A/N: I'm finally done revising this story! I was looking over it a while back and decided it need a completely new outlook. Writing it from Kung Lao's perspective the first time wasn't exactly a great idea on my side. I prefer the idea of it being third person, which is what I've changed it too, along with a few other things. And I think I was making Kung Lao sound a bit too sad and 'I'm so lost and screwed'. Basically just making him remark on his depression and loss too much.
Anyway, now that that's said, I really hope everyone likes the new changes! Lots of thanks for all those previous reviews for the original version! For those of you who are just reading this story for the first time, I hope you enjoy and for those of you who have read before, I hope you're just as happy about the new changes as I am. :) Please remember to review!
Kung Lao runs blindly. The massive outstretched Outrealm army blossoms chaos all around him, but that does not matter to him now. The screams of Earthrealm's people and the wretched howls of blood-lust beasts, the explosions, and the sharp chatter of gunfire bursts, none of it matters.
The loud smacking of his feet hitting cement pavement is deafened by the destruction surrounding him. No tries to stop him or pays him any heed. He is just another frantic Earthrealm citizen trying to escape this film-like horror. Except it is not escape Kung Lao seeks, but his fellow Shaolin monk.
The young warrior knows where Liu Kang is, and his heart flutters with relief as he cuts around a build's corner to see the towering building he seeks. Shao Khan will enter Earthrealm from atop that structure's roof, and that is where Liu Kang will be awaiting him. Kung Lao swears he knows for he had torn the knowledge from a stubborn Tarkatan warrior.
His intense years of training with the Shoalin are aiding him greatly now. He feels no exhaustion from running the great distance he has, and he does not need to pause before he rushes onto the road. A fear consumed driver zooms past, narrowly managing to miss hitting the warrior. Adrenaline seethes into the monk's blood, and he scrambles the rest of the way across the road more cautiously. Near death experiences always have this affect. The great Shaolin Master had taught him that it was the Elder Gods giving a warrior his strength because of a near met demise.
Kung Lao needs strength now. For he feels no matter how to exerts himself to hasten, he still feels as though he is moving in a slow motion. Anxiety begins to throw its shadow upon him as he find his thoughts wrapping around the notion of Liu Kang in desperate need of his help. Never has Kung Lao felt such an overcoming sense of fear.
He rips open the building's door and rushes inside. The world outside still forces its great clamor through the broken windows, but it is, nevertheless, quieter inside. Kung Lao stands motionless, breathing heavily. He ignores the knowledge that teleportation requires a concentrated amount of energy that he should conserve for later and uses his power to move through the structure's many floors. Even so, time still seems to throw itself against him despite this rapid pace. Each floor brings him closer… he can almost feel New York's cool outdoor air.
Finally the crisp breeze hits him. Relief floods through the monk, but it is acidly short-lived. He turns around to see Liu Kang lying motionless on the roof. His body is a limp heap and his eyes are closed. Lord Raiden kneels beside him, overlooking his body with an emotion the Shaolin monk does not heed to acknowledge: grief. Revenge is like venom, seething into the blood and spreading like a merciless flame fueled by its own endless passion burn.
Kung Lao's entire body goes rigid.
Every day spent training his skills to undoubting perfection seemed like a squander of time. Victory, praise, and the tournaments all seem like a squander of time. The very sight he had feared mocks him. His body seems to waver and sway as if the slightest pick up of the breeze could send him tumbling. His knees are weak. He could fall so easily, or he could rush forth and steal Raiden's life as he had stolen his friend's. But he does not. Cannot.
The realm Liu Kang had so valiantly tried to defend… and for him to perish like this? Killed by the Thundergod who had swore to protect Earthrealm and her people? Was Liu Kang not good enough? Was this another sacrifice Raiden had found necessary?
Kung Lao's last strands of faith for the Thundergod crumble and burn. Anger mixes with the pain, drowning him in a harsh sorrow.
Raiden looks to him suddenly, and their eyes meet. Surprise easily shows within the pure whiteness of the Thundergod's, while full-fledged hate boils with the Shaolin monk's. Nothing. There is nothing left for Kung Lao here. He can bring himself to do no more than flee. Flee from the place he had so unambiguously come to, lest he bring down his wrath upon the man before him. He hears Raiden call his name to stop, but the monk pays no heed.
Kung Lao leaps from the towering building's roof, for it is the fastest means to teleport. For a moment he considers letting himself fall, to simply feel the thrill of air whooshing past, blurring the destruction as he drops from an eighty-story building. But when he looks down, his heart lurches, and he is given a shrewd reminder of is undeniable fear for heights. It constrains him to use his teleportation.
After a moment he opens his eyes, having closed them like he usually prefers to do. The strong green enclosing of nature and solitude welcomes his sight. And silence. A silence that is so thick in comparison to the thundering sounds of New York's destruction it feels illusory.
He wobbly stands up and searches his surroundings curiously, but his gaze stops suddenly when he catches sight of something. A large peach tree yielding its fruit is growing a few feet behind him.
Memories strike him like a sharp blow, and flow fluently through his mind. This is the tree Liu Kang and he and commonly played upon when they were younger. Even when they aged, they had still found solitude and comfort under or on its healthy branches.
Somehow the monk is not surprised he had come to the place where so many of the fondest memories had been shared. He slowly walks toward the tree. The coarse bark is cool beneath his fingertips, and it brings back terribly vague memories of leaning against the tree sweating madly from the sun's merciless heat. Kung Lao leans against it now, using its strength and determination, as he has none left.
Liu Kang and him had once called this tree The Old Story, because it had seemed so large and hearty when they had first discovered it when coming to train as Shaolin monks. Perhaps they were wrong to assume it was so old, but they had always believed it was.
Frustration swells within Kung Lao's heart, and he can feel the venom spreading. But how can he stop it? It doesn't matter now. He doesn't care. Grabbing his bladed hat, he throws it into the soft grass before him in anger.
How could Raiden have done this? How would he? Liu Kang had trusted and believed in him and all for this?
A loud emotionally festered scream articulates from him, and he punches the tree's hard trunk. Pressing his head against the coarseness, he clenches his teeth at the pain swelling within his knuckles. Despite many endured hardships he cannot stop the tears that suddenly begin to flow so freely.
"Liu Kang…" he numbly mumbles. No matter how many times he whispers his name his soul will not return to his body. But even so he finds comfort in saying what has followed him for most of his life. The monk sinks to his knees to rest against the peach tree.
He hopes he dies here. Dies where Liu Kang and him had laughed, smiled, and shared so many secrets, where they had grew up together.
