Author's Note: And here it is, my long-overdue return to the Mortal Kombat fandom! After some trial and error, time off, and a lot of planning, I think I've got a serviceable storyline to present to you all. It's brand new, everything is my own design, and hopefully an enjoyable read!

Without further ado, it's kombat time!


The Outworld…

The pounding of a mighty equestrian steed filled the air as its rider urged it to go faster, faster. He would not be stopped, not now, he couldn't stop. Too much was at stake.

I cannot be late. Elder Gods, please, let me be in time.

His path took him over hills and around mountains, his faithful mount never stopping once for a rest. Shaoul'Ta knew his steed well, the infamous warlord having waged many wars from atop his horse and struck down many foes as he charged into battle upon it. And now it was here to aid him again, in a battle against time in an effort to prevent disaster. Crimson eyes beheld smoke on the horizon, his heart lept into his throat. No… No, it cannot be. My eyes decieve me. It is a campfire, nothing more. He prayed it was so, convincing himself he had a chance.

But when he crested a hill, a pained gasp left his throat. "No…!"

His home burned. Walls torn down, buildings collapsed, the blood of servants slicking the grass, thick black smoke curling high into the air. An urgency filled him and his heels dug deep into the horse, spurring it onward with a grunting neigh. "Xiang!" He called out, desperate to hear a reply amid the rubble. "Ancora!" He heard nothing, could hear nothing over the gallop of his horse and his own heavy breathing.

He reared around what would've been the front and dismounted in a hurry. "Xiang?! Ancora?!" He cried again, charging into the ruins. Material things mattered little, they could be rebuilt. But Shaoul'Ta refused to lose his wife and daughter. His family was his life, his very reason for living. Without them, he had nothing and was nothing. Think, think! Where would she go for safety? What did I always tell her… Bouncing across blackened stone and through scorched-out walls, he made for his private armoury. It was heavily fortified, the resting place for many of his greatest weapons, all of them powerful, ancient and magical. A heavy metal door stood closed before him and a moment's relief washed over Shaoul'Ta. Surely they were safe.

He flung back the double doors that would've taken two men twice as long to move… and the sight within stopped him as a cold pain shot up his spine.

Shaoul'Ta fell to his knees, a sob torn from his throat. "Xiang… Ancora…" Brought to heel, the warlord succumbed to the basest of emotions, more mortal in this one moment than he had ever been in a long time.

Across the empty plains, the grieving wails of Shaoul'Ta echoed long into the evening…