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Chapter Three: Soul’s Mate
“The eye only sees what the mind is prepared to comprehend.”
—Unknown
* * * * * *
Mousse groaned, floundering somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness. As his senses began to clear somewhat, he automatically commenced a mental check of his current condition.
He felt sore all over and peculiarly lethargic, yet curiously refreshed. A dull nagging pain pounded at the back of his skull. On a whim, he attempted to move his left arm.
He couldn’t.
After some contemplation, he tried to stir his right leg.
Ditto. No sensation at all.
Panic flooded through him. Was he immobilized? Had he lost all control over all physical action? Or had his limbs all been amputated?
The thought made him positively ill.
Then he shivered as he felt something metal against his wrists and ankles.
He was strapped to some vertical surface, bound via shackles and possibly chains. It felt very dungeon-like, like a scene out of some primeval torture chamber.
But instead of the damp, cold atmosphere that was reminiscent of a dungeon, his surroundings felt rather warm, humid, and breezy. Was he outside?
He tried to open his eyes to appraise his environment, but his eyelids refused to comply. His ears, however, could detect the faintest sound of night crickets chirping and foliage rustling.
His mind, meanwhile, embarked on its own search-and-locate mission, trying to procure the necessary files from his memory banks.
Everything was hazy. Snatches of images danced through his mind, and he remebered hearing footsteps behind him in that deserted alleyway. Remembered the apparitions that surrounded him, seemingly out of nowhere, with undoubtedly malicious intent. Remembered fighting back, then the splash of water that triggered his curse...
And after that, his mind drew a blank.
Mousse shook his head. He was in human form again, so they must have at least had the consideration to douse him with hot water after they’d taken advantage of his weakness in duck-form. But right now, he was too tired to think about that...
And then he heard something.
“Ai-yah...Ranma?”
His brain screamed out. Shampoo? What’s she doing here? He tried to call out her name, but he all he could manage was a croak.
“Ranma, wake up. Ranma!”
Yes, it was definitely her. But Ranma?
Mousse felt rage well up inside his soul. So Ranma was here. And even now Shampoo was fussing over him, giving no thought whatsoever to the danger in this situation she was in.
“Sh-Shampoo...” he rasped.
“Mousse?” She sounded astonished. “Mousse, you awake now, yes?”
“A-are you all right? Are you shackled as well?”
“Shampoo fine, Mousse—just have big headache. Shampoo no move, either. But Ranma...Ranma no wake up...”
Well, well. Looks like he couldn’t handle the attackers either, thought Mousse, a tad smugly.
“Wake up, son! Dammit, wake up!”
Mousse blinked. That sounded like Ranma’s father.
“RANMAAA! What’ve you gotten us into now?”
And that sounded like Ryouga Hibiki.
The gears in Mousse’s brain began to turn. Ranma, his father, Ryouga, Shampoo, and him. What could have induced their attackers to grab them, instead of, say, a megapervert like Happosai or a nutcase like Principal Kunou?
There had to be some connection between them. Then it hit him.
The curse. Jusenkyo’s curse. We’re all cursed...
Ranma turned female every time he got drenched with cold water. Shampoo became a cat when wet, and Mousse himself turned into a duck. He suspected that Mr. Saotome was that giant panda that hung around the Tendo domicile all the time—he recognized those beady eyes—and Ryouga turned into a little black piglet which had been christened P-Chan by Akane Tendo.
So, if the dual-form factor played a major part in their kidnapping, then how come? Was there something more ominous in the Jusenkyo curse than they were aware of so far?
It was a question to ponder later. For the moment, Ranma was unconscious, Shampoo had been rendered immobile as well, Mr. Saotome didn’t seem to know any way to escape, and Ryouga was too busy yelling at Ranma to even consider escaping.
He could hear something humming, and he still couldn’t open his eyes. But there were bits and strains of a lowered conversation in the distance. For any other man, the sound would have gone unnoticed. For Mousse’s Chinese Amazon-trained ears, however, it was scarcely audible.
The conversation was in a strange tongue. Then, without warning, it lapsed into Japanese.
“Are the upperworlders ready?”
“Indubitably. Are the preparations in order?”
“Indeed.” There was a third voice. “They will be taken care of once the Emperor gives the command.”
Whoever these people were, Mousse concluded, they were nuts.
“And their Tama-Tebako?” a fourth voice demanded.
“I have them right here,” said a fifth voice.
“Then the ceremony will proceed.” The final voice was unnerving.
And whoever these people were, Mousse realized, they also meant business.
* * * * * *
“Will this one do?” Akari asked. “Got it this morning. It’s the most accurate one the manager could produce.”
Ukyou took the proffered map and spread it flat on the floor. “This’ll do just fine, sugar.”
Akane peered over her shoulder. “All right, so what’s the plan?”
Cologne studied the map from her perch on Ukyou’s shoulder. “Well, I suggest we start by pinpointing the spots where son-in-law, Shampoo, and the others were attacked. We will see where we go from there.”
“O-kaay.” Ukyou examined the map of Nerima, noting rather absently that in the key box along with the necessary stats was a comparison of the town’s property values and a comprehensive list of the Places In Nerima To Avoid Like Hell. She deliberately opted to ignore it.
“I don’t understand what all this has to do with finding my Ranma darling,” Kodachi sniffed haughtily.
“Big surprise,” Akane muttered under her breath.
“Akane Tendo! Come into my arms, my love!” yelled Kunou.
Akane distractedly punched him into the wall. “Can we hurry this up, please?” she complained, jerking her finger back at Kunou’s prone form. “He’s getting more restless by the minute!”
They all leaned over hurriedly to inspect the map.
“Over there!” Soun reached over and poked at a certain point on the paper with his index finger. “That street over there near the market—that’s where Saotome disappeared.”
“And that’s the place where I found the cloth,” said Cologne. She pointed to a vicinity about seven blocks away from the Nekohantan, not far away from the place Soun had singled out. “That’s where Shampoo vanished. And here—” She backtracked a few blocks back. “—is where I presume Mousse was taken.”
“And Ryouga’s ki-blast came from this part,” volunteered Ukyou, indicating a site near the bridge. “I was just a couple of blocks behind when I saw the explosion.”
“And here is where son-in-law was abducted.” Cologne jabbed at the map with the tip of her staff. “We were right on the school grounds of Furinkan High.”
“There has to be a pattern here,” speculated Akane.
“Is there a body of water nearby?” Cologne spoke up.
Several heads oscillated to face her.
“Water?” repeated Kasumi.
Cologne closed her eyes. “Trust me.”
“Well, yes.” Akane studied the map more closely, her brow furrowing. “In fact, there’re several. There’s that river at the back of the hill near Furinkan High, the lake near the park...”
“Anyone got a pen?” Nabiki asked.
Akari produced one immediately. Nabiki accepted the writing implement and uncapped it. “Mind if I mark the map?” she queried casually.
“Oh, not at all,” replied Akari.
Nabiki leaned over and, to the spectators’ surprise, circled the locations of the kidnappings with thick red ink.
“Now,” she declared, recapping the pen, “can you see anything?”
The marked places formed a huge circle—a little uneven, but nonetheless a circle.
“Oh my,” Kasumi breathed. “And look in the middle...”
“That’s it!” Akane exclaimed in excitement. “The canal near the bridge! Nabiki, you’re a genius!”
Nabiki smirked. “So I’ve been told. No charge this time, though.”
“Not bad at all,” Cologne remarked, impressed.
Soun, as was his habit, burst promptly into tears. “I’m so proud of my little girl!”
“I’m sure you mean that, Daddy.”
Akane jumped up, shifting once more into unstoppable-Akane-Tendo mode. “All right, we know where they are,” she announced confidently. “Mr. Saotome, Mousse, Shampoo, Ryouga, and Ranma—it’s up to us to rescue them from those Shoryuu jerks.” She grinned wickedly, rolling up the sleeves of her dress, an indication of much violence to come. “Feel like kicking some butt tonight?”
The answer was a resounding yes, with even Katsunishiki snorting his agreement.
And with that, a series of silhouettes filed out of the dojo, one by one: a girl wearing a dress uniform, a two-foot tall crone utilizing a stick as a means of transportation, a man charging forward with a single fist, a girl wielding a monolithic spatula, a girl thrashing a ribbon-whip amidst bubbles of insane chortling, a young man recklessly swinging a bokken, a girl relentlessly counting yen, and a girl riding atop a pig of ungodly proportions.
A young woman waved cheerfully from the open doorway. “Good luck!”
It was an odd procession of figures that charged out into the warm Nerima night.
* * * * * *
“FALL ALREADY! DAMN YOU, FALL!”
Ryouga heaved yet another concrete boulder at the energy wall.
*CRASH*
The boulder was promptly smashed into little pieces, and the wall remained there, impassive and unyielding and shimmery as ever.
Ryouga dropped to his knees, breathing hard from the exertion. He had flung about ten or eleven chunks of rock against the barrier in an attempt to somehow disable it, but to no avail. And right now, he was just beginning to realize that maybe he was just wasting his time trying to find a way beyond this kind of prison. Besides, his supply of concrete—the dam-like structure behind him—was running out.
“Kachuu Tenshin Amaguriken!”
Ryouga looked to his left and watched as Ranma unleashed his Chestnut Punch technique on the thick bars that lined his prison.
“Argh! Dammit!”
Ranma pressed his stinging fist to his mouth and kicked savagely at the bars, much to Ryouga’s amusement.
“Your Chestnut Punch thing not working, Ranma?”
Ranma scowled at him. “I really don’t need this right now, Ryouga, all right? I’ve gotta get outta here somehow. ’Sides, it ain’t like you’re makin’ any more progress than me.”
Ryouga glowered back at his rival. “Oh, yeah? Well, at least you aren’t stuck in—in some kind of energy bubble! Now if I were in there, I’d just punch a hole through the wall and get it over with!”
“And if I were stuck in some kind of energy bubble, I bet I could find some way out by actually usin’ my brain ’steada brute strength!”
“Will you two please save your petty squabbles for later?” snapped Mousse, who was definitely wide-awake now. He tugged at his shackles, rattling the chains. “We are not going to go anywhere if you two keep on arguing instead of thinking up ways to get outta here!”
“Mousse, you leave Ranma alone!” Shampoo commanded tartly.
His spine buckled at his love’s interjection. “Buh-buh-but Shampoo, w-we are going to be sacrificed...”
“Hold it—sacrifice?” Genma demanded. “What are you talking about?”
“I overheard our captors talking,” said Mousse sullenly. “It seems we are to participate in some sort of ceremony. And if there’s a ceremony associated with a seriously unbalanced cult like that, then it’s inevitable that there should be some form of sacrifice...”
Ranma peered through his cell bars. “Oh, I dunno,” he remarked casually. “Maybe they’re just firing up the grill for some special entrees—like, say, Duck L’Mousse and Ryouga Pork-kebabs.”
“That’s not funny, Ranma!” Ryouga snarled.
Genma was thinking: a rare undetaking, to say the least. “Wait a minute—when they attacked all of you, did they first use water to revert you to your cursed forms?”
Mousse and Shampoo nodded, followed by Ranma.
Ryouga cracked his knuckles. “They pulled that trick on me, too. Those cowards couldn’t handle me in my normal form so they used water to turn me into—”
“P-Chan!” Ranma announced, grinning like a madman in spite of the direness of their straits. “Of course! Maybe they needed to bring home the bacon, ne?”
Ryouga looked stunned. Then his hands clenched into fists as his body began to radiate an alarming battle aura. “RANMAAAA, PREPARE TO D—”
His doomsday speech was interrupted by the intercession of a deep, echoing voice.
“I presume you all are prepared, yes?”
They all looked at the speaker. He was tall and gaunt, with high cheekbones, a fiery red beard, and oddly luminous eyes. His robes were festooned with gold and red designs and symbols, and in his hand was a magnificent gold staff with a mounted dragon’s head.
Ranma narrowed his eyes. There again. That dragon motif. The people responsible for their abductions were probably some sort of fanatical cult. But still, the warriors who attacked him wearing that same dragon mantle were definitely not a bunch of zealots looking for kicks. Ranma had no way of proving it, but he couldn’t shake off the feeling that there was something far more to this “cult” than what he saw.
An ominous smile tugged at the corners of the man’s lips. It looked more like a grimace. “It is a pity that you five must die. For more years that you can possibly fathom, we have hunted your kind down, whittling away at our only source of opposition, until there would be a day when you no longer existed...” He gestured at the five of them with a sweep of his staff. “You are the last of the line, and after tonight’s ceremony, there will be nothing to stop the Dynasty.”
Shampoo strained against her manacles. “Shampoo no care about stupid Dynasty! Shampoo only want that you no harm Ranma!”
“Oh, do not worry about that,” said the man with mock courteousness. “In fact, there is only one thing we must have from all of you.”
“And what’s that?” Ranma prompted warily.
He smiled again, and the eyes of the dragon staff began to glow blood-red.
“Your souls.”
* * * * * *
“There’s the canal!” Akari shouted from atop Katsunishiki as he approached the bridge.
The eight of them halted, their gazes fixed on the ground beside the water, straining their eyes against the twilight backdrop.
“Alas, but I still do not comprehend the point of this excursion,” declared Kunou regally. “Akane, surely thou hast tired of this—”
“I see them!” Akane interrupted tensely, pointing. “Over there!”
She was pointing to a congregation of about twenty figures, enveloped by a soft, ethereal green glow, gathered at the water’s edge, far down below...
* * * * * *
“Leggo of me! Argh—dammit, let go!”
Ranma cursed under his breath as he was forcibly escorted toward the front of the company. There were seven guards on either side of him, so any chance of escape was made moot. His wrists were shackled behind his back, which normally would have been a mere handicap for him.
Normally.
But this time, he couldn’t use his legs. Or his fists. Or his head. He couldn’t even move. There seemed to be an invisible cocoon that encompassed his body, rendering his limbs almost immobile.
He was still struggling halfheartedly when he fell to his knees in front of the one who seemed to be the head of the group. It was the same red-bearded man who had spoken to him and the others earlier—the one with the dragon’s-head staff.
The pigtailed youth tried to get to his feet, and fell back down. Through the dim fog that swirled around his mind, he could hear the chanting of the congregation that surrounded him, as well as some shouts from Ryouga, Shampoo, and his father, ordering him to snap out of his daze. And then he became aware of a blue-green glow that emitted from an object just above his head.
He looked up.
His reflection stared back at him, framed by a ring of fluorescent mist, from inside a beautiful jewel box nestled in the palm of the red-bearded stranger’s hand.
The chanting grew louder, more incessant.
Ranma watched, fascinated, as his reflection shimmered and dissolved into the visage of his female form, who stared at him with the slightest hint of a smirk on her lips. And then it dissolved again—into a face he knew well. It was the face of a girl with a bob haircut and dark eyes...
It was Akane Tendo’s face.
And damn it all, Ranma could not tear his gaze away from her.
“What—what’re you doing to me?” he stammered. “What is this...?”
Lord Takuma smiled at him, the blue-green light bathing his visage and twisting it into a maze of shadows. “I think, young man, that you already know.”
Ranma smiled back at him, his head feeling strangely light. He closed his eyes as his body relaxed. “Oh, yeah. It’s my soul, ain’t it...”
And then he felt his life force ebb away.
* * * * * *
“Akane! Where are you going?” Soun yelled as she hauled herself over the side of the bridge and skidded down the grassy slope.
His daughter barely heard him as she ran toward the gathering, never taking her gaze off the green-hued light. What she saw next made her heart stop in mid-beat.
It was Ranma, on his knees. But what was more alarming was the fine mist that hovered above him, resembling a vaguely familiar human form. Akane took a deep breath.
“Ranma!”
* * * * * *
Takuma never saw it coming.
Someone had screamed a name, interrupting the ceremony. And then, without warning, a spatula shuriken had hurtled toward him and effectively knocked away the jewel box from his hand.
The box toppled to the ground, and the glow abruptly vanished. The clan was in an uproar. Takuma whipped up his head toward the source of the disturbance, his chiseled features contorted in anger.
There, in front of him, stood a girl with short cropped hair, her face set obstinately, fists clenched at her sides. Behind her, emerging from the umbra, were seven more forms—a long-haired, middle-aged man, a withered old crone clinging to a stick, a young man holding a bokken, a leotard-clad young woman twisting a gymnastic ribbon, a young woman with pageboy-style shoulder-length hair, a girl with long mahogany hair, and a girl in a sundress riding atop an obscenely huge white pig.
There was stony defiance etched on all their faces. And from the way they were standing, it was apparent that they were on the verge of readying themselves into their battle stances.
Takuma raised an eyebrow. Were they actually considering fighting them?
“Give them back,” the girl in front said in cold, well-modulated tones. “Whoever you are, give them back now.”
With a resigned sigh, Takuma nodded at the assembled figures at his side. The clan rippled outwards, as gracefully as any wave. It was battle synchronization in its most deadly form.
If it was a fight they wanted, then it was a fight they were going to get.
Takuma couldn’t help but suppress the faintest hint of a sneer. It had been a very, very long while since the Dragon clan had been challenged to combat.
This was going to be one interesting night in Nerima.
* * * * * *
Cologne observed the formation of the clan with growing apprehension. From what she had seen of their adversaries so far, there was no doubt left in her mind that there was no way in hell that she and her companions were ever going to defeat them. They showed no sign of trepidation at all, even when confronted with the monstrosity that was Katsunishiki.
There were about twenty of them, donned in ancient samurai garb, complete with lacquered helmets, layered breastplates, and iron face masks that concealed their mouths and noses. The cloth that they wore was similar to the piece that Cologne had found—a cloth that seemed to be sewn out of a fabric that glimmered as if alive. Adorned all over the fabric were strange characters emblazoned onto the material with gold thread, and the images of various green serpentine creatures that grinned from a gold, red, green, and black background.
There was definitely something eerie, almost supernatural, about these people.
Never in her two hundred seventy-five years had Cologne imagined that she would actually bear witness to a supposed myth that had been passed from her ancestors in whispered tones. Never had she imagined that she would even have been bestowed the honor of participating in a battle against a clan that had been drawn from the very heart of legend.
She readied her battle-stick as the apparitions surged closer. Her blood was of a Chinese Amazon, and she would die first before she would fall to any one—even the legendary clan of the Dragon.
They had subconsciously arranged themselves into a defensive circle, all eight of them, as their adversaries circled them, flowing as smoothly as water in a fast-flowing river, moving as if connected with a psychic rapport.
After some seconds of evaluating the motley group, the Shoryuu converged upon them.
* * * * * *
Takuma was surveying the melee below him when he became aware of that all-too-familiar humming sound.
He frowned, slightly baffled, then became aware of a light that began to pulse from his right. He turned to face the source. Sure enough, he saw what he had expected to see.
“Is something wrong?” he asked, his voice detachedly polite.
{I want you back here. All of you. Now.}
Confusion flickered briefly through Takuma’s ice-cold blue eyes. “You wish us to leave? But—but we have not even finished the ritual—”
{I don’t care.} The boy’s tone was cool and indifferent, and yet imperious enough to make Takuma think twice before questioning his orders. {Order the warriors to retreat. Leave the five Cursed alone. Do you understand?}
“But if they are still alive, then what of the Dynasty—?”
{Trust me, old man. I have a far more...interesting way to deal with these distractions. Now call off the clan.}
“Y-yes, my Emperor. A-at once.”
{And I don’t want any of them hurt. Not any of the Cursed nor any of their friends. Not one. Do you hear me, Takuma?}
“You have my word...Empress,” Takuma muttered. He picked up his staff, regarded somberly it for a minute, and then raised it up high.
A crack of red thunder sliced its fingers across the night sky.
* * * * * *
Flames.
Red flames.
One second, the eight of them had been tensing themselves for the incoming onslaught that was rushing toward them, and the next second, their visions were awash with red flames.
Soun, Akane, Kunou, and Cologne had experienced something similar before, when Prince Toma of Togenkyou Island had conjured up an illusion of blue fire as a deterrence in order for him to escape.
But even Toma’s illusions had never felt so real.
This time they could feel the intense heat, hear the crackling of the flames licking at their ankles and elbows, almost smell their own flesh baking.
It did not help matters to see the Shoryuu clan charging at them through the inferno, swords flashing, armor gleaming, their eyes glittering with fierce determination.
Akane nervously readied herself, and sensed the other seven doing the same, even though they all knew that their combined efforts would be almost useless against the approaching hordes.
The clan was almost upon them when they were all suddenly assailed with a flash of immense red light.
A second later, the brightness faded.
And the only ones standing in the middle of the battlefield were Akane, Akari, Soun, Nabiki, Katsunishiki, Kunou, Kodachi, and Cologne, surrounded by only the sound of crickets and the rustle of dry grass.
The clan of the Dragon, meanwhile, was nowhere to be seen.
* * * * * *
“Ranma? Ranma!”
Ranma grimaced as he felt someone slapping him. His first instinct was to sit up and yell at the guilty party, but somehow he didn’t even have the strength to open his eyes. “Ouch, ouch, ouch,” he mumbled. “Stop that, y-you crazy macho tomboy...y’makin’ my head...hurt...”
“Ranma! You’re okay!” Akane cried in relief. “You jerk! I thought—I thought you were—”
“Geez, Akane, you sound like you’re worried ’bout me, ya know.”
“Well, I—I, ah—” Akane tried not to acknowledge the faintest trace of a blush on her cheeks.
“Didn’t wanta lose your best test subject for your cookin’, arent’cha?”
Every indication of compassion in Akane’s eyes evaporated as she raised her hand to give him a concussion-inducing slap. “Why, you—”
“Ohohohohohohoh! Ranma-darling!”
“I shall smite thee like the cur thou art, Saotome!”
“I’m in hell,” mumbled Ranma, eyes still shut. “Yup, I’ve died and gone to hell.”
Soun knelt by Ranma’s side, visage grim. “Son, where are the others?”
Ranma groaned and pointed weakly to the right. “Last time I heard ’em, they were yellin’ at me from that direction.”
“No need to look for us, Tendo, old friend. We’re all right.”
The group turned simultaneously toward the voice.
Genma, Ryouga, Shampoo and Mousse emerged slowly from the shadows below the bridge, looking exhausted but none the worse from the whole experience.
“Saotome!” bawled Soun. “You’re alive!”
“But of course,” replied Genma, smirking through his missing front teeth. “You didn’t actually think that anyone could have defeated this master, eh, Tendo?”
“Heheheh...indeed, Saotome.”
Nabiki rolled her eyes. Ranma would have done the same had his eyes been open.
“Great-grandmother!” Shampoo called. And then she spied Ranma on the ground. “Airen!” She flew over and wrapped his defenseless form in a hug—much to Akane’s, Ukyou’s, Kodachi’s, and Mousse’s aggravation.
“Ryouga!”
Ryouga lifted his head wearily, and was stunned to see a pretty young girl running ecstatically toward him, followed by a huge white pig.
“A-a-a-a-a—” was all he managed to croak out before she threw herself blissfully in his arms.
“I’m so glad you’re all right!” Akari whispered, burying her face in his chest.
Ryouga was speechless. Even though he and Akari had been going out steadily for a month now, he was still knocked senseless when she demonstrated any show of physical affection toward him. Not to mention that he’d expected Akari to be furious at him for departing his surrogate home in the country because he was still in love with Akane Tendo. Oh, he’d told her as delicately as he could about his mixed emotions before packing up for his trek back to Nerima—and all that did was rouse her supposedly deceased grandfather out of his grave. From there, Grandfather Unryuu had made that earth-shattering decision that he and Akari move from the country to the city in order that she pursue her conjectural fiance properly. All that trouble, all in the name of love.
The problem was, Ryouga wasn’t sure about his feelings for her were at the moment. Akari’s feelings for him, on the other hand, were so pure and unsullied that he felt like a two-timing, lowlife jerk.
Akane stood up. “Ryouga!” she exclaimed in concern. “You okay?”
His eyes almost bugged out. “A-Akane! Y-yeah, I’m fine,” he squeaked.
Ukyou was able to tear her gaze away from Ranma long enough to observe their exchange. She suppressed a tiny scowl. What a wimp, she thought in irritation. I wonder what Akari sees in him, anyway...?
* * * * * *
Cologne, meanwhile, was combing the scene of the ceremony when her sharp eyes caught sight of something twinkling amongst the grass. She reached over and picked it up.
It was the most exquisite jewel box she had ever seen. It was lacquered, and imbedded on its walls were unidentifiable semiprecious gems of every shape and color. But what caught her attention the most was the greenish-blue glow flickering weakly inside it.
The Tama-tebako...
“Can you get up, boy?” Cologne overheard Genma say to his son.
The gleam inside the box vanished abruptly, leaving behind nothing but a dark, empty velvet interior.
“Yeah, Pop—I’m okay now. Let’s just get outta here, all right?”
Very thoughtfully, Cologne pocketed the box somewhere within the folds of her green Chinese robes and followed the others as they headed back for home.
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