Ranma ½: A Life Once Lived
Standard Disclaimer: This fiction is written for pure fun. No profit is to be made from this.
If you still insist on sending money (Hey, ya never know), send it to either Rumiko
Takahashi, the talented creator of Ranma ½, or Todd McFarlane, the talented creator of
Spawn. Ranma, Ryouga, Akane, Soun, Genma, Nabiki, Mousse, Shampoo, Ukyou,
Hiroshi, Daisuke, Kasumi, Tofu, Nodoka, Tarou and Rouge belong to Rumiko Takahashi.
Clown, Violator, Malebolgia, Cogliostro, Al Simmons, Angela, Tiffany and the Spawn
idea belong to Todd McFarlane. All credit should go to them.
Gendo, Makaro, Kinami, Kenoru, Genken and all additional characters are created by me
for the sole purpose of the story. You may use them at your leisure.
Light.
A blinding light, like the first that any living being experiences, but different
somehow.
For the brief five seconds that he experienced it, it seemed like an eternity, but it
was over as soon as it started, and he was left alone.
There have been few who have had the misfortune to experience the sensation he
was feeling now. However, fate had decided the outcome of the future for the
unfortunate ones.
Just goes to show, even fate can make mistakes sometimes...
Ranma ½: A Life Once Lived
Prologue: Memories & Misgivings (Rewrite, Take One)
Had he been able to remember much, he would have immediately known where he
was, and where he was going, but such was not the case.
He began by groggily shaking his head, trying desperately to clear his thoughts,
and get some kind of indication of whom he was, and what he was doing there.
Somewhere, deep inside his subconscious, a spark formed. The spark gave way to
a larger one, and another one, even larger. Eventually, the spark had grown into a flame,
allowing access to hidden memories.
Few memories had escaped before the flame died. Mostly it was a jumble, an inane
patchwork of several events. Remembrance of some sort of training. Yes. That's it. He
was starting to remember.
He was a martial artist. That much was certain. He could feel himself throwing
punches and kicks at foes twice, sometimes three times as skilled as he was. Another
memory flooded into his mind. It was brief, but he could catch a glimpse of a face in his
mind.
The face was female, that much was certain. Lavender hair both flowing down
beyond her shoulders, and cut above her neck. The two images were the same, if not for
different hairstyles.
Piercing brown eyes and a fair, sleek complexion. To him, the face was beautiful,
even though he had trouble admitting such a thing, even in his mind.
He tried desperately to remember more, clenching his fists and banging them
against his head in frustration. Then something else came.
Akane. A name. HER name. For some unexplainable reason, the name meant
nothing, and everything. What was certain, however, was that somehow, deep inside his
person, he knew he loved her.
He managed to open his eyes. Though it was dark, it was hard to keep them open
for too long, as if the night were blinding him. After his eyes adjusted, he started to try
and get a bearing of where he was, hoping for more memories.
He was on a rooftop. Where, he had no clue. Below him on the ground, several
forms seemed to call out at him. He knew what they were immediately.
The soccer field was foremost in sight. The goal posts on either side standing in a
fashion that he could envision with his eyes closed. An outdoor basketball court a little
further in the distance, but still discernable from his viewpoint. A certain hesitation befell
him as he spied the swimming pool.
Without warning, another memory came into his mind. Another person. A martial
artist, wearing a red Chinese-style shirt with wooden ties, wearing an unmistakable pigtail.
Although the martial artist was female, he felt no feelings toward her. She was beautiful to
say the least, but he felt no better of her than he was of himself.
Then it hit him. That WAS he. The thought came out of nowhere, catching him off
guard. He shook his head. That couldn't be right, he was a man. Wasn't he?
Yes. He could distinctly remember being a man, from the jumble of memories he
had received earlier. Yes. He was a man.
And a woman. He was both, he realized, after he received another jumble of
memories. Memories including a long valley, with hundreds of small spring-like pools.
Bamboo poles stuck out of them like a pincushion. He gasped as he recalled his curse.
He ran further along the rooftop, until he reached a structure near the front
entrance. A closer examination revealed it to be a clock of rather large proportions. As he
perched himself on top of it, he noticed something.
It felt like a part of him at first, even if a little alien, but the unmistakable form of a
blood red cloak fluttering in the wind around him was surprising, to say the least. Looking
himself over, he discovered several things of difference. His hands were molded into
deformed claw-like appendages, and several chains decorated his body like a sadistic
Christmas tree.
He was on the verge of panic after this development, went another patchwork of
memories invaded his mind. Unlike the other memories, which he had tried to pull out, this
one just seemed to come in, uninvited. He involuntarily gasped as the memory ran itself
through in his mind.
-A L O L-
"Do you love her?", the darkness asked.
"Yes. Of course."
"You would like to see her again, I assume," it asked again
Hesitation. "Yes."
The darkness laughed. A dark, bone-chilling laugh that would strike fear into the
hearts of all mankind.
"Then go, my Hellspawn!", it cried as it revealed its true form.
The scream would have shattered eardrums for miles around. The demon seemed
to derive pleasure from it, stretching its lips to form a wide, toothy smile as it continued to
laugh.
-A L O L-
Deep in the Nerima night, a lone figure atop a high school screamed in utter
anguish at his memories.
Standard Disclaimer: This fiction is written for pure fun. No profit is to be made from this.
If you still insist on sending money (Hey, ya never know), send it to either Rumiko
Takahashi, the talented creator of Ranma ½, or Todd McFarlane, the talented creator of
Spawn. Ranma, Ryouga, Akane, Soun, Genma, Nabiki, Mousse, Shampoo, Ukyou,
Hiroshi, Daisuke, Kasumi, Tofu, Nodoka, Tarou and Rouge belong to Rumiko Takahashi.
Clown, Violator, Malebolgia, Cogliostro, Al Simmons, Angela, Tiffany and the Spawn
idea belong to Todd McFarlane. All credit should go to them.
Gendo, Makaro, Kinami, Kenoru, Genken and all additional characters are created by me
for the sole purpose of the story. You may use them at your leisure.
Light.
A blinding light, like the first that any living being experiences, but different
somehow.
For the brief five seconds that he experienced it, it seemed like an eternity, but it
was over as soon as it started, and he was left alone.
There have been few who have had the misfortune to experience the sensation he
was feeling now. However, fate had decided the outcome of the future for the
unfortunate ones.
Just goes to show, even fate can make mistakes sometimes...
Ranma ½: A Life Once Lived
Prologue: Memories & Misgivings (Rewrite, Take One)
Had he been able to remember much, he would have immediately known where he
was, and where he was going, but such was not the case.
He began by groggily shaking his head, trying desperately to clear his thoughts,
and get some kind of indication of whom he was, and what he was doing there.
Somewhere, deep inside his subconscious, a spark formed. The spark gave way to
a larger one, and another one, even larger. Eventually, the spark had grown into a flame,
allowing access to hidden memories.
Few memories had escaped before the flame died. Mostly it was a jumble, an inane
patchwork of several events. Remembrance of some sort of training. Yes. That's it. He
was starting to remember.
He was a martial artist. That much was certain. He could feel himself throwing
punches and kicks at foes twice, sometimes three times as skilled as he was. Another
memory flooded into his mind. It was brief, but he could catch a glimpse of a face in his
mind.
The face was female, that much was certain. Lavender hair both flowing down
beyond her shoulders, and cut above her neck. The two images were the same, if not for
different hairstyles.
Piercing brown eyes and a fair, sleek complexion. To him, the face was beautiful,
even though he had trouble admitting such a thing, even in his mind.
He tried desperately to remember more, clenching his fists and banging them
against his head in frustration. Then something else came.
Akane. A name. HER name. For some unexplainable reason, the name meant
nothing, and everything. What was certain, however, was that somehow, deep inside his
person, he knew he loved her.
He managed to open his eyes. Though it was dark, it was hard to keep them open
for too long, as if the night were blinding him. After his eyes adjusted, he started to try
and get a bearing of where he was, hoping for more memories.
He was on a rooftop. Where, he had no clue. Below him on the ground, several
forms seemed to call out at him. He knew what they were immediately.
The soccer field was foremost in sight. The goal posts on either side standing in a
fashion that he could envision with his eyes closed. An outdoor basketball court a little
further in the distance, but still discernable from his viewpoint. A certain hesitation befell
him as he spied the swimming pool.
Without warning, another memory came into his mind. Another person. A martial
artist, wearing a red Chinese-style shirt with wooden ties, wearing an unmistakable pigtail.
Although the martial artist was female, he felt no feelings toward her. She was beautiful to
say the least, but he felt no better of her than he was of himself.
Then it hit him. That WAS he. The thought came out of nowhere, catching him off
guard. He shook his head. That couldn't be right, he was a man. Wasn't he?
Yes. He could distinctly remember being a man, from the jumble of memories he
had received earlier. Yes. He was a man.
And a woman. He was both, he realized, after he received another jumble of
memories. Memories including a long valley, with hundreds of small spring-like pools.
Bamboo poles stuck out of them like a pincushion. He gasped as he recalled his curse.
He ran further along the rooftop, until he reached a structure near the front
entrance. A closer examination revealed it to be a clock of rather large proportions. As he
perched himself on top of it, he noticed something.
It felt like a part of him at first, even if a little alien, but the unmistakable form of a
blood red cloak fluttering in the wind around him was surprising, to say the least. Looking
himself over, he discovered several things of difference. His hands were molded into
deformed claw-like appendages, and several chains decorated his body like a sadistic
Christmas tree.
He was on the verge of panic after this development, went another patchwork of
memories invaded his mind. Unlike the other memories, which he had tried to pull out, this
one just seemed to come in, uninvited. He involuntarily gasped as the memory ran itself
through in his mind.
-A L O L-
"Do you love her?", the darkness asked.
"Yes. Of course."
"You would like to see her again, I assume," it asked again
Hesitation. "Yes."
The darkness laughed. A dark, bone-chilling laugh that would strike fear into the
hearts of all mankind.
"Then go, my Hellspawn!", it cried as it revealed its true form.
The scream would have shattered eardrums for miles around. The demon seemed
to derive pleasure from it, stretching its lips to form a wide, toothy smile as it continued to
laugh.
-A L O L-
Deep in the Nerima night, a lone figure atop a high school screamed in utter
anguish at his memories.