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Promise

Rating: T Words: 5.2k Summary: The gears of time begin to turn as more than one party sets out to manipulate them. The tournament continues regardless. A/N: Look at that, I'm only [checks watch] a month later than I said I'd be. That's actually a record. Taglist: @neonneurons @maddenedroses If you’d like to be tagged in the future, let me know! Previous

The hidden passages of the island served them well. Through exploring in the night, they found that the pockets of magic extended beyond the palace and into the wild nature itself. The discovery would certainly make hiding their presence much easier. As it was, once morning arrived, they were able to sneak around to the arena and tuck themself into a roof junction.

From their perch, they stared intently down at all the kombatants arriving for the next round. The light of dawn inched its way above the palace and spilled into the courtyard, illuminating the features of some while casting shadows across the features of others. The light did not matter to them, however, as it wasn’t the kombatants they were seeing. The arena was not filling with people. It was filling with possibilities.

They saw flashing lights and ego and dreams, power unknown and power uncontrolled, loneliness and fake contentment clashing with family and true happiness. They saw a people lost and the survivors scorned, loyalty and duty and a longing for home met with indifference and deceit. They saw flames protecting and cultivating life, and those same flames turning and scorching the realm. They saw pride and service and a sacrifice become meaningless. They saw determination and ambition unrivaled, the scheming ruler of all and an ignored street urchin.

They saw hellfire erupt and the spectre emerge.

Scorpion was, and would always be, a demon born of rage and sorrow. As he was before them, his pain was fresh, his vengeance unfulfilled. He allowed the Netherrealm to infiltrate his soul, to burn away his mortality. He allowed himself to be used as a tool, a dog whose leash passed from one master to the next. He would not rest until he faced his family’s killer, and even then, there were paths where it was not enough.

They were too high up to hear what was said in the arena, though they did not need to hear to know the words. Flames still danced around Scorpion’s feet as he faced his potential opponents, calling out a challenge for Sub-Zero. The only movement in the crowd, however, was from Raiden at the side of a masked guard.

No. Not a guard.

“I know it is you, Kung Lao.”

In some paths, the stolen uniform hid Kung Lao completely. Here, it could not hide him from Raiden’s visions. That one simple exchange made their heart sink as they realized what would occur moving forward. Despite his intentions, left unchecked, Raiden’s actions would only invite tragedy. His focus on preventing negative outcomes would lead to his neglect of securing positive events.

Time was fickle. Delicate. To truly change events would require diligence and careful consideration of all possible consequences. They knew the storm god would inform those around him of his incomplete visions, unwittingly creating too many variables. Those aware of potential futures would never make the same decisions as their blissfully ignorant counterparts. Discretion was key.

Raiden was not the only one on the island with knowledge of future events. They did not know their past, but they knew their heart, and they could not, and would not, sit by and watch death run rampant. They refused to be a simple observer. They had the power to save the lives of those who would never know they were ever in any danger. Discovering how they gained that power, that knowledge, could wait.

Staring down at the arena, they winced as they watched Scorpion claim victory over Kung Lao. While the monk was assisted back to the sidelines rather than walking under his own power, it at least seemed that his pride took the strongest hit. He was battered, but not at all broken. If all went well, he would never be broken.

It was after Scorpion’s next match that Raiden would attempt to make his first change. While the lure of a restored Shirai Ryu would be promising, Quan Chi’s leash would prove to be wound too tightly. Scorpion’s rage and grief would be too easily manipulated. Bi-han would die regardless. His death would, however, hold meaning, and knowing what death would do to his soul pained them.

They had seen a vortex of souls, cycling viciously by its creator’s will, tormenting those it held and destroying all in its path. Then, a smaller vortex, still forming, disrupted and dissolved by the form of a corrupted wraith being thrown inside.

The dilemma of sparing the individual they knew, and thereby changing the fate of those around him as consequence, or sparing the thousands they did not.

Sliding down over the tiles of the roof, they made their decision. They had to move fast. They would have little time to speak to Scorpion before his matches with the Lin Kuei. As it was, they did not see where the spectre would go between matches, but they did have a guess. There was a section of the island decorated with sprawling yet surprisingly simple gardens. If Scorpion was to seek out a moment of peace anywhere, with his history, it would be there.

Getting to the gardens proved to be a challenge in its own right. Taking the hidden passages would take some time, whereas Scorpion could simply teleport. Their best chance would be to also teleport into the gardens, but even if they potentially could, they were still weakened and lacked both the time and strength to experiment with their unknown abilities.

They did, however, have a deal.

Just as they manipulated the remnants of Shang Tsung’s spell to open the passageway gates, perhaps they could manipulate Kung Lao’s teleportation to influence the destination. In theory, doing so would be functionally the same. That theory, however, would be unable to be put to the test unless they were to gain Kung Lao’s attention without alerting anyone else to their presence.

Swiftly maneuvering through the passageways, they made their way back inside the palace. They began loosening the wraps on their left hand as they went, preparing to tie pieces to wall sconces in the main corridors. It wasn’t the most efficient of ideas, nor the most elegant, but it should be inconspicuous enough. With how their conversation ended the night before, Kung Lao would be looking for any sign that the other kombatants were sure to miss.

They tied strips to two sconces and let one drop to the floor outside of the nearest gate. Activating the gate only took a moment, and once inside the passageway, they didn’t let it fully deactivate. While the gate appeared as a normal wall in the corridor, they would be able to see blurred shapes and hear muffled sounds from their side.

Mere minutes passed before figures began to appear. One walking backward without a care, shortly followed by two conversing quietly. From the mannerisms, they guessed this trio to be the Earthrealmers brought to the tournament through manipulation and deceit, thrust into a world unknown. The thought actually made them smile to themself. How ironic. Here they were in a world they knew near everything about, but without knowing their own life.

A gap of stillness and silence followed the trio, but soon came two more easily recognizable figures. It was the hat strapped to Kung Lao’s back that gave them away. He paused in front of the gate, causing his companion, assumed to be Liu Kang, to pause as well. There was a brief exchange, though the words were too quiet to hear, before Liu Kang continued down the corridor with noted hesitance.

Another moment of silence passed before Kung Lao turned back the way he came. His departure caused them brief confusion, unsure what exactly he was doing, though he returned quickly and placed his hand on the wall.

“If you’re there, it’s just me. No one else is close”

It was rather thoughtful of Kung Lao to give confirmation. Prying open the gate once more, they stepped through the archway of light, but did not let it go once they were through. They needed to be sure they would not be interrupted. As they stretched their arms forward, strands of violet light emanating from the gate danced through the air, weaving together to form new pseudo gates on both sides of the hall, effectively creating a small room.

“Is that necessary?” As he had previously, Kung Lao watched them work with a shine of interest in his eye, even if he schooled his expression to one of a more neutral emotion. The facade fell away, however, when he fully turned his attention to them and sucked in a breath. “By the gods, your hand—”

They hadn’t noticed anything off, but at his exclamation, they looked down at their hands. The lines of injury on their left hand were not only visible, but were glowing with a similar purple light. They brought it closer to their face to study, stunned at the revelation. They knew whatever had happened had to be magical in nature, but this…

“Overburn.”

“What?”

“It’s…It’s scarring from overburn.” They turned their hand as they spoke, inspecting the glow. This was yet another thing they knew, but not how they knew it. “Or it will be, when it heals properly.”

“May I?” Kung Lao stepped into their space, reaching up for their hand. They were hesitant before seeing the strips of fabric he held, allowing him to begin rewrapping their injury. So he had gone back to retrieve what they left as their signal. It was an interesting decision.

“I would have been fine without these.”

“Does it still hurt?” The monk glanced up to meet their eyes, and when they didn’t answer right away, shook his head with a small sigh. “You just said this hasn’t healed. Why take these off?”

“I needed something you would recognize, and it worked.” Theirs was a weak argument, but it was all they could offer. Going deep into their reasoning would take time they didn’t have to spare. “The pain is…bearable.”

“What is overburn, anyway?”

“You—…no, you wouldn’t know it.” When the makeshift bandages were once again secured, they took their hand back and began gently massaging their palm, though the action was born more from anxiety than necessity. “It is something that occurs when the body’s natural pathways are overloaded with magic, such as holding a powerful spell for a long time, or reaching above one’s skill level and past one’s limits. Without caution, even seasoned mages may find their lives threatened by their own talent.”

Kung Lao went silent, his unfocused gaze on their hands as he took in the information. “And…what did you do?”

That was the question, wasn’t it?

“I’m afraid we do not have the time.” Dodging the subject, they gestured at their conjured pseudo gates. “These walls appear solid from the outside, but they are mere illusions to grant us privacy. Should anyone touch them, we will be discovered.”

“O…kay then.” Kung Lao crossed his arms and shifted his weight to one side. His expression wasn’t completely guarded, allowing them to see his curiosity, but it wasn’t entirely open, either. In addition, they could tell by his posture that he was still recovering from his match. “Is this about your favor?”

“Yes. Are you well enough to teleport?”

“I should be, but—Hey!”

They didn’t wait to hear the rest of his sentence before taking his hat from his head. Kung Lao, of course, reached out to grab it, but they were quick in deflecting each of his attempts. Curiously, doing so felt more like instinct than a conscious act. They would need to revisit that at a later time.

“There is somewhere I must go, and I will need your help.” As they spoke, they placed the hat on the ground in the far corner of the room. “If you start the process of teleporting, I can guide us to a further destination.”

“You do know that I’ve never taken anyone with me.” Kung Lao shook his head in disbelief. “Or gone anywhere I can’t see. I’m pretty sure that’s not how my hat works.”

“If you believe yourself to fail, then fail you shall.” They smiled with what they hoped to be reassurance, crossing the room back to his side. “Do not admit defeat before you make an attempt.”

“I’m not admitting anything.” With the way his eyes narrowed, they knew they struck a chord with his ego. He still held a small amount of hesitance, though it was understandable. What they had given him, he could only take on faith, where he was more a man of action. “I’m willing to try, but what do you mean by guide me?”

“The spell would be yours, but I would manipulate it. In a sense…” They gestured to the walls, both illusionary and true. “Here, the creation of the gate I passed through was not my own. It was the sorcerer’s doing, but I manipulated traces of his magic. To create these illusions, I merely extended what was already present.”

“And that’s what you want to do when I teleport?”

“Yes. I am rather confident I can alter the path of your magic to reach a destination other than your own.”

“Then why even need me?” Kung Lao spoke plainly, though winced shortly after the words were between them. “That sounded worse than I meant.”

“I understand.” With one hand out in a placating gesture, they used the other to trace shapes in the air as they continued. “You have full access to your abilities, but for me, my injuries have created limits. Think of an ocean. There, you would have your own boat, but I would be drifting in the waves. I do not have the means with which to create my own boat, but I could tie myself to your boat temporarily.”

“I…think I get it?”

“Are you willing to allow me to try?”

“I am.” Kung Lao held his hand out and they took it with a grateful nod. “Here we go.”

Once they took it, the world erupted into chaos. Time slowed down once the teleportation began. This was not the sensation of latent magic drifting through the air. This magic was alive, enveloping, all encompassing, connecting to them at the deepest level as it ushered them to where they needed to be. They felt their very soul resonating with the power around them, and they knew in an instant that this power would mold itself to their will if they so chose.

The timeless feeling did not last. The moment they began to manipulate Kung Lao’s magic, small pinpricks of discomfort manifested within their hands. They attempted to ignore it, tugging the silky strands of energy to begin weaving their own path, but soon those pinpricks became needles. Then daggers. Then fire, setting their nerves ablaze. A scream of pain was ripped from them, but in this pocket of space, sound did not exist. They had to hold on, they had to fight it, they had to reach the gardens, they had to, they had to—

A shockwave radiated through their shoulder as they collided with the ground. Their vision went white, the air forced from their lungs. They couldn’t breathe, their shuddering gasps weren’t enough, they couldn’t breathe. In, out, in, just breathe, damn it! Were they shaking? They couldn’t even tell if they were moving through the haze of pain. A weight settled on their opposite shoulder, a dark shape moving before them, slowly coming into focus along with the rest of their senses.

“—hear me?”

Still struggling for breath, though now in an at least more controlled manner, they tried to reach up to where Kung Lao had placed his hand. They didn’t quite succeed. “I-I…I apologize…”

“For what?” Kung Lao shook his head with a frown. Moving slowly, he began to help them into a sitting position. They allowed it, though only because they were unsure if they could do so on their own. This weakness was growing tiresome.

“I could have injured you. If I had been off even by the slightest amount…” Lifting their hands just enough to examine them, they found that they were indeed shaking. It was reminiscent, if not more severe, than what they had observed the night before. They had tried to use too much power too soon.

“I’m fine.” Placing his hand on their arm, he gently pushed their hands back down to rest in their lap. “But you aren’t.”

It would be futile to argue the point. They sighed, opting to not challenge him, and instead chose to focus on their surroundings. Deliberately placed stones framed the roots of various bushes and small trees. Carefully tended vines spiraled around archways over a stone path. A sea of colorful petals swayed in the breeze.

They had made it after all.

Clouds were beginning to gather in the sky, though they were not yet gray. The coming rain would chase everyone inside the main hall. There was little time left. They shifted their weight, trying to lean on their elbow to get their feet under them, but their strength still eluded them.

“Hey, wait—Take it slow.”

“I do not have the time.” They huffed in frustration, trying again and again, but could not raise themself more than a few inches.

“If you’re going to be stubborn,” Kung Lao stood at their side, his arms outstretched and waiting. “at least let me help.” At their nod, he hooked his hands under their arms and lifted them swiftly, yet not without care. Once they were steady on their feet, he backed away. There was that baffling concern in his eyes again. “You really should rest, but something tells me you won’t.”

“Not yet. I have to speak with Scorpion—”

“What?” The concern bled into confusion, and if they were not mistaken, a semblance of hurt. Why was he so invested in their actions? “You can’t be serious.”

“I am—”

“Why?”

They met his challenging gaze with determination, taking the opportunity to study his expression. So much emotion was on display instead of hidden behind his usual mask of pride. Why discard the mask now? Why show them his true self, when so many of those close to him would not be gifted with the same sight?

“I will explain everything when the opportunity arrives.” They shook their head dismissively, putting up their own mask of passivity. “I will even swear it if I must, but I have a short window. Even if I did have the opportunity…”

“It’s safer that I don’t know?” Kung Lao appeared annoyed, but his tone said otherwise.

“And safer that no one knows I am here. You must not mention my existence to anyone, and I do mean anyone.” The emphasis on their words seemed to take a moment to truly sink in, but their meaning was heard. The only people who could know they were there were the people they exposed themself to.

“Do you need me to wait for you?”

“No, thank you. You should return to the palace. I will be able to find my own way from here.”

Kung Lao’s expression grew clouded, his body tensing with his hesitance. It was clear to them he was fighting with himself over what to say, if anything at all, but the words that followed could not have been what he originally intended. “Can I teleport that far without you?”

“If you focus, can you feel the pull of your hat?”

“Yes.”

“Then you have nothing to worry about. I’ll see you again.”

With another beat of hesitance followed by a short nod, Kung Lao disappeared in a flash of blue light. They were truly grateful for his assistance. When this was over, they would need to find some way to repay him.

Taking cautious steps, they began their advance into the gardens proper. Their unsteadiness faded once they reached the pathway, the flat stones aiding their balance in a way the uneven field could not. While they took note of the branching routes, narrower and far shorter, they did not stray.

The main path led to what seemed to be a dead end. Another large archway, more akin to a trellis, supported a thick curtain of vines overhead. There was no magic here, yet it was an illusion just the same. They didn’t need their memory to know this. Brushing the ivy aside with the back of their hands, they stepped through, entering the hidden oasis.

The path disappeared altogether. Small bushes ringed the space, each blooming with small red, yellow, or white flowers. A large pond, nearly a lake in its own right, glittered in the sun as rippling waves danced in the shade of the only tree present. Its trunk twisted around itself like rope, its branches stretching across the sky as if to be its visitor’s personal canopy.

There, kneeling beside the twisted and exposed roots, was Scorpion himself.

The harsh lines of his armor and his rigid posture set him apart from his serene surroundings. He still wore his gauntlets and shoulder pads, still had his swords strapped to his back, still had his kunai at his side. Even though he appeared to be searching for peace, he was still prepared for war. It hurt to see, but they knew he would not allow himself rest, staying ever vigilant lest he miss his opportunity for revenge.

Maintaining what they felt to be a safe distance, they took small steps forward, allowing their boots to brush through the grass with an audible swish. “Pardon my intrusion.”

Scorpion’s reaction was immediate. His kunai burst into flame as he swiveled into a readied crouch position, white rage filled eyes glaring up at them. Their assumption was right. He would not be startled, only reactionary.

“I mean you no harm,” They held their trembling and bandaged hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Nor do I have the means by which to cause any.”

Silence stretched between them for what felt like an eternity. They could feel themself being weighed, judged, and were truly at the spectre’s mercy. After a few moments, the flames on his blade faded as he gave them a small nod of acceptance. They took one cautious step forward, then another, then lowered their hands altogether as they walked toward the tree. There, they carefully lowered themself to the ground, leaning back against the rough bark of the tree trunk.

“...you are not a kontestant.” The harsh echo of Scorpion’s voice was soon followed by the rustling sound of his armor moving against itself. He had settled back into a kneeling position, though they could still feel his gaze on them.

“No, that is far from what I am.” They let out a quiet laugh, tilting their head back to observe the branches above.Once again, they were stunned by the complexities of personality. They had expected somewhat more of an overt resistance. Perhaps their injured state earned them leniency.

“Why come here?”

“These flowers resemble the wisteria of Earthrealm,” They kept their attention on the branches overhead as they spoke, though they knew they were deflecting. They knew he was not asking about why they were in the garden. “but their petals are translucent with almost no color at all. They overtake the trees they grow in, and some consider them an unsightly nuisance, and yet…”

“You’re not from Earthrealm.” Scorpion spoke with no questioning inclination. He merely stated an observation as fact, and it was fact. It was something they knew in the same way they knew how to speak or walk or weave magic.

“I am from Outworld, just like these flowers.” They lifted one hand to steal a petal away from the breeze. “I wish for you to one day have the chance to see their full potential. In just the right moment, under just the right circumstances, when the light of dawn or dusk passes through the petals, they glow so brilliantly.”

Scorpion huffed out a breath, the sound accented by smoke filtering through his mask. “Do not waste your energy wishing anything for me. Once I have my revenge—”

“You will soon find what you seek, but do not limit yourself.” Finally turning to face him, they donned a mask of passivity. They hadn’t meant to incite him, but that seemed to be the effect they had. “There is much more that awaits you than eternity in service to the Netherrealm.”

“Who are you?” The spectre’s eyes narrowed in warning as he readjusted his grip on his kunai.

“A friend. I truly do mean you know harm. The question is,” They sat up straighter, leaning forward and away from the tree. “who are you? Do you prefer to be addressed as Scorpion, or was the name forced upon you?”

Silence once again filled the air. For a moment, there was a flash of something in Scorpion’s eyes. Some unquantifiable emotion, perhaps a bit a color attempting to return, but that cloudy white haze held firm. “...there is only Scorpion now.”

“I…I see.” The answer was disheartening, but not entirely unexpected. The man he once was must have been buried deeper under grief than they first thought.

“Why does it matter?”

“I know what the thunder god has offered—”

“Tread carefully, Outworlder.” Scorpion stood abruptly, the air around him shimmering with heat as his armor threatened to ignite. One misstep, one wrong word, and he would be on them.

“I am here to extend a word of caution.” They paused momentarily to observe his reaction, and when they received none, they continued. “He seeks a particular outcome and will do what he can to achieve it. He truly does mean to speak with the Elder Gods on your behalf should you spare Sub-Zero, his intentions are pure, but his gift is but words. He cannot guarantee an outcome.”

“Can you?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll take my chances.”

“You would risk Satoshi sharing your cursed existence?”

An anguished cry and a roar of flame filled the air. In mere seconds, Scorpion lunged forward and embedded his smoldering fist in the sinewy tree bark inches from their face. “How dare you! You mean to interfere with the restoration of my family? You threaten my son?!”

“Not…in the slightest.” Faced with the quite literal heat of Scorpion’s anger, it was difficult not to turn away from him. Mentioning the boy by name was a mistake.“This is my warning. The Elder Gods…they will interpret requests to the letter, not the spirit.”

“Go on.”

“‘Return the Shirai Ryu to the realm of mortals.’ That was the wording used.” They were forced to pause, the intense heat making it difficult to string together longer sentences. Shutting their eyes to make them water gave only momentary reprieve. “Not the realm of the living. Not Earthrealm. Not life.”

That, at least, caught Scorpion’s attention enough for him to back away. “Explain. Now.”

“The Elder Gods exist on a separate plane of existence. To them, all of our connected realms are realms of mortals.”

“The Netherrealm—”

“Do not demons live and die as we do?”

Even with his hood and mask obscuring most of his face, they could see the way in which Scorpion’s expression shattered. They could not know what thoughts raced within, but they could imagine the renewed pain.

“Scorpion…” They held one hand up placatingly, though they did not move otherwise. They simply watched him to ensure he was hearing them. “I do not know what action the Elder Gods would choose to take. They could return the clan just as you wish, or refuse outright. They could return their souls alone through reincarnation, where they would live new lives with no memories of before.”

“Or they could become…this.”

“The possibility is…” They let the thought trail off with hesitation. They were coming rather close to revealing what they knew of another time. It was a time they knew little of, one that branched off of the main paths, but one that existed nonetheless. They had seen a twisted revival of the Shirai Ryu. Were they leaning too much, tipping their hand too far?

“Why tell me this?” Heat began shimmering around Scorpion once more. His form trembled, fists clenched at his sides, though they could not tell what triggered the reaction. Rage, hate, sorrow, incredulity—all had an equal likelihood. “What do you gain from it?”

“Nothing. My interest is in your fate.” They braced themself on the edge of the stone as they spoke, slowly pushing themself up to stand. The burn of their exhausted muscles was a small price to pay to show their sincerity. “I have interest in the fates of everyone at this tournament. I do not wish to see unnecessary suffering.”

“Then would you also see Sub-Zero spared, as Rai—”

“Don’t say his name!” The volume of their outburst surprised them, but it startled Scorpion as well if the dissipating heat was an accurate indicator. Again, they held their hands out placatingly. “I-I’m sorry. Names have power, and those who understand that power have the potential to become aware of any time they are spoken about. It is the convention on which prayer is based.”

“Do you fear him?”

Did they? It was not a concept they had given thought. Their need for secrecy stemmed from the fragility of time. They were wary of Raiden to be sure, knowing his propensity to skew morals when events turned sour, but did that extend to fear? Were their anxieties of being discovered only from not having a secondary plan, or was there more to it?

“I…respect him, but at the moment I do not believe we would see eye to eye.” It was not a satisfactory answer, and they could see it in the way Scorpion studied them. He must have accepted it, though, as he relaxed his stance, crossing his arms.

“Well? Would you also see Sub-Zero spared?”

“Truthfully…” They closed their eyes, trying to find the best words. The answer was clear in their mind, the life of one against the life of thousands, but they did not have the right to give it. When they opened their eyes again, they faced the spectre with assuredness. “I would see you choose for yourself. If you wish to spare him, spare him. If you want him dead, kill him. You are in a position where opposite powers vie for influence over your decisions. I want you to be free from that.”

“Why?”

“I told you. I do not wish to see unnecessary suffering.”

For a moment, Scorpion appeared vulnerable. Surprise flashed across his face, his arms falling part way back to his side, but it only lasted seconds. His expression hardened once more, eyes narrowing, and he spun away from them with a scoff. “How naive.”

A column of hellfire erupted around him, and when it cleared, he was gone.

His reaction continued to play in their head. Surprise followed quickly by resignation, a mask of redirected anger hiding his true emotion. Did he not believe he was worth being spared? Did he not believe anyone could care for him as more than a tool? They could only hope that he took their words to heart. It was likely that Quan Chi would still be able to manipulate him, to pull at the strings that made him Scorpion, but even so, if they could at least give him the inspiration to fight for his free will…

The clouds above finally split, rain pouring down with no prelude.

The circle of scorched and smoldering grass began to steam.

“Oh, Hanzo…”

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