Mavado approached the small cottage in the middle of the woods in upstate New York. He had been given this location by Shang Tsung as part of the Red Dragon's arrangement for working with the two sorcerers. Allegedly, one of the Black Dragon's best was currently living here in isolation. Given the rumours of what had become of his face, this was not at all surprising.
"Keep your men hidden in the treeline," the Spaniard commanded his squad leader. "He may try to retreat with his speed. If he does, shoot to kill."
Simply assaulting the building with explosives or firearms would clearly have been a far more efficient method of eliminating their quarry, but Mavado enjoyed his one-on-ones with Black Dragon traitors, and this one was one he had long been planning to savour.
He made his way across the small clearing that could, perhaps, charitably, be categorised as a front yard, and peered in through one of the windows. The interior seemed rather spartan - the sort of place one might expect for a mere holiday home used once or twice a year, not a full-time residence. The thermal imaging satellite had found a heat signature inside, but the fireplace was unlit. A small oil lantern was emanating enough light to illuminate the room from the mantlepiece, but it certainly wasn't large enough to produce a noticeable heat sig. Someone was home.
Mavado, quickly and quietly, began picking the lock to the front door. The door that suddenly exploded open, sending Mavado flying back across the porch and into the now cracked wooden railing. Gunfire erupted from the treeline, growing quieter and quieter with each passing second, each drop in decibels punctuated by a yelp or a harsh slicing sound. Kabal was out in force.
Seizing his chance, Mavado ducked inside and searched quickly for a hiding spot. Just as he spotted one, Mavado was flung off his feet by a sudden shove in his back. Such assaults were common in his line of work, but speed granted both stealth and force for this quarry. Mavado managed to get back to his feet before Kabal's momentum fully died as he skidded across the wooden floor and held out a hand to stop himself against the far wall.
Neither man spoke a word. Neither needed to. Mavado knew everything there was to know about Kabal's martial prowess, and Kabal knew the intruder was with the Red Dragon - the clan from which Kabal's former affiliation had once sprung. And the Red Dragon spared little thought for whether that affiliation was former or current. Once a Black Dragon, always a Black Dragon, as far as they were concerned. Both intrinsically understood that only one of them was walking away from this encounter.
What made these two borderline unique within their respective factions was that neither bore ego enough to assume it would be them walking away. Mavado took his fighting stance and Kabal shifted into a ready position. As if hearing an imaginary announcer declaring the start of the battle, both men charged into the fray simultaneously.
Kabal's speed was not only a tool for closing gaps or ambushing foes; his punches and kicks were also incredibly fast, with power backing them to boot. Mavado struggled to keep up with him, so he formulated a plan. While the specifics were unknown, it was known that Kabal's speed was a by-product of the augmentations he had been fitted with to save his life after his immolation. Mavado needed only to keep his guard up until he could find an opening to deal a decisive blow to the machinery on his foe's back to cripple him. That, or he could go for the oxygen tubes with his dagger, but Kabal seemed cautious of such a strike, based on how he moved his body, so the back seemed Mavado's best option.
When he saw his chance, he went for it, swinging his hidden dagger towards Kabal's pack, only for him to dash back, as if he had anticipated just such an attack. From that range, Kabal had the advantage. He had room enough to get a running start before Mavado could close the gap himself.
Kabal charged his opponent, dragging him the full length of the house and slamming him against the far wall. The invader simply smiled cockily. He kicked Kabal back a few paces - just enough for him to notice the elastic red ropes stretching from the man's gauntlets to the floor where he had previously been standing. Mavado launched himself in Kabal's direction and dropkicked him over the couch. He would have popped the spikes in the soles of his boots first, but the added time commitment would have risked his chance to land the hit at all, so a nonlethal strike was preferable.
"Speed is a very useful tool, mi amigo," Mavado taunted. "But only when not limited by a cramped interior." Kabal knew this was true, forcing him onto the defensive as Mavado began tossing random objects over the couch. Kabal used his dodges to move around the couch to get into position for a dash, only for Mavado to leap over the couch to the other side to maintain his advantage.
Kabal dropped down low, both to dodge and to prepare his next move. He dashed directly into the couch at a perpendicular angle. His shoulder collided with the furniture with enough force to send it flying at Mavado, who had to duck under it to avoid being hit. This left him open to a swing from Kabal's famous hookswords, managing to get away with only a light graze to his heel as he pulled his legs back and scrambled to his feet.
With the space now clear, Kabal was on Mavado in seconds. It was only thanks to the numerous blades he kept hidden inside his longcoat that he was able to keep Kabal from closing the gap recklessly. Kabal swung with his hookswords, aiming for Mavado's neck. The Red Dragon rolled out of the way and created some distance between the two once again. Mavado began unloading his daggers, throwing each with precision at Kabal's face, each of which was deflected by the other man's hookswords. The blades flying his way and the flurry of his weapons blocking them combined to distract Kabal from the two daggers being thrown at his feet among the rest. They were thrown at such a distance that one of them was guaranteed to not be unwittingly stepped over as Kabal rush forward.
As intended, Kabal's foot collided with one of them and he tripped, staggering forward uncontrollably, allowing Mavado to leap forward and deliver a devastating knee to the chin. Capitalising on this, Mavado had a knife in an airtube before Kabal could recover from his sprawled position. With another blade, Mavado was cutting wires in Kabal's pack when his attention was averted.
It seemed that the couch and one of the deflected blades and managed to knock the lantern closer to the edge of the mantlepiece. Gravty did the rest, as it fell and shattered on the stone floor by the hearth, sending flaming oil out towards the carpet and the conveniently flammable couch. The flames spread quickly, and Mavado knew his time was short. He grabbed the hookswords his fallen foe had dropped after the knee strike. He got a few practice swings in and decided he liked how they felt. By the time he went to finish Kabal off, the room was mostly in flames. His path to the front door would likely be gone in a few more seconds, so he made one last remark towards his fallen foe before making a beeline for the exit:
"This time, let the flame take you. Better that than another second of this wretched life, no?" With a quick downward swing, both hooks pierced Kabal's chest and left nasty wounds as they were ripped out as Mavado fled.
Two of the Red Dragons that had accompanied Mavado were waiting for him in the treeline upon his exit. They knew how he enjoyed his one-on-ones, and thus chose not to get involved. The two had been lucky to avoid having their throats slit or the heads outright removed by Kabal's freight-train-like speed. Mavado took the time to patch the two up with supplies carried by the dead medic. He used this to time Kabal's potential to escape. By the time both men were fixed up and ready to depart, it was clear that Kabal was not coming out, as the roof collapsed into the building, casing a fireball to erupt out the front door.
Mavado looked down at the two swords held tight in his grip and he allowed his hands to relax, knowing that he wouldn't need to wield the blades against their former master. He called in the result of his mission to Daegon. Every dead Black Dragon, big or small, was a success in the boss' books, and Kabal had certainly been a big one.
A hand emerged from the crawlspace beneath the cabin, dragging the singed husk of the former Black Dragon out from the wreckage. Kabal had installed a secret trap door beneath the rug in the living room when he'd first moved in. Fortunately, the rug had been knocked aside by the couch, preventing his escape route from going up in flames too.
Beneath the cabin were a few supplies Kabal kept and restocked as needed, including a roll of duct tape, with which he closed up his oxygen tube to allow himself to breathe. The rest of his augments were beyond his ability to repair right now, but the damage mostly pertained to his pain relief, so he wasn't in danger of dying before he could escape the crawlspace, at least. He wouldn't last much longer beyond that, but he might be able to call for help before he died. Especially since he lost valuable time to unconsciousness soon after.
By the time he emerged from beneath the cabin, finally sure that his attackers were long gone, Kabal's home was nought but charred wood and ashes. He was lucky it hadn't collapsed into the crawlspace while he was unconscious. Not only that, it was now the early hours of the morning.
Kabal's left arm barely functioned, leaving only his right to drag him out of the wreckage and into the open. He had to stop to rest for a short time after clearing the area that might see a structural collapse.
"Aaaaah, Earthrealm," said an unfamiliar voice from nearby that sounded... honestly like some kind of demon. "Kabal, yes? Of the Black Dragon?"
Kabal turned his head in the direction of the speaker. It was a man in a black robe with a hood covering much of his face. He tried to speak to this enigmatic figure, but he seemed to have taken a severe wound to his throat in the battle and was unable to.
"No, no, don't tell me. Former Black Dragon. Yes, you left that band of thugs nigh-on a decade ago. Good timing, too, seeing how the group died out after the invasion."
"Wh... Who..."
"Who am I? The more important question is, what do I want and what can I offer you in exchange? You seem to be in quite the predicament here, dying as you are. And I just so happen to know the name and location of the man that brought you into this state. I can give them to you, and even save your life, if you do two tiny favours for me in return. How does that sound?"
The man was on the ground beside him now, staring right at Kabal's face as he made his proposition. It was now, being so close as he was, that the obfuscation of his features provided by his hood only served to highlight the two that more needed obscuring: his glowing blue eyes, and his complete lack of flesh on his face, from his nasal cavity-down. He looked like he'd had one of those Lin Kuei ninja masks glued so hard to his face that his skin had come off when he'd removed it. Kabal could relate.
Kabal nodded as best he could, given the circumstances. Despite the man's lack of lips, Kabal could almost swear he saw him smile. "Then, we have a deal. Very good." The man pushed himself up onto his knees and magical energy formed in his hands. "Now, hold still, would you? Chaosrealm healing magic is... well, I'm told it's unpleasant for anyone not from that realm. But you've grown accustomed to pain over the years, I imagine, so I'm sure you'll be fine."
The man was right on both counts. The magic was very unpleasant. And Kabal was going to be fine. It was going to take a hell of a lot more than some cuts and stabbings to stop Kabal. This Mavado guy was going to know that soon enough. And he'd make sure no one would ever forget it.
Kabal's knowledge of the realms expanded exponentially after meeting this mystery lifesaver. Up to then, his knowledge was limited to what he'd learned back during the invasion nine years ago: Outworld was looking to merge with Earthrealm, Edenia was freed from Outworld in the end, and Hell was called the 'Netherrealm'. Since then, he'd mostly kept to himself and let Sonya Blade and her crew to deal with other worlds.
But now, he knew there was an Orderrealm and a Chaosrealm, and the latter was the homeworld of this mysterious benefactor. "You can call me 'Havik'," he had said. "That isn't my name - Chaosrealmers don't have them - but it helps to have one when dealing with otherrealmers."
His goal, supposedly, was to obtain a dragon heart from Outworld and he needed Kabal's help. The Black Dragon had fallen apart since Kano died in the invasion, and Havik wanted to see the anarchic force revived to help him.
Despite his reservations, born by his complicated history with the clan, Kabal agreed to reform the group under his banner. His life had been saved by Havik, so he owed him a debt. And besides, starting fresh with none of the old guard - necessitated by Kabal's betrayal of the old BD - meant this was a golden opportunity to change the group's goals and methods. No more cutting out hearts. No more gunrunning. No more terrorism, domestic or international. Word had reached Kabal, through Kurtis, that that Sub-Zero guy had reformed his faction since the invasion. And they'd sent mind-controlled cyborg assassins after him.
Not that they'd strictly be another protection force for Earthrealm. There were more than enough of those running around already. Kabal's ambitions were nothing so lofty, nor so altruistic. Kabal had spent the last few years acting as a vigilante, battling the Black Dragon remnants and other criminals wherever they popped up. But he'd always take from their stash himself. Because being a disfigured, barely alive former criminal did nothing for his employment opportunities. Even his time undercover didn't help, seeing how he had been declared legally dead after his run-in with No-Face, and his Kabal persona was considered a dangerous vigilante.
So, what could he do but become that dangerous vigilante, killing and stealing just to survive? He didn't deserve what had happened to him. He wasn't the one that cut Daniel Blade's heart out. He wasn't the one who set people on fire. He hadn't even been a Black Dragon in well over a decade. He was the one who woke up to what the Black Dragon stood for and tried to take them down, putting his new life on the line to do so and losing that one too. Kabal hadn't thought of himself as David Cahill or Johnathan Lodge in a very long time. And no one else but Kurtis had either. All he had left were his morals and the skills he had honed as a criminal. So, if the world had decided he should be abandoned for trying to do the right thing, he'd just go back to doing what he was good at. He wouldn't go to the extremes of the old Black Dragon, but he wouldn't let the world get away with what it had done to him.
The last of the afghans slumped against the wall, a dagger in his chest. He slid down the sand-coloured wall, smearing it red with blood. His killer retrieved her dagger from his chest cavity, silently grinning at the depth it had managed to penetrate from being thrown across the cavern hideout. The grin quickly subsided as she looked back over the dozen or so other corpses surrounding her.
Things had been going so well, right up until these fucking dinosaurs had learned she was a woman, not a man as she had alleged. She'd spent so much time mastering her tone and cadence, her body language and shape. She let out a deep sigh, both from the relief of the removal of the tight wrappings that kept her chest small, and from the frustrating knowledge that she would have to move her operations elsewhere now that she'd been exposed.
Still, she supposed it wasn't a total loss. These guys had come to the meeting place in a truck larger than her own. And they'd even brought along some very nice guns to add to her inventory. So, she's lost a client and missed out on a sale. So what? Her inventory had expanded, as had the space she used to transport it all. This was a win, more than it was a loss.
She gathered up her personal weapons, most discarded upon running dry or fatally lodged in the flesh of her 'dissatisfied customers'. Her twin Berettas weren't compatible with the shitty Soviet-era pistols these guys were using, so she'd need to find a seller to resupply later. For now, it was these handguns that were older than she was, or her trusty daggers.
Once the weapons were boxed up and loaded onto a trolley, she made her way out of the cave. As she she reached the afghans' truck, she spotted a robed man sat on a nearby rock. Not wanting to risk anything, she whirled around and tossed one of her daggers (the same one that had struck down the last of her clients) at the man. The next thing she knew, she was being pushed up against the truck with one hand, a knife to her throat in the other, by a man wearing some Vader-esque respirator. From the feel of the dagger being pressed into her neck with just enough pressure to draw blood without doing any lasting damage, she knew it was the very knife she had just thrown. And from the absence of the man on the rock, she knew this was the same man.
"Neat trick," she croaked in Pashtun, careful not to press her throat any deeper onto the blade. She carefully shifted the weight on her right side to apply the pressure needed to release the dagger built into the sole of her right boot. The man stomped on her foot to keep it in place.
"You're not so bad yourself. Fourteen guys dead in under a minute - woulda been fifteen if I was anyone else. I can see how you've lasted this long, despite being a woman." He pulled back, but kept his foot on hers. He handed her knife back, placing it into the hand that wasn't currently rubbing the light gash in her throat. She now realised just how precise this man was with a blade, especially following his inhumanly fast charge at her.
As he stepped away and she got a better look at him in his mask and robe, she found that he actually looked closer to a Tusken Raider than a sith lord. She's suspect he was some sort of enthusiast, were it not for the harsh conditions of the region, from both the weather and geopolitics.
"Quite the haul," he observed, looking over the crates. "I know a guy back in the states who'd pay a few grand for this."
"Not interested," she replied dismissively.
"Your lack of love for America was obvious from your clientele. But this isn't about the U.S."
She began to relax a little, seeing how the man seemed to bear no ill will, despite her unprovoked attack. It seemed that he was looking to recruit her. "You've got until I'm done loading my truck."
"Fair. You're in the trade. Have you ever heard of the Black Dragon?"
She scoffed. "The Black Dragon are old news. Dead for a decade. Shame they missed out on this whole War on Terror, but that leaves more money for the rest of us."
"It's true that they've been dead. But they're not forgotten. If someone as young as you knows about them, then their name still carries weight in our world. And I'm gonna use that weight to really make a splash."
"You can't just steal another group's name, even if they are out of business."
"First, it's ironic that you say stealing is wrong, given your line of work-"
"Touché."
"Second, who said anything about stealing it?"
"The only way it wouldn't be stealing is if you were an original-" She stopped short and turned to look him over.
"It just so happens that I am. Name's Kabal. I'm restarting the Black Dragon from scratch. And I think someone of your talents, both with knives and as a negotiator, has a lot of promise."
"You expect me to believe-"
Kabal opened his robe to reveal the dual hookswords on his belt. Not much was known about him, but it was well-known that there'd been a guy in the Black Dragon that used that exact weapon. She was pretty sure she'd heard he was dead, though. But then, he certainly looked like a guy who'd been through enough shit for people to think he was dead.
"You're closing up shop here anyway, right? Might as well go where you won't have to hide your chest anymore," he suggested, pointing to her bandages that had fallen to around her waist, making her suddenly conscious of the fact that she wasn't wearing a bra under her sleeveless jacket. This guy was certainly observant.
"And where, exactly, is that?"
"First, the states. I've got another guy I'm looking to bring in on this. Then I have one more personal matter to attend to. After that, it's off to Outworld."
"Outworld," she scoffed. "Are you fucking mental?"
"I fought guys from Outworld during the invasion. They're really not as tough as most people think. Especially when you're the one bringing the armoury." He pointed to the crates she still had left to load. Despite having no evidence to back up his claims, she felt oddly certain that this Kabal guy was being straight with her.
She sighed. "Alright, fuck it. Where else am I gonna go?"
"Good. Let me help you load up your truck and let's be on our way."
Despite her reservations, Kabal did load up her truck, and showed no signs of planning to kill her for her haul. In fact, once she was packed up and ready to go, he did her one better.
"Here." Kabal tossed a couple of knives her way and she caught them without issue. She was quickly taken aback by the quality of the smithwork on the butterfly knives. The mirror sheen on the blades reflecting her red hair made is easy to picture how they'd look with someone's blood on them. "Kano won't be needing those anymore," Kabal informed, answering the question she hadn't had the chance to ask yet. "Consider it a down payment until we get back to the old hideout. But we've got another stop to make before then."
"You said the states, right? Where exactly?"
New York City. If ever there was a city in need of help, it was this one. New York had always suffered from high crime rates and been a hot location for terrorism, both terrestrial and, eventually, otherworldly. The city's population had dropped heavily after the failed invasion from Outworld. Rent had shot down in most places to encourage residents to stay. The success of this initiative was debatable.
Central Park was on the mend after Shao Kahn's palace had occupied it for the duration, leaving the iconic locale as nothing more than a desolate crater when the giant eyesore departed back from whence it came. Restoration efforts had been ineffective, with most assuming some sort of dark energies now permeated the area and refused to allow fresh life to sprout forth from the blackened soil.
The entire area had been cordoned off, initially, as if it were the site of nuclear fallout (which many argued it basically was). But maintaining this lockdown was impossible thanks to the size of the area and the dedicated manpower required to keep the huge influx of criminals and idiotic teens out, forcing the mayor's office to simply designate it a no man's land and urge the citizens to stay out for their own safety.
This was where the underground street fights known as "Moral Kombat" got their start. The uncreative play on the name of the Johnny Cage movie franchise was intended to reflect the cutthroat nature of the fights, and the gambling surrounding the event that proved highly lucrative for those who knew how to play the game.
It was in this environment that a particular martial artist made a name for himself. That name was 'Kobra'. His real name was unknown. He himself rarely even used it anymore, instead embracing the moniker and living the life of a street-fighting god. Most made the mistake of underestimating him upon first glance, as he opted for a simple martial arts gi, consisting of a white top and black bottoms. He typical even eschewed footwear, proving that he had no need for the loaded boots many other competitors brought into the fray. Few looked at this man and expected the level of skill and brutality they were about to witness (or experience).
The man known locally as 'King Kobra' had begun as a simple martial artist, learning kickboxing at a gym in West Bronx. It was at the insistence of his father that he had done so, that he would know how to defend himself against potential attackers in the crime-riddled streets of NYC. The young man had proven a natural at the sport, but also proven early on was that there was a darkness inside him - a bloodthirst that drove his strikes farther and harder than was accepted. Broken arms and severe bruises followed in his wake and he was eventually forced to leave the gym. On his way out, he struck his sensei with a kick that ruptured one of the older man's organs.
He fled to the relative safety of Central Park, where he would live as a vagrant for the next few months, surviving by prowling the back alleys of surrounding neighbourhoods, using his skills to beat down the scum that preyed on the innocent and stealing their possessions to support himself. It was no moral crusade that drove him, but a part of him still remembered the agonised mewling of his sensei. It compelled him, while using his talents for survival, to turn the victimisers into the victims whenever possible. He became less discerning in that regard after leaving a package of money at the gym late one night as recompense, and found his stomach disagreeing with the decision for multiple nights after.
Not long after beginning this way of life, the invasion began. The young man survived by his own skills for the duration, selling pieces of Outworld ephemera he hoarded from his broken alien foes. He eventually found his way into the fight club that started up in the lawless wasteland, where his talents were recognised rather quickly. The newly-christened 'Kobra' found that the fights were far more lucrative than the wallets of drug-dealers and gangbangers, allowing him to once again eat as a luxury, not purely for survival. Only now with more extravagant delicacies than ever before. But this new lifestyle was short-lived.
His crown was claimed by another strong fighter named Nimbus Terrafaux, whose Wing Chun proved too much for the smaller, younger fighter. But after a three year sabbatical to learn Japanese martial arts in Okinawa, Kobra made his grand return with a night full of swift beatdowns by his new Shōrin-ryū skills. The rematch with Nimbus was by far the toughest fight Kobra had faced in three years; even tougher than their original fight, to a point. But the thrill of the fight drove Kobra to new levels of brutality, leaving Nimbus Terrafaux, the grand champion of Moral Kombat for three years, lying dead in the dirt with a ruptured heart.
And oh, what a rush that kill provided...
The fights discouraged killing with lower payouts after the loss of such a prized fighter, but King Kobra made his living merely wounding his opponents, and continued his crusade against the criminal element of the city to satiate his bloodlust.
At first, this was enough. The morality of killing the bad guys helped him to justify it for a time. But he eventually had to face the fact that he, quite simply, loved to maim and kill. He took low-rent assassination gigs, looted convenience stores and gas stations - anything to get his demented fix, with the money serving as his final tenuous grasp on his humanity as he tried to convince himself that it was all in the name of survival. He never killed people who didn't deserve it, but he couldn't deny the rush he felt when he was given 'no choice'.
But the law eventually caught up with him. The NYPD had set up a sting operation to nab a notorious drug ring in Harlem, that Kobra also happened to target around that time. When he made his move, the NYPD scrambled to salvage the operation and brought in Kobra and whoever else was left after his rampage was stopped with three tasers hitting him at once.
And so, here he was, in the back of the police van, on his way from lockup to a proper detention facility outside of town with a half dozen members of that same operation he'd foiled. He didn't need them to tell him he was going to have to be wary of an oncoming shiv at every hour of the day. He was staring down one of the gang members - one with a scar down his right cheek and a penchant for poetically describing every way he planned to make Kobra's life hell - or just make it end. The guards had long since given up trying to stop his vile verbal assault.
The next thing he knew, he was pushing himself from his side onto his knees in the overturned transport vehicle. Broken glass, splatters of blood from minor injuries, and the bodies (unconscious or otherwise) of the rest of the passengers surrounded him on all sides. His cuffs remained firmly in place, locking his arms together. This quickly proved a massive problem as, of all people, the man he'd just been staring down was getting to his feet, his own cuffs broken in the crash.
The man was larger than Kobra, he now realised, and he felt an uncomfortable sense of déjà vu as he recalled the sense of overwhelming inferiority he'd experienced when he'd first fought Terrafaux. The man charged Kobra, shoulder-barging him up against the now-bend rear doors. It took only a few more powerful blows to his gut to knock the doors open and send Kobra spilling out into the exterior wreckage.
He had just enough time to recognise the spike trap laid out across the street behind the transport before he turned to find the other man now armed with one of the guards' guns and aiming it square at Kobra's head. The blond man had to wonder if his attacker planned to finish him off now and retreat, or maintain his suffering until backup arrived.
Kobra never found out, as the man's head suddenly jerked sharply to the side and his body was dragged by some initially unseen force a few feet to his left. When he came to a stop, so too did the strange masked man that skidded to a stop with a machete embedded deep in the other convict's neck - deep enough to have cut through most of the bone. The gun lay discarded on the ground and Kobra scrambled to grab it, not wanting to take the chance that this guy with genuine DC Comics super speed was here to kill him as well.
Before the barrel could find its mark, another barrel pushed itself into the side of Kobra's head. "Drop it," came the voice of a woman that Kobra could just about see was a redhead in black leather before she pushed the barrel into his temple again to force him to face forward.
He obeyed her command as the masked man - presumably her partner - fiercely tore his blade from the dead convict's neck and looked it over for a moment. He shook his head in what Kobra thought could be disappointment. "Here." He turned to face the sitting convict and tossed the blade towards his feet. The woman grabbed the discarded pistol and stepped away from Kobra to make her way into the van, firing off one or both of the firearms multiple times inside.
The masked man crouched down to check over the body of one of the officers, his back towards Kobra. Kobra wondered if he might be able to get the drop on this guy with the machete. But he chose not to. Assuming this guy had reflexes to match his speed, Kobra would likely be dead before he even realised he'd been noticed. Instead, he used the machete to snap the chain connecting his cuffs.
He pushed himself to his feet and simply stood listlessly in place while the woman (whom Kobra now realised was smoking hot) emerged from the back of the van, dragging the body of one of the guards out with her. Kobra didn't spot any blood on the man, save for a small cut just above his temple that was presumably a result of the crash and not the executions the woman had just conducted.
Her compatriot finished whatever it was he was doing to the other downed officer and made his way to the cab. Kobra realise then that these two were executing all of the convicts and making sure the officers were okay. One of them had a mask and super powers, after all, so he may well be some real-world equivalent of The Flash. But, if that was the case, then why stop Kobra from being shot? Why hand him the means to free himself? Why ignore his presence ever since?
He felt a strong urge to utilise this freedom and run. After all, if they hadn't killed him yet, they weren't likely to run him down and waste all their efforts to keep him alive until now. But, what the hell was their angle here? Was it a vendetta against this specific gang and no one else? Those guys must've done something astoundingly personal for these two to go this far without a general anti-criminal agenda.
As he contemplated the enigma that was his rescuers, the woman looked his way with an annoyed expression. "Hey, you! At least make yourself useful." She motioned with her head for him to join her as she pulled a second guard free from the wreckage. Kobra quickly dropped the machete and moved to join her, making the task of pulling the man free much easier for her.
"Who the hell are you guys?" Kobra finally asked once the last of the officers in the back was lying on the sidewalk beside his buddies and sleeping off his minor injuries.
"You'll want to ask him that," the woman replied, indicating behind him with her head. The masked man had, by now, freed the other officers and was making his way over.
"You're Kobra, right?" the man asked before Kobra could open his mouth to question him.
"Y-Yeah?" he affirmed, his body tensing, preparing to make a move if this answer sealed his fate.
"Good. Come with us." Without any further elaboration, the man turned and headed off-road towards a hidden van behind some nearby trees.
"Come where? What the hell's going on?" Kobra demandedd, his voice growing more frantic than he would have liked.
"Christ, do you need it spelling out?" the woman sighed in deep exasperation as she stepped past him. "You've been drafted. Now shut up and follow us."
Seeing no other option, he picked up his machete and once again did as the woman told him.
The van ride was astoundingly awkward.
Kobra was sat in the back with the woman. Various tools and weapons lined the walls, the ceiling and the floor of the back, leaving little room for the two of them at either side of the van. The other guy drove, but the driver was separated from the back by a partition with a small sliding door at the centre. The only sounds were the rumble of the engine, the clattering of the various items bouncing in their harnesses, and the distant sound of sirens.
Eventually, Kobra plucked up the courage to break the relative silence. "Okay, look. I appreciate you guys springing me and saving me from that asshole back there. But can you please tell me who you are and where we're going now?"
"Sure." The woman's quick response came out far softer than Kobra's demand, or his expectations. "We're the new Black Dragon. You've heard of them, right?" From her frankness and evaporated hostility, it seemed the woman had simply grown impatient with his earlier hesitation while they were at risk of being caught by the cops. Now, without that risk, she came across a lot more casual.
"U-Uh, yeah," he stammered, caught off-guard by the transformation from the hardcore criminal-killer to... honestly, a pretty cool and down-to-earth lady. She even smiled a little at his response.
"Like I said, you've been drafted," she said in what he found was an oddly calming tone. "So we're not gonna kill you after all that effort. Well, unless you make us," she added with some of that steel back in her voice as she ran a hand down her crossed leg to the large knife stuck to the side of her boot. Kobra had zero doubts she could nail him in the chest from where she sat.
"But why?" he asked. "Why 'draft' me?"
She shrugged. "Don't ask me. I don't call the shots. Kabal does." She once again indicated with her head towards the partition separating them from the driver.
"Kabal, huh?"
"Funny name, I know. But then, you named yourself after a snake, so he's not the only one." There was a wry smile spread across her lips, almost challenging him to ask the obvious question.
"And what about you? You go by 'Knife' or somethin' to complete the set?"
She chuckled. "You know, I hadn't noticed the 'K' thing. But no, I don't have a weird codename." She leaned forward as she said, "The name's Kira. And unlike you two jackasses, mine's good enough to use casually and professionally."
Kobra shrugged, feeling more at ease than he expected as he did so. "You got me there. But, just so you know, it's actually 'King Kobra'. I've been the undefeated champ of New York's Moral Kombat league for six years now."
"Am I supposed to be impressed?" she asked with mock dismissiveness.
"Yeah," he replied with more confidence than he knew what to do with. "Your boss obviously is, or he wouldn't've come to recruit me."
Kira cocked an eyebrow. She grinned and sat back against the wall. "You've got me there."
Kobra grinned in return. "You're really hot, by the way."
Kira let out a loud cackle. "Really? One good line and you go in for the kill? Awful forward, aren't we?"
"What, killing guys in street fights is fine, but complimenting a lady on her sexiness is too much? What a world we live in, huh?"
Kira shook her head, an amused smile plastered across her lips. "Okay, hotshot. I'll admit, you've got guts. And you're not too bad yourself. Those arms of yours are huge."
"All the better to choke a guy out with."
"Not bad. I'd give it a... seven. Borderline high six."
"Ouch. Guess I'll have to brush up on my witty repartee."
The window in the partition slid open and Kabal's mask appeared in the gap. It was only now that Kobra realised the van had stopped at some point. "If you two are done flirting, we've arrived." He closed the gap right after this.
"Guess that's all the time we have for now," Kira sighed as she stood and stretched as best she could in the cramped van.
"'For now'?" Kobra observed.
Kira simply grinned and disembarked.
Kobra matched her grin. "Next time, baby."
"All done with your recruitment drive, are we?" an enigmatic hooded man asked as Kabal led his two recruits into the long-abandoned Black Dragon hideout. Most of it had evidently been picked clean, either by those that last called it home, or by scavengers in the years since.
"These two are all I'll need for now," Kabal replied as he stopped beside the other man. Said man then turned to face the two.
"Jesus, fuck!" Kobra exclaimed as he saw the rotted face of the newcomer. He almost thought he saw a grin on the man's totally absent lips.
"A martial artist and a weapons expert, hm? Reasonable choices. But you don't want more?"
"How does he say that without lips?" Kobra whispered to Kira. "You seein' this shit?" Kira simply shrugged.
"Like I said, they're all I need."
"If you say so." With a shrug, the man moved over to one of the nearby tables, where a map had been placed. "Here. Mavado is in a hidden underground base right there."
"Good. Any idea how long he'll be there?"
"It seems to be a permanent base of operations for the Reds. You should have time to train up your team, but don't take too long. I still have my own time-limited goals to achieve, and you're honour-bound to help me."
"'Reds'? What, we fightin' commies now?" Again, Kira shrugged.
"I know. I don't think it'll take long, though. Just a few days."
"Very well," the other man seemed to sigh. "But no more than a week, you hear?"
It took only three days for Kobra and Kira to be trained up to Kabal's satisfaction. Mostly weapons training for Kobra and martial arts for Kira to round out their respective skillsets, and a crash course on the history of the Black and Red Dragons, as well as their enigmatic benefactor: Havik of Chaosrealm.
While the new Black Dragon had no reason to carry over its predecessor's beef with the Red Dragon, Kabal had person reasons for coming to this Red Dragon base to hunt down his Mavado guy. Kira and Kobra both understood the allure of vengeance, it having driven Kobra's sabbatical in Okinawa and several of Kira's less savoury encounters with past clients in the Middle East. And between Kobra's release from police custody and Kira's new list of contacts with whom to conduct her business, both felt indebted enough to Kabal to help him get payback and pay off his own debt to Havik.
Armed with weapons procured by Kira and her contacts, and the skills they already possessed, the three Black Dragons began their infiltration of the underground cave system. Kabal's speed and new daggers proved effective in eliminating the guards at the entrance, disguised as miners. Kobra brought the machete he'd been given that first night to bear against one guard Kabal had missed, slicing clean through his neck thanks to the maintenance the blade had undergone in the days since. Another guard unnoticed by both men levelled a rifle at Kobra's back, only to be blown off his feet by Kira's sniper shot. The weapon would do little good inside the caves, but it was a godsend outside.
Once Kira regrouped with the two men, the trio headed inside, efficiently butchering every Red Dragon that got in their way and painting the cave walls appropriately. From what Kabal had told them, the Red Dragon was a group that performed most of the same criminal and terroristic acts as the Blacks, but with a sense of being somehow above the Blacks, as if they had some sort of higher purpose and class than the thugs that had split off from their organisation long ago. And Mavado was the guy in charge.
Kabal led his team down into a large armoury, walls lined with weapons, both ancient and contemporary. Mavado was surrounded on all sides by Red troopers, but Kabal had picked the right duo for this job. After both were disarmed by attacks from some kind of stealth operatives with cloaking tech, Kobra dropping his machete and Kira losing her gun, they proceeded to lay waste to their ambushers with martial arts and knife skills, respectively.
While those two dealt with Mavado's men, Kabal rushed in to attack the man himself, slicing through the jugulars of several man on his way towards the man now brandishing his own hookswords against him. Kabal's knife flurry was swift, forcing Mavado to play defensively to avoid being stabbed, while waiting for an opening to counter with Kabal's own weapons.
Mavado saw his chance, managing to slice Kabal's chest, and narrowly missing Kabal's oxygen tube thanks to a well-timed spin on the burnt man's part to keep it out of reach. At the apex of his spin, he threw one of the daggers at Mavado, who managed to deflect it with one of the stolen blades. The two adversaries eyed each other a moment, neither feeling the other worthy of even a single word.
Then, Kabal dashed at Mavado, sliding low between his legs as the Red Dragon swung a stolen blade at his head. Mavado had been backed up close to a wall, allowing Kabal to kick off from said wall to propel himself into a strike that Mavado was able to only partially avoid. The dagger struck Mavado in the shoulder, becoming lodged deeply enough that he was able to pull it free of Kabal's grasp as he moved away to recover.
This act forced Kabal to grab a Chinese broadsword from the wall behind him, right as a few more Red Dragons closed in to defend their leader. Kabal showed surprising skill with the new blade, while Mavado removed Kabal's previous weapon from his shoulder. The Spaniard moved back to try and use the racks of weapons around them to his advantage - to keep Kabal from fully utilising his speed as he had back at the cabin.
But the rack had been toppled over. At first, he thought it might have been knocked down during the fighting, but he spied Kabal's accomplices actively knocking them over whenever they bought themselves a chance. This was a premeditated move to-
Mavado was sent staggering by a rocket-like strike from Kabal. He was lucky Kabal had chosen not to strike with his sword, or Mavado might well have been dead already. Not that it made much of a difference, as Mavado struggled to recover from the fierce blow, managing to find his footing mere seconds before another such attack struck him from behind. And then another. And another. Kabal was zipping all around him, repositioning and going for another strike before Mavado could properly recover from the last one. And the downed weapon racks did little to impede this tactic.
Mavado's grip on the hookswords loosened with each successive strike, until he found them slipping from his fingers and disappearing into thin air. He had only a moment to realise Kabal was picking them up as he dashed around, before he felt one of the blades tear through his gut, slicing his belly open and letting his intestines peek out. He then felt one of the hooks embed itself in his neck from the side, followed by the other doing the same on the opposite side.
Kabal now stood before Mavado, blades crossed between them as each dug deeper and deeper into his flesh. Kabal stared him down for a moment, passing up the chance to deliver some snide remark as he planted one foot against his guts, and pulled with all his might. The hooks tore Mavado's throat wide open, spraying blood all over Kabal's metal mask, and down his chest. Even the man that accompanied the speedster was caught in the blood splatter and complained about it.
Kabal then swung one blade up under Mavado's chin, digging into the flesh there and carrying him like a baited fish up, over Kabal's head, and down onto the stone on the other side of him. Mavado landed with a thud, blood gushing and oozing and pouring out of his neck and flooding the stone under his back. Kabal stood over him, staring down at him, triumphant and redeemed. Despite how small the slits were, Mavado could see the eyes of the man who had avenged himself upon Mavado looking him over. He crouched down beside Mavado, leaned in close and said, "Nice coat."
Mavado then found himself being harshly flipped over and felt the black, sleeveless longcoat he wore being torn from his body before he was dumped unceremoniously back onto his front in the dirt. From where he lay, he could just about make out the image of his killer pushing his arms through the holes in his coat and wearing it over his own outfit. Kabal observed Mavado for only a few more seconds after this, presumably savouring the moment. But Kabal had learned many lessons from their last encounter. He placed one foot over Mavado's neck and applied more and more pressure until he heard the crack that Mavado never did.
Kabal led his team out of the caves and back up towards the van. Kobra helped Kira push up some trolleys full of arms and tech for later use. The trio had made a clean sweep of the base, slaughtering everyone inside to make the acquisition of their spoils much easier, and to satiate Kobra's bloodlust. Kabal allowed them only a single collection of inventory, lest they still be here when more Red Dragons showed up to investigate. While regrettable that they couldn't keep the base for their own future initiates, the trio knew that seizing the base of an enemy still unconquered would only get them killed later on. But Kabal assured them that they'd get themselves a better place than some run-down old BD hideout in due course.
But first, they had a debt to repay.
"I think it's about time you explained exactly what it is you want from us in return for all of this," Kabal insisted upon the trio's return to the hideout. "You've mentioned a dragon heart, but that's about it."
"Of course, of course. You three have never been to Outworld, by chance?"
"No."
"Not me."
"Does that merger thing count?"
"I see. Well, that is our new destination. An ancient ruler of Outworld from long before Shao Kahn's reign has recently revived. And with the power vacuum created by Shao Kahn's death, he has reclaimed the throne and plans to merge all the realms into a single domain. Naturally I and my brethren do not want to see all realms under one rule. But luckily for us, there are few out there who do. Many groups of warriors now wonder Outworld, making their own plans to overthrow the Dragon King. We will go and play our part in Onaga's downfall. And then, once the freedom of the realms is secure, your debt will be repaid in full."
"Oh, sure, just go and overthrow a guy on Shao Kahn's level, huh?"
"Above his, actually. Shao Kahn had to resort to poison and trickery to overthrow his master way back when."
"What the fuck, dude?" Kobra whined.
"If it helps, Shao Kahn probably got stronger in the thousands of years since, so their power levels may be more comparable now."
"No. No, it doesn't help."
"At all."
"Quiet, you two. Can we at least assume Raiden's guys are over there too?"
"Some of them, yes. How many of them have survived until now, I can't say. Much can change in a few weeks, especially during a time as turbulent as this."
"You're really bad at this whole comforting thing."
"Who said I wanted to calm this turbulent storm of emotion you feel? I find this much more fun."
"I say we ditch this guy first chance we get," Kira whispered. Kobra nodded his agreement.
"No one's ditching anyone," Kabal asserted firmly.
"I might," Havik admitted.
"Shut it. You don't want total order, we don't want another Outworld asshole with delusions of grandeur ruling over us or disrupting our business. The four of us are in this together. Until this Dragon King guy is dead, we stick together and we help the other guys over there where we can."
"I could bring over some of our weapons to arm local militias," Kira suggested. "From what I hear, those Outworld guys don't use modern weaponry. Could be a lucrative opportunity for us, huh?"
"I saw some of those toothy fucks in the invasion with guns," Kobra replied.
"That was Kano's doing," Kabal explained, "and it was a decade ago. I doubt tarkatans have the know-how to figure out how to make ammunition and maintain guns. They're more like animals than people."
"Can attest," Kobra agreed.
"So, we'll bring some guns to help them and help ourselves. We'll join up with whoever's left of Raiden's group if we can find 'em. And we'll play our part in killing this Onaga and Havik gets the heart. And then, we head back to our own realms once the situation is stable over there. Agreed?"
"I agree. I enjoy visiting new places. And making some money while I'm there."
"I mean, what else am I gonna do, go back to jail? Fight two-bit thugs after seeing what a real fight is with those Red Dragon guys? Not a chance. I can't wait to fuck up some a' those toothy bastards."
"I need to get this done either way, so I can agree to follow your lead, for now."
"Alright. Then let's get this done."
Havik stepped away from the trio to open up a portal with an artefact he had brought with him. It was a single-use item, as most such items were since the Elder Gods established the rules of Mortal Kombat. He smirked, so to speak, knowing that the Dragon King's heart would soon be his. And then, he could truly usher in the Chaotian Age.
Sadly, this is the only chapter I could get out for Mortal May this year, but I did it.
The next area of focus for the series is the Black Dragon, both under Kabal and post-Armageddon. Naturally, establishing Kabal's motives and the rationale behind his heel turn in Deception are key foundations for this. I feel that a sense of duty to repay his debt, and how fucking difficult his life would realistically be, make for a good motivation for reforming the BD, along with the idea of controlling what form the clan's revival will take before someone like Tasia can do it.
Kira and Kobra were super fun to write too. And Havik being this chaotic goofy guy works better for the Chaosrealm character than generic mind-control bad guy with aspirations for conquest. You may recall I already hinted at one of his plots in a prior chapter about the Cages.