03-20-2015, 01:55 AM
Pain.
It consumed the sorcerer. It made every part of his body throb, and it made it hard for him to focus his thoughts on what the fuck he should be doing to escape from the sanitarium. Could he escape? Would the rust-colored town, with its ash-stained air, let him get out of this decrepit, collapsing structure or was he wandering in his own sepulcher?
Dull thunks echoed through the hallway each time Shang took a step. For the last twenty minutes, he’d relied upon a steel pipe, which he found lying on the floor. With the pipe as a crutch, Shang had traversed the fan-lined hallway and emerged on the other side, where he found himself walking down a slightly nicer hall. When he reached the end, the door refused to budge, and try as he might, the sorcerer couldn’t find the strength to bring the pipe to bear on the wooden barrier that impeded his lurching march toward the unknown.
Need… need help. Shang let out a hoarse cough and slumped against the wall. Damn you, Spartan. Where the hell did you go? The fact that Atelos had probably lucked out in wherever he’d been delivered did not grace the thoughts of the sorcerer as he racked his burnt-out brain for a means to deal with the situation. Perhaps if he could tap into some of his remaining strength, he might be able to… generate a means to insulate himself against the town’s dangers.
After using the pipe to bar the door he’d just passed through, Shang slipped down to the ground and tried to clear his thoughts. Although his body had been ravaged and sapped of strength, he hadn’t technically lost his power… he was merely unable to tap into it at will. As he focused his mind, Shang felt a sensation of warmth spread across his ravaged form, which started to glow gently in the red-tinted light of the room. Staring forward, the sorcerer put in image in his head and willed what he saw into reality. The process took much longer than he had hoped, but eventually, the ground in front of him erupted in flames. Up from the burning wood, three figures crawled their way onto their knees before rising up to fully vertical positions.
They were tarkatan warriors—each of them clad in Eastern-themed armor with their blades already drawn. With their ever-grinning mouths filled with jagged, pointed teeth, the tarkata as a species were as hideous on the battlefield as one would imagine based on their appearance. Legend had it that they were the by-product of demons from the Netherrealm breeding with the native inhabitants of Outworld. Overtime, they had developed a loose tribal structure in the wastelands of Outworld, and despite their ferocity, the tarkata were easily manipulated and easily dominated. Shao Kahn had done so through sheer force of will, and after assuming the mantle of tournament host, Shang Tsung had ‘recruited’ the simple-minded killing machines to do his dirty work as well.
“Welcome,” Shang whispered as the fires beneath the trio of creatures faded and died away completely, leaving behind no burns or scorch-marks on the metal floor. “You are aware of what you are and why you exist?” The three tarkatan warriors nodded their heads as their arm blades retracted back into their forearms. Two of the creatures stepped forward and helped Shang back to his feet as the third went to retrieve the sorcerer’s makeshift ‘cane’ from the door. “Good,” the old man muttered as he accepted the pipe and gestured to the other door. “Force that doorway.”
With a schlikt, the warriors’ blades popped back out and were brought to bear against the door and its frame. It took barely ten seconds before nothing remained but a mass of shredded wood, laying clear the path for the sorcerer and his new retinue.
“Let’s go,” Shang muttered as he started to limp his way into the next room. If they didn’t come across an exit soon, the withered man wholly intended to have his slaves saw their way through the side of the building. Once they were back out into the street, he could set about finding some means to restore himself. If he couldn’t find any living people, he figured that some of the more humanoid creatures probably had souls of some sort. Hell, he’d settle for anything at this point that would assuage the searing agony that caused all of his joints to throb.
Traversing another hallway, the tarkatan paused and moved out of the way to allow Shang to spot what they had seen first—a double door with a broken ‘exit’ sign lying on the floor nearby. With a grin, the old man limped over to the door and pushed down on the bar, opening an exit that led to a small courtyard outside the sanitarium. As he stepped back into the outside world, Shang realized that the transformation hadn’t been limited to just the inside of the structure. The skies outside were just as dark and ash-laden outside the building.
I wonder who else still lives? The paladin had taken a few people with him, but how long ago had that been? An hour? A few hours? Days? Now that he stood there and dwelled upon it, Shang realized how vague and unclear the passage of time had been since they entered the fog. With a grimace, the sorcerer had his tarkatan bodyguards lead the way across the little courtyard and toward the gate which marked the edge of the property. Before they reached the wrought iron barrier, the quartet stopped dead when they heard the doors behind them swing open with enough force to send them crashing against the outside wall.
Shang turned to see what could only be a ‘goodbye’ party sent from the sanitarium. Five nurses and a pair of doctors stood in the doorway, their bloody, twitching forms a mockery of whatever humanity may have once resided inside the defiled shells. Without skipping a beat, the sorcerer reached for his handgun and fired. A red hole opened up on the forehead of one of the doctors, and with a damp thud, the corpse fell back inside the building as his peers rushed out like animals to assail the retreating Shang Tsung.
The sorcerer squeezed the trigger half a dozen more times as he stumbled backwards, but none of the shots hit vital targets. As Shang retreated, the three tarkatan warriors surged forward, their arm blades sliding free as they threw themselves at the scalpel-wielding nurses. While some of the small knives found skin and muscle, the nurses were outmatched and outgunned by the demonic creatures that now proceeded to tear into them with three-foot blades. Streaks of blood flew into the air in wide arcs as blades removed limbs and entire chunks of the feminine bodies with ease. In a matter of moments, the nurses were dead—their bodies strewed across about ten square yards worth of now thoroughly ensanguined courtyard.
Standing at the back of the group, Shang grinned as he snapped a finger, prompting the snarling tarkata to about-face and retract their arm blades.
It consumed the sorcerer. It made every part of his body throb, and it made it hard for him to focus his thoughts on what the fuck he should be doing to escape from the sanitarium. Could he escape? Would the rust-colored town, with its ash-stained air, let him get out of this decrepit, collapsing structure or was he wandering in his own sepulcher?
Dull thunks echoed through the hallway each time Shang took a step. For the last twenty minutes, he’d relied upon a steel pipe, which he found lying on the floor. With the pipe as a crutch, Shang had traversed the fan-lined hallway and emerged on the other side, where he found himself walking down a slightly nicer hall. When he reached the end, the door refused to budge, and try as he might, the sorcerer couldn’t find the strength to bring the pipe to bear on the wooden barrier that impeded his lurching march toward the unknown.
Need… need help. Shang let out a hoarse cough and slumped against the wall. Damn you, Spartan. Where the hell did you go? The fact that Atelos had probably lucked out in wherever he’d been delivered did not grace the thoughts of the sorcerer as he racked his burnt-out brain for a means to deal with the situation. Perhaps if he could tap into some of his remaining strength, he might be able to… generate a means to insulate himself against the town’s dangers.
After using the pipe to bar the door he’d just passed through, Shang slipped down to the ground and tried to clear his thoughts. Although his body had been ravaged and sapped of strength, he hadn’t technically lost his power… he was merely unable to tap into it at will. As he focused his mind, Shang felt a sensation of warmth spread across his ravaged form, which started to glow gently in the red-tinted light of the room. Staring forward, the sorcerer put in image in his head and willed what he saw into reality. The process took much longer than he had hoped, but eventually, the ground in front of him erupted in flames. Up from the burning wood, three figures crawled their way onto their knees before rising up to fully vertical positions.
They were tarkatan warriors—each of them clad in Eastern-themed armor with their blades already drawn. With their ever-grinning mouths filled with jagged, pointed teeth, the tarkata as a species were as hideous on the battlefield as one would imagine based on their appearance. Legend had it that they were the by-product of demons from the Netherrealm breeding with the native inhabitants of Outworld. Overtime, they had developed a loose tribal structure in the wastelands of Outworld, and despite their ferocity, the tarkata were easily manipulated and easily dominated. Shao Kahn had done so through sheer force of will, and after assuming the mantle of tournament host, Shang Tsung had ‘recruited’ the simple-minded killing machines to do his dirty work as well.
“Welcome,” Shang whispered as the fires beneath the trio of creatures faded and died away completely, leaving behind no burns or scorch-marks on the metal floor. “You are aware of what you are and why you exist?” The three tarkatan warriors nodded their heads as their arm blades retracted back into their forearms. Two of the creatures stepped forward and helped Shang back to his feet as the third went to retrieve the sorcerer’s makeshift ‘cane’ from the door. “Good,” the old man muttered as he accepted the pipe and gestured to the other door. “Force that doorway.”
With a schlikt, the warriors’ blades popped back out and were brought to bear against the door and its frame. It took barely ten seconds before nothing remained but a mass of shredded wood, laying clear the path for the sorcerer and his new retinue.
“Let’s go,” Shang muttered as he started to limp his way into the next room. If they didn’t come across an exit soon, the withered man wholly intended to have his slaves saw their way through the side of the building. Once they were back out into the street, he could set about finding some means to restore himself. If he couldn’t find any living people, he figured that some of the more humanoid creatures probably had souls of some sort. Hell, he’d settle for anything at this point that would assuage the searing agony that caused all of his joints to throb.
Traversing another hallway, the tarkatan paused and moved out of the way to allow Shang to spot what they had seen first—a double door with a broken ‘exit’ sign lying on the floor nearby. With a grin, the old man limped over to the door and pushed down on the bar, opening an exit that led to a small courtyard outside the sanitarium. As he stepped back into the outside world, Shang realized that the transformation hadn’t been limited to just the inside of the structure. The skies outside were just as dark and ash-laden outside the building.
I wonder who else still lives? The paladin had taken a few people with him, but how long ago had that been? An hour? A few hours? Days? Now that he stood there and dwelled upon it, Shang realized how vague and unclear the passage of time had been since they entered the fog. With a grimace, the sorcerer had his tarkatan bodyguards lead the way across the little courtyard and toward the gate which marked the edge of the property. Before they reached the wrought iron barrier, the quartet stopped dead when they heard the doors behind them swing open with enough force to send them crashing against the outside wall.
Shang turned to see what could only be a ‘goodbye’ party sent from the sanitarium. Five nurses and a pair of doctors stood in the doorway, their bloody, twitching forms a mockery of whatever humanity may have once resided inside the defiled shells. Without skipping a beat, the sorcerer reached for his handgun and fired. A red hole opened up on the forehead of one of the doctors, and with a damp thud, the corpse fell back inside the building as his peers rushed out like animals to assail the retreating Shang Tsung.
The sorcerer squeezed the trigger half a dozen more times as he stumbled backwards, but none of the shots hit vital targets. As Shang retreated, the three tarkatan warriors surged forward, their arm blades sliding free as they threw themselves at the scalpel-wielding nurses. While some of the small knives found skin and muscle, the nurses were outmatched and outgunned by the demonic creatures that now proceeded to tear into them with three-foot blades. Streaks of blood flew into the air in wide arcs as blades removed limbs and entire chunks of the feminine bodies with ease. In a matter of moments, the nurses were dead—their bodies strewed across about ten square yards worth of now thoroughly ensanguined courtyard.
Standing at the back of the group, Shang grinned as he snapped a finger, prompting the snarling tarkata to about-face and retract their arm blades.
![[Image: Shang.jpg]](http://www.omniverse-rpg.com/images/Shang.jpg)