Private Bet #10 Sidestory: Lessons of the Dark
by Shade

Disclaimer: Ranma 1/2 to Rumiko Takahashi, RIFTS and Nightbane
RPG to Palladium, assorted odds and ends to their respective owners.
Insanity is all mine though.

Apologies in advance for some of the language and imagery,
this is not for the weak of stomach.

-----------------------------------
Prologue: Strange Scent on the Wind
-----------------------------------

-Nightlands, Washington Death Capital

Once, they had been human.

A thousand men and women obsessed in the pursuit of knowledge at any cost. Doctors willing
to kill without hesitation, scientists consumed in the perfection of delivering death,
sorcerers who had peered beyond the abyss and enjoyed what they'd glimpsed and so many others
to whom lives had been nothing more then tools to be used and discarded as needed.

Now, they were only the Great Circle.

Chained together in a ring of bleeding flesh and iron that sat forever ablaze in a giant lake
of pitch black flame, their unending suffering pushed their brilliant minds beyond the concepts
of knowledge and understanding into a place where everything could be known and forgotten
in the same instant.

They were a thousand. They were one. They saw all. They were blind.

Only the screaming never stopped.

And the Night Princes, dark servants of the dread Nightlords, listened to their agonized cries.

For though the hundreds of tortured voices were full of madness and blended together
into a sea of mind-rending sound, here and there were coherent words of value.

Orders to be sent out, enemies to be found and dangers yet to be.

It was this last that they suddenly shrieked of now. And the Ba'al-Zebul grew uneasy at what they heard.

From a thousand tongues. Yet in one voice.

"He comes, he comes! Death! Death! The burning, White Light, fear it fear it!
To seek, to hunt, Judgement comes! All to fall, all to grief, take his heart!
Ever to Dark! Ever to Pain! Destroy the soul, destroy the Light! Darkness takes all,
By Forge Everburning! By Steel, By Flame, the Horn is the Bane!
Moloch beware, Lilith despair, Magog unaware! From the East, the Destroyer!

Again and again the Great Circle repeated those lines, every tormented head taking up the call.

No longer did they scream of other enemies, of plots or tortured glimpses of the future.

Only those same words over and over again..

And so messages were sent out to King Moloch and his fellow Nightlords.

But still the screaming did not cease.

------------------
-Earth, Los Angeles

Sun slept poorly. While she knew that these periodic trips back to Earth
were necessary to recover her strength after spending time in the
gloomy darkness of the Nightlands, it was still a bitter pill to swallow.

She knew that even as she slumbered under the revitalizing light of the sun
there were thousands of innocent people being tortured and killed by the
Nightlords and their minions in Devil's City, the dark doppleganger of L.A.
in the Nightlands.

Their cries of terror and agony haunted her dreams.

She could not save them all. And she hated herself for that.

It was madness, but then this world had already long since gone mad on its own.

And one person simply could not-

Angel Sun suddenly snapped out of her troubled sleep to full awareness
as she felt something trigger that gut feeling she had come to associate
with her senses as a Guardian.

To the East, they were needed for something important. A name flashed through her mind.

'Saotome.'

She didn't know why it was important, only that it was.

--------------------
-Earth, New York City

Bill Gallagher was itching to squash the darkies, gooks, squinties,
islamocrats and all those other commo-pinkie french sissy bastards tonight.

Before Dark Day, he'd been nothing more then another second rate dock
worker barely able to scrape by from paycheck to paycheck. Between the
cheap booze and the even cheaper whores, the money kept slipping right
through his fingers. He'd been over three months behind on his rent
when the Preservers had recruited him. They'd helped him realize who's
fault it was that his life had turned out so rotten.

It was those damn colored foreigners taking away all the jobs
and money and keeping it only for their greedy selves!

When he had finally realized that great truth it was as if someone
had opened his eyes to the world. They had to take back America from
all the elite liberal atheist jew spic niggers polluting the country.
His group of fellow 'Activists' had also figured out a great way to
accomplish that patriotic mission.

Every couple of nights they'd go 'patrolling' near the harbor,
looking for criminals in need of justice. Criminals of course
being anybody that didn't look like them or a cop. Bums, drunks,
runaways, prostitutes and even lone strangers were all fair game.

Bill liked the runaways and prostitutes the best. He was usually
fifth or sixth to dick em when they got one and by then the blood
and cum made the ride a real smooth treat before they got too loose
from all the fucking.

And once they were done, a simple cement block and some cables
were all that were needed to keep the body from floating after
being dumped in the harbor. They'd done it dozens of times so
far and never been caught or even suspected. After all, who really
cared what happened to such worthless trash?

Gallagher licked his grimy chops. He hoped that tonight's catch
would be one of those little teenager runaways, they always
screamed and bled the most. Little uptight cunts who'd never
given him a second look back in high school, but they weren't
so tight when he and his friends were done with them.

"Hey, look over there!"

It was Tom Layde who'd spotted tonight's victim.

Bill was disappointed, instead of finding a little sweetmeat
girl all that met his eyes was one of those stupid chinks
who appeared to have escaped from one of the nutcase asylums.
Why else would the dumbass be completely naked and dripping
wet as if he'd just gone swimming in the cold dark waters
of the harbor? Only a crazy loony would do something like that.

Strange, come to think of it why wasn't this guy feeling the weather?
It was so cold tonight that Bill could see his own breath fogging
out in front of him. Yet here this guy was naked and wet and he didn't
even seem to notice it. He'd heard that crazy people didn't notice
things normal people did, maybe that was it.

Maybe if they were fast enough here there would be enough time to go
hunting for a little pussy.

Casually the burly man slipped a hand underneath his dark jacket
and grabbed the weighted lead pipe stashed there. It was his weapon
of choice for this kind of work, perfect for breaking knees and elbows
or smashing skulls and fingers. Out of the corner of his eye
he noted that the others were all quietly closing the trap around
the doomed crazy who seemed to be totally absorbed in staring at all
the bright lights and buildings in the distance.

As he got closer Bill was able to make out more details of their target.

The gook was one tall motherfucker, with the kind of slender yet muscled
build that made the Preserver very glad that they had numbers on their side.
But when he saw the sissy pigtail he knew that this had to be one of those
simpering pansy ass cocksucking faggots that believed in talking instead
of fighting. All the better for them, this would be quick and easy.

As he made his way towards the naked wacko he could see the other members
moving to surround their victim, a few gap-toothed smiles appearing
among them as chains, clubs, baseball bats, switchblades and other
assorted easy to hide instruments of violence were produced.

Twelve against one. This wouldn't take too long at all.

Bill decided to start things off in order to finish this quickly.

"Hey Coolie! Whatcha think you're looking at?"

This was one of their favorite set-ups. One guy would distract
the mark while another would hit them from behind. When the
wounded victim turned around the first guy would hit his
now exposed back. Usually at that point either the sucker
would collapse and be easy stomping for the group or
they'd try to fight their way out and would be ganged up
on from all sides as everyone got in on the fun.

Only this slant-eyes wasn't cooperating with the program.

"Now which one could it be? What fits what I see?"

The stupid guy was muttering to himself, his gaze wandering about
as if lost in thought.

"Hey you stupid shit! You ignoring me!"

Gallagher was starting to get seriously annoyed by this flighty fairy
not paying attention to him like he was supposed to. Damn Japs thought
they were so high and mighty, better then the honest blue-collar folk
like himself.

Good old Tom was now behind the oblivious retard, his favorite shiv
in hand and concealed by the arm of his heavy jacket. Layde really
knew his stuff, he could be counted on to hit a lung eight times out
of ten on his first stab to his target's back. Though Tom preferred to
practice his knife-work on faces, sick fuck that he was.

Bill watched his friend's arm come up quietly for the strike.

What the hell was that wacko saying now? It almost sounded like a poem.

"Sorrow cries the dead,
Spiders waiting in your webs,
Dark wasp free to strike."

And then suddenly Layde stumbled and fell flat on his face
onto the dirty concrete to the side of the target.

Bill swore under his breath as he waited for Tom to get back to his feet.

That dope must have been drinking before the patrol again.
Damnit all, what was that clumsy idiot thinking? He was going
to blow their cover if he kept that up.

Wait a second. Why wasn't he moving?

Did he hit his head or something?

One of the other guys in the closing circle darted forward to help
their fallen comrade up, only to stumble backwards with a cry of
horror as he turned Tom over on his back. Sticking out of Tom's
throat was the handle of his own butterfly knife, Layde's hand still
clutched tightly around it.

"What the Hell-"

The startled exclaimation cut off as the speaker's back suddenly erupted outward
in an explosion of blood and gore that sprayed most of what had previously been
his upper body mass into the air. Most of it fell onto the cracked concrete walkway,
but a good portion of it managed to hit a pair of stunned Preserver activists who
had been standing closest to the now toppling corpse.

The froze in uncomprehending disbelief as bits and pieces of their friend's lungs and ribcage
dribbled down their faces and soaked down the front of their jackets and into their shirts.

Bill was barely able to make out happened next as everything seemed to happen at once.

There was the Chink right next to them, and HE HADN'T BEEN STANDING THERE A MOMENT AGO!

And then he was gone again, like a flicker in the corner of the eye that vanishes when you
turn to look at it directly. Crimson spurted like a gruesome waterfall from first one throat
and then another as the choking pair suddenly realized that ear to ear smiles had been
cut across each one of them.

Gaptoothed Jared went for his revolver, the grizzled bear of a man trying to line up
the flickering phantom in his sights. The Slanteyes slid in beside him and without the
slightest sign of effort simply plucked the gunhand, arm and all, out of the bigger man's
shoulder socket. Even as the now one armed man started to scream, the morbid trophy
was converted into a makeshift spear that impaled him through the belly, spilling his steaming
entrails out in front of him even as it shoved up through his heart.

Bill just couldn't move, his mind simply unable to comprehend what his eyes were telling him.

It had to be some kind of nightmare, this couldn't be happening to them!

Bob and Harry whipped their hatchets about frantically, eyes wide with terror.
The Gook just stepped in and reached out with one hand as casual as you please,
plucking out Bob's spinal cord as a normal man would debone a trout.

Before the body even began to collapse, the Jap whipped his improvised garrote around
the other's neck and popped Harry's head right off. He left the dripping spine on the body
and punted the falling head into the groin of the few remaining Preservers still breathing.
Another flicker and the Chink was standing right in front of the kneeling young man retching
his guts out onto a thin layer of dirty snow. His hands reached out and twisted, snapping
his victim's neck like a brittle twig.

Gallagher could finally make out the expression on their choosen 'victim's' features
now and what he saw curdled the blood in his veins. There was nothing there.
Neither joy, nor anger, nor rage. Not a flicker of emotion was present his his face,
as if all the killing he was doing was nothing more then simple vermin extermination.

The screaming and yelling stopped and all was quiet.

Bill suddenly realized that out of their entire group he was the only one still alive.

Eleven men, guys he'd drunk beer with, friends who'd shared his beliefs,
had been methodically butchered in less then sixty seconds.

"And then there was one."

Oh God Almighty! That Oriental killing machine was coming towards him!

"Not very bright, were ya?"

"Oh God, oh God, please don't!"

"Did she beg too?"

"Wha-What are you talking about!"

Bill stumbled backwards and fell on his rear. Scrabbling like a lame crab
from the relentlessly approaching figure.

"The little girl whose skull you crushed and then dumped in the water."

"I do-don't know what you're-"

"Five feet tall, brown hair, green eyes and her brains splattered
along the back of her head."

Gallagher's eyes widened. That little street hooker from two days ago...but
they'd chained her down good, she should have been all the way down at the
bottom of the harbor...Oh God.

"Yeah, quite a little graveyard down there. What a busy little bunch of killers
you've been."

As Bill pushed himself back he suddenly felt his hands hit a warm wet mass.
He nearly vomited when he realized that he'd backed up into Jared's still
steaming corpse. And then he saw the gun, still grasped in the hand sticking out
of the dead man's belly.

With a desperation born out of sheer terror he scrambled for the revolver.
Pulling it free, he sighted shakingly on the nightmare in human form still
calmly walking towards him.

"Die you monster, DIE!"

Once, twice the firearm barked.

A nimbus of pale blue light suddenly spiraled up around the naked man,
completely surrounding him on all sides.

Bill could hear some kind of beaten down mutt gibbering in his ears.
Then he realized that it was coming from him. An animal sound from
a mind that teetered on the abyss of pure madness.

Somehow that thing had stopped his shots. He could actually see his bullets rotating
futilely in mid-air against the translucent swirls that filled the space around
the expressionless figure. Even as he watched, they slowed and stopped, falling harmlessly
to the cold ground with a barely audible metallic tinkle.

Again and again Gallagher fired at the nameless killer, until the click of the hammer
striking an empty chamber finally sounded mockingly back at him.

Now completely crazed with fear, the scruffy Preserver hurled the empty gun at
the unstoppable Asian and started howling as he pushed himself up and started
to flee.

He reached the alley wall when all of a sudden the most incredible tearing pain
Bill had ever felt in his entire life ripped through his lower abdomen and the
scruffy man found himself pinned to the wall like a butterfly on display.

Slowly he looked down. Sticking out of his exposed dripping guts was the pipe he'd dropped earlier.
And then all he could do was scream and scream as the agonizing fire of his pulverized
innards transmitted themselves up his nervous system. He couldn't stop, even though it
was only making the pain worse he could not stop and something was popping and ripping
inside and oh god please make it stop! Make it stop! Mother of God, make it sto-

SNAP

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

With a small sigh of digust, Ranma shook the last clinging bits of his victims
off of his hands. A minute burst of PPE was enough to burn off any remaining traces
of gore from his body. This was why he preferred using a weapon these days, bodies
tended to get messy when they were impacted by a level of force normally associated
with natural disasters.

"Well shit," the nude martial artist swore softly when he realized that he'd ruined
all of the clothing available there during the brief confrontation. What wasn't stained
in blood and parts of internal organs was soaked in a smelly mixture of urine and feces.

A quick search produced wallets and an assortment of makeshift weapons. The cash he kept,
discarding the identification and credit cards. The knives, brass knuckles and other nasties
were of shoddy quality and he left them were they lay as well. But the ammunition for the two pistols
he pocketed with the Hidden Weapons technique. You could never have too many bullets, after all.
He didn't worry about leaving any fingerprints, one of the fringe benefits of the Soul of Ice
was that it sealed his hands and feet so that they left no detectable traces behind.

No sense in letting the opposition know more then they had to.

"So much for the cannon fodder. Time to find the controller."

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

His name was Mr. Simmons.

He was a most peculiar looking man. His clean cut features,
dark conservative suit and black sunglasses made him stand
out among the hygiene impaired Preservers he normally associated with.
They all assumed he was a government agent sent to assist them
in 'preserving' Good Old Fashioned American Values like rape,
torture and murder. A good ol' boy who didn't smoke, didn't drink
and went to church every Sunday.

Of course, they were only partially correct. For starters,
Simmons enjoyed a unique concoction of teenager bone marrow
and living eye tissue mixed with a nip of gin and a thick cigar
rolled from flayed human skin as he went to work on a 'meal'.
But he did go to church, all the better to pick out potential
targets for his minions.

But then again, Simmons was not a man in any sense of the word at all.
A loyal servant of the Nightlords, he found great enjoyment in his duties
guiding the stupid unsuspecting Preservers who followed him into causing
pain and death to their fellow humans. It was almost like a game to him.

But tonight his team was late.

In the front seat of the unmarked black van parked discretely
in the shadows of the street by the dock, Simmons fidgeted nervously.

Something was wrong.

He unholstered his standard issue Beretta machine pistol and took the safety
off before opening the door. Only the crunch of his shoes on the icy gravel
greeted him as he stepped out. Looking around, he saw nothing unusual.

But there was definitely another presence here. He could feel it.
Simmons opened up his psychic senses, questing about for any traces
of mental energy that would signify a sentient lifeform.

He found nothing. He reached out farther. Still nothing...wait. There was-

Contact.

The agent spun and opened fire without a flicker of hesitation.

Bill Gallagher's corpse bucked slightly as the bullets slammed into
it before collapsing limply to the ground.

A hand struck his pistol from the side, sending the weapon skidding away
under the van. The punch that followed sent him flying into the side of
the van, where his body made a deep imprint on impact.

And then Simmons changed.

The outline of his body seemed to flow like water before suddenly ripping through
the clothes as it expanded outward. Four long pale squidlike tentacles sprouted
from the still growing mass as a gaping ringed maw reminiscent of a monstrous lamprey
erupted outward from the trunk of the body, four giant sarlacc style fangs protruding
from around the drooling mouth. The twelve foot long creature looked like a giant albino
worm designed by some Lovecraftian artists drugged out of their minds on LSD.

The Ashmedai lashed out with its slimy appendages at the naked figure attacking it.

The young man seized the first two that reached him and squeezed hard.

Simmons roared in pain as a rancid smelling green ichor spurted from the crushed tentacles.
It managed to seize the attacker by an ankle with one of its remaining members and whipped
the human that had hurt it towards the nearest wall. To the monster's surprise the stranger
somehow managed to twist around in midswing, his feet bouncing off the solid concrete like
it was made out of rubbery jello and come straight back towards the startled Ashmedai.

The giant worm tried to turn over to bite him but was too slow as the young man
ducked under its fangs and grasped the main trunk with those deadly hands of his.

Ranma's fingers got a good grip on the body. And then he started to pull.

A high pitched shriek emitted from the Ashmedai's maw as it felt that incredible strength
start rip its body apart. It slammed its remaining tentacles against him again and again,
trying desperately to break the iron grip. But to its horror the tearing pressure kept
increasing steadily. It could feel its body start to give way.

"Wait, I surren-"

SPLART

The Ashmedai's body tore in half, releasing a stinking waterfall of greenish brown fluid
as its insides emptied out all over the ground. Ranma quickly tossed aside the rapidly
dissolving remains, wrinkling his nose at the godawful stench coming from it.

"Phew, and I thought it smelled bad when it was still alive."

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

Once more employing his PPE to burn off the ghastly remains still sticking to him,
Ranma wasted no time before investigating his new loot. At least this time there
were some clean clothes in the van that actually fit him. He poked and prodded
around until he was satisified with the results. More cash and ammo along with
a few small arms joined his earlier stash.

Stretching slighty in his new long pants and thin white shirt,
the Cosmoknight felt considerably better even as he noticed
that the night was still young. He studied the glittering lights
of New York City, feeling the familar excitement start to stir
in his blood.

"Do what comes naturally, hmm?"

Slowly, he smiled.

-End Prologue