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Chapter Five: Rematch
“There is a reason why we mortals are separate from gods . . .”
—excerpt from Sho shen ji (“The Book of Seeking Immortals”)
* * * * * *
Akane elbowed her way past the crowd that had flocked to the windows of her home economics class, straining to get a glimpse of the scene down below. To her exasperation, all she could discern over the dozens of her fellow students’ heads was a dark smudge against the brilliant green of the school front lawn.
“See anything, Akane? Has Ranchan answered their challenge yet?”
Akane whirled around to face a tense-looking Ukyou, dressed as usual in her boy’s school uniform, complete with the bandoleer where she kept her miniature throw spatulas. In answer to her query, Akane vehemently shook her head. “No. I don’t know what’s happening. We can’t even get a good view from this building—I—I just wish I knew what was going on, Ukyou!”
Ukyou nodded. “I wish I did, too, Akane.” She clasped her hands together in trepidation. “I hope Ranchan doesn’t get hurt out there...”
Akane swiveled her head toward the windows again, feeling utterly helpless.
Damn you, Ranma, she cursed him silently, her chest constricting with worry. Why couldn’t you let me in on this? Why do you keep pushing me away? Why can’t you just accept my help? Why can’t you just accept that I—
“Did Ranchan tell you about his plan?” Ukyou inquired softly.
Akane clenched her teeth. “No. The baka sure didn’t want me involved.” She glanced at the other girl at the corner of her eye. “But I suppose he told you, right?”
Inwardly she was aghast at the way she’d said it; she hadn’t meant to inject that much resentment into her words. After all, Ukyou had only asked that question out of concern, and she certainly didn’t want to give Ukyou the impression that she was jealous, right?
Ukyou, thankfully, was too engrossed in fretting over Ranma that she hadn’t noticed the involuntary venom in Akane’s response. “Actually, Ranchan didn’t tell me anything either. He sent me and Akari and Kodachi outta the room after you. Then he sent out Shampoo, too.”
Akane gaped at her with growing realization. So she hadn’t been the only one Ranma and the others had concealed their scheme from. For some reason, Akane couldn’t decide whether she should be mad or glad.
“Aai-yah!”
The two of them were barely able to avoid the bicycle that careened toward them. As they watched in annoyance and disbelief, Shampoo jumped out of her tinkling two-wheeled transport and made a beeline toward the multitude that had accumulated at the windows. Amazingly, no one had noticed her arrival.
Ukyou brushed herself off, vexation registering on her features. “Don’t waste your time, sugar. You can’t see anything from there.”
Shampoo made an annoyed huffing sound and pushed herself away from the glass. Then her eyes locked on the two girls. “Oh. Is you two.”
“What’re you doing here?” demanded Akane, hands on hips.
“What you think?” Shampoo shot back, crossing her arms. “Shampoo make sure Jusenkyo mail-order product is working—and that I be here to help Ranma fight Dragon people!”
“You’re gonna fight alongside Ranma?” Akane balled her hands into fists. She couldn’t believe it. Ranma had actually welcomed Shampoo into his plan? This was too insulting. Akane was painfully aware that Shampoo was a better martial artist than her, but never did she think that Ranma would make some sort of decision based solely on that.
“Yes!” Shampoo nodded, lavender locks bobbing. “Of course, Ranma tell Shampoo to stay out of fight. If they hurt Ranma, then Shampoo have to hurt them!”
“Wait a minute,” interrupted Ukyou, her turquoise eyes dawning with comprehension. “Ranchan tried to make you stay out of it?”
“Yes,” confirmed Shampoo. “He no want anyone to get hurt.”
The enraged look was terminated in Akane’s eyes, only to be replaced with wariness. “Anyone else—or just us girls?”
Ukyou glowered. She knew all too well that Ranchan had this longstanding belief that the fairer sex deserved to be treated like fragile objects that would shatter when handled too roughly. “Well, I’m not gonna stand here without knowing what’s happening,” she announced curtly, heading toward the door.
“Where you going?” asked Shampoo.
“To the roof. Can you think of a better place to get a good view of Ranchan and those Dragon guys?”
“But...” Akane hedged. “We’re supposed to be in class...”
“Somehow I think no one’s gonna notice, Akane,” Ukyou pointed out dryly.
Akane glanced around. Ask a stupid question, she thought. The entire room seemed riveted on what was happening outside, including Miss Kaneda, who had apparently abandoned her teacher’s instincts for her stronger voyeuristic ones.
“Shampoo come with you,” offered Shampoo.
A dismayed murmur arose from the students as they continued to watch.
“Come on, Akane, we’re missing the action,” Ukyou urged impatiently.
Somewhere out there, Akane thought that she heard Ranma yelling. All the compunctions she was harboring swiftly vanished from her mind.
“All right,” she declared, her jaw set. “Let’s go.”
No one noticed the three of them sprint toward the stairwell, least of all Miss Kaneda, who continued to mash her nose onto the windowpane.
* * * * * *
“All right, so what do you want from me?” Ranma asked.
Shino cocked his head tauntingly to one side. “We didn’t come here to conduct a conversation, Ranma Saotome. We came here to take you back with us. First you, then the other four.”
“Take us where?” prompted Ranma incredulously.
A touch of irritation wafted by Shino’s masked face for a quarter of a second. “That is of no consequence. All that matters is that you have the curse of Jusenkyo upon you, and that makes you a threat to the Dynasty.”
Ranma grimaced. Another prime example of how his curse seemed to orchestrate his life. Being singled out because he’d happened to fall into a cursed Chinese spring—the Spring of Drowned Girl, no less. Fated to switch sex every time he was drenched. Oh, yeah, that sounded like fun. Loads of fun. Barrels of monkeys.
“Yeah, well, I’m touched that you want me to be your mascot and all, but I really didn’t ask for this curse, okay? It was an accident...”
“Accident or not, we don’t really care,” snapped Shino. His muscles tingled, ready to launch himself into battle mode. “So long as that curse hangs over your head, so shall the Dynasty hunt you down until you are dead—all of you.”
Through the corner of his eye, Ranma could see the rest of the Dragon clan assuming offensive positions. “So this’s all about that stupid curse, huh? What ’bout Pantyhose Taro? And—”
“Disposed of.” Shiro smirked, which only made him more maddening in Ranma’s book. “And you,” he drawled, “have no idea what this is all about. Just like the rest of them. The Cursed ones. Or should I say Chosen ones? It depends, really, on how you look at it...”
Ranma fought to keep the mask of calmness upon his features. “Oh, I get it. So we’re important to you, huh? For some reason, you think that this stupid curse gives you a reason to come take our souls.” He paused. “Well, think about this, smart guy—what if we get cured? What then?”
The other boy pinned him with a steely glare. “There is no cure. No matter what you may have heard otherwise, it was the Dynasty that was responsible for the destruction of the springs. Insurance in case any of the Jusenkyo victims decided to use them in order to save their souls from us. Unfortunately for the five of you, that alternative has been eliminated, and there are no longer any cursed springs left on this earth that can cure you.”
Ranma stood there, stunned, as the significance of his enemy’s words slowly sank in.
After a lengthy pause, Shino seemed to reconsider his last statement. “Oh, well, maybe the Springs of Jusenkyo are gone, but...” There was a ghost of a smirk lurking somewhere in the golden depths of his eyes. “...but there is always the Cave of Yasakami...”
Cave of Yasakami? Ranma thought, through the thick fog of shock that had permeated his mind. And somewhere inside, a tiny part of him swelled with hope.
“...a pity, though, that you won’t live long enough to see it.”
Ranma looked up, still in a daze, and the clan of the Dragon descended upon him.
* * * * * *
Hiroshi shoved a random pupil’s head out of his line of sight, completely absorbed in what was taking place down in the schoolyard. From this spot, he was able to distinguish about thirty-plus figures, dressed in fancy samurai-type armor, along with helmets that flashed in the rays of the sun and odd-shaped yet deadly-looking swords.
Damn, he thought. Ranma, you really did it this time...
He froze as the mood of the crowd surrounding him abruptly switched from curious to horrified.
Daisuke hopped restlessly, trying to peek over the multitude of student heads. “Hey, what’s goin’ on? What’s happening?”
Hiroshi’s lips pulled into a tight line as he observed the events that were unfolding down below. “I think the battle’s begun,” he acknowledged, somewhat agitatedly. “And Ranma’s right in the middle of it...”
“Have you guys seen Akane?”
Both Hiroshi and Daisuke were able to tear their gazes from the fight long enough to recognize that two of Akane’s closest friends, Sayuri and Yuka, had been standing behind them.
“Naw.” Daisuke shook his head, eager to focus once more on the battle. “Didn’t see her. Why?”
Yuka and Sayuri traded anxious glances. “Well, she’s gone,” volunteered Yuka. “Can you spot her down there with Ranma?”
Hiroshi met the two girls’ eyes, his countenance dead serious. “Nope. And I hope she stays outta this, ’cause this fight’s getting ugly.”
* * * * * *
They were good.
They were very, very good.
Those had been Ranma’s first perceptions of the Shoryuu the first time they’d ambushed him, and right now, it seemed that his perceptions had been disturbingly right on target. Perhaps it was his imagination, but they had actually seemed to get better since their first meeting.
He had to give them credit for that. Instead of catching him off-guard like last time, they took the chance of directly challenging him, duel-to-the-death style. A risky gamble, perhaps, for the subjugation of a target like Ranma Saotome, but it was more a of a game to these people. They’d tarnished their own integrity for the first time by defeating him in a sneak attack, and they were determined to remedy that by drawing him into some sort of showdown.
It was a good thing, therefore, that he had remembered a bit of their fighting style.
Ranma ducked a wickedly-curved blade, then leaped out of the way of an incoming kick. The group reminded him of miniature tornadoes, attacking with alarming speed and dishing out kicks and blows with alarming ferocity. Ranma had no choice but to continuously duck, unable to even administer offense.
It was getting repetitive, he realized. Too much time spent on evading hits instead of dealing them out. At this rate, he would tire faster from all that constant parrying, and against such skilled foes, it was inevitable that one of their hits would eventually find its mark.
Taking advantage of a nanosecond’s gap between their blows, Ranma lashed out with a roundhouse that knocked the one nearest him off his feet. Before his comrades would react, he dropped low and swept his rigid leg across the numerous pairs of ankles within his reach, sending them off-balance. Then he disposed of the ones behind him with a backhand and a swooping backwards kick.
He backflipped to a safer corner of the yard to try and collect his jumbled thoughts. All right, so he’d caught them off guard; it was payback for what they’d done the first time they crossed paths. That had to be an achievement in itself. He hadn’t even been sure if he was capable of pulling it off.
The self-congratulatory grin on his visage was immediately extinguished as he realized that his foes had recovered briskly from his unexpected assault. They were now back on their feet, as if they weren’t even fazed by his performance—as if all the power Ranma had focused into his attack had been nothing. Even now they were swarming toward him, moving with uncanny fluidity, each individual initiating the other’s move as if telegraphed via mental transmission.
Ranma forced himself to concentrate on marshaling all his martial arts prowess, in preparation for the more difficult struggle that would follow after this intermission.
Okay, so he’d surprised them. Caught them off guard. Then what? They were onto him now. No doubt they would intensify their blows, reinforce their defenses, raise their speed a notch or two, and unleash more elaborate attacks.
The stakes on this deadly game had just been raised.
They clashed again.
Ranma ducked the first volley of punches, then used the three-second interval to throw a good number of his own attacks, projecting a bit of the speed he utilized in his Kachuu Tenshin Amaguriken. It would have been tempting to employ that technique against the attackers, but Ranma was aware that it would all be for naught. The Chestnut Punch technique wasn’t developed as an offensive maneuver against multiple opponents, and Ranma wasn’t about to waste his endurance by testing that theory.
Using the Hiryuu Shoten Ha seemed to be a good course of action. A move of that much power and force was indeed capable of wiping out several foes at a time. It was potent enough to ensure that they would remain out of commission for Ranma to be the last one standing.
There were a couple of hitches to it, though.
The thing was, Ranma didn’t know if he had the stamina to wait until he could get the clan to follow him in a tight, clean spiral, and he seriously doubted that any amount of name-calling could incense these people enough for them to muster even a lukewarm one. He didn’t even know how he should insult them. Well, maybe those cheesy-looking helmets they wore, but he knew that it wasn’t going to be enough to completely tick them off.
Ranma reeled back suddenly as a two-legged kick caught him on the side of the face. He staggered, lowering his defenses long enough for another aggressor to deliver a rising punch to his jaw.
It almost enough to send Ranma to his knees.
Almost.
With a grunt, he reached out and seized an incoming fist. Before its owner could react, Ranma swung him to a group of his comrades, toppling them like a pile of dominoes. He successfully avoided the flurry of kicks and punches that followed before he regained his focus.
In spite of himself, he managed a smile. Not bad. He’d been duking it out with the Dragon clan for a full minute and a quarter and he was still conscious. This was proceeding rather well...
...and then his ears picked up the distinct rippling sound of water.
* * * * * *
“What’re they doing?” screamed Akane.
The trio studied at the melee below as they stood on the relative safety of the high school roof.
“That’s water,” murmured Ukyou, her twisting her fingers together, her gaze still fixed on the commotion. “They’re using water to trigger Ranchan’s curse.”
“That no fair!” declared Shampoo, looking equally troubled.
“They’re trying to disable him—that’s what they’re trying to do,” Akane realized, her voice shaking slightly. “Ranma said they used his curse to weaken him. If they trigger his curse, then it’s all over...”
* * * * * *
*SPLASH*
Ranma grinned, leaping swiftly to the side.
Perfect.
He lifted his chin and flung the water from his hair and pigtail, scattering the droplets about him, feeling them trickle down the front of his now-soaked Chinese shirt—which, curiously, remained flat.
He was almost certain that he saw the clan recoil in amazement.
“Whassa matter?” he drawled mockingly, raising a pair of unmistakably masculine fists. “No more tricks up your sleeve?”
His opponents traded looks, as if mentally consulting each other, then their gazes roamed to the figure in the red and gold armor. As if in response, the figure slowly raised his hand and splayed open his fingers. Right there, in the middle of his palm was a shimmering, floating ball of water.
Ranma watched with growing horror as his comrades mimicked the trick. Dozens of tiny liquid spheres materialized in their hands.
Oh...shit.
* * * * * *
“Wait a minute—he didn’t turn into a girl,” stammered Akane, flabbergasted. “He got hit by water—and he didn’t turn into a girl.”
“But how?” Ukyou piped up, sounding astonished. “Did Ranchan find a cure to his curse?”
Shampoo flashed a wide, complacent smile. “No, he still have curse,” she replied. “But thanks to Shampoo, airen be splashed with cold water and still not change into girl. You see, he use waterproof soap Shampoo ordered from Jusenkyo catalog via special delivery last night!”
A light went off in Akane’s head. “So that was the plan?”
Shampoo shook her head obstinately. “Oh, no. That only half of Ranma’s plan. The other half come later, when time is right.”
* * * * * *
*SPLASH*
Ranma stifled a yelp as he leaped out of the way of the onrushing liquid.
*SPLASH*
He reared back.
*SPLASH*
This was really getting tiring—not to mention annoying.
*SPLASH*
Ranma rolled across the grass, trying to distance himself from the clan. When he finally set himself on his feet once more, his senses screamed in alarm as a quantity of water was emptied full on him.
He shook the drops out of his eyes before slugging the culprit, then backpedaled so that he was considerably out of reach.
*SPLASH*
Ranma cursed as he swiped at his waterlogged forehead. He had to learn to move faster. Shampoo’s mail-order waterproof soap had kept him in male form so far, but he knew too well that it offered only temporary protection. Too many splashes would grievously affect its potency, and soon it would rinse off his skin in bubbles.
*SPLASH*
He tugged at his now thoroughly drenched clothes. It was becoming glaringly obvious to him that continuously evading the water-bombs was not an option, and time was already running out.
*SPLASH*
* * * * * *
“What is it? What’s wrong?” shrieked Sayuri, as the assemblage by the windows groaned in unison.
Hiroshi faced her, his visage grave. “Ranma’s going down,” he said quietly. “Those jerks’re wearing him down.”
“Can’t we do anything?” demanded Yuka.
Daisuke shook his head sadly. “I wish there was. But there isn’t. Those people’ll kill us as soon as look at us. We can’t go down there. I’m afraid Ranma’s on his own. But he’d want it that way—it’s his fight.”
* * * * *
“Arrrgh!”
Ranma wiped the back of his hand impatiently across his mouth. A quick inspection told him that his lip, indeed, was bleeding slightly.
Damn. They’d tagged him.
A figure advanced on him with a growl, engaging him in a brief round of punch-and-kick before Ranma finally sent him sprawling with a well-placed haymaker.
Ranma had barely recovered his breath when he felt someone hit him hard on his back. He stumbled forward, unseeing, and was greeted by another blow to his stomach.
He was weakening. The blows the clan had rained upon him had left their imprint in bruises and various aches all over his torso. And they were accurate, too, managing to zero in on places were it would hurt the most.
If there was anything he was now convinced of regarding the Dragon clan’s attacks, it was that they hurt. They hurt a lot. He no longer had the strength to keep dodging the water the clan relentlessly threw his way, and his stamina was all but drained. His tired legs gave in and he collapsed to his knees, his back to the brick wall of the school building.
He was cornered.
To his chagrin, the clan surrounded him instantly, like vultures clustering around a potential meal. Their leader approached him, his tawny eyes gleaming with a hidden sneer.
For a second, Ranma thought that he resembled the dragon’s head that had sat on top of their lord’s golden staff.
Despite the pain, Ranma was able to level with the youth standing triumphantly before him, meeting his gaze head-on.
“Impressive show, upperworlder,” said Shino, his tone cool and unaffected. “Lord Takuma was right when he warned us not to underestimate you. Nonetheless, your struggles are futile. You should have known better than to resist the inevitable.”
He nodded at his comrades, and they began to close in.
“You are defeated, Ranma Saotome.”
To his bewilderment, he saw the battered boy lock his gaze onto something behind him and twitch his bruised lips into a tiny smile. “Not quite,” he growled.
Shino blinked, stupefied.
His answer came when a bokken, a blade attached to a chain, and a red Chinese umbrella were hurtled at them, seemingly from out of nowhere, catching Shino and several of his followers off-balance.
And with that, the rest of Nerima’s premiere martial artists leaped into battle.
* * * * * *
A loud murmur of amazement rippled across Furinkan High, starting from the ones closest to the scene, then diffusing toward the various floors, until the sound reached the roof.
Ukyou skittered even more closely to the edge, straining to see.
“What is it?” Shampoo queried fearfully. “What they excited about?”
Akane felt a little shiver of alarm as she saw Ukyou’s eyes widen. “Ukyou? What’s going on? Is Ranma okay?”
Ukyou expelled a long, deep breath. “You guys...”
They were now all teetering precariously on the brink of the roof. Down below, they could see Ranma, as well as the multitude that remained unmoving in front of him. Upon closer inspection, the three of them realized that several members of the clan were lying flat on their backs.
“They knocked down,” whispered Shampoo. “Did Ranma—?” She was silenced as a long-haired, bespectacled form appeared next to Ranma in a flurry of cloth and blades. No...it couldn’t be...
“Mousse?” she shrieked.
Ukyou followed her gaze, and her eyes locked immediately onto the yellow-shirted, bandannaed boy who had leaped from a nearby rooftop, landing in the midst of the fray. “Ryouga?”
Akane’s jaw dropped as she recognized the third figure, a young man with dark curly hair and a bokken in his hand rushed into the makeshift battlefield. “Wait a minute! Th-that’s Kunou!”
“My dear brother? Then he is here! OhohohohohohoHO!”
Shampoo, Akane, and Ukyou cringed at that all-too-familiar laugh.
* * * * * *
“What the heck took you so long?” grumbled Ranma, his tone deceptively light and conversational. “Did you guys let Ryouga lead the way here or somethin’?”
Ryouga was too engrossed in keeping watch over the approaching clan to take any real offense at the gibe. “Stuff it, Ranma,” he said mildly. “You might as well be grateful that I decided to come after all and save your sorry butt.”
Ranma snorted, falling back into battle stance. “Like I needed to be saved—” He stopped as a jolt of pain shot up his back and shoulder.
“The same applies to me, Saotome,” warned Mousse. “I only came at Shampoo’s request—not because your welfare matters to me!”
“And I,” proclaimed Kunou, readying his bokken, “come not for thine vile hide, but because my pig-tailed goddess hath clamored for me to do so.” He brandished his weapon for emphasis. “For I, yes I, Tatewaki Kunou, am the only one she doth trust! Ah, yes, my pig-tailed goddess...she loves me well...”
Ranma suppressed a snigger. Maybe his girl form did have a few benefits. Then he grimaced a little as a jolt of pain seared through his left side—courtesy of the clan, no doubt.
“Looking a little winded there, Ranma,” observed Ryouga, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Why don’t you rest and let us handle this?”
The pigtailed boy shot him a chaffed look. Damn. Ryouga knew. So he grunted, forcing himself to switch off his pain sensors as he tested his right side. “Over my dead body, man.”
Ryouga returned Ranma’s look with a condescending one of his own. “Well, Ranma, if that’s how you feel—” He nodded at their foes. “—then maybe you’re gonna get your wish.”
Ranma, Mousse, and Kunou glanced to the spot where Ryouga was pointing.
To their collective horror, the Shoryuu clan seemed to be preparing for some sort of retaliation. They were moving purposefully, methodically, realigning their ranks to accommodate the addition of three new adversaries. The one in the gold and red armor hovered at the corner, silently coordinating his comrades’ placements, his tanned features set in grim resolve.
Ranma, Ryouga, Mousse, and Kunou automatically eased into battle stances, their backs to each other, as the clan swarmed malevolently around them.
“Looks like they still want more, eh?” Ranma murmured.
“They do, do they?” The Chinese youth drew out a new length of chain—one with a spiked mace dangling from the end—from the arsenal he concealed somewhere within his sleeves. “I admit I wouldn’t have it any other way. After all, I feel the need to thrash them soundly for what they did to Shampoo and me last time!”
The air was practically crackling with tension as the two opposing groups advanced toward each other.
“Well, guys,” Ryouga called out, twirling the assault umbrella in his hands, “what do you say we give them the traditional Nerima welcome?”
“You don’t have to ask me twice,” Ranma replied behind him. “You guys used the soap, right?”
“Affirmative,” confirmed Mousse, snapping his chain ramrod-straight.
“Then let us proceed with the smiting!” declared Kunou, bokken held aloft.
They all grinned, their rivalry instincts temporarily muted in the presence of a common foe.
And the fight was on.
* * * * * *
“What you doing here?” demanded Shampoo, less than pleased.
Kodachi fluttered her lashes. “Why, because of my Ranma-darling, of course! I heard everything, and I couldn’t bear to be apart from him when he was being hurt in battle!” She placed a well-manicured hand across her forehead and shut her eyes. “I simply must go down there and help him!”
“Don’t even bother,” snapped Akane. “That jerk doesn’t even want us in this fight. As far as he’s concerned, Ryouga and the others’re doing a good enough job of helping him!”
Kodachi sniffed haughtily. “What kind of a future wife is one who neglects her duties to the man she loves?”
“What are you—no!” Akane quelled the urge to punt her to the sky. “What I’m saying is that he doesn’t need to be helped—he’s got all the help he needs!”
“For now,” mumbled Ukyou, still eyeing the fracas down below.
* * * * * *
“Atatatatatatatatatatatatata—!”
The sight of Tatewaki Kunou racing past hordes of his foes, calling out his battle cry, wildly thrashing his bokken—and failing to score even a single hit—was enough to make Ranma snarl in exasperation.
The pigtailed youth retreated to the back ranks for a second, trying to stifle the pain in his ribs. He hated to leave a battle for any reason, even when he was injured, but the pain was making it hard for him to execute any moves. He was sure that it would subside soon, but in the meantime he had an obligation to the others. With that in mind, he conducted a quick check on his teammates’ conditions.
Amazingly, Kunou was still conscious. He continued to whack away at his foes in a berserker frenzy, but they were too fast for him, managing to dance out of his reach even before he raised his bokken. It was maddening, at least for Ranma, to know that the only reason they hadn’t put the upperclassman in Slumberland yet was because they were actually playing with him, not even bothering to block his swings but instead taking pleasure in evading them. Then again, this could be quite beneficial: as long as Kunou entertained a good portion of the Shoryuu combatants, there would be less irritances for the rest of his team.
Their assault on Mousse, though, was no game. Fortunately, like Ranma, Mousse had witnessed enough of their manner of fighting when they’d kidnapped him, and he was now utilizing that knowledge to read and dodge his attackers’ blows. His arsenal of hidden armaments, ranging from ax blades to toilets, were not enough to snag more than a few members, but they were enough to keep the clan on their toes.
Ryouga, on the other hand, was the one who was inflicting the most damage. He was taking them out by hordes, executing his breaking point technique on the rock-hard ground to repeatedly knock them off their feet. Between explosions he would tear off handfuls of bandannas from his head and hurl them at charging enemies, or use his umbrella like a buzzsaw to deter them from getting too close to him and his allies. It was obvious that, unlike Ranma, his techniques were well-suited when it came to the disposal of multiple foes.
Ranma assessed his rival with a critical eye. He’d never really noticed how good Ryouga was, perhaps because he was so easily defeated whenever they got into a scuffle. It was usually a case of the pigtailed youth putting him down with his superior speed before Ryouga’s superior endurance made any difference. But now, Ranma was beginning to realize just how formidable an opponent Ryouga could be—even now, as the clan rained blows over and over on his pressure points, the lost boy never showed any sign of faltering.
Ranma gritted his teeth. That was it. Rest was over. He launched himself once more into the heart of the action.
After two minutes of combat, the clan reinstituted their water assault, which again failed to procure the desired results. Ranma was once more up to full speed as he avoided their splashes, while Ryouga used his umbrella to deflect the water away from him, Ranma, and Mousse. Kunou got the worst of it, of course, since the three of them used him like a defensive shield, but although he continued to sputter and curse them, the Jusenkyou trio knew that he wasn’t going to turn into anything anyway—except maybe a prune.
The four of them were sopping wet as they assumed their initial position—an outward-facing circle.
“Is it just me,” panted Mousse, “or do the rest of you think it’s a good time to start applying some strategy here?”
“I...must say...that I concur...wholeheartedly,” wheezed Kunou.
“Yeah, Ranma. We’re not going to be able to keep this up forever, you know,” growled Ryouga, wringing some excess water from his hair.
“Yeah, I’m thinkin’, I’m thinkin’! Cut me some slack, willya?”
* * * * * *
“That all Ranma’s plan.”
“What?” shrieked Akane incredulously. “He doesn’t even know what to do after that?”
Shampoo winced. “Akane shout very much.”
The Tendo girl wrung her arms in frustration. “I don’t believe this! You mean that all was gotta do up here is hope and pray that the guys somehow find a way to defeat the clan?”
“Ah...yes?”
“Oh, honestly! Not if they’re gonna get killed first!”
Ukyou studied the four ant-like forms down below her, her brain working with lightning-fast speed. “No,” she asserted, drawing out the battle spatula from where it had been strapped to her back. “No, they won’t.”
Kodachi’s narrowed purple eyes flickered toward her, sparkling with feigned indifference. “And what do you plan to do?”
Ukyou smirked.
* * * * * *
The Shoryuu continued to prowl around them like ravenous wolves. Their hands belayed the telltale sparkles of water between their fingers.
The gears in Ranma’s head were racing frantically. If he was right, one more touch of water on his skin would reduce him into a female. Already he could feel the itch of bubbles on his skin.
Shino materialized suddenly in front of them. There was no longer any mask of cordiality on his visage.
“Game’s over, upperworlders.” The words dropped from his mouth in cold, concise tones.
“Ranma,” Mousse hissed. “Ranma, we need a plan...”
Ranma didn’t reply.
Shino gestured at his comrades and said one word: “Now.”
His followers never got the chance to obey.
A bonbori, a gymnastic whip-ribbon, and a round of spatula shurikens ripped down at them seemingly from out of nowhere, catching Shino and company by surprise for the second time in the fight.
Ranma, Ryouga, Kunou, and Mousse glanced up toward Furinkan High’s roof, matching horrified expressions flitting across their upturned faces as they caught sight of four very familiar figures lingering on the edge.
And with that, Nerima’s premiere female martial artists leaped into battle.
* * * * * *
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