#don't even get me started on the power behind his fire breath... melting steel and destroying entire kingdoms.

[pianokantzart]

Thinking about how the most anxious and inexperienced version of Mario is paired up against the most unhinged and powerful version of Bowser.

[revelisms]

A big prosey ramble on Terzo, Omega, and messy love, because I haven't been able to get these two out of my head recently.

WC: 1k | Suggestive themes, complicated relationships, existentialism, dysfunctional family dynamics, hurt/comfort

There's a pact one signs, once the Gate has been handed what it's due:

When the old tongue has been spoken, and the dark psalms sung; the Devil's touch fishhooked through a human eye, and its Sight wrenched to nothing, a blinding everything, an All few could endure;

Once the lines of the Undead have marked them: sanctioned them as the Unholy, the Half-Living, the Above and Below: draped them in silks fit for kings and gloves for killers;

A prophecy so ancient one could choke on the dust off its words.

Their fate will devour their Will, like a shark waiting to feed—and chain any of scrap of agency left, like a dog.

Few would dare to deny it.

Terzo, though, has never been one to play by the rules. 

Even now—with the Sight of what is yet to come thorned about his mind: every rut and stone he could walk known as well as the blood-bitter sting of his own spite.

It's why he twists crowds around the points of his fingers, for those scant hours of freeness; hunts for lovers' touches in hands his rooms will rarely welcome again; wanders the paths of his own head more than the gravel beneath his feet. 

Why the sight of his brother's summoned Unnamed—the First and the Last, the End All-Be All, the One (his One)—had left him stuttering on his heels.

He could see it. Hell beneath, see this:

The two of them, trapped in the maws of a forest fire; in a promised somethingness.

A path veering off course like a runaway train.

A doomed light at the end of a self-made tunnel.

And this—

(Demon-claws at his waist, his shirt shucked to the floor, the chain at his neck clapping to his skin like a noose—) 

This is a loophole. Legalese in a contract penned in his own blood. A selfish want fueled by a hunger to be seen, to be known:

To be shoved back wontedly, greedily, in a music room spidered with dying light, and feel the brand of those otherworldly hands on him—thighs and ribs and lungs, dragged through the hair that silks down his stomach, through the beat-beating valley that puffs beside his heart:

To let himself shiver and sigh and roll his head back, bite down the burr behind his teeth, beg—

"Cardinal—"

A voice like Hell itself. The keyboard clanging beneath his hips. 

"Come here," he growls back.

They shouldn't be doing this. 

He knows the superstitions. Growing up in these halls had spoonfed him with it: the crumbling of the Gate that had nearly been; the fear that even lesser ghouls, under the right circumstances, could usurp the Exalted's power.

It had happened, once before. The Bloodline only had so much demon-magick in it, after all.

This one knows it, too.

"Cardinal."

He doesn't care. He's lightheaded. He's lonely. 

The chipped varnish of the piano's edge whines beneath his nails.

"Shh—shh. Not here, eh? Not—ah—not now." 

He wants to peel back the point of that silvered mask; to drown in those eyes, blue as the tainted Heavens. Wants to feel his teeth on his neck. 

"Not—" 

His fingertips stipple over Omega's shirt—and tug. 

A switch flipped. A permission devoured.

That clawed hand plummets. Melts his breath to liquid. Sparks an addiction without a goddamned cure.

The first line crossed of countless. 

(Countless more, now, and countless still—until Nihil Nihil always Nihil—

Don't think I don't know what you're doing. All the mages can damnwell smell it on you.

Terzo, fox-grinned, steel in his eyes: And?)

And maybe that's all it had started as. All it had ever been.

A middle finger jabbed in the face of their All-Father's millennium-soaked paranoia. 

A foolish, spiteful clinging to a promise he'd already stripped from himself.

(If nothing else—even if the world burns—you can still have me. And I can still have you.

I can still have you. Can't I?)

So he'd thought.

Papa, now—and the world's a stage, burning, purple-bleeding-black, a stranger's hands combing through sweat-dampened hair on sheets that don't smell like him, and he shouldn't want it to. Saints, he shouldn't want it to.

But he's tired. His head is spinning. He's lonely. 

"Papa?"

He brushes a callused thumb over their temple. "Shh—shh. Not here, mh?" His fingertips glide over the glitter at their back: splay a slow touch between their shoulders. "Not right now," he rumbles, eyes closed. Their hair tickles his mouth. "Not..."

Sometimes, these curious souls press, prod. Try to dig beneath the points of his own mask: to look for the man tucked away in the corner, that doesn't want to speak, to open his eyes from the lull they've found themselves in. Not yet.

This one doesn't.

After a long moment, Terzo sighs: a buoy their body floats on, weighs down like a blanket of sunlight, like lead. "How are you feeling, darling?" The words come lazy and low, tucked into the soft space behind their ear.

The breath he's given in response is boneless, satiated. "Good," they whisper.

He hums. "Good." His thumb skims over their temple, again. "Very good."

Another performance due, soon. Another mass; another ritual. The robes shaken off the floor, the paints reapplied, the stage a handful of moments without deafened expectation.

(Why do you care what he thinks? Omega had snuffed at him once, lounged out like a god in their dressing room.

Terzo hadn't been able to say it, then. Still couldn't, now. 

That one day, his father's passive threat of this ghoul's banishment would come to fruition—one day, his reign would fall—one day, the only ones left would be the rat, and Sister, that old, bullish bastard, and he—

Satan. He'd always loved him, hadn't he?

Why do you care?

The doomed light at the end of the tunnel.

He'd twitched a half-painted smile. Looked away. Don't you know?)

"Terzo?"

He blinks. Dredges himself out of the paths of his own mind: focuses instead on the moon-silvered river of this priestess's fringe. Heat is still beaded between them, tacky where their hands shift. There's a trace of perfumed oil on their neck. 

He noses further into it, lays down a kiss. "Mnh?"

Their fingers slide unhurriedly through his hair. Weave a gentle knot—and tug.

A switch flipped. A permission devoured.

He lays down another kiss, and another. Their breath melts to liquid beneath his hands. Sparks an addiction without a cure.

"Please," they hush. "Don't leave yet, please—"

His lips catch at the veins that flutter through their throat. His palms lost in the valleys of their waist. "I won't."

The touch of their mouth feels like love, almost. A flicker of soft lashes, bumped noses, lungs haggard and starved.

Their fingers scrape at his shoulders. Cling, and claw, and beg.

Against their lips, he gravels it again. "I won't."

Another line crossed of countless. 

[shinyportalsandthings]

The Error of Your Ways - a Shang Tsung x Reader story

Seeing that Shang Tsung’s Mortal Kombat 11 design is based on the actor who portrayed him in the movie, I got very inspired. Thus, here’s a story for those of you think Shang is The Hot Stuff (note that this is based on a merging of the MK11 and movie versions and he may be a bit...more gentle but still stabby). If you like sassy, powerful sorcerers, this one’s for you.

Summary: You had an invitation and you showed up to the destination. The invitation was meant for someone else and the destination...another planet entirely. You are now a combatant despite having no martial arts ability and your only hope is to figure out a way to open the portal back to earth. That sorcerer, Shang Tsung, has your attention...and you, his. Can you use that to your advantage? Should you?

Warnings: Some violence, language, naughtiness. But it’s not SUPER naughty. Female protagonist.

* * *

The smile was cruel, practiced; it did not reach his dark eyes which were fixed unnervingly upon you. He stood with perfect posture, hands behind his back, long black hair pushed behind his ears. "A mistake?" the low voice rolled out. The ornate gold and plum armor did nothing to hide muscular arms. Surely those arms had throttled many a sarcastic warrior.

"Yes," you steeled yourself, willing your hands not to shake - at least for the moment. You gestured to the glowing doorway that, even now, slowly dimmed. "I was just…I was helping my friend, you see. He was the one who got the invite. I have it here." You unfurled the scroll and held it up. Truthfully, your best friend bribed you to see what the invitation was about as he was - shall we say - indisposed with his partner. Though he'd made it sound like they were on the brink of a love session, you know they were likely just watching Netflix and binging on ice cream after your friend won the state martial arts championship. How far away his cozy, nerdy apartment seemed now…

"Well," Shang Tsung said, "You possess the invitation, therefore, you are admitted to the tournament."

"But I don't want to be admitted to the tournament!" you yelped. "I don't practice any martial arts!"

His smile widened, showing teeth. "Well, then, this will be a short contest, will it not?" His eyes twinkled with dark amusement.

You already knew this was unlike any tournament on earth - the portal alone gave that way, as well as the strange warmth of the invitation's paper. Was it paper? Or leather? Difficult to tell but the ink glimmered unnaturally even when held still.

"But I'm not Darius," you said, waving the invite around.

Shang Tsung stepped towards you and held out his hand. You placed the invitation in his palm and his brows rose. He held it up, inspected it from all angles, and then rolled it back up. "I see no reference to the name Darius anywhere. Or any name at all."

You stared at him. "Shit." Thoughts whirling, you pointed to the portal, now a faint circle. "Can't you just throw me back?"

"Oh, I think not," he said, shaking his head. He placed one edge of the rolled invitation below your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. "But I'll make you an offer."

His eyes held yours as you nodded slightly. "Ok, what…what kind of offer?"

"You may be the final combatant. Perhaps watching the others battle will give you some sense of strategy. And after that, you will fight…me." He smiled, lowering the invitation from your chin.

"I can't fight," you said quietly, heart hammering in your chest. Your curiosity had melted away to fear.

"Then I suggest you start learning." He laughed low, turning away and raising his hand in a half-wave.

* * *

"Are you..taking notes?" The tallest of the two brothers asked, pausing with his foot outstretched to his brother's face.

"Yes, yes," you nodded, hastily scrawling down the series of moves that got them to that position. You'd attended enough martial events that you had a general idea of most movements though never experienced the timing yourself.

The brothers looked scary in the traditional sense, with dark red claw marks on their arms (reminiscent of blood) and sharp armor protruding from their shoulders and knees. Their masks hid the upper portion of their faces, short metal horns protruding at the top. They knew your situation - in fact, everyone did. One woman scoffed openly at you and a tall, masked warrior said he looked forward to watching your skin melt. Thankfully, the brothers had been reasonably friendly.

The brothers in question looked at each other for a moment, then motioned you to join them. You eagerly set down your scroll and quilled pen (what was this place, evil Hogwarts?) and bounded over.

"Yeah, writing won't do you no good. Gotta get in there," short brother said. "I'm Gim. This here's Arch. You can call him Archie."

"No she can't," Arch groaned. "Stop it. It's Arch. Like Arch-Nemesis!" He struck a fanciful pose, one knee raised and his arms akimbo, chin raised and head turned to the side.

Gim sighed. "Yeah, anyway, heard about what happened. Sucks. Lemme show you some moves."

"Oh I bet you will," a voice said from behind them. In unison, they turned to see a shirtless, smirking warrior. A smooth metal patch covered the right side of his face, a softly glowing red eye punctuated the menacing look.

"Fuck off, Kano," Arch said, "Get out of here."

Kano grinned, then nodded to you. "See you later, sweet cakes. I'll be the one to fight you." He turned and sauntered off while the brothers glowered at his back.

"Stay away from that guy," Gim said.

"Don't have to tell me," you replied, shaking your head. "Bad vibes."  

As if on cue, you glanced over to a hill and there upon it was Shang Tsung, eyes trained to you and the brothers. He stood perfectly still and kept staring until you lost your nerve and looked away. When you looked back, he was gone.

"Hey," Arch said, waving a hand in front of your face to get your attention, "Let's do this thing."

The brothers did their best to give you a a rough overview of moves…but time was not on your side.

* * *

There was no small amount of food: fresh fruits, flavored waters, skewered meats. The festive platters and decorative ferns belied the nastiness of the situation: Most of the tournament battles would end in death. Oh, there was a choice, but according to the brothers, most of the combatants chose a fatality for their defeated opponent. Ruthless.

The tournament itself had already begun, though you did not attend the battles. Two warriors down already, many more to go. You heard the cheering just over the hill.

"So this is it? This is how I go?" Your fingers brushed over one of the island's flowering bushes.

"Perhaps," a voice said behind you. You spun around and came face to uncomfortably close face with Shang Tsung.  "Or perhaps not."

Scowling, and feeling particularly gutsy, you jabbed a finger at his chest. "You're a cruel monster!"

He glanced down at your finger, then back to your face. "Is that so?" he asked, but the voice carried no malice. Just amusement.

You really, really wanted to punch his stupid smirk. Instead, you jabbed his chest again. "Yes! You know full well I can't-"

His fingers wrapped around your hand, pulling it away from his chest. "Please don't do that." He said simply. "I'd not have the other combatants think such behavior is appropriate."

"What." Your face flushed as your gaze flickered to your hands, then back to him. He had not yet released your hand. "I, uh," you stammered, then yanked your hand from his grasp. He was handsome, dangerously so, and that only made the embarrassment worse.

His lips quirked into a smile, which made your face burn even more red. "It would seem you haven't watched any of the matches. A shame, it's quite entertaining."

"For psychos!" you barked louder than intended.

"Please," he drolled, "tell me what you really think."

Your hands balled into fists. You would not be treated so cavalierly, certainly not when there were men and women fighting for their lives (though Arch said many fought simply for glory and power). Gim had successfully taught you a punch move which you had perfected to the best of your ability (such as it was). You decided to use that newfound power and threw a fist directly at Shang's face.

So fast you barely registered the movement, Shang's hand caught your fist, twisted your arm behind your back, and yanked you close. Your eyes widened as your chest pressed to his.

"I think you need more practice," he said with an infuriating smirk as he looked down at you.

"Let me go," you said, mouth dry.

"As you wish," he replied, releasing his grip.

You rubbed your arm though it did not hurt, and took a few steps back, glaring, waiting for him to speak. Your anger had cooled significantly.

"Join me," he smiled slightly and held out his hand, "as I watch the next battle. I think you'll find it most invigorating."

"Do I have a choice?"

"Of course," his brows rose. "There's always a choice, my dear."

You placed your hand in his and allowed him to lead you towards the tournament site.

* * *

Your breath caught in your throat as Kano circled Arch, whose armor had done little to thwart the rough kicks and powerful punches. The brother was down on one knee, now, and struggled to stand.

Kano wiped some blood off his nose, grinning. "Got you right where I want you, fancy boy." He kicked at Arch's face, sending the helmet flying and Arch falling onto his back.

Arch's eyes held fire as he looked up at the bigger man. "Kiss my entire ass."

With that, Kano's upper lip curled and he raised his fists for the killing blow.

"STOP!" you yelled, leaping to your feet. Shang Tsung remained seated, slowly turning to watch you. You froze, unsure what to do now that you had the attention of Kano, Arch and the entire crowd. "Please! Don't kill him," you said more quietly.

"Are you fuckin' kidding me?" Kano barked. "It's my right!"

"Please!" You held up your hand and squeezed between some benches as you approached the men. "You don't…you don't have to kill him," you said. "He's beaten. It's over." Once, a long time ago, you'd talked a friend out of violence using this same tone of voice. It worked then, surely it would work now?

It would seem not. Kano laughed, full and loudly, then brought down his fists.

You did the only thing you could in that instant: You launched yourself at him, plowing into his dense form, and managed, through sheer luck and surprise, to knock him over.  The spectators let out a righteous yell, some booing, others cheering. Kano immediately leapt up, trying to kick at you, but you rolled away, then scrambled to your feet. He snarled, then launched himself at you - only stopped, at the last moment, by a firm hand on his chest.

Shang Tsung shook his head. "It's over, Kano. You won. She is not your opponent today."

"Like hell she ain't! I'm gonna tear her hair off and shove it up her-"

"Quiet," came Shang's command. Kano glowered at you, chest heaving, looking rather like a rabid dog straining against its collar. He backed off, however, and was declared the victor.

Shaking, you turned to watch as Gim helped Arch to his feet. They both looked your away and nodded their thanks as Arch dragged his foot behind him; surely it was broken. Lots of him was broken but he was alive. Gim might not be so lucky.

The crowd slowly disbursed, some looking at you and whispering to each other. A few shook their heads in disappointment for the lack of bloodsport. You sunk onto a bench and looked at your hands; they trembled.

"Here," came Shang's voice. You looked over to see he had produced a kerchief. "For your wounds."

Wounds? Oh yes. Skinned knees and elbows. You took the kerchief and winced, brushing away the grit and slight blood. "Thanks."

He sat beside you and leaned over, watching you. "A very brave act for someone who claims she has no fight."

You opened your mouth to say something rude, then thought better of it. Perhaps he had brought you to that fight to help somehow, or perhaps it was just chance. Either way, he hadn't let Kano pummel you to death. "I have fight, I just don't FIGHT-fight." You sighed and closed your eyes. "I like the brothers, they're nice. I couldn't let him die like that." You opened your eyes and looked at Shang for a moment, then continued. "Here," you said, offering the kerchief back.

"Keep it," he said, holding up his hand. "You might need it again." With that he rose, put his hands behind his back, and strode away.

You tucked the cloth into your pocket and sat for a while, alone, and listened as the wind moved softly through the plants and reeds. After a little while, you rose and found that the scratches on your knees and elbow had healed.

* * *

Four days. Four days you'd been at the tournament, eating your fill and sleeping fitfully in the dark castle-temple. Each combatant had their own room but there were no true doors. Surely some shady business occurred from time to time.

And just how did time work in this strange place? Four days here could be four minutes on earth…or four years. There was no way to know except to ask someone and the only two friendly faces were nowhere to be found.

You tried to make a new friend. "Excuse me, ma'am? Miss?" With her back turned, you couldn't tell the age. The woman slowly turned, eyes blazing red and mouth filled with monstrous teeth.  "Do…you…know…when uhhhh the next battle is?" Surely it wouldn't do to run away in fear.

"Nnnnnow," the mouth said, jaw moving strangely and fangs glimmering in the light.

You nodded and stepped backwards, managing to wheeze out a "thanks" before hurrying around a corner.

Pushing your hair back, you meandered through the halls, at last arriving to the conclusion you were frightfully lost. The building hadn't looked this large from the outside but this was, probably, the least surprising thing that had happened so far.  Well, time to backtrack-

A hand gripped your throat like a steel vice and slammed you against a wall. One glowing red eye blazed against the wane light, a sneer on Kano's lips as he leaned in close. "Gotcha."

You couldn't yell, could barely breathe as you clawed at his hand. He smelled like blood, though his face was clean.

"See, I thought all day what I should do to you." His fingers tightened their grip, "And then I thought…yeah. A shiv would be nice."  

With that, he released your neck but even as you gulped down air, your eyes widened. A sharp, cold sensation entered your abdomen, followed by a searing pain you had never before experienced. You looked down to see a knife sticking out of your side, your own blood seeping down.  Kano released the handle and grinned at you. Your knees wobbled, then gave out entirely and you fell to the ground.

"You look good in red, sweet cakes." He tapped his chin with one finger, a little of your blood staining his skin. "Think I'm gonna see how much red you got."

There he paused, however, the smug expression melting off his face as though he'd seen a horrific creature just beyond your edge of vision. He slowly looked down and put his hands over his stomach, where five blades emerged. He coughed, blood spurting forth from his lips, eyes wide with surprise. As he crumpled to the ground, Shang Tsung stood behind him.

He took a deep breath, then said without humor, "Fatality." With that, he scooped you up and proceeded to walk steadily and speedily down the hall.

The pain made your vision hazy but you knew full well that it wasn't safe to be in this position. Each step he took also caused the knife to jostle, bringing fresh sensations. "Put…me down," you gasped; talking was almost enough to cause you to pass out entirely.

"Nonsense," he said. "That is not a simple blade, it is magical and we must treat it with magical means."

"Magical," you whispered, "What, how?"

"It will leave a scar. Consider it a gift of survival."

"Please…" you started to say but the world fell dark and you could speak no longer.

* * *

You awakened with a gasp. You were yet clothed in the same outfit (desperately in need of a wash) and lay comfortably on a chaise in a reading room. The shelves were lined with books of many shapes and languages, most you did not recognize; did most cultures have the concept of a book?

The wound! You lifted your shirt - indeed, there was a bright pink scar a couple inches from your bellybutton. If Kano missed your intestines, it was luck. If he hadn't, and you were healed, it was certainly magic and skill. You felt none the worse for wear and sat up, then hopped to your feet….

…much too quickly. White dots flickered in your vision and you stumbled. Strong hands grabbed your shoulders and guided you back down to sit on the chaise.

You looked up at Shang Tsung; his eyes didn't seem to hold any worry or concern but his hands lingered on your shoulders overlong.

"Did you…" you waved vaguely at your abdomen.

"Of course not," he said sharply. "You may think me a monster but no real man would-"

"No, no, that's not what I meant! I meant, heal. Heal this. Me."

"Oh. Yes." He sat down beside you. Instead of his usual golden armor, he was clad in a long, black leather jacket, simple black shirt and dark plum pants.

"Thanks."

"I've brought you clothing," he said, and gestured to a folded pile on a table.

"I'm not going to wear one of those ridiculous skin-tight bathing suits."

His lips quirked into a subtle smile and an eyebrow raised. "I would expect not. No, I think you'll find these suitable though they are to…my tastes."

You were very curious as to the clothing - black and grey it would seem - but sat still for a little while longer. "Kano, he…" your voice drifted off.

"He was an evil man and died fittingly." Shang's shoulders lifted in a shrug.

"I feel like I should say thanks but you're also the one that brought him here." You looked at him pointedly.

"I did, yes." His eyes flickered briefly over your face.

"Why do you do this?" Your voice was soft; you genuinely wanted to know.

He seemed to choose his words carefully. "I have no choice."

"You said there's always a choice," you pointed out helpfully.

"Not for everyone. Not for me." With that he stood and held out his hand. "Come, you should rest further in your room."

* * *

You admired yourself in the mirror. While he might be mysterious and terrible, Shang Tsung certainly knew how to select an outfit. The sleeveless shift held leather panels at the front and back, which arched over your shoulders. The cloth was soft, black and came to a pointed V in the back, right at the midpoint of your calves. The bodice held a V though not nearly as daring as you might have liked. You smiled a little at the reflection, turning this way and that. Slightly intimidating, certainly comfortable and very-

"Breathtaking," came Shang's voice beside you.  

You startled, turning towards him, having heard neither footfalls nor movement.

His eyes trailed slowly over you. "I'm glad to see it fits so well."

Cheeks turning a particularly vibrant shade of crimson, you turned away from him and to the mirror. "I like it, I have to admit."

"You'll find that the cloth provides more protection than you might expect." He reached up, tracing a finger along the edge of the leather at your shoulder. He didn't touch your skin, but he might as well have for the shiver it gave you. "Magical, of course."

"Of course." You wondered if he'd truly let you die at the hands of a combatant. Perhaps not, since he saved you from Kano, and yet…there was much to consider. Not the least of which was the sensation you felt when he stared at you. "I should go," you said awkwardly. "To watch the contestants." That made them sound like they were in a pageant. You winced slightly and pivoted on your heel - the boots were also new, black, and delightful.

You felt his eyes upon you as you left.

* * *

"I heard he killed 100 men and drank their blood!"

"Nah, he's not a vampire."

"You sure?"

The combatant shrugged. "I'm not."

You smiled, listening into their conversation. You couldn't be certain Shang wasn't a vampire but their conversation gave you an idea. The next battle, you would sneak into his bedroom - assuming you could find it - and see what information you could find. That was, of course, even assuming he didn't invite you to sit beside him for the battle.

Fifteen battles, now. The stakes were becoming higher. You'd lowered your guard but hearing the guttural sound of someone's life being choked out of them, well, it had a tendency to bring everything back to laser-like focus. Your only chance now was if Gim was your opponent - or maybe that slightly friendly, monster-mouth woman.  

"Are you looking for something?"

The voice startled you from your thoughts and you spun to see one of the bare-chested, masked helper warriors. They didn't seem to have names. Maybe you'd give this one a fun name, like Bob.

"Yes," you said, feigning confidence. "I'm looking for Shang Tsung's room." You paused, then added, "I'm going to leave a present," and gave your best lewd wink.

Though you couldn't see the warrior's face, you had the distinct impression he looked confused. After a moment's hesitation, he replied, "Yes, this way."

He led you down a hall that seemed to go on for a mile. At last, you reached the end and gazed upon two ornate wooden doors. A dragon and a cobra were carved into the wood, interlocked in some eternal struggle. The warrior gestured to the door and gave a slight bow.

"Thanks," you said as you planted a hand on the doorhandle, then added, "Oh, you can go. Now. You can go now. Thanks."

Instead of leaving, however, something quite miraculous and terrifying happened. The warrior's form shifted, as though a mist was blowing away, and there before you stood Shang Tsung.

Your stomach gave an uncomfortable heave and panic trickled up your spine, coursing its way along every nerve. Your jaw dropped, eyes widened.

"Tell me," Shang said nonchalantly, inspecting his fingernails before looking up to meet your gaze. "What of this present?"

Caught. Completely and utterly caught in the act. He was no fool, surely he knew what you'd planned. You wracked your brain for some meager excuse. "I was..just…" you gestured futilely to the door. "Cleaning! Going to clean your room. Bet you didn't expect that." You smiled broadly, hoping the bead of sweat that trickled down your brow wasn't evident.

"Is that so," he said, then planted a hand beside your head, against the door, locking you in. He leaned closer. "Why would you do that?"

"As thanks. You know, for healing me. I assume you're a bachelor, I mean, there aren't a lot of women here who won't try to kill you, so you probably have a very messy room." Far, far too much babbling. Keep it simple, stupid.

His lips quirked into a small smile, eyes crinkling with delight. He said nothing.

"And I just thought well, I can help! I can do that." STOP TALKING. "You know, to….yeah." Your voice trailed off.

He took a deep breath, then laughed once, straightening and dropping his hand from near your head. You felt both relief and disappointment in equal measure.

"Well, you're neither a good thief nor a good liar. I hope you have another plan," he smiled slightly.

"Fine," you said, "Fine, I was trying to get into your bedroom to see if you had some documentation about the portal. OK?"

"You might have simply asked."

"Asked for the documentation?"

"Asked to enter my bedroom."  His lips quirked; truly he enjoyed watching you squirm.

"I," you started and looked away, "wouldn't know how to ask that."  The hallway had become unbearably warm all of a sudden. Didn't they have A/C?

He laughed again and turned, gesturing for you to follow him back down the hall. You fumed at his response, marching after him, hands balled into fists. Neither of you said anything as you exited; you sped past him and he grinned after you.

* * *

He had a silly name, The Shockening, but his attacks were devastating to his opponent. He seemed to evaporate into the ground, then reappear behind - what was his name? oh yes - Bexas, pummeling him with a flurry of fists.

Bexas' main weapon was a magical chain. It appeared to do his bidding when he whispered to it - sometimes it behaved like a javelin, other times a lariat. Shang seemed particularly interested in the weapon, eyes following its every move.

Unfortunately for Bexas, the chain, however magical, was still comprised of metal. The Shockening let loose his namesake power, sending a ferocious bolt of electricity up the chain and to Bexas' hand.  He convulsed, but did not let go. The Shockening grabbed the chain and whirled it up, sending Bexas flying directly into the crowd.

His smoking form landed at your feet - you were far too annoyed at Shang to sit next to him this time - and he lifted his head. You leaned down, a little afraid to touch him as a few tiny bolts of electricity trickled off him.

"Th…the name," he rasped quietly, "Wind…Windwillow." And with that, he gave his last breath.

You blinked, staring at his form, then looked up as Shang gleefully declared a victory…and fatality at that. He picked up the chain and roped it around his arm.

So, the name of the magical chain. You tucked that away in case it might be useful. What a lovely name for something so violent.

The crowd roared its approval and The Shockening paraded around the circle, arms held high. The nameless warriors quickly came to retrieve the body at your feet.

"I trust you are unharmed?" came Shang's voice.

You nodded. "He didn't land on me. Thankfully." You watched the warriors walk away. "Why do you do this? Really, Shang. Please tell me." You turned your gaze to meet his.

He took a deep breath and sat beside you. "Power. I wanted it so desperately."

"That doesn't really answer my question." The crowd had filtered out. You were alone with him now.

"There are powers well beyond that of human understanding," he said, looking over to the temple. "Events set into motion for millennia, every small decision an adjustment to the cogs."

You shook your head "I don't really get it but can't you just…leave? Stop doing this?"

He smiled slightly though it didn't reach his eyes. "Leave all this?" he gestured to the expanse of the island. "Whatever for?"

"You know exactly what I mean."

"Ah. It is not so simple," he said and turned to look at you again, "for me. I made my choice and this is my…" his voice hesitated.

"Punishment?"

"Trajectory," he said, then patted your hand. "I appreciate your concern."

"Well, I could be very wrong but I don't think you're nearly the monster you pretend to be," you said quietly.

You then sucked in your breath as his fingertips traced over your knuckles. Your cheeks again reddened.

He smiled lightly, arching a brow. "Are you certain?"

"N-no," you stammered.

His hand came to rest over yours, fingers interlocked. You cleared your throat, pretending not to notice. It did no good. "Maybe you just need a nice hug and you'll come to your senses," you joked.

He stood. "Is that your present to me, then?" That smirk, back again.

You stood, too. "What? No! I was kidding."

"I wasn't," he said. His eyes twinkled with delight, a more real delight than he seemed to exhibit at the end of gruesome matches.

"Fine," you said, cursing yourself for wanting to go through with it. "Maybe it will help." You stepped up in front of him and, before you could lose your nerve, wrapped your arms around him.

His hands alighted on your bare arms, then slid along and up them until they were solidly around you. He felt warm and far, far too good in this position. You rested your head against his neck and hoped he couldn't hear the hammering of your heart. You felt, rather than saw him smile.

"Is it helping?" you asked quietly after a little while, not yet ready to pull away.

"It may be," he replied and tightened his grip ever so slightly. His hands rested chastely at your back though your mind betrayed you terribly with thoughts of where they might go. Where you wanted them to go. Obviously, it was time to release him but you…couldn't yet bring yourself to do so. He was solid and warm, his cheek now resting against the top of your head and you felt your body might melt into a puddle.

His hand slid up to rest on the back of your neck. You pulled away a bit then, looking up at him, alarmed, confused, and uncomfortably aroused.

Blessedly (or cursedly), your eyes caught sight of movement off to the side: one of the warrior minions come to give a report on something of importance.

Shang's upper lip twitched in annoyance as he released you to deal with the intrusion.

"I should…I should find Gim! Make sure he's OK!" You immediately regretted your outburst but hurried away before you had to answer to Shang's incoming question.

* * *

Gim, as it turns out, had been training hard. He, too, knew the odds were not in his favor, and with his favorite sparring partner unable to spar (with seven broken bones, no less), he resigned himself to exercising constantly. He'd thanked you, grimly and profusely, for saving Arch. He told you he was filled with regret it hadn't been him - he was convinced if he interfered, Arch would be killed anyway. Afterwards, he survived two matches against truly vile opponents. You made another acquaintance, a woman, blond and strong but reasonably kind.

This, in turn, filled you with regret. What had you been doing with your time? Fraternizing with the enemy? Maybe even…flirting? You needed to remind yourself that he was, for all intents and purposes, truly wicked. Probably.

Eleven combatants left and no more would be arriving to the island. This was it. If there was a move to make, it had to be now.

* * *

You had a plan. No, you had five plans. Plan one: sneak into Shang's bedroom by climbing on some ledge (somewhere) from some other open window. Plan two: bribe a combatant to distract him; though he could change shape, he couldn't be in two places at once (that you knew of) and if you kept your eyes on him while bribing someone, well… plan three: some variation of plans one and two. Plan three: ask to go into Shang's bedroom and clobber him over the head. OK, you had two plans.

None of this prepared you for stepping out of your room and being cornered by Shang. He walked up to you, and you retreated until your back hit a wide column.

"Enough," he said and, before you could ask what he meant, slid his hands to either side of your face and leaned down, pressing his lips to yours. You were completely unprepared for the ravenous kiss he bestowed, the way his hands flowed down your face, over your neck, grazing your breasts, and encircled your waist to pull you close. You were also unprepared for how your body reacted of its own accord, returning that kiss with just as much passion, fingers curling around the lapels of his jacket. You lifted your knee slightly and his hand whipped down to catch it, pulling it up and pressing you against the column. You felt him, from lips to chest to shin, felt his hunger and need pressing to you.

You pulled back slightly, broke the kiss, and stared at him momentarily, panting. "Bedroom," you whispered.

He didn't even nod, but you felt a cool mist along your skin and the area around you seemed to speed by. So that's how he got around…. in just a moment, you both alighted inside his bedroom.

You'd expected sumptuous bedding, skulls and candles, but only one of those was correct. Indeed, the circular bed, pushed up against the wall, was adorned with a red quilt. The headboard was simple: bars that held up a plain, rounded, thick wood board. The walls were decorated with a few sparse tapestries and many, many bookshelves. The far wall displayed weapons of various types, presumably from fallen warriors. A table nearby held a couple blades, including the one used to stab you, and Bexas' chains. No candles but instead magical lights that floated in place, dimming now.

After glancing around, you looked back to him. He seemed to be waiting…perhaps for you? You answered him by grabbing the front of his coat and shoving it off his shoulders. He smiled momentarily, shrugging off the fine leather and throwing it onto a chair. His hand found your jaw, holding you still for a moment as his eyes trailed over your features. He then leaned to your ear and whispered, "Magnificent," before nibbling at your earlobe.

You giggled, ticklish, and squirmed against him, which he clearly found delightful. His lips then found your neck - not ticklish there - causing you to gasp and then let out a small, unexpected moan.

"Yes," he whispered to your neck, hands fiddling with the bindings of your shift, "You will be mine."

Emboldened, you pushed him towards the bed but just before it seemed like he would fall backwards upon it, he spun you and pushed you down gently, hands planted to either side of you. He smiled lightly, legs between yours as his gaze trickled over your form. "Again, and again." He placed a finger at the demure V of your bodice and pulled down lightly. Apparently, it held some secret, for it gave way at his touch, his fingers trailing over the space between your breasts, pulling it down all the way to your bellybutton. You were surprised…but delighted.

He did not push the shift apart, so you reached up to work his shirt out of his pants and tug it upwards. He obliged, pulling it up and off, revealing what you already knew to be true - he was exceptionally built. Lean, hard muscles, a few interesting scars, and all his attention focused on you.

But there it was: The chain, catching your attention on the table, beckoning. You didn't want to, wanted instead to simply enjoy time in this most primal of dances. But this was it. This had to be.

You sat up and planted your hands on his chest, guiding him to the side and rolling him onto his back. He looked surprised, eyebrows raising, but offered no resistance. You grabbed his wrists and pinned them above his head - obviously no danger to him but he also clearly liked where this was going. You put a finger to his lips and then held up the finger while you hopped off the bed and grabbed the chains.

He looked quite surprised indeed but remained as he was even as you returned and clambered onto the bed. The chains were much lighter than you feared, making the next part of this easy - from the physical perspective.

You pulled away and turned, just barely whispered "Windwillow" to the chains. The flickered with light. With that, you wrapped one end around his wrist. He started to sit up, so you sat on his hips - again, certainly no challenge for him but quite interesting. He smiled, one brow quirked, as you looped the chain through the headboard and brought the other end back through.

Here, you hesitated. This isn't want you wanted, not really. You undulated a little on his lap while you worked up the nerve to bind his other wrist. He hissed, pushing his hips upward and you genuinely considered giving up the plan and having your way with him right there.

And yet.

Swallowing hard, you created a chain loop around his other wrist, effectively keeping him in place. You leaned down and kissed him - hard. Soft. You slowly pulled back up.

"Whatever you want," he whispered hoarsely.

You hesitated only briefly. Then: "Tell me how to open the portal."

"What?" he said sharply, going still.

"The portal. Tell me how to open it. Please. After I do it, I'll come back and let you go. I promise." Even knowing he'd probably kill you for it.

His lip curled into a snarl. "Is this a jest?"  He yanked hard on the chains but they would not budge.

"No. Please tell me." You felt tears stinging your eyes.

His lips pressed firmly together before he snarled, voice low, "You will pay for this. I assure you."

You nodded.

And so he told you the words to whisper to the portal to take you back to your world - at least you assumed it was your world. Surely you couldn't stay here regardless.

"I'm sorry," you said as you slid off him, fastening your shift. He looked completely enraged, unsurprisingly, laying there prone and painfully aroused. "I promise I'll come back."

You hurried away and dared not look back.

* * *

Well, it was done. You told the other combatants they had the option to leave and return to their respective worlds - six took you up on the offer, including Gim (carrying his brother), the blond, and the toothy woman. Five stayed behind, excited to claw their way to victory.

You returned to Shang's room and were only slightly surprised to find a broken headboard and no sorcerer. The chains were also missing. This sent a feral surge of fear along every nerve. You hurriedly made your way back to the portal, looking around every moment, wary.

Of course he would wait until you'd whispered the opening words to the portal and the destination. Of course he would.

You heard the crunch of footfalls on rock behind you. Slowly, you turned. He stood with his hands behind his back, face stoic except for the slight frown-sneer. Goosebumps rose on your arms.

"You betrayed my trust," he said.

You nodded. "I did." There was no arguing it.

You stared at each other for a while until at last you broke the eye contact and looked away. "I'm sorry. I really am. I wasn't…I didn't intend for it to be that way but I had to save them."

He snorted.

You looked back to him. "Come with me." You held out a hand, inviting.

His eyes dropped to stare at your hand for a moment. Then, he let his hands fall from his back and rest at his sides. He slowly stepped towards you, not unlike a predatory animal approaching its prey.

Your hand trembled slightly. "You can start over. With…..with me." Why? Why offer that to him? Surely these few meager days weren't enough to justify such an offer. And yet.

He raised his hands and put them on the tops of your shoulders. His grip was strong. You weren't sure if he was going to draw you into a hug or reach up and throttle you so you let  your hand fall to your side.

Without another word, he shoved you backwards, into the portal and the last thing you saw was his scowl.

* * *

You awoke with a start. Where-? There on your couch, morning seeping in through the blinds. You let out a slow, shaky breath. In your hand, a crumpled flyer with crude lettering: Mortal Kombat!!! Fight and win!!! Come to the arena at Central! Personalities welcome.

So….so that was it. A dream, a nightmare, something. Had to be it. Had to.

You slowly rose and trudged to the bathroom to take a shower, stripping off your shirt and shorts. Looking in the mirror, your breath caught in your throat: There, on your side, a pink scar line, freshly healed where none had existed before.

* * *

Three months passed.

Darius proposed to his partner, won three more championships, and thought you were a complete nutso but loved you anyway. The season edged towards fall. You sorted your scarves and fall clothes, started to box away the skimpiest of summer clothing. The scar faded to a faint, angry white line.

Now you sat at a sushi bar, poking some edamame and considering your food options. The tea had long since grown cold.

Someone sat two stools down. You glanced over and gave a nod of acknowledgment, then did a double-take: By the Gods, he was a doppelgänger for Shang. The hair was shorter, pulled into a ponytail, and the build a bit lighter, but the face? The face was the same, the posture the same, even the slightly-arrogant eyebrows…the same. He wore dark pants and a fine, light grey collared shirt.

You gasped and stared brazenly.

He ordered a tea, then set about looking at the menu. Still, you stared. At last, he set down the menu and turned to look at you. "Hello, miss. Can I help you?" The voice was similar - not entirely the same, but so very close.

"I'm…I'm sorry," you started. "You looked like someone I know. Knew." You glanced away.

He must have felt sorry for you because his eyebrows raised. "Oh? How disappointing for you if it makes you look so sad."

"No," you held up a hand, "not at all. Sad yes, disappointed no. It's hard to explain." You considered your options - sound a bit crazy or a lot crazy. You opted for both. "I had an elaborate dream and it's bonkers. There was a man in the dream who looked just like you."

The Not-Shang smiled a little. "Oh? Well then, tell me about it. I'm very curious now." He swiveled fully on the stool to face you.

You took a deep breath. Hey, it's not like you'd ever see this guy again, maybe it would do some good to get this off your chest. You didn't dare truly explain to your friends. "I accidentally took the place of my friend in a martial arts championship on another world. Yes, I know, why another world? No idea. Dreams, am I right? Anyway, the man who ran the tournament knew I couldn't fight. I thought I'd die, then I thought I might not die, then I realized that I….well, I was drawn to him. We started to become intimate, and.." you paused here, clearing your throat.

The Not-Shang arched a brow and waited for you to continue.

"I tricked him. I tricked him and opened the portal and while I saved some of the warriors, I think I hurt him more than I realized."

"Oh, I see," he said simply.

"And, I think I really…came to care for him." You looked away, at the cup of cold tea. "I wanted to save him, too, but he wouldn't let me."

"That's a very sad dream," he said. "I can see why it stayed with you."

You nodded, feeling a surge of embarrassment. "Right," you blurted and slapped your hands on the bar. "I should go. Nice talking to you." You stood and gathered your things, then dropped some money on the plate.

"Hmm," he said, "As long as you're here, why don't you come to dinner with me, [Y/N]?"

You froze in place. "I didn't tell you my name."

"Oh? Well, how interesting. Lucky guess, I suppose."

You slowly turned and stared at him, unsure what to do or say.

He stood and smiled slightly. "One hour, I'll pick you up." With that, he turned, leaving you confused and alarmed.

* * *

The doorbell rang. You'd hoped he'd sweep you into his arms but no such dramatic event occurred. He was probably still mad and had questions or concerns. Still, he arrived dressed to impress in a black suit, black shirt and dark red tie. You'd rightly assumed he'd use the occasion to dress up so you chose a suitably sultry dress, one that draped low in the back and skimmed above your knees.

His eyes trailed over you and you felt your skin prickle. "A lovely dress," he said, brows raising.

You smiled a little. "Thank you."

"But not," he continued, "the kind one wears for very long. Shall we?" he extended his elbow and you wondered if you were overthinking his meaning.

He did not have a car, which was probably just as well since he wouldn't likely know how to drive it, so you took a taxi to a nearby restaurant. It was cozy, dimly lit, and provided a modicum of privacy.

You felt strange asking him about what happened so left that off your conversation. He asked you about Darius, and you told him, asked about your job, and you explained it.

Too much small talk. You brushed your leg against his calf. His eyes raised from the plate before him and held your gaze. Your lips quirked. "Oops. Sorry."

He nodded, then steepled his fingers and leaned in. "Tell me more about this dream. You say you came to care for the man?"

Your fork clanked on the plate with surprise. "Yes. I didn't know him long but I liked his company. A lot. Liked his spirit."

You glanced away, then, before slipping off your shoe and sliding it up his calf. "And of course, I enjoyed the way he looked at me."

"I see," he said, seemingly ignoring your ministrations. "Perhaps he was fond of you, too. However, from what you say, you betrayed his trust."

Your foot dropped back to the floor. "Yes," you let out a slow breath. "I did. That wasn't my plan at the start. I was going to…."

He raised his brows, awaiting your answer.

"Have my way with him."

Likely-Shang chuckled and lowered his hands to the table. "How bold. I can see why he liked you."

"Yes," you said, "maybe so, but he still shoved me back to earth."

"Maybe he didn't know what to do with you. Perhaps he wishes he had not done so. Perhaps he is still learning to tame his brash decisions."

You felt his foot slide along your calf.

"I think," you began, "he should still make some brash decisions."

Likely-Shang's lips quirked for a moment and he flagged down the waiter. "Check."

You kept your hands off him on the ride back to your apartment. He kept his hands chastely on his lap. As soon as your door was closed, however, he grabbed your shoulders and pushed you to the wall. He slid a knee between yours. You could feel the heat emanating off him.  You still had questions, many of them, but your head was fuzzy with his nearness and all of those thoughts could wait.

"Shang," you said, eyes flickering down to his lips and back up to his gaze.

"Yes?"

"Is this revenge?" you managed to say, placing your hands on his chest.

"Absolutely," he smiled and leaned down, kissing you with that familiar hunger as he slowly eased the dress off your shoulders.

And he did enact his revenge, several times, in fact.

* * *

So it was that you took the time to know him quite well after indulging your desires, and found that he was an equal match for you in most respects. But time was never on your side and soon enough, you would need to help protect him from those who claimed him as their own.

The End…for now