Lone Dragon
Chapter One: The Fight! Terry vs. Ranma in a dual to the death! ...or not
Disclaimer: Neither of these series belongs to me. They each belong to their respective owners. I am NOT, repeat, NOT making money off of this. WARNING: There is some swearing in this fic.
The original prologue was changed to be a part of chapter one for the bet entry.
Timeline: This is just after Terry's run-in with Krauser. Altverse fight with Saffron, Akane dies.
---
The bar itself looked pathetically empty. One man, just out of boyhood, sat on a stool in front of a bartender who was idly cleaning a glass. The young man was wearing Chinese clothing, and in front of him were several emptied shot glasses clustered together. There might have been two or three other patrons scattered about in the black recesses of the bar, but it was hard to discern in the dim lighting.
The door slowly opened to reveal a strong-looking man. He wore blue jeans and an orange cut-off jacket. The front of his cap was covered by a metal plate, and he was carrying with him a duffle bag.
The man slowly made his way toward the bar, pain etched on his features. The kind of pain that was worse than anything physical. The kind that cut deeply into one's soul.
The new man sat down next to the young man already there, slowly dropping the duffle bag to the floor.
"I'll have double whatever he's having," said Terry as he motioned toward the young man next to him.
Ranma slowly looked up from the glass in his hands. On his face was the same kind of pain etched on Terry's face, slightly blurred with alcohol. The two men looked at one other for a moment, first with their eyes, then with other senses. After a moment, Ranma nodded to himself once before looking back at the glass in his hands. He downed the drink in a single gulp.
"Ya look like yer in pain," offered Ranma.
"Yep," was Terry's stoic reply.
"Lost loved one?"
"Yep."
"Same here."
The two sat for a few moments in compatible silence. The bartender put down a glass in front of Terry.
"Some people might say you're too young to drink," noted Terry.
"That's what the bouncer thought," said Ranma.
Terry nodded to himself. It explained why the large man at the door was doing his best to imitate a pretzel.
A few more moments of silence passed between them while Terry took a generous sip of the brew in front of him.
"Name's Ranma."
"Terry."
Finally, Ranma couldn't bear it any longer. The chance to talk to someone about the pain he felt was too good an opportunity to pass up. The alcohol might have affected his judgment somewhat, but that didn't matter to him at the moment. Before he could open his mouth to speak, the door banged open with a large crash.
Terry and Ranma glanced out of the sides of their eyes to see who disturbed their drinks. It seemed that a large group of punks wearing biker clothing were streaming through the door. Most we grinning, showing missing teeth, and many were chuckling to themselves.
Ranma frowned irritably at the empty glasses in front of him. "Every fucking time..." he muttered to himself.
Terry glanced inquisitively at Ranma. "This happen often?"
Ranma nodded sullenly. "Every time I get a good buzz goin', some smart-ass punk, or some shit-faced ganger wants to pick a fight, and I gotta burn the alcohol outta my system so I can fight." Ranma continued to mutter to himself. "I swear, I'd learn Drunken Boxing if I thought I would be able to hold myself back from killing the assholes. Fifth time this week, the pricks. I hate being a trouble magnet."
"Nice trick," noted Terry.
"My 'father' taught it to me." Ranma spat out the word with the kind of venom that only the very drunk can muster. "That panda is a lazy, no-good drunken coward of a martial artist, but no matter how much he liked to drink, he always wanted a way to sober up if he had a serious fight on him. He liked livin' more than drinkin'," ranted Ranma.
By now, the entire cluster of gang members had surrounded the two men in a wide semi-circle.
Ranma began to glow with a soft blue light, visible even to the untrained eyes of the gangers.
"Want help?" asked Terry offhandedly.
"Nah. I'm already too sober as it is. I might as well let off some steam."
One gang member, duller than the rest (though not by much, given the crowd) decided that he was going to speak.
"Hey, you two prissy-boys wanna git outta our bar? We OWN this side of the streets."
"Do you punks know who you're messin' with?" growled Ranma. He didn't even bother turning around.
This made the thugs pause. The leader of the gang signaled for everyone to get in a huddle, and frantic whispered conversation could be heard.
"...anyone know who he is...?"
"...do we NEED to know...?"
"...I'm hungry..."
"...shaddap Chojiro, you're ALWAYS hungry..."
"...I say we pound 'em to show 'em we don't care..."
"...sounds like a plan..."
The leader straightened up to give his retort, but the words died on his lips. On front of him was standing a now blazing Ranma. The bluish fire danced at a distance of three feet in all directions from his body, slightly scorching the leather on the stool closest to him.
Ranma absently cracked his knuckles as he evaluated the fighting skills of the hoodlums.
Danger rating: Laughable.
"The name's Ranma Saotome."
There were many gasps and noises of surprise.
"Ranma the Bandit Killer?!"
Ranma paused for a moment, and tilted his head a bit. "How did I get stuck with that name anyway? I never killed anyone, and I haven't fought any 'bandits.'"
"Most of the gangs around here are closet Slayers fans," spoke a voice from the back.
"Oh," said Ranma.
"We'll be going now," said the leader. He looked very nervous as he started edging toward the exit.
Ranma disappeared from view, only to appear in front of the door.
"I don't think so."
The ensuing chaos lasted exactly 15.35 seconds, and the only reason it was that long was simply because Ranma didn't want to pay for broken furniture.
Ranma sighed as he sat down at the bar. "I hate these kinds of fights. They don't even give me a good workout."
Terry raised an eyebrow in the direction of Ranma. "Hard finding someone decent to spar with?"
Ranma smirked in Terry's direction. "You offerin'?"
Terry considered his glass. "Why not?" he mused to himself. He put the mostly full drink down on the bar before grabbing his duffle bag and moving to exit.
Ranma grinned as he followed.
---
Each fighter eyed their respective opponent as they both made their way toward a shockingly convenient abandoned warehouse.
Strange how these things always seemed to be around when you need to fight a one on one match with someone.
What Ranma saw was enough to peak the pig-tailed martial artist's interest. Strong muscle definition, but not 'too' much muscle to slow a person down to the point of irrelevance. A very healthy ki signature was prevalent, as he had sensed upon Terry's first arrival. However, now that he was sober, Ranma was able to appreciate the residual energies of foreign ki inside Terry's body. It felt as if Terry was used to the rigors of drawing in chi from some source and using it to boost his attacks to a phenomenal level not normally available to someone without burning themselves out. Ranma was currently attempting to formulate his own abilities in this manner, but had been so far unsuccessful. Perhaps in this fight Terry would reveal to him some sort of secret that he could use to his advantage.
One of the greatest maneuvers a true martial arts master could perform was the ability to pull ambient chi out from his environment and convert that energy to something the fighter could use. This 'natural chi' energy was, ironically, naturally resistant to attempts to convert itself into something that could be stored in one's own ki reserves; even if one were to convert the energy, the 'natural chi' would be constantly fighting to resume its natural form. It took great will and strength to simply build up enough converted energy quickly and then release it for an attack before it had a chance to revert back to its natural state. All in all, while a fighter sometimes had to depend on ambient chi to power his own personal ki most of the time, the power tradeoff was more than worth it in many respects. Mostly, it was finding a source to pull chi from that you were attuned with; for example, Happosai was somehow able to absorb perverted chi from the ambient area.
For all of his confidence, for all of his martial arts moves he had learned, for all his personal power, he still failed to save... Her. He was forced to face the harsh reality that he had simply been too arrogant and too sure of his knowledge in the martial arts.
That would never happen again, Ranma vowed. He would learn as much as he could to protect those weaker than himself. He'd become more skillful, and more powerful than ever before.
Luck was with him. Here was an opponent that might help him achieve his goal.
---
Terry was looking appraisingly at Ranma. The boy was fast; even with his trained senses, all he could distinguish from Ranma's short fight were blurred features. The young man didn't look too strong, but Terry had felt pulses of ki constantly augmenting Ranma's speed and strength. The young man had phenomenal control over his ki reserves, though not as large as his own. Even through the speed of Ranma's movements, it was obvious the young man employed a flashy yet effective style, flowing from one form to the next with no obvious transitions. The boy's ki was used to its maximum potential, and seemed to flow through his body like a well-oiled machine; a definite sign of someone in harmony with the environment around them.
Terry was still suffering the pain from losing... Her. The agony of loss was only slightly mollified by the small satisfaction due to the fact that he delivered retribution to Krauser himself. Stronger is what he needed to become. Stronger he would be. But maybe, just maybe, this stranger could teach him to be faster as well. Maybe if he was just a bit faster...
---
The two combatants faced each other across the barren floor. A small piece of paper dramatically drifted between the two warriors as they stared unmoving across the abyss.
Okay, so the abyss was a small crack in the floor. But it 'seemed' like a very long distance. And that's what really counted.
Terry made the first move, drawing himself up into a defensive stance. Ranma slowly lowered himself into an attacking position. The two combatants stared unmoving a moment more, each trying to predict what the combatant across from them was planning to do.
Terry had given up all hope at attempting to match Ranma's speed. He was settling in, hoping to weather the storm and perhaps get in a good shot or twenty. Unbidden, words popped into his mind: "Can you feel the storm? It's coming."
For Ranma, he vowed to use pure skill. No augmenting his speed or strength. He wanted this to be a pure fight. Not that in his life he's ever had many of those. Mostly, he'd been using all his abilities to survive being constantly ambushed by his enemies.
Unless, of course, the blonde-haired martial artist decided to break out his special moves. Then all bets were off.
The pig-tailed martial artist made the next move; not so much as moving to attack as flowing from standing still to charging motion. It was so fluent there was no discernable lapse between the two.
Terry idly noted he couldn't feel any ki being used to make Ranma move faster. Yet, even so, the pig-tailed martial artist was 'still' fast; almost faster than he could react.
But he could react. Just in time, too.
A devastating blow to the chest was deflected with a swift forearm block. A kick almost completely hidden by the attack bounced harmlessly off a shin instead of damaging ribs. A punch to the face- no, a feint! A fist slipped past the staunch defenses to glance off a shoulder.
Lighting fast attacks met solid defense, as Terry weathered the storm of blows.
An opening! The blond-haired man threw a deceptively slow punch to Ranma's midriff, throwing off the younger man's timing.
He followed it up with a swift kick to the shin that connected, and another punch to the kidneys that was blocked.
Now Terry was on the offensive.
While Ranma was fast, and could block just about anything thrown at him, his recent battles had not much experience dealing with an opponent that stayed on the ground all the time. And the ground was Terry's turf.
A block turned counter-move as Terry continued his assault. His attacks and occasional kicks were designed to throw off Ranma's ability to regroup more than do any serious damage. Terry kept his kicks low; quick to get off and back into a ready position.
Ranma was adapting, however. Slowly but surely, he was discovering his rhythm. In most of his fights he'd be jumping around like a demented grasshopper by now, and it was kind of refreshing to simply fight in close- quarters without damaging the surrounding area too much.
It was an uphill battle for Ranma, though. Terry had the advantage, and was holding onto it with every trick he had gained in his long years of experience. The two battled it out, slowly making their way across the warehouse.
Terry eventually caught Ranma's leg after a particularly high kick. He smiled slightly as he used the leverage to move his opponent into the position he wanted. While Ranma was still off-balance, he managed to get a very hard kick to the pig-tailed martial artist's kidneys. It didn't even slow Ranma down as he broke the hold.
The black-haired martial artist was hurting, though.
Terry had more un-enhanced strength than Ranma did, and it was showing in this battle. Even a quick kick by Terry had the weight equivalent of a sizable ball of lead behind it. That last kick was backed by all the strength the blonde-haired martial artist could muster, and it took its toll on the younger man.
Terry noted this and, like any good veteran, took advantage of the situation. He exploited Ranma's weak side as much as he dared, while trying to avoid setting himself into a pattern.
The battle continued for a few more moments, both sides warring for dominance.
Without warning, both combatants leapt back from one another. Ranma was panting heavily, wincing at deep breaths. Terry only had a slight sheen of perspiration to show his exertion.
Afterward, neither contestant could say when the signal had been given. Simply that a silent agreement came between the two, and the 'kid gloves' came off.
The real fighting had begun.
---
End of Chapter One!
Author's Notes: The fight scene is a lot harder to write than anticipated. I don't even know if I did the vision in my head justice. It's coming very slowly, and I was forced to end it here for various reasons. (That and it was the best possible spot for a cliffhanger.) If I get enough encouragement, I'll continue with it... Heck. Who am I kidding? I love this enough to continue it even if I get a bunch of flames. ^_^
Here's the original idea, based on a thought:
Ranma and Terry are drinking.
One turns to the other (it doesn't matter who) and says, "I defeated a demi- god, and still lost the girl I loved. You?"
"The exact same thing happened to me."
"Horrible world we live in."
"You don't have to tell me twice."
Pause.
"I bet my god was stronger than your god."
"Fight ya for it?"
"You're on."
Chapter One: The Fight! Terry vs. Ranma in a dual to the death! ...or not
Disclaimer: Neither of these series belongs to me. They each belong to their respective owners. I am NOT, repeat, NOT making money off of this. WARNING: There is some swearing in this fic.
The original prologue was changed to be a part of chapter one for the bet entry.
Timeline: This is just after Terry's run-in with Krauser. Altverse fight with Saffron, Akane dies.
---
The bar itself looked pathetically empty. One man, just out of boyhood, sat on a stool in front of a bartender who was idly cleaning a glass. The young man was wearing Chinese clothing, and in front of him were several emptied shot glasses clustered together. There might have been two or three other patrons scattered about in the black recesses of the bar, but it was hard to discern in the dim lighting.
The door slowly opened to reveal a strong-looking man. He wore blue jeans and an orange cut-off jacket. The front of his cap was covered by a metal plate, and he was carrying with him a duffle bag.
The man slowly made his way toward the bar, pain etched on his features. The kind of pain that was worse than anything physical. The kind that cut deeply into one's soul.
The new man sat down next to the young man already there, slowly dropping the duffle bag to the floor.
"I'll have double whatever he's having," said Terry as he motioned toward the young man next to him.
Ranma slowly looked up from the glass in his hands. On his face was the same kind of pain etched on Terry's face, slightly blurred with alcohol. The two men looked at one other for a moment, first with their eyes, then with other senses. After a moment, Ranma nodded to himself once before looking back at the glass in his hands. He downed the drink in a single gulp.
"Ya look like yer in pain," offered Ranma.
"Yep," was Terry's stoic reply.
"Lost loved one?"
"Yep."
"Same here."
The two sat for a few moments in compatible silence. The bartender put down a glass in front of Terry.
"Some people might say you're too young to drink," noted Terry.
"That's what the bouncer thought," said Ranma.
Terry nodded to himself. It explained why the large man at the door was doing his best to imitate a pretzel.
A few more moments of silence passed between them while Terry took a generous sip of the brew in front of him.
"Name's Ranma."
"Terry."
Finally, Ranma couldn't bear it any longer. The chance to talk to someone about the pain he felt was too good an opportunity to pass up. The alcohol might have affected his judgment somewhat, but that didn't matter to him at the moment. Before he could open his mouth to speak, the door banged open with a large crash.
Terry and Ranma glanced out of the sides of their eyes to see who disturbed their drinks. It seemed that a large group of punks wearing biker clothing were streaming through the door. Most we grinning, showing missing teeth, and many were chuckling to themselves.
Ranma frowned irritably at the empty glasses in front of him. "Every fucking time..." he muttered to himself.
Terry glanced inquisitively at Ranma. "This happen often?"
Ranma nodded sullenly. "Every time I get a good buzz goin', some smart-ass punk, or some shit-faced ganger wants to pick a fight, and I gotta burn the alcohol outta my system so I can fight." Ranma continued to mutter to himself. "I swear, I'd learn Drunken Boxing if I thought I would be able to hold myself back from killing the assholes. Fifth time this week, the pricks. I hate being a trouble magnet."
"Nice trick," noted Terry.
"My 'father' taught it to me." Ranma spat out the word with the kind of venom that only the very drunk can muster. "That panda is a lazy, no-good drunken coward of a martial artist, but no matter how much he liked to drink, he always wanted a way to sober up if he had a serious fight on him. He liked livin' more than drinkin'," ranted Ranma.
By now, the entire cluster of gang members had surrounded the two men in a wide semi-circle.
Ranma began to glow with a soft blue light, visible even to the untrained eyes of the gangers.
"Want help?" asked Terry offhandedly.
"Nah. I'm already too sober as it is. I might as well let off some steam."
One gang member, duller than the rest (though not by much, given the crowd) decided that he was going to speak.
"Hey, you two prissy-boys wanna git outta our bar? We OWN this side of the streets."
"Do you punks know who you're messin' with?" growled Ranma. He didn't even bother turning around.
This made the thugs pause. The leader of the gang signaled for everyone to get in a huddle, and frantic whispered conversation could be heard.
"...anyone know who he is...?"
"...do we NEED to know...?"
"...I'm hungry..."
"...shaddap Chojiro, you're ALWAYS hungry..."
"...I say we pound 'em to show 'em we don't care..."
"...sounds like a plan..."
The leader straightened up to give his retort, but the words died on his lips. On front of him was standing a now blazing Ranma. The bluish fire danced at a distance of three feet in all directions from his body, slightly scorching the leather on the stool closest to him.
Ranma absently cracked his knuckles as he evaluated the fighting skills of the hoodlums.
Danger rating: Laughable.
"The name's Ranma Saotome."
There were many gasps and noises of surprise.
"Ranma the Bandit Killer?!"
Ranma paused for a moment, and tilted his head a bit. "How did I get stuck with that name anyway? I never killed anyone, and I haven't fought any 'bandits.'"
"Most of the gangs around here are closet Slayers fans," spoke a voice from the back.
"Oh," said Ranma.
"We'll be going now," said the leader. He looked very nervous as he started edging toward the exit.
Ranma disappeared from view, only to appear in front of the door.
"I don't think so."
The ensuing chaos lasted exactly 15.35 seconds, and the only reason it was that long was simply because Ranma didn't want to pay for broken furniture.
Ranma sighed as he sat down at the bar. "I hate these kinds of fights. They don't even give me a good workout."
Terry raised an eyebrow in the direction of Ranma. "Hard finding someone decent to spar with?"
Ranma smirked in Terry's direction. "You offerin'?"
Terry considered his glass. "Why not?" he mused to himself. He put the mostly full drink down on the bar before grabbing his duffle bag and moving to exit.
Ranma grinned as he followed.
---
Each fighter eyed their respective opponent as they both made their way toward a shockingly convenient abandoned warehouse.
Strange how these things always seemed to be around when you need to fight a one on one match with someone.
What Ranma saw was enough to peak the pig-tailed martial artist's interest. Strong muscle definition, but not 'too' much muscle to slow a person down to the point of irrelevance. A very healthy ki signature was prevalent, as he had sensed upon Terry's first arrival. However, now that he was sober, Ranma was able to appreciate the residual energies of foreign ki inside Terry's body. It felt as if Terry was used to the rigors of drawing in chi from some source and using it to boost his attacks to a phenomenal level not normally available to someone without burning themselves out. Ranma was currently attempting to formulate his own abilities in this manner, but had been so far unsuccessful. Perhaps in this fight Terry would reveal to him some sort of secret that he could use to his advantage.
One of the greatest maneuvers a true martial arts master could perform was the ability to pull ambient chi out from his environment and convert that energy to something the fighter could use. This 'natural chi' energy was, ironically, naturally resistant to attempts to convert itself into something that could be stored in one's own ki reserves; even if one were to convert the energy, the 'natural chi' would be constantly fighting to resume its natural form. It took great will and strength to simply build up enough converted energy quickly and then release it for an attack before it had a chance to revert back to its natural state. All in all, while a fighter sometimes had to depend on ambient chi to power his own personal ki most of the time, the power tradeoff was more than worth it in many respects. Mostly, it was finding a source to pull chi from that you were attuned with; for example, Happosai was somehow able to absorb perverted chi from the ambient area.
For all of his confidence, for all of his martial arts moves he had learned, for all his personal power, he still failed to save... Her. He was forced to face the harsh reality that he had simply been too arrogant and too sure of his knowledge in the martial arts.
That would never happen again, Ranma vowed. He would learn as much as he could to protect those weaker than himself. He'd become more skillful, and more powerful than ever before.
Luck was with him. Here was an opponent that might help him achieve his goal.
---
Terry was looking appraisingly at Ranma. The boy was fast; even with his trained senses, all he could distinguish from Ranma's short fight were blurred features. The young man didn't look too strong, but Terry had felt pulses of ki constantly augmenting Ranma's speed and strength. The young man had phenomenal control over his ki reserves, though not as large as his own. Even through the speed of Ranma's movements, it was obvious the young man employed a flashy yet effective style, flowing from one form to the next with no obvious transitions. The boy's ki was used to its maximum potential, and seemed to flow through his body like a well-oiled machine; a definite sign of someone in harmony with the environment around them.
Terry was still suffering the pain from losing... Her. The agony of loss was only slightly mollified by the small satisfaction due to the fact that he delivered retribution to Krauser himself. Stronger is what he needed to become. Stronger he would be. But maybe, just maybe, this stranger could teach him to be faster as well. Maybe if he was just a bit faster...
---
The two combatants faced each other across the barren floor. A small piece of paper dramatically drifted between the two warriors as they stared unmoving across the abyss.
Okay, so the abyss was a small crack in the floor. But it 'seemed' like a very long distance. And that's what really counted.
Terry made the first move, drawing himself up into a defensive stance. Ranma slowly lowered himself into an attacking position. The two combatants stared unmoving a moment more, each trying to predict what the combatant across from them was planning to do.
Terry had given up all hope at attempting to match Ranma's speed. He was settling in, hoping to weather the storm and perhaps get in a good shot or twenty. Unbidden, words popped into his mind: "Can you feel the storm? It's coming."
For Ranma, he vowed to use pure skill. No augmenting his speed or strength. He wanted this to be a pure fight. Not that in his life he's ever had many of those. Mostly, he'd been using all his abilities to survive being constantly ambushed by his enemies.
Unless, of course, the blonde-haired martial artist decided to break out his special moves. Then all bets were off.
The pig-tailed martial artist made the next move; not so much as moving to attack as flowing from standing still to charging motion. It was so fluent there was no discernable lapse between the two.
Terry idly noted he couldn't feel any ki being used to make Ranma move faster. Yet, even so, the pig-tailed martial artist was 'still' fast; almost faster than he could react.
But he could react. Just in time, too.
A devastating blow to the chest was deflected with a swift forearm block. A kick almost completely hidden by the attack bounced harmlessly off a shin instead of damaging ribs. A punch to the face- no, a feint! A fist slipped past the staunch defenses to glance off a shoulder.
Lighting fast attacks met solid defense, as Terry weathered the storm of blows.
An opening! The blond-haired man threw a deceptively slow punch to Ranma's midriff, throwing off the younger man's timing.
He followed it up with a swift kick to the shin that connected, and another punch to the kidneys that was blocked.
Now Terry was on the offensive.
While Ranma was fast, and could block just about anything thrown at him, his recent battles had not much experience dealing with an opponent that stayed on the ground all the time. And the ground was Terry's turf.
A block turned counter-move as Terry continued his assault. His attacks and occasional kicks were designed to throw off Ranma's ability to regroup more than do any serious damage. Terry kept his kicks low; quick to get off and back into a ready position.
Ranma was adapting, however. Slowly but surely, he was discovering his rhythm. In most of his fights he'd be jumping around like a demented grasshopper by now, and it was kind of refreshing to simply fight in close- quarters without damaging the surrounding area too much.
It was an uphill battle for Ranma, though. Terry had the advantage, and was holding onto it with every trick he had gained in his long years of experience. The two battled it out, slowly making their way across the warehouse.
Terry eventually caught Ranma's leg after a particularly high kick. He smiled slightly as he used the leverage to move his opponent into the position he wanted. While Ranma was still off-balance, he managed to get a very hard kick to the pig-tailed martial artist's kidneys. It didn't even slow Ranma down as he broke the hold.
The black-haired martial artist was hurting, though.
Terry had more un-enhanced strength than Ranma did, and it was showing in this battle. Even a quick kick by Terry had the weight equivalent of a sizable ball of lead behind it. That last kick was backed by all the strength the blonde-haired martial artist could muster, and it took its toll on the younger man.
Terry noted this and, like any good veteran, took advantage of the situation. He exploited Ranma's weak side as much as he dared, while trying to avoid setting himself into a pattern.
The battle continued for a few more moments, both sides warring for dominance.
Without warning, both combatants leapt back from one another. Ranma was panting heavily, wincing at deep breaths. Terry only had a slight sheen of perspiration to show his exertion.
Afterward, neither contestant could say when the signal had been given. Simply that a silent agreement came between the two, and the 'kid gloves' came off.
The real fighting had begun.
---
End of Chapter One!
Author's Notes: The fight scene is a lot harder to write than anticipated. I don't even know if I did the vision in my head justice. It's coming very slowly, and I was forced to end it here for various reasons. (That and it was the best possible spot for a cliffhanger.) If I get enough encouragement, I'll continue with it... Heck. Who am I kidding? I love this enough to continue it even if I get a bunch of flames. ^_^
Here's the original idea, based on a thought:
Ranma and Terry are drinking.
One turns to the other (it doesn't matter who) and says, "I defeated a demi- god, and still lost the girl I loved. You?"
"The exact same thing happened to me."
"Horrible world we live in."
"You don't have to tell me twice."
Pause.
"I bet my god was stronger than your god."
"Fight ya for it?"
"You're on."