Dragon Flight Chapter 10: Fun? and Games, a ranma fanfic

Chapter 10: Fun and Games.

"Seems very do-able" Ranma agreed. He as sat in the middle of the others, less Gos who was once more at the library, in the stands of the arena. They had just watched the last round of the sword competition and like the others he was left feeling more than a little confidant.

"I'm not so sure" Nabiki interjected. She was sat next to him, notebook in hand.

"Why not" asked Ukyo, who was also apparently thinking hard.

"Look around," Nabiki said nodding at certain groups in the stands, "We aren't the only serious types who chose not to compete this time. I can see at least five hard-asses who have spent the entire time watching and studying form."

"Uh-huh" Ukyo agreed. "but I was more thinking about the risks.
"Risks?" Ranma asked.

"This was just a local do, right?" she prompted. Ranma and Nabiki nodded. "But we saw what three competitors taken out through injuries."

"Uh-huh" Nabiki said, following the thread, "and you suspect that will be even worse when the big guns come out." Ukyo took her turn to nod.

"Don't work like that" Ranma broke in.

"Explain" Nabiki demanded, this form of conversation was one they had long practiced.

"Big guns mean less injuries not more" Ranma supplied.
"Less accidents" Nabiki agreed.

"But" Ukyo broke in, "You're assuming all are accidents."

"No honour for purses?" Nabiki queried.

"It's a lot of money," Ukyo explained.

"Guys?" Aknae broke in. She was sitting next to Ryoga and holding his hand, who in turn was wearing his now usual stupid grin. No doubt Akane had found some time to 'cheer him up.' "What the hell are you going on about?" The other three looked at her and stared for a moment then tuned away again.

"Significant?" Nabiki asked to Ranma, ignoring her sister's pout.

"No pain no gain, and no real choice" he conceded.

"I agree," replied Ukyo, "healing draughts?" Nabiki nodded and made a note.

"Plan," Nabiki finalised

"Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on!" demanded Akane.

"Okay sis" Nabiki offered. "We have just decided that even though the danger levels of unguarded blades are likely to be so much higher when professionals are cheating that the reward outweighs the risk. So we are entering into every contest we can."

"Axe" called Ukyo.

"Unarmed and sword" Ranma added, the last one somewhat reluctantly.

"hey what about me?" Akane demanded, "and Ryo-chan."

"More than one of us can enter a single event" Nabiki explained in a tired tone.

"Oh?" Akane replied, "in that case…what events are there again." This caused a none-too-subtle sigh from her companions. Ryoga on hearing this immediately bristled. Ranma spotted and drew on his customary fighting smirk.

"Whoa boys," Nabiki cut in "no free shows for the opposition."

"Ah just let him bust fang-boy up the once" Ukyo complained.

"Ukyo!" Nabiki chided, before taking a breath. "guys, its been a hot day and a long one, who says we finish this over a few drinks."

"Best idea you've had since the bath" Ukyo agreed enthusiastically.

"Less chance of being overheard" Ranma agreed, having spotted a weasely man moving closer to them.

Together they stood and left the arena and headed into town proper. Nabiki was reworking the figures as they went, Akane and Ryoga lost in their own little world. Ranma drew up alongside Ukyo.

"Seen him?" he asked.

"Guy from the stands?" she asked. He nodded, "About twenty paces back?"

"Twenty-two" Ranma corrected.

"One two switch?" Ukyo asked. Ranma nodded. Ranma caught up with Nabiki.

"Gotta bash a nosey," he explained, she raised an eyebrow but nodded. Then he dropped back to where Ukyo was walking. "Okay ready" he said quietly.

Ukyo broke off to the right, heading obliquely, but somewhat obviously for the follower. She stopped a t a stall just short of the now dissimilating man. Ranma meanwhile slipped left. As Ukyo gathered the man's attention Ranma did a quick change, reversing her jacket as well. As she re-emerged Ukyo tipped a nod to let her know, and then hurried back to the group.

Ranma waited, weasley was going to walk right past her. He even took the time to check her out, but failed to make the connection. The next thing the man knew he was face first into a wall, held up by one hand around his neck and another firmly planted in his kidneys, holding his locked out wrist.

"Who sent you?" hissed a woman's voice, full of promised violence.

"Uh?" he queried, face full of plaster.

"Talk or break," the voice said, "Your choice!"
"Ohlmin" the man gasped "it were Ohlmin, sent us ta watch nought more.""

"Good boy" the voice added, before brutally bashing his head into the wall and sending him into blessed unconsciousness.

"So?" Nabiki asked as the once again male Ranma caught up with the group.

"Some guy called Ohlmin" Ranma replied, "Spying on us that's all."

"Arena?" Nabiki mused.

"Tomolo mentioned him" Ukyo interjected. "Big mover in the slaver's guild, only really enters the games for fun. Odds on favourite."

"Ah" mused Nabiki connecting the dots.

"We've been rumbled" Ranma agreed.

"Huh?" asked Akane.
"No now sis" Nabiki replied offhandedly, causing the younger girl to fume.

"That Place?" Ukyo suggested, pointing to a pub nearby, partly due to thirst and partly to defuse little miss –tantrum and toy.

"We might as well check it out" Ranma agreed, and so they did.

The Dog and Duck was a dive, little more could be said for it. Beer came in small or large, either of which was served inn a tankard best described as 'nearly clean.' Apparently it also did the best pies in the city, but it helped nobody asked what the meat was. Needless to say the Nerimites left soon after looking in.

"You're just being picky" Ukyo grumbled.

"No" Nabiki argued, "I'm not. I'm being sensible."

"Ukyo" Ranma broke in, "there are other pubs"

"Aye" she agreed, "but that one was closest."

In the end they found a middle ground. Two streets further on they came to a place called 'the roundhouse.' And a little while after that they were all sat around a table inside with drinks of the local 'ale.'

"Right guys" Nabiki said, "lets talk profits," and her eyes gleamed in the dark.

The time in between that and the games was a mess of frenetic activity. Back at the repose the fighters were honing their skills. For the first time since the re-union Ryoga got to see just how much Ranma had improved and it scared the hell out of him. Sure he had kept up his training but there had been distractions. The dark turn in Ranma's life had apparently left him with little to do but train and train harder. Both of them had reached a level where you had to train an awful lot to get even small increases but somehow Ranma had found the time.

They sparred. Ryoga was soundly thrashed. Noty being able to do their more collaterally orientated effects had limited the lost boy far more than the pig-tailed one, but there was an extra edge their too.

"Ranma" Ryoga asked in a rest moment," something's changed."

"In my style?" Ranma guessed and Ryoga nodded, "Yup."

"Well?" Ryoga demanded.

"Xian Pu and Mu tse" Ranma replied darkly, snapping the towel off from around his neck and stepping back out into the sun. A few precise stretches later he was once more whirling his new blade around his body in a lethal web of steel.

Ryoga shook his head, up until now he had been able to keep up but even the idea of stepping back out there now sent aches through his weary muscles.

"He's a bloody machine" grumbled Ukyo, who had been going through hell these last few days. "Just ain't natural!" she grumbled. She was resting her arm from where she had pulled it trying one of her patented 'swats' with the somewhat shorter weapon she was using.

"I should go look in on Akane" Ryoga stated, missing Ukyo roll her eyes, "she might be getting bored cooped up in there." With that he walked back into the building proper, past the small crowd of adoring onlookers.

"Bloody stuck up…." Ukyo grumbled, trailing off into mutters. "What I need is a drink."

"Ukyo no!" Ranma commanded, suddenly pausing his katas. He hadn't turned, or even appeared to be listening, but somehow he had known. "You can't train with that stuff inside you."
"Never heard of Drunken boxing?" she retorted, half serious.
"And when you have learnt from a master of the style then you may try it," he replied, turning towards her, raw steel blade still in hand. His brilliant blue-grey eyes bored into hers. "But until then you stay sharp."
"My father always said 'a drink keeps the wrist tight'," she retorted, anger simmering.

"Your father thought Genma would be a good role model" Ranma replied, the steel in his voice more apparent now.

"What are you saying about my dad?" Ukyo growled. At this point the old Ranma might have stuttered, tried to defuse things, but Ranma had changed.

"Either call me a liar" he said, with threat in his voice, "or come at me. But don't pretend you didn't hear me!" Ukyo growled and whipped up her axe. She came at him, a mix of fury and time honed skill. Skill diluted by too much time on the sauce and too little in the dojo.

"You were better when you were ten" Ranma chided, dodging the swirling blade with contemptuous ease. "Faster too."

"I'll kill you!" Ukyo called, redoubling her efforts.

"Not. As. Long. As. You. Keep. Wasting. Your. Life. Drinking" Ranma retorted, dodging and weaving through her frenzied attacks. With the final word he stepped in, a sloping parry with his blade seeing off her axe and a single palm-strike planting her into the wall. As she lay there panting and wheezing for breath he walked over.

"Ukyo" he began, "I always respected you. Up until the day I heard you lost the shop. Whatever hell you think your life is without the booze its sending you to the real one far too fast with it." She thought about trying to get up but his words had struck home. It had taken every penny she had, and most of what Konatsu had saved to get her back into business after they foreclosed the first time. She remembered swearing to him at the time that she would dry out. But she hadn't, and now….

"I'm going for a wash," she said, pulling herself upright, "I'll see you at dinner." Ranma didn't turn, once more he appeared lost in his katas, steel mask firmly in place.

Dinner was a quiet affair. All the Nerimites were sat around the table absorbed in their own selves. Gos was reworking his theory on magical matrices, his sixteenth draught, Nabiki her figures, as altered by the day's haggling. Akane was still pouting, she had been ever since the others had told her flat that she wasn't good enough to enter the sword competition, that Ranma had subsequently demonstrated the difference in skill levels, by disarming her seven times in a row, had rubbed her even further the wrong way. So she had retreated to her room and refused to come out, for anything other than mealtimes, until she got an apology; she was still waiting. Ranma Ryoga and Ukyo were all far too busy focussing on the morning to even think about conversations.

"So how are my favourite foreigners today?" the chirpy voice of Tomolo broke in. "As the barman said to the horse, why the long faces?"

"Forgive us Tomolo-san" Nabiki supplied, "we have a big day tomorrow."

"Ah yes," he agreed enthusiastically, "You are entering the games, no?"

"Indeed we are Tomolo-san" Nabiki agreed.

"An' we're gonna' win" added Ranma quietly, before returning to his meal. Nabiki theatrically hushed him.

"Don't tell anyone" she said. Tomolo raised an eyebrow. "Now look what you have done" Nabiki continued, "he's suspicious."

"Who me?" asked Tomolo, getting into the act.
"If you promise not to tell anyone then we'll let you into a secret," Nabiki stage-whispered.

"Go on" Tomolo replied, leaning over and making an 'x' sign across his heart.

"We've got a secret weapon" Nabiki hissed.

"What is it?" Tomolo asked. At which point Nabiki pointed to Ranma. He had just received another plateful of food and was hovering it up monster fashion. "We're gonna cover them in soy sauce," she whispered. At which point everyone but Ranma burst out laughing.

"What do I have something on my face?" replied the human beetroot.

The heat of the noonday sun smacked into Ranma like a hammer blow, sucking the breath from his lungs. After the cool of the assembling area below the sudden blazing heat of the arena had a physical force. Then came the noise of the crowd. This was a festival day and the stadium was packed way beyond its design capacity, each and every one of those patrons seemed to be shouting at the top of their lungs. It had been very different during the morning unarmed competition and already Ranma was unhappy about being forced to fight with a sword.

Ranma looked around as he walked towards the centre of the sandy arena floor, his jaw clenched but his eyes wide. Above the screaming banks of spectators were hundreds of fluttering flags, soaring gulls and above them all the far off vista of the snow capped mountains.

"Kills the actors" cut in a voice.
"Huh?" Ranma asked, turning to see a dark skinned man with a broad smile.

"Competing with that," the man explained, "kills you or brings the performance of your life"

"Ah" Ranma agreed, catching up. The man had a think accent and could easily have passed for a Jamaican on earth in all but dress. He had never seen a Jamaican sporting two feet's worth of broad bladed steel falchion. His clothes were simple and adapted for warmer climes. They were also covered with a hard leather jerkin.

"You ain't been here before then" the man surmised. Ranma didn't answer. "Look brother, no offence but newbies never make it more than two rounds, sorry them's the breaks. So hows about you an me match up for the first one. Give a guy an edge ya know…"

"Sure" replied Ranma, without cracking a smile.

Shortly before coming up each fighter had been required to present their blade. Each one was checked for unfair edges, and then ensured to be at least mostly blunt. Finally each one had been covered in a thick layer of a black tarry like substance so 'they can see it from the stands.'

Following the man over to one of the marked fighting squares Ranma rolled his shoulders, stretching the stitching on his jerkin. He had thought long and hard about whether to wear one or not and decided that not doing so would attract more attention than Nabiki wanted at this point.

"Don't splat them too fast" Nabiki had said, "you do and the odds'll shorten faster than the queue for the dinner table when Akane cooks."

The man stepped into the square and stretched a little. Each fighting square was a few meters across and outlined with posts at each corner. Every one had a judge to watch over them. The rules were simple, step outside the square and you forfeit, get hit in any vital location and you forfeit, or get hit three times in any non-vital location and similarly you are out. Other than that you're fair game once the match starts.

Ranma nodded to the judge then his opponent, the man smiled back, confidence showing in his beaming smile.

"Begin!" called the judge and the fight was on.

Ranma's opponent came in fast and low, a disembowelling cut that would at least cross a man's eyes when it connected. Ranma caught himself before he launched his counter, one that would have spread smiler's teeth across the stands. Instead he parried low and faked a clumsy dodge. Smiler just smiled all the harder.For the next three minutes Ranma kept him going, narrow dodges and lucky parries all tat apparently separated him from defeat. Then the guy got frustrated, and lashed out with a ridiculously telegraphed overhand. There was nothing Ranma could do, he parried high and cross-checked the other man, who in turn landed six feet out of the square. Smiler landed with a thump and a crash.

"Out!" called the judge. "Red wins."

Water was brought and an employee raced off to find a new opponent.

"What the hell was that man?" Smiler asked

"Matsubeto Kakuto Ryu" Ranma replied, mopping his forehead with the damp cloth provided, more to fake some sweat than to cool him down.

"Say what?" Smiler asked.

"The best of the finest fighting forms my culture ever produced" Ranma explained.

"You were playin' me?"

"Sorry, them's the breaks" Ranma replied pointedly. To his credit smiler didn't take it personally. Instead he cracked a smile.

"May put a few coins on you meself," he said, sticking a hand out, "Luck." And with that he was gone.

Ranma's next bout was a little tougher but the girl in question all but knocked herself out of the competition when she failed to balance her oversized two-handed weapon having missed Ranma again. As it happened she didn't, stopping herself on the line but within a heartbeat Ranma had drawn a big black 'X' across her back and she was out.

In his third he met a guy who should have quit already. At some point the guy in question had taken a blow across his face. As a result he couldn't see out of his left eye and staggered every time he turned too fast. Ranma put him on his ass quickly, saving him the embarrassment of a longer match.

Then that was it, Ranma was in the quarter-finals, and for the first time he saw the favourite. Ohlmin was an imposing sight, tall, bronzed and bald but for a scalp-lock he carried himself with a serious fighter's ease. He had completely disdained the use of a jerkin and even a shirt. He had also yet to even break a sweat.

"Meat!" called a voice that was more grunt than grace. Ranma turned. "You is Meat!" the voice re-asserted. The pig-tailed martial artist found himself facing a very raggedy looking Dwarf. The man was at the most five foot tall but nearly that across his shoulders, and smelt like every inch had been bathed in sewerage. In his hands he was clutching a wicked looking barbed scimitar, and there was blood mixed in with the tar. "I eat meat!" the dwarf explained.

Ranma hit him with his patented smile number forty-eight, "My aren't you a clever boy. I bet you can even tie your laces by now."

The dwarf responded with rage, and a rush. Ranma, expecting nothing less, parried and dodged around the smaller man, only to find that he was faster than he looked. Ranma was forced to dodge again, and this time he lost a piece of his jerkin in the process.

"Stop!" called the judge, and the two of them separated.

"Oi" he called, trying to attract the judge's attention to the sliced jerkin. The man blatantly ignored it.

"Match will begin. Ready-"

"Oi" Ranma called again.

"Go!"

Immediately the dwarf came in, fast even for Ranma's experience. He was weaving a deadly pattern with the wicked blade he carried and had an eviller smirk on his face. "Amazing what a little gold can buy in Pathandaway" he smirked. Then the penny dropped, the sharp sword, the blood on the blade, even the supernatural speed, the sneaky bastard had bribed his way in with a weapon he shouldn't have.

Ranma parried fast, and dodged high, sailing clear over the little man's head, only to find him ready as he landed. The dwarf laughed as he came in again.

"Meat!"

Ranma responded with a cocky smirk and a twitch of his left hand. The guy was fast sure but he was far more concerned with hurting Ranma than protecting himself.

Again the smelly short-ass attacked, this time with a series of lightning fast overhand cuts. Ranma parried fast, but was forced to back up as he did, leading the man around into a spiral.

"Ha!" the dwarf laughed, "I got you now!" and indeed it looked like he did. Instead however Ranma stepped in with his own, lightening fast, strike. Only it missed. The dwarf had just enough time to start a mocking laugh before he was lifted off his feet by a crazily strong updraft.

"Huh?" he said, looking up at the perfect time to receive his broad black stripe from hairline to hairy chin. Ranma followed the strike with smirk number one "Saotome Ranma never loses," and then fell over with a biting pain in his leg. The sword had bitten into it just above the knee.

"Shit!" he swore whipping it away from him as hard as he could.

"Illegal weaponry!" the judge called, perhaps a little late, "Blue disqualified." Ranma managed a growl and that was it. He was far too busy focussing his ki to reducing the damage caused.

"Congratulations" the judge said, "you're through," but there was a seriously unfriendly smile on his face, "you have five minutes before your match." Then he walked off.

"If I were you," came a voice, gravely and unkind, "I'd quit now." Ranma looked up, and there was Ohlmin, smiling. "You have done well so far, for a newbie, but your next match is against me, and you never stood a chance before the leg wound."

"Saotome Ranma never loses" Ranma retorted. Ohlmin smiled, it wasn't a kind face.

"Don't make it personal boy" he sneered, "the last person who did is chained to a mill near Bremon, by his nose."

"Screw you!" Ranma retorted, his efforts to patch his leg dampening his normally witty repartee.

"That's a mistake boy!" Ohlmin chided, all fake friendliness gone. "Now you're going to have to pay."

Four minutes later Ranma was stood in his 'red corner' of the square facing the frowning Ohlmin. The problem wasn't that Ranma was there against his advice is wasn't even that he standing happily on his injured leg, even bouncing from foot to foot, no the frown was due to that cocky smirk the younger man dared to wear when coming up against him.

The judge stepped forward, "Ready?" he asked, and, Ohlim struck. He smacked his sabre into Ranma's bad knee. "Foul!" cried the judge, earning him a 'boo' from the bleachers. Now ordinarily the rules would have seem the cheat thrown from the competition, but there was no way that the judges would do that to the local champion. Ranma was hopping around in small circles in the background as the judges conferred. Needless to say Ohlmin didn't even have the grace to look worried.

"We have decided upon a handicap" the judges announced, the crowd held silent, "Ohlmin-" in the background there was a pointed cough, "Sorry, Master Ohlmin, will have to score an extra blow before he can be accounted the victor." The crowd jeered.

"That means you need two vital strikes or four non-vital," the judge explained to the local 'hero.'

"Fine" he replied, "now may we please get on with it?"

"Of course Master Ohlmin" the judge replied. "Contenders to their corners" he demanded. Ranma shot him a lethal look and limped over to the red area.

"You belong to me boy," Ohlmin rasped threateningly. Ranma rolled his shoulders, clicking his neck, focussed and put his foot down.

But the damage had been done, the leg hurt like hell. Just from the strike Ranma knew this man had some serious power, skill and speed. He could have taken Kuno blindfolded, one handed, and standing on one leg. The problem was that Ranma was going to have to take him while standing on one leg, with a sword and having fought through a whole extra competition. Palm-strikes and kicks just wouldn't count.

"Begin" called the judge, and the two of them began circling. Against any other opponent Ranma would have dissimilated more, but as Ohlmin had already demonstrated he was too sharp for that. By circling he was also finalising his opinions on how usable the leg was and Ranma could see he knew.

"Damn" Ranma thought, "this bastard is good." Ranma went in for a testing feint, and took a stripe across his off arm for his trouble. The man had been holding back! Ranma quickly span into a wall of sword spinning defence. Ohlmin was driven back, but his smile had gloat written all over it. As Ranma got the distance he needed he could feel the throb in his arm, but more importantly he could feel the trickle on his shin, his wound had opened again.

"Non-Vital" accorded the Judge.

"This time," mocked the slave master. Ranma had to face facts, with the hole in his leg, and his all too limited experience with this blade he was at a severe disadvantage. Unless he could shift the odds he was screwed. And if he lost so did the crew, they were invested in him up to the hilt, counting on him not to lose.

His train of thought was interrupted as Ohlmin came at him. Ranma lashed out with a combination of parries and feints that would have left Kuno drooling in envy, but he needed every single one. As Ohlmin pressed harder Ranma was forced to begin weaving in and out of the strikes, taxing his injured leg all the more. From the stands all that could be seen was the blinding flashes and resonant sounds of steel on steel. Each opponent was blowing up a maelstrom of sand around the fight, and every parry and thrust was done at speed too fast for the human eye.

Then the leg bucked. Not a lot, and only for a split second, but it was long enough. Ranma took a strip across his stomach. In a shot Ohlmin was backed away and smiling about his victory.

"Non-vital" ruled the judge.

"What?" demanded Ohlmin.

"Armour block, non-vital" replied the judge more forcefully, "You will fight on!" The slaver growled and turned back to the Neriman. He paced a bit and ten dropped into a fighting crouch, all smiles gone.

"Fight!" ordered the judge.

"Boy you have lost" sneered Ohlmin, "by the time I am finished with you you're gonna wish that midwife slapped you just a little bit harder." Then it hit Ranma like a ton of bricks, all this time he had been playing the dumb-ass, assuming rules that didn't exist.

He lured Ohlmin in with a poorly faked stumble. Ohlmin in turn faked an over-committed lunge. Only Ranma didn't play the game. He stepped in and slapped the retreating blade of his opponent wide out. That in itself wouldn't have been enough but Ranma muddied the water still further by throwing his own blade. Ohlmin parried with his arm, but didn't see the truth of the move. Behind his sword came the rest of Ranma. Ohlmin was fast, he got a solid strike in but by then it was too late, Ranma lashed out with his good leg and pounded nearly a hundred kicks into the larger man's body, each one to a vital location.

Pain exploded across Ohlmin's body, from his crown to his knee and every vital spot in between, he felt like he had been hit by a stampede. The next thing he knew the ground was rising up to hit him. Her landed, fully spread, three feet out of the ring. Not far but plenty far enough.

"Out!" the judge cried, "Forfeit!" he declared. "Blue wins!" The cry echoed around the stadium, suddenly devoid of all other noise. Then the crowd exploded, cries, wails, denials, jeers and a thousand other sounds echoed down, blotting out all else. And on the sand every one was a nail driven into Ohlmin's ego. Coughing blood as he lay there on the sand he swore not to forget.

Ranma raised his hands in triumph, and the crowd cheered with him. Beside him the judge clapped and above him the gulls screamed. It was a perfect moment.

"Next bout!" the judge declared.

"No way man!" cut in a voice. "I forfeit!" the voice came from the other contender, a man who had got through more by luck and lubricated judges than skill. He saw the local champion lying in the dust, coughing blood, and decided then and there it wasn't worth it.

"Are you sure" asked the judge, fearing a riot.

"Not for love or money" the man replied, he could see the footprints on Ohlmin's body, had heard the crack of his ribs.

"Last chance" the judge asked, desperate.

"I told you! No Way!" the man repeated, pulling his jerkin off and walking away.

"What's yer name?" the judge asked Ranma out of the blue.

"Saotome Ranma!" the warrior replied.

"Contender Withdraws!" the judge announced, "Saotome Ranma wins the Sword!" The crowd exploded all over again.

"Take my advice son" the judge continued to Ranma, "take your winnings and leave the Pathandaway. Fast!"

Ranma just smiled, they should'a listened, Saotome Ranma never loses.