Spider-Man 0X: Mortal Kombat

Peter tilted his head, his glowing blue eyes narrowing with pity. "Skarlet," he began, his voice calm. "I know exactly what you're going through. You think serving Shao Kahn is your purpose, your reason for existing. But deep down, you're just afraid. Afraid of what happens if you lose his recognition."

Skarlet sneered, summoning more blood to swirl around her in tendrils. "You know nothing of me! Of the pain I've endured! Shao Kahn is my creator, my god! Without him, I would be nothing but a pile of blood and bone! My one and only purpose is to serve him." She threw multiple blood daggers at him, but Peter simply stopped and deflected them with a swipe of his hand.

He smirked bitterly. "Oh, I know pain, Skarlet. More than you think. You're not the only one who's been experimented on, twisted, and reshaped by someone else's hand." His eyes glowed brighter as memories from his past life surged forth. Lab experiments. Needles. Endless hours of torment under white fluorescent lights. Screams. "I've been there. Torn apart, poisoned, my blood, marrow, and meat extracted while I was alive... All that pain... As a result, I got a new life and power." He clenched his fists, remembering the past and what Sims did. "People like Shao Kahn think they own you just because they gave you power."

Skarlet faltered, her blood tendrils twitching. "You're lying. You... Stop it!" She lashed out with her tendrils, but they weren't that strong and were easily destroyed by him.

Peter stepped closer, his golden aura intensifying, forcing her to shield her eyes from the brightness. "I'm not lying. You're just too scared to admit that we're the same. The difference is, I didn't let the people who hurt me define me. I didn't let them own my soul. I killed them all... I slaughtered them all for all the pain and agony they put me through. But you..."

He took another step forward, his tone softening, almost compassionate.

"You're clinging to Shao Kahn's shadow because it's all you've ever known. But let me tell you something, Skarlet. You don't need him. You don't need anyone to tell you who you are. You can be more than a weapon. More than his puppet."

Skarlet's hands trembled, her crimson eyes flickering with uncertainty. "You... you don't understand," she whispered. "Without him, I am nothing. I was made for him, to serve him."

"No," He said, shaking his head. "You were made to exist. And that means you have the power to choose who you are. Just like I chose. Do you really think Shao Kahn cares about you? He's used you, like a tool, like a thing. He doesn't see you. He doesn't care about what you want."

Her breath hitched. For a moment, her blood magic faltered, the swirling tendrils falling to the ground in dark, sticky puddles. "No," she said weakly. "He gave me everything. Without him..."

"Without him, you'll be free," Peter interrupted, his voice firm. "Free to be whoever you want to be. I get it. It's terrifying. I was scared too when I realized I didn't have to be what they made me. But you know what? Freedom's worth it. It's worth fighting for."

Skarlet's gaze hardened, but there was a flicker of doubt in her eyes. "You talk as if you know me, as if you can just waltz in here and fix what I am."

Peter sighed. "I'm not here to fix you. I'm here to show you the truth. You've been conditioned to believe Shao Kahn's approval is everything, but deep down, you know that's a lie." His voice dropped to a whisper, laced with empathy. "Skarlet, when was the last time you felt joy? Not power. Not pride. But real joy, something that made you feel alive?"

She froze, her mind racing. Joy? The word felt foreign, alien. Her entire existence had revolved around bloodshed, loyalty, and pain. Joy had no place in her world. And yet, for a fleeting moment, she wondered. 'Was there more? Could there be more?'

Peter took advantage of her silence, his tone soft but unrelenting. "You're not a pile of blood and bone, Skarlet. You're a person. And people are more than their pain. You deserve to live for yourself, not for someone else's twisted ambitions. And if you think what I just said are lies, then allow me to show you the real truth..."

Before she could say or do anything, she found herself standing in a bloody room. Everything was red and there was blood everywhere. Next came the flood of memories.

"Gaahhh!" She grabbed her head. Her vision blurred for a moment. But when it cleared, she saw someone before her.

Her real self, fragile and vulnerable, lay trapped within a crimson cocoon of blood magic, suspended and helpless as if buried deep beneath layers of her own creation. Before the cocoon stood the new Skarlet, the warrior shaped by Shao Kahn's will. She was a figure of strength and brutality, yet her foundation seemed to tremble as forgotten memories began to seep into the cracks.

The memories came like a flood, unstoppable and vivid. She was a starving wretch on the streets of Outworld, her ribs pressing against her skin, her clothes in tatters. Her hands trembled as she rummaged through refuse piles, desperate for a scrap of food. Hunger gnawed at her insides while despair weighed down her spirit. She remembered the icy stares of the passersby, their contempt for the weak clear in their eyes.

Then came the moment she was taken in by Shao Kahn himself. His towering form, his voice that was both terrifying and mesmerizing, his promise of power and purpose. She clung to his words as if they were salvation. He spoke of greatness, of transforming her from a pitiful wretch into someone strong, someone worthy of standing beside him. Through his dark sorcery, he infused her with power, a process that reshaped her physically and mentally. He taught her the forbidden art of Blood Magik, honing her into a weapon capable of slaughtering armies. The pain of his rituals was unimaginable, but she endured, believing she had finally found her purpose.

But beneath those memories, others began to surface, twisting her perception of the past. She saw her family, their faces blurred by time but still achingly familiar. They had once lived together in a small hovel, scraping by in the harsh world of Outworld. Her father had been beaten to death by Shao Kahn's minions for refusing to surrender their meager possessions. Her mother had been taken, her fate left unknown. Skarlet's younger self had been cast into the streets, alone and starving.

A new memory emerged, one she hadn't known existed. It was her younger self, gaunt and feverish, huddled in a dark corner as an incurable disease ravaged her body. She remembered the unbearable weakness, the feeling of her life slipping away. She had been found by Shao Kahn's men, not out of mercy but because her corpse would serve a purpose. She was to be incinerated like so many others, her body reduced to ash.

But then, a man in a white coat stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with perverse curiosity. He wasn't like the others. He saw potential where they saw waste. Instead of incinerating her, he brought her to his laboratory. The man spoke softly, his tone unsettling as he explained that he would "save" her. She realized now that this was the true beginning of her nightmare. He experimented on her relentlessly, infusing her body with the blood code, a powerful and ancient genetic sequence that rewrote her very being. The process was agony, but it kept her alive, reshaping her into something far beyond human.

The memories shifted again, revealing the lab's cold, sterile walls and the man's twisted grin as he watched her transformation. She understood now that Shao Kahn hadn't saved her. He had simply claimed what was left after the experiments. Her loyalty to him had been born out of lies and manipulation, her mind warped to serve his every whim. The family she thought she had lost to fate had been destroyed by his hand. Her suffering, her transformation, all of it had been orchestrated by the man she called her creator.

The Skarlet standing before the blood cocoon faltered. The memories weren't just fragments anymore; they were truths, undeniable and damning. Her hands trembled, and for the first time in years, tears welled in her crimson eyes. The cocoon pulsed faintly as her real self stirred within, sensing the crack in the armor of the facade that had been built around her.

A voice echoed in her mind. It wasn't Peter's, nor was it Shao Kahn's. It was her own, weak but defiant. 'This isn't who you are. This isn't who you were meant to be.'

Skarlet clenched her fists, staring at the cocoon as though seeing her true self for the first time. The new Skarlet, the one shaped by blood magik and pain, began to crumble. Her resolve faltered, the power she had wielded so confidently now feeling hollow. For the first time, she wondered if she could truly break free, if the fragile person trapped within could rise again.

Could she reclaim what was stolen from her? Could she forge a new path? The questions weighed heavy in her heart as the storm of memories subsided, leaving only the quiet, aching truth in their wake.

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AN: I kept Skarlet's OG origin story while twisting it a bit to show her other side than the usual cruel bloody killer.

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