting A's in school.

However, I wouldn't learn until much later that my rejection of shamanism would be a choice I'd regret in the future.

School would start in a couple days, and I carefully organized my backpack to make sure everything was there. It would be my first day of high school, but I wasn't too scared. High school to me was just another step to my real goal: college. I pity those people who actually think high school is the highlight of their lives, people like the ditzy, superficial, blue-eyed preppy girls who load their eyes with shadow and cling onto boys like magnets. It's disgusting. I'll never understand that mentality.

As I flipped through my books I wondered, like every girl, if I'd get a boyfriend in high school. It's more a curiosity thing than a necessity; no matter how much I fantasized about a love life, that's just a petty little desire at the back of my mind. My primary goal for the moment was to get straight A's first, like I'd always gotten in middle school. Then again, middle school had been too easy. Would high school be?

Earlier, before school enrollment, Mom had actually asked me if I'd wanted to be home-schooled. Was she crazy? No way in hell was I gonna be home-schooled. It would only be a burden on Michelle, no matter how much she loved me, and if I were to stay at home all the time, it would just drive me crazy. I'd remain forever ignorant of the outside world, void of a social life, and always dependent on my mother. I have no idea what my mom is trying to protect me from by home-schooling me. It's not like I can't defend myself. I'm a good fighter, and a nasty debater.

As I was looking through the fridge for a snack, there came a sudden, thunderous knock on the front door. Didn't the guy know how to use a doorbell? The second knock shook the door so hard I was sure it would break.

I closed the fridge gently, and with a sigh, went to answer the door. "I'm coming, just hold on."

After unlocking the door I swung it open, and my eyes widened as I took a glance at my visitor. After a second I composed myself and forced my laughter to the back of my throat. I've always been good at concealing my true emotions.

Before me stood the biggest, fattest man I'd ever laid eyes on. He'd managed to squeeze himself into a T-shirt, and I was afraid that if he took another step the button on his shorts would fly off. He had a wide mouth, dark eyes, and his bald head shined in the Arizona sunlight; he looked absolutely ridiculous. He was Asian, and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. Don't get me wrong: I don't discriminate against obese people, against anyone different for that fact, but something about this man was off.

"Hello," I greeted calmly, "can I help you?"

"Uh, hi. Is this the Chang residence?" he rumbled deeply. There was a hint of an accent to his voice, and I wondered what language he spoke.

"Yes it is. What can I do for you?" I replied politely.

The man's face turned a dark shade of crimson and I wondered why.

"I'm looking for Michelle Chang. Is she here?"

"Yeah. Hold on," I said, and called out for my mother. Soon after, Michelle came running down the stairs and peered at the guest outside.

My mother's face darkened and the polite smile she'd prepared fell from her face. Her mouth curled slightly and her eyes narrowed. I'd never seen her look that way before.

Suddenly she seized the door and would have successfully slammed it if the visitor had not stopped it with one meaty hand.

"Wait! Michelle! Listen to me!" he pleaded, and my mother struggled to close the door.

"How—many—times—do I have to—tell you to just—leave me alone!" she exclaimed, still fighting to shut the door.

They knew each other obviously, and I had no idea what was going on. I didn't know which one to help either. Should I help my mom shut the door, or should I be polite and ask the guy to come in? This fat man seemed fairly harmless after all. He looked like he could barely walk with that massive body, so how could he possibly hurt us?

Then a strange thought entered my mind: was he my father? I'm half Asian after all…oh my God. Could I possibly be related to him?

As my mom continued struggling to close the door, I peered out to the stranger, and his beady black eyes met mine. Well, he sure didn't look like me at all, but it was worth a try.

"Dad?" I asked, hoping that he was anything but my father.

"Huh?" he replied, and I felt relieved. But then, to my disgust, he added, "I wish."

And then I understood. This crazy idiot was in love with my mom. Stalker much? By the looks of my mom struggling to keep him out, that was probably the case. So, without thinking twice, I cocked my arm back and slammed my elbow into his nose. The fat man stumbled back, his eyes unfocused, his hands clutching at his broken nose, and Michelle finally succeeded in shutting the door.

My mother was breathing heavily and I wasn't sure if it was from rage or exhaustion. I bent down to look at her, and I brushed her bangs back from her face.

"Ama? Are you ok?" I asked quietly.

She nodded slightly. "If you ever see him again, don't talk to him, don't even look at him. And don't ever open the door to him again."

"Um…ok. But who is he? Is he in love with you?" I asked, peering out the window. The fat man was still sprawled on the ground after my attack.

"Ugh. His name is Ganryu, and he's had a crush on me since I was eighteen. I can't believe he found me!" she cried, her fists clenching.

"That bad huh?" I asked.

"Yes. We'd met during a martial arts tournament and ever since then he wouldn't leave me alone. He—ugh!"

"He's not my dad?"

Michelle looked up at me as if I was insane. "I'd kill myself first."

We both burst out laughing and after hugging my mom, I helped her to her feet.

"Well, thank the spirits for that. He's still out there though…" I said, looking out the window again, slightly nervous. He could easily smash a window, or break down our door…

"Don't worry; he'll leave eventually. Just don't give him more attention than he's already got," Michelle huffed.

But, to our distress, the man named Ganryu came back, and this time he kept knocking. The door screamed under his fists, and my mother finally, reluctantly, opened the door.

"What," she snarled, her hands keeping a firm grip on the doorknob, and I watched safely from the stairs.

"Michelle, please. Just listen to me—" Ganryu pleaded.

"About how much you love me and want me? Heard it already. Buh-bye."

"No, wait! It's not about that!"

"Really? Then please, enlighten me."

Ganryu sighed heavily and scratched the top of his bald head.

"I came here to talk to you about Jun Kazama," he explained.

My mother became silent and I could almost see her eyes narrowing in interest.

"What about her?" my mother murmured.

"I'll tell you once you let me in."

"I'm not negotiating with you."

"Then I'll leave."

My mother hesitated, fury in her eyes, but she eventually opened the door fully and stepped aside for the large man to enter.

"What do you have to tell me?" she asked softly, her arms crossed.

Ganryu, a slight smile breaking on his face, shamelessly took in his surroundings.

"Nice place you have, Michelle," he stated, and then my mother grabbed his shirt collar. My eyes widened suddenly; I've never seen her this hostile. There was a fire in her that hadn't been there before, and I noticed how Ganryu's eyes widened in shock. How is my mother like in real danger, when she has to release her full potential? Somehow I didn't really want to see her fight in that kind of situation."Stop this bull crap, Ganryu. Tell me what you came here to say," she growled, and shoved him back as she released his collar.

The large man stifled his smile and smoothed his ruffled shirt back into place. His face turned grim and he began.

"Michelle…you do know that Jun has been living in Yakushima Forest, in Japan?"

"Yes, and she raised her son with her there, get on with it."

"And her daughter, three years later."

"Daughter? Jun has a daughter?"

"Yes, but that's beside the point. Jun was killed two weeks ago by a raging forest fire, and her fifteen-year-old son is nowhere to be found. Jun's body, or her remains, weren't recovered."

"Well of course not, it was a forest fire. She'd be nothing but powder now."

Ganryu blushed with this logic, and I rolled my eyes.

"That poor woman," my mother murmured, and I thought I saw a gleam of fear in her eyes. Why? We had no relations to this Jun Kazama anyway. She was now one with the spirits and the earth. Death was only another path to another life. So why did my mom look so frightened over a stranger's death?

Although I had no idea what this story could possibly mean, I leaned in and listened.

"What's even more strange is that investigators don't know the source of the fire. Some say they found traces of a green substance on a few trees and plants. It may have been the blood of some animal—but what animal has green blood, right?" Ganryu continued, and my mother's face turned pale.

"Why are you saying this?" she whispered.

"Michelle…I know it may sound stupid but many think that the legendary God of Fighting has finally surfaced."

God of Fighting? What? Was this Ganryu insane or something? That was just a silly Native American myth, a bedtime story used to frighten little children when they were misbehaving. I shook my head in disbelief; it was like saying Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy existed. However, I swallowed my laughter the moment I saw the look of utter fear on my mother's face.

"If you are right, if the God of Fighting is indeed here…then what? Why should I worry?" my mother murmured slowly.

What? She actually believed this fairytale crap? I listened anyway.

Ganryu sighed and he took his time answering.

"Everyone should worry, Michelle. According to the authorities, three people, two men and a woman are missing, the woman being Jun Kazama."

"Three? That's no big deal. The cops can find three people easily," my mother whispered, but her voice reeked of uncertainty.

"No, Michelle. You see, they shared one thing in common: they were all some of the world's greatest fighters. All of this occurred within a year, the most recent being two weeks ago—Jun's death."

Michelle shook her head.

"Believe it, Michelle. The God of Fighting, or 'Ogre' as some call the creature, chooses his victims carefully."

"No. It's just a coincidence. People go missing all the time. Forest fires happen all the time," my mother muttered, still shaking her head and trying to convince herself that Ganryu's words were insignificant.

"You know as well as I do that this is too big a coincidence. With every fighter he kills, Ogre gets stronger. And you, Michelle, are one of those great fighters. He may come for you next."

"But what about Julia?"

"I don't know about your daughter. I don't think she's strong enough for Ogre to be interested in her. But without you at her side—Julia will suffer Michelle. You have to be careful."

Michelle nodded and ran a trembling hand through her long hair.

"Also, with all of these events happening so quickly, the next Iron Fist tournament is going to be held in about four years. Heihachi worries about his grandson, and seeks to destroy this Ogre for himself...either that, or capture him and use him for his own intentions."

"Four years! That's too long! Why doesn't he do something about it now?" my mother cried.

"I'm not sure. Rumor says that he'll be using that time to train so his odds are better against Ogre, but who knows. The man's crazy."

"This is too much. Thank you Ganryu, but I think it's time for you to go," my mother murmured and she opened the door for him.

Ganryu nodded sadly and forced a small smile to his mouth.

"It was nice seeing you again, Michelle," he said before he left, but my mother only nodded once before shutting the door behind him.

And for reasons I did not know, my mom called for me, and, once I'd come down to her, she hugged me long and tight. It felt awkward, me being older and no longer a child, but I let her hold me. I sensed that something had given way inside her, something cold and dark had emerged, a secret perhaps, that she had never told me.

Usually when she held me I felt protected, safe. But now, as Michelle held me to her, I felt as if she was clinging onto me in fear. Now, it felt as if it was I who was protecting her.

And being only fourteen that thought scared the hell out of me.

So...review. This chapter sucks. But I promise it'll get more interesting later on...