An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
To close out 2024, all my Kombatember pieces that I finished have been uploaded to ao3! And a few very slightly tweaked while I looked over them and re edited haha.
Thank you to MKombat fandom for being such an inspiration and fun space for me to play in over the last year, and I’m excited to come back strong with even more stories (and a certain fan event…) in the New Year! I hope today is wonderful for all of you, and that 2025 welcomes you in with camaraderie, creativity, and love 💕
(Probabily the autor of kombatember won't see this but if it happens you draw gorgeous)
Hi guys,I wanted to do this challenge? Trend? Idk but School took up most of my time, but the school year ended in my country so I can be more active :) although I didn't like this drawing that much, well it doesn't matter, take care of yourselves 🫶
(Warnings for semi graphic descriptions of gore/injury, and choking.)
———
“Lao!”
Raiden grunts in pain as he stumbles again, hand clutched against his side as he ducks beneath another blast of energy and weaves past a pair of fighting Mileenas.
The pyramid is swarming with bodies around him, order and darkness clashing along the stone steps in a battle fit to shape an era. Raiden was proudly among them when it all started, happy to serve his Lord Quan Chi and lay waste to these invading forces just as he was asked, but now…
“Kung Lao.” He skids to a halt, practically crumpling to his knees as his hands slide through wet hair and slick red to shakily cradle his head in his lap. “Oh, by Shinnok’s mercy, no.”
There’s a line, cleaved cleanly across the flesh of his throat, parting his trachea open like a fish’s dead maw. Kung Lao himself is staring straight up, his eyes bright green and manic as they flick across the sky, but when Raiden comes into view, his gaze locks onto him, a gurgling, wet, cough bubbling up past his lips as one hand lifts weakly off the ground to reach for him. Raiden quickly takes it in a vice, thumb running gently over the back of his hand.
“It will be alright,” he says, hoping his words are audible over the clashing sounds of kombat all around them. “When we are victorious, Master Quan Chi will revive you with the Netherrealm’s fire.”
Kung Lao blinks, jerking slightly as he chokes again. Raiden feels the hope in his heart falter.
“Lao,” he hisses, “you cannot leave me yet.”
He is not meant to. It is not their time. By the great orders of Shang Tsung himself, they are meant to be young harbingers in a new wave of conquest. They are creations, born to carry the legacies of their faithful forefathers, born to serve, and serve together.
But now…
Raiden curls over Kung Lao, pressing his limp hand to his cheek as something foreign and inhuman rises in his throat.
They were not meant to get attached, he knows that. The ranks of great darkness are not built for love, and yet… they found it. In the long years of training, and the feasts of endless victory. Fleeting and hidden and visceral and awful. Two mutants of hell’s belly forged to fight at each other’s side and finding commonplace in the steady rot of their hearts.
“Lao…” Raiden whimpers, pulling him closer. He feels fingers twitch against his cheek, another wet, popping, gurgle sounding out before they ever so weakly slide in to cup the side of his head. Raiden makes a pained sound.
“We will not surrender,” he says roughly. “I promise you that.”
He pulls away with a breath to meet Kung Lao’s eyes a final time, dull green blinking slowly as Raiden’s face tenses in anger.
“I will not surrender until their blood runs endless at my feet.”
Kung Lao smiles, just slightly, and with one final spurt of phlegm, laughs.
