AN IMMORTAL LOVE

A Ranma 1/2 and Ah! Megumi-sama! crossover, with most of the emphasis placed on Ranma 1/2.

by Shea McIntee, deus_ex_machina@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I don't own any sort of copyright to either Ranma 1/2 or Ah! Megumi-sama, no do I have any right to receive any sort of material benefit from my borrowing of ideas from the two series. I worship their creators, and beg them not to strike me with lightning bolts from heaven for my presumption... unless I do a horrible job, in which case I should probably commit seppuku to restore my honor. I'm merely attempting to show my supreme worship of, and, let's be perfectly frank, my complete obsession with, anime, and Ranma 1/2 in particular.

An Immortal Love - Prologue

Long ago, two gods were very much in love. One, Akane, was a rather fiery-spirited young goddess with a bit of a temper, and a penchance for hammers. The other was Ranma Nekoro, a rather unassuming cat-god. Oh, there were other cat-deities, usually goddesses. However, this one focused somewhat more on healing than on the more typical cat-deity-that-protects-women, or the cat-deity-that-tears-the-place-up (not to mention any NAMES, mind you... I have no wish to offend - ahem! - certain... ah... beings...), but was tall and somewhat robust, with eyes the color of a placid sea, rather than the customary green or gold, albeit that he did, being a cat-god, have the slitted pupils. His hair was perhaps one of his more distinctive traits, being black in the main part, but with reddish-orange stripes running through it, much like some breed of tiger. Three of the red streaks continued an inch or so into his face, terminating in his tattoos, as required for all divine beings. His eternal love interest looked rather more human than he, and bore absolutely no resemblance to Thor, although she did, for some reason, share his fondness for hammers. She had liquid brown eyes, and hair the deep blue of falling night.

One day, they had a fight. Nothing out of the ordinary, really. Usually it was over a brand-new patient of Ranma's, placed in his care courtesy of Akane's temper (and hammer), and he would typically attempt to persuade her than there were other ways to deal with ahem difficulties than to bash them, but this wasn't the point currently being heatedly discussed between the two. No, this was over their second most favorite bone of contention; his refusal to fight. She argued that he was most certainly capable of learning, being both possessed by a fairly flexible mind, and a well-conditioned and flexible body, and thought that it would certainly improve his outlook on life, and, knowing his weaknesses, she casually mentioned that he might be able to become good enough to help her, and suggested that he was perhaps too afraid of being hurt or shown up to attempt it. He shot back that he saw no need for fighting; his art was one of healing wounds, not causing them. Besides, he said, he didn't have the temperament to be a butcher. And such a tomboy as female obviously didn't need any help in pounding some poor sap.

This was, of course, a mistake. People who fight for a living often can be rather sensitive of being called certain names, and often 'butcher' ranks somewhere on the list. And, unless one knows how to either fight really well or run really fast, one shouldn't try to get someone who might conceivably earn such an honorific upset at you.

Trust me. Would you go up to Mike Tyson and casually ask him if he preferred his ears sauteed or deep-fried?

I thought not.

Regardless, since Ranma was so kind as to imply that SHE was a BUTCHER, Akane was obliged to show him the error of his ways, ideally with a Large Blunt Object, one of which she happened to have, somewhere on her person.

Observers now proceed to watch an interesting variation of the Whack-a-Mole games one sometimes sees in arcades, with Akane wielding a large hammer and trying to his the rapidly-dodging Ranma. This only served to make Akane even more angry, as 1) He was obviously NOT crushed yet, and she therefore couldn't show him how to act, the stick, in her mind, being a far more effective incentive than the carrot for the hapless god, 2) he was able to dodge her every strike, thus proving that he had the potential to be a really good warrior, and was obviously refusing out of sheer spite, and 3) It was therefore obvious (to her mind), that he was doing on purpose, to make her look bad.

Eventually, both frustrated and worn out, she quit. She could go on longer, she felt, but there wasn't much point to it at this time. She flew off in a huff. Perhaps later, maybe...

She smiled a satisfied smile. Yes. Tonight, she'll set him straight on the whole matter. 'Butcher, indeed! Hmmph!'

------

The next day, another battle broke out on the god-demon front, and Akane went to work, hoping to work out some frustration on the battlefield, Ranma having been conspiciously absent last night.

She frowned. She really hated to leave for a battle on bad terms, or without teaching him another lesson on manners. Oh, well. Maybe he'll learn by the time she got back.

-------

Ranma was keeping himself busy, writing notes on some new ideas for treating heart disease, and trying not to worry.

He couldn't help it, really. He had to admit that Akane was quite a good warrior, who could take care of herself, and usually wasn't given to foolish chances, but there was always a little thought in his head whenever she fought, saying 'On a battlefield, anything can happen... and no matter how good a figher is, there is always room for mistakes...'

He tried his best to ignore it. He really did. It wasn't really his fault; he always seemed to get these nightmares where she dies, or worse, that she dies when he could prevent it, because he refused to help her.

He shuddered a bit, and tried to force himself back to the task at hand, but still waiting for her to return.

------

She was absolutely exhausted. The battle had gone quite well. The demons were routed for the day, and she was looking forward to getting back, and taking a nap. Make that a LONG nap. On the other hand, change that to a long HOT bath, than a nap. Perfect.

A bugle sounded behind her, and she turned around. 'Great. The other side still wants to play.' She gripped her hammer and waited with the other gods. The demons looked in even worse shape than she did.

'Go figure... what do they think they're trying to do? At this point, they're practically worthless.'

------

Ranma was walking towards the field of conflict. The battle was probably over for the day, and Akane probably could use some medical assistance, not to mention others as well. It should be about over by now, anyway. Arriving at the site, he heard a horn, and saw the other side making a final approach. He frowned. That was odd... usually they had given up by now...

He looked around for Akane, and saw her in the vanguard, looking tired, but still able to fight. She was ok, though.

His frown deepened. The demons didn't really have much of a chance, really. Why didn't they just cut their loses and leave? Unless... they had a plan... they were quite good at cunning pl-

He saw it. Several of the 'dead' bodies behind the line moved and crept towards the forces of heaven. His eyes widened in alarm, and he ran forward-

And tripped. Was tripped, rather. By a dying demon. He struggled hard to free himself; he had to let them know. He finally wrested himself from the stubborn demon and raced forward-

Just in time to see a flaring red knife slam into Akane's back, not 20 feet away. He cried out, feeling the incredible pain - no - agony flare through thier link to each other. He collapsed as if he was a puppet whose strings were suddenly cut, as he felt the cursed blade suck hungrily at her soul. Beside her, the other gods fared little better. Suddenly attacked from an unexpected direction, they struggled and fought, the battle suddenly seeming much more even than before.

He crawled towards Akane, desperate to see her. He could feel her growing weaker, moment by moment. He reached her side and pulled the knife carefully out, gently summoning his magic, fighting the burning red flames that raced through her with his tear-streaked blue light. He poured his soul out, fighting to hold her together, reaching out-

And reaching a stalemate. He wouldn't let her die, and the curse of the demon blade refused to let her go.

It was over. The infection was too tenacious. The best he could do was stave off the inevitable until he died of shock. He gently rolled her over and gazed into her slightly-glazed eyes. and spoke gently to her, ignoring the chaos around them.

"I'm sorry, Akane, I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you. Please, please don't-"

Her eyes cleared, and she grabbed his neck and brought his head down.

"Don't be. You did what you could-"

He shook his head and continued to cry.

"Oh, shut up," she said, and gently kissed him.

They clung together for a long moment, and then, reluctantly separated.

She frowned in concentration, and he could feel the magic surging through her.

"Wait for me, love... I'll come back, I promise."

"Wh- what? What do you mean?"

She smiled a gentle smile, one of the few he'd seen on her face, and faded away in his arms, leaving behind only a small heart-shaped locket made of silver and gold, opened, with their portraits in miniature inside.

He stood, and stiffly, almost mechanically, picked up the locket, and, ever so gently, closed it and looped it around his neck. He felt no grief. He would grieve later, for the rest of his life. But now, he wanted payment. For her passing, they owed him a debt which they would never be able to pay, except in blood.

****

The first emotion is shock. This can't be happening; a denial of reality.

As the shock wears off, it is replaced by grief: she's goen; how could she be gone?

Often, grief turns into self-recrimination: why couldn't I stop it, why couldn't I save her?

And then the match is lit, and anger starts to burn: He did it: he must pay. I must be the one exacting the price; I will have her vengeance.

Anger, that burning emotion, has often been compared to a raging bonfire, and, sure enough, anger can flare up or die down, and is passionate in nature, similar to that other emotion, love. However, unlike a fire, anger doesn't always die without constant fuel.

Sometimes, anger can feed off itself, growing hotter and purer with every breath, driven by the emotional anguish and passion of a human soul. Eventually, if the will is strong enough, if the emotions run unchecked, something happens.

Flashpoint.

In a single instant, unreasoning rage turns to an almost icy calm, a frozen veneer of calculating hatred over a raging sun. Suddenly, the world changes, and there is but one purpose to existance:

Death.

Payment.

Determination.

At that point, anger welds with the pure will of an anguished spirit focused on a single goal, and thus forges, in the mind of a trained individual, an almost irresistible weapon.

It is said that love is the most powerful force in the universe. This is not, strictly speaking, true. PASSION is. Love isn't always needed; anger can serve. And at no time is love or anger more powerful than at the point of it's birth, or at the point of it's death.

The death of the meaning of life turns the passion of a single spirit to ash. No reason to live, no reason to go on. The failure of love, as love's object dies untimely. The ultimate source of an icy grief.

Soul of Ice.

The birth of rage from the ashes of the fallen phoenix; A new reason to live, a reason to survive, just a little bit longer: to serve the highest level of justice, to collect a debt far greater than any can survive.

Soul of Fire.

True power comes for the melding of opposites. Yin and Yang. Hot and Cold. Life and Death. Positive and Negative.

Together, opposites formed from a single soul agree on one thing:

Shi...ne.

****

A voice spoke out softly, cutting through laughter and exclamations. It was quiet, but one could hear the ice in it, lying over a white-hot flame, yet never melting. With it, the temperature seemed to drop thirty degrees, and the sky, although inappropriately sunny, seemed to grow darker.

"Shi... ne."

He wanted - no, needed blood to quench is anger.

Their blood.

And lots of it.

He had never really told her about his early interest in the arts of war. How, when he was a young god and deciding on what he should do, he had tried to fight, but found that, although his teachers told him he had great potential, he didn't FEEL like a fighter, and could rarely bring himself to actually hurt someone. So, he followed the path of a healer, learning to take joy in genuinely aiding others, and where his lack of desire to hurt anyone, even demons, wouldn't stand in his way. She'd never really understood such a viewpoint, really.

But now, he didn't care about that. He WANTED to hurt them, now. He wanted a river of blood to drown his tears. And he wanted it NOW.

He pulled up his anger, narrowing it and focusing it until he had a raging bonfire inside him. He fed it with his grief, his sense of loss, and his tears. He channeled his fear of losing her, and tossed the last remnants of his power on it, forcing the bonfire higher and hotter.

He slashed his arm with a finger covered in energy, and fed the flame with his blood. He hurled all the resources of his mind into it, and gave it purpose.

His last thought, before his vision went red, was the desire to die with his teeth and claws covered in the blood of his enemies.

------

The demons still speak with fear of that day. They were exultant, proud of their ambush that killed three of the gods, and evened the battle to the point where they might actually WIN, when, out of nowhere, a giant tiger, with eyes of blood red and stripes of black and red the same hue as it's eyes, and covered with a crackling aura that spate with black and red energy, raged through their ranks, killing three of their assassins (the fourth was slain by his attempted target), and went on to kill seven more before collapsing from his wounds.

Suffice it to say, the attack was called off, and the demon who's bright idea the ambush was was still screaming over his failure 10 years later.

That was what REALLY made the demons shudder.

------

Ranma Nekoro still couldn't really remember a lot of what happened when he woke. He re-re... remembered her... dying...

He fought for control, briefly losing it, and then grabbing firm hold of it.

'Breathe in... breathe out...'

He waited a few minutes, and then tried to remember again, this time trying NOT to remember... her.

He didn't succeed.

------

Three days later, they managed to get him to calm down, mainly by the expedient of drugging him and using magic to suppress his emotional response totally. It still didn't work all the way, but it was a start.

------

Two weeks later, they gingerly started to wean him off the drugs and slowly release the spells. A month after that, they pronounced him as cured as he'd ever be, and released him.

------

Two days later, he was back, after he tried to kill himself by immolating himself with his magic. It didn't really work, but they took it seriously enough.

They kept him longer this time, and three months later, he was cautiously released, although they kept an eye on him for a long time after that. Although they didn't realize it, they didn't need to worry about him any more. Not about killing himself, anyway. He had decided that suicide was the easy way out, even if they let him do it.

He thought that revenge would be a far more suitable hobby than practicing building fires with his body.

He rarely spent any time practicing his healing arts, sacrificing much of his lore of non-battlefield-related medicine, and studied fighting with a passion that far surpassed that of his youth. His fervor took many by surprise, and he was soon after approached by a trio of war gods that had been present at the battle, and, remembering his... enthusiasm... at the time, asked him if he wished to change his field.

To the surprise of many who once knew him, he accepted.

He founght in many battles, using his fear, his rage, and his hatred as he fought, sometimes fighting as a man, and sometimes as a giant tiger. After centuries had past, his emotions blended, until all that was left in his mind when he fought was fury. Regardless of his form, he fought with strong slashes of his hands/claws, often enhanced with a cutting edge made of ki and magic, and his movements were lithe and quick, often resembling that of an enraged tiger. And thus the neko-ken was born in the legends of both gods and mortals.

Not all of his life focused upon fighting, although it did take up a large amount of his time. He spent time on other activities, taking hours to carefully paint a picture, often of Akane, and might spend days when he wasn't fighting playing sorrowful tunes on a crystaline flute, made of smooth sapphire, with a blue-wood core. And sometimes his tunes were hopeful, because he still remembered her last words...

'Wait for me, love... I'll come back... I promise.'

****

Kami-sama summoned him to his office. He arrived, with some trepidation. He couldn't remember anything he'd done... maybe there was another battle to fight.

"Come in, sit down, Ranma," Kami-sama said.

He sat. There wasn't really much else he could do, really.

"You've been isolating yourself for quite a while now, and I've decided that it would do you some good to spend some time among others."

He sighed. One of THOSE talks again. Great.

"Ok... I'll try to get out more... and-"

Kami-sama smiled. It was a rather gentle smile, but it rather unnerved him, nevertheless.

"No, I've decided that you need a more abrupt departure from routine than that... I think that you should spend some time in the mortal world, living among them, and maybe learning to smile again."

"But I-"

"Oh, and you'll be living as a mortal for a few years. You'll need something to do, and living a mortal life will help your outlook."

"Hey, wait! I-" he protested.


Fifteen minutes later, Ranma sighed. It really wasn't going to do any good, really. Kami-sama didn't seem to be open to persuasion, so he might as well bear it. He didn't have to like it though. He tried to slam the door on the way out. It didn't oblige him. He fumed, and stomped off to lock up his home.

------

Back in his office, Kami-sama smiled. On his screen was a message:

'0694525 Salvage and incarnation in progress.'
'0694527 Mortal incarnation complete.'
'0694536 Mortal incarnation complete.'

His smile twisted a little into what, on anyone else, would be called a smirk, but in this case, it being Kami-sama, the idea would never hold water. He smirked, nevertheless. 'It's about time... I'm going to enjoy watching them... this will be quite the surprise.'

It was times like these when his job didn't seem quite so thankless, after all.

-------------------------------------------

End of prologue.

This is just a prologue; it sets the scene for the meaty part that I hopefully will be able to write soon...
Suggestions? Questions? Ideas? Death threats? Send any C&C to deus_ex_machina@hotmail.com : Feedback is welcome. I may not use it, but advice is always a good thing.
My webpage is www.geocities.com/thesunhawk. However, the anime and fanfiction sections aren't up yet... maybe they'll be up by the second week in July, if I ever get around to it...
This is my first published fic, although I have a couple others I'm considering sending out when I'm satisfied with 'em...

Rewrite notes: Ok, I thought that this needed a bit of tweaking, and I wrote an interesting little bit later that I just HAD to insert (guess which bit ) shrug I don't think I'll change anything else. The fanfiction section of my website is up and running, although there aren't very many fics up yet... I've been distracted by RL... school... sigh