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Shang Tsung’s new island was moderately pleasant. It was heavily overgrown, and Quan Chi would give credit where it was due: Shang Tsung had done much work to make the overgrown ruins livable for himself. He found abandoned training grounds, created to be lived in with its closed-off rooms and beds, and he made it his home as best as he could manage.
Upon their reunion following their respective escapes from Lei Chin and their new escapades for power, Shang Tsung invited Quan Chi to live with him on the island. Quan Chi did so happily; he was relieved their partnership could resume. Besides, he had long since mastered teleportation to and from the Netherrealm, and their respective training could resume without issue.
Life on the island was peaceful. The two spent their days studying the Well of Souls or the abilities Quan Chi discovered in the Netherrealm. It was similar to time with Damashi: learning new things, reading up on new discoveries, or demonstrating their new abilities to one another. It was strange, just the two of them, but they fell back into their old routines quite nicely. The island itself was hidden in a part of Outworld’s seas neither could identify, even with a map, but they were content.
Their time alone allowed them to fall back into more…private routines far more openly than they could prior. They shared a bed, something they could only occasionally do in Outworld. Routines shunned behind closed doors in their respective homes were done in the open, the kisses to the tops of their head when they were together, lingering hands on the small of their backs. When Shang Tsung snuck away while Quan Chi was in the Netherrealm and returned with novels from Outworld (how he obtained them unscathed, Quan Chi did not know, nor did he care to find out), they would read together in the comfort of their home.
Everything was perfect.
…as perfect as their lives could be, considering they were wanted in Earthrealm and Outworld, could be discovered at any given point, and did not have the realms at their feet. But they could not complain either.
And yet, even with their perfection and their happiness, Quan Chi’s mind often shifted from their goals to trivialities. Some days, his newfound appearance, the deathly pale skin and his red eyes, were little more than a second thought. His life of physical labor meant his appearance was irrelevant. It was something he simply accepted, did not feel strongly about one way or another.
On other days, when he knew Shang Tsung was occupied, his mind only focused on said new appearance. He could only look at himself in his red eyes in the mirror and wonder why this appearance was the one he was stuck with. He already looked strange: he was tall, quite so for his size, he had no hair, and his expressions were nothing if not dramatic. But after his attack, he looked…ghoulish, a dead man who yet lived. He was indistinguishable from the demons of the Netherrealm, the very things Quan Chi used for his and Shang Tsung’s bidding. Shang Tsung often spoke of their damnation to the Netherrealm. He called it deserved. They were little more than vermin to him.
Perhaps Quan Chi deserved to stay there with them forever.
No. The two had been allies for months. They had been more than that for what felt like a lifetime, a thousand lifetimes. Shang Tsung may not have been trustworthy to others, but to Quan Chi, his trust in him was absolute. They could have betrayed the other at any given point, and they would not. Shang Tsung would not.
…would he?
Quan Chi had to reconvince himself of that truth multiple times a day. The longer he lived on the island, the worse the thoughts became.
He did not speak a word of it to Shang Tsung. It was such a trivial thing in the grand scheme of their work to restore the island, to find the Hourglass, to have the realms grovel at their feet. He dealt with his newfound insecurities alone. It was as it should be.
But Shang Tsung, perceptive as he was, noticed his change in behavior all the same.
Quan Chi was quite predictable, at least to Shang Tsung. He reacted to situations in similar ways each time. His cadence and word choice were some of his many consistencies. He was dramatic about…just about everything, which Shang Tsung found entertaining to a degree. He would talk about their shared ambitions, his own studies, and his eyes would widen to almost comical levels in his excitement. Shang Tsung wondered if Quan Chi realized it happened. He hoped he didn’t; he quite enjoyed it.
But after a few weeks of living on the island, much of Quan Chi’s mannerisms eased up or disappeared altogether. He still told Shang Tsung of his discoveries but did so with far less excitement than typical. He would say the facts, he would state his plans for their use, and he would leave it at that. Quan Chi could talk Shang Tsung’s ear off if he truly wanted, but he had not done so in what felt like eons. Shang Tsung noticed him slipping away during the day to wander around the woods or practice his sorcery away from his company. It was deeply perplexing.
At night, most things were similar. Quan Chi seemed to hold Shang Tsung tighter, state his affections more openly. He could speak in poems, and he had, numerous times, much to Shang Tsung’s embarrassment. He was the only one in the realms who could make him blush, and Quan Chi took great pride in that fact. They were changes that Shang Tsung quite liked, but…they confused him all the same. What brought on such behavior?
For a while, he had no idea. Quan Chi could be private and secretive if he dedicated himself to it. His devotion to hiding what bothered him from Shang Tsung made it all the more confusing. Anymore, they were honest.
And then, one early afternoon, Shang Tsung walked through their shared home, unaware that Quan Chi was inside. He was supposed to leave for the Netherrealm while Shang Tsung studied the Well. He was in their shared bathroom, and Shang Tsung peeked inside through the cracked door when he saw Quan Chi standing in front of their mirror. The small mirror was from Shang Tsung’s room in Outworld, the very same mirror they shared when Quan Chi visited his room on late nights. He would put on the exaggerated black circles and red sigils in that very mirror before leaving in the morning.
But in their bathroom, Shang Tsung could see a frown. Quan Chi was often frowning, but it seemed…sadder, in a way. It was not the default irritation he wore on most days, the characteristic frown. Shang Tsung could not see much, but he needed to see no more. He wasn’t sure if Quan Chi had ever once been sad since they met. There was something wrong, something he needed to find out immediately.
That evening, once they ate dinner, they retired for the evening. Quan Chi went into their room first after dinner, and when Shang Tsung returned from washing his hair, his hair still wrapped up in his towel, he was sitting at the end of their bed, looking out their window at the woods around them. His skin was barren of all the paint it had during the day, and he looked tired.
The sadness remained. Shang Tsung sighed and sat in front of the mirror on his desk. He had to navigate one step at a time.
He looked back at Quan Chi in his mirror once he found his comb. “I will never be used to you without your typical look,” he said teasingly. He reached over his hand and lit a candle near the back of his desk with a snap of his fingers. Immediately, his reflection was illuminated by a dancing candle flame, the orange hues highlighting the droplets still along his hairline. “I’m so used to the dark circles.”
Quan Chi scoffed. “You have seen me without them every night for months now,” he replied.
“They’re very eye-catching, I suppose. Memorable. Very you.”
Shang Tsung reached up and unraveled the towel atop his head, letting his hair down. He used the towel in his hands to dry his hair until it was merely damp. It only took a few minutes, but they felt like eons because of the silence. Quan Chi didn’t utter a single word, and every now and then, Shang Tsung would catch him staring at him in his mirror. Usually, if he were staring, he would comment on Shang Tsung’s appearance, the rare lack of a hair clip, whatever robe he wore, or anything else on his mind. But he said nothing.
Quan Chi was talkative in private. Shang Tsung loved that about him.
“Something on your mind?”
Quan Chi looked at Shang Tsung directly when he turned around. The two stared at each other until Quan Chi frowned. “What?”
“You haven’t said anything since I returned from washing my hair,” Shang Tsung explained. “I wasn’t sure if something happened.”
“Oh, no.” Quan Chi shook his head rapidly, averting his eyes from the sorcerer. “Nothing like that at all. Just watching.”
He was lying. Shang Tsung knew liars. He knew Quan Chi.
In the privacy of their quarters, they were honest. They had no prying eyes, only each other and their feelings, professional or otherwise. It was all they had left in the world.
And yet Quan Chi lied anyway.
Shang Tsung tilted his head toward his desk. “Come sit with me.”
His seat was big enough for them to share. They had done so several times.
Quan Chi hesitated, but he nodded, rose to his feet, and sat to his left in his seat. It felt like he was in another realm.
Shang Tsung adjusted the angle of the mirror so he could see Quan Chi with a slight turn of his head. He redirected his attention to his hair and started combing through it, undoing any knots that had formed when he dried it. There were not many, but he was glad for the distraction. It was just enough of a lapse in time to give Quan Chi a chance to speak up on his own accord.
It was five minutes, and that was with Shang Tsung going slower than usual. He and Quan Chi made occasional eye contact in the mirror, but neither spoke a word. Quan Chi’s attention seemed to be elsewhere whenever Shang Tsung snuck a glance at him.
…perhaps he was ill. Quan Chi was distant when he didn’t feel well and would hide it from Shang Tsung as long as possible. But he did not appear flushed or otherwise groggy. He was healthy.
Perhaps an injury obtained in the Netherrealm? The demons could be troublesome much of the time. Quan Chi would hide an injury he could; he could work through just about anything from his time in the mines, for better or worse. But Shang Tsung had gotten better at seeing through Quan Chi’s hiding, and he seemed fine in that regard too.
Then…what was going on? Shang Tsung was nothing if not persistent. He would find out, one way or another.
When Shang Tsung’s hair was tamed and pulled behind his shoulders, he moved the mirror back to its original place and turned to face his partner. Quan Chi had been staring at the far wall by their bed, and he looked at him upon his shift in position.
Shang Tsung had waited long enough.
“Did something happen today?” Shang Tsung asked. He lifted a hand to point at him. “And do not dare say it’s ‘nothing’ because I know for a fact it is not.”
Quan Chi’s mouth fell open in silent shock. He shook his head, sputtering beneath his breath for the words, but he said nothing.
“I saw you in our bathroom earlier,” Shang Tsung supplied, “looking at yourself in our mirror.”
“…did you?” Quan Chi said. “I thought you were away.”
“I thought you were, so imagine my shock otherwise.”
They stared at one another, waiting for the other to speak up. Both were stubborn; both wanted to come out on top of whatever conversation they were about to have.
Quan Chi gave in first. He briefly shut his eyes with an annoyed huff and looked Shang Tsung in the eye. “I thought I was better at hiding all this,” he said irritably. “I suppose you want an answer.”
“And the truth,” Shang Tsung added.
“Nothing but. I swear to you.”
Quan Chi only remained silent for a moment longer before he spoke again. “I…I have not been honest with myself about a lot of things, Shang Tsung. My time in the Netherrealm has allowed me to see myself for what I truly am.” He sighed. “A demon. A ghost who yet lives.”
Shang Tsung’s face twisted in confusion. Quan Chi spoke up before he could reply.
“My new appearance, it is something I thought I had accepted when I was attacked,” he continued. “But then I started traveling to the Netherrealm, and we started interacting with the demons together. To us, they are wretched things, only good for our bidding and nothing more. But then I really looked, and I…” He hesitated. Since when did he hesitate so much? “I realized I look hardly any different than them.”
Shang Tsung glanced at the desk to process. He looked back up at Quan Chi and felt his eyes moving across his face for any indication of a joke, a prank, anything to tell him he didn’t truly feel like that. But there was nothing.
“What are you talking about?”
“My eyes! This bastardly skin of mine,” Quan Chi spat. “I look nothing at all like the man you’ve allied yourself with all this time! I already looked strange before, what with my height and my lack of hair and who knows what else is wrong with me, surely everything at this rate! But now I am akin to something dead. I am not the picture of a king of realms, not at all what our vision for ourselves entails.”
Quan Chi shut his eyes. His hands, waving around in his hurry to speak his mind before he lost the courage, trembled near his chest. He clenched them into fists, growling in frustration.
But then he sighed, and Shang Tsung realized he was afraid.
“I…I fear you no longer want me around. You will leave or– or perhaps send me off.”
Shang Tsung could not disguise the surprise on his face. His eyes widened, and he leaned back away from Quan Chi. His limbs found his pajama pants, and he took the loose fabric into both fists to find something to do with his hands.
He wanted to reply. He wanted to refute everything Quan Chi said to him, beg him to give up on this ridiculous joke he was pulling on him. He wanted to know who put such thoughts in his head. He had so much to say, and all the words he came up with fell out of his head and into a puddle of uncertainty at their feet. “Uncertainty” did not suit him. It never would.
Instead, he sputtered, softly shaking his head. “What made you think I would ever–”
“I remember your shock at my newfound condition. The horror in your expression…” Quan Chi leaned forward with wide eyes. “It has replayed in my head, time and time again, and I fear that…that what I look like now factors into our alliance. Our… Our everything, really.”
He leaned back in the seat and looked away a final time. “I cannot shake these thoughts, Shang Tsung. I have tried. They haunt me, and they concern me a great deal. They are insignificant with our greater goals in mind, and I know that, so I have not told you for that reason. I hate keeping things from you, truly, I do, but this is beneath what you deserve to dedicate your attention to. I am beneath that.” He closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around himself in half hug, half scowl. “I never wanted you to find out. It is such an insignificant thing.”
…their everything. Their months under the tutelage of Damashi, learning her ways, her sorcery, her promises of greatness for them. Their tentative interest in one another from minute one, the eyes across the room, the rare interest in the world outside of the careful wall they built for themselves over the years. The discovery of another sorcerer who had been as burned by the world as them. Someone else made it out, and they met, and their isolation suddenly came to an end by their own hand.
Their everything made Shang Tsung’s heart burn with hurt.
“Do you truly think me to be so shallow?”
Quan Chi’s eyes shot open. Shang Tsung did not give him a chance to speak.
“My horror was from your injury and your attempted kidnapping, if you recall. You had been gone for hours when you were supposed to meet me at Ying Fortress. I only found out why you were gone because Nitara told me. If I can be honest, I thought you had been grievously injured or perhaps even killed.” Shang Tsung released his pajama pants from his death grip and moved his hands around. He suddenly could not keep still or composed. “You were in a daze. I thought you concussed. It was a miracle you made it to the fortress at all! I could have cared less about your appearance. I was too busy caring about you !”
Shang Tsung would never forget it.
He stood at the entrance of the fortress, right where he told Quan Chi he would meet him, but he had not heard a word from him or anyone in ages. Even Quan Chi’s allies were unable to give him answers. If anything, they concerned him further.
“We were ambushed by the Earthrealmers and a demon from the Netherrealm,” Nitara told him when asked. “Your former slave and a man afflicted by Tarkat were there too. When I woke next, Quan Chi and the others were long gone.”
He kept his face neutral for the sake of his own well-being. He thanked her for the information and swore to himself he would not move an inch until Quan Chi stood before him.
And eventually, his ally did. He saw the familiar swirl of a portal, the various greens Quan Chi was so fond of, and after a delay, out stepped a man who…looked like Quan Chi. The paint on his face and his teal clothes were at least familiar in that regard. But he was ghastly pale, and his eyes were as red as blood. Instead of walking confidently as he always did, he was stumbling over his own feet as he walked through the portal and into the freezing open air of Ying Fortress. He looked confused. He looked injured.
By the time the portal closed behind him, he had fallen to his hands and knees with a groan.
His feet acted for him. Shang Tsung rushed forward from his spot and toward Quan Chi. He fell to a knee in front of him, said his name, and put his hands on his shoulders. Instantly, he drew back with a low hiss. His skin was cold to the touch, colder than the winter they stood in, as if all his warmth and his life had been taken away.
He said his name again. Quan Chi moved back from his hands and looked up at Shang Tsung. His eyes darted across Shang Tsung’s face, and he soon closed his eyes. Shang Tsung returned his hands to his shoulders. He looked as if he would collapse where he lay.
“The Earthrealmers… They ambushed us,” he said. He leaned forward into Shang Tsung’s hold, his face contorting in discomfort. “They damaged the soul stealer in the Living Forest. One of the souls attacked me and– and I don’t know what happened. It grabbed my face, and there was a lot of screaming, and I woke up next in Sun Do, but–”
“Quan Chi, stop. Stop.” Shang Tsung gently shook his shoulders and successfully regained his attention. Quan Chi opened his eyes and looked up, and the eye contact sent a chill down Shang Tsung’s spine. The red eyes were beyond anything Shang Tsung had ever seen. “It’s over. You’re not there anymore. Do you know where you are?”
Quan Chi looked around. He nodded. “Ying Fortress.”
“That’s right. You’re with me.” Shang Tsung leaned around him to check for injuries. Other than light bruising on the back of his head, he seemed fine. “Do you know how you got to Sun Do?”
“The Earthrealmers and Syzoth and Ashrah kidnapped me,” Quan Chi mumbled. His head rolled to his shoulder. “I only escaped when the General attempted to apprehend them. I think they were taking me to Liu Kang.”
“I’m glad you made it back relatively unscathed. Truly.” Shang Tsung lifted a hand to cup the side of his head, gently moving it upright. “You are freezing. Do you feel cold?”
“Mm.” Quan Chi nodded. His eyes closed once more. “I can scarce remember what it’s like to be warm.”
“Come on then. The fortress is warm.”
With his hands under his arms, Shang Tsung rose to his feet and pulled Quan Chi with him. The taller man swayed once standing and clung to Shang Tsung’s forearms like his life depended on it. Shang Tsung took one of his arms and draped it across his shoulders. Side by side, they walked into the fortress and toward a fire pit, its coal lit brightly in the minimal lighting of the fortress. He helped Quan Chi sit on the extended bottom of a pillar, and he stood to his right.
He channeled his pyromancy into his palm and moved his hand up, down, across his arm and back. He warmed him slowly and silently vowed to remain there as long as it would take. Quan Chi’s eyes focused on the fire in front of him, the orange hues prominent in the red of his eyes, and he soon looked up at Shang Tsung. The smallest of smiles adorned his face, and his gratitude was apparent, despite his silence. It was the old Quan Chi, the one Shang Tsung knew, only hidden.
And in their room on the island, well after that shock had worn off, the flame of a candle in Quan Chi’s eyes was less welcoming. The hues forbode something they could never return from.
“Your newfound condition told me something was wrong, yes, but it was little more than a passing thought,” Shang Tsung continued. His hands stilled in his lap. “Truth be told, I have thought little of it since. It was a big adjustment, not a deterrent. I have not kept myself from you because of that.” He leaned forward. “I do not know what has happened to make you think such a thing.”
“Nothing happened, I–” Quan Chi’s hands moved up and down his arms. “It was this…realization. I saw a demon in the Netherrealm, and our eyes were no different. I came home, and I looked at myself properly for what felt like the first time, and all I could see was a-a hellspawn staring back at me. I couldn’t even recognize myself anymore. I still can’t.”
His voice fell to a whisper, and he looked away from Shang Tsung and his gaze. He slouched against himself. He wanted to shrink and hide, but he was exposed, all of himself barren to his partner. So rarely was he so vulnerable. He hated it.
“Have you come to such a realization about me, I wondered,” he said eventually. “If not, then how long will it take? When will you realize you deserve better than me?” His shoulders slumped with a deep sigh. “It feels like that errant soul took so much from me, and I worry that…that there is no more of me for you to love.”
The confession forced all of Shang Tsung’s thoughts to a halt. His very heart likely stopped in his chest. The waters by the island refused to churn; the very planet Outworld resided on stopped spinning. Everything came to a standstill, and his words hung in the air like fog. Shang Tsung waited for him to say more, but he did not.
The world may have stopped, but Shang Tsung moved despite it. He reached over and took one of Quan Chi’s hands in his left, drawing it away from the crook of his elbow. With his hand in his, he moved over until their hips touched. Quan Chi did not move to look at him.
“Do you remember the day I asked you to live with me on my island?”
Quan Chi glanced down at their conjoined hands. He nodded. “Vividly.”
“Allow me to remind you what I said that day.” Shang Tsung traced his thumb across the back of his hand. “I invited you here, if you recall. Residing in the Netherrealm is a bit extreme, even if you wish to understand the demons there. When I realized we would be better off studying together, I knew you needed to be a permanent addition to my life here.”
Shang Tsung slowed his thumb. “I want you here. I would not have invited you otherwise. I refuse to spend my personal time with those I don’t care for. However you feel about this arrangement, it will never be unworthy of my attention. Your appearance has never interfered with how I choose to divvy it or how I feel about you, and it never will. I mean it, Quan Chi.”
Neither moved for several more seconds. Shang Tsung waited for Quan Chi to reply, look at him, move at all, but he remained still.
Shang Tsung lifted his right hand to Quan Chi’s cheek, gently turning his face in his direction. Their eye contact was part hesitant, part confident, but it was made all the same. There was no other choice in the matter.
“I remember how much you smiled when I invited you,” Shang Tsung continued. He moved his thumb across Quan Chi’s cheekbone. “You could not contain yourself. You’re always so…calculated with your joy, how you show it. You do it so much less when it’s just us.”
Quan Chi’s eyes widened, but the sheepish smile he soon adorned told Shang Tsung how he truly felt. He leaned into Shang Tsung’s hand, ever so slightly.
“A king of realms is meant to stand out,” Shang Tsung said with finality. “It will all but cement us in history. I assure you.”
Shang Tsung’s hand moved down to caress Quan Chi’s jawline, his thumb tracing the underside of his lips. His hand rested on the underside of his jaw, and his thumb found its place in the small indent of his chin. His fingers curled, and he used his new hold to gently tip Quan Chi’s head back. He playfully shook his head by his chin, successfully making Quan Chi laugh, his throat a bouncing vibration against his fingers. The fog in the air dissipated, leaving a soft glow in the rounds of Quan Chi’s cheeks and fondness in Shang Tsung’s heart that could not be taken away.
His hand eventually released his chin and moved up his face once again. He paused at his nose, and his index finger moved slowly across the hook of his nose. His hand moved away to catch his cheek, and his thumb caught itself in his frown lines, still clear despite the joy he so rarely expressed. Shang Tsung smoothed them out with a gentle touch, his remaining fingers settling on the outer edge of his face. Quan Chi’s smile remained, and he closed his eyes, leaning into the touch. Never before had he been touched so gently, held so kindly. Held at all. Shang Tsung was so many of his firsts. He wanted to be every first.
It was sudden when Quan Chi squeezed his hand. “Darling?”
Shang Tsung hummed.
“Thank you.”
“What for?”
Quan Chi opened his eyes, and his smile was still sheepish, and his red eyes were filled to the brim with appreciation. A welcome sight, familiar in a way that made Shang Tsung feel warm. “Your patience, mostly. For me, and…all of my eccentricities.”
Shang Tsung chuckled to himself. “You? Eccentric? I had no idea.”
Quan Chi’s eyes closed in his laughter, his smile wide against his face. His joy had never been so open, not in their relationship, not in his life. Shang Tsung wanted to memorize the sight, the feeling, the love he felt, until it became a memory in each and every lifetime he would ever live.
Shang Tsung released his hand and cupped his other cheek, and Quan Chi opened his eyes. He took a deep breath and moved his hands forward, taking the small of Shang Tsung’s back into his hands. It was Shang Tsung’s turn to smile, and his eyes darted from Quan Chi’s eyes, to his nose and cheeks, to his lips, everything he loved about him and everything he could never forget even if he tried. Quan Chi playfully glared at him when he kissed the corner of his mouth. Shang Tsung appeased him by finally kissing him in full, closing his own eyes as Quan Chi pulled him closer to him. Neither let the other go, even when they climbed into their bed for the night. Shang Tsung held Quan Chi as close to him as he could, his head tucked beneath his chin. His smile never faltered, not for one second, even after falling asleep.
Shang Tsung would fight off every realm, each and every timeline, to keep Quan Chi’s smile as it was, just as he remembered it.