The Hunger Games

[Shang Tsung]

A town like Darkshire provided an almost limitless supply of wretches and idiots. During the dark hours, Shang’s ‘patrols’ as the knight would always net him a few cutthroats, and that number had gradually started to increase as his ‘rapport’ started to spread through the poor quarter.

In the daylight hours, he’d wander around as himself, ‘enjoying’ the town as best he could. As Shang Tsung, he was little more than a traveler who had taken a liking to Darkshire and decided to stick around for a week or so. Over the last four days, the sorcerer had learned all he ever really wanted to about the town. He’d met a few of the local council members, who always tried to play up the virtuous role of Darkshire as ‘the last bastion against the darkness.’ Shang was convinced that the people her just didn’t know any better or were too afraid to leave behind their rotting reality for greener pastures.

Long story short, he was still firmly convinced that he was doing these people a favor by giving their lives a purpose by ending them.

The week was drawing to a close, and Shang found himself trolling the alleyways for wanna-be cutthroats. As he rounded a corner, he heard that all-to familiar threat. “You’re in the wrong part of town.”

The threat, coming from a scraggly little man who appeared fresh out of puberty, drew a faint smile from Shang Tsung. Still playing the part of the dead knight, the sorcerer placed a hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword and the other one his heart.

“Dost thou speakest to me?” He inquired with a slight degree of faux melodrama.

“Don’t play stupid with me,” the man rasped as he reached into his coat and drew out a dagger. “I knew some of those boys you killed.”

“Then could you please do me a huge favor?” Shang asked, dropping his attempt at an accent and opting instead for something closer to sincerity.

The man with the knife furrowed his brow for a slight moment. “I… I guess?”

“Send my regards to them,” with that, the sorcerer threw out his hand and released a flaming fireball into the would-be vagrant’s chest. The projectile erupted, throwing the man back against a brick wall. With a smile, Shang drew his sword and walked over to his fallen adversary. His grin melted away when he realized that the man was already dead. “Makes it too easy…” He whispered as he sheathed the blade and claimed a fresh soul. Once the deed was done, Shang left what remained of the corpse to rot away.

“I’m not a fan of what you’re doing,” the voice came from behind the sorcerer, prompting him to pause and glance over his shoulder. Yet another scraggly-looking pauper was glaring at him. Unlike the last few, this one looked as if he’d visited a gym sometime in the last fifteen years. “I don’t know what you are, but I doubt you’re a knight from Darkshire.”

“Who are you to judge what someone does on sabbatical?” Shang inquired as he drew his blade.

“Your indiscriminate killings are causing ripples among the real people who hold power in this town. And trust me, these aren’t individuals that you want coming after you. They’ll do much worse than lock you up in the jail.”

The sorcerer let out a laugh as he set the sword on the ground in front of him. “I was cursed by the Elder Gods, and I spent forty years in the dungeons of a power-hungry tyrant. I’m not afraid of some gangs in a backwater provincial town.”

“You think we haven’t dealt with your type before? Every now and again we get some primes who want to try and reform this place. We dealt with them, and we will deal with you… Boys! Get him!”

Before Shang could react, every door within eyesight swung open and a flood of humanity gushed forth. The sorcerer was forced to retreat without grabbing his weapon. Without looking over his shoulder, he charged down an alley he knew led to the district’s main thoroughfare. When he made it to the street, he found a ring of men with crossbows waiting for him.

“Get on your knees, you tin-headed nob!” One of the men shouted as his finger hovered over the trigger.