My eyes snapped open. I was staring at a blank wooden ceiling, and my heart was pounding so loud in my ears I couldn't hear anything else.

I took several deep breaths. Just chill, Max. Just chill, it was only another nightmare.

The bed was damp with sweat, and the thin sheets were cooking me in the hot summer night. The feeling of a soft mattress under me was the only welcoming thing about this island that Shang Tsung supposedly owned. I wonder what happened to the previous owner…

I sat up and threw the covers off of me, leaning over the edge of the bed. I was wide awake now, and I fished in my cargo pockets for the compact flashlight I carry. I retrieved the black cylinder, which remained cool in the palm of my hand, and clicked the on button.

My room was generously sized, to say the least. In addition to the bed, which felt like a cloud under me, there was a dining table and chairs, a dresser, and a thin sofa that faced a fireplace on the west wall of the building. There was a broad glass door on the east end, which opened up to a spacious balcony and a reclining chair facing the ocean.

For such a bad guy, Shang Tsung pulled out all the stops when it came to sleeping arrangements, even for his enemies. But I didn't doubt for a second that there was a passageway into every one of our rooms somewhere. The sorcerer was a man with a plan, to say the least. I didn't doubt for a second that he would kill everyone on the island to serve his master.

I shook my head. This place gave me the creeps; hiding sinister motives behind very nice upholstery.

I walked out to the glass window and looked up. The moon was almost full, and I could see stars twinkling in the vast expanse beyond. Nice view, a lot better than from inside a city, where smog and streetlights crowded out the natural light from the stars.

Soft footsteps. Outside my door.

I wheeled around and ducked behind the sofa. I stayed there in a shooter's crouch, down on the balls of my feet, until they were gone.

Huh, no guards patrolled that hallway. I noticed that all of their routes take them around the Earthrealm fighters' barracks, some conveniently within earshot, but never inside of our quarters. So who was wandering the grounds at night?

Only one way to find out.

I quickly made my way in the dark toward the dresser, throwing on my t-shirt and dark blue dress shirt, which was somehow cleaned by Raiden when he healed me. I felt inside my pants, brushing the knife that I keep in my right hand pocket.

I sewed the sheath of the blade into the pocket of my pants a while back, and kept it deep in case I was searched. It was made of RDX plastic, a compound that was almost as strong as metal, but wouldn't show up on any weapons scanners. Up until about a year ago, I could take it through LAX unnoticed, but the recent use of X-ray scanners ruined that luxury. It contained no metal on any type. The only drawback was that it was only good for close range stabbing and slashing. I wouldn't want to get into a proper knife fight with it.

I preferred a 3 ½ inch assisted spring-action blade myself, but Stryker confiscated that when I first ran into him in New York. He took my knife, and my Beretta, which he still carries as a backup weapon on the left side of his gunbelt. He also got a few other things from me, whether he wanted them or not.

I remembered the cold feeling of the hood of his cruiser on my check as he held me down and cuffed me. My face was slick with blood, sticking unnaturally to the surface of the metal car. I was hurting bad from the fight we had gotten into, and the place where his baton clubbed me in the face felt several sizes too big. I was a lung short from a kick to the ribs, and I remembered not even hearing my rights as he read them to me.

But he loosened up his grip when the first bracelet went on, and I whipped him in the face with the other end and broke free before he could get ahold of me again.

I stared at the closed door of the room he was sleeping in, which was conveniently next to mine. Our agreement had been simple: If I fought as part of Raiden's team in this tournament and didn't try to escape, then he would give me a running start when it was over.

I crept up to the door, pressing my ear up against the wood.

I listened. Nothing.

I slowly inched it open a little more and peeked outside. No guards. The hallway was almost pitch black save for a torch at either end, hanging from an iron slot on the wall. Those things played hell with my night vision, I thought as I inched the door shut behind me.

It shut with a quiet click, and I continued tip-toeing forward.

The floor was cold concrete on my bare feet, seemingly a single slab of stone covering the entire floor of the living space. My god, this place must have been built up around it. I suddenly remembered seeing the same flawless stone flooring in my room as well.

I walked on my tiptoes across the stone, and it shot cold prongs straight up my legs with every step.

I heard soft snoring from behind one of the doors. I wonder who it was.

I kept going until I reached the end of the narrow hallway. A thin veil flowed in the light breeze in the doorway; the only thing separating us from the cool summer night. It was translucent in the dim torchlight, and looked to be a cobweb from an old horror movie.

I silently brushed it aside and stepped into the night.

Where had the intruder gone?

More importantly, why had they came if they never opened any of the doors or took anything from the fighters?

Our barracks was across the clearing from the Outworld fighters' quarters, and the chow hall was evenly in between; an ornate structure surrounded by torches.

The night was eerie, and I shifted my weight so that I could feel the bump of the knife in my pocket once more. Why hadn't I brought shoes again? Because I'm an idiot that's why!

The circle of torches around the camp was suddenly broken. A single light went out in my peripheral vision.

Contact left

I wheeled to my left, expecting one of the torches to be out.

But it was flickering still, and a shadow disappeared into the tree line.

I took off after the figure. I looked down at the ground, sidestepping twigs and fallen leaves on my way over.

He was at least 30 meters away, and cautiously stepping into the thicket. He was trying to be discreet, and that was all I needed to know to confirm that he was up to no good.

I shuffled across the clearing and was within ten meters of the tree line before I lost him in the brush. He quite simply disappeared.

I crouched down on my hands and knees when the concrete under me feet gave way to the soft soil of the woods. I crawled under the thicket in front of me, which had been crushed against the trunk of a nearby tree.

Odd, considering that he could have just gone under it.

I crawled under the tangle of branches and emerged in waist-deep grass. It was thick and tall like beach grass, but nowhere near as sharp. I ran a finger over the edge of one of the blades, and it drew no blood. Interesting.

The man wasn't hard to track. He left a path of twisted and bent reeds in his wake. I could hear him stumbling in the trees ahead, less than 20 meters now. Why was he making so much noise? I didn't doubt for a second that he knew he was being followed, but I was hoping to catch him by surprise when I could get close enough.

I waded through the brush at a snail's pace, wincing when a twig snapped under my feet. The dirt between my toes was somehow relaxing to my weary feet, and I continued to follow for about five minutes.

Then he stopped moving.

I crouched down and ducked behind a tree that was close by, waiting for a hail of gunfire to come back in my direction. But there was nothing.

Not a sound.

Goddammit. He was probably waiting for me somewhere up ahead, waiting to spring at me from behind cover. A truly dangerous man could masquerade as a fool when he needed to, a friend of mine had once told me. And it appeared that he was right.

My mind flashed back to all of the horror movies I had seen as a kid, and all of the people who were killed in the woods by Freddy Krueger over the years.

I peered through the trees and saw his shadow again in the moonlight. He was crouching down, facing to my right and hanging his head close to the ground as if in defeat.

If I had a rifle, I could have dropped him like a deer. I didn't trust my blade for throwing, and I wasn't nearly close enough to bum rush him.

But I wanted him alive anyway, so I quit wishing for an M4 to appear in my waiting arms.

He rose up slowly after what looked to be a prayer, and continued on, veering right back to the staging area.

What would a righteous man need to pray for at this time of night?

I slid along the roots of the tree, my chin barely avoiding scraping the soil, and crawled after him. Maybe I could intercept him at some point along the way.

After a few minutes of agonizing army crawling, I found myself back on the stone floor of the clearing. My god, it had gotten colder since I had left.

I looked around. We weren't at the Earthrealm barracks anymore. I could see it some 50 meters away across the open ground on the opposite side of the encampment. The Outworld quarters loomed in front of me. Dragon carvings leapt out from all four corners of the buildings. Long, slender necks accentuated the impossibly sharp fangs and spikes along their necks.

What a creepy symbol.

I saw the man slowly emerge from the forest, and I got a better look at him.

He was definitely a he, and appeared to be wearing some sort of armor. My guess would be about six one or six two, and between 160 and 200 pounds.

He turned and looked at me. He looked right at me.

I was on my belly on the ground, and staring up at him. He cocked his head to the side a little ways, seemingly like he was expecting something from me.

Did I know this man? Why doesn't he acknowledge the fact that I am following him?

He turned towards me, facing my direction in a sideways crouch. I saw a scabbard clipped to his back at an odd angle, and the handle of an old fashioned samurai sword protruding from the top.

Oh, no. I laid still on the ground when he took a step my direction.

And then another.

And another.

He continued his slow, relentless pace for what seemed to be an eternity, pausing not two meters from me. He seemed twice his height as he stood upright in front of me. But his head remained level, looking from side to side as if he was expecting something else to pop out at him. He stopped suddenlyas if he had heard something, and turned back around.

He tiptoes back the way he had come, and the expression on his face was blank.

What the hell? He didn't even look down at me!

What was his major malfunction? Was he-

And then it dawned on me.

This man was blind.

The blind man in the dojo. Japanese, dark hair, carried a Katana on his belt, and almost attacked Liu Kang in anger. He was here for Shang Tsung, I heard him say. And apparently he was making good on his promise that Shang Tsung would die.

I let him round the corner of the building before I let out the breath I had been holding.

What was his name?

Before I could ponder what he had introduced himself as, I heard the sound of quick footfalls on the other side of the barracks.

Oh, no.

MKMKMK

Kenshi put one foot in front of the other, making his way back to the side of the barracks.

Twenty paces back the way he had come, and another fifty forward to reach his destination, Sento, his prized sword, had told him.

The walk through the woods had been most uncomfortable, Kenshi thought as he crouched beside a stone pillar. He had been loud, and had gotten cut trampling through the thick vegetation. Sento chose to remain silent when Kenshi nearly lost his way. He had had to crouch down and listen for the footsteps of a patrolling sentry to get back on track.

But something had been following him. It was probably an animal, looking for food in the late hours of the night. He didn't need any enhanced senses to alert him to the fact that something had been stalking him, but it sure would have been nice to know what it was.

The footsteps started on the stone ground and followed him into the woods, which would have been odd for an animal. When Kenshi had doubled back a moment ago, he listened hard for any shallow breathing, accelerated heartbeats, or any other signs of movement. But no such luck.

He ran his fingers over the stone carving he was taking cover behind. Its edges were sharp, very sharp in fact. It was masterfully done, and must have taken months to complete. What a fine peace of craftsmanship, Kenshi thought as he rose up to his full height. It was an animal of some type, Kenshi predicted as he ran his fingers over what felt like a full set of pointed teeth.

He wished only that he could have seen it as well.

Fifty paces forward.

He picked up his pace and accelerated to a full run on the open ground. To be caught here would mean death, and Kenshi rather valued his life.

He heard light footfalls behind him, much less hurried than his own, but pursuing him nonetheless. He knew it! He had a tail, and his tail was trying to close the distance between them.

He stopped and pressed his body against the bamboo wall of another building.

A single footstep, and then nothing else. They must have stopped by the Outworld barracks, waiting for Kenshi to make his next move before advancing again.

Whoever it was, they knew how to be quiet. And Kenshi couldn't afford to be compromised. Not now.

He broke into a run and rounded the corner of the building, feeling his way around the wall.

He crouched down on the other side of the small building and pressed himself against the wall. He drew Sento and waited two paces from the corner he had just come from.

Come on, stalker. Make your move.

He waited, but heard nothing. The man had not followed.

Son of a bitch! Kenshi would cut him from stem to stirrup for the trouble he had caused him tonight.

But that man would have to wait. He had made too much noise already, and he still had a job to do here.

He rose up and followed Sento's silent instructions the rest of the way.

His sword was not of this world, he had long ago learned. It may have existed on the human plane, but was infused with power that Kenshi still did not understand. It made him faster when he fought, even when Sento was still on his back and not in his hands.

He was stronger, and his senses were like that of an eagle instead of a mere human. He could be beaten, that he knew, but he was more formidable now than he ever was when he could see.

He continued walking forward, calmly, listening for movement.

Shang Tsung had stolen his eyesight a long time ago. Of course it wasn't a fair fight either, Kenshi remembered.

The sorcerer had gone by the name Song, and convinced an arrogant young swordsman that he needed a fine sword to become truly great. Like a fool, an arrogant fool, Kenshi followed him into a cave, where he saw Sento resting above a well, waiting to be claimed.

Song stepped aside and was happy to let Kenshi grab it. When he did, spirits of Kenshi's ancestors poured out of the deep well and overwhelmed him in moments. He remembered the pain of having his eyesight ripped out of him. Cold, steely fingers…

The pain had been unbearable, and Shang Tsung left the cavern a more dangerous enemy than before. Kenshi was left lying on the floor, doomed to spend his final moments in a state of panic.

But then Sento found him and willed him up onto his feet. Sento showed Kenshi the way out of the cave, and so began his quest for revenge. He spent almost a decade retraining his senses to compensate for his blindness, and almost as long learning Tai Chi and Judo from the U.S. Special Forces.

It had been a long journey for such a simple goal, and to think that it was within minutes of being accomplished energized him like never before. He could feel the adrenaline juicing in his veins, Sento hummed reassuringly in his hands, feeling the same excitement that Kenshi felt.

It was time to finish this.

MKMKMK

Kitana was sleeping peacefully when Kenshi entered her tent. He held Sento low by his side, as he made her way towards her large bed. Sento whispered her name into his ear, and Kenshi knew he was in the right place.

This was the perhaps the most important part of all.

Kenshi couldn't see how beautiful she was without her mask on. He was unable to see the way her long hair flowed over the pillow that she rested on. He could only hear her shallow breathing and smell traces of perfume as he got closer. He stepped gingerly on the soft carpet, not wanting to wake Outworld's princess until he was close enough to land a killing blow.

He neared her, tightening his grip on his prized sword, ready to drive it into her if she didn't comply.

Suddenly, she woke up.

Kenshi didn't know how he knew that she had awakened. There had been no sound other than a sharp inward breath, she said nothing, and Sento told him nothing, but somehow he could feel her eyes snap open and see the swordsman above her.

Kenshi didn't hesitate. He pinpointed the sound of her breath and aimed the sword just below that. He pressed it forward so that the end was flat against her neck.

"Now, princess. If you value your life, you will tell me where Shang Tsung sleeps. You will tell me how to infiltrate this place, and you will not tell anyone what happened afterward. Am I understood?" He verbalized the statement he had scripted on his was to her quarters.

She said nothing.

"You have three seconds to talk before I kill you and find another," Kenshi warned. "I am blind, but I am not ignorant."

He heard a rustling noise as she shifted her weight on the bed.

"Three-"

"Why do you want to kill Shang Tsung?" she asked. He voice was smooth, and sounded sweet in Kenshi's ears.

"I am blind, but I was not born this way," he said flatly. "Now you have two seconds."

"You," she said it simply, as if to prompt a question. Biding her time, Kenshi thought, she was quite adept at it.

"Sorry princess," Kenshi shook his head. It didn't feel right to kill an innocent woman. Perhaps he would knock her unconscious instead.

"You," she repeated, her voice speaking in a soft and soothing tone. "Have made a mistake."

In an instant Kenshi's sword was knocked aside, and Kitana slammed her heel into his Solar Plexus.

He staggered backward, out of breath. He fell out of the tent and hit the ground, hard.

He felt the cool concrete press against his cheek as he bit the ground. A metallic taste suddenly surfaced in his mouth. Not like this. He was not going to be killed by her.

He spat onto the ground in anger and sucked in a deep breath. He rose to his feet.

"You're going to die for that!" Kenshi yelled, swinging his katana in the air and taking up a fighting stance.

"To the death," Kitana declared, opening up her war fans. "But I promise you it won't be mine."

Happy holidays everyone! Again, please read and gimme sone feedback on what you think.

Update coming soon...