A Spider in Nerima
A Ranma ½ / Spider-man fusion
Chapter 4:
Brutal Ballet
"Raaaaaaannnnnnnmmmmaaaaaa."
The name was hardly distinguishable.
"Youuuuu wiiiillllll paaaaayyyyyy!"
A black blur passed the three men standing at the edge of the pond. It was headed straight for the pig-tailed youth still framed in the light of the open door.
Ranma snapped the door closed an instant before the black gnome arrived. However the sliding door was no obstacle for the enraged elder. Without slowing, the stump of a man burst through the thin barrier.
Seconds later, the remains of the door exploded outward. Ranma sailed through the air to land squarely in the koi pond, where a slick was forming on the surface of the water.
Standing in the doorway, the little man seethed with an almost visible aura. "Deprive me of my tasty treasures will you. I'll have your treasures instead," he howled as he leaped toward the busty young girl rising out of the pond.
"Stay offa me you old pervert," the girl screamed. She aimed a defensive kick at her attacker, but the gnome dodged the strike and the girl's silk shirt seemed to inflate. A little bald head popped out of the neckline.
"I just love 'em," the old man hissed and disappeared inside the girl's blouse again.
"Get outa there. Stop squeezin' 'em!" the girl gritted back, beating at the lump inside her blouse.
Akane suddenly appeared from the interior of the house with an enormous mallet and hammered the squirming bulge inside the girl's shirt. The blow knocked the girl out of the pool and onto her back, stunned at Soun and Reilly's feet.
The front of her blouse suddenly ballooned beyond the ability of the clasps to contain. The garment gave, revealing the little man vigorously massaging the unconscious girl's ample bosom, his eyes half shut. A lump half the size of his head was growing on his crown.
Presently the stump of a man stood, a satiated glaze in his eyes, and staggered off toward the dojo. "I've got an appointment," he slurred.
Coming to, the girl bounced up, fists clenched, bare breasts heaving. Suddenly she was aware of the three men standing next to her.
"Oh, hell." She gathered the disheveled blouse around her chest.
Soun Tendo held his head in his hand. Ben Reilly worked to scrape his jaw off the graveled path, while the older Saotome looked unimpressed.
"R-Ranma?" Reilly stammered.
"Yeah, sorry 'bout this," the beet-faced girl replied.
The slack-jawed westerner stood mute for a moment. Suddenly a light seemed to come on in his eyes. "Girl problems," he muttered. "Girl problems." The giggles started bubbling up. Presently the gaijin was on hands and knees slapping the ground and howling with laughter. "Girl problems, they said."
"Hey!" Ranma-chan's embarrassment turned to anger. Reilly managed to roll with the kick, but he still landed in a tree two blocks away.
"Girl problems." He was still giggling and shaking his head as he climbed down and headed back to the dojo.
Akane found Reilly making his way back to the dojo about a block and a half from the school. She heard him laughing in the dark before she saw him stroll into the glare of a street lamp.
"Hello Sensei," he greeted her and started chuckling again. Her glare stopped him up short.
"Oh, sorry. See the other teachers said Ranma had 'girl problems,' but wouldn't tell me what it was."
"I see." Her words seemed to drip ice. "Do you always laugh at other's misfortune?"
"Well, uh. No. It's just that when I first heard about the 'girl problem' I jumped to the wrong conclusion. See I couldn't buy a date when I was his age and I thought being engaged to someone as good looking as you wasn't much of a problem. I told the other instructors I wished I had that kind of problem when I was his age. They reacted about like I did now."
The off-hand compliment caught Akane by surprise. "Oh. Well it was embarrassing enough for him without you laughing."
"Yeah, I'm sorry and I'm going to apologize when we get back. Hope he doesn't pound me before I get the chance."
"If we go round the block again, it might give him time to cool off," she said.
"Sounds like a good idea. How's he do that anyway?"
"HE doesn't DO that. It happens to him whenever he's splashed with cold water."
"Huh?"
"It's a curse. He has no control over it. Whenever he's splashed with or cold water, he turns into a girl," Akane explained. She started to giggle herself. "It produces some pretty embarrassing situations sometimes."
"I'll bet."
"And it doesn't help that he has no feminine modesty whatsoever when he's changed. He's always flashing people ... but not on purpose," she added quickly. "It better not be on purpose," her expression started to sizzle.
"So, if cold water turns him into a girl...?"
"Warm water turns him back. You may have noticed we always have a kettle on the stove and keep a few around the house."
"Aaaaaah, I did wonder about that earlier," Reilly said. "Has he always been like this?"
"No, but he's been like this since I've known him," Akane said. "I met him right after he got cursed, about two years ago.
"That's when he and his dad showed up and Otousan announced that one of us three girls was going to be Ranma's fiancee'. Somehow I got elected and everything has gone downhill since then. They didn't even ask what I wanted to do with my life, before saddling me with that ... baka!"
"So, how did Ranma get his curse?" Reilly steered the conversation away from an area that obviously agitated Akane.
"He fell, well got knocked into, a cursed spring in China."
"Who knocked him in?"
"His Otousan."
"His Dad did this to him?"
"Yeah, but it wasn't on purpose. Ranma gave his Dad a curse too, you know."
"Uh, actually I don't," Reilly said.
"He turns into a giant panda when he gets splashed."
"For real?"
"You saw Ranma turn into a girl, Reilly-san. Why would I lie to you?" Akane bristled.
"Yeah, you're right. Sorry," Reilly apologized.
As the pair finally approached the front steps of the Tendo residence, Akane suddenly stopped with a cry.
"Oh!"
"What?"
"I was supposed to bring you straight back. You're supposed to meet Happosai in the dojo. You'd better go straight there. Go on. I'll talk to Ranma for you."
But a male and rather flinty-eyed Ranma was waiting for Reilly in the training hall along with Soun, Genma and the little stump of a man.
Eyeing the reception party. Reilly promptly bowed to Ranma. "Sensei, I apologize for my behavior earlier. It was disrespectful and unbecoming of a student of the Anything Goes School of Martial Arts."
"Accepted. And you can drop the BS. I knew you'd find out eventually. Besides, everyone else knows. So who told you?" Ranma said.
"Well, they didn't tell me exactly. The faculty said you had 'girl problems,' something I would have loved at your age. It wasn't what I thought though. I finally got the joke in the garden."
"Not much of a joke to me," Ranma muttered.
"You know, like too many girls," Reilly continued. "I couldn't get a girl to talk to me when I was your age. I couldn't figure out why the other teachers were laughing when I said I wished I had the same kind of problem. Now I know."
Ranma rolled his eyes. "Too many girls can be a real problem too."
"You need only be concerned with one girl," Soun Tendo intoned ominously, "but that is not why we are here." He was suddenly very formal.
"Master," he said turning to the wrinkled stump, who had begun to tap his foot impatiently. "This is the young gaijin I told you about."
"I know who he is," the wizened man growled. "This one has been cramping my style for the last two weeks. Do not expect my assistance in his training."
Stunned, the four other men watched the black-clad stump, stump his way out of the dojo.
"What did he mean by that?" Soun turned his attention on a suddenly sheepish Reilly.
"Well..."
"Well what?"
"I didn't know he was going to be an instructor. How could I know? I've been messing with him whenever I ran into him during the last two weeks," Reilly said.
"What do you mean, 'Messing with him?' You don't have any idea how dangerous he is. And why would you have reason to encounter Master Happosai?" Genma Saotome joined the interrogation.
"Ok. In the evenings, after I get done here, I kinda patrol the neighborhood. Go down toward Tokyo some nights. Do what I can to help people in trouble, you know?
"Anyway, things around here are way quieter than what I'm used to. I've run into him two or three times and it's sort of turned into a game to see if I can keep him from getting away with his 'treasures.' I've messed him up a couple of times. He got away from me the first time I ran into him.
"That's it!" Ranma slapped a fist into his palm. "Now I know why Happy's been so grumpy lately. You're the one who's been mugging the youth gangs in Tokyo! You're the Tokyo Spider-man the papers are full of. All the kids at school are talking about it."
Sensei Tendo raised an eyebrow and looked at Reilly. The New Yorker was suddenly taken by how much his teacher looked like Spock when he raised that eyebrow.
"So, you are the new vigilante?"
"Yes. I try to do what I can without drawing too much attention. I have the power and I've accepted the responsibility."
"And this is what you intend to do when you leave here?"
"Yep, only I'll be taking on some real heavyweights, not just kids with too much time on their hands and little old guys stealing the neighbor women's panties. I've faced 'em before and managed to come out on top, but only by the skin of my teeth. I've got some scores to settle for myself and for some good friends of mine."
"I wouldn't consider Master Happosai a 'lightweight' if I were you, Reilly-san," said Genma. "He is largely harmless if he can collect a frilly pair of panties on a regular basis, but if you make him mad, he can be very formidible. Wouldn't you agree Ranma?"
"Yeah, he's a real nuisance and he doesn't know the meaning of the word 'fair,'" Ranma agreed. "But if you've been able to cramp the old pervert's style, keep at it!"
"So! This is the way you honor me!" A red-faced Happosai stood framed by the dojo door. His aura was glowing ominously and his eyes were fixed on the four men. He seemed to grow before their eyes.
Soun Tendo and Genma Saotome hit their knees, employing the Crouch of the Wild Tiger move to beg for mercy.
The two younger men sprang in opposite directions, avoiding the sizzling ki blast that fried the spot where the pair stood seconds before. The supplicants caught the brunt of the attack. Their charred gi's disintegrated as they slowly crawled from the dojo.
Ranma knew of only one counter for Happosai when the ancient was infuriated. Without hesitating the young man bolted for the dojo door, headed for the bath.
Reilly had no plan but to contain the infuriated master any way he could. Springing in the opposite direction from Ranma, the Spider-man clone reached high into the sleeves of his gi and pulled down the new web-shooters he had designed. The pair of wedge-shaped bracers settled into place as Reilly dodged a second ki blast. He had no problem avoiding the attacks, but he soon found he wasn't able to web up the diminutive titan on his tail.
"I've got to go on the offensive," Reilly thought. He turned abruptly, dodging the almost invisible blur of Happosai and ricocheted off the wall like a cue ball headed for a rendezous with the black eight. He watched as Happosai began to alter his own course to avoid the collision.
"Got to end this quick," Reilly thought as he saw his advantage slipping away. Tapping the right-most trigger of his web shooters, the transplanted Spider-man launched a barrage of small web spheres after his attacker. Everywhere they impacted the spheres exploded into tangled nets of webbing. The tendrils of the impact webbing hardened on contact with the air, creating a grotesque forest on the walls and floor of the training hall as the westerner became the aggressor and the wizened pervert found himself on the defense.
However, none of the spheres found their target. The old man was inhumanly fast.
The pair continued to chase each other around the hall, first one on the attack, then the other.
A second and third stand of Reilly's impact webbing 'trees' sprouted in the dojo before Ranma returned with the advantage the pair would need for victory. The young martial artist quickly sized up the course of the fight and choosing her moment, sprang between the battling pair.
"Get a load of these, ya old pervert," Ranma shouted, ripping open her shirt to reveal her ample rack. The sight of the cursed youth's breasts diverted Happosai from his attack. The distraction was all Reilly needed. As Happosai zeroed in on the frantically fleeing Ranma, the foreign super-hero hit the old man in the neck with three stinger darts, the final weapon in his wrist-mounted arsenal.
Happosai brushed the tiny darts away, but the stingers distracted him momentarily from the bare-breasted Ranma. He stood, swinging back and forth between his two adversaries, momentarily unable to choose between rage and lust, the sedative beginning to take affect.
Of course lust won in the end, but the old master went down to frustration as Reilly webbed him to the floor before he could take up the pursuit of the object of his desire.
Amazingly, Happosai's fury was ameliorated with an apology and a promise from the gaijin student to cease interfering with the dirty old man's undergarment gathering excursions.
"We, specifically you, must have him on your side if your training is to progress properly," Soun explained to his foreign pupil.
"If he is an enemy, we cannot reveal your secret sense to him. He would quickly exploit it to defeat you. But since he is almost a member of the Tendo and Saotome families, we would not be able to hide that secret from him long. He is far too sneaky and nefarious. He would need only observe one training session between you and Ranma to discern your ability and turn it into a weakness."
And so it Ben Reilly was joined to the unhappy group of souls under the influence of lechery personified.
§☼§☼§
Manhatten's George Washington Park, five years later:
The petite stranger stepped away from the railing. The brightness of the bridge lights cast shadows that obscured her face, but silhouetted a decidedly feminine form in ninja-style fighting garb. Its grayish-green color made her difficult to see in the dark.
As the lenses of his mask adjusted for the dim light, the Goblin sized up his opponent. Buxom and petite, over her shoulder was slung a bag similar to the Goblin's own pouch. Her wrists and forearms were encircled by tapering metal bracers. Her reddish hair was pulled back and woven into a single braided pigtail reaching just between her shoulders.
The woman pulled a baton from a leather pocket strapped to her thigh. She squeezed the baton and the ends extended silently with a fluid and almost magical motion, transforming the small club into a staff just shorter than the height of its owner.
She spun the staff with one hand. "It's time to settle some old accounts, Norman," she continued in the strangely familiar voice. Dipping into her bag with the other hand, a barely perceptible flip produced a second burning sting in the Goblin's left arm. Looking down, Osborn wasn't surprised to find a second sherikan mirroring the first embedded in his right glove.
"No more goblin blasts tonight. We settle this hand to hand," she said flatly.
Norman Osborn looked disbelieving at his second wound of the night. He felt the warm stickiness of his own blood begin to fill his glove. The streetlights revealed an imprint in the center of the star -- a spider -- the same spider he had fought and hated for years. Howling, the green maniac pulled the star from his arm and hurled it back at its owner.
"I don't know who you are girl, or how you know me, but you'll regret crossing me before you die," the Goblin bellowed as he ripped out the other star and sent it following the first.
"Gobby, you're such a charmer," the young woman purred in response.
The Green Goblin closed the short distance between himself and his new antagonist in a bound, but his target wasn't there. Leaping lightly to one side, the woman took the Goblin's feet out from under him with her staff. Before he could right himself, she was beside him. The heel of her hand caught the side of his face and spun him into the ground as she jumped away. He staggered to his feet, surprised by the power of her blow.
Standing at a safe distance, the woman smiled while holding up a pointy green ear in one hand. "Looks like they don't make goblin costumes like they used to, Norman," she said.
Suddenly she seemed to materialize inside the reach of his arms. Before the Goblin could take advantage of her seeming mistake, he found himself on hands and knees struggling to breath. He never felt the blow that forced the air out of his lungs. But he did feel a slight tug at the back of his head.
"What's the matter Norman? Out of breath?" his tormentor deadpanned just out of reach. "You know, I didn't know you kept so much stuff in that hat of yours." She twirled the severed end of his goblin's hood in her hands.
What followed was a ballet of humiliation. As the Goblin staggered to his feet again, his assailant seemed to dance about him, alternating between cutting off some small portion of his goblin suit and raining open handed blows. She cuffing with the heel of her hand. She kicked with ball of her foot. She slapped with the tips of her fingers. Even so, the force of the blows shook him, addled him.
Every time he gained his feet, she took them from him with a kick or a strike from the staff. Every time he thought he had her in his grasp she seemed to vanish, only to appear again, delivering another hail of open handed strikes with surgical precision.
They bruised, but didn't break the skin. They took joints to the point of dislocation, but stopped short. They made the stars swim in his vision for fractions of a second, but never brought unconsciousness.
"Who are you?" an exhausted Goblin growled through clenched teeth. On all fours, he no longer bore the semblance of the arch-fiend who had terrorized Manhatten for years. He was a nappy-headed Norman Osborn in a tattered Halloween costume, sucking wind and searching for a means of escape. His plans for Peter Parker were forgotten.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, Norman," she said with a blow that sucked the last wisp of strength from his bruised limbs. He crashed face first into the concrete sidewalk. "Let's just say I'm what Peter can become with a little discipline." Her voice receded into a tunnel of dark quietness as unconsciousness engulfed Norman Osborn.
Several yards away, Spider-man regained consciousness underneath the web shelter in time to hear the Goblin's final question and the enigmatic answer. He groaned from the pain of his wounds. Light stabbed him in the eyes as fingers split the webbing in front of his face. A red-head in a braid stared into his barely focusing eyes. "Mary Jane?" he mumbled.
"No brother, not even close," she said as consciousness departed the battered hero again.
(EoC04r2)
