A/N: Takes place roughly ten to eight years before Mortal Kombat: Rebirth.

Deep in the heart of Japan, a man wandered aimlessly, he was not lost. He knew exactly where he was, what day it was, and where he was currently heading. However, he never intended to go to the small city. In fact, he would've preferred had his path taken him elsewhere, but, it was pointless to change paths.

He was around twenty years of age, and a bit shorter. His jet black hair was tied into a pony-tail. He had a bit of stubble on his chin, but not enough to be disrespectful. He was wearing a red and black outfit. His sleeves went to his elbows, while his hands were covered by black gloves. His coat had a cape-like quality, slightly fluttering in the wind. The center of the torso was red, while the rest of his upper outfit was black. The underside of his cape was red, while the outer was black. He had black combat boots, and black pants. Tied around his waist was a red and black sash. Strapped to his back, two swords were clearly evident.

He heard a crack. He turned, knowing he was being followed. He sighed. It seemed this happened every day. He'd run into someone who thought they were the shit, then he'd have to teach them a lesson. It'd be one thing if the steps kept coming; that would signify that whoever was there either had no knowledge of him or they had no business with him. But, when he turned, they stopped. Whoever they were, whatever they wanted, they intended to do something to him.

He turned back, continuing on his way. The cracks of the branches were few and far between, but they were there. He stopped at a brief clearing. He looked around. Nobody. At least, that was what sight told him. His other senses told him otherwise.

He could feel the difference in the air, the distinct bird calls, and the smell. It smelled like cheap cigarettes. They clearly weren't professionals. The stench of alcohol burned his nostrils, making him think they came from a bar, and now they were looking for trouble. How they were able to stay hidden was a mystery to him. He reach for his right hand sword, pulling it out slowly. The pale moonlight glistening off the blade. He turned, expecting to see a group of men.

He got what he asked for.

There were five large men, each carrying a gun. This wasn't going to be easy. In fact, it would be impossible. He slowly slid his sword back in its scabbard, holding his hands up. He spoke. "I'm not looking for any trouble."

The center guy, a man with a dragon tattoo on his left arm, stepped closer to him. "Funny how life works, isn't it, little man?"

While the remark was cruel, he knew it to be true. He was about six-foot-one, the tattooed man towering over him. It would be easy to pull out his sword and cut him down. But could he get away from the other four before they tear him to bits?

He looked closer at the guns. AKs. They would put holes in him quicker than he could move away from the tattooed guy's body. He started to unbuckle his pouch, carrying all of his money. He offered it to the man, who swiped it out of his hands.

He opened it. He saw seven hundred yen, and a few coins. He looked up at the man, and complained, "Seven-hundred yen? That's all you've got?" He nodded lightly. "I have more than that in my shoe." The tattooed man noticed the swords. "Give me those."

The man frowned.

"What's the matter? Don't want to give up your precious knives?"

Complying, he removed both swords. He placed them on the ground, and backed off. The tattooed man laughed. "Yeah, that's right. Run along now," he mocked, picking them up. His group turned to walk, but the tattooed man stopped.

The others looked back with questioning looks. But he just stood there with a surprised look in his eyes. Blood trickled from the corners of his mouth and down his nose. His AK was raised, firing onto two of the harassers. The remaining two ducked for cover, leaving the two to fall.

The tattooed man fell to the ground, the man pulling a knife out of his back. He looked at the two men cowering for their lives. He threw a knife into one of their skulls, leaving only one left. The man eyed him down viciously. He stalked towards him, twirling the blade in his hand. He grabbed him by the neck, hoisting him up.

The man growled, "Tell your friends about me. Say, 'Leave him alone.'" He dropped the shivering man, turning back to continue on his way.

"Who are you?" the man quivered.

He turned back to look at him and calmly declared, "Kenshi."

Kenshi grabbed the swords, and strapped them back to his back, while the quivering man ran away.

The swordsman snorted at the man's cowardly nature. True, Kenshi was holding him by the neck, but he could've easily fired off a shot before he got to him. He supposed some people were just idiots.

He knelt down next to the tattooed man, who was quivering on the ground. He was pleading, "Please. Don't—." Kenshi plunged the knife into his neck before he got the chance to finish. He searched the man, finding about around nine thousand yen. Good enough. No way could this guy, who probably spent more time in a bar than at a workplace, conjure up that much money. Not that he was complaining right now. It added to his bank.

He took a last second to survey the death. It was the twenty-first century, yet you still needed to worry about getting jumped in the forest. He put that though away for later continuing on his journey.

It was half past noon when he finally reached the town. Now was as good as any to restock on supplies.

When Kenshi first stepped into the town, he received a few strange glances. It was a small place. A nice area to live. Shame that he wasn't looking for that. He walked over to the shopping center, finding more than enough for his trip. He saw a older man working a little kiosk, which was modest, but it had a few customers there.

He stepped in front of the counter, looking around. There wasn't much here. But he was hungry, and he needed something to eat. He paid for a ham and turkey sandwich. Thanking the man, he sat down on a nearby bench, enjoying the food by himself.

He observed the crowd of people with a keen eye, picking out anyone of interest. He took another bite, feeling the wad of food falling down his throat. He saw an old man, older than the one at the kiosk. Despite this, he still had a head of dark hair. He was clean shaven. He was wearing a black robe with white details. He was walking towards Kenshi. The swordsman eyed the man suspiciously. Whoever he was, Kenshi didn't want to take his eyes off him. Something felt… off about this man.

Either way, he made room when the man sat down next to him. Kenshi finished off his meal, wiping his hands and mouth with a napkin.

The old man spoke first. "Nice city, huh?" Kenshi confirmed with a nod, not saying a word.

The man looked at Kenshi. He asked, "You're not from around here, are you?"

"I'm not from around anywhere," Kenshi affirmed.

The old man looked impressed. "From the look of those blades, you are a swordsman, no?"

"So I've been told."

"Then I'm assuming you are training, correct?"

Kenshi looked at the old man in the eyes. "Is taking part in people's personal lives a habit of yours?"

The old man held up his hands in defense. He reassured, "I am merely asking, young one." He looked around. "You see, there's a competition going on, and I think you would be interested."

Kenshi's eyes narrowed. "What kind of competition?" he calmly demanded.

"Only to see who the best swordsman is! Of course, it's only locally, but they let outsiders participate."

Competition, huh? Kenshi pondered. "Is there a prize?"

"Only about thirty thousand yen, but it is well worth it," the man replied.

Kenshi weighed his options. He didn't have much money, and what little he did have would go towards hotel and food. It would be nice to have some spending money. Kenshi grinned. "When do we begin?"

"The tournament's in a few hours, more than enough time to get ready." The old man stood, clearly ecstatic. "Come, we must get you sign up, um… I'm sorry, we weren't formally introduced."

"Kenshi," the swordsman answered.

The old man took the hand Kenshi did not extend, shaking it madly. "A fitting name for one such as yourself." The man smiled. "My name is Song."

Kenshi and Song stepped into the arena. It was a modest place, similar to the town, but there was a sense of personality here. It clearly belonged to this town. Kenshi looked at Song. "You said this was to the death, right?"

"You can, although they prefer if you don't," Song confirmed. "Why? Is this a problem?"

"No," Kenshi assured. "It just means I can cut loose."

They took their positions to the side of the fighting area. The crowd was going wild. Currently, two very large men were dueling. One had a double-sided broadsword, while the other was wielding an ax. The battle had clearly taken a toll on both. The ax wielder was able to confuse the sword wielder, tripping him up. He brought the ax down, cutting into his sternum. Thankfully, the blow killed him instantly.

The winner held out his arms, welcoming the cheers. Kenshi smirked. "He's good. I almost didn't see that coming."

Song looked at Kensh confused. "What do you mean, almost?"

"When he leaned back, that was when he was getting ready to trip him. He used his opponent's momentum and stupidity against him. Still, they were both good."

The announcer yelled, "Alright, ladies and gentlemen! Today, we have a newcomer! He'll be fighting the great, the powerful, Ozaru!"

A rather large, hairy man stood, a claymore strapped to his back. He would easily tower over Kenshi when standing. His hair was spiked up in a bad Mohawk. A dragon tattoo was etched onto the right side of his face, covering up a nasty scar. The crowd went nuts. Clearly this wasn't his first competition.

Kenshi remained seated, ready for his name to be called. "Now, I know next to nothing about this next contestant!" the announcer called out. "But I can introduce him for you! Kenshi!"

He walked up to Ozaru, who had a smug grin on his face. I shouldn't talk, thought Kenshi, as he had the exact same grin. They looked each other in the eyes. Ozaru easily stood several heads above Kenshi. Kenshi found himself looking up at the man's face, his neck craned back at a ninety degree angle.

"What I'm about to do to you," Ozaru commented, "…nothing personal."

"Likewise," Kenshi agreed.

He placed his hand on both of his swords, pulling them out slowly. Ozaru did the same, clutching his claymore with both hands. Both glared at each other, peering into one another's soul. Ozaru smiled wickedly, while Kenshi maintained the same grin.

"Begin!"

Ozaru charged at Kenshi. The dual swordsman stayed standing, not moving an inch. Finally, as the man of hair was about come down with the sword, he quickly evaded the attack. The claymore cracked the ground slightly, but it was lifted as quickly, going for Kenshi's throat. He backed up, easily avoiding the slash.

Ozaru swung his sword to the left horizontally and down vertically, both of which Kenshi avoided. Just as another swipe was about to hit him, he blocked the blow with both swords. Ozaru looked dumbstruck, as Kenshi kicked him away. The lone swordsman twirled both his swords, looking down at the fallen giant. Ozaru got to his feet, fuming.

He ran at Kenshi, yelling at the top of his lungs. Kenshi's defense tightened as the onslaught of attacks came. But no matter what he did, Ozaru couldn't land an attack. The lone swordsman appeared to have the giant hopelessly outmatched. Ozaru went for a stab, hoping that something, anything, would work.

Kenshi used his swords to push the blade up just before it impaled him. Using Ozaru's momentum, Kenshi thrust a sword into his gut. They both silently stood there. Kenshi's grin couldn't get any bigger. He dislodged the weapon from the giant's gut before placing the bloodied one, as well as the clean one, back in their sheaths.

Ozaru's jaw was dropped. The crowd was silent. The lone swordsman walked away from the standing giant. Slowly, the giant fell forward. Ozaru landed on the ground with a loud thud, shaking everyone in the arena to the core. Ozaru was actually a five time winner. He's never been beaten. And to think the newbie did him in. That thought alone angered the others viewing the fight.

The entire competition continued like this. There would be some good fights, but Kenshi practically decimated everyone within a minute. All that was left was the guy with the ax. And he'd always use that trick. No matter what, that was how he always won. Kenshi had to find a way to use that against him. And their match was next.

Yippee.

Kenshi had barely broken a sweat, but he got the feeling that this was going to be different. This guy had gotten aggressive more so than the first match. That also made him more dangerous.

They both walked to the center of the arena, not daring to take their eyes off each other. Kenshi already had his swords out, as had the man with the ax. There were no words exchanged. There wasn't even an announcement that the fight was starting. Bot man simply ran at each other.

Kenshi leaped over the man, giving him a deep gash across the back as he landed. He retaliated by swinging the blade almost too quick for the lone warrior to avoid. He earned a scar across the chest for his troubles, however, causing him to grit his teeth. He swung both swords around, attempting to slice something off. But he couldn't get a hit on the man. The larger fighter swung the blade wildly, causing Kenshi to back up. He could only block swings from the ax, as he couldn't bring up a counter attack quick enough. He ducked down low, allowing the weapon to make a complete swipe, just narrowly missing the top of his head.

The swordsman spun in a circle with a leg out, tripping him down. He raised both swords, ready to strike, but the blow was blocked by the ax's handle. Strong ax. The man kicked Kenshi's legs out from under him, earning a yelp of surprise. His opponent raised his ax, bringing it down upon the swordsman. He rolled out of the way, narrowly missing the ax hitting the ground, causing it to be lodged into the ground. Kenshi kicked the large man away, leaving the blade in the ground. He charged the warrior, swords ready to taste blood. He stabbed at the man, who had to quickly side step out of the way to avoid being impaled. The man elbowed him in the back, sending him to the ground. One of his swords were thrown to the side, while he let go of the other.

Kenshi got to his hands and knees, but a searing pain sent him back down. He looked back. The remaining sword was lodged in his shoulder, blood seeping out of the wound. He reached for the hilt. Pain lanced through his entire body. He gritted his teeth and stood, sending the sword deeper into his shoulder, and pulled the sword out. He stood, clutching his wound with one hand and holding the sword with another.

Giving up crossed his mind. Surrender felt good. But Kenshi's pride wouldn't allow him. He stumbled towards his opponent, who stood his ground. The sword was swung lazily towards the warrior. He just backed up slightly, the blade mere inches from his face. He grabbed Kenshi by the throat hoisting him up above the ground.

"You killed every single one of them," he spat. "I'm going to kill you slowly."

Kenshi reached under his cape, murmuring, "Think you'll get the chance?"

The man's pressure tightened. The swordsman's throat enclosed now. "Maybe I should just kill you now, save everyone the trouble of ever dealing with you again."

Kenshi pulled out a knife, keeping it hidden. "Good luck with that."

He sent the blade into his opponent's jugular with lightning fast speed. Blood shot out from the warrior's neck, getting it on Kenshi's face for a brief second, but slowly poured down. He dropped the swordsman, instead focusing on covering the wound. His hands were drenched with blood, dyeing them red. He looked up at the swordsman, burning fearing seared into his eyes, despite the glossed over appearance.

The man fell to the ground, a loud thud accompanying the fall. Kenshi wavered in place. Blood began dripping from his mouth, yet there was still a smirk planted firmly on his face. It was still there even when he fell on his back, limbs splayed outward. The last thing he saw before giving into the blackness was Song looking down on him with an angry grimace.

A bright light burned through his closed eyes. Kenshi raised his arm to cover the light, but a voice shouted at him. "Don't! You'll reopen the stiches!"

Song?

Kenshi looked up at Song, who rushed to his side. "Do you realize how long that took?"

"I'm guessing quite a few hours," Kenshi remarked. He looked down at his shoulder, seeing the large, freshly stitched scar. "How long was I out?"

"Only a few days," Song replied. Pouring a glass of water, he gave it to Kenshi's uninjured arm. The swordsman down the drink quickly, handing the glass back to Song. "Thisty?" Song asked jokingly.

The swordsman nodded, motioning for another. After three glasses of water, he asked, "Where am I?"

"My room," replied Song. "I had to bring you here so the others wouldn't kill you." He pulled out a pouch. "But I was able to get this."

He looked closely at it. His eyebrow was raised quizzically. "Is that the money?"

"Per the rules, they gave us the money, despite how much you angered them."

"I only fought as the rules allowed."

"Remember what I said before the first fight?"

"Something about-."

"'They prefer it if you don't kill.' And I meant that." He handed Kenshi the pouch. "That's half the winning, although it is worthless next to—Nevermind."

Kenshi propped himself up on his elbow. "Next to what?"

Song looked at Kenshi suspiciously. "It is said, that deep in the mountains, there is a sword."

Kenshi looked disappointed. He slumped back in his bed, exhaling loudly. "A sword, huh?" he asked, disinterested.

"Oh, yes. In fact, legend claims that it is over six hundred years old."

Rolling his eyes, the swordsman claimed, "Pretty old sword…"

Song leaned in closer. "Only a true swordsman is allowed to wield the sword. No one knows who forged the sword, only that it is potentially the most powerful in all of existence."

Yeah, right, thought Kenshi. "Okay, say this sword does exist. Where is it?"

"Like I said, deep in the mountains. About a week's walk, at most," assured Song. He gave Kenshi his sword. He smiled. "I wasn't able to acquire the other sword. It was lost in the crowd of anger."

Kenshi's smile faded quickly. He looked down at the sword. Great, he thought, now I need a new one. He looked up at Song. "Do you have an exact location?"

"On your sword?"

"No, the ancient one."

"I'm afraid not. However, I do know it is northeast. There should be a large opening, with many witchcraft objects around." He shuddered comically. "Scary stuff."

"When will I be able to walk?"

"I'd give you about three weeks before I feel comfortable letting you leave." He snorted. "Even then, I feel like you're just going to kill yourself on the way there."

Kenshi waved him off. "I'll be fine. I'll stay for three weeks. Then, I'm going to get that sword."

"Now you're interested, huh?"

"I don't have the materials necessary to forge a new sword, plus buying one is money I don't want to spend. Sure, it'll be quite the walk, but it's a free sword."

Song shrugged. "Just be sure to come back here so I can get a good look with it."

"You don't want it?"

The old man motioned to himself. "Look at me. What would I need with a sword? Merely knowing about its existence is enough for me."

"And if I find the cave and there is nothing there?"

"Then I will give you my half of the money. There is no way you will come out of this journey without something."

Kenshi nodded. "Three weeks. In three weeks, I'm out of here."

Four weeks later,

The journey had been uneventful. Kenshi just walked from point A to point B. Either way, the searing pain in his chest never seemed to stop. It had even gotten worse since leaving Song. His entire left arm had bandage wrapped around it.

He left about a week ago. His trek through the mountains was strenuous, and because of his shoulder, he had to stop more than once. But he was close, so close he could taste it. It would be good to have such a great weapon, if what Song spoke about it was true. However, he didn't hold his breath. He made sure to pack enough for a trip back, thinking for sure he was on some wild goose chase.

I swear if I'm walking into nothing, I'm going to kill someone, Kenshi thought to himself. His thoughts were interrupted when he hit a wall. He rubbed his nose, making sure it wasn't broke and looked up. His path was blocked by stone. The only way through was a small crack, barely big enough to fit him alone. He felt his hilt, knowing he'd have to take it off if he wanted through. He unclipped it, and put it aside. He took in a breath of air, and squeezed through.

At least now I know what a T.V. dinner feels like. He felt as though the walls were growing slightly narrower. Finally, he made his way through the crevice, muttering curses along the way. Once he made it through, he saw the cave. He looked around, seeing poles with animal heads, skulls, and all sorts of freakiness around. Several skeletons were strung up by the neck, with some still having a bit of meat on them.

If Kenshi could go the rest of his life without seeing something like this again, it would be too soon. He stepped into the opening, the darkness enveloping him quickly. He looked back, asking himself, Is this a good idea? He stepped in further. The light from the opening got just a bit dimmer. Sweat began dripping down his face. An unfamiliar emotion began to creep up on him, an emotion he hasn't felt since he lost his parents.

Fear.

Fear of what's to come, fear of the consequences, and fear of what lies beyond.

But he didn't plan of being fear's bitch.

He took another step. A small chuckle began to fill the cave. Don't give in, Kenshi told himself. It's just in your head. He took out a flashlight, flipping it on. It took a couple seconds, and hitting it with his palm, but the light turned on. He moved it around, getting a good look. Sure, the cave was creepy, but he couldn't tell what was so different about this cave than any others. He didn't like caves in general, but this one actually frightened him. He walked for about twenty feet when he came to a wall. This wall was different. It was protruding outward oddly.

Some kanji were written across the wall. They read, "Only those worthy may wield the Sword of Sento."

That at least gave him a name. Sento? Weird name, Kenshi pondered. Although Kenshi isn't all that common.

He placed his hand on the stone, rubbing his hand along it. He craned his neck, getting a good look at the twenty-five foot ceiling. He scrunched his face up, straining his eyes in the dim light. Even with the flashlight pointed upwards, the blackness seemed to destroy light before it went too far. He looked back at the slab of stone. What do I do?

Putting his hand on the stone again, he felt for any inconsistencies in the texture. After a good thirty seconds of prodding, he found piece of stone elevated slightly. He pushed down on it. The kanji burst into a bright blue glow, finally showing off the entire cave in full. It wasn't much, but there were symbols that not even he knew. He stepped closer to one, but the slab began to open. Turning back, his eyes widened with awe.

A small room revealed itself to Kenshi. Based on looks alone, it seemed no different than the outer cave, save a column raising up in the middle. Imbedded in that column was a katana. Its handle was red and gold, while the blade had a dragon along the side of it. Tied to the end was a piece of long, red cloth. He stepped closer, reaching his hand out. Grabbing it, he pulled it out.

That was when his life changed forever.

Green beings burst out of the sword, circling Kenshi. He reached for his own, then remembered he left it behind. Cursing himself, he eyed the beings cautiously. He counted six in total. The closest one, and the one unnoticed, picked Kenshi up through some unseen force. The swordsman was hoisted up to eye level with the being. It looked Kenshi directly in the eyes, and grabbed his head. It opened its mouth, roaring at Kenshi.

He screamed.

A burst of green light began to cloud his vision, then nothing. He fell to the ground hard, probably breaking a bone. He looked around, but saw nothing. And he used that term literally. The column, the sword, the beings, nothing. Just black.

"Congratulations," a voice told him.

He turned his head towards the source of the sound. "Who's there?" he yelled. That voice sounded familiar.

"I never though the effects would be like this," the voice continued on, the sound of footsteps nearing him. "I had originally thought the curse would kill you. Oh, well. You win some, you lose some."

Pinpointing the voice, Kenshi inquired, "Song?"

"There is no Song!" He sounded angry. "Song was just a figment, nothing more, nothing less. Understand, fool?"

"W-Why?"

A deep inhale was heard. "The inscription on the door is true. Only those worthy may wield the sword. Anyone may open that door. However, once you are in, it is said they try to kill you." He huffed. "Not even I know the full story, only snippets. Never did I suspect that you would be blinded."

The footsteps grew louder. "This must be their test. Good test."

Kenshi crawled forward. "Who are you?"

"I go by many names. Perhaps you know me as… Shang Tsung."

His grandfather told him stories of the mythical Shang Tsung. That, if you were naughty, he would steal your soul. Turns out he was right. Except he had a feeling it wasn't just people who were naughty get their souls taken. "You… bastard."

"Oh, you thought I only wanted to know of the swords existence? I've known of this sword since before you were even born. I merely wanted what it contained."

Kenshi put two and two together. "Souls?"

"Exactly! But enough talk. I have my souls, you have your sword." He heard a jingle. "Here. I won't be needing this." Something landed in front of the now blind swordsman. He reached out for it. A pouch. "Maybe, one day, we will meet in hell, Kenshi. But until then, sayonara." Slowly, the footsteps grew quitter.

Just before they disappeared, Kenshi howled, at the top of his lungs, "I WILL KILL YOU!" The footsteps stopped abruptly. "There is nowhere on this Earth you can hide from me, do you understand, Shang Tsung!"

He heard laughter, footsteps joining the laughter. He heard the laughing long after the footsteps faded away, mocking him. Kenshi fell to the ground, unable to move.

"Kenshi."

Kenshi's head shot up. He turned his head around. This voice was calm, with a sense of compassion, giving him the sense that he need not be afraid. He felt a rush of cold air against his skin. It calmed him greatly.

"W-Who's there?" he stammered out.

The voice said, "We are the collective will that composites that Sword of Sento. We have been able to escape becoming a part of Shang Tsung. However, if he is not stopped, he will cause untold havoc."

Kenshi crawled towards the voice. "W-What…?"

"He uses the souls he collects to enhance his own power, to better himself. One day, We fear he may become too powerful. We must stop him before that happens."

"I don't want to stop him. I'm going to kill him," the swordsman hissed.

"And We can guide you, child. All you need to do is grab your birth right."

"My-?"

"Several hundred years ago, your ancestors forged this sword. It was handed down for many generations before being lost to time."

"Then why did it blind me?"

"The curse put onto blade was meant to keep it out of the wrong hands. However, the sorceress could not make it differentiate between friend and foe."

Kenshi clenched his hand. So that's why that bastard led me here.

"If you take hold of the sword, you will be able to make it out of this cave, and take hold of your vengeance."

A faint glow appeared to the swordsman. He reached out to it, but grabbed nothing. He readjusted his aim, and took hold of the blade's hilt.

He was able to, for lack of a better term, see. However, he could only make out faint outlines. He couldn't tell a rock from a piece of metal. That is, however, except his sword. To him, the sword was as clear to him as when he first laid eyes on it.

Kenshi took hold of the piece of cloth, and wrapped it around his eyes. He tied it into a knot, and held the sword tightly.

He took a step forward. The step felt like a gong went off. He clutched his head, dropping the sword. While it was a well-known fact that, in absence of sight, a human's remaining four senses were heightened. He guessed that it wasn't like this. He seemed to have a radar sense.

"That'll take some getting used to," he told himself. He made his way out of the cave, basking in the sunlight.

He spoke to the sword. "Sento, I don't know if you can hear me anymore. But I just wanted to say, thank you. Without you, I'd still be in that damn cave. I owe you my life."

Squeezing through the small opening once again, he grabbed the sword he left behind. He pulled it out, and let it drop. Swinging the scabbard on his back, he sheathed the Sento. "As you as my witness, Shang Tsung will die by this blade," Kenshi vowed.

He walked off, head held high. Nothing would stop him now.

A/N: Huge props to iceagnelmkx, who, after I posted this edited all the mistakes she noticed for me. Thank you!

Spino, out.