Received: from PACIFIC-CARRIER-ANNEX.MIT.EDU by po10.MIT.EDU (5.61/4.7) id AA05907; Sat, 17 Feb 96 21:53:50 EST Received: from emout06.mail.aol.com by MIT.EDU with SMTP id AA29241; Sat, 17 Feb 96 21:53:33 EST Received: by emout06.mail.aol.com (8.6.12/8.6.12) id VAA20110 for jevans@mit.edu; Sat, 17 Feb 1996 21:54:01 -0500 Date: Sat, 17 Feb 1996 21:54:01 -0500 From: Vctr113062@aol.com Message-Id: <960217215400_146995624@emout06.mail.aol.com> To: jevans@MIT.EDU Subject: Winter 11/16 ***************************************************************** At sunrise, another dozen ships joined Dragon Wing outside the docks of Shang Tsung's island fortress. Something had changed during the night. Though the weather was mild, the air tingled with static charge. The sea breeze carried a putrid odor that contaminated its usual salty tang. Shang Tsung's fortress reeked of necromantic blood-sacrifice. When most of the warriors on Dragon Wing gazed on it, they saw an ancient temple, decked gaily in anticipation of the coming Tournament. I saw a pit pulsing with corrupted life-force and thousands of enslaved souls. Liu Kang may have also felt it, judging from his stern frown and sudden tension. There was a day of practice and training. We were watched the entire time, and not just by the rows of hooded guards. I felt the presence of astral eyes observing, analyzing, comparing from deep within the fortress. Whoever scried us carried so much necromantic Power that traces of it leaked from him, like plumes of smoke from my former teacher. The next morning, Shang Tsung made a personal appearance. All the Tournament's entrants gathered in his spacious courtyard to hear him. He addressed us from an elevated platform, with a ribbed green roof to keep out the sun's rays. Rows of hooded guards flanked him, but his most impressive defender was a massive beast-man by his left hand. The beast-man stood over two and a half meters tall. Four massive arms studded his torso. Each of his hands had two fingers and one thumb. His skin was the color of dulled bronze, with misshapen greenish splotches on the arms. His eyes were solid red, without pupils, and his long black hair was swept up in a plume. He wore little save a loincloth and a red cape with a golden clasp. Ultratech's file had referred to him as "Goro," the two-thousand year old alien prince and reigning champion of Shang Tsung's Tournament. According to legend, no one had beaten him in five hundred years. I believed the legend. Compared to the mammoth Goro, Shang Tsung was a feeble old wretch. Long, finely tailed robes with gold trim hung loosely on his willowy frame. His features were gaunt, wrinkled and hollowed by the toll of advancing years. It would be difficult to believe he was the Tournament's grand champion, if not for his Power. I'd felt the death magic in his ship. I'd felt the necromancy permeating his dwelling. Shang Tsung was the arcane web's nexus, a living lynchpin for the thousands of slayings that had taken place here, on unholy ground. He did not command the vast resources of Power as much as support and guide them. The sorcerer had direct access to only a trickle of the flood of desecrated life essence, though even that trickle was still a formidable amount. I wondered what he was hoarding all the necromantic energy for. "Welcome, warriors, to the greatest of all martial arts Tournaments." Shang Tsung's sibilant voice projected with unnatural fervor, resonating across the fighters' gathered ranks. "You have all traveled great distances to be here. I hope it proves well worth it. Now, let me introduce the newest entry into our contest: Lieutenant Sonya Blade." He stretched out one hand, palm up, to a pair of hooded guards. They held a female prisoner, dressed in a form-fitting olive uniform. Despite her raven's color headband, her brown hair fell in front of her face, partially hiding it. "We found her following one of my ships to this sacred island. Like all of you, her life depends on her performance in the Tournament. But so do the lives of her companions." With an unnaturally wide grin, Shang Tsung beckoned toward another set of guards. They restrained two more olive-clad men. Sonya lifted her head. Her mouth was set in a stern expression, contrasting the concern in her eyes as she gazed upon her subordinates. Something about her captured my attention - not sorcery, but an internal strength of will and determination. She was more than just a fighter. She was a leader, bound by duty and honor to protect her followers. There had to be some way I could turn this to my advantage. "Let the Tournament BEGIN!" Goro roared, thrusting a clenched fist the size of a human head in the air. ***************************************************************** I sprang away from the golden staircase, turning in an aerial somersault and landing on dry earth. My surroundings were undeniably Limbo, composed of rocks, dirt, and bones baking underneath a merciless sun. Ahead, the ground sloped gently upward several hundred meters until its incline suddenly became steep. Behind, the slope rolled gradually downward. The golden staircase's summit poked out of a rent in the stone landscape. "You look like you've been through Hell," Saibot commented. "I'm shocked you made it this far. How many obstacles have you blundered your way past? Five? Six?" "That depends on whether I count you and your creatures as an obstacle. I don't." "Oh? When we parted company, you were running away from us at full tilt. Right, kitty?" he asked of Shandra, affectionately rubbing her neck. The fiery cat grimaced and made a low, angry sound. "That was before." I began to gather the Power, preparing for the likely possibility of conflict. "Before I crossed the battlefield of dragongods, killed Ultratech's ogre, and looked Death itself in the eye. Compared to everything this fey land has thrown at me, your mangy pack of killers is nothing." Shandra uttered a shrill cry. "Easy, kitty," Saibot soothed. "Good kitty. Nice kitty." She only became angrier. Her ears swiveled back and pressed flat against her head; her tail whipped about furiously. The snake demon also made an agitated noise. It restlessly dragged its claws along the ground. The metal devil's eyes flashed a touch more crimson than usual. "You may think you've made it, but you haven't," the living shadow warned. "You need us to get you out of here alive. The trap where only that which you have loved can save you lies ahead. You can't survive it, because Lin Kuei do not love. They hate. I should know. They taught me how to hate. I hate all of them. I hate you, you obdurate jackass; I hate everything you stand for, I hate your precious Power, and I hate those freakish clan rags you're wearing!" "Then why try to 'help' me?" "It's what Ultratech wants." "Why should you care what Ultratech wants?" He did not answer. His featureless black outline quivered for an instant, then held itself very still, like a fox about to pounce. "I have no quarrel with you, Saibot, but I must honor the contract on Shang Tsung and I won't let you get in my way." "Shang Tsung is dead." "No longer." "Then consider the contract on him terminated," he hissed, tensely. "Ultratech wants to put you to better use. As much as I'd like to let Limbo devour your soul, it's my job to take you home with us safe and sound - or failing that, alive and not too badly mangled. You can come quietly, or you can be bludgeoned unconscious. Well?" "Never." He snapped his jet black fingers. His three creatures charged me as one. ***************************************************************** Shang Tsung's 'Tournament' was a bloodbath. All matches were to the death. If the winner did not kill his opponent, Shang Tsung's guards slew the loser with a quick thrust of their spears. In either case, the devil necromancer absorbed the wretch's soul, adding it to the abominable mystic network that encompassed his domain. Whatever the magic web's purpose was, it was very close to being fulfilled. The Tournament's duels were not randomly determined. Shang Tsung deliberately matched the strongest opponents against the weakest, and reveled in the subsequent slaughter. People lost their lives like wheat falling from its chaff. A share of them died at my hands - or rather, left hand. Orchid had permanently crippled my right hand, despite the best attentions of the Lin Kuei's healers. I could still strike with its edge, or use it to bring forth the Power, but I couldn't make the fingers curl or grasp anything. The handicap was not obvious, and had only a minimal effect on my performance in the duels. I would have preferred not to participate at all. My purpose was to eliminate Shang Tsung, not play his games. I tried to approach the necromancer several times, but he was too heavily guarded. Shang Tsung never left his quarters without a detachment of his legions, Goro never strayed too far from his side, and something else was constantly hovering near him. The lurker possessed a Power that deliberately cloaked itself. Its exact location weaved faster than I could track. I'd never have noticed it if not for its dissimilarity matched against the foul haze of Shang Tsung's black sorcery. According to the Tournament's rules, a contestant who proved himself against mortals and defeated the reigning champion would earn the right to challenge the grand champion Shang Tsung. This would be my recourse of last resort, though it wasn't what I had in mind when I accepted the contract. Given Shang Tsung's Power, I'd much prefer to attack from behind, and murder him before he was aware of my presence. When I wasn't fighting, I observed the other matches carefully, learning all I could about the victors. Days passed, until less than a dozen survivors remained from thirteen boats filled with people. One of the survivors was not a human being at all. I knew he was supernatural the moment I lay eyes upon him. Shining forks of Power rippled across his garments, which were stark white except for a black sash tied at the hip and a similarly colored triangle pointing down his chest. In the shadow of his wide-brimmed, conical peasant's hat, his eyes glowed with pure energy. These signs only hinted at his vast aura of Power, many times greater than Shang Tsung's. Yet something cut him off from the overwhelming majority of his elemental strength, restricting him to the appearance of a mortal. Bound or no, he was lethal. He summoned electricity at will, and surround himself with winds so forceful they buffeted his opponent, a female kickboxer clad in pink and grey, against the courtyard's hard walls. The inhuman warrior shrieked wordless cries of triumph, holding his hands skyward and calling down slender, purple threads of scintillating energy. Shang Tsung laughed and gave the command to finish the match. The inhuman warrior stepped forward and sent wave after wave of crackling Power into his battered sacrifice. Electrical energy jerked her body about like a poorly controlled marionette. The Power came to a focus upon her head, shining brighter until the pressure was so great it burst open her skull, flinging pieces of bone and brain in a wide radius. Warm, steaming blood gushed from the headless corpse as it toppled over. Yet somehow, not a single smear of human remains stained the white-dressed one. One of Shang Tsung's guards approached me. The words "You're next, Lin Kuei," resonated quietly from within his black-and-white hood. He pronounced it "Lin Coo-ay," instead of "Lin Cue," so he must have had written instructions, for whatever that was worth. ~I tire of these mortal playthings,~ proclaimed the inhuman warrior, standing over his beheaded kill. ~How many insects must I crush before I am faced with a true challenge?~ Lifting his arms and eyes to the heavens, he roared, ~I AM RAIDEN, GOD OF THUNDER! Destruction and ruin mark my storms. The Earth itself weeps in the presence of my fury! I THIRST FOR THE GLORY OF BATTLE AGAINST OTHER GODS! WHERE IS AN OPPONENT WORTHY OF MY DEPREDATIONS?~ "Right behind you," Shang Tsung answered. "FIGHT!" ~What?~ Raiden had not completely turned around when the necromancer signaled the duel's beginning. Before he was aware of my silent rush toward him, I leaped and drove my flexed heel into the side of his chin. Whiplash snapped his head around. The chin-strap holding his wide-brimmed hat came loose; his headgear flew off his scalp, uncovering tightly pressed ebony hair. He tumbled backward, coming to rest on paved ground near the corpse of his last opponent. I crouched and drove my fist into his face. He convulsed and flailed from the impact, but before I could hit him again his body disappeared in a flash of white light. The breezy static of his Power tingled as he reappeared a dozen meters away, in a similar light flash. A stream of red dribbled from his upper lip. God or no, he was not invincible. He could bleed. ~Your - trickery - is in vain against a god!~ he declared, haltingly. Spreading his arms wide, he called forth storm winds. I immediately dropped and lay flat against the ground, letting the gale stream over me. Raiden shrieked an unintelligible battle cry and used the hurricane to propel himself, arms outstretched, speeding low to the ground on a collision course with me. I summoned the Power. The hurricane blew too strongly for me to rise very high, but I was steady enough to cast the Ice directly in his path. Raiden's own volume blocked some of the wind that might have otherwise scattered the Ice. He never had a chance to avoid it. As soon as it touched him, the gale ceased. The Ice held him suspended above the ground, frozen in form and time. I dashed behind and underneath him, crouched, and drove the whole of my strength into an upward punch with my left hand. The impact undid the Ice's effects. Raiden's gale returned, and I was careful to drop low and avoid it, but the god had been too disoriented by my attack to control the hurricane. No longer riding the wind, he spun out of control in its grip until he slammed him into the same wall he'd used on his last victim, and had intended to use on me. His storm winds faded once more. Instead of climbing to his feet, the thunder god used his Power to dissolve and reform in a standing position. Sprinting to close the distance between us, I could tell he was hurting from the unsteady way in which he leaned against the wall. ~No,~ he gasped, realizing that I would reach him before he could recall his storm winds. ~Stay back!~ He flung his arms forward. Electricity streamed from his fingertips. I dipped low to avoid it, angling one leg forward and bracing it with my good left hand, while supporting the bulk of my weight on my back leg. Invoking the Power's resistance to friction, I skidded on the stone as if it were the surface of a frozen lake. Raiden's burst of electrical Power sailed harmlessly over my head. Calling the lightning had required so much effort that Raiden was defenseless as I slid directly into him, crushing his ankles. He collapsed yet again. This time I would not let him teleport away. Seizing his ebony hair, I smashed his head into the wall before he could regain the necessary composure to use his Power. I repeated the action until his face was a ruined wreck. He screamed and flailed, but was too far gone to escape my grasp. At last his body went limp. Shock had set in, rendering him helpless. ~I curse your name,~ he wheezed through split lips and broken teeth. ~You are dead. May the death eating away inside you consume your body and soul! You are dead, damn you! _Damn you_! YOU ARE DE-~ Calling the Power, I crossed my hands and inserted the index fingers into the corners of his mouth. Then I ripped outward, using the Ice to brace my injured right hand. The rubbery flesh of his cheeks tore under the pressure, all the way up to his ears. I took hold of them and ripped them off, retracting and uncrossing my hands. He would soon bleed to death. "Excellent," Shang Tsung praised, clapping his long-fingered hands. Many of the guards also applauded. The other Tournament entrants stayed silent. Kano yawned. Johnny Cage was visibly shaken. Liu Kang looked at Raiden's broken body with pity. Sonya Blade was unreadable. The yellow-dressed specter lurked behind them all, staring at me with undiluted hatred. (*It is good the thunder god did not kill you,*) rumbled the specter's tortured voice in my mind. (*That privilege is reserved for Scorpion alone!*) ***************************************************************** The rakshasa was the fastest of Saibot's creatures. I charged her as she charged me. She sprang in a final pounce, but I was already airborne, tucking myself into a ball to reduce air resistance. I flew over her head. As I landed, I heard the impact of metal on skin, a deep-throated wail, and a feline scream of furor. Looking back, I saw the metal devil flat on its face, while the rakshasa favored her left hind leg. She hissed furiously at the snake-demon. Her back was arched and her fur stood on end. Saibot's creatures were unused to working as a team. They had all run into one another. The snake demon fixed its beady eyes on me and ambled forward, more cautious than last time. Allowing the Power to shine on my hands, I bended on one knee and stretched out my arms as if to cast it. The snake-demon surged forward with a great leap, astoundingly fast and far despite its spindly hind legs. My feint had worked a little too well; though it had taken the bait, I didn't quite have enough time to properly counterattack. Distended serpentine jaws clamped down on my arms. The snake-demon's heavy body thudded to earth, pulling mine with it. Burning drool splashed from its mouth, sizzling on my uniform and eating the skin off my arms. If I were to paralyze the beast, I would still be trapped underneath its weight. (Don't you know what happens when acid and water mix?) My brother's reprimand flashed in my mind as I channeled the Power, directing it not to freeze, but rather to create. Ice and cold water filled the snake-demon's gullet. It wailed a high-pitched screech, reared, and tried to spit out the Ice. Its mouth sizzled with bubbles from a powerful chemical reaction. Its belly distended wide. I clasped both hands into a hammer lock and slammed them into the snake-demon's head. The beast fell over, moaning and writhing. From behind, I heard a series of explosions. I dropped flat and rolled to the side. Three bursts of blue-purple energy-claws whizzed over where I'd been. They'd come from the metal devil, which had regained its footing and pointed its glowing claws at me. Seeing that I'd dodged its attack, it slid forward, propelled by tiny red flames sprouting from its heels. It held the twin blades of one claw outstretched. I flipped backwards in a series of handsprings, keeping ahead of it until I was next to the crevice through which the golden staircase lay. It continued its high-speed pursuit. Crouching, I waited until the metal demon and its glowing claws were less then two meters away before projecting another surge of the Power. This cumbersome metal devil was not as agile as its snake-demon counterpart; it raced directly into the Ice's depths and stopped, frozen in a timeless moment. I slipped behind it and spun around, whipping my leg in a circular motion that connected with the small of its back. The metal devil returned to its position in time and space, save that my kick made it tip forward. It never had a chance to stop its headlong plunge into the crevice. Its high-pitched wail continued for some time after it fell, gradually growing fainter and deeper with distance. I glared at the rakshasa. She was running her rough-textured tongue over her injured hind leg. The golden tigress looked up at me, lifted her lips in a snarl, and returned to her grooming. Over to one side, the snake-demon twitched and whined piteously. "Not an obstacle," I told Saibot, shaking my head. "Not even close." ***************************************************************** "Scorpion," he called himself. The fisherman I'd murdered had taken a use-name of his own. It suited him. I learned just how appropriate it was when I watched his duel against Kano. This was one battle I dared not miss. Sooner or later, Scorpion's desire for vengeance would lead him into conflict with me, and when that time came I had to know what the specter's strengths and weaknesses were. There could be no better way to learn than to watch him fight. Shang Tsung had slated the match to take place within his palace. All the Tournament's survivors so far were invited inside, to watch the spectacle. The necromancer's domain was covered with the colors of red and gold. Maroon carpeting with shining trim lay on the flat stone floor. Plush velvet covered the walls. Spaced evenly among the wall trimming were sheets of gold shaped into the Tournament's symbol, the fork-tongued dragon's head, against an abstract background design. In between the dragons hung silken scrolls of traditional Chinese paintings. I recognized a smattering of the fine art: Shih-t'ao's _Eight Views of Huang-shan_, in which a mortal observed the resplendence of a waterfall formed more of the presence of space and imagination than from mere brush strokes. _Five-colored Parakeet_, the thoughtful, rigid study of a colorful bird perched upon flowering branches, a work accredited to the decadent emperor Hui-tsung. _Fish Swimming amid Falling Flowers_, which captured a pond school so gracefully they seemed ready to swim off the silk. Shang Tsung's gallery was the only source of beauty on his entire island. There was little time to admire the hanging scrolls, however, because the armed guards escorting us through the palace prodded any who lagged behind with the sharp points of their spears. The guards outnumbered the handful of Tournament spectators five to one. They surrounded us as they lead the way through the palace's red-and-gold decked arches, to Shang Tsung's throne room. A long red carpet stretched in front of us, forming a border of sorts between the spectators and Shang Tsung. The necromancer sat atop a slightly elevated throne, with plush velvet cushions and gleaming gold backing. I held back an expression of surprise when I saw that he was unattended- No. He was not alone. Neither Goro nor his legions were at his side, yet the presence I'd sensed earlier was. Though I could neither see nor hear the presence, I was certain that it would block any attack upon Shang Tsung. Even so, I might have tried to kill the necromancer if not for the guards that encircled us all. They were constantly alert. At least eight of them had their eyes and spears fixed on me. If Shang Tsung knew that I'd come to slay him, then he probably instructed his lackeys to be excessively careful where I was concerned. I couldn't assassinate Shang Tsung under these circumstances. Scorpion stepped onto the length of red carpet. His blank white, pupilless eyes swept across the crowd of onlookers, stopping momentarily on me. His loathing was a dripping vat of psychic bile. (*This is only a diversion. We _will_ face one another in the arena. Soon. Observe, and learn what will happen to you!*) Kano followed. The outlaw's loose-fitting shirt and top, once white, had become grey with accrued grime, and touched with spatters of blood and vomit. Slung over his left shoulder was a belt with a string of ammunition casings. He carried himself at ease, thoroughly relaxed. "Hey, you," Kano drawled to the specter. "I gotta question for you. What the fuck is wrong with your eyes? You got a pair of ping-pong balls stuck in your sockets or what?" Scorpion did not answer. "Playin' it strong and silent, huh? Think you're too good to talk to scum like me?" He grimaced and withdrew a heavy fighter's knife from within his tunic. "I'm gonna rip your heart out, and then I'm gonna carve those eyes outta your skull and use 'em for table tennis!" *If my eyes fascinate you so much, Black Dragon, then LOOK INTO THEM.* Kano's sneer faded. His muscles tensed. His knife hand thrust at empty air. He sucked in his breath, and twitched his head as if trying to pull it away. The outlaw shrank back as far as he could without moving his feet, which remained rooted to the ground. He covered his throat with his free hand, attempting to protect it from something only he could see. *You are a thief and a murderer, Black Dragon. It is time you paid for your crimes!* Scorpion blinked, deliberately ending his hold over the outlaw. Kano reeled for a moment, then recovered his defiance and spat, "Save the acid trip for someone who cares!" But the tone of his voice had changed from confident to disturbed. "Prepare yourselves," Shang Tsung chuckled. Kano adjusted his hold on the hilt of his knife. Scorpion raised one arm perpendicular to his shoulders, bending his elbow and curling his fingers. "FIGHT!" Scorpion vanished the instant Shang Tsung signaled the duel's commencement. Kano's eyebrows went down in confusion. "What the f-" *Over here!* The specter allotted him just enough time to turn around before descending from the space above, driving his fist down into the outlaw's jaw. Kano staggered backward and fell to his knees, spitting up blood. Scorpion pressed his advantage, kicking the outlaw in the abdominal cavity before he could right himself. Kano snarled, baring his teeth. Springing up, he thrust the knife at Scorpion's throat. The specter saw it coming and sidestepped, at the same time shoving the heel of one hand into the side of Kano's head. Scorpion may have been a simple fisherman once, but no longer. He'd learned how to fight during his stay in the infernal depths. "You fuckin'-!" Kano swung his knife at Scorpion's waist. The specter deflected it with his empty hand, but didn't keep his palm exactly parallel to the flat of the blade. The knife's edge drew a long gash in his arm. He did not bleed so much as leak reddish wisps of Power with a hissing, crackling sound. Scorpion disappeared again. "Oh, no you don't!" This time Kano was ready for the specter's reappearance. The outlaw withdrew a second, sleeker knife from his tunic and hurled it. It spun through the air, tumbling hilt over blade over hilt, and lodged in Scorpion's high upper chest, above where the lungs would be in a living man. The specter gave with the impact, letting it flow through him like a coursing river. Kano stepped forward, presenting only the side of his body. He used his free arm to shield his neck and heart. Instead of going for the such targets, the specter dropped low and kicked out at the outlaw's ankle. Kano had made the critical mistake of placing the bulk of his weight on his front leg. He stumbled. Scorpion seized the opportunity to take hold of the outlaw's tunic and rock backwards, kicking up with one foot to propel Kano over his head. The outlaw landed with an audible . The thin carpet offered his head scant protection from the hard stone floor's brutality. His fighting knife fell out of his grasp. "Dammit!" Kano moved to get up again, but the beating he'd taken had left him disoriented. His artificial eye blinked on and off. He pressed both hands against the concussion to his forehead. Scorpion summoned his Power. The air shimmered about the arm he'd held cocked. Forces gathered and compressed themselves into a triangular blade on a short shaft, surrounded by backward-pointing barbs. Scorpion cast his sting at the outlaw. A long tendril of mystic energy tethered the spear's shaft to his hand. The tether flapped, spanning several meters before its barbed blade impaled itself in Kano's abdominal cavity. Kano made a sound halfway between a choke and a shout. *C'MERE!* The specter pulled. His spear's barbs remained hooked in the outlaw's flesh. Scorpion used both physical and mystical strength to drag his prey close. Then he let the outlaw drop, placed one foot on his chest and ripped his spear out. Its quills scooped out chunks of flesh, intestines, and torn cloth. Kano's limbs jerked; the fighter's knife fell out of his hand. Scorpion's sting faded into nothingness, its task done. Scorpion grasped the handle of the knife Kano had thrown in his chest and wrenched it out. Its edges were so sharp they left hardly any exit wound. The specter rammed the blade into the crippled outlaw's torso, consciously avoiding the heart. He did not want Kano to die just yet. The outlaw's face broke into a sweat. Though shock should have paralyzed him, he still fought to sit up, mumbling "...you just made your worst enemy..." Somehow, he managed to brace himself on one elbow and fumble to draw another knife from his bloody tunic. Scorpion removed his mask. His hood fell back at the same time, baring an expanse of white bone. With the mask on, he'd possessed a semblance of humanity, save for his blank white eyes. Now the illusion had been stripped away. A skull rested on his shoulders, its empty eye sockets and teeth frozen in the humorless grin of the dead. The skull's mandible dropped. Inferno poured from the cavity within. Kano had time for only one, short scream before the conflagration boiled the flesh off his bones. It was over in an instant. All that remained of the outlaw were ashes, and a charred skeleton with a handful of knives lying upon its hollow ribcage. It was a shame, really. I'd almost been looking forward to the chance to kill him. Scorpion fixed his empty eye sockets on me. (*Do you see, assassin?*) his sepulchral voice pounded in my mind. (*This is what I will do to YOU! You will SUFFER and DIE for MURDERING ME!*) An illogical desire to reply possessed me, but what could I have said? Sorry I killed you? That wouldn't have the dubious value of being true. I'd lost the ability to repent a long time ago. I felt vexation for breaking my code of honor, but that is not the same thing- -I shook my head, bewildered by the strange thoughts going through it. I'd been in this cursed place for so long that it had to be warping my mind. Lin Kuei do not have regrets. Lin Kuei do not apologize. Not if they are sane.