Mortal Kombat: The Movie

by Martin Delrio

  “Have you made your decision, young Sonya?” he asked. A pair of monks standing beside him, scrolls ready in their hands. “You must fight me now, or yield Earth to the emperor.”

  “I won’t fight you, Shang Tsung!” she said. “I’m not playing into your game, whatever it is.”

  “There is no one else,” Shang replied, his voice low and reasonable. “If you don’t fight, the Realm of Earth will forfeit the tournament, and its portals will open to our great emperor.”

  “I do not yield Earth – it’s not mine to give,” Sonya said. “But nevertheless, I will not fight.”

  A gong rang. Double doors opened in the walls of the arena room. Two long lines of black-hooded monks paced in, silent as always. They lined the circular walls, facing inward toward the captive woman and her tormentor.

  “So be it,” Shang said. “Prepare then for my triumphant entry into the emperor’s newest realm.”

  “My friends–” Sonya said.

  “Are dead,” Shang replied. “Shall I tell you how Johnny died, screaming in pain, and how Liu perished a prisoner in the emperor’s dungeons? Save yourself a great deal of trouble. Give me willingly what you must grant me regardless.”

  “You’re bluffing. You could never capture Liu and Johnny! My friends are coming!”

  Shang ran his finger along the edge of Sonya’s jaw. She jerked her head away.

  “Hoping against hope is such an endearing, human trait,” Shang said, turning and pacing away from her. “I’m touched. Really. This is your last chance. Fight me in Mortal Kombat.”

  “Go to hell!”

  “Take her away,” Shang commanded the monks. “And prepare her for her wedding. The emperor will be overjoyed. Victory at no cost. Flawless victory.”

  “My friends will come,” Sonya said, as three monks approached her. Two of them unhooked Sonya’s arms from the pillar.

  “My friends will come!” Sonya seemed to be trying to convince herself. “My friends will come!”

  The third monk stepped forward toward the sorcerer and threw back his hood.

  “Your friends are here already,” said Johnny Cage.

  “Right on cue,” Shang Tsung said, unperturbed. “So much like an actor. Are you challenging me now?”

  The second monk threw back his hood in turn.

  “No, demon,” Liu Kang said. “I challenge you.”

  Shang started in amazement, but mastered himself again in a moment. The sorcerer held up his hands, sweeping them toward the two fighters who had appeared, dressed as monks, in the center of the room.

  “Seize them!” Shang cried.

  The first monk who stood beside Sonya threw back her hood. It was Princess Kitana.

  “Stay where you are!” the princess commanded the remaining monks. She turned to face Shang Tsung. “Would you dare interfere with the tournament? Betray your emperor?”

  She took a step toward the demon, shielding Sonya behind her. The other black-hooded monks who lined the edges of the room began to close in.

  “Even you must know that Mortal Kombat cannot be won by treachery!” Kitana said to Shang Tsung. “Should you refuse a proper challenge, you will pay a heavy penalty. And the emperor will not thank you if you lose for all time the keys to the Realm of Earth! You know, and the emperor knows, that I speak the truth.”

  Liu Kang stepped forward and threw off the monk’s robe which he wore. He pointed his finger at Shang Tsung.

  “I am Liu Kang, descendant of Kung Lao!” he cried. “I challenge you to Mortal Kombat! Do you accept or will you yield?”

  For a long moment Shang stood looking at Liu’s outstretched arm.

  “Remember the penalty for refusing a challenge, sorcerer,” Liu said, and the monks in the chamber stirred uneasily. Shang Tsung closed his eyes.

  “I accept,” he said at last.

  Without waiting for another word, the demon sorcerer raised his hands. The doors of the arena chamber flew open. A wind howled through the room, making the torches bob and flare. Liu’s hair whipped about his face. A sound began, faint at first, then rising, louder and louder, ever more painful to the ears.

  The monks stepped back from the center of the dragon-head circle. Sonya, Johnny, and Kitana stepped back with them. Liu and Shang stood alone in the center of the room, facing each other. The screaming discord of a thousand voices, all in torment, made the stones of the floor vibrate. The noise whirled around them in a deafening crescendo. “The source of all Shang Tsung’s power,” Kitana said. “The sound you hear is the souls of a thousand dead warriors crying out in anguish.”

  Liu took a defensive stance and began to advance toward Shang.

  Liu attacked first, a right punch followed by a right front kick. Shang blocked, his reflexes rapid, his technique excellent. Liu punched again, then spun a reaping kick toward the demon’s head. Shang blocked, but the force of the blow was so great that it smashed through the defense, rocking the sorcerer back, forcing him to take a step to maintain his balance. Shang kicked, a beautiful flying leap, but Liu was faster, a cross-arm block redirecting the force of the blow and breaking Shang’s rhythm.

  “The blood of Kung Lao flows in me, and the battle-fury of my ancestors is hot in my veins,” Liu said, advancing a step. “See me and see your doom, accursed demon!”

  He took another step and poised to make the final assault.

  But as Liu came within range, Shang jumped up, levitating, flying across the arena to land on the far side, facing Liu.

  Liu turned toward the sorcerer and again began to advance.

  “You can’t run,” Liu said, his voice calm. “Only one of us can leave this room, and only when the fight is done. Your magic is useless against me.”

  “You fool,” Shang said scornfully. “I have within me an army of slave souls to fight you. I don’t need to run.”

  The demon swept down with his arm. Instantly six warriors rose from the stones of the mandala’s floor. They were gaunt-checked and hollow-eyed, but they moved with limber grace. They encircled Liu and began to move in toward him. The drum beat, and the supernatural howling of the enslaved souls grew louder.

  “Face your enemy!” Kitana shouted.

  Liu reacted quickly. He kicked out toward the warrior closest to his right hand. That man retreated. But Liu’s move was only a feint, a false attack designed to distract attention from the real assault. Liu leapt forward, tumbling in midair to land behind the warrior directly ahead of him. He grabbed that one’s left arm and pulled it up and out. Then he smashed down with the edge of his hand on the man’s shoulder.

  A second warrior launched a flying kick at Liu’s back. Sensing rather than seeing the attack, Liu ducked and rolled. The kick connected with the warrior Liu had first struck.

  After that, the fight grew faster and more difficult to follow. Even Johnny, who had an appreciation for the finest martial arts fighting, was hard-pressed to keep up with the action. No matter how rapidly the phantom warriors attacked, Liu blocked and turned their attacks against them.

  The sounds of terrific blows and feet slapping the stone pavement were the only noises in the room, but even those were all but drowned out by the screaming of Shang’s army of enslaved souls.

  Liu punched again and again, driving the ghostly fighters before him. His hands and feet were a blur of motion. Sweat poured from his body so that his black hair hung wetly from his head, but he did not tire. With each blow he delivered he seemed to grow stronger. His form and technique were flawless.

  Even as he fought the ghostly warriors, Liu kept his main goal in mind. He was intent on reaching Shang Tsung. The phantoms blocked him, ringing him in, but Liu slipped by them all. Every step brought him nearer to the demon sorcerer.

  Then one of the conjured warriors fell to the ground and lay still. His body began to dissolve into mist. A second fell, then a third. Liu was conquering the undead spirits Shang had sent against him.

  At last Liu had defeated them all. The howling of the ens
laved souls grew mute, as if they too waited to see the outcome of the match between the sorcerer and the descendant of Kung Lao. Liu stepped forward and addressed Shang Tsung.

  “Send your slave warriors, sorcerer!” Liu shouted. “Send more! Send them all! Your conjurer’s tricks have no power over me.”

  “Liu Kang,” Shang said, his voice heavy with portent, “I can see into your soul. You will die!”

  “Face yourself,” Kitana whispered, seemingly to herself.

  To Johnny’s surprise, Liu put his hands on his hips and began to laugh.

  “Why, so I will!” Liu shouted. “And so will you, and so will every man. What of it? Perhaps you can look into my soul, but that doesn’t mean that you own it!”

  Shang took a step backward and turned away from Liu.

  “Look at me!” Liu shouted. “I’m not running from myself any longer. I’m not afraid of my destiny.”

  He walked toward the sorcerer. The spectral voices chanted low, murmuring in protest.

  “Face your worst fear,” Kitana said.

  Liu came up to where Shang stood, facing away across the circle. He put out his hand and placed it on Shang’s shoulder, spinning him around.

  “Face me, sorcerer!” Liu shouted. But even has he shouted, he started back amazed.

  It wasn’t Shang Tsung, but Chan, Liu’s brother, who stood there, smiled lovingly back at Liu.

  “No,” Liu gasped, stepping back. “It’s not really you.”

  “Rayden sent me,” Chan said. “To help you.” He took a step toward Liu, holding out his hand.

  “You’re not Chan,” Liu whispered.

  The floor around the mandala, between the wall where Sonya, Johnny, and Kitana stood began to sink. As it lowered, long spikes were revealed, lancing upward. Liu and Chan stood together on a small stone island, surrounded by a sea of spikes. Liu was separated from his friends.

  “Remember when our parents died?” Chan said, smiling, still holding out his hand. “You promised to always take care of me.”

  Liu backed away from his brother, tears starting in his eyes. “I remember,” he whispered.

  “Now it is my turn to take care of you, brother…”

  Liu had backed up more than halfway across the stone circle. He was drawing nearer to the spikes. Chan approached while Liu continued to back away.

  “Liu… come with me,” Chan whispered with a smile. They were only feet away from the spikes now. “I forgive you for letting me die.”

  “No,” Liu whispered. Then he almost shouted the word. “No! It wasn’t me who killed you!”

  “Brother?” Chan asked, puzzled.

  “Chan chose his own path. Every man is responsible for his own destiny! And Shang Tsung killed my brother!”

  Abruptly Chan’s appearance changed. No longer did Chan seem to stand before Liu. Now it was Shang Tsung. He seemed to glow with an inward fire.

  “You’re mine!” Shang said. He reached out his hand. Long, talon-like fingers grew from the tips of his fingers. He was reaching for Liu’s heart. He was reaching for Liu’s soul.

  They were too close together, and Liu was out of position. The human fighter could never block in time.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The sorcerer’s hand came up fast, reaching for Liu’s heart. But faster still, Liu Kang’s hand shot forward, grasping Shang’s wrist. The demon’s talons nicked Liu’s skin, but they could go no farther. Liu held him in a grip of iron.

  The chorus of the damned howled, swirling around the room. The anguished cries of the captive souls, enslaved by Shang’s arts, were deafening in Liu’s ears.

  But even has he listened, the sound changed. Words came amid the shrieks. “Free us!” came the words. “Free us! Set us free!”

  The sound whirled about them, growing softer, no longer answering to Shang’s unspoken commands.

  Shang reached down, grasping his own hand, and twisted it up and away from Liu’s grip. The demon stepped back, taking a balanced position. Liu also took a fighting stance, but his rear foot was along the edge of the circle. Inches behind him the pit gaped open, spikes, hard and sharp, lifting from its floor.

  The two fighters looked deep into one another’s eyes. Flames burned within Shang’s, while Liu’s were hard and glittering with determination.

  The voices swirled, crying, “Free us!”

  “You hear them, sorcerer,” Liu said. “You hear your slaves. You’re losing your power over them!”

  “They are mine to command still,” Shang said. “You know nothing of my arts. My captive spirits will destroy you, and then you will join them in eternal torment within my power.”

  “They have risen up against you, Shang!” Liu said. “You can’t command them now! Free them!”

  “No!” Shang said. “They are mine forever!”

  He made the sweeping gesture that had called up phantom warriors to his aid earlier. This time nothing happened.

  “Free us! Free us!” the voices cried.

  Shang stepped back, curling into himself, clamping his hands over his ears.

  “Mine!” he whispered.

  “All those souls and you still don’t have one of your own,” Liu said. “I pity you, sorcerer.”

  Shang looked sharply up.

  “Pity is for the weak!” he snapped.

  “Your slaves have failed you, demon. Your dark magic is worthless. You’ve lost, Shang Tsung. Surrender. It’s over.”

  “No!” Shang shouted.

  Shang’s features seemed to age visibly. His masterful gaze dimmed to dull confusion. But he did not hesitate. He snapped forward out of his crouch with a flying sidekick aimed at Liu’s head. Liu ducked and rolled beneath the kick. Shang sailed above him, to land on the very edge of the arena.

  He turned, spinning on the balls of his feet. But even as he did so, he overbalanced, toppling backward into the pit. He put out a foot to stop his fall, but no solid stone was there.

  “Shadow warriors! I call on you!” Shang cried, and then he was gone, falling down, far down, to the spiked floor beneath. Liu turned his eyes away.

  “Flawless victory,” Liu whispered. A waiting monk wrote down the words on his scroll.

  With a sliding sound, stones moved in from the sides to cap the pit. Sonya, Kitana, and Johnny raced forward to take Liu in their arms.

  The chorus of enslaved souls stilled for a moment, then burst forth again, crying in a babble of languages, “Free! Free! Free!”

  The stone floor shook, and a pillar of light burst forth, breaking the rocks. Burning like a laser, the white beam shot straight up, through the ceiling of the chamber, breaking the stone roof apart and opening the interior of the Black Tower for the first time to the light of day.

  The thick clouds of Outworld parted, revealing blue sky above, and a bright sun beating down.

  “Free! Free! Free!” the chorus of voices sang. The pillar of light shot up hard and straight, like a column carved from purest marble, too dazzling to look upon. Sonya imagined that she could see armies of warriors, their faces transformed by joy, streaming up in the light, heading toward the open sky.

  The sound of the voices was no longer a discord, but a vast harmony of joy and tranquility.

  Liu turned away, dazzled by the beam. Another figure stood there. Once more he faced his brother, Chan.

  “Brother. It’s really you,” Liu said in wonder and amazement.

  “I knew you’d come,” Chan replied simply. He opened his arms and embraced Liu.

  “I should never have left you,” Liu said, returning the embrace.

  Chan held Liu back at arm’s length and shook his head.

  “No force on earth could have prevented my death,” Chan said. “It was fated thus in my destiny. But you have given me back my soul. You fulfilled your oath. Now I can continue my journey.”

  “We should have been together,” Liu said. Remorse mingled with the joy he felt.

  “One day we will be reunited,” Chan promised. “Unt
il then, remember, my spirit is always with you. Go in peace, my brother. Many more great adventures await you.”

  Chan grew brighter and brighter, a dazzling shape, until he became too bright a light to look upon. Then his spirit elongated into a single beam and joined the pillar of light streaming upward from beneath the foundations of the Black Tower.

  A tremor ran through the stones beneath the companions’ feet. The castle was crumbling around them. The walls fell into rubble as a fresh wind blew the ashes away. Here and there little sprigs of green appeared amid the cracked and broken rock. Only the fighting ring, with its dragon-head mosaic floor, was clear of rubble.

  The dismal city was spread before them, the light of the morning sun sparkling down on it for the first time in eons. Here and there, small dark-clad figures crawled from out of the cracks to look in wonder at the undreamed-of blue of the sky.

  Johnny looked down in wonder himself. Sonya was holding his hand.

  Liu turned to his companions. “Let’s go home,” he said.

  “A practical question,” Johnny said. “How do we go about doing that?”

  “I can take you,” Princess Kitana said. “I have the power.”

  The blue sky spun around them, and the wind sang in their ears. In a moment the companions were standing again beneath a blue sky, with a stone paving beneath a blue sky, with a stone paving beneath their feet, but they were no longer in Outworld. They stood on the plaza in front of the Temple of the Order of Light. A procession of red-robed monks, led by Grandfather, was starting across from the great gate of the temple toward them. A Special Forces major stood by Grandfather, an M16 in his hands.

  “Well, let’s go,” Johnny said. Together they began to walk toward the temple.

  “When will I see you again?” Liu asked Kitana beside him.

  “I thought you’d never ask,” Kitana replied. She put her arm through Liu’s. “Will you return with me to Outworld, to try to put to rights the damage the emperor did?”