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Instinct and Empathy	By : Fenris30 Category: +G through L > King of Fighters Views: 1607 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the King of Fighters fandom, nor anything therein. No money or profit is made from this work.

Chapter List
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Iori looked out the window, leaning back in the chair and setting his leg up on the small table which held an ashtray. Night had fallen, and it was clear; the moon was out as well, giving just enough light to see by. This was good; it would help him for tonight.
A cigarette dangled from his mouth as he fiddled with the tuning on his bass; one of the few things besides bloodshed and cigarettes that he generally ended up doing on his spare time. He wiped his brow, the heat rather stifling. He had an air conditioner in his place, though he rarely used it. He wore his trousers-leather, usually, which may not have been the best thing in the summer but he didn't really give a shit-his collar, and that was it. The purple tank top he wore today was flung onto the bed, a few pairs of boots and shoes scattered by the door. His less casual wear he actually kept hung up, along with his wine-colored leather longcoat, which he wore in cooler weather.
He had a bed with a thin sheet, a ragged couch, and a few other odds and ends. The apartment was little more than a warehouse room . There were exposed pipes, only a couple of throw rugs, and little to no decoration to speak of; except for a few old posters of when his old band played scattered about from what seemed to be years back. The refrigerator was sparsely populated by odds and ends; mostly, if he had to eat, he just went out. The coffee maker and the wine bottles were permanent fixtures on his counter. He did have a stereo, and this was a more classic setup; Iori preferred having vinyl or Cds-the latter of which could be considered dated-rather than newer things.
The city wasn't exactly bustling at this time of night, though there were some noises about. Iori lived about four stories up, so he was out of the way enough, but it let him watch on the odd chance he wanted to.
His eyes trailed to the walls; red brick and with many apparent claw marks in them, along with cracks, usually caused by Iori in a rage. He trained in his excessively brutal style-that of his ancient family, which focused on literally tearing opponents limb from limb and rending their flesh-by crushing rock and stone with his bare hands. Iori was built lean, tall, fairly broad shouldered and very well muscled, his arms and legs with incredible reach; however his build still belied the inhuman strength it held, thanks to his family bloodline. The curse only increased this to ridiculous levels. He could fling massive people with no effort, crush bones, or dismember an opponent with no weapon in the blink of an eye, and he had done so many, many times. He often looked like he had walked out of a slaughterhouse by the time he was finished, and that was when he wasn't in his rage.
His legs were sometimes joined at the knees with a rather long, leather belt. He did this on purpose; besides his fashion, it helped him train his footwork and balance. It did not hinder his crushing kicks at all; he could perform better leaps and high kicks than most fighters could even without the handicap. On top of it, with a quick flick of his legs, he could use it to garrote or decapitate enemies while his hands were full ripping others to shreds. He could even trip an enemy with it, grounding them for him to rend them limb from limb or simply cave in their forehead with his heel if he was feeling mildly merciful and wanted to kill them quickly.
He trained fairly often. He liked to keep his abilities sharp for when he could finally destroy Kyo. He had beaten the other man before...but he didn't count it because the fight was interrupted. He even recently forwent a fight to do something more important. He hated to do it, but he hated Orochi just as much, if not more; and despite his blood-vendetta, he was capable of making an uneasy peace long enough to deal with the malevolent being when necessary. A short-lived uneasy peace, but one nonetheless. There were times where he wondered why he still hated the man. He supposed it was in his blood.
He almost stopped trying to understand it.
He snorted, wondering why his mind kept getting away from him with his thoughts of violence. He didn't necessarily seek it out. Sometimes he didn't even want to fight. Sometimes he just wanted to play his music and sleep, or read, or even practice his martial art for leisure.
But it-the malice-was always there, burning. Iori was a fairly intelligent man-not a genius by any means, but fairly smart-however often he would seemingly almost devolve into his sheer instinct, as if he was ran by his id far more often than not and the other parts of him could barely keep it in check.
When asked if he liked what he did...he said he didn't know. Maybe he did. Maybe he didn't. He had long stopped questioning the mess that was the inside of his head. He just knew that while he did not always want things to turn ugly, and those times he would threaten, spit, snarl and roar to make it not happen, it didn't always go that way. More often than not, it didn't go that way.
And then he would be soaked in blood, his hands ripping into their flesh.
However, tonight was just happened to be one of those nights that he was ready for some of the said violence, after the discovery was made. He would give them a chance, as he would.
He tipped the glass of wine that was on the side, seeing how it was almost empty. He had decided on a couple of glasses of red wine tonight, to soothe his clouded brain. He did not drink all the time, but now and again he got the urge. He proceeded to drink it off and set the glass back on the windowsill.
His long fingers caressed the strings of his bass, one of the few things he was actually somewhat gentle in touching. Many bassists used a pick or taped their fingers if they went without one, but his hands were so strengthened from thrusting them in stone it let him effortlessly glide over the strings. A deep rumbling came from the bass amplifier, though it was pleasant; Iori had played for years, and several genres-rock, jazz-his last band had been a jazz band-and even metal, all genres he enjoyed listening to. He was quite capable of making the instrument sing.
He owned three electric bass guitars; the traditional four-string he played now, a five string he used in his heavier endeavors, and a four string fretless bass which he liked for his jazz. His small practice area by the window was littered with an extra amp, old strings, and some effects pedals.
He puffed at the cigarette in his lips as he played. It gave him something else to focus on other than the constant burning in his brain that demanded bloodshed. Some would say Iori Yagami had nothing in the way of willpower, but truth be told, he had an absolute godlike amount of it.
He remembered Benimaru laughing at this prospect one day. How could someone whose two moods ran between 'surly asshole' and 'murderous rampage' have willpower?
It was his blood-rival of all people who answered him, since the two would occasionally mention the other with respect. Very occasionally.
“He's always enraged.“
It took all of said willpower at times to keep himself in check. His family treasure arguably did some of that; sure, it cursed him to an even worse state, though without it, he was practically pure, seething id; so much so that the competitors around him were made uneasy by the aura of rage and bloodlust he exuded. Even after he got it back, something felt different.
He carried his curse, though. It almost felt like his duty. Ever since the clans exploded in war six hundred and sixty years ago, the other side of him-the Orochi side, whatever it was-threatened to take him over at any time, he felt. So many generations of mothers dying in childbirth and people dying young.
It was why he withdrew most of the time. But whenever he got near combat, he couldn't help himself. That went triple for his Kyo was in the vicinity, unless Orochi happened to be the other choice.
Ending the tune he was playing-it wasn't anything particular, just some practice-he debated another glass of wine before deciding to just head out. He wasn't sure where he would go, but somewhere.
Somewhere before he would go hunt down a few people.
He carefully placed the bass guitar on its stand, turning the amp off and unplugging it. He stood, setting the wine glass aside and throwing on the tank top he wore earlier; it was hot enough that he would not need much else. Shoving on a pair of boots, he made sure he had anything else he needed and headed out.
He might be a bit busy tonight, if that rumor he had heard about was true...
–
They were here.
The rumor panned out.
Iori knew that they-Those from the Past, that was-had attempted to send more assassins after him. Well, to be frank, to many people in the tournament. Including Kyo, which he took a bit of offense to, as Kyo was his to kill, not theirs, and he thought they knew that already. He was sure Kyo probably burned them to ash already, unless his moronic idealism got to him again and he only knocked them out, which he would do from time to time.
After things had gone sideways for them following Ash's betrayal, they had crawled into hiding. They worked from the shadows mostly, even still. Several had been arrested, he heard, after trying to assassinate certain targets and getting beaten up for their trouble.
Iori wasn't one to leave anyone alive to be arrested, unlike most of the other participants.
He snorted at their idea of 'justice' and pulled a cigarette from his pants pocket. He lit it, blowing a stream of smoke out as he waited.
He hoped they would come out tonight.
He probably could have just stayed home, but he figured they would just come after him at some point and he'd have to kill them anyway. Cutting out the middleman seemed like the ideal option.
Plus, he generally just hated anything to do with that group. He wished he could kill the lot of them, but they hid like cowards, sending cannon fodder to do their bidding for some reason. Perhaps he thought that a large enough group could take some of their fighters off guard. He had no idea, nor did he particularly care why they were stupid. After the last tournament, things had gone particularly haywire, and all he heard was something about rifts opening and then it started to make his head hurt, which just pissed him off again.
Scouting out the large, run-down building-fairly decent for conducting clandestine operations he supposed, he noticed some alleyways surrounding it.
He would lure them out to the back alley. It would be easier to clean up afterward.
Iori made his way around back and stood by the wall, smoking another cigarette. He looked up at the night sky, glad the alleyway had a few buzzing lights to illuminate things, along with the half-moon that hovered overhead, almost empowering him. It didn't really, but he always had his ties with it.
A few rats scurried around, as did cockroaches. This area of South Town was very much an abandoned slum. He wasn't sure why they wanted this place...he almost suspected there was some sort of mystical line or something around it, given that they tended to seek out areas that offered those.
A skittering sound on the ground got his attention; a particularly large roach got too close to him. Iori snorted, slamming his boot down on it with a crunch, the cigarette not leaving his lips. Moving his foot back, he lifted his hand to throw a small ball of purple fire to the ground to burn the squashed insect to ash.
He didn't know if the sudden flash of the flames got their attention, but he heard them start to move around inside after that. He was hoping he wouldn't have to wait much longer.
Indeed, he saw several men-dressed in varying array of clothing-heard out quickly, their eyes widening.
“Yagami,” one spit.
Iori laughed, looking over at a few of the other men...who did not look as confident. In fact, they looked like they didn't particularly want to be here, but were nonetheless sent out to do their leaders' bidding. He actually wondered if any of them had been successful in targeting anyone. He doubted it. There were roughly nine of them. He also wondered if they meant to target him specifically, and were expecting one of the less...murderous targets.
Oh, he imagined they were somewhat skilled. Those from the Past were not completely stupid.
He did not move from his spot as they started to surround him. Three stepped forward.
“Even better,” one of the more brave ones said. Clearly they had been sent after someone else, and this would explain how some of them looked like they would have been happier taking on whatever quarry had been originally on their list. Iori knew that he and Kyo would likely be two of the more 'prized' targets for the group, as taking them out of any potential tournaments would make their run much easier.
His back was still against the wall, and most people would be worried if they were in this position with three men in front of him. Unarmed, unarmored...but he simply laughed maniacally.
He didn't even say a word. Leaping up with a snarl on his lips, he went over the head of the man in front of him easily; even from standing, his legs were so strong that they could take him right up into the air several feet. As he flew over the man's head, before anyone could react, he snapped his right leg out behind him with a force that could break stone; indeed, it smashed the wall in...and just happened to catch the first man's head in between his boot and the wall in the process.
He could catch people out with this move so easily it was almost hilarious to him. It was like going over someone's head made them forget where he were coming from. Usually he would just end up snapping their neck if they were common rabble and not one of the tougher fighters that he fought, like Kyo.
This time it was a bit messier.
An abhorrent wet crunching sound echoed through the alley as the man's head was pulverized against the wall in a terrific spray of blood; his body slumped and slid slowly down the wall, bits of bone and brain now littering the ground beneath him where they had dropped with a splat.
On the bright side, he died quickly.
He landed, his hands forming into the telltale claws of his family's destructive art, daring the rest of them to continue. He gave them a chance; he thought, perhaps, after seeing one of them get their head smashed to bits as if it were an eggshell that they would not want to deal with him.
They thought by running at him at once they could overtake him.
Iori laughed again.
Leaping forward, he brought his right arm around in a vicious swipe, catching one of the men on the side of the neck and tearing; in one blow he had torn out the man's jugular and part of his throat in a massive red rain.
He fell to the ground, his eyes wide as he choked to death on his own blood.
Iori continued to leap at, rend and tear at his opponents, a hit or two getting in, but he barely felt it. He was not letting himself completely go-that would be pure madness against flies such as these-but he fought with a near base level of bloodthirst that terrified them.
Grappling one by the head, he ripped and tore, gouging and rending until he dropped the bleeding and mangled corpse to the ground. He kicked out at them as well; one well-placed jumping kick to one's mouth shattered his jaw and sent his head snapping back; if the force of his inhuman strength hadn't broken his neck, the fact that his throat was torn out soon after did. Yet another actually got a fair blow on his arm with a straight ninja sword he had concealed...only for Iori to turn, the look in his eyes pure murder; the man froze in fear as he was ripped stem to sternum-through clothing, muscle, and bone-by a single swipe of his claw-like hand.
It was cold butchery, Iori's blood curdling screams cutting them to the bone before his hands did so in a literal fashion...and it was over in moments.
He brought both of his fists down on one's head, smashing him into the pavement. He kicked the top of his head in quickly before flicking his hand out at the last one who had collapsed to his knees in front of him. He ripped a gaping red hole in his neck so large his head came halfway off of his body.
If these were the best assassins Those from the Past could send, they must be in dire straits indeed, he thought with contempt...what little he could think.
If anyone had walked into the alleyway then, they would have gotten a rather horrendous surprise.
After making sure they were all dead-not that this was difficult given their mutilated conditions-he stood back, gathering power. The purple flames wreathed his hands as he focused, the trash in the alley whipping around as his powerful aura kicked in.
With a yell, he torched the remains to ash.
He laughed, still noticing some bloodstains on the walls-where he killed the first man, and some other places, but there wasn't much that could be done. He wasn't particularly someone who cared about cleanliness, but partially he figured there was no point in leaving eviscerated corpses behind.
The other half of him just enjoyed burning his enemies.
He turned, lighting another cigarette as he walked away.
–
Iori had spent a bit of time after the massacre on top of a building nearby, smoking. He wondered how many other places they had hit. He now wandered around, trying to keep himself somewhat low key, mostly keeping to the alleys.
Using his flames, he had burned away some of the gore from his arms, though he would not want to go into any public areas at the moment given his clothing, face, and chest were still spattered. He suspected they may have gone after the Pao Pao, or perhaps some of the other people around. He didn't particularly feel like talking to anyone, but he was curious, so he decided to investigate a bit. It sort of felt like a multi-stage hit; Those from the Past had been particularly angry after their rather thorough defeat by that little pissant.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a few people chatting. He could have sworn a few of the usual South Town locals had started to walk off, though he didn't bother following as he had nothing to say; only staying close enough to overhear things.
He had heard there was another attack across town. He thought perhaps to investigate that as well, just in case. It had apparently been at a dojo or something. Something about the old drunken master's, or one of his places, as he was spotted as several.
At these words, his eyes narrowed. There was only one old drunken master he knew of. He normally didn't teach out of South Town, though he supposed he and his students may have came for tournament purposes, to investigate the targeted assassinations, or for some other reason. He didn't know.
Iori found himself lighting a cigarette, walking quickly around the side streets to reach the apparent area he had heard about.
–
There were several fighters who were seemingly blasted away; they did not seem dead, but they were certainly knocked out. A couple up in trees and over cars told him that the force of the blast was probably quite extreme. There were roughly six or seven of them. It almost seemed like a single blast knocked them all out, which spoke of amazing spiritual energy.
As he got closer, he spotted two more figures; a girl and a man.
The girl's figure was slumped by a wall; she did not appear to be moving, though she did not look dead from back here. There had been an explosion of power, and an assassin lay on the ground a good twenty feet away; moving, breathing, but down; probably in shock from the concussive blast that apparently happened. There was likely more than one.
The girl's purple hair was unmistakable. His eyes widened for a second as his heart began to race in his chest.
Athena.
The incident happened a few years ago; one that would continue to affect him to this day. He had gone mad and attempted to kill Kyo...as per usual, though she intercepted the attack with one of her powerful psychic shields.
Something had happened. As their powers clashed, they had ended up somehow...entwined spiritually. He had felt an overwhelming...sadness come from her, likely which came from what she had seen. He felt vulnerable for the first time since his childhood, and for a moment-just a split moment-he was worried he had hurt her. She had broken down in tears; he didn't remember much else but simply quietly walking away...from Kyo, of all people.
He had him beaten, yet he walked away.
They had met from time to time after that. He was usually curt with her, sometimes rude, though never menacing. He never wanted to be. Whenever he was around her, he would feel...different. He found her silly idealism rather stupid, and had a feeling she would not be able to save the world like she wanted, but he never wanted to see harm come to her after that. It had actually been a few years since that happened-she was at least twenty one or so now,-but every time he was in her vicinity, the feeling would come back.
Whatever had happened, it had been permanent.
She kept trying to convince him to leave his hatred behind, but he would hear none of it. Yet, they would occasionally exchange a few words when they met up, depending if his mood were halfway on what counted as sociable for him.
He quickly looked over at her; she was fine, though it seemed she took a bit of damage from...something. By the look of the debris, she had fired off one of her powerful psychic blasts to knock the man out or at least silly; he knew she didn't kill.
Looking at the would be assassin, he walked over and kicked him in the face with contempt; he groaned at the sudden blow, showing he was waking up.
He followed with another...and another.
By the time he was finished raining kicks down on the man, there was a mass of gore on the ground in front of him where his head and neck used to be. He probably could have simply reached down and torn out his throat, but he had sort of lost track of himself after the first few hits; truth be told, he barely even remembered it even though he just did it moments ago. He wondered if his brain was muddled by things....his Orochi blood waking up, he wasn't even sure.
Thanks to that said seemingly permanent connection they had, he could feel her pain, and he was not enjoying it. It could only happen in a close vicinity. It seemingly had to be true pain, as well; safe tournament fights did not seem to kick this in.
He looked over, realizing that she was very much unconscious, and he did not feel like dealing with the annoying kid, the silly old man, or anyone else for that matter. He didn't even know where this apparent dojo was, to be sure, or even where they stayed in South Town, and he wasn't about to go anywhere to ask. Most of the people knew of his brutal habits, but he didn't particularly feel like hearing their idealistic bullshit right now on how killing was wrong.
This left one choice.
He picked her up and started to head toward his apartment. He wasn't particularly keen on visitors-in fact, he sort of ended up killing the last ones who were there, given the last ones had been Mature and Vice, and everyone knew what had happened after that tournament, though no one spoke of it. Certainly not in his vicinity.
He would make a short exception here, at least until she woke up.
He would have loved for his heart to stop pounding, but he supposed ever since that incident it was inevitable. He didn't like the feeling because it made him stressed, and when he got stressed, especially with the potential of other powers awakening, he didn't know what would happen. His willpower could sometimes only go so far, even though these days he had some measure of actual control over his Riot...even able to bring it out in combat for an extra burst of even more insane strength and speed that he was normally capable of-but it was not total control, and his obliterating of the man's head and even part of his torso a few moments ago-that he could barely remember-was a reminder.
We sealed him. Again.
Don't tell me there are more of them back...
He shook his head, knowing that if anyone else was back, he would rend them and seal them again, just like that. He'd even lend another hand to Chizuru and...him if necessary.
He walked silently, holding her in both arms, her head falling on his shoulder. He made no effort to move it.
–
He arrived quicker than he thought.
He was hungry, as he usually was after a fight. He supposed he would drop her off there and when she woke, she would be free to leave when she wanted to. Given the condition of his apartment of being as dank as it was, he guessed it would not take her long to disappear.
Holding her easily in one arm, he shoved his door open and went over to his bed. He quickly threw a sheet on the bed-sometimes he would sleep on the mattress, it was no matter to him. Laying her gently on it, he looked around, deciding to click on the air conditioner. While he could handle the stifling humidity of the place, he wasn't sure if she was well or not. He closed the window to help hasten the cooling.
He kicked his bloodied boots off into the corner, snorting that he would have to polish them yet again; he in fact threw off any clothing he had worn that night and tossed them there as well.
After some thought, he jumped into the shower for a few moments; his hair and other parts of his body were spattered with blood, and he figured anyplace he would go to eat may take some alarm to this. Iori didn't frankly care if he scared anyone, but he also didn't want to get anyone too interesting in wanting to pry into anything.
As the hot water ran down his body, he watched it mix with some of the blood and go down the drain. He had done this more times than he could count. His fairly long hair soon hung down in his face, and eventually the water on his body ran clean.
While he was here, he examined his body; he had some cuts and a few bruises, but nothing that wouldn't heal quickly on him.
He let the hot water flow into his hand for a few moments before reaching over to turn it off. He looked at himself in his mirror; he had to replace it again after shattering it in yet another rage. He had to do this at least once every other month. Pushing back his hair, he checked out his eyes; light brown, as always. No sign of the red rage of Orochi, though he still felt like it had started to take him over again when he turned that last man into pulp.
He sighed, pushed back his wet hair, and walked out.
After drying off somewhat, he threw on a clean set of trousers and proceeded to slide another cigarette out of his pack, light it, and lean by the wall to look out the window.
He turned toward Athena for a few moments as she slept peacefully. Her breathing looked steady; she was seemingly in no danger. Perhaps that assassin had some ki of his own that knocked her out? He knew Those from the Past had mystical abilities. He just happened to cross some of the rabble who didn't. He imagined they would sent more ki-loaded opponents vs. the Psychic Soldiers, as they were nicknamed that for a reason. He knew how skilled she was from the years of seeing her at the tournaments, but energy blasts going haywire could overtake even the strongest minds.
She started to stir as he was getting done his smoke, looking distraught for a moment.
Iori felt a burning when she did this. It was similar to the feeling when they had...joined that first time. He grit his teeth, crushing out his smoke as the strange, rather uncomfortable feeling passed. He looked over at her, panting.
What do you want...
Only silence answered him.
It felt like she was inside of me again, just like that time a few years ago.
He felt something again. Sorrow?
Iori growled, thrusting his hand into the wall, clawing at it. He set his forehead against it, gritting his teeth for awhile before he looked over at her.
He wasn't angry.
He didn't know what he was.
Hurrying to get dressed, he decided to get something to eat; perhaps a few drinks. Anything to get him out of here.
He quickly left the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.
---
A/N:
Iori is a difficult character to write. He's always been, to me, a creature of id, and with a lot of semi-canon side material that gives different insight into his personality, I utilize those, along with his in-game actions and win-quotes, and this is what I came up with. A n 'always enraged' being with two sides to him, insane willpower to keep his bloodthirst at least partially under control at the times he needs, and someone who is definitely cursed, wishing to withdraw because he does still have a sympathetic side hiding, as one can see in certain win quotes.
This story does use the KoF Kyo manga as well, when he and Athena's spirits sort of 'entwined.' This shows in the games as he is simply grumpy toward Athena, rather than murderous, and there is even official art who sort of teases them. I figure if they(SNK themselves) seem to use it, it's good to use. The bit about the training by plunging their hands into stone was in...something that I read ages ago, not fan written either, and it stuck, and seemed to me to be a good explanation, along with his bloodline, for Yagami's ridiculous strength and the Yagami clan fighting style. (The belt thing I've read both ways-that it is a training thing, and that it is a fashion thing. I use it as all of the above.)
This is a pretty dark fanfiction; not a 'darkfic' so to speak, but yeah, it is going to be dealing with the mind of someone whose favorite phrases include 'Cry, Scream, and Die', whose win quotes include discussing how one's gory death will drench everything in red, whose fighting style involves rending people to bits and who has canonically killed an untold amount of people while still being on the 'protagonist' side. So those squeamish, just know what we're getting into. I hope you enjoy it though!
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Instinct and Empathy