Mortal Kombat: The Redemption of the Fire God, Part 5
"But you must always remember that the only thing necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing." Alucard - Castlevania: Symphony of the Night
Con't V
Aiko’s promise still hangs in the air when the tears finally spill over—quiet, steady, and no longer only from pain. A small, trembling smile breaks through them anyway. She steps fully into his space now and wraps her arms around him, pressing her face against his chest, holding on with the same fierce, exhausted loyalty that has kept her at his side through everything.
She hopes he understands what the hug means.
She hopes he can feel the relief, the choice, the stubborn affection still alive beneath all the strain.
She hopes he appreciates it.
Liu goes still for half a heartbeat, surprised by the sudden closeness. Then his own arms come up and close around her—careful at first, then certain. One hand settles between her shoulders, the other cradling the back of her head as she cries and smiles against him. The residual fire along his arms warms without burning, a quiet answer to the contact.He lowers his head slightly, voice rough with everything he does not have elegant words for.
“I do.”
Two simple words, spoken against her hair, carrying the full weight of appreciation, gratitude, and the fierce relief that she is still here. He holds her without rushing the moment, letting her tears dampen his tunic, letting the smile she managed through them settle into him like something rare and necessary.For a long while neither of them moves. The war, the fractures, the darkness, and the uncertain road ahead can wait. Right now there is only the quiet path, the shared warmth, and the promise sealed not only in words but in the way they hold each other—Aiko giving the hug she needed to give, and Liu receiving it with complete, unspoken appreciation.
Liu holds Aiko against him a moment longer before he speaks, his voice low and clear.“Thank you.” He draws a steady breath. “I promise I will no longer try to control and contain this power the way I have been—locking it down until it erupts, or retreating into guilt until isolation becomes its own damage. That approach has only created more openings for the threats we still face.” His arms remain firm around her, the vow spoken without hesitation. “Instead, I will learn to wield it with purpose. The wrath, the darker fire—all of it. I will use Shinnok's words on embracing it. I won't ever become the monster he is, but I will use it deliberately, without letting it take more from the people who matter, and without leaving you to carry so much of the cost alone.”
He rests his forehead briefly against her hair. “Stay with me while I learn. That is the promise I give you in return.”
Aiko stays in the circle of his arms, the tears still drying on her cheeks, the small smile still present. She listens to the refined vow and nods once against his chest before lifting her head enough to meet his eyes. “Okay…” Her voice is soft, honest, and a little uncertain. “I hope I know how to help you learn to wield the darkness. But how can I...?”
She searches his face, the question genuine. She has stayed. She has poured her own energy into him, defended him, refused to let him sink. Yet the practical work of helping a Fire God master the wrathful side of his power without repeating the surge that killed Sindel still feels larger than anything she has done before!
Liu’s hand moves gently along her back, steadying rather than pushing. “You already have been,” he answers. “Every time you kept my heart from tipping too far. Every time you stayed when the guilt tried to isolate me. That is the foundation.” He looks at her with quiet clarity. “What I need now is the same presence, only more deliberate. When the darkness rises in battle, help me keep the line between necessary force and loss of control. Use your cardiokinesis the way you did against the rebels—steady the core so the power stays aimed outward instead of consuming everything. And when we are not fighting… do not let me retreat into silence with it. Make me speak. Make me face what it costs while it is still small enough to correct.”
His thumb brushes once across her shoulder. “You do not have to teach me power. You only have to keep doing what no one else has done: refuse to treat the darkness as proof I am already lost and refuse to let me face it alone. THAT is how you help me learn.”
Aiko absorbs the answer, the path forward becoming a little clearer even if it remains difficult. She settles against him again, the promise to stay now carrying a more concrete shape: not only loyalty, but an active role in helping him wield what he carries without letting it destroy what still matters.
Aiko remains close, her brow furrowing as the practical questions surface. “And the visions…? The ones Geras shows you, the ones that still pull at you afterward. How do I help with those?”
She hesitates, then adds the second concern, voice quieter but steady.
“When you spar—when you need to train with the darker power—I can’t necessarily fight. Not the way the others can. I don’t have that kind of combat strength. I can only use my powers the way you use yours. Heart to heart. Energy to energy.” She looks up at him, needing the method to be something she can actually do.
Liu nods once, already turning the limitations into something workable. “The visions are the same principle,” he says. “When they come, stay near enough to feel the shift in my heart. Anchor it the way you did the night I retreated. You do not have to stop the visions themselves—Geras’s warnings will come whether we want them or not. You only need to keep them from dragging me under while I process what they show. Your presence and your cardiokinesis already proved they can hold that line.” He addresses the sparring concern with equal clarity. “You will not need to fight me with fists or weapons. When I train, I will call the darker fire deliberately. Your role is exactly what you just named: use your powers the way I use mine. Meet the surge with your cardiokinesis. Steady the core. Pull me back the moment the power starts to tip from controlled wrath into something that could harm what I do not intend to harm. That is the practice. Not a physical match—an exchange of power and control, heart against fire, until I learn the boundary well enough to hold it without you.”
Liu’s hand rests briefly over the place where her cardiokinesis has reached him so many times before. “You already know...in your heart. How to touch the center of what I am. That is the skill we will train. The visions, the sparring, the real battles—each one becomes another chance to refine it together.”
Aiko lets the answer settle. The path is still demanding, but it is no longer abstract. She has a concrete way to help with the visions and a clear role when he trains the darkness—one that relies on the very gift she carries rather than the combat strength she does not. The promise to stay now has its next practical shape.
The next day, Aiko stood with the small team in the planning circle, the latest maps of rebel positions spread between them. Takeda, Kung Jin, and Kabal listened as she laid out the next phase with quiet precision.
“We need flame shields,” she said. “Real ones—strong enough to withstand concentrated heat and Liu’s fire if the darker power flares during a strike. I don’t want anyone caught in the backwash the way Fujin was when Havik fell. Lord Liu Kang can provide them. I’m confident of that.”
Liu gave a single nod from where he stood at the edge of the group. The controlled fire along his arms answered the request without words; the shields would be forged.
Aiko continued, already moving to the next risk. “There’s another problem. If Liu performs another aerial impact—the kind that levels a whole concentration of enemies—everyone on the ground will be in the blast radius. We need to be airborne when that happens. Above the shockwave, not inside it.” She looked around the circle. “But who can help us ascend? Takeda, Jin, Kabal—none of you fly on your own. Neither do I. Liu can lift himself without effort but lifting four more people cleanly while preparing an impact strike is a different demand.”
The question hung in the air. Kung Jin was the first to speak. “Temporary platforms? Or wind if we can still call on any residual help from Fujin’s side of things?”
Kabal’s voice came rough through the mask. “I can get height with speed and terrain, but not true flight. Not for a whole squad at once.”
Takeda flexed his gauntlets. “Whips can swing us up to structure if there’s anything tall enough nearby. That’s not reliable in open ground.”
Aiko’s gaze returned to Liu. “You’re the only constant source of lift we have. Can you create controlled updrafts—heat columns strong enough to raise us and hold us steady until the impact is done? Or forge temporary platforms of fire that won’t burn through the shields?”
Liu considered it for a moment, the firelight reflecting in his eyes as he weighed the control required. “Both are possible,” he answered. “Heat columns for rapid ascent. Solid platforms if we need to stay aloft longer. With the shields in place, the fire will not harm you. I will have to split my focus—maintaining the lift while preparing the strike—but it can be done. Especially if your cardiokinesis keeps the core steady while I divide the power.”
Aiko exhaled, the plan locking into place. “Then that’s how we do it. Flame shields from you. Aerial positioning from you. I keep your heart lined up so the darkness stays aimed at the enemy and not at the people you’re lifting. Takeda, Jin, Kabal—once we’re up, you strike from above while the impact hits below. Clean, fast, no one left on the ground to take the blast.”
She looked at each of them in turn, the strategy clear and the roles assigned. “We train the ascent before the next real strike. No surprises when the moment comes."
The team nodded. The path forward now had its next concrete shape: fire that protected instead of only destroyed, height that kept them clear of the wrath, and Aiko’s power woven through it all to keep Liu’s darker strength precise.
The open plateau outside the Fire Temple had been cleared for the session. Scorch marks from earlier practice runs already patterned the stone. Takeda, Kung Jin, and Kabal stood ready in a loose triangle, waiting for the signal. Aiko took her place a short distance from Liu, close enough for her cardiokinesis to reach him without strain.
Liu raised both hands. Controlled fire gathered along his arms, the darker current already present beneath the surface—visible as deeper crimson threads weaving through the gold.
“Shields first,” Aiko said.
Liu swept his arms outward. Four interlocking barriers of dense, translucent flame formed around the team, heat-warped but stable. The air inside them stayed breathable; the outer surfaces shimmered with the capacity to turn aside both enemy fire and the backwash of Liu’s own power.
Takeda tested the edge of his with a gauntlet. It held.
“Good,” Aiko murmured. Her eyes were half-lidded, already reading the flow of energy through Liu’s core. “Now the lift.”
Liu shifted his stance. Heat columns erupted from the stone beneath each of them—tight, controlled updrafts of superheated air and fire. The team at first were startled by the slight geysers, but they were immediately relieved as long as they weren't harmed, courtesy of the flame shields. They rose together; flame shields still locked in place.
Kung Jin adjusted first, finding his balance in the rising current, as if maneuvering on a surfboard atop of the white caps of a towering wave. Kabal and Takeda followed. Aiko remained on the ground only long enough to confirm the columns were stable, then let one lift her as well. Being she had an undeveloped gait; she had it lift her while she was sitting on it.
“Ok. Platforms,” she called, loud enough over the sudden whirs.
Liu’s hands moved again. Broad discs of solid banked fire formed beneath their feet, replacing the pure updrafts with steady footing. The platforms hovered at a uniform height, linked by thin trails of energy so no one drifted out of formation. They looked down in awe.
The darker current pulsed harder as he maintained both the shields and the platforms at once. Feeling the sudden heated churn similar to heartburn, that was when Aiko’s role sharpened. She reached out with her cardiokinesis, the crimson-gold thread of her power sliding into the space around Liu’s heart. The dark surge wanted to expand, to feed on the effort of dividing his focus across so many constructs. Aiko did not suppress it. She split it—siphoning the excess intensity, smoothing the spikes, feeding the refined portion back into the precise work of shields and platforms while bleeding off the part that threatened to slip toward the uncontrolled red lightning of the past.
Liu exhaled through the strain. The platforms held. The shields did not flicker.
“Impact simulation,” he said.
The team braced. Liu rose higher on a central column of fire, the darker power gathering into the familiar spiral. Aiko kept the connection tight, her own pulse matching the rhythm of his as she continued to dissect the current—enough wrath for a devastating downward force, not enough to let the blast radius expand beyond the marked target zone on the plateau below.
He dropped. The aerial impact struck the designated circle with a controlled thunder, fire and force. The shockwave rolled outward, strong enough to have flattened anyone still on the ground, yet the elevated platforms rode above it cleanly. Shields flared bright under the residual heat and held. When the light cleared, the target zone was glassed and empty. No one on the team had taken damage. Aiko’s connection lingered a moment longer, steadying the last tremors of the dark current as Liu descended and the platforms gently lowered the others back to stone. Only when the fire constructs faded and the excess power settled did she release the link, breathing harder from the sustained effort.
Liu looked at her across the settling heat haze, the glow in his eyes calmer than it had been at the start of the drill. “Again,” he said. “Faster transitions this time.”
Aiko nodded, already centering herself for the next cycle. The flame shields, the air currents, the fiery platforms, and the careful division of his darker power were no longer theory. They were becoming a shared language—one strike, one lift, one steady heartbeat at a time.
The training on the plateau had just completed its second full cycle—flame shields locked, heat columns lifting the team, fiery platforms holding steady while Aiko divided Liu’s darker current—when the real alarm cut through.
Takeda’s head snapped up first. His telepathy caught the sharp, overlapping distress signatures of the Cage family under sudden pressure, mixed with the broader roar of an active battlefield. At the same time the Shaolin emergency pulse reached them: a portal had torn open directly outside the Dragon Grotto. Reiko’s forces—bolstered by Goro, Nitara, Black Dragon remnants, and later Frost’s contingent—were pouring through in a full invasion of Earthrealm. It matched the warnings already circulating after Sindel’s death. Reiko had moved faster than expected.
The vision hit Liu first. In the quiet after the second training cycle, the darker current along his arms flared without warning. Geras’s residual warnings and the newer, sharper images collided: a portal tearing open outside the Dragon Grotto, Reiko’s forces flooding through, Goro already on the field, and Johnny Cage directly in the path of an aerial impact Liu himself was about to unleash. The vision showed the shockwave catching Johnny before anyone could reach him—casualty, not victory.
Aiko felt the spike through the lingering cardiokinesis link and steadied him at once, dividing the surge before it could tip into the same uncontrolled red lightning that had already cost them Sindel and, only a short time earlier, had driven Liu to strike the imprisoned Shinnok in a moment of rage he already regretted.
“I saw it,” Liu said, voice tight. “The Grotto. Reiko. The Cages in the crossfire of my own strike."
"Yea! I saw it too! I know the vision shown Johnny had fallen and the women weeping... But...I never knew it could be at the sacred Grotto! They seem to be desperate overtaking our sacred lifeforce!" Aiko's heart raced.
"Similar to Shinnok..." Takeda confirmed a heartbeat later, his telepathy catching the real-time distress signatures of Johnny, Cassie, and the others already engaged. The Shaolin emergency pulse arrived almost simultaneously: the invasion was no longer a vision. It was happening!
"By the Gods...! LET'S GO!" Jin declared.
The warning came too late for a clean interception.
Rebel forces—remnants of the anarchist cells and a handful of opportunistic warlords—had forced a portal onto the outer edges of Earthrealm, aiming for a fast, chaotic strike while attention was still divided over Outworld. The Cages were already on-site when the breach widened: Johnny coordinating the civilian pull back, Cassie and the others holding the perimeter. Then the cerulean atrium darkened with the familiar surge of power that announced Liu Kang’s arrival thru the opening aloft! He already began building energy for the next pent-up attack WITHOUT Aiko's hold as his allies were still bashing through the crowd!
Kabal hadn't need to speak a word but rather dashed into enemy lines with his hook swords and breezing thru with super speed!
The rebel team still moved on the plan they had just drilled: flame shields locked around. Heat columns and fiery platforms lifted them as Liu opened the path. Aiko finally kept the dark current divided the entire way—feeding the precise power needed for shields, lift, and the coming impact while bleeding off every spike that threatened to expand beyond control.
They arrived above the Dragon Grotto battlefield. Fujin holding the initial breach with wind, Takeda’s Shirai Ryu consisting only of Smoke, Reptile, and Kenshi slamming into the flank, Mileena, Kitana and Jade locked with Goro with each of them falling or tossed around like rubber toys, Shaolin forces pouring in, Cassie leading Special Forces after helicopter support outside, and Johnny already trading blows with the Kahn fanatic.
Liu rose higher, the darker fire gathering for the aerial impact that the vision had shown would otherwise catch Johnny.
That was the moment Aiko had prepared for... Thru the overstimulation and disarray, she noticed the elderly celebrity get severely mangled by Reiko's brutal strength! She knew due to his age, he was indeed fragile especially from that bullet wound he suffered that one time--the growing illumination caught her eye, nearly blinding her as she looked up! "JOHNNY!!" She hollered over as much of the war ruckus as possible!
She dropped from her platform early nearly stumbled on her feet; flame shield tight and sprinted through the residual heat exactly as the vision had warned she must. She continuously screamed making her throat coarse as she reached Johnny in the critical second before the outer edge of Liu’s descending strike and Goro’s next attack could converge. Her cardiokinesis flared into a focused barrier over him—heart-energy meeting heat and force—holding the line while Cassie, Takeda, Kung Jin, and Jacqui piled onto Goro and drove him back.
Aiko saw it happen. She was already moving before the full force of the impact finished expanding. Cardiokinesis flared bright and urgent as she sprinted through the residual heat, flame shield locked tight around her own body. She reached Johnny in the critical second before a secondary wave of fire and force could finish what the first had started. Her hands slammed down over his chest and shoulder, pouring every available thread of heart-energy into a focused barrier that met the oncoming surge head-on. The heat broke against her shield. The force scattered. Johnny’s heart hammered under her palm—alive, strained, but intact.
It was also close enough that the outer shockwave reached the Cages’ position. Johnny had just shoved a group of stragglers behind cover when the pressure wave hit. The ground buckled. Debris and residual heat slammed outward. He went down hard, the air driven from his lungs, the edge of the blast close enough to scorch the earth beside him.
“Stay down,” she ordered, voice tight with effort. “I’ve got you.” Aiko’s steady contact with Johnny’s core gave her a second, sharper read on the battlefield; she sent a single, precise pulse upward—an anchor Liu had learned to recognize. The wrath narrowed. The remaining rebel concentration took the full, refined brunt of the impact while the Cages’ position stayed clear of the worst of it.
Above, Liu felt the anchor Aiko sent upward and narrowed the impact as her heart gem flashed red thru the thick smoke. The wrath hit the densest rebel concentration cleanly. Platforms held the rest of the team clear. When the light and pressure faded, the central invasion force was shattered. Reiko and several lieutenants escaped into the chaos, but the Grotto still stood and the Cages were alive!! Liu descended amid the settling smoke. The regret over Sindel, over Shinnok, and over how close the vision had come to becoming real still sat heavy in him. Aiko rejoined him, breathing hard, the same steady presence that had divided his dark current through every phase of the strike. The vision had given them the warning.
The training had given them the method. And Aiko’s decision to run toward Johnny instead of staying safely aloft had kept the casualty the vision showed from ever happening. The war was far from over—but for the first time since the darkness had begun to rise, they had met one of its worst possible branches and rewritten it together.
When the light and pressure finally faded, the invasion force was broken. The portal collapsed under the backlash. Johnny and Aiko coughed, he rolled onto one elbow and stared at the scorched ground where he had been lying seconds earlier. “Kid… remind me to put you on the payroll,” he rasped.
Aiko sat back on her heels, breathing hard, the last of the emergency shield flickering out around them. "Uh...no thanks..."
She looked up toward the sky where Liu was already descending, the darker fire settling back into controlled lines along his arms. Their eyes met across the distance. The wrath had been used.All three Cages had survived the crossfire!!
And Aiko’s decision to run toward the danger instead of away from it had kept one more life—and the fragile trust still being rebuilt—from becoming another cost of the power they were learning to wield together.
A/N: I had to cut it there since I felt that the chapter was driving on for too long; it's not easy keeping track of pacing! Grok gave me so much text and a lot of details to rearrange at times! As of this writing, Chapter 7 was released after an 11-day hiatus which stretched longer than previous vids before the fallout, and unfortunately it ended on a cliffhanger as Liu witnessed Johnny locked against Reiko followed by the sharp vision Liu saw of him dying with Sonya and Cassie sobbing, similar to Sindel's tragedy... Needless to say, my nerves were skyrocketing, and I'd no idea it was in the Grotto, but rather in Malibu... Those visions aren't easy to analyze...
Also, based on the said vision near the end of Smoke's chapter, I'd that crisis in my head for a while before then... So too when I came up with the idea on using flame shields and updrafts to avoid shockwaves and fatal heat from Liu's earlier attack! Even though the former was something I thought of from Sonic 3! Perhaps this can be a metaphor too... And there's a slight reference to MKX on Shinnok corrupting the Jinsei; after all, it's based on the alt timeline. Liu had every right to lose it when Shinnok stated there's nothing he can do to prevent his calamities, becoming sinister like him. Then again, just like the response itself, they've no heart. Tbf, Liu should embrace his darkness as a force of nature, a weapon, to accept that part of himself just as Cecil did when he became a Paladin or dealing with his doppelganger 17 years later! And even though I'm not crazy about Castlevania, the quote was used a few times from the echo chamber countdowns I saw back in 2010-11-ish; very valid point there!
I really needed to relieve my racing, hyperfixated mind and heart constantly racing! I shall continue shortly; thank goodness I beat ACP to the more optimistic outcome!
Even though it's not necessarily MK-related, it still carries a lot of weight due to current circumstances. Good people do NOTHING in the asinine AI series!! Just as petty as the damned Elder Gods!
Fujin being passive-aggressive and improperly training Liu especially when using the Jinsei and wielding darkness! Kitana being weak and unsupportive, and above all sparing their enemies instead of killing them outright and being cowards!
Sure, it might give Liu's darkness more momentum, but if they'd just treat it as an outlet and stay clear of the force of nature, they would've handled it more efficiently instead of Liu suffering from isolation and persecution! This is the prime example how good fails...
"A dark heart is better than no heart at all!" TheIkranRider
Con't IV
"W-wait, guys! I-I can't go, Liu's not feeling right. What-why don't you proceed to Outworld while I anchor his heart and then I'll join you if I pull it together. If it gets too hectic, don't be afraid to retreat!" Aiko's been receiving several heart palpitations; they began as soon as she woke up, always having those racing heartbeats going almost the same speed as a wild stallion! The cardiokinetic felt as if they're connected with her partner somehow... Or maybe it was just anxiety. Either way, her heart was hammering and her body trembled.
"You two going to be ok?" Jin queried.
"Yea. Yea it's probably nothing. Maybe another vision."
The trio rushed thru Liu's portal and onto enemy territory. Due to the disturbance and nervousness, she barely made out the war effort as Kabal volunteered to deal with the anarchists, while Jin and Takeda chose to battle the incoming general encasing a large beastly brawler with its bratty, nasal and trash-talking rider, Ferra/Tor!
Aiko gifted a heart gem to each of her teammates; if anyone'd fall in battle, they'd have a second wind as the crystals will rejuvenate while still maintaining the distant monitoring.
The latest strike had been clean. Another rebel general gone almost seamlessly, courtesy of Aiko's treatment thru the pure heart-shaped crystals, until they went dim and shattered. Another anarchist cell scattered. Takeda, Kung Jin, and Kabal had moved with precision beside them, and for a few hours the momentum had felt real—Outworld’s occupation less absolute than it had been the week before. By every practical measure it was a victory.
Aiko felt none of the satisfaction.
She stood apart from the others while the portal back to Earthrealm stabilized, one hand pressed lightly against her own chest as the residual echo of other hearts faded. She had brushed against them without meaning to—Kitana, Jade, Mileena—during the brief, cold exchange of intelligence that preceded the mission. There had been no gratitude in any of them. No acknowledgment that the independent squad was bleeding and risking for the same realm they all claimed to want freed. Only distance. Only the same unresolved wound around Sindel’s death, still untreated and still directed, at least in part, toward Liu.
And Kitana’s heart…
Aiko had read it clearly before they left. Beneath the grief and the pride and the careful composure was a fracture widening by the day. The bond Kitana had once shared with Liu—the long history, the complicated love, the trust that had survived timelines—was under real strain. Not simple anger. Something closer to a quiet, painful decision forming: that she might not be able to keep that bond intact after what he had done, after the darkness she had seen, after the way he had stepped away with Aiko instead of staying to face the wreckage together.
Aiko’s stomach turned with the knowledge. She watched Liu from a short distance. He was speaking quietly with Kabal, the controlled fire still present in him, the guilt still present beneath it. He looked steadier than he had in the first days after the retreat—more purposeful, less lost. Telling him what she had sensed in Kitana’s heart felt like it could undo that fragile progress. Keeping it from him felt like a different kind of betrayal. She was not sure she could tell him.
The doubt sat heavy in her chest all the way back through the portal. Victories or not, the deeper fracture between Liu and the people who had once stood closest to him was still spreading. And Aiko, who had chosen his side without hesitation, now carried the quiet fear that one of the most important bonds in his life might already be breaking—and that she might be the only one who had felt it happening.
Aiko waited until the others had moved ahead. Liu was still speaking with Kabal near the portal’s fading edge. Takeda had already gone to check their limited supplies. That left Kung Jin a few paces away, adjusting the wrap on his wrist, close enough to reach without drawing the whole group’s attention.
She stepped toward him. “Jin.”
He looked up at once, reading the tightness in her expression the way only someone who had known her for years could. “What is it?”
Aiko glanced once more toward Liu to make sure he was still occupied, then kept her voice low. “I need to say this to someone, and I can’t put it on him right now. During the briefing… I brushed their hearts. Kitana, Jade, Mileena. There was no gratitude. Not even reluctant acknowledgment that we’re out here bleeding for the same ground they want back. Just distance. And colder than before.” She hesitated, the harder part catching in her throat. “Kitana’s was the worst. I didn’t mean to read that deeply, but it was right there. The bond she has with Liu… it’s fracturing. Not just anger over Sindel. Something closer to her starting to accept that she might have to let it go. That she might not be able to keep it after everything that’s happened.”
Aiko’s arms folded tightly across her chest, as if the admission itself needed containing. “I don’t know if I should tell him. He’s finally standing steady again. The guilt is still there, but he’s moving. If I put this on him now… I’m afraid of what it will do. And I’m afraid of what it means if I stay quiet.” She met her nephew’s eyes, the worry plain and unguarded. “I didn’t know who else to take it to. So, I’m taking it to you.”
Kung Jin was silent for a long moment, the weight of what she had sensed settling between them. Around them the residual energy of the portal faded, the small team preparing to move on—unaware that Aiko had just placed the most fragile, painful piece of the fracture into the hands of the one family member she still fully trusted with it, as Kung Lao already perished...
They saw Liu leaving Kabal... She...they...didn't have a choice...
Movement at the edge of her vision made Aiko look up. Liu had finished speaking with Kabal. He was already walking toward them, the controlled fire along his arms low but steady, expression unreadable in the way it became when he was turning something over internally. There was no more time, no more private distance. Aiko’s breath caught. She glanced at Kung Jin, the unfinished weight of what she had just told him still hanging between them. It was not clear even to herself whether she meant the lack of choice in reading Kitana’s heart, the lack of choice in keeping the truth from Liu a little longer, or the larger lack of choice that had forced them all onto this fractured path. Perhaps it was all of it at once. Kung Jin gave the smallest nod, accepting both the confidence and the sudden end of the moment.
Liu reached them. His gaze moved from Aiko’s still-tight posture to Kung Jin’s carefully neutral face, sensing the residual tension even if he could not name its source. “Is everything all right?” he asked.
Aiko forced her shoulders to ease. The truth about Kitana’s fracturing bond stayed locked behind her teeth, heavy and unresolved. She met Liu’s eyes and gave the only answer she could manage in the second she had. “Just… coordinating the next steps with Jin. We’re ready when you are.”
It was not a lie. It was simply not the whole of what had just passed. Liu accepted it for now, though something in his expression said he noted the strain she was trying to hide. The three of them turned to rejoin Takeda and Kabal, the small team preparing to move again. Aiko walked at Liu’s side as she always did—present, loyal, still choosing him—while the knowledge she had shared only with her nephew remained an unspoken weight. They had not had a choice in that moment. And the choice of when, or whether, to tell Liu the fuller truth still waited ahead of them.
The team had moved ahead to secure the next ridgeline. For a short stretch of the path only Aiko and Liu walked together, the quiet between them thicker than usual. Aiko felt the conflict twisting under her ribs with every step. Part of her—the exhausted, frightened part that had read the fracture in Kitana’s heart and felt the cold distance from Mileena and Jade—whispered that she should leave. That staying only deepened the divide, that her presence at Liu’s side had become another wound for the people who once stood with him, that she might be doing more harm than good by continuing to choose him so openly. The smarter, cleaner thing might be to step away. Let him walk the darker, lonelier path without her as a constant reminder of the break. And yet the larger part of her, the part that had stayed through every spiral of guilt and wrath, still refused. Leaving felt like abandoning the one person who had actually needed someone to stay. It felt like proving the very isolation she had fought against. She did not realize how visible the struggle had become until Liu slowed and stopped.
He turned to face her fully. The controlled fire along his arms was low, his expression stripped of anything but quiet honesty. “Aiko.”
She looked up, already bracing.
“I can feel the weight you are carrying,” he said. “Not only the missions. The cost of standing with me when so many others will not. If that cost has become too much… you do not have to keep paying it.” He held her gaze, offering the door without pressure. “If you need to leave, I will not stop you. I will understand.” The words landed with unexpected force. He was giving her the choice. Freely. Without bitterness. After everything she had poured into keeping him from being alone, he was willing to let her go if that was what she needed.
Aiko’s mouth opened, then closed. What could she say? That yes, part of her wanted the cleaner break? That no, the larger part of her still could not walk away? That she was terrified of both staying and leaving? No answer felt true enough, or safe enough, or complete enough for the moment. She stood there in the open path, caught between the two pulls, staring at the man who had just offered her freedom from the very fight she had chosen—and found she had no words that could hold the whole of what she felt.
Aiko’s voice came out small and frayed, the words she had been holding back finally breaking free. “I… I don’t know.” She shook her head once, arms wrapping around herself as if the admission needed containing. “Kitana, Jade, and Mileena left us. Not in words, not with a formal break, but they left. They weren’t thrilled with our endeavors—anyone could see that. Yet they didn’t try to stop us either. Neither did Fujin. They just… stepped back and let us walk this path alone. And somehow that almost hurts more than open opposition.” Her eyes flicked up to Liu’s, then away again, the real core of the strain rising to the surface.
“I feel… I feel a strain with her. With Kitana. It’s been growing every time we’re near enough for me to sense anything. The history you two carry, the bond that survived so much—it’s under real pressure. I can feel it fraying. And I don’t know where that leaves me. If I stay, am I making the fracture worse just by being the one who didn’t leave you? If I go… then what was all of this for?”The conflict twisted openly across her face now—no longer hidden behind resolve or duty.“I don’t want to abandon you. Every part of me that chose to stay through the dark still wants to stay. But I also can’t pretend the distance from them, especially from her, isn’t costing something. I feel the strain every day. And I don’t know how to carry both...”
She stood there on the path, the choice he had offered still hanging in the air between them, and the honesty she had finally spoken making everything both clearer and more difficult at once. No clean answer had appeared. Only the truth of how heavily the fracture was pressing on her.
The pain in Aiko’s chest was real—sharp, heavy, and unwilling to ease. She had spoken the strain aloud. She had admitted the fracture with Kitana, the cold distance from Jade and Mileena, the quiet way even Fujin had stepped back. The conflict between staying and leaving still pulled at her with equal force. And yet, as she stood there searching Liu’s face for any sign that he truly meant the offer, something else became clear.
He did not want her to leave. The words had been honest. He would not stop her. He would understand. But beneath them, in the way his eyes held hers, in the subtle tension that had entered his posture the moment the possibility became real, she felt the truth her cardiokinesis could not miss: the thought of her walking away cut at him. After everything—after the wrath, the guilt, the isolation he had chosen and the isolation that had been forced upon him—he still did not want to lose the one person who had refused to treat him as already lost. Aiko’s breath trembled. The realization did not erase her pain. If anything, it complicated it. Because looking at him now, seeing that quiet, unspoken need for her to stay, the weight of blame settled in a different place. Out of all that had happened—the death of Sindel, the break with the others, the strain that now lived in Kitana’s heart, the path that had forced them into a smaller and lonelier fight—it was his fault, not hers.
He had been the one whose power had surged beyond control.
He had been the one who retreated into guilt while she fought to keep him from drowning in it.
He had been the one whose darkness, necessary or not, had driven the fractures that now pressed against her from every side.She had only chosen to stay.Tears stung her eyes, but she did not look away. The pain remained real. The pull to leave remained real. And still she could see, with painful clarity, that he did not want her to go—and that the cost of everything surrounding that truth belonged to him, not to the woman who had refused to abandon him.The choice he had offered still stood open between them.
Aiko simply no longer knew whether her heart could take either answer. She closed her eyes for a brief second, letting the opposing pulls settle into something she could stand on. She wanted to support him. No matter what. That part had never truly wavered—not through the wrath, not through the guilt, not through the cold distance of the others. She could not walk away and still call herself the person who had promised to stay. And she could not let him carry the entire weight of blame alone, even when part of her knew how much of the fracture had begun with his loss of control. Accepting that blame completely would only drag him back into the isolation she had fought to pull him out of.
When she opened her eyes again, the tears were still there, but her voice was steadier. “I’m not leaving.” The words came quiet and firm, the choice finally spoken. “I want to support you. No matter what these costs, no matter how heavy the strain gets with Kitana or the others. I can’t walk away from that. And I can’t let you stand here and take all the blame like it’s yours alone to carry. What happened with Sindel… the darkness… the way everything broke afterward… it isn’t simple enough for one person to own every piece of it.”
She stepped closer, the same stubborn presence she had given him since the first night of his retreat. “Still… I’m sorry. I’m sorry for how complicated I’ve made things by staying. I’m sorry for the fracture my choices have widened. I’m sorry that loving you this way—choosing you this way—keeps hurting people we both care about. I hate that part of it. But I won’t use that sorry as a reason to abandon you.” Aiko reached out and rested her hand lightly against his arm, the contact small but deliberate. “So, I’m staying. We’ll carry the blame, the strain, and the fight together. That’s the only answer I have.”
The path ahead remained painful and unresolved. Kitana’s fraying bond, the cold distance from the others, the cost of the darker power—all of it still waited. But Aiko had chosen her place again: at his side, supporting him, refusing to let him sink under the full weight of fault, even while the apology for everything surrounding that choice stayed honest and open between them.
Liu stands silent on the path long after Aiko’s final words settle. The offer he made—for her to leave if the cost had become too high—had been genuine. He would not have stopped her. He had seen the strain she carried, the way the cold distance from Kitana, Jade, and Mileena wore at her, the quiet toll of constantly defending him. Part of him had already begun preparing for the possibility that even she might reach her limit. When she first hesitated, the fear of that loss had cut deeper than he expected. He had not wanted her to go. He simply refused to hold her hostage to his darkness or his guilt. Her honesty about Kitana’s fraying bond lands hardest. He had felt the distance himself, of course. He had seen it in Kitana’s eyes since the moment Sindel fell. But hearing Aiko name it so clearly—having her confirm that the fracture was real and widening—reopens the wound with painful precision. The history he shares with Kitana is long and complicated; the thought that it may not survive what he has become is a grief he has tried not to look at directly. Aiko’s decision to stay does not erase that grief. It simply means he will not have to face it in complete isolation.
When she refuses to let him carry all the blame, something in him both resists and softens. The guilt over Sindel’s death is still his. The surge of uncontrolled power, the retreat, the way his choices forced everyone into harder positions—he accepts responsibility for those. Yet Aiko’s insistence that the fault is not entirely singular, that the failures and hesitations of others also shaped the outcome, keeps him from sinking fully back into the self-condemnation that once left him adrift. It is an uncomfortable mercy. He does not feel he deserves it. He is still grateful for it. Her apology for the complications of staying strikes him as almost upside down.
In his view she has been the one constant who refused to treat him as already lost. The strain she feels, the fractures her loyalty has widened, the pain of being caught between him and the others—those are consequences of his fallout, not crimes she needs to atone for. That she feels the need to apologize for loving him through it only deepens the quiet ache in his chest. Above all, her choice to remain steadies him more than he can easily show.
The darkness is still there. The guilt is still there. The knowledge that Kitana may be letting go, that Mileena and Jade remain cold, that Fujin keeps his distance—all of it remains. But Aiko’s decision pulls him back from the edge of isolation once again. He feels the weight of what her staying will continue to cost her. He feels protective of that cost. And beneath the guilt and the residual wrath, he feels a fierce, quiet determination not to make her regret the choice. He does not have elegant words for any of it yet.
What he feels is simple and heavy: relief that she is not leaving, grief over the bonds that are still breaking, acceptance of the blame that is truly his, and a renewed resolve to become someone who can eventually stand beside her without requiring her to keep paying so much of the price.
For now, he simply remains on the path with her, the fire along his arms burning low and steady, carrying the full complexity of what her decision means to him in silence.
-----------------------------------------------
Liu is quiet for a long moment after Aiko finishes speaking. The fear that she might still leave—despite her words—sits heavy in him. He has already imagined the path without her once. He does not want to walk it.When he finally speaks, his voice is low and careful, stripped of anything but honesty.
“I hear you. All of it.” He turns fully toward her so there is no distance left between them. “The strain with Kitana… with Jade and Mileena… the way staying with me keeps costing you… I will not pretend that cost is small. I will not pretend it is fair. You have carried more than anyone should have been asked to carry for my sake.” His eyes hold hers, the residual fire in them dim but steady. “If you ever reach the point where you must leave, I will not stand in your way. I meant that. But I am asking you—while the choice is still yours—to stay a little longer. Not because I deserve it. Not because the darkness is gone. But because every time I have started to sink back into the guilt and the isolation, you have been the one who refused to let me disappear inside it. I do not know who I become if that stops.”
He draws a slow breath, accepting the weight of his own part in everything. “What happened with Sindel is mine to answer for. The fractures that followed are partly mine as well. I will not ask you to erase that truth. I only ask that you let me keep trying to become someone who does not require you to keep paying so much for the choice to stand beside me.”
Liu’s hand lifts, hovering just short of hers—an offer, not a demand. “Stay. If you can. If you still want to. And if the day comes when you cannot… tell me. Do not carry the decision alone the way you have carried so much else.”
The words are simple, unadorned, and completely sincere. He has given her the truth of his need without trying to bind her, acknowledged the blame that is his, and left the door open in both directions—hoping, quietly and fiercely, that she will not walk through the one that takes her away.
The honesty in Liu’s voice—the way he refuses to diminish the cost she has paid, the way he still leaves the door open, the quiet admission that he does not know who he becomes without her—settles something inside her that has been restless for days. The strain with Kitana, the cold distance from the others, the fear that staying only widens every fracture… none of it disappears. But the pull to leave finally loses its equal weight.She steps forward and closes the small space still left between them. Her hand finds his, fingers curling around the one he had left offered.
“Then I promise.” Her voice is soft, but there is no hesitation left in it. “I will stay by your side. Through the strain, through the blame, through whatever comes next with the others or with the darkness still in you. I won’t disappear. I won’t let you sink back into the isolation. We’re doing this together.”
She tightens her hold just slightly, sealing the promise with the same stubborn loyalty that has carried her this far. “I’m here, Liu. And I’m not leaving.”The path ahead remains difficult. The fractures with Kitana, Mileena, Jade, and Fujin are still real. The war for Outworld is still unfinished. But in this moment, on the open path with the rest of their small team waiting ahead, Aiko’s choice is spoken and given she will stay.
Liu’s fingers close gently around hers in answer, the low fire along his arms burning a little steadier than before. For the first time in a long while, neither of them is standing alone inside the weight they carry.
A/N: Everything just keeps getting worse as Liu makes progress during the AI series, especially in Reiko & Goro! Grok helped me analyze the situation as watching his further descent, as justified, would disturb me greatly! It's clear as Aiko's heart gem that ACP and his echo chamber WANTS Liu to succumb as far as possible without ANY CHANCE of redemption!! He will destroy everyone and everything including himself! I would bet he'd sneak into the Temple of Elements and steal Shinnok's Amulet thereby freeing Shinnok and perhaps Onaga snatching it, wielding with the Kamidogu, and making his enemies invincible and have the realms be annihilated! I already know where this is going and despise them to no end! Take a look at the rant vlog I posted last nite!! AwesomeCage and the echo chamber are heartless, miserable machines since it's been described the wrath's out of Liu's guilt, isolation, and lack of support which I'm precisely doing the fucking opposite!! Never trust these senseless intellectuals!
Go check my meme and rebuttal of the retarded expression that a person has 2 brain cells, which is taking 3rd place, counting the brain itself! As it's confirmed the heart no longer matters! People won't ever change as long as they're breathing! But thank the Elder Gods I've made my OC using cardiokinesis!
I swear, I'll continue overcoming his dark path! Apathy's the best way, and I'm actually glad ACP and his hive minded fans are reps I really abhor!
"Everybody's got a dark side. Can you love me, do you love mine? Nobody's a picture perfect, but we're worth it, y'know that we're worth it. Will you love me, even with my dark side?" Dark Side - Kelly Clarkson
Con't III
The corridor stays frozen for several long seconds after Aiko disappears. Liu is the first to move. He does not address the others. He does not offer explanations or accept further confrontation. The moment her footsteps fade, the priority in his expression shifts completely. The controlled wrath that carried him through the rebel strike and the confrontation softens into something quieter and more urgent. He turns and follows the path she took, leaving Fujin, Kitana, Mileena, and the rest behind without another word.
He finds her in the side chamber, seated against the wall, arms around her knees, shoulders shaking. The sight of her—usually the one who stays, the one who pours her own energy into him until she has nothing left—now broken and withdrawn hits harder than any of the accusations that were thrown.
Liu does not speak immediately. He simply lowers himself to sit beside her, close but not crowding, the way she once sat with him when he was the one adrift. The residual fire along his arms dims to a low, warm glow. He waits until her breathing begins to hitch less violently before he offers his voice, quiet and steady. “You did not deserve to carry all of that alone...” he reiterated,
Aiko’s reply is small, frayed. “I couldn’t watch them do it to you again… and now I’ve made everything worse.”
“No.” Liu’s answer is immediate. “You spoke the truths they refused to face. That is not the same as making it worse.” He hesitates, then adds, softer, “You have stayed with me through every dark turn. Let me stay with you through this.”
"But... Kitana...."
He does not try to fix the fracture with the others right now. He does not demand she return and continue fighting. He simply remains—present, protective in a quieter way, offering the same refusal to leave that she has given him since the retreat.
In the background, the others will eventually have to sit with the weight of what Aiko forced into the open. Some will be angry. Some will be shaken. The larger threats—the rebels, Shinnok’s shadow, the broken state of Outworld—have not vanished. But the immediate next step is not another battle or another confrontation.
It is this: Aiko is no longer the only one holding the line. Liu is no longer the only one being held.
They sit together in the quiet chamber while the storm she unleashed settles, both of them exhausted, both of them still choosing not to walk away. The path forward will have to be faced eventually—but for now, the next thing that happens is simply that neither of them is left alone inside the overwhelm.
The quiet in the side chamber holds for a long time. Aiko’s breathing gradually steadies, though her eyes remain red and her voice, when it finally returns, is still fragile.
She keeps her arms loosely around her knees, staring at the floor as she speaks.
“The Jinsei… every God of Earthrealm is supposed to be able to wield it. It’s not just Raiden’s or Fujin’s. It’s tied to the realm itself, to the life that runs through it. When you’re raised to that station, it becomes part of what you can reach for—especially when the cost is already too high and people are slipping away.” She swallows, the earlier fire of her confrontation now replaced by something quieter and more tired. “I brought it up out there because Fujin was conscious. He had the chance. But you…” Her voice softens further as she finally glances at him. “You’re still newer to all of this. You were a novice when the real weight of godhood landed on you. And with everything that happened—your revenant years, the merging, the way memories and instincts got tangled—it’s not hard to believe some of that knowledge never settled the way it should have. Or that it got buried.”
Aiko shifts just enough to rest her shoulder lightly against his, the same way she did in the first recovery. “I don’t hold that part against you. I can’t. You didn’t grow up inside that power the way Fujin did. You were thrown into it, carrying scars most gods never have to. If the Jinsei didn’t rise to your hand when Sindel fell… I understand. I forgive it. That failure isn’t the same as his.”
She lets out a thin breath, still drained, still raw from the storm she unleashed, but clearer now in this smaller truth. “I just… needed you to know that. Even after everything I said out there.”
Liu listens without interrupting, the low firelight reflecting in his eyes as he takes in both the information and the forgiveness she is offering him. The weight between them remains, but it is no longer only sharp edges. Aiko has given him honesty, understanding, and the space to be a still-learning god rather than a finished failure.
She stays leaning against him, quiet once more, letting the words settle while the two of them continue to share the same exhausted, unbroken presence.
Aiko remains leaning against Liu’s shoulder, her voice still quiet and worn from everything that has poured out of her, yet a new thread of resolve begins to surface beneath the exhaustion.
“We can’t keep doing this the way they want,” she says. “Waiting for approval. Waiting for the others to stop treating your power like a disease. It costs too much.”
She lifts her head just enough to look at him. “We must… make our own team. Our own rebel squad of allies. People who will actually move when it matters instead of holding us back.”
She lists them carefully, still thinking it through even as she speaks. “Jin. Takeda. Kabal. They’ve already shown they’ll step into the fire without needing every risk sanded down first. I don’t want Kenshi or Syzoth—they’re too tied to what Onaga left behind. And Smoke… the cyber initiative is still too close to him. I won’t bring that variable in.”
Her gaze flicks briefly toward the empty air, as if already calculating the next piece. “But Geras… I think I’ll help monitor your visions. He’s still dangerous in what he shows you, but if I’m there when the branches start turning, maybe I can keep them from dragging you under the way they did after Sindel. Someone has to watch the weight of them with you.”
Aiko’s hand finds the edge of his sleeve, a small, determined contact. “We must act. The rebels will regroup. Shinnok’s shadow hasn’t gone anywhere. Outworld is still broken, and the others are too busy judging you to move fast enough. If we stay inside their caution, we’ll keep losing ground. So, we build our own line—small, loyal, willing—and we move when it needs to be done.”
She lets the words settle, still drained, still raw, but no longer only broken. The same heart that stormed out in distress is already turning toward the next stand, refusing to leave Liu alone inside the larger fight.
“I’m still with you,” she adds softly. “Even if it means we stop waiting for the rest of them to catch up.”
Liu listens in silence, the low fire along the walls answering the shift in her. The path she is offering is narrower, harder, and no longer dependent on the approval of those who keep confronting him. And for the first time since the retreat, the way forward is being shaped by someone who has already chosen to stay.
-----------------------------------------
Guilt kept Liu Kang from the meetings. He remained in the quieter chambers of the Fire Temple, the residual weight of Sindel’s death and the confrontation still heavy enough that he chose isolation over presence. He did not argue when Aiko said she would handle the recruiting herself. He only nodded once, the fire along his arms burning low, and let her go. Aiko moved through the temple and the surrounding grounds with the same stubborn resolve that had carried her through every dark turn so far. She spoke plainly, without softening the reality of what the mission would require: a smaller, independent force willing to act when the larger group would not, focused on liberating what remained of Outworld from the rebels who had taken it.
Li Mei listened in silence for a long time. Bo’ Rai Cho stood beside her, arms folded, expression unreadable. When they finally answered, both chose to stay with the Shaolin. Their reasons were spoken carefully—duty to the Academy, the need to protect what still stood in Earthrealm—but the mixed feelings were clear beneath the words. They did not condemn Liu. They also could not bring themselves to leave the structure they had always known.
Kenshi’s decision came more cleanly. He volunteered to remain with the Shirai Ryu, citing the ongoing need to stabilize the clan and the lingering complications of his own history. He offered no judgment, only the boundary he would not cross. Then the ones who stepped forward arrived.
"I'm in, Dad." Takeda spoke first, steady and without hesitation.
Kung Jin followed, jaw set, already accepting the fracture it would create with those who stayed behind. Kabal was last, mask tilting slightly as he gave a short, rough agreement. All three volunteered for the liberation mission—no conditions, no demand that Liu first prove the darkness was gone. They simply chose the side that was still willing to move.
Aiko stood with them afterward, the weight of the refusals and the acceptances settling across her shoulders. She had broken the recruiting open exactly as needed: a small, committed squad ready to act. Yet when she returned to the chamber where Liu waited alone, the victory felt quieter than she had expected.
She found him still seated in the low firelight, guilt keeping him apart from the very alliances she had just secured. “They’re with us,” she told him softly. “Takeda. Jin. Kabal. The others made their choices. Li Mei and Bo’ stay with the Shaolin. Smoke defending the Lin Kuei against the cyders. Kenshi stays with the Shirai Ryu. But we have a team.”
Liu looked up, the glow in his eyes reflecting both gratitude and the isolation he had chosen. “You did what I could not,” he said.
Aiko stepped closer, the same refusal to leave him alone still written in every line of her posture. “Then we move with what we have. The three of them are ready. I’m ready. Whenever the guilt lets you stand up again… we act.”
The chamber held the quiet truth of it: the rebel squad existed now, forged by Aiko’s effort while Liu carried the weight of what he had done. The liberation mission had its first volunteers. And the space between guilt and action remained the next ground they would have to cross together.
-------------------------------------
The three volunteers stood in the open courtyard of the Fire Temple as the last light of day faded. Takeda, Kung Jin, and Kabal had already accepted the mission; now came the quieter moment of acknowledgment.
Liu Kang stepped forward first, the guilt still visible in the set of his shoulders but no longer keeping him completely apart. His voice was low and steady. “Thank you. All three of you. You did not have to take this path. You chose it anyway.”
Aiko stood beside him, still carrying the exhaustion of the recruiting and the earlier breakdown. She inclined her head to each of them in turn. “Thank you,” she echoed. “I know what it means to step away from the others for this.” Then her gaze dropped for a moment. When she spoke again, the words came harder. “I also need to apologize. For the way I lost control earlier—against Fujin, against Kitana, against Mileena, against everyone who was standing there. I was distraught. I was broken. And I let it turn into an attack instead of a conversation. That wasn’t fair to any of them… or to you, if you had to hear about it afterward.”
She drew a slow breath, the doubt rising even as she tried to keep her voice level. “I don’t know if they would ever fight in our stead after that. I don’t know if the ones who stayed behind will ever fully trust what we’re doing. Sometimes I even doubt…” Her eyes flicked briefly toward Liu, then away. “I even doubt that Kitana—someone who once stood so close to him—would still choose to fight beside us after everything that’s happened. After Sindel. After the things I said. Love doesn’t always survive this much fracture.”
The admission hung in the cooling air, honest and unguarded. Takeda was the first to answer, calm and direct. “We’re here. That’s the part that matters right now.”
Kung Jin gave a short nod. "As Fangzhang, the leader of the Shaolin, it's my duty too. I'm with you too, Āyí. Besides...my uncle will do the same."
Kabal’s voice came rough through the mask. “You don’t have to carry their decisions on top of your own. We already made ours. I have, after all, defected from the Black Dragon, and Jin with the Shaolin accepted me. So, I will tag along to kick some dragon ass.”
Liu’s hand settled lightly at Aiko’s back—not pushing, only present. The same quiet support she had given him through every dark turn.
“You spoke from the heart when no one else would,” he said softly, for her more than for the others. “The rest will have to find their own way to peace with it. We move with the ones who are willing.”
Aiko nodded once, still uncertain, still carrying the weight of the apology and the doubt, but no longer standing inside it alone. The rebel squad was real. The gratitude had been spoken. And the next step—whatever shape the liberation mission would take—would be taken with the three who had already chosen to stand with them.
------------------------------------
Kitana stands on the balcony of the temporary Earthrealm refuge, arms folded tightly, the night air doing nothing to cool the ache behind her ribs.
Sindel is dead.
Not by rebel hands. Not by Havik’s chaos. By Liu Kang—the same man who once fought beside her across timelines, who had been a constant even when everything else fractured. She can still see the red lightning, the way her mother’s body crumpled, the helpless seconds when she, Mileena, and Jade could do nothing but watch. The grief is still fresh enough that it turns sharp whenever she lets her mind linger on it.
She does not deny that Havik needed to die. She does not deny that the anarchists were a real threat. But the way Liu’s power had surged afterward—the lack of control, the moment he turned that same force on Sindel—sits in her chest like a blade that will not come free. She had looked at him in the aftermath and seen not only regret, but a darkness she no longer knew how to trust.
Then came Aiko’s outburst.
Kitana had stood there in silence while the younger woman listed every failure she could reach for: that Kitana had not been present at the critical moment, that she arrived only in time to grieve and to judge, that love might not survive the fracture. The words had landed with humiliating accuracy. Kitana had been elsewhere when the decisive strike happened. She had met Liu’s return with accusation rather than support. Hearing it thrown at her so publicly, while her mother’s body was still a fresh wound, had felt like salt driven into something already torn open.
Now Liu and Aiko have stepped away entirely—forming their own small force with Takeda, Kung Jin, and Kabal. A “rebel squad” for liberation, they call it. Kitana understands the logic. Outworld is still bleeding under the rebels who took it after the retreat. Someone has to act. But the way they did it, after the confrontation, after Aiko’s verbal assault, feels like another door closing. Liu has not come to her. He has not tried to bridge the grief with anything beyond distance and guilt. And Aiko, the one who defended him so fiercely, has made it clear she no longer trusts the rest of them to stand beside him.Kitana’s thoughts turn over the same painful questions without mercy.Was she wrong to confront him after Sindel fell?Was her absence during the battle a failure that helped create the opening for disaster?
Can she still love the man who took her mother, even if it was not entirely by choice?
And if she cannot yet fight at his side, does that make her exactly what Aiko accused her of being—someone who judges from a safe distance while others pay the cost?
She has no clean answers.
What she has is the weight of a realm still occupied, a sister and a friend who share her grief, and the knowledge that the man she once trusted with everything is now walking a path she does not know how to follow. The conflict is no longer only about rebels or power or darkness. It is about whether the bonds that survived timelines and deaths can survive this.
Kitana remains on the balcony long after the others have gone inside, eyes fixed on the distant horizon in the direction of Outworld, torn between the duty to reclaim what was lost and the still-bleeding wound of who was taken from her in the process.
-------------------------------------------
Mileena no longer sits a throne.
Outworld is lost—taken by the rebels in the chaos that followed Sindel’s death and the Earthrealm retreat. The titles of Empress and rightful ruler still cling to her in name among the scattered loyalists who escaped, but the practical reality is starker: she is a leader in exile, operating from temporary refuge in Earthrealm, trying to hold together what remains of her authority while grief and fury eat at the edges of her control.Her mother’s death sits at the center of everything. Mileena watched Liu Kang’s power turn on Sindel. She heard the regret in his voice afterward, saw the horror on his face, and still could not bridge the gap between that regret and the body cooling in her arms. The anger has not faded. It has only hardened into something colder and more practical. She does not waste time on public breakdowns the way Kitana sometimes does. Instead, she channels it into planning—supply routes for remaining loyalists, intelligence on rebel movements, quiet discussions with Jade about how to reclaim even a foothold when the time comes.
Aiko’s confrontation cut deeper than Mileena allows anyone to see. Being told, in front of the others, that her rule was already fracturing, that she had needed help and still added to Liu’s burden of blame, landed with humiliating precision. Mileena knows the criticism is not entirely wrong. The rebels had gained ground before Liu ever returned to the field. Her control had been slipping. Hearing it thrown at her so openly, while she was still raw from losing Sindel, only reinforced her instinct to close ranks and trust fewer people.She has not joined Liu and Aiko’s breakaway squad. The idea of fighting under the same banner as the man who killed her mother—no matter the circumstances—still feels impossible. At the same time, she cannot ignore that their independent mission is aimed at the same enemy occupying her realm. The practical part of her watches the reports of their first strike with reluctant attention. The personal part of her refuses to offer support or forgiveness.Her current role, then, is a tense middle ground:
Nominal leader of the Edenian/Outworld exiles who still recognize her claim.
Co-strategist with Jade and, more quietly, with Kitana when grief allows them to work together.
A figure of unresolved rage toward Liu Kang and open distrust toward Aiko.
Someone who continues to prepare for liberation even while refusing to stand beside the very force most willing to act on it.
Mileena moves through the refuge with the same predatory focus she once carried on the throne, but the crown is gone, the realm is occupied, and the man who once might have been an ally is now a wound that has not closed. She will reclaim Outworld. She has not yet decided whether that path will ever include the Fire God who took her mother—or the woman who defended him.
-------------------------------------------
Jade works in the quieter hours, when grief is less likely to interrupt.
She has claimed a side room in the Earthrealm refuge and turned it into a makeshift planning space—maps of Outworld weighted at the corners, marked with the last known rebel positions, supply routes, and remaining loyalist pockets. Candles burn low. Her staff leans against the table within easy reach. She moves with the same focused calm she once used as Kitana’s bodyguard, only now the stakes are an entire occupied realm and a fractured set of alliances.Her planning rests on three hard realities she refuses to ignore:
Outworld is held, but not yet consolidated.
The rebels took the capital and major strongholds after the retreat, yet reports show their control is uneven. Some regions are still contested. Others are held by opportunistic warlords who pledged to Reiko’s cause only for survival. Jade marks these weak points carefully. A full-frontal assault is impossible with current numbers; targeted strikes against supply lines, messengers, and isolated garrisons are not.
The Edenian/Outworld forces in exile are limited.
Mileena still commands loyalty among those who escaped, but their numbers are depleted. Kitana’s grief makes her a powerful symbol and a dangerous liability in the field until it stabilizes. Jade plans around both facts. She organizes small, mobile units that can move without requiring Mileena’s constant presence or Kitana’s full emotional readiness. Jade herself is prepared to lead the first of those units if needed.
Liu Kang’s breakaway squad is an uncontrollable variable.
Jade does not trust the darkness she saw in him the day Sindel died. She also does not ignore results. The independent strike he and Aiko launched with Takeda, Kung Jin, and Kabal damaged rebel momentum. Jade’s maps already reflect the gaps that strike created. She will not join them. She will not ask Mileena or Kitana to forgive. But she tracks their movements and quietly adjusts her own plans to avoid working at cross-purposes. If their next action creates an opening, she intends to be ready to exploit it for Outworld’s sake—without coordinating openly.
Her immediate priorities are practical and unsentimental:
Secure reliable intelligence from inside occupied territories, even if it means dealing with unsavory contacts.
Preserve the remaining loyalist fighters rather than spending them on symbolic last stands.
Keep Mileena focused on leadership instead of pure vengeance and keep Kitana from isolating completely inside her grief.
Prepare contingency routes for a partial reclamation of territory—enough to restore a functional base of operations on Outworld soil.
Jade does not waste time on speeches about unity or forgiveness. She plans for the realm that still exists, the people still fighting, and the long, grinding work of taking ground back one measured step at a time. In the candlelight, her staff within reach and the maps covered in careful marks, she is already fighting the next phase of the war—quietly, precisely, and without waiting for the emotional fractures around her to heal.
-------------------------------------
Fujin carries the weight of Aiko’s words more heavily than he shows.
The Wind God has always favored restraint, measurement, and the long view. In the aftermath of Sindel’s death and the public confrontation that followed, that same temperament now feels like both shield and liability. He remains with the main Earthrealm contingent in the refuge—neither joining Liu and Aiko’s breakaway squad nor fully aligning with Mileena and Kitana’s grief-driven focus on Outworld. Instead, he occupies a quieter, more isolated middle ground: still present, still offering counsel when asked, but increasingly uncertain whether his counsel is wanted or correct. The accusations stay with him.
He was conscious when Sindel fell. He did have a window, however narrow, and he did not attempt to reach for the Jinsei or any other divine intervention. At the time it felt like triage—his own wounds, the chaos of the battlefield, the need to extract the living. In the colder light of Aiko’s indictment, it feels like failure. The older charge cuts deeper still: the loss of Shinnok’s Amulet to Bi-Han in the Temple of Elements. That ancient defeat has always been a quiet mark against him. Having it thrown into the open alongside his more recent choices forces him to confront a pattern he would rather not name—moments when caution, or simply being outmatched, allowed greater threats to advance.Fujin does not lash out in response. He does not try to justify himself at length. He withdraws into practical duties: monitoring residual chaos energy left by Havik’s forces, coordinating with the Shaolin who remained behind, and keeping a distant watch on the instability Kenshi and Geras both sensed in Liu. He still believes the darker power Liu now wields is dangerous. He still fears another loss of control. Yet he can no longer pretend that pure restraint has been cost-free. The rebels rose in the space created by the first retreat. Outworld fell further because no one immediately filled the vacuum. His preferred approach—contain, wait, avoid unnecessary risk—has measurable consequences.What becomes of him is still open, but the shape is already forming:
He remains a guardian of Earthrealm, yet one whose authority and certainty have been shaken.
He watches Liu’s independent actions with deep misgiving and reluctant acknowledgment that they are producing results.
He begins, quietly, to re-examine the limits of his own restraint—whether the Jinsei and his wind should have been spent more freely in critical moments, and what it would mean to change that pattern now.
He does not seek reconciliation with Aiko or Liu yet; the wound of the confrontation is too fresh, and pride (even a god’s quiet pride) keeps him from being the first to bridge it.
Fujin stands at a crossroads of his own. He can double down on the caution that has defined him, accepting the growing distance from those willing to act more ruthlessly. Or he can begin the harder work of adapting—finding a way to wield his power and judgment that does not keep leaving openings for the very threats he wants to prevent. For now, he chooses neither path fully. He simply continues, the wind around him a little quieter than before, carrying the unresolved weight of every moment he held back when others believe he should have moved.
A/N: I... never liked the format the NRS games had used, one character per chapter, even in MK vs DC. Every fanfic in my Khronology, or otherwise, has almost allways involved everyone; they will never be marked individually. It was one of Boon and Dominic's faults making the "chapter system" since it halters the story as a whole and the cast; take a look at Batman who btw has 2 chapters in Injustice instead of one which is total bias and unfairness suffocating others' time to shine! If anything, I often see it in SSBB's Subspace Emissary, giving you multiple choices and having fun with flexibility! Or even Dissidia Duodecim where you get customizable party battles! Maybe present the mission like F-Zero GX or GP Legend does, I always like that! MK11 may be the lesser evil, but everything else including the aforementioned author and his audience I feel are irredeemable just as they want Liu to be! Projection and hypocrisy at their finest... And don't EVER bring up power-scaling neither since it's NEVER in their vocabulary!
Since Starfox 2026 was released almost the same time as the AI series, 11 days after the latter, I often want it to share that kind of style: having a team effort, going on missions with a special atmosphere, fighting against Andross' or rather Outworld's mounting forces, maybe the occasional all-range modes, etc.
Also, as a reference, I know in the AI series, it's mentioned that Jin is the cousin of Lao, but if it's based on MK11, won't they be uncle and nephew?? Another red flag! Besides, I consider them as such in my series because of the age gap by more than 2 decades.
I still got a long way to go; I even made a rant vlog on the AI series itself. Call it what you will, being an asl or having OCD or whatever, but I can hardly relax when one of my beloved character's reputation is at stake by a morbid sheep mentality! I may have a lot of pessimism, but this is just lazy projection! You show no effort, writing deflects who you are, and nothing will convince me otherwise sucking up to the woke, soft-brained in-crowd!
Finally made another vlog; this time it's my rant onto the AI series by AwesomeCage which I've made the fallout official, the Wrath of the Fire God! And I've no regrets on my hate fic neither! Lord Liu Kang's been an important part of me and a hyperfixation, as someone with autism, OCD and other things... I can't hold it in anymore.
Not too crazy about this song, but I can't believe I've forgotten to submit this here and on the FF wiki while I was writing the second book, Shinnok's Uprising.
Mortal Kombat: The Redemption of the Fire God, Part 2
The rebels rise again; Outworld does not stay quiet for long.
Word reaches Earthrealm within days: the rebel forces, emboldened by Sindel’s death and the Earthrealm retreat, have begun consolidating power: Reiko’s remaining loyalists, scattered Black Dragon cells, and fresh anarchist cells under new chaos banners including the Lin Kuei's cyber initiative are moving on key strongholds. Reports speak of executions, forced conscriptions, and open declarations that Mileena’s line is finished. Kitana’s grief has turned to cold fury; Mileena and Jade are preparing to return whether they have support or not.
Liu Kang stands in the same chamber where he retreated, the fire along the walls burning higher than before. The regret is still there, but beneath it the darker power has settled into something harder and more focused. He has not spoken of sacrifice or withdrawal. He has only listened to the reports in silence.
Aiko is with him—recovered enough from the cardiokinesis transfer to stand at his side. When Fujin, Kung Jin, and a few others arrive with caution in their voices, the tension is immediate.
Fujin’s tone is careful. “The situation is volatile. Another full assault risks repeating what happened with Sindel. We should consider containment, diplomacy with any remaining loyalists—”
"No!" Aiko cuts in before the sentence can finish, her voice sharp and clear. “Containment? Diplomacy? The rebels are rising because we left the field. They saw us retreat after Liu ended the greatest chaos threat on that battlefield. Now you want him to hold back again?” She steps forward, not shielding Liu but standing with him. “You called it losing himself when he burned through the anarchists and finished Havik. You called it corruption when the power spiked under pressure. Sindel interfered while he was already carrying the fight, and the cost was terrible—but the alternative was letting Havik’s chaos keep spreading. Darkness is dictated by how it’s used and he used it to protect, while the rest of you flinched.”
Kung Jin starts to speak; Aiko does not let the hesitation stand.
“Call it wrath if you want. Call it the part of him that refuses to watch another realm fall while we debate. I will not stand here and listen to the same caution that left Outworld to the rebels in the first place! He is not asking permission to become a tyrant. He is preparing to finish what was left unfinished.”
Liu’s eyes lift. The glow in them is no longer dim. Red-tinged fire coils along his arms—controlled, deliberate, no longer the uncontrolled surge that killed Sindel, but the same decisive force that erased Havik.
Aiko looks at him, then back at the others. “You can stay here and call it too dangerous. Or you can stop treating his power like a disease and let him use it the way it was meant to be wielded—against the ones who are actually rising. I am staying with him either way.”
Liu’s voice is low, steady, edged with the wrath he no longer bothers to hide. “The rebels believe the Fire God retreated in shame. They are wrong.”
He turns toward the portal forming at the far side of the chamber. Aiko took a deep breath to calm her nerves before she fell into step beside him without hesitation, cardiokinesis ready—not to restrain the darkness, but to support it, to keep his heart steady while the full force of it is aimed outward once more.
Behind them, the caution remains. Ahead of them, the rebels are about to learn what happens when the wrath is no longer held back by interference or self-doubt—and when someone finally chooses to stand with it instead of against it.
The portal is already opening when the protests rise. Fujin steps forward, wind stirring at his feet. “Liu Kang, wait. If you go in like this—unrestrained—the risk of another loss of control is too great. We cannot afford another Sindel.”
Kung Jin adds, quieter but firm, “The daughters are already broken over what happened. If you burn through Outworld the same way—”
Others join in—caution, fear, the same refrain that the darkness is taking him. Hands lift, not yet in violence but in the clear intent to block the portal, to slow him, to stop him from acting while the wrath is this visible.
Liu does not slow.
The red-tinged fire along his arms flares brighter. He does not shout. He simply moves. A controlled surge of power shoves the air itself outward—forceful enough to drive the protesters back without burning them, without killing, but absolute in its refusal to be hindered. The message is wordless and unmistakable: he will not be stopped again.
Aiko stays at his shoulder the entire time. When one of the more insistent voices tries to reach for him, her cardiokinesis snaps out in a sharp, defensive pulse that makes the person stagger, heart stuttering just long enough to break their momentum. She does not apologize.
“He told you the rebels believe he retreated in shame,” she says, voice cutting through the chamber. “Every second you spend trying to hold him back is another second they dig in deeper. Move.”
Liu released a streak of fire and lightning toward Fujin full force before he stepped through the portal. Aiko follows without hesitation. What happens on the other side is swift and decisive.
The rebel forward camp never has time to fully form ranks. Liu Kang descends in a storm of fire and crimson lightning—no wild, grief-driven surge this time, but focused, relentless wrath aimed only at the enemy. Anarchist banners blacken and collapse. Chaos-infused warriors who thought the Fire God broken are reduced to ash before they can finish their war cries. Some of Reiko’s commanders try to rally; the ones who stand their ground are erased. The ones who flee carry the image of a god who no longer hesitates.
"You have chosen to defy peace... Then you have chosen war. With a god."
Aiko still unwaveringly remains close, her cardiokinesis woven through the battle like a second pulse, both offensively as well as draining their lifeforces like an enormous vacuum. or as large as Andross deathly maw! She does not restrain the darkness. She feeds it steadiness—keeping Liu’s heart from tipping back into the uncontrolled spike that killed Sindel, giving him just enough of her own energy to stay precise while the full force of his power does what it was meant to do. When a stray blast of rebel sorcery comes too close, she takes the hit on her own shield of heart-energy rather than let it interrupt him. With anchoring his heart, it actually steadied her astraphobia whenever Liu used his electric powers. Somehow...she knew he will not harm her... Just as long as she doesn't interfere.
By the time the main rebel concentration breaks, the field is quiet except for the crackle of dying flames. The uprising’s momentum is shattered in a single, brutal strike. Survivors scatter. The message is carried with them: the Fire God did not fall. He returned, and he did not come to negotiate.
When Liu finally stands still, the red lightning fades to a low, controlled burn along his arms. He looks at the destruction, then at Aiko. There is no triumph in his expression—only the grim knowledge of what was required, and the residual weight of everything that came before.
Aiko meets his gaze, still catching her breath from the energy she spent supporting him. “You did what they tried to stop,” she says quietly. “And the realms are safer for it. Darkness used with purpose. That’s all this was.”
Behind them, through the still-open portal, the voices of caution will eventually follow. Some will call it proof he is gone. Some will call it necessary. Liu no longer waits for their verdict. He has already acted.
And with Aiko beside him, the wrath did not consume him, nor did it wound nor scare her—it finished the fight.
-----------------
The portal closes behind them. The chamber is quiet again, the only light the low, steady fire that answers Liu’s presence. The smell of scorched earth and ozone still clings faintly to both of them. The rebel forward camp is broken; the immediate uprising has been crushed. But the cost of doing it without the others’ approval sits heavy in the air.
Aiko turns to him. Her own energy is still depleted from the cardiokinesis she spent keeping his heart steady through the fight, yet her first concern is not herself.
“How’re you feeling…?”
Liu is silent for a long moment. The red-tinged fire along his arms has settled back into a controlled glow. He flexes one hand, watching the residual power move under his skin, then lets it fall.
“Clearer,” he answers at last, voice low. “The wrath is still there. It did not take me. But I can feel what it cost to use it this way… and what it will cost when we face the others.”
Aiko nods slowly. She glances toward the entrance of the chamber, already imagining the confrontation waiting beyond it—Fujin’s caution, Kung Jin’s worry, the grief still raw in Kitana, Mileena, and Jade, the accusations that will come because he refused to be stopped.
“I’m not sure how to explain this to them,” she admits. “They saw you push past them. They saw the fire. Some of them will only see the same darkness that killed Sindel. They won’t want to hear that it was controlled, or that the rebels were rising because we left the field the first time.”
She steps closer, resting a hand lightly against his arm—not transferring energy this time, just anchoring. “We can’t do this alone. Not the next fight, not the one after that. Outworld is still broken. The rebels will regroup eventually. Even with stronger generals. Shinnok’s shadow is still out there. If the others stay set against you… against us… it will keep costing more than it has to.” Her throat clenches and her chest pains.
Liu looks down at her hand clutching her heart, then meets her eyes. The regret over Sindel has not vanished. The knowledge that the daughters may never fully forgive him has not vanished. But the lost, adrift quality from the earlier retreat is gone. The wrath has been used, aimed, and survived.
“Then we will face them together,” he says. “I will not pretend the power is gentle. I will not apologize for finishing what was necessary. But I will not let their fear become another wall that leaves the realms unprotected.”
Aiko’s tired smile is small but real. “Good. Because I’m still not leaving. Even if explaining it turns into another fight.”
She stays at his side as the distant sound of approaching footsteps begins to echo from the corridor. The others are coming. The reckoning for what Liu just did—and for Aiko’s open support of it—is about to begin.
They will not face it alone.
---------------------------------------------
As soon as they step out of the chamber...
Fujin is first, wind already stirring with restrained tension. Kung Jin stands close behind him. Kitana is present but silent, arms folded, grief still carved into her face. Mileena’s golden eyes are hard; Jade keeps a protective stance near her. The air is thick with the same judgment that followed Sindel’s death.
Fujin’s voice is controlled but edged. “You pushed past us. You unleashed that power again without restraint, without counsel. After what happened with Sindel, I will have no choice but to peruse you whenever you get involved with the Outworld rebels. You've been disobeying me and let our control be in vain! If this continues, I may have no choice but to—”
Aiko steps forward so sharply the others actually pause. The exhaustion from earlier is still in her body, but it is buried under a sudden, fierce heat. Her cardiokinesis flares visibly—green-gold light crackling around her fists as her heart-rate spikes with pure protective fury.
“Enough!!” The word cracks through the corridor like a whip as did the end of her hand swiped. “You are doing it again. Standing here confronting him like he is the problem, like the only danger in the realms is the Fire God’s wrath. Have you all lost the ability to look at anything else!?”
She turns first on Mileena. “You lost Outworld. Your rule was already fracturing under the rebels before Liu ever set foot back on that field. He even heard you say just that in his vision! You needed help and still acted on your own! Then found time to add to the pile of blame when he answered the call the only way left that worked.”
Her gaze snaps to Kitana. “And you. You were not there when the anarchists and Havik were tearing through the lines. You were not there when the choice was finishing the threat or watch more of your people fall. You arrived in time to grieve and to judge, but not in time to stand beside him when the hard strike was required. No reconciliation whatsoever when Liu was overwhelmed! He may have killed your mother, but you would've helped a little to settle his raging flames!”
Then she faces Fujin fully, eyes blazing. “And of course, you! The caution. The ‘wait, contain, do not risk the darkness.’ Call it wisdom if it helps you sleep. I call it cowardice. You saw him burn the chaos out of that battlefield and your first instinct was to restrain him instead of covering him. You flinched from the very power that ended Havik, and because of that hesitation the rebels were given the opening to rise again! Now you stand here ready to confront him for cleaning up the mess YOUR restraint helped create!”
Aiko’s power is still crackling around her fists when she drives the point deeper, refusing to let the silence settle. “And don’t stand there acting like this is only about Liu’s wrath. You want to talk about failures? Let’s talk about the ones that actually set the stage for all of this.” She locks eyes with Fujin.“You and Liu are gods. You have access to the Jinsei—the very life force of Earthrealm. When has either of you ever used it the way it was meant to be used when it was actually needed!? Not as a last-second bandage, not as a private recovery tool—when the realms were already burning and people were dying!! YOU held it back!! YOU treated it like something too sacred to spend, and the cost of that restraint keeps landing on everyone else!”
Her voice sharpens further. “And don’t pretend you were helpless after Sindel fell! You were still conscious. You were on your feet with Kung Jin’s help. You saw her go down. You saw the daughters break. And yet you STILL let the moment pass! You let her die without even attempting what a Wind God and the Jinsei together might have done. That was not powerlessness. That was oversight! No better than the Elder Gods! That was you choosing caution again while the window closed!”
She takes a step closer, the green-gold light around her flaring hotter. “This isn’t even the first time. Go all the way back. Shinnok’s Amulet. The Temple of Elements. You were one of the guardians. Bi-Han came for it, and you failed. You were suppressed, defeated, and the amulet was taken. Liu was still a novice then—he wasn’t even in the picture yet—but you were already a god, already entrusted with one of the most dangerous relics in existence, and you lost it. That failure let Shinnok’s shadow stretch further than it ever should have. And now you stand here ready to lecture Liu about control and darkness!? You don’t get to rewrite your own record! You are as foolhardy and spineless as your brother!!You're no DIFFERENT!!!”
Aiko’s chest is heaving. The words keep coming, raw and unfiltered. “Liu has carried the consequences of everyone else’s hesitation and failure—including yours—and the moment he stops hesitating, you all close ranks to treat him like the threat...! I am DONE watching it. He is not the only one who has fallen short. He is just the only one YOU keep punishing for finally refusing to fall short the same way you did!”
Her voice rises, raw and unfiltered. “All of you failed pieces of this. You left gaps. You second-guessed. You interfered. And the moment he uses the strength that actually turns the tide, you close ranks to treat him like the villain. I am done listening to it.”
She moves back to Liu’s side, still crackling with residual energy, still unwilling to give them an inch. “He is not your cautionary tale. He is the one who is still willing to do what the rest of you keep finding reasons not to. If you want to confront someone, confront the fact that your fear and your absences are part of why this keeps costing so much. Leave him alone—or help! Those are the only two options I will accept.”
The corridor falls into a stunned, brittle silence. No one speaks immediately. Aiko’s chest is cramping, her power still flickering around her, but she does not back down. She stays planted at Liu’s shoulder, the heart that finally refused to stay quiet while he was opposed once more.
Liu has remained silent through the entire outburst. He stands still as Aiko’s words strike the corridor—sharp, raw, and completely unfiltered. He watches her turn on Mileena, on Kitana, on Fujin, naming every failure and hesitation without softening a single edge. The crimson-gold flare of her cardiokinesis still crackles around her fists when she finishes and plants herself back at his shoulder, breathing hard, refusing to give ground.
For a moment the only sound is the residual hum of power in the air.
Liu’s gaze moves across the faces of the others—Fujin’s tightened jaw, Kitana’s wounded silence, Mileena’s anger, the discomfort in Kung Jin’s eyes—then returns to Aiko. Something shifts behind the steady fire in his own eyes. The residual weight of Sindel’s death, the guilt, the constant expectation that he must either apologize for his power or be condemned by it, does not vanish. But for the first time since the retreat, it is not the loudest thing in him.
He turns fully toward her.
The last of Aiko’s words still hang in the corridor when the fight drains out of her all at once.
The red-gold crackle of her cardiokinesis sputters and dies. Her shoulders drop. The fierce, protective fire that had carried her through every accusation collapses into something inflamed and fragile. For a moment she just stands there, breathing too fast, eyes shining with the sudden weight of everything she has poured out—and everything it has cost her. She cannot look at any of them any longer. Not at Fujin’s stunned silence, not at Kitana’s wounded expression, not at Mileena’s anger, not even at Liu.
A broken sound escapes her throat. Then she turns and walks—no, storms—away. Her steps are quick and uneven, almost stumbling as the full force of the emotional crash hits. The corridor blurs. She does not stop when someone calls after her. She does not look back. The moment the nearest side passage opens she takes it, putting distance between herself and the allegation as fast as her exhausted body will allow.
By the time she reaches a quieter chamber farther in, the strength that kept her upright is gone. She sinks against the wall, sliding down until she is seated on the cold floor, arms wrapped around her knees. The tears she refused to show in front of them finally break free—silent at first, then shaking. All the fear for Liu, the fury at the repeated burdens, the helplessness of watching him carry so much blame, the knowledge that her words may have only made the fracture wider—it crashes over her at once.
She is distraught.
She is broken.
And for the first time since she chose to stay at his side through the darkness, Aiko Krackle has nothing left to give.
When he finally spoke, without her noticing the light thru her eyes as tight as noose, his voice is low and controlled, yet there is an unmistakable current of something deeper beneath it—gratitude edged with a fierce, quiet protectiveness of his own. “You did not have to take that onto yourself...”
Aiko felt the warm presence but refused to look up. She let in a shaky inhale and let more tears fall, then before she starts to answer; he continues before she can deflect. “You are exhausted. You have already given more of your strength than you should have. And still you stood there and refused to let them reduce me to the worst moment I have carried.” His eyes hold hers. “No one else has done that. Not since the power became what it is now.”
He lifts one hand and, with deliberate care, brushes the residual crackle of her cardiokinesis from the air near her wrist—not rejecting it, simply acknowledging the cost she paid to wield it in his defense. The contact is brief, but grounding. "I will face their judgment. That is mine to carry. But I will not forget that when they beset me again, you did not step aside. You did not ask me to be smaller. You defended the part of me they fear… and you stayed...”
A faint, rare warmth touches the edge of his expression—gone almost as soon as it appears, yet real.
“Thank you, Aiko.”
He shifts his stance so that he is no longer simply accepting her protection, but standing level with her, shoulder to shoulder, facing the others together. The message is clear without another word: her defense has been heard, accepted, and answered in kind. He will not let her stand alone, after she refused to let him be isolated once more. With little to no emotional foundation, Aiko just dove into Liu's warm, firm and welcoming chest and let her catharsis flow...
Meanwhile, the corridor remains tense. The others have no immediate reply. Liu’s attention, however, stays partially on Aiko—steady, present, and no longer quite as alone inside the weight he carries.
A/N: This was just going on for too long. I HAD TO DO THIS! Aiko deserved to call out the Kombatants' hypocrisy, cowardice and failures the passive sinful quartet wrought! Complete projections on what AwesomeCage hast done in his own series! It serves them right! And there was a slight reference to MK Mythologies: Sub-Zero too as 11 shared the og timeline before the first tournament. Even some references between interactions of Fujin and Noob! It was thanks to Grok that assisted me to find the words; he used AI, I felt I'd use it too. I always wanted Aiko to make these outbursts! And she pretty much functions as the emotional McCoy, like me, the mediator and the mouthpiece!
It's quite ironic and pathetic that someone with mental illness sees the small details unlike Boon, Dominic, even ACP himself and his echo chamber! ESPECIALLY the fact that he's overlooked on using the Jinsei to heal Sindel when Fujin had the chance; for fuck's sakes, he was stunned by the shockwaves and Liu's wrath, thus not really allowing the god to use it till the episode passed as the queen was dying, but then again, he hasn't been TRAINED to use it!! He had 3 goddamn years to do just that, and yet still Fujin's been consumed/hyper focused on "history repeating himself!" As well as sparing enemies never allowing them to die!! The truth is, FUJIN is the enemy of the series, NOT LIU!! I won't EVER let Fujin be passive-aggressive nor incompetent!! I hate to say it, but I hope the petty, cowardly Wind God dies!! HE wields the villain mantle just as his brother, Raiden, in MK9, X, 11 at times, and 2023!! Like with Shinnok and his family, the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree!
I like Fujiin as Raiden's second, but I wished he wasn't often discarded; he played a major role in my Khronology, especially as Kung Lao's mentor and secondary defender, as well as being on my Aerokinetics list! On that note, Lord Liu Kang was a crucial chronokinetic I've mentioned and functions as a chessmaster and dad! Raiden redeemed himself, even stood up against his dark side while he and Liu made an ultimate sacrifice... I won't spoil it, but even I CAN do better than narrow-minded neurotypicals do!
Kitana, Mileena and Jade deserve it as hypocrites and failures! I even doubt the former'd stand with Liu now... As Revenants and Mileena serving Shao Kahn, they'd done a lot more than Liu's single casualty! And btw, my suggestions were ignored since ACP wrote the entire plot BEFORE being completed, which means my care was all moot and because of encouragement from unknowledgeable fanatics, Liu's irredeemable evil fate shall be sealed... Unless you love lazy ideas like the NRS films with no extra care or effort, avoid Wrath of Fire God and the user himself at all costs!
A/N: Ok, I can't hold this in any longer! I wanted to write this several days after the begrudging Chapter 6 - Sindel: Lost Royalty, after the scarring damage and tragedy that Liu Kang wrought onto Outworld, the rebels, Havik and the queen herself! Not only this is a sort of...hate fic to the series, but to the Fan Dumb echo chamber itself! As they left out crucial lore elements and are just as naive and inferior as the recent MK2 film plus the developers, especially Todd Garner! No different than the shills themselves! Or those with hive minds in general!
That segment broke the camel's back, as I saw justice, not vengeance! I despise the Never Say Die Rule, and considering that I happen to have mental illness, I care a helluva lot more than what the lazy, toxic mob brings to the table! Not only little to no logic but also completely disheartening. I'm an autistic, along with other deficiencies, who pay attention to the demon's gory details! So, now I'm on the warpath!
Remember, this wasn't entirely literally planned; I had Grok assisting me with scenarios and dialogue. Now. Let's do this!!
Con't I
Minutes after the tragic incident in Outworld revolving around Sindel's sudden death similar to the noble King Jerood's, Liu was isolated with crushing guilt, the visions/warnings from Geras (already hinted at by Kenshi sensing instability and Geras’s arrival back in the Dragon Grotto), and the very real risk that Shinnok or residual chaos energy will try to feed the grief and the remaining dark power.
The chamber Liu retreated to is quiet and dim, the usual fire along the walls burned low. He sits alone, shoulders heavy, the glow in his eyes dulled. Outside, the news has already spread: the rebels hold Outworld, Sindel is gone, Kitana’s grief is raw, Mileena and Jade shattered beside her. The air itself feels thick with the kind of despair Shinnok would savor.
A soft shift in the light. Aiko steps through the doorway—not through any grand portal Geras opened alone, but through a smaller, precise one that Smoke and Takeda helped stabilize while Kenshi kept watch. Geras only confirmed the coordinates; the three of them made sure the path stayed open long enough for the one person who needed to reach him.
She could hardly feel Liu Kang's heartbeat; not only was it subdued by his strength spent, nor the darkness consuming it, but rather his crippling emotions. Yet still, Geras was still too kind enough to offer her the hurting hero's whereabouts, even under Fujin's probing nose...
She doesn’t speak at first. She simply crosses the room and sits near him, close enough that the residual heat of his power brushes her skin. Her cardiokinesis brushes against his chest, reading the weight there without prying.
“I know what they all think,” she says quietly. “I can read their hearts. That the kills meant you were falling. That retreating means you’re done. That grief has to either freeze you or burn everything left.”
Liu’s voice is low, almost unwilling. “I failed them. The royals… Kitana. I said I would protect them.”
Aiko shakes her head once. “You removed the threats you could reach. The rest was interference and numbers that turned against you. That is not the same as failure.” She meets his eyes, unflinching even if the darker fire flickers under the surface. “I see the wrath. I see how heavy it is. I’m not asking you to pretend it isn’t there. I’m asking you not to let it decide you’re already lost.”
She places a hand over her own heart, then lightly over the air above his. A steady pulse of her power offers an anchor—not forcing him to fight, not demanding he rise this second, just refusing to leave him alone with the voice that would turn grief into either paralysis or self-destruction.
“Shinnok has no heart, just as Fujin doesn't. There can still be hope, and heart can function as a secondary mind while the brain feels added. He would love for you to believe the only paths left are weakness or sacrifice. I’m here to say there’s another one. You can be wounded. You can be angry. You can even be dark. And you can still remain the one who protects. I’m not going anywhere while you decide which.”
She stays seated beside him, quiet, present, the heart that doesn’t run.
Liu does not rise. The fire along the walls stays low. Aiko remains exactly where she is, legs folded, one hand resting loosely on her knee, the other still offering that steady, wordless pulse of her cardiokinesis—an anchor, nothing more. She does not fill the silence with plans or pep talks. She simply stays.
Eventually Liu’s breathing eases by a fraction. The dull glow in his eyes does not brighten, but it no longer flickers with the sharp, unstable edge that Shinnok’s influence would have fed. The weight is still there—grief for Kitana’s devastation, for Mileena and Jade, for the royals he could not fully shield—but it no longer presses quite so hard against the inside of his chest.
Aiko shifts only enough to lean her shoulder lightly against the stone beside his. Not demanding contact, just available.
“You don’t have to decide anything tonight,” she murmurs. “Not whether to fight. Not how much of the dark you’ll use. Not what comes next for Outworld.” A small pause as she lowered her eyes. “Just… stay here. Let it hurt without letting it take you. I’m not leaving.”
Liu’s answer is barely audible, more breath than voice. “Why?”
“Because someone has to see you as you are right now—and STILL stay.” She glances at him, green eyes steady. “The wrath, the exhaustion, the part that wants to shut everything out. All of it. I’m not afraid of it. And I’m not waiting for you to become someone else before I decide you’re worth the effort.”
Another long stretch of quiet. Outside, the distant sounds of the realm continue; inside the chamber, nothing is required of him. Aiko’s presence does not push. It simply remains—warm, constant, the heart that refuses to treat his retreat as the end of the story.
Slowly, almost unwillingly, the last of the sharp, self-directed heat in Liu’s power settles. Not gone. Not conquered. Just… held. Contained enough that it no longer threatens to turn inward or explode outward without purpose.
He does not thank her. He does not need to. The fact that he allows the silence to continue, that he does not send her away, is answer enough.
Aiko closes her eyes for a moment, still leaning against the stone, still present.
They stay like that—wounded Fire God and the mediator who chose to remain—while the night wears on and quiet recovery begins, one steady breath at a time.
The silence holds.
Liu’s gaze stays fixed on the low flames, but his mind is not quiet. Behind his eyes the visions Geras warned him about still unspool in fragments—sharp, relentless.
He sees himself standing over the ruins of Outworld, the darker fire roaring unchecked, Kitana’s face turned away in horror. He sees the opposite extreme: himself broken, power guttered out, the realms falling one by one while he remains too hollow to rise. He sees a third path Geras had only hinted at—one where the wrath is mastered, aimed cleanly, yet the cost is still paid in isolation and blood. Every version carries weight. Every version ends with someone he failed.
I retreated, the thought circles, heavy and slow. I said I would protect them. Sindel is gone. The rebels hold the throne. Kitana… Mileena… Jade… The names land like stones. And the dark is still here. Waiting. If I reach for it again, do I become the tyrant they already believe I am? If I refuse it, do I simply watch everything burn?
Aiko feels the turbulence through her cardiokinesis—the rapid, wounded rhythm of a god’s heart under siege from its own foresight. She does not pull away. Her own thoughts move quietly beside his.
He’s carrying every possible failure at once. Geras showed him the branches so he would be prepared, but all he can feel is the ones that hurt most. He thinks staying still means he’s already lost. He thinks the only choices left are to burn everything or to let everything burn.
She keeps the anchor steady, a gentle, constant pulse that neither demands nor judges.
Liu’s internal voice roughens. She should not be here. She has seen what I did to Havik. She knows the anger is not gone. Why does she remain when even the ones I tried to protect are devastated?
Aiko answers the thought without needing it spoken, her voice soft in the dim chamber.
“I know what Geras showed you.” She doesn’t look at him, just keeps her shoulder near his. “The versions where the dark takes too much. The versions where you give up too much. They’re loud right now. They want you to believe those are the only roads left.”
A slow breath. Her power brushes the edge of the visions—not erasing them, only keeping them from drowning him.
“They’re warnings, not sentences. You’re allowed to sit with them without choosing one tonight. You’re allowed to be tired and angry and still not become either extreme.” Her green eyes flick toward him once. “I’m still here. That doesn’t change because of what you saw.”
Liu’s hands curl loosely against his knees. The flames along the walls stay low, no longer threatening to surge or die. Inside, the visions continue their quiet rotation, but the sharpest edges blunt under the simple fact of her presence. The grief remains. The doubt remains. The dark remains. None of them are required to decide his next breath.
Aiko’s internal thought settles into something calm and resolute.
Let the visions come. Let the grief sit. I will not leave him alone with them. Recovery isn’t forcing the fire back to full strength. It’s making sure the fire still has a place to rest without consuming itself.
They stay like that—Liu turning the warnings over in silence, Aiko holding the space open—so the quiet can do its slow work. No speeches. No demands. Only the steady refusal to let the worst visions become the only truth.
-------
The visions keep turning—Outworld in ashes under unchecked fire, the hollow version of himself watching the realms fall, the lonely road where every victory still costs blood. Geras’s warnings sit heavy behind Liu’s eyes.
Aiko’s voice cuts through them, quiet but certain.
“I won’t give up on you.”
Liu’s gaze shifts toward her for the first time in a long while. She meets it without flinching.
“You did what you must until Sindel interfered. The kills, the stand you took—that was protection, not corruption. Darkness is dictated by how it’s used. You aimed it at the threats. She undercut you while you were already carrying the weight. That isn’t on you.”
The words settle into the space between the visions. Liu’s breath leaves him slowly. For a moment the sharpest images blur.
Then his voice, low, almost rough:
“It was you, Geras?”
The question hangs in the dim chamber. He is not looking at Aiko now, but past her, as if the construct of the timeline keeper might answer from the shadows. The warnings had felt too precise, too tailored to every fear he already carried. Geras had always dealt in possibilities. Had he shown these paths as caution… or as something closer to judgment?
Aiko does not let the question pull him away from the present. She stays exactly where she is, shoulder near his, the steady pulse of her cardiokinesis still offered without demand.
“Whether Geras showed them as warning or not,” she says softly, “they don’t get to decide who you are right now. You retreated. You’re hurting. The dark is still there. None of that makes you lost. I’m still here. That part is mine to choose—and I already have.”
The flames along the walls remain low. The visions do not vanish, but they no longer press quite so hard against the inside of his chest. Liu does not answer the question about Geras again. He simply lets the silence return, and this time it feels less like isolation and more like the first thin layer of recovery—held open by the one person who refused to treat his darkness as a verdict.
The chamber stays dim. Liu has not moved. The visions still turn behind his eyes—Sindel’s last look, Kitana’s sobs, the red lightning he could not stop. Aiko remains beside him, the steady pulse of her cardiokinesis the only thing keeping the worst of the spiral from closing completely.
A shift in the air. Sand begins to drift across the floor.
Geras steps through the settling grains, calm, measured, exactly as he appeared to Kenshi earlier.
“Liu Kang. The instability grows. I have come to—”
Aiko is already on her feet. Her eyes narrow, heart-power flaring sharp and protective. “Agh--Kronika’s minion.”
The words land hard. Geras pauses, expression unreadable.
“I serve the Hourglass and the continuity of time. Kronika is gone. I was remade.”
Aiko does not yield. “You were her creation. Her enforcer. You watched timelines burn under her hand and called it balance. And now you stand here while he is like this?” She glances at Liu, still seated, still lost in the weight of what he did. “You showed him those visions. You fed the fear. You do not get to walk in and speak as if you are only a concerned ally.”
Liu’s voice is hollow, barely there. “She is right… isn’t she? You were hers. And I… I am lost.”
The admission hangs in the quiet. The dark power flickers under his skin—not surging, not controlled, just present and heavy. He does not look at either of them. The regret over Sindel, the failure in Outworld, the knowledge that the daughters now see him as the one who took their mother—it has him adrift.
Aiko steps half in front of him, not blocking Geras completely, but making her position clear.
“He is not lost. He is grieving. He is carrying what happened. That is not the same thing.” Her voice stays low but firm. “You do not get to decide he is gone because the power spiked when he was already bleeding. Darkness is how it is used. He used it to end Havik. The rest was a break under pressure—pressure you helped create with those warnings.”
Geras studies them both. The sand around his feet shifts once, then stills.
“I did not come to condemn. I came because the branches are narrowing. If he remains like this, the paths that follow grow darker for everyone.”
Aiko’s answer is immediate. “Then help him carry it instead of standing there like the old judgment. Or leave. He already has enough voices telling him he is falling!”
She turns back to Liu, kneeling again so she is at his level, hand offered but not forced.
“You are not lost. I am still here. That does not change because Geras walked in, or because the visions are loud, or because the dark is still under your skin. Stay with me. One breath at a time.”
Liu’s eyes finally lift. The glow in them is dim, wounded, but not extinguished. He does not answer Geras. He only looks at Aiko, and for the first time since the retreat, the spiral loosens by a fraction.
Geras remains silent, watching.
The recovery does not become easy. But it does not end. Aiko stays. And Liu, still carrying everything, is no longer completely alone with it.
Aiko stays on her knees in front of Liu. The dim firelight catches the quiet determination in her green eyes. She does not ask permission with words. She simply extends her hand, palm open, and lets her cardiokinesis unfurl.
A soft, warm current of energy leaves her chest and travels down her arm. When her fingertips lightly rest over the center of Liu’s sternum—right above the heart of the Fire God—the connection locks into place.
She feels everything at once: the heavy, bruised rhythm of grief, the lingering spike of uncontrolled red lightning still coiled beneath the surface, the exhaustion from the visions Geras forced him to see, and the deep, aching regret over Sindel. It is raw. It is loud. It is the heart of someone who believes he has already fallen.Aiko does not pull back.She breathes in, steadies her own pulse, and begins to give.
A steady stream of her own heart-energy flows across the contact—warm, clean, deliberately gentle. It does not try to erase the darkness or the guilt. It simply pours strength into the places that have gone hollow, cushioning the raw edges so they no longer cut him from the inside. The dim glow in Liu’s eyes flickers, then steadies by a fraction. The red lightning under his skin settles instead of thrashing. His breathing deepens for the first time since he retreated.
Geras watches in silence, sand motionless around his feet.
She is not merely comforting. She is transferring vitality directly into the core of his power. The variable is actively rewriting the immediate strain. The probability of complete collapse continues to drop.
.Liu’s voice is barely more than a breath, but it is no longer completely empty.
“…Aiko…”
She keeps the contact, keeps the flow of energy steady and measured so she does not exhaust herself.
“I have you,” she whispers. “You are not lost. Take what you need. I’m right here.”
The chamber remains quiet. The visions do not vanish, the grief does not disappear, and the dark power is still present—but for the first time since the portal closed behind him, Liu’s heart is no longer carrying the weight entirely alone. Aiko’s cardiokinesis holds the line, giving him energy, presence, and the simple, stubborn fact that someone chose to reach in instead of turning away.
Aiko does not stop. The flow of her cardiokinesis deepens. What began as a steady stream becomes a sustained current—warm, insistent, pouring everything she can spare into the wounded heart beneath her palm. She smooths the raw edges of grief, eases the residual thrash of red lightning, and feeds strength into the places that have gone hollow since the moment Sindel fell. Piece by piece she gives, refusing to hold anything back.
Liu’s breathing grows more even. The dim glow in his eyes brightens by degrees. The worst of the spiral loosens its grip; the visions remain, but they no longer dominate every heartbeat. For the first time since he retreated, the Fire God’s power feels less like a burden threatening to consume him and more like something he might one day carry again.
Aiko keeps going. Her own pulse begins to stutter. Sweat beads at her temple. The green of her eyes dulls as the energy she is transferring takes its toll. Still, she pushes—more healing, more vitality, more of the stubborn refusal to let him stay lost. Her arm trembles. Her shoulders drop. The current weakens, then flickers.
Only when her vision starts to narrow and her own heart stutters warningly does the flow finally break.
She sways. Her hand slips from Liu’s chest. A soft, exhausted sound escapes her as she catches herself on one knee, breathing hard, the last of her strength spent. The chamber feels colder without the warm current between them.
Liu’s hand rises—slow, uncertain—and steadies her shoulder before she can sink further. His voice is quiet, rough with both remaining grief and something newly protective.
“…Enough. You have given enough.”
Aiko manages a faint, tired smile, still kneeling, still present even as her body demands rest.
“Worth it,” she whispers.
Geras’s internal note registers the change with precision.
She has expended herself almost completely. The transfer has measurably reduced the immediate risk of collapse in the Fire God. The variable continues to exceed prior calculations.
Liu does not pull away. He keeps his hand on her shoulder, anchoring her the same way she anchored him, while the quiet of the chamber holds them both—Aiko spent but unwilling to leave, Liu no longer entirely adrift, the dark still present yet no longer the only thing left.
Aiko’s voice is barely more than a breath, frayed at the edges from the effort she has already spent.
“I… need to rest.”
A small pause, her head dipping as another wave of exhaustion rolls through her.
“I need… to stay.”
She does not try to rise. She simply shifts her weight, settling more fully onto the floor beside Liu, one hand still lightly resting near his. The last traces of her cardiokinesis fade, leaving only the quiet fact of her presence. Her breathing is uneven, her body demanding recovery, yet her eyes—tired, determined—remain fixed on him.
Liu’s hand stays on her shoulder, steadying her without forcing anything more. The dim glow in his eyes reflects both the lingering weight of everything that happened and the new, fragile awareness that someone is still here.
“…Then rest,” he answers quietly. “Stay.”
Geras watches in silence from the edge of the chamber. The sand around his feet does not move. Internally the calculation updates once more:
She has reached her limit, yet the decision to remain is unchanged. The Fire God’s immediate path continues to stabilize under the simple fact of her refusal to leave.
The chamber holds them. Aiko’s body begins the slow work of recovering the energy she gave so freely. Liu remains seated, no longer completely lost in the spiral, the dark still present but no longer unopposed. Neither speaks again for a long time.
She rests.
She stays.
And for now, that is enough.
A/N: At first, I was intrigued with Fujin training Liu, but by Chapter 6 - Sindel: Lost Royalty, that was what broke the camel's back. I'm often hyperfixated and inspired by Lord Liu Kang, so I felt this must be done to honor him instead of being judged as Dark Raiden/Injustice Superman 2.0! The Wrath of the Fire God's a sequel to ACP's MK11 Custom Story, and I at first took an interest since Sindel's True Intros for MK11. I felt I was betrayed on that regard, as the Liutana relationship was supported. However, with current circumstances, it may forever be strained... And Liu permanently lost... Nothing more than to appease the masses with lazy cliches and heartless development!
I care about him a great deal. I feel he deserves redemption with Dark Raiden's essence hastily shed onto him during Armageddon, against evil overlords including Onaga and Kahn! But Grok confirmed on a comment I made to ACP hoping to change him, that his fate was already written, which gives me the conclusion my anxieties were invalid! I won't abandon my beliefs/values just to worship the toxic mob being a pointless small channel! Apathy is the opposite of love, after all, so pretty much anything goes to defend Liu's lost honor!
Also, being it takes place outside my Khronology, and being it's a negative response, it's officially non-canon!
The phrase is a metaphor saying that having a complex, intense, or unconventional emotional life is preferable to having none. It’s about emotional presence over emotional absence, and the black heart symbolizes that presence in a way that’s honest, layered, and sometimes even beautiful in its depth.
Update… I left AwesomeCage. I couldn't take the heat, angsts, and his toxic fanbase anymore… It's nothing but projection, hypocrisy and I tagged him saying I already know. It's like Capt Obvious they want Lord Liu Kang to fail! I might make a negative response fic, since I've been brainstorming with Grok. I can't stand the hyperfixation and inevitable failure anymore…
I hardly noticed he has a Discord, but because I've been ignored in my posts to his Community tab and been put down, I'm not taking chances; neither should anyone since here's prone to echo chambers!
I stated this:
Regarding awesomecageproductions2768... "Before I go, I'm barely hoping Lord Liu Kang get support and a chance to pull back instead of repeating the corruption arc. I posted suggestions earlier. Either way, I'll keep working on my own version. Like I often do. Out of care, nostalgia and sometimes spite especially against the masses. I already know where this is going to go anyway, his failure. My Khronology marks him as redeemable, like Raiden, no matter what the circumstances. I hope my posts will give you a change of heart. But I'm processing my own way.
Regards, Kung Aiko/Ikran"
And then I stated, I hope he sees this:
Whatever happens, don't lie to yourself and allow yourself to fade into the realm of veggieville or worse yet hypocrisy! Remember, killing your emotions is the worst thing you can make! Just as they did win the crowd and favor projection! Perception and instinct are your best friends here... It's ironic how someone with mental illness cares more than the toxic mold and mob! That's the main reason why I'm here!
Oh yea, they forgot to use the healing Jinsei, on hand by Fujin since Lord Liu Kang wasn't trained to use it and was under his wrath! Laziness and incompetence! Even I can do better!!
Fanfic writers, reblog if you’re okay with people sharing the links to your fics to their friends and/or for fic rec posts without having to ask for your permission first
(I saw a debate about whether or not it was okay for people to share fic links around without asking the authors first, since some authors may not be comfortable with the links to their fics being shared around on twitter or tumblr. so I thought this post could be a blanket permission for authors who were okay with the links to their fics being shared around!)
This ends here... The heartbreaker, Overthrown, ends the series with no resolution, thus leading to my Khronology! I wonder what he'll review next: the MKL films, Conquest...
Still, I appreciate him giving the overhated series a positive, entertaining light. May Paramount carry it forward once the merger occurs.
Logan: You're talkin' about a person's mind here, about Jean.
Prof. Charles Xavier: She has to be controlled.
Logan: Control? You know, sometimes when you cage the beast, the beast gets angry.
This quote appears in the film’s dialogue and has become one of Wolverine’s most iconic catchphrases, reflecting his character’s struggle with his own inner rage and the consequences of suppressing it.
In other words, FUCK YOU FUJIN AND THE TOXIC COMMENTATORS!!
prguitarman
stormborns
origamiaround
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
theartofmadeline
amandla
gummygunk
dailybridgerton
