#daddthunder

closed starter with @yetremains

Shao Kahn’s throne room was ever-dark, dimly lit by sconces that never seemed to shed quite enough light, braziers that seemed only to tease, and the dual moons of Outworld—Rayden did not recall the last time he saw a sun rise over his former home. He knew Shao Kahn had done horrific things to the place, but this was beyond what he could have imagined, and he was quite creative.

Sprawled on that horrid, sharp-looking throne was the man himself, tall, armored, imposing, wielding life and death as if they were nothing, just as he always had. Rayden may not have always been Earthrealm’s protector, but he had at least seen the logistical mess wrought by all-out slaughter, of which his brother—his twin—had been so very fond. Time, it seemed, had not dulled Shao Kahn’s taste for it. Rather, his desire seemed to have sharpened.

“Your suffering delights me, brother,” purred the dictator, tugging sharply on a chain that led to an ugly collar about the former thunder god’s neck. He stumbled closer to the throne, lip curling at the proximity.

“So you’ve mentioned,” grunted Rayden listlessly. The light was nearly gone from his pretty blue eyes, replaced with a baleful apathy that ill-suited his otherwise handsome, if drawn, features. Lips that had once smiled easily were now down-turned at the corners. He was bruised, clad elaborately, if scantily, and seemed to care very little indeed about any of it. How could he? Everyone who might have stood a chance against Shao Kahn was dead and their blood was, as far as Rayden might have been otherwise concerned, on his hands.

“Come closer,” ordered the Kahn of Outworld in almost dulcet tones, sharper than Rayden’s voice, but uncomfortably similar in pitch. He pulled the chain again and forced the man still closer. “Tell me again why you refuse me, even now, when all hope is lost and my armies are massing to invade Outworld? There is no hope. You may as well come back to me, to your family, where you belong.”

“Competition’s too stiff,” responded Rayden evenly, with the words, if not the affectation of his former self. He gestured blandly to the beautiful, barely-clad Outworlder girls all around the chamber, all serving the Kahn in some way.

“You know better,” growled Shao Kahn, the madness evident in his voice, “than to think you would be one of these!”

“Like I said, thought you might get a kick out of it,” says the deity, shrugging nonchalantly as if he has not handed a soul-sucking sorcerer a shiny rock for entertainment. Most of what Rayden does is in this vein, seemingly without rhyme or reason and zero guidance. He isn’t even sure the rock has any kind of magical value or significance other than it is sparkly and distracting the sorcerer. He supposes he could do some mischief, but does not seem to be feeling particularly rambunctious today.

Not yet, anyway.

He looks her up and down, skepticism alive on his face. “Uh huh, et tu Brute.”

"Advice, huh? Like... Cosmo magazine stuff or...?" He waves a hand around dismissively and then purses his lips, thinking. "You guys can't exactly make thunder storms when you're having a good time, can you? Shame.

"Well, the next best thing is communication. If you're enjoying yourself, let your partner know. If something doesn't feel right, let your partner know. It's pretty simple, but you Mortals don't seem to grasp that kind of thing, so it bears repeating."

It feels like the first time the god of thunder has ever felt compelled to apologize. He is not someone who regrets. Hell, he is barely SOMEONE. He’s an element. Since crossing over to Earthrealm, he has become something other than flesh and blood, though he is, in a way, still those things, as well.

“Serena, I…” He clears his throat and shakes his head. “You want the truth? I’ve never… seen life, your life… Mortal life… from that perspective. It’s always made more sense to be, y’know, like this.” Rayden gestures to himself. He is tall, about 6’2”, clearly male, middle-aged, and almost fatherly. If not for his mischievous streak, he would be 100% dad.

But he is a troublemaker by nature. That much has not changed since joining the ranks of Earthrealmers. It is this mischievous streak that had caused him to take a different shape and, by providence or blind, dumb luck, re-befriend—he has always considered her a friend—Serena and to become close enough that she had felt comfortable telling him things she might not have done in his current shape.

"Could I ever be so lucky?" There is dry humor in the deity's voice as his eyebrows lift and his shoulders mimic the action, eyes rolling with fondness, though there is an exhaustion in their cobalt depths that tell of a long, long life spent fighting upstream.