⚞ 𝒔𝒐𝒍𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒆 ⚟

✿⁠ ⸺ Chapters Guide! ; Prologue ; Chapter I, Prt 1 ; Chapter I, Prt 2 ; Chapter I, Prt 3 ; Chapter II;

✿⁠ ⸺ Previous ; Next!

⸺ WARNINGS ⦂ Fem Reader ; Use of Y/N; Suicidal themes ; Suicide attempt ; Platonic Yandere ; Dead of a Character ; Detachment of a body part ; Gore (? ; English is not my first language.

✿⁠ ⸺ MDNI !! I'm serious.

✿⁠ ⸺ Words Count ⦂ 8.043

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ This chapter was mainly translated by Google Translate, so if something doesn’t make sense, you know who to blame.

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ Sorry for the wait on this chapter, these past weeks have been too much for me. After this, I think I'll take a break from social media

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ If you're wondering, the chapter title is based on the song Burning Pile by Mother Mother, so if you want to listen to it while reading the chapter, you're welcome to. I recommend listening to it more towards the end of the chapter.

The drive back to the mansion was steeped in an eerie silence. Both you and Damian were equally stunned by the day's events—which weren’t even over yet. The worst part was still ahead: facing your father.

You were doing your absolute best to hold back tears, panic building at the thought of confronting your father in yet another fit of anger. Then again, while the anxiety clung to you like a chain, you didn’t really have any tears left to shed. Most of them had already been spent during the fight with Damian.

A fight with a very peculiar ending.

Once again, your mind replayed what had happened just a few hours ago. Maybe because it still felt like unfinished business, leaving you with more questions than answers. Or maybe it was just an attempt to escape the horrible scenarios your imagination was crafting for when you’d finally arrive at the mansion. Maybe it was both.

The silence between you could easily be described as awkward—painfully awkward. But what you couldn't quite figure out was where you stood with Damian now. After your outburst, your confession, and his apology…

“I’m sorry…”

Something was supposed to change between you two after that, right? It felt like the fragile glass you'd both been pressing against had finally shattered under the weight of it all. The shards of what had happened still lingered in both your minds, leaving you unsure of how to start piecing things back together. Unsure of how to move forward.

Honestly, you weren’t surprised. Two emotionally stunted people like you and Damian couldn’t possibly know how to handle your relationship in a healthy way. You wouldn’t even know how to talk about everything that had happened without feeling deeply uncomfortable. Somehow, admitting all your vulnerability—the pain you’d felt from your family’s harsh treatment—felt more humiliating than when Damian used to call you cruel nicknames in front of everyone. Even more than failing a test and having the whole class find out about it.

The mind and emotions are strange things, you concluded.

Maybe that’s why Damian avoided them without even realizing it?

You didn’t know. And honestly, you weren’t sure you even wanted to.

As you crossed the doorway, all your fears surged at once, spilling over as tears the moment you saw your father standing at the mansion’s entrance, furious.

“Before I start,” your father announced in his usual firm tone, “if anyone has something to say that should be taken into account, speak now.”

Both you and Damian stayed silent, heads bowed. You had no way to defend yourself. Sure, Damian had provoked you, but you were the one who started the fight. You were certain that was all anyone would care about.

Oh no, here came the tears again...

You gripped the sides of your uniform skirt tightly with both hands, unable to stop your body from trembling like a leaf in the wind.

What if your father finally decided to throw you out? Or worse—send you back to your mother?

“Y/N—”

“Actually, Father—” Damian interrupted, raising his voice slightly, something rare for him when speaking to Bruce. “I was the one who started the fight.”

You glanced at Damian out of the corner of your eye, careful not to let your father see your evident surprise.

“You’ll hear it from the teachers anyway, so I figured it’d be better if you heard it directly from me,” Damian explained vaguely, his tone carrying a slight edge of irritation (maybe because you were staring at him like he’d just grown a third eye—or who knows why).

Bruce stayed silent, his gaze shifting between the two of you as if searching for any sign of deceit.

“Y/N, go to your room. I need to speak with Damian.”

Bruce kept his eyes locked on Damian, who didn’t look up.

Hesitant, you decided it was better to obey and not risk angering your father further. You cast one last glance at Damian as you walked away, but he didn’t return it. Maybe he was too busy processing the implications of his recent actions to notice your look.

Once you reached your room, you decided to wait until tomorrow to write about everything in your diary.

For the next few days, Damian avoided you like the plague.

Sure, you were expecting some sort of change, but this? This caught you off guard. If you were being honest with yourself, though, you weren’t entirely sure what kind of change you had been hoping for.

Your days started to blur together again, shifting between school and the mansion. The only difference now was that your total number of interactions had dwindled to just one person—Alfred. Occasionally, it went up to two if you counted Jon’s visits to see Damian.

Like today.

You knew he was coming over to hang out with Damian, just like he did every other week. You were about to start baking with Alfred, so you were already dressed for the occasion. But that didn’t stop you from answering the door when the bell rang.

You greeted the Kryptonian with a smile and invited him in, once again losing yourself for a moment in those stunning blue eyes of his. After exchanging the usual greetings and catching up briefly, Jon hesitated before bringing up your party.

“Hey, about your birthday…” he started cautiously, clearly choosing his words carefully.

A part of you had wondered if he’d mention it, but when he did, a knot formed in your throat at the memory of your pathetic excuse for a birthday party. Honestly, you weren’t even sure it deserved to be called a party.

“Damian told me your party was canceled. Is that true?” Jon asked gently, clearly aware of Damian’s antics when it came to you. He was just trying to figure out if this was another one of them.

Not technically, no. But while it hadn’t been canceled, it wasn’t much of a party either…

Alfred had been the only one to show up besides you, so when Jon didn’t appear that day, you’d been confused at first. Now, you were grateful. You were certain you’d have broken down in tears if he’d looked at you with pity because no one else had shown up.

So, just this once, you decided to go along with Damian’s little lie.

“Yeah… it got canceled after all,” you said, lying through your teeth. Jon frowned sympathetically.

“Oh… I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, his voice soft. “Still, I wanted to give you this.”

From behind his back, he pulled out a colorful bag with a big ribbon on it. How had you not noticed it before? Were you that distracted by him?

Shaking off the thought, you accepted the gift with both hands, a puzzled expression plastered across your face.

It was the first gift you’d ever received from someone. Knowing someone thought enough of you to show their care in this way… it was overwhelming.

“It’s not the same as the other one, and I don’t mean it as a replacement,” Jon explained, his gaze fixed on the floor in embarrassment. As you opened the bag, he added, “I just thought… it might be a good listener for you…” He sounded so awkward, like he was overexplaining everything. God, he probably thought you’d see him as some kind of loser now.

But his thoughts were cut off when he noticed the droplets falling onto your worn-out shoes.

Jon watched intently as tears streamed down your face, your expression soft and filled with warmth as you gazed at the crocheted dinosaur plushie. Hugging it tightly to your chest, you buried your face against it. Despite everything, Jon thought you were still the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.

“This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten,” you said, wiping your tears away with an embarrassed smile.

Before Jon could respond, you stepped closer and pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to his cheek.

Jon turned bright red—maybe even redder than you were. As much as you wanted to stay and talk with him, you’d been away too long already. Alfred would come looking for you soon, and you definitely didn’t want him finding you like this.

“I should get going…” you said, turning to leave. But Jon stopped you.

“Wait—um, I…” His mind seemed to be racing, scrambling to find the right words. “I think short hair really suits you—n-not that it didn’t before! It was cute then too, I mean, you’re cute—uh—what?”

You couldn’t help but find it utterly adorable. He was the sweetest boy you’d ever met.

“See you later, Jon,” you said, not even bothering to hide the massive smile spreading across your face.

You ran up to your room, placing your new gift carefully on your bed before heading back to the kitchen to join Alfred.

In the following days, you threw yourself entirely into working on your inventions. You needed something to take your mind off your miserable family situation. Sure, sometimes tinkering with your creations and brainstorming theories to improve them stressed you out, but it was worth it. At least it distracted you enough to forget about your family, even if only temporarily.

By now, you’d already completed your first gadgets using junk from the mansion’s shed, along with spare parts from discarded gadgets and old, obsolete vigilante suits.

Today, though, you weren’t working on anything fancy. You were focused on crafting a simple pocket watch for Alfred. It was Father’s Day, and just like every year, you wanted to give Alfred a gift to recognize and thank him for everything he did to take care of you.

Besides, making something for Alfred helped you avoid dwelling too much on your actual father, who was probably just a few rooms away in his office.

You couldn’t give him a Father’s Day gift. Not only because he’d rarely been present in your life, but also because you hadn’t been a part of his. You didn’t know what he liked or needed. He was the richest man in Gotham—probably in the world, you sometimes thought. Anything he wanted, he could get with the snap of his fingers.

The only thing you could offer him, something you figured he might actually appreciate, was a sincere apology for being born—

Done! The gift was finally ready!

You carefully wrapped it up and decorated the packaging before heading to the kitchen to give it to Alfred.

As you’d expected, Alfred was there, already preparing for lunch.

“What’s got you in such high spirits, Miss Y/N?” Alfred asked, taking note of how you were hiding your hands behind your back.

You didn’t answer and instead marched right up to him, standing just inches away.

“Close your eyes,” you requested with a playful tone.

Alfred raised an amused eyebrow but complied. Quickly, you pulled out the gift and held it up at eye level.

“Ta-da!” you said, signaling him to open his eyes.

Oh, it was Father’s Day—he’d completely forgotten. His eyes softened as he looked at you, touched by the gesture. With great care, he took the gift and opened it.

Inside was a gleaming pocket watch. It wasn’t luxurious, but it had a certain elegance, thanks to the hand-engraved details. You stood there, watching him expectantly.

“I got it from a second-hand store and tried to fix it up as best I could…” you said casually, not intending anything by it but wanting to show how much you cared.

“Where did you get the money?” Alfred asked curiously. As far as he knew, you didn’t receive an allowance like your siblings, nor did you have any other source of income.

“I sold a few things here and there,” you answered vaguely, not wanting him to think you’d gone through too much trouble or regret accepting the gift.

Most of the handmade toys you’d crafted had been sold off, leaving you with just a few. People seemed to like them, treating them as “abstract art.” It stung a little, but you got over it, knowing it was for Alfred. You’d also sewn a few pieces of clothing to sell, and those had been the first to go. People even praised your work when they found out you’d made them yourself.

More than ever, you felt proud of your creations.

“Oh, young miss…” Alfred murmured, clearly moved, before pulling you into a warm embrace.

“Happy Father’s Day,” you whispered against his neck.

Your stomach twisted with guilt, knowing you hadn’t told him about the tiny micro-communicator hidden inside the watch.

Your chemistry class ended as soon as the bell rang.

Your classmates, even the teacher, left without so much as acknowledging your presence. That had been the pattern for weeks now. The whispered comments, the rumors as you passed through the hallways—those had stopped. Now, people simply avoided you, excluding you whenever possible.

Home sweet home, you thought bitterly to yourself.

Still, in moments like this, being invisible had its advantages. Carefully, you opened the list of items you needed for your projects and began collecting them discreetly, always keeping an eye out in case someone approached.

Once you had everything, you returned to the lockers to stash what you'd taken before heading to your next class. To your surprise, you almost bumped into Molly on your way there. She froze for a moment when she saw you, then hurried out of the room without a word.

A little puzzled, you decided to brush off the fleeting encounter with your ex-best friend and stepped into the classroom.

A splash of red caught your eye, standing out sharply against the neutral tones of the room. Your attention was drawn to the small red bag resting on your unmistakable desk. Unmistakable, because it was the only desk carved with cruel messages about you.

Your eyes scanned over the deep engravings in the wood again.

"Slut." "Freak." "Zombie." "Monster." "Get out of my school." "Whore."

Every desk assigned to you in every class bore similar graffiti. It was one of the mildest things that had been done to you since the bullying began.

Although the harassment had seemingly stopped out of nowhere, the wounds it left behind were still fresh. Only something far worse could make you forget them, though you doubted anything could surpass the high bar set by your life’s endless cruelty.

Your fingers stopped tracing the carvings and instead focused on the bag. It looked more like a gift than a trap. Suspicious, you began to open it cautiously, in small intervals of about fifteen seconds each.

This wasn’t your first rodeo with pranks like this. Your classmates had left packages on your desk before, each containing something vile. The first time, they'd placed syringes inside a paper bag along with a lit firecracker hidden deep within. By the time you realized what it was, it was too late. The needles exploded outward, stabbing into your arm.

The classroom erupted in laughter as the bag detonated. But the laughter died just as quickly, drowned out by your screams of pain—or maybe it was the sight of your uniform darkening with blood where the needles had pierced your stomach.

Since then, they'd repeated variations of the same prank, swapping out needles and firecrackers for rotten fruits, crushed flower heads mixed with compost, or equally disgusting things.

This time, though, you weren’t taking any chances. Vines sprouted from your arms, carefully opening the package at a safe distance.

Inside, you saw a small, colorful box accompanied by a letter. Intrigued, you set the box aside and unfolded the letter.

"Dear Y/N,

I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to celebrate your first official birthday. I wanted to more than anything, but I couldn’t. If my family found out about us meeting, things would’ve gone from bad to worse for both my family and yours.

I’m still not allowed to see you, so for the sake of our feelings, it’s best we keep things as they are for now. Even so, I wanted to take this chance to apologize for everything that’s happened.

I’m sorry for not being there for you during all of this. For not being able to comfort you when those awful things were done to you. I’m sorry for letting them get away with it. Every time I tried to stand up for you or report them to the school, they retaliated by soaking my notes in water or leaving dead animals in my locker.

My parents know about it and told me not to report anything, because they’re sure it’ll only escalate. They even warned me to stop getting involved, saying they wouldn’t intervene if things got worse.

I feel awful thinking this, let alone saying it, but I’m too scared. I’m too much of a coward to put my ideals above my physical and emotional safety. I’m so sorry.

One day, when we can be friends again, I want to make it up to you. For now, please accept this gift as my congratulations and my sincerest wishes for your happiness on your first birthday.

And in case no one’s told you yet: I’m glad you were born, Y/N.

—Molly xoxo"

Tears blurred the ink on the page as they fell, but you didn’t care. This time, your tears meant something different.

"One day, when we can be friends again…"

You clutched the letter to your chest before turning your attention to the box.

Inside was a gold bracelet, shining brilliantly. Your heart skipped a beat when you noticed the tiny charm engraved with your name.

With the utmost care, you fastened it around your right wrist, silently thanking Molly.

Back at home, you decided to put the tears behind you and went on a frantic search for Alfred. You found him in the sitting room, diligently dusting the furniture.

“Alfred, look!” you said, showing off the bracelet Molly had given you with pride shining in your eyes.

The butler inspected it briefly before smiling and nodding in approval. “A lovely piece of jewelry, Miss. Might I ask who gifted it to you?”

Before you could answer, the sound of a door slamming shut echoed from the entrance. Jason stormed past the kitchen, his steps heavy and filled with irritation. He was clearly on his way to the Batcave, his frustration emanating in waves.

But then he saw you.

Maybe it was his recent failure with Ivy, or the ridiculous speculations about you and a possible connection to your mother, or perhaps just the miserable week he’d had—but something snapped in Jason when he caught sight of you from the corner of his eye.

Without much thought, his anger redirected. He turned sharply and strode into the kitchen, his face dark with frustration.

“Your mother’s a total bitch, you know that, right?” he spat suddenly, his words slicing through the air and leaving you stunned and confused.

It took a moment for the meaning of his words to fully register. But as they sank in, indignation and fury surged within you.

He hadn’t spoken a word to you in years. Not a glance, not even the smallest acknowledgment since your first meeting. And now, the only reason he addressed you was to insult your mother? It was like reliving the bullying at school all over again, but worse.

You swallowed your emotions, refusing to let them explode outward. “…Don’t talk about her like that,” you managed to murmur, your voice taut with restraint.

Jason’s expression only darkened further at your response. Alfred’s calm attempts to defuse the tension went completely ignored.

“Oh, so you’re defending her? How the hell can you defend her after everything she’s done?” Jason’s voice was sharp, almost accusatory.

You pressed your lips together, the frustration of being judged without a chance to explain building in your chest like a storm.

“You wouldn’t understand…” you muttered, almost to yourself.

“Understand what?!” Jason demanded, his voice louder now, brimming with impatience.

“You wouldn’t understand because you don’t know what it’s like to feel a mother’s love!” you shouted back, your control snapping as your emotions overwhelmed you. “Yours was just a drug addict, and it’s a miracle she didn’t sell you off to feed her addiction! What makes you think my mom is worse than yours?!”

The room fell silent for a fraction of a second.

Then Jason’s hand struck your cheek.

The slap was hard and sudden, and you staggered slightly from the force of it. Your hand instinctively went to your stinging cheek, your mind reeling.

For a moment, you just stood there, disoriented and heartbroken. And then, without another word, you turned and ran.

You ignored Alfred’s worried calls as you sprinted up the stairs, your heart hammering in your chest, and slammed the door of your room behind you.

You removed the fluorescent green liquid from in front of the camera, not putting much thought into what it might mean down the line.

"Honestly, I’m too tired to keep this up," you began, speaking again after taking a moment to organize your thoughts. "Not only does it feel pointless, but I’m starting to think that doing all of this for them isn’t worth it."

A fleeting memory of Jason and the slap crossed your mind, uninvited.

You let out a long, drawn-out sigh, setting your tools and gadgets aside as a sudden need for space overwhelmed you.

For a moment, you stared at your reflection in the camera’s lens. You saw yourself—tired, worn out—and only you truly knew how deeply the exhaustion ran.

You wondered if any of this would ever truly be worth it. Even if your efforts bore the results you were hoping for, would it be enough to make up for the years of loneliness and pain they had caused? Would you really feel satisfied once you reached the goal you had been working so hard for? A goal no child should ever have to chase in the first place, especially if they were given even the bare minimum of care...

Then, for the first time, you saw yourself differently.

A new version of you.

One that had started to accept parts of their reality, someone who had begun to see beyond the singular focus of their goals.

Still, you wouldn’t know if your assumptions were correct until they were put to the test. A good scientist doesn’t settle for just the hypothesis, after all.

"... After today," you said softly, your voice steadier now, "I think my goals are going to start changing, no matter the outcome."

You took a long, grounding breath.

"This will be my last attempt to be a part of this family."

You had finished your projects for the night, having double-checked them over and over again to ensure everything was working as planned. You knew they were functioning perfectly—there was proof of that. But you told yourself that a second opinion, especially from someone with more knowledge than yours, could be really helpful.

So, your thoughts led you to Tim's room, ready to share your greatest efforts from the last six months.

After knocking on his door and getting no response, you decided to take matters into your own hands and walk in anyway. As expected, Tim was there, but he didn’t look like himself. If before he had resembled a tired raccoon, now you were certain his dark circles had dark circles of their own. Still, he seemed to be working diligently on whatever it was he was doing.

You cleared your throat to announce your presence, but he already knew you were there. The shadow he cast was too small to belong to any of the older members of the family, which meant it had to be you or Damian. And, right now, he wasn’t in the mood to deal with either of you.

"Tim, could you check something I made? I promise it’ll only take a minute…" you asked, your tone a little pleading.

"I don’t have time, Y/N. I’m working on something important," he quickly replied, not even glancing at you.

A pout formed on your face, but you decided to push. This was important too. You grabbed one of his arms, pulling gently.

"Please, it won’t take more than five minutes. Come on, it’s really good—"

A loud crash interrupted you as one of your devices fell from your hands and onto Tim's desk. He snapped his head towards you, eyes flashing with anger.

"Five minutes? It'll take two," he said with a warning tone that made you feel uneasy.

Before you could react, he snatched your device from your hands without asking. To get it back would mean knocking the others to the ground, which would lead to an even worse situation because of a new formula you had created. You were stuck.

To your horror, Tim began tearing apart your tool with nothing but brute force, muttering things like, "This is useless," "Won’t work," and, "Oh, this? Hm, it's outdated. Won’t help."

"Tim, stop! Please!" you shouted, desperately.

But it was too late. Your months of hard work—nights of sleepless effort, searching through the shed’s garbage, and hours spent in the library—were now unrecognizable. Tim finished by tossing the wreckage into a corner near the door.

"Don’t bother me with junk again, Y/N. And don’t enter my room without permission," he said, returning to his work without a second thought.

Tears streamed down your face as you ran to gather what was left of your painstaking work. You found it destroyed, barely salvageable, and you knew it could never be the same again in such a short time.

"YOU’RE EVIL!" you screamed at Tim, accusingly, before running to your room, crying.

With your vision blurred by tears, you tried to fix the mess he had left behind. Nothing ever changed for you. It was now or never for you to be part of this family. Tim was wrong if he thought something like this would break your spirit.

“I’m on my way. Is anyone in the area?” From the dark, authoritative tone you heard, you could tell it was Batman speaking.

“Spoiler and I can’t see anyone from here.” Though still distorted, you recognized Tim’s voice. “Agent A, what do you see?”

“The security cameras show several of Bane’s henchmen guarding the area. Bane is at the center of it all with the new serum formula. I don’t see any signs of a potential buyer.”

You heard Alfred’s voice more clearly, which wasn’t surprising, considering the mic was hidden in the wristwatch.

You quickly checked the few belongings you had with you at the moment. Your gadgets, a map, Dinno, and a mini-teaser you’d made yourself. You packed everything into your backpack and tightened the straps across your back.

You took a deep breath to calm your racing heart. You felt the nerves and anxiety rising, but you pushed it all to the back of your mind.

Don’t overthink it, you told yourself. You gathered your resolve and transformed your arms into a swarm of vines, wrapping them around the most obvious cameras at the mansion before swinging through the trees.

You passed the mansion’s gates and made your way to the location where your family’s mission was going down. Every now and then, you checked the map, verifying your position while staying in the shadows.

By the time you arrived, a full-on fight had already broken out. You were surprised to see your entire family fighting and throwing punches everywhere, but your focus zeroed in on your father, who was going toe-to-toe with Bane.

You stayed on the sidelines, watching the situation unfold from a distance. You kept telling yourself everything was going to be fine this time. Your family had the upper hand, so there was nothing to worry about.

But your fears resurfaced when that balance didn’t last long. In a desperate move, Bane injected himself with his own supply, and the henchmen who weren’t unconscious followed suit.

Unlike his original formula, Bane’s muscles didn’t increase in size, but you could see how the serum spread rapidly throughout his circulatory system. His veins started to bulge beneath his skin, taking on an unnatural, fluorescent green glow.

His henchmen didn’t take long to show similar effects. And that’s when things spiraled out of control.

Although their muscles didn’t grow visibly, like with the original serum, it was clear they were far stronger than before. To your untrained eyes, it felt like their strength could rival Superman’s.

Your brothers, though skilled, couldn’t match the sheer number of super-powered foes Bane had on his side.

It was time to intervene, or things would get worse for your family. From the shadows, you began to entangle the henchmen who didn’t have anyone to fight.

At one point, things became a blur, and you didn’t know how to help anymore, but you still wanted to be useful.

You wrapped your vines around loose platforms, taking a few steps back to gather momentum. Fortunately, you shot yourself toward the building’s upper windows without issue.

You returned your arms to normal and started getting a clearer view of the situation. You noted everyone’s positions.

Robin and Nightwing were fighting together on the building’s southeast side. Spoiler and Orphan were on the opposite side, too close to you (you made a mental note to be more careful and not let Cassandra spot you, at least not during the fight). Batman-B and Red Hood were on opposite corners of the building, at mid-level height.

Finally, Batman and Red Robin were at the heart of the battle, trying to take down Bane and secure the new serum supplies. The three of them were on the top floor, but just a bit lower than your position.

You began to pull out your most sophisticated gadget from your bag: a spore bomb, still alive. It wasn’t lethal, but it had the ability to knock someone out for days, depending on your mood.

These spores were special— they weren’t made from any particular plant, but from you. That gave you the ability to control their use however you wanted.

You placed the box containing them high up on a pillar where it wouldn’t be easily reached.

Ploc.

You froze when you heard an odd sound. You went silent, instinctively holding your breath, trying to listen for any similar noises.

Ploc.

You whipped your head around in an instant. This time, it came from the opposite side.

You began preparing your spikes.

Squinting, you tried to make out what was hiding in the darkness. You were sure that if you focused hard enough, you could spot a blurry silhouette…

Suddenly, it vanished.

“What-?”

Without warning, hands grabbed you from behind. A much larger, male arm wrapped around your body, and another hand covered your mouth, silencing you.

You struggled and fought, but the stranger didn’t flinch. With no other option, your spikes shot out from your back, piercing the intruder.

You spun around to face your attacker, but you were shocked to find him completely dressed in black, most of his head covered, leaving only his eyes exposed.

The next moments happened too fast for you to process. You were about to scream for help or alert everyone about this new presence, but before you could open your mouth…

You watched in horror as your right arm was severed from your body, completely detached.

Your vision fixated on your severed limb, not noticing a second figure removing their weapon to replace it.

Blood started pouring from your arm. You wanted to scream, to cry, but your cries were drowned out by the explosion of a bomb going off nearby, shaking the surroundings.

The last thing you remember was someone picking you up in their arms and carrying you away before everything went black.

The fight had gotten worse since Bane injected himself with his new serum. Red Robin was starting to wear down, and he’d never admit it, but even Batman was beginning to feel the strain.

He quickly scanned the area. It was reassuring to see that most of his family was finishing up their tasks, mostly safe and sound.

He had a feeling the fight wouldn’t last much longer.

But there were still a lot of loose ends to tie up. They still didn’t know who Bane’s mysterious buyer was. And they had no idea how he’d managed to improve the serum’s components in such a short amount of time.

Batman could already see a lot of long nights ahead, trying to figure out the mysteries of this case.

But something unusual caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. A black silhouette, but one too small to be an adult, or even a teenager.

Robin? No, he was with Nightwing right now. And his other kids were in his line of sight, so then who…?

“Batman!” Red Robin’s panicked tone snapped him back to reality.

And then he understood why. Bane had ingested nearly all of his new formula, and he kept ranting that he didn’t care anymore, that he was taking the Bat to the grave with him.

Batman and Red Robin took a few steps back from him, anticipating the effects of such an unstable serum.

Under Batman’s watchful eye, Bane couldn’t even take his first step before his face twisted into an expression of confusion, followed by one of intense pain.

A gut-wrenching scream echoed through the warehouse, and Batman watched as the serum began to take its toll. Suddenly, Bane’s muscles became too much for his skin to handle, and it began to tear apart like a doll being pulled in two by wild wolves.

Before he could recover from the grotesque sight, an explosion rocked the area, blowing apart one of the building’s pillars. Soon, the entire structure started collapsing.

A piece of the ceiling detached, and Batman’s heart raced as he realized it was about to crash onto the stunned Red Robin. With all his strength, he pushed his son out of the way, but in doing so, he ended up trapped beneath the debris.

“Batman!” Red Robin yelled in alarm, rushing to help immediately. He strained to move the largest pieces of rubble off his father’s body, and Batman tried to help, but his limbs were completely immobile, except for the arm he had used to push Tim.

Batman snapped out of his shock and started looking beyond his position, desperately searching for the rest of his children.

His breath returned when he spotted most of them struggling to get out of the building, some lifting unconscious bodies between two people. Among those helping, he was shocked to see Talia lending a hand.

But his relief was short-lived when he heard a second bomb go off, and this time, it was much worse than the first. The building and debris were sent flying, engulfed in flames.

Time seemed to slow down for him. As if everything had been perfectly choreographed for a movie.

He didn’t have time to warn them about the incoming debris, coming at a breakneck speed, dangerously close—

Boom!

“Tim!”

Bruce Wayne, not Batman, let out a heart-wrenching scream as his son’s blood splattered across his face. Where Red Robin’s left eye should have been, there was now a gaping hole that passed all the way through his head.

Batman tried to get out with all his strength, but despite the desperation and adrenaline coursing through his body, he couldn’t free himself from the debris that trapped him.

Through the smoke and rubble, he spotted a bottle with a greenish, opaque liquid, but he didn’t pay much attention to it. Without a second thought, he drank every last drop of the concoction.

The effects were immediate. He felt rejuvenated, his strength increasing like never before. With speed that even Flash would envy, he freed himself from the debris and scooped his unconscious son into his arms, carrying him out of the wreckage.

He was going to be fine. Tim was going to be fine. He’s just unconscious from the pain. It’s okay, it’s okay. He’ll recover. He’s definitely not dead.

Your mind still ached and spun as you regained consciousness. The first thing you noticed was the unbearable pain in your right arm, or more accurately, the absence of it, and you couldn’t stop the tears from streaming down your face.

You pressed hard against the wound, as if that could ease the pain.

The second thing you noticed was the overwhelming smell of burning, of something being set on fire. That was undoubtedly what made you dizzy, or maybe it was the blood loss?

Perhaps it was both.

And the third thing that caught your attention was realizing the entire building was engulfed in flames, down to its very foundation.

Your last thought was: My family.

Struggling, you got up as best as you could, completely ignoring how you’d ended up there in the first place, or the loss of your left eye.

You began searching the area for your family, but all you found were the lifeless bodies of Bane's goons scattered about.

Finally, you heard sounds resembling sobbing, and you moved toward them, getting closer until you found a narrow alley lit only by distant flames.

There they were—your family, all gathered and staring at one point in unison. You glanced around for a moment, making sure they weren’t paying attention to the burning building, the goons fleeing, or anything else.

On the other hand, you found your backpack lying a few feet away from you, covered in dirt and debris, but without thinking much about it, you opened it to check its contents.

You were relieved to find Dino still inside, along with most of your things—and—

"My bomb...?" You were strangely puzzled to find your device there. You took it out of your bag and exposed it to the light, confirming that it was indeed the same one you’d placed on the building’s pillar not long ago (or was it hours ago?).

But you didn’t realize your words had caught the attention of most of the people there. Especially Batman.

Your nerves began to tingle when the great bat started walking toward you, and not in a friendly manner...

“Dad...?” you murmured, confused, unaware that you weren’t supposed to know his secret...

“What did you do?” he asked in a tone that suggested he was holding back a fury greater than the surprise of seeing you here.

You didn’t know how to respond. Something told you he wasn’t referring to the tied-up goons or anything like that... So, what was he referring to?

When you sought your siblings’ gazes for help, you understood the gravity of the situation.

“Tim...?”

Why was part of Tim’s face missing? Why was he unconscious? Why were your siblings crying?!

A quick glance revealed that your father was also crying beneath his mask.

Your breath quickened. He couldn’t... Tim couldn’t...

Did you do this?

Your mind was too chaotic to tell if your father had asked the question or if it was just your thoughts.

You took a few steps toward Tim—he couldn’t... His pulse... If you could just check his pulse then...

Suddenly, you were thrown across the alley, crashing into the rubble.

“Stay away from him!” Stephanie growled, the one who had thrown you.

At that moment, you realized the stares your family was giving you—some more severe than others, but none showing any sign of giving you the benefit of the doubt.

What if you had really done it?

Had you killed another one of your brothers? Again?

But...?

“What were you doing here?” Nightwing asked.

You wanted to help, you wanted to answer, but the words never left your thoughts.

You were still worried about Tim, about the recent events, and your nerves were a swarm of every emotion you felt. Looking again at Tim’s colorless body, you began to shake, stuttering over your words, unable to murmur anything coherent.

The stares grew more severe, even angry, like with Steph and Dick...

You began crying uncontrollably.

“I won’t ask again. What did you do?!” Batman warned, grinding his teeth as he walked toward you, grabbing the collar of your shirt.

You wanted to explain everything. The bomb was made of spores, which were flammable, and it hadn’t been activated... Your other things hadn’t been used, or that’s what you wanted to believe, but even if they were, none of them were lethal to anyone’s life.

But how could you make your nervous system understand that if you didn’t respond correctly, they’d do something worse to you than to Tim? How could you make yourself calm down before they got the wrong idea?

Too late.

“The bomb... I... No... Not activated... I don’t know...” Your anxiety grew, and your heart beat so fast you thought it might stop at any moment.

Batman slammed you against the wall and squeezed your neck, cutting off your air. You were sure he was going to kill you.

You kicked and struggled against his hold, scratching at his hands and arms with your one remaining arm.

Your mind could only think of how sorry you were for wanting to help them. If only you hadn’t gotten involved, if you hadn’t met your family, if that night you had begged your mom to take you with her...

“You know I love you, right?”

The sweet memory of her only served to rub salt in the wound. Even if you were still being used and mutilated for their experiments, you’d be happy to endure it if it meant staying by her side, congratulating you, hugging you, whispering false words in your ear. Even if they were all lies meant to use you, you’d be happy to deceive yourself with that conditioned love.

But you didn’t have that anymore. You didn’t even have that—those empty promises of love and affection. Since you arrived at the mansion, you had nothing left.

You wanted to go back to your mom. You wanted to...

“Mom... Mom...!” You sobbed harder, calling out for your mother, naïvely thinking she would come to your rescue. “I want my mom...”

Batman tightened his grip on you.

“Do you work for her?! For Ivy?!”

You pressed your lips together and remained silent. Batman realized you weren’t going to answer anything else, and, releasing you, he left you on the floor.

You coughed and began to catch your breath, but you couldn’t sit up.

You heard your father’s steps, along with your siblings’, all heading in the same direction, leaving you behind.

In a final attempt, you grabbed Robin’s hand, holding him for a moment.

“Damian...” You whispered, and the sound was exactly what it was: a desperate plea.

But Robin harshly pulled his hand from yours and shook his head, then followed Batman.

You curled into a ball in your spot, among the rubble and fire.

It didn’t matter. Your efforts, your sleepless nights, your hopes, your patience, your perseverance—none of it changed anything. It only got worse. You weren’t sure, but you could bet that you no longer had a home to go back to starting today.

Your confused body no longer had any tears to shed or strength to rise. In your few remaining thoughts, you laughed at the comparison between the end of your life with your mother and the end with your father. Both situations leaving you discarded amidst fire and smoke.

Even these small moments with the distant fire were warmer than your entire stay in that mansion. Your mind briefly thought of Alfred, but you immediately dismissed it. Surely, once your family told him what happened, he would hate you for killing Tim.

But now, what came next...?

What were you supposed to do at this moment? You had no home, no parents, no siblings, no food, nothing. You had nothing left. Not even the will to go on.

Your mom hated you. Your family hated you. At school, they hated you. And you were sure it wouldn’t be long before the news outlets made the entire city hate you too.

Well, at least I tried... You thought, resigned.

Maybe... Maybe the world left you in this situation, along with the flames of the fire, as a sign. Maybe it wanted you to end up here to have the same fate as your brothers...

Your feet began to move on their own, getting closer to the heart of the fire.

Just a little more, and all of this would end... Just...

“That was quite an intense scene back there, don’t you think?”

You tried to ignore your new visitor. You’d had enough of everything your whole life. You didn’t want to worry about anything, or think about anything, you just wanted to die and sleep.

You ignored his words and got closer to the fire.

But the stranger dared to place a hand on your shoulder, and all your repressed emotions erupted into a furious attack. Huge roots, like those of an ancient tree, shook the ground and shot toward your visitor, sending you both several meters apart.

But the sheer magnitude of your attack was enough to snap you out of your trance.

“I... I...” You looked at the stranger, confused, not knowing how to start talking or apologizing...

But the stranger wasn’t bothered in the slightest by your attempted attack. In fact, the way he evaluated you reminded you a little of your father, Batman, but even calmer.

“You have great potential, little one. Why waste it? Why throw it all away for people who treated you unfairly?”

Unfairly...? He...?

“I’ve been here all along. I know you didn’t do anything wrong, little one. You just wanted to help your family, right? Most parents would be proud of a child like that, even I would be…”

You were innocent. You were innocent, and he knew it.

You didn’t kill Tim... You didn’t...

“But he didn’t want to listen to you. If you asked me, I’d even say that he didn’t let you explain yourself, deliberately trying to get rid of you…”

“I…” When did he get so close?

“I can offer you a home, training to control your powers. Above all, I can offer you a family.”

Family…? That was all you wanted. What difference did it make? You had nothing left to lose.

The man lifted you into his arms and cradled you with a tenderness you hadn’t felt in a long time. You could’ve cried from how good it felt at that moment.

“My name is Ra’s al Ghul, little one. And you?”

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ It seems there was a confusion with the translation at one point, so I had to redo a big part of the story, which delayed me by one more day… Anyway, I hope the wait was worth it, I had some difficulties creating this chapter. Initially, all the parts were going to be in a single chapter, but that would have meant not adding several important scenes to the plot or making an enormous chapter to reach this point. Can you imagine?

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ Anyway. Regarding the ask box, it's closed for now because I'm writing the rules for sending messages. Also, because most of you asked for a common scenario (really, more than 20 people), I'm working on that too, and it will be the last scenario I write until I finish the Unfair series.

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ Maybe I'll be inactive for a while after this. The past three weeks have been completely packed with responsibilities and commitments from every direction. Right now, I'm in a different city, far from home, in the capital of my country, kind of like the New York of the USA. The people here are super frantic, it's crazy.

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ As a heads up, in case anyone hasn't seen it yet, I've been updating the Masterlist on my profile, and I've added the synopses of new projects. Maybe after this, I'll keep adding more and start creating schedules to update you on my new stories.

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ By the way, I forgot to mention in the previous chapter that I’ve already exceeded the number of people I can tag. I’m really sorry to everyone who wanted to be on the list, but even by reblogging my post and tagging others, I won’t be able to tag everyone :(. However, you can follow me, and you’ll get a notification on your feed when I post a new chapter or something!

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ Anyway, I don't have much more to say. If you want fresh updates on what I'm working on, or how the chapter process is going while I'm making them, you can follow me on Instagram, which is in my bio!

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ To finish, I’d like to thank everyone who commented, liked, or reblogged the previous chapter. I read each and every one of them! Thank you so much for all your love! ❤️.

Chapter 3: An apple a day..

You're frustrated, your limbs shake and you struggle to even hold a plastic spoon without dropping it, you've been injured and bed bound countless times sure, but this feels like the most helpless you've ever been. You feel like a toddler, limbs weak and twitching and the medicine they've got you on doesn't help at all, nausea and brain fog feel like close friends at this point. Every time the door to your room opens you wonder if it's gonna be your teammates, telling you this was all a misunderstanding, you'd almost accept a sick prank if it meant you weren't going insane in this tiny linoleum floored room by your lonesome.

The staff's not very careful with their medical equipment, you note. Even with your shaky hands you've managed to snag a syringe and a bit of tubing and hidden it under your mattress, it's hardly anything, but a weapons a weapon. it gives you a tiny piece of confidence in this situation, maybe you'll be able to take someone out if worse comes to worse.

🔹🔹🔹

The doctor's back, Doing his final sweep before his shifts over according to him, you don't trust has word though since you've heard the nurses complaining about doing too much per shift. Why is he focused on you? At the moment he's prepping another dose of Thiamine across the room, the though of him injecting anything into your IV sets you on edge in the worst of ways, but you force yourself to smile at him and look relaxed, your fists clench underneath the blanket to stop yourself from going for the syringe when he approaches. He's too cheery, too comfortable in your presence, even your co-workers aren't so calm with you, stark doesn't turn his back to you, rogers watches you too often, that's your normal, compared to the situation you're in now you’d take it over this borderline creepy behavior.

“Your scans are already looking better, mx Wayne. When you were first brought in I wasn't sure what to expect but your recovery is looking perfect at this stage.” the doctor remarks casually, disposing of the syringe after dosing you.

You sharply glance over, what did you look like when you first came in? Something related to the fall? “What caused my injuries?”

He opens his mouth to answer, looking at you with a serious expression on his face when something loud bangs outside the door -

“Wait you have to sign in!” You hear out in the rest of the facility, one of the nurses sounding frantic. Your heart rate jumps and your hand curls around the syringe just as the door to your room slams open. It's the mystery husband Mr Wayne.

His suit is slightly rumpled, dark circles under his eyes and hair unkempt like he'd ran his hand through it, a far cry from the polished man in the photo you were shown. The way he looks at you makes your skin crawl. there's too much raw emotion there, too much familiarity that you don't share. You keep your face carefully neutral as he approaches, your fingers twitching around the syringe beneath the thin hospital blanket.

“God, look at you…”

He doesn't hesitate to cup your face as soon as he reaches you, he breathes your name with such aching reverence and familiarity you'd think it was a prayer. eyes searching yours as his thumbs tenderly rub against your cool cheeks, it takes a surprising amount of restraint to hold still, let the man examine you like a chipped teacup. He let's out a shaky breath and his whole body just…sags, you don't like the way he subconsciously leans in, it's too real, the body language too genuine. You're tense enough to hurt.

“Mr Wayne, if I could have a moment.” The doctor speaks hesitantly from nearby, pulling attention to him and the hands pull from your face. You resist a sigh of relief as the stranger pulls back, your hand slowly releasing the syringe and tucking it back under the thin mattress.

Wayne straightens up, a just too thin smile stretches his face and he puts his right hand in his pocket, interesting, hiding irritation? You analyze every inch of him as soon as he looks away, you need more information then you have, Your hands clench under the blankets in veiled frustration.

Their conversation is hushed, no doubt you're the main topic of discussion, their body language is mixed, “Mr Wayne” shows agitation, shifting weight, tense hands in his pockets, head keeps turning to glance at you. The doctor is deferring to him, head slightly lowered and palms up as he speaks, Who is this Wayne man?

After hearing words like “amnesia” and “head trauma” a few times you realize he wasn't informed by the doctors, unless this is all an act for you. Trying to convince you of what though? You don't know what they're playing at yet but you're going to find out, it's what you're best at after all.

The man returns to your bedside and carefully sits, thankfully keeping his hands to himself this time as he examines you, you've got things to figure out so you put on an expression of lost, body language conveying uncertainty and tiredness you don't have to fake that part though.

“nice to meet my partner,” you give an uncertain smile, voice drained and small, you're carefully watching him and he seems to be eating it up

“It's…nice to see you, meet you…. I'm - how are you feeling?”

You smile cluelessly at him, though internally you're cringing at the syrupy awkwardness dripping from his lips. He's attached to you and you don't know anything about him.

“tired, nauseous.” You pull the appropriate expression at that. “I'm…. Confused, I don't even know…anything. How old i am, what city I live in. We're married?” You look at him dazedly, fishing for information as you twist in your hospital bed to face him better.

“Yeah, yeah we're married…we have a family, pets, vacation home in Barcelona. Do you remember any of the kids?” He sounds like he's choking on the words, his voice catching a he studies you. His eyes darting to the side of your head from time to time.

“no, kids plural?” Your brows raise, Rugrats, you? No fucking way.

“Yeah, a lot of kids…” he shakily pulls his phone out, his lock screen is a picture of the two of you, what the hell? He starts showing you pictures of the kids and telling you their names. None of them look like you, you question him about that and he chuckles quietly to himself.

“Well, they're not mine either for your information. Except for Damian that is, he's mine…. Happened before we were married.” He elaborates quickly, clearly thinking you'd get upset. “We're adoptees.”

You're silent as you take in all that information, white picket fence marriage with a gaggle of adopted children? What is this a Hallmark movie? Sickening. You lay your head against the pillow and gesture towards him when you notice his eyes on you, asking to look through the phone like you're interested in seeing the kids. You're good at acting at the very least.

🔹🔹🔹

After Bruce was kicked out of the hospital he makes a call and slowly trudged through the halls and doors until he found himself in the parking garage climbing into his car. He plugs his phone in and calls Alfred while he starts to pull out of the hospital parking.

“Master Bruce, how was it? Were they coherent? I heard they were…”

The older man's voice echoes from the dash after the Bluetooth connects, he sounds professional as always but Bruce can tell he's hesitant.

“They're amnesiac, yeah. They don't know who they are, who I am.” Bruce's hands clench around the steering wheel.

“I…I am sorry to hear that, my boy. I had hoped that the information was a fluke…” even without seeing him Bruce can tell the older man's disappointed, he can almost picture him slumping against a counter or wall.

“Alfred they're…” his voice trails, sounding offput.

“Yes?” Alfred's voice perks up again, no doubt hoping for something better to discuss.

“…they were studying me, not like they were confused. Alfred, no they were reading me.” Bruce's eyes remain in the road even though he's alone in the car.

🔹🔹🔹

A/n: hope the dialogue isn't too cringe, I'm new at this! Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter regardless ☺️

-

"You dare return to me without (Y/n)?!?!"

Shang Tsung had been reluctant to return to Shao Kahn at all, given he couldn't carry out his exact orders of bringing his own daughter back to Outworld. Though, he wouldn't have returned at all had he not had an alternative to offer the emperor.

"You are a disgrace sorcerer!! I'll have you executed-"

"With all due respect, emperor," Shang Tsung cut the angry man off, holding a halting hand up in front of himself, "I did not return empty handed."

Intrigued, Shao Kahn allowed himself to calm down, as he waited patiently for Shang to continue.

"While I was not able to obtain (Y/n), I was able to create something...much more powerful."

Shang Tsung turned to his side, as though he was signalling for someone to come forward.

From the shadows, emerged someone. They didn't just walk out of the shadows, it seemed that they were a part of the shadows - like they wielded them. They made themself known, their figure and face reminiscent of (Y/n) though their skin was much paler, and was covered in ancient symbols.

They approached Shang Tsung, and he placed a hand on their shoulder, once again turning toward Shao Kahn with an evil smirk plastered to his lips.

"Emperor, this is my daughter," he introduced her. "Her name is Kexin Tsung."

The lady bowed in his presence, graceful and delicate, though anyone could sense the malicious intent which emanated off of her.

Shao Kahn's eyes narrowed as he observed the figure before him. There was an unsettling aura that surrounded Kexin Tsung, a sense of darkness and power that both intrigued and disturbed the emperor.

"Interesting," Shao Kahn mused, his voice laced with curiosity. "So, this is your creation, Shang Tsung? A twisted reflection of your daughter?"

Shang Tsung nodded, revelling in the attention he garnered from the emperor.

"Indeed, Emperor. Kexin possesses great potential, far surpassing that of her original counterpart. She is a vessel of dark magic and ancient knowledge, moulded to serve your ambitions. She has been spliced with that of an Oni."

Kexin remained silent, her gaze fixed upon Shao Kahn. Her eyes, a haunting shade of crimson, bore into his soul, as if she could see through his façade and into the depths of his darkest desires. She exuded an air of both obedience and dangerous independence, making her intentions difficult to discern.

Shao Kahn contemplated their proposition, weighing the potential benefits and risks of accepting Kexin into his ranks. The allure of possessing such a powerful and malleable force was enticing, yet he could not shake off the underlying unease that gripped him.

Though, given how successful of a creation his own daughter, Mileena had been, he felt less reluctant to turn this away.

"Very well, Shang Tsung," Shao Kahn finally spoke, his deep voice resonating throughout the chamber. "If this creation of yours possesses even a fraction of the power you claim, then she shall be welcomed into my ranks. Serve me faithfully, Kexin Tsung, and you shall be rewarded."

Kexin's lips curled into a sly smile, revealing a glimmer of satisfaction.

"I am yours to command, Emperor," Kexin responded, her voice carrying a chilling confidence. "I shall prove my loyalty and fulfil your desires."

Shao Kahn felt his own sense of satisfaction wash over him, and he allowed a flicker of a smirk come to his lips before a more pressing matter made itself evident in his mind.

"(Y/n) is still out there, and now that she has allied with our enemies, she poses a great threat to my throne," he began, taking a seat back on the throne he spoke of. "You wish to prove your loyalty to me?"

"Bring me her head."

-

Ever since her encounter with her father and his allies, (Y/n) had been on edge constantly. There wasn't a moment where she felt at peace any more, not a moment where she didn't let her guard down, even if only to eat or sleep.

Something told her that that wouldn't be the last time she saw him, as much as it seemed like that - and as much as she hoped that was the case. But she couldn't help but think on her very last moment with him, when he brushed past her hair.

It was such a nothing movement, yet...something within her told her that that moment alone would be the catalyst for something much bigger.

This was what had brought her back around to punching trees again, like she had before the tournament, before she even met Fujin. It was strangely comforting to her, to punch a tree until her hands were bleeding, until she was too tired to keep going. Even if it was a physically self-destructive training method, she would still do it - she didn't know what else to do.

The physical pain she inflicted upon herself seemed insignificant compared to the emotional turmoil she carried. It was a way to ground herself, to feel something tangible amidst the chaos that threatened to consume her. The repetitive motion and the throbbing ache in her hands provided a temporary distraction from the weight of her father's actions and the uncertainty of what lay ahead.

But even as (Y/n) unleashed her fury on the innocent trees, her mind couldn't escape the memories of her last encounter with her father. The way he brushed past her hair, a seemingly inconsequential gesture, now echoed with hidden meaning. It was a puzzle piece she couldn't quite fit into the larger picture, yet she knew it held significance.

She paused for a moment, her rapid breaths mingling with the rustling of leaves, as a gust of wind caressed her face. The breeze carried a faint whisper, as if the very essence of the forest sought to console her.

But it wouldn't work. Not this time, not today.

Taking a few steps back, she brushed some of the bark off of her bloody fist, and took fighting stance once more. She riled her fist up, ready to strike the tree once more. And as she ran at the tree, she let out an animalistic cry, and braced for the impact she would make with the tree.

Though it wouldn't come, as instead, her fist would land in someone's open hand. Fujin's hand. He looked unimpressed. Even when he had appeared out of nowhere, (Y/n) was unsurprised at his sudden appearance.

"You're going to break your hand," he warned her, his hold on her fist tight though he was careful of her wounds.

Feeling the resistance of Fujin's hand against her clenched fist, (Y/n) halted her forward momentum, her eyes narrowing as she met his gaze. The intensity of her frustration and anger still burned within her, but she recognized the concern in Fujin's eyes, the genuine care he held for her well-being.

"And what if I do?" she retorted, her voice laced with a mix of defiance and weariness. "What does it matter? A broken hand doesn't compare to any mental anguish within me."

"Your pain matters, (Y/n), both physical and emotional. But self-destruction won't lead you to the answers you seek. It will only perpetuate the cycle of suffering."

His words hung in the air, and (Y/n) found herself torn between her instinct to fight and the need to find a healthier path forward. The turmoil within her was palpable, visible in the way her shoulders slumped and her gaze wavered.

(Y/n) tore her bloody hand away from Fujin's, spinning around abruptly and stumbling over to the trunk of another tree. She dropped down, sitting against it, as she threaded her hands in her hair, holding her head as she sighed and allowed herself to breathe.

Fujin watched (Y/n) with a mix of understanding and concern. He knew that forcing her to change her mindset would be futile, for healing required time and personal realization. Instead, he took a step closer and sat down beside her, offering a supportive presence without intruding on her space.

Silence settled between them, the only sounds being the rustling leaves and (Y/n)'s ragged breaths. Fujin knew that the weight of her emotions was suffocating, threatening to drown her. But he also knew that she was resilient, and could overcome this and anything like it. He just wish that she knew that.

"I've seen the strength within you, (Y/n)," Fujin spoke softly, his voice carrying a comforting warmth. "You possess a resilience that is rare. I know it feels overwhelming right now, but I believe in your ability to overcome this darkness. You are a fine warrior."

He wrapped a gentle arm around her, and drew her in closer to him.

"You are my warrior."

(Y/n) instinctively leaned into him, finding solace in the warmth of his bigger body as she allowed her head to rest against him, taking in his scent as she always did when she was close to him. Fujin felt a sense of relief wash over him when she seemed to give in, even if only for the night. The way her body relaxed against him would always be a satisfying sight, though he knew they couldn't stay out there for much longer when the light was disappearing as quickly as it was.

"Won't you come inside with me, my feather?" Fujin asked, leaning back so he could look at her face properly. "It's getting dark. I'll fix up your hands and we'll make some dinner, alright?"

(Y/n) looked up at Fujin, her gaze meeting his as a faint smile played on her lips. She nodded in agreement, grateful for his care and concerned about the fading light. The thought of tending to her wounded hands and sharing a meal with him sounded comforting, a small respite from the turmoil that had consumed her.

With gentle movements, they disentangled themselves from each other's embrace and stood up. Fujin reached out a hand, offering it to (Y/n), and she took it without hesitation. They walked side by side, their fingers interlaced, as they made their way back through the forest toward the Sky Temple.

Inside, the soft glow of candlelight illuminated the cosy living space. The scent of incense lingered in the air, creating a serene atmosphere. She had began to find a comforting familiarity whenever she entered the temple, like the one she had felt a while ago when she lived with her father.

Fujin guided her to a comfortable seat, his movements gentle as he retrieved the supplies he would need to tend to his lover's battered hands, a basin of warm water, a towel and some bandages.

Sitting beside (Y/n), Fujin placed the basin of warm water in front of them, its soothing steam rising into the air. He unfolded the towel and carefully dipped it into the water, wringing it out before tenderly placing it over (Y/n)'s injured hands.

The warmth of the water enveloped her hands, easing the ache and tenderness she had ignored during her furious training. The sensation provided a stark contrast to the pain she had been inflicting upon herself, and she closed her eyes, allowing herself to fully immerse in the healing process.

Fujin's touch was gentle as he held her hands, his fingers caressing the edges of her wounds with utmost care. His eyes were filled with unwavering focus, ensuring that every gesture was delicate and precise. It was a testament to his dedication to her well-being.

In the midst of the silence, the only sound that filled the room was the gentle trickle of water droplets as Fujin carefully rinsed away the dried blood. (Y/n) watched him work, captivated by the tenderness in his touch and the unwavering love she saw reflected in his eyes.

As Fujin finished tending to her wounds, he reached for the bandages, gently wrapping them around her hands with meticulous care. With each turn, he secured the bandages in place, ensuring both support and protection for her healing injuries.

"These bandages will serve as a reminder," Fujin said, his voice holding a quiet reassurance. "A reminder of your resilience and the battles you have faced. They will bear witness to your strength and serve as a symbol of your indomitable spirit."

(Y/n) nodded, her hands cradled in Fujin's as she gazed down at the bandaged wounds. The pain had subsided, replaced by a subtle throbbing sensation that served as a reminder of her journey. Her scars, both physical and emotional, were not a sign of weakness, but of her survival so far in this harsh, cruel world.

Standing up, Fujin extended a hand toward (Y/n), inviting her to rise with him.

"Now, how about that meal, then?"

-

The night was beginning to settle, and with that, as were (Y/n) and Fujin.

While (Y/n) sat at the vanity in their room, brushing her hair with the light of a candle by her to guide her in the dark, Fujin prepared for bed by changing clothes - he fancied a pair of loose fitting pants for bed, and nothing else.

As she watched his reflection in the mirror, she couldn't help but admire him as she always did. His toned figured, his glowing tattoos, his long hair which reached past his waist. He was simply too much.

His presence was magnetic, and even in the dim light, he seemed to emit an ethereal glow. His tranquil demeanour and unwavering strength never failed to captivate her.

Putting the brush down, she turned her body to face him fully, her eyes tracing the lines of his figure as he moved gracefully. The way he effortlessly exuded confidence and poise was both mesmerizing and intimidating. It was as if he had mastered the art of being both gentle and formidable at the same time.

"You're quite the sight, Fujin," (Y/n) murmured, her voice filled with admiration. "Sometimes it's hard to believe that someone like you exists."

Fujin met her gaze, a soft smile playing on his lips.

"And yet, here I stand," he replied, his voice carrying a hint of playfulness. "Although, you're not one to talk now, are you?"

Fujin's playful response elicited a playful grin from (Y/n), adding a spark of light-heartedness to the room.

"Sit on the bed, you," she told him, picking her hairbrush up once again and standing up herself, "I want to brush your hair."

Fujin chuckled at (Y/n)'s request, pleasantly surprised by her suggestion. He walked over to the bed and sat down. The anticipation gleamed in (Y/n)'s eyes as she joined him, settling behind him with the hairbrush in her hand.

First, she began undoing his long braid, pulling the silver rings out of his hair and unfolding each wrap which his hair was in, admiring the way his hair had formed waves from the way it had been.

Then carefully, she began running the brush through his long, flowing hair, her touch gentle and soothing. Each stroke sent a comforting sensation through Fujin, as if the tensions of the day were being eased away. He closed his eyes, revelling in the intimate moment they shared.

As (Y/n) continued to brush his hair, her fingers occasionally grazing against his scalp, she found herself lost in the rhythmic motion. It was an act of tenderness, a gesture of trust and intimacy that went beyond words. The room was filled with a serene silence, broken only by the faint sound of the brush gliding through his silky strands.

"You have the most beautiful hair," (Y/n) whispered, her voice filled with genuine admiration. "It's so soft and lustrous. Taking care of it must be a ritual in itself."

Fujin hummed in response, a contented smile gracing his lips.

"Indeed, it is," he replied, his voice carrying a hint of tranquillity. "Taking care of oneself is a form of self-respect and self-care. It allows us to reconnect with our inner selves and find balance in our lives."

(Y/n) nodded in agreement, her fingers delicately combing through a tangle.

"It's fascinating how something as simple as brushing hair can be so soothing," she mused. "It's like a meditation, a way to be fully present in the moment."

Fujin tilted his head slightly, appreciating her insight.

"You have a remarkable ability to find beauty and meaning in the simplest of things," he remarked, his voice filled with admiration. "It's one of the many qualities I adore about you."

The room was engulfed in a tranquil atmosphere as they continued their quiet exchange. The brush moved through Fujin's hair, each stroke a symbol of their connection, their trust, and their deep affection for one another. Time seemed to stand still, as if the outside world had ceased to exist, and all that mattered was this intimate act of love and care.

As all of the knots and imperfections were removed from his hair, (Y/n) ran her fingers through his silky white strands, a smile of satisfaction plastered to her lips as she set her brush down.

"Would you like me to braid it again for you?" she asked, readjusting the way she sat behind him. "If you wouldn't mind," he nodded. "I'd hate for it to get tangled again when you spent so much time brushing it just now."

(Y/n) nodded with a warm smile, her fingers gently separating his hair into sections as she prepared to braid it once more. She enjoyed this intimate ritual, knowing that it brought them closer together and allowed them to share a moment of tranquillity before they retired for the night.

Carefully, she intertwined the strands, her hands moving with practiced ease. The rhythmic motion of her fingers weaving through his hair became a comforting melody, soothing both of their souls. As the braid took shape, it seemed to symbolize their connection, an unbreakable bond that wove their lives together.

Fujin leaned back, feeling the gentle tug on his hair as (Y/n) secured the braid. The sensation brought a sense of peace and contentment, knowing that she was there, taking care of him in the most tender way.

"There we go," she whispered softly, her voice carrying a sense of satisfaction. "A perfect braid, just for you."

Fujin turned his head slightly to catch a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror, admiring the neat braid that (Y/n) had skilfully crafted. The braid lay elegantly against his back, a testament to her care and attention to detail.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice filled with gratitude. "You always take such good care of me." "Of course I do," she giggled, tenderly wrapping her arms around his neck from behind as she pressed her nose into the side of his neck. "Why wouldn't I? When you take such good care of me."

Fujin leaned into her embrace, his heart swelling with warmth and love. He savored the feeling of her arms around him, her gentle presence enveloping him like a soothing embrace.

"It's a privilege to care for you," he whispered, his voice filled with sincerity. "You bring so much light and joy into my life, and I want nothing more than to reciprocate that love and care."

He turned his head slightly, capturing her lips in a tender kiss. Their connection deepened in that moment, their love expressed through the softness of their touch. They sat there, wrapped in each other's arms, basking in the serenity and comfort of their love.

As they broke the kiss, their foreheads touched, their eyes locked in an intimate gaze. In that moment, words seemed unnecessary, as their love flowed between them, unspoken yet understood. They revelled in the tranquillity of their shared affection, knowing that in each other's arms, they had found their home.

-

It wasn't unusual that (Y/n) would find herself training with Fujin and Raiden, even when her skill had significantly improved over the course of the while she had known them and lived with them. It was important that she kept on top of her training and that she didn't let herself get sloppy in kombat, especially when she used to be such a reckless brute.

So there they all were, in the courtyard of the Sky Temple, Fujin watching intently as Raiden and (Y/n) sparred. The sound of their clashes echoed through the training grounds, filling the air with a mixture of determination and intensity.

Raiden's lightning surged forth, crackling with power as he unleashed a barrage of strikes, each one aimed with precision. (Y/n) expertly dodged and parried, her movements fluid and agile. She had come a long way since their first training sessions, her dedication and hard work evident in her improved kombat skills.

As they continued to spar, Fujin's gaze shifted between the two warriors, analysing their techniques and reactions. He observed the intricate dance of offense and defence, each fighter pushing themselves to their limits. The training session was not just about physical strength, but also mental fortitude and tactical decision-making.

(Y/n) had learned to harness her power and strike with purpose. No longer driven solely by raw strength, she had honed her combat instincts and adapted her style to become a more versatile fighter. Her movements were precise, her strikes calculated, and she demonstrated an impressive ability to exploit her opponents' weaknesses.

Even so, something seemed wrong, and he could tell that Raiden knew as well.

(Y/n) drove her bandaged fist at him, and Raiden caught her wrist, pausing the session momentarily.

"(Y/n), your progress is commendable," Raiden said, his voice resonating with authority. "But I sense hesitation in your movements. You must trust your instincts and act without hesitation. Embrace your training, and let your skills flow naturally."

(Y/n) took a deep breath, absorbing Raiden's words. She hadn't even really noticed any difference in her kombat, though she figured it must've been due to her overthinking considering her father, and all of her anxieties must have been having an impact on her performance.

She nodded, acknowledging his feedback. As he began letting go of her, she stepped forward and hooked one of her feet around one his ankles, pulling forward in an attempt to take him off of his feet. While he didn't fall, he did stumble ever so slightly, losing his balance a little and therefore his focus as well.

Raiden regained his balance quickly, impressed by (Y/n)'s swift counterattack. A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips, acknowledging her resourcefulness.

With her great agility, she was able to pull off a nice back handspring to reset her kombat - perhaps a little over the top, but she was never one to shy away from showing off, especially when she could sense the smirk and the shake of the head from Fujin who knew she only did anything acrobatic to flash out her kombat.

She prepared herself for another attack, feeling her chest swell with mischief as she smirked devilishly at Raiden. This was the spirit she was missing within herself, and it was finally reflecting in her fighting again.

As she launched herself at Raiden, something went oh so horribly wrong.

Raiden watched as the look in her eyes changed, and before she could carry out her next movement, she cried out in pain, clutching her chest and falling to the ground.

She coiled in pain, and both Raiden and Fujin approached her, confused though most of all concerned.

Raiden and Fujin rushed to (Y/n)'s side, their worry evident in their eyes. They knelt beside her, their voices filled with urgency.

"(Y/n), what happened?" Raiden asked, his voice laced with concern. "Are you hurt? What's wrong?"

(Y/n) gasped for breath, her face contorted in pain as she struggled to speak. She could feel a sharp, stabbing sensation in her chest, rendering her unable to form coherent words. It felt as if an invisible force was constricting her, making it difficult to breathe.

Fujin pulled her back, cradling her in one arm while the other brushed the hair out of her face.

"Please, try to breathe my love," Fujin urged her, cupping her face in one hand.

"It's no use. Breathing, that is."

Fujin and Raiden looked up, trying desperately to find the source of the voice which spoke. It was unfamiliar, yet...they had heard it somewhere before, somehow.

Standing by a gathering of trees at the edge of the forest was a figure, though her identity was obscured by the shadows which surrounded her. They didn't seem to be any ordinary shadows however, it was as though they were at her command.

"I've constricted her breathing from the inside. No amount of silly little breathing exercises will save her."

Fujin didn't bother ask the woman's name and what exactly she wanted with (Y/n) just yet, deciding that it was obviously more important to get his lover breathing once again.

With his power, he performed somewhat of a kiss of life on (Y/n), parting her lips and placing his mouth against her open one, allowing a surge of oxygen to go through her. It was only a temporary solution, though it did get her breathing again, as she coughed and spluttered after he pulled away.

"Who are you?? And what is the meaning of this??" Raiden demanded, his voice booming with authority as he spoke.

"We have not yet met, Raiden. Though I do believe you will all recognise me in...some aspects."

The stranger emerged from her place amongst the trees, the shadows around her dispersing as she took slow, intimidating steps towards them. And as her face became clear to them all, they were all much too stunned to speak.

(Y/n) felt a sense of pure dread wash over her when she was met with her own face, her own body. But...it wasn't her. She was her. This was not her. What obviously set the two of them a part was the difference in the saturation of colour of their skin. (Y/n)'s skin was healthy and full of colour, but this stranger, her skin was ashy and dull and covered in ancient symbols of evil.

(Y/n) had been good friends with Mileena in the past. She knew exactly what this was.

The stranger bowed slightly, a glint of mischievous evil in her eyes.

"My name is Kexin Tsung. I'm here to replace (Y/n)…and bring her head to Shao Kahn."

They remained in a stunned silence for a moment longer, trying their hardest to gage the situation at hand.

With all the strength she could muster, (Y/n) managed to hoist herself up, with the assistance of Fujin who stood up with her, holding her so she would remain steady.

"...my...my father created you," she panted, nearly wheezing from not only her exertion from before but also the way she had been strangled from the inside. "He created you in the flesh pits, with my DNA." "He's our father now, (Y/n)," Kexin corrected her, her smirk condescending and evil. "Don't you see? We're sisters." "You are not my sister," (Y/n) protested, clenching her fists tightly. "You're a weapon, created with the sole purpose of mass destruction. You don't have the capacity nor the room in your heart for the concept of family."

Kexin Tsung's expression twisted into a malevolent sneer, her eyes burning with an unhinged fervour.

"Oh, but dear sister, you underestimate the power that courses through my veins," she hissed, her voice dripping with venom. "I am a perfect amalgamation of your DNA and the dark sorcery of our father. I possess all your strengths and none of your weaknesses. Together, we could have been unstoppable."

Kexin took a few steps closer, bearing her weapon which seemed to be a flashed out Chain whip which had been modified to her specific tastes, and her sneer returned to a smirk once again.

"Though, I have different orders now. Shao Kahn wants your head, and I plan to deliver it to him."

Fujin held (Y/n) close to him in a protective way. His eyes narrowed, filled with resolute and a flicker of wind swirling around him.

"You will not have it, Kexin," Fujin told her, his voice firm and unwavering. "We will not let you harm (Y/n)."

Kexin let out a mocking, hysterical burst of laughter, placing a hand over her chest as if she couldn't take it.

"Oh, dear. This is simply too good," she cackled, unable to contain herself. "Your lover thinks he can protect you from me, sister. Isn't that just precious?"

Her laughter subsided to little giggles, and she covered her mouth ever so slightly.

"Won't it be absolutely hysterical when he has to watch me tear your body apart? Though, I suppose you won't get to see that now, will you?"

Fujin's grip on (Y/n) tightened, and he felt rage fill his body for the first time in a long, long time. Though, before he could say anything in retaliation, Kexin lurched forward, her chain whip slashing through the air with a malevolent speed. Fujin swiftly stepped back, pulling (Y/n) out of harm's way, narrowly avoiding the deadly strike. The chain whip whistled past them, missing its intended target by mere inches.

Raiden summoned a surge of lightning, crackling and dancing along his fingertips. He directed the bolts towards Kexin, aiming to immobilize her and create an opening for his allies. But Kexin, showing remarkable agility, swiftly dodged the electrical onslaught, weaving through the charged currents with unnatural grace.

"Impressive," Kexin taunted, her voice dripping with derision. "But you'll need more than some silly magic tricks to defeat me."

She held her chain whip between both hands, and seemed to focus on it for only a moment, before it was surrounded by a dark magic, one which would no doubt make the weapon she wielded much more deadly.

Raiden took a step forward, electricity crackling along his form. He raised his hands, ready to summon a more potent surge of lightning, though this time he would allow himself to merge the attack with his kombat. Hastily, he made his first movement, a direct hit with his palm, though Kexin was quick to dodge it, bringing her chain whip around and aiming to hit Raiden in the head with it. He ducked when he noticed it coming, dodging the attack with ease. He seized the opportunity to retaliate, using his lightning-infused palms to launch a barrage of rapid strikes towards Kexin. The bolts of electricity crackled through the air, seeking to overwhelm her defences.

But Kexin, displaying her enhanced agility, maneuvered through the lightning strikes with astonishing speed and grace. She twisted and contorted her body, evading each attack with an uncanny precision. It was clear that her dark magic had heightened her reflexes and granted her an advantage in kombat.

Though, it was obvious what she was trying to do. She was trying to out manoeuvre Raiden to gain access to (Y/n). Neither of the storm brothers would have this.

Fujin was quick to swoop (Y/n) from off of her feet, his intentions with taking her elsewhere while he allowed Fujin to deal with the situation at hand.

He could sense the exhaustion in her body, and he wanted to ensure her safety and well-being away from the battlefield.

"I've got you," Fujin murmured softly, his voice filled with reassurance. "I'll find somewhere safe to take you. She will not have you."

Typically, (Y/n) hated when Fujin defended her, especially concerning personal matters like this. Though, as of now, she was much too tired to argue with him, and her control on her breathing was slipping again, making it hard for her to speak anyways.

He didn't want to have to separate her, especially when she was like this. However, how was he to protect her otherwise?

Fujin took her up into the temple, toward their shared room, hoping he could tuck her into bed and stay nearby, should she need any more immediate attention.

Carefully, Fujin laid (Y/n) on their bed, ensuring she was comfortable and secure. He adjusted the blankets around her, tucking her in with a tender touch. His concern for her well-being was evident in his every movement.

Though, as she felt herself coming back, she seemed to fuss, sitting up and trying to push Fujin away from her.

"...I need to do this, Fujin," she told him, her tone firm but her voice was weak. "...this is my burden to bare. I can't have you and Raiden fight this for me."

Fujin's brows furrowed with concern as he gently reached out to steady (Y/n) and ease her back onto the bed. His eyes reflected his love and worry for her.

"My love, I understand your desire to take on your own burdens," Fujin responded, his voice filled with tenderness. "But you are in no state to be fighting. You need to rest. Let Raiden and I handle this." "I can't! It's not fair on you!" (Y/n) snapped, her voice trembling as she tried once again to push Fujin off of her. "This is my problem, and my problem alone."

Fujin's grip on (Y/n) tightened, gently but firmly, refusing to let her push him away. Her stubborn nature was something that he both loved and hated about her. It was admirable how strong she was, and how unwilling she was to simply give up and throw the towel in. However, this also meant that she didn't know when to quit, and naturally, this was detrimental.

"As much as I love you, my feather," Fujin began, cupping her face in both of his hands as a small, teasing smile tugged at his lips. "You are infuriating."

(Y/n) couldn't help but roll her eyes playfully, her gaze meeting Fujin's.

"What, and you're not?" she jabbed light-heartedly, placing her hands over his as she melted into his touch.

"Certainly not as much as you," he sighed, one of his hands tracing upward so it could thread in her hair. "Even so, I wouldn't trade it for anything."

He leaned in and placed a tender kiss against her forehead. For a moment, (Y/n) had completely forgotten about what was going on, Fujin always seemed to have that effect on her - calming, soothing, and he could always lull her into a sense of security, false or not.

As she felt like she could finally give in, a crash rang out through the temple. Particularly, outside of their room.

The door crashed open as someone was thrown through it.

Raiden, and his limp yet still alive body. He groaned, covered in blood, wounded over a significant portion of his body. All was silent as Kexin walked in after him, casually as though it were nothing. Her sight flickered between Raiden and the couple on the bed, and the she stared at her nails.

"Goodness, he wasn't much of a challenge now, was he?" Kexin sighed, bored as she approached him again, giving him a little kick.

(Y/n) was horrified at the sight. If Raiden was folded, then surely she wouldn't stand much of a chance. Just who was she spliced with? It obviously had to be someone pretty formidable, though she couldn't quite put her finger on the symbols which decorated Kexin's skin, and why on earth they looked so familiar.

Fujin stood up, in front of his lover, prepared to defend her in whatever way he had to to ensure her safety.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides, ready to unleash his divine wind upon Kexin if necessary. The sight of Raiden injured and the threat posed by Kexin only fueled his resolve to keep (Y/n) safe at all costs.

"You will not harm her," Fujin declared, his voice steady and filled with a quiet but resolute power. "You will not lay another finger on anyone in this temple."

Kexin smirked, seemingly unfazed by Fujin's display of defiance. She slowly approached, her chain whip slithering along the ground behind her.

"My dear brother-in-law, always the protector," she taunted, her voice dripping with disdain. "But you cannot save her. Your powers, your wind, mean nothing to me."

Fujin's eyes narrowed, a gust of wind swirling around him in response to Kexin's words. He braced himself, ready to face her head-on.

As Kexin closed the distance between them, Fujin summoned a powerful gust of wind, aiming to knock her off balance and create an opportunity to strike. The tempest roared around him, carrying the force of his determination and protecting his beloved (Y/n) behind him.

Kexin, however, displayed her agility once again, gracefully dodging the wind currents with an uncanny ease. She moved with a calculated grace, her chain whip poised to strike.

With a swift movement, she lashed out, the chain whip slicing through the air towards Fujin. He deftly evaded the attack, his body moving with the fluidity of the wind itself.

In a counterattack, Fujin summoned a powerful burst of wind from his palms, aiming to buffet Kexin with a force that could render her momentarily vulnerable. The blast struck true, momentarily staggering Kexin and allowing Fujin to press his advantage.

But Kexin was resilient. Despite the wind's force, she quickly regained her composure and retaliated with a flurry of lightning-quick strikes from her chain whip. Fujin skilfully maneuvered, deflecting and evading the attacks, his wind serving as both a shield and a means to strike back.

Though, as they fought, Kexin was monitoring anything she deemed weak in Fujin, and ultimately, his reluctance to kill her immediately was his catalyst.

Her chain whip whirled through the air, delivering swift and precise strikes that Fujin struggled to evade. He attempted to summon his wind to shield himself, but it faltered, unable to provide adequate protection against Kexin's onslaught.

Her power was unlike anything that any of them had ever seen, and (Y/n) could do nothing but sit there, paralyzed, as she tried to think of something - anything to do.

It was only when she saw Kexin knock Fujin to the ground before grabbing onto his throat and lifting him back onto his feet when (Y/n) felt the adrenaline kick in.

She stood up abruptly.'

"Spare him, please! I'll come with you," she spluttered, her voice trembling as her eyes filled with tears.

There was a brief pause in Kexin's actions, as she regarded (Y/n) with a mix of amusement and curiosity. The grip on Fujin's throat loosened slightly, but Kexin maintained her hold, keeping him restrained.

"You'll surrender yourself? To save your lovers life?" She asked, following her speech was a condescending snicker. "How cute." "(Y/n), you mustn't-"

Fujin was cut off by the way Kexin fastened her hand tight around his throat again, causing him to choke and splutter as he clawed at her hand desperately.

"Yes, I'll surrender myself," (Y/n) said, her voice quivering. "But only if you release him and promise not to harm him or Raiden any further."

This was it, this was her opportunity to have Shao Kahn wrapped around her finger. Oh, how easy it was, human sentiment was so feeble and easy to manipulate. She giggled, dropping Fujin before she approached (Y/n).

Before anyone knew it, (Y/n) had been restrained, and in a burst of smoke, both she and Kexin were gone.

-