Disclaimer: Mortal Kombat doesn't belong to me. I'm sure all MK fans out there are supremely relieved by that.
Notes: A Defenders of the Realm-based fic, while using the movies to formulate a timeline. Contains mentions of MK: Conquest.
Summary: The Defenders of Earth Realm first met Raiden two years ago, when the first official Kombat of their generation began. . . . Or did they? Written in a series of drabbles.
LiuSubzeroSonyaJaxNightwolfStrykerKitana
Taking a moment to relax and put aside the weight of an entire Realm, Raiden peered in on his mortals with a benign smile. They were sharing an easy day, using it to joke and simply bask in each other's company.
The Elders had protested at first when he made his choices for the Chosen Ones, but Raiden had stood firm by his decision. The Thunder God had known, nearly twenty-five years previously, that the six mortals would be the greatest fighters of Earth Realm's history, possibly even greater than Kung Lao, Siro, and Taja. Sure, they had only been children at the time, but they still had strong auras of destiny emanating from them. And he had been proven right, as they staved off invasions from Shao Kahn, Shang Tsung, and Shinnok time and time again.
Kitana had been the one Defender he had not taken into consideration twenty-five years ago, but as she had remained in the Outworld-transformed-Edenia for the past several centuries, Raiden forgave himself that mistake. He had made up for it two years ago on this day (a further exact twenty-three years since the day he first met the other six) with a gift, a pair of steel fans with the Kombat dragon engraved in its iron supports. Raiden was unaware whether or not Kitana knew the source behind the gift, but in the subsequent battles she carried the new fans, storing her old ones in her dresser if an emergency arose.
A burst of laughter made Raiden revert his attention back to the group. Stryker had told some joke about Mexicans, blacks, and whites, one which Raiden wouldn't repeat except in very private company. Soon other jokes were told, slowly degenerating in appropriateness. Raiden wondered briefly where mortals could possibly find the time to create such tasteless humor, then brushed it aside. If this was the way his mortals could best unwind, then only his mother would keep him from protecting them.
Of course, once his mother got involved, everyone else was on their own. Raiden was fairly certain he was still on restriction for burning his mother's rose garden into shrivels. He was staying out of the way as much as possible to avoid further punishment by his formidable mother.
But yes, aside from his mother, Raiden would do everything to keep his mortals safe from others, gods included. They had done so much to protect their Realm, even under the most unsavory conditions. They deserved to have some aid from their Protector of Earth Realm.
Raiden wondered if they remembered him approaching them those years ago, when he first identified them all as his Defenders. If they didn't, would they demand their lives back under the argument that they ought to choose their own paths? Raiden wouldn't deny them their normal lives, though he would despair at their losses. They were more than just his fighters. For the first time in a long while (about 500 years, if Raiden cared to count) his Defenders were his friends . . . his family. He spent more time down here, mingling with them and laughing at their antics than he did in the Heavens dodging the Elders, his peers, and his mother.
But if they did remember . . .
No, Raiden decided. They don't. They would have brought it up already if they did.
Slowly, Raiden entered the kitchen and sat down languorously on a chair. The others made no notice of his entrance except to slide him the bowl of popcorn and repeat some of the other (equally off-color) jokes he had missed. Letting their voices fade into the background, Raiden considered the day, twenty-five years ago precisely, he had met the future Defenders of the Earth Realm for the first time. . . .
The Mexicans, blacks, whites joke Stryker tells does exist, as do several of the ones alluded to but not described. But asthey would undoubtedly get me kicked off I won't post it. If you're dying of curiosity (and swear by your honor as a human being that you won't accuse me of being racist and tell to kick me off the site) then message me and I will write you the joke Stryker tells.