This story was inspired by Victar's story "The Dragon's Jaws" and acts as a
kind of companion to it. You don't have to have read it to understand this,
but it might enhance your enjoyment. This story was written with Victar's
approval, of course.

Victar also gets credit for editing the rough draft of this story, finding
typos and yelling at me every time I used passive voice. ;)

Any comments appreciated, send to jevans@mit.edu.

                                 Inheritance

                    a Mortal Kombat story by John D. Evans

    Kung Lao kicked at a stone as he walked along the path.
    He had a bad feeling about Liu Kang. Ever since Kang had discovered his
murdered Shaolin brothers, he had become increasingly unstable. He had just
started to destroy everything in the temple, for what reason Kung Lao could
not guess. Kung Lao was well acquainted with rage and frustration, but Liu
Kang's condition seemed far worse than anything he had ever experienced.
    And why was that? What reason did Liu Kang have that he didn't? Liu Kang
hadn't been there to see the destruction, the killing. Liu Kang hadn't had to
stand by helplessly as the only people he knew were murdered.
    Liu Kang didn't have an ancestor who had refused to record the greatest
martial arts secrets ever known.
    Kung Lao sighed and sat down on a rock. He pulled one of The Great Kung
Lao's journals out and flipped through it, though he did not expect to find
anything.
    He had never found anything in it. Neither had his father. Or his
father's father. Or his father's father's father.
    No one had been able to discover the legendary techniques since The Great
Kung Lao had ordered them hidden 500 years ago.
    He idly flipped to one of the most intriguing pages. It read:
    "I have found that spinning is one of the most useful tactics in
existence. If you force your power outward while spinning, you will defeat
many enemies."
    No one had ever known what the hell he had been talking about. Except
that he had seemed to have an obsession with spinning.
    Kung Lao flipped to another page. The Great Kung Lao had apparently had a
fearsome (or, more precisely, "mighty") weapon that he had used to great
effect, but in order to keep its secret from "falling to the grasping hands"
of his enemies all references to it had been destroyed. This page of the
journal was an account by another Shaolin monk of a fight where The Great had
kicked somebody's butt (this being Volume III of The Annotated Writings of
Kung Lao):
    "And so it happened that Kung Lao's blows were not effective, and he
faltered in the face of the storm ninja's attacks. But Kung Lao did not
despair, and gathering his strength, he threw his mighty [scribble] with an
aim straight and true through the winds of the enemy. And the foe was struck
and killed by the puissant [scribble]...but as the life drained from his body
and soaked the thirsty ground, he vowed to avenge himself upon the Great Kung
Lao."
    Whatever it was, it probably spun.
    Kung Lao's mind wandered. He had always found that story interesting.
Recently he had heard about a group of ninja who could control the elements,
much like the one in this story. Rumor had it that one of them had
participated in Shang Tsung's tournament, but not survived. How old was their
organization...?
    He shook his head. Whoever the ninja was, he couldn't help now. Kung Lao
flipped to the most critical passage, a page worn with years of reading:
    "And so I have decided to erase all knowledge of these powers so they
will not fall to the grasping hands of my foul enemies. I will keep them safe
in one place only, and if they are ever again needed they will be revealed to
one worthy. So search not for them, my descendants, though I know you will
disregard this last commandment."
    He had been right there. Starting with the last child of Kung Lao who had
escaped from Shang Tsung and going right up to the present Kung Lao himself,
every descendant of The Great had searched for his legendary hiding place.
They had searched the Honan province, then all of China, and even gone on to
Japan and other parts of Asia...but they had all failed.
    All of them.
    Kung Lao closed the book and stared at the cover. The Great's favorite
symbol, a Chinese character denoting military strength, was inscribed there in
red ink. Just as it appeared on all of his possessions.
    Force. It was a hell of a legacy to live up to, and he'd be damned if he
knew how.
    Kung Lao was suddenly aware of a rumbling. He looked up, then turned
around in an attempt to see what was happening...
    What was happening was that there was a rumbling coming from the forest.
    Almost before he knew what he was doing he was running toward it. After a
few steps he stopped...and just stared.
    A stone structure was rising from the ground. As he watched, the
structure pushed toward the sky and gained the shape of a temple. A small one,
perhaps, but still a temple. The rumbling stopped, and then...
    From the shadows stepped a man.

    Kung Lao stared. His thoughts raced. This is certainly a time of need, he
thought. Perhaps this is Kung Lao's secret cache. Perhaps this is his spirit
come to greet me...
    The man stepped into the light. He was wearing a strangely familiar black
uniform with sky-blue highlights.
    Kung Lao sucked in his breath.
    The man noticed him and called out something in Japanese. Kung Lao
frowned. His grasp of Japanese was marginal at best. The ninja noticed his
expression and spoke again, this time in Chinese.
    "You are a Shaolin monk?"
    Kung Lao's robes said that much. He decided to answer with another
question. "Yes. You are a Lin Kuei ninja?"
    The man snorted. "That is the name of the cowards of my order who fled to
China. Since I had no fear of the other clans' threats, I chose to stay in
Japan...until the Tournament." He flexed his arms. "That is why I am so
pleased to see you. I could not have asked for a better way to begin my
freedom than a chance to kill one of your despicable order."
    Kung Lao instantly adopted a battle stance. "Who are you?"
    "I am known as Tatsu-Maki."
    Kung Lao frowned. "Uh...'waterspout'?"
    The ninja rolled his eyes. "Your grasp of the nuances of Japanese leave
me breathless. In your tongue, I am called Tempest. By what name are you
known?"
    A warning started to sound in Kung Lao's head. "I am Kung Lao."
    Tempest's head jerked up. "But--you--" his face suddenly cleared. "Ah, I
see. You are his descendant." He paused. "The descendant of the one who
imprisoned me here!"
    Kung Lao felt a chill. It was not just him, he realized. A cool wind had
started blowing.
    "It will be quite satisfying to finally exact my revenge." His brow
suddenly furrowed in thought. "But you don't...Ahh!"
    "What?" Kung Lao demanded.
    "I suppose he hid his personal martial arts techniques so 'they wouldn't
fall into the hands of the enemy'. How very like him. He was always so
selfish."
    Kung Lao's expression hardened. "What do you know about it?"
    Tempest laughed arrogantly. "More than you ever will." He straightened.
"Now you will meet your end at my hands! And you don't even have--"
    He broke off in laughter and had to lean against a tree until he
recovered.
    Kung Lao really wanted to hit him.
    Tempest wiped his eyes. "All--eheh heh--all right." He focused his
attention. "All right, monk! Prepare to die!"
    Kung Lao smiled grimly and jumped.
    Then the world turned upside down.

    Kung Lao peered up at the sky. He guessed that he had been the one to
turn upside down, not the entire world.
    "Get up!"
    A boot put a stop to further reflection. Kung Lao rolled away, his ribs
hurting. He stood up.
    Tempest grinned and waved his arms. Winds suddenly blasted Kung Lao from
all directions. While he fought to keep his balance the ninja lunged forward
and bashed his face with a gloved hand. Kung Lao flew backward, bounced off a
tree and fell to the ground again.
    All right, he said to himself. If you're going to be anyone at all,
you're going to have to be Kung Lao. And you're going to have to be him soon,
because if you don't--
    A gust of wind blew under him and carried him into the air, right into
Tempest's foot.
    He got the point.
    Kung Lao scrabbled to get the ground under him and lunged toward the
ninja. He punched hard and spun in a roundhouse kick.
    Tempest staggered back, then grinned. "Not bad. But not good, either." He
rushed forward again with a lunging spin punch.
    Kung Lao ducked and tried to counter with a kick, but the ninja jumped
and whipped his foot into the other's face.
    Kung Lao's head snapped back and he lurched backward to a tree.
    ...focus your power...
    Kung Lao blinked. Where had that thought come from?
    Tempest laughed scornfully. "You fool. You weakling. You...imitation." He
roared with laughter. "This is where it ends, boy!" He leaped and started to
spin. He was suddenly in the middle of a tornado, transformed into a flying
whirl of feet and fists.
    ...use the air...
    Kung Lao blinked again. Suddenly he knew how to defeat the whirling
Tempest. He jumped into the air. Tempest rose up toward him, and Kung Lao
comprehended the pattern of his attack.
    Without warning, Kung Lao blasted downward between the flailing limbs and
planted his foot squarely in the ninja's solar plexus.
    With a strangled exclamation, Tempest fell to the ground, his gale dying
away.
    Kung Lao stared. How had he done *that*?
    The ninja staggered to his feet. His eyes glowed.
    "So, you've found one of the old moves...but it will hardly be enough.
Kung Lao had to use a weapon to defeat me, and you don't have it. So you won't
be able to stop this." His grin widened. "Goodbye, fool!"
    ...spin...
    In a flash, Kung Lao comprehended.
    Tempest leaped up and was suddenly lying on the air, his wind powers
supporting him. He gave a terrible howl and launched himself at Kung Lao like
a torpedo.
    Kung Lao focused his power.
    Tempest screamed toward him.
    Kung Lao prepared himself--
    --Tempest was about to hit him--
    --and Kung Lao spun.

    Waves of energy spun off him and sliced into the ninja. Tempest howled
again, this time in pain, and crashed into the ground with blood streaming off
him.
    Kung Lao stalked over to the ninja, who shakily got to his feet and
stared at him.
    "N-No...you can't...can't be..."
    Kung Lao focused his power.
    POW!
    The force of the uppercut sent Tempest sailing through the air. He hit a
tree and bounced onto the forest floor. As he tried to rise, he seemed to blur
oddly.
    "Guh--nuh--no!" He wavered again and seemed to get fuzzy. "No...I
can't...No! No! NOOO! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA..." He glowed, fuzzed, and faded.
    Kung Lao exhaled. It seemed that the ninja had been just a damned spirit,
trapped in the space between life and death by his need for vengeance.
    A sobering lesson.
    He turned to the temple. His curiosity returned, and he walked inside.
    The inside was lit by the glow of a ghostly figure.
    Kung Lao suddenly realized that now would be the time that the guardian
of the temple would say that he was worthy for whatever it was. That was the
way it always went in the legends.
    He was right, in a way. The spirit peered at him, scrutinized his
battered figure from head to foot, and finally nodded in apparent satisfaction.
    "You'll do."

    The spirit stepped aside and gestured to a mound on the floor. As Kung
Lao walked toward it he noticed it was a pile of clothing. He quickly shrugged
out of his torn robes and struggled into the pants, boots and vest. He found a
pair of bandages and wound them around his forearms. He realized that even
though the clothing was highly unusual in its design, he knew exactly how to
put it on.
    He took up the last article, a set of torso armor emblazoned with the
force symbol. The symbol of Kung Lao.
    He put it on and straightened. For the first time in his life he felt
like he could live up to his ancestry.
    I guess clothes do make the man, he thought.
    The spirit made a grand gesture. "And now, that for which you have been
waiting all your life. You have been judged worthy to receive the legacy of
the weapon of the great Kung Lao." He moved aside and indicated something.
    At first Kung Lao stared in blank incomprehension, but suddenly he
understood what he was looking at.
    The Great's weapon couldn't have been anything ordinary. If it had been a
sword, or a staff, or something like that, there would have been no reason to
eliminate all references to it. Kung Lao's great strength had apparently been
in his total understanding of martial arts to the point of using outrageously
unorthodox techniques, techniques that no other fighter would ever have
considered. This weapon was totally in keeping with that philosophy, being the
most unusual instrument of harm Kung Lao had ever laid eyes on.
    Plus, it spun.
    "A word of warning," the spirit said. Kung Lao turned to him.
    "Once the hat is taken up, it can never be abandoned."
    Kung Lao considered this for a moment, but the reasons to accept
multiplied quickly. He was the last of the line of Kung Lao, almost the last
of the Shaolin, and Shang Tsung's tide of darkness was threatening to engulf
the entire world.
    Kung Lao reverently took the hat down from its stand and gazed at it. As
he had surmised, its edge was a polished circular blade. It was a deadly
weapon in the hands of a knowledgeable user.
    He put the hat on his head and tied the chin strap. He noticed a mirror
on the wall nearby and peered into it.
    Not bad, he thought. He tilted the hat slightly and grinned.
    "It is an effective weapon. Try it," the spirit urged.
    Kung Lao turned and surveyed the room. He suddenly snatched the hat from
his head and threw it at an ornamental brazier. It whined through the air and
sliced the brazier in half, and went on to embed itself in the stone wall.
    Then it shivered, vanished and rematerialized on Kung Lao's head. He
looked up at it, somehow not as surprised as he thought he should be.
    "Gee, you weren't kidding, were you?"
    "That was a beginner's shot. Is that all you can do?"
    Kung Lao grinned at the words. In answer, he spun and threw the hat
again. It flew over an altar and under a table and lodged in a tapestry on the
wall. In the neck of the main character, in fact.
    The spirit smiled, evidently pleased. "Now," he said, "the last part of
the legacy." He stepped toward Kung Lao and touched his forehead with a
ghostly finger.
    Memories exploded in Kung Lao's head. In a second he comprehended
spinning to its fullest extent, and his soul surged with energy. He saw images
of competitors of ancient times, ninja, monks, martial artists, monsters,
demons, and beings that defied classification or even description. Through it
all, however, was the dark specter of a wizened man with the power of evil
driving him forward to ever blacker acts. Suddenly there was the image of a
looming, four-armed abomination, and just as suddenly darkness.
    Kung Lao staggered back. He knew now who the spirit was, knew everything
about him. It was a lot to absorb.
    He forced his breathing back to normal. Then he noticed that the spirit
seemed to be as affected by the melding as he had been...or even more.
    The spirit's face contorted. "All of them..." he breathed. "ALL! Is there
no LIMIT to his inhumanity?!?"
    Kung Lao shrank back. It seemed that the transference was not solely
one-way.
    "He shall NOT go unpunished!" the spirit roared. He spun and faced Kung
Lao. "YOU shall be the instrument of vengeance!" Ethereal lightning crackled
from his hands and blasted Kung Lao.
    Kung Lao's soul twisted in other-dimensional winds. He would have
staggered but the flow of energy supported him. He felt like his body would
tear apart. He felt his muscles and tendons stretch and contort.
    Just as suddenly as it began, the energy stopped. Kung Lao reeled and
wavered dizzily. He had the strange sensation of floating, of stretching...
    His vision cleared. He realized that he was fifteen feet from where he
had been. Before he could reflect on this strange displacement, the spirit
fell to one knee. Kung Lao rushed to help him, but the spirit waved him away.
    "I have done...all I can," he wheezed. His glow started to shine and
fade, shine and fade, getting dimmer each time.
    "Avenge me...my heir."
    The figure bowed his head and faded completely.
    Kung Lao stood silently for several moments. He suddenly realized that
power was flowing through him, more power than he had ever known or dreamed
of. Searching his soul, he found the reason for his translocation.
    Kung Lao straightened and rose into the air.
    He came up at the door to the temple and surveyed the forest.
    "I am Kung Lao," he said aloud. His face hardened and he raised his fist.
    "SHANG TSUNG WILL PAY!"