by Jeff Rovin
She heard Shang Tsung say, “Take her to the altar of Shao Kahn,” and then the crowd of mysterious beings pressed in so close around her that all she could hear after that was the rustle of their cloaks and limbs and the thudding of her own heart.
But Sonya couldn’t get away. As the vile horde carried her through the palace toward a wide doorway in the back, she was still too weak even to struggle, drained and disoriented by her journey through the red aura that separated the Outworld from the Mother Realm, the barrier that had to be breached to move from one world to the other. By simply casting a spell and passing inside of it, one could cover great distances in either realm in a heartbeat – though the trip itself was as bludgeoning as a fast ride up a long waterfall.
After a quick passage through the cool morning air, which provided a short but welcome respite from the stench of the creatures that held her, Sonya saw that she was being carried into a towering pagoda. Once through its golden doors, she was taken through an archway that was shaped in the outline of what looked like a horned, somewhat human head – the likeness of Shao Kahn, she imagined.
From the corner of her eyes, Sony saw a line of cloaked and hooded beings on either side, all of them holding lanterns. Behind them, barely illuminated by the light, were delicately painted murals, all in red, showing forests of flame and frenzied figures, some of them human, some of them bizarre hybrids – men with reptilian heads, women with the heads of fox and deer, children with bat wings.
And then she saw the bodies of her former traveling companions, Michael Schneider and Jim Woo. They were lying faceup and shirtless on stone slabs. There were ragged holes in their chests, above their hearts; hooded figures were standing beside them, with sticks poked into the openings. And as Sonya watched them remove the sticks and turn to an unfinished mural, she was sickened as she realized the truth: the sticks were brushes and the murals weren’t rendered in red paint. They were drawn in blood.
Sonya had no intention of dying for anyone’s art, and as she neared a crowd of figures gathered around an empty stone slab at the front of the shrine, she began to wriggle and kick with a fresh sense of purpose. But the hands held her too tightly, and she could do nothing but watch as they bore her toward a figure in a red robe.
The creature did not wear a hood, and as she neared and saw its face, she couldn’t help but wonder why not. It was ugly, this bald thing, with pointed ears, slanted white eyes beneath devilish eyebrows, small diagonal slits for nostrils, and a mouth that was filled with long, sharp, widely spaced metal spikes for teeth. The mouth comprised the entire lower half of the creature’s face, and followed the jawline in such a way that the thing appeared to have a perpetual grin. But there was no laughter in that nasty mouth or in the evil slope of the eyes.
The otherwise human figure looked up and raised its arms. As the sleeves of its robe slid back along its thickly muscled arms, Sonya noticed that the creature’s amber flesh was like that of her white-robed captors – though this being had long, thin steel blades that seemed to grow from the back of its forearms. The figure crossed the blades, which touched with a delicate ping, and then he looked at Sonya.
“Bring him forth,” he said in a gurgling voice that sounded like it came from a Walkman she’d once dropped in a pool.
“Yes, Priest Baraka,” said another gurgling voice in a white hood.
Bring who forth? Sonya wondered as there was movement among the lantern holders to the right and she prayed that Liu Kang or one of the others hadn’t been captured.
She didn’t know what to think when she saw what two of the white-hooded figures were carrying between them. It was a cage made of delicately carved bone, with jade hinges on the door and a jade handle. There were brushes tucked in the belts of the figures carrying the cage.
“The master has decreed a sacrifice,” said Baraka, “and we who have come from the Outworld to prepare the way for Shao Kahn in the Mother Realm are honored to comply.”
The cage was held near the foot of the slab, and Sonya saw a beautiful white pigeon inside. Sonya had volunteered to take intensive training in modern and ancient cults when she joined the U.S. Special Forces, and she knew that certain groups of seventeenth-century New England witches and modern-day voodoo priests sacrificed pigeons in their ceremonies. She wondered if the ancient cult of Shao Kahn was the source of these other forms of black arts.
“Bring her to me!” Baraka said.
Momentarily distracted by her reverie, Sonya was startled when she was suddenly thrown onto the slab. She landed hard and had the breath knocked out of her, and was unable to resist as the waves of hands once again pinned her, holding down her arms and pushing down on her waist.
Baraka stepped closer. He looked down at Sonya.
“You are fortunate,” he said. “So few people get to see their own hearts before they die, but my blades work quickly.”
My own heart – she thought. What happened to the bird?
Baraka raised his arms so the swords pointed straight up. “Oh, noble Hamachi,” he burbled as the cage was raised higher, “great and devoted messenger to our master. We make this sacrifice that your likeness may be drawn on the walls of this shrine. In your name, noble bird, do we draw blood.”
Slowly, the priest turned his wrists and pointed the blades toward Sonya’s chest. And then, in a flash, they plunged down.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
The casting of the transport spells was an enormous drain on Shang Tsung, and now he had no energy left for magic… or very much else.
Upon returning to the palace from the fields by Mt. Angilas, he was a little more bent than before, his skin hanging more loosely on his once-powerful frame. As Sonya was carted away, Shang Tsung had walked with halting steps toward his own personal shrine to the deity. He had learned in his long association with Rayden and Kung Lao not to be optimistic, but he believed that after several miscalculations things were finally going to go his way. The enraged Shao Kahn had allowed Reptile to come to this plane, and the bodyguard and Goro had cornered Rayden. Shang Tsung would finally be able to give Shao Kahn good news.
When he’d reached the room, Shang Tsung shuffled through the orange-tinged darkness toward the glow of the brazier within the enchanted circle.
“Ruthay,” he’d said, “tell me. Has Kano found the amulet?”
“He… has!”
More good news! Shang Tsung had thought.
Closing his eyes and projecting what little remained of his soul into the Aura, Shang Tsung saw Kano and used that last, desiccated fragment of spirit to send a bolt of red to bring him to the palace. But the wizard’s soul had run out, and the bolt had dissipated shortly before Kano arrived. And now Shang Tsung lay on the floor of the shrine and awaited Kano’s arrival, praying that the amulet would enable him to finish the job he had started so very, very long ago.
He didn’t know how much time had passed until he heard heavy footfalls in the corridor, then in the shrine, and finally that welcome voice.
“Takin’ a power nap, Shang?”
“Kano,” said the wizard, craning his head around. “You – you made it.”
“Yup,” Kano said. “An’ I got yer necklace. Right here,” he pointed with both index fingers, “around my neck.”
“Good… work,” Shang Tsung said, struggling to reach out his hand. “May I have it, please?”
“Sure thing,” said Kano, kneeling and slipping it off his neck. He held it toward the sorcerer’s hand, then suddenly snatched it back. “Uh… in a minute, I mean. After we do some major renegotiating of my contract.”
“I… don’t understand.”
Kano stood again. “Let me paint a picture. Yer lyin’ there on yer belly without the strength t’blink. If I blew pepper up yer nose, ya’d sneeze and fall apart. Here I am, tight and firm as a new wallet, and holdin’ this amulet that I’d really like to learn how to use. An’ when I do learn, I’m thinkin’ that out of gratitude to the guy who’s gonna teach me – which is
you – I’m gonna give you ten… no, make it fifteen percent of everything I get, money, women, countries, other worlds, you name it.”
Shang Tsung shut his eyes. “You… idiot,” he wheezed. “You don’t know… what you’re doing.”
“Didn’t I just say that, Shang-a-lang? That’s why I need you! We’ll be a team, like Nelson.”
“To use any talisman,” the wizard said, “one must have faith. One must… believe.”
“I do. I believe that I’ll make a great world ruler.” He bent and grabbed Shang Tsung under the arms. “Now, let’s sit you up somewhere, start you talkin’ about the amulet, an’–”
The room was suddenly brilliant with red, and a moment later Shang Tsung was once again lying flat on the floor. Nearly two feet above him, Kano’s feet were kicking wildly.
“You dare touch the master?” Goro snarled, squeezing Kano’s arms tightly before throwing him back-first against a stone wall. “You dare?!”
“A most timely and fortuitous arrival,” Shang Tsung said as Reptile helped him up.
“Timely perhaps,” said the lizardlike Outworlder, “but not fortuitous. We failed, Shang Tsung.”
“Failed… how?”
“Rayden was joined by two others – a member of the White Lotus Society and a creature who could teleport through a black aura.”
“Through the world of the dead?” Shang Tsung asked.
“Yes. Though we were aided by the ninja you sent, Sub-Zero, we were unable to prevail.”
“Where is Sub-Zero now?”
“We do not know,” said Goro as he picked the dazed Kano up by the back of his neck, like a cat, removed the amulet, and dropped him to the floor. “He fled and hid.”
Shang Tsung held on to Reptile’s arm. “He may yet attack the others, but we cannot count on it. They will surely be coming here.”
Goro handed Shang Tsung the amulet. “We have the advantage of knowing the battleground… and there are the souls and Salinas.”
“That is true, Goro. And we have this,” he said, holding the talisman before him and gazing into the milky rainbow set in a shifting pillow of gold. “Go and make ready to defend the palace while I consult with the Lord Master. And Goro – see to it that the body of Sonya Blade is disposed of before they arrive. They may divide to search for her, making it easier to defeat them.”
His energies slightly renewed by the arrival of his aides, even in retreat, Shang Tsung was able to stand and walk at a halting, funereal pace toward the mystic circle.
“Did you hear… Ruthay?”
“I… did!” the demon screeched. “Your victory… and my freedom – oh, sweet freedom! – may be at hand!”
“Not may be,” Shang Tsung smiled as he stepped over the circle and slipped the amulet around his neck. “Are at hand. Rayden and his companions may inadvertently help us, my pet. In just a few minutes, I will use the power of the amulet to draw the souls from the living bodies, send them through the Aura to Shao Kahn – and at long last, the barrier between the realms will be wide enough for him to pass through.”
Shang Tsung’s heart filled with hope and concentrated evil as he stood beside the brazier, invoked the name of the Dark Lord, and waited for fifteen centuries of waiting to come to an end.
And then he heard a crash outside.
“Shang Tsung,” said Ruthay, “they come – they come!”
The wizard did not ask Ruthay to elaborate; there was no need.
Reluctantly leaving the circle, he called for Goro and Reptile, ordered the recovering Kano to accompany him if he ever hoped to get off the island, and made his way from the shrine to the palace gate.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
During her three years of training to become a Special Forces agent, Sonya Blade had been taught, and had mastered, karate, kung fu, and tae kwon do. She was an expert with martial arts weapons such as nunchucks, sais, and katanas, and had mastered all the traditional Western weapons, including the knife, all forms of firearms, the bow and arrow, and explosives, ranging from sophisticated motion detectors attached to C-4s to makeshift hand grenades made with coffee tins, brads, and gunpowder. She had been taught Japanese, German, Russian, and Spanish in addition to the French and Finnish she already knew, and had studied the basics of medicine so she could treat herself or any of her comrades if they were wounded in battle.
But right here and right now, she was on her own. None of those geniuses back at the Special Forces Academy had ever told her what to do if she were about to be sacrificed to a pigeon.
As soon as Baraka raised his blades, Sonya knew she had just moments to act – and she had to do this precisely or she was going to be shish kebabbed without having succeeded in her mission.
When the knives pointed down, Sonya struggled so that the attention of all her captors would be on holding her torso steady for the cut. As they did so, she tensed her thighs, pointed her feet, and as the knives descended, made her move. Hooking her feet around the cage in a scissor grab, she swung her legs up at the waist. Her move caught everyone by surprise, most of all the two figures holding the cage, as it flew from their hands. Guided along on its side by Sonya’s feet, the cage intercepted the swords a heartbeat before they struck her chest. The pigeon was skewered, spraying blood and feathers into Sonya’s hair, and the cage continued over her head, dragging the priest with it. Bringing her legs back so they were directly above her, Sonya did a split and clubbed the two hooded figures standing beneath them on either side of her. Startled, the other beings who were holding her relaxed their grip just enough so that the Special Forces operative was able to wrench free.
Leaping from the top of the stone slab, Sonya landed on Baraka, scissor-locking him around the chest, then bending her thumbs and driving the knuckles into the soft flesh of his temples. He howled with pain and then passed out, Sonya having squeezed his rib cage so tightly he couldn’t breathe. He fell unconscious just as the enraged horde fell on her. Literally lifting the priest by the back of his robe, she slid her left hand around his waist, gripped his right forearm with her free hand, and used his sword to slash and fight her way through the crowd of hooded attendants.
“Sorry to cut out on you like this,” she sneered, “but I’ve got a hot date.” She ran one of the somber black-hooded figures through. “Get my point, laughing boy?”
Upon reaching the door of the temple, Sonya turned the priest toward them, put her foot against the small of his back, and pushed him inside. Then, plucking feathers from her hair, she ran off to find Kano and give him his long-overdue desserts.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
The circle of fog outside the palace glowed with the reflected light of Rayden’s lightning as the god materialized on the beach. Scorpion’s form darkened the air and took shape beside him, and in backstep, the two strode up the woody hill, along the dirt road, toward the palace.
“There is no one in the trees,” Rayden said after making a sweep of the branches. “Either we are not expected, or they have marshaled their forces inside.”
The road curved toward the north, and the majestic palace came into view, nestled between the twin pagodas. Behind them, Scorpion could see the ancient Shaolin temple hewn from the rock of the mountain. It was a pity, he thought, the so magnificent an edifice was used in the service of evil.
And then, in a day that had been full of surprises, Scorpion was caught off-guard when he heard a voice inside his head.
Use caution, my son, said the warm, reassuring voice of Yong Park. They do expect you and there is evil in every corner.
Scorpion smiled behind his mask. I will be careful, Father, he assured him.
The iron gates were closed, the gold dragons facing each other from either side. Rayden threw a bolt at the lock in the center; flame seemed to shoot from the mouths of the dragons as one side of the gate rocketed back and the other flew off its hinges, bouncing end-over-end into the courtyard. God and man entered without missing a step.
As they walked in, two
wedges of hooded figures ran at them from either side, barring the exit and the way ahead. Rayden stopped, and Scorpion stopped a step later as the figures just stood there.
“Let us take what is ours,” said the god, “and you will not be harmed.”
There was no answer, save for robes stirred by the wind as it swept through the courtyard. And then, from behind the multitude, a voice rang out.
“While I’m feeling charitable, you may take your lives from here, but that is all. Oh – and in the future, ring the gong. Those gates are costly.”
Several of the robed figures moved aside to reveal the wizard, with the amulet around his neck, standing as tall as he was able. He was flanked by Goro on the right and Reptile on the left; behind him, barely visible in the dark, was Kano.
“The amulet you wear was stolen from my temple,” said Rayden. “Return it, and Sonya Blade, and we will go.”
“The amulet was recovered from the side of a mountain,” Shang Tsung replied. “You have no claim on it. As for Ms. Blade, I have enabled her to be reunited with her fiancé. You’ve wasted your time coming here, Rayden. Don’t waste my time by staying.”
“I will ask you one more time, wizard. Return to us what is ours.”
Shang Tsung seemed revitalized by the challenge. His eyes had some of their old fire as he said, “Return it… or what? You are two and we are five hundred.”
Scorpion shouted, “What you do is against the laws of nature! Were you five hundred times five hundred, we would not leave.”
Shang Tsung put his fingertips on the center stone of the amulet and shut his eyes. “It’s an interesting proposition, my friend. Do you think you can back it up?”
Beside him, Goro began to chuckle.
“With this amulet and just one soul, I can open the portal wide enough to bring twenty-five thousand warriors from the Outworld.”
Scorpion felt a flash of weakness until his father spoke. He cannot hurt you, Tsui. Trust in your power… and his weakness. The costumed warrior lifted his wrists so they were facing Shang Tsung. “You talk too much, sorcerer. Let’s see your army.”
