#third occurrence

-Story-

The flow of time invites change. Free will is encouraged. Choice is celebrated. Some, however, prefer time to be fixed, set, perfected. When potential futures are revealed, a handful of champions take matters into their own hands, fighting not only for their realms, but the very fabric of their reality.

Prologue: In Absentia

1. Wake 2. Promise 3. Impact - 50% 4. Rebel 5. Lineage 6. Chance 7. Yield

-Characters-

Shadow

Bio

Main ref

Tag

Aster

Bio

Main ref

Tag

Sovereign Aster

Bio

Main ref

Tag

Aila

Bio

Main ref (Adult)

Tag

-Art-

Instinct

Sovereign Aster vs Shadow

Hat Thief [commission]

-Additional Tags-

3O Updates - posts relating to story progress

Everything hurt. That’s all they knew.

The pain came before the rest of their senses returned. It was the worst in their hands, stretching through each of their fingers, wrapping around their knuckles, settling in their palms. The rest of their body burned with exhaustion and protested against any hint of movement.

They were lying on their back, legs bent and twisted to one side, one hand on their chest and the other above their head. The uneven texture of the ground and chill against their skin told them they were lying on stone. The air was still, silent, stagnant in the way that suggested they were alone. What sounds did reach them were distorted by distance, mere echoes that served as nothing more than ambience.

Opening their eyes was a challenge. One, two, three attempts and still their sight eluded them. Blurred shapes and colors took their time forming discernible objects. Wooden support beams stretched across the ceiling, simple in both design and purpose. The ceiling itself was stone, possibly the same type of stone as the floor, and reflected a dim and flickering light.

Their eyes closed again as they began to move. Simply rolling to their side was a chore, every muscle in their body fighting not to obey. They were able to do so, resting for a moment before trying to push themself up, but the act of putting pressure and weight on their hands was pure agony. They had to stop. They had to breathe through it. Whatever had happened had seriously compromised their body.

Whatever had happened indeed.

They didn’t know where they were. On their side, with a new angle, they were able to see a doorway flanked by lit torches on the wall. Stone walls, iron sconces, no decorations. Pure utility. There was no door, nor were there the bars of a cell, so they were free to leave. They were not imprisoned, but they were not being cared for, either.

There was energy here. As they gained more awareness of their surroundings, they could feel it. They could feel the magic surrounding them, dancing around them, calling out to them. This place was a veritable wellspring of raw potential waiting to be shaped. Even so, they were too weak to even attempt to grasp the smallest piece.

Despite the pain, they forced themself up into a sitting position, and this time, they were successful. They brought their hands to their lap, shaking as they did so, to free them of the burden of bearing their weight. Upon inspection, it was no wonder that their hands also bore the brunt of their pain. Angry, aggravated red lines shot over their skin like lightning, tracing the paths of what they knew to be every major nerve. It wasn’t a typical injury. Magic had done this.

Just what had happened?

Turning their attention to the room as a whole, they put the pain out of their mind. They had to assess their surroundings to ensure their safety. Not one, but two doorways offered passage to and from the rounded chamber. Their positioning of being at an angle to each other rather than parallel suggested that the room was a corner for the building or compound as a whole. There was something familiar about the placement, something that tugged at the edge of their consciousness, but they had no time to dwell on it.

Guards were at the far end of the second hall, appearing to patrol as usual. As of yet, they did not seem to be noticed. They forced themself to stand, nearly stumbling as they approached the doorway. For the moment, they could hide behind the wall itself, sneaking glances around the corner. The guards wore loose tan robes that covered all but their hands and carried naginatas, both of which would be liabilities in a close quarter fight. They had helmets as well, metal, with faceplates that were more suitable to be called masks—

Masks that belonged to Shang Tsung’s personal guard. This was Shang Tsung’s island, a rare oasis between realms, once cared for by the Shaolin of Earthrealm. The presence of the guards meant the island had not yet fallen into ruin. Shang Tsung still yet lived. The tournament had not taken place.

They turned their back to the wall, letting it hold their weight as their knees threatened to give out. The flash of information was sudden, brazen, unrelenting. It was simply at the forefront of their mind the moment they needed it. It wasn’t a personal memory. It was procedural knowledge. It came as easily as breath came to their lungs.

Just what had happened?

“Hey!”

The shout pulled their focus back into the present. Another guard stood facing them from the first hallway, naginata held level and ready to strike. There was no time to go on the offensive, though with the state of their hands, it was highly unlikely they would have been able to do so. The guard charged with reckless abandon, the kind bred by overconfidence and inflated ego, and swung his weapon high.

Within seconds, the guard was bearing down on them. They barely managed to bring one foot up to brace against the wall, keeping them from being pinned while they brought their arms up to block the weapon’s handle. The guard pushed down, attempting to break their form, but only succeeded in opening himself up for retaliation. They adjusted their stance, sliding their foot ever so slightly over the wall, ready to push off and kick out the guard’s knee—

But they didn’t get the chance.

As fast as the fight began, it was over. A loud clang echoed off the stones as something hit the back of the guard’s helmet and he dropped like a stone. The naginata rolled harmlessly off of their arms and onto the ground the moment pressure had stopped being applied. Torchlight glinted off something metallic in the air, something that soared back toward the hall into a warrior’s waiting hand. 

No, not a warrior; a fighter, a protector, a defender, a champion.

Flashes of lifetimes upon lifetimes flooded their mind, a series of images and information flowing as a constant stream, more and more rivulets forming from the smallest details. War, loss, hope, pride, destruction, insecurity, legacy, tragedy, rebirth, prodigy, resurrection, anger, pain, kings and kahns, gods and ghosts, fire, fire, fire, armaggedon, reset–

“Whoa, easy now.” The soft near whisper accompanied the arms wrapping around their form, holding them up as their legs gave out. They were lowered to the ground and coaxed into sitting with their back against the wall. “Are you hurt?”

“I–” Grimacing as their voice cracked, they attempted to turn their head to peer around the corner. The adrenaline crash was taking its toll on their already exhausted body. “The other guards–”

“They won't be bothering us. The tournament's starting.”

They turned back to face the one who had come to their aid and saw every possibility mapped across his face. They saw dedication and pacifism and impulsiveness. They saw demise an infinite number of times by the emperor's hand, and rumors that were spread of a believed death. Loss and vengeance and corruption and a shrine kept by family. A legacy upheld and a name scorned. Service to the light and service to the dark. 

The Kung Lao who knelt before them was still so young. He still had the spark of hope in his eyes, that light that blazed like the brightest star in the darkest night. He was blissfully unaware of the paths stretched out before him, of the choices others would force upon him, of all the fates he would have no hand in. 

“Your hands—” Kung Lao’s voice brought them back to the present as he reached out to take their wrists. The initial contact made them flinch, numbness and pain mixing together, but they did not pull away. His touch was gentle as he examined the red lines of irritation, careful not to touch the injuries themselves. “What happened?”

In response, they drew their hands back to their lap, gaze shifting to the center of the room where they had awoken. There wasn’t an answer they could give.

“…well.” Glancing around the room himself, Kung Lao turned to face the fallen guard. “Whatever it was, we should wrap them. I can tear up these robes—”

“No!”

Their sudden outburst echoed in the stone chamber, leaving no room for other sounds. Images of Kung Lao sneaking his way into the tournament via disguise echoed in their mind, beginning to form a much bigger picture. He needed the guard’s robes to stay intact if he was to join as he was meant to.

“No,” They ducked their head slightly and let out a slow breath. They had to control this. “Use the undershirt. The material will be easier to work with”

Kung Lao watched them for a moment before nodding and turning back to the guard. Once the robes were untied, he used the rim of his hat to create the smallest cut in the undershirt, and from there tore it into crude strips with his hands. Some of the ruined garment was trapped beneath the guard, but there was more than enough to work with as it was.

When Kung Lao had knelt before them once more, they held out one hand. He took great care in wrapping each finger, keeping a gentle touch while not letting the makeshift bandages be loose, and made sure the end of each fabric strip rested on the back of their hand. Doing so allowed for them to be secured by the strips that were then wrapped around their palm. The technique was one that seemed simple on the surface, but in truth had to have been practiced to reach this level of effectiveness and efficiency.

“What was it that bothered you?” Tying off the last strip, Kung Lao reached for their other hand to continue his work. There was a slight edge in his voice, a hesitancy and uncertainty born from the tension between them. “If I may ask.”

“You may, if I may ask your reason for helping me.” They lifted their head to meet Kung Lao’s eyes again in a sort of challenge, though they were the one to falter. That spark of hope…

Kung Lao shrugged with a wry smile as he tied off the last strip. It didn’t help their resolve in the slightest. “I’m sure you could have fought him off easily, but what kind of person would I be if I didn’t help?”

“Honor, then.” They flexed their fingers cautiously as they spoke, examining and testing their mobility with the wraps. “It had nothing to do with your need for a disguise?”

“Disguise?”

“Is that not how you plan on sneaking your way into the tournament?”

A shift in the atmosphere pulled their attention. Kung Lao had pulled his hands away, his posture tense, and with their second question he rose slowly into a defensive stance. His expression had turned from open and receptive to suspicious and cold. What had—

“Who are you?”

Ah. They weren’t supposed to know why he was on the island.

“Kung Lao—” Tentatively, they raised their hands, though stopped moving when they noticed his glare intensify. This was not the impression they meant to give. This was not how events were supposed to unfold. “I swear to you, I mean no harm to you or your realm.”

“And what do you swear by?”

“I swear on that which binds me.” The words came so easy, instinctually so, and were spoken before they could ponder their answer. The sincerity with which they said it even surprised them. Something brushed the edge of their consciousness, something from deep in their mind. This was not the first time they made such a promise, nor the first time they had sworn on space itself.

The response seemed to surprise Kung Lao enough to make him partially lower his guard. His gaze was still wary, but there was a hint of confusion and disbelief in his eyes. “I…suppose that will do.”

“Please forgive my…my careless statements.” After a moment of hesitation, they stood while using the wall to keep them balanced on unsteady feet. “I am still not entirely myself.”

“Yeah, I…You look like you’ve been through something serious.” With a sigh, Kung Lao turned and took a few steps toward the fallen guard, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. He paced for a moment, no doubt trying to make sense of his own thoughts. “Would you care to tell me how you know about my plans?”

“For now…I cannot say.”

“You—” Kung Lao let out a slow breath as he began the task of taking the guard’s uniform for himself. “Fine. How about how you know my name?”

“No.”

“Is there anything you can tell me?”

Scorpion’s quest for vengeance will give you the chance you need to force yourself into the tournament. Your loss will be hard won, but it will still be a loss. It will be your friend who earns victory for Earthrealm. The emperor will not go quietly, instead choosing to force Raiden into accepting another tournament with new rules by invading. It is here you will fight to save your masters. It is here you will fight while prisoners are freed. It is here you will fight and be—

“Your disguise will be sound, but Raiden may see through it.” Despite all that is swirling through their mind, they hold their tongue, only offering the smallest amount of vague information to placate Kung Lao’s curiosity. “And while I hope for you to secure victory, should you lose…I would ask for a small favor.”

Their impossible knowledge showed them path after path after path that Kung Lao could walk down. Many of the paths were small offshoots, short and broken and unclear, but what they had in common was where they began. All of these smaller paths split from one of two large roads that in turn had also split from one another at one crucial point. What they didn’t know was which of those two roads they were on. If they could learn that, if they could know for sure which events would occur, perhaps they could prevent some of the horrors they had seen.

But they couldn’t do it alone.

“I won’t lose.” Scoffing with a self assured tone, Kung Lao rolled the uniform into a bundle and tucked it inside the guard’s helmet. His expression was nothing but confident, but they had seen enough to recognize the false bravado. “So let’s call it a deal.”

“Do not bargain so carelessly, Kung Lao.” They narrowed their eyes in warning, though with concern rather than malice. “To agree to a contract without knowing the terms is to sign away what you are not willing to give.”

“Well that’s dramatic.”

“If I am dramatic, it is only for you to understand how serious I am.”

Kung Lao shook his head with a grin, scooping up the forgotten naginata as he did. “No, I understand perfectly fine. But you took an oath saying you don’t mean me harm, so I see nothing wrong with agreeing to your favor.”

Elder gods damn his wit.

“And I’ll win anyway.”

And his ego.

“If you win, then this will be where we part ways.” They brushed their hand along the wall as they turned to enter the hallway, letting their fingertips dance across the stone and pick at the traces of magic embedded within. “I will of course be watching your match, but—”

“Wait. If I win, I won’t see you again? Just like that?” Maneuvering into the hall to pass and turn to face them, Kung Lao furrowed his brow with a frown. The reaction was both surprising and somewhat concerning. He shouldn’t be bothered at the prospect of separating, nor should he be attached to the idea of meeting again.

“I did not say we would not see each other.” They held their free hand out placatingly while continuing forward, spurring Kung Lao to walk by their side. “I only… How should I say… It is a complicated matter. The outcome of your match will help to determine my next actions. I may not remain on the island for the full duration of the tournament.”

Kung Lao merely hummed in acknowledgement as a response. It was strange, in a way, how easily he shifted from defensive hostility to open acceptance. Something about their oath had calmed him. Did he know something about the words that he did not think was necessary to share?

A pulse of magic against their fingers drew their attention. They stopped walking and turned to face the wall, placing both hands flat against the stone to feel the familiar thrum of energy. It was muffled somewhat by the cloth wrappings, but it was there nonetheless. They didn’t have enough energy to utilize raw magic, but they did have enough to activate latent magic woven by another. It was just like Shang Tsung to create hidden rooms and passages that only he could access.

Well. That he thought only he could access.

Reaching down through the spell, they pulled it to the surface, causing their fingertips to light up with bright purple sparks of energy. Lavender light rippled over the stones and spread steadily until a large section of the wall had become translucent. The glowing archway soon gave way under their hands, readily allowing them to pass through, but they instead turned toward their companion.

“Whoa…” Kung Lao’s mouth hung open as he stared with wide eyes. It was pleasing to see him be humbled, for once, by such a small feat.

“I will be safe here for the time being. I have no doubt the guards do not know of the gate’s existence, and Shang Tsung will be too preoccupied with the tournament.” They glanced toward their hand, the one still phased through the light of the arch, before turning back to Kung Lao. “I would offer for you to stay as well, but unfortunately, the gate will only work for those who can activate it.”

“It’s fine. I would have needed to find somewhere if I hadn’t run into you anyway.” Kung Lao shrugged, not appearing all too bothered by the development. He did cast his gaze away for a moment, hesitating before speaking once more. “Before I go, can I at least ask your name?”

“I’m sorry.” They shook their head as they spoke. “But the less about me you know, the less danger you will face.”

“I…I see.” He didn’t look particularly convinced, but accepted the response regardless. “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow at the arena?”

“Goodnight, Kung Lao.”

Not waiting for his departure, they stepped fully through the gate and released their hold on the spell. Once the wall reformed behind them, they leaned against it, tilting their head back against the stone as they closed their eyes. It was true that it would be safer for Kung Lao, for anyone they interacted with, to know as little as possible about them. If no one knew anything, no one could reveal anything.

But that wasn’t why they didn’t have an answer for him. 

They didn’t remember their name.

The hidden passages of the island served them well. Through exploring in the night, they found that the pockets of magic extended beyond the palace and into the wild nature itself. The discovery would certainly make hiding their presence much easier. As it was, once morning arrived, they were able to sneak around to the arena and tuck themself into a roof junction.

From their perch, they stared intently down at all the kombatants arriving for the next round. The light of dawn inched its way above the palace and spilled into the courtyard, illuminating the features of some while casting shadows across the features of others. The light did not matter to them, however, as it wasn’t the kombatants they were seeing. The arena was not filling with people. It was filling with possibilities.

They saw flashing lights and ego and dreams, power unknown and power uncontrolled, loneliness and fake contentment clashing with family and true happiness. They saw a people lost and the survivors scorned, loyalty and duty and a longing for home met with indifference and deceit. They saw flames protecting and cultivating life, and those same flames turning and scorching the realm. They saw pride and service and a sacrifice become meaningless. They saw determination and ambition unrivaled, the scheming ruler of all and an ignored street urchin.

They saw hellfire erupt and the spectre emerge.

Scorpion was, and would always be, a demon born of rage and sorrow. As he was before them, his pain was fresh, his vengeance unfulfilled. He allowed the Netherrealm to infiltrate his soul, to burn away his mortality. He allowed himself to be used as a tool, a dog whose leash passed from one master to the next. He would not rest until he faced his family’s killer, and even then, there were paths where it was not enough.

They were too high up to hear what was said in the arena, though they did not need to hear to know the words. Flames still danced around Scorpion’s feet as he faced his potential opponents, calling out a challenge for Sub-Zero. The only movement in the crowd, however, was from Raiden at the side of a masked guard.

No. Not a guard.

“I know it is you, Kung Lao.”

In some paths, the stolen uniform hid Kung Lao completely. Here, it could not hide him from Raiden’s visions. That one simple exchange made their heart sink as they realized what would occur moving forward. Despite his intentions, left unchecked, Raiden’s actions would only invite tragedy. His focus on preventing negative outcomes would lead to his neglect of securing positive events. 

Time was fickle. Delicate. To truly change events would require diligence and careful consideration of all possible consequences. They knew the storm god would inform those around him of his incomplete visions, unwittingly creating too many variables. Those aware of potential futures would never make the same decisions as their blissfully ignorant counterparts. Discretion was key.

Raiden was not the only one on the island with knowledge of future events. They did not know their past, but they knew their heart, and they could not, and would not, sit by and watch death run rampant. They refused to be a simple observer. They had the power to save the lives of those who would never know they were ever in any danger. Discovering how they gained that power, that knowledge, could wait.

Staring down at the arena, they winced as they watched Scorpion claim victory over Kung Lao. While the monk was assisted back to the sidelines rather than walking under his own power, it at least seemed that his pride took the strongest hit. He was battered, but not at all broken. If all went well, he would never be broken.

It was after Scorpion’s next match that Raiden would attempt to make his first change. While the lure of a restored Shirai Ryu would be promising, Quan Chi’s leash would prove to be wound too tightly. Scorpion’s rage and grief would be too easily manipulated. Bi-han would die regardless. His death would, however, hold meaning, and knowing what death would do to his soul pained them.

They had seen a vortex of souls, cycling viciously by its creator’s will, tormenting those it held and destroying all in its path. Then, a smaller vortex, still forming, disrupted and dissolved by the form of a corrupted wraith being thrown inside. 

The dilemma of sparing the individual they knew, and thereby changing the fate of those around him as consequence, or sparing the thousands they did not.

Sliding down over the tiles of the roof, they made their decision. They had to move fast. They would have little time to speak to Scorpion before his matches with the Lin Kuei. As it was, they did not see where the spectre would go between matches, but they did have a guess. There was a section of the island decorated with sprawling yet surprisingly simple gardens. If Scorpion was to seek out a moment of peace anywhere, with his history, it would be there.

Getting to the gardens proved to be a challenge in its own right. Taking the hidden passages would take some time, whereas Scorpion could simply teleport. Their best chance would be to also teleport into the gardens, but even if they potentially could, they were still weakened and lacked both the time and strength to experiment with their unknown abilities.

They did, however, have a deal.

Just as they manipulated the remnants of Shang Tsung’s spell to open the passageway gates, perhaps they could manipulate Kung Lao’s teleportation to influence the destination. In theory, doing so would be functionally the same. That theory, however, would be unable to be put to the test unless they were to gain Kung Lao’s attention without alerting anyone else to their presence.

Swiftly maneuvering through the passageways, they made their way back inside the palace. They began loosening the wraps on their left hand as they went, preparing to tie pieces to wall sconces in the main corridors. It wasn’t the most efficient of ideas, nor the most elegant, but it should be inconspicuous enough. With how their conversation ended the night before, Kung Lao would be looking for any sign that the other kombatants were sure to miss.

They tied strips to two sconces and let one drop to the floor outside of the nearest gate. Activating the gate only took a moment, and once inside the passageway, they didn’t let it fully deactivate. While the gate appeared as a normal wall in the corridor, they would be able to see blurred shapes and hear muffled sounds from their side.

Mere minutes passed before figures began to appear. One walking backward without a care, shortly followed by two conversing quietly. From the mannerisms, they guessed this trio to be the Earthrealmers brought to the tournament through manipulation and deceit, thrust into a world unknown. The thought actually made them smile to themself. How ironic. Here they were in a world they knew near everything about, but without knowing their own life.

A gap of stillness and silence followed the trio, but soon came two more easily recognizable figures. It was the hat strapped to Kung Lao’s back that gave them away. He paused in front of the gate, causing his companion, assumed to be Liu Kang, to pause as well. There was a brief exchange, though the words were too quiet to hear, before Liu Kang continued down the corridor with noted hesitance.

Another moment of silence passed before Kung Lao turned back the way he came. His departure caused them brief confusion, unsure what exactly he was doing, though he returned quickly and placed his hand on the wall.

“If you’re there, it’s just me. No one else is close”

It was rather thoughtful of Kung Lao to give confirmation. Prying open the gate once more, they stepped through the archway of light, but did not let it go once they were through. They needed to be sure they would not be interrupted. As they stretched their arms forward, strands of violet light emanating from the gate danced through the air, weaving together to form new pseudo gates on both sides of the hall, effectively creating a small room.

“Is that necessary?” As he had previously, Kung Lao watched them work with a shine of interest in his eye, even if he schooled his expression to one of a more neutral emotion. The facade fell away, however, when he fully turned his attention to them and sucked in a breath. “By the gods, your hand—”

They hadn’t noticed anything off, but at his exclamation, they looked down at their hands. The lines of injury on their left hand were not only visible, but were glowing with a similar purple light. They brought it closer to their face to study, stunned at the revelation. They knew whatever had happened had to be magical in nature, but this…

“Overburn.”

“What?”

“It’s…It’s scarring from overburn.” They turned their hand as they spoke, inspecting the glow. This was yet another thing they knew, but not how they knew it. “Or it will be, when it heals properly.”

“May I?” Kung Lao stepped into their space, reaching up for their hand. They were hesitant before seeing the strips of fabric he held, allowing him to begin rewrapping their injury. So he had gone back to retrieve what they left as their signal. It was an interesting decision.

“I would have been fine without these.”

“Does it still hurt?” The monk glanced up to meet their eyes, and when they didn’t answer right away, shook his head with a small sigh. “You just said this hasn’t healed. Why take these off?”

“I needed something you would recognize, and it worked.” Theirs was a weak argument, but it was all they could offer. Going deep into their reasoning would take time they didn’t have to spare. “The pain is…bearable.”

“What is overburn, anyway?”

“You—…no, you wouldn’t know it.” When the makeshift bandages were once again secured, they took their hand back and began gently massaging their palm, though the action was born more from anxiety than necessity. “It is something that occurs when the body’s natural pathways are overloaded with magic, such as holding a powerful spell for a long time, or reaching above one’s skill level and past one’s limits. Without caution, even seasoned mages may find their lives threatened by their own talent.”

Kung Lao went silent, his unfocused gaze on their hands as he took in the information. “And…what did you do?”

That was the question, wasn’t it?

“I’m afraid we do not have the time.” Dodging the subject, they gestured at their conjured pseudo gates. “These walls appear solid from the outside, but they are mere illusions to grant us privacy. Should anyone touch them, we will be discovered.”

“O…kay then.” Kung Lao crossed his arms and shifted his weight to one side. His expression wasn’t completely guarded, allowing them to see his curiosity, but it wasn’t entirely open, either. In addition, they could tell by his posture that he was still recovering from his match. “Is this about your favor?”

“Yes. Are you well enough to teleport?”

“I should be, but—Hey!”

They didn’t wait to hear the rest of his sentence before taking his hat from his head. Kung Lao, of course, reached out to grab it, but they were quick in deflecting each of his attempts. Curiously, doing so felt more like instinct than a conscious act. They would need to revisit that at a later time. 

“There is somewhere I must go, and I will need your help.” As they spoke, they placed the hat on the ground in the far corner of the room. “If you start the process of teleporting, I can guide us to a further destination.”

“You do know that I’ve never taken anyone with me.” Kung Lao shook his head in disbelief. “Or gone anywhere I can’t see. I’m pretty sure that’s not how my hat works.”

“If you believe yourself to fail, then fail you shall.” They smiled with what they hoped to be reassurance, crossing the room back to his side. “Do not admit defeat before you make an attempt.”

“I’m not admitting anything.” With the way his eyes narrowed, they knew they struck a chord with his ego. He still held a small amount of hesitance, though it was understandable. What they had given him, he could only take on faith, where he was more a man of action. “I’m willing to try, but what do you mean by guide me?”

“The spell would be yours, but I would manipulate it. In a sense…” They gestured to the walls, both illusionary and true. “Here, the creation of the gate I passed through was not my own. It was the sorcerer’s doing, but I manipulated traces of his magic. To create these illusions, I merely extended what was already present.”

“And that’s what you want to do when I teleport?”

“Yes. I am rather confident I can alter the path of your magic to reach a destination other than your own.”

“Then why even need me?” Kung Lao spoke plainly, though winced shortly after the words were between them. “That sounded worse than I meant.”

“I understand.” With one hand out in a placating gesture, they used the other to trace shapes in the air as they continued. “You have full access to your abilities, but for me, my injuries have created limits. Think of an ocean. There, you would have your own boat, but I would be drifting in the waves. I do not have the means with which to create my own boat, but I could tie myself to your boat temporarily.”

“I…think I get it?”

“Are you willing to allow me to try?”

“I am.” Kung Lao held his hand out and they took it with a grateful nod. “Here we go.”

Once they took it, the world erupted into chaos. Time slowed down once the teleportation began. This was not the sensation of latent magic drifting through the air. This magic was alive, enveloping, all encompassing, connecting to them at the deepest level as it ushered them to where they needed to be. They felt their very soul resonating with the power around them, and they knew in an instant that this power would mold itself to their will if they so chose.

The timeless feeling did not last. The moment they began to manipulate Kung Lao’s magic, small pinpricks of discomfort manifested within their hands. They attempted to ignore it, tugging the silky strands of energy to begin weaving their own path, but soon those pinpricks became needles. Then daggers. Then fire, setting their nerves ablaze. A scream of pain was ripped from them, but in this pocket of space, sound did not exist. They had to hold on, they had to fight it, they had to reach the gardens, they had to, they had to—

A shockwave radiated through their shoulder as they collided with the ground. Their vision went white, the air forced from their lungs. They couldn’t breathe, their shuddering gasps weren’t enough, they couldn’t breathe. In, out, in, just breathe, damn it! Were they shaking? They couldn’t even tell if they were moving through the haze of pain. A weight settled on their opposite shoulder, a dark shape moving before them, slowly coming into focus along with the rest of their senses.

“—hear me?”

Still struggling for breath, though now in an at least more controlled manner, they tried to reach up to where Kung Lao had placed his hand. They didn’t quite succeed. “I-I…I apologize…”

“For what?” Kung Lao shook his head with a frown. Moving slowly, he began to help them into a sitting position. They allowed it, though only because they were unsure if they could do so on their own. This weakness was growing tiresome.

“I could have injured you. If I had been off even by the slightest amount…” Lifting their hands just enough to examine them, they found that they were indeed shaking. It was reminiscent, if not more severe, than what they had observed the night before. They had tried to use too much power too soon.

“I’m fine.” Placing his hand on their arm, he gently pushed their hands back down to rest in their lap. “But you aren’t.” 

It would be futile to argue the point. They sighed, opting to not challenge him, and instead chose to focus on their surroundings. Deliberately placed stones framed the roots of various bushes and small trees. Carefully tended vines spiraled around archways over a stone path. A sea of colorful petals swayed in the breeze.

They had made it after all.

Clouds were beginning to gather in the sky, though they were not yet gray. The coming rain would chase everyone inside the main hall. There was little time left. They shifted their weight, trying to lean on their elbow to get their feet under them, but their strength still eluded them.

“Hey, wait—Take it slow.”

“I do not have the time.” They huffed in frustration, trying again and again, but could not raise themself more than a few inches. 

“If you’re going to be stubborn,” Kung Lao stood at their side, his arms outstretched and waiting. “at least let me help.” At their nod, he hooked his hands under their arms and lifted them swiftly, yet not without care. Once they were steady on their feet, he backed away. There was that baffling concern in his eyes again. “You really should rest, but something tells me you won’t.”

“Not yet. I have to speak with Scorpion—”

“What?” The concern bled into confusion, and if they were not mistaken, a semblance of hurt. Why was he so invested in their actions? “You can’t be serious.”

“I am—”

“Why?”

They met his challenging gaze with determination, taking the opportunity to study his expression. So much emotion was on display instead of hidden behind his usual mask of pride. Why discard the mask now? Why show them his true self, when so many of those close to him would not be gifted with the same sight?

“I will explain everything when the opportunity arrives.” They shook their head dismissively, putting up their own mask of passivity. “I will even swear it if I must, but I have a short window. Even if I did have the opportunity…”

“It’s safer that I don’t know?” Kung Lao appeared annoyed, but his tone said otherwise.

“And safer that no one knows I am here. You must not mention my existence to anyone, and I do mean anyone.” The emphasis on their words seemed to take a moment to truly sink in, but their meaning was heard. The only people who could know they were there were the people they exposed themself to.

“Do you need me to wait for you?”

“No, thank you. You should return to the palace. I will be able to find my own way from here.”

Kung Lao’s expression grew clouded, his body tensing with his hesitance. It was clear to them he was fighting with himself over what to say, if anything at all, but the words that followed could not have been what he originally intended. “Can I teleport that far without you?”

“If you focus, can you feel the pull of your hat?”

“Yes.”

“Then you have nothing to worry about. I’ll see you again.”

With another beat of hesitance followed by a short nod, Kung Lao disappeared in a flash of blue light. They were truly grateful for his assistance. When this was over, they would need to find some way to repay him.

Taking cautious steps, they began their advance into the gardens proper. Their unsteadiness faded once they reached the pathway, the flat stones aiding their balance in a way the uneven field could not. While they took note of the branching routes, narrower and far shorter, they did not stray.

The main path led to what seemed to be a dead end. Another large archway, more akin to a trellis, supported a thick curtain of vines overhead. There was no magic here, yet it was an illusion just the same. They didn’t need their memory to know this. Brushing the ivy aside with the back of their hands, they stepped through, entering the hidden oasis.

The path disappeared altogether. Small bushes ringed the space, each blooming with small red, yellow, or white flowers. A large pond, nearly a lake in its own right, glittered in the sun as rippling waves danced in the shade of the only tree present. Its trunk twisted around itself like rope, its branches stretching across the sky as if to be its visitor’s personal canopy.

There, kneeling beside the twisted and exposed roots, was Scorpion himself.

The harsh lines of his armor and his rigid posture set him apart from his serene surroundings. He still wore his gauntlets and shoulder pads, still had his swords strapped to his back, still had his kunai at his side. Even though he appeared to be searching for peace, he was still prepared for war. It hurt to see, but they knew he would not allow himself rest, staying ever vigilant lest he miss his opportunity for revenge.

Maintaining what they felt to be a safe distance, they took small steps forward, allowing their boots to brush through the grass with an audible swish. “Pardon my intrusion.”

Scorpion’s reaction was immediate. His kunai burst into flame as he swiveled into a readied crouch position, white rage filled eyes glaring up at them. Their assumption was right. He would not be startled, only reactionary.

“I mean you no harm,” They held their trembling and bandaged hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Nor do I have the means by which to cause any.”

Silence stretched between them for what felt like an eternity. They could feel themself being weighed, judged, and were truly at the spectre’s mercy. After a few moments, the flames on his blade faded as he gave them a small nod of acceptance. They took one cautious step forward, then another, then lowered their hands altogether as they walked toward the tree. There, they carefully lowered themself to the ground, leaning back against the rough bark of the tree trunk.

“...you are not a kontestant.” The harsh echo of Scorpion’s voice was soon followed by the rustling sound of his armor moving against itself. He had settled back into a kneeling position, though they could still feel his gaze on them.

“No, that is far from what I am.” They let out a quiet laugh, tilting their head back to observe the branches above.Once again, they were stunned by the complexities of personality. They had expected somewhat more of an overt resistance. Perhaps their injured state earned them leniency.

“Why come here?”

“These flowers resemble the wisteria of Earthrealm,” They kept their attention on the branches overhead as they spoke, though they knew they were deflecting. They knew he was not asking about why they were in the garden. “but their petals are translucent with almost no color at all. They overtake the trees they grow in, and some consider them an unsightly nuisance, and yet…”

“You’re not from Earthrealm.” Scorpion spoke with no questioning inclination. He merely stated an observation as fact, and it was fact. It was something they knew in the same way they knew how to speak or walk or weave magic.

“I am from Outworld, just like these flowers.” They lifted one hand to steal a petal away from the breeze. “I wish for you to one day have the chance to see their full potential. In just the right moment, under just the right circumstances, when the light of dawn or dusk passes through the petals, they glow so brilliantly.”

Scorpion huffed out a breath, the sound accented by smoke filtering through his mask. “Do not waste your energy wishing anything for me. Once I have my revenge—”

“You will soon find what you seek, but do not limit yourself.” Finally turning to face him, they donned a mask of passivity. They hadn’t meant to incite him, but that seemed to be the effect they had. “There is much more that awaits you than eternity in service to the Netherrealm.”

“Who are you?” The spectre’s eyes narrowed in warning as he readjusted his grip on his kunai.

“A friend. I truly do mean you know harm. The question is,” They sat up straighter, leaning forward and away from the tree. “who are you? Do you prefer to be addressed as Scorpion, or was the name forced upon you?”

Silence once again filled the air. For a moment, there was a flash of something in Scorpion’s eyes. Some unquantifiable emotion, perhaps a bit a color attempting to return, but that cloudy white haze held firm. “...there is only Scorpion now.”

“I…I see.” The answer was disheartening, but not entirely unexpected. The man he once was must have been buried deeper under grief than they first thought. 

“Why does it matter?”

“I know what the thunder god has offered—”

“Tread carefully, Outworlder.” Scorpion stood abruptly, the air around him shimmering with heat as his armor threatened to ignite. One misstep, one wrong word, and he would be on them.

“I am here to extend a word of caution.” They paused momentarily to observe his reaction, and when they received none, they continued. “He seeks a particular outcome and will do what he can to achieve it. He truly does mean to speak with the Elder Gods on your behalf should you spare Sub-Zero, his intentions are pure, but his gift is but words. He cannot guarantee an outcome.”

“Can you?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll take my chances.”

“You would risk Satoshi sharing your cursed existence?”

An anguished cry and a roar of flame filled the air. In mere seconds, Scorpion lunged forward and embedded his smoldering fist in the sinewy tree bark inches from their face. “How dare you! You mean to interfere with the restoration of my family? You threaten my son?!”

“Not…in the slightest.” Faced with the quite literal heat of Scorpion’s anger, it was difficult not to turn away from him. Mentioning the boy by name was a mistake.“This is my warning. The Elder Gods…they will interpret requests to the letter, not the spirit.”

“Go on.”

“‘Return the Shirai Ryu to the realm of mortals.’ That was the wording used.” They were forced to pause, the intense heat making it difficult to string together longer sentences. Shutting their eyes to make them water gave only momentary reprieve. “Not the realm of the living. Not Earthrealm. Not life.”

That, at least, caught Scorpion’s attention enough for him to back away. “Explain. Now.”

“The Elder Gods exist on a separate plane of existence. To them, all of our connected realms are realms of mortals.” 

“The Netherrealm—”

“Do not demons live and die as we do?”

Even with his hood and mask obscuring most of his face, they could see the way in which Scorpion’s expression shattered. They could not know what thoughts raced within, but they could imagine the renewed pain.

“Scorpion…” They held one hand up placatingly, though they did not move otherwise. They simply watched him to ensure he was hearing them. “I do not know what action the Elder Gods would choose to take. They could return the clan just as you wish, or refuse outright. They could return their souls alone through reincarnation, where they would live new lives with no memories of before.”

“Or they could become…this.” 

“The possibility is…” They let the thought trail off with hesitation. They were coming rather close to revealing what they knew of another time. It was a time they knew little of, one that branched off of the main paths, but one that existed nonetheless. They had seen a twisted revival of the Shirai Ryu. Were they leaning too much, tipping their hand too far?

“Why tell me this?” Heat began shimmering around Scorpion once more. His form trembled, fists clenched at his sides, though they could not tell what triggered the reaction. Rage, hate, sorrow, incredulity—all had an equal likelihood. “What do you gain from it?”

“Nothing. My interest is in your fate.” They braced themself on the edge of the stone as they spoke, slowly pushing themself up to stand. The burn of their exhausted muscles was a small price to pay to show their sincerity. “I have interest in the fates of everyone at this tournament. I do not wish to see unnecessary suffering.”

“Then would you also see Sub-Zero spared, as Rai—”

“Don’t say his name!” The volume of their outburst surprised them, but it startled Scorpion as well if the dissipating heat was an accurate indicator. Again, they held their hands out placatingly. “I-I’m sorry. Names have power, and those who understand that power have the potential to become aware of any time they are spoken about. It is the convention on which prayer is based.”

“Do you fear him?”

Did they? It was not a concept they had given thought. Their need for secrecy stemmed from the fragility of time. They were wary of Raiden to be sure, knowing his propensity to skew morals when events turned sour, but did that extend to fear? Were their anxieties of being discovered only from not having a secondary plan, or was there more to it?

“I…respect him, but at the moment I do not believe we would see eye to eye.” It was not a satisfactory answer, and they could see it in the way Scorpion studied them. He must have accepted it, though, as he relaxed his stance, crossing his arms.

“Well? Would you also see Sub-Zero spared?”

“Truthfully…” They closed their eyes, trying to find the best words. The answer was clear in their mind, the life of one against the life of thousands, but they did not have the right to give it. When they opened their eyes again, they faced the spectre with assuredness. “I would see you choose for yourself. If you wish to spare him, spare him. If you want him dead, kill him. You are in a position where opposite powers vie for influence over your decisions. I want you to be free from that.”

“Why?”

“I told you. I do not wish to see unnecessary suffering.”

For a moment, Scorpion appeared vulnerable. Surprise flashed across his face, his arms falling part way back to his side, but it only lasted seconds. His expression hardened once more, eyes narrowing, and he spun away from them with a scoff. “How naive.”

A column of hellfire erupted around him, and when it cleared, he was gone.

His reaction continued to play in their head. Surprise followed quickly by resignation, a mask of redirected anger hiding his true emotion. Did he not believe he was worth being spared? Did he not believe anyone could care for him as more than a tool? They could only hope that he took their words to heart. It was likely that Quan Chi would still be able to manipulate him, to pull at the strings that made him Scorpion, but even so, if they could at least give him the inspiration to fight for his free will…

The clouds above finally split, rain pouring down with no prelude.

The circle of scorched and smoldering grass began to steam.