A brewing conflict.

Chapter 15: Seeds of Chaos.

“Are we ready?” Fenrir asked, his voice carrying clearly over the low clatter of armour, reins, and shifting saddles as the travelling party prepared to depart.

Kitana sat her mount with effortless poise, the morning light catching the edges of her armour as she surveyed the caravan one last time. Guards were in position. Supplies were secured. The horses were restless, but disciplined. The road ahead curved away from Z’Unkahrah’s temple-lined terraces and into the wider wilds of Outworld.

She gave a single, measured nod. “We are. Give the word, and we move.”

Fenrir looked over the formation himself, then back at her with a quiet, grateful expression. Behind them, the city remained half-shrouded in gold dust and distant mist, its ancient stone and jungle roots slowly receding as though **** to let them go.

“Then let us return home,” he said.

The party began to move.

Hooves struck the hard earth in a steady rhythm. Leather creaked. Metal gave faint, controlled chimes. The air was warm, but the wind rolling through the path between the cliffs carried enough coolness to keep the ride bearable. Overhead, broad leaves rustled beneath the weight of birds hidden somewhere in the canopy. Below them, the valley opened in great green folds, broken by the occasional ruin of a long-dead civilisation swallowed by vines and age.

Fenrir rode near the front, as he often did when there was too much to think about. It suited him, Kitana reflected. He led by instinct, by observation, by a kind of calm that was not passive but chosen. He did not posture. He did not shout. He moved forward, expecting others to decide whether they would keep pace with him.
Kitana watched him for a time.

Last night remained with her in quiet, pleasing fragments. The warmth of his hands. The steadiness of his voice. The way he had looked at her as though she were not a queen to be managed, not a blade to be admired from afar, but a woman he genuinely wanted to know. It had changed something in her.
She had enjoyed him far more than she had expected to. More than she had allowed herself to admit, even now. And with that enjoyment came another truth she had not yet spoken aloud. She was frightened, not from desire.

Of what followed it.

He hadn’t spoken with Fenrir nor Jade about this, yet last night, after talking with Fenrir about accepting help from others, she came to realise that she might need to do the same about this inner conflict she carried. Her thoughts drifted first, reluctantly, to Mileena. The knot in her chest tightened the instant her mind touched the subject.

Was she being unfair? Perhaps. There had been coldness in her toward Mileena, and some of it was deserved. Some of it, she knew, had come from instinct rather than cruelty. But Mileena was still Mileena. Still, the sister who had grown beside her in a world made of **** and manipulation. Still, the one who had fought at her side. Still, the one who had suffered beneath Shao Kahn’s cruelty in a different but no less terrible way.

A creation, yes. A replacement, that was the path they had chosen for her. A lie born in blood and sorcery.

Yet she was still her sister. That was the part that made the truth impossible.

Kitana’s fingers tightened slightly on the reins. If she told Mileena, what would happen?

Would there be shouting first? Threats? Accusations sharp enough to draw blood? Or would Mileena go still in that unnerving way she sometimes did when the hurt ran too deep for words? Kitana could imagine the rage easily enough. She could imagine the ****.

What she could not bear so easily was the other possibility.

That Mileena would look at her and see betrayal so complete it erased everything else.

That she would wonder if every kindness had been false. If every moment of sisterhood had been pity. If Kitana had ever truly loved her at all.

That was the true fear…And then there was the other concern. More intimate, more unnerving.

Her.

What was she becoming?

A queen, yes. That much had never been in doubt. But something in her had shifted over the past months, and she was only now beginning to understand how deeply Fenrir had affected it.

She had become more patient, more reflective.

More willing to listen before judging.

She had started to look at people differently, not as threats waiting to happen, but as individuals shaped by pain, ambition, hunger, fear or loyalty. That was not how she had been raised to think. Shao Kahn’s world had taught her to identify weakness and exploit it before someone exploited hers.

Fenrir had taught her something else. That mercy was not weakness. That compassion was not blindness. That people could be redirected if given reason, dignity and a chance to prove themselves.

The thought unsettled her because it had begun to feel natural.

She glanced toward him again. He had not noticed, or if he had, he gave no sign of it. He was speaking quietly with one of the guards ahead, then scanning the line of riders to make sure everyone remained in order.

Fenrir saw the beauty and the best in people, even when they are hostile to him. It wasn’t due to innocence or being blind to the raw evil and malignancy that lurked around them. Instead, he was astute and benevolent. Just, mostly. He might make mistakes, but he learned from them quickly and never forgot the lives lost; instead, he carried them without sorrow but with conviction to honour their memories by doing great deeds.

He forgave and gave second chances to people who maybe didn’t deserve it. Shao Kahn would have killed them, and she would be the executioner. Yet Fenrir proved the old ways wrong.

Kitana always recalled an event that transpired a few weeks ago, back at the palace.

Carkas brought a thief who had stolen food from the castle. The captain, and so did she, suggested punishment for his sneaky trick. Suggesting his left hand be cut if not executed, he had stolen directly from the crown, and who knew if he was a spy…Even Jade seemed to agree with the suggestion to an extent.

Instead, Fenrir saw deeper into him; he saw fear and desperation rather than malice. But above all, he saw potential in this mere thief.

Kitana could still hear his voice in the memory.

“How did you get past the guards?”

It wasn’t how much he had stolen; instead, it was how one shrivelled lad was able to sneak past Barong’s crows and Carkas’ guards? That's what interested him the most.

And as such, he didn’t offer punishment but instead a job, one that every day the thief would pay with his service and reduce his penance. He would work under Barong’s wing as a spy; The thief had accepted it in tears.

Kitana had been furious at him for days; for once, he was not listening to them. Yet one day, she talked with Barong about this decision taken by the emperor. The old spymaster laughed deeply, hearing her bickering about this.

Instead, he said to her, “He was the only one seeing clearly then.”

A few days before departing for Z’Unkahrah, she knew what he meant. The kid had learned the ropes quickly, becoming a vital part of the spy networks set up by Barong, proving himself rather useful and with great potential to be one day a valuable ally in the court.

He had moved from the edge of punishment into the beginnings of service. Fenrir had not simply spared him.

He had changed the shape of the boy’s future.

She felt stupid. How could she not see this? She, more than anyone, knew how to read people.

Now, as the caravan moved through the jungle road, she saw the lesson more plainly. Fenrir's kindness was not softness. It was the power of a different kind. A dangerous kind. The kind that changed people instead of breaking them.

She had begun to adopt that perspective without noticing. She listened more now. She judged less quickly. She understood that not every flaw was a sign of corruption, and not every mistake deserved blood.

Fenrir had changed her. That truth should have frightened her more than it did. Instead, it unsettled her in a quieter, stranger way.

Because if he could change the way she ruled, then what else might he change?

It even seemed to spread even more; she started to see him with different eyes. One that was truthful in the end. It wasn’t a possibility anymore; by now, she knew better than to deny those feelings. She liked him, genuinely, that was. Last night had not merely been intimacy. It had been a commitment, in the rawest sense of the word. Their bond now felt undeniable, and with that came a new sort of political reality.

Strangely, she didn’t feel jealous, at least not with Jade; she knew that one way or another, she would have to share him, and at the end of the day, she liked Jade and wouldn’t mind sharing her bed with the three of them together. She was a certainty in her life. Steady. Intelligent. A queen in her own right, and someone Kitana could trust without hesitation.

But with Mileena, she felt different, not threatening but possessive. A result of their “Sisterly” bond, you might say. Mileena was volatility and loyalty, pain and love, danger and devotion wrapped together in one impossible soul.

Still, she needed to accept that Mileena deserved this same love she was receiving from Fenrir.

By now, she knew that as much as Fenrir loved, or at least found her attractive, he, deep in his heart, loved Jade and Mileena just as much. He never confessed it, at least not yet, but Kitana knew how to read people and those same eyes he gave her, he also did with them.

She wasn’t mad at that, she knew Jade was someone good, excellent and perfect, you might say, in his life. She brought stability to it, and Fenrir needed that…and to an extent, so did Jade more than anyone.

Mileena brought rawness and free will to him, which, although she wasn’t fully thrilled by it, made her happy knowing Fenrir was smiling more frequently when spending time with them. And Mileena gave him that just as much as Kitana and Jade did; her “sister” deserved this relationship as much as she did.

Then there was what they did last night…She loved it, every second of it. No, she adored it.

He was so good to her; he fulfilled all her needs as a great partner would. And that ending was…magnificent.

Although she was concerned about their little mishap, mostly hers, for allowing the pleasure and the heat of the moment to consume her, she should have told him to pull out… yet it felt too good in the moment and especially afterwards. If the three of them were truly bound to Fenrir now, then there would be other consequences, too. A family could form from this. Maybe someday, children. The thought did not strike Kitana as a threat. Not exactly.

It struck her as a possibility she had to begin considering.

Dynasty was never a simple matter in Outworld. Bloodlines mattered. Symbols mattered. The continuation of a house mattered. She was a queen; of course, she thought of such things. And if Fenrir truly became a lasting part of their lives, then perhaps their future would eventually carry more than titles and political alliances.

Perhaps it would carry heirs.

The idea settled in her chest with strange calm. Not now. Not yet...But one day, maybe.

She had not noticed her pace slowing until Fenrir glanced back over his shoulder.

“Everything alright back there?” he called.

Kitana startled slightly, then straightened in her saddle and recovered her composure with practised ease. “Perfectly.”

Fenrir's expression suggested he believed her only halfway, but he turned forward again without pressing.

A voice came from beside her then, low and roughened by the Zaterran rasp she had grown used to.

“Your mind is elsewhere, my queen.”

Kitana turned to find Syzoth riding beside her, his posture relaxed but attentive, his eyes bright beneath the mask.

She gave him a faint, distracted smile. “You nearly startled me.”

“Then I apologise.” His tone suggested that he was not especially sorry. “Though I suspect the fault lies less with me and more with whatever has taken hold of your thoughts.”

Kitana let out a small breath that might have been a laugh under different circumstances. “You are observant.”

“It has kept me alive.”

The path narrowed slightly ahead, forcing the riders into a tighter line. Birds burst from the trees in a sudden flurry of wings, and the wind shifted with the scent of damp earth and sun-warmed stone.

Syzoth watched her for another moment. “You are troubled.”

Kitana did not answer at first.

The temptation to dismiss him was there, but she had spent the night insisting that Fenrir should not carry his burdens alone. She would be a hypocrite if she turned away from hers now.

“I am,” she admitted.

Syzoth gave a slight incline of his head. “About the future.”

“That obvious?”

“To one who knows you, yes.” His voice softened a little. “You are not afraid of conflict, Kitana. You have faced impossible odds before. You are too disciplined for simple fear.”

That caused her to glance at him more directly.

“There is something else,” he continued, quieter now. “Something more personal.”

Kitana’s jaw tightened. Fenrir remained a little ahead of them, leading the line. She looked after him for a brief moment before answering.

“It is about us.”

Syzoth was silent. That silence was different from the others he had given her. It was not empty. It was wary. He knew, or suspected, where this conversation was going. “How so?” he asked at last.

Kitana’s fingers loosened and tightened once around the reins. “Fenrir has changed more than one thing in this court. I can feel it. The way people speak. The way they look at one another. The way I think.” She frowned slightly, as though annoyed by her own honesty. “I do not know whether to call that a blessing or a complication.”

Syzoth considered that.

“Both,” he said simply.

That earned him a brief look of approval. She breathed out. “I worry about the future. About what this means for all of us. For Outworld. For the crown. For…” She hesitated, then added with far more ****, “Myself.”

Syzoth’s eyes remained on her. “You speak as though you fear becoming someone else.”

Kitana’s lips pressed together. Perhaps that was exactly what she feared.

Not becoming weaker. Not becoming less of a queen. But becoming softer in ways that would alter the shape of her rule forever. More patient. More forgiving. More willing to see people as people.

Fenrir had taught her that, whether intentionally or not. “That is not entirely wrong,” she said.

Syzoth absorbed the answer without surprise.

Then, after a pause, she said, “I am also afraid of what comes next with Mileena.”

The words sharpened Syzoth’s attention at once. Kitana saw it. The way his gaze hardened. The way his body went still in the saddle. He understood.
Of course, he understood.

“What about her?” he asked carefully.

Kitana looked ahead, then down. When she answered, her voice had lost some of its earlier ease. “I know the truth.”

Syzoth did not move. The jungle seemed to grow quieter around them, as if even the road itself had gone still.

After a long moment, he looked down at the trail, then back up at her. “I suspected as much.” The words landed with a cold weight.

Kitana’s eyes narrowed. “Then why did no one tell me?”

Syzoth’s voice was level, but there was an edge under it, now something old and hard. “Because at the time, there were no safe mouths with which to speak it.”

“After I became queen, then.”

“What would you have gained, Kitana?” His tone remained calm, but the question was pointed. “Truth? Or pain?”

Kitana bristled. She did not enjoy being spoken to in such a way, especially not by someone beneath her rank. But Syzoth was not speaking out of defiance. He was speaking out of experience.

That made the rebuke harder to dismiss. She looked away, jaw tight. “I would have liked to decide for myself.”

“I understand that.”

“No,” she said, her voice lower now. “I do not think you do.”

Syzoth said nothing, and that restraint gave her enough room to continue.

“It is not only about the truth,” she said. “It is about Mileena.” At that, Syzoth’s expression changed.

Not dramatically. Not enough for anyone else to notice. But Kitana saw it. The faint, brief tightening around his eyes. The flicker of something like dread.

“If I tell her,” Kitana continued, “I do not know what she will do. I do not know what she will think.”

Syzoth’s silence this time was longer. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than before. “And that is what you fear.”

Kitana nodded once.

What she could not say aloud was worse: not that Mileena might rage, not that she might turn violent, but that she might believe Kitana had never loved her at all.
That all of it, every shared memory, every hard-earned truce, every private moment of tenderness, had been a lie.

The thought made her chest ache. She swallowed. “She deserves to know.”

Syzoth looked at her for a long time. “Yes,” he said at last, “she does.”

Then, after a pause, he added the warning she had been expecting.

“But knowledge will not spare her pain.”

Kitana’s mouth tightened.

“I know.”

Syzoth’s gaze stayed on her, and for a moment, there was something almost mournful in it. Something older than loyalty. Older than fear.

“If you tell her,” He said carefully, “be prepared for the possibility that she may not only feel betrayed by the truth. She may feel abandoned by the love that came before it.”

Before she could answer, the caravan’s line shifted ahead, and Fenrir's voice called back to them as the path opened toward a wider stretch of road.
Kitana drew in one slow breath, steadying herself.

Syzoth watched her once more. Then, more gently, he said, “You are not wrong to fear this, my queen. Only wise.”

She gave a small nod, though the ache in her chest remained.

Ahead, the road continued home.

Behind her, the truth was already moving with them.

“It’s not that I fear Mileena, I only fear what I might do…” She muttered under her breath.

“Goddamnit!”

The shout cracked through the corridor like a whip, sharp enough to draw attention even through the thick stone walls. It was followed by the unmistakable sounds of something being dragged, something heavy struck against furniture, and the harsh scrape of wood against stone.

Jade slowed at the doorway.

The room beyond had once belonged to Shang Tsung. Now it looked like it had been ravaged by a storm.

“Mileena?” Jade asked, stepping inside with a cautious frown.

The door had been **** open; its lock damaged. Scrolls lay scattered across the floor in crooked fans of parchment. A chair had been shoved sideways. The desk was half pulled away from the wall, its drawers open and emptied onto the floor. The bed had been dragged to one side, exposing a hidden compartment carved into the stone beneath it.

Mileena stood over the open recess, breathing harder than she wanted to admit.

She did not turn at once.

Instead, she stayed bent over the compartment, one gloved hand braced on the edge while the other searched through the space with impatient, clawed fingers. She moved with purpose, but there was something frantic in the way she did it, less like a hunter and more like someone trying to outrun a thought.

Jade took in the room in a single sweep of her eyes. The mess. The overturned furniture. The open drawers. The hidden space beneath the bed.

And Mileena’s posture. Too stiff and tense and focused.

That was the first thing that told Jade something was wrong. The second was Mileena’s failure to answer.

“Mileena,” Jade said again, firmer now.

That got her attention.

Mileena straightened too quickly, brushing one hand over the front of her attire as though she could smooth away the evidence of what she had been doing. “What?”
Jade arched a brow. “I called your name twice.”

“I heard you.”

“Then answering would have been courteous.”

Mileena’s mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. Not quite irritation. Something strained in between. “I’m not in the mood for courtesy.”

Jade stepped farther into the room, her eyes narrowing slightly as she examined the damage. “That much is obvious.”

Mileena followed her gaze and seemed to remember the state of the chamber. For a moment, her expression threatened to slip. Then she drew herself back together, all sharp angles and guarded impatience.

“I was searching,” she said.

“For what?”

Mileena gave a short, humorless laugh. “If I knew that already, would I still be searching?”

Jade did not rise to the bait. Instead, she walked closer to the hidden compartment and crouched beside it, careful not to disturb anything. There was a small latch built into the stone recess, almost invisible unless one knew where to look.

Her gaze sharpened. “Interesting.”

Mileena looked down at her. “What?”

“This compartment.” Jade ran her fingers lightly over the edge. “It is concealed too well to be incidental.”

Mileena folded her arms. “That was my conclusion as well.”

Jade glanced at the drawers, then the desk, then back at the compartment. “You turned the room inside out trying to find it?”

Mileena’s chin lifted. “I had help.”

“From who?”

Mileena hesitated for the briefest instant, that was enough.

Jade saw the hesitation, filed it away, and kept her tone light. “You are becoming secretive, Mileena.”

“I am efficient.” She said flatly.

Jade’s expression remained neutral, but her voice gentled. “Those are not the same thing.”

Mileena let out a small breath through her nose and crouched again beside the compartment. “Can we stop pretending this is a social call?”

Jade gave the hidden recess another careful look. “That depends. Are you going to tell me what you are looking for?”

Mileena did not answer immediately. Her fingers hovered over the latch, then curled into a fist.

“The truth,” she said at last.

Jade’s face remained composed, but her eyes sharpened at the word. “That is usually a dangerous thing to search for in Shang Tsung’s chambers.”

Mileena barked a laugh. “Nothing about him was ever safe.”

“No,” Jade said quietly. “It was not.”

For a moment, the room seemed to settle around them.

Then Mileena reached into the hidden compartment and pulled out a small cylindrical object made from interlocking wooden rings, each fitted around an iron spindle. It looked plain at first glance, almost decorative, but the moment Jade saw it, her attention changed.

She held out one hand.

“May I?”

Mileena glanced at her, suspicious by instinct, then at the cylinder, then back again. She did not look pleased at the idea of surrendering it, but after a beat she handed it over.

Jade turned it in her fingers, studying the construction. The wooden disks could rotate independently. Tiny letters were carved into the outer edge of each ring, arranged in a way that made no immediate sense unless the rings were aligned correctly.

Her brows lifted slightly. “A cipher cylinder,” she murmured.

Mileena stared at her. “You know what that is?”

Jade gave a small nod. “A coded message device. The letters must be aligned in the proper order to reveal the contents. Used well, it keeps a message hidden from anyone without the key.”

Mileena’s jaw tightened. “Of course he would hide things inside things.”

Jade looked up from the object. “You sound personally offended.”

“I am.”

The answer came too fast. Jade saw it, of course. She did not smile, but her concern deepened.

Mileena took a step back and crossed her arms again, as though distance could conceal her unease. “It must have been left here for a reason.”

“Probably.”

The Tarkatan queen’s gaze dropped to the cylinder, her claws flexing once in frustration. “Then why is the reason still hidden?”

Jade weighed the object in her hand. “Because Shang Tsung enjoyed making simple things miserable.”

That earned the faintest snort from Mileena. “That sounds like him.”

Jade turned the cylinder slowly, examining the sequence of letters. “There may be a phrase, a key word, something to guide the alignment. If we know the reference, we may be able to open it.”

Mileena’s eyes narrowed. “We?”

Jade glanced up. “Would you prefer I leave you alone with it?”

“No,” Mileena said, too quickly. Then, more carefully, she added, “Not yet.”

Jade studied her for a long moment.

That answer said more than Mileena likely intended.

The room remained quiet except for the distant hum of the castle beyond it. Somewhere far away, footsteps echoed and faded. A curtain near the window shifted in the breeze, letting in a narrow blade of pale light.

Mileena looked at the door once, then back at the cylinder. Her expression had gone carefully blank, but Jade could see the effort it took to hold it there.

“You are upset,” Jade said.

Mileena gave her a sharp look. “What gave it away?”

“The room,” Jade replied dryly. “The furniture. Your tone.”

Mileena rolled her eyes. “You’ve become unbearable.”

“And you have become evasive.”

Mileena’s gaze flicked away for half a second, then returned. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Jade remained quiet. She had known Mileena long enough to understand the difference between rage and panic. This was not simple irritation. This was something else. Something sharper, more brittle. Mileena hated appearing weak, that much was obvious, So she did what she always did when frightened: she sharpened her claws, lifted her chin, and tried to make the world believe she was in control.

Jade softened her voice. “If this matters to you, then say so.”

Mileena lifted her chin. “It matters.”

A beat passed between them.

Then Jade asked, “Why?”

Mileena’s mouth opened, then closed again.

For a moment, Jade thought she might actually answer honestly. Instead, Mileena turned the cylinder over in her hands, then gave a dismissive shrug that was just a little too stiff to be convincing.

“Because I dislike riddles,” she said.

Jade accepted the lie without calling it one. She crouched again and reached toward the hidden compartment, brushing aside a bit of loose stone dust. “This is not the sort of thing one leaves behind by accident.”

Mileena watched her. “You think he hid something important here?”

“I think Shang Tsung hid something because he wanted it found by the wrong person first.”

Mileena’s eyes narrowed. “That sounds ominous.”

“It is meant to.”

There was a pause.

Then Jade looked up from the hidden compartment and asked, “Do you want me to bring Baraka or Barong?”

The answer detonated instantly.

“No.”

Mileena’s response was so sharp it made even Jade blink. The queen’s shoulders tensed, and for the briefest flash of time the mask slipped. Not enough for a stranger to notice. Enough for Jade.

Mileena caught herself at once, but the damage had been done.

“I mean—” she began, then stopped. Her voice lowered, more controlled now, though the effort showed. “No. I can handle this.”

Jade stood slowly. “You sound certain.”

“I am.”

“That is not what your face says.”

Mileena bared the slightest edge of fang. “Then perhaps you are staring too hard.”

Jade did not rise to the insult. She only studied her more carefully now. And that was the mistake Mileena made. Not the lie.

The fear behind it.

Because Jade saw it clearly now, hanging just beneath the surface: Mileena was not merely curious. She was frightened. The kind of frightened that did not come from a threat in the room, but from what the room might reveal.

Jade’s fingers closed a little more firmly around the cylinder. “Whatever this is,” she said softly, “it is important enough to make you panic.”

Mileena’s laugh came thin and brittle. “Panic is not the word I’d use.”

“No?”

“No.” Mileena’s gaze flicked away again, then back. “I would use irritated.”

Jade’s expression remained calm, but her voice grew quieter. “You are trying very hard not to look afraid.”

Mileena went still. That was closer than she wanted.

The silence stretched between them.

Then, with deliberate care, Mileena reached out and took the cylinder back. Her fingers wrapped around it too tightly, as if she feared it might vanish if she did not claim it immediately.

“I said I’ll deal with it,” she repeated.

Jade held her gaze. “And I believe you intend to.”

That seemed to relieve Mileena only slightly.

She took one slow breath, then another, as though she were trying to **** her pulse back into obedience. When she spoke again, her voice had flattened into something easier to wear.

“Forget you saw me here.”

Jade did not answer at once. She watched as Mileena turned toward the door, the cylinder still locked in her hand. The queen’s shoulders were straight, but her movement had lost some of its earlier ****. It was the posture of someone fleeing without wanting to look as though she were fleeing.

Jade stepped after her and reached out, not to restrain her, but to touch her arm. “Mileena.”

The Tarkatan queen stopped.

Jade’s voice softened, but only just. “Are you sure you want to leave this alone?”

For a heartbeat, Mileena said nothing. When she finally did answer, it came out quieter than anything she had said all morning.

“…I’m fine.”

Jade’s hand remained lightly on her arm. Not enough to hold her. Enough to remind her she was not invisible.

Mileena turned her head slightly, and for one brief second Jade saw it all at once: the strain in her eyes, the tension in her jaw, the fear she had tried so hard to swallow before it could be seen.

Then it was gone again.

Mileena pulled her arm free, though not roughly. “I said I’m fine.”

And she left.

Jade watched her disappear into the corridor, then stood still in the ruined chamber for several seconds after the door had closed.
The silence that followed felt heavier than before.

She looked down at the empty compartment beneath the bed, then at the cylinder Mileena had taken with her, and at the room around her. Whatever Shang Tsung had hidden, it was not some trivial piece of sorcery or idle cruelty.

Jade exhaled slowly and set her gaze toward the hallway where Mileena had vanished. Something was off, and she, above everyone else in here, could tell. Mileena was afraid of something, and, if true, she should as well.