Subj:A Second Bet Entry
Date:2/23/02 8:36:33 AM Central Standard Time
From:tannim_murphy@yahoo.com
To:FlashFyre5@aol.com
Sent from the Internet (Details)
(Sorry, I couldn't find the program to turn everything
into text. ^_^)
Lone Dragon
Chapter One: The Fight, part one! 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.
Submitted by Tannim, God of Cannon Fodder and Small
Furry Creatures.
---
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."
=====
-Tannim Murphy
(No, not THE Tannim, the OTHER Tannim)
"Writers who take more time trying to spell than write are editors." -Unknown
My Fics: http://www.fanfiction.net/profile.php?userid=126066
__________________________________________________
Do You Yahoo!?
Yahoo! Sports - Coverage of the 2002 Olympic Games
http://sports.yahoo.com
Date:2/23/02 8:36:33 AM Central Standard Time
From:tannim_murphy@yahoo.com
To:FlashFyre5@aol.com
Sent from the Internet (Details)
(Sorry, I couldn't find the program to turn everything
into text. ^_^)
Lone Dragon
Chapter One: The Fight, part one! 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.
Submitted by Tannim, God of Cannon Fodder and Small
Furry Creatures.
---
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."
=====
-Tannim Murphy
(No, not THE Tannim, the OTHER Tannim)
"Writers who take more time trying to spell than write are editors." -Unknown
My Fics: http://www.fanfiction.net/profile.php?userid=126066
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