#halcyonandon

"Perfect, hm?" The racerback tank is pooled somewhere off to the side of their sparring circle, its coverage and lack thereof a mere afterthought in favor of the kombat afterglow. A mischievous grin threatens, but in true Chosen One fashion, he adopts a manner of exaggerated humility.

The chosen one squeezes his friend's hand tightly, allowing himself the solace of laying his head on Kung Lao's soldier.

Reminded of his state, Liu looked down at his attire, covered in cobwebs and mottled with strange, dark stains from the maw of the creature that nearly blinded him earlier. Something told him that they wouldn't wash out.

"I think so." His eyes then moved to the bag in the corner of the room, a small duffle- quite possibly the only dry thing that actor had left, the other bags lost in the long trek toward Shang Tsung's palace. There couldn't have been more than a few articles within it. Liu felt a sudden pang of guilt for the nonstop cracks at the actor's expense since their contentious introduction at the peer and on the boat. His anger needed a target, and it found one in the form of Johnny Cage. It felt unfair to take more from him.

"Lo- Raiden..." Shedding titles had been the hardest part of ascending to eternity. No more pretense, no more looking around every corner for a Sorcerer or Kahn to make light of the rules without recourse, no more... Formality. Not with his mentor. He had ascended him, and yet Liu Kang felt compelled to pay him his dues for all the years he'd invested in the boy who had lived, died, and been reborn as the Champion many times over. All the reason in the realms, and he hadn't given up on Liu Kang. It was a debt he would pay not in blood, but in what was given.

"I love you too." Fairness and reciprocity were the tides of the new era, he thought it so, and the hourglass would not fight his will.

The Chosen One craned his neck, looking between the deity and the master of this island with a critical eye, the pieces slotting together until...

Liu Kang stops the actor at the door, passing him his iconic glasses before Johnny can even think to go darting out into the flash and substance of Hollywood’s film scene without them. His hands, bereft of their fire settle upon Johnny’s shoulders with the implication that with all the things packed into the actor’s day that a moment to breathe need be one of them.