Mortal Kombat: The Movie

by Martin Delrio

  Then Goro struck with his upper arms, driving the huge fists into Art’s head again and again. Art sagged in Goro’s grip. The giant paused. He turned toward Shang Tsung and looked up expectantly.

  On the balcony, the demon sorcerer had risen to his feet. He looked at Goro standing beneath him and at Art Lean hanging like a rag doll in the giant’s arms.

  Shang smiled and pointed his fan at Goro.

  “Finish him!” he said.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “Finish him!” Shang Tsung commanded.

  Goro looked up at the sorcerer, standing on the balcony of the Great Hall. The entire room was silent. Even the drumbeats had stilled.

  Goro looked down at the still form clutched in his lower arms. “You fought well,” he said, almost sadly.

  With increasing speed and force, he pummeled Art Lean’s helpless body again and again with his upper fists. Flecks of blood dotted Goro’s torso. At last he stopped, and knelt down on one knee before the demon sorcerer.

  Raising Art’s body, Goro bent his head and closed his eyes.

  A sound started in the room, low at first, then growing rapidly louder, a swirling, screaming noise, like thousands of creatures crying out in horror and pain. The torches in the Great Hall flickered and bent as a wind swept through. Tiny swirls of dust danced on the floor.

  Something was rising from Art Lean’s body. A ghostly, ethereal form, it resembled Art himself. The transparent shape drifted slowly upward.

  The dissonant chorus grew louder, the moaning almost too much to bear. Some of the fighters from Earth covered their ears to shut out the sound. The very stones of the Great Hall seemed to vibrate.

  Shang Tsung reached out a hand toward Art Lean’s spirit as it rose from his battered body.

  “Your soul is mine!” Shang cried, his voice rising even louder than the chorus of the damned.

  The spirit twisted as with a wind, and began to drift toward Shang. It seemed to realize what was happening and clawed at the air, but to no avail. The sound was deafening now.

  Art’s spirit was being sucked toward Shang Tsung’s face. A corner of the drifting vapor touched the demon sorcerer, and then it was gone, pulled inside Shang’s eye. Nothing remained. The hellish chorus grew fainter, the wind died. The torches again burned clear.

  The Great Hall was silent, as if everyone were holding his breath. Shang sat back into his seat of honor.

  “Ah,” Shang said at last, breaking the silence. His voice was full of satisfaction. “Flawless victory.”

  The monk wrote it down on his scroll.

  Goro put down Art Lean’s He picked up his cape and put it on with a swirling motion. Then the champion of Outworld stalked from the Great Hall, as the crowd of human fighters parted silently before him.

  Johnny stepped forward toward Art Lean’s silent form. Sonya Blade and Liu Kang came with him. Above, in the balcony, Shang Tsung had vanished.

  “Art,” Johnny began in a hoarse whisper.

  Sonya knelt beside Art’s body. She checked for a pulse and breathing.

  “Nothing,” she said. “I can’t do anything for him. Goro broke every bone in his body.

  You’re seeing what Shang Tsung intends for all of us,” Liu said. “We must treat our friend now as we ourselves would wish to be treated.”

  A monk approached, a bundle of white cloth in his hands. Johnny took it and with Liu and Sonya’s help wrapped Art’s body in the soft fabric. Blood tinged the white cloth as they wound it around the defeated fighter.

  The other fighters from the Realm of Earth gathered around. Together they lifted Art’s body to their shoulders and paced from the Great Hall, the pallbearers in front, the rest carrying torches and following behind. A single drumbeat marked the cadence. They sought the flower garden where the statues of the champions of Mortal Kombat stood.

  “There,” Johnny said, pointing. A new statue had been erected in the garden: Art Lean, laughing and full of life, carved in cold stone, standing on a pedestal. Beneath it, an empty grave yawned open.

  Liu saw Rayden, coolie hat on his head, standing a little way apart from the funeral procession. The young fighter left his friends to make his way over to him.

  “You could have stopped that,” Liu said, his voice fierce.

  “I told you,” Rayden replied, “I cannot interfere.”

  “That’s why I left the temple!” Liu exploded, suddenly angry. All of the emotion he had kept hidden since his brother died boiled to the surface. “All this mumbo jumbo about the power of reason and light. But where are you when we need you? Where is that power?”

  Liu pointed at the knot of people lowering Art Lean into his grave. “That’s where reason and light get you!”

  “The power is in you,” Rayden said, still calm. “If the gods decide men’s destiny, then there is no free will. No choice. In Outworld, the emperor makes every decision. You have only to obey, Is that what you want?”

  He turned to go. Liu caught Rayden by the shoulder, turning him, and pointing again to the funeral procession.

  “What choice did he have?” Liu demanded.

  “He chose to fight and die a free man!” Rayden replied, his voice just as fierce as Liu’s had been. The God of Lightning’s eyes were blazing with cold blue fire. “If Outworld wins this tournament, no mortal man will ever have that choice again!”

  “How can I defeat a… a sorcerer like Shang Tsung?” Liu asked. “I’m not my ancestor. You were right. I’m not ready!”

  “The true warrior learns from his own experience,” Rayden said. “You have carved your own path to this place and this moment! Everything you need is within you now, Liu Kang. Unlock that power and you will win.”

  “Win!” Liu exclaimed. “There is no winning here! Everything is stacked against us. Shang controls the contest. We can’t win.”

  “And I say you can,” Rayden replied. “You must.”

  Liu Kang shook his head and walked off into the dark, amid the silence beneath the trees, amid the fragrant flowers.

  He sat with his back to a statue, looking out over the cliff, toward the stars so far away. The horizon was clear, the ocean far below unruffled.

  “Now I know what this place is,” he said. “It’s a graveyard. The graveyard of all of humanity’s hopes. Each statue marks another defeat in Mortal Kombat.”

  He sat cross-legged on the grass and, for the first time in years, began to meditate as he had been taught.

  Liu meditated, and behind his closed eyes he saw a vision. Dawn was coming, the sun rising in splendor across the bay. The first rays turned the roof of the pagoda, the temple of Rayden, to golden fire.

  The air was warm yet clear. Liu saw Chan, his brother, sweeping the flagstone courtyard.

  Another man was present. Liu recognized him. Shang Tsung, the sorcerer.

  “Chan! Watch out!” Liu shouted, but Chan didn’t hear him.

  “Chan? Are you Chan?” the stranger said.

  “Yes,” Chan replied. “That is me.”

  “You think that you are to fight to defend the Earth,” the stranger said. “That is not to be.”

  “Perhaps you are mistaken, honored one,” Chan said.

  “I never make mistakes in that regard.” The man dropped into a fighting stance, his feet widely spaced, his hands floating at waist level before him.

  “Run away!” Liu cried out. “You can’t fight him!”

  But he was unable to move, unable to intervene. Neither Chan nor Shang seemed to notice his presence.

  “So this is the way it is to be,” Chan said, bowing before taking his own stance.

  “Regrettably, yes,” the demon replied. “Every man chooses his own path. You chose the wrong one.”

  Chan remained in his defensive position. He seemed unwilling to strike first. Shang, however, had no such compunctions. He struck at Chan, kicking high to the side of his face. When Chan moved to block the kick, Shang countered the block with almost contemptuous ease, skipping from foo
t to foot, changing directions as he attacked from both sides.

  Chan was outclassed. Shang had greater skill, greater speed, greater determination. Liu’s brother held up his hands in surrender, but the sorcerer ignored the gesture. Instead, he struck Chan again and again.

  Liu could hear the chorus of the damned begin to sound, the swirling discord of the souls Shang Tsung had trapped. Chan staggered and fell. Shang stood above him, one hand reaching down toward the fallen man.

  Misty and dark, the spirit emerged from Chan’s body. Shang grasped the soul, pulling it in. The soul struggled, but nothing could save it now. The howling of spirits in pain grew louder.

  Only then, as it was being absorbed into Shang’s eye, did Chan’s spirit look up. And it saw Liu watching in his meditation.

  “Liu!” Chan screamed. Then he was gone, sucked into Shang Tsung to become one of his slaves.

  Shang turned to where Liu stood watching, and reached out one taloned hand.

  “You too are mine,” the demon said.

  Liu’s eyes snapped open. He was sitting at the top of the cliff overlooking the ocean. Far away the sun was rising, huge and red, out of the morning mist.

  Sonya Blade was walking out in the early morning light, lost in thought. Ahead, in the fog of daybreak, she spied a lone figure performing an intricate and impressive kata in the mist – a predetermined series of exercised practiced to develop smooth, fluid movement. The man was dressed in all black, and he was performing his kata with a long chain. The chain whirled around him, whistling in intricate patterns around his body.

  Sonya stood for a moment, watching the man in awe as the chain spun around him. His technique was flawless. He struck again and again, in all directions, as if enemies surrounded him. His blocks turned easily into attacks, then again into blocks. Kicks and punches mingled with the chain’s strikes as the kata increased in speed. It was beautiful. Sonya was unwilling to distract the master martial artist by speaking.

  The sun rose higher, burning the mist away. The man was no longer a mere silhouette in the fog. Sonya looked more closely, unable to believe her eyes.

  “Johnny?” Sonya said.

  Johnny Cage stood on the edge of the cliff, chain in hand, working through the moves of his kata. Sweat glistened on his forehead, but his expression was calm and relaxed. Faster and faster he moved, until at last he froze in a perfect defensive stance, chain stretched from hand to hand above his head.

  He held the pose for a moment, then drew his feet together and bowed to an imaginary opponent. Only then did he seem to notice Sonya standing there watching him. His face broke into the old, annoying grin.

  “Go ahead, say it,” Johnny told her. “You’re impressed.”

  Sonya looked at him. He was very handsome, and his form in the kata had been excellent. The corners of her mouth began to turn up.

  “Aha! Is that a smile?”

  All at once Sonya was reminded why she thought Johnny was a pig.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Rayden was right,” Johnny said. “I always charge into things without thinking first. So I was thinking. And this time I’m working on a strategy.”

  “A strategy?” Sonya said, her tone disbelieving.

  “That’s right,” Johnny said. “Because otherwise, Goro will kill us off, one by one.” He started a routine of stretching, to keep his muscles from kinking up after his workout.

  With slowly dawning horror, Sonya realized what Johnny was saying. “So you’re going to stop that, all by yourself?” she exclaimed. “You’re going to protect us from the big bad monster, is that it? Just like in your movies?”

  “I’m going to challenge Goro,” Johnny said. “Shang Tsung won’t be expecting that. I figure he–”

  “You can’t do that!” Sonya said. “It’s not how the tournament works!”

  “How would you know how the tournament works?” Johnny shouted. “Yesterday you knew even less about it than I did! Do you want to die? Do you want everyone to die? Take the whole earth with you? I can beat him!”

  “You can beat him!” Sonya exploded. “You can beat him! You are the most egotistical, the most self-deluded, the stupidest person I’ve ever met!”

  “What? Because I don’t want to see anyone else bludgeoned to death for Shang Tsung’s entertainment?”

  “Don’t you dare do this to protect me, Johnny Cage!”

  “You! You think I’m talking about you! And you call me egotistical?” Johnny spun around and walked away. A moment later he turned back. Speaking more quietly now, he said, “Wait a minute. Are you worried about me?”

  “Oh! Listen to him! You’re being absurd.”

  “You are worried.”

  “I am not!”

  “You are. You like me,” Johnny said.

  “You wish!” Sonya said. It was her turn to walk away. Johnny followed her with his eyes until she was out of sight among the statues and trees of the garden.

  He smiled to himself. “The girl’s in love,” he said.

  Johnny let the chain hang from his hand again, bowed to his imaginary opponent, and once more launched into his kata.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  When Sonya arrived at the Great Hall the rings were filled with fighters, both human and Outworld. The day’s bouts had already commenced. Black-cowled monks wrote the results on their scrolls as each fight ended. From the looks of those who were being helped or carried off the field, the fighters of Earth were taking the worst of it.

  She spotted Liu Kang up ahead. He stood watching a duel between a man who was wielding a pair of sais against an Outworlder with long blond hair and a short beard who was standing bare-handed. She walked up beside Liu and paused to watch the match. It didn’t last long after she arrived – the Outworlder drew in a breath and shouted. Or, in any case, his mouth moved as if he were shouting, but Sonya couldn’t hear a sound. The sai man, however, apparently could hear. He dropped his metal weapons and clapped his hands to his ears. Again the Outworlder shouted. Sonya felt a slight tremor in the air. The Outworlder’s opponent fell backwards as if hit by a heavy blow. He crumpled on the spot and lay still.

  The watching monk wrote down the results and moved on to another bout. Liu turned to Sonya.

  “Good morning,” he said. His face appeared strained.

  “How are we doing?” Sonya asked. Far away, a drum started beating, the sound carrying above the noise of hand-to-hand combat.

  “We’re getting the crap beat out of us,” Liu replied.

  “That good, eh?”

  Liu looked past Sonya’s shoulder. She saw his posture stiffen. She turned to see Shang Tsung approaching, escorted by a cadre of guards and monks. Shang stopped a dozen feet from Sonya and bowed. Neither Sonya nor Liu returned the gesture of respect. Shang let the matter pass, although his eyes flashed. After a moment he spoke, addressing Sonya directly.

  “I have a present for you,” Shang said. His dark, burning eyes seemed to bore in on the Special Forces lieutenant.

  Sonya looked at him coldly. “I can’t imagine you having anything that I could possibly want.”

  “That’s not true,” Shang replied, measuring his words and watching her closely. “There is one thing you want very much.”

  “And what do you think that might be?” Sonya asked. Her voice was quiet but dangerous.

  “Observe,” Shang said. He turned, gesturing into the ring behind them. A new fighter had entered the ring.

  “Your next opponent,” Shang said. “Tell me, Lieutenant Blade: Are you not pleased?”

  Sonya followed his gesture. Inside the ring, his muscular chest bared, stood Kano. The right side of his face glinted silver in the sun, and his eye glowed red. The crime lord flexed his arms and smirked at her.

  “How ya doin’, babe?” Kano asked. “Did you miss me?”

  “Your next opponent,” Shang said. He smiled. “Does my little gift amuse you?”

  she heard Liu Kang whisper urgently, “Stay
cool, Sonya, stay cool,” and ignored it. Instead, she turned toward Kano.

  “You’re under arrest,” she said.

  Kano laughed. “Why don’t you come and get me?” he replied, taunting her, gesturing her closer. “We could get real friendly in here.”

  Sonya has already moved a step closer to the ring. She felt Liu Kang’s hand on her arm and shook it off. She kept her gaze fixed on the crime lord.

  “We can do this the easy way, Kano, or we can do it the hard way. Your choice.”

  “Let’s make it the hard way,” Kano said. “Come on, what are you afraid of?”

  “Not a thing,” Sonya said. She stepped over the line of small stones which separated the ring from the rest of the field. The center of the ring was filled with soft sand. “Not a single, solitary thing.”

  “That’s the way,” Kano said. “Come to poppa.”

  He reached down into his boot and pulled out a knife. He held it up and turned it back and forth before his eyes, making the steel blade flash in the sunlight. “This baby sure brings back memories,” he said.

  Sonya kept her eyes on Kano, not the knife. If he wanted to blind her with a flash of sunlight, he wasn’t going to succeed. “You used it to stab your mother in the back?”

  “Guess again,” Kano said. “It put a big smile on your partner. From ear to ear.”

  Sonya moved, bringing up her right foot and snapping it forward at Kano’s kneecap. But Kano’s leg wasn’t there. He’d moved it aside, and took the opportunity to deliver his own downward punch to Sonya’s thigh.

  She blocked inward with her forearm, but again Kano had moved, this time putting her into a hip throw which bore her to the sandy floor. She rolled to her feet, knees bent and arms forward, facing him. Kano only laughed, and tossed his knife from his right hand to his left.

  “I’ve studied all your moves, sweetheart,” he said. “You can’t touch me. But I can touch you any time.”

  His left hand flashed out, the blade winking, thrusting at her face.

  “Then study this!”

  She hit the back of his knife hand with the edge of her right hand, at the same time hitting the inside of his wrist with her left. His hand flew open and the knife twirled away. She grasped his wrist and his elbow then, forcing them back and down, in a move to dislocate his shoulder.