There will be: language, nudity, sex, violence, death, and rather detailed descriptions of such. I'm an adult, and a writer. I revel in the coincidence that I'm also an adult writer.
I only own what someone else does not.
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Chapter Two
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Ranma considered the man across from him in the arena, as the various mages prepared themselves to observe his performance. Somehow, the interview had turned into a sparring match... not that he really minded. All the talking had made him irritable and anxious to do something, and this would work just fine.
Still, it bothered him to have his weaknesses shown in such a way. Despite how excited Goemon got about his particular change thanks to Jusendo and what it brought with it, Ranma could think of it as nothing else. Another may have seen it as a blessing or even miracle, but to the magic-maligned young man, it was just another bump in an already rocky road. The only difference being now he too understood Ryoga's opinion of his change, though for totally different reasons.
Ranma tried hard to push his emotions to the side, only succeeding in part. Already impatient from having to recant his abbreviated history for an audience, then having every unusual point questioned, Ranma felt his control slipping through his fingers, despite years of rigid discipline and training. All he wanted was some help – was every person in the world who had some background in magic like Ku Lon? Was he going to be stuck dealing with secretive, demanding, enigmatic assholes till he managed to shove magic out of his life entirely? Superficially, he knew the imbalance he was feeling was due to his disorganized ki running rampant and constrained from the change and then the seal. Both were pushing him to extremes he'd much rather do without. Snippets of memory, recollections of Ryoga's mind falling further into his depression from using his Shishi Hōkōdan slithered through his thoughts as he prepared for the upcoming fight. Ever since Jusendo, he'd needed the Soul of Ice just to keep from lashing out, falling into small fits of depression, or going manic due to that lack of equilibrium within his energies.
Of course, that too had its dangers, which now he knew all too well. Each time he sank into the Soul, it affected his curse and what other magics lingered within him. It was not something he could do idly, anymore. Not unless he wanted to bathe in boiling water to counter the change one day.
He bit back a curse as his eyes lingered on the far-too attentive mages, waiting and sitting like judges. Didn't the old man send them enough information in his letter already? This shouldn't be such a damn chore. And why were they so focused on his ki potential? Of course he knew the hierarchy – how else could he make seals, to suppress his ki? It wasn't like he could sleep with the mala on!
Nine Spheres, each one having a set number of circles dividing up the power it represented. Nine circles for the first Sphere, eight for the second, seven for the third and so on, up to the pinnacle, where the ninth Sphere was itself its own full measure.
Each Sphere in the scale represented a magnitude of power, built around a system of measurement that Goemon never fully explained. It just was, as he said. The first Sphere was where most people in the world sat, having only the ki needed to keep their bodies running. A normal martial artist – by non-Nerimian definition – may have enough power to be a first Sphere, ninth circle, but rarely did one pass that point.
Lifetime practitioners or as he learned, some ki-adepts like Goemon, managed to get to the second Sphere. There, one learned how to refine ki into their bodies, gaining strength, speed, and endurance far above human norms. Onmyōji could scribe wards, do the most common incantations, and possibly summon spirits if their will and potential were high enough.
Ranma in his lifetime, had reached the beginnings of the third Sphere – hallmarked by the ability to project ki outside the body. That in itself was rare, as Goemon explained, few had the dedication or potential to reach that point. It was also the point most humans topped out at. Genma would be perhaps one circle above where Ranma had been, and Happosai easily nearly completing the Sphere. Goemon himself was a third Sphere, easily rivaling Happosai in power. For an onmyōji, such a potential for ki allowed for complex wards and protections – something Ranma painfully learned by experience – the forming of contracts between powerful servant-spirits, and powerful incantations and mantras that could both help and harm.
Those with inhuman blood or influence could break that ceiling, of course. Herb, who had masterful control of his ki and the ki around him, could fly and cycle the ambient life-force from his nearby environment to various effects. Saffron was another example, being the conduit for vast amounts of ki for his people, channeling the power of a volcano into them, granting abilities beyond physics and physiology. And now, thanks to Jusendo, Ranma was counted among that number. With the mala beads in place as Ranma tended to wear them, he could for very short periods draw up the level of ki he had before Jusendo, though it would leave him weaker for the effort of concentrating it for a short time to get that potential. For the most part, the seal locked away only his vast reservoir of ki, leaving his focus and control untouched. The downside being that the seal was unstable at lower bindings – either Ranma locked away almost all of his potential, leaving him little better than a first-Sphere beginner under Goemon's scale, or he locked none and paid the price.
"Ready?"
The teacher's prompt snapped Ranma's attention to fore, and the pigtailed young man nodded, bouncing on the balls of his feet for a moment.
And then, the world was a blur of motion. Ranma didn't know what to expect of Takahata, and that made the man dangerous. Such a thing kept him on a hair-trigger, which was the only reason he was able to avoid the sudden attack. Only his training in the Chestnut Fist, years of challenges from high-level martial artist, and constantly dealing with the Joketsuzoku kept him from being literally blown off his feet by the incoming waves of pressure unleashed by the graying teacher.
Lunging to the side, Ranma dodged another wave, as for all appearances the suited man stayed perfectly still and smiling slightly, hands in his pockets. He stifled the voice in the back of his mind that told him that he looked the fool, dodging invisible blows and strikes like a mad pinball, but had to admit, this wasn't an ideal situation. He hated being on the defensive.
He wouldn't have to be for long though. Over a decade of almost nothing but fighting, learning, adapting, and overcoming foes left Ranma's mind near the pinnacle of combat analytics. "Slight chambering delay," he noted conversationally, spinning in place before dropping into a crouch. "Left hand is slower, has less power. Expected." Ranma kicked a leg out into a high roundhouse that seemed to have no purpose, as he was still some distance from the teacher. The motion set up a series of tumbles and spins that gradually let him close the distance, while dodging. As he did so, he continued, "Straight-line attacks, predictable paths."
His clothes, however, paid the price for the near-hits Ranma was managing to avoid though an impressive display of acrobatics. It wasn't just a lot of jumping around however – anyone could bounce around aimlessly in a panic. He was weaving the minimum distance to avoid blows, while maintaining his balance to set up the next motion, and the ones after it. Fighting was much like a dance, he'd heard said long ago by one of a nearly endless train of masters and teachers. No single movement can be done, without another following. The true Artist never stops moving, never stops fighting. After the first motion, they discard blocks, dodges, counterattacks, offense or defense – they become motion, with intent.
He ignored the looks of surprise and interest on the mage's faces at his casual display of grace and ability, as that mindset came to the fore and he made the teacher's efforts to strike him an exercise in futility. A common error most people that knew Ranma casually made was that he was unintelligent. This would be incorrect, in the same way as stating sharks were unskilled. Sharks were very skilled at what they did – killing and eating. In the same way, Ranma was massively specialized.
It was true that Ranma could be considered grossly ignorant due to that overspecialization – he was born, raised, conditioned, and finally honed to be a fighting machine. His mind was geared for very few things, but those things he did with a laser focus and intensity that would shame most supposed academics, if placed on equal terms. Takahata was learning this, much to his annoyance, as the pigtailed martial artist dissected his form, technique, and ability, all while managing to dodge every iaiken strike he made.
That on its own was impressive, as the strikes were almost invisible to the eye, which the shockwaves were, but to dodge them all? It should be impossible. Ranma cleared that up with his next words, closing the distance that remained and putting himself inside of the teacher's 'dead zone'. "You telegraph. Not much, but your feet give you away," Ranma risked a leaping flip, somehow dodging even in midair a pair of iaiken strikes that again shouldn't have been possible.
"Your eyes too. Most people who use range attacks aim, and aiming takes focus and concentration," Ranma continued, closing within Takahata's two-meter zone. "How are you at close-quarters?"
Within a minute, Takahata was cursing every martial arts teacher he'd ever had, and with more venom, those Ranma had learned under. True, he was holding back quite a lot, using iaiken in a 'blunt' fashion so as not endanger the young man, but that decision was quickly losing the veneer of nobility it had five minutes ago. Moreso now, as he was forced to deal with the young man pulling his own tricks against him. It boggled the mind how the kid could be so fast and precise despite his apparent youth. Only his own training in iaiken had leveled the field when dealing with the Ranma's blurred attacks, letting him dodge and block as he could. So far, they were in a pretty solid stalemate, with neither being able to land a decisive blow against the other.
Ranma was impressed, if not precisely pleased. The man he'd been sparring with was good – very good. He was also holding back, and if the trend continued, this would be about as gratifying and productive as Akane's usual method of showing her prowess – smashing inanimate objects.
As if sensing the martial artist's mood, Takahata blurred into motion, gaining distance. "I think we've seen enough to ascertain that you're a skilled hand-to-hand fighter," the teacher noted, regaining his equilibrium and breath. "But this was geared to gauge not just skill but potential. We will need to see you fight without the seal."
Narrowing his eyes, Ranma really couldn't argue the point. However, this proved a potential problem. "I'll unseal one loop of the mala-"
"We need to see you completely unsealed," the teacher interrupted firmly, earning a glare from the pigtailed youth.
Rather than respond immediately, Ranma unlooped a single strand of the beads around his hand. "One now. We'll discuss the rest if you're able in a minute," he growled, relishing the flood of ki that washed through his body. Ki-starved muscles, bone, and blood soaked up the force with a vengeance, as Ranma adjusted his mental gears slightly. Rather than letting the ki just sit there, he'd learned quickly from Goemon to make it more efficient. Ki was the energy of life in motion, and it worked best and was used best in such ways, which was why as a martial artist it had come so naturally to him. Now that he had more than his body technically required, the martial artist began to subconsciously focus it into cycling through his chakras, an exercise of onmyōdō that Goemon had taught him to maximize his use of what was released, in the event he needed it.
There was still bleed-off, as his audience was witness to. The sudden increase in power had little outward effect on Ranma other than seemingly revitalizing him instantly, but there was a small burst of air displacement, as the ki he couldn't contain whipped outward from the initial release. Dust swept out in a small nova along the ground, as Ranma's clothing fluttered lightly. With a cocky smirk, the young man snapped into a stance, "Round two."
Takahata blinked, as he was bent double around a fist that had materialized mid-thrust into his gut, before physics took hold and he rocketed away from the impact, coughing madly. Sucker-punch aside, the teacher was pleased – this would break that stalemate nicely.
The next exchange was too fast for most of the observers to follow, though the two Shinmei-ryū practitioners watched wide-eyed. They would later sum it up as, "Ranma can punch really fast, and Takahata-sensei hides some really nice muscles under those suits."
Clothing now resembling the young man's tattered remnants, the graying teacher frowned as his punch landed as planned, but had little effect other than altering Ranma's balance slightly, not that the young man seemed to notice. The kick he'd anticipated to sweep out at his side never materialized, and instead Takahata was sent tumbling again as a backfist that came from nowhere took him in the jaw. Mid-spin as he was sent away, he launched a pair of iaiken strikes, one catching Ranma by surprise and bloodying his nose.
"First blood to me," the teacher smirked, only to lose that expression as he was pounded literally into a crater of his own making, as Ranma continued unphased. After pulling himself back to his feet, Takahata checked to make sure the boy wasn't losing control, only to see determination and focus in a pair of dangerously glinting blue eyes. Losing all desire to keep the kid gloves on, his iaiken were no longer blunted, taking on a less straining edged nature more natural to the technique.
If Ranma noticed the increase in his opponent's risk, he didn't show it, responding to the new flurry of attacks in stride. The pigtailed youth schooled his expression, as he pulled a punch meant for Takahata's gut, taking the bladed pressure strike to the shoulder.
It was a snapshot moment. The material over Ranma's shoulder was shredded, and a small spray of blood misted into the air. Takahata yelled out in pain and surprise as a concentrated ball of ki was jammed into his stomach, detonating with the force of a small bomb.
Gripping his shoulder and cycling ki there to accelerate his healing, Ranma winced and looked at the smoking and glaring form of Takahata as he stalked forward. "Tough one, ain't ya," he muttered, falling back into speech patterns that Hinako had mostly beaten – rather, drained – out of him.
Feeling a mutual desire to take things to another level, the two squared off again, before Ranma cursed and held up a hand. "This is as far as I go for a spar. If I drop the seal below this, I need target dummies or something," he offered, not really wanting to stop but knowing that unlike his usual opponents, he didn't know Takahata's measure, or what he could take before getting hurt. Ranma continued by pulling a thermos from behind his back, making some of the onlookers blink in confusion at where the thing had been up till that point. "I need to change beyond this point, so go ahead and get those."
One dose of cool water later, and a somewhat shorter redhead stretched, pushing the limits of her mangled clothing to the point of indecency. Not that she much noticed. Bouncing on the balls of her feet however provoked a more obvious reaction, and she did manage to note the rather vapid looks some of the males had acquired that time. "Oi! Stupid old perverts," she muttered, before swapping out the thermos for a jacket with some interesting modifications. For one, it looked to be backless. Two, it had rather long sleeves, that draped almost like a kimono's. Three, the shoulders came up to a collar, that seemed to have a small button and buckle, to keep the garment in place. After securing the odd garment, she stretched and took on a thoughtful posture. "So, are we going to do this? Got any training dummies or targets?"
The Dean frowned slightly, sparing a glance to an equally frowning Takahata. "I assure you, Takahata-sensei would be more than willing to assist in further gauging your abilities."
Ranma shook her head. "Past this," she indicated her partially unwound mala, "my control goes to hell till it levels off at a point that I'm not comfortable working with. Definitely not comfortable with a living opponent that I don't wanna potentially kill. If you want to see it, I need some targets. That isn't an option."
Takahata mulled over that, before shrugging noncommittally. "Too bad. You want our help – you have to play by our rules in some things. This is number one on the list. So get ready, or admit this is the best you have and that you're too afraid to go on."
Her eyes narrowing, Ranma merely kept eye contact with the gray-haired man while gripping her mala. After a long moment, she straightened her demeanor changing completely, becoming blandly formal. "Then I think our business is done here," she stated flatly. "I'm not here to entertain a bunch of self-important old bastards that won't listen to a word I say."
Again, the teacher spoke, his irritatingly slight smile still in place. "Oh? I thought it was forbidden for any practitioner of the Musabetsu Kakutō Ryū to refuse a challenge?" To punctuate his statement, Takahata maneuvered himself between Ranma and the exit, simultaneously using iaiken to force the now-female martial artist into a defensive posture.
"You really don't wanna push me right now, asshole," the redhead hissed, flipping backwards over the all-but invisible strikes, demonstrating she too had a ranged arsenal as a she increased her counterattack to drive the graying teacher away from the door. A small flurry of ki orbs forced him to dodge, but instead of simply sliding to the side, Takahata advanced on the increasingly harried Ranma.
Playing his part, Takahata shrugged, advancing again. "What do I care for the opinion of someone who has no honor? Unseal your ki. You're not leaving this place until you do." Iaiken was chained into a instant-step advance, the first dodged, the second not.
Takahata had a moment to think that perhaps he'd gone to far, as he mirrored the redhead's earlier attack, burying his hand in her stomach from the speed and suddenness of his advance. A fraction of a second later his sense of self-preservation screamed at him to move, and he attempted to do so – only to note something very wrong. Ranma had pinned his forward foot, under her own. He'd matched Ranma's attack, the teacher thought... but she hadn't moved. He hadn't seen her move, he was sure. Surely the difference in force and mass would have caused... When did she counter him? A glance at glacial blue eyes was his only warning, as the dots connected.
He hadn't made contact with her stomach – only a hand, whose palm had absorbed the power of his strike while the redhead had turned her body around the deflection. No, he realized with sudden clarity, not deflection, redirection-!
Ranma showed no emotion as she let the impact of Takahata's strike ripple through her, along her bones, through her muscles. She gathered that momentum, added ki, swiveled, and like a Newton's Cradle, let her other hand hammer the strike back at the man, catching him in the jaw with a sickening crack.
"Why is it," the redhead began almost conversationally, "that every time I deal with some dried-up old bastard, they end up lying to me? Hmm?" She ignored the indignant noises the mages made around their Dean, while pacing slightly around the room. Takahata was staring up at the ceiling where he'd been thrown, a non-threat at this point as he cradled his jaw in a hand reeling. She dismissed the threat he posed – after the last comment, she'd decided not to play nice anymore.
Shooting a glare at the old man as he moved with his small entourage to the fallen teacher's side, she cocked her head slightly. "Still going to keep me here against my will?"
Konoemon nodded gravely, signaling for the two kenshi to move forward. "I'm afraid you've forced my hand in this, Saotome-san."
Instead of anger, Ranma barked a short laugh. "Just like I'd expect from a lot of magic users. Good. Let me guess," she asked, leaning forward slightly as if conveying her curiosity through posture alone. "You're going to draw live steel on me, right?"
The elder of the two Shinmei-ryū swordswomen, Tōko Kuzunoha, responded by drawing her oversized katana, a grim expression on her face. Beside her, the younger girl looked hesitant, biting her lip.
Ranma seemed to only grow slightly manic at this. "And people wonder why I hate magic," she quipped, her voice changing to something laced with enough venom to cause the younger kenshi to take a step back from the sheer hatred she was giving off.
While Shizuna inspected Takahata's injury, Konoemon questioned his operations director. "Tōko-san, what can you tell me?"
"Her aura's been spiking since she started unwinding her mala," the oldest of the swordswomen stated. "Her emotions were mostly level, even calm during the fight. However, once she started becoming defensive of her seal and wanting to leave, it changed. I can only suspect his.. her ki to be acting as an amplifier. Now she's almost eager... and I don't want Setsuna-chan involved," she concluded finally, getting a sharp glare from the admittedly intimidated girl. Tōko stared back at her would-be opponent, who seemed amused by her conversation and willing to wait. "Saotome is responding to us as a personal threat – this is no longer a sparring session. I will not let a student stand against her."
Watching the incensed girl as she smiled in a decidedly feral way, Konoemon Konoe couldn't quite dismiss the feeling he'd made a poor choice, taking the route he had. As an academic, he'd always been in the pursuit of knowledge both new and obscure – it was simply his nature to do so. It was why he chose the path he did, becoming a mage himself, and what lead him to where he was, the Dean of a large and varied campus. As chief of the Kantō Magic Association, his ability to study and research magic was even greater. Truly, his life had been spent in the pursuit of knowledge.
And so, being sent an enigma like Ranma was something he simply couldn't ignore. He admitted that, yes, Goemon's letter had been quite detailed about a number of things. One of the most strident being a warning not to challenge Ranma unsealed, or deceive her – two things he'd already accomplished in short order.
It irked Konoemon that his old colleague knew him well enough to bait a trap that well. Yes, they did honestly need to asses Ranma's abilities, so as to properly place the youth within the potential of the Association. That was never a question – all resources, even unwitting ones, were tapped in the complex game that made up the balance of power between regional factions. The extent of Ranma's ability did not, however, need to be observed outside of his own curiosity. Like Tatsumiya and Sakurazaki she could fill in roles that allowed observation even within the constraints of a school-girl's day. Or, if she proved much more capable as Goemon believed, she could fill a role of that much like that of Takahata. In such a case, Ranma could be utilized as a free agent, able to act in a mostly independent fashion as need dictated.
Hearing a groan from his subordinate, the Dean looked back to where Minamoto was tending to the injured Takahata. He regretted now pushing the teacher into acting as he had, knowing it was against his own warnings and wishes. It was true the man wanted, after reading Goemon's shining endorsement, to challenge Ranma, but he imagined this was far from what he'd had in mind. It was part of the Dean's plan however to draw out and observe the youth, and the teacher was obligated to assist. Ranma's reactions however were proving that the warnings were rightfully given.
This, however... He was beginning to suspect Ranma was sent to him by his former colleague as an object lesson, in much the same way Pandora's Box had been.
Sadly, however, he missed the opportunity to end the hostilities peacefully. Sensing a break in Ranma's concentration, Kuzunoha darted in toward the young woman, following a cry of "Zankūsen!"
Ranma narrowed her eyes at the attack, noting she had another opponent that fought with techniques she wasn't familiar with. Avoiding the circular wave of edged ki proved impossible at the distance she was at, and so the redhead braced and did what she could to buffer herself with ki.
To Tōko's mild shock, her air-cutter had no effect on Ranma's jacket, though it did score her exposed skin with some few cuts. Within range now since the younger woman had focused on defending against her attack, the Shinmei-ryū swordswoman adjusted her blade for a backhand strike. Before Ranma could disengage, Tōko's blade flashed brilliantly, and began a quick descent.
The kenshi's sword passed harmlessly through the young redhead, though even with her drastically small defensive window, Ranma had avoided all but the very tip of the blade. It would have cut a shallow gash across her chest had it been anything but a demon-sealing strike, something the swordswoman had taken a chance on, feeling the anger and hatred rolling off the girl. Tōko stared at Ranma, as the girl glared back at her unharmed and undeterred from her last attack, the mala on her wrist clinking ominously to her ears.
Ranma took the initiative on the next exchange, blurring into motion and punishing the kenshi for her previous efforts. Though Tōko was no slouch, Ranma in her female form was faster, and got within her guard with little effort, her palm flat against the older woman's sternum. Almost conversationally and with a small wicked smile, she announced "Tōboe Asura Shushō", as her ki spiked and flared.
Tōko screamed as Ranma's Howling Asura Palm roared against her, the stifling miasma of hate and anger that powered the attack almost causing the woman to choke. Her stance broken, she nonetheless managed to force herself into a hilt strike to the girl's jaw, followed by a sweeping kick that was half attack, half attempt to gain distance by using the momentum to spring backward. While Ranma was reeling, Kuzunoha gathered herself and moved to attack the point that she felt would end all the strife, and put this silly conflict to an end.
Her first strike was dodged, but the second was caught, impossibly held in place against the target she'd set – Ranma's mala. Stretching the beaded strand between the fingers of her left hand, Ranma regarded the shocked kenshi with a dire scowl. "You... are you stupid? Hasn't anyone been listening to me?
"I don't want to hurt anyone," the redhead snarled, dropping her stance and backing away a step, as Kuzunoha moved to defend the group, a feeling of dread washing over her. "I don't know why you people won't listen. Is it magic? Is that why you're so dumb?"
Before anyone could respond, and Gandoflini looked ready to do so with a spell if his grip on his cane were any indication, she continued. "Hell, I'm sure Goemon warned you in his letter – that idiot met me unsealed," holding up her left hand, Ranma shook the mala at the gathered mages. "Don't you get it? I'm trying to protect you. Do you see this? One-hundred and eight seals. Carved into jade, then inked in oni blood – an oni I had to subdue, then get the blood from willingly! Do you have any idea how hard that is?" Cursing soundly, Ranma reached under her jacket, ripping the mangled shreds of her shirt off from under it. "And you still want me to go all out. Fine. Fine! I'll try not to kill anyone, but I'm leaving, now. So either stand aside, or I'll walk over you once I'm done!"
Stepping forward, Konoemon held up a placating hand to the young woman. "Saotome-san, please... I apologize. It wasn't my intent to cause this much strife, and obviously I let my curiosity get the best of me. Let us end this, peacefully."
"Actually," Gandolfini muttered, stepping to the side and rapping his cane on the floor. "I'd rather put this insolent little brat in her place."
"Gandolfini-"
"Dean, she's insulted us once too many times with her disrespect," the man in the suit stated, moving forward enough so that his darker, almost Mediterranean skin could be clearly seen.
He was pulled back in line by a scowling Takamichi Takahata. "Stand down, you pompous idiot," the graying teacher muttered through clenched teeth. Though his jaw was still aching from the vicious blow he'd taken, the English teacher easily stared down his disgruntled colleague. Rubbing at the bruise that was likely already forming, the bespectacled man spared the irate redhead a genuine grin. "Lets finish our spar, Ranma-san. Then we can talk about this and apologize appropriately for the misunderstanding."
Despite her emotions working havoc on her ki, Ranma forced herself to calm, taking a number of deep breaths. "I'd like that. I don't like to fight, but I will if you push me," she muttered. There was a pause, before she let her lip curl in a sickly grin. "Still, you guys should be careful what you ask for.
"You just might get it," she concluded, letting her hands fall apart from where they'd been clasped. Takahata noticed the beads hanging from the girl's right hand, before looking pointedly where the mala had been.
Absent. "Damn," he muttered, sparing no time in activating his kankahō.
Ranma, regardless of the spike in the man's ki, looked nonplussed. Shrugging once, she muttered a single word infused with ki, holding the hand bearing the mala before her.
"Break."
The string of one-hundred and eight seals briefly circled the redhead, before settling around her neck in a long strand, the long loop draping itself between her breasts. With a smirked comment of "pervert oni," she sighed, feeling her ki pulse. It was nearly electric, surging through her chakras, leaving her panting and shaking for a moment. The sensation was, she recalled again after being sealed for so long, very much like sex.
That of course brought other things to mind, "Funny thing about oni... each one of them's got a new and interesting blood-borne ability," she noted, as the necklace clinked with Ranma's shivering. "Some are just stupid. Drinking as much as they want and never getting drunk. Turning into vegetables. Being orange."
Laughing quietly, the gender-shifted martial artist heaved a sigh. "Then, you get the really interesting ones. Power over density. The ability to defeat any foe in three steps," Ranma seemed to get a far-off look for just a moment, before snapping herself back to the present as a tremor shook her. "Those are fun to spar with. The one I convinced to help me make this," Ranma indicated her changed mala, "could change her form into anything. Anything. Somewhat perverse now and again – but generally damn useful. To a degree, her blood carried her power slightly. Personality too. I borrowed some from her sisters to finish the seals, eventually."
Gazing fondly down at the remade mala, Ranma grinned. "But you don't really wanna hear about that," she mused and laughed again, before trembling fiercely. A low keen choked its way from her throat. "Awe, fuck," she gasped, falling to a knee. Shivering hard, Ranma grit her teeth before grabbing a length of her ripped shirt where it had fallen on the ground. Winding it into a knot, she promptly bit down on said bundle of silk, as another tremor rippled through her body.
Takamichi Takahata stared at the spectacle for a long moment, regretting his part in the partial farce. Sure, he wanted to test the boy – what martial artist didn't like testing their limits and abilities, or seeing those like them do the same? Still, he wasn't comfortable with pushing the youth so much. It was part of Konoemon's plan however, and he was obligated to assist. With the Dean's agreement to stop the act they'd been pressing her with, Takahata had offered the girl a chance to not only vent her aggression, but to get some satisfaction for the deception against her. He'd hoped that it would be enough to make amends, but this... "Is she alright? This..."
"The mala is no longer active," Tōko stated, adjusting her glasses with a frown. "I see now that the oni influence caused my earlier error, but this..."
"What?"
She regarded the bruised man with a worried glance. "That kind of seal, backed up by oni blood is... powerful."
Ranma's actions drew their attention again, as she fell to her hands and knees, muffled screaming making its way around the make-shift gag she'd crafted for herself. Rearing back suddenly, she stunned her audience by slamming her head into the ground with a resounding crack. Takahata and Shizuna both moved a half step forward to assist or stop the young woman before the redhead repeated the motion, only this time there was more than self-inflicted violence in the act.
A wave of pressure washed out from the still-screaming figure, sending the dust along the floor to blast away in a sudden upheaval of wind currents. Fingers alternately gripping and clawing at the rocky floor, Ranma slammed her head into the rock again, cracking a flagstone as a faintly luminous silvery aura sprang into being around her form. Like disturbed water, the ghostlight of her unrestrained ki wavered and flowed, never still, never settling. Like liquid fire, it lapped and coiled around and in on itself restlessly, outlining its bearer in faint luminescence.
And then, Ranma's screams died off, as last of her changes literally ripped themselves from her back in a cascading display of horrifying clarity. Two great spikes of bone speared outward from her shoulders, glistening wetly with blood and viscera. Those bones grew up and out, cracking hollowly as joints were forced into the spines, then flexed and bowed as the redhead curled in on herself in a shuddering ball, back exposed to the open air as the gruesome display continued.
Muscle and sinew followed in the same violent fashion, accelerating as the luminescence around Ranma began pulsing in time with her heartbeat, affecting a nearly strobe-like frequency. Viscera now enshrouding the bones, skin followed, and almost immediately as it did so, feathers concluded the strange display. White and snowy, they formed a stark contrast to the terrible event that had preceded them, though those closest to the redhead's shoulders carried the residual stain from contact with her bloody skin.
Into the sudden silence, Ranma's ragged breathing could be heard evening out into something more normal, though the occasional shudder was still heard. Tentatively, those new appendages flexed and flared, showing themselves to bear a distinct resemblance to a falcon's in shape. Sharply angled, they tapered in the distinct way that most wings built for faster flight did, rather than a broader surface meant for gliding. With a final deep breath, Ranma pushed herself back onto her feet, her wings settling back, tucked tightly behind her. Wavering a moment, she gathered her equilibrium with a final sigh.
Blue eyes whose irises seemed to flow now with a liquid silver snapped open and stared back at the gathered mages implacably, until she sighted Takahata.
"Oh, hell-" He barely had time to tap into the kankahō – a joining of ki and magic – before the vengeful image of an angel was upon him. Halfway across the arena her literally flying tackle ended when a shaft of silver light slammed the man into the ground hard enough to throw him back in the air from the recoil, only to be kicked into a wall. Through a blur of crushing blows and blasts of ki that excavated hundreds of pounds of rock from the arena with each impact, Ranma could be heard laughing merrily.
Konoemon swore as he shouted out directions, before activating the arena's stasis ward. If nothing else, it would prevent the vast room from collapsing inward from damage, if things went badly for them. Seeing that his precaution had taken effect, the Dean lead his fellows into a spell of suppression that should dampen the power of those caught within. With any luck, it would cause a stop to the ongoing and vastly more destructive fight, and if not, give one of the mages an opening to subdue the strange young woman before Ranma did something she would likely regret.
He suppressed a sigh, considering his choices regarding Ranma. Hopefully, one day he would learn that curiosity could very well kill the cat – and the occasional English teacher, if not handled with care.
–
"So, that's why you did it," Ranma commented, scratching at the bandaid across her cheek with a finger idly.
Konoemon nodded, leaving his head in a slight bow at the end. "I offer my sincerest apologies for my rudeness, and my hope that we can continue an association on civil terms," the old man stated formally, making Ranma twitch in her seat.
Being the subject of such attention was disturbing to the young woman, and as such, she waved it off with a nervous laugh, "Really, no problem. Just uh... well just talk to me next time. Be direct. I get that better and well, respond better I guess," she admitted, reaching up to rub at the base of her braid idly.
Nodding his agreement with such an idea, the Dean continued, "It was not one of my most... intelligent moments. The Kantō Magic Association is a mostly Western-styled cooperative, and any opportunity so see a ki-adept at work – especially one that a master in the field such a Goemon endorses – is a rare and interesting event. I'm afraid I let my exuberance outpace my good sense."
Ranma shrugged off most of the explanation, taking the relevant bits in before frowning. "So... what you guys did. That was magic? It felt right, but I've not seen anything like that before."
"The incantations and spells you heard and saw were of that kind, yes. Western magic, to be precise."
"Huh," Ranma mused, nodding distantly. Her memories of the fight were for the most part washed out from the resonance of her ki interfering with her mind. Every emotion had become so intense they temporarily took control, driving her along before them. It was the ultimate reason she disliked being unsealed – that lack of self-control and discipline. Everything about it was counter to the Art, and if there was one thing Ranma couldn't tolerate, it was losing the Art, no matter what the reason. It got easier to deal with and adjust to the longer she allowed herself unsealed, which was good, but... outside of the Phoenix, there wasn't any place she could do so, unless she wanted to take Goemon's path and become a hermit. Bird-people weren't the sort of thing one overlooked in the modern world.
The irony that she had become so much like the person that had driven her to kill for the first time, at least in body, wasn't lost on the pigtailed martial artist. It served as a bitter reminder not to let her control slip like it had the first time, leading to her injuring Kiima, or when she initially met Goemon. Or, she admitted with a sigh, just a small while ago with Takahata. The seal wasn't an idle thing that she removed just at any point she liked, like flipping a switch. It was her boundary, a border, between what she thought of as herself, and the idea that she feared, becoming like Saffron.
Returning her attention to the conversation, Ranma frowned. "Western huh? So, that means there's an Eastern?"
The Dean chuckled lightly. "Indeed, though I'm surprised Goemon didn't work harder to turn you to his own ways. What he practices, from my last information from him, would be considered Eastern magic."
Ranma immediately balked at the connection. "But he uses ki, not magic."
"True," the old man agreed. "However, how many ways can one describe the impossible?" He saw that the girl shifted uncomfortably, admitting the point, if grudgingly. "The two active Associations – Kantō and Kansai – are separated by such labels. We prefer to take a Western approach, embracing the new and varied, while they prefer the traditional ways, rooted in practice and familiarity."
At that, the redhead frowned. "But you have those two God's-cry kenshi, and Takahata. They're not magic users."
"A good tactician understand the strengths of his enemy, to better turn them into weaknesses," the Dean noted, before realizing perhaps that wasn't the best way to word things.
Ranma, however, took his mistake and ran with it in a marathon fashion. "You guys do know a lot of combat spells," she mused, digesting what had been and had not been said. "Takahata's too good to not practice, and you don't learn the kinds of things he did on your own. I recognize that style, if not his version. The sheathed-blade draw I mean." Leaning back in her chair, the redhead tapped her chin, as her beads clinked from some unknown motion or settling. "Oh, right, the kenshi too. You have quite a lot of fighters on the payroll, around here. Would you and these Kansai people happen to have some kind of disagreement going on?"
Her question was asked with enough fake sweetness that the Dean could do nothing but wince in response. With a heavy sigh, the man nodded, "Yes. Our Associations are often at odds, though openly nothing happens."
"Right, just like openly I had a peaceful life," Ranma sniped back, her tone, posture, and expression saying enough that she fully understood the truth behind things. "And that's why you wanted to evaluate me. You want me to work for you, in exchange for what you can do for me."
Konoemon nodded. "Indeed. As the Dean of Mahora, and the chief of the KMA – Kantō Magic Association – there are only so many ways I can utilize your talents. You cannot teach, though I'm sure if we had a martial arts class rather than a club you could be an asset. You haven't been formally trained as an Eastern or Western mage, and despite Goemon's teachings, you are less than an apprentice in the art of onmyōdō, he insists-"
"I didn't have a lot of time, and he would only teach me so much," an irritated Ranma interrupted. She left out the fact that the man was nearly as bad as Happosai, wanting to trade 'favors' for information. What she'd dragged out of the old pervert were the things she could without compromising herself. One old letch in her life was already more than enough, thank-you-very-much.
At the quiet cough by her shoulder, the redhead turned to see the blonde woman from earlier, who had lead the way to the Dean's office. "Ah... Minamoto-san? Did you need something?"
Shaking her head, the woman let a gentle hand rest on Ranma's shoulder. "No, Saotome-san. I was just wondering if you needed anything. Some of..." her eyes trailed unconsciously to the redhead's wings, before snapping back to her face. "Ah, I was concerned you needed something for pain."
"So you're kinda like a nurse?"
Shizuna laughed quietly. "Oh no, not at all. I'm an advisor of sorts. Think of me as a teacher's teacher," she explained, kneeling down beside the young woman's chair. "I offer advice and guidance to those teaching at Mahora, since it can be a vastly different place than some are expecting." Grinning slightly, she shrugged. "I just dislike seeing people hurt. I try to help where I can."
Reminded faintly of Kasumi, Ranma smiled tentatively back at the woman. "I... I see. Um, well..." flexing her wings slightly, since she had yet to reseal herself, Ranma considered what to tell. "When they're sealed for a long while, it hurts a lot when they come back the first time.
"Learning under Goemon, he explained that the body remembers how it uses ki, but that it's like a muscle. The more you use it, the better you can use it," the young martial artist explained in a half-lecturing tone. "It's like breaking a leg. Being off of it for a long while, you have to get used to it again, and it hurts till you've gotten it back into shape. If I stay sealed for a long time, my body and ki forget how my wings work, and rather than the easy way, I get the hard way, when they come back."
Konoemon focused on that, looking thoughtful. "Easy way?"
Fidgeting in place, Ranma shrugged. "If I've been unsealed a while, and it hasn't been too long, I can recall them without all that... well that," she uncomfortably explained. "They just show up."
Eyes narrowing in thought, the Dean smoothed his mustache. "Fascinating. And you're quite balanced now?"
"Not quite, but close," Ranma agreed. "Same applies to my unsealed ki. For the first little bit, the flood is just impossible to deal with. Once that surge has passed, I'm fine. I just end up with these," she jerked her thumb back over her shoulder, wings shifting slightly.
After that, the discussion in the Dean's office became somewhat less interesting, as the various mages spoke amongst themselves. Most seemed wary if accepting of Ranma, though few had anything really useful to say that she could understand. Most talk spoke of some sealed world, and a place called Ostia. Rather than be talked about in the middle of a room and subtly eavesdrop, Ranma worked on her ki exercises, building more complicated and vast networks in her mind's-eye to cycle her natural energies through. She imagined them like blood vessels, though more aesthetic – like those tattoos she saw out in Shibuya once. Tribal she recalled, faintly, from her meditative state. She had hopes that in time, she could subconsciously focus on the patterning and flow enough that the balancing influence of her wings weren't needed... not that she fully understood what Goemon meant when he explained that. Supposedly, they were something of a subconscious focus, a way for her mind and body to express the potential for her ki in a way that let her essentially equalize the pressure between what she could focus, and what she was able to produce.
Her hand strayed to the jade mala, smiling faintly at the warm reassurance it offered. She didn't need it at the moment, of course. While her wings were free, her control became increasingly more even – the problem with the situation was the fact she had wings. The only way to possibly go around in public while avoiding a panic would be to seal her own ki as she had done, causing them to destabilize and disappear, while taking her now-massive reserves with them.
After about an hour of discussion, the other mages and Shizuna left, leaving Ranma alone in the Dean's office with only Konoe present. During a long silence while the older man sipped his tea, the Dean addressed the purpose of her visit finally. "Hmm... the difficulty in your case, Saotome-san, is that we currently have no solid information on what to do about your change or curse. They simply are undocumented and unresearched phenomenon. To do anything hastily could have more of a harmful effect than your Soul of Ice, or another bath in the hot tap you described."
Ranma flinched at that idea, having no desire at all to see what her next 'ascension' would be. "I see. So there isn't anything you can do."
"That I did not say," Konoe countered. "It will take time, but I'm sure we can find something that would help you. The most important thing to discover, however, is how. What is it you truly want? To cure your Jusenkyo curse, which would potentially lock you into a male form, forever removing the potential you show as you are now. Discovering some way to reverse the effects of Jusendo. More control over your ki, a more convenient trigger... there are many options.
"Though, there is something else to think on as well. It is true that we at Mahora and Kantō practice primarily Western styles. As Goemon stated, you have some talent now for magic-" he raised a brow as the girl faintly vibrated and growled in anger. Coughing into his fist, the old man continued, "...We can of course offer some tutoring, in that area. However, in regard to your ki abilities... Takahata would be your best resource," the Dean admitted, folding his hands before him. "Though we employ some ki-adepts and martial artists – some very promising students attend as well – there are no true masters here."
Ranma nodded sullenly, though her interest at the mention of other students was noted by the old man. "I see. I guess I'll be focusing on the few things he left me to study then as far as onmyōdō goes... What about the magic thing? I'd really rather not deal with that as well. All it's ever done is cause me problems." She kept some of her thoughts to herself, schooling her face carefully. Kansai eh...
Konoe frowned slightly. "You would prefer to have that potential sealed, then? It could potentially lock your transformation. Considering your body's capacity for ki in a male form is so much less..."
"I'd rather not give up my transformation if I can help it," Ranma admitted, realizing that not so long ago those words would have been proof she'd gone insane. But, then again, not so long ago she was also surrounded by people who either couldn't deal with it, or took advantage of it. Facing the possibility she could lose either side of herself these days brought the truth of what she'd once considered a curse into stark focus. She just wouldn't feel whole without it, anymore.
The Dean nodded, a slight smile twitching across his lips. "Very well then. I think I can arrange for some tutors, of sorts, as well as access to a library that you may find more answers in. But, let me ask... would you consider continuing your normal schooling?"
Ranma blinked at the old man owlishly. "Eh?"
–
