#challenge accepted i guess | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cienie-isengardu · 10 months ago

Text

Cracked Mirror of Black, Cold Soul [chapter 3]

[part 1] [part 2]

Warning: Shang Tsung in his laboratory. Nothing worse than what story mode showed but I thought to warn anyway.

Shang Tsung once had a cat.

Or more precisely, the cat came into his life without an invitation, just simply walked into his cart, ate the little food he had and then stretched out on his makeshift bed. And it wasn’t even a cute little kitty or rare purebred that accidentally got lost in the wilderness and whose beauty would add prestige to his small stall and maybe even catch a look of a wealthy customer. No, of course, the one that decided to invite himself into his life was just some stray with a bad attitude and even worse habit of picking a fight with everything on his way, if the scarred muzzle, half-torn ear, matted fur and cold, challenging gaze was anything to go by.

The moment Shang Tsung’s eyes fell on the cat, it was the purest hate at first sight. A very mutual feeling, considering the thin pupils and a contemptuous snort the animal made in human direction.

He decided to throw away the stray - only gods knew how much fleas were lurking in the dirty fur or what sickness the animal brought. Everyone heard about the terrifying Tarkat spreading from one end of the Empress Sindel’s land to the other and no magic, no medicine, no richness and no faith could save anyone from infection. Not like he even had any of those in the first place.

It was a pragmatic choice, Shang Tsung hummed to himself, eyeing the bastard that took what was the best on the plate, and who now settled on the bed and lazily licked his treacherous paws. The cat was not the smallest lot but definitely small compared to him, yet despite the obvious disadvantage the animal already judged him as annoying human at the best, as trash at the worst.

(The pupils thin as needles, like claws of ice digged into Shang Tsung’s soul and the memory of the cold gaze tormented him for the following days. With that damned cat came also unwanted awareness of how miserable his existence was, if he had to fight even for a stray’s approval.)

It was easier however to say than to actually catch a stubborn cat and even less the one determined to make Shang Tsung’s life as miserable as possible. The bastard jumped from one shelf to another and rammed everything in his path, like some madman on the quest to destroy the world.

Shang Tsung could only watch in horror how the delicate pottery, hard-won vials, wood figurines that he painstakingly carved for hours, small decorations and heavy metal items, all of those shook on the shelves where the cat ran through. Some of the items fell down and hit the floor with loud clang, and then another and another, leaving the human with a great dilemma - continue the chase or rescue his property from total annihilation… only to almost be killed by the thick book that flew straight at his head.

It was a battle of will and fury and though it took a great effort, Shang Tsung managed to catch the dirty bastard and threw him away.

Normally, that should solve the problem once and for good, but nothing in his life was even easy. The insufferable demon from hell only accidentally called a cat showed up the next morning, again walking in Shang Tsung’s home like it belonged to him; like yesterday failure did not happen at all.

And so the war began, and indeed It was a war of wits, cunning and determination. No mercy was given and no expected in return.

When he threw the animal through the door, it came back by the window. When he closed the door and barricaded the window, it slipped between the fabric covering the roof. When he secured the roof, the damn furball crawled through the loose floor board. Whenever Shang Tsung looked away just for a moment, the cat was already there, inside his home, eating his food, knocking everything off the table within reach of his paws. He would look straight into human’s eyes, his own cold gaze and thin as needle pupils, and with premeditation would spread destruction just to spite him.

No matter how loud and how long Shang Tsung screamed, the cat did not bulk up at all. If he catched the broom, the cat bristled and hissed, jumped from corner to corner, but had never run away from the cart. When Shang Tsung managed to corner the animal, the bastard did not go quietly either. He would bite and scratch and screech, never giving up, never allowing himself to be intimidated, be it by human or broom or angry curses.

The cat was a menace, an absolute bastard and Shang Tsung hated him, hated everything about him. The sharp teeths and claws that bit and scratched to the blood, the matted, rough fur feeling so strange under his palms, smelling like ash. The cold eyes, always challenging and judging and laughing at his misery and changing its color, from gray to unnaturally ice-blue whenever the night came and shadows fell around them, deeper and deeper plunging the world into darkness before the sun arose again. The little paws that silently carried out the stubborn cat everywhere he was not allowed to be and who smacked him in the nose at the ungodly early hours out of boredom. He hated the animal's wits, its arrogance that made the cat looking down on Shang Tsung, the way his own folks always did as far as he could remember.

He did not want the cat inside his small, pitiful home, didn’t want to risk catching the nasty disease and even more, didn’t want to share the little food that barely was enough to feed him and his ox.

Besides, what was even useful about a cat?

Dogs made sense to him. They wailed their tails when they were happy, barked if a stranger came into territory protected by them and above everything else, once taught well, dogs obeyed their master’s command.

Dogs were useful, easy to interact with. Pat them on the head, fed them, taught who is their master and they served happily, loyal beyond reason.

Cats though? The fur and big eyes were hiding little evil demons inside. You tell them to not touch your things, and the moment you look away for a few seconds, their small pawns will be there already, slowly working to push down everything their eyes lie on. You go to sleep and tell them to get out of your bed, only to wake up plastered to the wall, because the bastards somehow through a night gained an additional half a meter of length and took the whole space for themselves.

No, there was nothing about cats that Shang Tsung liked. Nothing useful to offset moral losses he suffered.

For the next months everything in Shang Tsung’s life revolved around that damned furrball who for whatever crazy reason decided to treat the human’s cart as his own home.

No matter how many times he threw out the animal, it came back. With each passing day, Shang Tsung came up with more devilish traps, one after another. The bastard slipped through each like it was a challenge to prove himself, a great fun in otherwise boring life. And once inside the cart, the cat would regard him with cold, challenging eyes that seemed to always say the same: loser!

(Shang Tsung walked into his own traps sometimes, when the full bladder demanded attention, eyes still sleepy, mind no less tucked in some nice dreams of his. Everytime he fell into his own trap, he cursed the world, gods and nasty cats. And the cold, cold eyes watched in amusement, from shadows like some ancient creature from forgotten tales.

Ages later he would set traps again for no less annoying cryomancer and he would too walk in his own snare sometimes. More deadly than a box falling on the cat, the flying blades were close to cut his own head, the corrosive liquid to melt his skin, muscles and bones, the poison to take away his breath for once and forever. Everytime he almost get himself killed, he cursed world, the gods that fucked up his life and nasty cryomancers. And he felt the cold, cold eyes on his back, watching in amusement, from shadows like some ancient creature from forgotten tales, even if there was no one around, just him and cold darkness.)

Every now and then, Shang Tsung worked on a new invention to alert him about the returning cat. Most of course turned out to be a failure before the animal even showed up. But he once hung strings with many little bells around the door and window, and there was no space to walk between them without making a noise. The plan too of course failed, not because the cat found a magic way to slip inside, but because he loved to smack the bells with his little paws and he would do so, for hours with such passion, with such fury through the whole night, Shang Tsung regretted even thinking about that plan in the first place.

(Ages later he tried to use the little bell on Sub-Zero too.

Shang Tsung worked closely enough with General Shao to know that the best Edenian soldiers could walk silently, yet compared to the cryomancer? They were like noisy kids playing in the mist. One may not see them clearly and immediately, but anyone could hear them, their breaths so loud compared to Lin Kuei, their steps so heavy in contrast to the lightness of an ice killer. Even Grandmaster’s brother, the fiercy fool had more in common with Sub-Zero’s cold grace than any of Shao’s men, including the general himself. The man towered above Shang Tsung like a wild bear and walked ahead like an angry boar. Lin Kuei? For all he knew, they could be cats straight from hell that Liu Kang locked in a human body, the prison of iron muscles and unnatural powers. But even between them, Grandmaster walked shadows like those were his home and maybe they were, for what a better place could be for Liu Kang’s murderous tool to live in all his life?

Shang Tsung admired the easy with cryomancer walked in and out even the most secure places, be it impregnable prison, Empress Mileena’s guarded palace, military camp under Kitana’s watchful eyes or General Shao’s iron hand, or even Quan Chi’s lair in Netherrealm. The man could - and did - infiltrate whatever there was out to challenge his skills, all the places hiding secrets to steal, from enemies and allies alike.

Shang Tsung despited the ease with cryomancer walked his corridors and chambers like the place belonged to him. The easy Sub-Zero walked in on him in his own laboratory when he was so wrapped up in his own work, he did not feel the presence of another man, even though the magic spells put on the place should alarm him and alarm in a violent way hard to miss.

It always happened in similar manners, like a dream repeating itself night after night. The details changed a bit, but the meaning, the sense of horror always stayed the same. Like this:

Shang Tsung was standing at the table, his hands deep inside the guts of the latest experiment, feeling the still living organ wrinkle and tremble in the grip of human fingers, as the flame of life goes out. When he ripped it from the cooling body and looked at the so small, yet so precious part, the red flowing down the arm, sticking to the skin, he savored the moment. Savored the taste of power he had over life and death.

Nitara kept saying how the blood tasted sweet, how much you could learn about living just by testing even the smallest red drop. Blood magic, she called it, eyes always hungry, shining whenever she mentioned it.

The copper smell of blood on his hands caressed his nostrils, encouraged to take a taste, just a small lick. To taste the forbidden magic, to learn the truth hidden in the deep red, heavy liquid. And before Shang Tsung could even think about it, the bloody finger was already touching his lips, a lips opening itself, trembling, ready to taste the forbidden magic ---

“You are truly fucked up” the harsh, deep voice snapped him back into reality and all Shang Tsung could do then was to shiver when he finally felt the cold, unexpected presence behind his back; so close the Grandmaster was standing, looking at the dead body on the table and blooded hand from over Shang Tsung’s own shoulder.

There were plenty of smart words in his head, all the wise and cocky excuses to make, but none had the strength to escape through a constricted throat. The temperature in the laboratory was always lower there than in anywhere in the fortress, and Sub-Zero’s presence made it drop a few degrees more, yet all Shang Tsung felt was a fire in his viscera, spreading to his lung and heart, making breathing so hard and painful. The fire burned his skin, staining the cheeks with a deep scarlet.

The blood on his hand felt now heavier, bitter, stinged like a snake bite. The copper smell suddenly choked the nostrils.

“Didn’t your Damashi warn you about blood magic?” Sub-Zero said walking up to the door, the mockery sharp as his words were cold.

Damashi did, but Damashi lied about many things, and he still did not have any idea, when the damned snake told the truth and when oozed the cruel lies into him. What Shang Tsung however knew for sure was that if Sub-Zero won’t stop walking on him like that, he either will end up scared to death or die out of burning embarrassment. One way or another, his life was in danger and he needed to solve the problem as soon as possible.

And so the next time when the damned cryomancer crept up to him, Shang Tsung tied a small bell around the man’s wrist.

Sub-Zero said no word, only one brew raised up indicating he acknowledged the sorcerer’s action - however did it mean curiosity or surprise, Shang Tsung could not tell with the mask on the cryomancer’s face. Then the man waved his hand slowly, as if he was testing the little bell. Once, twice, three times and each time he moved his arm, the small bell jingled cleanly, such a happy noise compared to the rough demeanor of the cold man.

“Just wear it, so I know you are here” Shang Tsung demanded, because really, the man’s stealthy habits were insufferable.

The brown eyes stared into Shang Tsung’s face for a long moment, before the deep sigh escaped Sub-Zero’s mask and the man untangled the knot only to tie the copper bell to his belt. Then the man walked out without a good bye or fuck you, and each his silent step was accompanied by the loud jingle or two.

“A bit of kindness won’t kill you,” Shang Tsung shouted after the man, suddenly in such high spirit.

The man scoffed but did not turn around and the sorcerer counted that as a hard-won victory and so the big smile did not come out of his mouth for the next few hours.

The first day the sound of the bell was heard mainly from the kitchen and small room with books written in languages he did not know. In all fairness, Shang Tsung had no idea what knowledge was hidden there - after checking a few shelves and deciding there was nothing he could use right away, he lost interest and moved on to other chambers and did not return here up until this day. Now he walked to the room just to see if in fact it was Sub-Zero who made the noise and not some poor animal he tied the bell to, just to mock Shang Tsung.

But no, the cryomancer was there, walking slowly from one shelf to another, not really looking at the books, but touching their ridges, running fingers over the texture. Shang Tsung wondered not for the first time about this weird habit of his, unconsciously following the movement of his palm like in some mystic trance.

But then the hand stopped and so the jingle died.

“What do you want?” Sub-Zero barked, not even turning to look at the intruder. Shang Tsung’s smile widened, but did not touch his eyes.

“You know, I could help you,” he said, walking into the room, slowly circling the man, “if you just tell me what are you looking for…?”

But the man did not answer and after a long moment of silence, Shang Tsung left the man alone. Once he left the room, the jingle could be heard again.

On the second day, the cryomancer was training in the neglected courtyard and he trained from early morning to late night. Shang Tsung sat on the stone steps with a hot cup of tea in a hand. This time Sub-Zero did not pay any attention to the sorcerer, not bothered at all by the presence of a stranger. There was no pause, no hesitation, no word, no boast and no modesty.

The little bell jingled to the rhythm of firm steps, its sound, so pleasant to the ear, followed the movement learned to perfection. Shang Tsung sat on the stone, watched the deadly dance and listened to the copper bell, the tea all forgotten.

On the third day, the sound of a bell came from the farest corridors shrouded in darkness. To hear it at all, the sorcerer needed to strain his hearing, and he did it stubbornly. Maybe Sub-Zero found another room with some suspicious books or he did test all the new traps set in crypt.

Shang Tsung was so pleased with how well his plan was working. Whenever he heard the jingle, be it from a far corridor shrouded in darkness or another room, a sense of security enveloped him. Like yes, he knew too well that danger did not pass at all, for as long Sub-Zero was there the man still could decide to murder him. But he could finally focus on his studies without the cold gaze from the shadows buring holes in his back, without the silent judgment passed without any word.

On the fourth, fifth and sixth day there was no jingle at all, and so Shang Tsung assumed the cryomancer finally returned to his clan and duties of Grandmaster or went out to steal more secrets. It was strange to walk through the cold corridors and not hear the other man around. Silence should not feel so lonely.

On the seventh day, Shang Tsung almost had a heart attack when he was leaving the laboratory only to catch sight of Sub-Zero walking down the hall with another bag of books. The little bell was still tied to the man’s belt, but making no sound. Cryomancer moved a bit slower, more careful, but Shang Tsung doubted many people could see the difference. He did not say a word, too speechless to utter any noise of protest, yet the man turned his head and even from afar Shang Tsung could see the brown eyes shining with satisfaction.

The fucking bastard learned to be even more stealthy than he was and Shang Tsung deeply regretted giving Sub-Zero a bell in the first place.

Gods only knew, if that damned cat decided to reincarnate as the Sub-Zero, just to torment him again.)

The war on the cat intensified as the days went to the desperate point, when Shang Tsung decided to barricade himself in his little home. He looked right and left, checked under the cart and on it and when he was sure the cat was not there yet, he carefully plugged every hole and crack, blocked the doors with boxes containing all his belongings, and covered the windows with shelf boards. Nothing could slip inside.

When he finished his genial plan, the hour was late, but finally, it was just him and the makeshift bed and… cat, that watched all his effort with head tilted and eyes narrowed.

He closed eyes, took a deep breath, two, three, four. But when he opened eyes, the cat was still there, still watching him like the human was some sort of dumbass.

Shang Tsung looked at the barricade, then on the furball, then again on the blocked door and window.

“Just stay at your corner, and I will stick to me”, he barked at the animal, took the blanket and went to bed.

The cat walked to the opposite side, curled up into a ball and surprisingly for once listened.

Deep into the night, the weird noise woke up Shang Tsung. A paw scratching on the furniture. He fell on his side. The scratching grew louder, accompanied by angry meowing. Shang Tsung curled up and covered himself wholly with a blanket.

With each passing minute, the weird noises made by the cat grew stronger, more miserable, annoying.

At first he was pleased with that. How bad that the little bastard can’t get out, serves him right! But then came another, more sober thought. If the cat won’t get out, he will be the one cleaning the mess. That woke him up for good.

Working to move all the furniture blocking the door took him almost ten minutes. The cat urged him all the time with loud meowing, demanding and criticizing in the same tone.

Finally, Shang Tsung opened the door and the cat stuck his muzzle out of the doorway, sniffed the night air, his ear twitched once, twice and then he turned back, jumped into the human bed, and buried himself under a warm blanket.

And Shang Tsung did not have any more energy to be angry.

“Fine bastard, you won,” he said, half sighing, half chucking. “Happy?”

The cold eyes shone under the blanket and the man took it as a yes. And so Shang Tsung gained an additional mouth to feed… and a companion he never asked for.

#mortal kombat #shang tsung #bi han #sub zero #bi han and shang tsung #and cat propaganda #Cracked Mirror of Black Cold Soul #i guess bi han saw the bell and the oh a new challenge kicked in XD #but also i think lin kuei kinda forget they are that good at moving silently because everyone is used to that in their clan #but shang tsung is not and bi han may accept he is freaking out him

17 notes · View notes