The wind atop the jagged peaks of the North didn't howl; it screamed. The temperature was forty degrees below zero, a cold so absolute it would snap steel like a dry twig.
For me, it was room temperature.
I stood in the center of a frozen lake, shirtless. My grey skin was covered in a thin layer of frost, but beneath it, the black veins of the Netherrealm pulsed with a rhythmic, predatory beat.
"Again," I commanded.
Ten yards away, my shadow clone, Saibot, stood in a combat stance. He mimicked the posture of a classic Dragon Ball martial artist—the Turtle School stance. I had ordered him to fight like them so I could learn to kill them.
Saibot lunged. He was fast, a blur of vantablack motion. He threw a palm strike aimed at my chest.
I didn't dodge. I accessed the memory banks of Bi-Han.
Style: Cryomancy (Sub-Zero)
I exhaled a cloud of white mist. I didn't shoot an ice ball; that was too slow. Instead, I channeled the necrotic cold into my skin.
Flash Freeze.
As Saibot's fist connected with my chest, the moisture in the air instantly solidified. A jagged coating of black ice erupted from my pectorals, trapping Saibot's hand.
CRACK.
The ice held. Saibot yanked, but his arm was stuck.
"Too slow," I rasped.
I grabbed his trapped arm. I visualized the movement of another kombatant.
Style: Judo/Grapple (Kano)
I pivoted on my heel, using Saibot's momentum against him. I slammed the clone into the ice, shattering the frozen bond. Before he could recover, I stomped on his chest.
"Integration is sloppy," I muttered to myself, stepping back. Saibot dissolved into ink and reformed at my side. "I have the memories of the moves, but this body... it has no muscle memory. I have to teach it how to move."
I looked at the pile of scrap metal near the edge of the lake. It was the remains of the Battle Jacket I had destroyed weeks ago. I had stripped it for parts—hydraulics, fuel lines, and the flamethrower mechanism.
"Phase Two," I said. "The Rival."
I walked over to the scrap pile. I picked up a length of steel cable I had salvaged from the mech's winch. I had attached a jagged, sharpened piece of scrap metal to the end. It was crude, ugly, and heavy.
It was a Spear.
"Hanzo Hasashi hated me," I whispered, weighing the weapon. "But I cannot deny his effectiveness."
I spun the chain. The sound was a low, menacing hum.
I looked at a massive boulder fifty feet away.
"Get over here."
I whipped my arm forward. I didn't use Ki to propel it; I used the Shadow Throw. My shadow extended along the ground, carrying the physical chain with it, eliminating friction and adding velocity.
CLANG!
The metal tip embedded itself deep into the rock.
"Retract."
I pulled. But instead of just yanking the chain, I teleported.
Style: Teleport Punch (Scorpion/Smoke)
I vanished from the lake surface. I traveled through the shadow connected to the chain and reappeared instantly next to the boulder.
BAM.
I punched the rock. It cracked down the center.
"Useful," I noted, wiping sweat—oily and black—from my forehead. "Teleportation requires a target. The chain gives me a physical tether to teleport to. It bridges the gap between range and melee."
I spent the next six hours in a trance of violence. I practiced the Bicycle Kick of Liu Kang by using small bursts of shadow energy from my boots to defy gravity, delivering multiple impacts before touching the ground. I practiced the Soul Ball of Ermac by compressing my necrotic energy into unstable spheres that shut down the nervous system upon contact.
I was becoming a living arsenal. A glitch in the Dragon Ball system.
But hitting rocks and clones was boring.
Hunger, Saibot hissed in my mind.
"I know," I said, looking toward the south. "General White has sent more men. I can feel their heartbeats in the snow. They're hunting us."
I picked up the chain-spear and coiled it around my waist. I pulled on my black cowl and the modified mask I had crafted from the mech's faceplate.
"Let's go introduce them to the tournament."
The White Forest
The Red Ribbon Army wasn't known for subtlety, but Colonel Silver's unit—on loan to General White—was better than the average grunt.
There were twenty of them. They wore white winter camouflage, carried high-caliber assault rifles, and were supported by two light hover-tanks. They moved in a tactical spread through the pine forest, scanning the trees with thermal goggles.
I watched them from high above, perched on the limb of a massive ancient pine.
"Thermal," I analyzed. "They're looking for heat."
I focused on my internal temperature. I was naturally cold, effectively room temperature, but my core still generated heat when I moved.
Cryo-Stealth.
I pushed the cold outward, lowering my skin temperature to match the surrounding snow exactly. On their scanners, I was just another patch of ice.
I dropped.
I didn't make a sound. I landed in the soft snow behind the rearguard soldier.
He didn't hear me. He didn't feel me.
I clamped a hand over his mouth. My grip was like a hydraulic clamp. I didn't snap his neck; that made noise. Instead, I dragged him backward into the shadow of the tree.
Down, I commanded the shadows.
The ground beneath the tree became a liquid pool of darkness. The soldier's eyes went wide with terror as he sank into the earth, pulled into the Netherrealm layer. He would suffocate there in the cold dark.
One down.
I moved to the next.
Thwip.
I threw a dagger made of ice. It struck the second soldier in the throat. He gurgled and dropped.
"Contact!" the squad leader shouted. "Man down! Rear flank!"
The stealth phase was over.
"Saibot. Sick 'em."
My shadow detached from my feet and elongated, rushing across the snow like a snake. It rose up in the middle of three soldiers.
"It's the monster!"
They opened fire. RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
Bullets tore through Saibot, disrupting his form but not stopping him. The clone formed two scythes on his arms and spun.
Style: Shadow Spin (Noob Saibot)
The clone became a tornado of darkness. It didn't cut flesh; it cut stamina. The soldiers caught in the vortex screamed as their energy was drained rapidly. They collapsed, gasping for air, too weak to lift their rifles.
I sprinted from the tree line.
"Target at 3 o'clock!"
One of the hover-tanks rotated its turret. The cannon leveled at me.
"Eat this!"
BOOM.
The shell fired.
Style: Reptile (Slide)
I didn't try to block. I dropped to my back, coating the ground in frictionless shadow oil. I slid under the flying shell, moving at sixty miles per hour across the snow.
I passed under the tank's hover-skirt.
"Hello," I whispered.
I placed my palms on the tank's underbelly.
Style: Deep Freeze.
I dumped all my cryo-energy into the intake fans. The moisture in the engine froze instantly. The turbines shattered.
The tank groaned and dropped out of the air, crashing into the snow. The impact threw me clear, but I rolled and came up standing.
The second tank turned toward me.
"He took out the tank with his bare hands!" a soldier screamed. "Shoot him! Shoot him!"
A wall of lead flew toward me.
I crossed my arms. Teleport.
I vanished.
I reappeared standing on top of the second tank's turret. The gunner popped the hatch, aiming a pistol at me.
I grabbed his wrist.
"Your soul is mine," I growled (a little Shang Tsung for flair).
I threw him out of the hatch. I looked down into the cockpit. The driver looked up, terrified.
I dropped a grenade I had taken from the first soldier into the hatch.
"Fire in the hole."
I backflipped off the tank as it exploded, a plume of orange fire illuminating the twilight.
I landed in a crouch. Seven soldiers remained. They were backing away, their morale shattered.
"Demon..." one whispered. "He's a demon."
I stood up slowly, the firelight dancing on my mask. I uncoiled the chain-spear from my waist.
"I am the Lin Kuei," I said, my voice amplified by the darkness. "And you are trespassing."
I spun the chain.
"Run," I suggested.
They ran.
But I didn't let them leave. I needed them to carry a specific message.
I lashed out with the spear, catching the squad leader in the leg. I yanked him back. He screamed as he was dragged across the snow to my feet.
I stepped on his chest.
"Please!" he begged. "I was just following orders!"
"Orders change," I said. I leaned down, my white eyes burning into his soul. "Go back to Muscle Tower. Tell General White that his tanks are toys. Tell him that if he wants to survive, he will leave the North."
"I... I'll tell him! I swear!"
"Good."
I kicked him away. "Now run. Before I get hungry."
He scrambled up, limping into the darkness after his fleeing men.
I stood alone in the clearing. Two burning tanks, a dozen unconscious or dead bodies, and the silence of the mountains.
I felt a surge of energy. It wasn't Ki increasing; it was synch. My mind and this new body were finally understanding each other. The Mortal Kombat styles weren't just video game moves anymore; they were practical applications of my biology.
I walked over to a burning tank and warmed my hands—not for heat, but to melt the ice off my gloves.
"That was the warm-up," I said to Saibot, who re-merged with my shadow.
Suddenly, a shuriken flew from the tree line.
Clink.
I caught it between two fingers without looking. It was a sharp, steel star.
"Impressive reflexes," a voice echoed.
I turned.
Standing on a branch, posing dramatically against the full moon, was a man in a purple ninja gi. He had a sword on his back and a smug grin on his face.
Ninja Murasaki. The Second-in-Command of Muscle Tower.
"General White is disappointed in Colonel Silver's men," Murasaki said, hopping down. He landed silently. "So he sent a professional."
I stared at him. In the anime, Murasaki was a joke. A gag character who used boomerangs and fake stealth.
But looking at him now... his Ki was sharp. He was faster than the soldiers. He was a martial artist.
"A ninja," I said, dropping the shuriken. "How quaint."
Murasaki drew his sword, "Sasuke." It glinted in the firelight.
"You call yourself a wraith," Murasaki said. "But can you defeat the Master of the Ninja Arts?"
I cracked my neck. This was it. A named character. A boss fight.
"I am not a ninja," I said, summoning a jagged sword of black ice into my hand. "I am Sub-Zero."
Murasaki blinked. "Sub-what?"
"Don't worry about it."
I charged.
Murasaki was fast. He parried my ice sword with his steel katana. Sparks flew. He backflipped, throwing three smoke bombs.
POOF.
Thick purple smoke filled the clearing.
"I have vanished!" Murasaki's voice echoed. "You cannot hit what you cannot see!"
I stood still in the smoke. I closed my eyes.
"You rely on eyes," I said. "I rely on the void."
I felt the displacement in the air. To my left.
I thrust my hand out. Telekinesis (Ermac).
I didn't lift him; I just shoved the air around him.
"Oof!"
Murasaki stumbled out of the smoke, looking confused. "How did you—"
"Get over here!"
I threw the spear. It wrapped around his sword arm. I yanked.
Murasaki flew toward me. But he was crafty. He used his momentum to throw a kick at my face.
I blocked it, but the force skidded me back. He was stronger than he looked.
"Replication Technique!" Murasaki yelled.
Suddenly, four other "Murasakis" jumped out from the snow. The Five Murasaki Brothers.
"Five against one!" the lead Murasaki laughed. "Now you die!"
They circled me, swords drawn.
I looked at them. Five distinct heartbeats. They weren't clones; they were quintuplets.
"Five against one?" I tilted my head.
I tapped my chest.
Shadow Clone.
Saibot emerged. But I didn't stop there. I poured more energy into the void.
Ice Clone.
I created a frozen statue of myself behind me.
"Two and a statue against five," I corrected. "Fair odds."
The Murasakis charged.
It was chaos. Saibot took two of them, moving with intangible grace, ignoring their swords and striking their pressure points. I took the other three.
One brother slashed at me. I backstepped, luring him into the Ice Clone.
He hit the statue. Flash Freeze. His sword and arm were instantly encased in black ice.
"Gah! It's cold!"
I spin-kicked him in the head. He went down.
The real Murasaki lunged for my back.
Shadow Slide.
I melted into the floor, appearing behind him. I grabbed the back of his purple gi.
"Upper-cut!"
I launched a massive uppercut. It connected with his jaw.
TOASTY! (The voice was only in my head, but it felt appropriate).
Murasaki flew ten feet into the air and landed face-first in the snow.
The remaining brothers stopped. They looked at their leader, then at me, then at the burning tanks.
"Retreat!" one shouted.
They grabbed the unconscious Murasaki and threw a smoke bomb. When the smoke cleared, they were gone.
I didn't pursue. I was panting heavily. That fight had drained almost half my reserves. Maintaining the clones and using the elemental attacks was taxing.
"Ninja Murasaki," I said, dismissing my ice sword. "You survive today."
I looked toward the distant silhouette of Muscle Tower. The lights were flickering. They knew I was coming.
"Training is over," I said to the cold wind. "Time to level up."
I turned and walked into the shadows, vanishing from the battlefield. I had tested the Mortal Kombat styles against the Dragon Ball world, and the results were conclusive.
The fatality was just beginning.