Received: from SOUTH-STATION-ANNEX.MIT.EDU by po10.MIT.EDU (5.61/4.7) id AA05886; Sat, 17 Feb 96 21:53:27 EST Received: from emout10.mx.aol.com by MIT.EDU with SMTP id AA13641; Sat, 17 Feb 96 21:53:12 EST Received: by emout10.mail.aol.com (8.6.12/8.6.12) id VAA25753 for jevans@mit.edu; Sat, 17 Feb 1996 21:53:49 -0500 Date: Sat, 17 Feb 1996 21:53:49 -0500 From: Vctr113062@aol.com Message-Id: <960217215347_146995408@emout10.mail.aol.com> To: jevans@MIT.EDU Subject: Winter 10/16 ***************************************************************** The hole led into a dungeon cell. Grey-bricked walls surrounded a cement floor in the shape of a shallow funnel. Many smaller pipes, some no wider than my arm, stuck out of the walls near the level of the sloping floor. Fresh blood streamed through them and poured down the central drain. There were no living prisoners in the cell, though a few bodies with cut throats rested along the edges, their inertia too great for the red liquid's flow to push them down the drain. A pair of tattered skeletons hung in iron chains affixed to the cells' walls. One was shackled by its wrists; the other was held upside down, by its ankles. Both were suspended above the floor. This was either Leucrotta Castle, or an invisible dungeon sitting on top of the ravine's edge. I suspected the former. The Power I'd sensed coming from the drain felt akin to teleportation magic. It must be very convenient to instantly transport one's garbage to a dumping site far away. At the far lip of the floor-funnel, above blood level's highest mark, was the cell's sole door. It was made of solid iron except for a small, rectangular opening near eye level. Peering through the opening, I saw an empty hallway with similar doors dispersed along it. This particular door was locked, and when I tapped on it, the deep echo told me that it was much thicker than the grate I'd broken through. Hardly any rust marred the door's hinges. Attempting to freeze and force my way through it would have taken at least an hour. This called for a little finesse. I poked my fingers through the vent and summoned the Power. Sending the mystic energy along the door's far surface, into its keyhole, I strained to vicariously feel the locking mechanism inside. Because of my training, I was quite familiar with commonplace tumbler latches such as this one. I'd used this skill to noiselessly break into a target's home more than once. Working from touch, or rather, what the Power told me it touched, I shaped a key of ice inside the lock and willed it to turn. The lock resisted at first, then gave way with a sound. Before opening the door, I first covered its hinges with blood scooped from the ground, in order to keep them from squeaking. The adjoining cells held nothing but more corpses and funnel-shaped blood pools. No one patrolled the dungeon, perhaps because there were no living prisoners inside it. I found the stairs up with little trouble. They led to a carpeted expanse, dimly lit with glittering chandeliers hung from the spacious ceiling at far intervals. Huge paintings adorned the walls, depicting grim specters, demons, and monsters. One had a savage cross between a horse and a hellhound mauling a human infant. Another showed a fiery being incinerating an entire village. The third depicted a tribe of ghouls feasting on what they'd snatched from an open grave. Whoever ornamented these walls had an artistic taste that could at best be called morbid. A servant advanced from further down the hallway. He wore the formal livery of a butler, yet there were rips and stained patches where the fabric covered his elbows and knees. His gait was jerky, unnatural. I hid in the shadow of the dungeon entrance's door jamb and observed him. When he came closer, I caught the smell of pus festering in an open wound. The skin of his hands and gaunt face was dull gray, stiff, and peeling. Chunks of his lower lip were missing, baring tarnished teeth and blackened gums. He stared ahead vacantly. Tiny bugs crawled in his oily, disheveled hair. An incision cut underneath his chin, across the jugular; stains of blood long since bled discolored his neck. The air tingled with necromantic Power in his wake. He was no more alive than any of the prisoners I'd left behind. Once the zombie was gone, I slipped into the hallway. Compared to blindly feeling my way through the Maze, navigating Leucrotta Castle was relatively simple. Some type of Power permeated the castle's center, where I'd glimpsed the golden staircase, and I let my sensitivity to it be my guide. Occasionally, I ran into more zombie attendants, but none of them noticed me. Their empty eyes were always fixed straight ahead, never wandering, and their other senses were long since decayed. I worked my way past marble balconies, through arches ornamented with precious jewels, along more halls decorated with horrid paintings, and up a great many staircases. Constantly on edge, I anticipated running into the castle's guards or residents, yet none appeared. Where were they? If Leucrotta Castle was "heavily guarded" then I was a pyromaniac. My unease only increased when I reached the wooden double doors leading into the topmost crown of the castle's tallest tower. Etched into the doors were countless, intricate carvings of death and suffering, forming a tortured mosaic. No sounds came through the gateway. Pushing the doors open, I beheld a deserted room. Plush, royal purple carpeting covered the floor; ruby-studded tapestries draped upon the smooth stone walls. There was little furnishing, except for the object of my search: a winding stairway that gleamed as though it were coated with purest gold. Its steps were paper-thin metal sheets, and its banister was a strip of curling wire more narrow than my finger, ornamented with inset pearls. The stairs appeared too fragile to bear the weight of a mouse, let alone a man, yet judging from their aura of Power I suspected their strength had been enhanced by mystical means. The stairs curled in a spiral, stretching up through a hole in the raised ceiling. A pinprick crevice of sunlight glinted far above. Separating me from the escape route was a fully visible, sea-green ward, wrapped in a cylinder around the staircase. It stretched about thirty meters up from the floor, until it met the domed ceiling. This barrier had a less destructive feel than the red one I'd seen earlier. Perhaps my Power could counteract its effects long enough for me to pass through. I called a nimbus of blue-white haze to my hand and delicately probed the shimmering ward, brushing against it with the furthest trace of vorpal radiance coating my extended fingertip. A violent electrical jolt ran through me. I felt myself falling backward; my skull hit the floor with a dull . My limbs wouldn't respond to my commands. Forcing my way through the ward was definitely not an option. Rippling peals of feminine laughter came from the side. "What do we have here, Balthazaar? Someone trying to break through the blockade?" I'd recovered enough self-control to recall the Power, yet when I tried to move it was all I could manage to turn my head and watch the speaker materialize. First there came a deep yellow glow of pulsing energy, with prominent curves near the hips and chest. The curves filled out with unblemished alabaster skin, clothed in scant ribbons of jet. A face emerged, set with cocoa eyes and framed with green hair shining like sunlight scattered on ocean waves. She could have passed for human if not for the long, black bat-wings sprouting from her shoulders. Another, smaller pair formed elaborate barrettes resting on her head. Her skin-tight leotard split into a pair of tapering strips as it ran over her bosom and shoulders, revealing more of her figure than it hid. Netted stocking with bat-like shadows clung tightly to her supple legs and dainty feet. Her spike-heeled shoes rested just a trace above the ground. She was a little too perfect. It wasn't just her unearthly beauty, sterling and immaculate beyond description. A real woman's tresses do not fan and sway in still air. A real woman's breasts sag from gravity, unless supported by something stronger than a string of silk. Magnifying her seductive allure were the subtle ripples of Power streaming from her exquisite figure. Her aura was like and yet unlike the sphinx's mesmerizing gaze. Where the sphinx's Power controlled the body, hers ensorcelled the mind. There could be no doubt who the lovesick Lin Kuei had been writing about, in his last poem. A dusky grey creature took form by her side. It was an exotic hybrid between lupine and reptile; the light fur coat on its lithe wolf body gave way to patches of inky scales on its tail, underbelly, and feet. Its eyes were deep red, the color of setting sun, and burned almost as fiercely. Ribbed wings longer than its body folded against its shoulders; the hairless skin between each wingbone rippled as it flexed the appendages. A pair of small claws projected from the wings' mid-joints. The wolf-drake was easily four times as large as a true wolf. "You look strong. I like that," purred the demoness, flashing a dazzling smile. Her teeth were sea-foam white, every bit as flawless as the rest of her, though her canines had unusually prominent points. ***************************************************************** Shang Tsung's lackeys concealed their faces underneath hood-masks in the vague shape of a wolf's head. The masks were colored black on one half, white on the other, with eye slits were tinted deep red. When I showed the hooded drones my invitation, they allowed me to board Shang Tsung's vessel "Dragon Wing." "Dragon Toothpick" would have been a more accurate designation. Its planks creaked raucously. The mast leaned so far to the right it threatened to break off, and the sails were covered with holes and threadbare patches. Water seeped into the below decks, which the crew had to bail out twice a day. The wood was decaying, the rivets were loose, and the ropes were badly frayed. If Shang Tsung truly was a thousand years old, he must have acquired this boat when he was eighteen. Dragon Wing would have been rotting at the bottom of the sea if not for the web of necromantic Power that kept it bound together. Afterimages of spent life force pulsed beneath the surface of every splinter. Shang Tsung had invested a great deal of mystic energy in this boat, much more than what any Lin Kuei could expend from his own psyche. There was only one way the sorcerer could have gotten it - large scale human sacrifice. Perhaps animal sacrifice as well, but the life force of animals is not as adaptable to sorcerous manipulation. Dragon Wing was an artifact of pure evil, christened in slaughter and mortared with lifeblood. One of the Lin Kuei's few redeeming points is that they no longer engage in necromancy. Once, clan members with the Power hunted whole villages of victims to fuel their supernatural might. Other gangs and warlords soon recognized the threat, and united against it. The resulting catastrophe was nearly the Lin Kuei's end. Only a fifth of the clan survived. The bloodlines with Power over Stone and Light were completely wiped out, and for a time it seemed the Ice bloodlines had been. Clan law handed down since that time forbids using necromancy to augment one's Power, on pain of immediate death. The queasy feel of blood-sacrifice Power is so strong, so unique that one cannot hide it from a Lin Kuei. No clan member has broken the law in centuries and lived to tell of it. The sun was sinking below the horizon when Dragon Wing reached Hong Kong, its final port before the trip to Shang Tsung's island home. A crowd of warriors boarded, bringing the total number of passengers to approximately fifty. I might have to duel with any of them in the upcoming Tournament, so I carefully watched them from atop the upper decks, unnoticed. Two of the new entrants stood out from all the rest. One was a Chinese man, relatively nondescript except for his age. He could not have been over twenty-five, possibly making him the youngest person on the boat. Most of the warriors on Dragon Wing were in their thirties or close to it. The young fighter carried himself with the relaxed grace of a professional. His clear brown eyes were instantly perceptive. When his gaze swept past where I crouched, he gave no sign of seeing me, but I think he did. What surprised me the most was his Power. The essence of Fire existed within him, yet it had a different texture than Ember's rapacious burning, or Sektor's angry sputtering. His Fire was cleaner somehow, and brighter, even though its raw magnitude would have been dwarfed by Pyre's sheer might. The other passenger of note was Caucasian. Every once in a while, he'd take a hand-held comb and run it through his brown hair. His light blue suit with matching tie and pink shirt seemed outlandish compared to the loose clothing all the other fighters wore. He kept his mirror-like dark glasses on well past sunset. Though not out of shape, he appeared scrawny compared to some. I knew better than to trust appearances. Traces of unfamiliar Power clung to him, leaving faint echoes in his wake. Commotion occurred as Dragon Wing launched that evening. A white-dressed man carrying a two-handed firearm sprinted down the dock, pursued by two others in dull green. He fired his weapon into a pair of barrels, igniting their contents. They exploded in a burst of violence, distracting his pursuers and buying him time. Dropping his weapon, he hurled himself off the end of the dock. Dragon Wing was over ten meters away, and its crew seemed disinclined to turn back. Judging by the arc of his leap, he was going to fall short; until, with a minor burst of Power, he tucked himself into a ball and somersaulted end over end. Whatever Talent he'd unlocked supported him well past when he should have plunged into the water. It gave out quickly, leaving him less than a quarter second to unroll and seize Dragon Wing's rim. He winced as his body slammed into the boat's side, and pulled himself aboard. "Dude, was that real?" asked the man in sunglasses, astonished. He spoke in English, with a strong American accent. "No, it's an illusion..." sneered the new arrival. Then he did a double take. "Hey, you're Johnny Cage! Can I have your autograph?" Now the newcomer was close enough for me to get a good look at him. His short, scruffy black hair was thinning at the edges, and swept into a prominent widow's peak on his forehead. Several days' worth of unshaved stubble covered his face. Layers of unwashed grime darkened his skin. The breeze that ruffled Dragon Wing's sails also carried evidence of his poor hygiene. His left eye was brown. His right was a glowing red lens, set into a metal implant covering a quarter of his face. There could be no mistake. This was Kano, current overlord of the Black Dragons. He was widely credited with turning what was once a fading, broken-down set of loosely affiliated gangs into an international organized crime cartel, and one of the Lin Kuei's stiffest competitors. Perhaps I'd have the chance to kill him, once Shang Tsung was disposed of. "C'mon, Cage, say it! 'I'll be back!'" The of Kano's fist hitting Cage's jaw brought me out of my musings. Cage's sunglasses fell to the ground, uncovering his sky-blue eyes. "That wasn't my movie!" the actor retorted, shading his eyes with one hand. "Get up Cage! You got no stunt men to take hits for ya here!" "I do my own stunts!" A pair of gangsters accompanied Kano. With vicious leers on their faces, all three hoods advanced upon the fallen actor. The one on the right smacked his fist into his hand, sniggering. "I'd say the movie star is unfairly outnumbered," came a new voice. It was the Fire-tinged young man I'd noted earlier. "Who the fuck are you?" Kano snapped. "My friends call me Liu Kang. You are not a friend." By then, Cage's vision had adjusted to the loss of his sunglasses. He took advantage of the distraction to recover his footing. His Power flared, propelling him forward with a lunging kick to Kano's head. Caught by surprise, the outlaw had no time to defend himself. Before Kano's two friends could step forward to help him, Liu Kang soared into them with a swiftness surpassing anything I'd ever seen. He flew through the air, driving his extended heel into the chest of one gangster. When the second gangster made a grab for Liu Kang's neck, he ducked and snapped a kick at the man's ankles. As the gangster toppled over, Liu Kang accelerated his attack into a spin, whipping fully around and hooking his extended leg so that it dug into the falling man's side. Kano and his friends were all stretched upon the ground, in varying degrees of consciousness. The altercation was over as quickly as it had begun. I made a note to be wary of Liu Kang's speed and Cage's timing. *Lin Kuei...* I'd been so engrossed in the struggle below that I wasn't aware of what crept upon me until too late. A hard, bony hand grasped my throat. My assailant was - another Lin Kuei? No. While his outfit and mask exactly matched the cut of the clan's ceremonial uniform, it was ochre-yellow and black. No Lin Kuei wears those colors. His garb was a mockery of mine. *Look into my eyes!* The voice was hollow, yet compelling. I had no choice save to obey. At first his eyes were featureless expanses of white; then they came to life with a rupture of blinding energy... A puppy was barking. I saw my own silhouette through the eyes of stranger, and felt a black dagger slice into my throat. My mouth worked of its own accord, saying "What do you want? I have little, but if you want to steal something take it! Just don't hurt my wife and child!" The silhouette silently thrust his weapon between my ribs, into my heart. "Why...?" Sinking back and down, I heard a woman's screams, a child's wailing, and the of a dog being kicked. The scene slipped away. Once again, I was staring into the eyes of a man who held me by the neck - no, not a man. Not anymore. He had no breath and no pulse. His Power was fueled with pure rage. Hatred burned inside him, so fiercely that its heat made me flinch. "No!" I gasped. "It can't be... I... I..." *Yesss... you murdered me exactly two years ago this day. But my demons have allowed me to return and avenge my death! You've already cheated me of vengeance on Pyre. Your demise will be all the more agonizing for it!* He raised me off the ship's floor. Dangling in his steel grip, I was too shocked to fight back as his hand tightened upon my throat. *I could kill you at this moment, but I am not a murderer. We will meet at the tournament, and then, Lin Kuei, you will pay for your crimes.* He let go of my neck. I collapsed, clutching my throat with my uninjured hand. The specter remained in front of me, a blazing pillar of malice. "You are - - a fool for sparing my life." *That has yet to be seen.* ***************************************************************** "I see you had to come through our sewers. Messy, aren't they?" laughed the demoness, eyeing the stains of gore covering my tattered uniform. "Things have been a teeny bit rough around here, lately. Lots of folks just disappeared. You're trying to make your way out, aren't you? Well, I wish I could help you, but I won't." I concentrated on keeping the Power close at hand and tried to get up. My legs were weak, and not solely because of the electrical shock I'd just experienced. Dizziness briefly forced me to take my eyes off the vision of loveliness, and stare at the floor instead. "Don't turn away like that," she pouted. "I've other matters to attend to. It isn't as if I owe you anything... or do I?" She leaned back. Her wings dissolved into a cloud of bats, which darted underneath her. Their silent fluttering suspended her as if she were seated in an invisible throne. She crossed her legs and held out one hand. A shimmer of light appeared upon her palm; it quickly resolved itself into an elegant booklet. Her slender fingers flipped through its pages for an instant; then she closed the booklet, and it promptly vanished in a tiny shower of sparks. "Of course, you don't have to try to go back." The demoness slipped off her chair of hovering bats and advanced toward me, with a fervid look in her cocoa eyes. "You could always stay down here, with me." She tossed her vivid tresses, the color of which blended with the radiant ward nearby. "Who knows? You might even get to like it here." "I cannot stay. There is a contract I must carry out," I told her, quietly, keeping the Power ready. It was draining, to summon and merely hold the Power, but I needed to stall for more time before I could take action. I took a half-dragging step to the side, not yet able to walk normally. The ward was directly behind me now, and the demoness in front. "Forget about that. Forget about everything." She'd come so close I could feel soft whisper of her breath on my face. She smelled of jasmine and long summer nights. "Come. You can be my new Champion. I crave a new protector. Someone to keep me safe from all harm. You'll be excellent." "You already have a wolf-drake bodyguard." "Balthazaar? Oh, he's a dear, but he's one of the Overlord's minions. The Overlord and his entourage are due back from their latest battle any moment now. He's so cranky whenever he comes back from his silly war. Sometimes he takes it out on me. You wouldn't want that to happen, would you?" Her lower lip trembled. She reached for my shoulder; before she could touch it, I took her finely manicured hands in my own. If she felt the chill coating my palms, she gave no sign. "You're not worried about falling asleep in Limbo, are you? Don't be. I have ways of keeping men awake for a very long time." Her comeliness was matched only by her vulnerability. "There is something I must ask of you, huntress," I whispered, clasping her hands a shade more securely. "Yes?" I pushed on her shoulder, spinning her around until her limbs were forced behind her back and holding her in a stiff armlock. At the same time, I wrapped my free right arm around her neck. "Deactivate the ward or I will kill you!" Balthazaar sprang toward us with a howl, even though I was using his demon mistress as a living shield. Without letting go of her neck, I twisted my right wrist so that the fingers were pointing at him, and sent forth some of the Power I'd been storing. The Ice immobilized him in mid-leap, his slavering jaws fixed hardly a decimeter away from my face. "_Let me go_! You're under my spell! I COMMAND YOU TO-" screamed the demoness, as I dragged her to the side. The Ice's effect on Balthazaar wore off, but by then we were no longer in his path. He hurtled into the ward that had been behind me. It erupted in a furious discharge of lightning that drowned out the demoness' piercing shrieks. When it subsided, Balthazaar lay on the ground. His jaws were slack and his fur was singed. A whimper escaped his lips. His paws twitched, jerkily. "Your enchantments don't work on me," I warned. "With the Power in effect, I can be as cold as necessary in more ways than one." She uttered a wordless cry of wrath and dug the spike of her high heel into my foot. Her bats dived at my eyes and attempted to claw or bite through the fabric of my uniform. I didn't flinch. Though the attacks hurt, I've withstood worse before. Much worse. "Cease that or you die this instant!" I commanded. To let her know I was serious, I constricted the hold on her throat and wrenched her head back, stopping short of breaking her neck. "I repeat, deactivate the ward or I shall kill you." "You'll never get away with this! The Overlord will destroy you!" "Perhaps, but you will still be dead." Her bats stopped their attempts to tear out my eyes. Trails of familiar wetness crisscross-crossed my forehead and eyelids. The demoness was quaking, not from fear, but with rage. "I'm going to have you flayed alive-" "This is the last time I shall say it: deactivate the ward around the golden stairs or die." "No! You plan to kill me as soon as I'm no longer of use to you." How perceptive of her. "Do as I say, and I shall show you mercy." "Not good enough. I can imagine what your idea of 'mercy' is." "I will release you unharmed. You have my word." "How do I know I can trust you?" "You don't." She vacillated. Her chiropteran companions fluttered every which way in confusion, making faint squeaks. Balthazaar whined and flopped onto his belly. "Kaa naama kaa lajeraama," the demoness seethed, through gritted teeth. The ward blinked off. "I've kept my half of the bargain. Now keep yours!" "In a moment." I pushed her ahead of me, through where the ward had been; when no jolt of electricity resulted, I stepped onto the staircase. Despite its frail appearance, it held my weight as sturdily as cast iron. "Kaa naama kaa lajeraama!" I intoned, matching the vocal pitch she had used a moment earlier. The ward instantly reappeared. She convulsed frantically, perhaps guessing my intentions. One of her arms worked free and she was about to elbow me in the stomach when I shoved her away, unharmed. She crashed into the ward and screeched when its electricity streamed through her body. I hadn't made any promises about what she might run into after I released her. The demoness collapsed on the ward's far side. Her bats hovered over their prone mistress, almost appearing anxious for her well being. Balthazaar growled. He'd managed to push himself up on his front legs, though his hind legs were still limp and unresponsive. I could have deactivated the ward again and killed the succubus while she lay helpless, but I doubted Balthazaar would stand idly by while I did so. Though weakened, he posed enough of a threat that I'd have to destroy him before I could kill her, and I had no desire to hurt the animal. In any case, my purpose was to slay Shang Tsung, not waste time on other stray demons. The decision made, I turned around and raced up the stairs two at time, following their spiral toward the exit overhead and all it represented: escape, freedom, and most importantly, another chance to kill Shang Tsung. I continued at a steady sprint through and beyond Leucrotta Castle's topmost tower, unmindful of the fatigue accruing in my legs as the minutes ticked by. There could be no stopping to rest until I was free of this realm. I fixed my eyes on the crevice of light at the stairs' distant summit. The closer it came, the harder it was for me to see; soon I was navigating the stairs by feel, blinded by the intense sunlight. When oppressive warmth streamed on my skin, I knew I'd reached the surface of Limbo. Shading my eyes with one hand, I tried to distinguish the shapes in front of them. One of the shapes hissed. The hiss was joined with a creaking and an unnatural, high-pitched whistle. All three sounds were familiar. They came from three darkened shadows ahead, silhouetted against the brilliant sunlight. A fourth shadow stepped in front of them, putting himself between my eyes and the orange orb in the sky. The first three shadows resolved themselves into a gold-furred rakshasa, a reptilian horror, and a metal devil. The fourth shadow remained a featureless shape of inky blackness. "Hello, Subby," sneered the rouge Lin Kuei known as Saibot. "Did you miss us?"