-Chapter 1: 643 AD-
Storm clouds billowed overhead as distant thunder rumbled ominously. On a high platform made of stone, alone save for the tempestuous winds around them, two warriors fought to the death. One was human in appearance, his beard and hair long, clad in fur and mail and leather as he wielded axe and shield against a being decidedly inhuman in nature. Veins of red lit his dark body with a sinister glow, the trappings of a mighty warrior clinging to his shoulders, arms and legs. His fists concealed behind crystalline dusters, he pummeled the human's shield over and over again with hard, vicious blows. Yet he endured them all, a determined fire in his blue eyes as he withstood his enemy's onslaught.
All at once, the crystalline shattered, crimson shards falling to the ground as the dented shield finally paid off. The human attacked with a vicious cry before the being could strike again, his axe finding purchase deep within his shoulder. Blood flowed thick and liberally, trailing down the being's arm as he growled in pain. Then his face was lit with a cunning grin and his own blood flew to his hand and coagulated, taking on the appearance of a dagger that was promptly buried in the ribs of the human. He cried out, pain etched in his features as the being pressed his advantage and tore out his weapon. Blood exploded from the wound and was drawn into his hand, human blood solidifying under his power and forming a spear that he thrust forward, piercing all protective covering as he impaled the human's heart on the tip.
Eyes wide, he gasped in pain, shield and axe falling from his grip as he slumped over. The being took a step forward, grabbing him by the hair and looking into his eyes with villainous delight. As his life slipped away, the human called out in a weak voice.
"Fri... Fritjof!" He gasped. The being in question forcefully jerked his head around and fixed his gaze upon the single observer.
"Your brother fell by my hand! You and your sister will be next!" He threatened. Summoning his powers, he grabbed the human with an unseen grip and tugged.
"Fritjof!" He screamed, his eyes turning red as blood flowed from the sockets and poured out of his mouth, every ounce of his fluids ripped from his body as it congealed within the hand of his tormentor. Even as he claimed victory, he still bore the grin of a madman addicted to bloodlust, his visage piercing the very soul of the observer...
Fritjof awoke from the nightmare in a cold sweat, gasping for air as the grey light of dawn seeped into his room. His bed of animal fur seemed suddenly cold and deserted now, the memory of Hakon sending unwanted chills up and down his spine.
It had been years since his older brother was killed during the Mortal Kombat Tournament, the first of ten initiated by the realm of Ichoria against his native Earthrealm. The loss had been a huge blow to the young man. But now as a full-fledged adult, Fritjof was keen on exacting revenge on his brother's murderer. And yet, until now, he had no idea who it was.
But now that he did know, he had every intention of making the Ichorian pay for what they did.
Scandinavia, Clan Korping settlement...
Later that morning, as a storm battered the village's great hall, Fritjof stood before his father, Chief Erik Frodesson of Clan Korping, as well as the rest of the clan village as he made his petition.
"In my dream, I saw the man who killed Hakon. He taunted me, again and again. I know who he is and I wish to go to the tournament to avenge my brother." He said firmly. The aging Erik lifted a hand from his salt and pepper beard as he leaned forward in his great seat.
"You have forsaken your training since your brother died. You are not ready for this, my son." He replied.
"I have trained as any other warrior in the clan has!" Fritjof retorted. "I am ready! Let me go father... for I will, with or without your blessing." He threatened with narrowed eyes.
"Do not speak to father that way, brother!" Fritjof turned as his elder sister, Hilda, rose from her seat and approached him. "You have damned yourself by not training alongside me. You would be slaughtered instantly at the tournament. We act to secure your safety."
"Speak for yourself, sister!" Fritjof snapped. "You have not suffered as I have. Hakon was-"
"My brother too." Hilda interjected. Her hand slid from her fur robe, bearing a blue Nordic tattoo as it touched his shoulder. "We all mourned his death." Fritjof shrugged off her touch.
"No you didn't. Not like I did." He spat. His piercing gaze left her and turned to the elders. "I will go to the tournament! I will find this murderer! I will engage him in kombat and I will see Hakon's spirit laid to rest!" He proclaimed. The elders murmured amongst themselves, debating the possibility of sending another warrior.
"Do not be so rash, Fritjof." Erik commanded, rising up to his son's level. "Your sister is our designated champion. She has trained for this moment. Let her go. Let her deal with Hakon's killer."
"She would not do him justice." Fritjof seethed, thunder booming overhead as rain pattered against the roof of the hall. "She goes to save the realm, to fight for the glory of being declared Earthrealm's champion! She does not care like I do."
"How deluded his your mind that you are given to pointless bitterness!" Hilda scolded as she strode over to her brother, her tightly braided ginger hair bouncing with each step. "You speak like a raving fool, Fritjof."
"Prove me wrong then!" Fritjof challenged, pushing his father aside to deal with his sister. "Prove to me that you loved him as much as I did, if not even more!" The frown on her face mind indicated Hilda was very much about to do so.
But then the hall doors flung open with a crackle of thunder, revealing two hooded figures waiting to enter. Distant lightning lit up the sky and stretched their shadows across the assembly. All the elders rose, as did the warriors in attendance. With slow steps the strangers entered their midst, stepping past the rows of viking warriors as rain dripped from their sodden cloaks. They were seemingly equal, both possessed the same air of mystery.
"Anger has become your centre, Fritjof Eriksson." One noted. "You would be better benefitted by channeling that anger into constructive uses instead of letting it consume you." His voice was strong and bold, echoing throughout the hall. Fritjof fixed him with a glare.
"A stranger comes into our hall to berate me?" He asked in disbelief.
"You let your feelings guide you, you allow emotion to corrode your sense of logic and reasoning." The stranger continued. "You are not fit for kombat." With a growl, Fritjof pulled his bearded axe from his belt.
"Permit me to prove you wrong!" He roared, charging the stranger even as his sister and father tried to stop him. He swung hard with his weapon, the stranger backstepping and avoiding him with fluid, graceful ease. A heavy swing narrowly missed the stranger, but he used Fritjof's momentum to push on his arm and spin him around before a palm strike to his back caused him to stumble and stagger towards his family.
Finding his footing and even further enraged, Fritjof turned and attacked again. But before he could even get close to the stranger, sparks appeared within his hand and a staff materialized into his grip. The stranger moved quicker than anything Fritjof had ever seen before, darting in close well before Fritjof even thought about how to swing his axe. He spun, his staff pummeling the viking with multiple hard whacks across before he hammered the end of his tool into Fritjof's abdomen, knocking the wind from him and landing him on his back right at the feet of Hilda and Erik. He coughed, struggling to get back up after the rapid-fire assault. The stranger returned to his calm, straight-backed standing posture, planting his staff against the floor of the hall.
"You have much potential, Fritjof Eriksson. But it is wasted as you wallow on the path of vengeance." The stranger told him. Finally getting a handle on his breathing, Fritjof recovered just enough to look up with scorn.
"Who are you to judge me?" He grumbled angrily. The stranger stood still for a moment, before his hand reached for his hood and threw it back with a flourish of crackling sparks, a conical hat of straw appearing to shade his face, save for luminous eyes of blue and white.
"I am the only one worthy to do so." He answered. The vikings collectively gasped and fell to their knees before him, recognizing the deity in their midst. Hilda and Erik did so as well, muttering their respectful praise. Fritjof was the only one who remained unpostured before the Thunder God; Earthrealm's sovereign protector.
"Forgive my son's impudence, Lord Raiden. He is embittered by the death of his brother." His father begged. "He is angry and does not see or think clearly." His gaze soft and studying, the storm god lingered on Fritjof for a moment longer before turning to the chieftain.
"Understandable, Erik Frodesson." Raiden answered. "The demise of Hakon Eriksson was a harsh blow to endure. It proved the intentions of the Ichoria Autocracy towards Earthrealm." The vikings remained on their knees as his partner threw back their hood, revealing to them all the wizened expression of Raiden's brother; the wind god Fujin. His long white hair was braided tightly behind his head, his eyes aglow with the same godly power found in his brother.
The vikings slowly rose, a reverent air coming over the hall as they were now in the presence of the deities they held in high regard. Fritjof got to his feet and slowly approached Raiden with stern eyes.
"Why didn't you stop it?" He asked with balled fists. "You are the 'Protector of Earthrealm'. Why didn't you protect my brother?!" He demanded.
"The rules of the tournament forbid me from interfering in the final round, Fritjof Eriksson. There was nothing I could do, lest Earthrealm be punished." The storm god answered, his staff disappearing with a burst of sparks. "Hakon had surpassed all expectations and stood to represent Earthrealm against Outworld's champion: Aldamu the Ichorian. Know that he fought well and died a warrior's death." He offered. Fritjof shook his head.
"That does not bring me comfort, Lord Raiden. Nor does it give him the honor he deserved... to be butchered by a skraeling." He muttered.
"He will find honor, Fritjof, as we see to the defeat of Ichoria at the tournament." Fujin told him.
"Is that what precipates your arrival here, Lord Fujin?" Erik asked, approaching the two deities. "Do you and Lord Raiden come to seek the aid of my daughter?"
"We do, Erik Frodesson." Raiden affirmed with a nod. "The Mortal Kombat Tournament is nearly upon us. It is time to gather the warriors of Earthrealm." Hilda stepped forward.
"I am ready, Lord Raiden." She said confidently. Raiden turned to her and nodded.
"That you are, Hilda Eriksdottir." He affirmed. "You have trained your whole life, you are much like your brother Hakon was."
"I will do my best and fight for Earthrealm's survival." Hilda promised, bowing reverently before the two gods. As she straightened, her father came to her side and turned her towards him. Cupping her face within his hands, their foreheads touched as the chieftain blessed her.
"You have trained and matured in preparation for this day. Go, my daughter. May you be the pride of the Ravens and may Huginn and Muninn watch over you." With a soft smile that was somewhere between sad and proud, Erik held his daughter lovingly and whispered, "We will celebrate upon your return." The promise was met with a smile from Hilda before the clan chieftain turned her towards the assembly. "My daughter leaves to fight for the realm! To fight for our freedom!" A cheer went up from the vikings as they hailed Hilda as the greatest of their warriors, destined to, at the very least, do well in the tournament.
Amid their praises and shouts, Fritjof watched as his sister was welcomed into the company of Raiden and Fujin. But his passionate fervor refused to die, not even the discipline of gods could dissuade him. And so, grabbing his axe and sliding it back into his belt, Fritjof pursued them.
"Lord Raiden!" He cried, catching the storm god's attention. "Take me with you. I wish to fight this Aldamu and avenge my brother." He implored. But Raiden shook his head.
"You are not ready for the tournament, Fritjof Eriksson."
"Take me!" The viking demanded. "I've had visions... his death tortures me over and over again! I must go, I have to go! For Hakon's sake and mine." He urgently professed. Raiden stopped to consider him. The god of wind and lightning tilted his head, taking a moment to internally consider his conflict. His divine senses allowed him to detect just how strong and intense Fritjof's emotional turmoil had been and how close to Hakon he had been. The death of his older brother had inspired nothing less than thoughts of revenge and justice within him, possible noble goals when channeled properly. Perhaps all he needed was a little guidance...
"You think you are ready to handle the threats this tournament will present you?" He asked.
"I am. Nothing will stop me, not until I have avenged Hakon." Fritjof vowed, hope creeping into his soul as Raiden engaged him.
"And you believe vengeance is the only way forward? That your anger will be enough?" Raiden asked.
"I do not seek revenge against anyone but this Aldamu. I will fight him, I will kill him, I will avenge Hakon and that will be enough for me." Fritjof promised.
"But will it, Fritjof Eriksson?" Raiden pressed. "Revenge is not a dead-end road. Your anger will demand another outlet, a need to be satisfied again. You claim this is all it will be, but your anger can become your guide more swiftly than you might think." He added.
"I will take up my training again. I will put this all behind me. I swear it, Lord Raiden, on my life's honor." The viking implored, clapping one arm across his chest in a solemn vow.
"No, brother, nothing you say now can prepare you for what is to come." Hilda chastened. "Mortal Kombat is no simple matter. It is a question of heart and soul, of mindful dedication. If you are not in this for even a moment, you could lose your life." Fritjof paused. The silence in the hall was overwhelming as everyone watched the exchange.
"Lord Raiden, please... I beg you..." he repeated quietly, finally adopting the revenant tone everyone else took with the storm god, "search me and know me." Raiden did, and his divine nature took in all that Fritjof was, and he nodded slowly.
"For the sake of your absolution and closure, I welcome your company." He offered, holding out a hand. With a bright glimmer of excited hope in his eyes, Fritjof clasped it in a traditional viking handshake. "You will obey our words and heed our commands."
"I will. I will be as vigilant as Heimdal." Fritjof promised. With a nod, Raiden looked up to Erik.
"It seems we will take our leave with both of your children. I apologize for inviting such loneliness, Erik Frodesson." He said sympathetically.
"Apologies are not necessary, my Lord Raiden." Erik said softly, waving his hand in forgiving dismissal. "I know they are off to do great things... mostly." His sideways glance at Fritjof was most telling.
"I cannot promise their safe return. But I can promise that should they prove victorious, I will escort them back personally." Raiden vowed as he turned to leave.
"If not, great lord, I ask only that you personally escort them to the halls of Valhalla. For they deserve nothing less." Erik asked simply and Raiden nodded.
Leading the siblings past their clan, Raiden and Fujin took the lead as they made for the stormy weather raging outside. "Is it wise for us to bring Fritjof along, brother? His driven determination could be detrimental to us all." Fujin asked quietly.
"He is not nearly as refined as his sister, but I sense that he is supposed to be a part of this. His journey is just beginning, Fujin." Raiden replied.
"I looked at him and I saw his destiny is to be met during the tournament." Fujin responded in turn. "For better or worse, I do not know."
"Then we will simply allow the Elder Gods handle him justly." Raiden mused. The gods led the siblings into the courtyard of the clan village, gathering them close together as Raiden summoned a thunderbolt that enveloped them all, teleporting them away from Scandinavia.
For a brief moment, all Fritjof and Hilda could see was the white wrought from Lord Raiden' lightning. By the time the light faded, the familiar grounds of their villager had vanished, replaced with a building and decor that was foreign to them. Grey clouds filled the sky overhead, but unleashed no rain upon them. Towering in front of them was a multi-layered building with roofs peaked at the corners and emblazoned on the wall of the tower was a mighty dragon emblem.
"What is this place?" Hilda asked in awe.
"This is my Sky Temple," Raiden answered, "it is from this point that we will set off for the tournament." Fritjof took a few steps forward on the cobblestone, looking around.
"I've never seen anything beyond the village." He mused.
"You will be seeing a lot more things in the coming days, Fritjof." Fujin commented. The wind god removed his cloak, revealing red and white robes layered with armor as the glowing Japanese symbol for Wind adorned his back. Raiden did similarly, revealing his own white robes marked with a crossing layer of blue and gold. Around his forearms and shins were pieces of golden armor with Japanese characters etched into them,
"Here you will receive any necessary care you may need. Fujin and I will return in time, we have more champions to collect." Raiden told them. As he spoke, several white-robed bald monks emerged from the Temple. "The White Lotus are here for your protection and assurance in the lead-up to the tournament."
"There are more champions?" Hilda asked, curious.
"You did not think you were the only ones, did you?" Raiden asked with a slight hint of humour in his voice. "Fear not, Hilda Eriksson. We will return before long." He promised. As the monks led the siblings into the temple, Fujin and Raiden turned and started walking.
"The numbers of Earthrealm's champions are fewer than in previous eras. I am concerned for the fate of the tournament." Fujin said in a quiet tone.
"Have faith in those who do stand, Fujin." Raiden responded, turning to his brother. "Where will you go first?"
"I have prior relations with Yuhara. I am sure she will aid us." The wind god answered. "And you?"
"I go to Egypt. She is faithful, I know she will fight for us." He answered. Fujin's gaze narrowed.
"Be careful. That place is a hotbed these days." She cautioned. Raiden nodded.
"I am aware. But the hottest flames forge the toughest metals." He said sagely. Raiden stepped back and summoned his lightning to teleport away while Fujin summoned a personal cyclone to whisk him away, conjured by his own capabilities.
Egypt, 20 miles from Fustat...
A cloudless blue sky allowed the sun to shine brightly upon the bustling settlement. A busy market day, the village populace was out and about to exchange goods and sell their wares. Everyone needed something. Everyone always needed something.
One particularly figure walked among their midst, warmly greeted and fondly known by all. She was a tall, graceful woman. A dark-skinned native of the land, she was known all throughout her village for her kind and caring nature, for she willingly helped whoever called upon her... even during times of great hardship.
Clad in fine robes sewn like those worn by her ancestors, her limbs and neck adorned by jewellery, she seemed unlike the other Egyptian villagers around her. More regal, more noble, her body wrapped in bedazzling hues like ruby and topaz. Dropping a few coins in exchange for a bag of fruits, she exchanged pleasantries with the vendor before she was on her way.
"Papa..." Her soft voice reached the older man who turned towards her with a keen eye to examine her fruits. He felt each one, the flesh firm and skin without blemish.
"Ah, Mayet. Always choosing so wisely." He praised.
"Have you found everything else?" Mayet asked.
"Yes yes, it's here." Her father replied, hoisting a rather large bag over his shoulder. Mayet offered to carry it, but her father waved her off. "If I do not do this, I will waste away faster than I already am." Mayet relented and together, father and daughter slowly made their way out of the market. As they walked, the taller Mayet spied distant guards at the entrance to the village, far down the road. She frowned.
"Invaders." She muttered under her breath.
"Mayet, please!" Her father hissed, halting their walk and turning her towards him. "You know you must keep your thoughts to yourself. The local governor already wants your head for your outspokenness." He cautioned.
"I will not submit to their ways, or this 'Allah' they bring and force us to worship. It is not Egypt." Mayet stubbornly replied.
"Even so, you must not anger them. I cannot lose you." Her father said softly, cupping her cheek and guiding her gaze towards him. Mayet softened under his aged gaze and his kindly appearance. "Surely you can set aside your beliefs... or at least keep them quiet?"
"Papa, if we do not stand for what we believe soon there will be nothing to believe in." She answered, a wave of her head sliding long black hair to the side. "I do what I must because it is right. I believe in Ra, and Osiris, and Set and Hathor, and all the gods the Pharaohs worshipped. The gods our ancestors worshipped." She stated. "I will not put aside what I believe just because invaders tell me to do so." Her father sighed sadly, looking upon his daughter with a loving expression. She was far from the little girl who ran around the house, and even that felt like a lifetime ago.
"You are so strong. And for that I am proud of you." He whispered fondly. "But please, for the sake of our family, no more provocations. This is the world in which we live now. And... no parent should ever have to bury their child." He begged.
"Father..." Mayet whispered, taking his hand in hers. Their conversation was abruptly halted as several soldiers clad in armored robes and turbans surrounded them, scimitars drawn and at the ready. All of them were Arabs, members of the Muslim caliphate now in control of Egypt. Mayet drew her father behind her and dropped her bag of fruits, prepared to defend him with her life. "Stay behind me." She hissed insistently, drawing a metal ankh from her robes. The soldiers remained static, waiting for another order. Then, from an alleyway, a smug-looking Arab revealed his presence. His robes were far richer and more stately than the soldiers, his turban sporting a feather as a mark of his prominence. His dark eyes locked with Mayet, who frowned in recognition.
"Ah... the famous troublemaker." He mused with a wicked gleam in his eye. "Albiqrat alkafira." He scoffed, fixing Mayet with a hard glare. "At last we have you caught. The mufti will be most pleased by your capture."
"Tell your overlord I am no man's prize, nor am I interested in the affairs of foreigners." Mayet bit back. The man laughed.
"Who would've guessed?" He mused aloud. "Aimra'at sharie bialnnar." His men chuckled at the remark, spoken in their native Arabic.
"Take your condescension elsewhere, Mohammed Fatir." Mayet bitterly spat.
"Constable Mohammed Fatir, eahira." The man corrected her. "Your rebellion against the caliphate has lasted long enough. Today is the day you submit to the empire's power, Allah be praised."
"I should think not." Mayet firmly retorted. Dropping to a crouch, she slammed her ankh into the ground where it began to glow brightly. "Grant me sunlight, mighty Ra." She whispered. In response, the ankh transformed within her grasp, forming first a thick shaft of metal and ending with a spearhead nearly the length of her arm. Lifting the Staff of Ra with ease, Mayet twirled it into a ready position. Mohammed merely smiled at her attempted defence.
"Take her." He ordered his men. The Arab soldiers began to advance,
"You would be wise to leave her alone." A mighty voice ordered them, drawing the attention of everyone towards the end of the street, where a man in white approached them.
"Outsider!" Mohammed snapped. "You dare interfere in th-"
"Ah ah," Raiden halted him, holding up a single finger and allowing a current of electricity to flow to the tip, sparking brightly for a moment. "I don't think so." He said, eyes glowing with power. Electricity crackled around his face and distant thunder boomed in time with his warning. The soldiers grew fearful at the display of power and even Mohammed cowered before him. Never in all his life had he met such a man before.
Raiden passed through them with ease, his bright white robes a stark contrast to pretty much everything around them. The soldiers broke apart in awe before him, allowing Raiden to approach Mayet as she knelt before him.
"Lord Raiden." She greeted reverently.
"Peace, Mayet. It is good to see you." Raiden greeted in turn, offering her his hand. Mayet took it and rose, using her staff for leverage.
"You honor me with your presence, Great One."
"It appears I arrived just in time." Raiden mused, glancing around. His ethereal eyes returned to Mayet as he continued, "I've come here because of the tournament. It is time." His words rocked Mayet somewhat.
"And... you wish for me to participate." She slowly realized.
"Your faithfulness and steadfast dedication have earned you your place among Earthrealm's champions." Raiden affirmed. "Will you join me, Mayet?" After a moment of consideration, the Egyptian nodded.
"Mayet! You cannot leave us!" Her father urged, now on his feet and gripping his daughter's arm.
"I must, father." She responded. "This is the will of the gods. I am called to fight for future of Egypt. If I don't there may not be an Egypt to return to." Her father appeared crestfallen, his gaze sinking to the sandy ground. Raiden placed a hand on his shoulder.
"I assure you, noble Hotep, I will return your daughter by the end of the tournament." He promised. "But we must leave now, time is short." Hotep nodded in relent and released his daughter, looking up and offering her a final blessing.
"May the gods look favourably upon you." The Arab soldiers closed ranks around them.
"You cannot leave! Not with her!" Mohammed commanded. "The caliphate seeks to take this woman for punishment." Raiden paused, his eyes turning to the man. He could feel his confidence waning and took a few small steps forward.
"You would interfere in my business?" He asked simply.
"Your buisness is of no concern to the caliphate." Mohammed answered, clearing his throat. "But if you take this woman, you will be considered our enemy in need of equal due punishment." He commanded. Raiden chuckled and stepped closer.
"Your caliphate is inferior and minuscule in comparison to the matters of the realm." He stated. Mohammed's face grew hot with a mixture of fearful rage.
"The caliphate is as eternal as the Arab Empire, Allah be praised!" He proclaimed.
"I know this Allah you speak of," Raiden said thoughtfully, stepping right up to the man, "he is a three-limbed demon of the Netherrealm." Having never heard of his god referred to in such a manner, the color immediately drained from Mohammed's face again.
"Th-Three-limbed." He repeated.
"Yes." Raiden leaned forward. "I cut off the fourth personally." Mohammed backed away, no longer confident or smug. "You will take a message to your caliphate: if any harm comes to the family of Mayet... every individual involved will suffer the wrath of Earthrealm's protector." Raiden stated, his presence suddenly surrounded by strong breezes as thunder boomed overhead and lightning rippling within his eyes. Mohammed swallowed nervously, taking the threat from Earthrealm's protector quite seriously.
Raiden beckoned to Mayet and the Egyptian stood by him. Summoning a lightning bolt from above, they both teleported away in the blink of an eye. The startled soldiers remained wide-eyed and speechless, their gaze darting back and forth in shock and surprise as to what just happened. Hotep, on his feet and loosing a breath, merely shrugged at the Arabs.
"I think you had best let me pass." He said.
Japan, Shirai Ryu territory...
Careful footsteps padded through the forest, moving with skillful grace and honed instincts. These woods were well-known, the path well-trodden, an ancient legacy dwelt here and lived here. The woods were a living, breathing testament to the history rooted in this land.
And amid them, a pair of eyes were observing the traveller.
A woman in yellowed robes, lined with traditional armor forged from metal and sturdy oaken wood, her ebony hair tied back into a bun and held out of her face by a sandy-shaded headband. Bright eyes darted this way and that, her keen senses seeing nothing out of the ordinary. But there was a lingering sensation that something was amiss and that she was not alone in these woods.
The metallic swing of a blade rushing through the air caught her attention and she turned to draw her own katana from her belt, just in time to block a downward slash from a man in matching armored robes. Their katana's met with a shrill clang that echoed across the woods, their duel swift and heated as they fought with matching intentions of survival. The woman back-tracked and swung her leg around in a low sweep and knocked the man on his back, allowing her to pounce on him and bring her blade to his neck.
After a brief moment of respite from the combat, the woman smiled. "Anata wa hotondo watashi ni oji o motte ita." She greeted. The man smiled.
"It seems you're skills are as sharp as ever, Yuhara." Her katana removed from his neck, he sat up and pushed himself to his feet in order to sheath his own blade. "Or perhaps your uncle's skills are failing as I age."
"Nonesense, ojisan. You are too hard on yourself." Yuhara chided, her katana clicking into place within her sheath. "But why do you seek to test me?"
"A Shirai Ryu must always be ready. Even the grandmaster." He answered. "There are some who doubt you."
"Because I am a woman?" Yuhara mused, partly finishing his statement. "I know our clan's history, uncle. There has never been a woman grandmaster before." Her uncle remained silent. "But is it my fault my father had only one child and that was me? I am a Hasashi am I not? And the Hasashi family has led the Shirai Ryu since its foundation." Her voice rose in time with her passion, personal emotion slowly intertwining with her belief.
"I know, Yuhara. But that is not of what I speak." Her uncle finally stated. "You have been grandmaster for ten years and have no heir. You are not even married."
"And what man could I take who would ensure that the Hasashi lineage persists?" Yuhara countered. "I have not yet come to a decision on this, my mind is not yet made up."
"Yuhara-"
"Why do you stress so much, ojisan?" She finally asked. "You are right, I have been Grandmaster for ten years. Surely I have enough time to make some decisions... surely I can be trusted to make decisions."
"You know that is not what I meant." Her uncle said quietly. Before either of them could continue, a torrential wind announced the sudden arrival of Fujin as the wind god emerged into the woods. Immediately spying the pair, he approached them and Yuhara recognized her.
"Kami no kariudo." She quickly said in greeting, bowing respectfully before him.
"Gurandomasuta no go aisatsu." Fujin answered in Yuhara's native tongue.
Yuhara rose. "Welcome to our lands. What brings you?"
"I come because of the tournament. It is time, Yuhara Hasashi." The Asian woman's eyes widened slightly.
"It is time? So soon?" She wondered. Fujin nodded.
"I am afraid so. My brother requests your presence among Earthrealm's champions." Yuhara knew a direct request from Raiden was no to be taken lightly and she knew what needed to happen.
"I am ready to join you." She said. "My uncle will take over clan leadership until my return."
"Very well." Fujin agreed. Yuhara turned around, looking to the man she revered and thought so highly of. A man who was one of the very few members of her immediate family who still lived.
"I know you will do what you must." He said simply.
"I know the same could be said of you, ojisan." Yuhara replied affectionately. Her uncle stepped closer, placing his hands on her arms.
"Kamigami ga anata no hi o aorimasu yo ni." He offered in blessing. Leaning forward, he kissed her brow and whispered, "Shori o kaesu."
"Mata aemasu ka, ojisan." Yuhara replied. Leaving her uncle, the Shirai Ryu Grandmaster made for Fujin's side. Once beside her, Earthrealm's wind god teleported them both back to the Sky Temple.
They arrived in the same conditions Fujin had left behind, grey clouds and a generally stormy atmosphere. As they materialized, Raiden and Mayet did so nearly simultaneously, appearing in a bolt of lightning that struck the ground opposite them.
"Your timing in impeccable, brother." Raiden mused in greeting. Then he turned to Fujin's charge. "Grandmaster Hasashi, I bid you welcome to the Sky Temple."
"Thank you, Lord Raiden." Yuhara answered with a respectful bow.
"You and Mayet will be taken care of by the monks." Raiden continued, passing them off to the arriving members of the White Lotus Shaolin.
"Brother, perhaps it is best you summon the final two champions while I ensure our current collective is made homely here." Fujin offered.
"Well said, brother." Raiden agreed with a tilt of his head. "Go with them, I will return once I have collected the rest." Stepping back, he disappeared into another summoned bolt of lightning.
China, Articka Region...
The bolt of lightning struck the snowy ground and Raiden materialized just in time for a young boy in blue robes to lose his footing on the stone ground and trip. Stooping low, the storm god caught him just in time before he hit the ground. The boy shook his head and looked up through frocks of brown hair, his eyes widening slightly as he gaze upon the godly visage studying him. "Wenhou nianqing de zhanshi. Dashi zai ma?" Raiden asked in his native tongue. Getting over his awe, the boy quickly nodded and picked himself up before turning and sprinting towards the large building carved into the side of a mountain.
Standing up, Raiden allowed the chilling air to rip across his skin before pursuing the boy inside. The building draped in blue and white banners bearing a triangular emblem, Raiden entered the mountain enclave and the chill lessened only slightly. It was cold all around, the ice and snow outside a clear indication of the weather. But the storm god knew it was commonplace for this clan of warriors to train in such harsh conditions. It tuned their bodies, made them hard and impervious to the weather. And for those with special abilities, the cold made them feel at home.
Footsteps to his right drew his attention and Raiden turned to see two men approaching him, both dressed in blue traditional robes. The first of which had short black hair and was clean shaven, his blue eyes piercingly bright. The other had brown eyes and longer black hair, a black goatee adorning his chin. He recognized them both and approached them. "Wenhou dashi." He greeted, offering a traditional bow of respect.
"Shen lei." The short-haired grandmaster replied, bowing in return. "Welcome, most honorable Lord Raiden." He said, straightening up.
"Noble Duan Xun." Raiden continued as the two clasped arms. "I trust the Lin Kuei are as exceptional as ever."
"The defence of Earthrealm is our primary objective, Lord Raiden. We do not slouch in the face of duty." Duan answered.
"That is good to hear, especially now. The tournament is upon us. I seek the aid of Earthrealm's warriors to help fight against Ichoria." Raiden revealed. Duan paused, dwelling on his words.
"Then... it is time." He mused in realization.
"Yes, Grandmaster Xun. It is time to join the ranks of Earthrealm's champions... as Sub-Zero." The name was a mantle passed down to the greatest warriors in each generation, usually those who would become Grandmaster of the clan. Duan Xun was the most recent to inherit the title, the deadliest cryomancing warrior of his generation. Skillful, resourceful and a capable leader, Duan was widely known and recognized throughout the clan.
Nodding in understanding of his duty, Duan turned to his fellow Lin Kuei. "During my leave, Battlemaster Ren Huang will lead in my absence. You have seen this affirmation, Lord Raiden. Confirm it." He asked.
"So it shall be." Raiden answered with a nod. Ren bowed in acceptance as Duan turned to enter deeper into the Lin Kuei temple.
"I must dress appropriately." He said, mostly to himself but loud enough that Raiden heard him. The storm god followed the grandmaster down the hall until they arrived at a simple chamber where, adorning a wooden dummy, sat a set of specially-made armor. "This armor has been in my family for generations. To think that I must wear it now..." He mused, reaching for the breastplate.
"Something plagues your thoughts." Raiden noted. "Tell me."
"My ancestor was killed during the Great Conquest. My own father was killed during the last tournament." Duan explained, taking the breastplate in both hands. "There has never been a long-lasting Sub-Zero... not since the very first: Grandmaster Articka, for whom these lands are named. I fear for my clan, for I have no successor as of yet."
"Your lineage has never been in question," Raiden told him, "I would suggest you turn your focus inwards, Duan Xun. Dwelling on the past will do you no good. For you are the present and the imminent future, it is up to you to live now and to live for tomorrow." He said. With a nod, Duan accepted the legacy in his hands and began strapping armor into place, gradually transforming his simple appearance into the armored one of Sub-Zero. Before he could slide the mask on, Ren entered the chamber and bowed in respect.
"Forgive my intrusion, Grandmaster. Permit me the honor of seeing you off." He said humbly.
"We will meet again before long." Duan promised. "I have no intention of dying to an Outworlder or an Ichorian." Then, he slipped on the mask and hood, now transformed into a Lin Kuei cryomancer of silver and cobalt, standing tall and grim as a figurehead of his clan.
"Xiang heiye yiyang chenmo..." Ren intoned, reciting the first portion of the Lin Kuei creed.
"He liming yiyang zhiming." Duan finished, bowing in respect to his friend and greatest ally. Straightening up, Duan turned to Raiden and nodded, the storm god standing beside him and summoning a lightning bolt to teleport them away.
Isle of Briton, Saxon lands...
After dropping off Sub-Zero, Raiden had one final stop to make and soon found himself upon a grassy knoll, a stiff breeze causing the vibrant green grass to roll like waves out at sea across the near-endless plateau. There was a single figure here who was the newest of Raiden' choice champions, one who was a little rough around the edges but had the making of a fine kombatant.
Summoning his staff, Raiden began to walk, approaching a distant settlement closer to the shore. Grey clouds filled the sky but the scent of rain was not on the air, the storm god walking simply and briskly towards his destination. Far before him stood a wooden house, crude in shape and design but enough to house at least one resident. He knew who lived there and he knew they were unlike any other warrior he'd recruited thus far. Tough, rough, hardened by life and circumstances, he had to wonder if Lord Raiden had ever gone through such things during his time as Protector of Earthrealm in the previous era. The sudden knowledge that he was taking over his father-figure's role weighed heavily upon his divine mind. Sure, he was a god now, made so by Lord Fujin in an act that saved his life. But he had not the experience or the original nature of the old god of thunder.
Directing his mind to the task at hand, Raiden observed a man in brown leather clothes emerging from the house, close enough for him to pick out his long, shaggy brown hair and thick beard. He seemed far less kept than the other champions, a rugged man from a rugged lifestyle. As Raiden approached, his dark eyes caught sight of the approaching god and he greeted him with a broad smile and a boisterous voice.
"Ha ha! Tis the great Raiden of the storm come to see me!"
"Huscarl Osric of Culay." The storm god greeted. "It has been some time since last we spoke."
"Aye, tis' been a decent age since your last visit, stormy one." Osric agreed. "And what, pray tell, brings the divine lord of the realm to my door?"
"I come because I have need of your strength and skill. Great enemies advance upon our realm and I need the strongest Earthrealm has to offer in order to beat them back." Raiden explained. A gleam came to Osric's eye and he rubbed his hands eagerly.
"At last! Something worthy of my time." He declared, turning around and ducking back into his home. "There have been not enough wars for us huscarls, too few for a man like me. To finally be summoned for something... it is a refreshing feeling."
"Your kings and lords ask you to fight for their honor and glory." Raiden mused, stepping closer to the door but not entering. "I ask you to fight for something more than that."
"Verily! But all I ask, nay, all I need is an excuse to fight." Osric answered from within. "Cause or reason matters not to me, mighty Raiden." The storm god did not respond, knowing this information already. Waiting a few moments longer, the Saxon soon emerged clad in armor of metal and leather. A large shield hung across his back and a sword was sheathed by his belt. Fitting a metallic helm snugly over his head, Osric tightened his greaves and gauntlets. "Right, when ye be ready, mighty Raiden." He said.
"Have you everything you need?" The storm god inquired.
"Aye! Let's be off!" Osric declared boisterously. "I shall fetch my horse." He offered.
"No need. I have more expedient means of travel." Raiden offered. Stretching his hand towards the sky, a summoned thunderbolt struck his hand and branched out to envelop them both, whisking the two away in a flash of white light. They rematerialized within the familiar grounds of the Sky Temple.
Well, familiar to Raiden that is.
Osric stumbled and shook his head, rather overwhelmed by his first ever teleportation. "By my beard! That is quite the means of travel." He mused, dusting himself off. Then he looked up and took in the massive foreign structure for the first time. "Good lord! I've never seen such a magnificent structure before!" He gasped.
"I should think you will be seeing many things for the first time." Raiden said in agreement, allowing his staff to dissipate into sparks. "For now, however, I bid you to follow me inside, Osric of Culay. You shall join the others." The storm god directed, leading the Saxon warrior into the temple. Shifting the weight of his shield over his shoulder, a curious Osric followed.
"Pray tell, Raiden, what 'others'?" He inquired.
"The other champions of Earthrealm." Raiden answered. "You are not the only one here for Mortal Kombat."
"What's this? 'Mortal Kombat' you say?" Osric pried. "Come now, I've never heard such an absurd term before." Raiden cracked a small smile.
"In time, Osric of Culay, you will see and learn that many 'abusrd' things are rooted in very real truths." He responded.
