The fire of life stared through the cursed eyes of Kotal Kahn under a sky lit by an unfathomable sum of galaxies and souls of dead stars that watched as he waited hours, nights for the flame to cease its glare and rest.
One night as the moon stood full amongst a bed of the cosmos, the flames gasped and cracked as though a great spirit and pinched the head off and as the stars did their best to light the way, the dark shroud of the earth itself cast over the desert. When the violent wolf howled, he knew they had accepted the burden him among them, but for how long, only the flame knew and it had now taken its last breath.
Stripped of all adornments, Kotal Kahn bared himself in mere leathers, linen, and furs. No headdress would be welcomed in the land of the Wolf, no deity of the sun could walk in their night.
These were the rules for him to even be allowed to sit before the fire of life and let it decide if he could move forward from there.
"You must keep the big cat hidden within you." A voice carried over the sands as they raced with excitement over hill after hill toward the intruder, and with them carried the pack of wolves to surround him.
When his eyes opened, Kotal Kahn stared back at Nightwolf from across the dead embers and nodded. If he were to go through with this, he would have to submit his entire self. This was Nightwolf's caveat to helping him return from the land of the dead with the dead itself.
"You will learn how to walk amongst the dead as we have, but you will also learn wether it is worth to disturb the natural balance of life and death as the Great Spirit had decided long before man and woman walked the plains."
The wolves howled until their voices transformed into the chanting of the Matoka and the men and woman surrounded Kotal Kahn, disdain, anger, and vengeance filled their eyes, but the Nightwolf of their clan demanded their obedience as wolves have given to men.
"You will not be welcome in our village, you will spat on and you will be cursed, Ko'atal, but you must understand that this is the path you have chosen to disrupt the balance of life and death." Nightwolf added, "we have agreed to show you the path to the Netherrealm, but only you can decide if fate is best left to the Great Spirit."
"We will see." Ko'atal, stripped of his title in their presence, nodded and stood.
This journey must begin, but first, the timing must be right for those first steps to be made. One must not trip into hell.
The village was no longer a tribal sight as it had been when he and Quan Chi had burnt it to the ground in the fires of blood and rage. This was the nineties and the muck and mud was their home with makeshift houses poorly built, trailers and other mobile homes, and various outcast materials from a less civilized western world to be spat at the feet of the Native Americans like they were third world scum.
As Nightwolf had spoken, once eyes laid upon Ko'atal so too had the spit and vitriol of the Native Americans. Those that had carried the weight of Ko'atal's presence with him to the village were eager to break off once his foul feet stepped onto their already tarnished earth. With lives garnished by the standards of whiter flesh, to see the profanity of the gaze of a man that had murdered a vast number of their tribe, it was almost worse that the muck they were thrown to live on.
"Stay with me." Nightwolf had a path, the only path Ko'atal could take, and it was straight to the Sheriff's building.
A small wooden construct made slightly better than the rest of the village by the mere table scraps of the white man's dollar under the concept of their law enforcement, the sheriff's office was built like a log cabin meshed with a mobile home and cement foundation.
The coarse steps that led to the simple wooden door was blocked by two of Nightwolf's tribesmen adorned in mourning attire and face paint. They were the guardians of the dead and none dare pass, save for the Nightwolf and the Sheriff. It was an insult to let Ko'atal through, but even more to deny the Nightwolf.
"Let him through." He cleared the path for his old nemesis and opened the door for him. "I want to show you something."
Inside, it looked dreary and surrounded by the abundantly cut trees all savagely decapitated and their skeletons lined up in pretty rows as an effigy to the concept of nature itself bending to the will of man. Inside however were also modern conveniences, like a television, desk, chair, computer. The sheriff was the only man between the Matoka and the local cities that must live in both worlds, and yet belong to none. It was this, or let them dictate the law of the land, as if they knew how the Matoka lived.
The sheriff was as tall as Ko'atal and hair flowed down his shoulders like a river veiled in wolf fur, and his eyes were that of a wolf, sharp, cunning, and carefully dissected the man he stood eye to eye with.
"This him?" The Sheriff was still, focused, and words concise and soft spoken, but his eye drifted to Nightwolf only when speaking to him.
"Show him." Nightwolf walked past into the next room where Ko'atal could see a table and a cloth draped over the form of a body. "Show him everything."
"You think you know," the Sheriff glared, eyes narrowed, "who you are, what's to come? You've no idea."