Article: 17312 of alt.games.mk
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From: vctr113062@aol.com (Vctr113062)
Newsgroups: alt.games.mk
Subject: FANFIC: "The Blood On My Hands" 3/8 (Kitana)
Date: 1 Nov 1994 01:00:06 -0500
Organization: America Online, Inc. (1-800-827-6364)
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	The scene about me darkened, fading to jet black.
	...and brightened again, this time in the Shokan Chamber of
Worship. Red carpeting crisscrossed the floor of carved stone squares. A
large, smoothly chiseled open pattern marked the far wall. Bright blue sky
and fluffy cumulus clouds swirled beyond the aperture, for the Chamber of
Worship is the topmost floor of a Shokan tower so high that it pierces
through the Outworld's atmospheric layer of orange-grey haze. The tower's
height had once embodied humanity's supplication to the gods in heavens.
But after the Great War there were no gods left; only Master Kahn. And so
the Chamber of Worship became a place for his servants to express their
reverence.
	At the chamber's apex, a woman in a white robe with gold trim
stood behind a plain wooden pulpit. That in itself showed that something
was amiss; Master Kahn's pastorate always lead his praises from behind a
pulpit of gold studded with precious jewels. I crouched amidst the
congregation of worshipers. I wore the plain white garb of a pilgrim, with
a white scarf masking my face, so that I could blend in with the crowd.
The disguise worked; no one gave me a second glace or suspected the nature
of my mission. Before I acted, though, I wanted to be absolutely certain
about the priestess' intentions, so I waited and listened to her sermon.
	"Shao Kahn tells you that rebels started the Great War. Shao Kahn
tells you that the gods blighted the land," said the priestess. I studied
her carefully, noting her fluffy blond curls, her plain features, and her
mismatched eyes, one blue and one green. Yes, she was definitely the one.
"Shao Kahn LIES to you! Most of you are old enough to remember the truth;
the rest know some friend or relative who can recall. This Outworld realm
was once a place of beauty, and plenty. The palace housed a benevolent
King and Queen. We were self-sufficient, industrious, and reverent of the
gods. No, it was not an utopia, but it was a free land, and we were free
to choose our own destiny!
	"Then came the serpent. Shao Kahn was only a petty lord at first,
who disguised his true nature with spells and false charm. Men and women
flocked to his imperialistic banner, lured by his promises of conquest and
power. He had come to conquer, make no error - he had come to conquer US!
His army supported itself first with paltry raids, then wholesale
campaigns of terror! Shao Kahn was not satisfied with the fearful loyalty
of the neighboring tracts and fiefs; he wanted everything. _He_ is the one
who started the Great War. He initiated the siege upon the land's rightful
King and Queen, against the will of the gods!
	"Shao Kahn waged a war of scorched earth. While his armies soaked
the plains in blood, he wove spells to befoul the air, acidify the water,
and poison the land! He murdered the King and Queen! The gods tried to
stop him, but they lacked the faith and the support of the people. _We_
deserted the gods before they deserted us!
	"Today, the only ones who can survive the toxic wastes of the
Outworld are a hideously mutated strain of humanoids. And even they are as
dependent as everyone else upon Shao Kahn for nourishment, because Shao
Kahn's shadow blackens the land! He can only support so many people, so he
constantly culls us down to smaller and smaller numbers, through
death-matches in his odious Arena! He forces us to murder our neighbors
and our kindred for his amusement!
	"But hope is not lost. The land is not dead; only dormant, and it
may yet be restored. The shadow priests prophesy a day when the gods shall
return and Shao Kahn shall fall. That day can come - that day will come -
only if you believe! You must hope, you must strive, you must have faith
in the gods' return. And you must be ready to throw off the yoke that Shao
Kahn has placed on your neck, to strike out for freedom and dare to act in
the name of the Light!"
	She had flung her arms wide with that last exclamation. Suddenly
she stiffened, bringing one of her finely manicured hands up toward her
blue right eye. It delicately fingered the poison dart embedded deep
within her eyeball, as if testing whether it were really there. Then she
sagged, first leaning against the base of the stone opening behind her,
then pitching backward through it, never to be seen again. Cries of panic
sounded throughout the crowd. Everyone's eyes had been on the priestess;
no one had noticed me bring my blowpipe down from my lips, reposition my
scarf, and stealthily thread a path to the exit. The liquidation had
proceeded without a flaw, although I decided I'd spent entirely too much
time listening to the prophetess before I killed her.
	(~Her crime was that she told the truth. Her sentence, death.~)
	(_You_ cursed the land, not the Master!)
	(~If we gods were the primary cause of the devastation, then
wouldn't the land's scars have begun to heal by now? How much power can
the curse of a god have if the god is not present to carry it out?~)
	(She was instigating rebellion-)
	(~Shao Kahn was the first to "instigate rebellion." Why do you
only see what you want to see?~)
	The scene faded, just like the others. (~And now, I shall show you
a possible fate of the Mother Realm. If Shao Kahn is not stopped, he shall
drain it as dry and bleak as the Outworld, plunging it into eternal
darkness and slaughter. And he will seek gates to more worlds, and more,
and more, for the void within him can never be filled.~)
	I saw chaos, madness, and carnage, heard screams and sobs, and
smelled the revolting odor of burning human flesh.
	(This is not real.)
	(~Not yet, but it will become real if Shao Kahn has his way.~)
	(This is not real.)
	(~Now do you understand? Now will you ally with us?~)
	(_This is not real_.)
	(~Little assassin, are you paying attention?~)
	(THIS IS NOT REAL!) I shut my eyes to the specious vision and
withdrew one of my fans - but this time, instead of assaulting the
intangible deity, I lashed out at myself. I drew the fan's edge along my
left shoulder and upper arm, stopping just above the hem of my
elbow-length satin glove. The pain was a concrete, palpable thing within a
construction of phantasms. Gripping the wound with my right hand, I
focused on its sting, and blocked out the god's presence with my will. 
	"_THIS IS NOT REAL!_"
	I sat up, next to my whickering wyvern, near the edge of the cliff
face opposite the Portal and its faceless shadow priest guardians. The sky
had the light-reddish hue of morning in the Outworld, and the ground was
muddy with night rain and morning dew. Of the thunder god, there was no
sign. The only evidence of the entire nightmarish encounter was the
self-inflicted wound on my left arm. I was still holding it closed with my
right hand. Small drops of blood had trickled down my forearm, pooling
upon my left palm. The blood seeped through the porous weave of my satin
gloves; both my hands felt wet, and sticky.
	
*****************************************************************

	I bandaged my wound tightly, careful not to touch the cut with my
hands, which felt unusually soiled and contaminated. My attempts to wipe
them on my cloak did little to alleviate the sensation. I longed to wash
them clean. Unfortunately, fresh water is virtually nonexistent in the
Outworld; most of its rivers and pools are filled with a sickly- green
sludge so acidic, it will melt the flesh off one's bones. I'd already used
half of my sole flask of water to clean my wound. Prudence dictated that I
save the second half for emergencies only. I didn't need to drink, since I
was still within the boundary of the Master's sustaining aura, but there
was no guarantee that my quest wouldn't take me beyond its reach. 
	Tracking down Liu Kang was not as difficult as I'd feared it would
be. Roughly a quarter-mile away from the Portal, I found the place where
the monk must have turned upon Shang Tsung. There were no footprints
leading up the site. I guessed that Shang Tsung had been using a
levitation spell to swiftly transport himself and his passenger to the
city of Shokan. Liu Kang had probably refrained from attacking until the
sorcerer was concentrating fully on the spell. Perhaps I should have tried
to grill Shang Tsung more thoroughly about his struggle against Liu Kang.
On the other hand, I doubted that the sorcerer would have cooperated. He
stood to lose face if I were to succeed in my mission.
	The chaotic scrabblings in the dirt and gravel of the battle site
were too disorganized to sort clearly, and last night's brief rainstorm
hadn't improved their visibility. Cursing Raiden under my breath, I
dropped to one knee next to a large patch of scorched ground. I knew that
Shang Tsung liked to summon waves of hellfire as a weapon in personal
combat, so I figured the blackened area might be the residue of one such
attack. The battle site also carried the deep imprints of a very massive
animal... or was that two very massive animals? Shang Tsung had likely
assumed the shape of a great beast, maybe more than one type of great
beast, during the fight. I silently vowed that when I met Liu Kang, I
would treat him with respect - I'd bring him down as quickly as possible,
preferably with my throwing darts and the advantage of surprise.
	The prints from the oddly stylized soles of Liu Kang's shoes led
away from the site. At first they were in a straight path, relatively deep
and far between; after about a mile, they grew closer and shallower.
Reconstructing the scenario in my head, I surmised that Shang Tsung had
either used his levitation spell to escape without leaving tracks, or
assumed the shape of a bird and flown away. Liu Kang attempted pursuit,
but the sorcerer outdistanced him. After Shang Tsung dropped out of sight,
Liu Kang slowed to a walk, never once thinking to hide his trail.
	Liu Kang's path unsteadily wound its way along the rocky, slightly
hilly Wasteland of gravel and grime. The trail skirted the nearby border
to the Living Forest. I could guess why Liu Kang didn't go into the
forest; even at this distance, I faintly heard the screams, groans, sighs,
and shouts of the fell trees that grow there. It is a place that can
literally drive a weakened mortal mad. 
	The Living Forest, like so much else of the Outworld, was not
always a malign place. Once, the trees did not have contorted outlines
resembling faces superimposed upon their bark, nor shrill voices with
which to cry, scream, or sob endless laments. That was a long, long time
ago, ages before the Great War, a time when the forest was called the
Huntsman's Woods. Then an ambitious young Fire Mage contested the sway of
the gods. He took the name of "Inferno," and blighted realm after realm
with his pyric reign of terror. At last one the gods responded; the
spirit-beast Enkidu accepted Inferno's challenge to ritual single combat,
and won. Inferno's punishment was eternal quarantine within the borders of
the Huntsman's Woods. This did not sit well with the arrogant mageling; he
ignited blaze after blaze in a mad attempt to burn his prison down. Enkidu
appealed to the rest of the gods, and they pooled their divine resources
to put a curse upon Inferno: in hopes of assuaging his thirst for power,
they transformed him into a tree. Legend has it that Inferno's hatred ran
so deep it infected the rest of the trees, turning them against all living
things... especially other Fire Mages.
	Fallout from the Great War further corrupted the forest. The plant
life became so virulently poisonous that it killed off nine-tenths of the
fauna and twisted the remaining tenth into misshapen, mutated parodies of
their former selves. That the woods still stand at all is testimony to the
endurance of what few life forms, animal or vegetable, survive within its
bounds. Worse, there are rumors and fragments of legends that hint at an
evil, fecund presence in the forest's heart... a thing that is not a god,
but the progenitive member of a primeval race of cosmic foulness that
precedes the gods, and that will endure long after the gods and all who
worship them are dust.
	I was glad Liu Kang hadn't entered the Living Forest. Its treetops
are so dense that I would not have been able to see his spoor while flying
wyvernback. Out in the open, the monk's trail was so clear I could follow
it a-wing, guaranteeing that I would catch up with my quarry before the
end of the day. 
	The disadvantage was that there was no way for me to sneak up on
him. The minimal dips and surges in the landscape were too flat to
completely conceal a person, let alone a wyvern. I would have liked to
approach him while he slept, but I couldn't hang back and wait for him to
collapse from exhaustion. He was still within the boundaries of mutant
territory, and if any of the Outworld's mutant tribes crossed his path, I
could forget about bringing him back "alive and unhurt." 
	When I first espied Liu Kang, I tried to quietly glide in on him
from behind. Perhaps I could guide the wyvern down for a quick pass just
above him, and fell him with a sleeping-sap dart before he could react.
	At first, it seemed as though my plan was going to work. Liu Kang
plodded in a wavering path, his eyes fixed rigidly in front of him. His
shoulders slumped wearily and his feet dragged, both signs that he had
gone without sleep for a while, very likely at least a day and a half. He
wore a red and black pair of slacks, and nothing on his upper body except
for a matching red headband. Drawing one of my sleeping-sap darts, I
decided to target the small of his back. Even if my aim were off, the dart
would still take full effect provided that it broke his skin. 
	The gap between myself and my quarry narrowed. I nudged the wyvern
into a smooth glide fifteen feet above the ground, more than low enough
for my purposes. Peering down over the shoulder of my mount, and holding
the dart ready, I calculated the compensations I'd make for the slight
breeze, my velocity, and the horizontal component of the distance to my
prey. Liu Kang did not turn around, pause, or give any sign that he
suspected my ambush. If he'd remain oblivious just a little longer, I
would have him... right... about...
	Now!
	"_You_!" shrieked the monk, "YOU ARE SHANG TSUNG'S MINION!" Even
as he voiced the vituperative scream, he turned around and leaped high
into the air, extending his arms and pointing his hands toward me at the
peak of his jump. A lightning-quick bolt of thin fire shot from his
outstretched hands. It hit the wyvern in the chest. The beast squawked,
more from panic than pain, and back-pedaled with its wings. Its sudden
lurch interrupted my throw, and my dart went wide.
	The cur of a monk was faster than me!
	"DIE!" screeched Liu Kang, jumping a second time and sending
another spirit- fire blast in my direction. I had no time to speculate how
a common Mother Realm mortal could have acquired such mystic power,
because the shot hit my wyvern in the right wing. It squealed, tucked in
the burned member, and dropped like a stone. Had we been higher up, I
might have been able to coax it back into a glide before it crashed. I
might also have crashed with it and dashed my brains out. At the time,
though, I knew that it was too late to save the wyvern. I swung my right
leg over its shoulder and used its neck as a springboard to leap away. The
wyvern buckled again at the moment of my attempt. Suddenly deprived of a
surface from which to push off, I barely made it clear of the beast before
it crashed. I pulled myself into a tuck, attempting to flip and land in a
crouch, but my momentum was lacking and I couldn't to rotate fully about.
I hit the ground on my back.
	Hard.
	Part of my training to serve the Master included the art of
acrobatics, and one of the first things an acrobat learns is how to fall.
I have practiced and practiced, so many times that my body reflexively
knew some of the right things to do long before my mind could have puzzled
it out. Tucking my chin in tight to protect my head, I maximized my body's
surface area to lessen the risk of damage to any single part. My arms
slapped back, soaking up some of the shock into my chest muscles; my feet
slammed down so that my lower limbs would absorb some of the rest; and my
back arched a trifle so that my spine would bend instead of snap. I kept
my muscles tense for no longer than the very first instant of impact, then
relaxed them to soften the collision.
	It still hurt. 
	A lot.
	The wyvern's keening wail abruptly ended in mid-screech, as the
ground vibrated from its crash-landing. My body ached. At least none of my
bones were broken. Of course, I still had Liu Kang to contend with. By
letting my head fall to one side, I could glimpse his strangely-textured
shoes approaching me. Well, I'd deal with him in a moment. Just as soon as
the world stopped spinning.
	"You," snarled Liu Kang, glaring down at me with vengeful rancor
in his coal- black eyes, "_you are Shang Tsung's minion_." Nothing could
be further from the truth, but he was clearly in no state to be reasoned
with. "_Die_!" 
	I didn't see how he intended to kill me, because I was too busy
summoning the strength I needed to survive. Curling my arms back and
placing my palms on the ground just behind my head, I tucked in my body
and rolled back for a modified kippup. I had been lying limp on a small
hill, with my head at the lower part of its slope, so that my backward
half-roll had a little help from gravity. I dearly hoped that my hands
wouldn't lose their purchase on the rough gravel and dirt, and pushed off
from them. Now I was fighting the pull of gravity to arch my back, extend
both legs, and strike out with my flexed heels where I estimated Liu Kang
to be. I was rewarded with a solid <crack> sound; as I half-twisted with
the recoil of the move, I tried to land on my feet and almost succeeded,
stumbling to my knees instead. The world's spinning had slowed somewhat,
enough for me to keep my balance. Now, if only I could choke back the urge
to vomit...
	Liu Kang also seemed to have some trouble standing up. I saw blood
trickling from the corner of his mouth; my attack must have struck him in
the face and upset his equilibrium. Determined to press my limited
advantage, I withdrew my second sleeping- sap dart. Liu Kang was barely
five feet away from me, and still recuperating from my last attack;
surely, there was no way he could evade my sting this time! With practiced
competence, I let the dart fly. It sped through the air, perfectly on
target with the monk's unprotected stomach-
	-and bounced off his skin.
	...which was turning deep green and resolving into a diamond-shape
pattern of overlapping, reptilian scales. Liu Kang's frame stretched,
unnaturally contorting into a streamlined, serpentine figure that grew
taller and taller. Soon it abandoned the appearance of anything manlike,
resolving itself into the supple outline of a gargantuan beast with the
body of a serpent, the horns of a goat, the legs of a mongoose, and the
head of a crocodile. Its only remotely human aspect was the acute hatred
in its incandescent yellow eyes. Its jaws parted, revealing craggy teeth
as long as my fingers. 
	Oh, shit.
	#BURN!#
	The dragon's sonorous roar was so forceful that the ground quaked
beneath my feet. Once again, my instincts and reflexes reacted more
swiftly than my thoughts, and I sprang away in a haphazard backward flip.
I heard the whoosh of superheated air as a cone of livid flame missed me,
scarring a portion of the ground instead. I immediately followed the flip
with a back handspring, turned in midair to land facing away from the
beast, and sprinted out of range of its fiery breath.
	#YOU WILL BURN.#
	Fortunately for me, the dragon could not advance very quickly. It
was wingless, and its legs were diminutive in proportion to its body. It
nearly tripped over itself when it tried to shamble in my direction. I
deduced that Liu Kang must be unfamiliar with the dynamics of his draconic
form. He seemed to be a fast learner, though; the dragon soon abandoned
trying to walk like a common quadruped, and instead started to alternately
shift its front and hind legs in tandem, wriggling forward like a colossal
inchworm. Anticipating its assault, I drew one of my fans and crouched.
	When it was close enough to breathe its searing flames upon me, I
took two steps and vaulted toward it at the same moment as it reared back
on its hind legs. The instant it unhinged its cavernous jaws, I hurled one
of my fans sideways into its mouth. The rotating, bladed edges of my fan
lodged firmly just short of the dragon's upper throat, cutting into the
unarmored flesh of its inner mouth. The dragon emitted a shrill cry oddly
reminiscent of my wyvern's last squeal and jerked its head back and forth,
spitting and flaming. Drops of blood flew from its maw and spattered on
the desolate ground, where they hissed and smoked.
	Charging toward it again, I followed up my initial attack with a
flying kick to its lighter-green snake's belly, just below where I
expected its rib cage to be. It nearly doubled in half from the impact,
but did not fall over backward. I had underestimated the flexibility of
its sinuous body.
	Tumbling to the ground, I didn't realize the seriousness of my
miscalculation until I started to get up and the dragon snapped its tail
at my feet. The attack came so fast that I wasn't aware of it until after
I crashed again, this time falling on my injured left shoulder. Too late,
I comprehended that the beast was only slow when it had to travel a
sizeable distance; at close quarters, it had the speed of a venomous
snake. Before I could execute another kippup, it pinned me down with its
forelegs, immobilizing my arms. I tried to kick it; it didn't even notice.
My fan was still in its mouth. It crunched its jaws together, shredding
the fan's paper and grinding the metal. Then it spat the crushed remnants
of my weapon to the side. One of the droplets of dark red blood dripping
from its mouth landed on my collar, where it itched and burned and seared
like a brand.
	#YOU... YOU _HURT_ ME...#
	I felt its claws dig into my right side, lacerating my skin. Even
if the dragon's curving talons didn't pin my arms, even if I could have
pulled a dart out of my cloak, even if I had the strength to throw it, it
would have bounced off the beast's scaly hide just like the last time. The
dragon glared down at me, and I saw my eradication in its glowing yellow
eyes.
	I had died before. This was different. After the dragon killed me,
it would either ingest my remains or leave them to rot at the edge of the
Wasteland, where no one would ever find them. Master Kahn would not be
able to bring me back. I faced my permanent annihilation. And do you know
what bothered me the most? My hands still felt gritty and sticky. I'd
never had the opportunity to clean them. Now, I never would. I didn't
understand why I felt such bitter vexation over so trivial a matter, yet
the emotion was very real. I wish I could say that I stared defiantly up
at the dragon, ready to go to oblivion like a steadfast warrior; the truth
was, I shut my eyes closed and wished desperately for a second chance to
get the damn blood off. The swish of displaced air and the warm puff of
the dragon's respiration brushed against my face, as it brought its jaws
down toward my head.
	Then I felt the warm touch of someone else's hand in mine,
clasping it firmly. I opened my eyes and saw the world invert itself. Sky,
sun, rocks, dirt, dragon, and orange-grey clouds whirled a full three
hundred and sixty degrees, whipping by as I felt a corresponding pull in
my gut. The strain upon my arm was so tremendous that I almost let go, but
whoever or whatever held my hand squeezed it even tighter. At the
periphery of my vision, I caught a fleeting glimpse of black streaked with
red, and a face swathed in the shadow of a wide-brimmed hat. The swirling
landscape halted; the grip on my hand loosened; and I wasn't sure whether
I was collapsing on solid ground or leaning against a vertical wall.
	I threw up.
	"You're welcome," said my rescuer, pleasantly. He spoke the common
tongue with a faint hint of Mandarin accent, and his voice was so smoothly
lyrical that it made me want to hear him sing.
	#WHO DARES TO STEAL MY PREY?#
	I was wondering that myself, but before I could get a good look at
him, he pointed to the border of the Living Forest and urged, "Run! I'll
hold him off. It's all right; he probably won't kill me."
	"'Probably?'"
	"I said go, _go_, GO!" he shouted, with an ungentle shove in the
indicated direction. At a loss for anything better to do, I staggered
forward. Behind me, I heard him strike up a bizarre banter with the
monstrosity. 
	#YOU!#
	"Is that any way to greet your old friend Kung Lao?" Acidic irony
laced the question, lending it a keenly whetted edge.
	#GET OUT OF MY WAY. NOW.#
	"For shame! Didn't your mother tell you not to go around eating
princesses? They're dangerously addictive. It starts with just one. Then
another, and another, until you just _can't stop_ and then you're a
disgrace to society and they have to dispatch knights in shining armor to
deal with you-"
	#Rrrrrrr...#
	"-and there's a grand battle that some talented fellow will turn
into a poem with ten thousand lines, but the upshot is you're lying dead
with a magic sword through your heart-"
	#...rrrrrrRRRRR...# 
	"-and some quick-thinking Hollywood agent turns the whole thing
into a _fantastic_ home video/merchandising bonanza, except that
unfortunately you're no longer around to cash in on the royalties.
Honestly, Liu Kang, don't you know any better?"
	#...RRRRRRAGH!#
	I stumbled to my knees, holding my bleeding right side, and turned
around in time to see the dragon disgorge another fiery gout. The air
tingled with the charge of sorcery; Kung Lao's outline wavered, ascended,
and disappeared, reappearing near the beast's left flank. The dragon's
firestorm breath blasted a patch of ground close to where he had
previously been standing, though I noted that the beast's aim was off. I
ducked behind a small upheaval of sedimentary rock, then peered around its
edge at the strangely compelling struggle between dragon and man.