THE COMING OF WINTER
Part 2 of 4 Section2 written by Victar
Victar's Archive
Part 2 Section 2
Pyre's underground duel-chamber had been carved entirely out of a single bed of stone, or so it appeared. Slow-burning fire pits circumscribed the actual battle arena. Their steady blaze combined with the glow from torches set in the walls made the atmosphere sweltering hot.
I arrived dressed in an unusual manner. Rather than wear colored ceremonial attire such as that which Pyre had donned, I was clad head to toe in black, like a common Lin Kuei. My eyes were shielded with a smoky grey lens strapped to my head. Long gloves completely covered my forearms and hands. Pyre looked at me strangely. He knew that I could not channel blasts of my Power as an offensive weapon, muffled as I was; at the very least, I'd have needed my hands free. The old man raised an eyebrow. I could almost hear him think Overconfident young pup over the crackle of burning torches.
Spectators crowded around the perimeter of the circle carved into the stone floor, their collective body heat further warming the chamber. Most of them were initiates or lower ranking instructors. Smoke was not among them. Sektor seethed in the far corner, poorly containing his agitation. No Hierarchy members were present, which was unusual considering that one of their own would fight the duel. The Watchers' location was impossible to pinpoint, yet the soft resonance of their combined Power remained, lingering like the barest hint of sea breeze after the wind has changed course from land to waves.
The Overseer stepped forward. He held a red flag in one hand, and a white flag in the other. He was dressed in nondescript black, like I was, with one difference; a ceramic mask painted to resemble the head of a demon covered his face. The mask's eye indentations were large on the outside, narrowing into thin slits the deeper they went in, effectively making his true eyes invisible.
"Take your places," the Overseer commanded. Absolute silence enveloped the crowd. Noise came only from the crackle and hiss of fuel being consumed in the fire pits. Pyre and I moved around the arena to its back wall, where a single concrete slab bridged the fiery perimeter. It was the only way in or out of the battlegrounds, unless one walked upon white-hot coals. Pyre stood at the circle's westmost point; I moved to the opposite pole several meters away. The Overseer stayed upon the concrete bridge. Now that we were both in the arena, he would allow only one of us to leave alive.
Pyre held up his hand, palm toward the Overseer, who bowed and stepped a pace back. The Hierarchy lord spoke, quietly, yet projecting his voice with underlying strength. "Let it be known that I dislike the necessity of this. For the good of the clan, Sub-Zero, you must be destroyed." The outward veneer of sincerity penetrated his voice and face. Perhaps his speech fooled the others, but he'd already lied to me once with that same expression.
When the Overseer glanced at me, I shook my head. This arena was a place for killing, not talking. The Overseer crossed his arms and raised the flags high. "Ready..." he called, preparing to snap them both down as he signaled the start of the duel. "Begin!"
With the roaring of an efreeti, the arena became an incinerator. Flame blanketed the circle. It burned, fueled by the strength of Pyre's will, sucking the breath from my lungs, enveloping me in a crematorium a thousand times stronger than what I'd experienced on the day of my Test.
Where hope failed, desperation clung. I pushed my bleeding muscles to the limit and reached with one hand, wrapping it around the hide and matted fur of the ogre's equine left ankle. His club crashed where my handhold on the wire had been, but now I'd disengaged my left hand from it as well, and held fast to his leg.
"WHAT? GET OFF!" He couldn't lean forward to club his own legs without falling, so he kicked, awkwardly, trying to shake me off. I dug my fingernails into his skin and called to the Power, sacrificing the last of my inner strength in a final gambit. The ogre voiced a cry of pure rage and jumped back, dragging me with him. My chest scraped the bridge's side. Wedges of splintered bone poked deep into internal injuries. Shock made me let go in midair and collapse, back on the narrow overpass. I couldn't have done it without his help.
The ogre's jump had carried him a few meters from where I'd fallen, facing at an angle to the bridge's lateral extension. "RRRRRRAAAARGH!" he yelled, smacking his club next to his hooves. "NOW, MOSQUITO, YOU DIE!" He took a step forward, raising his lethal weapon-
-and his left hoof, made slick by a single sheet of Ice coating its bottom, skidded out from underneath him.
His top-heavy frame careened back, matching the forward thrust of the slipped hoof, and he pitched over the side. His free hand clamped upon the metal slats of the bridge's edge, but they instantly twisted and slipped out of his fingers. I locked my own arms around one of the slats and clung to it, lurching with every rock and swing, ignoring the hurt of scalding metal, broken bones and bleeding skin.
Through the grooves between the metal slats, I saw the ogre thrash in Blood River. He'd lost his club. He screamed and stretched his arms toward the bridge, which swayed a scant two meters above his longest extension. The hiss of scalding flesh filled the air. He was not only drowning, he was being boiled alive. His flailing made waves, some of which spattered through the bridge's slats, stinging my face. The steaming river swelled about his torso, making it flush deep red. Then the river's blood climbed to his armpits, necks, and heads. One hand broke the surface for an instant after he'd submerged. It was quickly reabsorbed.
"Thank you," I spat. The ripples where he'd been remained mute.
A look of bewilderment crossed Pyre's face when I plunged through the flames and drove two stiffened fingers into his eyes. He'd expected me to be ashes, and I would have been if not for the concentrated layers of Power I'd generated underneath the fireproof suit that covered every square centimeter of my skin. The suit itself had served its purpose in hiding my Power's aura from casual study. It had taken twelve hours of meditation to weave a defensive sheath of the Power strong enough to insulate against Pyre's attack. Even that would have failed after another couple seconds of his inferno, but all the Fire vanished the instant I pierced his eyeballs.
Are you waiting to hear how I struggled tooth and nail against Pyre, trading blows for hours on end? I'll have to disappoint you, then. It had been decades since Pyre last relied on his martial prowess. The old man was accustomed to instantly incinerating enemies from a distance, not actually fighting them. Blinded, he had no means with which to focus his Power - unless he were to take off the gloves of his ceremonial uniform, something I didn't give him the chance to do. He was defenseless.
I tore my fingers out of his ruined eyes, formed a fist with my other hand, and invested the full brunt of my strength upon his skull. He sprawled on the floor. The listless manner in which he landed told me that I'd knocked him insensate, or close to it. I'd defeated him as quickly as he'd destroyed so many others, but the duel was not yet finished. I had to make absolutely clear what would happen to any who dared betray my honor as Pyre had.
Detaching the glove on my right hand and rolling up the sleeve, I bent down to grasp the old man's neck. He twitched and groaned as I called the Power, yet could not coordinate more than weak cuff of resistance. His lips moved to mouth three words, so quietly that only I could hear.
"So be it." He went limp. There were no screams, curses, or pleas for mercy.
A couple seconds of concentration was necessary to send the Power down beneath his skin, burrowing through muscles and gristle. It wrapped around his spinal column, severing bone and notochord more precisely than a butcher's knife of the highest quality. I yanked Pyre's his head up while it worked. His frame remained attached for a moment; then it slid down, separating from his head as his spine eased out of its body cavity. Bits of gore streamed down the incision in his neck, dripping from the lower tip of his dangling vertebrae and landing on his lifeless body. Maroon fluids blended into the crimson fabric of his ceremonial uniform. I held Pyre's head and spine up high, for all to see.
The Overseer dropped both his flags. One of the Watchers flickered into view, too startled to maintain his Power of Invisibility. Most of the crowd was wide-eyed, in stunned silence.
Sektor went berserk.
He charged with an animal howl, vaulting over the arena's fiery divide. I flung his grandfather's head in his face. That didn't hurt him, but it did distract him from the burst of Power that followed. The Power paralyzed him in mid-shriek. I took his left arm, holding its palm prone, and wound it past its natural stopping point perpendicular to his back. He regained his voice when his left humerus fractured from the strain. I drove my knee into his solar plexus. While he folded in half, I forced his head further down and repeated the violence on his right arm. Finally, I shoved him to the ground by the arena's fire-border. A corner of his uniform's fabric caught alight. Legs thrashing, he managed to roll over and smother the flame before shock overwhelmed him and he fell into motionless stupor.
"Well?" I addressed the rest of the onlookers.
The Overseer fell to his knees. "Lord Sub-Zero," he said, looking at the floor. One by one, the rest of the observers followed suit. Lesser clansmen do not make eye contact with members of the Hierarchy.
The adrenaline which had flooded my system ebbed away, so that I began to feel how badly hurt I was. I could barely keep my eyes open because some adhesive substance covered them. It was blood, I realized. Streaks of sticky red discolored my uniform. More crimson fluid trickled from my head and torso. A sucking chest wound interrupted my breathing. Steam burns scalded my exposed arms. One leg worked. The other felt stiff and numb, with a puncture in the foot; it wouldn't support my full weight. I couldn't stop to tend the injuries, or the heat from Blood River would kill me. There was no Power left to create Ice bandages, so I held the tears in my side closed with my hands, and limped toward shore.
Each step weakened me further. Blurring vision informed me that the shore was a scant fifty meters away, just beyond where I'd met the ogre. My throbbing nerves told a different story. Several times, I had to stop and cough up blood. Another spate of coughing made me double over when I touched the other side. I fell to my knees and vomited. There wasn't enough strength in my limbs to stand back up. When I tried, dizziness rocked my head and I fell flat. The jolt pressed my broken rib bones further out of alignment. From where I lay, I could see a dull, maroon trail leading back to the metal bridge and beyond. Remarkable. I didn't think a person could lose that much blood and remain conscious.
The thought of trying to treat my wounds had receded. Part of me recognized their nature and knew damn well that no improvised bandage was going to stave off the inevitable. The rest of me remained unified on one thought: press on. I was not going to surrender to Limbo. This place would not claim me while I still lived.
On this side of the bridge, a sheer wall of polished stone rose directly out of the sandy ground. Unlike the relatively gentle slope of the previous side, scaling this vertical expanse would have been impossible without specialized climbing gear, not to mention a healthy body with which to use it. The only place to go was through a huge, cavernous opening directly ahead. A whale could have fit through that aperture, leaving enough room for seagulls to fly overhead.
Framing the portal were the bleached bones of the most immense dragon yet. Its gracefully honed front limbs, each of which ended in three wickedly recurved talons, were affixed to tapering walls near either side of the entrance. Its backbone merged with the tunnel's ceiling. Two vast, bat-like sets of wing bones were fused with the tunnel's interior. Beyond, I glimpsed the skeleton's clawed hind limbs and spined, sinuous tail with a three-pronged tip. A many-vertebra neck with shorter, more slender barbs rested in an S-curve near the top of the entrance. Cresting the neck was a long, sharp-toothed skull with two smoothly tapered, backward-pointing horns. I couldn't tell what held all the bones together. Some appeared to be fastened to the entrance's walls; others simply hung in place, as if they were all part of a single sculpture.
Slowly, painfully, I struggled to drag myself toward the yawning hole in the canyon's side. I wriggled like a worm, scrabbling forward with my hands, then pushing with my good leg. At least the heat lessened the further I writhed from Blood River's shores, perhaps to as low as ninety-five degrees Fahrenheit. Reaching the gateway seemed to take an age. When it was close enough, I stretched out single hand toward the tantalizing shade within.
Something hard and flat stopped my fingertips. An invisible barrier blocked my path.
My hand dropped, and my body followed it, gradually easing into a supine sprawl. I still wasn't giving up; I just needed some time to think about this latest obstruction. Perhaps if I closed my eyes for a moment, I'd be able to concentrate better. The realization that I was slipping deeper into shock fluttered across the back of my mind.
The skull moved.
My eyelids blinked open and shut. The dragon's skull was descending, guided smoothly down by that serpentine neck until its empty eye sockets hovered above my own. Something I can only describe as black fire sparkled, where the skull's eyes would once have been. Now that they had come alive, the bones radiated titanic waves of godlike Power. A sibilant whisper, quiet as silt, soft as soapstone, echoed in my mind.
They will have told you that I am Death. You, mortal, are at my door.
My newly acquired retainers closed the doors behind Smoke as he kneeled before me in the polished stone chamber, once Pyre's, now mine by right of conquest. I sent the servants away with a flick of my wrist before addressing the teacher.
"You may stand," I said, graciously. He did so, keeping his eyes downcast. "I want to talk to you about - will you stop looking at the damn floor?"
He turned his head to the side.
"That is not what I meant, and you know it," I growled, annoyed.
"Lord Sub-Zero?" he asked, quite humbly.
"I am the same person I was the day before yesterday. I've killed enough people so that killing one more is not going to change me."
"My Lord, if I have offended you-"
"I'll say this once in terms a child could understand. As long as we are alone, I swear you may look directly at me and speak your mind freely without fear of reprisal. Stop treating me like... like..."
"An esteemed member of the Hierarchy, Lord Sub-Zero?" he finished, calmly meeting my glare.
"Yes, like an esteemed member of the Hierarchy whom you arranged to be killed in a death-duel."
"In that case, allow me to observe how much you sound like him." Perhaps I'd been too hasty to grant Smoke freedom of speech, but there was nothing to be done about it now. "It is unfortunate that I could not attend the duel. I trust Pyre did not pose too insurmountable a threat?"
"He was dangerous, but he relied on the Power too much."
"I will also take the liberty of inquiring why you did not kill Sektor when you had the opportunity."
"He is not a hunter. Not yet. When he becomes one, he can challenge me to a duel."
"And if he decides to take vengeance on your family instead?"
"He does not know my true identity. I am the only member of my family to join the Lin Kuei. The others are safe from harm."
"You are making a mistake."
"That is none of your concern."
"If you don't want to dirty your own hands with his blood, then there is a small legion of intermediaries at your disposal-"
"Is something wrong with your hearing?!" He fell silent. "Listen. I am going to tell you things. You are going to confirm or deny them. Do not attempt to deceive me, or-"
"-you'll drain the vitreous humor from my eyeballs, and use it to preserve my severed tongue?" My gaze involuntarily moved to the set of jars and their fleshy contents resting on the black marble shelf. They would definitely have to go.
"Stop interrupting and pay attention. I survived Pyre's wrath through the nature of my Power. Protective clothing alone would not have been enough to ward against his Fire. There were those who had tried; you told me that much. Only someone with the Power of an opposite attribute could hope to defeat him. Only Sub-Zero, the clan's sole Ice master, had a chance.
"Pyre lied, but before that he was lied to. You talked to him about me. You're the one who led him to believe I was a beginner, barely able to control the Power."
"True; however, nothing I said could have convinced him as thoroughly as the slipshod manner in which you bungled that assassination. That was quite brilliant on your part, leading him to underestimate you through a charade of pretend incompetence."
Yes, I had definitely been too quick to grant Smoke free speech. "You are the current topic of discussion. Weren't you the one who brought to Pyre's attention that I was 'refusing to accept assignments,' unless they 'had a certain prestige'?"
"Alas, I cannot claim that honor. However, I did point that detail out to Hurricane and Toxin, as possible bait to lure Pyre and you into conflict. They could have passed the information along to Pyre in any number of ways."
"Hurricane and Toxin?" I repeated, recognizing two names of the Hierarchy's ruling Triumvirate. "I thought they spoke only to other Hierarchy members."
"Officially, yes. Unofficially, they do not desire to be sequestered. Knowledge is power, even knowledge gained from lowly unworthies such as this one. I meekly suggest that you share this observation with others strictly at your own risk."
"They wanted Pyre dead because of that thing in his basement, didn't they? Pyre planned to make himself into... into..."
"Not just himself; he had the entire Lin Kuei clan in mind."
I could envision the horror. Pyre's Power was lethal enough. Combined with an artificially strong physique, he would have been unstoppable. Worse, there was no telling how long his lifespan might have been extended, if the frail flesh of his aging body were transformed into cold metal. None could have escaped his will. He would have destroyed the clan one by one, replacing each member with monstrous, mechanical things of grease and wire.
"Smoke, I understand that Pyre's removal was necessary, and that I had to be the one to remove him. But why trick him into tricking me? Why didn't you just ask me to challenge him?"
He chuckled slightly, more rueful than mocking. "People make better pawns if they never realize they are on someone else's chessboard."
The quote hung in silence. After about thirty seconds, Smoke's eyes shifted from misty serenity to charcoal unease. Perhaps he felt the chamber's temperature drop from that of a cool fall day, to hover well below the freezing point of water.
"There is one other reason I called you here," I told him, quietly. "I wish to make it explicit that you owe me a blood debt for Pyre's destruction. It is a debt that I may claim from you at any time, in any manner I so choose. Is my meaning clear?"
"Quite."
"Good. Get out."
He left.
There was one last debt to which I had to attend, a debt that I owed. It could not absolve the stain on my honor, no more than Pyre's destruction could, yet it was something that had to be done. The next morning I set out in secret for a small fishing village, five days' travel away.
This realm is not for living mortals.
The skull hovered above my motionless form. It examined me on a multitude of planes at once: physical, psychic, spiritual. It riffled through my memories as if they were sheets of paper in a notebook. Whatever allowed it to peer into my soul worked both ways. Inside the black fire of its eyes, I sensed a terrible presence old as life itself, utterly ruthless, the eternal nemesis of all that drew breath. The vortex in those eyes pulled at me. I squeezed my eyelids shut; the call remained, tugging at the corners of my mind. What was left of my will vied against it.
Kill me if you must, but don't expect me to surrender! Even as the thought took shape in my head, I could sense that it was not going to harm me. It didn't have to. All it needed to do was bide its time. It waited for its due from every living thing, with the ageless patience of a force of nature.
Why do you resist? What do you have to live for?
It shook me to realize what a good question that was.
Why did I struggle to survive? There was nothing I took pleasure in doing. There was no one I particularly cared about. My brother? He was an adult now, responsible for his own destiny. Aside from a desire to protect him when he was younger, there has never been any true bond between us. Smoke? The closest thing I had to a friend used me like a gaming piece. The Lin Kuei? It is to laugh, or would be if I had the capacity.
Honor? I'd wanted to stand above all the other predators like me, but I wasn't truly any different. I'd killed a harmless fisherman, an act that made me indistinguishable from a common cutthroat. Power? Glory? Such things didn't matter to me.
What did that leave?
The presence above extracted images and words from my memories, replaying them so vividly it was as if I'd stepped back in time. One scene after another was reviewed and disregarded, until it reached something very recent.
...you failed Ultratech.
Shang Tsung is dead.
You didn't kill him, did you?
A technicality.
Quivers of interest raced through the presence.
A dark time comes upon us, Sub-Zero. You played a significant role in the setback of Shang Tsung's evil schemes; now, you are one of the few mortals who can thwart his current plans.
Shang Tsung is dead.
No longer.
The dragon skeleton, once dispassionate, had become intrigued.
YOU'VE ALREADY FAILED US ONCE, INSECT. YOU DON'T DESERVE A SECOND CHANCE!
A second chance to do what?
To kill Shang Tsung, I answered. Why? What do you care?
It cared a great deal. Again, the link between the dragon skeleton and myself flowed in the other direction, and I saw the sorcerer Shang Tsung through its inhuman eye sockets. What it knew, I knew.
Shang Tsung was mortal once; to a certain extent, he still was. There was nothing he craved more than immortality. Thirst for everlasting life had consumed and corrupted him ten centuries past. It shaped his deeds to this day. He made deals with dark gods and demons to prolong his years. The more he dealt with them, the more he became like them. He hunted the souls of common mortals to appease his unholy patrons. They kept him young in exchange for his service. As time passed, they demanded more from him. Five hundred years ago, he took control of a Tournament of cosmic significance. He sought to pervert it and turn the world into the face of Hell, all so that he could go on living.
If there is one thing Death cannot stand, it is a rebel.
It hated Shang Tsung for eluding its grasp, long after the sorcerer's time should have come. And it despised his evil plans. Left unchecked, Shang Tsung's schemes would eradicate all life from my world; but without Life, there cannot be Death. Shang Tsung fought to overturn the Cosmic Furies' balance, a balance of which Death was a part.
That was when I recalled a very good reason to continue my struggle for survival. I'd committed myself to assassinating the most dangerous killer known to walk the face of the earth, more powerful than Pyre, more brutal than the entire Lin Kuei clan. I'd come close, but never touched him. My rightful prey was still alive, and I owed myself the duty to kill him.
Twin beams of liquid black jet streamed down from the skull's eyes. The onyx substance collected on my chest, gradually spreading until it enveloped my entire body. Its touch was cold, whipping like the blast of an arctic wind against skin soaked from a glacial spring. It felt wonderful.
The dark matter slid off me and vanished into the gravel. I felt giddy, lightheaded. Gone were the agony of crushed bones grating underneath my skin and the helpless weakness of lifeblood streaming from my veins. Sitting up made me dizzy for a moment. Looking down on myself, I saw new scars underneath my stained, torn uniform, where the gaping rents in my chest and abdomen had been. Incredulous, I placed two fingers on the side of my neck, and felt a solid, regular pulse.
I was alive. The dragon skeleton had healed me.
You may pass.
It took a certain amount of effort to stand. Though my physical injuries had been mended, I still felt fatigue from my long journey, and my psyche had barely had the chance to replenish itself.
"I will not be in your debt."
Death does not acknowledge debts incurred or received. My will falls upon all mortals with equal weight. It is my will that you enter, alive. Whether you shall leave is for you to determine. Remember that your soul cannot depart this realm without a living body to carry it, and those who sleep in Limbo do not awaken among the living. The skull turned away from me, lifted by its lithe neck into the same S-curve position it had taken before. Its nigh-tangible waves of Power waned, while the black motes of fire in its eyes subsided into ordinary shadows crowding the eye sockets.
I reached toward the cavern entrance. The unyielding, invisible barrier I'd felt before was gone. I strode through, into the darkness beyond. My mind and soul were fixated with new purpose on the desire to escape Limbo, find Shang Tsung, and kill him.
end section two of part two
Disclaimer: Mortal Kombat belongs to the creation of Ed Boone and John Tobias and the Midway team. The characters from Killer Instinct, Primal Rage, and Morrigan from Darkstalkers are likewise not created 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.