THE COMING OF WINTER
Part 3 of 4: Section 2 written by Victar
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Part 3 Section 2
The decapitated Lin Kuei was merely an ordinary clan member; had he possessed the Power, it would have consumed his remains over the course of time, gradually transmuting them into the appropriate element. Examining the body, I found a small notebook wrapped in rose petals and a gossamer handkerchief, stowed directly over his heart. Half the volume's pages were crammed with haphazard brush strokes; the second half was blank. Blood from the sewer pipe had seeped through the binding, smearing over most of the journal's contents. Only bits and pieces remained legible. They were... poetry? I peered closer:
Milady, you are beauty given flesh
Your laugh is the peal of songbirds
Your face is a vision of wonder
Your every motion is elegance
It is an honor to bask in your presence
My heart and soul are yours eternal
I will be your protector
I will defend you to my last breath
Apparently, he had.
Something was wrong. Lin Kuei do not court wives; they annex them. Nothing short of self-destructive madness could lead a Lin Kuei to turn his back on the clan, instead devoting himself as a bodyguard to one person. I sincerely doubted this wretch had been of sound mind when he perished. Scanning the other bodies, I noted that they were all male. Many were clothed in some type of warrior's uniform, from samurai armor to camouflage fatigues. A suspicion crept in the back of my mind.
I tossed the verses over my shoulder and continued deeper into the sewer, pushing aside or climbing over various remains. The mess I sloshed through ran parallel to the abyss' edge, until I reached a walled-up dead end with a wide drain hole in the ceiling. Fresh blood poured down from it; the continual flow hid whatever lay beyond. While I could have sworn I'd seen nothing above this level from the outside, the hole had to lead somewhere. The drain tingled with a light, breezy sort of Power. It didn't feel like a ward, or anything harmful. When I hurled a pebble up through the flow of blood, nothing happened.
Taking a deep breath, I jumped and seized hold of the hole's edge. I pulled against the downward suction of the falling blood and swung my legs over the drain's lip, crawling into whatever lay beyond.
I examined my latest Ice sculpture, a book the size of an atlas. It had taken me ten hours to forge its leaf-thin pages and graft them to the binding. The finished product was worth the effort. I flipped the blank pages back and forth, basking in their faint emanations of applied Power. An ordinary person's hands would have melted them or broken them apart, but not mine. As a test, I closed my eyes and thought of a single sentence. When next I looked down upon the Ice tome, the words had etched themselves onto its title page.
A clogged cough sounded behind me.
"I hear you've released your brother from your edict," Smoke rasped, once he could speak. The fact that I hadn't noticed his arrival indicated how deeply involved I'd been in my work. I closed the book and started to trace a handful of stylized lines around the border of its cover.
"You are not supposed to approach me unless summoned."
"No, I'm not. What are you going to do about it?"
"Nothing. It is nearly time for me to leave. There is a boat I must catch."
"A boat?"
I handed him an envelope from within my tunic. His brows lifted slightly when he took it; most likely, he could feel its faint wisps of necromantic Power. Someone singularly lethal had impressed its dragon-shaped wax seal. Smoke opened the envelope and scanned the card inside. Penned with sparkling gold ink, the invitation told of a freestyle martial arts Tournament and personally solicited my participation. Shang Tsung, the Tournament's host, had signed it with sweeping brush strokes.
"Where did you get this?" Smoke asked, putting the invitation away and giving the envelope back.
"It was resting on my sleeping mat last evening."
"Have you decided to enter this Tournament?"
"Yes."
"If Shang Tsung knows enough to send this to you, then he is undoubtedly aware of your true intent."
"I must find Shang Tsung before I can slay him. I am gambling that if I accept his invitation, I will be brought directly to his doorstep."
"The whole thing sounds like a trap."
"It is a trap. Of that much I am certain."
"Then take this with you." I glanced over my shoulder at him. He held out a stoppered vial. A thick mass of cloudy grey sloshed and swirled against its clear glass walls. "It's-"
"I know what it is," I interrupted, accepting the object and stowing it away.
"Be careful. It can incapacitate one for hours. Your brother created the formula, with a little help from me. I've been participating in quite a few of his experiments, lately." He shrugged, coughing a few more times. "It isn't as if I have anything to lose."
"Did you come simply to give me the vial?"
"No. I came because I have regrets."
I took a closer look at him. It was hard to discern whether he was in worse condition than yesterday, but he definitely did not appear any better. "That is your sickness talking. Lin Kuei do not have regrets."
"This one does."
I returned to tracing an abstract design into the Ice volume's cover.
"Have you ever wondered why you were Tested?" Smoke inquired, hesitantly.
"Because I was the eldest son."
"If the Lin Kuei Tested every family's firstborn son, they wouldn't have time to do anything else."
"I was known to have an affinity for winter."
"So? Many people like winter."
"My grandfather was a clan member gifted with the Power," I growled, tiring of this guessing game.
"True, but only one surviving Lin Kuei knew who he was - who his family was."
"Get to the point."
The teacher did not say anything at first. When he did speak, his voice was a croaking whisper. "Your grandfather was a cruel person. I hated him. I hated him so much I thought I'd die. Did I ever mention that?"
"Hmph."
"He and his underlings murdered my family, as an example of what would happen to anyone else who purchased 'protection' from the Black Dragons. I'll never forget watching him stiffen my sister into a brittle statue of Ice, and casually dismember her into pieces of thawing blood and meat.
"I tried to kill him once, and failed. In retaliation, he had me tortured. After holding out for thirty days, I swore an oath of fealty to him. Anything to stop the pain. He treated me like refuse. I never had the courage to challenge him before he died.
"He left behind a grandson whose pale countenance resembled his, and who shared his relish for the cold months - you. When you were old enough, I took a lifetime's worth of revenge on you. I had you Tested."
"Is that all? I thought it might be something important."
"There is one more matter. You asked why I'd come. I am here to apologize."
"What is wrong with you?" I demanded, whirling around.
"I beg your forgiveness." And he really did seem to be begging, if I gauged that tone of his voice correctly. I'd never heard him use it before.
"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!?" I shouted, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him in a frenzy. "Lin Kuei do not apologize! Your behavior has become thoroughly bizarre of late! What is this disease that is driving you mad!?"
"Eh? Oh, that. It has to do with my Power."
"Is your Talent so weak that you can no longer call upon it?" I probed, letting him go.
"Quite the opposite. I have too much Talent. It's all I can do every waking moment to keep my element in check, and even then..." he gestured loosely to the ashen plumes drifting from his collar. "The problem is, my respiratory system is quite mortal."
"Doesn't your Power shield you?"
"My Power is killing me. When I call upon it, yes, it will protect me in the short term; however, the detrimental side effects worsen as soon as I let it go. The masks I once wore had specially designed filters, to make breathing easier. I used to think that would be enough, but the masks don't make a difference anymore. I've a few months left. Possibly less."
"I see."
"No, I don't think you do. You have a maximum of nine years left before your entrails start to Ice over. Your grandfather died at age fifty, but you use the Power much more frequently than he did. Every time you summon your element, you accelerate the rate at which it wears upon you. Keep it up, and you won't see your fourth decade."
Gently, I whisked away the last Ice shavings from the book's cover. "I've long suspected that the Power had a price. Power always does."
"Be careful to whom you repeat that. It is one of the clan's most closely guarded secrets. The Triumvirate worries that if clan members were to learn the consequences of their Power, they might become inhibited. You know that few Lin Kuei perish of old age. Those who do survive long enough fall ill are quickly disposed of. There was an attempt on my life yesterday evening." He closed his eyes for a moment. "I trained that kid for five years. Tried to teach him everything I knew, yet even in this weakened state I killed him without taking a single wound. I'm not as good a teacher as I thought."
"You were good enough." I placed the volume inside an insulated compartment within my throne and headed for the chamber's double doors.
"Are you going to see your brother before you leave?"
"There will be time enough for that when I return."
"And if you don't return?"
"Then he will inherit this room and all its contents, including you."
Smoke muttered, "I'll see you in Hell too," as I left the cavern that had been my home for two years. I did not look back.
The hole led into a dungeon cell. Grey-bricked walls surrounded a cement floor in the shape of a shallow funnel. Many smaller pipes, some no wider than my arm, stuck out of the walls near the level of the sloping floor. Fresh blood streamed through them and poured down the central drain. There were no living prisoners in the cell, though a few bodies with cut throats rested along the edges, their inertia too great for the red liquid's flow to push them down the drain. A pair of tattered skeletons hung in iron chains affixed to the cells' walls. One was shackled by its wrists; the other was held upside down, by its ankles. Both were suspended above the floor.
This was either Leucrotta Castle, or an invisible dungeon sitting on top of the ravine's edge. I suspected the former. The Power I'd sensed coming from the drain felt akin to teleportation magic. It must be very convenient to instantly transport one's garbage to a dumping site far away.
At the far lip of the floor-funnel, above blood level's highest mark, was the cell's sole door. It was made of solid iron except for a small, rectangular opening near eye level. Peering through the opening, I saw an empty hallway with similar doors dispersed along it. This particular door was locked, and when I tapped on it, the deep echo told me that it was much thicker than the grate I'd broken through. Hardly any rust marred the door's hinges. Attempting to freeze and force my way through it would have taken at least an hour. This called for a little finesse.
I poked my fingers through the vent and summoned the Power. Sending the mystic energy along the door's far surface, into its keyhole, I strained to vicariously feel the locking mechanism inside. Because of my training, I was quite familiar with commonplace tumbler latches such as this one. I'd used this skill to noiselessly break into a target's home more than once. Working from touch, or rather, what the Power told me it touched, I shaped a key of ice inside the lock and willed it to turn. The lock resisted at first, then gave way with a crink sound. Before opening the door, I covered its hinges with blood scooped from the ground, in order to keep them from squeaking.
The adjoining cells held nothing but more corpses and funnel-shaped blood pools. No one patrolled the dungeon, perhaps because there were no living prisoners inside it. I found the stairs up with little trouble. They led to a carpeted expanse, dimly lit with glittering chandeliers hung from the spacious ceiling at far intervals. Huge paintings adorned the walls, depicting grim specters, demons, and monsters. One had a savage cross between a horse and a hellhound mauling a human infant. Another showed a fiery being incinerating an entire village. The third depicted a tribe of ghouls feasting on what they'd snatched from an open grave. Whoever ornamented these walls had an artistic taste that could at best be called morbid.
A servant advanced from further down the hallway. He wore the formal livery of a butler, yet there were rips and stained patches where the fabric covered his elbows and knees. His gait was jerky, unnatural. I hid in the shadow of the dungeon entrance's door jamb and observed him. When he came closer, I caught the smell of pus festering in an open wound. The skin of his hands and gaunt face was dull gray, stiff, and peeling. Chunks of his lower lip were missing, baring tarnished teeth and blackened gums. He stared ahead vacantly. Tiny insects crawled in his oily, disheveled hair. An incision cut underneath his chin, across the jugular; stains of blood long since bled discolored his neck. The air tingled with necromantic Power in his wake.
He was no more alive than any of the prisoners I'd left behind.
Once the zombie was gone, I slipped into the hallway. Compared to blindly feeling my way through the Maze, navigating Leucrotta Castle was relatively simple. Some type of Power permeated the castle's center, where I'd glimpsed the golden staircase, and I let my sensitivity to it be my guide. Occasionally, I ran into more zombie attendants, but none of them noticed me. Their empty eyes were always fixed straight ahead, never wandering, and their other senses were long since decayed. I worked my way past marble balconies, through arches ornamented with precious jewels, along more halls decorated with horrid paintings, and up a great many staircases.
Constantly on edge, I anticipated running into the castle's guards or residents, yet none appeared. Where were they? If Leucrotta Castle was "heavily guarded" then I was a pyromaniac. My unease only increased when I reached the wooden double doors leading into the topmost crown of the castle's tallest tower. Etched into the doors were countless, intricate carvings of death and suffering, forming a tortured mosaic. No sounds came through the gateway.
Pushing the doors open, I beheld a deserted room. Plush, royal purple carpeting covered the floor; ruby-studded tapestries draped upon the smooth stone walls. There was little furnishing, except for the object of my search: a winding stairway that gleamed as though it were coated with purest gold. Its steps were paper-thin metal sheets, and its banister was a strip of curling wire more narrow than my finger, ornamented with inset pearls. The stairs appeared too fragile to bear the weight of a mouse, let alone a man, yet judging from their aura of Power I suspected their strength had been enhanced by mystical means. The stairs curled in a spiral, stretching up through a hole in the raised ceiling. A pinprick crevice of sunlight glinted far above.
Separating me from the escape route was a fully visible, sea-green ward, wrapped in a cylinder around the staircase. It stretched about thirty meters up from the floor, until it met the domed ceiling. This barrier had a less destructive feel than the red one I'd seen earlier. Perhaps my Power could counteract its effects long enough for me to pass through. I called a nimbus of blue-white haze to my hand and delicately probed the shimmering ward, brushing against it with the furthest trace of vorpal radiance coating my extended fingertip.
A violent electrical jolt ran through me. I felt myself falling backward; my skull hit the floor with a dull thud. My limbs wouldn't respond to my commands. Forcing my way through the ward was definitely not an option.
Rippling peals of feminine laughter came from the side. "What do we have here, Balthazaar? Someone trying to break through the blockade?" I'd recovered enough self-control to recall the Power, yet when I tried to move it was all I could manage to turn my head and watch the speaker materialize. First there came a deep yellow glow of pulsing energy, with prominent curves near the hips and chest. The curves filled out with unblemished alabaster skin, clothed in scant ribbons of jet. A face emerged, with alluring eyes and green hair shining like sunlight scattered on ocean waves. She could have passed for human if not for the long, black bat-wings sprouting from her shoulders. Another, smaller pair of wings formed elaborate barrettes resting on her head. Her skin-tight leotard split into a pair of tapering strips as it ran over her bosom and shoulders, revealing more of her figure than it hid. Netted stocking with bat-like shadows clung tightly to her supple legs and dainty feet. Her spike-heeled shoes rested just a trace above the ground.
She was a little too perfect. It wasn't just her unearthly beauty, sterling and immaculate beyond description. A real woman's tresses do not fan and sway in still air. A real woman's breasts sag from gravity, unless supported by something stronger than a string of silk. Magnifying the seductive influence were the subtle ripples of Power streaming from her exquisite figure. Her aura was like and yet unlike the sphinx's mesmerizing gaze. Where the sphinx's Power controlled the body, hers ensorcelled the mind. There could be no doubt who the lovesick Lin Kuei had been writing about, in his last poem.
A dusky grey creature took form by her side. It was an exotic hybrid between lupine and reptile; the light fur coat on its lithe wolf body gave way to patches of inky scales on its tail, underbelly, and feet. Its eyes were deep red, the color of setting sun, and burned almost as fiercely. Ribbed wings longer than its body folded against its shoulders; the hairless skin between each wingbone rippled as it flexed the appendages. A pair of small claws projected from the wings' mid-joints. The wolf-drake was easily four times as large as a true wolf.
"You look strong. I like that," purred the demoness, flashing a dazzling smile. Her teeth were sea-foam white, every bit as flawless as the rest of her, though her canines had unusually prominent points. Disclaimer: Mortal Kombat belongs to the creation of Ed Boone and John Tobias and the Midway team. It was created in no way by either me or Victar. No part of this story may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, without express permission by Victar. I did not write this story, but I had permission to post this, so if you want to talk to him about the fanfiction, go to Victar's website.
end section two of part three