Evil Intent (1/4): Fist of the Dark Hayate
Title: Evil Intent (1/4): Fist of the Dark Hayate
Genre: Expanded continuity, friendship, shonen-ai, angst, lust, pre-slash, Hurricanger SPOILERS
Series: Ninpuu Sentai Harikenja
Pairing: Shiina Yousuke (Hurricane Red) x Kasumi Ikkou (KabutoRaijer)
Rating: PG/PG-13
Length: 3,155 words
Disclaimer: Toei own the rights to all characters
banner courtesy of automated_icons
semi-related plugs: kissearly / finalauraburst
note: I've been going through a fighting game renaissance recently and was kind of curious how the rules of the genre could be applied to sentai. This was the result.
His fists tightened, throbbing with hateful energy as his lips peeled back to reveal his clenched teeth. The dark, magenta pulse of his aura flickered like fire around him, scorching the yellowed summer grass and licking at the mouth of the ancient forest behind him. With a roar he launched himself forwards, birds retreating from the treetops behind him as the sound of his rage filled the valley. His bare knuckles slammed hard into the ancient statue, crushing it to fine dust as they slammed against it over and over again until blood began to run freely down his hands, tainting the hard skin and calluses beneath and spilling over to the burnt grass beneath.
Chunks of stone fell away from him as the dust was caught up on the wind and carried away from the forest clearing atop the larger of the two massive mountains. Upon the sacred Air School symbol that formed the centre of his Hurricane Gyro, the first of several faint cracks had begun to appear.
The fire of his rage fluttered and faded and slowly, Shiina Yousuke turned away and head back towards the forest. Behind him the ancient statue of Hayate Toshiaki lay in ruins upon the burnt soil.
* * * *
Kasumi Ikkou stood patiently at the foot of the stone steps that trailed upwards through the forest, his heavy training bag thrown over his broad shoulders. It had been less than six months since the fall of Jakanja; less than a year and he had already resigned himself to the fact that he was unable to live a normal life. He had tried impossibly hard in the months immediately after the death of Tau Zanto, forcing himself to live in a normal routine; working hard hours of manual labour in the crisp light of the burning sun and bringing home a not-insignificant paycheque from which, alongside his younger brother, he had paid for the rent and upkeep of a small house a short commute from the city centre. He had struggled hard during those days to put the past behind him.
His whole life had been overshadowed by ninjitsu and the misguided philosophies of his corrupt father and now, free from the burden of training and violence he had found himself adrift in the modern world and unable to properly adapt. His arguments with Isshu had escalated, petty fights about the most insignificant and childish of things. In that house on the edge of the city, Kasumi Ikkou had begun to feel like a child trapped in the backseat of a car whilst the parents toured the lengthy isles of the supermarket. He had begun to yearn for his freedom once more, for the violence of his old life and the bitter wind against his tired muscles and so, at the beginning of summer, he had taken his leave of normal life, heading out early in the morning and leaving Isshu with the weight of modernity that so yearned to keep them both in place.
In his heart he knew that Isshu would be hurt but, facing this brave new world of day to day life, Ikkou had watched with minute but stinging jealousy as the boy he had once been had blossomed into a kind and thoughtful young man. Perhaps it was because he was younger that he was so capable of letting slip the grasp of the past, perhaps if Ikkou himself had been those few precious years younger then he too would have been unable to let go. But he could not. Violence called to him, on the wind that never failed to drift like some lonesome spirit through the industrial heart of the city, Ikkou heard the call of another way of life.
Standing now at the foot of the forest path he wondered if he had done the right thing. Six months ago he had been a soldier facing off against a hostile and invasive alien nation; now, standing on the steps of dirt and earth that led upwards into the mountains, he was a drifter; lost and alone.
The people he had surrounded himself with during the year long struggle against the Jakanja were fellow soldiers in the war. Free from all the violence and ruin, he was uncertain as to how any of them would react to the shadow and memory he brought with him. Even Isshu, when faced with Ikkou's inability to adapt to a normal life, had failed to understand him...was it truly right to ask an outsider, someone who wasn't part of his family, wasn't even a student of the Ikazuchi path, to accept the burden of his inability to adapt?
He ground his teeth together in frustration, his muscles tensing as he launched himself up the fragile earth and wood steps, jumping two at time in an effort to translate the frustration that so unsettled him into energy necessary for the long laborious journey.
As his heavy boots landed again and again amongst the dirt and leaves, he lifted his eyes to the blue sky and expansive range of trees high above him. It was wrong, he knew, to turn to someone so removed from the fires that had forged him as a child...and yet he couldn't quite dismiss the affection and respect he held for the younger man that awaited him amongst the dense trees and high mountain air. Of all of them, only Shiina Yousuke had failed to surrender himself to the necessities of war, remaining forever one step removed from what it took to become a true Shinobi. It was that reservation, that remnant of his normal life that, in the end, had defeated Jakanja.
Under Ikkou's leadership the combined Gouraijer and Hurricanger would have fought like the soldiers history had cast them as...and they would have died when confronted with the ruthlessness of the Jakanja's cruellest Spear, Sandaru. Under Yousuke's command the war had been cast as a human struggle, with human lives in the balance. It was ultimately his compassion, his humanity that had won the war and resolved the conflict. Begrudgingly, Ikkou had accepted that this was something in which he had much to learn and, as the accepting of this fact had slowly turned to the desperate desire to be free of the shackles of a normal life so his affection for the younger man had become like a light at the end of the tunnel.
He had travelled from the centre of the nation, sometimes hitching lifts with truckers or catching a bus when he could dig up the change but mostly on foot, out into the wilderness in search of Shiina Yousuke. Only now, as he raced up the mountain path and towards the trees, the sweat pouring down his broad shoulders and dampening his black vest, did he at last feel close to any kind of release from his worries.
A sudden flicker of concern flitted through his mind and he lifted his head just in time to see the trees high above him exploding outwards in flame as a flock of birds tore free of the forest and flocked into the air, squawking in startled terror.
He braced himself as a hail of burning splinters descended upon him, tearing at the bare flesh of his arms and face as he leapt into the air, heavy boots kicking against the larger chunks of wood as they flew outwards from the wounded forest, carrying him further and further towards the source of the explosion.
At once he was a soldier again, no longer Kasumi Ikkou but KabutoRaijer. Even without his armour he still had the strength of his training; training so painstakingly rigorous that it had taken his body beyond the limitations of normal human movement and made a true fighter of him, almost to the point where it impaired his ability to actually carry out basic physical movements without applying too much force or pressure.
His mind raced as he searched for an explanation of the explosion, utterly unable to conceive of any normal reason for it and stumbling upon the sheer scale of impossible scenarios, perhaps even praying for them.
His prayers were rewarded by the sight of a figure at the centre of the swelling inferno of flame, dark hair rising from their scalp and eyes blood red as wave after wave of ethereal flame washed out from their being and over the surrounding trees.
In that moment Kasumi Ikkou felt his heart freeze. The figure amidst the fire was familiar, stripped of all humanity, of all warmth yet strangely familiar. As he met the gaze of those red eyes and saw the mouth open impossibly wide to reveal several rows of sharp, broken teeth, Ikkou knew that the man he had sought out as his own salvation from boredom had become prey to something far more dangerous.
With a howl of animal rage the burning figure of Shiina Yousuke launched forwards, pulling his arm back and launching his fist out. They met in the air above the dirt and wood, midway between the burning and the sleeping world and desperately Kasumi Ikkou began to fight not this time for the world or for the twisted vision of his father's own aspirations but for his very life...and the soul of his dearest friend.
* * * *
He stood over the small table, his shoulders hunched and his long hair falling free of the loose ponytail he had half-heartedly tied it back in. Over the back of the chair his suit jacket remained crumpled and unattended whilst a tie of expensive design hung loosely from his unbuttoned collar, an indication of his status and just how far he had come since the end of the war against Jakanja.
None of that mattered as he stood in the warm glow of the desktop lamp with tears in his eyes, his trembling hands holding onto the crumpled and faded flyer he had found tacked to the cork message board that hung like a portrait over his brother's abandoned desk.
It had been less than two months since Ikkou had departed, leaving in the night whilst Isshu, despite all his training and to his never ending frustration and humiliation, had slept heavily. He had never once questioned his brother's motives or desires, he had in fact always looked up to him, desperate to win the approval of his older brother in lieu of the love he could never have from his father, and yet now, standing in the cold, empty room and looking down at the flyer he had torn free of the message board, Kasumi Isshu couldn't help but feel betrayed.
He knew that sooner or later Ikkou would have left to find Yousuke, that much was evident in the lonely hunger that haunted his brother's deep, dark eyes and yet he had always told himself that, on that day, he would hold his older sibling to a promise; that whatever Yousuke meant to him it would never get in the way of the friendship, the closeness they shared as brothers.
Now looking down at the colourful design and lettering of the crumpled flyer in his hands, Isshu knew that Ikkou had not only replaced him as a brother but also as a sparring partner. It had stung when, during the war, Ikkou, infested with the fatal egg of a scorpion curse, had insisted on teaching sacred Ikazuchi skills to Yousuke but he had stomached that. They were at war, he knew that, and in war his knew full well that, as the enemy of Jakanja, the Hurricanger were their allies.
He had revelled in the closeness they had shared with the three wayward students of the Hayate path, delighted in the fact that, for the first time in his life, he had forged meaningful relationships with people who he thought of as friends but he had never lost sight of the fundamental differences between them and the fact that Yousuke would always be a lacklustre city boy who had found the fate of the Hayate school in his hands, a boy who destiny had transformed into a ninja whereas he and Ikkou were the finest warriors of the proud Ikazuchi tradition. That was their heritage, their birthright. To see Ikkou sharing that birthright, casting aside that heritage so readily, had hurt Isshu more than his older brother could ever have expected.
Yet he had compromised, he had adjusted to these new ways just the same as he had adjusted to life after the war. He was a ninja, a shadow warrior, and if that meant burying his true self beneath the routines of succeeding in the everyday world, biding his time for the moment when he would again need to demonstrate his true strength then so be it; that was the true path of Shinobi, he believed, not running off on some damn foolish quest to flaunt powers that shouldn't even be visible to the approaching enemy let alone to the people around you.
He cursed loudly and violently, slamming his palm down on the desk and spreading a series of cracks and fractures across the fine wood surface from the force of his blow. He looked down at the flyer once more and solemnly mouthed the words.
"King of World Fighters Final Fist Tournament."
If this was what Ikkou was searching for, if this was the impetuous that would settle his raging heart and if this was the tournament that he had sought out Yousuke for and would be entering then Isshu saw no reason why he shouldn't enter as well...and beat both of them until they afforded him the kind of respect he deserved.
His thin lips spread into a cruel smile as his heart quickened and the fine hairs on the back of his neck stood erect. For a moment longer he stood there, savouring the sweet taste of expected victory and then straightening, he adjusted his tie and turned away.
Behind him the desk crumbled into ruin.
* * * *
He crashed into the ash and dirt of the burning forest with a heavy thud, the breath pouring from his bleeding lips as he swiftly rolled away and leapt to his feet once more, narrowly avoiding a blow that would have broken his ribs had it connected.
Despite his training and the fierce brutality of his Ikazuchi methods, Kasumi Ikkou found himself losing ground to the younger man. The evil energy that held sway over Shiina Yousuke had increased his fighting power, making him almost unbeatable. Or perhaps, Ikkou speculated throwing his arms before his face as Yousuke's burning fist crashed once more into his flesh, perhaps this was Yousuke's hidden potential now given form by the darkness that had overcome him.
Without warning he felt his legs kicked out from under him. Instinctively he threw his hands out to lessen the damage of his fall and instantly realised his mistake. With a brutal roar, Shiina Yousuke lifted his fist up in a devastating uppercut that caught him beneath the chin and lifted him up into the air. The world span and Ikkou's body shuddered as he felt Yousuke's foot slam into him, again and again and again, spending him sailing further backwards until his bruised and bleeding body crashed into the burning bark of a tree and slumped forwards into the dirt, gasping for breath.
The power that flowed in waves for Yousuke's aura was evil and warped, devoid of humanity and seething with spice and malice. It was inhuman, a power darker than even the evil both his father and Tau Zanto had been so desperate to summon to Earth.
He lifted his head and, panting heavily, trying to ball his hands into fists, his eyes meeting the steady gaze from Yousuke's blood red eyes. They flickered, momentarily fading and for the briefest of seconds he was face to face with the young man he fought side by side against the Jakanja with all those many months ago. The instinct seized hold and he launched forwards from where he had fallen, his muscles screaming in agonising protest.
The blood red shadow fell over Yousuke's eyes once more and he opened his mouth to roar in anger but it was too late, already Kasumi Ikkou was on his feet.
With lightening swiftness, he turned, twisted around and around in the dirt before throwing all the weight of his body and all the momentum of his movement into a single thrusting punch forwards and burying his fist in Yousuke's stomach.
The rage faded from his eyes as blood erupted from his mouth, spilling down his torn jacket and spraying flecks upon Ikkou's face and shoulders. The older man smiled with grim determination as Shiina Yousuke slumped over him, bending despite the pain to ease the younger man's descent to the ground and gently laying his head down upon a pillow of rough dirt and scorched grass.
"Yousuke..." He whispered, desperately trying to draw breath into his bruised lungs. "Yousuke, what happened to you?"
The younger man turned his head softly, strands of his long, auburn hair falling into the dirt as a moan escaped his bruised lips and he opened his eyes, frowning in concentration at the face above him.
"Ikkou..." He groaned.
"Yousuke," Ikkou repeated, more incessantly, his large hands taking hold of the fallen Hurricanger's shoulders. "Yousuke, what happened?"
"The...Fist...of the Dark Hayate..." Yousuke gasped. "Too...powerful..." His eyes flickered with earnest sorrow. "Ikkou...this power...I can't control this power..."
His back arched and he cried out in pain before falling back into the dirt, his last strength seeping into the dirt beneath him. Ikkou's eyes widened in horror as desperately he knotted his hands together and pushed down hard against Yousuke's chest.
"Yousuke!" He cried out. "Yousuke!"
Forcefully he pushed his bleeding lips against Yousuke's own, desperately breathing into the young man's broken body, his hands all the while working heavily against the frail stillness of Yousuke's chest. There was a moment of confused horror, a moment in which he suddenly tasted the awakening of a desire he kept buried within him for so long and, at the same time, felt the fear and sorrow of that desire slip away from him.
He pulled his lips away again, hands pushing frantically down upon Yousuke's chest, forcing the life into him and anchoring him to the cold soil beneath and the fading fires that surrounded them.
"YOUSUKE!" He cried out in desperation and at once felt the touch of that cold energy that had so haunted his friend.
Shiina Yousuke's eyes flickered wide open and he gasped for breath, coughing and spilling blood down his ruined Hurricanger jacket as he looked about him like a crazed animal. He stammered something incoherent and then slumped back down into the dirt, his heart moving heavily and rhythmically within his bruised chest.
Only then did Kasumi Ikkou realise his face was damp with tears.
Genre: Expanded continuity, friendship, shonen-ai, angst, lust, pre-slash, Hurricanger SPOILERS
Series: Ninpuu Sentai Harikenja
Pairing: Shiina Yousuke (Hurricane Red) x Kasumi Ikkou (KabutoRaijer)
Rating: PG/PG-13
Length: 3,155 words
Disclaimer: Toei own the rights to all characters
banner courtesy of automated_icons
semi-related plugs: kissearly / finalauraburst
note: I've been going through a fighting game renaissance recently and was kind of curious how the rules of the genre could be applied to sentai. This was the result.
His fists tightened, throbbing with hateful energy as his lips peeled back to reveal his clenched teeth. The dark, magenta pulse of his aura flickered like fire around him, scorching the yellowed summer grass and licking at the mouth of the ancient forest behind him. With a roar he launched himself forwards, birds retreating from the treetops behind him as the sound of his rage filled the valley. His bare knuckles slammed hard into the ancient statue, crushing it to fine dust as they slammed against it over and over again until blood began to run freely down his hands, tainting the hard skin and calluses beneath and spilling over to the burnt grass beneath.
Chunks of stone fell away from him as the dust was caught up on the wind and carried away from the forest clearing atop the larger of the two massive mountains. Upon the sacred Air School symbol that formed the centre of his Hurricane Gyro, the first of several faint cracks had begun to appear.
The fire of his rage fluttered and faded and slowly, Shiina Yousuke turned away and head back towards the forest. Behind him the ancient statue of Hayate Toshiaki lay in ruins upon the burnt soil.
* * * *
Kasumi Ikkou stood patiently at the foot of the stone steps that trailed upwards through the forest, his heavy training bag thrown over his broad shoulders. It had been less than six months since the fall of Jakanja; less than a year and he had already resigned himself to the fact that he was unable to live a normal life. He had tried impossibly hard in the months immediately after the death of Tau Zanto, forcing himself to live in a normal routine; working hard hours of manual labour in the crisp light of the burning sun and bringing home a not-insignificant paycheque from which, alongside his younger brother, he had paid for the rent and upkeep of a small house a short commute from the city centre. He had struggled hard during those days to put the past behind him.
His whole life had been overshadowed by ninjitsu and the misguided philosophies of his corrupt father and now, free from the burden of training and violence he had found himself adrift in the modern world and unable to properly adapt. His arguments with Isshu had escalated, petty fights about the most insignificant and childish of things. In that house on the edge of the city, Kasumi Ikkou had begun to feel like a child trapped in the backseat of a car whilst the parents toured the lengthy isles of the supermarket. He had begun to yearn for his freedom once more, for the violence of his old life and the bitter wind against his tired muscles and so, at the beginning of summer, he had taken his leave of normal life, heading out early in the morning and leaving Isshu with the weight of modernity that so yearned to keep them both in place.
In his heart he knew that Isshu would be hurt but, facing this brave new world of day to day life, Ikkou had watched with minute but stinging jealousy as the boy he had once been had blossomed into a kind and thoughtful young man. Perhaps it was because he was younger that he was so capable of letting slip the grasp of the past, perhaps if Ikkou himself had been those few precious years younger then he too would have been unable to let go. But he could not. Violence called to him, on the wind that never failed to drift like some lonesome spirit through the industrial heart of the city, Ikkou heard the call of another way of life.
Standing now at the foot of the forest path he wondered if he had done the right thing. Six months ago he had been a soldier facing off against a hostile and invasive alien nation; now, standing on the steps of dirt and earth that led upwards into the mountains, he was a drifter; lost and alone.
The people he had surrounded himself with during the year long struggle against the Jakanja were fellow soldiers in the war. Free from all the violence and ruin, he was uncertain as to how any of them would react to the shadow and memory he brought with him. Even Isshu, when faced with Ikkou's inability to adapt to a normal life, had failed to understand him...was it truly right to ask an outsider, someone who wasn't part of his family, wasn't even a student of the Ikazuchi path, to accept the burden of his inability to adapt?
He ground his teeth together in frustration, his muscles tensing as he launched himself up the fragile earth and wood steps, jumping two at time in an effort to translate the frustration that so unsettled him into energy necessary for the long laborious journey.
As his heavy boots landed again and again amongst the dirt and leaves, he lifted his eyes to the blue sky and expansive range of trees high above him. It was wrong, he knew, to turn to someone so removed from the fires that had forged him as a child...and yet he couldn't quite dismiss the affection and respect he held for the younger man that awaited him amongst the dense trees and high mountain air. Of all of them, only Shiina Yousuke had failed to surrender himself to the necessities of war, remaining forever one step removed from what it took to become a true Shinobi. It was that reservation, that remnant of his normal life that, in the end, had defeated Jakanja.
Under Ikkou's leadership the combined Gouraijer and Hurricanger would have fought like the soldiers history had cast them as...and they would have died when confronted with the ruthlessness of the Jakanja's cruellest Spear, Sandaru. Under Yousuke's command the war had been cast as a human struggle, with human lives in the balance. It was ultimately his compassion, his humanity that had won the war and resolved the conflict. Begrudgingly, Ikkou had accepted that this was something in which he had much to learn and, as the accepting of this fact had slowly turned to the desperate desire to be free of the shackles of a normal life so his affection for the younger man had become like a light at the end of the tunnel.
He had travelled from the centre of the nation, sometimes hitching lifts with truckers or catching a bus when he could dig up the change but mostly on foot, out into the wilderness in search of Shiina Yousuke. Only now, as he raced up the mountain path and towards the trees, the sweat pouring down his broad shoulders and dampening his black vest, did he at last feel close to any kind of release from his worries.
A sudden flicker of concern flitted through his mind and he lifted his head just in time to see the trees high above him exploding outwards in flame as a flock of birds tore free of the forest and flocked into the air, squawking in startled terror.
He braced himself as a hail of burning splinters descended upon him, tearing at the bare flesh of his arms and face as he leapt into the air, heavy boots kicking against the larger chunks of wood as they flew outwards from the wounded forest, carrying him further and further towards the source of the explosion.
At once he was a soldier again, no longer Kasumi Ikkou but KabutoRaijer. Even without his armour he still had the strength of his training; training so painstakingly rigorous that it had taken his body beyond the limitations of normal human movement and made a true fighter of him, almost to the point where it impaired his ability to actually carry out basic physical movements without applying too much force or pressure.
His mind raced as he searched for an explanation of the explosion, utterly unable to conceive of any normal reason for it and stumbling upon the sheer scale of impossible scenarios, perhaps even praying for them.
His prayers were rewarded by the sight of a figure at the centre of the swelling inferno of flame, dark hair rising from their scalp and eyes blood red as wave after wave of ethereal flame washed out from their being and over the surrounding trees.
In that moment Kasumi Ikkou felt his heart freeze. The figure amidst the fire was familiar, stripped of all humanity, of all warmth yet strangely familiar. As he met the gaze of those red eyes and saw the mouth open impossibly wide to reveal several rows of sharp, broken teeth, Ikkou knew that the man he had sought out as his own salvation from boredom had become prey to something far more dangerous.
With a howl of animal rage the burning figure of Shiina Yousuke launched forwards, pulling his arm back and launching his fist out. They met in the air above the dirt and wood, midway between the burning and the sleeping world and desperately Kasumi Ikkou began to fight not this time for the world or for the twisted vision of his father's own aspirations but for his very life...and the soul of his dearest friend.
* * * *
He stood over the small table, his shoulders hunched and his long hair falling free of the loose ponytail he had half-heartedly tied it back in. Over the back of the chair his suit jacket remained crumpled and unattended whilst a tie of expensive design hung loosely from his unbuttoned collar, an indication of his status and just how far he had come since the end of the war against Jakanja.
None of that mattered as he stood in the warm glow of the desktop lamp with tears in his eyes, his trembling hands holding onto the crumpled and faded flyer he had found tacked to the cork message board that hung like a portrait over his brother's abandoned desk.
It had been less than two months since Ikkou had departed, leaving in the night whilst Isshu, despite all his training and to his never ending frustration and humiliation, had slept heavily. He had never once questioned his brother's motives or desires, he had in fact always looked up to him, desperate to win the approval of his older brother in lieu of the love he could never have from his father, and yet now, standing in the cold, empty room and looking down at the flyer he had torn free of the message board, Kasumi Isshu couldn't help but feel betrayed.
He knew that sooner or later Ikkou would have left to find Yousuke, that much was evident in the lonely hunger that haunted his brother's deep, dark eyes and yet he had always told himself that, on that day, he would hold his older sibling to a promise; that whatever Yousuke meant to him it would never get in the way of the friendship, the closeness they shared as brothers.
Now looking down at the colourful design and lettering of the crumpled flyer in his hands, Isshu knew that Ikkou had not only replaced him as a brother but also as a sparring partner. It had stung when, during the war, Ikkou, infested with the fatal egg of a scorpion curse, had insisted on teaching sacred Ikazuchi skills to Yousuke but he had stomached that. They were at war, he knew that, and in war his knew full well that, as the enemy of Jakanja, the Hurricanger were their allies.
He had revelled in the closeness they had shared with the three wayward students of the Hayate path, delighted in the fact that, for the first time in his life, he had forged meaningful relationships with people who he thought of as friends but he had never lost sight of the fundamental differences between them and the fact that Yousuke would always be a lacklustre city boy who had found the fate of the Hayate school in his hands, a boy who destiny had transformed into a ninja whereas he and Ikkou were the finest warriors of the proud Ikazuchi tradition. That was their heritage, their birthright. To see Ikkou sharing that birthright, casting aside that heritage so readily, had hurt Isshu more than his older brother could ever have expected.
Yet he had compromised, he had adjusted to these new ways just the same as he had adjusted to life after the war. He was a ninja, a shadow warrior, and if that meant burying his true self beneath the routines of succeeding in the everyday world, biding his time for the moment when he would again need to demonstrate his true strength then so be it; that was the true path of Shinobi, he believed, not running off on some damn foolish quest to flaunt powers that shouldn't even be visible to the approaching enemy let alone to the people around you.
He cursed loudly and violently, slamming his palm down on the desk and spreading a series of cracks and fractures across the fine wood surface from the force of his blow. He looked down at the flyer once more and solemnly mouthed the words.
"King of World Fighters Final Fist Tournament."
If this was what Ikkou was searching for, if this was the impetuous that would settle his raging heart and if this was the tournament that he had sought out Yousuke for and would be entering then Isshu saw no reason why he shouldn't enter as well...and beat both of them until they afforded him the kind of respect he deserved.
His thin lips spread into a cruel smile as his heart quickened and the fine hairs on the back of his neck stood erect. For a moment longer he stood there, savouring the sweet taste of expected victory and then straightening, he adjusted his tie and turned away.
Behind him the desk crumbled into ruin.
* * * *
He crashed into the ash and dirt of the burning forest with a heavy thud, the breath pouring from his bleeding lips as he swiftly rolled away and leapt to his feet once more, narrowly avoiding a blow that would have broken his ribs had it connected.
Despite his training and the fierce brutality of his Ikazuchi methods, Kasumi Ikkou found himself losing ground to the younger man. The evil energy that held sway over Shiina Yousuke had increased his fighting power, making him almost unbeatable. Or perhaps, Ikkou speculated throwing his arms before his face as Yousuke's burning fist crashed once more into his flesh, perhaps this was Yousuke's hidden potential now given form by the darkness that had overcome him.
Without warning he felt his legs kicked out from under him. Instinctively he threw his hands out to lessen the damage of his fall and instantly realised his mistake. With a brutal roar, Shiina Yousuke lifted his fist up in a devastating uppercut that caught him beneath the chin and lifted him up into the air. The world span and Ikkou's body shuddered as he felt Yousuke's foot slam into him, again and again and again, spending him sailing further backwards until his bruised and bleeding body crashed into the burning bark of a tree and slumped forwards into the dirt, gasping for breath.
The power that flowed in waves for Yousuke's aura was evil and warped, devoid of humanity and seething with spice and malice. It was inhuman, a power darker than even the evil both his father and Tau Zanto had been so desperate to summon to Earth.
He lifted his head and, panting heavily, trying to ball his hands into fists, his eyes meeting the steady gaze from Yousuke's blood red eyes. They flickered, momentarily fading and for the briefest of seconds he was face to face with the young man he fought side by side against the Jakanja with all those many months ago. The instinct seized hold and he launched forwards from where he had fallen, his muscles screaming in agonising protest.
The blood red shadow fell over Yousuke's eyes once more and he opened his mouth to roar in anger but it was too late, already Kasumi Ikkou was on his feet.
With lightening swiftness, he turned, twisted around and around in the dirt before throwing all the weight of his body and all the momentum of his movement into a single thrusting punch forwards and burying his fist in Yousuke's stomach.
The rage faded from his eyes as blood erupted from his mouth, spilling down his torn jacket and spraying flecks upon Ikkou's face and shoulders. The older man smiled with grim determination as Shiina Yousuke slumped over him, bending despite the pain to ease the younger man's descent to the ground and gently laying his head down upon a pillow of rough dirt and scorched grass.
"Yousuke..." He whispered, desperately trying to draw breath into his bruised lungs. "Yousuke, what happened to you?"
The younger man turned his head softly, strands of his long, auburn hair falling into the dirt as a moan escaped his bruised lips and he opened his eyes, frowning in concentration at the face above him.
"Ikkou..." He groaned.
"Yousuke," Ikkou repeated, more incessantly, his large hands taking hold of the fallen Hurricanger's shoulders. "Yousuke, what happened?"
"The...Fist...of the Dark Hayate..." Yousuke gasped. "Too...powerful..." His eyes flickered with earnest sorrow. "Ikkou...this power...I can't control this power..."
His back arched and he cried out in pain before falling back into the dirt, his last strength seeping into the dirt beneath him. Ikkou's eyes widened in horror as desperately he knotted his hands together and pushed down hard against Yousuke's chest.
"Yousuke!" He cried out. "Yousuke!"
Forcefully he pushed his bleeding lips against Yousuke's own, desperately breathing into the young man's broken body, his hands all the while working heavily against the frail stillness of Yousuke's chest. There was a moment of confused horror, a moment in which he suddenly tasted the awakening of a desire he kept buried within him for so long and, at the same time, felt the fear and sorrow of that desire slip away from him.
He pulled his lips away again, hands pushing frantically down upon Yousuke's chest, forcing the life into him and anchoring him to the cold soil beneath and the fading fires that surrounded them.
"YOUSUKE!" He cried out in desperation and at once felt the touch of that cold energy that had so haunted his friend.
Shiina Yousuke's eyes flickered wide open and he gasped for breath, coughing and spilling blood down his ruined Hurricanger jacket as he looked about him like a crazed animal. He stammered something incoherent and then slumped back down into the dirt, his heart moving heavily and rhythmically within his bruised chest.
Only then did Kasumi Ikkou realise his face was damp with tears.