(Note that this is the first time I've tried sending something as a non-txt
file)

(Also note that my website, with previous chapters, has been updated)

(And ALSO note that previous chapters have undergone minor revision)

(And... er... nevermind. That's it.)

(Oh yeah. That website was: http://www.wpi.edu/~jbw   )


______

Ranma 1/2 was created by Rumiko Takahashi and its characters belong to
her, and her alone. I'm just kinda borrowing them. A few others are
mine. The story below is for entertainment purposes only, and not to
be used commercially. ...Obviously.


"Learning Curve"
        Part IX

by:   J. Wagner   (Mako)    jbw@wpi.edu


102 1898.

Herb's burnt and turn cape fluttered out behind him in the cold night
air. Beams of light and energy crisscrossed his vision, his enemy's
lifeless body a still darkness behind him. Ki blazed, a ferocious red
and yellow, all about him, in and out of the green orbs he had for
eyes, tearing at his soul for release. He was a living maelstrom of
energy and fury and death, every desire, every thought, every whim
echoed a thousand fold into a terrible chorus that seemed to shake the
very earth.

26 474.

Her felt the Serpent push aside the Dragon. He felt his blood pulse
and boil. He felt his forearms burn an itch. He was so close to being
free... so close to throwing off every inhibition, every trapping of
restraint. He would become, he could become, that tireless undying
machine that was the legacy of his father, his grandfather, and every
one of his cursed line back fourteen thousand years. The wild clarion
call sounded in his ears.

106 1894.

He denied it.

27 473.

He burnt it from his mind.

110 1890.

The flames bit into him, like a refreshing storm of pain along every
nerve of his body. It brought back his father's voice, his father's
lessons, and his father's discipline. He was power, but he was
control. Perfect control. Perfect balance. Perfect order.

28 472.

The flames disappeared, and the Serpent's voice faded into
nothingness, replaced by the comforting hum of the Dragon, and the
ordered symphony of the blood. It was his burden, and he carried it
willingly - gladly. It was his purpose, and his connection to a
history long lost. Long buried, and left buried, for the good of all
men. Composing himself, and tossing his long hair over his left
shoulder with a flick of the wrist, he walked over his opponent's
corpse, gradually leaving the darkness and entering the light.

The Musk Dynasty would take this day as their own.

***

It began with a man... and a monster. Back when the world was old, but
mankind was young. His name was Sho Amaun Ma'at, or as the Musk were
to call him: 'The Grand Father.' One hundred and forty centuries ago,
he was born, though exactly where had long since been lost to time. It
was an age of night and fear, for dark things, creatures of myth and
legend, roamed freely in man's infancy, and greatest and darkest of
them all was the Great Serpent. The tempter. The corrupter. The Great
Serpent was old, even among ancients, but had been growing feeble and
dependant on sacrifice and servitude over the ages. It came and it
consumed, subverting and corrupting those it came across into doing
it's bidding.

Some say Amaun shared blood with the creature, which was known to take
human form. Yet Amaun shared nothing with the Great Serpent, save its
rage and its power, for among men, Sho Amaun Ma'at was the most
powerful to live. He hunted the Great Serpent as only a man possessed,
tracking it across sea and desert, untiring, unyielding. When it flew,
he chased. When it hid among men, he rooted it out. When it corrupted
and sent those he loved to oppose him, Amaun slew them.

And so it came that, after a lifetime, the Great Serpent retreated to
an island in the Heart of the Sea, and Amaun followed. Undeterred by
the native population that had been long since corrupted by the
Serpent, the Hunter tracked his Prey to the center of the island, and
into a great cave. There, finally, the Serpent faced its hunter, first
in human form. It claimed kinship, it claimed fellowship - but Amaun
would not be deterred. The battle raged amid the glassy pools of water
below them, in the great temple cave of those long forgotten ancient
peoples. In the fight, Amaun's loyal hound was struck down into one of
the pools, beside three large stones. Outraged by this final loss,
built upon so many countless others, the man slew the monster, and the
Great Serpent fell, dead, great gouts of blood and flame issuing from
it in equal measure.

***

Pearl Adams was intimately familiar with the Tendo home. It was a
slightly less than modest two-story building, four bedrooms on the
second floor, and two on the first. The outer and inner baths were to
the side on the first floor, the family room and kitchen nearly
adjacent. The Dojo was largely a non-factor, isolated on the right
side of the property, as was the small storage shed. There were two
entrances: one normal, one for martial arts challenges that led
directly to the Dojo through a small winding path. A good-sized koi
pond dominated the left quarter of the land.

The most vulnerable point was the kitchen, and would obtain the
optimal effect if an explosion were triggered. The family room was a
poor target, primarily because of was off to the upper left of the
house, and because if was directly under the living quarters of three
non-combatants who were only tertiary targets at best. Or worst.
Intelligence revealed it likely that the main targets would move into
the Dojo, which was fine with Adams, though it complicated their
initial strike plans somewhat. He was accustomed to observing and
studying the house from afar, listening or watching through one of
several clandestine bugs that had been smuggled into the place. They
had none in the Dojo, however, hence the official reason for his
visit. Truthfully, he was curious.

>From where Pearl Adams currently stood, the Tendo Home had a far more
comforting and homey feel that he'd imagined, nothing like the
hellhole he'd called home for all of ten years. Or perhaps it was just
the company he was in. To his side, Kasumi gave him a soft smile - a
knowing and understanding smile that both warmed him, and made him
feel uncomfortable. She couldn't possibly know he worked for a
ruthless man named Bishop Chen, who by now ran the Jyusenkyou
Preservation Society alone, and with an iron hand. Bishop had a
sprinkling of truly fanatical supporters, hidden among the entire
Society: they were his unseen, unblinking, unwavering eyes and ears,
watching and listening for any signs of weakness or betrayal. Kasumi's
warm smile betrayed no knowledge of his purpose here in Japan - to
watch and spy on numerous residential martial artists, and when
ordered, either assassinate or capture them.

Lately, he'd heard that Bishop favored the former strategy more and
more.

They were part of Operation Clean House, which Adams assumed meant the
worldwide removal of those with 'unique talents.' Adams was only an
intermediate player in the Operation, in charge of half of the
Japanese operations. He knew another group from the Society was also
operating, but they weren't mercenaries like he was. Most likely, they
were Society muscle from the Muscle Sword or Wind Sword Cults. Bishop
feared them, he supposed, these martial artists of Japan and China,
these supermen and women.

"So this is the legendary Tendo Dojo," he said, hands holding a small
package without any sign of nervousness. He resisted the urge and
instinct to put a hand in his pocket, an obvious sign of deceit that
the middle Tendo daughter would almost certainly pick up on. From his
left elbow a plastic bag held a bottle of milk and a bottle of soy
sauce. In the crook of his right arm, he easily supported Kasumi's bag
of groceries.

"It looks very pretty at night. When there aren't any holes in it,"
Kasumi said the last half of the sentence more softly, yet also with a
hint of worry.

"Don't worry about them Kasumi-san." He kept his voice perfectly
controlled. In all honesty, he couldn't really have blamed Bishop for
fearing these martial artists of Nerima, and elsewhere. He had not
totally understood the magnitude of what they wanted of him when he'd
first been assigned to the Operation, reassigned from simple Society
technical oversight and security command in the People's Republic. The
eggheads there had talked about chi, and chi infusion, and chi
manipulation, the 'internal stimulation of the hypothalamus via an
unknown medium,' and hosts of other things he really didn't
understand. He hadn't really cared enough to.

Then he saw them.

He saw film, in slow motion, sometimes one eighths speed, sometimes
frame by digital frame. He saw a high school boy, Ranma Saotome, punch
so fast that even the Society high-speed digital cameras couldn't
totally follow his attacks. He saw a 'low level threat,' one Tatewaki
Kuno, slice cleaning through a solid rock with a wooden bokken
practice sword. He had seen another subject (one of the Ranma boy's
contemporaries) throw a bloody car over twenty feet, without even any
sign of effort, and then uproot a concrete telephone pole with one
hand. They all seemed to routinely jump thirty or more feet in a
single bound, defying physics and a rational world with effortless
ease and aplomb. These not men and women, these were monsters of
terrible power hidden beneath human skin.

That the people of Nerima, and even neighboring Wards, had over time
simply become accustomed to these things astounded him no end. Or
perhaps, as many Japanese were like, they just ignored what they
didn't want to see or believe. Adams carefully hid his concern and
amazement from his colleagues, who would likely see it as a weakness.
Around the people he worked with, even a small sign of weakness was
not something healthy to cultivate. He hid it from them with an ease
that came from years of practice.

"Shall we go in?" he said, pleasantly. "I admit I'm sort of eager to
see the place."

"There will be plenty of time. It isn't really that interesting,
Adams-san." Kasumi led him in at a gentle pace, and he found himself
happy to follow. As he entered, however, and took off his shoes, his
mind also noted the layout of the house: the structure, the
construction, available blind spots and points of entry. His thoughts
disgraced him, and for the first time, he regretted his first
instinct. He wasn't armed, and if and when he did approach this house
in that fashion, he would only enter it as a last resort. Well armed
or not, he'd be taken apart in a heartbeat by any of his assigned
targets. A quick and unnoticeable breathing exercise cleared his mind
and calmed him.

"I hope I'm not intruding too much," he said, his voice steady. "I
wouldn't want to seem like a freeloader. And I don't really have..."

"Please don't worry over it," Kasumi said, her voice glad for his
presence here. He handed her the small plastic bag with the milk and
soy sauce. They had met once more, by apparent coincidence, at the
market they both frequented. The coincidence was, of course, a
carefully crafted illusion. Adams and his cadre were well aware of
many of the goings on in the Tendo household, and Kasumi had become
their primary link.

She was their carrier. Her codename had become 'Key,' just as the many
bugs they worked into the house were 'Guests' and the house itself was
the 'Door.' Kasumi was their way in. They had known when she left, and
it had been fairly obvious why, though they had lost the very valuable
'flower bug' that had found itself in the family room. As he passed
what was identified as the room of an old man named 'Happosai' and to
the entrance of the kitchen, he looked into the family room and saw a
small clear vase on the table, replete with fresh tiger lilies, the
same number and type of flowers that he'd given her the last time they
met. She had thrown out the old ones, a week old, and replaced them
with identical new ones - hence how they'd lost the bug. It annoyed
him and deeply troubled him at the same time.

He quickly quenched both feelings.

"Where should I put this?" He indicated the wrapped package in his
hands, held carefully in a way that likely seemed somewhat shy and
vulnerable. Adams wondered, in that instant, whether he'd be
delivering something truly horrible the next time he visited her.

"On the table is fine," she said, from the kitchen, busy putting
things away neatly, orderly, everything where it should be.

"All Righty." He let his tongue roll, and said the phrase in English.
She always smiled when he said little things like that when they
talked, or when he offered to do things for her. He passed the room
belonging to the one she called Grandfather Happosai, and looked in.
The little troll wasn't present at the moment, something for which
Adams was very grateful. Happosai was a pervert and a nuisance. Though
he wasn't really sitting on what one would call the moral high ground,
it still annoyed him on general principle. He would have to be taken
out carefully and with overwhelming force if... when the time came. At
least this Happosai seemed content to molest women outside the house,
and the youngest Tendo girl, and not Kasumi.

He wondered, then, why the old man also avoided the middle Tendo girl.

"Mind if I look around a little, Kasumi-san?"

"You are our guest; please feel free to make yourself at home," she
replied, unsuspecting. If she did suspect, if she did know anything of
the true him, she would never let him out of her sight, and never let
him wander unchecked.

"Thank you very much. This is so much nicer and neater than my messy
old apartment," he complimented the family, as he had planned to
continue doing for some time, with different people, and took in the
layout. The doors presented a good possibility, the outdoors area,
especially the porch and near the koi pond, another.

"If you wouldn't mind, I could help..."

Adam's heart jumped a beat, as he walked outside onto the porch. She
was bolder than he had anticipated. He needed to throw off any
possible interest in his apartment, at all costs.

"My apartment is too much of a bachelor pad. I think my roommates
prefer it that way, really. Thanks, anyway." He stressed the word
roommates, and waited for a reply.

"Boys will be boys," she finally said, from inside the house. He
imagined hearing a trace of disappointment. The rebuff was sharp, but
beyond necessary. Beyond necessary. Reaching into the light black and
gold vest that he worse over his plain white shirt, Adams' fingers
brushed by and picked up a small electronic bug, audio only. He made a
single curious pass of his chosen targets.

The bushes.

Just under the porch.

He was tempted to directly bug the koi pond, but decided against it.
Too much risk of discovery, really. The little disks were quite small,
with a tiny thin wire transmitter, and easily mistaken by anyone not
really looking for it. They were designed for concealment, but their
range was limited. Of course, they had planted a relay just outside
the property, on a nearby telephone pole. It was larger, a black box,
but it wouldn't be noticed or even investigated.

He slowly walked inside, taking in a dramatic deep breath, sounding
far more satisfied than he actually was. As he did, Kasumi walked in,
carrying a tray with tea. Later, he would see to the rest of the
house, and exploit any opportunities as they arose. He would remember
the layout far more clearly, and it would work to his advantage and
his plans. His plans to ruin this woman's life, and destroy everything
she loved. However, before that, he would sit, and over tea, he would
talk to this beautiful, serene woman who made an ordered life amid the
chaos, and he would enjoy her company.

And silently hate himself.

***

Turning to the pool, Amaun saw not his faithful tracker and companion,
but a human woman, injured but alive. These cursed pools, used as
ritual sites and burial grounds by the ancient peoples of the island,
and focused on a ley line nexus - an area of incredible magic and
power - amazed him. It was then that he noticed the three large stones
lying in the pool; not stones at all, but eggs. They were eggs of the
Great Serpent, which had lain dormant for unknown ages. With his fist,
he smashed them, the three eggs in the pool, and from their remains
rose three women, beautiful and fair: one of silver hair, one of gold,
and one of pure onyx. With dulcet siren voices, they spoke to him.

"Come, you who are Child of Man. Come unto us, and we will birth you
the greatest of just progeny, so that you and your glory will rule all
men unto the end of days. You have bled your weight; reap your rewards
for all mankind."

Amaun stayed his hand, and showed mercy, for the three were new and
innocent to the world, and with the Great Serpent dead at his feet,
his vengeance was satiated. As was the custom of his long dead people,
Amaun consumed the heart of his Prey, and took its power to augment
his own. Ascendant, he brought to the island those he could trust,
those who had followed and aided him over the Hunt. He gathered them
to him, to that cave, and to those Cursed Springs, and so was born the
Ma'at Musk Dynasty.

The island at the Heart of the Sea did flourish, in this, the Golden
Age of the Musk, and Sho Amaun Ma'at ruled for thousands of years. His
Golden City raised temples to the heavens, moved mountains, and worked
great wonders of which mankind would never compare. His followers
scoured the world, and brought to their Lord only the best of man, the
wisest of man, and the strongest of man. And, in time, did Amaun come
unto what was his, and the Three Women birthed him Three Sons. For
them, did he Rest and Sleep, so that the world would be passed onto
his noble progeny, whom he had raised and loved and brought into the
light and instilled with honor.

***

China.

The Guide was anxious, and when he got anxious, the back of his hands
got itchy. He resisted the urge to scratch them, and looked around his
home, ensuring that everything was in place and where it was expected
to be. In the kitchen, he heard water running, and Rouge's soft
humming. Upstairs, he could just barely hear his adopted daughter Plum
running around, making last minute checks of the second floor in
preparation for their guest.

Plum was a good girl: smart, vibrant, and curious. She was an
explorer, ready and hungry to see the world, much as he had been, so
long ago. So long ago, it seemed another, past, life. His blood didn't
flow in her veins, but her spirit was kin. She was so quick to learn,
to pick up on things, and most importantly, she knew the difference
between learning and knowledge. The village she was from was under
Joketsuzoku protection and supervision, and they, like their enemies
and neighbors the Musk, stressed knowledge as essential to growth.
Hsing Kung, Guide to Jyusenkyou, disagreed. It was learning, not
knowledge, that brought growth.

Knowledge implied certainty, and in an uncertain universe, that was
impossible to hold to forever. Knowledge clung to proven things, rocks
against the raging and ever changing tide. Learning was built on
uncertainty, on the mysteries of the universe. It was the question,
not so much the answer, that Hsing believed the key to understanding.
Plum echoed this, Plum embraced this, and he had taken her under his
wing. She would, in the fullness of time, become the next Guide and be
privy to its mysteries and secrets. And then he would finally die,
content.

The door rang.

Hsing pushed down the need to scratch the back of his hands.

"Father?" Rouge said, cheerful and somewhat excited by the company.
"Should I get the door?"

"No," Hsing said, softly. "No, daughter. I shall get it."

Rouge was normally shy around strangers, but always quick to open up
and try and be friends. The Amazon boy that had stayed here for two
days, Mu Tzu, had at first subtly avoided her, preferring his presence
and listening to the learning that Hsing imparted into the boy. For
this, the Guide was both sad and grateful. It wouldn't do for his
daughter to get too used to him being around, because he could never
stay, and because there was no guarantee he'd survive the week. Mousse
had been adamant - he would not bring danger or hardship to their
home.

Danger would come anyway.

Danger was already here.

Slowly opening the door, already knowing whom it was, Hsing came face
to face with a man and a presence he could never forget. Stepping
aside, and inclining his head, the Jyusenkyou Guide welcomed him in.

"You look well, Hsing," the man said with a small smile, stepping
inside. He looked different, now. His face had returned to the hard-
set lines, the strong jaw... the piercing eyes of his youth. Even his
hair had returned with a vengeance, though it was still kept short, in
strict military fashion. A single streak of silver, like some hint of
his true age, framed the hair just above his ears. A simple set of
formal pants, a belt with a cross, a plain white shirt. There was no
doubt. He wasn't coming.

He was here.

"You look like a young man, Bishop." Hsing smiled, and noted the two
others outside. Two bodyguards, one he recognized as Kiini, the leader
of the vicious Muscle Sword Clan. The other was a woman in a black
business suit, with long dark hair cut modestly and bundled up in a
bun, sunglasses hiding her eyes. She was one of his 'Furies,' he knew
immediately. They were part of his personal bodyguard, and frequently
used as political infiltrators and assassins when dealing with those
outside the Society. They were also all fanatically loyal to their
master, and supposedly joined together in some sort of coven.

"I have been restored, old friend," Bishop smile never really reached
his eyes. But it had never reached his eyes, not in all the years
Hsing had known him. "Let us sit and talk. I will tell you of it all."

"That would be nice. It has been too long since we talked," Hsing said
and called a little louder into the kitchen. "Rouge, could you bring
in the tea?"

"Tea would be lovely." Bishop pivoted a little, his eyes meeting his
two bodyguards. "Kiini, Marissa, stand alert out front. No
disturbances, understood?"

Kiini nodded.

The woman made no visible sign of acknowledgement.

***

As Amaun slept, however, the Three Women, Serpents all, schemed and
worked away at their sons. The Three of Ma'at gradually fell,
subsumed, to corruption and darkness, and the Age of Gold was no more,
replaced by Iron and Fire. The Three Sons warred, and debauched, and
abused, and went unto mankind and multiplied. The Heart of the Sea had
become thoroughly corrupted, when the stench awoke Amaun from his
Great Sleep, and as he beheld what had become of all he had wrought,
he cried to the heavens.

"Lo, all I loved lies ruined, and all I despised has become legion."

Confronting his three children, and his three chosen wives, he fully
realized what had happened. The sirens whispered to their sons of
their father's death and fall, of their eternal rule. They whispered
of the Legacy of the Serpent, and now will-less, the Three Sons did
listen, and all that he had loved attacked Amaun in a fury. His sons
were possessed of terrible power, yet they were not his equals, and so
finally decided, Ma'at slew them. Turning next to his wives, he heard
them say:

"Blame not us alone, but yourself, Lord Husband. For you were desirous
of what man must not have, and you had fallen to the Serpent long
before we set eyes upon you."

In his rage, Amaun cut them down, and destroyed them.

He turned then to his land, and the island at the Heart of the Sea was
destroyed, and the progeny of Ma'at slain, one after another. He
spared only the youngest, only the most innocent, of his
grandchildren, from his wrath. And as the island was consumed, he bid
them flee to the old lands of man, out of paradise. Heart heavy with
despair, hands wet with his own blood, Sho Amaun Ma'at disappeared
into Sleep, never to awake. His was the last trace of the Serpent, and
in retreating forever into death; he would indeed end the Hunt.

***

Shampoo had been tracking her prey for too long. It was bringing back
memories of her one great failure that she wasn't prepared to deal
with. It was getting late, and her two companions, Cherry and Chain,
were eager to find camp for the night. Shampoo, however, would hear
none of it. The two girls were herbalists, and backup, though she
doubted they'd be necessary. When she found Mousse she would take care
of him personally, and finally.

Clambering up the rocky incline, she took a moment to look around and
enjoy the view. Mousse had passed through local places Shampoo herself
had never been to. Almost two weeks ago, she'd nearly cornered him in
a small village where he was staying. She'd picked up the pace then,
but Mousse was always a few steps ahead, and for a few days, it was
like he had completely disappeared in an isolated highland area.

Soon after, however, he'd cropped up again, and headed down into the
lowland valley, probably to get supplies. He had a good lead on her,
but seemed to linger for a day and a half, questioning the locals,
before heading back to the mountains. The town itself was a
Joketsuzoku protectorate, providing them with food and cloth, mostly,
as well as the normal tribute of their best and brightest girl
children, and occasionally males. When she arrived, the Village
Speaker, a woman appointed by the Council of Elders who Shampoo didn't
know, treated her cadre to a small feast. They were on the outskirts
of Amazon territory, and concerned about the Musk attacks filtering to
them by word of mouth in the west.

Apparently, two villages there had been overrun, and surrendered to
the Musk, while a third had been burnt to the ground when the Amazon
garrison there made a stand. They spoke of that with particular fear,
for one of the Musk armies had acquired a reputation for ruthlessness.
Supposedly, the Dragon Prince himself rode with one of the armies, at
its head. However, this tiny hamlet was from that conflagration, and
Shampoo assured the woman that the Amazons would not be caught
unprepared for them again, and would give no more ground to the foul
Musk.

The same Musk Mousse was guilty of aiding.

She had wanted to doubt it at first, to believe that there was a
mistake or misunderstanding. After this, after these reports of Musk
atrocities and advances into Amazon land, Shampoo realized that he had
truly turned against them. She was eager to get the unpleasantness of
her task here done with, eager to destroy the traitor, so that she
could return to fight with her sisters against the man-beasts that
threatened them. She would fight alongside them, and together, they
would beat back the Musk to their mountain hiding places, just like
every Amazon warrior dreamed of doing, from youth to deathbed.

They would win.

Prove themselves through conflict.

Show themselves superior through victory.

Leaving the village with a local guide, Shampoo and her two companions
followed Mousse, deeper into the mountain range. Where he was going,
she had no idea. Perhaps the traitor was looking for his Musk allies,
or for a place to hide out the coming storm. It didn't matter. Mousse
made no effort to conceal his tracks or presence anymore, probably
thinking that he'd lost anyone who had been sent after him. Shampoo
was not deterred. She had tracked Ranma and his father for months,
across China and Japan, when she couldn't even speak basic Japanese,
and still she had hunted them down to their lair. It was, no doubt,
that reason why Shampoo had been ordered by the Elders to find Mousse
and bring him to justice. Only she could know him well enough,
overpower him alone, and track him quickly enough, to make the journey
worthwhile.

Now, as she looked around, Shampoo let out a deep sigh, faint wisps of
condensation in the air from her breath. It was getting cold, and
while the air wasn't so thin yet as to make breathing laborious, there
was a strong biting wind blowing in from the north. Her vest tight
around her, Shampoo checked her weapons as an afterthought, and kept
forward. There was a sense of something approaching, something
powerful at the extreme edge of her senses that couldn't be classified
or quantified.

"When are we going to stop, over?"

That was Cheery, Shampoo thought, and looked over her shoulder. Cheery
and Chain were identical twins, from some village called Yaoshin, if
she remembered the name of the place correctly. The two girls were
nearly impossible to tell apart, and had an odd manner of speech that
reminded Shampoo of something from a long time ago. Still, Cherry,
Shampoo had learned, tended to walk to Shampoo's left side, while
Chain usually stuck to the right, and slightly behind. It was Cherry
(the more talkative of the twin sisters) that spoke up.

"We'll stop when I say we'll stop," Shampoo snapped, annoyed. The two
girls had no stamina, and tended to slow her down and sleep too long.
They weren't warriors. They weren't fighters. They were weak. After
this, she would say as much to her elder sister of one year, Tso Pu,
who had recommended them for this job. Shampoo would be sure to see
that Cherry and Chain never became adopted into the Tribe as full
Amazons, with all the rights and power that came with that station.
They weren't worthy of the honor and the title, and their weakness
would enfeeble the entire Amazon Tribe.

"But it's late," Chain complained, loudly, obviously not caring that
she might alert Mousse to their presence. "My feet hurt from all this
climbing and walking and..."

"We will stop..." Shampoo turned slowly, interrupting the other girl.
"When I stop. Understood, Initiate? LinLin and RanRan are little
children, and they would not be complaining as much as you two do.
Because they, unlike you, are Amazon warriors."

Chain looked down, unwilling to meet Shampoo's gaze. Snorting, Shampoo
kept walking, and her two companions kept following. The ground was a
coarse mix of broken stone and sharp unfriendly weeds, and still at
the extreme of Shampoos' senses, something was tingling. Warning her.
Preparing her. Rounding a corner, she noticed something about the rock
outcropping next to her.

"Hold on." She signaled form Cherry and Chain to stop, and looked more
closely at the outcropping. It seemed to be a large single boulder,
but it looked cut - hewn, into an almost rectangular shape. Tracing
her hand down its surface, to the base, she felt a seam where it fit
perfectly into another hewn rock. And another, mostly buried. A
building had been here once. This was the work of man, not a natural
occurrence.

"Look!" Cheery yelled, and pointed to something around the corner of
the broken face of the rock wall. Shampoo quickly jumped over, and
hasped at what she saw.

It was huge.

It was unbelievable.

A ship, beached high on this mountain, lying slightly on its side.
Perhaps three hundred feet long, and over sixty feet wide, it defied
imagining. Dark spires of broken wood bloomed from the corpse, high
into the air. Everywhere, bits and pieces of it, parts of the hull,
parts of the compartments inside, where strewn around. The place was
like a graveyard, and the smashed ruins of this ship made seem like
some kind of ghostly cathedral. It creaked and groaned as the wind
blew through it, and Shampoo felt a chill fall over her.

"Finally made it, did you?" The voice came from the ruins. It was
Mousse.

"Mu Tzu!" Shampoo focused on her mission, found some small perverse
comfort in it. "Show yourself, you coward! You will run and hide from
me no longer!"

"Who's running?" the voice said, mirthful. "Who's hiding?"

"You are!" Shampoo walked forward, towards the wreck. She noticed the
odd weapon lying around, rusted and useless, mixed amid the broken
wood and stone. A blast of cold wind came in from a nearby gorge, raw
and angry.

"I let you follow me. I knew your sister would send you to get me."

"If you let me find you, why are you hiding? Face me and die well!"

Mousse laughed. He jumped from out of sight onto a rock, and then onto
one of the broken, but still tall, ribs of the destroyed ship.

"I'd rather not die, Shan Pu. Not before, and not now. I brought you
here to talk - to reason with you. I knew you would be sent to get me,
for what I did, and what I did not do. I knew this, and I hoped it a
mistake on their part."

"Why? Because you think me too weak to finish you?" Shampoo growled up
at him.

"Because I think you smart enough to know when not to fight, and when
to listen to reason. That time is now. I know things..."

"You know only what you stole from us! Stole and sold to the Musk!
Even now, they attack us, and they do so with your aid!" Shampoo shook
her head. "I will not listen to you. I will not listen to the words of
one without honor!"

Behind Shampoo, Cherry and Chain took a few steps back and away.

"Shan Pu..." Mousse tried again.

"You will fight, or you will run," Shampoo said. "Those are your
options, Mu Tzu. I will not fail. I will not be swayed."

"So, that is how it is, is it?" Mousse frowned from his perch, high
above them. "You may come to regret your decision, Shan Pu. I bear you
no ill will, indeed, a small part of me still yearns for your approval
and love... if you leave here, I will not pursue you. Go back to your
masters and tell them to make their own peace, first."

The expanse of the fallen Airship howled in the wind, the great
arching ribs, like those of some kind of beached whale, long dead and
picked of its skin and flesh, swayed slowly, creaking and adding their
tortured sound to the angry snarl of the place. A shiver of dread
passed through Shampoo involuntarily, as her hair waved free behind
her. Mousse's eyes were hidden by his glasses - glassed firmly fixed
on his face, not put away or drooping down his nose. The Amazon male
had his hands in his sleeves, a look of cold analysis of those below.

It was as if this place, this graveyard, had changed him.

Fortified him.

"You are a fool to think I would return again in disgrace!" Shampoo
yelled up at him, her pride covering any insecurity and nervousness.
"You are a traitor to our people! You betrayed them, and you betrayed
me! I have been told to kill you, so I will kill you! There is nothing
more to it!"

"Really?" Mousse chuckled, his tone firm and unyielding. "I know too
much, hold too much in my mind and in my hand, to die just yet. There
is more to this world than your pretty pride and need to gain favor
with the Council. I had hoped to convince you..."

"Convince me to turn against the Elders?" Shampoo's outrage made her
voice barely recognizable as her own. "They made me all I am! They ARE
the Amazon Tribe!"

"If you really believe that. If you cling to it with every breath and
beat of your heart, as I see you do," Mousse answered slowly, his
shoulders widening in preparation. "Then you and I will fight. And I
will not hold back."

"So be it, Mu Tzu!" Shampoo reached behind her, bonbori quickly in
hand.

Mousse's sleeves seemed to part in slow motion, before becoming a
total blur. Shampoo's eyes couldn't even identify the projectiles, but
she knew what they were: ropes, chains, weighted yoyos (some bladed),
the occasional gauntlet. The world focused, her blood pounded into the
base of her head, flooding her body and senses with power. She jumped,
instinct and reflexes guiding thought rather than the other way
around. Twisting and bending, she avoided the first flurry of his
attacks, but had to dip and pull back under his next assault.

The ground became pockmarked by Mousse's weapons, but as every one hit
the ground or even neared it, they were pulled back the fifty or sixty
feet into Mousse's sleeves. He alternated hands as he jumped to
another gaping wooden rib. Shampoo dodged and spun, slapping aside the
more dangerous gauntlets while trying to avoid the smaller, sharper,
attacks. She didn't even wince as a bladed yoyo cut a line of red
across her left bicep.

Her foot touched the ground, her momentum altered, and below her rocks
and clumps of dirt took to the air, a testament to her change in
inertia, and how much it had been imparted into the rocky and rubble
strewn floor that was their battlefield. She dived into and through,
head and shoulders low, bonbori held wide and to the side, and passed
by the isolated wooden rib Mousse stood on, directing attacks from on
high.

It splintered in a cloud of cracked wood.

Mousse jumped again, and Shampoo's eyes narrowed as she followed and
mentally calculated his next position. He was aiming for nearby rocky
outcropping, a slab of upturned stone that had once been part of
Fortress Soryn. Mousse had a great advantage over her at these long
ranges, and even as she watched him gracefully move through the air,
coil of rope and weapons retracted back to its master. Blinking as the
answer came to her, Shampoo lunged into the air, and caught the hilts
of two knives connected to different but adjacent ropes, and tugged.

Mousse's trajectory altered a tiny fraction, but the ropes instantly
became slack. The Amazon male landed on the rock outcropping, sleeves
back together, glasses glinting against the few rays of available
sunlight. Shampoo threw the two detached ropes aside, her frustration
and anger rising to new levels. Her legs surged with power, and she
jumped up to the side and backwards, onto and against another tall
rock formation, before rocketing towards him, at top speed, her course
unchangeable.

He smiled.

"You don't expect that to work, do you?" He spoke quickly, took a few
steps forward, and fell straight down. She passed right over him and
overshot her target. She had expected him to attack, which would allow
her to close the distance and draw him in. Silently, she cursed.
Mousse pivoted and looked up as she passed by. Shampoo was now behind
the rock, and he back flipped four times, just as she came down on
where he had been, from out of no where, her bonbori smashing the
ground into oblivion.

"Damn you Mu Tzu! Stand still!" She screamed and ran forward, blindly.
Mousse's sleeves just parted, little more than a crack, and Shampoo
realized she'd been drawn into a trap. Crossing her bonbori, she
twirled and spun them, forming a de facto shield to block and absorb
the wave of weapons the Amazon male threw at her. As she plowed
forward, she felt a strong tug, and realized Mousse had been rapidly
sidestepping. Her feet dug into the hard broken earth, trying to halt
or slow herself, when the sharp pull, coming from her now entwined
bonbori, took her off her feet. Desperate, she tried to let go, but
found her hands tangled as well.

"Forgive me!" She thought she heard Mousse yell, and she was thrown
into a hard wall of wood that smashed behind her.

"Forgive you?" She snarled, and opened her eyes. She saw Mousse
holding the ropes firmly, all of them, a trail leading from his hands
to hers. She smirked, and with all her formidable strength, pulled
back. "For WHAT?"

"W...wha?" Mousse left the ground, and Shampoo pressed her feet flat
against the depression in the wooden wall behind her. Pushing back and
out, she sped forward and, like a human air intercept missile, plowed
into Mousse. He grunted as the mass of chains and weapons and tangled
bonbori bowled into him. As they fell down, hitting the ground on an
uncoordinated melee, both fighters' instincts kicked in: they rolled,
and were almost instantly back on their feet. The two Amazons, one
male, one female, both the best of their gender, stared at each other
over the mess of weapons that held them both hostage.

"Now," Shampoo said, slowly. "Now I have you."

"I could say the same to you," he pursed his lips in a silent kiss.

"Die, Mu Tzu!" She pulled back, drew him forward, and kicked up and
around the obstruction around them. Mousse smiled as he twisted,
ducked under the chains, and tugged. Shampoo left her feet, again, but
instead of slamming into the ground, she landed on one knee, cracking
the ground. The two twisted and kicked and grabbled through the ever-
tangling medium between them, struggling for control and position,
slamming each other into the ground in turn. Finally, at the same
time, the overwhelmed and overstressed ropes around their hands and
wrists snapped, and they were free.

"Shall we try that dance again, my darling Shampoo?" Mousse's hands
blurred, and suddenly he had his Deerhorn Knives in hand. Oddly,
Shampoo felt herself smiling back. She reached to her shoulders, and
pulled out her Amazon Dao: sabers, one short and one long. They were
Sister Blades, left and right respectively. With a clash of metal
driven by muscle, they met, and started to dance.

Shampoo braced herself, and kept moving. Mousse had the advantage in
reach, especially when it came to kicks - his preferred method of
unarmed close combat damage dealing. His Deerhorn Knives were
dangerous weapons, and especially effective defending against swords
with their superb hooking and locking techniques. They were capable of
breaking and manipulating the energy of her own swords, too, so she
mixed up her attacks, and when she committed to a true attack, it was
with overwhelming force.

"Come on, Shan Pu! You can do better than this, can't you?" Mouuse
taunted her. He had never taunted her before; he had never opposed her
before. No one ever really had.

"Yes," she hissed, through clenched teeth. Her swords were pressed
together in a quick lock, but she twisted the Little Sister blade, and
scissored out of the hold his Deerhorn knives had on them. Stepping
back with her left foot, she brought her Big Sister blade around and
down in a fluid motion, aiming for the throat but catching only a few
strands of black hair. The male Amazon leaned back, locked the sword,
and pressed it aside, his other hand striking out, blades glistening,
and Shampoo quickly intercepted it and put more strength into the
parry to try and throw him off balance.

Mousse went with the movement, rolled forward, and snap kicked back.
It grazed Shampoo's temple, and she swiped at him, high, then low,
then twice high, spinning into a cycle as Mousse desperately ducked
and dodged and blocked the quick attacks. Suddenly, sensing an
opening, he jumped straight up. Shampoo followed without hesitation,
and at the apex of their vertical leap, they resumed trading blows.
Now in midair, Shampoo took advantage of the situation and crouched,
switching into a cross slice combination of attacks Mousse had
difficulty fending off.

Then, as they approached the ground, Mousse's wrists flicked, and he
moved with deceptive speed. A false lunge lured Shampoo's blades away
and to the right, while his left Deerhorn Knife moved in, catching her
Little Sister sword at the base. They hit the ground, sending up a
cloud of debris, even as their feet adjusted and reset stances,
jockeying for position and power. Shampoo kept relatively still, but
Mousse was constantly moving as the weapons of their right hands
clashed at an ever-increasing speed. Within seconds, the air seemed
literally charged with sparks.

"Give it up, Mu Tzu!" Shampoo snarled, pulling back with her left,
lunging with her right. "You cannot escape Amazon justice forever!"

"You overestimate yourself, *and* your so called 'Amazon justice!'"
Mousse answered. The lock between their left weapons broke, and Mousse
spun, seemingly rejuvenated, into a veritable dervish of cross
patterns and feints. Shampoo blocked them as they came, as he
advanced, and as she slowly fell back. Her mind told her to wait out
the storm, wait for him to tire, wait for an opportunity to present
itself.

Mousse kept coming.

Impatient, Shampoo made a quick assault, sensing a small window of
opportunity in the pattern. Mousse switched seamlessly into a low
crouch, spun, blocked, and threw her. It was a harmless throw, really,
and she landed on her feet, but it gave Mousse the initiative once
more. He kept to her right now, the opposite of before, and she didn't
realize she was being herded until the ankle of her left foot hit a
bundle of chains and rope, and quickly grew tangled as she fell back.

"No!" She gasped. For the first time, she sensed the cold threat of
defeat and humiliation nipping at her heels - creeping up her spine.
The prospect of death was secondary. Indeed, it could even be seen as
a favor and a release over the shame of failure and defeat. She had
tasted that most bitter fruit before, with Ranma... with Mousse, it
would be a million times worse.

"Yes!" Mousse was moving to strike, the light off his glasses fading
with the setting sun. How long had they been fighting?

Desperate now, more than ever, Shampoo braced her shoulders against
the ground, kicked her legs up, and spun like a top, first centered
around the base of her neck, then on the ball of one palm. Around her,
the chains and rope tangled at her feet spun and tore into the air
like whips, like a hundred pound cat o' nine tails, like a blender...
and Mousse was caught in it. The trap had turned against him, and he
was hard pressed to back up, fend off the angry chains and coils, and
keep track of her next attack.

Sharply and suddenly kicking out into an upside-down split, the
restraints at her feet broke. The pain was terrible, and her ankles
were screaming, but as she rolled back and to her feet, Shampoo was
given an unexpected surprise. Mousse had lost one of his Deerhorn
Knives to the maelstrom she had created. Raising her Sister Blades,
she gave him a cruel smile, eyes narrow.

"Feh!" He growled, and threw the yin-yang shaped weapon at her. She
leaned back and to the side, effortlessly, and it sailed past her and
into the wall-corpse of the nearby floundered Lucky Gods Airship. His
sleeves met, for just the blink of an eye, parted, and he was wielding
claws, three from each arm. His wrists and palms were sheathed in
studded black leather, part of the Claw weapons he now used.

With a feral scream, she charged at him, swords a blur.

A high strike, low, then a swipe coupled with a lunge. She attacked,
and attacked, and attacked like a woman possessed. Driven was more
accurate. Driven by the need to win. Driven by the need to prove
herself through victory. Driven to draw blood for the cause of her
leaders. Shampoo's rage was a tempest that couldn't be contained, but
for every blow, for every attack, Mousse countered, or dodged.

She attacked high, and his feet came into play. He would dance amid
her strikes, and try to sweep her feet out from under her. She
attacked low, and his Claws became far more dangerous. He would
intercept her blows more often, and use them to initiate
counterattacks. Instinct and the power calling from her blood drowned
out all thought save the defeat of her foe. Time seemed meaningless,
pointless, and insubstantial. Her wounds seemed unimportant, like they
were someone else's and that person only told her what it was like.
The pain was purely second hand.

She would kill Mousse.

She would kill any traitor to the Amazon Nation.

She would kill any Musk that dared face her.

She would kill any she was told to.

She was the PRIDE of the Joketsuzoku.

"You're nothing!" She yelled, and they crashed through a wooden wall.
"Do you hear me, Mu Tzu? YOU ARE NOTHING!!"

"And yet... I live." He grimaced, taking a bleeding wound to the left
shoulder, as he counterattacked. His Claws finally caught both her
Sister Blades, and with eerie grace, he kicked up, hooked his legs,
both of them, over her forearms to the elbow, and fell backwards.
Shampoo's swords bent and snapped under the pressure, and the two
fighters fell into and through the creaking wood beneath them, to
another hard layer, kicking up a billowing cloud of smoke and dust.

"Not for long you won't. Mu Tzu." Shampoo, now weaponless, took up a
low Amazon stance. It was her favorite, a combination of power and
speed, for all that it lacked in flexibility or evasion.

"Talk, talk, talk. Is that all you women do?" The male Amazon grinned
at the rage he'd fanned, tossed aside his ruined and bent Wrist Claws,
and took up a modified crane stance. He was fighting unarmed, but as
anyone who knew him would testify that he was far from weaponless.

Both warriors took an instant to note their surroundings and their
battlefield: flash imprinting it into memory and impulse. They were
inside the ancient hulk now, amid its ruined and broken levels. It was
a great open maze, dizzying to plot or look on. Great canyons of hull,
expanses of blasted, burnt and broken wood that once formed the bowels
of the ship. The arching ribs of the place towered like monuments to
the sky, casting long shadows. Everything was terraced, one layer on
the next, collapsed sections falling into dark rubble. Behind and
ahead, the blasted middle merged with the mostly intact aft and fore.
Thick spider webs and tattered cloth swayed in the wind.

Mousse advanced, and Shampoo received him; his hands struck out, open
palm blows that Shampoo blocked or fielded. She tried to counter with
a twin tiger blow to his midsection, but rising his elbow and
supporting it with his left arm moved it just aside, and her open
hands, fingers curled menacingly, brushed over his robe, tearing it.
The sound seemed to bring attention to the fact that it wasn't in
particularly good shape anyway.

Mousse jumped, but Shampoo leaned back, a high kick twisting to
capture his foot with her own, at the ankle, and pull him back down.
Gritting his teeth, Mousse tapped his next to last toe on each foot,
and small blades snapped out of each shoe's base. As their hands
struck and countered and warred, their feet made a different dance all
their own. Mousse maneuvered to free the room for a good kick, to take
advantage of his superior reach, and bladed shoes. Shampoo made sure
to intercept every kick, every step almost, just as it left the
ground.

As they fought on, high above, the clouds obscured the sky.

With every step, every hard movement, the ground beneath them creaked
and cracked, threatening to fall apart entirely. Dust rose high from
unsettled boards that hadn't been touched, or even seen, in years.
Bits of broken wood rained slowly from above, and the two fought on.
Then Mousse made a mistake, as Shampoo intercepted yet another attempt
at a kick with her foot. Expertly, she twisted his foot slightly, and
he landed wrong - the small blade embedding in the wood floor. With an
audible 'snap' it broke off.

Mousse followed with a quick sweep, but the surprised Shampoo still
managed to jump. He watched as she seemed to float against the broken
twilight sky, landing on a higher platform that shook with her weight.
Grimly, he cracked a half smile and broke the silence between them.
"Where you running to, Shan Pu? You can leave anytime you want. I
haven't changed my mind on that."

"I..." she took a deep breath. They were both breathing heavily now,
but she seemed slightly worse off. "I won't run from a male, and
certainly not a filthy criminal like you."

"So nice that you still think highly of me," Mousse said, and laughed.
With a sharp roundhouse kick, he snapped one of the nearby wooden
supports in half. Shampoo looked down on him, but didn't stumble as
the wooden platform she was on cracked and fell. Instead she rode it,
down to Mousse's level. It landed with a thunderous crash, and for a
second it seemed like the structure would hold against the trauma.

For a second.

Then everything seemed to fall apart. The world groaned - pillars shot
upwards; boards and planks fell down with a crash. Both martial
artists jumped, and landed on the now surviving support columns that
ran up from below. Balancing, one foot in each column, they stared at
each other, determination in their eyes.

With only a second's delay, they walked across the remaining pillars
and supports, each only three inches in diameter, or occasionally
rectangular, with even less surface area to it. Mousse was at an
advantage, with Shampoo's footwork unable to establish a superior
close range for her. He picked away at her defenses with kicks, hard
and fast, as they circled. At their feet, the pillars creaked and
threatened to split under the weight.

"So, are we back to not talking?" Mousse asked, punctuating each word
with a snap of the knee, before making a small jump into a chicken
kick that Shampoo barely blocked, falling back a foot onto another
pillar.

"What could I possibly say to you?" She responded, voice burning with
indignation.

"A little love would be nice. But I'd settle for understanding." He
kicked low, at the pole she was standing on, and its top broke off
leaving a splintery mess. Shampoo cartwheeled across two more poles,
before touching both feet to a safe pillar some distance away.

"Understanding!?" She cried, not sure whether he was joking or not,
and surprised that she cared.

"You never understood me, Shan Pu. I devoted myself to you!" He jumped
at her, she blocked the kick, but he recovered and landed perfectly,
"But, now, I don't think I ever understood you either."

"I always hated you Mu Tzu!" She high kicked, strong and wide, but
missed. He replied, but she leaned back and it passed over her head.
Reaching up, she tore down a long piece of wood, like a makeshift
staff to compensate for her reach disadvantage. "I never made a secret
of it!"

"And I always glorified you!" He bent his lower body slightly, avoided
the lunge. Reaching up, he dug his fingers into the broken wood, found
a seam, and tore down a splintered staff of his own. "I don't want to
fight you. Shan Pu..."

"No more talking!" She attacked, leaning with her blows, and he met
each one. "You always talk too much, Mu Tzu! This situation is simple.
The Elders want you dead, and they want it done by my hand. This isn't
personal. Not really. It's the law. It what I do."

"Is that all you aspire to?" He practically yelled at her. Their feet
moved with a life and balance of their own. Neither Amazon gave it
much thought, focusing on the clash of wood on wood between them, and
the struggle. It was how things had always been among the Joketsuzoku.
Shampoo would kill him if she could, not just because he was male, not
just because she had been ordered to, but because he was the weak, and
she the strong. Combat would prove that. Amazons ruled each other by
class and fiat. Combat forged the Amazons and kept them strong, but
all too soon, combat would destroy the Amazons beyond recovery.

He hated them.

Yet he wanted... needed to save them.

"What are you blabbering on about?" Shampoo spoke on low angry tones.

"You're the finest Amazon warrior of your generation..." Mousse
advanced on her, his blows like a hailstorm. "You're the descendant of
Great Warriors, male and female. Legends in their own right..." His
makeshift staff crashed into Shampoo's, the sound reverberating
through the world around them. "You're the future of the Amazons..."

"Spoiled!"

Clash.

"Blind!"

Clash.

"Arrogant!"

Clash!

"Doomed!" Mousse roared, and with a spin, he smashed Shampoo's weapon
to bits and splinters. "Do you want to see why, Shampoo?" He jumped at
her, suddenly, throwing his cracked staff aside and pushing her off
her perch, feet failing to find purchase. "I'll show you!"

They landed, and something broke.

The snap of bone.

    "Look." Mousse's voice came, echoed. "Look, Shampoo!"

    She blinked, rolled over, trying to get to her feet, trying to
keep fighting. Something shaded, something distinct, met her eyes. As
faint light passed overhead, through rolling clouds, she saw the
gaping hollow eyes, the gum less maw. She screamed, jumped up, tried
to find footing. Instead, she heard something else break, looked down,
and saw bones.

    Bones everywhere.

    "Now you see the legacy of the Joketsuzoku," Mousse said from
behind her.

    "What...?" Shampoo gulped air, taking it all in: the tattered
clothing, the strewn bodies, some still clutching weapons, and the
hollow eyes. They all seemed to be staring at her, refusing to blink,
blaming and cursing her in their silence. "What is this?"

    "This is Soryn. This was the sacrifice you were never made to
know. This is why, within the week, the Amazon Council of Elders will
all be dead," Mousse said, slowly steeping around and in front of her.
His face was passive, neutral. "This is why your world... your
comfortable, secure world, will come crashing down into oblivion."

    Shampoo was silent, fighting with herself instead of him.

    "I wouldn't lie to you, Shan Pu. I never lied to you," he said,
simply. "Listen to me."

    "Mu Tzu, I..." Shampoo looked up; saw a descending Shadow fall
down on Mousse. Then two flowers were in his hair, and something hit
her from behind. There was sharp pain - blinding pain, and then the
blessed cocoon of darkness enveloped everything.

***

The Grandchildren of his lineage, numbering only three, were the First
Lords of the Musk. They were Sertu, the eldest, Qauiza, the youngest,
and Herubu, the middle child. They and the Musk survivors realized
their err - theirs was not to rule mankind, but to never again fall to
the Serpent, and to ensure the continuation of their Line, their Arts,
and their Traditions. For this, however, they would need the cursed
springs, and the places of power, so that they would all not weaken so
much over time as to no longer be Musk. They traveled together into
the lands of most ancient Egypt, and there split.

The followers of Qauiza headed north, and eventually west, over the
great sea.

The followers of Herubu traveled Far East, to the great hidden
mountains there.

And the followers of Sertu settled among the sands and rivers of
Egypt, and there began to search out places of power, so as to either
find, or create, cursed springs for use of the Musk. Many they found
were naturally occurring, but always well hidden. The springs would
frequently form, dry up, disappear for years at a time, or be replaced
entirely. The Sertu pioneered the controlling of the springs, making
them more permanent, and more stable, as well as devising ways of
finding these hidden places.

Over time, they also became not merely content to watch as man grew.
It was in their interests for progress to occur, and fostered the
growth and development of cultures and civilizations. The Sertu
maintained a steady, but distant, hand, influencing events when
necessary, but preferring to keep out of these affairs. Tradition.
Arts. Lineage. These were the Ways of the Musk, and Sertu's Court
became the oldest and most respected of them all.

***

"As you can see, things are finally falling into place." Bishop sat
down on the couch. It, like the house, was a gift from Bishop and the
Society, in return for the Guide's friendship, and more importantly,
his loyalty and dedication. "The Old Men lie dead, the last wretched
ties to a backward organization, severed. And I have become what I
always dreamed, and what we needed. Soon, we will have our much earned
Greatness, and none shall have the power to take it from us."

"Greatness always seems just a little out of reach with us, doesn't
it, Bishop?" Hsing looked to his left, as Rouge walked in, carrying a
small tea set. It wasn't Chinese, however, but distinctly Russian. The
Head of the Society smiled that empty meaningless false smile of his
at the display of attention and tact, and inclined his head a bit as
she approached.

"Rouge... you seem quite composed, my dear," Bishop said, his tone
hiding something.

"Composed, Uncle?" She asked, curious, as she set the tea set down on
the small marble coffee table between the two men.

"How do you feel, Rouge? Any headaches?" He asked, calmly.

"No headaches, sir. The medicine you gave me helps tremendously," she
replied, demure and honest. Hsing frowned, just slightly, at the
exchange between them.

"Good." Bishop left it at that.

"I'll be upstairs if you need anything, Father, Uncle." She inclined
her head, and stood to leave. Before she did, though, she hesitated
and turned to face Bishop again. "Excuse me for asking, Uncle, but I
noticed how you look much younger."

"Not just my appearance, Rouge. I've been healed." He raised his left
hand, and flexed the fingers. The previously crippled and useless hand
was functioning effortlessly, perfectly manicured nails and large
strong fingers matching those of its other, never injured,
counterpart. For the first time Hsing could remember, Bishop's eyes
sparkled with something akin to happiness.

For some reason, it frightened him.

Rouge blinked. A few times. She quickly excused herself.
"Congratulations, Uncle. You'll have to excuse me... I seem to have
taken a bit of dizziness."

"Of course," Bishop said, voice cold. Rouge left, probably to take
more of the Chemical Inhibitors the Society gave her to subdue her
'other' side, in case she transformed. Rouge's Asura form was
immensely powerful and aggressive, prone to lashing out at everything
around it, friend or foe. It had been determined that this was
primarily due to the delay between transformations, when the stronger
Asura was subdued under the weaker Rouge. Its anger and impulsiveness
built up, like a volcano, or a steadily heated gas, so that when she
transformed the Asura was driven to lash out at the world. The pills
kept the Asura powers at bay, so that when the young girl transformed,
her form could be controlled and reasoned with.

Hsing knew it was only a matter of time before a disaster hit them
all.

"It pleases me to see that she remains subdued and controllable,
Hsing," Bishop said, interrupting the Guide's thoughts.

"I'm glad it pleases you, Bishop." Hsing sighed, hating his lack of
voice control.

"Sarcasm, Hsing? How unlike you. The Society will do everything it can
for her, my friend. She is your daughter... and I feel for her too.
She is like a daughter to me."

Hsing wanted to believe that his old friend's words were sincere,
though his voice was emotionless. The Guide berated himself. Bishop
had done everything he could for Rouge, though he likely only did it
to maintain the loyalty and services of the Jyusenkyou Guide. One
thing about Bishop was certain. He did nothing for free, nothing out
of the goodness of his heart, nothing that did not suit his plans or
purposes in some way.

The Spring of Drowned Girl would not work, though.

This Hsing knew first hand.

It had been tried, and it had failed to overwrite the Asura curse. Why
it failed, Hsing wasn't entirely sure, and it remained one of several
secrets of Jyusenkyou he explored. It was speculated that the cursed
form was defending itself from being destroyed or displaced. It was
speculated that the unusual nature of the Asura Spring, which had
'bonded' to an inanimate statue instead of an organic life form, was
the problem. It was speculated that the cursed springs had varying
degrees of power and intensity to them, and that the Drowned Girl
Spring wasn't strong enough to replace the Asura Curse. Hsing had
vowed, years ago, that the one thing left to do before he died,
besides train a proper future Guide, was to discover the secret that
plagued Rouge, and cure his daughter of the terrible fate that had
befallen her.

"Like a daughter to you..." Hsing trailed off. "Like that Lychee girl
you adopted?"

"Of course I care most deeply for my dear Lychee." Bishop took a sip
of the tea. "She serves me well. Better and more loyally than I could
hope for, and without even the need of a surikomi egg. All the better,
for she is not a mindless sycophant and servant, like so many I
command."

The Guide leaned back and looked up at the ceiling.

"Do you think otherwise, my friend?" Bishop asked. "You two have only
met... once?"

"Once. She does not like me."

The two men were silent.

"What is it like, Bishop?" The Guide asked, after a time. "What is it
like to be Saffron the Terrible, to be the Living Ouroboros?"

Bishop chuckled, softly.

"What is it like, you ask?" Bishop clenched his left hand. "It is
perfect. It is perfection. It is the unbroken endless loop. Ouroboros
is a more accurate term than we ever imagined. I have access to many
of his memories, but his spirit - his soul - has been completely
subsumed as we expected it to be, dissolving away bit by bit. I'm
slowly gaining perfection over everything this form offers, but as you
see, I already know how to change my appearance, burning away what I
dislike, and remolding what regenerates. I made myself appear younger
to reflect that, though I suppose old age is no longer really a
concern. It is simply much easier to command appearing like this. Many
will respect an old man, but few would fear him, or follow him to
their deaths."

"Every thought," Bishop continued, more quietly this time. His voice
carried a compelling resonance. "Every thought is like lightning. A
constant rush of energy circulates through me at all times. I no
longer hunger, really... I no longer thirst. I eat and I drink, but
not because my body craves it, but because I want to. The eyes... the
vision was the hardest to get used to. The change, the sensitivity, is
incredible, much more so than it is for hearing or taste or feeling or
anything else. This is truly the form from which to oversee the masses
of mankind! An ageless body, an unstoppable power... and soon, my
friend, we will have the boy, Herb, of the Musk... and through him, we
will recreate the process used on his grandfather's twin. Through him,
you too shall join me as immortal, invincible, tireless... a being of
light and fire! We will rule together, Hsing, old friend."

"If things go according to plan," the Guide said back. "Your plan."

"You aren't getting any younger, I realize this, but we..."

"Let me age for now, Bishop. Do not rush forward our schedule for my
account."

"I move forward with such speed, such vigor, because it is justified."
Bishop relaxed slightly, resting back in the couch. He bit out a sharp
humorless laugh. "Listen to us, sipping tea, speaking of the history
we will forge. Who could have imagined this, when we were but
children, three quarters of a century ago? Is this not a most
brilliant moment? Incandescent? Already the Society, my Society, has
worked its way into influencing world leaders, bending them to out
purposes and designs. When the Phoenix People are crushed, totally, we
will have Saffron's Secret, and all the surikomi eggs we need to
become true masters of the world. Nothing can stop us. Nothing can
impede us. I'm surprised you do not revel in these moments, Hsing."

"I have more immediate concerns at the moment, of which I am reminded
daily."

"Ah. Rouge. And that little girl you picked up... Plum, is it?"
Bishop's heavy eyebrows lifted slightly, as they did when he was
interested in something new. Plans were in motion in his mind.

"Plum. Yes."

"Your successor. Of course... there will be little need for you to
pose as the Guide anymore after a year or so. How are her lessons
coming?"

"Very well," Hsing said, silently glad he had told Plum to stay
upstairs. "She is a smart girl, quick to learn. Quick to question."

"Hmm," Bishop's smile faded a fraction. "How much does she know,
Hsing?"

"Not much. She knows the many springs, their locations, some of their
histories. I have begun her education in the many artifacts and local
histories of the people here, and the world at large. She knows no
Society secrets of any importance."

  "Good. Good, Hsing. Perhaps, in time, she will become part of the
family that is Our Society."

"In time, perhaps." The Guide closed his eyes, and poured out a new
cup of tea.

Bishop gave a single nod. "You know so much, old friend. I can't
imagine imparting even a fraction of it to one so young, after so
little time."

"She had much to learn, still. What of our ...interests among the
Amazons?"

"The Amazons?" Bishop looked down at his hands, placed them palm down
on his stomach, before locking them together comfortably. "Soap has
delivered to us what we asked of her. Her influence among the Amazons,
especially the moderates and the younger generation, has been steadily
growing. With the cooperation of our Musk interests, her raids and
daring skirmishes have all been great successes, providing the only
Amazon victories so far in the little brushfire we've started. When
the Amazon's bitch Elders have been drawn out and killed by the Musk,
with our intervention if need be, the Council will dissolve. Soap will
rise to take the mantle of Queen in lieu of a lack of ruling Elders.
We will support her so long as she remains loyal and ultimately
subservient to the cause and will of the Society. Things are following
roughly as we predicted them to. You worry too much, Hsing. ...It's
not healthy."

The Jyusenkyou Guide seemed to rouse himself.

"Yes," he said. "Yes, I suppose I do worry too much. ...It can't be
helped."

***

Things continued as they had for many centuries. Great leaders of the
world came and went, and the Musk, especially the Sertu Musk Dynasty,
recorded and paid them homage and heed. Alexander the Great, for
example, was influenced and encouraged both by subtle means, any by
his acceptance into divinity at a legendary temple - a temple run by
the Sertu Musk, for the Lord at that time saw great promise in the
Greeks, and in Greek Ways. However, things began to unravel with the
rise of monotheism, and the loss of Sertu influence in the Middle East
and Europe. Just seven hundred years after the death of Christ, the
Sertu (by that time the Setu) Dynasty had been annihilated by the
influx of Islam into Egypt. Small in number, they were unable to fight
back against the conquerors without violating Tradition, and becoming
themselves great Conquerors and Masters. Both to the sword, and to
gradual decay and dissolution, did the ancient and esteemed Sertu Line
fall, and its few scattered survivors fled to both Herubu, in the
east, and Qauiza, far across the sea.

A little less than a thousand years after the Fall of the Sertu Line,
the Musk of Qauiza joined them in oblivion. The Qauiza Musk were a
varied and partly decentralized group, and their members were free to
roam the great expanse of the land. In the extreme north and south,
especially, the Musk came and went as they pleased, often living many
decades without seeing their Lord Qauiza or paying visit to his Court.
They were unprepared for the invasion of these lands, and those that
did not fall to disease, fell into despair. The Dynasty of Qauiza fell
not with a roar, but with a whimper. Those who survived the fall
either retreated deep into the jungles, to await the end, or fell back
once more to the last bastion of the Musk -The large and stable
bulwark that was the Herubu Dynasty.

A crisis atmosphere seemed to grip these last remnants of the once
all-powerful Musk, the descendants of Ma'at. The Noble Dragon Lords,
the rulers of the Musk, had been weakening for thousands of years,
their strong blood gradually giving way to millennia of breeding with
powerful, but ultimately only human, women. Each generation was
slightly less than the one that came before. Records recount that the
First Lord Sertu had lived for two thousand years before he went to
his great hidden tomb, and that Ma'at had lived for at least three
thousand, and his direct children two thousand before they were slain.
By 1500 CE, a Musk Lord lived to see only three hundred or two hundred
and fifty years.

So began an effort to revitalize the Bloodline.

***

Ryouga had discovered, over the years, that one comes to develop
certain peculiar habits, especially when alone. For example: Rabbit.
Over the last decade or so, he'd gradually developed a taste and
appreciation for it, and other wild meats. Oddly, he found himself
unable to stomach eating even normal amounts of soft chicken or pork.
A little was fine, now and then, but he always found himself yearning
for wild boar to mix with a little instant ramen. When out and
walking, he tended to avoid the clusters of cities and civilization
that ran his way, unless he was low on supplies. And he was rarely low
on supplies.

Washing his hands at the sink, Hibiki Ryouga looked in the mirror.
What he saw was a strange man, nearly an adult at eighteen, with soft
green hued brown eyes, and hard frowning features. With his right
hand, he reached up and felt just below his right ear. A coarse coat
of short black hair was an irritant against his finger, reminding him
of how foreign his body felt sometimes. When he was little, he'd never
really thought that the power he'd devoted his life toward cultivating
would be so ...overreaching. Every task, no matter how minute, had
changed over the years, and most dramatically over the last ten or so
months. Sleeping, walking, chewing, innumerable others - they had all
been altered in a way he couldn't really describe. He was fit, of that
there was no doubt. He had reached a new peak of power and ability,
but he didn't feel in control. The restless burning power in him
seemed to have more influence over him than he had over it.

Drying off his hands, he wiped the last bit of moisture off on his
pants and left the bathroom. At the other side of the store, he saw
Ranma moving around, looking for things to buy. He almost frowned
seeing him, and the fact that he didn't both troubled and excited the
lost boy. Ranma still confused him. Hell, people still confused him,
but Ranma had never really confused him until recently - until he
actually tried to understand and befriend the pigtailed martial
artist. Ranma had to be feeling like he did. Ranma had to know of the
restless undercurrent of energy, bubbling under their skin, begging to
be released. He had to; they were too close in power for Ranma not to
feel it, and yet Ranma gave no indication or trouble over it.

Did Ranma simply have more control?

Or was it his attitude? His thoughts? Or maybe, just maybe, Ranma
didn't have the capacity for malice in his heart that Ryouga did.
Ranma was self centered and rude - he cared, really, for himself above
all others. But he wasn't malevolent, and it was that fact that had
finally moved Ryouga to put their feud away. Ranma had done things to
him, indeed, but not out of spite, but out of ignorance.

Ranma wasn't a murderer.

Picking up a small metal razor, Ryouga looked down the aisle, and
found about a dozen types of shaving cream. He could get lost easily
in the store, he knew, given his genetically horrible sense of
direction. He couldn't let that happen, so he stayed in just that
aisle, looking through the different brands, and slowly reading the
lists of ingredients on each one. It helped focus his mind, and kept
it from straying. It kept the restlessness at bay.

"Man, I'm starving!" Ranma came up from behind, and patted Ryouga on
the back. "Hey, you didn't get lost! Great job, buddy!"

"Yeah, thanks." Ryouga rolled his eyes. Ranma didn't need to put so
much sarcasm behind that last sentence.

"How are we paying for this, anyway? I didn't bring much with me,"
Ranma said, unashamedly. Ryouga looked down at the plastic bag thing
Ranma had put his stuff in. There were a few bags of chips (Zesty,
Ruffled and Original, whatever that meant), some commercial trail-mix,
some sort of beef jerky with a Native American on it giving a thumbs
up, a couple bottles of pure spring water... other bits of food,
nothing really important except the water. And the 'Bug Off' spray.

"What's this?" Ryouga reached down at the bottom of the pile and
pilled out a magazine. "Pacific Martial Artist? You read this rag?"

"Rag?" Ranma's tone carried a hint of challenge. "That's the swimsuit
edition!"

"Swim...suit?" Ryouga blushed a bit, and looked at the seemingly
harmless magazine, still in its plastic wrapper. "Really?"

"Summer's comin' up," Ranma said and elbowed his traveling companion
in the ribs. He winked. "You ever seen Nabiki in her two piece?"

"I... er... heheh..."

"I'm kidding, stupid." Ranma snatched the magazine from Ryouga's
shaking hands. The lost boy slowly recovered and started to fume.

"Saotome...!"

"Look more closely." Ranma pointed to the bottom of the cover.
"Special 'Enduring Mysteries of Forbidden China' edition."

"Jyusenkyou!" They both said at the same time. Slowly they walked (or
to be exact: Ranma led Ryouga) to the counter. Quickly the
conversation turned back to the matter of paying for their stuff.

Ryouga had more money than Ranma, mostly because he took on odd jobs
when he was abroad. Often, he'd do some heavy lifting or working.
Painting a house usually only took him a day, and was good work when
short on money. Stopping rampaging animals would usually earn him a
favor or too from locals, too, and it seemed to happen surprisingly
often. Already it had happened twice over the last week. The first
time, he'd taken care of the giant boar himself. The second instance,
a rampaging bull, he had left to Ranma.

Because of it, despite leaving the Tendo's with very little money, and
eating in towns every so often, they weren't anywhere near broke.
Unfortunately, Ranma, when he had money, spent it recklessly. It was
no wonder Nabiki could always count on him borrowing money from her.
Unlike his rival, Ryouga was fairly cheap when it came to spending
money. He was soft on hard cases, sharing food or lodging when need
be, but he kept what cash he carried well guarded. Ranma and his
father had often relied on mooching and running without paying in the
past - this was an option Ryouga had never considered, both because it
was stealing and dishonorable, and because he tended to wander into
and through the same towns four or more times. Due to this, it was
only natural that he became more careful how he spent what little he
had on him.

Unless, of course, it was for a letter to Nabiki, flowers for Nabiki,
chocolates for Nabiki, or any number of things for her, Ryouga
steadfastly refused to part with his cash. Ranma had also pointed out
that he also tended to haggle, an annoying habit he'd probably picked
up in China. That he was annoying people, Ryouga hadn't noticed.

"How much is this all going to cost?" Ryouga grumbled.

"Who knows?" Ranma dismissed it with a shrug. "Can't be that much, P-
chan."

"Whatever, Ran-KO."

"I tell ya what," Ranma said as he fished around through his pockets.
"We'll split it fifty-fifty. Right down the middle. I should have
enough for that."

"Fine, fine." Ryouga took the bag from Ranma, to free up another hand,
and the old man at the counter started to scan in each item. Never
quite content so simply stand and think, and wanting to take advantage
of the moment, the lost boy grabbed a local paper, and started
skimming through it.

"Hey, Ranma, listen to this," Ryouga said, giving his still occupied
companion a quick glance before turning back to the small article.
"This is so stupid. It says here, that some girl on vacation in
Cambodia flirted with this Cambodian guy, and almost ended up getting
assaulted, because the guy thought she was serious. The guy realized
he'd gone too far, so he shaved his head, begged penance, and now
they're getting married! Maybe the next time Akane-san..."

Ryouga's voice trailed off, as his eye caught something to his left,
from two men who had just entered the store. His martial artist's
sixth sense, a sort of danger precognition flashed in his mind's eye.
He saw a knife, gleaming steel, maybe a bowie knife, too large and
heavy to just be some knife from home or the aisle with kitchen
utensils. Time seemed sluggish, distorted... perspective was skewed.
The action was smooth, instant, instinctive - unstoppable.

"Hand over...!" The man, a dirty, unkempt looking fellow, grimaced
before his back twisted, and a scream tore from his lips. There was a
sharp crack, and a shallow grating sound, before his knees hit the
ground. Ryouga barely heard his howl of pain, barely registered that
he was behind the man, one hand holding the hand with the knife in it,
the other braced at the other man's elbow. His right foot connected
with something hard, but not nearly hard enough, and heard a 'popping'
sound.

"Ryouga! Ryouga, man! Snap out of it!" He heard Ranma's voice, numbly,
distantly.

The situation resolved itself, and he fell back to earth, his high
disappearing. He was no longer flying, no longer an endless,
unstoppable, energetic force of nature - he was just a man, pretending
to be something that he wasn't. With a clinical mind, he noted that
his left hand had ground the other man's elbow into a pulp, and that
he'd bent the forearm so that it broke in two places in a compound
fracture.  Behind, he saw the other man, a knife held in limp fingers,
all the way at the other end of the store, where the kick to the jaw
had thrown him. His jaw was obviously broken, his lips and mouth
bleeding liberally into a pool on his shirt. These men, these unlucky
bastards, who had the bad luck of robbing a store with not just one,
but two, martial artists in it... one would never use this arm again.
The other would need extensive constructive surgery before he could
even hope to eat solid food again. If they had waited... if they had
come in, just a few minutes later, the two idiots would have gotten
away with it.

At that thought, Ryouga felt oddly compelled to go further.

"Break the other arm," Something dark and seductive whispered. It was
the power. It wanted to be released. It wanted to be used... USED, not
wasted. It was not given to him to be spent, pointlessly, on tricks to
amuse people - to impress people. Why did an animal have any weapon,
if not to make FULL use of it? Did a wolf deny itself use of its
fangs? Did a tiger forgo use of its claws? "Break the other arm." It
repeated, forcefully. "Snap his neck." Don't hold back! Use what you
are given! Become what you know you want to be!

Tireless.

Invulnerable.

Invincible!

"What did I..." Ryouga let go of the robber; looked down at his hands.


"Come on, man! Let's get out of here!" Ranma grabbed him by the wrist,
the other hand still holding onto a plastic bag full of stuff.
Distantly, Ryouga wondered something.

"Wait... Have to pay for..." Reaching into his pack, he took out a
couple bills and put them on the counter. Ranma hastily threw down
what he had counted out before, coins scattering and rolling off the
edge and onto the floor.

"Good! Done!" Ranma said, pulled his arm, and they were outside in the
bright beautiful sun. Its cleansing warmth permeated the lost boy,
brought him back to the present. Without another word, without even
thinking about which way they were headed, he and Ranma ran.

***

With knowledge gleaned from the unique occurrence that was the Spring
of Drowned Asura, as well as learning from the Sertu and Qauiza into
the problem, a dedicated effort was began and given the blessing of
The Fourteenth, Lord Herb the Second, Sixteen Generations removed from
The Grandfather. Into the effort, Lord Herb was blessed with a rare
occurrence: twins. It was seen as a good omen from the gods to
continue forward, and one of the children was to become their hope for
the future: an immortal Lord of Noble Blood. To that effort, the Musk
dedicated the full use of the Jusendo Observatory, an extensive temple
complex built from the floodwaters of Jyusenkyou up to the peak of
Mount Phoenix.

Experiments on the local non-Musk had already yielded positive
results, and reinforced what many Musk Scribes believed to be the
greatest hope for success. Select treatments of Asura Water, and other
alchemical and arcane manipulations, over years, began to have the
desired effects on the young Musk Prince. At the same time, it began
to make him unstable and uncontrollable. The situation came to tragedy
as the child responded ill to his latest transformations, and driven
wholly insane, rampaged through Jusendo, threatening the Tradition
preserving Cursed Springs. Finally, in the end, the grief-stricken
King was forced to destroy his child, and the experiment was ended in
failure.

Indeed it had failed: to produce a Musk Lord.

***

China.

The Musk war camp was a strange study in contrasts. It, like the
hierarchal Musk culture, was built around order and discipline. Yet,
it also reflected and catered to the Musk impulse for violence and
savagery. It was this combination of impulse, not defeated by
discipline, but directed by it, that was the essence of their
existence. Walking past the orderly sets of tents, each a single solid
color; Pantyhose Taro whistled to himself and pondered the immediate
world around him.

 He was not pure Musk, but he understood them better than any
outsider. At his heart, every single Musk, be he Scribe, Warrior, or
Advocate - be he a thinker, fighter, or a spiritualist - was an
animal. At their core, they were all vicious, merciless killing
machines. They had powers gifted through ancient bloodlines, and
mystic manipulations of their bodies. It was unsurprising then that
they all had their demons deep within them. Pantyhose certainly had
his. In a way, he enjoyed his personal demons, and their comforting
malice.

He, like all Musk, was a living weapon.

Musk were not unnaturally smart. Musk were not unnaturally canny or
affable. Indeed, they were quite difficult to like, both between Musk
and outsiders, and between Musk themselves. Musk warriors fought each
other more often then they fought the enemy, Short tempered, proud,
prone to acting on impulse... they were like a pack of wolves:
fighting and jockeying for dominance at every turn, respecting only
strength, breeding only more viciousness.

An endless cycle.

Looking over to his left, Taro saw an open area. Loud rallying cries,
boastful cheers, and howls of approval resounded from where, on a
dusty circle surrounded by their fellows, two Musk warriors wee
locked, hand in hand. Finally, after a few tense seconds, the slightly
shorter of the two got in and under, his superior position allowing
him to flip his opponent onto the ground with a hard thud. The crowd
of Musk roared like animals, and the one on the ground scrambled back
to his feet, slammed his palms together with a loud thunderclap, and
jumped back into the fight. Behind the assembly, a formation of Musk
Assault Troops, decked in their heavy lead plate and chain armor,
armed with massive lead mauls and shields, marched in perfect
synchrony, shaking the earth at their feet.

Order.

Discipline.

Enforced through total superiority and adherence to the hierarchy.
That was the other side of the Musk. At the head, unquestioned and
sovereign, was the Dynasty of the Dragon. It was, by far, the most
powerful of all Musk bloodlines, and the only thing keeping them from
falling apart and into anarchy. Without the foundation, without the
absolute and unchallengeable authority of the Dragon, there would be
chaos. All Order, all Discipline, radiated from the Dragon. His
Ministers and Advocates spread his word, his Scribes recorded his
history, and his Warriors enforced his will.

Taro still found it odd, however, that Herb would place himself at the
head of an army, as a formal Warmaster. Normally, Warmasters were
chosen so that there was one from each caste. The Dragon Liege himself
stayed away from battle, and temptation, unless necessary - he would
operate as a separate unit. This was how it had been for centuries
upon centuries. Few exceptions existed. The Sertu Dynasty had adhered
to this their entire history. The Haabu had occasionally deviated,
operating over a larger area, and generally favoring more numerous
small field armies that could support and supply themselves. The
Qauiza were the most mysterious, as most of their old records were
lost, but Taro supposed they likely followed the traditional
divisions.

Prince Herb had broken that Tradition.

He had appointed Sumac from amid the Warriors, and Clove from the
Scribes. Perhaps Herb knew there were no competent leaders that could
be drawn from the Advocate Class, which had diminished dramatically
from losses in the last war with Saffron. Perhaps Taro's half brother
had a desire for glory, and to forge some sort of legacy of his own.
Perhaps he wanted to impress his toy female, that Japanese woman:
Kounji Ukyou.

Regardless, Herb had still broken Tradition, and Musk clung to
Tradition like drowning men. It was always something Taro had disliked
about 'his people,' and it was the reason he couldn't just have his
stupid name changed. At the thought, Taro felt a surge of anger, and
without thinking, reached up and felt the long scar that ran down the
side of his face. Growling, he realized he'd stopped walking, and kept
going on his way.

No one had protested Herb's two appointments.

Sumac was well liked and respected by most Warriors. He was an
excellent fighter himself, despite being born to the generation right
after the last Phoenix War, and while a little more sarcastic and
quick to criticize than most Musk, Taro found those traits were what
made them good acquaintances. Sumac wasn't very big on Tradition,
preferring to let things like strength and competence speak for
themselves. Many of the older Musk were cold to him, because of his
attitude... cold to both of them because of their attitude, but Herb's
decision to give Sumac an Army was well received.

Clove was the more conservative appointment. He was a middle aged Musk
descended from the Viper Bloodline (One of several Bloodlines that
came over from Egypt when the Sertu Dynasty fell) and he served in a
support role during the Phoenix War. Clove had seen some combat, and
given a good accounting of himself. He was also a Scribe and a self-
styled 'learned Musk,' well versed in their history and ancient lore.
Well grounded in old school Musk tactics, gleaned from a history of
conflicts going back over ten thousand years, Clove had a fondness for
lecturing others on his decisions. Where Sumac would issue his orders
to a subordinate, Clove would explain his. The latter also traveled
with the Lucky Gods and Toma, in a more strategic role.

Beneath the Warmasters lay the Commanders of Regiments and the
Captains of Formations. Their positions were more tenuous. Commanders
were appointed through a combination of combat prowess and favoritism
on the part of the reigning Warmaster. With no direct tie to the
Dragon, they would rise or fall depending on performance and
preference. In keeping with Tradition, Captains were decided purely
through combat within a Formation. The reason for this was obvious. A
Musk warrior would only follow the dictates of either a more powerful
Musk, or a Musk directly endorsed by the most powerful Musk, the
Dragon Blood. Through this Tradition, Formations were ruled
differently, but almost always harshly, as the most ruthless and
vicious fighter would rise above his comrades, bending them through
force and intimidation. It was also a role many Musk were too
comfortable in - many Captains never wanted to rise further in the
hierarchy, because it would require dampening their bloodthirsty
natures.

Such was the nature of the Musk.

Taro passed by the Camp Armory. There, sets of heavy armor were hung
in the breeze. Like the Musk, they were regimented and divided up into
a proper order. The Heavy Armor and Heavy Weapons were proudly
displayed in the first row. Behind it, were several rows supporting of
medium and light armor, half the slots of which were empty.

Walking still down the dusty makeshift path, Taro saw the preferred
weapons of the Musk. The Assault troops used massive Lead Mauls, that
when taken, would vary in weight between several hundred pounds and
over two tons, depending on the ki of the warrior wielding it. Behind
those titanic weapons were an assortment of maces, polearms and
swords. Behind that, were the light weapons used by the segregated
Togenkyou auxiliaries and their much less numerous Musk peers. Bows,
javelins, short swords. The Musk traditionally had no cavalry - even
heavily armored Musk Warriors ran as fast as a horse, anyway, and had
similar endurance.

Taro felt pinpricks on his skin.

His senses were warning him of what he was approaching. Ignoring the
instinctive warnings, he pressed on to a large longhouse type tent,
the highest and most expansive of them all. Taro entered, gently
pushing aside the thrice man-sized tent flap. There, in the center,
sat Prince Herb, legs crossed, hands cupped in his lap. He was several
inches off the pillows below him. The inside of the tent was nice, but
far from bring something special - it had three long rugs that
contrasted sharply with the lush grass on the lowland plain where the
army had made camp.

Fluorescent lights from two metal stands provided illumination, but
weren't on at the moment. The sun was high, and it cast the inside of
the tent in a dull light. To the side there were some stacks of boxes,
and some sort of metal contraption, folded up and on its side. Next to
it stood Sumac's brother, the boy: Mint. His sword was sheathed, and
he seemed at rest against one of the light stands, but he was watching
all affairs within the tent intensely. There was a bamboo and silk
mattress, the same as that given to all ranking officers in the Musk
army, the same that Taro slept on, and then there was a futon, like he
had seen in Japan. It looked comfortable and inviting.

It looked even more inviting with Kuonji Ukyou sitting on it.

Taro licked his lips, and coughed to get their attention.

"Lord Herb?" Taro asked, eyes half lidded.

Herb's eyes, a vivid unbroken green, slowly opened and cut into Taro
with unusual intensity. There was no great secret of the distaste Herb
had for his 'Half-Musk' bastard half brother, and just the sight of
Taro tended to make Herb either sadistically eager to attack his name
and station, or just angry at his presence. Superficially, Taro made
it unofficially known that he reveled in the sole ability to piss off
the Lord of the Musk, but deep down, he worried that someday the Musk
Prince would make good on his hatred, and slay his half brother.

"You interrupt us, Pantyhose," Herb said Taro's name slowly, with
satisfaction.

"Yes. I apologize for any break in the excitement, my Lord." Taro
looked to Ukyou. She was also cross-legged, her hands resting on the
stupidly large spatula in her lap. Taro had seen her use the thing as
a sort of weapon. He didn't imagine it was very effective.

"Feel free to speak in her presence, Pantyhose. In fact, say what you
will in Japanese, so that she will hear it," Herb said in that
language, encouraging him. The Prince seemed to see Taro's hesitation
as concern over Ukyou as a security risk. Taro had never considered
that. Did the Society have Ukyou in their pocket? He certainly hadn't
been told, if that were true. Bishop wouldn't keep him out of the loop
- Taro was too essential to their plans, or at least he liked to think
he was.

"The Scouts have brought news from Xaodin," Taro said, and cleared his
throat. His Japanese was excellent, or so he'd been told. "It seems
that there is an Amazon Elder overseeing the organization of a town
militia to support the Amazon garrison. From their description, and
from my knowledge of Amazon movements, I am quite certain that the
Elder is none other than Lai Zhol, one of their more infamous
matriarchs."

Herb's brow furrowed, but he did not frown. "One of the Three?"

"Yes, my Lord. One of the Three," Taro answered smoothly. As if the
line was practiced.

"What does that mean?" Ukyou asked, her tone wary, uncertain. "What do
you mean, 'One of the Three'?"

Taro waited only a second. He expected Herb to explain it, and true
enough, the Prince spoke up, and answered her.

"'One of the Three' refers to the Joketsuzoku Elders who were on the
seven person Council when it decided to abandon its alliance with the
Musk in the last War. That was roughly thirty years ago. Lai Zhol is
one of the three on that Council who are still around today. Oui Ru
and Khu Lon are the others. They are directly responsible for the
betrayal of their people, for the extension of the war..." Herb
snarled, his anger rising, though his body maintained its position,
floating perfectly still. "I have vowed to kill them personally. I
will kill them, starting with this one. You are absolutely sure of
this, Taro?"

Taro was caught unprepared. Herb hadn't called him 'pantyhose'?

"Yes. I am absolutely sure that Lai Zhol is in the town of Xaodin,"
Taro replied, firmly, with confidence. "How long she will be there,
however, is a mystery."

"Then we shall move out with the utmost haste," Herb's voice calmed as
he spoke, returning to its normal detached chill. He rose slightly as
his legs uncrossed, and in a second he was on his feet in front of
Taro. "Go. Alert the Commanders that we are to move out in two hours.
I shall follow shortly and address them in fifteen minutes at the
command tent."

"Yes, my Lord." Taro inclined his head at him, then at Ukyou.
"M'lady."

Herb frowned, finally.

Taro quickly made himself scarce and left.

"Herb?" Ukyou asked, standing up. "I realize..."

"I made a vow, on my father's grave, to kill them," Herb cut her off,
but his face softened slightly. He took a few steps towards her.
"Don't worry about it. How were your exercises progressing?"

She looked away, as if considering whether or not to allow the subject
to be changed. Herb was a proud man, she knew, and when he was set on
something, he was adamant. She finally decided to relent.

"They're going more smoothly than before," she explained. "But it
doesn't feel... natural. It doesn't feel comfortable."

Herb let out a deep breath. "The exercises are just to get toy
accustomed to developing perfect control. An ordered set of thoughts.
In time, you'll adapt a method all your own, and when you do, and when
the order is unbreakable and inviolable, you'll be able to wield your
ki with far greater skill and power."

"The number scheme can't be the only way, though." She brushed aside a
strand of hair from in front of her face. She hadn't bothered with the
bow, or anything like it, today, and her hair was flowing freely.
Wildly, even. 'Untamed' Herb had called it.

"The Number sets are difficult, yes," Herb said, crossing his arms. "I
tend to operate in a more ...linear fashion, so it suits me perfectly.
Perhaps a letter scheme would work better for you."

"Maybe." Ukyou shrugged. Herb had started teaching her almost two
weeks ago, before the Assault on Phoenix Mountain. He had shown her a
world of ki mastery that she hadn't imagined ever existed, and told
her that some of it was within her reach. He had told her things,
explained things, she had long wondered about. In her youth, when she
began to become ...unnaturally powerful as a result of her training,
she had long wondered what was happening to her, what the feelings and
fire that coursed through her meant.

Ki was a fundamental an element of reality - by nature; it existed in
all matter and energy. All creatures used it, without knowing that
they used it. It was simply there, sandwiched with the universe, for
lack of a better term, between space and time. It could defy
conventional physics, because it was a means of either maintaining or
distorting reality itself. ki literally allowed the impossible to
occur, under select and unique circumstances.

In a scant few individuals, there developed a way of manipulating ki,
either consciously or unconsciously. It was a combination of factors.
Bloodlines were important, because, as the Musk believed, they
influenced both the cultivation of an individual's body and soul, the
latter of which was the conduit through which manipulation of ki
occurred. Focus was also essential, and the means through which so
many martial artists came to wield their ki. Another person could
still find their Focus in business or politics, and would be using and
manipulating ki without realizing it.

Back in Japan, Ukyou had noticed that there was a constant conscious
drive to become more powerful. Every time she tapped into her ki, into
the well of power she could feel within her, it came at the head of a
rush of energy. It was very much like a drug, like a high, and every
time it took a little more energy, a little more ki, to match the high
from before. She now knew for certain that the body, and even the
soul, got accustomed to ki, and power, the more it was drawn.

Used internally, ki seeped into the bones and made them stronger, it
diffused into muscle and tissue, enhancing speed, strength, nerve
conduction speed, and other factors. It made its way into the brain,
supercharging the senses. Ukyou had never noticed it before, but it
also made her nails and hair grow faster. It sped up the metabolism,
and increased heart rate. It did all these things, with no physical
drawbacks, save that the body became addicted to the power.

When she had her suspicions confirmed on this, Ukyou grew worried.
Worried that she was steadily becoming an addict. Worried that she
couldn't stop, couldn't turn back, not after all she'd done and been.
Herb had consoled her, told her that it was not the power, not even
the addiction to the power, that she needed to worry about - that it
was a natural thing, and that it was not a certain path for her to go
down. He explained to her that it was the corruption of the power, the
'Serpent,' that needed to be quenched through discipline... that by
imposing order on her mind that she would be the power, rather than
just using it. Become the power, control the power, and control what
you become, he had told her.

And she had tried.

Ukyou assumed that it was a concept and ability that simply came
easier to Musk, who were born with substantial power, and driven and
guided by the Art almost since birth. Musk totally internalized their
ki, driving their supernatural bodies to an extreme. Only the Dragon
Blood and a select few others had enough discipline to externalize
their ki, and still maintain perfect control. Ukyou had made the
connection to the 'Dark Side of the Force.' Herb had been confused,
and then insulted, when she'd explained the reference. He maintained
that there was no 'dark side' of ki - that it was simply a process,
guided by control. The Dragon practiced Ki Control; the Serpent
practiced Ki Chaos: power through total anarchy.

She hadn't really understood, until he explained who he was.

What he was.

The most ancient History of the Musk.

Given that knowledge, she had moved forward, confidant that she could
gain total control, and through it, an understanding and peace with
her ki. She still wanted a ki attack, she still wanted, deep down, to
show up Ranma... to impress Ryouga. She wanted to be strong. She
wanted to be independent. Herb had taken her under his wing, tutored
her as he said he had been tutored. He had given her his favorite
'exercises' through which he maintained constant control.

They were math games.

Usually, he would start at two extremes: at zero and a thousand. He
would multiply the numbers by two, and visualize them. Then he would
move to two and nine hundred and ninety nine, divide them by two, and
visualize them. He would work the number sets towards their ultimate
fruition, until they passed and reversed. Herb had told her that he
maintained exercises of that nature at all times, (except when he
slept she supposed) but that it wouldn't be necessary for her - he did
what he did, because his power was so great, and his responsibility to
defeat the Serpent within him all the greater.

After hearing of his heritage, she understood this all the more.

"How about ... an okonomiaki recipe?" Herb suggested, interrupting her
thoughts. "It doesn't have to be complex, just strong. Just something
strong enough to hold back the ki, like a dam, to control and direct
its flow."

"A recipe?" She pursed her lips. "I don't know... it's not...
difficult. It's like second nature to me, now."

"It will come to you. Remember, it was years before I was ready to
have any level of mastery over externalized ki." Herb held out his
palm. Black electricity danced between his fingers, and from the palm,
like a second skin, raised a bright blue sphere, illuminating the
large tent with bright light. Ukyou had to squint her eyes at its
brilliance.

"What about...the shortcuts you mentioned?" She asked, and Herb's
ki sphere dissolved into the air with a tiny rush of displaced air.

"Shortcuts?" He asked, and then remembered. "Ah yes. You mean
emotive ki."

"I think that was it. What about that?"

"Emotive ki is simple, but ultimately unstable. You cannot properly
vary or control the properties of externalized ki based on strong
emotions," Herb explained. He was quiet for a moment, before he took a
step forward, reached out, and took her hand. His thumb ran small
circles in her palm. "Strong emotions are too powerful to be perfectly
controlled."

"Even for the mighty Prince Herb?" Ukyou's voice was unsure, but her
strong slender hands curled, just slightly, over his thumb.

"Ukyou," Herb said, caught himself, and slowly lowered his hand,
suddenly shy. "I'll... go send someone to help carry your grill.
Everything must be packaged and ready to move before we march on
Xaodin."

"Yeah." Ukyou nodded, agreed. A blush was on her cheeks, but she saw a
hint of one on Herb's face, too. He gave her a small, warm smile,
turned with a flourish, and left. Watching, alone, from the far side
of the tent, Mint's face betrayed no emotion.

***

Far below the battlefield between Musk father and son, the now
transformed people beneath Phoenix Mountain found a babe among their
fields. Cold, alone, abandoned, he seemed to scream defiance to a
world, to a nature, that would kill him. He would not die. They
adopted him, and he lived among them, as one of them, even as his
power grew. While his brother took the Musk Throne, he dominated his
peers, rose above them, and became their Lord, memories of his past
life like a fleeting dream: vague, hazy.

In time, the actions of this Phoenix King became not just noticed, but
of interest to his brother, the Lord of the Musk. It took little
beyond to obvious to see what had occurred, and the two monarchs met.
Things, however, did not go smoothly between the brothers, and indeed,
soon enough a fight broke out between them, neither willing to submit
to the other, both leaders and heirs to the throne in their own right.
Lord Herb, older due to his brother's 'death' and far more experienced
and trained, threw down his upstart twin brother and defeated him. The
Phoenix King withdrew, still unwilling to submit, and now bitterly
aware of his past. With the Phoenix people behind him, he attacked
Jusendo in a bid to divide the Musk. After ravaging the Observatory,
however, he was again defeated, and finally 'killed' by his brother.

"Search the ruins! Upend every stone and brick! Find him, bring him;
he will not be again as he has become!"

The Musk Lord had the battlefield searched for his brother, but to no
avail. He had already been secreted away by his followers among the
Phoenix, by those with no knowledge of his true origins. To them, he
was a savior and a liberator. And so, for over two hundred years, the
Phoenix Exiles cared for their King, and as his brother grew weak with
old age, and passed on to his ancestors, Saffron returned to the
Phoenix, and led them anew to Jusendo and finally to Phoenix Mountain.
His nephew, now Lord of the Musk Dynasty, investigated this, and faced
the returned Saffron. To the horror of the young Lord, his erstwhile
uncle had become wholly Phoenix, sporting great wings of feather and
flame - he was no longer Musk, and he would not join them. Nor would
the young Dragon Lord submit to the Phoenix. Thus, without delay, he
attacked with the full fury of the Musk, drew Saffron out, and after
great effort, and a heavy heart, destroyed him once more.

But the Phoenix would not die.

And soon he rose again... more powerful and terrible than ever before.

***

Japan. Tokyo, to be exact.

Two men were walking down the street, minding their own business. One
was dressed in bright red clothes, embroidered with a green and gold
dragon. Beneath the Mao cap keeping the midday sun out of his eyes, he
had a pigtail that curled slightly, bouncing against his left shoulder
blade. He looked around, keeping an eye on his surroundings, leading
his companion. The other man's only really distinctive feature was a
large backpack, larger than his associate's, and a tendency to look
down while he walked. He had a plain mustard colored crew shirt, cut
roughly at the shoulders, and green pants with black lacings around
the lower legs.

 They weren't in Nerima yet, and no one really paid them much
attention.

"Are you sure you don't want to just take the roofs?" Ranma sighed,
his shoulders slumping.

"Nah. That'd just draw attention." The other traveler held tightly to
the straps of his backpack. "I just want to blend in... look normal
for a while."

"Whatever. You've been acting weird ever since... you know," Ranma
said, eyes passing over some nearby shops, looking for something.
"You've been mopin' and grumblin' and being depressin' even more than
usual."

"I guess I'm just eager to get home." The lost boy didn't smile.
"Before the stuff I got for Nabiki spoils."

"Which reminds me... I'm no good at this kind of thing..."

"You mean finding something for Akane?"

"Yeah." Ranma nodded. "What do you get a violent tomboy like her,
anyway? She wouldn't go for any of the stuff you get Nabiki. And I'm
not gonna do any mushy romantic stuff, like writing a letter or
nothin.'"

"You're on your own, Saotome," Ryouga said, walked a little faster,
until he was almost side-to-side with Ranma. "You've got to find
something from you, not me."

"What about some concrete blocks? She must go through those like
water!"

"I... don't think that's wise." There was only a hint of anger.

Ranma frowned. Ryouga had been worse than brooding ever since the
incident they'd had at the corner store they'd visited, days ago, he's
been apathetic. Hibiki Ryouga was *never* apathetic. He'd started
holding back in their sparring more than usual - granted, they both
held back when they sparred, but Ryouga wasn't just holding back, it
was as if he was afraid to fight. He had acted somewhat extreme with
the two scumbags that had tried to rob the store, but everything had
happened so fast, Ryouga had struck without really thinking. Ranma did
the same sometimes, when he was caught by surprise by someone,
reacting with a typical foot to the face or something similar.

Ryouga, however, didn't even want to talk about it. He didn't seem
anywhere near as enthusiastic as he had been about sparring and
testing their techniques as he had been. He didn't even want to race
against cars, or jump on the rooftops, or do any number of things they
both used to revel in. Maybe was simply just anxious to get back home
to Nabiki. Ranma knew Ryouga must have missed her, because he sent her
a letter every few days, and sometimes gifts and other things - but at
the same time, he had never really been in a huge hurry to get back to
her and the Tendo home, either. Ranma shook his head, confused. Ryouga
was still a mystery in his thoughts.

He was just... weird, sometimes.

"What about getting her a... uh... baseball bat?" Ranma asked.
"Something to go with her mallet?"

Ryouga was silent.

"I dunno..." Ranma groaned. His eyes rested on something, and he got
an idea. "Hey, what about a cookbook? 'Cooking for Dummies?'"

Ryouga's left eyebrow raised.

"Good," Ranma thought, "A reaction."

"Cooking for Dummies, Saotome?" Ryouga asked. He still didn't sound
angry, just a little annoyed.

"Just look." Ranma pointed at the shelf, in a nearby bookstore, behind
glass. "'Cooking for Dummies.'"

"Dare I say it Saotome?" Ryouga slowly shook his head, a very small
smile creeping up. "That's a recipe for disaster, giving that to
Akane."

Ranma grinned. "Yeah. Maybe. But it'll be amusing. I think I will get
her that!"

Ryouga's smile disappeared, and he leaned back against the wall, next
to the door.  "Go ahead," he said, tone neutral. "I'll just wait out
here."

"If you want to. Don't go wandering around now, lost boy." Ranma gave
him a quick smirk, and walked in to buy the book.

Ryouga 'hmfed' and crossed his arms, waiting. Closing his eyes, he
tried to shut out the world around him. Every moment, every impulse,
tore at his mind. He ground his teeth together, built up the walls
within him, and retreated to their high crenellations. They he would
be safe, secure, his own master, and there, more importantly, the
world would be safe from him. He needed a prison as much as a castle.

In the distance, he heard something crash.

"No! Everyone run!" someone yelled.

"A bear!" A man yelled, fear cracking his voice. "How did a bear get
loose?!"

"Everyone, stay calm! Get into a building!" That was a woman. Ryouga
looked to the side, not moving from where he stood. Apparently a brown
bear, a large one, too, had escaped, from where, he had no idea. Where
these giant rampaging animals came from was just one of life's eternal
mysteries. Most people were running around like headless chicken -
panicked, as people tend to panic. Frowning, he saw that one woman, in
a kimono and holding a katana in an improper stance, had decided to
confront the animal and try and scare it off by waving the sword
around like a baseball bat..

It only took a millisecond for him to decide to act.

Powerful legs, enhanced and bolstered by his ki, took him to the air.
The wind blew past his face, blowing through his hair, which had grown
longer than he normally let it. His body sang with the power, and he
landed next to the woman, his feet cracking the asphalt.

"Don't move," Ryouga said, facing the bear, but talking to the woman.
"If you run, he'll chase you."

"Who...?" She started.

Ryouga ignored her and took a step towards the bear. His hands were at
his sides, and the bear shuffled back a few feet, growling. It only
took a few seconds, before the big bruin tired of the game and pulled
the lost boy's bluff. The bear rose up to its full height and roared a
challenge, a sound that make a lion's roar seem like one of Neko-
Shampoo's pathetic meows. Ryouga smiled.

The lost boy looked into the animal's eyes and felt a kindred spirit.
The bear was big and mean... a rogue in the making, perhaps, over five
times Ryouga's weight, and most of that muscle. The creature was
obviously in its prime, which was a damn shame. In other
circumstances, the lost boy would have considered it a beautiful
animal. But now, here, it was just about anyone's worst nightmare. A
rogue brown bear was about as bad as they came. No more fearsome, or
deadly, an animal walked the land.

A low growl left Ryouga's throat.

His body itched, ever nerve and muscle wanting to strike out. Wanting
to break and tear and smash and destroy. Their eyes locked, the bear
dropped back onto all fours and backed up, snarling, even as Ryouga
slowly walked towards it. The animal's claws, long and strong enough
to smash through the door of a log cabin, promised death. Ryouga's
hands clenched, swearing the same.

The bear snorted, and looked away. It was about to run, when two darts
landed on its flank. It growled, annoyed at the pinpricks, and started
to escape. It slowed after only a few strides, before slumping against
a wall and onto its side. Four men poured out of a truck, and headed
towards the fallen animal. One paused when he passed by Ryouga.

"Hey, Hey you!" The man said, voice untrained and unsteady. His heart
was pounding, excitement more than obvious to Ryouga's hypersensitive
senses. Even as the man spoke, however, Ryouga was falling back to
earth; his body felt like it was withering away, like he was aging
centuries in seconds. "What were you thinking? You could have been
killed!"

Ryouga turned his back on the man. "Do your job," he said, venom in
his voice. "A lot of people could have been killed."

The man scowled, and ran off to help his buddies take away the
unconscious bear.

Ryouga was tempted to try and find the store. He looked around for
Ranma, but didn't see him standing outside any of the nearly
buildings. Not for the hundredth time, Ryouga cursed his terrible
sense of direction. Passing by the woman with the katana, he paused.
She looked a bit stunned.

"Are you all right?" Ryouga asked, some worry in his voice. Had his
moment's hesitation and inaction led to more pain, more misery?

"Yes. Thank you." She looked down sheathed the katana and stated to
bundle it in cloth. "What... what is your name?"

"My name?" Ryouga asked, unsure. "Hibiki Ryouga."

"Oh." There was a definite hint of disappointment in her tone. "You
must be a martial artist... to stare down that bear."

"I am." Ryouga replied quickly. He didn't want to risk getting even
more lost. He needed to find Ranma, or it could be weeks before he got
back to the Tendo Dojo.

"I was wondering if... you were from Nerima?"

"I'm not from Nerima, really. I spend a lot of time there, though.
Why?"

"Some time ago, I heard about a very large fight on the news that
involved two young martial artists in Nerima," the woman said, and
paused. "Did you see it?"

Ryouga smiled, one fang peeking out over his lower lip.

"Yeah," he replied, "Yeah, you could say I saw it up close and
personal."

"Was my son there? ...Saotome Ranma?"

Ryouga's mouth straightened out. Her son? Ranma? Ranma had never
mentioned a mother before. Come to think of it, Ryouga had never
really equated Ranma with someone who needed or had a mother. He
weighed the options. One thought bugged him above the others. This
woman and Genma?!?

Ewww.

"Yeah. Ranma was there," he said, after a few seconds delay. "You're
Ranma's mother? That's... that's... well. No offense, ma'am, but he
never mentioned you. Genma never said anything either."

The woman looked a strange mixture of excited and saddened.

"I'm... I'm sorry if I offended you," Ryouga quickly said, "I didn't
mean..."

"No." Nodoka looked up, and smiled. "You didn't offend me. The last
time Ranma saw me, he was a very little boy. It's just... I didn't
quite expect to be told that he'd forgotten..."

"Well. He and I were traveling together..."

"Traveling together?" Nodoka looked at him sharply.

"Yeah. We're kind of rivals. He's the only one my age I can fight
with."

"Oh. A training trip?"

"Exactly." Ryouga didn't add that he took a lot of 'training trips'
without even wanting to. "We were on our way back to the Tendo Dojo,
in Nerima. Unfortunately it looks like I kind of lost him... last I
saw him, he was going in a store to get a book for Akane."

"Akane?"

"She's Ranma's fiancee," Ryouga explained, not adding that he had a
couple others here and there.

Nodoka raised a dainty hand to her face. "Would she be Tendo Akane?
Soun's daughter?"

"You know Tendo-san?"

"He was best man at our wedding!" Nodoka bowed her head. "Excuse my
manners... I haven't even introduced myself. My name is Saotome
Nodoka. Could you please take me to my son? Can you tell me about
him?"

Ryouga grinned nervously, scratching the back of his neck.

"Um, Mrs Saotome..." He chuckled foolishly. "I, er, may not be the
best choice for that first part..."

***

Saffron came to age under the harsh guidance of a different, desperate
Phoenix leadership. They were grooming him into a weapon as much as a
leader, but they got something else entirely. Saffron became convinced
of his divinity. Biding his time and solidifying his rule through
fear, under his guidance the Phoenix came to prefect the mass
production of surikomi eggs, and had his most loyal agents gather
artifacts of power to him. Saffron then turned against his people, and
with the surikomi eggs, he secured his total, unquestioned rule over
the Phoenix Tribe, and proclaimed him their God King.

Hesitant to again attack the insular Phoenix, and focusing on grooming
his heir, the reigning Lord Herb either did not recognize the growing
danger of Saffron, or ignored it. Around this time, he took an Amazon
mistress, hoping to diminish the perpetual feuding between the
Joketsuzoku and the Musk - two groups that had been diametrically
opposed to each other for millennia. However, as time passed, Saffron
grew more powerful and increasingly bold. Inspired by events earlier
in the century, he launched quick, bloodless, probing attacks at
border villages, and neutral towns. His forces would descend, and in
less than an hour, the entire population would be subverted to
Saffron's will, and dedicated to his worship. As his forces swelled
with these common peasants, he made preparations to strike out against
the Musk.

Saffron's fanatical warriors attacked early in the spring, and cut
into early Musk attempts to put down the insurrection into their
territory. Every village that fell only fueled Saffron's war machine
and bolstered the numbers in his army. Now vastly outnumbered, and
largely unprepared, the Musk turned to their neighbors - the Seven
Lucky Gods Clan, the Jyusenkyou Preservation Society, and the
Joketsuzoku - to form an alliance to push back the Phoenix. As they
did, and began to meet Saffron's forces on more equal terms, things
ground down to a stalemate over the winter. Cannily shifting his
forces, and the focus of his assault, Saffron planned for one last
fall offensive through a mountain pass, and into the more vulnerable
Bainkara Lowlands.

The issue came to a head at Soryn Pass.

***

"Spare the meats and woven wools!" Herb watched, as his men advanced.
"But spare no man, woman or child who takes up arms against us!"

At his command, they broke into a run.

Xaodin was an important trading post, as well as farming center. Its
fields would well support the Herb's forces, and when it fell, they
would feast amid what remained of the place. The support trains were
behind, waiting for the order to move in and clean up - Ukyou was with
them, protected by the ever-present Mint. She would not see the
battle, or the carnage. She had not asked for this, but Herb had
ordered it. His eyes narrowed from where he floated, as the battle
began.

The village had walls around it, from which Amazon archers and their
assembled local militia loosed arrows on the advancing Musk. Herb
uncrossed his arms, and silently signaled for their own bombardment to
begin. A horn sounded, and the Togenkyou archers moved forward, into
position, and fired their own volleys of flaming arrows, lit by
portable braziers. They landed in the open areas approaching the
village, first, and several sections of land lit up instantly in
flame. As expected, they had prepared tracks of oil and tar as a trap.


The advancing Musk easily avoided the flames.

Another horn sounded, and the Togenkyou Archers turned their attention
to the walls and palisade around Xaodin. The fires would keep the
villagers and militia occupied stamping them out, which was more
important than doing any actual damage. Herb watched, detached, as the
light troops moved around to encircle the opposite side of the town,
ready to run down any who tried to escape or flee. One quarter of the
town, the far side from where Herb stood, bordered rocky hills, and it
was unlikely that anyone would flee across it.

Herb signaled, and another horn trumpeted. This was no louder than the
ones previous, but it echoed down into the battlefield. The assembled
lines of Musk divided, as the Assault troops formed into spearheads,
and lead the advance. The others fell back and slowed, falling in
behind their more heavily armed and armored brothers. Then came the
streaks of light and fire - ki attacks. They were weak blasts, to be
true, drawn from emotions and weapons, but they were more dangerous
than un-enhanced arrow or bolt to a Musk warrior wearing armor.
Fortunately, Musk armor was not normal armor. It was primarily built
of lead, and thus quite heavy, but its construction was specifically
made to absorb and disrupt offensive externalized ki.

It was the only thing that could offer any sort of protection from a
ki enhanced weapon. Through the power of ki, a dull blade could cut
through a tree, or a sharp sword, wielded by a master, through solid
steel. The crafting of this armor was a well-kept secret of the Musk.
The only thing similar that Herb had heard of was an inferior Amazon
contraption, designed to discourage the release of 'hot ki' and used
in teaching their Heavenly Blast of the Ascending Dragon.

The palisade defending the down was smashed aside like cardboard as
the Assault Musk simply plowed through to the mortar walls. The
attacking forces were divided into three prongs, and Herb frowned as
one of them bogged down. Another form of trap, he realized, and his
vision narrowed on the moment. It was difficult to see from so far
out, even with his superb senses.

"Binoculars." He held out his left hand, and one of his many
attendants handed the Prince what he desired. Looking through them, he
saw what had gone wrong with the left prong of the attack. Roots and
weeds had sprung up at the approach of the Assault Group, and bogged
them down. They were currently engaged and busy trying to tear
themselves free of the rapidly growing jungle, while other troops
tried to cut them free, and ended up getting entangled.

Herb's frown deepened. There was something afoot there. The plant
growth would halt the forces there, but it would not keep them at bay
indefinably. At two other points, the walls had already been beaten
and battered down, Assault troops taking the middle of the town, and
the granary, to ensure that it would not be tainted or destroyed by
any potential Amazon 'scorched earth' tactics. Medium troops, Musk
regulars, would be right behind, engaging any defenders and taking to
the walls. Herb realized that the entangled Musk forces were adjacent
to where the rocky hills began to become distinct. He blinked in
realization.

"I'm moving to aid the left flank personally," Herb said, plainly, and
his attendants stepped back and away. His ki flared, and the Prince
took off, heading towards where he knew the Amazons were about to
break out. Rolling in midair, rising slightly, and building speed, he
saw explosions from underground, and felt the subtle ripples in ki.

Blasting Point Explosions.

The air around him erupted, his speed incredible. It would take only
seconds to get there, but in those seconds, Herb saw the hidden Amazon
Warriors stream out from their underground lairs. The ensnared and
surprised Musk Warriors immediately moved to defend themselves, and
their honor. But their lines had been broken, their martial discipline
thrown to the wind. The entire situation had degenerated into a free
for all, and amid the growing carnage, Herb saw a small fast shape,
darting between his Warriors, and aiding the Amazons.

"Lai Zhol!!" Herb appeared above the melee, his battle aura a twisting
helix of tightly controlled power. As his voice cut into the pitched
battle below, the Musk rallied a warcry to their Lord, and fought with
an even greater intensity and furor. Herb's eyes searched through the
chaos, and found their target near the broken and blasted earth from
which the Amazons had emerged.

"You cannot run from me, old woman!" He roared, and raced towards her.
"Stand and fight, or die as you lived! A COWARD!"

She ducked down, and Herb followed. He landed next to two angry
Amazons, each brandishing a spear. They lunged as one, with what would
have been frightening speed to a normal man. To Prince Herb, however,
they were like flies moving through molasses. With both palms raised,
he calmly swatted them away, sending both flying up and out of the
deep depression in the earth. There was a tunnel leading down, and
Herb made ready to continue the chase to its much-desired conclusion.
He spared the corpse at his feet - a fallen Musk, caught right under
the explosion, and stabbed while prone - a silent prayer.

"Grandfather preserve you, warrior," Herb nodded, and headed down the
tunnel. "Grandfather preserve us all."

The burrow was rough and hastily prepared. No doubt the Amazons had
only very recently dug out the tunnels, hid their finest down below,
and waited for the attack. These must have been the preparations
Pantyhose Taro had mentioned Lai Zhol was overseeing. It was a cunning
trap, and it would wound his Musk forces more than Herb had expected
in this attack, but it was a futile endeavor. The Amazons did not have
any substantial numerical advantage over their surprised foes
aboveground, and one on one, an Amazon was no match for a Musk.

They never had been.

It was why the Musk had always been the predator, and the Amazon
always nuisance at most, prey at least. The halls grew darker and
danker as Herb ran down, descending the twisting tunnel. His internal
sense of direction told him that he had swung around, and was heading
for an area just beneath the foothills outside Xaodin. The walls
became rockier and sturdier as he continued. This would not have
hindered the burrowing Amazons' efforts, however, due to their use of
the infernal Bakusai Tenketsu.

At last, he came to a great open area.

It was pitch black, save for a single lit torch in the middle of the
room, held by his prey. Even so, Herb saw everything perfectly, his
vision beyond compare. He stepped forward, slowly, and noted that he
was in an almost perfect dome, solid curved walls arching up to an
apex thirteen feet above the flat ground. There was a faint... feeling
to the walls, which made Herb hesitant to dismiss them outright.

 "Greetings, stripling," Lai Zhol said from where she stood. The old
woman held to an ornate cane, intricately carved with a jewel at the
face that caught and reflected the light of the torch she carried in
her other hand. Lai Zhol was the youngest of the Three, and while she
betrayed her age through her shriveled appearance, she was not as
shrunken as her compatriots, and still walked, using her cane
sparingly.

"Finally decided to give up running, old bat?" Herb took a wary step
forward. He was walking into a trap, and knew it. "You know why I have
come for you, do you not? ...You must."

"I know you believe us responsible for your father's failures, Musk
Prince." Lai Zhol eye's followed him, and him alone. "I did not lure
you here to talk, however."

"The rabbit would fight the fox?" Herb felt the song suffuse his body.
Power threatened to ripple out of him in great waves, but he kept it
contained. The mental exercise he began when he decided to enter the
fray brought his focus and control into perfection.

62 1938.

16 484.

"In her own warren, the rabbit faces the fox."

66 1934.

Herb almost smiled at the audacity of it.

"Then..." Herb's power began to flare. 17 483. "In her warren, the
rabbit shall be buried!"

Lai Zhol threw up the torch, and moved like lightning. As it twisted,
head over tail, in the air, the light of the flame barely illuminated
the speeding fighters within the confines of the hollowed out dome.
Herb and Lai Zhol passed, just as both unleashed a ki sphere at point
blank range. Herb twisted, and it flew over his shoulder. Incredibly
enough, Lai Zhol was able to avoid his ki blast as well. Herb had
known that she was fast, faster even than Khu Lon, but it still
surprised him to actually see it. The two touched the ground, more
than landed, before exploding into action.

70 1930.

Lai Zhol, sheathed in her own battle aura, moved with practiced ease.
She could not fly, as he did, but she had an incredible energy and
speed. The place was confined enough that she could move, and dodge,
and attack, without ever touching the ground. As they passed again,
and again, Herb suddenly realized that there were more Ki spheres
bouncing around than there should have been. Additionally, he noted,
he'd not heard an explosion or impact from the two that had missed in
their first pass.

18 482.

Spinning as he moved, Herb had to totally reverse his momentum as a ki
blast; his own as he recognized it, shot off the wall behind him. Not
being able to spare the instant to look over his shoulder, the midair
spin served its purpose, and it caught the hint of light from an
inscription on the wall. This was the trap he had known they would
spring. The walls were ki infused, and warded, and would reflect any
ki attack that hit it. A very powerful attack, of course, would
overwhelm the warding and destroy the wall, but anything of that power
would also backlash, destroying and collapsing the cavern, burying
them both.

It was a beautiful trap.

74 1926.

Herb closed to range, energy crackling down his arms and into his
wrists, forming ki blades. It was, in the Japanese, his 'Hitou Ryu Zan
Ha' or Flying Blade Dragon Beheading technique, and one of his
personal favorites. At his beckon, ki surged down his arm, coalescing
just above the knuckles. It then formed into a ki blade between one
and three feet long, as well as producing a solid ki shield that
extended down the arm to his elbow. The ki blade excited the localized
air at its edge, heating it, and giving it a bluish glow as a result
of ionization. It is this layer of superheated air, one molecule thick
at the edge, which did the actual cutting. Behind that, the ki blade
functioned identically to that of a solid shield, allowing the ki
blade to block or parry attacks. If he wished it, the blade could also
be detached and thrown as a projectile. Severing the ki connection
with his body, however, caused the ki to eventually discorporate, and
the ki blade typically disintegrated five seconds after it was
'thrown.' At the speed her and Lai Zhol were moving and fighting,
however, five seconds was a substantial amount of time.

"Let's up the ante!" Herb hit the ground, rolled, and threw his arms
out and wide, the ki blades shooting out. In a heartbeat, they hit the
walls, which flared with brilliant blue runic inscriptions, and
bounced back. Herb heard Lai Zhol curse softly as she dodged and
moved, before letting loose another ki blast in his direction.

19 481.

The air was thick with ki blasts rebounding off the walls. Herb knew
he was fast, but he was having a damn tough time avoiding the
projectiles. He was caught in a game of chicken with the Amazon Elder,
the two ki masters letting off blast after blast, hoping that the
other would slip up first, and get hit. Or sliced in half.

78 1922.

Lai Zhol was barely visible, not just through the hazy of bouncing ki
blasts, not just through the dim light of the flickering torch still
in midair, but because of pure speed. Herb felt the sting of a stray
blast brush past his right arm, even as he twisted to the point of
pain avoiding it. As it flared past him, an electrical blue hue danced
over his arm - it was his always-present ki shield, the layer he kept
over his body whenever in battle. It would protect him from the heat
and vibration of a ki blast, but not the kinetic energy impact of it.
In a situation like he was now in, an impact throwing him off balance
could prove deadly.

20 480.

He knew a new approach was in order. Lai Zhol was at least as faster
as he was, despite dumping vast amounts of his energy into increasing
his speed. Additionally, she was shorter than he was, and had a
smaller target profile. He had walked right into the Amazon's trap,
without realizing just how well they had drawn him in unaware. His
mind raced as his body blurred.

82 1918.

Herb winced as he dove into two of Lai Zhol's rebounding ki blasts,
the ki shields on his arms absorbing the blast, and his momentum
negating the impact. He tumbled, for just the blink of an eye, before
going airborne. He tried to track Lai Zhol's movements, tried to find
an opportunity to weave through the thick mass of erratic ki blasts
and strike her directly.

21 479.

He danced.

86 1914.

He bullied.

22 478.

He charged.

90 1910.

He lunged.

23 477.

He failed.

94 1906.

She was too fast. Too damn fast, too damn small. He could see her, he
had adjusted better to their mutual speeds, but it went both ways.
She, too, could see and track his movements. Without all the stray
blasts in the way, he had a much better chance of getting up close,
where he could cleave her into quarters with ki blades. However, in
the trap, in the Amazon burrow, he had to work and maneuver his way
through to his target. He had taken a beating to his defenses already,
even though he hadn't fired off any more ki projectiles, and even as
Lai Zhol twisted and turned her staff, spouting glowing orbs from its
crystal head ornament.

24 476.

She was in control of the fight. She'd dodge anything he threw. At the
thought, Herb smirked, got into position, and let four quick blasts
fly from his fingertips. As he anticipated, Lai Zhol dodged them,
fired two blasts of her own back at him, and dodged the two of his
that rebounded in her direction. She either didn't know or didn't care
that she was being herded into a select spot.

98 1902.

Herb collected his power, formed it in his mind, and directed it to do
his bidding. Two explosions clipping his side, he put both hands
forward, towards Lai Zhol's projected vector, and fired an unfocused
blast, more powerful than the ones previous, but wider. Such blasts
were normally fairly useless, except against a particularly weak
opponent, which Lai Zhol was not. Because the blast was unfocused, and
covered a much larger area, it was less intense overall. As expected,
Lai Zhol halted her momentum so as not to expose herself, and crossed
her arms and cane in front of her. Yellow light flashed as she easily
blocked the ki he'd thrown at her.

25 475.

Then the Amazon Elder's eyes widened, her mouth opened to soundlessly
scream, and she fell forward. She had forgotten about that the
reflective wall behind her was concave. The energy that had gone past
her from his unfocused blast had hit the wall, and been reflected,
each point of it at a different angle - every angle leading it to
focus onto a single point: Lai Zhol's back. Like an ant under a
magnifying glass, the ki had hit her fully focused, terribly intense,
and ultimately deadly. Even if she had been expecting it, even if she
had been ready, even if she had channeled her power into a defensive
shield, it would still have crippled her.

Lai Zhol was dead.

Her torch hit the ground.

***

There, at Soryn, the largest army Saffron had yet assembled for one
battle, including the majority of his airborne Phoenix Warriors, met a
desperate group of hastily assembled Musk Warriors, the combined
resources of the Seven Lucky Gods, a small motley band of Jyusenkyou
Preservation Society Mercenaries, and several contingents of nearby
Joketsuzoku Amazons. Except that the Amazons never showed up, not
leaving their camps in the valley nearby. The Amazon Elders, who were
suspicious of the Musk Lord's motives, had interrogated Lord Herb's
mistress, who was pregnant with his child. They alleged that she had
conspired to weaken the Council of Elders in the war, and replace them
with herself as Queen, a station unoccupied among the Joketsuzoku for
centuries. Whether this was true or not, or even if King Herb knew of
this, is unknown - what is known, is that the Amazons were absent at
Soryn when Saffron attacked.

The fighting was brutal. Wave after wave of fanatical zealots
slammed against the defending Musk, while the Lucky Gods barely held
on against the flying Phoenix. The Musk left flank, exposed and
weakened by the Amazon's absence, was eventually crushed and fell
back, reformed, only to be crushed once more. As the two leaders
dueled in the sky anew, it seemed as if the battle would soon turn
completely against the Musk, and into a total rout. Then, however, in
a perfect moment of bravery and sacrifice, the Lucky Gods steered
their airship down and into the vast mortar bridge that spanned Soryn
Pass. Enraged, Saffron let loose a massive attack, hulling the great
flying ship from keel to stern. Fall to the ground; carried only by
momentum and a single Lucky God at the helm, crushing a great number
of the enemy under its bulk, the airship weakened the bridge to the
point of collapse before skidding to a broken, ruined halt. As the
remains of the bridge fell, and the gorge became impassable for
supplies or peasant troops, Saffron bitterly retreated from the field,
defeated, but at a horrible price.

With the winter over, Saffron began a new offensive, directly
targeting the Musk, to break the back of their depleted numbers. In
assault after assault, he smashed through Musk fortifications, forcing
withdrawals, until, finally, at Fortress Leao Mon, he again faced the
Lord of the Musk in personal combat. As the battle rages between the
two assembled armies, Saffron and Herb dueled. The skies burned red
and yellow from their conflict, when, at last, the exhausted Dragon
Lord plunged through Saffron's flames and fury, the maelstrom burning
him away layer by layer, until they were finally face to face. Hands
on his Uncle's shoulders, Herb's ki erupted out of his body, devouring
both Musk Lord and Phoenix King in their brilliance. Their master
destroyed once more, the Phoenix retreated in disarray, while peasant
forces died lamenting the loss of their God.

On that day, the six-year-old Prince Herb took his father's place.

And the seeds of hatred, of the Serpent, had been sown.






             .---Anime/Manga Fanfiction Mailing List----.
             | Administrators - ffml-admins@anifics.com |
             | Unsubscribing - ffml-request@anifics.com |
             |     Put 'unsubscribe' in the subject     |
             `---- http://ffml.anifics.com/faq.txt -----'