Author's Rant: Hm...which of Ranma's problems to solve next? Guess I'll go for the fiancee one! First of all, thanks for the kind reviews on the fight with Soujiro...I personally thought I rather screwed it up there. As for a fight with Saito...uhm...he doesn't really strike me as a person to go for a friendly spar...more like a life-or-death fight. Anyway, this chapter has a sorta-camo appereance of someone you might recognize.
Hm...short one this time. I'll let you guys get back to the story – enjoy!
Chapter Ten: Dance of the Wind
The temple before him had definitely seen better days, Ranma mused. The Nanban mirror had, while returning him to his own time, deposited him somewhere in the middle of nowhere of Japan. The temple was half a ruin, with most of the outer wall reduced to rubble, vegetation growing all over the place and breaking through the tiles of the front courtyard. The building itself had seen better days, and Ranma could swear the roof was a little crooked. Still, it wouild do as shelter for the night. He had debated camping out in the forest when he had stumbled across it. Still, a crooked roof was better than no roof over his head. And in the state the temple was in, it was most likely unoccupied – after all, who would be staying in a half-ruin of a temple in the middle of nowhere?
When Ranma stepped into the building, though, he was in for a surprise. A woman was moving across the barren floor, working through a complicated kata with her fan. Her raven-black hair was tied back in a short swordsman's ponytail that stopped just above her shoulders, sweat was glistening on her brow as though she had been working her forms for a while, and she was wearing a nearly-immaculate red and white kimono. He stared, wide-eyed, as she finished up with her back towards him. "Are you just going to stand there all day, or introduce yourself?" Her voice had a chill to it that was devoid of hostility, but not necessarily friendly, either. It made a chill run down Ranma's spine.
She turned around, and Ranma froze as his storm blue eyes met her blood red ones. "I'm Saotome Ranma...sorry 'bout this," he stuttered out the now-familiar phrase. The woman nodded and slipped her fan into the sleeve of her kimono. "My name is Kagura. What brings you out here, Saotome Ranma?" He noted she stood relaxed, one hand still inside her sleeve, ready to draw her fan and attack, if need be. "I was wandering through these woods and was looking for a place to camp out the night when I saw the temple. I thought it was abandoned so I could spend the night here." She chuckled sheepishly. "Guess I'll go and camp out outside somewhere. Sorry."
"Wait." He turned around at the sound of her voice. "You may stay for the night, if you wish. It has been a while since I have had company. It gets...lonely out here." Ranma stared. "If you keep staring at me like that, I just might change my mind," she told him with a hint of amusement. The pig-tailed martial artist realized just what part of her body he'd been staring at, and blushed. "Sorry. Thanks for letting me stay. What are you doing out here, anyway?"
A sad smile hushed across her lips before she replaced it with a neutral look. "I'm too dangerous to live around."
V----------------------------------------V
The fire crackled, casting light into the growing shadows of the coming night. The smell of something cooking wafted across the courtyard, where Ranma had set up his camping gear and was preparing dinner. "That smells wonderful," Kagura said from the door. The pig-tailed martial artist turned around, glancing at the woman. "Dinner's almost ready. Least I could do for you letting me stay here."
They ate in amiable silence, staring at the stars as they finished and waited for the fire to die out. "What did you mean, you're too dangerous to live around?" Ranma finally asked. "I...am more powerful than anyone has a right to be. It is easy for me to take the lives of others if I loose control. I won't risk that." Her tone had a finality to it that told him she wouldn't talk further about this topic. "Why are you here? I've lived in this temple for...a long time, and have never seen anyone passing through these woods."
"Pretty much same reason as you have for staying here, I guess," Ranma replied, glancing at her. Her red eyes were...unsettling, to say the least. "I am looking for a way to control the Neko-ken." Her shocked gasp startled him. When he turned around to face her, he could see a mixture of fear and hate in her eyes. "You carry the Neko-ken? And you retained your sanity?" she nearly hissed.
"No. I still go cat, but it's not permanent. I can be snapped out of it, but if I am around a cat for too long, the Neko-ken takes over. It's too powerful to be uncontrolled, that's why I'm here." He could see her relax her guard slightly, but was still taken aback at the sudden hostility she showed. "Who did this to you?"
"My worthless excuse for a father," he told her, his voice flat. It was the same tone she had used to conclude the topic about her moments before. "What style do you practice?" He finally asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had fallen, trying to steer the topic away from both their pasts.
"It doesn't have a name," she told him simply. "I have never had to use it again, and swore to never use it against a living opponent ever again."
Morning found Ranma waking up to a slight rustle on the ground. He cracked an eye open and waited for his vision to adjust to the sunlight, then opened his eyes fully. "Awake, I see," Kagura greeted him, never stopping her kata as she danced around him on the empty floor, barely making a sound. The kata was unlike any he had ever seen, and as he sat up, the pig-tailed martial artist took his time and studied the woman.
She was moving surely, but as quietly as he'd only seen Shinobi move. Her stances and steps made the kata seem like a dance of sorts, she never remained in any place for long, and the moves were streamlined and exuded elegance. It reminded him of that martial arts ballroom dancing contest he had entered once, except for the fact he could see the underlying fighting techniques, deadly strikes that seemed like a casual flick of the wrist or tiny distortions that gave away the ki that was used when she put down her foot. She was smiling and had her eyes closed as she continued, sweat running down her face.
It was like something he had only heard about. This was what others had told him his kata looked like, a dance, more than anything else. A form of art. Kagura moved slowly, but he could see her hand flash out with her fan and resume its previous position at speeds even he had trouble seeing. Her right arm came around in a slow arc as she pivoted on her left foot, spinning in place, her kimono whipping around her as she returned to a ready stance, set to begin anew. Dance of the wind, flashed through his mind.
This time, Ranma joined her. Standing opposite her, he ignored her surprised look and closed his eyes, extending his ki and letting his battle aura flare to life. He could feel the ki she was expending with every move, could feel where she directed it, and she could feel his. She moved around him, sliding forward and sideways in a manner that made it seem she was floating across the floor, and he parried her thrust, blocked her slash, and countered.
Ranma relaxed as he moved in perfect harmony with her, each strike or thrust perfectly countered. This was an excercise unlike any he had seen. Kagura was moving so incredibly slow, but her movements were elegant and perfectly controlled, unlike his usual fast-paced, furious shadow fights. They could feel the ki the other expended, relying on their intuition and instincts as they moved across the room, never making a sound louder than the rustle of the leaves outside.
He lost himself in the excercise, relishing the control he felt, the pure joy at practicing his art, and the harmony they were moving in. He didn't need to see to know the beauty of her style. He could barely believe this was a way of fighting to her, it felt more like they were...dancing. Partners in a choreographed waltz, it seemed. Moving to an imaginary music, it seemed like an elaborate slowdance, yet he knew that if any of her strikes connected, her opponent would be dead in an instant. He had recognized several of the areas she had targeted as vital pressure points and vital areas that would cause nearly immediate death if struck properly.
He could almost feel the smile cross her face as they continued in complete synchronization, and could feel the sheer joy she was radiating. In a way, she was like him, he mused. Both loved their art, yet both feared what it could do to others.
When they finally finished, the sun had fully risen over the horizon and was standing high in the sky. Ranma opened his eyes to a serenely smiling Kagura, and realized he was copying that smile. He loved his art for the thrill of battle, but here was another aspect that deserved his admiration, the beauty of movement, the grace inherent to them, the harmony they felt.
"It's beautiful," he said simply. "It is," she agreed. "It's also lethal. Any of those could have killed you instantly," she told him reproachingly. Ranma shrugged and smirked as he replied. "The path of a martial artist is fraught with peril," he quoted.
"Thank you," she whispered. "It has been a long time since I enjoyed an excercise like that. It is nice to be able to share it with someone." "No big deal. It might have given me a new perspective on things, as well. You emphasize control over power, focus over speed. It is what makes it so beautiful, I think."
Taking a look at the sky, Ranma turned and reached for his pack. "Time for me to leave, I guess. Thanks for letting me stay. It was fun." He smiled, and it widened as he saw her return it with one of her own. "It has been enjoyable. Before you go, I have something to tell you." She gestured towards the porch, and both moved outside.
"You have shown me that my art...is an art first and foremost. It is a thing of beauty, and I have found my joy again in it, I thank you for that," she told him. "I will tell you something about the Neko-ken."
"As you know, it is taught by leaving the trainee in a pit of starving felines. The trainee has to be a young child because of the way the Neko-ken works. You know about basic survival instincts?" At Ranma's nod, she continued.
"When confronted with life-threatening situations, the mind tends to shut down and let the body take over. These conditioned reflexes usually take you out of danger, or enable you to do so. The Neko-ken conditions the child's body and mind to do the same thing. It ingrains a deep fear of cats, because of the immense hurt they cause, traumatizing the trainee for life. I'll tell you now, there is no cure for the Neko-ken." She held up a hand, forestalling any comments. "But it can be controlled. It is a difficult process, and I haven't seen anyone with the strength of will to master it yet. Then again, I haven't seen any who weren't trapped in the feral state yet."
She turned to stare directly into his eyes, her gaze seemingly going through his entire being as she seemed to look into his sould. "The Neko-ken is the manifestation of your basic survival instincts. You body is conditioned so that when a survival situation comes up – an encounter with a cat – your mind shuts down when a very strong and uncontrollable emotion appears, and your body takes over. Your fear of cats is the trigger for the Neko-ken, but any powerful emotion that would be too much for your mind to take would do. You need to control your mind's reaction, in order to control the Neko-ken."
Ranma stared at her for a moment. "So you're saying I need to find something stronger than my fear of cats to latch on, but something I have control over? That way I'd still fall into the Neko-ken, but I'd be able to control it?" At her nod, he sighed. Oh boy...Stupid oyaji and his stupid ideas. If it weren't for him, I'd be...How the heck do I find something sronger than my fear of c-c-cats? Kagura saw the pig-tailed martial artist shudder for a moment. "I didn't say it would be easy, and it is all just a guess."
"It's also the best shot I have," Ranma noted. "No one else has even come close to explaining the Neko-ken as well as you have." He stood up and hefted his pack. "Thanks for the advice. Now I at least have an idea of what to try. I think I better get going now. Live well."
"Farewell, Saotome Ranma. I don't expect to see you here again," she replied as he left into the forest.
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Sweat was running down his face, his eyes clenched shut in concentration and anxiety. Carefully, he put a hand into the sack, grabbed hold of what was in it, and slowly, so very slowly, lifted it out. He cracked one eye open a tiny little bit, then a little more, forcing his body to react. "Meow," came from the cat, and all went black.
"Ranma. Ranma. Ranma...Ranma..."
The pig-tailed martial artist awoke with a start. Opening his eyes, he found only darkness, and feared he was still trapped in his mind, while the Neko-ken roamed free, until he made out the distinct light of a campfire. "Finally decided to wake up?" A familiar voice asked from next to him. He slowly turned his head and supported himself on his elbows as he tried to shake away the last bits of disorientation after falling into the feral state. "Kagura?" In the dim light he could make out the silhouette of the temple building that was the woman's residence, and he wondered what he had done while he'd gone cat. "What happened?"
"I don't know. I heard a scream and ran towards it. Then I found you in a clearing. You were caught in the Neko-ken." She checked the fire for a moment, before returning her attention to him. "You were rather calm, not like the beserkers it usually produces. I brought you back here after you fell alseep." Ranma nodded and groaned as that caused a major headache to start up. "Thanks...oww...what's with the headache? That usually don't happen after the Neko-ken..."
"I don't know, I'm not familiar with a case like yours. What caused you to lapse into it?" Ranma grinned wryly. "Self-experiment. Wanted ta see if I could get the hang of what you said earlier." Glancing down at himself, covered in wood chips and splinters as he was, he sighed. "Didn't work all that well, apparently. Gotta find something else to focus on before I go cat."
"What did you try out?"
"Let's see...confidence and depression. Although I'd rather not try to get depressed again. One Ryoga is enough for the world..." He shuddered. "Didn't want to try anger. I'm...too dangerous when I'm angry." He lapsed into silence as he stared at his hands, unbidden memories of the dead body of the man he'd killed returning. "You fear loosing your control to your anger, it's understandable. Have you ever killed in rage?" Kagura suddenly asked.
"Yeah. Once. It ain't something I'm proud of. I'm a martial artist, not a warrior. I don't kill," he hissed. "That is good to hear. The time for warriors ended long ago. They have no place in today's world...lives are too valuable for that. The few that are left...are relics of times that had best be forgotten." Ranma almost missed it when she added in a whisper, "like me."
"What do you mean?" He was glad for anything that could get him off the subject of death. It brought too many unwanted memories. "I...don't belong in this time," she finally told him after a long pause. "I was raised as a warrior, learned to slay without remorse from an early age, and I did...because I had to. Avenging my father's death, defending myself and my mother as we made our living on the streets. I loved my art, but with each life it took, it became more of a tool and less of a passion."
She tossed a dry piece of ember into the fire, watching the sparks fly for a moment. "It became so easy to kill...and so hard to stop. I have never drawn my weapon against a human being again after I avenged my father. It was the last time I killed, and the one time I didn't regret it. After that I wandered around, and I soon found out that warriors like myself were dying out. Evil wasn't slain anymore, it was locked away and redeemed. It was given a chance. And now, I am left with nothing. All I learned, all I have, is my art, and it's purpose is to take life. I refuse to take life, therefore my art is useless. I am nothing, someone who doesn't fit into this world. Someone who doesn't belong here, someone too dangerous to live with. If I ever drew my weapon against another person again, I could slay dozens in a matter of moments, and I refuse to take that risk."
Ranma sat back, shifting so he was leaning against a rock. "You know, you're wrong." At her curious stare, he continued, "martial arts...isn't a tool for killing. Martial arts is a way of living." I can't believe I'm giving philosophical advice, he thought. "I love my Art as much as you do, because it makes me feel whole. When I fight, I can fly. When I fight, I can dream. When I fight, I can dance. I told you before, that excercise you showed me was beautiful. It could kill, but it was...more beautiful than any kata I've seen. I saw the joy on your face when you ran through it. A martial artist practices his Art not for killing, not for money, or anything else – you do it for yourself, and no one else. I love my Art because I can grow. I am the best, and have to stay the best, it is a constant challenge, and I love it. Nothing is really impossible when you put your mind to it, that's what martial arts is about."
Pausing from his speech for a moment, Ranma glanced up at the stars. He lifted an arm, reaching out as if to touch them, catch them and bring them down to him. "I dream, Kagura. And in my dreams, I fly. I can go up there and catch myself a star. I am a martial artist because I can dream, and I can make these dreams come true."
"I...I wish I could love the Art again,"she slowly began. "But there's already too much blood on my hands. I killed more people than I could keep track of. I don't want to risk loosing control again. It isn't worth it." Ranma just smiled as he replied. "Oh, but you're wrong. It is. Because, when you truly love the Art, it will guide you away from the warrior's path. I was tempted to become one, to be able to protect those around me. You know what kept me back?"
Kagura shook her head, prompting him to reply. "It was the Art. I couldn't, wouldn't sacrifice it, or my honor for taking a life. In the end, I wasn't willing to make that sacrifice, but I still have my Art. Because I love the Art, I'm forcing myself to learn control, because I respect and value it too much to degrade it to being a tool for hurting people. I can protect those around me...without taking lives." Ranma took a deep breath, wincing slightly as the headache got worse. "Ya know, if you ever need a decent fight, come visit me," he was practically grinning. "On second thought, if you do, better watch out for flying mallets, spatulas, roses, and paralysis powder."
V----------------------------------------V
Morning found Ranma on the road again. He'd said his final goodbye to the odd woman in a kimono with the piercing red eyes who he had spent the last two days with, and set off again. If one looked closely, he was smiling, and was striding forward with more energy and determination than he had before. He was a step closer to making sense of the Neko-Ken, one step closer to mastering it. And, after all, Saotome Ranma never looses.
Now, all he had to do was figure out something he could use to override the fear of cats. The pig-tailed martial artist sighed at that. That was the whole problem. There wasn't much he knew that he had ever felt that was stronger than the complete and utter terror he experienced when near a feline. Except the anger and hate I felt the day I killed that slaver, he mused, shuddering. No, I'm not gonna try out anger.
Then there was the other matter he had to think about, of course. His hand went into his backpack, fingering the envenlope that contained a letter to his mother and the Tendos. He had promised to keep in touch. But writing the letter had reminded him of the problems waiting for his return. He had realized that he had been putting off his responsibilities towards the girls for too long. They had dedicated themselves to him, and he'd done nothing to warrant that dedication. He would have to make a choice when he returned home. It wasn't a particularly easy decision, he admitted, but one that had to be made. He would get control over his Art and his life. Might as well start with the fiancee mess.
As he sat down to rest and meditate before continuing his journey, his mind was still occupied with each of the young women that each held a special meaning to him. His father never believed in meditation, preferring the "hard arts" over defensive and meditative techniques like Tai Chi and Yoga, but Ranma had discovered they came in quite useful. It calmed his mind and body, and he had found out – by accident – that he wasn't as scared of cats while caught in meditation.
V----------------------------------------V
Akane. Friendship, love, trust, betrayal. Cute, he added almost as an afterthought. Unstable, too. Those were the first things that came to mind when he thought of his "unwanted" fiancee. Thinking of her hurt, these days. They hadn't gotten along well since the day he had crossed the threshold of the Tendo home, but that was as much his fault as hers, he thought. He knew he hadn't been the most polite or sensitive person; being raised by Genma on the road had left him uncouth and brash, and it showed.
Still, what did he feel when he thought of her? He knew he didn't fear her, he could take her out in a serious fight without breaking a sweat. Did he love her? He remembered Kasumi asking him that very same question once. He had told her the truth then: he didn't love her, not anymore. There was too much bad blood between them for that, now. Friends, they could be, but a relationship would never work out anymore. He trusted her, he knew that. He liked her, even. But those feelings seemed tainted somehow, and for the sake of his life the young martial artist couldn't figure out why.
His mind drifted back to that fateful day he had arrived at the Tendo home and had turned their world upside-down. It had rained, they had arrived, and the Tendos had been understandably shocked. He mused as he recalled his first impressions of the three sisters. Kasumi, the gentle angel, who was so pure and beautiful that nothing ever seemed to faze her, but with sadness buried so deep within her that seemed to be a crime to exist. Nabiki, eyes shining with a keen intelligence that showed a lot of potential, but tainted with regret and resentment for the world that had taken her mother away. And Akane, the strong, independent martial artist, with a strong sense of pride and an ego that rivalled his own.
Akane had seemed so nice at first. "Want to be friends?" the words echoed in his mind. He had thought he'd finally found a friend, a companion to share adventures and stories with, but more importantly, someone who could provide some sense of stability in his life. Of course, that had been too good to be true and only lasted until she found out he wasn't really a girl. The fathers hadn't helped, either, but ever since she retracted her friendly words and her stare turned hostile and outright hateful, he had felt a deep resentment towards her, and a deep feeling of hurt and regret.
It was betrayal, he knew. He had fought for her, protected her, stuck by her. He had trusted her. It was a courtesy she never extended to him. Kasumi never hurt him, except for that first day when she hoisted him off on Akane, but he could understand that. Nabiki used him to turn a profit, but he understood her motives, and she had actually started to ask his permission to take photos of him. She had claimed they were more profitable if he was actually posing, but deep down Ranma believed the true reason was something else. Akane had no good reason, other than that first day and her dislike of the male part of the human species. How the girl could claim to hate boys and like men was beyond him.
He had trusted her. She had denounced him. He had protected her. She had abused him. Considering all things together, no matter how rusty his math skills, this was one equation even he realized didn't work out. Akane had her moments, but her smile had grown rarer and her insults had become more frequent. Part of that, he knew, had been the Amazon potion at work, but even that hadn't done much except weaken some inner barriers against violence and releasing her emotions.
No, Akane would never work out.
V----------------------------------------V
Shampoo. The name of the Amazon brought a shudder to him. The person who had first chased him across most of mainland China with intent to kill him, then followed him to Japan and carved a wide path of chaos and havoc while seeking to marry him. She was forward, aggressive, and determined. A little too forward, as far as Ranma was concerned. He didn't like her glomps one bit, but there was only one place he could push her to get her to release him...and he sure as hell wasn't going to put his hands there.
What he had seen, though, made his opinion of her waver. While at times ignorant and a tad insensitive – Ranma almost snorted at the fact that he of all people was calling someone else insensitive – was in no unclear terms devoted. Even though no one seemed to have noticed, he had seen the look in her eyes when she looked at him. It was the same look Ukyo had, one that Shampoo had developed only a while after she returned with Cologne. Still, it was there nonetheless.
Ranma prided himself at being able to read people well, it was a necessary skill in combat. And if he read Shampoo right, she had developed some actual feelings for him. Her eyes had changed over time, as had her attitude. For her, this had gone from a simple hunt to something more important...to finding an equal, a mate, a friend, someone she had found could best her in combat and make her push her limits.
In a way, they were both similar, he mused. Both were champions of their respective enclaves. Both were at the top, fighting a constant challenge to stay there, because they had nothing else. Both were lonely, shunned or hunted and challenged by those envying their positions. And then, she had found someone who viewed her as an equal in fighting, who could challenge her and defeat her, who would make her challenge herself. He knew he didn't exactly see Shampoo this way...but she did.
She was beautiful, there was no denying that, especially since she still continued to wear her short Chinese dresses. They didn't leave much to the imagination, but Ranma wasn't one to be caught with looks alone. He knew Shampoo was more intelligent than most believed, more intelligent than her broken Japanese let on. She treated him well, and showed some actual affection, even if she did overdo it at times. Then there was Cologne with her potions and herbs and knowledge of shiatsu. She was a dangerous oppononent, indeed, even outside of combat. To be honest, he was getting tired of avoiding potions and protecting everyone from their side-effects.
But she was also bound by her traditions and customs, he realized. While Shampoo might see him as an equal, the rest of the village would not. If he followed her, he would remain a second-class citizen for life, never being able to take as active a role as he wished, always remaining in the shadow of his wife. It was something he would never concede to. It was against his nature.
He could come to like her, as a friend, as an ally, as a brother. Never as a lover. He knew she was willing to fight for and with him, to sacrifice for him, she had proven that when they had followed Kirin to his home to retrieve Akane. She had taken on the guard of one of the gates of the Seven Lucky Gods by herself, so he could continue on. Like Akane, there was too much counting against her now.
V----------------------------------------V
Ukyo. She was probably his oldest friend, the one he had found he held immediate affection for when he realized who she was. She was the one who knew him best, who he could find he liked easily. He knew her, or at least, he felt confident he did, and had been friendly to him – that incident during her arrival notwithstanding. He felt sadness for her, and remorse for being the cause of her abandonment, even if only indirectly.
She was the one he missed most from his memories, wishing to relive those carefree and happy days where they would talk and fight and play. He had been happy back then, having no idea of just how much Genma had screwed up his life. He knew Ukyo was hell-bent on marrying him. He also knew she cared for him as something more than a friend, but cared enough to be just a friend when he needed one. She listened to him, talked to him, and he knew he felt better after talking to Ucchan.
She respected his wishes, and knew he had to make his own decisions. Ukyo also had never pushed the issue as much as the others had, unless one counted her involvement in the failed wedding and the occassional squabble with his other fiancees. He had forgiven them for the wedding, and knew the fights between them were required. It was something to show their rivalry, but he also knew they enjoyed the fights to an extent. Ukyo and Shampoo were excellent martial artists – they weren't close to his or Ryoga's level, but formidable in their own rights – and seemed to relish being able to fight with another of equal skill.
He loved Ukyo. Ranma admitted to that. But he was wary of the kind of love she wanted from him. He saw her as a sister, as his childhood friend, a confidente, sidekick, companion. He had needed a friend when they had met the first time, and he had latched on to her. He had needed a friend the second time they met, and she had been there for him again. She deserved better, he knew, but he couldn't offer her more. And he wouldn't trap her in the loveless marriage that would result if they married now, on the spot.
She would always be the friend who had been there when he needed her, but he couldn't see her as anything else right now.
V----------------------------------------V
Kasumi. Ranma didn't know why he included her in his list of fiancees, but he knew he had begun to see her as something other than the surrogate mother she had been. He had noticed the subtle way she carried herself, with a grace and fluidity that was as elegant as his own, yet more refined, more fitting for her. More feminine, was the only way he could think to describe it.
She was a beautiful young woman, all that one could hope for, friendly, compassionate, gentle. She seemed to like him, as well, though he was unclear on exactly where they stood. She seemed to like Tofu-sensei, and that the good doctor returned her sentiments – at least, judging from the way he acted around her - however, there was the little problem with his condition whenever she was around. Then again, neither had openly expressed anything but friendship for the other, so he wasn't sure. Kasumi, he reflected, was easy to read. Superficially, at least. She seemed to be always cheerful, always happy with a ready smile on her face.
It had taken Ranma a while to figure her out, to spot traces of the hidden pain he had seen a glimpse of that first day. She buried the pain of her mother's death under a facade of false happiness, taking over her mother's role. He nearly smiled as he realized the implications. They, too, had things in common. They both had to be strong in their respective disciplines, both could never afford to show any weakness. Both had only one thing that kept them going: he, his Art, she, her family.
He could understand her reaction that first day, pushing him off to Akane. He had seen the surprise and fear in her eyes when he transformed. It was in the human nature to fear and resent the unnatural, the things that were different. And at that time, she had feared him. She was one person he was determined to see happy, she deserved it, he reflected. He couldn't find it in his heart to resent her for anything, should she choose not to engage in a relationship with him.
He would have to find out exactly where they stood when he returned, but he knew one thing with absolute clarity: she was one of the three women he would protect unconditionally and with all he had. Because she, Ukyo, and his mother were the only family he had, and may the kami have mercy on those who would try to hurt them.
V----------------------------------------V
Within the deepest levels of Niflheim, in what truly could be called hell, for the fires of damnation burned brightly there, two people stirred. One smirked, even as the flames licked angrily at them, because he could feel it. The backup plan he had put into motion was working, and the seals keeping them there were weakening. The minor geas he had put on a number of people would ensure that.
Soon, he would be free. And then, he would have his revenge. Heaven would fall. It was only a matter of time. And, of course, he was patient. The first time he had appeared on the mortal plane had only served to begin his plan, after all. The best was yet to come.
V----------------------------------------V
It was night in Joketsuzoku, and most people were deep asleep, except for the outer perimeter guards. Not all of those asleep rested well, however. Two particular elders shared the same, vivid dream of blood and death. Bodies of Amazon warriors were strewn around the ground, as they waded through ankle-high blood as it covered the ground. This was the one thing they had truly been afraid of, as they lived in the vicinity of two powerful people, who would have no qualms about crushing them completely.
The Musk had their innate ki abilities and strength, due to their draconic heritage, and Prince Herb was the living example of that. The man exuded an aura of power that excelled even that of the most experienced elders of the Joketsuzoku. He was a dangerous man, indeed, even if few liked to admit it.
Then there were the Phoenix, whose natural resistance to fire and ability to control the fiery element made them dangerous opponents, coupled with their wings that enabled them to shower swift death from above to all those who opposed them. Both tribes in itself were insignificant, compared to the Joketsuzoku...but both together would not only outnumber them, but also overpower them. That was the secret reason behind the Amazons' rigid training, behind their unyielding quest to ever bring new strong blood into their tribe, no matter the cost.
Because they knew that one day, the Musk and Phoenix would stop tolerating the intruders in their valley, would stop to tolerate those who had attempted to wipe out their ancestors, and would retaliate. When that day came, when the strength of the Musk and the fire of the Phoenix started to rain upon them, the only thing that would hold them back would be their warriors and their hard-earned skills in martial combat.
Women screamed, and sadistic laughter was heard. Explosions rattled the very ground Brush was standing on, valiantly holding her lance as she warded off the Musk soldier before her. Death was everywhere. The whole village was dead, there was no sense in fighting on. Yet she did...why, she would never know. Pride? Maybe. Hope? Certainly not. There was no hope left for them. Revenge? She couldn't even come close to unleashing the destruction upon their enemies that they had unto the Joketsuzoku.
The lance was knocked out of her hands by a powerful blast of ki, and she closed her eyes and braced herself for the pain that would end her ancient existence. It never came, even as the world went dark. This is your nightmare...a voice uttered in the complete silence around her. If there were a way around it, would you take it? Then her vision returned, this time to a different battlefield. Amazons were fighting once more, pushing back Musk warriors and Phoenix alike, pursuing them all the way to the Musk Citadel and Jusendo. This is what it could be, if you wish. This is what I could grant you.
The elder Amazon shook her head. She would not be so easily swayed. Then you shall have the blood of your brethren on your hands. The vision shifted back to that of a devstated Joketsuzoku. All it would take for your sisters to survive is to ask me for my strength.