- Prologue: From Foxes To Thunder Gods -

Deepest mauve and bleeding the entire spectrum of crimson, the mote-filled eve of dusk fell on the proud shoulders of the Himalayas and serenely painted the snow and sky alike with brushes of rose and indigo interwoven with pure jet. Pine and alder locked in endless kombat for dominance, the freshly crushed crystalline powder that coated the sapped jade foliage took on more of a teal color in the encroaching night, while the rocks shifted in their damask hues. Transformed by pitiless gray-violet shadows into shapeless protrusions that not only jutted out but gave in secretly, the land itself was on the defensive as it blotted out the scenery and set countless death-traps for even the most weary of travelers. Hanzo Hasashi had traveled to hell and back so the mountains held little terror for him, but alas, his apprentice was not nearly as fortunate in traversing no-man's land.

Entombed within the very heart of the mighty mountains themselves, there was no denying that the frigid seclusion was the perfect backdrop to house the new iteration of Shirai Ryu; the Grandmaster had chosen the location well as to deter unwanted visitors, but even he himself was only so familiar with the surrounding hinterland. Before the bloodshed had begun anew, the retreat had been a peaceful environment, safe and soundly secure. Creating a state of being akin to living bliss, the tranquility had even been profound enough to fool the scarred shinobi into believing that the pain of the past was just that, although on the best of days it could have almost been thought of as a bad dream from another life. Naturally that had been the ideal time for the unthinkable to happen: one of their own had been corrupted and slaughtered all but a single peer and the Grandmaster himself. Driven from their home and new family and into the caring-yet-cruel arms of Mother Nature, the last two survivors had every intention to head for the Sky Temple to make the God of Thunder answer for what had transpired.

Eyes like rained on slate roving innately to a relatively flat stretch of milky wine that would offer moderate shelter for the night - the reprieve of silent single-file footfalls only occurring due to Hanzo permitting his ward a moment to collect his bearings - even the boy's training and warm furs weren't enough to quell the shiver coloring his tone as he paused to speak, "Shouldn't we stop to make camp?"

Prior to that damned dagger causing all this trouble the boy had yet to demonstrate a true warrior's sense, but when Fox attacked them... Takeda encapsulated the traits all Shirai Ryu ought to live by, as well as proved that he was worthy of the Takahashi name - whether he willed it or not. Uniquely placed in the position of being vilified by the pupil while the master was greatly indebted, the blind telekinetic swordsman would have been proud of his son. And yet there was no denying that being puffed up by a good two inches of fur and down caused the youth to look for all the world like a furry marshmallow of fury. "Traveling under conditions like these is enough to kill if we don't keep our wits about us." Soothing on the psyche as it was to have his master and final life-line in his presence, there was only so much reserve strength the boy could tap into after witnessing the massacre of the entire clan.

Nightfall was always a dangerous time, more oft than not full of demons and horror, but under the threat of pursuit in an unfamiliar territory it was not difficult to guess that the cold seeping though the child's bones had only so much to do with the elements. Situation not an entirely unfamiliar one, in all truthfulness Hanzo felt the caress of unease at every shifting shadow and rustle of wind - not that his own training would ever permit it to reflect upon the stone-cold surface - however his concerns had little and less to do with Forrest Fox and quite possibly everything to do with his own past. Kinder than he deserved after every vile act he had been compelled to commit it, would have been simpler to claim that it was more of Scorpion's past than his own - cleaner even - yet the truth of the matter was that he was just as responsible as the wraith for his actions.

Lost and insignificant amongst the rampaging gusts that were the echoes of angry gods and wounded souls, the jealously guarded alias that subsequently fell from the shinobi's tongue would have sounded like a curse if the former wraith hadn't uttered it in a less than a whisper. Supposing for an impossible moment that the world had died to a frozen hush, Takeda never would have heard of the myrmidon; if the infamously yellow ninja was correct and the new tag was indeed who he thought it was, there was no way in any of the realms that the natural born hellion mistook the groan. To say that things had ended amiably between them would have been a severely poor, sick, sick joke - if the Shirai Ryu was just as tainted by the shameful mantle of guilt as his other darker self, it meant that the fellow servant of Quan Chi was just as complicit as he was. The Elder Gods alone knew how much that damned devil had to atone for, assuming for even an instant that the succubus was even capable of feeling remorse.

Either way the man looked at the ongoing circumstance, the faint crunch of frigid crystalline powder was too loud to belong to local wildlife that had long since adapted to methods of silence and stealth, the botched yet carefully timed spacing of footfalls suspiciously mirroring his own steps. Snow only able to do so much to muffle, another dead giveaway to the fact that they were being followed was the odd ungraceful slip-up and snapping twig hounding their progress. A novice perhaps, or an agent with wells of patience and a twisted agenda that served no one to dwell on. Conspicuous and emphatic as the signs were, whoever or whatever was tailing the pair of Earthrealm ninja was being cautious enough to keep some distance between them; Hanzo could have been mistaken, but it seemed to him that the dog barking at his heels wanted to make contact but was unsure of the best way to approach.

Granted the abundance of wild juniper dotting the mountain range revived a number of memories - not all of which were unpleasant - and that ungrateful monster's influence was stamped across recent thought, his mind immediately sprung to the pale hellion, though after their last encounter the traitor would be less than keen to face him.

Unless the absconder's situation had become that dire...

Observing the facts objectively, the former specter of vengeance did not need to be educated in the deadly arts to acknowledge the vast majority would have either masked their presence or attacked by now, again barring the outcome of a murdering psychopath with the tendency to earn their victim's trust before skinning the sap alive and cannibalizing the remains. Still though, even in spite of the lack of malicious intent whatever beast was tracking them reeked with the scent of blood, which any kombatant worth their salt didn't need to be informed boded ill...

Direct from the mouth of a babe, just as the old proverb went: perhaps young Takeda was right and this would be a prudent time to rest - appearing to be otherwise occupied and therefore vulnerable might even draw their stalker out into the open, though naturally this would be a dicey gamble. Relenting to wisdom the shinobi lowered his neck and agreed, "Very well Takeda." Victory short-lived from the uncertain look to ghost across his countenance, the poor kid was clearly frightened enough without adding to the fire, and besides, if the shadows were masking a malevolent presence then this would be the exact opportunity they were waiting for to turn the tide. "You prepare shelter while I scout out the area to make sure we're not being followed." A cheerful thought for a wonderful wasteland such as this, but it was undeniable that if they were going to get caught by the demon that possessed Fox, they'd already be dead by now.

Departing for the densest part of the bush with nary a ceremony, Hanzo left the boy with what he would need to make a small camp and defend himself, eyes, ears, and nose perked for the slightest noise or suspicious bump in the night as he melted into the darkness. The last thing the boy heard before he was completely on his own a final piece of advice, "Takeda, keep your guard up."

Many Years Ago...

Naked for all the world to see, the demon fire inside stripped bare to the ragged remnants of flesh and soul, the defeated last member of the Shirai Ryu hung limp in his shackles as he burned in the innermost pits of the Neatherrealm, utterly alone and all but eviscerated by misery and loss. They were gone. Married to the pain and devolved to a state so basic as to believe in unrefined mortal concepts of anguish, in his mind the punishment for his failure was to helplessly watch the fire as it engulfed everything he knew; everything, save for the frozen remains of his wife and child. My family. My clansmen and everyone I have ever known. My whole life. Casing more resilient to the heat than anything he had known of in the previous world, that ice might have been made of some unnatural diamond that sparkled maliciously and shone with a grim beauty.

Lashed, gashed, burned, engulfed, and given screws through the thumb, all Hanzo could do was dwell on the pain inside as it ate at him night and day on an endless loop that sneered at the personage of time, the respites of false hope spent with the unending echo of the same questions. How did it happen? How could I have lost the most important thing in my life? Why did they have to die? What had he done that earned such a wrathful fate for his family and clan? Plagued to the point of near madness by the overwhelming failure of his weakest hour, the man didn't immediately stir at the sound of approaching footsteps.

Buckled up the side with winged spikes and sterling studs - the polished hide gleamed brightly in the eerie silver-scarlet cast by the cobwebbed candelabrum floating in the hand of an indentured inferior - the boots of the sorcerer pounded the dirt path with a purpose. "Hanzo Hasashi. You are here to suffer," oil in its purest form, the warlock hid a cruel smirk behind feigned confusion as he spoke, "yet my torturers report that fire does not burn you. Why?" Without equal in the grand game, the downright diabolical Quan Chi was undoubtedly the single most gifted liar that the ruined shred of a husk had ever had the ill fortune to encounter in this or any life, hindsight playing the full concert beyond peak performance when it was pointed out that the summoner was likely never alerted by anyone and was probably just counting the seconds until this moment.

"My-" After what felt like an empty eternity locked in the abyss, speaking came with a difficulty that the former ninja had never known before, every attempt at breath searing the lining of his throat like lava as it came out of lips so cracked blood dribbled with each syllable. "-My family..."

Onyx and bordering on a satisfied snarl, the warlock's lips quirked up in premature victory. "Ah, yes. Love. How tragic that the Lin Kuei should be allowed the opportunity to continue on without the fear of retribution."

The Lin Kuei? Of course...! Despite history recalling half-forgotten legend claiming that the Shirai Ryu and Lin Kuei shared a common root, the two battling factions had been at war for several bitter generations, clans clashing violently and without any trace of an end in sight. Provided the scum weren't too cowardly to do the deed themselves, it seemed only natural the blue bastards would be responsible for orchestrating such an assault. Grasping the reality of his own demise, in life Hanzo might have possibly come to allow that the Lin Kuei could have turned out the rare exception with a grain of honor, however in this instance of infinite hate the entire clan and each ancestor had stained their own hands. Skills required to pull off this sickening extermination not an applicable trait worth considering, nor was lack thereof, when the shinobi closed his eyes he could clearly make out the unbreakable ice coffins glowing red-orange in the vermilion flames as if he were there once more...

Clear-headed Hanzo might have better remembered the lesson all the children of the clan learned, that no good could come of magicians or their ilk, and yet the inferno had no need of what seemed scarcely better than old wives tales; living or dead, so long as it would aid in his vengeance the source was moot. Don't do this! Unfamiliar, a disembodied voice called out to the man inside the blaze, but whoever the messenger was, they were too weak to have much of an impact. And why should he listen anyways? If this conjurer did somehow posses the power to grant him his justice, to afford the Shirai Ryu the chance to embrace his family once more - even if it was only for a moment - he did not credit himself to be strong enough to turn down the necromancer's offer. Transpiring in the cruelest of ways the worst had already happened, so what else was there left to lose?

Author's Note:

Hello all ^^

First things first, yes, this is a strongly OC fic, and also yes, this is like the bajillionth time I've made a crack at an MK story (hello reboots). While this is going to be SUPER SUPER similar to the timeline/events of "Wreaking Ball", I'm not entirely sure about whether or not they'll be connected or not, so there may be some discrepancies... For any unfamiliar with "Wreaking Ball", no sweat ^^ Speaking of sweat, this is gonna get steamy (and kinda fucked-up) at the end, so be prepared! Not really sure what more to add other than the usual disclaimers (I own nothing but what I create, including but not limited to this story and a certain succubus), any discrimination/hate/abuse/whichever is purely how I personally perceive the character, hope you all enjoy, and I'd love any feed back :D

P.S.

I'm posting this entire story in one helping so that there's no "PLZ FINISH THIS" due to my finicky cycles of interest.