Mortal Kombat

Swish -- swish -- swish.

Chan was sweeping the ancient stones of the courtyard with a rice-straw broom.

Dawn was coming, the sun rising in splendor across the bay. The first rays turned the roof of the pagoda, the Temple of the Order of Light, into golden fire behind him.

Swish -- swish -- swish.

The air was warm and yet clear. Chan felt simple satisfaction in performing his task well. But more than that, he felt pride. Pride in being chosen as the defender. Pride in the training he had received, and that he was continuing to receive, to fight in the Great Tournament.

As the descendant of Kung Lao, it was Chan's place to defend the Order of Light. And he would not fail. Not like his brother, who had forsaken the old ways and fled to America.

He thought briefly of Liu Kang, his brother. Liu was, perhaps, a better fighter, but he did not have faith.

Chan was startled out of his reverie by the sound of birds. All of the pigeons who roosted under the pagoda's eaves had suddenly taken wing. He looked up, still holding his broom.

No one was there, except one man -- a stranger -- walking slowly across the worn stones which Chan had just swept. The startled flock of pigeons whirled, then flew off rapidly across the bay. Chan had never seen them act like that, and despite the warm air of the morning, he felt a chill.

The man approached. When he had come within a double arm's reach, he halted.

The stranger's face was young, and his body was hard under his rich silks. And his mouth was cruel.

"Chan? Are you Chan?" the stranger said, his words forming a question although his tone said he already knew.

"Yes," Chan replied. "That is me."

"You think that you are to fight to defend the Earth," the stranger said. "That is not to be."

Chan looked at the stranger warily. "Perhaps you are mistaken, honored one."

"I never make mistakes in that regard," the man replied. He dropped into a fighting stance, his feet widely spaced, his hands floating at waist-level before him.

Chan gazed into the man's eyes, and then he knew. The eyes were dark, deep and dark, with fire burning far away within them.

Demon eyes.

Chan bowed and took his own stance. "So this is the way it is to be," he said.

"Regrettably, yes," the demon replied. "Every man chooses his own path. You chose the wrong one."