The cave I had chosen was damp, freezing, and smelled of bat guano. To a normal human, it would have been a miserable grave. To me, it was a sanctuary.
Located high in the jagged peaks north of Jingle Village, the cavern offered a natural defense against the biting winds. I sat cross-legged in the center of the darkness, my grey skin blending perfectly with the stone walls.
It had been three weeks since my "birth." Three weeks of raiding Red Ribbon supply lines, three weeks of terrorizing patrols, and three weeks of realizing just how weak I actually was.
Yes, I was immune to bullets—mostly. Yes, I could teleport. But my physical strength? It was maybe twice that of an average athletic human. In a world where Master Roshi could blow up the moon, "twice as strong as a human" was a joke. If I ran into Tao Pai Pai right now, I would be dead before my brain could process the tongue-poke.
"I need an arsenal," I rasped, my voice echoing in the cave.
We have shadows, Saibot's voice hissed in my mind. My clone was currently detached, pacing around the cave entrance like a restless guard dog.
"Shadows are good for assassination," I countered. "But Dragon Ball fights are drawn-out brawls. I need versatility. I need to know what this body can do."
I closed my eyes and pulled up the memories of my past life. I didn't have a Gamer System to buy skills, but I had something else: Wiki knowledge. I had memorized every move set of every ninja in Mortal Kombat history.
I was Bi-Han. I was the original Sub-Zero. That data had to be in my DNA somewhere, buried under the corruption of the Netherrealm.
"Test one," I muttered. "Cryomancy."
I stood up and faced a stalagmite. I focused not on the darkness in my gut, but on the cold. The absolute zero that permeated my being. I remembered the feeling of playing Sub-Zero—the snap of the wrist, the flash freeze.
I thrust my palms forward. "Ice Ball."
HISSS.
It wasn't the clean, blue freeze of the Lin Kuei. It was ugly. A blast of black, jagged frost erupted from my hands. It hit the rock, and instead of encased in clear ice, the stone was covered in a layer of dark, rime-covered slush that hardened instantly.
I walked over and touched it. It was cold, yes, but it was also... necrotic. The stone beneath the ice was crumbling, brittle.
"Black Ice," I whispered. "It doesn't just freeze; it degrades structural integrity. It's weaker than pure ice, but more insidious."
I tried to form an Ice Sword (Kori Blade). The moisture in the air gathered, swirling with black particles, forming a jagged, serrated shank rather than a clean blade. I swung it. It shattered against the wall, but left a deep, rotting gash in the stone.
"Passable," I noted. "Now... the rival."
Scorpion. Hanzo Hasashi.
Fire was the antithesis of my existence. But the Spear... the Spear was just a tool. A kunai on a rope.
"Saibot," I called.
The shadow clone stopped pacing and looked at me.
"Be the anchor."
Saibot crossed his arms.
I extended my hand. I didn't have a rope. I didn't have a metal kunai. But I had shadow manipulation. I concentrated, visualizing the move. Get over here.
I flicked my wrist. A tendril of solidified shadow shot out of my palm like a whip. I willed the tip to harden into a spearhead.
THWIP!
The shadow-spear struck Saibot's chest. It didn't pierce him—he was intangible to me—but it connected.
"Come here!" I yanked my arm back.
The physics worked. The shadow retracted, dragging Saibot across the cave floor toward me. As he arrived, I met him with a crouching uppercut—the classic MK launcher.
My fist passed through him, but the motion was fluid.
"Functional," I said, dismissing the shadow rope. "I can grapple. If I hit a human with that, I can pull them into close range or... pull myself to them."
I spent the next few hours going down the roster, trying to force my strange biology to replicate the supernatural feats of Earthrealm and Outworld.
Smoke:
I tried to turn into vapor. It was surprisingly easy. By relaxing the bonds of my physical form, I could dissolve into a cloud of grey smog. It wasn't true invisibility like Reptile, but it made me harder to hit.
Verdict: Success. Defensive utility.
Ermac:
Telekinesis. I stared at a heavy rock, trying to lift it with my mind. I strained until a vein popped in my forehead. The rock wobbled, then fell over.
I growled in frustration. "I don't have the souls of a thousand warriors to power me. I can't use raw TK."
But then, I looked at the shadows cast by the rock.
I reached out and gripped the shadow of the rock with my mind. I lifted the shadow. The rock, bound to its silhouette, lifted with it.
"Shadow Lift," I corrected. "It requires a light source to cast a shadow, but it works. It's a Tele-Slam variant."
Verdict: Conditional Success.
Raiden:
I tried to summon lightning. I focused on the static in the air.
Nothing.
I tried again.
Nothing.
"I am grounded," I realized. "I am of the earth and the dark. The heavens deny me."
Verdict: Failure.
Johnny Cage:
The Shadow Kick.
This one was almost insulting. I ran forward, leaving a trail of green afterimages in my mind, but black ones in reality. I launched a kick, sliding across the ground on a layer of low-friction shadow energy.
The impact against the cave wall cracked the stone.
"Propulsion," I analyzed. "I can use the shadows to reduce friction and increase velocity. It's not magic; it's physics powered by magic."
I was sweating. Not water, but a cold, oily substance. I wiped my forehead. I was building a repertoire. I wasn't just a one-trick pony anymore. I was becoming a amalgam of the Mortal Kombat roster, filtered through a lens of darkness.
Suddenly, Saibot stiffened.
Intruders, the clone hissed. Metal. Oil. Heartbeats.
I sensed it too. The vibrations in the ground.
I walked to the mouth of the cave. Below, on the snowy path leading up the mountain, a small convoy was struggling against the wind. But this wasn't a truck.
It was a Walker. A Battle Jacket, similar to the ones the Red Ribbon Army would use heavily in the future, but this was a bulkier, clumsier prototype. It was flanked by ten soldiers on snowmobiles.
"They found us," I said. "General White is getting impatient."
Kill them, Saibot demanded. Feed.
"No," I said, pulling my hood up and adjusting my mask. "We test."
I leaped from the cave entrance, falling fifty feet down the cliffside. As I hit the ground, I dissolved into a cloud of smoke (Smoke style), cushioning the impact. I re-formed instantly, standing in the middle of the path.
The lead snowmobile swerved to avoid hitting me. "It's him! The Wraith!"
The Battle Jacket stopped. It was painted steel-grey with the RR logo on the chest. The pilot's voice boomed over a loudspeaker. "Target acquired. General White wants him alive for dissection. Subdue him!"
The mech raised a gatling gun arm.
"Let's see how the 'Green' Style works," I muttered.
The gatling gun spun up. BRRRRRT!
I didn't turn intangible this time. I needed to test my speed.
Shadow Slide.
I dropped low, the shadows beneath my feet acting like a greased sled. I shot forward, under the stream of bullets, moving faster than a human eye could track. I closed the distance to the first snowmobile in a heartbeat.
I didn't punch the soldier. I used the Black Ice.
I slapped the engine block of the snowmobile as I slid past. The necro-frost spread instantly, shattering the heated metal casing. The engine exploded, sending the soldier flying into a snowbank.
"Flank him!" the Mech pilot screamed.
Three soldiers opened fire.
I stood up and threw my hand out. Get Over Here!
The shadow-spear launched. It pierced the chest of a soldier on the left. I didn't pull him to me. I whipped my arm to the right, treating him like a flail. I smashed him into his partner, knocking both off their vehicles.
"Monster!"
The Battle Jacket stomped forward. "Eat this!"
It fired a rocket.
I watched the projectile coming. It was slow. Compared to the energy beams I knew were coming in the future, this was moving in slow motion.
I stood still.
"He's not moving! He's dead!" a soldier cheered.
Just as the rocket was about to impact, I crossed my arms. Teleport.
BOOM.
The rocket hit the snow where I had been, sending a plume of fire and ice into the air.
I reappeared directly on top of the Battle Jacket's cockpit.
The pilot looked up through the reinforced glass, his eyes wide with horror. I was crouched on the glass like a gargoyle, staring down at him with white, glowing eyes.
"Knock knock," I rasped.
I charged my fist with the Shadow Kick energy—pure kinetic propulsion—and punched the glass.
CRACK.
It didn't shatter, but it spider-webbed.
"Get him off!" the pilot screamed, flailing the mech's arms, trying to swat me.
I backflipped off the mech, landing softly in the snow. I needed to finish this. I needed to test the Tele-Slam.
I focused on the massive shadow the Battle Jacket cast on the snow. It was a huge target.
I reached out with both hands, grabbing the air as if gripping a heavy weight. My veins turned jet black, bulging against my skin. The strain was immense. This wasn't a rock; this was two tons of steel.
"UP!" I roared.
The Battle Jacket jerked. The pilot screamed as the mech was lifted five feet into the air, suspended by nothing. The soldiers stopped shooting, staring in disbelief.
"He's... he's a demon..."
I slammed my hands down.
The Mech mirrored the motion, crashing into the ground with the force of a hydraulic press. The legs buckled. The glass cockpit shattered. The machine groaned and died.
I stood there, panting heavily. My nose was bleeding—black blood dripping onto the snow. Using the Tele-Slam on something that heavy had drained nearly half my energy reserves.
The remaining soldiers revved their engines. They didn't wait for orders. They turned and fled, terror etched on their faces.
I let them go. They would spread the legend.
I walked over to the ruined mech. The pilot was alive, unconscious, bleeding from a head wound.
Saibot materialized next to me. Finish him.
I looked at the pilot. Then I looked at the arm of the mech. It had a flamethrower attachment.
"No," I said. "We scavenge."
I ripped the flamethrower unit off the destroyed arm. It was heavy, but manageable.
"I can't produce fire," I said to Saibot, examining the fuel tank. "But I can emulate it. If I modify this... integrate it into my suit..."
I looked at the unconscious pilot.
"Besides," I added, a cruel smile forming behind my mask. "He has a radio. I want to send a message to General White."
I picked up the pilot's headset.
"General," I rasped into the mic.
Static. Then, a trembling voice. "Who is this? Where is Unit 4?"
"Unit 4 has been decommissioned," I said. "Tell Dr. Gero... his science is flawed. The spiritual beats the mechanical."
"Dr. Gero?! How do you know that name?!"
"I know everything," I lied. "And I'm coming for the tower."
I crushed the headset.
I looked at my hands. I had successfully integrated moves from Sub-Zero, Scorpion, Smoke, and Ermac. I was clumsy, and the energy cost was high, but it worked.
I wasn't just Noob Saibot anymore. I was becoming the Mortal Kombat tournament in a single body.
"We need more," I whispered, dragging the scavenged tech back toward the cliff. "I need Kano's cybernetics. I need Liu Kang's discipline."
I looked up at the sky. The stars were coming out. Somewhere out there, Frieza was ruling the galaxy. Somewhere on Earth, Goku was probably eating a giant fish.
"Train harder," I told myself. "Or die again."
I dissolved into smoke, carrying the heavy flamethrower with me, ascending the cliff face like a ghost returning to its haunt. The training was just beginning.