The opportunity was too good to be true. The more Shang Tsung questioned his own assessment of the thunder god's behavior, the clearer it became that he had indeed succumbed to the very weakness of which he accused his brother.

"Amusing... And who might it be that had attracted the eye of the insufferable lord of the skies…?" the sorcerer mused to himself, reclining at complete ease as he wielded scrying magics and picked through the various possible subjects of Lord Raiden's gaze from within his island sanctuary. The flickering of orange flames and eerie glow of his Well of Souls cast opposing hues on his features as his eyes suddenly narrowed with intent focus.

Standing coolly, he stepped through a conjured mist of green and black smoke, emerging obscured from any wandering eyes beneath the eaves of an antique knife smith's shop.

Through the hanging boughs of a red maple, wind-quivering nandina acrophyll, and three roads worth of utility pillars, he observed a rather conspicuous specimen striding along a sidewalk. The rain had begun to stick her flowing blouse to her arms, and was turning the color of her skirt near the hem a shade darker. There was something fierce within her eyes, and although her feminine beauty and grace was outwardly obvious, hidden was the posture and stride of a warrior. "Ever the predictable one, aren't we Lord Raiden?" Shang Tsung smirked, memories of the lovely Ms. Blade never far from his thoughts.

"So, she is the thunder god's little obsession. How utterly... quaint." Shang Tsung watched her from his hidden vantage, his eyes now gleaming with hunger as a plot knit itself step by step within his twisted imagination.

The rain began to fall in earnest now, soaking the ancient stone walkways and plastering Y/N's hair against her face. She gazed skyward, momentarily lost in the beauty of the pluvial moment, and that is when he struck.

Y/N's attention turned too late to notice the man who had just stepped out of the narrow alley way before her, colliding with embarrassing force and an involuntary yelp. Y/N nearly stumbled back when a strong, swift hand caught her around the wrist, preventing a spill. Regaining her composure and balance, Y/N apologized profusely on instinct alone until noticing the handsome, dark features that stared down at her from only a short distance. Her breath catches momentarily as his gaze strikes her silent. He's an older gentleman, taller than her, and she was no slouch to begin with. His clothes are befitting of an Osakan business tycoon or Shinagawa shark, defiantly clashing with the humble, aged streets of the old capital.

"Miss," the man begins, his expression softening and seeming to allow her room to breathe. He releases her wrist and straightens his creased suit jacket with a practiced motion before allowing the faintest smile to breach her defenses.

"My sincerest apologies, one does not often run-in to others on these ancient side-paths." He snaps an umbrella to attention as the rain becomes a sudden deluge.

His English accent is nearly flawless, an unexpected voice of transatlantic tempered silk within a cultured Asian gentleman's veneer. The downpour cut short Y/N's train of thought, and as she moved in pure reaction to the dousing, it ceased. The sudden onset of an intimate feeling of warmth was now apparent as the older man stood over her. His umbrella aloft, he remained silent as Y/N shook the water from her fingers and slicked the hair from her cheeks.

"Thank you, sincerely, I-"

"Tagawa." Shang Tsung lied with a smile, interjecting and deliberately keeping her off balance midst the roiling weather and social discomfort. "Mr. Tagawa is my name. And yours, Miss?"

Feeling faintly embarrassed at the proximity, Y/N still appreciated the small bubble of respite as drenching torrents continued to weigh down the hem of her skirt with each passing moment.

"You're a life saver, Mr. Tagawa. I'm Y/N," she finally managed in the awkward closeness, her smile genuine, but sheepish as this man's charity was all that kept her from resembling a drowned rat that very moment.

Her clothing reflected a free spirit and her face bore no make up, yet her skin was radiant and healthy. There was a distinct scent of clove, lavender, and frankincense that seemed ubiquitous to her presence, and her decolletage and supple wrists were adorned with a peculiar collection of gems, stones, and precious metals. Her long hair, though soaked with rain, reflected the brilliance of its natural color and was tied up with silk ribbon.

Everything about her suggested a reverence for the glories of the past, tempered with a positive outlook for the future. The sorcerer fought to maintain an even expression as he felt the radiance of a pure soul, unburdened by regret or fear, and burgeoned further by an obnoxious sense of faith. That was the connection, he concluded. This was what had given away Raiden's transfixion.

"Charmed, and delighted, my dear." His response was not entirely false, though he would never admit to it.

Thousands of years ago, she might have been royalty, carried about via palanquin and regarded as the most prized of gifts used to secure neighboring alliances. Now, in this present age, she was a simple tourist caught in the rain. It was little wonder that the god of thunder had fallen in love with her, thought Shang Tsung with a subtle deepening of his smirk.

"Might we share this sanctuary a little longer? My time is negotiable…for one such as you," Shang Tsung replied with practiced allure, his voice carefully floating within the most seductive of timbres.

The sorcerer's eyes flashed the barest divulgence of triumph as he felt the sudden quickened thrum of Y/N's heart in response to his baited hook.

Satisfied with his probing observations, the game was now on. Raiden's love for her seemed a pulse within her unwitting soul, a beacon that one of Shang Tsung's specialties could sense with ease. To steal this woman's affections out from under Raiden would be the beginning of his end, and the key to breaking him in ways that even the mighty god of thunder could not begin to imagine. The fool should have listened to his own advice with his comparatively bon vivant sibling, thought the sorcerer smugly.

As the two turned what might have been a sluggish trudge through rain-soaked streets into a lively and warm blossoming of intimate connection, the skies grew darker, and the thunder rumbled ever more often above them.

Y/N smiled from the thrill and beauty of a storm unleashed, but Mr. "Tagawa" grinned for his own reasons. Did Raiden know it was truly him beneath the disguise? Or was this a reflection of petty jealousy for a mere mortal daring to court the object of his admiration? Surely it was the latter, else Shang Tsung would have been accosted immediately to be sure. The revelation brought a genuine chuckle out of the sorcerer, prompting Y/N's curious inquiry.

"My apologies, Y/N. I just find it quite extraordinary running in to a kindred spirit," he lied easily. "And one who's beauty is so remarkable at that." This cut Y/N's responsive laughter short, and had her clearing her throat in embarrassment.

"Come now, Y/N. You cannot be ignorant of your own charms. My schedule has been destroyed completely; an attack by a cunning tactician of unparalleled beauty."

His matter-of-fact delivery was devastating, having caught Y/N completely off guard. These were sentiments and declarations from a lost era, and seemed devastatingly effective. So much so that the air began to buzz, and Y/N's skin pimpled in the preceding moments of a powerful crack of lightning that struck mere paces ahead of the pair.

While Y/N instinctively shrieked and pulled close to Mr. Tagawa, her face buried against the wool sleeve of his blazer, the disguised Shang Tsung smiled wide.

Temper temper, my dear Raiden. You are making this too easy.