ᜌᜅ᜔

And so Shang Tsung was out for revenge. Revenge not for himself but for another—not that anyone would believe him when he said it wasn’t for himself. Because why would they? Except Shang Tsung knew deep down this was not a normal desire for blood and violence. He was never going to rest until each and every single one of those who were responsible for Bi-Han’s death were on the floor dead.

He wiped his mouth, having bit his lip too hard trying to keep himself from losing control and giving into this foreign rage that was swirling about him.

"A specter you will never be rid of,” he muttered, marching forward toward his first taste of revenge. He could be dramatic and say he died that day with Bi-Han, and he could happily say that he was back from the dead and would never rest until he had taken every last wretched soul with him.

Written to "It's Not a Fashion Statement It's a (Fucking) Death Wish" by MCR