The True Nature of Fear
Disclaimer: Ranma 1/2 belonged to Rumiko Takahashi, but as for whose hands the license and assorted rights have ended up in, I have no idea... I just know it's not me. And the story is non profit too.
By Steamed Bun
I saw…one of those things today.
You know what I mean right? Those small creatures, though not especially fearsome in appearance, that somehow illogically frighten me into complete and utter submission.
Why is it that I fear them?
Is it phantom pains of my past?
Perhaps the brutal memories of training have damaged some part of my mind?
Even so, they are such mere pitiful creatures. I could take on a hundred of them without even blinking, if only I was without such weakness.
In all complete honesty, I could have killed those things back then.
You look surprised? Your reaction mirrors so many others whenever they hear of my training.
I was even then a martial artist. Even at six, bound and tied, I was not helpless. I could still contort my body and stand upright, and crush those animals with my weight. Indeed, although perhaps not consciously, Genma had tied several crucial knots a bit loose. It would have been a simple matter to free my arms and kill those attackers, weak with hunger as they were.
Why then? Why did I refrain from escaping? Why did I come out each time, bloodied and clawed, crying from the pain?
The answer is simple.
For the ultimate technique. You see, I too desired to become the best martial artist there ever was, probably even more so than my father. Even at six, my pride surpassed even the most arrogant of spoiled brats.
And so I sought to complete the training, seeking that revelation of power I was sure to come.
Ah, that reminds me. You brought those pamphlets you found right?
Good. I remember finding this in Genma's pack one night. This small thin work of ink and paper, filled with harmless training exercises and false knowledge, somehow conveys in great accuracy some of the darkest and harshest of rituals that are used for power. The ritual I underwent was only one of them.
….
Burn it.
You look irritated as you feed it to the flames. Perhaps you feel the trouble in acquiring it is wasted, now that it has been consigned to non existence.
But my story is not yet complete. Listen for a while longer, and you may begin to understand.
I bled for three days in that dark pit. Bled precisely in a pattern which the pamphlet had permanently imprinted on my subconscious, in the dull red of my blood against the dark earth.
And on the fourth?
I saw…it.
It appeared normal at first. Not precisely normal in the sense that I had seen others of its kind, but normal in the sense that I felt nothing at seeing it.
It approached me slowly and made me a deal.
I know not how we made such, lacking any sort of verbal communication, but somehow the offer he represented came through.
Your eyes express disbelief.
No matter, I am not looking to convince you of anything. I merely feel the need to unburden myself of this secret tale.
What was the deal?
Patience. Interruptions will not make the story go any faster.
His offer was an ultimate technique, activated with the mere thought or presence of that animal. Imagine, being able to suddenly become the best simply by a single thought.
A tempting proposition to anyone, and a complete fulfillment of a burning need to me.
In return? It simply asked for the completion of the pattern. Just two more drops of blood in the center.
I heard that faint snort. Did you really think I continued without asking what the completion of the pattern would do?
Its answer? It would unseal yet another small part of itself. I wondered as to its nature, having been sealed in such a way, but it reassured me. It would do nothing to release such a small part, only if the whole was complete would such matter. After all, what was the chance that such a pattern would be complete again?
And so, without more thought to the consequences, I accepted it. And as the blood slowly fell towards the brown dirt, it laughed.
The once normal countenance became horrific, and in a grotesque parody of a smile, its mouth engulfed me inside of it.
I struggled within that horrific place, and it laughed gratingly once more.
I screwed my eyes shut, but it forced them open, and showed me horror. Twisted forms, turning in and against themselves, large amorphous beings devouring and being devoured, creatures beyond my normal perception somehow making their dark consuming presence felt. The true nature of what I saw is beyond description, yet I, in my quest for power, had just thrust the world one more step towards that horror.
Can you imagine it? What I must have felt, looking out through those six year old eyes at abominations even the most jaded of sinners cannot imagine; sobbing, weeping, knowing what I had done in my foolishness?
It howled in joy at my despair, even as it gave me the gift that is forever tainted.
Yes, tainted, for I can never think or see those creatures again without the all consuming guilt and fear for the future. And so the technique is useless, for before I may use it, I am struck by those memories, those horrors, until I can do nothing but collapse, and do my best to cease conscious thought. It is only then that the technique can be used.
You look at me with pity. Pity? You should look at me with disgust.
But that is because you did not see what I did.
Ah, is that Kasumi coming in? What is she carrying?
….
The horror…the horror…
AN: Yeah, I know, Ranma is too verbose. On the other hand,
"What I must have felt, looking out through those six year old eyes at abominations even the most jaded of sinners cannot imagine; sobbing, weeping, knowing what I had done in my foolishness?" feels far creepier than "It really sucked knowing that I was responsible for all that scary stuff, and just for a stupid offer that was worthless anyhow."
Nothing I can really do about it I guess, given that without creepiness, the story's sorta worthless. Offer more insightful comments please!