Ranma 1/2 was created by Rumiko Takahashi and its characters belong to her, and her alone. I'm just Kinda borrowing them. A few others are mine. The story below is for entertainment purposes only, and not to be used commercially. ...Obviously.

"Learning Curve"

Part XXVI (v1.3)

by: J. Wagner

The Grandchildren of his lineage, numbering only three, were the First Lords of the Musk. They were Sertu, the eldest, Qauiza, the youngest, and Herubu, the middle child. They and the Musk survivors realized their err - theirs was not to rule mankind, but to never again fall to the Serpent, and to ensure the continuation of their Line, their Arts, and their Traditions. For this, however, they would need the cursed springs, and the places of power, so that they would all not weaken so much over time as to no longer be Musk. They traveled together into the lands of most ancient Egypt, and there split.

The followers of Qauiza headed north, and eventually west, over the great sea.

The followers of Herubu traveled Far East, to the great hidden mountains there.

And the followers of Sertu settled among the sands and rivers of Egypt, and there began to search out places of power, so as to either find, or create, cursed springs for use of the Musk. Many they found were naturally occurring, but always well hidden. The springs would frequently form, dry up, disappear for years at a time, or be replaced entirely. The Sertu pioneered the controlling of the springs, making them more permanent, and more stable, as well as devising ways of finding these hidden places.

Over time, they also became not merely content to watch as man grew. It was in their interests for progress to occur, and fostered the growth and development of cultures and civilizations. The Sertu maintained a steady, but distant, hand, influencing events when necessary, but preferring to keep out of these affairs. Tradition. Arts. Lineage. These were the Ways of the Musk, and Sertu's Court became the oldest and most respected of them all.

***

"As you can see, things are finally falling into place." Bishop sat down on the couch. It, like the house, was a gift from Bishop and the Society, in return for the Guide's friendship, and more importantly, his loyalty and dedication. "The Old Men lie dead, the last wretched ties to a backward organization, severed. And I have become what I always dreamed, and what we needed. Soon, we will have our much earned Greatness, and none shall have the power to take it from us."

"Greatness always seems just a little out of reach with us, doesn't it, Bishop?" Hsing looked to his left, as Rouge walked in, carrying a small tea set. It wasn't Chinese, however, but distinctly Russian. The Head of the Society smiled that empty meaningless false smile of his at the display of attention and tact, and inclined his head a bit as she approached.

"Rouge... you seem quite composed, my dear," Bishop said, his tone hiding something.

"Composed, Uncle?" She asked, curious, as she set the tea set down on the small marble coffee table between the two men.

"How do you feel, Rouge? Any headaches?" He asked, calmly.

"No headaches, sir. The medicine you gave me helps tremendously," she replied, demure and honest. Hsing frowned, just slightly, at the exchange between them.

"Good." Bishop left it at that.

"I'll be upstairs if you need anything, Father, Uncle." She inclined her head, and stood to leave. Before she did, though, she hesitated and turned to face Bishop again. "Excuse me for asking, Uncle, but I noticed how you look much younger."

"Not just my appearance, Rouge. I've been healed." He raised his left hand, and flexed the fingers. The previously crippled and useless hand was functioning effortlessly, perfectly manicured nails and large strong fingers matching those of its other, never injured, counterpart. For the first time Hsing could remember, Bishop's eyes sparkled with something akin to happiness.

For some reason, it frightened him.

Rouge blinked. A few times. She quickly excused herself. "Congratulations, Uncle. You'll have to excuse me... I seem to have taken on a bit of dizziness."

"Of course," Bishop said, voice cold. Rouge left, probably to take more of the Chemical Inhibitors the Society gave her to subdue her 'other' side, in case she transformed. Rouge's Asura form was immensely powerful and aggressive, prone to lashing out at everything around it, friend or foe. It had been determined that this was primarily due to the delay between transformations, when the stronger Asura was subdued under the weaker Rouge. Its anger and impulsiveness built up, like a volcano, or a steadily heated gas, so that when she transformed the Asura was driven to lash out at the world. The pills kept the Asura powers at bay, so that when the young girl transformed, her form could be controlled and reasoned with.

Hsing knew it was only a matter of time before a disaster hit them all.

"It pleases me to see that she remains so calm and collected, Hsing," Bishop said, interrupting the Guide's thoughts.

"I'm glad it pleases you, Bishop." Hsing sighed, hating his lack of voice control.

"Sarcasm, Hsing? How unlike you. The Society will do everything it can for her, my friend. She is your daughter... and I feel for her too. She is like a daughter to me."

Hsing wanted to believe that his old friend's words were sincere, though his voice was emotionless. The Guide berated himself. Bishop had done everything he could for Rouge, though he likely only did it to maintain the loyalty and services of the Jyusenkyou Guide. One thing about Bishop was certain. He did nothing for free, nothing out of the goodness of his heart, nothing that did not suit his plans or purposes in some way.

The Spring of Drowned Girl would not work, though.

This Hsing knew first hand.

It had been tried, and it had failed to overwrite the Asura curse. Why it failed, Hsing wasn't entirely sure, and it remained one of several secrets of Jyusenkyou he explored. It was speculated that the cursed form was defending itself from being destroyed or displaced. It was speculated that the unusual nature of the Asura Spring, which had 'bonded' to an inanimate statue instead of an organic life form, was the problem. It was speculated that the cursed springs had varying degrees of power and intensity to them, and that the Drowned Girl Spring wasn't strong enough to replace the Asura Curse. Hsing had vowed, years ago, that the one thing left to do before he died, besides train a proper future Guide, was to discover the secret that plagued Rouge, and cure his daughter of the terrible fate that had befallen her.

"Like a daughter to you..." Hsing trailed off. "Like that Lychee girl you adopted?"

"Of course I care most deeply for my dear Lychee." Bishop took a sip of the tea. "She serves me well. Better and more loyally than I could hope for, and without even the need of a surikomi egg. All the better, for she is not a mindless sycophant and servant, like so many I command."

The Guide leaned back and looked up at the ceiling.

"Do you think otherwise, my friend?" Bishop asked. "You two have only met... once?"

"Once. She does not like me."

The two men were silent.

"What is it like, Bishop?" The Guide asked, after a time. "What is it like to be Saffron the Terrible, to be the Living Ouroboros?"

Bishop chuckled, softly.

"What is it like, you ask?" Bishop clenched his left hand. "It is perfect. It is perfection. It is the unbroken endless loop. Ouroboros is a more accurate term than we ever imagined. I have access to many of his memories, but his spirit - his soul - has been completely subsumed as we expected it to be, dissolving away bit by bit. I'm slowly gaining perfection over everything this form offers, but as you see, I already know how to change my appearance, burning away what I dislike, and remolding what regenerates. I made myself appear younger to reflect that, though I suppose old age is no longer really a concern. It is simply much easier to command appearing like this. Many will respect an old man, but few would fear him, or follow him to their deaths."

"Every thought," Bishop continued, more quietly this time. His voice carried a compelling resonance. "Every thought is like lightning. A constant rush of energy circulates through me at all times. I no longer hunger, really... I no longer thirst. I eat and I drink, but not because my body craves it, but because I want to. The eyes... the vision was the hardest to get used to. The change, the sensitivity, is incredible, much more so than it is for hearing or taste or feeling or anything else. This is truly the form from which to oversee the masses of mankind! An ageless body, an unstoppable power... and soon, my friend, we will have the boy, Herb, of the Musk... and through him, we will recreate the process used on his grandfather's twin. Through him, you too shall join me as immortal, invincible, tireless... a being of light and fire! We will rule together, Hsing, old friend."

"If things go according to plan," the Guide said back. "Your plan."

"You aren't getting any younger, I realize this, but we..."

"Let me age for now, Bishop. Do not rush forward our schedule for my account."

"I move forward with such speed, such vigor, because it is justified." Bishop relaxed slightly, resting back in the couch. He bit out a sharp humorless laugh. "Listen to us, sipping tea, speaking of the history we will forge. Who could have imagined this, when we were but children, three quarters of a century ago? Is this not a most brilliant moment? Incandescent? Already the Society, my Society, has worked its way into influencing world leaders, bending them to out purposes and designs. When the Phoenix People are crushed, totally, we will have Saffron's Secret, and all the surikomi eggs we need to become true masters of the world. Nothing can stop us. Nothing can impede us. I'm surprised you do not revel in these moments, Hsing."

"I have more immediate concerns at the moment, of which I am reminded daily."

"Ah. Rouge. And that little girl you picked up... Plum, is it?" Bishop's heavy eyebrows lifted slightly, as they did when he was interested in something new. Plans were in motion in his mind.

"Plum. Yes."

"Your successor. Of course... there will be little need for you to pose as the Guide anymore after a year or so. How are her lessons coming?"

"Very well," Hsing said, silently glad he had told Plum to stay upstairs. "She is a smart girl, quick to learn. Quick to question."

"Hmm," Bishop's smile faded a fraction. "How much does she know, Hsing?"

"Not much. She knows the many springs, their locations, some of their histories. I have begun her education in the many artifacts and local histories of the people here, and the world at large. She knows no Society secrets of any importance."

"Good. Good, Hsing. Perhaps, in time, she will become part of the family that is Our Society."

"In time, perhaps." The Guide closed his eyes, and poured out a new cup of tea.

Bishop gave a single nod. "You know so much, old friend. I can't imagine imparting even a fraction of it to one so young, over so little time."

"She has much to learn, still. What of our ...interests among the Amazons?"

"The Amazons?" Bishop looked down at his hands, placed them palm down on his stomach, before locking them together comfortably. "Soap has delivered to us what we asked of her. Her influence among the Amazons, especially the moderates and the younger generation, has been steadily growing. With the cooperation of our Musk interests, her raids and daring skirmishes have all been great successes, providing the only Amazon victories so far in the little brushfire we've started. When the Amazon's bitch Elders have been drawn out and Killed by the Musk Prince, with our intervention if need be, the Council will dissolve. Soap will rise to take the mantle of Queen in lieu of a lack of ruling Elders. We will support her so long as she remains loyal and ultimately subservient to the cause and will of the Society. Things are following roughly as we predicted them to. You worry too much, Hsing. ...It's not healthy."

The Jyusenkyou Guide seemed to rouse himself.

"Yes," he said. "Yes, I suppose I do worry too much. ...It can't be helped."

***

Things continued as they had for many centuries. Great leaders of the world came and went, and the Musk, especially the Sertu Musk Dynasty, recorded and paid them homage and heed. Alexander the Great, for example, was influenced and encouraged both by subtle means, and by his acceptance into divinity at a legendary temple - a temple run by the Sertu Musk, for the Lord at that time saw great promise in the Greeks, and in Greek Ways. However, things began to unravel with the rise of monotheism, and the loss of Sertu influence in the Middle East and Europe. Just seven hundred years after the death of Christ, the Sertu (by that time the Setu) Dynasty had been annihilated by the influx of Islam into Egypt. Small in number, they were unable to fight back against the conquerors without violating Tradition, and becoming themselves great Conquerors and Masters. Both to the sword, and to gradual decay and dissolution, did the ancient and esteemed Sertu Line fall, and its few scattered survivors fled to both Herubu, in the east, and Qauiza, far across the sea.

A little less than a thousand years after the Fall of the Sertu Line, the Musk of Qauiza joined them in oblivion. The Qauiza Musk were a varied and partly decentralized group, and their members were free to roam the great expanse of the land. In the extreme north and south, especially, the Musk came and went as they pleased, often living many decades without seeing their Lord Qauiza or paying visit to his Court. They were unprepared for the invasion of these lands, and those that did not fall to disease, fell into despair. The Dynasty of Qauiza fell not with a roar, but with a whimper. Those who survived the fall either retreated deep into the jungles, to await the end, or fell back once more to the last bastion of the Musk -The large and stable bulwark that was the Herubu Dynasty.

A crisis atmosphere seemed to grip these last remnants of the once all-powerful Musk, the descendants of Ma'at. The Noble Dragon Lords, the rulers of the Musk, had been weakening for thousands of years, their strong blood gradually giving way to millennia of breeding with powerful, but ultimately only human, women. Each generation was slightly less than the one that came before. Records recount that the First Lord Sertu had lived for two thousand years before he went to his great hidden tomb, and that Ma'at had lived for at least three thousand, and his direct children two thousand before they were slain. By 1500 CE, a Musk Lord lived to see only two hundred or one hundred and fifty healthy years.

So began an effort to revitalize the Bloodline.

***

Ryouga had discovered, over the years, that one comes to develop certain peculiar habits, especially when alone. For example: Rabbit. Over the last decade or so, he'd gradually developed a taste and appreciation for it, and other wild meats. Oddly, he found himself unable to stomach eating even normal amounts of soft chicken or pork. A little was fine, now and then, but he always found himself yearning for wild boar to mix with a little instant ramen. When out and walking, he tended to avoid the clusters of cities and civilization that ran his way, unless he was low on supplies. And he was rarely low on supplies.

Washing his hands at the sink, Hibiki Ryouga looked in the mirror. What he saw was a strange man, nearly an adult at eighteen, with soft green hued brown eyes, and hard frowning features. With his right hand, he reached up and felt just below his right ear. An intermittent coat of short black hair was an irritant against his finger, reminding him of how foreign his body felt sometimes. When he was little, he'd never really thought that the power he'd devoted his life toward cultivating would be so ...overreaching. Every task, no matter how minute, had changed over the years, and most dramatically over the last ten or so months. Sleeping, walking, chewing, innumerable others - they had all been altered in a way he couldn't really describe. He was fit, of that there was no doubt. He had reached a new peak of power and ability, but he didn't feel in control. The restless burning power in him seemed to have more influence over him than he had over it.

Drying off his hands, he wiped the last bit of moisture off on his pants and left the bathroom. At the other side of the store, he saw Ranma moving around, looking for things to buy. He almost frowned seeing him, and the fact that he didn't both troubled and gave heart to the lost boy. Ranma still confused him. Hell, people still confused him, but Ranma had never really confused him until recently - until he actually tried to understand and befriend the pigtailed martial artist. Ranma had to be feeling like he did. Ranma had to know of the restless undercurrent of energy, bubbling under their skin, begging to be released. He had to; they were too close in power for Ranma not to feel it, and yet Ranma gave no indication of trouble over it.

Did Ranma simply have more control?

Or was it his attitude? His thoughts? Or maybe, just maybe, Ranma didn't have the capacity for malice in his heart that Ryouga did. Ranma was self centered and rude - he cared, really, for himself above all others. But he wasn't malevolent, and it was that fact that had finally moved Ryouga to put their feud away. Ranma had done things to him, indeed, but not out of spite, but out of ignorance.

Ranma wasn't a murderer.

Picking up a small metal razor, Ryouga looked down the aisle, and found about a dozen types of shaving cream. He could get lost easily in the store, he knew, given his genetically horrible sense of direction. He couldn't let that happen, so he stayed in just that aisle, looking through the different brands, and slowly reading the lists of ingredients on each one. It helped focus his mind, and kept it from straying. It kept the restlessness at bay.

"Man, I'm starving!" Ranma came up from behind, and patted Ryouga on the back. "Hey, you didn't get lost! Great job, buddy!"

"Yeah, thanks." Ryouga rolled his eyes. Ranma didn't need to put so much sarcasm behind that last sentence.

"How are we paying for this, anyway? I didn't bring much with me," Ranma said, unashamedly. Ryouga looked down at the plastic bag thing Ranma had put his stuff in. There were a few bags of chips (Zesty, Ruffled and Original, whatever that meant), some commercial trail-mix, some sort of beef jerky with a Native American on it giving a thumbs up, a couple bottles of pure spring water... other bits of food, nothing really important except the water. And the 'Bug Off' spray.

"What's this?" Ryouga reached down at the bottom of the pile and picked out a magazine. "Pacific Martial Artist? You read this rag?"

"Rag?" Ranma's tone carried a hint of challenge. "That's the swimsuit edition!"

"Swim...suit?" Ryouga blushed a bit, and looked at the seemingly harmless magazine, still in its plastic wrapper. "Really?"

"Summer's comin' up," Ranma said and elbowed his traveling companion in the ribs. He winked. "You ever seen Nabiki in her two piece?"

"I... er... heheh..."

"I'm Kidding, stupid." Ranma snatched the magazine from Ryouga's shaking hands. The lost boy slowly recovered and started to fume.

"Saotome...!"

"Look more closely." Ranma pointed to the bottom of the cover. "Special 'Enduring Mysteries of Forbidden China' edition."

"Jyusenkyou!" They both said at the same time. Slowly they walked (or to be exact: Ranma led Ryouga) to the counter. Quickly the conversation turned back to the matter of paying for their stuff.

Ryouga had more money than Ranma, mostly because he took on odd jobs when he was abroad. Often, he'd do some heavy lifting or working. Painting a house usually only took him a day, and was good work when short on money. Stopping rampaging animals would usually earn him a favor or two from locals, too, and it seemed to happen surprisingly often. Already it had happened twice over the last week. The first time, he'd taken care of the giant boar himself. The second instance, a rampaging bull, he had left to Ranma.

Because of it, despite leaving the Tendo's with very little money, and eating in towns every so often, they weren't anywhere near broke. Unfortunately, Ranma, when he had money, spent it recklessly. It was no wonder Nabiki could always count on him borrowing money from her. Unlike his rival, Ryouga was fairly cheap when it came to spending. He was soft on hard cases, sharing food or lodging when need be, but he kept what cash he carried well guarded. Ranma and his father had often relied on mooching and running without paying in the past - this was an option Ryouga had never considered, both because it was stealing and dishonorable, and because he tended to wander into and through the same towns four or more times. Due to this, it was only natural that he became more careful how he spent what little he had on him lest he develop a bad reputation.

Unless, of course, it was for a letter to Nabiki, flowers for Nabiki, chocolates for Nabiki, or any number of things for her, Ryouga steadfastly refused to part with his cash. Ranma had also pointed out that he also tended to haggle, an annoying habit he'd probably picked up in China. That he was annoying people, Ryouga hadn't noticed.

"How much is this all going to cost?" Ryouga grumbled.

"Who knows?" Ranma dismissed it with a shrug. "Can't be that much, P-chan."

"Whatever, Ran-KO."

"I tell ya what," Ranma said as he fished around through his pockets. "We'll split it fifty-fifty. Right down the middle. I should have enough for that."

"Fine, fine." Ryouga took the bag from Ranma, to free up another hand, and the old man at the counter started to scan in each item. Never quite content so simply stand and think, and wanting to take advantage of the moment, the lost boy grabbed a local paper, and started skimming through it.

"Hey, Ranma, listen to this," Ryouga said, giving his still occupied companion a quick glance before turning back to the small article. "This is so stupid. It says here, that some girl on vacation in Cambodia flirted with this Cambodian guy, and almost ended up getting assaulted, because the guy thought she was serious. The guy realized he'd gone too far, so he shaved his head, begged for penance, and now they're getting married! Maybe the next time Akane-san..."

Ryouga's voice trailed off, as his eye caught something to his left, from two men who had just entered the store. His martial artist's sixth sense, a sort of danger precognition flashed in his mind's eye. He saw a knife, gleaming steel: maybe a bowie knife, too large and heavy to just be some knife from home or the aisle with Kitchen utensils. Time seemed sluggish, distorted... perspective was skewed. The action was smooth, instant, instinctive - unstoppable.

"Hand over...!" The man, a dirty, unkempt looking fellow, grimaced before his back twisted, and a scream tore from his lips. There was a sharp crack, and a shallow grating sound, before his knees hit the ground. Ryouga barely heard his howl of pain, barely registered that he was behind the man, one hand holding the hand with the knife in it, the other braced at the other man's elbow. His right foot connected with something hard, but not nearly hard enough, and heard a 'popping' sound.

"Ryouga! Ryouga, man! Snap out of it!" He heard Ranma's voice, numbly, distantly.

The situation resolved itself, and he fell back to earth, his high disappearing. He was no longer flying, no longer an endless, unstoppable, energetic force of nature - he was just a man, pretending to be something that he wasn't. With a clinical mind, he noted that his left hand had ground the other man's elbow into a pulp, and that he'd bent the forearm so that it broke in two places in a compound fracture. Behind, he saw the other man, a knife held in limp fingers, all the way at the other end of the store, where the Kick to the jaw had thrown him. Said jaw was obviously broken, the man's lips and mouth bleeding liberally into a pool on his shirt. These men, these unlucky bastards, who had the bad luck of robbing a store with not just one, but two, martial artists in it... one would never use this arm again. The other would need extensive constructive surgery before he could even hope to eat solid food again. If they had waited... if they had come in, just a few minutes later, the two idiots would have gotten away with it.

At that thought, Ryouga felt oddly compelled to go further.

"Break the other arm," Something dark and seductive whispered. It was the power. It wanted to be released. It wanted to be used... USED, not wasted. It was not given to him to be spent, pointlessly, on tricks to amuse people - to impress people. Why did an animal have any weapon, if not to make FULL use of it? Did a wolf deny itself use of its fangs? Did a tiger forgo use of its claws? "Break the other arm." It repeated, forcefully. "Snap his neck." Don't hold back! Use what you are given! Become what you know you want to be!

Tireless.

Invulnerable.

Invincible!

"What did I..." Ryouga let go of the robber; looked down at his hands.

"Come on, man! Let's get out of here!" Ranma grabbed him by the wrist, the other hand still holding onto a plastic bag full of stuff. Distantly, Ryouga wondered something.

"Wait... Have to pay for..." Reaching into his pack, he took out a couple bills and put them on the counter. Ranma hastily threw down what he had counted out before, coins scattering and rolling off the edge and onto the floor.

"Good! Done!" Ranma said, pulled his arm, and they were outside in the bright beautiful sun. Its cleansing warmth permeated the lost boy, brought him back to the present. Without another word, without even thinking about which way they were headed, he and Ranma ran.

***

With knowledge gleaned from the unique occurrence that was the Spring of Drowned Asura, as well as learning from the Sertu and Qauiza into the problem, a dedicated effort was began and given the blessing of The Fourteenth, Lord Herb the Second, Sixteen Generations removed from The Grandfather. Into the effort, Lord Herb was blessed with a rare occurrence: twins. It was seen as a good omen from the gods to continue forward, and one of the children was to become their hope for the future: an immortal Lord of Noble Blood. To that effort, the Musk dedicated the full use of the Jusendo Observatory, an extensive temple complex built from the floodwaters of Jyusenkyou up to the peak of Mount Phoenix.

Experiments on the local non-Musk had already yielded positive results, and reinforced what many Musk Scribes believed to be the greatest hope for success. Select treatments of Asura Water, and other alchemical and arcane manipulations, over years, began to have the desired effects on the young Musk Prince. At the same time, it began to make him unstable and uncontrollable. The situation came to tragedy as the child responded ill to his latest transformations, and driven wholly insane, rampaged through Jusendo, threatening the Tradition preserving Cursed Springs. Finally, in the end, the grief-stricken King was forced to destroy his child, and the experiment was ended in failure.

Indeed it had failed: to produce a Musk Lord.

***

China.

The Musk war camp was a strange study in contrasts. It, like the hierarchal Musk culture, was built around order and discipline. Yet, it also reflected and catered to the Musk impulse for violence and savagery. It was this combination of impulse, not defeated by discipline, but directed by it, that was the essence of their existence. Walking past the orderly sets of tents, each a single solid color; Pantyhose Taro whistled to himself and pondered the immediate world around him.

He was not pure Musk, but he understood them better than any outsider. In his heart, every Musk, be he Scribe, Warrior, or Advocate - be he a thinker, fighter, or a spiritualist - was an animal. At their core, they were all vicious, merciless Killing machines. They had powers gifted through ancient bloodlines, and mystic manipulations of their bodies. It was unsurprising then that they all had their demons deep within them. Pantyhose certainly had his. In a way, he enjoyed his personal demons, and their comforting malice.

He, like all Musk, was a living weapon.

Musk were not unnaturally smart. Musk were not unnaturally canny or affable. Indeed, they were quite difficult to like, both between Musk and outsiders, and between Musk themselves. Musk warriors fought each other more often then they fought the enemy. Short tempered, proud, prone to acting on impulse... they were like a pack of wolves: fighting and jockeying for dominance at every turn, respecting only strength, breeding only more viciousness.

An endless cycle.

Looking over to his left, Taro saw an open area. Loud rallying cries, boastful cheers, and howls of approval resounded from where, on a dusty circle surrounded by their fellows, two Musk warriors were locked, hand in hand. Finally, after a few tense seconds, the slightly shorter of the two got in and under, his superior position allowing him to flip his opponent onto the ground with a hard thud. The crowd of Musk roared like an angry sea, and the one on the ground scrambled back to his feet, slammed his palms together with a loud thunderclap, and jumped back into the fight. Behind the assembly, a formation of Musk Assault Troops, decked in their heavy lead plate and chain armor, armed with massive lead mauls and shields, marched in perfect synchrony, shaking the earth at their feet.

Order.

Discipline.

Enforced through total superiority and adherence to the hierarchy. That was the other side of the Musk. At the head, unquestioned and sovereign, was the Dynasty of the Dragon. It was, by far, the most powerful of all Musk bloodlines, and the only thing keeping them from falling apart and into anarchy. Without the foundation, without the absolute and unchallengeable authority of the Dragon, there would be chaos. All Order, all Discipline, radiated from the Dragon. His Ministers and Advocates spread his word, his Scribes recorded his history, and his Warriors enforced his will.

Taro still found it odd, however, that Herb would place himself at the head of an army, as a formal Warmaster. Normally, Warmasters were chosen so that there was one from each caste. The Dragon Liege himself stayed away from battle, and temptation, unless necessary - he would operate as a separate unit. This was how it had been for centuries upon centuries. Few exceptions existed. The Sertu Dynasty had adhered to this their entire history. The Haabu had occasionally deviated, operating over a larger area, and generally favoring more numerous small field armies that could support and supply themselves. The Qauiza were the most mysterious, as most of their old records were lost, but Taro supposed they likely followed the traditional divisions.

Prince Herb had broken that Tradition.

He had appointed Sumac from amid the Warriors, and Clove from the Scribes. Perhaps Herb knew there were no competent leaders that could be drawn from the Advocate Class, which had diminished dramatically from losses in the last war with Saffron. Perhaps Taro's half brother had a desire for glory, and to forge some sort of legacy of his own. Perhaps he wanted to impress his toy female, that Japanese woman: Kounji Ukyou.

Regardless, Herb had still broken Tradition, and Musk clung to Tradition like drowning men. It was always something Taro had disliked about 'his people,' and it was the reason he couldn't just have his stupid name changed. At the thought, Taro felt a surge of anger, and without thinking, reached up and felt the long scar that ran down the side of his face. Growling, he realized he'd stopped walking, and kept going on his way.

No one had protested Herb's two appointments.

Sumac was well liked and respected by most Warriors. He was an excellent fighter himself, despite being born to the generation right after the last Phoenix War, and while a little more sarcastic and quick to criticize than most Musk, Taro found those traits were what made them good acquaintances. Sumac wasn't very big on Tradition, preferring to let things like strength and competence speak for themselves. Many of the older Musk were cold to him, because of his attitude... cold to both of them because of their attitude, but Herb's decision to give Sumac an Army was well received.

Clove was the more conservative appointment. He was a middle aged Musk descended from the Viper Bloodline (One of several Bloodlines that came over from Egypt when the Sertu Dynasty fell) and he served in a support role during the Phoenix War. Clove had seen some combat, and given a good accounting of himself. He was also a Scribe and a self-styled 'learned Musk,' well versed in their history and ancient lore. Well grounded in old school Musk tactics, gleaned from a history of conflicts going back over ten thousand years, Clove had a fondness for privately lecturing others on his decisions. Where Sumac would issue his orders to a subordinate, Clove would explain his. The latter also traveled with the Lucky Gods and Toma, in a more strategic role.

Beneath the Warmasters lay the Commanders of Regiments and the Captains of Formations. Their positions were more tenuous. Commanders were appointed through a combination of combat prowess and favoritism on the part of the reigning Warmaster. With no direct tie to the Dragon, they would rise or fall depending on performance and preference. In keeping with Tradition, Captains were decided purely through combat within a Formation. The reason for this was obvious. A Musk warrior would only follow the dictates of either a more powerful Musk, or a Musk directly endorsed by the most powerful Musk, the Dragon Lord. Through this Tradition, Formations were ruled differently, but almost always harshly, as the most ruthless and vicious fighter would rise above his comrades, bending them through force and intimidation. It was also a role many Musk were all too comfortable in - many Captains never wanted to rise further in the hierarchy, because it would require dampening their bloodthirsty natures.

Such was the nature of the Musk.

Taro passed by the Camp Armory. There, sets of heavy armor were hung in the breeze. Like the Musk, they were regimented and divided up into a proper order. The Heavy Armor and Heavy Weapons were proudly displayed in the first row. Behind it, were several rows supporting of medium and light armor, half the slots of which were empty.

Walking still down the dusty makeshift path, Taro saw the preferred weapons of the Musk. The Assault troops used massive Lead Mauls, that when taken, would vary in weight between several hundred pounds and over two tons, depending on the Ki enhanced strength of the warrior wielding it. Behind those titanic weapons were an assortment of maces, polearms and swords. Behind that, were the light weapons used by the segregated Togenkyou auxiliaries and their much less numerous Musk peers. Bows, javelins, short swords. The Musk traditionally had no cavalry - even heavily armored Musk Warriors ran as fast as a horse, anyway, and had similar endurance.

Taro felt pinpricks on his skin.

His senses were warning him of what he was approaching. Ignoring the instinctive warnings, he pressed on to a large longhouse type tent, the highest and most expansive of them all. Taro entered, gently pushing aside the thrice man-sized tent flap. There, in the center, sat Prince Herb, legs crossed, hands cupped in his lap. He was several inches off the pillows below him. The inside of the tent was nice, but far from bring something special - it had three long rugs that contrasted sharply with the lush grass on the lowland plain where the army had made camp.

Fluorescent lights from two metal stands provided illumination, but weren't on at the moment. The sun was high, and it cast the inside of the tent in a dull light. To the side there were some stacks of boxes, and some sort of metal contraption, folded up and on its side. Next to it stood Sumac's brother, the boy: Mint. His sword was sheathed, and he seemed at rest against one of the light stands, but he was watching all affairs within the tent intensely. There was a bamboo and silk mattress, the same as that given to all ranking officers in the Musk army, the same that Taro slept on, and then there was a futon, like he had seen in Japan. It looked comfortable and inviting.

It looked even more inviting with Kuonji Ukyou sitting on it.

Taro licked his lips, and coughed to get their attention.

"Lord Herb?" Taro asked, eyes half lidded.

Herb's eyes, a vivid unbroken green, slowly opened and cut into Taro with unusual intensity. There was no great secret of the distaste Herb had for his 'Half-Musk' bastard half brother, and just the sight of Taro tended to make Herb either sadistically eager to attack his name and station, or just angry at his presence. Superficially, Taro made it unofficially known that he reveled in the sole ability to piss off the Lord of the Musk, but deep down, he worried that someday the Musk Prince would make good on his hatred, and slay his half brother. And as powerful as Taro knew he was, he was no fool. Herb could smite him like an insect, if he chose to.

"You interrupt us, Pantyhose," Herb said Taro's name slowly, with satisfaction.

"Yes. I apologize for any break in the excitement, my Lord." Taro looked to Ukyou. She was also cross-legged, her hands resting on the stupidly large spatula in her lap. Taro had seen her use the thing as a sort of weapon. He didn't imagine it was very effective.

"Feel free to speak in her presence, Pantyhose. In fact, say what you will in Japanese, so that she will hear it," Herb said in that language, encouraging him. The Prince seemed to see Taro's hesitation as concern over Ukyou as a security risk. Taro had never considered that. Did the Society have Ukyou in their pocket? He certainly hadn't been told, if that were true. Bishop wouldn't keep him out of the loop - Taro was too essential to their plans, or at least he liked to think he was.

"The Scouts have brought news from Xaodin," Taro said, and cleared his throat. His Japanese was excellent, or so he'd been told. "It seems that there is an Amazon Elder overseeing the organization of a town militia to support the Amazon garrison. From their description, and from my knowledge of Amazon movements, I am quite certain that the Elder is none other than Lai Zhol, one of their more infamous matriarchs."

Herb's brow furrowed, but he did not frown. "One of the Three?"

"Yes, my Lord. One of the Three," Taro answered smoothly. As if the line was practiced.

"What does that mean?" Ukyou asked, her tone wary, uncertain. "What do you mean, 'One of the Three'?"

Taro waited only a second. He expected Herb to explain it, and true enough, the Prince spoke up, and answered her.

"'One of the Three' refers to the Joketsuzoku Elders who were on the seven person Council when it decided to abandon its alliance with the Musk in the last War. That was roughly thirty years ago. Lai Zhol is one of the three on that Council who are still around today. Oui Ru and Khu Lon are the others. They are directly responsible for the betrayal of their people, for the extension of the war..." Herb snarled, his anger rising, though his body maintained its position, floating perfectly still. "I have vowed to Kill them personally. I will Kill them, starting with this one. You are absolutely sure of this, Taro?"

Taro was caught unprepared. Herb hadn't called him 'Pantyhose'?

"Yes. I am absolutely sure that Lai Zhol is in the town of Xaodin," Taro replied, firmly, with confidence. "How long she will be there, however, is a mystery."

"Then we shall move out with the utmost haste," Herb's voice calmed as he spoke, returning to its normal detached chill. He rose slightly as his legs uncrossed, and in a second he was on his feet in front of Taro. "Go. Alert the Commanders that we are to move out in two hours. I shall follow shortly and address them in fifteen minutes at the command tent."

"Yes, my Lord." Taro inclined his head at him, then at Ukyou. "M'lady."

Herb frowned, finally.

Taro quickly made himself scarce and left.

"Herb?" Ukyou asked, standing up. "I realize..."

"I made a vow, on my father's grave, to Kill them," Herb cut her off, but his face softened slightly. He took a few steps towards her. "Don't worry about it. How were your exercises progressing?"

She looked away, as if considering whether or not to allow the subject to be changed. Herb was a proud man, she knew, and when he was set on something, he was adamant. She finally decided to relent.

"They're going more smoothly than before," she explained. "But it doesn't feel... natural. It doesn't feel comfortable."

Herb let out a deep breath. "The exercises are just to get you accustomed to developing perfect control. An ordered set of thoughts. In time, you'll adapt a method all your own, and when you do, and when the order is unbreakable and inviolable, you'll be able to wield your Ki with far greater skill and power."

"The number scheme can't be the only way, though." She brushed aside a strand of hair from in front of her face. She hadn't bothered with the bow, or anything like it, today, and her hair was flowing freely. Wildly, even. 'Untamed' Herb had called it.

"The Number sets are difficult, yes," Herb said, crossing his arms. "I tend to operate in a more ...linear fashion, so it suits me perfectly. Perhaps a letter or script type scheme would work better for you."

"Maybe." Ukyou shrugged. Herb had started teaching her almost two weeks ago, before the Assault on Phoenix Mountain. He had shown her a world of Ki mastery that she hadn't imagined ever existed, and told her that some of it was within her reach. He had told her things, explained things, she had long wondered about. In her youth, when she began to become ...unnaturally powerful as a result of her training, she had long wondered what was happening to her, what the feelings and fire that coursed through her meant.

Ki was a fundamental an element of reality - by nature; it existed in all matter and energy. All creatures used it, without knowing that they used it. It was simply there, sandwiched with the universe, for lack of a better term, between space and time. It could defy conventional physics, because it was a means of either maintaining or distorting reality itself. Ki literally allowed the impossible to occur, under select and unique circumstances.

In a scant few individuals, there developed a way of manipulating Ki, either consciously or unconsciously. It was a combination of factors. Bloodlines were important, because, as the Musk believed, they influenced both the cultivation of an individual's body and soul, the latter of which was the conduit through which manipulation of Ki occurred. Focus was also essential, and the means through which so many martial artists came to wield their Ki. Another person could still find their Focus in business or politics, and would be using and manipulating Ki without realizing it.

Back in Japan, Ukyou had noticed that there was a constant conscious drive to become more powerful. Every time she tapped into her Ki, into the well of power she could feel within her, it came at the head of a rush of energy. It was very much like a drug, like a high, and every time it took a little more energy, a little more Ki, to match the high from before. She now knew for certain that the body, and even the soul, got accustomed to Ki, and power, the more it was drawn.

Used internally, Ki seeped into the bones and made them stronger, it diffused into muscle and tissue, enhancing speed, strength, nerve conduction speed, and other factors. It made its way into the brain, supercharging the senses. Ukyou had never noticed it before, but it also made her nails and hair grow faster. It sped up the metabolism, and increased heart rate. It did all these things, with no physical drawbacks, save that the body became addicted to the power.

When she had her suspicions confirmed on this, Ukyou grew worried. Worried that she was steadily becoming an addict. Worried that she couldn't stop, couldn't turn back, not after all she'd done and been. Herb had consoled her, told her that it was not the power, not even the addiction to the power, that she needed to worry about - that it was a natural thing, and that it was not a certain path for her to go down. He explained to her that it was the corruption of the power, the 'Serpent,' that needed to be quenched through discipline... that by imposing order on her mind that she would be the power, rather than just using it. Become the power, control the power, and control what you become, he had told her.

And she had tried.

Ukyou assumed that it was a concept and ability that simply came easier to Musk, who were born with substantial power, and driven and guided by the Art almost since birth. Musk totally internalized their Ki, driving their supernatural bodies to an extreme. Only the Dragon Blood and a select few others had enough discipline to externalize their Ki, and still maintain perfect control. Ukyou had made the connection to the 'Dark Side of the Force.' Herb had been confused, and then insulted, when she'd explained the reference. He maintained that there was no 'dark side' of Ki - that it was simply a process, guided by control. The Dragon practiced Ki Control; the Serpent practiced Ki Chaos: power through total anarchy.

She hadn't really understood, until he explained who he was.

What he was.

The most ancient History of the Musk.

Given that knowledge, she had moved forward, confidant that she could gain total control, and through it, an understanding and peace with her Ki. She still wanted a Ki attack, she still wanted, deep down, to show up Ranma... to impress Ryouga. She wanted to be strong. She wanted to be independent. Herb had taken her under his wing, tutored her as he said he had been tutored. He had given her his favorite 'exercises' through which he maintained constant control.

They were math games.

Usually, he would start at two extremes: at zero and a thousand. He would multiply the numbers by two, and visualize them. Then he would move to two and nine hundred and ninety nine, divide them by two, and visualize them. He would work the number sets towards their ultimate fruition, until they passed and reversed. Herb had told her that he maintained exercises of that nature at all times, (except when he slept she supposed) but that it wouldn't be necessary for her - he did what he did, because his power was so great, and his responsibility to defeat the Serpent within him all the greater.

After hearing of his heritage, she understood this all the more.

"How about ... an okonomiaki recipe?" Herb suggested, interrupting her thoughts. "It doesn't have to be complex, just strong. Just something strong enough to hold back the Ki, like a dam, to control and direct its flow."

"A recipe?" She pursed her lips. "I don't know... it's not... difficult. It's like second nature to me, now."

"It will come to you. Remember, it was years before I was ready to have any level of mastery over externalized Ki." Herb held out his palm. Black electricity danced between his fingers, and from the palm, like a second skin, raised a bright blue sphere, illuminating the large tent with bright light. Ukyou had to squint her eyes at its brilliance.

"What about...the shortcuts you mentioned?" She asked, and Herb's Ki sphere dissolved into the air with a tiny rush of displaced air.

"Shortcuts?" He asked, and then remembered. "Ah yes. You mean emotive Ki."

"I think that was it. What about that?"

"Emotive Ki is simple, but ultimately unstable. You cannot properly vary or control the properties of externalized Ki based on strong emotions," Herb explained. He was quiet for a moment, before he took a step forward, reached out, and took her hand. His thumb ran small circles in her palm. "Strong emotions are too powerful to be perfectly controlled."

"Even for the mighty Prince Herb?" Ukyou's voice was unsure, but her strong slender hands curled, just slightly, over his thumb.

"Ukyou," Herb said, caught himself, and slowly lowered his hand, suddenly shy. "I'll... go send someone to help carry your grill. Everything must be packaged and ready to move before we march on Xaodin."

"Yeah." Ukyou nodded, agreed. A blush was on her cheeks, but she saw a hint of one on Herb's face, too. He gave her a small, warm smile, turned with a flourish, and left. Watching, alone, from the far side of the tent, Mint's face betrayed no emotion.