Mileena: Carnal Fury by Jade Gretz

https://www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai/art/Mileena-Carnal-Fury-1258987747#image-1

Mileena: Carnal Fury ANIMATION

The Syzygy of Shattered Faces

Mileena awoke tasting copper and honeysuckle. Not in her chambers within Outworld’s warped spires, but somewhere damp, cold, and resonating with a low, mechanical hum. The last memory was a sting at her neck, Shang Tsung’s apologetic smile as he offered a goblet of spiced wine. A smile that never reached his eyes.

She rose from a stone slab, her heels clicking on polished obsidian. The room was circular, lined not with walls, but with a dark, shimmering glass. As her eyes adjusted, the glass brightened from within, revealing her reflection.

But it was wrong.

Her features—the beautiful, regal lines of Princess Kitana’s face, fused with the Tarkatan’s ravenous maw—were hers, yet the expression was one of placid curiosity, head tilted at an angle she would never use. Mileena snarled, and the reflection smiled sweetly.

“What is this?” she hissed, lunging forward to smash the glass. Her fist stopped a hair’s breadth from the surface. A barrier, invisible and humming with sorcery, held her back.

The reflection’s lips moved, but the voice came from behind her, honeyed and familiar. “Patience, sister. He’s not finished with the viewing.”

Mileena whirled. Another stood in an archway she hadn’t seen. It was her. Same armor, same stance, but this one leaned against the frame with an indolent grace, picking at her claws with a dagger. Her mouth, when it grinned, showed less fang, more sly promise.

“What are you?” Mileena demanded, sais sliding from her sleeves into her hands.

“I am what you could be, if you weren’t so…tense.” The double pushed off the wall. “He calls me Siren. A useful tool for softer entanglements.”

“Shang Tsung,” Mileena spat the name. “Where is the sorcerer?”

“Overseeing the grand experiment.” This new voice was clipped, cold, emanating from another archway. A third Mileena stood there, posture rigid, eyes analytical. She wore simplified, utilitarian armor. “I am Tactician. You are Designation: Prime. Your emotional volatility is a variable he seeks to mitigate.”

Mileena’s mind reeled. Clones? Copies? But they were not exact. They were facets, distortions.

“Why show me this?” Prime growled, feeling the primal snarl building in her throat.

Siren sauntered closer, circling her. “He wants you to see your own obsolescence. But also…your potential. Look at her.” She gestured to Tactician. “No hunger. No rage. Just cold calculation. Efficient, but so dull.” Siren’s hand drifted to Prime’s arm. “And look at you. All that fire, that passion. Wasted on mere battle. I could teach you to wield desire as a weapon. To make them yearn for the bite.”

Prime slapped the hand away. “I am no one’s puppet!”

“You are everyone’s puppet,” Tactician stated flatly. “Your loyalty to Shao Kahn, your hatred for Kitana, your base cravings. They are not your own; they are programmed impulses. Shang Tsung seeded them. We merely have different…priority settings.”

The circular room’s glass panels flickered. Each one now showed a different scene. In one, Siren draped over a throne, whispering to a mesmerized general. In another, Tactician directed troops on a holographic battlefield. In a third, a feral, naked version of Mileena tore through a training drone with mindless savagery.

“There are more,” Prime whispered, horror dawning.

“Many more,” Siren purred. “The Feral. The Martyr. The Healer. Fragments of a broken whole. He is trying to find the perfect combination. The ultimate Mileena.”

“I am Mileena!”

“Are you?” Tactician stepped forward, her gaze dissecting. “What is your earliest memory? The vat? The shock of awakening? The first face you saw was his. Your memories before that are…implants. Kitana’s memories, warped. You are a first draft, Prime. Prone to error.”

The psychological horror was a cold worm burrowing into her psyche. Every foundational hatred, every twisted affection, was it truly hers? Or just a flawed script?

Shang Tsung’s voice filled the chamber, smooth as oil. “Welcome, my dear. To the gallery of yourself.”

He materialized in the center of the room, smiling his genial, treacherous smile. “You see, perfection is not a single state, but a spectrum. Your…instability, while entertaining, is suboptimal for certain tasks. So I refined the formula.”

“You created replacements?” Prime’s sais trembled with rage.

“Replacements? No. Companions. Alterna
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