Master Peace's body turns rigid upon catching the words: "The Thunder God killed him." They echo within Kung Lao's mind. Each one is a cruel blade dripping with the utmost poison, and they rip and cut the warrior open, teasing for a weakness they know he posses. Each whispering and encouraging words of how death will fulfill death.
The young Shaolin monk take a slow breathe to relax himself from the thoughts of revenge. His master had spent many sunrises and sunsets teaching in the ways of inner peace. Kung Lao know those lessons are more important than ever right now. However, when the mind is hazed with the venomous desire for revenge and is mingled with sorrow such things do not come easy. It is comparable to dangling fresh meat in the face of a starving beast. The meat is like revenge, an object that is ever so tempting and craving to take. But revenge is a twisted merciless attempt to bring satisfaction from bringing death upon one who brought death upon another and death that cannot be reversed. Kung Lao knows he must not take the bait.
The sorrow and anger will entwine themselves into a horrific ugly monster with nothing but evil dwelling within it if not controlled.
"Find peace," The old Shaolin master whispers at last. Are these words for Kung Lao or himself? The young monk finds consolation in them nonetheless. "My dear boy, are you sure?" Kung Lao can feel the anger set in. How could he not be sure? He had known what he had seen.
"Lord Raiden knelt over Liu Kang," the monk repeats. "Liu Kang was motionless, lifeless. Dead. Dead because Raiden killed him!" His voice has become bitter, and the emotional wretch he has become forces the word to come forth like this.
The Shaolin master is silent.
The rain has begun at a hard downpour now. It thumps against the roof in its natural way creating rather loud rhythm. From a light rain to a downpour… the Elder Gods must be seeing and echoing the pain.
"Rest. Look for peace, Kung Lao. Find it within yourself," the old monk says finally. Pointing towards his heart, his adds more softly, "Find it here." He stands with the aid of the chair's armrest and begins to wobble for the door. Kung Lao frowns unhappily at the acknowledgment: truly his master has aged much. "Finish the tea. It will help warm you. The honey within it is sweet-"
"-It helps bring warmth with each heartbeat," Kung Lao finishes. He knows the silly rhythms his master would often make just to get his students to smile or because he enjoyed how the words would roll off one's tongue in a jovial manner. Master Peace turns to offer the mourning warrior a satisfied smile and is given a pathetic grin in return.
Once his master has left is Kung Lao given time to dwell within his thoughts. Looking around the room, he immediately recognizes this as the one Liu Kang and him had shared. The memory almost makes him smile, but he is stopped. A painful gash upon his heart is oozing deep red blood.
Feeling restless and afraid his mind may dwell upon the horrific sight atop the roof, Kung Lao forces himself from bed. His master had kindly covered him with three thick blankets. Yet when Kung Lao slides off the bed, he is amazed to realize how truly cold he is anyway. Even with a dry pair of pants on he still feels a bitter chilliness biting at his legs. Truly, death grips any within its icy fingers. The teacup he clasps tightly in his hands is the only thing that keeps them warm now.
Kung Lao begins to walk to Liu Kang's bed. It is close to his, but still seems to take a lifetime to reach. Memories dance in his mind, and he almost believes he can see Liu Kang sitting at the edge of the bed laughing about a now-forgotten prank.
The teacup falls from his hands, and the warm mixture splashes into the floor at the instance the cup breaks into pieces. Kung Lao reflects that like his heart, the cup is broken and like his memories, the tea is still warm for it is ever fresh.
The grieving monk flings his arms onto the bed and presses his face within the blankets. They lack warm and bring little comfort, but even so he knows they were Liu Kang's.
Why? Why did Liu Kang have to die? If only he had become conscious sooner… if only he had been able to save him. If he were alive now Kung Lao is certain would tell him how much their friendship meant, and how he loved Liu Kang's sense of humor, how he often idolized his great determination and moral, and how he always had considered him his closest and dearest friend. Liu Kang had been with him for so many years, and he had never told him these things.
Why?
He deserved to know… deserved to know what a good friend he had been, and how much everything he had done meant.
Kung Lao don't want to whisper goodbye. He doesn't want Liu Kang to be gone. He can't be. Yet like ever beat of his heart, Kung Lao knows he is. "Goodbye Liu Kang," he whispers. A grueling wave of sorrow overcomes his as the words are spoken. "Goodbye," he chokes out once more. The monk feels as though he is tearing out his own beating heart and selling his soul to admit that Liu Kang is gone.
Remaining here, at Liu Kang's bedside, is ever tempting. But Kung Lao knows he cannot. He must find peace and regain my strength. It will be surely be needed. Swallowing a full breath, the monk stands while exhaling. He glances around sorely hoping his fellow monks brought back his bladed hat.
As he makes his way back to his bed, he feels lightheaded yet heavy hearted. So, this is what mourning and true sorrow feels like? He had seen death many times. Watched as men and women alike were drowning in anguish upon loosing one dear to them, but never had he experienced it. Never truly understood it. Words cannot describe the pain. There can never be too many tears shed.
Kung Lao silently thanks the Elder Gods and the monks, as they had brought the trusty apparel and weapon. It is leaning against the wall by his bed's nightstand.
He picks it up and carefully draws his fingers along the blade's curve. It is still sharp as ever. And perhaps it will find use. Use cutting Raiden's head from his shoulders? Or perhaps slitting open his stomach and letting his guts stain the earth? The earth's whose people he swore to protect not betray. The cursed traitor! More then anything the Thunder God deserves punishment, and Liu Kang avenging.
Kung Lao feels an urge telling him he should go. Find Raiden and take his life as he took his friend's. Liu Kang was more then a friend: he was like a brother. It was unjustified that Raiden had taken his life, especially knowing how much the Shaolin monk had trusted the Thunder God.
Clenching his teeth in uncontrolled anger, Kung Lao walks to the window. Pulling up the bamboo curtains he sees a dark charcoal gray sky that cries no more rain, but it is not from night's looming shadow. It is a thunderstorm. Perfect. When better to kill the Thunder God than during a storm of thunder and lightening?
The Shaolin monk almost laughs out in hysteria at the irony or perhaps insanity, but decides against it. It is better if his master does not see him leaving, that he does not see the young warrior like this.
Jumping out of his room, Kung Lao runs down the side of the building. This is where the novices stay, so he does not need to pay any heed to if they see him. He runs into the fields of grain behind the Temple of Meditation. They are almost ready for harvest.
Before he leaves to find Raiden, Kung Lao decides he will visit The Old Story. He turns his course to the old tree. From here he knows exactly where to go, having gone in this way many times before.
The grain is still damp. Droplets soak his pants and bare chest. The monk almost pauses, realizing that in his haste he had forgotten proper clothing, armor, and footwear. But it is too late to turn back now. Truly, he does not need those things to defeat Raiden anyways. All the monk needs is his bladed hat and desire for revenge.
Thunder rumbles above, and it echoes at warning of the lightening that may strike so afterwards.
Kung Lao feels the cool air and rain's wake around him as he runs. Somehow it brings him back to life, but perhaps it is just his new purpose that is granting him this new strength. It is simply a purpose, one that will less likely bring peace.
Pausing a top a softly slopping hill, the monk sees The Old Story below. A memory comes forth in this instance: Liu Kang and him are standing upon this hill. Kung Lao can see it as clear as the pebbles beneath a still pond. The two have just walked up the hill. An unspoken message passes between them as they grin at one another. Suddenly they both race down the hill at their fastest. Liu Kang passes Kung Lao and stays ahead for a moment, but the later burst into the lead. With great triumph Kung Lao makes it to the tree first.
The Shaolin monk can almost hear the laughter as Liu Kang tackles me into the grass.
An inexplicable urge sends him dashing down the hill. Kung Lao has the sudden hope that Liu Kang is close behind. A short cheerful chuckle passes his lips as he jolts to a stop before the tree. Turning around with a smile, Kung Lao believes to see his friend close behind, but there is nothing. A cold bitter nothing. The smile and happiness vanish sharply.
The memory he saw was a memory never to be relived again in reality.
With a sigh, the warrior moves beside The Old Story. He places his hand against its trunk and whispers, "Sorry old friend it's just me. Liu Kang cannot come any more." The tree's branches groan and the leaves flutter wildly. A storm is coming.
"I will kill the traitor who has taken him away. I will avenge this injustice." A loud rumble of thunder is heard overhead. Then, a few moments later, lightening strikes.
A sharp smile crosses Kung Lao's lips, and he turns his attention to the grassy fields behind him. "Come for me Raiden!" the monk shouts out in spiteful hatred. Lightening crackles once more, and the smirk quirking the monk's lips upward grows bigger, expectant. Lightening never strikes in the same place twice.