PROLOGUE
- Outworld -
- Shang Tsung's Palace -
It was a dark evening. Lightning raged all around, lighting up the sky as if offering natures flashlight. Thunder crackled intensely, practically deafening anyone who was outside at the time. A slight rain was beginning to pick itself up, making for an eerie backdrop to the brick laden palace. The palace itself was enormously breathtaking, huge with turrets all around it, and several large tower's sticking out from a central hub. It was not unlike something out of a fairy tale, something that had belonged to a king of some sort at one time. But he knew better. This was far from some property that once belonged to royalty of any sort, not even close. It belonged to a Sorcerer, a sorcerer capable of great power, one driven by phenomenal evil. Shang Tsung had allied himself with fellow another fellow sorcerer Quan Chi, and although the two of them had a checkered history together, they had put aside past differences and to great effect. Shao Kahn, forever the supreme emperor of all outworld realms, had been slain after a deceitful promise of from them. And he wouldn't be the last victim.
As the Shaolin monk set his first steps on the wooden bridge that led across the deep and wide trench to the gigantic wood doors at front of the Shang Tsung's palace, Kung Lao felt a strange stinging sensation in the back of his mind. The last time he had felt that was when he had practically foreseen the death of his brother and fellow monk Liu Kang. The four times champion of the Mortal Kombat tournament, slain at the hands of the Deadly Alliance. His neck snapped at the hands of Shang Tsung himself. Kung Lao had been able to do nothing about it, as he was away training members of his newly formed White Lotus Society. He would have to swallow his pride, and give peace to his mind in the coming moments. He knew that very soon he was about to engage in what was going to be the most important fight of his life, the most important he had ever fought or would ever fight. He needed a clear mind, anger and guilt driven completely from it.
Strolling over the bridge, Lao glanced down at the water, which was too pitch black to see any signs of life. Probably filled with all sorts of debris and chemical runoff, he thought. He was dressed in his traditional monk's clothing; his dark blue Mandarin button-up jacket with long sleeves, his tan baggy Archaic Wushu pants that tucked into his traditional mid cloth boots. His Dao sword, the traditional curved saber of many Chinese monks and warriors was in it's sheath, slung horizontally around the lower half of his back. His trademark top hat custom with razor sharp edges adorned his head. A shiny black single-braided pony tail ran the length of his back. Around his waist he'd tied a red sash, wrapping it around him like a belt. The same red sash that had formally belonged to his best friend , usually worn around Liu Kang's forehead during combat.
He had not gotten halfway across the bridge when the rain began to pick up heavily. The large wooden doors that composed of the palaces entrance were concealed under a concrete overhang, but Kung Lao knew he'd be drenched by the time he got there. The darkness that lurked inside was, to the untrained outward eye, hidden by the beautiful florescent stain glass windows. One could almost pass this off as an honorable living quarters, he thought, almost. As he arrived at the end of the bridge and took refuge under the cement ceiling, he took off his hat and hung it down the center top half of his back, as the hat was secured in place by a soft piece of tread the wrapped around his neck, yet didn't seem to choke him. He fluffed out his dark black pony tail so that it stuck out more prominently now hanging above the hat.
What, no guards to fend me off, or booby traps send me to my death, I'm insulted Shang, Kung Lao thought to himself with a smile, as he stood in front of the palace gates.
He checked around the front, still no signs of any guards or any other life for that matter. The thunder storm had picked up even worse, throwing turbulent wind in, and showing no signs of letting up. He turned his attention fully back to the gates. Now, to get inside, he thought, going right through the front gate is probably the best option. At least it's the most ballsy. He turned to the razor sharp Dao sword draped around his back and removed it from it's holder. With one powerful thrust, he stuck it in between the doors, and worked it up and down in the crack. After what seemed like an eternity, he heard a snapping sound, the lock to the doors finally cracked, Kung Lao withdrew his sword and holstered it back in it's scabbord. He heaved open the oak doors, then walked through, and shut the doors behind him.
The inside of the center hall was enormous. A large oval room, with multiple sets of staircases that where at least twenty to thirty steps high, leading to a second floor that circled the perimeter of the room as well. He was immediately taken aback by a sight that both horrified him and filled him with a secret sense of amazement, though he would never admit it. Souls- hundreds, maybe even thousands of them, flying in an unorganized pattern around the room, all making the screeching sounds of agony and pain. There ultimate destination was a giant Soul tornado in a far corner of the room. One of these is Liu's. As that thought came into his head, so did another one. I have to succeed, no matter the consequnces, and whatever the end. Lao began to walk toward a set of staircases that went up to the second floor, the ones he figured would lead to the sorcerers chamber's. He started toward the stairs when a loud hissing voice suddenly echoed through the main chamber, stopping Kung Lao in the center of the room.
"So, you finally made it. I was beginning to think you wouldn't come"
Kung Lao glanced around wearily, as he began to move to the center of the room with caution. He couldn't hone in on the position of the echoing voice, and with two stories and dozens of pillars and other architecture to hide behind, Shang Tsung could be anywhere. He turned circles as he searched the room, then faced back toward the main steps.
"Show yourself, you coward", He shouted out.
"When you are ready to see me, I will be revealed to you", the voice hissed back.
The voice of snake, how suiting for scum like him
, Kung Lao thought. He continued his gaze upon every section of the room. There was a long period of silence that irked him, a sense that some kind of trap was about to be sprung upon him. He continued to turn circles in the large chamber, fists drawn to a ready, eyes gazing all around. Unbeknownst to Kung Lao, a translucent figure, practically invisible to the naked eye, began to approach him from behind.
"Their beautiful aren't they?", the voice continued to hiss and echo.
"What's that?", Kung Lao replied.
"My master's souls…"
At that, he stopped dead in his tracks, eyes suddenly widening. He didn't even have a second to react before he felt a powerful foot connect right into the center of his back. The force of the roundhouse put Kung Lao into a twirling spin in the air disorienting him, and sending his Dao sword and hat detaching from his persons, skidding across the ground hitting the far wall.
His vision momentarily blurred, Lao scrambled to his feet and turned back to face his attacker. He could make out the transparent figure only slightly, but it didn't matter because a few seconds later, the mysterious figure began to voluntarily remove it's camouflage as it continued to walk toward him. Within seconds, he could make out a warrior, dressed head to toe in lime green ninja garb.
"And who might you be?", he inquired.
"Your question isn't necessary, as dead men need no answers", the stranger replied back.
Kung Lao smiled.
The battle with Shang Tsung would have to wait, for this was something completely different…
