Author's Note: So I just got myself a PS5 and MK1 and let me tell you, it ain't bad! So since I'm running that hype train (and rockin' Raiden again) I figured I'd dip my toe in this again.

To answer a question posed by "black knight of critics" Japan's water deity has a very long list of names ascribed to them. I picked Suijin and went with a female appearance because, yes, I didn't want the gods of Earthrealm to be a complete 'sausage fest' as you put it.

At any rate, i know this one is short but, again, we're setting up for things to come. Got plenty of new kharacters to introduce. Hope you all enjoy!

-Chapter 17: Defenders of the Realm-

"So you're telling me that you want us, the same people who won Mortal Kombat, to fight hordes of enemies so they don't invade the entire planet in order to save the Earth from annihilation?" Johnny said, seemingly in disbelief. Then he beamed, grinning from ear to ear. "Screw going back to Hollywood! My experiences here will make the most amazing streaming series ever pitched!" Raiden nodded at his overly-enthusiastic agreement.

"Your enthusiasm is appreciated, Johnny Cage. But this is no time for follies. The fate of the realm hangs in the balance and our ability to fight for it." The thunder god responded.

"Hey, you got me last time, you got me this time. Don't sweat it, Ray-dude." Johnny promised, making a couple of finger-guns. The other kombatants standing with him shared bemused looks as the actor's excessive sense of personality reared its head again. "So, where do we start?"

"We will require more champions to aid us against Shao Kahn's legions." Raiden stated. "There are others in Earthrealm who can aid us in this fight, others in possession of arcana power." His glowing gaze was fixed upon Johnny. "One of which is someone you may be aware of, Johnny Cage." The actor beamed and flashed a toothy grin. "I will seek out another."

"What about us, Lord Raiden?" Liu Kang inquired.

"I want you to aid the White Lotus in their travel preparations. We are going to relocate to Ying Fortress. It will prove to be suitable staging ground for our defence of Earthrealm." The thunder god replied.

"What of Sonya and Jax?" Magnus inquired.

"They will return when it is their appointed time." Raiden answered. "Jackson Briggs is healing and his friendship with Sonya Blade remains the key to his recovery. Let them both ride out the storm and they will return like fire from a furnace. In the interim, Fujin will assist you with preparations here."

"We'll go at once, Lord Raiden." Said Kung Lao as he and Liu Kang performed a traditional Shaolin bow. Magnus and Mileena simply nodded as they followed after the monks, leaving Raiden with Johnny.

"Walk with me, Johnny Cage." He stated, hands folded behind his back as he made for the edges of the temple grounds. Johnny trotted alongside the seven-foot thunder god.

"So… which A-list talent am I hiring for the cause? Chuck Golden? Brian Van Jones?" He queried. "Or maybe a female co-star? You know I'm all about women empowerment."

"The individual in question is not an actor." Raiden said simply. "I will send you to him with enough evidence to explain our plight. It will be up to you to convince him with your firsthand experience that he should, as you might say, 'sign the contract'." Johnny beamed.

"Oh then you've got nothing to worry about! I'm great with winning people over!" He remarked.

Elsewhere in the realm…

The Techno Club, a nightspot in an upper-class Hong Kong neighborhood easily identified by garish neon lights outlining the doors. The club's entire front was a huge video wall, where an Asian woman in traditional garb looked directly out across the square.

"Welcome to Hong Kong," the woman on the video said, her voice blasting above the clatter of taxis and buses. "Welcome to Hong Kong, home of fine food and ancient traditions, where you will always receive a happy welcome. Welcome to Hong Kong..."

Beyond the doors lay a room lit with dim red lights. A band on a moving platform swung high above the packed dance floor. Lights strobed and lasers traced designs on the walls and ceiling. The Techno Club was packed wall-to-wall with young people of all ages and races. The music was deafening. Visibility of more than a few yards was obscured by haze from an artificial smoke generator up on the stage.

In a soundproof office, behind a glass window overlooking the dance floor, a man stood facing outward. The room was lit only by the reflected glow from the main part of the club. His massive shoulders spoke of the power in his body. "So, lemme get this straight: yor ol' emperah wants my lil' ol' crew ta start hasslin' those bloody wankahs from the tournament." He mused in a thick Australian drawl. "In return, he'll make us filthy fuckin' rich." He turned away from the window to face the interior of the office. In the darkness his silhouette against the window was broken only by a red glow coming from his cybernetic right eye, where a metal plate glistened from cheek to forehead. He glanced in the direction of a sitting figure, a bearded man in traditional Oriental garb who sat cross-legged on one of the crates which stood against the back wall of the office. "All we gotta do is whatevah you ask of us."

"That is a simplistic summary of the offer." The man replied, breaking his silence at last. The big man, Kano, smiled, the dim glow picking up the reflections from his white teeth and the metal plate.

He walked over to the far side of the office. A large packing crate rested there. He bent and picked it up, seemingly without effort, though it must have weighed hundreds of pounds. Beneath the place where the crate had stood, a grate was set into the stone floor, its iron tracery making a paler grid against the deep black below. The man bent, lifted the heavy grate, and set it, too, aside. "Nothin' like easy money if ya ask me. What kinda favour can tickle ol' Shao Kahn's fancy?" He asked, hoisting out a small weapons crate.

The seated man opened his eyes at last. In the darkened office they glowed as if a fire burned within them. "The Emperor is not interested in the paltry armoury of your realm." Shang Tsung stated, his voice was deep and harsh. "He wants your abilities in order to beleaguer the thunder god, Raiden, and his champions."

"Oh, terrorism, eh? Can do, can do." Kano remarked, planting the weapons crate back into its bolt-hole before kicking the grate back overtop. "'Course, ah, we'll be needin' an advance. Ta finance our opening moves."

The other answered softly. "Kano, Kano. You are too predictable." Opening his folded hands, Shang Tsung twisted them in a slow circle as a fiery glow enveloped them. A portal appeared and a small chest was brought forth into reality. Approaching cautiously, Kano flipped open the lid and grinned as a rainbow of light illuminated his face. The chest was filled with precious gemstones; rubies, diamonds, sapphires, emeralds, the kind that were so perfectly weighed and cut they would earn him billions on the black market.

"Fuckin' beautiful. An' jus' like that, tha Black Dragon is at Outworld's service." The mercenary remarked with a grin, executing a mock bow. Shang Tsung cared little for his sarcastic theatrics and rose from his seated posture.

"I will contact you shortly with new directives. Be ready to move when I do." He stated.

"Sure thing, sorcerer," Kano said. He paused, considering for a moment. "Although… I gotta wondah what ol' Raiden would pay me fo' info like this. Ain't you breakin' rules or somethin' by doing this?" He wondered, a gleam in both good and false eye. The sorcerer whirled sharply.

"Foolish little man," Shang Tsung hissed, his voice barely above a whisper. "If you so much as whisper a word of our agreement beyond your inner-circle of decrepit boot-lickers, not even death will release you from the torments I will provide." The Black Dragon ringleader chuckled in amusement at his outburst.

"Sure, sure, jus' kiddin'," Kano snickered, and turned back to the window. Behind him, flames blazed in Shang Tsung's eyes.

Later…

"Art! Lean! Art! Lean!"

It was the final round of the World Freestyle Karate Championships. Full contact. Full speed. And the crowd was on its feet, chanting, their voices filling the Stockholm arena.

Art Lean, a handsome, muscular African-American, shook his head to sling the sweat out of his eyes and twisted on his feet to find his opponent. When he moved, his legs moving like pistons, his skin gleaming like polished ebony, the referee scurried to stay out of his way.

Art changed his stance again, easy and slow, ready for anything. His opponent, Caesar Cerant, the Belgian national champion, was good… but Art knew he was better.

But where was Cerant now? The ring was small, nowhere to hide...

"Behind me," Art muttered, and leapt straight up, just as a reaping kick from behind came in, fast enough to make the air whistle. It would have been enough to hamstring a man, perhaps break his leg, had it connected… but Art wasn't there. He turned a somersault in midair, twisting like a cat. There was his opponent, off balance and out of position, trying to recover from the missed kick.

"Art! Lean! Art! Lean!" The crowd roared again.

Art landed in a crouch. Then, without pausing for a second, he launched himself forward again, his right hand shooting out in a heel-hand strike, directly into Caesar's torso, just beneath the point of his breastbone. The Belgian went pale, the breath driven out of him. But he still began to take a stance, ready to renew his attack.

"Not so fast, sucker," Art breathed. The American spun, the edge of his foot taking the Belgian in the back of one knee, while at the same time Art's forearm slammed into the front of his opponent's chest at the level of his collarbone. His opponent fell backward, fast. He hit the canvas and lay on his back. In a flash Art was kneeling beside him. The tall African- American smashed his palm down toward the Belgian's face, his arm moving almost too fast to see. He stopped a fraction short of the delicate cartilage in the man's nose, a fraction short of the killing blow.

"It's over," Art said, standing.

And all at once, the referee was there, raising his hand, while another man was attaching something heavy around Art's waist: the championship belt. Attendants fluttered around the fallen man, reviving him, checking his vital signs, his reflexes.

Art stood tall, paying no attention to those around him. His hands were raised in the victory salute, while the crowd surrounding the arena chanted his name, louder and louder. Then it was indeed over. Art shrugged on his robe black with scarlet trim, and climbed between the ropes. Head high, he strode toward the dressing room.

A massage would sure feel good right about now, he thought. A massage, a shower, and about twelve hours of sleep. The door to the small dressing room banged shut behind him.

Surprisingly, he found himself alone. No trainers, no reporters looking for an interview. Nothing but his locker and the padded massage table.

He turned to leave, to see where everyone had gone, and the door pried open slowly. A face vaguely familiar poked in, topped with a head of brown hair and bright brown eyes. He grinned as he slipped inside and closed the door behind him. Art took one look at his sport coat and button-up shirt and noted just how expensive the tailoring was. "Art Lean. The man who took the belt from Eddie Tobias." The man greeted. "I saw you fight in London. You were great."

"Yeah, that's me," Art Lean replied. A split second later he put two-and-two together and recognized the man. "And you're Johnny Cage. I've seen a couple of your films. You can't fake those moves." The two shook hands, noting each others' firm grips.

"Tell it to the press." Johnny scoffed with a roll of his eyes.

"Don't let it affect you, man," Art said, smiling faintly. "What people say about you doesn't mean a thing. It's who you really are that counts."

"Yeah?" Johnny said. "Well, in my line of work, what people say about you makes all the difference in the world." He added, stuffing his hands into pants pockets. "That reminds me," withdrawing one of his hands, it came back clenched around something that made Art Lean furrow his brow. It was a scroll, a strip of tight white paper rolled around twin sticks of hard black wood. A red ribbon bound the scroll closed, and a large seal of black wax hung from the ribbon, "this is for you." It was an artifact from the ancient past come unstuck in time.

"What is it?" Art asked, taking the object in hand. He nudged the seal with his finger. Nothing, just a plain disk of wax. For no apparent reason he got the same feeling of being watched that he had experienced in the ring, when Caesar Cerant had gotten behind him.

"An invitation." Explained Johnny. "I got the in-person treatment. But now that I'm part of the club, I get to extend invitations too."

'I've heard about those weirdo Hollywood cults. The hell'd you get yourself into Cage?'

Art Lean hesitated as seconds ticked by, his concerned thoughts betraying his turmoil. Then, impulsively, he reached out with his left hand and flipped the seal over. It bore a design on the other side: a stylized dragon head in a circle. The dragon's tongue curled out, forked into a double point; its eyes were narrow… foreboding in a way. Art knew, deep in his bones, that this was something he shouldn't even mess with. But at the same time he knew that he wasn't going to rest until he knew everything about the scroll and what it contained. He glanced up at Johnny, the actor still amicable and smiling in a reassuring way.

Without allowing himself a pause for second thoughts, he broke the seal.

Appearing on the edge of a forest of ever green trees, lightning rippled across Raiden's body as the thunder god studied the terrain in front of him. Soft peals of thunder rumbled overhead, the distant chorus that heralded his arrival here. He knew he was unexpected just like he knew the person he was pursuing was as likely to turn him down as he was to accept his offer. A stiff breeze rolled past him, causing the edges of his robes to flutter. The thunder god looked ahead and through the trees. There was a single figure here who was Raiden's choices for new champions, one whose history was a little rough… one Raiden was very familiar with.

Summoning his staff, Raiden began to walk, entering the forest as the canopy of trees stifled the breeze. Grey clouds filled the sky as the evening wore on, the light of day rapidly fading, and the storm god walked simply and briskly towards his destination. Far before him flickered a light that caught the trunks of trees, casting them in an orange glow. Raiden knew this was where his quarry was to be found and he also knew they were unlike any other warrior under his charge thus far. Tough, rough, hardened by life and circumstances, asking him to join the champion defenders of the realm was a long shot at best. But Raiden persevered. He had to try.

Directing his mind to the task at hand, the trees began to part and form a clearing where the crackle of an isolated fire greeted his approaching form. Seated before the fire was a man in forest-green robes laced with a bronzed armor. It captured the glow of the fire, making the man appear as though he were one with the flame. His dark skin shone in the faint light, close-cropped hair clinging to the edges of his scalp, much like his neatly-trimmed goatee conformed tightly to chin and jaw. White tiger-stripes marked his bare arms, illuminate starkly by the shifting light. As Raiden approached, his dark eyes remained closed, even though his head canted up ever so slightly.

"I am aware of your presence." He stated in a low voice.

"Your training serves you well, Kai." Raiden responded. The warrior's eyes snapped open and he looked up in reverent awe as the thunder god stood before him.

"Lord Raiden?" He gasped. "I did not expect you."

"I come unannounced but at a crucial juncture." Raiden replied, remaining standing. "Earthrealm is under attack, Kai. I seek champions to defend it." His words brought conflict into Kai's gaze.

"And you sought me out." He muttered quietly, though his words were not beyond Raiden's hearing. "I told you before, I'm not interested." Kai stated.

"Self-loathing is an unfortunate part of your makeup. You seek to be a Shaolin but feel inadequate when you compare yourself to others. I know you have journeyed in search of enlightenment, but I have need of you now." Raiden told him, standing across from Kai. "You are a warrior with great skill. I need that skill. Earthrealm needs you, Kai." The dark-skinned man said nothing, standing quietly as he started to pace before the fire.

"Why is Earthrealm under attack? Last I heard we won the tournament."

"Shao Kahn presses us with a new ploy. He seeks to weary us into agreeing to new terms: a singular tournament through which Outworld may forever abandon its conquests if we prove victorious." Raiden explained. "It flies in the face of the rules invoked by the Elder Gods, but they will do nothing because an attack is not a merger."

Kai digested the news without so much as a balk or gasp. His stoicism etched his brow into stone and he crossed his arms. "Well… sounds like something your champions should be able to handle."

"They will not be enough." Said Raiden. "I have seen glimpses the future, the battles to come will take a great toll on their souls. They need others to lift them up, to continue on when they are too weary to walk." The thunder god rounded the fire, approaching Kai directly. "Does not the fact I specifically sought you out speak anything to your soul?" He inquired. Kai's gaze turned down, staring at the fire before him.

With a sudden flash of movement, his arm snapped out and a fireball erupted from his open hand. Fire met fire and collectively choked out the oxygen in the immediate area, quenching both flames until only smouldering coals remained. Kai looked back to Raiden. "I just want you to know, I'm not looking for pity. No offence, Lord Raiden, but I need to carry myself. I need to be myself." He stated. The thunder god nodded.

"You will be expected to carry your weight in answering the call to kombat." He answered. "I have never thought less of you, Kai. Nor have any of the Shaolin. Your journey is your own, we always understood that, but right now we need all of our allies to band together in the face of this darkness." Kai rolled his shoulders and pumped his fists.

"Well, maybe I can find some enlightenment beating some sense into Outworlders." He mused. "Alright, let's go. Been a while since I've seen the Shaolin anyway." Raiden nodded in agreement.

"The others would certainly say the same, Kai." He agreed, conjuring bolts of lightning to teleport them away with a burst of white light.

In Outworld…

Ravenous Tarkatan warriors growled and hissed in writhing military columns, all of them standing before the entrance to a portal on the outskirts of Z'Unkahrah and waiting for word from their war chief, Baraka. The leading Tarkatan stood with arms crossed, watching as Shang Tsung and Shao Kahn strolled side by side before the assembled ranks. "The Black Dragon have agreed to be our assets in Earthrealm and have renewed their contract." Shang stated. "There has been no word from Raiden. I can only assume he has declined your most generous offer."

"Arrogant fool." Growled Shao. "I will break him against the might of Outworld as I have broken countless other realms. Raiden will know better than to refuse me."

"His spirit must be wearied first, highness. Repeated attacks against his realm, resulting in many casualties among those he is sworn to protect, will sway him to agree to a new tournament." Shang mused ponderously. "Perhaps a twofold approach is in order to spread his warriors thin, forcing him to intervene." Shao Kahn nodded slowly.

"Yes. An enemy divided is an enemy easily conquered." He determined in a deep voice. "Destroying Raiden's confidence in his ability to defend Earthrealm will weaken his resolve to defy me."

"Leaving him open for a crushing blow at yet another tournament." Shang whispered with a cunning smile. "We should also consider the future, Emperor. Earthrealm has many souls that can be used to further our weapons." He suggested, a dark fire in his eyes. Shao Kahn needed to hear nothing more. He knew of Shang's penchants, where his desires and obsessions lay, and understood quite plainly where the sorcerer's veiled intentions lay.

"Your plans still unfold, sorcerer." He said knowingly and Shang nodded.

"Of course. But I will require more of their abundant Arcana to perfect them."

"You shall have it." Shao decided. "Use this time to complete your experiments. I expect results, sorcerer, I will not tolerate failure a second time." Shang smiled and bowed low with arms sweeping outward.

"Your graciousness is humbling, sire."

"Take these Tarkatans to slake their bloodlust and they will help you capture worthy souls." Shao growled. "Go now, sorcerer. Show me this plan of yours can actually bear fruit." Shang Tsung immediately obeyed, stepping before the Tarkatan horde to the tune of their snarling war cries. Baraka nodded silently, hissing between long teeth as he waisted word from the sorcerer. Spreading his arms out wide, plumes of fire appeared in his palms as the portal behind sprang to vibrant life.

"It has begun!" He declared in a thousand voices rising in discordant force. "Go now and reap the souls of Earthrealm! Drink deeply of their blood! Gorge yourselves upon their flesh, chosen of Tarkata! Let your blades hew joints and marrow, bone and sinew! Your Emperor commands it!" The Tarkatans chanted and stamped their feet, pawing at the ground in raw hunger. Baraka raised the war banner beside him and gestured to the portal beyond.

"N'groh no'tay!" He snarled and, as one, the Tarkatan horde charged into the portal in a stampede of bloodlust…

Earthrealm had no idea what was about to hit them.