Pliket Pliket COMMISSION OPEN (2/3) @tazahan - Tumblr Blog

Jul 4

Shared Breath

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Chapter 3

Prompt: Falling in love is so complicated. This is why you prefer communication in the form of sex rather than… y’know.. actual words.

Pairing(s): Lin Kuei Trio x Reader

Warnings: Angst, violence, blood

A/N: Welp, I had fun bringing fear into everyone's hearts!

Masterlist

It had been a little over a month since Bi-Han had thoroughly claimed you. And by “thoroughly,” you meant obliterated to the point of spiritual reform. As predicted, you were too well-fucked to function for at least a week. A full week. Seven business days. Forty-eight training cycles gone because the Grandmaster decided to rearrange your atoms.

You were pissed. You absolutely had the right to be.

But… considering it was your own damn fault—and considering he did warn you five separate times—you kinda had to eat that loss.

Through that week of forced recovery, your new quarters had been completed, and the boys—because apparently they operate like a highly coordinated, overly affectionate moving company—had transferred every single one of your belongings into the new room.

The room ended up being… closer than you expected to Bi-Han’s.

As in: directly next to his. As in: share-a-wall close. As in: you could probably hear him breathe if the fortress were quiet enough.

The realization made you stop dead in your tracks, staring at the door like it had personally wronged you. But what were you supposed to do? Complain? Tell the Grandmaster “hey actually can you not put me within frostbite radius of your bedroom”? No thanks. You weren’t in the mood to listen to Bi-Han verbally drag you like you were some ungrateful goblin he pulled out of a ditch.

So you swallowed the complaint and kept walking… very loudly, internally, screaming.

They’d also started acting… weird.

Not the normal Lin Kuei brand of weird, like “I folded your clothes with military precision” or “I killed three men because they looked at you wrong.” No. This was a different level.

They were being affectionate.

Like actual-affectionate. Soft touches in passing. Checking on you. Sitting closer. Treating you less like a “we blow each other’s backs out on rotation” partner and more like an actual partner-partner.

And you? Completely on edge. Hackles up. Sirens blaring in your brain.

Because you swore to yourself a long time ago that you would never get feelings involved. Ever. Not with anyone, much less the three most dangerous men you’ve ever let rearrange your spine.

Your walls were high enough to be an OSHA violation.

And the funniest part?

You had zero memory of letting those same walls slip in front of Bi-Han. Of breaking down emotionally in his arms in the midst of pleasure. Of him realizing, crystal clear, that you cared.

So as far as you knew?

You were clueless. Clueless as to why the three of them suddenly seemed softer. Clueless as to why they were treating you like you mattered.

And the worst part?

You didn’t know whether to run… or fall.

But you suppose that’s neither here nor there.

You had also, to Tomas’ absolute amusement, banned Kuai and Bi-Han from touching you. You were sick of being put out of commission because of them, so you laid down a short ban and told them point-blank:

“No sex. Until you two learn how to behave.”

And obviously, that went about as well as anyone with two brain cells could’ve predicted.

Because they tried.

Oh, they tried.

Kuai was the first offender.

Two days into the ban, he cornered you in the hallway with that stupidly pretty smile, hands sliding onto your waist like nothing had happened.

“Qīn… surely a kiss wouldn’t break your little rule,” he murmured, leaning in like he wasn’t about to get drop-kicked.

You slapped a hand over his face and shoved him back so hard he almost tripped.

“Nope.”

The offended gasp he let out echoed through the hall.

Bi-Han, of course, was worse.

He didn’t ask. He didn’t hint. He simply appeared in your doorway late at night, arms crossed, aura freezing the damn air, looking you up and down like he was about to commit a crime.

“You will drop this foolish ban,” he ordered, voice low and heavy, as if commanding you was going to magically make your legs open.

You threw a pillow at him.

“Get out.”

He caught it. Crushed it in his fist. Growled. Left in a storm of frost and bruised pride.

Tomas nearly ruptured his spleen laughing when he heard.

He had to physically hold onto the counter, wheezing, wiping a tear from his eye while both his brothers glared at him like they were plotting his sudden disappearance.

The ban stayed, though.

Because you meant it.

Kuai sulked.

Bi-Han brooded.

Tomas blossomed in the chaos like a smug little sunflower.

And you?

You pretended you weren’t thinking about exactly why the ban was necessary in the first place.

The ban was still in place to this day, though you had… relented. A little.

A kiss here.

A wandering hand there.

A stolen moment pressed against a wall if one of them caught you off guard.

But the second it started getting too heated?

The moment a breath hitched or their hands slid too low or their hips aligned with yours just right?

Shut. Down.

Instantly.

You’d push them off, step back, and deliver your warning with all the authority of someone who’d been broken in half one too many times:

“Nope. Boundary. Respect it.”

And the looks they gave you?

God.

Longing.

Starved.

Like wolves being force-fed lettuce.

They wanted you—craved you—aching to touch you properly again. To feel you. To claim you. To ruin you all over in their own distinct ways.

But no.

They were suffering.

And you? You were unsympathetic as hell.

Boo hoo.

The absolute first day you were fully back on your feet felt like freedom—blessed, glorious freedom—because if you had to spend one more hour trapped in that room alone with your thoughts, you would’ve started climbing the walls like some feral cryptid.

Finally being able to slip back into your routine, your tasks, your missions, your duties… yeah, you missed it more than you’d ever admit.

You made your rounds, greeting your friends, catching up, pretending you hadn’t vanished off the face of the earth for a week because a certain icy menace folded you in half and rearranged your spine.

Your “friends” — and that term is used loosely — wasted zero time.

They pounced.

Snickering.

Nudging.

Throwing you the filthiest grins.

“Damn, Shadow, the Grandmaster really took you out, huh?”

“Heard you couldn’t walk for days.”

“Must’ve been some training session.”

You rolled your eyes so hard you nearly saw the back of your skull.

Because yeah, everybody knows you’re bedding the Lin Kuei’s favorite disaster trio. It’s not exactly a state secret around here. But that doesn’t mean you want to stand in the main hall and give out TED Talks about your sex life.

Absolutely not.

You’re not giving any of them that mental image for free.

So you just clamped your mouth shut, kept walking, shoulders high, pretending their teasing wasn’t making your face heat like a furnace… and absolutely refusing to dignify any of it with an explanation.

Talk about your bedroom activities?

With them?

Yeah, no. Not happening.

You’d almost forgotten what actual responsibility felt like… until it came back to smack you across the face.

Because the moment you were officially “cleared,” that also meant mission-ready.

Lucky you.

Bi-Han eased you into it at first—lighter assignments, safer scouting runs, nothing that would put real strain on your body. Which, okay, fine, whatever. You appreciated the consideration… even if his hovering was a little suffocating.

But now?

You were back at 100%, officially, medically, and unfortunately..

And Bi-Han hated it.

Deeply.

Profoundly.

In a way that made the air around him drop five degrees whenever someone so much as mentioned your mission roster.

So when he summoned you to his office?

You already knew he had his Panties in a Grandmaster Twist.

He didn’t even let you fully step inside before the storm cloud on his face said it all. Arms crossed. Jaw clenched. Eyes locked on you like you were the problem and not reality itself.

“Shadow,” he greeted, voice flat enough to iron clothes on.

You raised a brow.

“Well. Somebody’s grumpy.”

He ignored that entirely — which only confirmed you were correct.

“Lord Liu Kang,” he began, and the way he said the name made it sound like a personal inconvenience, “has assigned a mission. To you.”

You blinked.

“So what’s the issue?”

His glare sharpened.

“It is too dangerous.”

Ah. There it was. The overprotective, possessive, I’ll freeze the world before I let anyone breathe wrong in your direction attitude. You swore the temperature actually dropped as he continued.

“I voiced my objections,” he said stiffly.

You snorted. “Let me guess. Straight to his face.”

“And,” he ground out, “the Fire God ignored them.”

Yep. There it was.

The wounded pride.

The offended authority.

The tiny little bruised ego of a man who is used to being the final word on everything and hates being overruled.

“So,” you said slowly, stepping closer, “I’m assuming this is where you tell me the mission details?”

He didn’t answer at first — just stared at you like he wanted to lock you in your new room and freeze the door shut.

Finally, with visible reluctance, he muttered:

“Yes. Sit.”

Like he wasn’t the one on the verge of throwing hands with a literal deity over you.

And honestly?

You kind of adored the dramatics. Even if you’d never admit that out loud.

He’d barely finished the first page of the briefing when you finally understood why his eye had been twitching since you walked in.

Netherrealm.

Yeah. No wonder he looked like he wanted to punt Liu Kang into the sun.

You stood across from him and listened carefully as he laid out every detail. Every route. Every threat. Every possible way a single mistake could get you tortured, shredded, possessed, or all three in a fun little combo pack.

It was… a lot.

Even for you.

But the longer he talked, the clearer it became why you were chosen. You were the clan’s top scout. Top infiltrator. Master of vanishing into places no one should survive entering. If anyone could slip into the Netherrealm without kicking a hornets’ nest made of angry demons?

It was you.

You exhaled sharply.

“Understood,” you murmured.

Bi-Han said nothing. His posture remained rigid, hands clasped behind him, jaw locked tight. He looked less like a Grandmaster delivering a briefing and more like a man being forced to hand over his favorite thing to Hell itself.

Finally, he spoke.

“I’m sending Smoke with you.”

You blinked.

Of course he was. Tomas was your best partner, your mirror in stealth missions, the one who moved with you like a second shadow.

But hearing Bi-Han say it? That struck different.

You lifted an eyebrow.

“Smoke?”

Bi-Han nodded once, curt.

“I will not have you entering the Netherrealm alone.”

His tone was clipped, stoic… but underneath it?

Yeah, he was worried. Terrified even — though he’d rather die than say it out loud.

You sighed softly.

“…Alright.”

He didn’t move at first. Just stood there behind his desk, stiff as an icicle with rage-issues, staring at you like he was working up the nerve to say something that physically pained him.

Then:

“…Y/N.”

Your full name.

Soft, low, and absolutely not the tone he uses in professional settings.

You paused mid-turn, blinking. When it’s business, he calls you Shadow. Always. So hearing that voice wrapped around your actual name?

Yeah, that hit different.

You faced him fully, brows furrowing in quiet question.

Bi-Han didn’t answer — not right away. He stood, the motion slow, deliberate. His footsteps were nearly silent as he crossed the room, stopping just inches in front of you.

Close enough that you could feel the cold radiating from his skin.

Close enough that you had to tilt your chin up to meet his eyes.

He stared you down, expression unreadable… but the tension in his shoulders?

The slight tightening of his jaw?

Yeah. He was worried.

He was trying very, very hard not to show it.

The room felt colder, quieter — like even the damn air knew the Grandmaster was about to say something he didn’t say lightly.

He let out this low, frustrated sigh — the kind that told you he was about to do something wildly off-brand — then lifted a hand and cupped your cheek.

Cold palm. Gentle touch.

“…Come back to me safe,” he murmured.

You froze.

Straight-up system error.

That was not the Bi-Han you knew. That was some alternate DLC version where he actually communicated his emotions.

Your eyes widened, lips parting slightly in shock. You had no idea what to do with the sudden warmth blooming in your chest or the way the ground felt like it dropped out from under you.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t answer.

And Bi-Han saw it. All of it.

The confusion.

The panic.

The crack in your armor you didn’t even realize you let slip.

He didn’t push. Didn’t demand. Didn’t bark orders like usual.

Instead, he leaned down, brushed his lips against yours, and kissed you — slow, deliberate, almost… passionate. The kind of kiss that said more than he’d ever allow himself to admit.

Then he pulled back. Just as controlled as ever. Just as unreadable. Only his eyes betrayed everything… heavy, dark, something dangerously close to longing.

Your brain promptly blue-screened.

You finally managed to lower your head, mumbling something about needing to prepare for departure. Your voice barely existed, thin and dazed.

He didn’t stop you.

Didn’t call after you.

Just watched, silent and intense, as you walked out of his office — like he was memorizing every step you took.

You moved fast, practically speed-running out of the Grandmaster’s office before your heart could explode out of sheer emotional confusion. Your pulse was jackhammering, your face felt too warm, and your brain wouldn’t shut up replaying that kiss on loop like it was your personal torment cutscene.

The way he held your face…

The way he kissed you…

The softness.

You wanted to yeet yourself into the nearest snowbank.

But you forced yourself to shove all that nonsense into a mental box, padlock it, and kick it into the abyss. Emotions later. Mission now. You had priorities… unfortunately.

You stormed into your room, torn between pacing and screaming into a pillow, but discipline won out. Your hands moved on autopilot as you packed your gear—medical kits, rations, water, backup tools, ammo, smoke pellets, pressure bandages, and everything else you’d need to survive the Netherrealm. Or at least die slower.

Once everything was squared away, you got dressed.

And Shadow walked out of that room.

Draped head to toe in layered black fabric that clung, flowed, and whispered against itself like living smoke. Your top hugged your chest in a fitted wrap of dark cloth, exposing a sliver of your midriff—dangerously close to immodest, but built for combat. Strips of fabric looked artfully torn, slit in strategic places for flexibility. It flirted with the line between armor and temptation and didn’t apologize for it.

A long black scarf veiled the lower half of your face, wrapped around your head and shoulders like a shadow given form. Only your eyes showed—sharp, focused, gleaming with that signature predatory intent.

Your arms were encased in reinforced sleeves with thin gold accents threading along the seams. Fingerless gloves gripped tight to your hands, leather molded to precision.

Your lower half moved beneath a layered sash-pants, floating around your legs like torn ghost silk. High slits flashed lean muscle with every step—functional, but wicked in effect.

Two blades rested at your hips, exactly where they belonged. Comfortable. Familiar.

Your boots rose high to your calves, armored yet elegant, etched with faint golden patterns that looked like molten cracks glowing in the dark.

Standing there in the hallway…

You didn’t look like a woman on a mission.

You looked like a walking omen—elegant, lethal, untouchable. A shadow made flesh.

A wraith crafted specifically to slip into the Netherrealm and walk back out alive.

And gods help anything that stood in your way.

Tomas’s presence hit you before his footsteps did—soft, familiar, a calm little pressure in the back of your awareness. You lifted your gaze just in time to watch him approach in full gear, smoke-lined armor fitting him like a second skin. He looked every bit the assassin he was, face hidden behind his mask, eyes warm in a way they never were for anyone but you.

“Shadow,” he greeted, voice dipping into something soft as his hand settled on your lower back.

You smiled beneath your veil, a small puff of amusement escaping you.

“Smoke,” you murmured back, “you ready?”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “As I’ll ever be.”

With practiced ease, he guided you toward the temple gates. Outside, the air shifted—heat rising like a sun blooming through fog. Lord Liu Kang stood waiting, calm and radiant, golden eyes flicking to Tomas as he approached at your side.

“Y/N. Tomas.” His voice warmed, carrying that strange gentle authority only gods could get away with. “It is good to see you both well.”

You and Tomas bowed at once, heads lowered.

“Lord Liu Kang,” you greeted in perfect sync.

Liu Kang stepped slightly closer, his attention settling on Tomas with a curious tilt of his head.

“Am I to assume Bi-Han has sent you to accompany Y/N on this mission?” he asked.

Tomas straightened a little, spine rigid with respect, but you could feel the tiny, smug hum radiating off him. He liked being chosen. He liked being needed. And he especially liked being paired with you.

Behind your mask, your lips curled. The mission hadn’t even started yet, but the energy was already shifting, tightening, sharpening.

“Yes, he did,” he answered, tone crisp but respectful.

Liu Kang nodded, then shifted his attention to you—eyes softening with something painfully close to sympathy. The Fire God giving you an apologetic look was… surreal.

“I regret sending you into such a dangerous realm,” he said gently. “I would take the task myself, but my presence would alert all of Netherrealm the moment I crossed its threshold.”

You let out a quiet chuckle beneath your mask, shaking your head.

“It’s no bother, my lord. Anything for Earthrealm.”

The smile he gave you was warm, grateful… then it dimmed, sharpening into something far heavier.

“There are rumors Shang Tsung and Quan Chi are moving within Netherrealm once more.” His voice dipped low. “If they are active, then even without the amulet, they are threats to be taken seriously.”

You felt Tomas tense beside you.

You didn’t blame him.

“Gather as much information as you can,” Liu continued. “If you are discovered, retreat immediately. Call my name and I will open a portal to bring you home.”

The seriousness in his tone drew your posture straight, tightening focus in your mind. You and Tomas nodded as one.

“Understood,” you said.

Liu Kang lifted a hand, fire swirling into a controlled vortex before blooming into a portal—its edges blazing gold, its center dark as the void it led to.

He stepped aside, gesturing you forward.

“Take care,” he murmured, voice almost tender for a god of flame.

You and Tomas exchanged a single look—calm, familiar, an entire plan exchanged in silence—before stepping into the Netherrealm’s portal together.

And then the world snapped shut behind you.

Traversing the Netherrealm was… honestly the worst. Like, genuine corporate-team-building-exercise levels of awful. Everything either wanted to stab you, eat you, or drag you screaming into some molten pit of despair. And the landscape itself felt like it was built specifically to watch mortals trip and die.

Cute place. Very cozy.

If Bi-Han hadn’t sent Tomas with you, you would’ve gotten half as far and ten times more pissed. The two of you slipped through the realm like twin wraiths, communication wordless and sharp, every step measured. By the time you reached what had to be Shang Tsung’s lair, you were exhausted from sheer hyper-vigilance alone.

And yet… you’d made it.

Your boots hit stone slick with Netherrealm soot, the corridor opening into a cavernous chamber. It stank of chemicals, rot, and ancient magic—the perfect mix for a sorcerer’s man cave. And there it was: rows of tables cluttered with glass tanks, bubbling mixtures, and half-finished… creatures. Classic Shang Tsung vibes.

Your eyes swept the room, never still. Every shadow was a threat. Every whisper of heat or movement pulled your attention tight. You let your own shadows seep across the floors and walls like living ink, checking corners, vents, the ceiling—anywhere your physical senses couldn’t reach.

When they returned to you, you exhaled softly behind your mask.

“…It seems it is empty for the time being,” you murmured, voice low enough that only Tomas would hear.

Smoke was already at your flank, body poised like a sprung wire, eyes darting in controlled, precise sweeps. You could feel the tension in him—he was one wrong sound away from striking.

“Doesn’t feel empty,” he whispered back, fingers brushing the hilt of one of his tantos. “Stay sharp, Shadow.”

As if you needed the reminder. The air was too still. Too quiet. And in Netherrealm, quiet never meant safe.

You both slipped deeper into the lab, each step careful, silent, the way only two people who lived in shadows for a living could manage. Even so, the place felt… wrong. Every surface seemed to pulse faintly with leftover magic, like the room itself hated the idea of you breathing in it.

You eased up to one of the central tables, eyes narrowing behind your mask. A scroll lay open, covered in Shang’s unmistakable calligraphy—sharp strokes, smug handwriting, and the general vibe of “I think I’m smarter than everyone and also morally bankrupt.”

You skimmed the contents, humming quietly. Definitely his work. Definitely dangerous. And definitely the kind of thing Bi-Han would lose his entire mind over if he saw it.

Your gaze drifted across the rest of the table—more scrolls, diagrams, notes about souls and constructs and transformations you didn’t want to imagine. Stuff that made even you uncomfortable, and you literally worked with shadows that whispered.

Then your attention snagged on the shelves.

Rows of glass containers, each filled with liquid in a different sickly hue. Suspended inside were creatures—small, twisted, unrecognizable. Some blinked slowly, as if existing was already too much effort. Others floated lifeless and warped beyond any natural shape. One jar twitched when you looked at it.

A shudder crawled down your back. Your nose scrunched in pure disgust.

Nope. Burn this place down later. Absolutely not.

You turned toward Smoke, needing a palate cleanser for your eyeballs—and found him leaning over a bubbling cauldron-like flask, studying it with a level of concern that did nothing to comfort you.

Even his body language screamed, this is cursed as hell.

He didn’t look up as he muttered, “This formula… isn’t anything I recognize.”

You stepped closer, keeping your shadows sweeping the perimeter of the room.

“I’m gonna be honest,” you whispered, eyeing the bubbling concoction suspiciously, “it looks like something that crawled out of a nightmare and decided to ferment.”

Tomas huffed, barely a laugh, but enough.

Then his expression sharpened, eyes flicking up to you.

“Shadow… stay alert. If he was working on this recently, he might not be far.”

Yeah. You already felt that prickling on the back of your neck—faint, wrong, too aware.

Something in this lab still breathed.

And it sure as hell wasn’t either of you.

Thank the gods for your precautions.

Your shadows stirred first—silent warnings rippling through the room like cold breath against your skin. A presence approached. Multiple. Too strong to ignore.

You didn’t hesitate. Two sharp hand signs toward Tomas—hide—and the two of you slipped into cover with practiced precision. He dissolved into a veil of smoke behind a support pillar, and you melted into the deeper corners of the room, letting the shadows swallow your form completely.

The lab fell silent.

Then the air tore open.

A swirl of necrotic energy twisted into existence at the center of the chamber, its glow reflecting off warped metal and stained stone. Footsteps followed—measured, confident, unhurried. You recognized them immediately.

Shang Tsung.

Quan Chi.

Both stepped through as though they owned the realm itself.

You stilled every muscle in your body, slowing your breathing to near nothing. Tomas was almost imperceptible across the room, the edges of his form drifting like mist against the dark.

The sorcerers spoke with the calm arrogance of men who believed themselves untouchable.

“…the preparations are nearly complete,” Shang Tsung said, his tone laced with quiet triumph.

Quan Chi surveyed the room, pale gaze lingering on the tables you had searched moments earlier. “Good. Once the final essence is secured, everything will fall into place.”

You leaned forward slightly—just enough to ensure you heard every word.

“We must ensure no interference,” Quan Chi continued. “The Lin Kuei have been… troublesome.”

Shang scoffed softly. “Sub-Zero will not track us. Not this time.”

Your jaw tightened behind your mask, but you remained motionless. Emotional reactions had no place here.

The two sorcerers moved deeper into the lab, unaware of how close their enemies were. Quan Chi paused beside the same volatile mixture Tomas had examined.

“This catalyst alone will shift the balance,” he murmured. “Even the Fire God will be forced to yield.”

Your heartbeat slowed. Sharpened.

This information was far worse than you expected.

Across the room, Tomas caught your gaze for the briefest moment—silent understanding passing between you. The intel was crucial. And escaping with it was now a priority.

You remained concealed.

Not yet.

Not until you knew every detail they intended to reveal.

One wrong move here meant death.

Or worse.

The conversation only grew worse.

Their voices lowered, but every word carried enough weight to chill your blood beneath your armor.

They spoke of the amulet—the amulet—as if it were already within reach. Their confidence wasn’t bluster. It was calculation. Certainty. And the methods they intended to use…

You felt your stomach twist.

It wasn’t just reckless. It wasn’t even just cruel. It was catastrophic.

Soul-harvesting on a mass scale. Unstable realm-tears as shortcuts. Rituals that would bleed power from anything living unfortunate enough to be nearby. They spoke of Earthrealm like it was a resource deposit. Outworld, a test site.

And the worst part?

They sounded excited.

Shang Tsung’s smile was audible.

Quan Chi’s tone was almost reverent.

You winced silently, pulse tightening in your throat. Your fingers curled reflexively on the hilt of your blade, the urge to act flaring like instinct. But Tomas caught your eye and shook his head ever so slightly—not yet.

He was right.

If you stepped in, you would die. Both of you. And all this intel would vanish with you.

So you breathed slowly.

Steadied your heartbeat.

Forced your muscles to remain still beneath your cloak of shadows.

Every plan they outlined was worse than the last. Every detail another nail in the coffin of what the realms could become if either sorcerer succeeded.

And it all hinged on the amulet.

You swallowed hard behind your mask.

This mission had never been routine. But now?

Now it was a ticking time bomb.

And the two monsters standing in front of you were mapping out how to light the fuse.

Both sorcerers slipped away, their voices fading down the corridor.

“I believe we should see our hard work come to fruition soon,” Shang drawled, robes sweeping behind him as he exited the lab.

Quan Chi followed with a pleased hum. “Indeed it shall.”

Their footsteps grew distant. Their presence evaporated. Only then did you and Tomas dare to breathe again. A long, silent moment passed before either of you moved, both of you waiting—listening—for even the slightest hint that they might return.

When nothing came, you eased from cover, shadows retracting around you like obedient serpents. Tomas slipped out beside you, already reading the tension in your shoulders because he felt the same threaded through his own.

You didn’t speak.

You didn’t need to.

Both of you were deeply, gravely concerned.

You moved silently toward the exit, every step calculated. You were seconds from reaching a safe spot to open a portal when a grating snarl cut through the air.

One revenant.

Then two.

Then six—Quan Chi’s lackeys spilling from the darkness, blocking every possible escape route.

Tomas’ hand shot to his karambit.

Your fingers curled around your blade.

Surrounded.

Outnumbered.

No way out.

You exchanged one last glance—steady, resolute.

Then steel sang free, shadows surged to your call, and the two of you were forced into the only option left:

Fight for your lives.

Bodies dropped left and right—ashen, mangled, shrieking as they dissolved into the hellish ground beneath you. You and Tomas carved through the swarm with brutal efficiency, your blades glinting under the sickly Netherrealm glow. Every movement was precise, disciplined, fueled by the single shared goal of getting the hell out before things went sideways beyond repair.

Tomas blurred past you in a streak of smoke, knocking two revenants back with a spinning kick, but more kept crawling toward you both, dragged from the shadows like they’d been lying in wait.

“Shadow, behind you!”

His shout cut through the chaos.

You pivoted so fast the fabric of your outfit snapped in the air. Steel met steel—your blade catching the revenant’s strike before you shoved forward and sliced clean through its neck. The head tumbled, the body collapsed, and you were already turning again, senses flaring.

It was getting worse.

There were too many footsteps—too many snarls—closing in from every direction. You scanned the battlefield in a heartbeat and confirmed it: the two of you were being boxed in.

“Dammit,” you hissed, shifting your stance.

Another revenant lunged for Tomas’ blind spot.

You didn’t even think—you dissolved into shadow, your physical form flickering out and reappearing behind him like a snapped ribbon of darkness. Your blade drove upward through its jaw and out the skull, dropping it instantly. A second form surged toward Tomas, but your shadow lashed out on instinct, impaling it with a spear of darkness before it could touch him.

Tomas exhaled sharply, backing up until he was shoulder-to-shoulder with you.

The growls around you multiplied. The circle was tightening.

“This is bad, Smoke,” you called out, your voice low, strained, undeniably worried.

He didn’t argue. Couldn’t.

Because the two of you were surrounded—and the Netherrealm was hungry.

You both held your ground as long as you could—cutting down revenants, dodging claws, weaving between hellfire and bone. But it was becoming painfully clear with every passing second that the numbers weren’t thinning anymore.

They were growing.

Fast.

Quan Chi had definitely sensed you. And now he wanted you erased before you could crawl back to Earthrealm with even a whisper of what you’d learned.

Your breathing was sharp behind your mask, Tomas’ harsher. Cuts burned along your arms, sweat mixing with streaks of blood—some yours, some not. Your fingers were starting to go numb from how many times you’d swung your blades. Every movement was getting a fraction slower.

You both finally carved through enough bodies to give yourselves a few feet of space—an opening, a moment, the slightest break in the suffocating chaos.

Not safety.

Just enough room to try something desperate.

“Liu Kang—” you gasped out, forcing power into your voice, calling for the Fire God. “We need—”

The sentence never finished.

A razor-sharp claw tore across your abdomen, ripping through armor and flesh as if it were tissue paper. The impact knocked the air out of your lungs—you screamed, stumbling back, hand flying to your stomach as hot blood gushed between your fingers. Your knees buckled.

You choked, coughing violently—and blood spilled past your lips, staining your mask.

Tomas’ head whipped toward you instantly, terror flashing in his eyes.

“Y/N!” he shouted, voice cracking as he lunged toward you.

He caught you just before you hit the ground, pulling you to his chest, smoke curling wildly around him in panic. His blade came up in the same motion, striking down the demon that wounded you with a furious precision you’d never seen from him before.

But more were coming.

And you were bleeding out fast.

Tomas’s panic cracked through the battlefield like a thunderclap.

“Fuck!” he shouted, voice raw, hands shaking as he pressed desperately against the gaping wound in your abdomen. Blood spilled through his fingers in hot waves. “Hold on, laska—baby, stay with me—just stay with me—”

Another revenant lunged.

Tomas had no choice. He tore his hands away from your stomach—your blood soaking through his gloves—and spun, slicing the creature in half with a choked roar. The moment it dropped, he was scrambling back to you, slipping on the bodies, breath shuddering.

He cupped your cheek with a trembling hand.

“Y/N—keep your eyes open—please—”

You tried. Gods, you tried.

Then more shadows stirred. More claws. More teeth. Coming straight for you.

Tomas’s face twisted in terror.

He screamed your last lifeline.

“LIU KANG!!”

For a heartbeat, nothing moved.

Then the world ripped open.

A golden portal burst into existence with a thunderous crack, flames spiraling outward in a blistering shockwave. Through it stepped Liu Kang—glowing, furious, divine. His eyes swept the battlefield—

Then they landed on you.

And the fire inside him changed shape.

“Y/N…” he breathed, the closest thing to fear a god could have flickering in his eyes.

Tomas staggered back as Liu Kang raised a hand—

And unleashed hell.

A tidal wave of celestial flame tore across the ground, evaporating revenants on contact, their shrieks cut short as their bodies turned to ash mid-lunge. The ground shook. Air ignited. Darkness peeled away from the force of him.

Tomas dropped to his knees beside your limp form.

“Baby, stay with me—please—don’t leave me—” he begged, voice breaking, hands hovering helplessly above your wound, afraid to touch you and afraid not to.

Liu Kang was already kneeling beside you, every movement precise and sharp with urgency. His warm hand pressed over your stomach, divine heat cauterizing the bleeding in a controlled glow of gold.

“We cannot remain here.” His voice was steady, but strained. “Her life is slipping. We must return now.”

He slid his arm beneath your legs and back in one smooth motion, lifting you as though you weighed nothing. Your head lolled against his shoulder, breath shallow and fading.

Your fingers twitched—

Tomas grabbed them instantly.

“Y/N… laska… I’m right here—don’t close your eyes—” he pleaded, clutching your hand like it anchored him to reality.

The revenants’ screeches echoed behind you as the last portal opened.

Liu Kang stepped through with you in his arms, Tomas trailing beside him, still clinging to your hand, panic carved into every line of his face.

The portal snapped shut.

And the battlefield’s silence only made the terror sharper.

The temple didn’t just fall into chaos—

It detonated.

Shouting erupted. Boots thundered across the stone floors. Someone screamed for a medic. Someone else yelled for stretchers. The air turned sharp with fear, thick enough to choke on.

And in the center of it all stood Liu Kang, face carved from solemn firelight, cradling your limp, blood-drenched body like you weighed nothing.

Your mask was ripped.

Your clothes were shredded.

Your blood dripped to the floor in steady, horrible patters.

Tomas stumbled after him, covered in cuts and shaking violently, his breathing ragged.

Bi-Han arrived in the chaos like a storm given flesh.

The second he saw you—

His heart stopped.

His body locked up.

And every drop of blood in his veins turned to ice.

It happened so fast that half the room felt the temperature plummet.

His voice erupted like an avalanche.

“CLEAR THE HALL! MOVE! NOW!”

People scrambled—terrified—because the Grandmaster wasn’t just furious.

He was afraid.

The kind of fear that makes a man dangerous.

He strode forward with murder in his eyes, but when he looked at you—really looked—his expression twisted in a way no one had ever seen.

A silent, inward collapse.

“Put her down.”

It wasn’t a request.

Liu Kang gently laid you onto a nearby table, and the moment your body hit the surface, Bi-Han was already there. His hands hovered above your stomach where blood poured in thick rivulets.

Too much.

Far too much.

“Bi-Han—” Tomas choked out.

“Silence.”

It wasn’t cruel.

It was breaking.

Bi-Han pressed his hand over your wound, breath shuddering. Frost exploded beneath his palm, spreading across your abdomen in a controlled bloom, sealing the torn flesh in a thick, stabilizing layer of ice.

The bleeding slowed instantly.

But your pulse—

Thin.

Weak.

Barely there.

Bi-Han’s entire body trembled once.

Just once.

“Shadow,” he whispered—raw, shaking—“stay with me.”

Your head lolled, lips parted, no sound leaving you.

Tomas staggered forward, panic ripping out of him.

“She—she was fine, Bi-Han! I swear she was fine! We were almost out and then—then that revenant—she didn’t see it—there was so much blood—”

Bi-Han snapped.

His head whipped toward him, eyes glowing like glaciers in a storm.

“You should have protected her!”

The words tore out of him before he could stop them.

Too sharp.

Too painful.

Tomas flinched like he’d been struck.

And Bi-Han realized—too late—that the boy was shaking, his own hands soaked in your blood, his own body cut up, bruised, exhausted.

He closed his eyes, inhaled shakily, and forced out:

“You brought her back alive.”

A beat.

“That is what matters.”

Tomas’s breath hitched—relief, guilt, pain—and he looked away, wiping at his face with a trembling hand.

Liu Kang stepped forward, voice grave but steady.

“She needs medical attention beyond freezing the wound. We must move her.”

Bi-Han nodded once—short, brutal—before scooping you up in his arms. The controlled frost kept your wound sealed, but the sight of you limp against him nearly shattered his composure.

As he carried you, he whispered low enough only you could hear:

“You promised… you promised you would return to me safely.”

His voice cracked.

No one commented.

Not Tomas, who walked beside him like a shadow.

Not Liu Kang, who opened every door ahead with a sweep of his hand.

Not the terrified Lin Kuei rushing to clear the halls.

They all felt it.

The temperature kept dropping.

Frost crawled across the walls.

And Bi-Han’s rage, fear, and desperation pulsed like a living storm.

By the time they reached the clinic, the medics were waiting—pale, trembling—and the Grandmaster reluctantly laid you down for them.