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Armageddon. In the human vernacular, it was the site where the final battle of good and evil would take place, determining the ultimate fate of the world. Tygarras wasn't sure if that was true or not, but from his perch above the Edenian crater, observing casually the massive infighting amongst the realms' greatest warriors below, he certainly felt that, if such a battle did exist, this would've been it. However, this was not the traditional war between good and evil of human biblical description; it was more of a battle royale, less a true war than a maddening death race to the top of an enigmatic pyramid, and the equally mysterious firespawn waiting there. Regardless of what kind of battle it was, though, it certainly seemed to him that this was truly the end; he could feel the sheer amount of visceral energy emitting from the combatants, each and every blow, be it from a fist, weapon, or innate magical attack, radiating shockwaves throughout the land, threatening to tear the very fabric of reality asunder at the seams.

Tygarras, though, didn't care much about this battle. In fact, he didn't care much about anything, anymore. The massive tigrine figure shuddered as yet another shockwave from the battle hit him, ruffling the fabric of his modified Tarkatan gi and loincloth and causing him to wrap his thickly muscled arms around himself for protection. How long has it been? Five centuries? Six? He couldn't remember, nor could he quite bring himself to care; the years just seemed to pass by in a blur since that day so long ago, without him even really bothering to notice. All he really knew, was that somewhere down there, in that violent throng of people, were the ones who had ruined his life...and he was perfectly happy to watch them rip each other apart as their treachery unraveled.

"Enjoying the view, Shokan?"

Tygarras jumped, startled at the voice behind him, and turned to see who was addressing him. What he saw surprised him: a Centaur...no, a Minotaur, pale off-white with black stripes (or was it the other way around?), tall striped Mohawk, and distinctly equine face and hands, wearing an odd-looking black coat, a deep reddish sash around his waist, and a jewel-encrusted ebony walking stick in his hand. He wore no loincloth to cover his groin, a metal codpiece - seemingly naturally integrated into the being's groin as its long metal tail was, barely contained a very large sheath and ballsac...or was the codpiece the man's genitals? The metal was so seamless against his furred skin that Tygarras couldn't tell. The Minotaur seemed to smirk a bit as he was gawked at, idly walking past Tygarras and up to the edge of the cliff. The strange figure propped a hoofed leg upon a nearby rock and looked down upon the carnage below.

"Pathetic, isn't it?" the figure queried, to no one in particular. "For centuries they've all fought against each other in endless conflict, risking their lives to end those of their opponents... and for what? Power, glory, wealth? And what do they get, instead? Misery, suffering, death... All that potential, wasted on frivolous struggles for dominance, for honor. And now, their senseless violence will possibly destroy the realms, as we know it. It's sad, really; all they really see in this last, great war is a race for power, not even realizing they may be condemning us all..."

"Who are you?" Tygarras demanded, eying the newcomer with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. "How do you know me? And what is your interest with what is happening down below?"

The figure simply glanced at him, a weird, sad smile on his lips, and stood up. "Do not be alarmed, I am not here to hurt you, Shokan."

Tygarras crossed his arms, stoically. "You haven't answered my questions, stranger."

"My name is Zebron. I am an outcast among my fellow Centaurs..."

"Centaurs?" Tygarras repeated, incredulous. "You look like no Centaur I've ever seen before."

Zebron nodded, solemnly. "A curse has befallen my people, transforming our bodies into what you see before you." He gestured down at his own form, emphasizing the changes. "Your people, Shokan, have garnered the blame for our plight, mostly by hearsay from our leader, Motaro."

Tygarras blinked in shock, less from the news of the Centaur's transformation or his people's accusations of its cause, than by the doubtful tone in Zebron's voice. "And you believe otherwise?"

Again, Zebron nodded, a tiny glint of irony in his eyes. "I also know you, Tygarras, bastard son of the Shokan general Kintaro, and know you have been away from Outworld for many years, so what I am about to tell you may seem incredulous."

Tygarras snarled at the sound of his father's name. "Don't you EVER mention that bastard in my presence. He or his kin. I would rather not be reminded of those treacherous dogs, just as I would rather not deal with the likes of you. Now please leave me be, before I force you from my presence."

Zebron didn't budge. Instead, he turned and sat down on the rock, his movements strangely exaggerated and emphasized for Tygarras' taste. "How many years has it been? Five hundred? Six? Another lifetime, perhaps? I could imagine, after all this time of running away, you'd consider it another life, Shokan..."

Tygarras growled in annoyance and tensed his fists, trying not to give in to his sudden urge to toss this interloper off the cliff. "I will not ask again, Centaur. Leave now, while you still have the means to do so on your own volition."

Zebron chuckled in mock defiance, but didn't move. "Really, now? I thought you were against such senseless brutality." he snarked, dismissively. "Or has the centuries of self-imposed exile rekindled your temper?"

That was enough for Tygarras. With a mighty roar of rage, he lunged at Zebron, claws at bear to shred the infernal Centaur's hide, only to slice through green mist as the zebrine warrior teleported himself behind the half-Shokan. Blinking in surprise at how easily his prey had eluded him, Tygarras turned and threw himself at the Centaur again, and again grasped nothing but smoky air as Zebron displaced himself back to his original position. Growling in frustration, the half-Shokan cocked his head towards his adversary and glared, teeth bared. "Hold still, you insufferable cur!"

Zebron smirked, mockingly. "Calm yourself, Shokan. I do not wish to fight you, merely to talk."

Tygarras eyed the Centaur suspiciously, his Shokan instincts telling him not to trust the guy, but in light of the fact that the stranger had done little else to provoke him than poke fun at him, he decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"Alright," the half-Shokan grumbled, letting his guard down. "Speak quickly and to the point; my patience with you is growing thin."

Zebron nodded in understanding and cleared his throat. "As I said before, I know of you and your history. Just as my...unique quirks have made me an outcast among my people, so has your tainted blood made you an outcast among yours."

"Get to the point, Centaur," Tygarras snapped, impatiently. "I don't need a lecture on my own life."

"Yes, I'm sorry," Zebron agreed, humbly. "My point is this: during your travels through the realms, your people and mine were forced under extenuating circumstances to join in a treaty with Edenia. It was tenuous, but respected by all parties. At least, until recently."

"Your curse, I'm assuming?"

Zebron nodded. "No one knows exactly who invoked it, but Motaro is convinced that the Shokans are to blame, and has convinced some of my people of it, as well."

"But you don't believe it."

"No, and I have only a little evidence to prove it. You see, I have held a fascination with your people for a long while, and have studied you and your kind from a distance since before the treaty. In fact, it was I who helped mitigate the Centaur's part of the treaty, though that made me less popular among my tribe than before."

Tygarras quirked an eyebrow, intrigued. "You do not believe in the power struggle between our two peoples?"

"No, I don't. I found all that nonsense about Centaur superiority over the Shokan to be a load of horse manure - no pun intended - especially after I started observing your people in more detail. I'm convinced that our races can live together in peace, and the treaty was my chance to prove my theory right."

"So, what happened?"

"Motaro happened. We had gotten word that he had died at the hands of that Shokan bitch Sheeva during Shao Kahn's failed invasion of Earthrealm. Shao Kahn had assigned her as Queen Sindel's bodyguard, while Motaro and the Centaurs were used as his Extermination squads, which undoubtedly pissed her off. She killed him in cold blood, but somehow, he was revived not long ago. We don't know who saved him; Motaro had never seen him before. However, we do know that they met again in private, just after the curse struck us, and told him that the Shokan were to blame."

Tygarras snorted in disbelief. "How do you know my people weren't responsible? If Sheeva hated Motaro so much..."

"Impossible," Zebron retorted, negatively. "She was killed by Shao Kahn shortly after she murdered Motaro, attempting to get revenge on him for betraying the Shokan to us. And no other Shokan could have been responsible, of that I can be sure of; when the curse struck, the Shokan were already engaged in war with Shao Kahn, alongside the Edenians. They had no time or resources to spare for such a trivial thing like revenge, and besides, angering the Centaurs at that critical stage would have left them at a tactical disadvantage; it would've been suicide for them to risk it, even if they weren't at war, since both Centaur and Edenia alike would be after their hides for breaking the truce."

Tygarras frowned, mulling over Zebron's words carefully. The Centaur was right about him being out of the loop for so long, so this news was new to him, but he couldn't bring himself to fully believe the man-horse yet. "Let's say that you are telling the truth. Who, then, do you suspect is the real perpetrator?"

Zebron sighed and gave a heavy shrug. "I don't know. There are a few leads that I'm trying to follow, but so far, none of them have borne fruit. That's why I've come to you, friend."

Tygarras was taken aback by that. "Me? Why?"

"Because there's something about Motaro's mysterious visitor that makes me suspect he is from outside our realms. Motaro didn't recognize him upon sight, so it is unlikely that his savior was an ally to Shao Kahn. You, on the other hand, have been around the realms for quite a while. If this stranger really is from another realm, you might be able to recognize him."

Tygarras glowered, hearing enough. "Indeed. Unfortunately for you, my tolerance for your presence has just ended. Get out of my sight and take your pack of lies to someone gullible enough to believe them."

Zebron whinnied in exasperation, his own patience with the half-Shokan shortening. "Stubborn as always, I see. It seems that nothing has changed with you during your five centuries of running from your past."

"What does that mean, Centaur?!" Tygarras roared, irritated.

"Don't play coy with me, Shokan. Did you really think that you could simply walk away from your problems, shut yourself out from the realms like a recluse, and hope that it would go away on its own? I know what it's like to be called a freak and a weakling by one's own people, but unlike you, I didn't hide from my assaulters. I struggled to make my mark in my race, to show that I am as deserving of respect as anyone in my tribe, and now all my hard work is about to be unraveled, and I need your help to ensure that it does not."

"And why should I help you?" Tygarras sneered, insulted by Zebron's arrogance. "Or even care, for that matter?"

"Because despite what you think, what happens to your people if and when our treaty is fully dissolved will affect you, as well. Despite your mixed heritage, you are still Shokan, and in the thick of war, that would be all that matters to any Centaur you encounter."

Tygarras laughed at Zebron's words. "You assume too much, Centaur. Neither race have bothered me since I left Outworld. What makes you think that they will come after me, after this?"

"Because you are Shokan, you idiot, and if Motaro gains enough followers to his cause, he will hunt down and exterminate every Shokan in existence as punishment for the curse. You are well known by both races for your attempted defection to Earthrealm; Motaro could easily use that as false evidence to accuse you of the curse. You won't be safe anywhere, Shokan, unless you help me prove Motaro's suspicions wrong and prevent him from rallying my people into a witch hunt against yours."

"If I am so well-known as a traitor," Tygarras pointed out, venomously, "do you really think that they'll believe any evidence I help you uncover? If you really are as much of an outcast as you say you are, there's a better chance that they'll be convinced you conspired with me, to get back at them for mocking you. Face it, Centaur, you have nothing; nothing to offer me for my aide, and nothing to convince anyone of your presumed truths. So unless you want to be fed your own worthless hide, get the hell out of my sight!"

Zebron stared at the half-Shokan, face twisted in unbridled anger, before relenting. Picking himself up, he slowly walked past Tygarras, giving the tigrine figure the merest of glances, before speaking again.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, friend. But if that's your decision..."

Tygarras just growled at the Centaur, not bothering to turn around to make sure he left. Bad decision; with a sudden *whack!*, he was dropped to his knees, Zebron having suddenly blindsided him with his cane to the back of his head. Before he fully lost consciousness, he could hear Zebron whicker in apology. "Please forgive me, my friend, but this is too important for me to risk losing you."

Tygarras groaned in pain as he awoke, the back of his head throbbing where he had been struck. He reached up to rub his head, gingerly, as he cursed his stupidity for having been caught unawares so easily. Squinting through the pain he felt, the tigrine warrior half-sat, half-braced himself upright and looked around, trying to get his bearings. What he saw wasn't encouraging: roughly hewn walls made of stone, covered with various pictographs of unusual - and erotic, from the look of them - origin. He couldn't tell who drew them or why, and he could barely make out their content due to the pain impairing his vision, but to the best of his knowledge, they all appeared to be of various sexual interludes between Shokan and...Centaurs? Male Shokan and Centaurs, at that?

His pulse quickened in fear as he continued to survey his surroundings: There was little furniture to be seen, only a table to one side, and a small fireplace in the corner, its alight flame giving both heat and light to the room. There were also many trinkets and trophies hanging from the walls, though not those of your typical barbarian; mostly masks, jewelery, and other such artifacts of both Centaur and Shokan design. His head spinning now more from the panic he felt from observing these objects than the aching in his head, Tygarras dared to look down...and saw that not only was he laying on a pile of straw and pillows instead of a normal bed, but also that he was completely naked, his body exposed to whoever inhabited this dwelling.

Fear gripped his mind as he heard a distant clopping sound outside the room, causing him to instinctively scramble back against the far wall as it came nearer. He snarled and readied himself for battle as the clopping sound arrived at the room's entrance, ready to fight his way out if need be...only to have his terror turned to anger as Zebron emerged, a tray of food in hand, and smiled at the half-Shokan warmly. The Centaur took a moment to study his captive, his eyes imperceptibly tracing every line of the half-Shokan's bare form, noting with amusement his distinctively feline head and ears, the strong yet supple paw-like hands and digitigrade feet, and even the slight but noticeable presence of a tail on his backside. But what interested him the most, was Tygarras' impressively massive ballsac and sheath, wondering if the prize inside was equally as large...and as tigrine as the rest of his body.

"You!!" Tygarras exclaimed, acidly, his stance not lessening any at the Centaur's presence. "Do you want to die at my hand, or are you just that much of an incompetent?"

Zebron's smile turned sour at his captive's words, placing the tray onto the table before addressing him. To Tygarras' surprise, the Centaur was also completely naked, having eschewed his prior garments for bare skin, though the half-Shokan noted that he still carried his cane with him. He could also tell, at this close proximity, that the metal object he had assumed to be his codpiece was still attached; in fact, it was half codpiece, half organic sheath for his genitals, the metal conforming delicately over the Centaur's sizable sac and sheath, connecting to a ring of metal around his waist, and down between his legs to link up with Zebron's metallic tail. He was still unsure as to exactly how the biomechanical contraption was supposed to work, but after a brief flash of contemplation, forced himself to not think about it.

"Please, Shokan, control yourself," Zebron chided, disappointingly. "You look as if I was some great demon from the Netherealm come to steal your soul."

Tygarras didn't back down. "You'd be half-right, Centaur. Why can you not leave me alone, as I asked?"

Zebron sighed, heavily, and turned towards the fireplace, his head drooping in shame. "You see the pictures in this room?" Tygarras nodded, not sure what game Zebron was playing with him. "I had drawn them in my spare time. My entire feeble home is littered with such art."

Tygarras blinked in befuddlement and took another look around; his vision was still affected by his lingering headache, but now he could see the detail of each painting, detail so precise, so fine, so graphic, that not even the greatest of Shokan artisans could ever hope to match their splendor. He also noted, in mild disgust, that some of the pictographs were about he and Zebron, engaging in what could only be described as a 'wild orgy'.

"My people aren't much for art or craft, aside for those of war, so I was forced to look elsewhere to learn my trade." Zebron slowly walked to one of the murals and ran his fingers lightly over its lines. "It wasn't enough that I was born like this, more horse-like than a true Centaur, nor was it enough that I had a different point of view when it came to our species."

Tygarras stood there, confused, unconsciously relaxing his stance considerably as he got a glimpse into his enemy's world. He had been taught that, like many other species, the Centaurs were a cruel and inferior race, unworthy to live in this world. Clearly, by looking at Zebron's room and seeing the marvels he had created himself, this was not true. But, then again, wasn't that the entire reason why he left the Shokans, in the first place? Because he couldn't believe his race's barbaric condescending on those supposedly weaker than they?

Zebron looked up from his own musings to see Tygarras soften, smiling a tiny bit as he finally got through to the stubborn half-Shokan. "I see I have struck a nerve." He chuckled dryly and turned towards his guest. "We really aren't that different, you and I, my friend."

"You are not my friend," Tygarras barked, defensively, regaining a bit of his previous haughtiness. "And we have nothing in common."

Zebron sneered, growing annoyed by his guest's stubbornness. "You don't truly believe that. I can see it in your eyes. You can't forget how you were taunted by your fellow Shokan over your mixed blood, how your lack of your people's full set of arms made you 'weak' and 'inferior'. Your people still talk about how you admired the Great Kung Lao and his 'blasphemous' beliefs of sympathy and equality among all creatures, how you risked your life to learn more from the human, stowing away on Shang Tsung's vessel and scurrying through the dark on his island like a rat, aching for the chance to talk with the Mortal Kombat champion."

"And how Prince Goro and my own father heroically thwarted my attempts, to keep the information about Outworld stratagems I was supposedly privy to as the son of Shao Kahn's general from falling into the hands of the Earthrealmers." Tygarras finished, indignant.

"Goro and Shang Tsung," Zebron corrected. "Your father was too busy plotting with that slimy stalker of Kahn's, Reiko, battle strategies for our former Emperor's invasion of Earthrealm. He even threatened to rend the sorcerer into a dozen pieces for his deception, after he found out. But you are correct in assuming that they had feared the information you purportedly carried falling into the Earthrealmer's hands...even though you and I know their fears were unfounded."

Tygarras grimaced bitterly, swallowing back bile as he grew physically ill over the Centaur's revelations, struggling hard not to admit that he was right. "So, why do you persist in trying to rope me into your deluded schemes? What is it about me that you find so fascinating?"

"As I said before, we have much in common, my friend," Zebron repeated, a glint of sympathy in his eyes. "I know that deep down, you still yearn for a life free of persecution and mockery, a kinder life where the barbarous treatment of the strong dominating the weak no longer exists, and whether you believe it or not, I yearn for such a life, as well. I had spent months convincing my people to agree to Kitana's peace treaty, and I will not have it all be destroyed over false accusation and hearsay rumors. But I can't do it without your help."

Tygarras was not convinced. "So, I'm just a resource to you, is that it? Someone you could exploit for your own gain?"

Zebron glared at the half-Shokan, insulted. "If I thought of you simply as that, do you think I would be so gentle with you, treat you with such respect and care? If I were just using you, why would I take the time to try and befriend you, when I could just as easily get the information I want from you by force? Or has your cynicism and distrust so blinded you over the past centuries, that you can't even see anything but treachery and deception before you? Take a look around you, Shokan." He waved his hoof-hands to encompass the room, painstakingly emphasizing the paintings along the walls. "Yes, those murals are of us, as consorts. Out of all the Shokan I had observed in my life, you were the one that intrigued me the most, precisely because we are so alike; two sides of the same coin, both freakish and unwanted outcasts from our respected races, both seeking a way out of the ridicule of our peers and into a life where we would be respected as we are, and not as we should be. Even after you abandoned Outworld, I kept track of your movements as best I could, keeping an eye on you, in case you ran into trouble with our peoples, or someone else you couldn't handle by your lonesome. You can't possibly imagine the effort and resources I've put in to keep watch over your ungrateful little life. Do you not see, Shokan, how much I've risked and lost for you? Tell me, Shokan, what ulterior motive would I possibly have for...for..." Zebron hung his head tiredly, as if ashamed of what he was trying to say, and whispered, "...for loving you...?"

Tygarras growled as he struggled to process what he was just told, both shocked and confused over the implications of the Centaur's words. He started to retort, but was silenced as a deafening boom echoed through the room, the sounds of the war they had previously observed growing in intensity. Underlying that, though, was another set of sounds, similar to the first but nearer and more organized than the chaos that was ensuing in the Edenian crater. Startled, Tygarras glanced up at the curtain that separated the room from the rest of Zebron's abode, curious as to what the other sounds were...Zebron, too, followed the half-Shokan's gaze, though with a more worrying look in his features.

"It's growing worse, Shokan," the Centaur mumbled, despairingly. "Just as their masters battle for their pointless control over the realms, so too do the pawns. All the alliances have broken down and are on the verge of collapse; forces loyal to Motaro obviously striking out against your brethren, leaving their Edenian allies to defend against the Tarkatan army alone while Earth's forces deal with the cyborgs and the Red and Black Dragon Clans settle old scores, and the Seidan Guards facing a joint onslaught of the Resistance and Chaosrealmers... None of them know of this place, so we should be safe for the moment, but we must leave soon if we're to try and salvage some of our former world."

Tygarras furrowed his brow, unable to even fathom what half of the groups Zebron mentioned were, but somehow recognizing the gravity of what he described. But that was of very minor importance to him, at the moment, to what the Centaur had confessed to him. He had barely known the zebrine Centaur, and despite his claim to the contrary, Tygarras doubted that Zebron knew very much about him, either. So why was the horse-man confessing feelings for him that he should not have? Besides that, what profit would it be for him to admit it? The half-Shokan still did not trust the Centaur, convinced that he had an ulterior motive, but for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what that motive was. Whatever it was, it required him being alive and unharmed, relatively; despite the bump on his head, Tygarras had to admit that Zebron was treating him very well, doing very little if anything to provoke him into a rage.