All conceive of themselves as hooped within the great wheel of necessity, in thrall to a code of loyalty and bravery, bound to seek glory in the eye of the warrior world.

- Seamus Heaney, Introduction to Beowulf.

It was dark when they met. For a world with no sun, the Netherrealm retained a good deal of light. Not the kind of light that eases in a new morning though; the kind that keeps the mind from rest and peace; the kind of eternal lingering flame that licks shadows into corners that should remain hidden. All places remember the fires of torture and forever shudder with those memories.

This kind of dark was new to Netherrealm. It was born of it and kindred with it, but other than it, feeding off it.

Sareena had seen enough of the power of sorcery to know that he would not be the same. She had steadied herself for the inevitable moment when a meeting would happen. She had seen him at distances, nearly inseparable from the side of their now mutual master. She could not decide if this was a new show of favouritism, or the greatest display of distrust. It was probably both, she guessed. He was difficult to read from afar, but then, he always had been. She could only hope that he was not as hollow a husk as he appeared to be. Light would disperse from him, and all emotion and feeling seemed to repel from his perfectly still, immobile form.

When she heard that he had fallen, that he would be here... It was an untold agony rife with a small fraction of guilty hope. In life, he had been freer than raging blizzards. It killed her for the hundredth time over that all that ferocity would be tamed and tapered and channelled to the desires of Netherrealm's master, Quan Chi. And yet there was that trapped, desperate part of her that longed for any alleviation from eternal servitude in a realm of eternal torment. For him to be so near, even if she never spoke to him – it brought her an earnest relief. As long as she did not get close, she could believe – she could believe it was him and that he had not been twisted into something unrecognisable by the sorcerer. She had decided early on that this was for the best. She would remain at a distance. Content to be warmed by observation and not burned by proximity. He was in the thick of everything now, and in between her poor track record of loyalty and her rebellious streaks, she was on the periphery of Quan Chi's plans and machinations. It would be a relatively easy task to keep out of his way, she hoped.

Her stomach dropped when she heard his voice. It was not all in horror either. She felt a familiar flutter of excitement, the trill of a faint blush in her cheeks, and breathlessness in her chest.

"Am I that repugnant in death?"

She turned. The darkness curled about him, owned by him, controlled by him. Thick liquid curls of it ran up the walls and crawled over the floor and bound him to all shadows.

Her tongue was large in her mouth and her concern ripened,

"No..." She said quietly.

"But you have been avoiding me." He did not sound upset. If anything he sounded amused, as though this were some kind of game. Her heart fell. This was why she had not wanted to stray too close.

"Yes." There was no point denying it.

He waited for more. She gave him nothing. Her eyes fixed on the ground. She vaguely hoped that her non-committal answers might bore him into leaving. He seemed as intent and focussed as ever.

"And why is that?"

She sighed and looked up. She immediately wished she had not. A fraction of her had hoped for ice blue eyes, fierce and intense. Instead there was only blackness, and two plain white jewels in place of eyes, glowing, ethereal and dead. She could recognise nothing about him.

"I..." She faltered at the spectral sight, "I was afraid."

That bought her a chuckle. He shifted and folded his arms. That movement at least was a little familiar.

"Afraid of me?"

"Of what you might have become."

He tilted his head slightly,

"And what have I become?"

She paused,

"I do not know yet..."

"Take a closer look." He stepped toward her. She backed off. "Sareena," he said in mock reproach, clearly entertained, "We're finally on the same side, and yet it's now that you choose not to trust me?"

She hesitated. He stepped closer still until her was only a pace away,

"That's the wisest thing you've ever done in your foolish life." His voice was soft and dark.

Sareena's face flushed both with anger and with how close he now stood. She opened her mouth to return a retort, but paused at the last moment. This is what he wants, she realised, to push me to the edge, to hear me lash out. Her eyes softened and almost on cue she saw him stiffen. He is insecure. He is testing waters that he wants to find hostile.

"I was never much good at wisdom. I preferred to hedge my bets when I saw someone worth fighting for." Some one, not some thing. From the look of his stone posture, he had not missed that. She searched again in his cowl, peering above the cruel points of his mask to see something in the glaring white of his eyes. He retreated a little into the shadow of his hood. "There you are." She said whispered.

He backed off, and his voice came a snarl through the vents of the mask,

"Whatever you think you see, I assure you, you are mistaken. I am born anew. The ashes of what I was are fallen away and I am risen from the grave more powerful than before."

"Nice speech." She was feeling more confident by the second, "You always did think a little too much of yourself."

He growled at her, loosing ground as the fear departed her voice.

"And you always were insufferable and too sure of yourself."

She gave him a full grin. His head jerked back in surprise at the honest smile.

"I'm glad you're you." She stepped a fraction closer, "I was worried for so long that he would control your mind, turn you into one of those automaton revenants."

"He did not need to. My soul was so corrupt that he already found it fitted pleasantly into his plans with no alterations." He was quick and bitter. He sounded much more like his old self, but just then this did not give Sareena any comfort.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry you're here. I never, ever would have wished this upon you." Not entirely true. There was still that small aching part of her that sighed in relief at his proximity. "I wanted to be free like you. I wanted you to show me the world. But now we're both slaves to Hell."

"I am slave to nothing."

Predictable. He really did sound like a looped sound bite sometimes.

"Then you're a slave to your own delusions." It felt important to her that he see; that he understand just how dire the situation was. He might be in on Netherrealm's current hierarchy, but he did not know the twist and turn of its eternal ruthless politics.

He only laughed,

"I fully admit that at present I must bow to the whims of Quan Chi. But while creatures like you expend all their energy trying to rid themselves of that yoke, I fully intend to get close to it. Close enough to usurp it." He closed the rest of the space between them so that his mask was inches away from her, leaking insubstantial sifts of darkness. She could feel the pull and swirl of shadows gliding over and about her. Her eyes darted to keep track of them. Everywhere they fell there was a chill that pricked pimples into her skin. She resisted stepping back, but had to swallow down a nervousness. "You could join me, Sareena." His voice was quiet now, "Seek a way to overthrow Quan Chi with me. We could share the victory. You and I. It could be like the old days." His breath was still ice cold through the mask vents. "See Netherealm from a throne, instead of always from its hell pits." She was tempted by how familiar he sounded, by how uncharacteristically gentle he was. He had a way of toning down his brutal curtness and blunt remarks when there was something he wanted. She gave a short, sad smile, then dropped her gaze and shook her head.

"We... No, Bi-Han. We can't. It is the one thing above all else that he deems unforgivable. If Quan Chi found out you were plotting against him... you do not know what he can do..."

He was frustrated and earnest, forgetting some of his fearsome wraith act, and sounding more like the reckless Lin Kuei assassin who had spared her life many years ago.

"He would not find out! Not until he was dead, or imprisoned."

"He is thousands of years old, Bi-Han! He has lived lifetimes as a necromancer, and lifetimes before that as an oni in the flames of Netherrealm. This place is his essence. You have been a wraith only a week or so-"

"I am not bound by the repetition and monotony of your eternal realm. I have fresh ideas, new power, and a lifetime of experience with a perfect track record as an assassin."

"A lifetime. One, Bi-Han. He has thousands."

A gloved hand lifted up her chin and she inhaled sharply.

"You trusted me before. Why not trust me again now?"

Her head was dizzy at his touch, clouding all her sensible thought with hopes and aches and desires that collided through her. She could not remember ever feeling a contact so gentle. A faint memory spilled over her and she dimly recalled the agony of her life being ripped from her by the Elder God of the Netherrealm. In between the bursts of pain, there was arms about her, tender, like the hand on her cheek. And after that. Nothing. Another death. Another resurrection. And then the long reprimand for betrayal. Her face darkened.

"Look what happened when I trusted you last time."

His hand slowly dropped. Her eyes stayed hard but she crumpled within at the loss of his touch.

"I was weak then; a mere mortal held back by the Lin Kuei. I am stronger in every way now and serve only my own ambition. You will not die twice for my sake."

"No, I will not."

The brightness in his eyes receded, and she thought she could almost read hurt there. Again her insides tugged and screamed at her.

"If that is what you wish." He was stiff and cold. All the warmth had gone from him.

"What I wish is what you always promised me. Take me away from here! Set me free! Let me see your world above: the ice and mountains you love, the people you care for, the life you lived!" She surprised both him and herself with that outburst.

There was quiet for a long moment.

He turned away.

"It is too late for that." He looked out to a horizon that blazed with distant flames and plumed thick brown smoke into a crying sky. "I was too late." She had never heard him admit to a fault before, "I was warned of the path I walked down. But I was not given enough time." He looked at her, "I would have come back, Sareena. I would have come back and tried again to..." He trailed off. To save you. Those were the unspoken words they both knew he meant.

"Try again now!" Her hand was on his armoured gauntlet, her voice pleading.

Silence.

Her hand was light. She was unsure whether to retract it, or squeeze harder.

He stepped in close and cupped her chin, and looked her straight in the eyes. She stopped breathing and in that moment was as captivated as she had been the first time he stayed his hand in a black fortress, both of their lifetimes ago.

Though he could not know it, he could have asked anything of her just then, and she would have done it.

She reached forward tentatively, as though afraid of triggering an explosion. Her fingers touched the cold black steel of his mask. She searched again, looking for any sign that he was the man she remembered. The slight movement of his breath on her fingertips sent shivers through her. She opened her mouth and he must have seen all the unspoken things between them about to spill forth.

"I cannot leave this place any more." He was abrupt, more empty, more hollow, "I feel it. I feel it inside me. It is me. And I am it."

Her eyes widened in horror as shadows grew from him. Like grotesque wings they expanded monstrous behind him, tipping and twisting into multitudinous shapes. Though he continued to gaze into her eyes, she was glancing around at the twisting convulsing shadows all around. They split tenfold into copies of him, each with dimmer, mockery mimics of his white eyes. They shifted and slid all around her, moving silent and insubstantial, weightless but also glutinous, flowing but also viscous, dead but so very alive. She shuddered, and hugged her arms to her. She suddenly felt exposed, frightened, and alone. Her thoughts went to the two kama tucked into her belt, and the little they could do against such raw, Netherrealm necromancy. He tightened his grip slightly on her jaw, bringing her eyes back to him. He was still in there somewhere, but stronger now was the predatory fire of something darker, something embracing its affinity with shadow.

"So what will it be, Sareena, what will you do?" There was an unearthly, distorted quality to his words. The shivers running through her were of a very different kind. Cold shadows slid over her skin. Pairs of glowing eyes watched her from the darkness. Everywhere light fled and deeper blackness grew heavy and coiling all around.

She set her teeth together and held her head up high, hoping to pass off a front of bravery she did not feel inside,

"I will do what I have been for many years now. Wait for Sub-Zero. And look to him for salvation."

"Sub-Zero is dead." The wraith said.

"If that is so, then I suppose I shall have to wait forever."

He released her with a mocking laugh. He shook his head slightly and had no more words to waste on her. He was impossibly alien to her then. Strands of the wraith's own sorcery filled the black places around her and she retracted from the demonic power gathering to him. The shadows folded about him, pooling beneath him into a vortex shot through with glances of violet. He fell through the earth into darkness.

Sareena was left alone. The dull Netherrealm light seeped back into the land about her. Gradually everything returned to its continuous identical nature, forever bound in its cyclical monotony of half-living. Somewhere far off, the cries of those bound to eternal punishment bled through the air. She cast her eyes back down to the ground. Once, in amidst thousands of years, a demon had found an exit from the perpetual agony of existence. Even if she had never succeeded in escaping the Netherrealm, she had at least had those brief moments of rebellion and freedom as she died in the arms of one she might have come to have loved.