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"High-Lord Uranite-sama!"
At the sound of her voice, the high-mage turned, glancing for one brief moment from his frantic sealing of the last of the sub-space crystals that would hold the precious scrolls during their traversing of the gateway, as Kalleth rounded the doorway, and stumbled to a halt. For a moment she stood, eyes roving wildly as she gasped desperately for air, while in the distance, yet another low menacing rumble shook the stronghold, and Uranite shivered as yet more of the ruins of the realm were torn savagely from his perception, vanishing as though they had never existed, as the obliterating wave of oblivion surged ever nearer.
"They have not returned?" he said urgently, although he knew it to be a foolish question.
Even with the tearing pain of the failing of reality all about this last refuge, he, of all of them, should have felt the stirrings of the portal, had Vedris or Alaegra managed to re-enter the failing ruins of the Kingdom. It was possible perhaps that they were simply unable to teleport back, and were awaiting their arrival.
But Uranite doubted it. What little remained of the Kingdom (now little more than the stronghold itself) was stable still; his own powers would have warned him otherwise, and he could only assume either that they had taken it upon themselves to disobey: inconceivable given the desperate nature of their situation, or more likely, that the terrible Senshi had found them, and the two had fought, or been given no chance to explain.
He did not want to think about their chances should this last be the case, and should the dreadful wielder of the Ginzuishou be waiting for them when they stepped from the exit, and into the world once more. It would be a massacre, of that he had no doubt. Even by some miracle should they be able to gather the power needed to challenge her: an impossible hope, there was nothing left for them upon which to draw. The Earth's mana was bound and unreachable, and all the Senshi need do was wait until they tired, and they would have them, broken and helpless to do with as they chose. There was no hope in battle; nothing was more certain.
"High-Lord?"
Kalleth's urgent call brought him back from the black introspection, and he started, glancing quickly to her at his side.
"They have not returned High-Lord," she said again, her voice tight with barely restrained terror. "Are the scrolls ready?"
"As ready as I can manage," he answered, indicating the five gleaming-black crystals, each perhaps half the size of his clenched fist.
With desperate speed, Kalleth reached for them, catching them up and binding them close beneath her own silken wrap. Her master had entrusted her with a task of almost inestimable import, and she would die before she would allow the precious library to come to harm.
"You understand my instructions, Kalleth?" he said quickly, glancing once more about the home he had known for the few weeks since the cataclysm, in case something might have been overlooked. "No matter what may happen, you are to protect the library, and stay out of harm's way. Do I make myself clear?"
For one brief moment his steel-grey eyes held her own, and Kalleth shivered despite herself at the seldom-seen intensity of his power. He could and would destroy her should she fail, of that she was certain, and indeed she would have wished for no less. Yet even now, she was sure she caught a warmth and understanding beneath the fire, and she shivered again with a very different emotion, her pulse quickening and a flush coming to her face as she dropped suddenly to her knees before him.
"I shall guard the library with my soul, High-Lord," she said softly, her cat-slitted green eyes shining fiercely with sudden adoration as she gazed up into his face. "May it be taken by the terrible moon-queen herself should I fail."
"Very well," he said, gesturing her quickly to her feet. "But now, speed is of the essence. Are all gathered?"
"All save the scouts, High-Lord," she answered.
He nodded, and moved quickly to the door, pausing but for a moment to glance one last time about the chamber, before stepping out into the passage, Kalleth at his side.
From all about them came shouts and calls as youma raced hither and thither in a last desperate race to gather all they could take, the sounds of urgent voices interspersed with the crack of a teleport as those prepared and ready leaped into the great hall in the centre of the stronghold, most careless of the air they displaced, so desperate were they not to be left behind. Uranite reached briefly to Zeolite, confirming that the others were ready and waiting, catching the brief flicker of Tellurite's power as the warrior-commander reached to recall the scouts, even as Uranite prepared to leap to the hall. He felt their acknowledgment.
Then in the next instant a wave of agony crashed over him, and in the same moment a cataclysmic detonation split the air, and a brief terror smote him, slashed into nothing as those beyond the stronghold ceased to exist.
'By Metallia!' He flashed wildly to the others. 'It's here! We're out of time!'
Then he was running; not daring to leap, as reality lurched and groaned, while all about him, shouts turned to screams as panic took those still in the passages. Youma leaped blindly, some reaching the hall, others losing the coherence of the jump in their panic, and vanishing into the nothingness. Almost before them, Uranite saw a pretty humanic barely full-grown tense as though to leap, then turn suddenly inside-out, her ruined mouth opening in a petrified rictus of agony, a thin, horrible keening he was certain would haunt his darkest dreams for the rest of his days, filling the air before she exploded with a sickening tearing that left him wanting desperately to be sick.
Then another flash and crash thundered about them, and Uranite knew they could not reach the great hall on foot. From behind, a great thrumming began, a bone-deep, throbbing rumble that rose and waxed, until at last, with a cataclysmic roar and crash that shivered rock to splinters and struck youma in their dozens to the floor, the fabric of reality quaked and lurched, gaping suddenly wide like some hungry maw of nightmare.
For one terrible moment as Uranite and Kalleth looked back, the nothingness gaped wide before them, a window into a blackness of ruinous oblivion more absolute than the mind could hope to comprehend. And from the blackness something came: a bloated corruption of the very fabric of existence that writhed and quivered: a shapeless impossible something that surged and waxed, blazing with a lurid, livid fire: a blight that burned the very soul, and turned every sense to reeling, screaming madness, and every thought to horror and gibbering despair.
For Kalleth it was too much. Screaming: her mind on the knife-edge of breaking, she turned, fleeing wildly along the passage before her terror became too great even to run, and she leapt, vanishing in one last, hopeless lunge for the great hall, and a respite from the fear.
Fighting with everything he had, Uranite wrenched himself from his own paralysis, and catching her in mid leap, he directed her with his own reeling power, even as he fought to control his own senses enough to guide himself to a safe landing at her side.
A moment later both stood in the great hall, while beyond its bounds could be heard the screaming roar of ruin, as all that remained of the Kingdom erupted and vanished in twisting, howling nightmare and oblivion.
"Now! It must be now!" Uranite heard his own voice scream, even as he leaped to the dais and summoned the power needed to open the gate.
"But Vedris and—" Apatite began.
"You come with us now, or stay to die!" Uranite shouted, relief almost driving him to his knees as the gate flashed into being before him.
It was stable, and showed no signs of succumbing to the roiling madness about them.
"He's right; we have no choice, and no more time," Cried Tellurite. "Zeolite shall lead, then Cryolite, Apatite, and Halite in that order. If all is safe, don't wait for us; we'll be right behind you."
From beyond the hall came another crash. Then suddenly the great hall shuddered, despite its seals of protection, and the further wall groaned and shivered.
"Go!" Tellurite shouted.
And they obeyed; Zeolite leaping through the portal but a fractional moment before the tall, green-haired fighter followed on her heels.
"Good luck!" she cried, flashing a fierce smile even as she vanished.
Apatite wasted no time in following her sister.
Then Halite was gone, and the two were alone with the last of their people.
"Come! As quickly as you can! You first," Before Kalleth could understand what was happening, Tellurite had caught her up, and hurled her through the portal with her precious cargo. "And you," he continued, pitching a still barely-coherent Galenite after her. "Such potential as yours will be needed."
Then the youma were streaming for the portal, his presence alone preventing a wild panic as he held his power ready, prepared to kill in an instant any who dared start a stampede.
"Two-hundred; two-hundred-and-fifty," he counted to himself; "come on! come on! Faster!" he shouted. "Time is desperately short. Move!"
As though to emphasise his point, the thrumming roar grew to a sudden terrible crescendo. Then a piercing scream had him whipping in the direction of the further wall.
For a moment he stared aghast as the rock reeled and rippled like molten wax. Then with a cataclysmic crack it opened before his staring eyes, and Tellurite saw, and wrenched himself wildly away.
For most who looked into the abomination beyond, it was the end, their sanity deserting them in an instant, high keening shrieks of madness tearing from suddenly gaping mouths as the incomprehensible horror robbed them of reason, and they leapt blindly, vanishing to the last into the nothingness beyond the confines of their shattered reality.
For some few able to bear the sight, they turned, driven almost to quaking, fighting with all they possessed to hold themselves upon the knife-edge of reason, knowing only too well what would happen should they falter and plunge into the infinite madness of splintering oblivion.
"Come!" Tellurite's voice thundered suddenly above the roar and scream of ruin. "All who are able; follow!"
And with that, he leapt into the portal, Uranite only an instant behind him.
Immediately the gate began to quiver; while youma, released of the cohesive presence of their commanders, fought with savage desperation for a place within the diminishing passage to escape. For a few precious seconds it held, while some few sensible enough to band together, hacked and fought their way to freedom. Then with a last cataclysmic crack it burst asunder, riven into splinters, even as youma screamed and fought like wild animals in a last hopeless race.
With a screaming roar, the seals, strained beyond endurance, flashed and exploded in a howling, shrieking eruption of magic gone mad, and the last tiny fragment of the Dark Kingdom broke and plunged down into the hungry maw into
nothingness.
Still screaming, youma were hurtled into the gaping abyss, some bursting instantly into flame, others turning to water or stone or hideous, nightmare parodies of themselves: body and mind, before splintering and fracturing into shrieking phantoms that dissipated swiftly, their agonised screams dying to faint echoing cries of despair, as their riven souls perished in the impossibility of the nothingness beyond understanding. And at last, even the void shrank, bubbling and snarling, until with a final hiss, the emptiness itself collapsed, and ceased to exist.
And in the nothingness beyond the foundations of reality: in an emptiness of matter and of thought beyond dream or imagination, something stirred, vague and ill-defined: the barest splinter of a phantom thought: the faintest echo of the rage and frustration of an anima of an impossible hope, that shuddered, writhing upon the knife-edge of existence; until of a sudden, it started, sensing by some dreadful chance beyond fate the cataclysmic shattering of the Dark Kingdom; and it slipped the moorings of its creator's mind, reached, and was real.
Laughter came then: a low purring that rippled and writhed, as the thing that was an abomination beyond pain or terror or the darkest nightmares of the vilest fiend of any hell, swirled and coalesced, until at last she stood, tall and terrible, cloaked and hooded in deepest night, her long hair swirling about her like a curtain of living fire: eyes like emerald chips, stabbing frigid and merciless from a face to rend the soul, and set reality itself to quaking. And she was ruin and oblivion beyond the last end of hate; and to her, it was good.
"Mine!" The word was soft, a hungry, purring snarl of ruin and seduction to turn the mind to madness, and the soul to broken, gibbering obedience: a promise that rippled and shivered to the uttermost reaches of the emptiness. "Mine, for ever. For with me begins hate and ruin till the uttermost end of oblivion; and they shall hear, and scream."
Reaching with senses attuned to perfection to the emptiness, she touched and caressed, reshaping it with subtle care so that it might make from whomever should dare enter her domain, the tools by which she might realise her desire; and she smiled the smile of damnation as she felt them swirl and coalesce: two already powerful enough to be of service: another nearly so, while the last was barely a flicker, created of a mind with little cause to hate. But that would change.
With savage eagerness she reached to draw them to her; and gasped as the truth of their presence, and of the connection of one of them to her became clear in a blinding flash of understanding.
Then she laughed again, a low purr of ruinous delight that rose and waxed, until at last the very foundations of the emptiness shivered and trembled, as in a moment the completion of her desire, and the means by which it could be realised was revealed to her.
"Come!" The command shivered the blackness, thundering about her, even as they sensed her kinship, and turned, racing fiercely towards her. "Come, and take your rightful places as my own, and the instruments of my desire. Come, and hate!"
And suddenly helpless to resist, they came. And in that moment, the ruin of all that was or that could be, was begun.
** ** **
Darkness Chronicles
An anime-Manga Cross-over
** ** **
Book I:
Part I: The Gathering
Chapter IV:
** ** **
The first thing Johnathan knew was that he was shivering violently with cold.
For a space he remained on the boarders of oblivion, numb and only half aware, with no memory of where he was, or how he might have come to be there. Then the pain hit him: a dull, relentless ache of numbing, frozen ice, and he gasped and opened his eyes.
He was lying sprawled, half on his back, half on his left side. A sullen glow seemed to fill the frigid emptiness around him: a diffuse luminescence, stark and chill, that seemed to come from no clear direction, and that was little more than a diminution of the blackness of unconsciousness. The substance beneath him was cold and black as pitch, and hard as though wrought of frozen stone.
Johnathan moaned and struggled to move, every muscle aching with a bone-deep chill. Slowly and painfully he scrambled to his hands and knees; then, with every muscle screaming in protest, he struggled at last to his feet.
"What! Where!" he gasped.
HE was standing on a flat, featureless blackness that seemed to stretch in every direction as far as the eye could see. A thick, clinging fog, defined only by its swirling whiteness and the heaviness of the air, hung to the ground about him, and he could make out nothing further than a few inches beyond his outstretched hand. In any direction he turned the sight that met his staring eyes was exactly the same. Above him, the cold, stark light seemed to fill all the sky, coming from no source, and illuminating little.
Johnathan stood still and shivering, staring about him in numb incomprehension.
"Am I dead?" he gasped softly to himself.
His voice echoed and reverberated unnervingly in the heavy whiteness, as though in some vast enclosed space, rather than falling dead as he might have expected. Yet there was no other sound, save for the faintest whispering of the fog.
For several seconds more he remained, trying desperately to reconcile any recollection with his current situation.
Then abruptly, memory came flooding back to him with terrifying intensity: the hideous nightmare, and all that his terrible awakening had precipitated.
For a moment, numb horror seized him. He was dead, and this was Limbo or purgatory: his punishment for some misdemeanour of which he would very soon be told.
Then he became aware of his racing heart and quick, shallow breathing, and he wondered. Would he still be breathing if he were dead? Were the dead somehow given the illusion of life, the better to bring home to them the hopelessness of their situation? But if not…
"Hello?" he called tremulously into the nothingness, desperate to hear any sound other than the barely-perceptible sighing of the slowly swirling fog. "Is anyone there?"
But no answer came, save for the faltering, dying echoes of his own small voice and the ghostly whisper of the fog.
"I say!" he tried again, his voice trembling. "Hello?" Then abruptly, with a little anger despite his fear: "Look! if this is someone's idea of a joke, it's not funny!"
But it was no good.
For a space he could not define, he remained, still and shivering, while the slow, creeping horror seemed to fill the void around him, and he did not dare to move.
Yet at last, reason began to reassert itself. Whatever his situation, he could not simply stand here until he starved or died of cold, assuming he was not dead to begin with.
Suddenly decided, he turned, staring about him with greater purpose. But even had there been no fog, he would have been able to see little without his hated, but necessary glasses. As it was, his short-sightedness meant that he was all but blind.
"Damn it! Damn it!" he muttered furiously, anger at yet another reminder of his constant need for the spectacles overwhelming his fear.
He hesitated for another moment. Then, picking a direction at random (after all, one seemed as good as any other), he began to move forwards. Yet the world around him remained utterly unchanging, and at last he halted again.
"Damn this!"
With sudden explosive fury, he lashed out with a foot, and impacted something soft.
"Itai!" something, or rather, someone screamed.
In the next instant, Johnathan's foot was wrenched from under him, and something shot at him and slammed him down.
"Oof!" Was all he could manage.
Then he was flipped over on his back, and a figure, barely seen in the gloom, was astride him, pinning his arms and legs.
"All right, whoever you are. Just wha'd'ya think you're doing? And who are you, and where are we, if it comes to that?"
"Wha! Le'go!" Johnathan protested, wheezing and gasping as he tried to force air back into his tortured lungs.
The voice that had addressed him was undoubtedly female, and Johnathan was suddenly very aware of how close the unknown girl was. Immediately, he began to panic in his usual fashion, all ability to form coherent speech leaving him.
"I don't… I mean, if you could… Would you… That is… Um, I…"
"Kami!" he heard the girl mutter to herself, "what an idiot!
"Listen", she demanded; "is all this your fault? Because if it is, I'm gunna take you apart! But first, I'll ask you again; just where are we?"
But all Johnathan could do was to open and close his mouth stupidly while no sound came, until at last his assailant reached to slap him painfully on the face.
The blow, apparently intended only to snap him out of his daze, nevertheless made stars dance before his eyes, and Johnathan was certain he could taste blood.
"Ahgh! Oy!" he cried, the pain at least going so far as to shock some sense back into him. "What in God's name…! That hurt!"
"So, you can actually talk properly then?" the girl commented with a touch of mingled sarcasm and amusement. Then, when Johnathan made no answer: "Well?" she demanded, "you gunna answer my question?"
"What!" Johnathan shot back in his turn. Then, understanding at last what she meant, he continued angrily: "No; of course it's not my fault; I've just myself woken up here! And I've no idea where we are! L-l-let me up for heaven's sake!"
With a "hmph!" of annoyance, the girl released him, and Johnathan scrambled to his knees, then at last to his feet.
He turned, peering short-sightedly at the girl, trying hopelessly in the fog and the pale, waxen glow to make sense of what he saw.
"Oy! What're you staring at, you hentai?" she demanded.
"Wha'! Hentai?" Johnathan replied, startled. "Just a minute; are you Japanese?"
"You got a problem with that?" said the other caustically. "No," she continued, her tone more sarcastic by the second; "'course I'm not Japanese. That's why I talk Japanese, because I'm Chinese. Pretty common, that; didn't you know?"
"Well, if you're talking Japanese, then so am I," Johnathan rejoined just as sarcastically.
"Well, what do you think you're talking then!" countered the girl hotly; "the cow language? Moo!!! Moo!!!" she added pointedly in a pretty fair imitation for effect. "Kami! What kind of crazy baka are you?"
"What! Don't be ridiculous!" snapped Johnathan, his quick temper flaring in his turn. "I'm talking English of course, you idiot; just like you!"
"Yeah?" the other answered in a shout, her clenched fist suddenly a hair's breadth from Johnathan's nose, while a faint blue glow seemed suddenly to emanate from around her. "Well, I got news for you! I ain't never learnt more than a few words of English in my life, so it ain't likely I'm about to start talkin' it now, is it! And who're you calling an idiot, you crazy hentai?"
"And who do you think you're calling a hentai?" Johnathan's own voice was rising steadily.
"And if you're talkin' English, how d'you know what Hentai means?" the other demanded with still greater volume.
"Simple!" Johnathan answered, now shouting at the very top of his small voice. "Because I watch a lot of Anime and read Manga."
"Which is where you learnt Japanese, I suppose?" the other sneered. "Yeah; sure! Pull the other one; it rings like a temple bell!
"I don't know what's going on," she ended contemptuously, "but I ain't wastin' any more time with some crazy, Japanese-talkin' gaijin who's obviously escaped from somewhere. I got'a find a way out'a here!"
With that, she whirled away from him, staring about her as though seeking some point of reference from which to start.
Suddenly panicked at the thought of being alone again in this place in the near-dark and the frigid, whispering fog, Johnathan fought down his temper as best he could, until at last, just as the girl seemed to have chosen a direction, Johnathan stirred.
"All right. All right." he said, his tone as reasonable as he could manage. "This is no good! Shouting at one another isn't going to get us anywhere. You say you're talking Japanese; right?"
"Haven't I told you that about a dozen times?" the other snapped in answer, still assuming it seemed either that he was mad or the biggest idiot in history.
"Will you just listen for a minute!" Johnathan said, his own small voice raised again. "Look; if you think you're talking Japanese, and I think I'm talking English, then there can't be too many explanations. Either we've both suddenly learnt each other's language perfectly, and don't know it, something's translating what each of us is saying to one another, or we're not really talking at all.
"Or we really are dead after all," he ended to himself with a shiver. "which might make sense.
"All right" he said; "let's try this. Say something, slowly, and I'll try really to listen to what I'm hearing."
"'Something, slowly, and I'll try really to listen to what I'm hearing'," the girl parroted with a smirk that Johnathan couldn't see. "That good enough?"
"Oh, very funny!" said Johnathan, his own temper flaring again. "You're a laugh a minute!
"Still, I think we might actually be getting somewhere, you know" he continued far more thoughtfully. It's strange, but now truly that I'm paying attention, Whatever I heard then, it wasn't English, even though I understood it. But I can't quite…
"Right," he continued with sudden purpose, a touch of excitement in his tone. "Now, if I say…hmm…you're a crazy baka!"
"Hey!" the other shouted. "At least I'm not a little hentai like you. If you want me to do this, how 'bout not being insulting; right?"
"All right; sorry. But what did you hear, blast it?" Johnathan insisted.
"I heard…" The girl was silent for a moment. Then she exclaimed softly: "You're right, you know! It's weird! I can't repeat what you said; I mean, I can, but not as you said it. But I do know it wasn't Japanese, apart from 'baka', that is. And you didn't pronounce that quite right. And what you said does sound sort'a like the English we do at school. I mean, I know a few words from there, and a few more from all the years of training everywhere with Oyaji; although the things I heard then was usually swearing directed at him for stealing food, or tryin' to get away with not payin' for something. And it did sound sort'a like that, but more…I don't know; like I suddenly really felt what those words mean, without quite being able to hear them. This is crazy!"
Johnathan nodded. "Exactly!" he agreed, his excitement now obvious. "That's exactly what it is! You feel what the words mean; but somehow more. The longer I listen, the more I can really hear the sounds as another language, and understand what you're saying from those sounds, rather than doing a sort of subconscious English translation. It's fascinating!"
" Yeah; you're right!" the girl agreed. "The more I really listen, the more I can hear that you're not speaking Japanese, and the more it sounds like English, but somehow different…no, better than what I've heard."
"Same for me," Johnathan agreed. "At least, regarding the first part of what you said. I know…knew so little Japanese, that I can't really comment on it sounding better."
"But this is crazy!" said the girl. "I've had some weird things happen to me in my life: yesterday was pretty high up there, but how can we just suddenly understand what each other's sayin', just like that! And why didn't we notice it straight away?"
"Well," said Johnathan uncertainly, "it could be that it's a function of this place, and that we're becoming more attuned to it, the longer we stay. Or it could be that each of us has had the other's language…well…crammed into his mind at such a subconscious instinctive level that we only began to notice it when we started to pay attention. Probably that's what would happen. After all, you don't exactly listen usually to see why you can understand what someone's saying to you; it's simply instinct. It's interesting too that, although we can understand one another, it seems we can't speak the other's language; at least, not yet. I'd say though that probably it wouldn't take very long to learn: probably just a matter of getting used to forming the sounds, and learning to think in both.
"Anyway: however all this is possible, the real question is: where are we?
"Oh, by the way, I'm Johnathan. And please, that's not John, or Johnny, or anything like that; all right? Johnathan O'Reilly."
The girl nodded. "Saotome Ranma, heir to the Saotome school of indiscriminate grappling," she said, shaking, and nearly crushing Johnathan's suddenly limp hand.
"What!" Was all Johnathan could gasp. Then he simply stood and gaped.
"Hey, you all right in there?" Ranma-chan demanded in alarm, after several seconds in which he continued simply to stand and stare at her in numb disbelief. "You're not going all weird again, are you?"
"You… You can't…!" Johnathan managed faintly at last, utter incredulity warring with a sudden irrational hope and amazed excitement. "It's… It's not possible!"
Ranma-chan remained watching him, more confused with every second.
"I'm not… Tell me I'm not dreaming this!" Johnathan gasped at last.
"Not unless it's a dream we're sharin'," Ranma-chan answered drily. "And I could think of a hell of a lot better things I'd rather be dreamin' about than to be stuck somewhere cold and foggy with some crazy Gaijin, who looks like he's just seen a ghost!
"What's the matter with you, all of a sudden? I thought we'd got passed all the weird, and into straight-out impossible by now."
"Oh we have; believe me, we have!" Johnathan answered. "This is… I can't believe it!
"All right," he continued after a space in which Ranma-chan continued to gaze at him without speaking. "Assuming I'm not dreaming, dead, or mad…
"You're Ranma Saotome; correct? Son of Genma and Nodoka, engaged to Akane Tendo, one of the three daughters of Soun Tendo; the others being Kasumi and Nabiki?"
"What!" Ranma-chan demanded, astounded in her turn. "How d'you know all that? And it's family name first by the way; baka gaijin! And your pronunciation is really terrible!"
"Just tell me if I'm making any mistakes," Suddenly, Johnathan was almost babbling, nearly incoherent with sudden leaping excitement, utterly heedless of Ranma-chan's growing alarm and burgeoning suspicion. "You're also engaged to Uk…hmm…I mean, Kuonji Ukyou; your father did that for her father's yatai. And Shampoo thinks you're married to her because you defeated her in the Amazon village; and Kod…Kuno Kodachi is after you; and Kuno Tatewaki is after you're cursed form; and—"
But he got no further.
Almost before he knew what was happening, Johnathan found himself flat on his back again, with the enraged Ranma-chan astride him once more. This time however, her look was very far from friendly.
"All right!" she said in a low, warning growl, the blue glow of her battle-aura visible even in the clinging whiteness of the fog. "Start talking! Just how do you know any of this? Just who are you?"
"You…didn't…have…to do…that!" Johnathan wheezed, all the air driven out of his lungs for the second time in nearly as many minutes, but the shock returning him also to his senses.
"It's quite simple," he said a good deal more calmly at last, when he could speak without gasping. "I told you I'm interested in Manga and Anime. In my world, you're not real; that is to say: you're a manga and Anime creation of Rumiko Takahashi.
"But how we could be here, in the same place…" he ended half to himself, sudden returning unease replacing the euphoria of moments before.
But Ranma-chan was gaping at him in incredulous disbelief of her own.
"Nani!" she managed at last. "No way. As in Urusei Yatsura? You really are crazy, aren't you!"
Abruptly, she hand-sprung off his stomach, causing another: "Oof!", and landed on her feet.
"All right," she said simply; "that's it! You can stay as another crazy part of this crazy place, for all I care. I'm leaving."
"Wait!" Johnathan tried to shout. "Listen to me! I'm telling you the truth. How else could I know so much about you?"
"Who knows?" said Ranma-chan. "Perhaps you're something the Old Pervert's cooked up. Perhaps I'm dead, like you said you might be. Oh yeah; I heard you say that. Or perhaps that kawaikunee tomboy hit me again, and all that crazy day yesterday was all just part of some weird dream, and I'm really still unconscious. I dunno, and if you want the truth, I don't care. Whatever it is, I've had enough. I'm gettin' out; now."
"Please, Ranma," Johnathan cried, not understanding, but sensing suddenly with an urgent, leaping fear that he had to make her stay. "for once don't just go crashing through everything. It won't work. I don't know how I know this, but this is different. We shouldn't, we can't be in the same reality. It's impossible; truly impossible. I know I was behaving like a fool before, and I'm sorry. But I think something's gone terribly, horribly amiss, and that's why we can both be here. Something's gone wrong, and this isn't funny any more."
"No; sorry," said Ranma-chan simply. "I've learnt you don't go foolin' around with weird places unless you have to, or unless you really know what you're doin'. And I don't need to know why I'm here, or why you're here, or even how I can understand what you're saying. What I have to do is to find a way home if there is one, and as quickly as I can. So, sorry about this, but I'm getting out'a here, and if you want to go wanderin' about, trying to find out what all this is about, then you can go right ahead. But you'll be doing it without me! I'm going home."
"And how exactly do you plan to start?" Johnathan demanded. "Look around us. Everything looks the same. There are no stars; no landmarks; nothing you could use as a reference. What exactly are you going to do; pick a direction and simply start walking in the hope you might find something eventually? That's about the best way to end up going in circles; in fact, that's exactly what will happen. Haven't you ever read anything about people who get lost in deserts? You can't hold a straight line without a reference; I don't see even how you could do that, Ranma, without something to go on.
"We don't know how we got here, or whether it was by accident or design. We don't know even where 'here' is, or anything about the nature of this place. Who knows; perhaps it's a four-dimensional curve, and any attempt to travel in a particular direction will simply bring you right back to where you started. We don't know even whether there is a way out. Our only hope is to stay together, and try to find out something about where we are, and why."
"You mean, you don't want to be on your own," said Ranma-chan coolly. "You're scared."
"All right; what about it!" Johnathan flared. "Don't tell me you're not, even just a little, because I won't believe you."
"You wanna try and prove that?" Ranma-chan said dangerously, cracking her knuckles.
Johnathan bit back a retort before it got him a fist in the mouth.
"I don't want to fight you, Ranma; I wouldn't last a second. I'm trying only to make you understand. Our best chance is to keep together. If we can—"
But suddenly he broke off, sure suddenly that he had heard something.
"Did you—" he began.
But a sudden, urgent "shh!" from Ranma-chan had him choking into silence.
A moment later, both started as a clear call of: "Ranma? Ranma, is that you?" echoed towards them.
In the next instant, a figure came plunging out of the fog.
"Baka!" A furious female voice shrieked, seeming caught half-way between rage and tears. "There I was, wasting my time worrying myself sick about what could have happened to you, and you've just been standing here, not even trying to look for me!"
In the next instant, Johnathan winced as he heard a dull thud, then Ranma-chan groaning as she collapsed in a heap on the hard, frozen blackness that was the ground.
"BAKA! BAKA! BAKA! BAKA! BAKA!" the girl, whose behaviour left him in little doubt as to who she must be, wept as she pounded her fiance again and again. "I thought you were dead, you jerk! I thought that baka curse of yours had finally killed you!"
"Um… Excuse me, but if you keep hitting her like that, you might well be right," Johnathan ventured tentatively, wincing at each successive thud.
As if noticing him for the first time, Akane stopped pounding on Ranma-chan, and turned to face him. Beside her, Ranma-chan groaned again, then began to stir.
"Kawaikunee!" she muttered, then slumped back into unconsciousness.
"Who are you?" Akane demanded, glaring at Johnathan with the mallet already raised.
Johnathan shuddered. Ranma, and perhaps everyone in his reality might inherently be able to take punishment like that, but he was certain that a single blow from that thing would split his skull like an eggshell.
"Wait, for heaven's sake!" he cried, raising both hands. "My name is Johnathan O'Reilly, and I'm from a world where that thing would probably be considered a deadly weapon."
And with that, he began to explain as best he could.
* * *
Someone was going to be very sorry for this; she would make very sure of that, if it took her the rest of eternity. She would hunt down Gemma Renée's miserable, twisted little excuse for a ghost or soul, or whatever psychopathic little bitches like her possessed, and tear it to screaming, quivering ribbons: hers, and that of every last piece of underworld pig-swill who had been in her pay. To be killed by such an unbelievably stupid case of simply filthy luck!
She was dead: she had no doubt of that. Although the frigid, featureless void all about her, with its sullen light and icy, clinging fog, was not exactly her idea of the afterlife. Had she been so irredeemable?
For a moment, a sudden bitterness, touched nonetheless with wry amusement twisted her lips in a thin, half-smile. It was what she might have expected from whomever was responsible for the universe. What else? God (or whoever was in charge of this place) was going to get a piece of her mind he would never forget, when she had finished with that little drug-dealing whore, assuming she ever found her way out of here. God, Satan, the Morrigan, Kami-sama; name them! If they wanted a fight, she would only be too happy to oblige, and with a lot of interest. And if anyone had the curiously misguided notion that she would be staying here…
She continued to walk, something she had been doing now for nearly an hour. There was no point in staying where she was until she froze. She had laughed at that thought. Could you freeze to death after you were dead?
The terrain was, of course, the same featureless void in all directions, but whatever had landed her here had reckoned without either her determination, or a unique intuitive ability when it came to direction, amongst other things. As much as any other talent she had ever displayed, Hideo-sensei had been astounded by this unique ability to hold a perfect line and navigate a complex course, even cut off from all her senses.
The clinging, smothering fog, and the bizarre way sound seemed to echo and reverberate in this place as though in some vast yet definable space, was doing its best to confound her. But she knew herself to be going in a dead straight line. She could also see better than most in this pea-soup.
Just let anything come at her out of the nothingness, and she would have it very sorry it had tried before she was finished, or go down with her blades, and then her fingers, nails and teeth in its throat, if nothing else was left.
It was curious how her clothes and her tiny blades had followed her to the afterlife, yet the semi-automatic she had taken had not. But then, why not? Perhaps they were a projection of her own soul. That was fine with her, and made a certain, strange sense.
She shivered. The unrelenting cold was beginning to seep into her, despite her brisk pace. With a furious gesture, she yanked her loosening coat tighter to her, and refastened the buttons yet again. At least her soul-self might have had the courtesy to fix the worn button-holes.
She had tried concentrating on altering her clothes: then the fog, or anything else regarding her situation, but it seemed plain that whoever was running this place, they intended their domain and her situation to remain beyond her ability to change.
"M'hmm," she had acknowledged simply, her frigid smile a promise. "We'll play it your way then, shall we? At least until I find you. Then you can start explaining, or you can start making other sounds made more generally when in a great deal of pain; whichever you prefer."
She shivered again. The top button simply would not stay fastened, and she was not dressed for this. She had worn the coat that morning, only because it had been raining when she had left for school.
"You've made a very big mistake, you know," she said almost conversationally, the underlying threat in her deceptively equable tone more palpable with every word. "Whoever you are; when I find you, you'll regret it, you do realise that, don't you?
"Well?" she erupted suddenly at the very top of her lungs, her scream nonetheless never losing its half-conversational touch . "I'm becoming decidedly unfriendly, not to mention increasingly homicidal. I'd come out now, if I were you, before I have to come looking."
But her only answer were the impossible echoes of her own voice, dying at last to silence.
Then suddenly there came another sound, whispering and reverberating in the emptiness, almost at the very edge of hearing: the faintest suggestion of a whimper.
Pulling quickly to a halt, she stood still, listening intently. It was nearly impossible to pin-point the source in the echoing void. But at last, certain she could retrace her steps and continue in the direction she had been walking should this turn out to be some kind of trick, she began quickly towards the faint, whimpering cries.
It was, as she had expected, very suddenly that the figure came into view through the blanketing fog. A moment later she had halted and stood, looking down at a small shape curled up tight into a ball in a single fluffy blanket, a head of blonde hair virtually all that could be seen. For a moment she thought it was a child. Then, as the figure became aware of her and the head lifted a little, she saw as the blanket half fell aside, that it was a girl, perhaps in her mid teens, although dressed absurdly in a ridiculously childish fashion in fluffy nightclothes, and with her hair done up like a child half her age.
"Enjoying ourselves, are we?" she demanded, none too gently, the initial impulse that would have seen her reach out to comfort a much younger girl vanishing beneath her natural tight control as she glided effortlessly into a fighting stance, the edgy menace that was so much a part of her nature falling like a cloak about her as she tensed, ready for any sudden movement. "Perhaps when you've stopped all that racket, you might like to tell me who you are, and what you're doing here? Where here is would also be a good start."
Whoever the girl might be, she was almost disappointed it had not been the sociopathic little bitch she would have been more than happy to find. She was just in the right mood to vent her growing rage.
Slowly the figure uncurled herself, lifting her head still more, and turning a tear-streaked face fully towards her.
For a moment she stared in return, the sudden unreasoning certainty that she had seen that face somewhere before so intense that she remained frozen. But she could not place the memory, and at last she shook her head, and stirred as though to say more.
"Eiko?" the figure whimpered before she could speak, a hopeful smile beginning to touch her mouth.
Then her face fell once more. "No; you're not Eiko. Where's Eiko. I want Eiko!"
Immediately, she fell into full-fledged crying, her face screwed up, and her eyes streaming tears.
"What!"
For a few numb seconds, the other simply gaped at her, for once too stunned and thunderstruck to do anything else.
Then abruptly she threw back her head and laughed, a cold clear laugh of sardonic amusement that filled the fog with a myriad of echoes, as though the void around them were sharing in the joke. No wonder the girl had seemed so familiar.
"Oh, superb! Absolutely superb!" she said at last, her tone dripping with wry amusement and contempt. "This is just perfect! Not only do I die in the most absurd case of idiotic bad luck, but my first afterlife companion turns out to be a manifestation of the worst nuisance in the history of creative insanity. This just couldn't be better!"
Then suddenly her face was ice.
"Unless, of course," she purred, her low, frigid contralto abruptly very far from amused, "you know something I don't? In which case, you're unlikely to know anything for much longer.
"Well?"
For answer, the huddled figure (whom she had to acknowledge did indeed resemble very much how the Anime Kotobuki C-ko might look were she brought to life, impossible though that could be) simply cringed down in the big fluffy blanket, and began to wail all the harder.
"Oh, this has to be someone's idea of a very bad joke," she growled under her breath.
"When you've quite FINISHED!" she snapped aloud, suddenly at the end of her patience.
But the noise continued unabated, and at last she lowered herself to bring her face a good deal closer to the girl's.
"Right," she continued almost conversationally, her voice suddenly very low and unnervingly reasonable, with just the right amount of feral menace lurking just below the surface to leave no one but an idiot in any doubt as to the fact that it would be a very bad idea to push her further. "I think we need to understand one another. That is extremely annoying, I'm feeling particularly homicidal just at the moment, and I've just about reached the point at which taking a Lepton princess apart, piece by piece to see how long it takes me to find which particular piece keeps her making such a hideous, God-awful racket, is becoming an extremely attractive proposition. Have I made myself sufficiently understood?"
By the time she had finished, the threat in her low, purring tone could not have been more palpable.
But the effect was not at all what she had expected. Immediately, the crying became a sudden piercing, ear-splitting wail, interspersed with: "Eiko! Eiko; help! She's going to do something horrible to me! Eiko; pleeeeeeeease!"
Stunned despite herself at the unimaginable volume for someone so small, the other nonetheless found herself thinking grimly that she should have anticipated exactly this reaction. If the girl really was Kotobuki Shiko, or rather some bizarre phantom conjured up perhaps from her own memories by this place or its designer, then any threat was likely to make her more difficult, rather than the reverse.
Putting a savage hold on her seething fury, she shook her head, finding herself wondering despite everything how on earth A-ko could stand this for any length of time without strangling her.
It was at about this point that she realised that something else was amiss with the situation. It had been niggling at the edge of her awareness ever since C-ko had spoken. Now suddenly it became evident; the girl was not speaking in English.
She knew little Japanese, save for the few phrases she had picked up from Hideo-sensei; despite her exposure to certain Manga and Anime and the related arcade games based on some of the more popular OVAs, the Anglicisation Programme throughout the Empire meant that like everything, they were almost invariably fully translated. Yet listening more closely to the occasional words scattered amongst C-ko's wailing, she was shocked to realise that the girl was most certainly speaking what sounded very much like Japanese, and that more astounding still, she could understand every word.
She could appreciate that some dreams could give the illusion of foreign languages; she had experienced that several times. But this was different. She was understanding C-ko's choked pleading with the same instinctive ease as though the girl were speaking English or Irish-Gaelic, and suddenly a quite different appreciation of the situation took hold of her.
It seemed inconceivable, yet was it just possible that this girl was indeed Kotobuki Shiko: that somehow, beyond death, she had crossed some boundary into an afterlife concurrent with that of a true Project A-ko universe? She would have dismissed the idea out of hand, or at least as being far less likely than a myriad of other possibilities. But the question of her sudden Japanese comprehension (and that of Shiko for English, since plainly the girl could understand her as easily as she could Shiko) could not be ignored.
Then how far did that comprehension extend?
Listening closely, she tried to form words and think in the Japanese C-ko was speaking. But try as she might, she could not quite manage it, even though she could understand the words, and translate them perfectly to herself. Still, she felt that she was close. Probably it would only be a matter of time, and very little time at that.
But for now, there were more important things about which to worry. First and foremost, she had to stop the girl screaming loud enough to wake the dead; or at least, she thought wryly, bring other dead.
Quickly, she moved closer to her, slipping a blade unobtrusively into her other hand, ready to attack at the slightest sign that things were not, after all, as they appeared. C-ko however simply continued to wail and cry for Eiko, until at last she reached down, and despite her intense dislike of close contact, laid a hand gently on the girl's blonde hair.
"I'm not going to be able to help you if you don't stop crying," she said, pitching her voice carefully to a quiet, controlled calm.
There was a catch in C-ko's sobbing. Then the head lifted slowly, and large tear-filled eyes fixed on her face.
"Y-y-you're not g-g-going t-t-t-to h-hurt me?" C-ko sniffled.
"I don't remember making any promises," she answered carefully, although she kept her voice calm and reasonable. "But if you're who you say you are, and if you promise to stop making such an appalling racket, I'd say you're fairly safe; all right?"
"And…and you'll h-help me find Ei-Eiko?" C-ko whimpered.
"We'll see," she answered in the same careful tone, realising that probably the girl would interpret this as a promise, but not nearly ready to deal with the reaction telling her just yet that she was dead was likely to precipitate. Best to find out what had happened to her, before she revealed that particular little detail.
Pulling her coat closer about her, she coaxed C-ko up from her curled huddle, and took the blanket from her with the excuse of straightening it, just to be certain she was hiding nothing.
At last, reasonably satisfied that there were no obvious hiding-places in her clothing, she sighed and shook her head. The girl was certainly not dressed for this, indeed she wore nothing other than her absurd nightdress and a pair of fluffy slippers.
Returning the blanket, she allowed C-ko to move closer beside her, although she would not let her huddle against her, nor would she share the girl's blanket. Apart from anything else, close or prolonged physical contact was something she had never allowed even her closest friends, and she was not about to compromise for someone she had known for less than five minutes.
C-ko was plainly unhappy about not being allowed this extra sense of security, but she had stopped crying, and was gazing at the girl she seemed already to have begun to think of as her new friend, with relief and even the beginnings of a smile. She had been so frightened here alone, and so cold.
"I…I was asleep," she began in answer to the obvious question. "Then suddenly there was a sound that woke me up, and my window opened, and Biko was there. She wanted me to go with her, but it was the middle of the night, and if I was going to go anywhere, I wanted Eiko to come as well.
"But then Biko picked me up, and wrapped me in a big fluffy blanket: this one, and I didn't want to start crying just then, because that would have woken everyone else. So I thought I'd let Biko take me outside, and then let her know with a really good cry what I thought about her waking me up in the middle of the night and not telling Eiko what was happening.
"So then we flew out the window, and i was just getting ready to let loose with the best cry I could do at such short notice.
"But then something was there on the ground, something big and dark, and somehow horrible but frightened at the same time. And Biko screamed before I could, and there was a bright flash, and I was falling, and Biko was screaming and fighting the dark thing, and then I fell through the ground.
"And then I was cold, and then I woke up, and it was colder, and I was here."
By the time she had finished she was crying again.
"I think something happened to Biko," she sniffled. "Maybe something happened to Eiko too, and that's why Biko came; and then…"
And with that, she was wailing all the more.
"All right," the other soothed, determined to reassure her, if only to stop the infernal din. "We'll find her if we can. But now we have to be moving. We can't just sit here; do you understand?"
"Y-yes," sniffled C-ko, making a surprising effort to stop whimpering. "Can we go now?"
"Now," she said, rising quickly to her feet.
C-ko stood up, then tripped on her blanket, and would have fallen if the other girl had not caught her.
"Here," she said in exasperation. "Stand still while I fix this.
"There," she ended as she finished wrapping the blanket around her. "and keep it held tight.
"And stop skipping about all over the place!" she added in growing anger, as C-ko began to bound up and down, beaming now with the certainty that everything would soon again be all right. "We've no idea what the surrounding terrain is like. Do you want to end up breaking your neck down something you can't see?"
Immediately, C-ko sobered, moving close to her.
"I'm cold," she said, her tone suddenly very soft, and very afraid.
"Come on," said the other briskly, ignoring the sudden imploring look, and moving quickly from the smaller girls attempt to draw close. "We'd best get started."
And with that, she began to move. C-ko took two steps, and tripped on the blanket again.
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph! What's the matter with you?" the other exploded, again catching her just before she hit the ground. "Can't you take two steps without doing a jig!
"Look, just hold the damned thing tight alright? That's all you have to do. Just hold it exactly like that, and stop jumping everywhere!"
With that, she slipped an arm reluctantly around the smaller girl, shuddering and almost recoiling at the close, hated contact, took too steps forwards; and plunged into oblivion.
There was no warning: no indication of any kind that the ground before them was any different from that upon which they had been standing.
C-ko's scream of terror shrilled wildly around her, her own bitten back viciously despite her shock, and changed into a snarl of rage. Then in the next instant they crashed into someone.
"Oy! Wha'd'ya think you're doing!" An outraged female voice yelled.
"Baka, it wasn't me!" Another shouted back.
Then everything was tumbling and shouting, until abruptly light exploded around them, and they tumbled out of the sudden brightness into ice-cold water.
"Aaaagh! Cold!" someone shrieked.
"Eiko! Eiko!" C-ko screamed.
"Baka! Hentai! Let go of me!" Came another, followed by a thud.
"Kawaikunee! Wha'd'ya do that for? I was only trying to help. Stupid, crazy otemba!"
"Would someone mind? I can't exactly swim," Johnathan spluttered as he was dunked several times in as many seconds.
Struggling at last from the tangled mass of bodies with a ferocity born of his fear of water, he splashed and thrashed about, until a sudden fierce grip caught his wrist. In the next moment he was scooped up as though he weighed nothing, and dumped unceremoniously face-down on soft grass.
"Satisfied?" A new, and somehow vaguely familiar female voice demanded, the question laced with contempt, but with an underlying touch of real amusement. "I don't believe it! It was a pond; not Bondi on a bad day!"
A moment later, Johnathan was flipped on to his back, and found himself staring up at his rescuer. Her long flame-red hair, tumbling in a wild, lustrous cascade below her waist, gleamed like fire in the warm spill of light from a nearby window, and piercing emerald eyes blazed with a fierce, almost feral intensity as they looked down into his own.
For a moment, Johnathan could do nothing but stare in stunned stupefaction up at the face that had defined his every image of perfection for years, and that seemed in that moment more impossibly beautiful than any dream he had ever known.
Then faintly he gasped: "Joanna?"
** ** **
Notes:
** ** **
This one needed a great deal more revision to get right. The DK stuff wasn't too bad, but the rest of the chapter was another matter.
Primarily, because Joanna was in a sense conceived at second-hand from how Johnathan imagined her,I could never get her right (one reason my SME effort has been stalled so long). Basically, I couldn't see how she could be believable, given her circumstances. She'd simply have attracted too much attention while still too young. Either she'd have been killed early on by some underworld hitman, or she'd have had to leave Sydney as soon as she could.
The only way out of course, was to make Johnathan's paradigm only a small part of her character, just as any created character would have to be far more than imagined in a story, if they truly could exist, and one could actually sit down and talk to them. I think at last I've managed it, but it was something of a balancing act without making her unrecognisable from what Johnathan had imagined.
** ** **
