Mousse raged inside the Hiryu Shoten Ha. He screamed in inarticulate fury as he was borne up by the violent winds of the cyclone and sent tumbling end over end in a wild, dizzying revolution around its center. Debris picked up by the winds, rocks and jagged pieces of concrete that shattered during the fight, struck him, leaving a number of cuts on his body as they whizzed passed. He shut his eyes against the dust flying into them.
That Amazon bitch!
Hey…
I will break her in half for this!
Calm down…
She will suffer for weeks when I find her!
Calm…
She and her entire family will-
FOR THE SAKE OF YOUR MOTHER AND FATHER, CALM YOURSELF!
Mousse calmed, and a deep, emotionless cold fell over him. The last of the Red faded from his sight and he finally became aware of his surroundings. Alternating currents of searing hot and numbing cold air swirled around him. Acting on instinct rather than coherent thought, he relaxed completely, letting his body go limp. He felt himself being carried up higher and higher until he stopped, the sound of rushing wind becoming slightly fainter the farther up he went.
Mousse opened his eyes. He was floating serenely on a cushion of air in the eye of the cyclone. His vision of the ground was obscured so it was difficult to tell exactly how high up he was, but he could easily see what he thought were the rooftops of surrounding buildings and the Tokyo skyline from his vantage point. His glasses were knocked from his face by the winds. He carefully adjusted his body into a sitting position, legs crossed under him, and folded his arms across his chest. Judging from the strength of the winds that carried him here, the tornado wasn't likely to dissipate anytime soon.
That gives me plenty of time to reflect over my mistake and kick my own ass over it, he thought ruefully.
The Red was gone now, used up in his thrashings inside the tornado, which he realized later was actually feeding it, making it stronger. A cold, dark abyss filled him where the Red used to be. His vision blurred as a wave of hollow weariness washed over him. It was distant now, but soon, he knew, it would consume him as completely as the Red had moments before. But that was alright. Because now that he was the one in control, now he can think; the fight can still be salvaged. First, to find out what went wrong.
He bowed his head in thought. Everything was going well in the beginning. He never planned on seriously hurting Ranma, he just wanted to show Cologne a flagrant, almost vulgar display of raw power, to show that she had no chance of defeating him, and he managing to pull it off fairly well before everything went to hell.
Before that Amazon stepped in, he thought, and some of the insane rage he felt earlier sparked to life. But it was a distant feeling, and he ignored it easily. There was no time to get angry.
With his mind cleared, he closed his eyes and replayed the fight in his head, carefully scrutinizing every detail. He was mildly surprised at how much he remembered even under the influence of the Red. At first it seemed Ranma hadn't stood a chance against him. He was good, very good, but there was simply no way he could have matched the speed and strength the drug offered Mousse. The old crone saw this, and then warned Ranma of his curse. He couldn't keep the smirk from his face. Former curse, he thought.Looking back, Mousse realized Ranma must have heard this, because he lured him near the fire hydrant, where that Amazon stepped in and-
Wait.
Mousse's head snapped up. There was something amiss. Something about that Amazon. She had the right hair color and the martial skill, but something felt…wrong. For one thing, she spoke Japanese like a native. Most Amazons could barely manage a pidgin version of the language, but this one had even called out the Roasting Chestnuts attack in the Japanese fashion. He rubbed his chin where she had hit him. She seemed so familiar. He had never seen anyone that looks like her in the village, but he could swear he saw her before. He closed his eyes as he visualized her face. She was a very pretty girl, for an Amazon, with cute features on a heart-shaped face framed by flaming red hair tied back in a pigtail… She looked like a younger version of Nodoka.
Something in Mousse's mind stirred uneasily. The more he thought about it, the closer he came to the only conclusion that made even the least amount of sense. The hair, the resemblance to Nodoka, the mastery of a foreign language, the fact that she knew how to trigger a Jusenkyo curse (which reminded him of what happened after, when that girl had sent him over the edge by insulting him through his mother; And it wasn't even a good insult, a seven year old could have done better, he thought ruefully), and the final piece of evidence he now realized, her clothing was exactly the same as Ranma's when he hit the water. While it may be that Ranma has a twin sister dressed exactly like him running around helping him in his fights, Mousse found that unlikely. The most logical conclusion he could come to was that Ranma had the bad luck to have an accident at Jusenkyo involving a cursed spring, and then through some wild set of circumstances learned two of many secret Amazonian fighting techniques.
Mousse sighed. Yeah, real logical. But it will have to do for now.
He looked around. The winds had abated slightly, but he could tell it would be quite a while before they stopped, at least an hour or so. Now how the hell am I supposed to get down?
Ranma scrambled away from the chi-charged tornado of the Hiryu Shoten Ha, stopping only when a wall blocked her escape. She leaned back against the wall and heaved a sigh of relief. She had fought against another powerful martial arts master possessing overwhelming power and once again emerged victorious if not unscathed. She shuddered slightly as she remembered the sheer hatred on his face that went beyond anything she had ever seen before. Nobody, not Ryoga, Panyhose, Herb, Saffron, no one had ever looked like that when they fought him. This one genuinely hated her to the point of insanity. It was more frightening than anything she had ever seen. Well, maybe except for cats. But it was still a close call.
"You've done well son-in-law. I almost thought he was too much for you."
Ranma glanced up with an expression that was part exasperation and part anger. "Jusenkyo cursed, huh? So what was the curse, old bag? No, wait let me guess.
Spring of Drowned Fire Demon with Pathological Hatred of Amazons, right?"
A small crowd gathered around him, his concerned fiancées and some spectators who weren't staring in awe up at the tornado.
"Yes, great-grandmother," Shampoo said as she trotted up. Ranma noted with some confusion that her tone almost seemed suspicious. "What kind of curse does Mu Tzu have?"
Ranma thought she saw Cologne wince slightly. She would have shrugged if she weren't so sore. It don't matter, she thought as she stood, using the wall as a support. I just wanna get outta here.
"Anyone got hot water?" she asked, getting to his feet. His knees almost gave out, but he righted himself quickly.
A kettle was handed to him. "Here you go, Ranchan."
She poured the steaming contents of the kettle over herself and she became a he. "Thanks Ucchan, you're a lifesaver," he said. He curled his hands into fists as he changed, his body becoming larger and heavier muscled, fitting more snugly into the wet clothes he was wearing. "Much better."
"Are you sure you're alright, Ranma?" came the concerned voice of Akane. She was standing in front of him, hands clasped worriedly in front of her.
"Hey, never been better," he replied with his usual arrogance. He jerked a thumb up to where his opponent was still flying around and laughed. "I coulda gone at least three more rounds with ol' Sparky up there."
His laughter died in his throat as his eyes followed where his thumb was pointing.
"No way," he breathed.
The others followed his gaze up and gasped. Mousse was still in the Hiryu Shoten Ha, but not as they expected. He was floating lazily at the very top, legs crossed Indian style beneath him and arms folded across his chest, looking for all the world like he was actually enjoying the view. His head turned slowly down toward Ranma, and he felt his skin crawl. He couldn't see Mousse's face from this distance, but he was sure that evil grin was plastered all over it. Ranma's face became grim.
"That does it. He's going down." He spread his feet apart slightly and set his fists at his side.
"Ranma-"
"Quiet," he said, not caring who said it. He was focused on the floating figure up in the sky.
He closed his eyes and concentrated. It was easy to bring his confidence to the surface. It was a part of him, and pulled him through the hairiest situations for as long as he could remember, even when he seemed hopelessly outmatched by guys like that Mousse freak. It was the kind of confidence that gamblers feel just before a roll, that no matter what the odds, no matter how much the house was favored, he would win simply because of who he was, Saotome Ranma, the one and only.
His eyes opened. It was ready.
He brought his hands together at the heel, palms open and fingers curled.
"Moko Takabisha!"
Mousse watched curiously as he saw the blurred figure of Ranma stand and look up at him. By his movements, Mousse judged that he was in about a good a shape as he himself was. He raised an eyebrow as Ranma put his hands out in front of him. What happened next completely caught him off guard.
He felt more than saw a sudden surging of chi coming from Ranma. Golden ghost-light gathered at his hands, condensed, and launched itself up trailing a tail like a comet. It wasn't moving very fast, it was barely faster than the average professional baseball pitcher's throw, and he was confident he could dodge it if he was on the ground, but trapped as he was in the cyclone he could only watch as it flew toward him. A sudden terrifying sensation passed through his mind that he had stumbled from a subway platform in front of a train barreling down on him, its single headlight glaring at him like a huge malign eye of some subterranean monster. But the feeling was as distant as his anger and pain. As the compressed ball of chi-charged air punched through the winds of the Hiryu Shoten Ha, disturbing the currents and causing him to dip suddenly, he calmly crossed his arms in front of his face and set his body to receive the blow.
Ranma watched as the Moko Takabisha connected with Mousse, exploding on contact and blowing him straight out of the twister and into a nearby house. Ranma winced as Mousse impacted the side of the brick construct and fell bonelessly, catching his head on a porch railing that set his body into a spin. There was a muffled thud as he hit the ground inside the walled-in area of the backyard, for which Ranma was grateful. He didn't want to see what kind of shape Mousse was in after his brief trip on Air Takabisha.
He tried to stand normally, but lost his footing as his vision lurched nauseously. When the world righted itself, he found himself on his back staring up at Akane's concerned face. He felt his body temperature jump up a few degrees as he realized again in those rare, dazzling moments how beautiful she actually was.
"Are you alright, Ranma?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah, I'm alright." He shook his head at her offered hand and lifted himself to his feet. He gave her his most charming grin. "See?"
She blushed deeply and lowered her eyes. "Can we go home now?"
"Yeah. Let's go home."
The first thought to pass through Mousse's head as he laying on the ground, staring unblinking at the sky, with a kid standing over him who couldn't have been out of preschool curiously probing a stick at his motionless body, was that maybe, just maybe, he had underestimated Ranma. A little. He groaned as he stood and the probing stopped. The kid was now staring up at him with wide eyes, the stick dropped to the ground forgotten.
He gave the kid a hard look. "Beat it."
The kid ran, screaming.
Probably going to tell someone. Better make this quick, he thought. He looked around, taking in his surroundings. He was in the backyard of a plain, tall building set with porches and door windows at regular intervals. Another apartment. He could still sense Ranma and the others from behind the wall, dimly, like light seen from behind paper. He could hear the winds of the twister dying away in the distance. The blast knocked him farther away than he had first thought.
It was then that he noticed his right shoulder was dislocated. He gripped his right hand with his left and jerked hard. He grimaced as he was greeted by a wet popping sound as his shoulder found its socket. He rolled it around experimentally while examining what condition he himself was in.
He sighed. Beyond a few scratches and a small bump forming where he hit his head on the railing he was fine, but his clothing was a different matter. Both of his shoes were gone, he assumed taken by the winds of the twister, his pants had a long rip along the seam on its right side, and his shirt was no more than a rag hanging from his neck. He tore what was left of the shirt off and fished around in his pockets for a spare. He groaned when he pulled out the only piece of clothing he had with him, a gray duster designed by some Italian company (Versace, Armani, Testoni, whatever), the closest thing he had to formal wear. As he pulled the coat around his shoulders cinched the belt around his waist he noted distantly that it fit a little more loosely on his frame than it should have. But he shrugged that minor concern off as he sensed Ranma and the others fading into the distance.
He started running for the wall, preparing to leap over it, when his vision turned watery and his head tried to float away from his body. He stumbled, and instead of clearing the wall he ran into it. His outstretched hands caught it before his face did, and he leaned against it, breathing harshly while sweat poured from his face. The drug was really catching up to him. By now the damage it did to his mind and body was probably irreversible.
He laughed bitterly between ragged breaths. Hey, even the Mona Lisa is falling apart.
He waited for the few eternal moments it took for his vision to clear and his head to attach itself firmly to his body before attempting to move again. He pushed himself back from the wall to stand on legs that felt more like reeds. The fact that the world kept swaying from side to side like on the deck of a small ship in an unsettled sea didn't help. He was far weaker than when he first started and he felt a little light in the head, light all over in fact. He mused that perhaps the cold emptiness growing inside him was literally eating him alive, and thought how frightening and at the same time how funny it would be if he were to look down one day and find the entire midsection of his body simply gone and then die, like a cartoon character who runs off a cliff and doesn't realize he's running on thin air until he looks down, at which point gravity takes over and he promptly falls with a whistling sound into the gorge, river, or pavement.
He laughed again as he leaped over the wall, clearing it this time and set on Ranma's trail. This was no time for such thoughts. There was a killing to do.
"Don't be stubborn, son-in-law. It's for your own good."
"Yeah, right. I don't know what happened between you and that freak back there but it's your problem, not mine. And stop calling me son-in-law."
Cologne sighed in frustration. The boy was being difficult. "You act like you have a choice. He'll be back for you."
Ranma shrugged. "Then I'll beat him again, no sweat."
Cologne bit her lip to keep from screaming at the boy. People nearby, remnants of the spectators, maybe a dozen in all, and the girls, took a nervous step back as she visibly struggled to keep from lashing out at the oblivious Ranma. She was having trouble convincing the boy to come with her to hide and train for Mousse's eminent return, and she had the feeling that Mousse wasn't going to be the loser in that fight. And then there was the matter of Shampoo, who was eyeing her in a cold way she didn't much care for. She felt the beginnings of a headache coming along.
My cane for a couple of aspirin, she thought.
"You won't beat him again, boy. Any idiot can see he outclasses you in almost every way. If you don't train for his return he will kill you, and most likely your loved ones if he so feels like it."
He whirled abruptly. "Then what's the point of you taking me somewhere to train when my family and friends are still here?"
"I'm not asking just-" She stopped and cocked her head to the side, as if listening for something. For a moment she could have sworn she sensed something.
"I'm not asking just you to come along with me to train," she continued in her harsh crow's voice. "I'm inviting everyone, whomever you wish, to come with me."
Ranma blinked, taken aback. "You're really serious, aren't you?"
Cologne sighed in relief. He has seen the light. "Yes. Now will you do it?"
He bowed his head in thought for a moment. "Okay, I'll do it. But first you explain why he's after you."
"Yeah, explain it to us," said Akane, and "We want to know," from Ukyo. Even the spectators were gathering closer to hear the old woman's story.
"Yes, great-grandmother," said Shampoo. Her voice was icy. "Tell us."
"I'm all ears," said Nabiki, whom Cologne didn't notice was there until she spoke. She berated herself mentally, of course she was going to be there, she plays bookie with all the Ranma fights. But something about the way Nabiki was looking at her, a little too intent, a little too much interest in her normally analytical gaze, made Cologne recall the last time she questioned her about Mousse, how she seemed a slight bit too casual, that perhaps she was hiding something.
Surely she can't be involved with the monster! The thought was alarming in itself, that one of the Tendo girls may or may not have some connection, any connection, with Mousse. She didn't know what kind of ramifications this may have in the future if her suspicions proved to be true, but she did know they couldn't be good. She felt a pang of regret as she remembered what she did to him all those years ago, and an even greater pang as she thought how much easier life would be if she had simply finished him off before he could turn into such a threat.
She cleared her throat. "It was about twelve years-"
She didn't even finish her first sentence as the wall beside Ranma exploded out in a shower of rubble and a gray-clad arm reached out, grabbing him by the shirt and jerking him violently into the wall.
Mousse waited patiently as he heard the voices coming nearer. Almost there.
He grinned suddenly, not believing his luck as they stopped right on the other side of the wall he was standing behind. He waited while they talked, making absolutely sure it was Ranma who was on the other side. He pulled his fist back, ready to punch through the wall, when another wave of dizziness washed over him. He was prepared this time, however, and fought it fiercely until he felt he was back in control. When he felt he was in his right mind, he pulled his fist back again, then stopped in disbelief. His hand was trembling. He stared at it almost uncomprehendingly. It was trembling noticeably, like the hands of an old man he saw once and wished fervently that he would never be like. He snarled viciously at it, as though it were an actual living thing, and concentrated, forcing it, willing it to stop trembling, until he felt like he was burning from fever. Little by little the hand stopped trembling, until it was barely there, and finally gone.
He clenched and unclenched it experimentally. As if it was never there. He closed it into a fist and punched through the wall, grabbing a handful of cloth and pulling who he hoped was Ranma to the hole.
Ranma didn't know what to make of it when the fist punched through the wall and grabbed him by the shirt, dragging his face into the hole, until he found himself face-to-face with the ghastly sight of Mousse's ghost.
He blenched immediately upon seeing it, its skin a sickly chalk color and stretched tightly over its skull, its hair faded from the deep black he remembered into a dirty gray, and its eyes almost glowing with inhuman intensity. He only had a moment to take all this in before he found himself hammered back by the ghost's fist back into the street.
Cologne gasped along with everyone else as Ranma was dragged into the wall and then flew back with enough force to send him into the street.
It can't be.
Unlike the others however, she found her wits quickly and acted on them. She tapped Shampoo with her cane, who looked down at her with a strange expression that looked like a cross between puzzlement and shock.
"Come with me, girl, there is little time."
Shampoo nodded, no trace of doubt in her eyes this time, and followed.
The wall exploded again as Mousse made his way through. He swept a level gaze across everyone who was there, some of the crowd from the beginning of the fight, the two girls hanging out with Ranma, and to his distant surprise, Nabiki. All of them stared with open-mouthed shock at him and some turned white in the face. But none of that concerned him. Cologne and the girl were gone. His face darkened when he saw this and he turned his attention to Ranma, who was recovering from his blow.
He strode purposefully to Ranma, who jumped up at him suddenly and cried, "Kacchu Tenshin Amaguriken!" His entire body sped up like a movie recording being fast-forwarded, his fists blurring with the speed.
Mousse calmly reached out with both hands and grabbed the blurs. Ranma's whole body jarred to a sudden stop as Mousse held his wrists in an iron grip, squeezing brutally. Mousse pulled Ranma forward and brought his knee up into his abdomen, turning his cry of pain into a whoosh of violently exhaled air. He bent over double, gasping, as the air left his body. Raising his interlaced hands in the air, Mousse brought them down hard on the nape of Ranma's neck. Ranma slammed into the ground, unmoving.
For a silent, breathless moment, there was no sound except for Mousse's harsh breathing as he stood over the body of his unconscious foe. Then he bent down, gripped Ranma's pigtail, and started dragging him across the street. Mousse originally didn't plan to kill Ranma. He was just some poor sap that got mixed up in something he had no part of. But he proved to be a dangerous sap, one that couldn't be left alive to screw up any future plans Mousse may have. So he had to die. But before he died, Mousse planned to thoroughly have his way with him, in part as an example to everyone else and in part because he was the only one ever outside his family to come that close to beating him. He was even on the Red at the time! The shame and embarrassment gnawed at him.
There was a groan from Ranma as he was dragged over a large rock. Mousse turned and kicked him viciously in the head. Ranma fell silent, unconscious again, and Mousse continued on his way until he reached his destination: a yellow fire hydrant. But before he began, he had to know something.
He kicked the hydrant over with the heel of his bare foot and a fountain of cold water rushed out, reaching high above them all. Mousse, still holding Ranma by his pigtail, shoved his face over the geyser and held him there. Ranma regained consciousness as the icy water hit him and began flailing wildly. Mousse flung him back after a few moments. As he suspected, instead of Ranma on his hands and knees retching up water, it was the red-haired girl he originally thought was the Amazon.
Mousse didn't waste any time. He ran forward and kicked the girl hard enough to send her flying into a nearby wall and followed up immediately, pummeling her abdomen and face with his fists. When she began to slide down the wall as consciousness again gave way, he lifted her up by the front of her shirt and continued without losing a beat. After what seemed an eternity it was over. Ranma slumped to the ground as Mousse finally let go. There was complete silence except for the sound of Mousse's harsh breathing. He stared down at his bloodied fists. The fight was over; Ranma was beaten. Now all that was left was to break her.
Mousse bent down and lifted Ranma up under the arms, standing her up so she was leaning against the wall for support. He patted her face with surprising gentleness, like trying to wake someone from a swoon.
"Hey, come on. Stay with me here, sweetness," he crooned softly. She groaned in response, and when he was sure she came around enough he slammed his fist into her gut. Her breath came out in a violent exhalation. He thought he heard screaming for him to stop, she was beaten, he won, the fight's over, somebody make him stop. He drove his fist into Ranma again. He thought he could hear sobbing this time. He didn't stop, but kept hammering his fist into the girl. Cracks spiderwebbed out from the wall behind her from the force of his blows. Warm droplets of blood she coughed up with every strike covered his face.
It wouldn't be long now. Mousse could feel Ranma weakening. The very core of her being was coming loose from its moorings. He was coming close to killing her and he didn't want that, not yet, but one more punch shouldn't put him down for good. Ranma was certainly resilient. He could take, and will go through, a world of punishment. Mousse drew back his fist… and froze in shock, dropping her to the ground.
For a moment, the barest fraction of a second, he felt something from her, something that slid by his awareness, like a dark, ominous shape seen just under the cloudy surface of the ocean. He stepped back, expecting her to suddenly rise up with some incredible new power and attack. Nothing happened.
His confusion lasted only a second when suddenly the world jarred violently to the left and a resounding clang! filled his ears. He staggered slightly but kept his feet. He was aware of someone behind him. He turned slowly around to face the person who dared to interfere. He couldn't quite believe what he saw. Ucchan, the giant spatula she normally had strapped to her back in her hands and still touching side of his head where she had hit him with it, stood there, a look of fear and defiance on her face. He didn't say anything for a breathless moment, but simply stared at her expressionlessly. A hush fell over the crowd and a palpable feeling of horrified expectation filled the air. Ukyo began to fidget under his intense stare when he finally spoke.
"Did you just hit me with a spatula?"
The question was spoken so softly that Ukyo wasn't sure she heard right. And then there was a gun pointed at her face, so close she could actually see the spiraling pattern inside the barrel, and the question was repeated.
"Did you just hit me with a spatula?"
Ukyo swallowed. She had faced dozens of martial artists before, many armed with various kinds of deadly weapons, but there was something about having a gun pointed directly in her face that made her feel cold in the stomach.
"Um, yes?" she answered meekly.
Mousse's eyes went out of focus as they glazed over slightly. His lips moved soundlessly, and she thought he was mouthing "spatula, she hit me with a spatula" over and over again, and then he stopped, his eyes closed. She almost thought he passed out on his feet, when suddenly: "WHY!?"
She stepped back as he screamed it in her face.
"Why would you hit anyone with a fucking spatula!? It makes no fucking sense!"
He stopped suddenly and put both hands to his head, as if trying to comprehend the fact that he was smacked with a giant spatula was causing him pain. Suddenly his hands dropped to his sides, he looked up and in a conversational tone of voice said: "You are all insane."
"Moko Takabisha!"
Mousse whirled in surprise and was caught full on by the blast of compressed air. He staggered back and the crowd ducked instinctively as the gun he held clattered to the ground without discharging. Ranma was standing on her feet now, barely an arm's length away, her hands still faintly glowing from the after effects of the chi blast, eyes blazing with fierce resolve.
"Moko Takabisha!"
"Moko Takabisha!"
"Moko Takabisha!"
"Moko Takabisha!"
Mousse was hit again and again by the technique, driving him slowly back, ripping through the thin cloth of his duster. He could swear that Ranma's technique was becoming stronger.
"Moko Takabisha!"
He decided that it actually was becoming stronger when the last one managed to lift him off his feet and send him flying into a wall on the opposite side of the street. He looked up blearily from where he was laying and saw Ranma was still standing, obviously hurting from the wounds he gave her, but literally glowing with power.
"It's over for you freak!" she shouted, her chi flaring like a fire whipped by a strong wind. "Moko Takabisha Amaguri-"
Mousse knew if he didn't do something it was he who was going to die. So reached down, in the place only masters of hidden weapons know how to reach, pulled something out and threw it. It was a knife, which was good, but it was too big and improperly balanced, a hunting knife, and the throw was underhand and clumsy from where he was laying. It flew through the air tumbling end over end to connect hilt-first between Ranma's eyes. Her aura guttered and she staggered, her eyes rolling back in her head, before she crumpled, again unconscious.
Mousse stood unsteadily on his feet and walked toward the prone body of Ranma, picking up the gun on the way. He turned suddenly and pointed it at the crowd, who took a hurried step back as he swept the muzzle at them. As weak as he was now he wasn't taking any chances.
He picked up Ranma who was regaining consciousness at an incredible rate Mousse was finding out, by the shirt and shoved her roughly against the wall. He leveled the gun at her forehead.
"Now you die," he hissed.
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