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Chapter One: Divided We Fall
“Beware of those who come in forms of two, for they shall be as gods.”
—Hirawa Majin, “The Book of Mortals”
* * * * * *
A monotonous, melancholy tune marked the beginning of the eighth hour at Furinkan High School.
Classroom doors slammed shut as the pupils within were subjected to their daily doses of knowledge and education; Principal Kunou sunbathed on the roof in his flowered trunks, armed with a piece of aluminum foil and a glass of pineapple juice; Miss Hinako waited patiently for her favorite delinquents, her child-form ready to siphon their auras in order to revert herself to her adult-form; Tatewaki Kunou, along with his Kendoist Club followers, was dragged off from the courtyard, still spouting elaborate protests on how it was his duty to go forth and seek out the reason for Akane Tendo’s failure to show up at the school gates.
In effect, the most dysfunctional school in Tokyo was eerily quiet.
Mainly, that was because its major players were missing.
Akane Tendo and Ranma Saotome were late for school, and it was a known rule at Furinkan High that chaos had to restrain itself until these two had arrived at the campus grounds.
It was, after all, a normal day in the place called Nerima.
* * * * * *
“Gather around the water, all of you,” commanded the one in the black robes.
The figures complied without hesitation.
This room had a dreamy, surreal atmosphere. The walls were composed of a material that looked suspiciously like coral, the ceiling was made of jadestone and chrysoprase, and the floor was made of the finest mother-of-pearl.
The most distinguished-looking feature in the chamber, however, was the enormous, iridescent pool that sat placidly in its middle. Ripples of light that were reflected from the pool’s surface danced across the bronze and silver-plated suits armor of the twenty or so individuals assembled around the water’s edge.
“We are ready, my Lord,” proclaimed the one in front.
At this, Lord Takuma raised his dragon’s-head staff over the water. The gold dragon’s eyes glittered a deep crimson, baring its fangs in a grotesque smile.
The surface bubbled. A hush fell on the audience, and the velvet depths of the pool cleared abruptly as an image slowly began to emerge.
It was the image of a longhaired individual appareled in white Chinese robes and wearing thick spiral-tinted glasses. He was running frantically after the silhouette of a girl on a bike.
“The place is Nerima, Japan,” Lord Takuma said, “and this...”
He gestured at the image in the pool, almost carelessly.
“...is the first of the five targets.”
* * * * * *
“Sh-Sh-Shampoo! Wait!” yelled the optically challenged young man as he sprinted after the bicyclist, who also happened to be the love of his life.
It was really too bad that the love of his life had someone other than him whom she considered to be the love of her life.
“Go away, Mousse! Leave Shampoo alone!” she shot back in a high female voice, her patois revealing her Chinese heritage. Her lush purple hair streamed out behind her, caught up in two neat buns at the back of her head, which only added to her exotic appearance.
“Buh-buh-but...where’re you going?”
“Shampoo need to deliver extra-special ramen to very important person. Now shoo! Go!”
*WHAM*
The young man peeled his lips off the rough bark of the telephone pole he had collided into, composed himself, and resumed his pursuit of her.
“S-s-special ramen? Wait a minute—does this have anything to do with that fiend Ranma?”
“None of Mousse’s business!”
*WHAM*
He pried himself off of another pole, and tottered on after her, only slightly undaunted; he was certain that his nose wasn’t entirely flattened, and surely his eyeballs would return to their normal round shape after a while...
“It is, isn’t it? You’re going to try and make him eat the passion spice in that ramen, aren’t you?”
“That none of your concern, Mousse!”
*WHAM*
Who was putting these damned poles in his way?
“Oh, yes it *pant* is!” He was beginning to run out of breath. “One day, Shampoo! *pant* One day, I’m going let you *hagh* see the error of your ways! Just *haugh* wait and see, Shampoo! I will *urk* defeat Ranma Saotome—and I shall win your *hurff* your heart!”
“Then that not happen for very long time, no?”
She gained a burst of speed and vanished promptly down the horizon.
“Sh-Sh-Shampoo! Wait!”
*WHAM*
He toppled over backwards from the final pole and collapsed in the street, twitching, his limbs bent over in ninety-degree angles.
* * * * * *
“Hmmm. A martial artist, is it? Most interesting.” There was the hint of a smile tugging at Takuma’s lips. “Very well. This will certainly not be the first one we come up against. Do not underestimate this one because of his looks, however. He may appear non-threatening, but he is quite skilled at concealing all sorts of assorted weaponry within the folds of his long robes. Also, he is extremely unpredictable, and sufficiently skilled in the art of combat. Take heed that you do not come within his throwing range, lest he ensnare you with his chains or catch you off-guard with his projectiles. He does, however, have two certain weaknesses...”
“What’s that?” ventured one of the spectators.
“For one thing,” pointed out Takuma, “without those corrective lenses he is wearing, his sense of sight is drastically reduced. And two, in his cursed form he is ridiculously to subjugate, unlike that one half-man, half-yeti abomination we disposed of last time..”
* * * * * *
“Ranma?” Shampoo asked, hopefully.
She pressed down hard on her brakes, and looked slowly from left to right.
The street was deserted.
She hopped off her bike and propped it against a telephone pole, a frown of consternation on her face. As she inspected the road, her sharp eyes caught sight of a series of dents on the sidewalk. Hunching over, she studied the imprints, unable to withhold her curiosity.
They looked like...mallet marks.
Typical Akane Tendo handiwork.
Stupid crazy Akane, thought Shampoo furiously. How dare she try and kill Shampoo’s husband! She no love Ranma! She always fight him! She crazy violent weakling girl!
In any case, it was apparent that Akane and Ranma had passed this way. She’d just missed them too, by the looks of it. The mallet marks were still fresh.
Shampoo mounted her bike again, precariously balancing the box of spiced ramen on the palm of her left hand.
Oh, well. At least Shampoo lose stupid Mousse.
Sometimes Shampoo wondered why Mousse was so thickheaded. Was it possible to be both optically and emotionally blind? Couldn’t he see that all his attempts to woo and worship her were only suffocating her? Couldn’t he understand that she could never view him in any other context other than a childhood friend? How could he be so stubborn?
But she didn’t want to think about Mousse right now. The man of her dreams did not sport long tresses and spectacles, but instead sported a pigtail and a red Chinese shirt.
Ranma Saotome was the man of her dreams, no doubt about that. He was a strong, brave fighter, possessing enough skill to defeat even a formidable Chinese Amazon like Shampoo in combat. Her great-grandmother, Cologne, approved of him immensely. In fact, she favored him so much that she did not hesitate to assist her great-granddaughter in anyway she could to make Ranma become Shampoo’s bridegroom, sometimes assisting her in schemes she would not have dreamt up otherwise on her own. Yes, Ranma was confident, handsome, and indomitable. He would make the ideal husband.
There was only one hitch to it, though: he had three other fiancees—one of which he seemed to spend more than a fair amount of time with.
Shampoo maneuvered her vehicle into the road again, a look of steely determination on her visage.
Ranma, Shampoo marry you. One way or the other.
Then she heard a humming behind her.
* * * * * *
Lord Takuma continued to speak into the pool while the youths listened, hanging on to his every word.
“This one is only slightly more difficult. She is a Chinese Amazon, trained from childhood in the ancient warrior ways of her tribe. She is quite knowledgeable in the arcane Amazon combat techniques and, in battle, is very fast, very agile, and very quick-witted. Her weapon of choice is the bonbori, although it seems she has neglected to bring them in this situation. As it is, she has been strongly instilled with the concepts of honor, discipline, and fierce pride—which, unfortunately for her, will also prove to be the chink in her armor...”
* * * * * *
“This truly is a man’s game, Tendo,” murmured Genma Saotome, his visage a mask of utter solemnity as he sat cross-legged on the tatumi mat. “For a game of such depth as this requires long hours of the utmost concentration for one to master its unspeakable complexity.”
“Indeed it is, Saotome,” agreed Soun Tendo, his face equally as solemn as he languidly inspected the pieces on the Shogi game board that was spread out between them. “Indeed it is.”
“You know, Tendo, I was just thinking. After all that our children have been through—Togenkyou Island, Akane’s many kidnappings, her near-death—I had sort of...hoped that they would get along better.”
“When are they going to learn?” Soun shook his head.
“Stubborn as mule, that boy of mine. Takes after his mother, Nodoka, I suppose.”
“And Akane has her mother’s stubbornness as well.”
“Indeed, Tendo, they do take after their mothers.”
“How unfortunate it is, then, that they did not take after us.”
Both men sighed, deeply and regretfully.
They sat for a while in companionable silence, contemplating.
The quiet was interrupted by the rather disturbing sound of a Tendo dojo wall coming down.
*CRASH*
To Genma, the sound had become relatively commonplace, especially in a martial-artist-populated town like Nerima. To Soun, however, the sound only signaled yet another depletion of his already-limited monetary funds for repairs.
But instead of bursting into hysterics, Soun calmly straightened up and closed his eyes. “Make it stop,” he muttered.
*CRASH*
Another wall was blown to kingdom come.
“Please...make it stop,” said Soun. His eyelid was twitching dangerously.
Genma scooted to his feet, hastily adjusting his round rimless spectacles. “Think nothing of it, Tendo,” he declared. “Why, it could...it could just be Master Happosai coming home from one of his...er, excursions.”
And with that he ducked quickly into the house before his ears could suffer the agony of having to hear another full-blown Soun Tendo trademark wail.
* * * * * *
“That is the third on the list. He may be folically-challenged, heavyset, and rather clueless-looking, but still, I would advise you not to judge him too prematurely. He is quite competent in the martial arts as well, having been subjected to hard training under the one known as Happosai, the founder of the School of the Anything-Goes Martial Arts—the most powerfully perverted little ogre in these parts, I might add. However, he is not as youthful and not as fast or vigorous as the previous two, but he is infinitely more experienced in combat, especially in the area of aerial attacks. Nonetheless, he is relatively more susceptible, especially when he is deprived of speed and alacrity in his cursed form. I should inform you, however, that if he ever resorts to a ominously powerful-looking attack called the Saotome School Ultimate Technique, it would be best to make sure that you have a couple of interceptors at his back...”
* * * * * *
“Ranma?” Ukyou Kuonji asked, hopefully.
The boy turned. “Sorry to disappoint you,” he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “but I’m not the object of your affections.”
Ukyou narrowed her eyes as she approached the boy in front of her. He did have Ranchan’s height and build, but upon closer inspection, she realized that in place of the pig-tail was a spotted black-and-yellow bandanna, and a pair of green eyes in place of the blue.
“Oh. It’s just you,” she muttered, her disappointment evident.
Ryouga Hibiki was tired. Exhausted. Drained. He had been traveling for three months now, struggling to find Nerima after the shame of the wedding fiasco, and the last thing he needed was a reminder of how he never measured up to his most hated rival. Especially if it came from a girl who had once been his co-conspirator in many a separate-Akane-and-Ranma plot.
“Sorry, Ryouga. Thought you were Ranchan, that’s all.”
He stared at her, his thick dark hair lifting slightly in the sudden breeze. “How could you think I was Ranma?”
“Hey, you guys look alike from a distance, okay?” Ukyou shot back staunchly. “Big deal. Could happen to anyone.”
Ryouga frowned. “Yeah. Right.”
“Well, long time no see. Thought you were gone for good.” She shrugged. “Heh. No such luck, eh, sugar?”
Ryouga smirked at her, displaying the briefest flash of a pair of tiny fangs. “Gee, thanks. You make one helluva welcoming committee, you know that?”
“Well, ex-cuse me,” Ukyou retorted. “I thought you were glad to leave Nerima and live your life out in the country.”
Ryouga sighed and glanced away. “That was because of Akari.”
Ukyou blinked. “Akari? Who’s Akari?”
“Akari Unryuu. I ran into her a while ago—long story. Anyway, she just moved into Nerima with her grandfather—who seems to have recovered nicely from his ‘death’—and she’s planning to enroll in Furinkan High. She’s got this huge white sumo pig with her all the time. Kind of hard to miss, really.”
Ukyou was still blinking. “So she’s a girl?” she queried dubiously.
Ryouga nodded, his expression faraway.
“A real live girl?”
Ryouga nodded.
“Are you sure she’s not, like, a figment-of-your-imagination-type kind of girl?”
Ryouga nodded, looking distinctly irritated.
“You mean a real girl—not as in, a guy dressed up as a girl or something?”
“YES!” Ryouga yelled in frustration. “YES, SHE’S A NORMAL GIRL! AND YES, SHE IS REAL, AND YES, SHE IS SANE, AND YES, SHE IS PERFECTLY NORMAL—AS FAR AS I CAN TELL, ANYWAY!
“Wow,” Ukyou remarked, oblivious to his outburst as she shook her head in disbelief. “You, Ryouga Hibiki, with a girl. Still can’t believe it though...”
“She’s probably looking around for me right now,” murmured Ryouga, furtively tugging at the umbrella that was wedged on top of his huge traveling backpack. “Then you can see her for yourself.”
“That I will,” replied a grinning Ukyou. “This is definitely something I gotta see with my own eyes. I never thought you had it in you. So...have you said one word to her yet, or are you still practicing for that big step?”
“Akari and I were a couple,” growled Ryouga.
He didn’t think it possible, but he had actually succeeded in rendering Ukyou Kuonji utterly speechless. Then she regained control of her vocal chords. “Uh...were?”
Ryouga scratched the back of his head, letting out a deep, resigned breath. “Well, we kinda sorta broke up...”
“Huh? Why?”
“Akane.”
“Oh.” Ukyou was quiet. That one word was enough.
Ryouga cleared his throat, switching topics abruptly. “Hey, what’s that?” he inquired, pointing at the box that hung from a string in Ukyou’s hand.
The tactic worked. Ukyou’s face filled with pride as she lifted the cover of the box to show him the heart-shaped okonomiyaki inside. On the top was a saucy message: To My Darling Ranma.
“Oh, just a little present for my Ranchan,” she answered slyly. “Not very original, I admit, but if Shampoo can use her passion spice and Kodachi her black roses with paralysis gas to win Ranchan over, then what’s to stop me from using my okonomiyaki skills to my advantage?”
Ryouga gazed longingly at the okonomiyaki, feeling his stomach rumble. He hadn’t eaten a decent meal in a couple of days, and the inside of the box smelled scrumptious.
“Say, Ukyou,” he began, “you don’t mind if I—hey!”
Ukyou batted away his hand with a sharp spatula shuriken that she fished out of her bandoleer. “Ah-ah, sugar, no can-do. I nearly killed myself trying to perfect this thing, and I’m not about to waste it on anyone other than Ranchan.”
Ryouga scowled. “You’re obsessed with him, aren’t you?”
“Not as much as you’re obsessed with Akane, sugar.”
“But that’s—” Ryouga sputtered, groping for some sort of comeback. “I—”
Ukyou suddenly stopped. “Oh, damn,” she muttered, sneaking a swift glimpse at the clock on the other side of a storefront window. “Now look whatcha done, Ryouga! Now I’m gonna be late for school!”
“Huh? What did I do?” Ryouga demanded.
“You made me talk to you, you jackass!” snapped Ukyou.
She turned abruptly and began to sprint toward the direction of Furinkan High, not even bothering to bid farewell to the lost boy behind her. It didn’t seem necessary, though, as she became aware that he was running along beside her.
“What are you doing?” she exclaimed.
“Hey, I’m lost! I figured that if I found a familiar landmark like Furinkan High, I can remember the way to the Tendo dojo or something.”
“Oh, yeah, riiight. You wanna see what Akane’s up to, huh?”
“N-no! Actually—I—I just wanted to check if Akari might be there!”
“You are such a jackass sometimes, Ryouga.”
* * * * * *
“Now this one may look quite young and inexperienced, but take heed, he is extremely formidable. He is phenomenally strong, displays remarkable endurance, and has a paranoia that allows him to sense most attacks before they are carried out. His weapons of choice include a seemingly endless supply of bandannas, a belt that can be wielded like a sword, and that heavy red umbrella on his back. He also possesses the knowledge of several fighting techniques that may prove quite devastating. One of them is the Bakusai Ten-Ketsu, or the breaking point technique, that can repulse a wave of attackers if executed precisely. One fact that I find quite impressive in the boy is that he is one of the first upperworlders on the list who has exceptional control of his spiritual energy—his ki—enough control to actually manipulate it into a form of attack. Because of this, he is capable of unleashing a ki-blast called the Shishi Houkodan, which feeds off of his depression. I advise you to approach this one with extreme caution. If reverted to his other form, he will be infinitely easier to subjugate. As skilled as the boy may be, he is barely able to keep his abilities under control, and is easily influenced by his emotions—moreso than most other upperworlders. Sadly for him, it is these traits that will determine the final outcome in this little game of survival...”
* * * * * *
“Stupid Akane,” muttered Ranma.
He was currently in his history class, unmindful of the monotonous droning of the sensei up front as he pointed out several locations on a map of ancient Kyoto. Around him, the class was buzzing, paper airplanes were being launched, comic books were being read, and notes were being passed...
“Huh?”
Ranma glanced down at his desk, momentarily puzzled. His classmate behind him had tossed a folded-up piece of paper with his name scrawled on top of it.
He opened it idly, wondering if it had anything to do with that wedding blunder, though it the topic had already gotten old.
What’s up with you and Akane? were the hastily scribbled words on it.
Ranma sighed. He did I feel like discussing Akane right now. For one, she was mad at him. Again. It didn’t matter why she was mad. Nowadays, she seemed to get mad at him more often than usual, and for the smallest, most insignificant reasons.
And he had no idea why.
Stupid Akane, he thought again, his fist tightening round the paper. Doesn’t even need a reason to chew me out. It doesn’t matter what I do. She’ll take it the wrong way no matter what.
Ranma pressed his hot forehead into his cold palms.
Akane, you totally uncute tomboy. What the heck did I do to make you so mad?
He could think of a million different reasons. Maybe it was the way he had gagged after tasting her food this morning. Like he could help it. Or maybe it was because he had received presents of food and messages of love last night at the dojo gates from Ukyou, Kodachi, and Shampoo. Or maybe because he had bested her when they had conducted their daily training at the dojo. Or maybe...
...maybe she was still mad about the whole marriage thing.
Ranma vaguely remembered telling Akane how he really felt about her during that incident at Mount Phoenix, when he thought she was going to die. He had told her that he loved her.
Things took a downhill turn after that.
In the end, after the dust had finally settled, it seemed as though they had reached some unspoken mutual agreement that they would continue on with their lives like nothing had happened.
Yeah, right, mused Ranma, more than a little bit bitter. How’re ya s’posed to act like nothin’ ever happened when you just admitted to her that you lo—you...love...
Ranma shook his head violently, trying to clear his thoughts.
I...love her...?
So how did he feel about Akane? Did he care for her? Did she care for him?
Lately, considering the way she seemed to direct her more violent tantrums toward him, it didn’t seem like she cared at all.
Ranma felt his heart contract at the thought, and he had no idea why...
“Ranma!” hissed a voice.
Jolted out of his reverie, he straightened up, half-expecting the sensei to subject him to the water-bucket punishment for not paying attention, but the sensei didn’t even seem to notice. He glanced around inquiringly, wondering if his friends Hiroshi and Daisuke had called him regarding the note, but for once they both seemed to be engrossed in the sensei’s history lesson.
“Son-in-law!”
Now that was a moniker he couldn’t mistake.
Ranma looked out the window beside him that overlooked the campus grounds of Furinkan High, and was surprised to see two figures.
One was Akane’s father, Soun Tendo, looking very agitated and on the verge of tears. The other was a diminutive silver-haired old woman, who happened to be Shampoo’s great-grandmother, Cologne.
Wonder what they’re doin’ here? Ranma thought, blinking.
Soun beckoned to him desperately, and Cologne waved her gnarled wooden staff in a manner that was almost uncharacteristically frenetic.
Ranma’s forehead furrowed in concern. Something was wrong.
But why’re they insistin’ that I come down now? What’s so important that I gotta cut class?
He chanced a brief glance at the sensei, weighing his options. Then, with a nonchalant shrug, he cautiously hefted his schoolbag up onto his chair and hurled himself out the window while his sensei’s back was turned.
Piece of cake. He was a martial artist, after all.
* * * * * *
“I don’t even think I have to remind you all that the Dynasty’s entire future lies on this final one. It is no accident that he has been kept for last, mind you. He is the last of the Jusenkyo-cursed, and the last obstacle that stands in the way of the Dynasty. This is what all those long years of hunting has finally lead you to, and he will not be easily taken—indeed, the most difficult one we will ever attempt to subdue. He possesses a speed that is unsurpassed, and a skill that is unparalleled. He is very cunning, very dexterous, and able to adapt in order to counteract any adversary’s fighting style. He prefers to fight barehanded, and employs the use of a number of deadly martial arts techniques. One is the Kachuu Tenshin Amaguriken—the Chestnut Fist technique—which is performed via an overwhelming amount of hits within a very brief period of time. Another is the Hiryuu Shouten Ha—the Dragon’s Heaven Blast, no less—a deadly finishing move that is effective against one enemy or several. Still another is the Moukou Takabisha, which is the ultimate manifestation of his ki.”
The audience consulted amongst themselves.
“So what is his weakness?” demanded an observer.
The tall man ran his long fingers over the tranquil surface of the pool, sending cascades of ripples across the watery image of the ebony-haired, pig-tailed young man.
“Simple,” replied Takuma, his tone insouciant. “He has never come across anything like us before.”
* * * * * *
The bell rung, signaling the end of the school day, and Furinkan High’s entrance was spilling over with mobs of exultant pupils, pouring out of the building like water rushing from a ruptured dam.
Three girls in particular made their way through the multitude in a peculiarly quiet fashion. This was probably due to the melancholy state the girl in the middle seemed to be submerged in.
“Akane? Is something wrong?” Sayuri asked.
“Yeah, anything we can help you with?” Yuka put in.
Akane smiled at her friends, shoving away the nagging feeling that gnawed at the pit of her stomach. “Oh, it’s nothing,” she managed, hugging her schoolbooks harder to her chest. “I—I was just thinking, that’s all.”
Sayuri observed her pensively, then took the plunge. “You know, Akane, you really shouldn’t let Ranma get to you that way.”
Akane oscillated to face her, eyes wide. “Wh-what?”
“Yeah, Akane,” Yuka piped up, encouraged by Sayuri’s bravado. She was well aware that bringing Ranma’s name into a conversation was still a sensitive issue with her friend, but she was determined not to let Akane keep her emotions bottled up. Besides, Ranma and Akane had been acting artificially nice toward each other at school for weeks now, and they were no longer engaging in their customary shouting matches involving the creative uses of words like ‘tomboy’ and ‘pervert’.
It just wasn’t natural.
“I—I don’t know what you guys’re talking about,” stammered Akane.
“Aw, come on!” scoffed Yuka, shifting her bookbag to her left side. “We’re your friends, Akane. We see things.”
Akane laughed, albeit nervously. “See things, huh? Like what? Like the way Ranma doesn’t even want to talk to me anymore? Honestly! Why would I even care about the way things are between us? That’s the way things’re gonna be from now on, and that’s the way I like it, okay?”
An uncomfortable silence reigned as the three girls elbowed their way through the homebound crowds.
Finally Sayuri spoke. “You know, Akane, Ranma may be a jerk and a pervert sometimes, but you should stop denying your feelings for him...before you find out that it’s too late to tell him the truth.”
And with that parting statement, Sayuri and Yuka strolled away in the direction of their homes, leaving behind a very mystified Akane.
What did she mean by that...?
She heard a distinctly familiar voice call her name and she spun around, somewhat flustered, and her confusion grew. “Uhm, Dad? What’re you doing here?”
And then she realized just who were standing beside him.
There was Cologne, clutching her wooden staff and looking not unlike a dried-up plum with two Ping Pong balls for eyes clinging to a tree branch. There, too, was Ukyou Kuonji, who had been mysteriously absent from class that day, her blue eyes wide with worry and her expression deathly pale.
And then she noticed the dried tear trails on her father’s cheeks. The tear trails were nothing new, but the look on his face was enough to make her stop in her tracks.
“Dad? Wha—what’s wrong?” she asked, urgently.
Soun put his hands on his youngest daughter’s shoulders, trying to keep up a brave face before her. “Akane...something...something terrible happened to Ranma and the others today...”
Go to Chapter Two
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