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original-jade · 1 year ago

Text

Wake

Rating: T Words: 3.2k Summary: A chance encounter at the Mortal Kombat tournament unintentionally sets off a chain of events that will change the fates of all involved. A/N: It's a Wednesday, but why post just a WIP when you can post the whole thing? Seriously, this is the culmination of two years of daydreaming and brainstorming and rambling in DMs and I couldn't be happier to share it. I hope you enjoy Shadow's first appearance! Taglist: @neonneurons If you'd like to be tagged in the future, let me know! Next

Everything hurt. That’s all they knew.

The pain came before the rest of their senses returned. It was the worst in their hands, stretching through each of their fingers, wrapping around their knuckles, settling in their palms. The rest of their body burned with exhaustion and protested against any hint of movement.

They were lying on their back, legs bent and twisted to one side, one hand on their chest and the other above their head. The uneven texture of the ground and chill against their skin told them they were lying on stone. The air was still, silent, stagnant in the way that suggested they were alone. What sounds did reach them were distorted by distance, mere echoes that served as nothing more than ambience.

Opening their eyes was a challenge. One, two, three attempts and still their sight eluded them. Blurred shapes and colors took their time forming discernible objects. Wooden support beams stretched across the ceiling, simple in both design and purpose. The ceiling itself was stone, possibly the same type of stone as the floor, and reflected a dim and flickering light.

Their eyes closed again as they began to move. Simply rolling to their side was a chore, every muscle in their body fighting not to obey. They were able to do so, resting for a moment before trying to push themself up, but the act of putting pressure and weight on their hands was pure agony. They had to stop. They had to breathe through it. Whatever had happened had seriously compromised their body.

Whatever had happened indeed.

They didn’t know where they were. On their side, with a new angle, they were able to see a doorway flanked by lit torches on the wall. Stone walls, iron sconces, no decorations. Pure utility. There was no door, nor were there the bars of a cell, so they were free to leave. They were not imprisoned, but they were not being cared for, either.

There was energy here. As they gained more awareness of their surroundings, they could feel it. They could feel the magic surrounding them, dancing around them, calling out to them. This place was a veritable wellspring of raw potential waiting to be shaped. Even so, they were too weak to even attempt to grasp the smallest piece.

Despite the pain, they forced themself up into a sitting position, and this time, they were successful. They brought their hands to their lap, shaking as they did so, to free them of the burden of bearing their weight. Upon inspection, it was no wonder that their hands also bore the brunt of their pain. Angry, aggravated red lines shot over their skin like lightning, tracing the paths of what they knew to be every major nerve. It wasn’t a typical injury. Magic had done this.

Just what had happened?

Turning their attention to the room as a whole, they put the pain out of their mind. They had to assess their surroundings to ensure their safety. Not one, but two doorways offered passage to and from the rounded chamber. Their positioning of being at an angle to each other rather than parallel suggested that the room was a corner for the building or compound as a whole. There was something familiar about the placement, something that tugged at the edge of their consciousness, but they had no time to dwell on it.

Guards were at the far end of the second hall, appearing to patrol as usual. As of yet, they did not seem to be noticed. They forced themself to stand, nearly stumbling as they approached the doorway. For the moment, they could hide behind the wall itself, sneaking glances around the corner. The guards wore loose tan robes that covered all but their hands and carried naginatas, both of which would be liabilities in a close quarter fight. They had helmets as well, metal, with faceplates that were more suitable to be called masks—

Masks that belonged to Shang Tsung’s personal guard. This was Shang Tsung’s island, a rare oasis between realms, once cared for by the Shaolin of Earthrealm. The presence of the guards meant the island had not yet fallen into ruin. Shang Tsung still yet lived. The tournament had not taken place.

They turned their back to the wall, letting it hold their weight as their knees threatened to give out. The flash of information was sudden, brazen, unrelenting. It was simply at the forefront of their mind the moment they needed it. It wasn’t a personal memory. It was procedural knowledge. It came as easily as breath came to their lungs.

Just what had happened?

“Hey!”

The shout pulled their focus back into the present. Another guard stood facing them from the first hallway, naginata held level and ready to strike. There was no time to go on the offensive, though with the state of their hands, it was highly unlikely they would have been able to do so. The guard charged with reckless abandon, the kind bred by overconfidence and inflated ego, and swung his weapon high.

Within seconds, the guard was bearing down on them. They barely managed to bring one foot up to brace against the wall, keeping them from being pinned while they brought their arms up to block the weapon’s handle. The guard pushed down, attempting to break their form, but only succeeded in opening himself up for retaliation. They adjusted their stance, sliding their foot ever so slightly over the wall, ready to push off and kick out the guard’s knee—

But they didn’t get the chance.

As fast as the fight began, it was over. A loud clang echoed off the stones as something hit the back of the guard’s helmet and he dropped like a stone. The naginata rolled harmlessly off of their arms and onto the ground the moment pressure had stopped being applied. Torchlight glinted off something metallic in the air, something that soared back toward the hall into a warrior’s waiting hand.

No, not a warrior; a fighter, a protector, a defender, a champion.

Flashes of lifetimes upon lifetimes flooded their mind, a series of images and information flowing as a constant stream, more and more rivulets forming from the smallest details. War, loss, hope, pride, destruction, insecurity, legacy, tragedy, rebirth, prodigy, resurrection, anger, pain, kings and kahns, gods and ghosts, fire, fire, fire, armaggedon, reset–

“Whoa, easy now.” The soft near whisper accompanied the arms wrapping around their form, holding them up as their legs gave out. They were lowered to the ground and coaxed into sitting with their back against the wall. “Are you hurt?”

“I–” Grimacing as their voice cracked, they attempted to turn their head to peer around the corner. The adrenaline crash was taking its toll on their already exhausted body. “The other guards–”

“They won't be bothering us. The tournament's starting.”

They turned back to face the one who had come to their aid and saw every possibility mapped across his face. They saw dedication and pacifism and impulsiveness. They saw demise an infinite number of times by the emperor's hand, and rumors that were spread of a believed death. Loss and vengeance and corruption and a shrine kept by family. A legacy upheld and a name scorned. Service to the light and service to the dark.

The Kung Lao who knelt before them was still so young. He still had the spark of hope in his eyes, that light that blazed like the brightest star in the darkest night. He was blissfully unaware of the paths stretched out before him, of the choices others would force upon him, of all the fates he would have no hand in.

“Your hands—” Kung Lao’s voice brought them back to the present as he reached out to take their wrists. The initial contact made them flinch, numbness and pain mixing together, but they did not pull away. His touch was gentle as he examined the red lines of irritation, careful not to touch the injuries themselves. “What happened?”

In response, they drew their hands back to their lap, gaze shifting to the center of the room where they had awoken. There wasn’t an answer they could give.

“…well.” Glancing around the room himself, Kung Lao turned to face the fallen guard. “Whatever it was, we should wrap them. I can tear up these robes—”

“No!”

Their sudden outburst echoed in the stone chamber, leaving no room for other sounds. Images of Kung Lao sneaking his way into the tournament via disguise echoed in their mind, beginning to form a much bigger picture. He needed the guard’s robes to stay intact if he was to join as he was meant to.

“No,” They ducked their head slightly and let out a slow breath. They had to control this. “Use the undershirt. The material will be easier to work with”

Kung Lao watched them for a moment before nodding and turning back to the guard. Once the robes were untied, he used the rim of his hat to create the smallest cut in the undershirt, and from there tore it into crude strips with his hands. Some of the ruined garment was trapped beneath the guard, but there was more than enough to work with as it was.

When Kung Lao had knelt before them once more, they held out one hand. He took great care in wrapping each finger, keeping a gentle touch while not letting the makeshift bandages be loose, and made sure the end of each fabric strip rested on the back of their hand. Doing so allowed for them to be secured by the strips that were then wrapped around their palm. The technique was one that seemed simple on the surface, but in truth had to have been practiced to reach this level of effectiveness and efficiency.

“What was it that bothered you?” Tying off the last strip, Kung Lao reached for their other hand to continue his work. There was a slight edge in his voice, a hesitancy and uncertainty born from the tension between them. “If I may ask.”

“You may, if I may ask your reason for helping me.” They lifted their head to meet Kung Lao’s eyes again in a sort of challenge, though they were the one to falter. That spark of hope…

Kung Lao shrugged with a wry smile as he tied off the last strip. It didn’t help their resolve in the slightest. “I’m sure you could have fought him off easily, but what kind of person would I be if I didn’t help?”

“Honor, then.” They flexed their fingers cautiously as they spoke, examining and testing their mobility with the wraps. “It had nothing to do with your need for a disguise?”

“Disguise?”

“Is that not how you plan on sneaking your way into the tournament?”

A shift in the atmosphere pulled their attention. Kung Lao had pulled his hands away, his posture tense, and with their second question he rose slowly into a defensive stance. His expression had turned from open and receptive to suspicious and cold. What had—

“Who are you?”

Ah. They weren’t supposed to know why he was on the island.

“Kung Lao—” Tentatively, they raised their hands, though stopped moving when they noticed his glare intensify. This was not the impression they meant to give. This was not how events were supposed to unfold. “I swear to you, I mean no harm to you or your realm.”

“And what do you swear by?”

“I swear on that which binds me.” The words came so easy, instinctually so, and were spoken before they could ponder their answer. The sincerity with which they said it even surprised them. Something brushed the edge of their consciousness, something from deep in their mind. This was not the first time they made such a promise, nor the first time they had sworn on space itself.

The response seemed to surprise Kung Lao enough to make him partially lower his guard. His gaze was still wary, but there was a hint of confusion and disbelief in his eyes. “I…suppose that will do.”

“Please forgive my…my careless statements.” After a moment of hesitation, they stood while using the wall to keep them balanced on unsteady feet. “I am still not entirely myself.”

“Yeah, I…You look like you’ve been through something serious.” With a sigh, Kung Lao turned and took a few steps toward the fallen guard, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. He paced for a moment, no doubt trying to make sense of his own thoughts. “Would you care to tell me how you know about my plans?”

“For now…I cannot say.”

“You—” Kung Lao let out a slow breath as he began the task of taking the guard’s uniform for himself. “Fine. How about how you know my name?”

“No.”

“Is there anything you can tell me?”

Scorpion’s quest for vengeance will give you the chance you need to force yourself into the tournament. Your loss will be hard won, but it will still be a loss. It will be your friend who earns victory for Earthrealm. The emperor will not go quietly, instead choosing to force Raiden into accepting another tournament with new rules by invading. It is here you will fight to save your masters. It is here you will fight while prisoners are freed. It is here you will fight and be—

“Your disguise will be sound, but Raiden may see through it.” Despite all that is swirling through their mind, they hold their tongue, only offering the smallest amount of vague information to placate Kung Lao’s curiosity. “And while I hope for you to secure victory, should you lose…I would ask for a small favor.”

Their impossible knowledge showed them path after path after path that Kung Lao could walk down. Many of the paths were small offshoots, short and broken and unclear, but what they had in common was where they began. All of these smaller paths split from one of two large roads that in turn had also split from one another at one crucial point. What they didn’t know was which of those two roads they were on. If they could learn that, if they could know for sure which events would occur, perhaps they could prevent some of the horrors they had seen.

But they couldn’t do it alone.

“I won’t lose.” Scoffing with a self assured tone, Kung Lao rolled the uniform into a bundle and tucked it inside the guard’s helmet. His expression was nothing but confident, but they had seen enough to recognize the false bravado. “So let’s call it a deal.”

“Do not bargain so carelessly, Kung Lao.” They narrowed their eyes in warning, though with concern rather than malice. “To agree to a contract without knowing the terms is to sign away what you are not willing to give.”

“Well that’s dramatic.”

“If I am dramatic, it is only for you to understand how serious I am.”

Kung Lao shook his head with a grin, scooping up the forgotten naginata as he did. “No, I understand perfectly fine. But you took an oath saying you don’t mean me harm, so I see nothing wrong with agreeing to your favor.”

Elder gods damn his wit.

“And I’ll win anyway.”

And his ego.

“If you win, then this will be where we part ways.” They brushed their hand along the wall as they turned to enter the hallway, letting their fingertips dance across the stone and pick at the traces of magic embedded within. “I will of course be watching your match, but—”

“Wait. If I win, I won’t see you again? Just like that?” Maneuvering into the hall to pass and turn to face them, Kung Lao furrowed his brow with a frown. The reaction was both surprising and somewhat concerning. He shouldn’t be bothered at the prospect of separating, nor should he be attached to the idea of meeting again.

“I did not say we would not see each other.” They held their free hand out placatingly while continuing forward, spurring Kung Lao to walk by their side. “I only… How should I say… It is a complicated matter. The outcome of your match will help to determine my next actions. I may not remain on the island for the full duration of the tournament.”

Kung Lao merely hummed in acknowledgement as a response. It was strange, in a way, how easily he shifted from defensive hostility to open acceptance. Something about their oath had calmed him. Did he know something about the words that he did not think was necessary to share?

A pulse of magic against their fingers drew their attention. They stopped walking and turned to face the wall, placing both hands flat against the stone to feel the familiar thrum of energy. It was muffled somewhat by the cloth wrappings, but it was there nonetheless. They didn’t have enough energy to utilize raw magic, but they did have enough to activate latent magic woven by another. It was just like Shang Tsung to create hidden rooms and passages that only he could access.

Well. That he thought only he could access.

Reaching down through the spell, they pulled it to the surface, causing their fingertips to light up with bright purple sparks of energy. Lavender light rippled over the stones and spread steadily until a large section of the wall had become translucent. The glowing archway soon gave way under their hands, readily allowing them to pass through, but they instead turned toward their companion.

“Whoa…” Kung Lao’s mouth hung open as he stared with wide eyes. It was pleasing to see him be humbled, for once, by such a small feat.

“I will be safe here for the time being. I have no doubt the guards do not know of the gate’s existence, and Shang Tsung will be too preoccupied with the tournament.” They glanced toward their hand, the one still phased through the light of the arch, before turning back to Kung Lao. “I would offer for you to stay as well, but unfortunately, the gate will only work for those who can activate it.”

“It’s fine. I would have needed to find somewhere if I hadn’t run into you anyway.” Kung Lao shrugged, not appearing all too bothered by the development. He did cast his gaze away for a moment, hesitating before speaking once more. “Before I go, can I at least ask your name?”

“I’m sorry.” They shook their head as they spoke. “But the less about me you know, the less danger you will face.”

“I…I see.” He didn’t look particularly convinced, but accepted the response regardless. “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow at the arena?”

“Goodnight, Kung Lao.”

Not waiting for his departure, they stepped fully through the gate and released their hold on the spell. Once the wall reformed behind them, they leaned against it, tilting their head back against the stone as they closed their eyes. It was true that it would be safer for Kung Lao, for anyone they interacted with, to know as little as possible about them. If no one knew anything, no one could reveal anything.

But that wasn’t why they didn’t have an answer for him.

They didn’t remember their name.

They didn’t remember anything at all.

#third occurrence #rainy day writing #mk

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