Sitting back in a chair, his hand holding a glass of chardonnay, the former martial artist sat back in a crushed leather chair, looking up at the full moonlight through the open window of his study. It had been an eventful year for the raven-haired one-winged angel but it had been a productive one none-the-less.
Jusenkyo had been his first stop; a hidden valley in the Bayankala Mountain range just south of Mount Kensei. A place of many “tragic tale” with over one-hundred cursed springs; magic and water originating from Jusendo. One of these tales had been his own thanks to how the springs were imprinted with whatever living creature that was first immersed in them. Turning into a girl with a splash of cold water had never been on the list of Ranma’s high points but the ambient magic he was able to slowly siphon from the environment over the span of his first month free of the pit where Metal’la had slumbered had proven most useful. He’d even been able to learn of the fate of what others had gone through thanks to some spying on Joketsuzoku. A number of truths and secrets he learned were things that concerned his old life, words from Elder Khu-Long’s lips herself; the old bat having returned with her great-granddaughter after learning he was abducted by a Youma and possibly dead.
Not that he cared about his old life; the less that were interested in him, the better. Still, the thought of having been humbled by a piece of salt water taffy was most perturbing and he wasn’t sure he’d ever live that down. Still, he couldn’t help but be curious about faces he hadn’t seen for a long time. At his first arrival to Jusenkyo, he’d learned it had been a good half year since he’d disappeared. Now he was at eighteen months since that fateful confrontation with a confectionary creature.
But that was it. Simple curiosity that he had no intention of following up on. Curiosity killed the cat and thanks to some time in the dark he felt more in tune with the ferocity granted to him than ever before; power that could only come from conquering one’s fear by becoming something far worse. He was in no rush to join any of his feline predecessors by letting the noose get wrung around his neck before he was ready to act. Rushing in head first was what got him into trouble in the first place, into so much trouble so many times before his final fight. Any thoughts on revisiting his old life would wait until he was ready to confront it on his terms.
When the first month of his newfound freedom and insight had passed, Ranma felt he had the power necessary to make his way in the world. Slow but sure was his path but in no way was it the vengeance of heaven. It was simply the most methodical way to do it. A slow build-up and stockpiling of energy to back him up in case he came across anyone that could do him harm while he searched for items to add to his arsenal. Items of power that would increase his energy input faster than simply ‘nip’ tactics and help him lead humanity and the planet to what was really needed: paradise.
But paradise could only be provided once he had the power to raze the old, to cleanse it so thoroughly there wouldn’t even be ashes of what had existed before.
Fortunately for him, the eleven months following his stay in China bore fruit.
Having to lie in a pit of pure pitch-black darkness and hate while his body had been torn asunder by pure evil, he’d become a bit more of a believer in the unknown and superstitions. He’d come to accept that stories and legends were based on truth so while was not a religious man and did not believe in the after-life there was perhaps something to the stories so prominently recited by heart by those Christian Missionaries he remembered he and his old man came across during his youth.
Breaking into the Vatican had been easy enough but had proven to be a mostly disappointing and unnecessarily risky choice to start his quest to collect the spoils of power. However, it was the only place he could think of off the top of his head that he had any leads on outside of China and Japan, and he would have rather not have to deal with places he might have been known; staying for that month in Jusenkyo had been a bigger risk in his opinion but necessary. The place had been mostly filled with priests and even a few demon hunters. They had a few considerable weapons and religious magic but nothing that could have been useful to him. He’d come looking for items like the Holy Grail, the Lance of Longinus, the Ark of the Covenant or even thirty pieces of silver would’ve been nice! Such items of power weren’t uncovered during his search...
But that didn’t mean he walked away empty-handed.
Within the walls of a part of the Vatican known as Section XIII, he had found something that had proven the existence of such stories and while not a major piece of Christian history was more than enough for him to make his journey worth it in the end. Within a week, he’d gotten his hands on Helena’s Nail. Helena of Constantinople, mother of Emperor Constantine I, was said to be the discoverer of the remains of the True Cross. It was said she fixed at least one nail to the bridle of her son’s horse to give him protection in battle. Now hanging around his neck on a leather strap, the wooden nail would offer protection to a one-winged angel.
He’d traveled north from there, heading all the way to the British Isles. He was intent on finding the sword of legend. Excalibur, Caliburn, Caledflch, or whatever you preferred to call it, the stories surrounding it were numerous and immense. Sword from the Lady of the Lake, Sword in the Stone, Sword of the True King of England... so much to sort through and so little time but he wanted it. No, he’d never replace the long katana he’d scavenged from the remains of Queen Beryl’s base in Siberia but it couldn’t hurt to see what powers he could get to further augment his weapon or himself.
Three months would be spent in a search for the sword and in the end he wouldn’t find it but as with Helena’s Nail, in his quest for something specific he found items that would be just as useful. Where he’d looked for a sword he found a pair of stones.
The first to come into his possession was the Stone of Scone. Once part of the Coronation Chair in Westminster Abbey, it would be housed in Edinburgh Castle. Originally he was drawn to the legend surrounding it in his trip to Ireland where it was said that the Blarney Stone and Stone of Scone were both half of the original Stone, despite that the Irish stone was a bluestone and the Scottish one now in his possession was red sandstone. When he’d visited the Blarney Stone, he’d felt the remnants of a unique power to it, power he’d easily leeched from it underneath the noses of the many tourists. He’d gone to see if the Stone of Scone had the same power and he was right... but it was the source of said power. He’d added the stone to the hilt of his blade; a little extra boost for whenever in combat useful would prove useful in the long-run.
It was near the end of his three months in the UK that he came across what would arguable be his biggest discovery while searching for items to add to his arsenal, something that proved to him Arthurian legend was indeed fact. He was unsuccessful in finding the sword Excalibur but he found something just as useful if not more so to his needs. The Philosopher’s Stone, an item of alchemical legend reputed to allow one to turn base metals into gold and possibly create an Elixir of Life, allowing one to become immortal. The item said to have been used by the great wizard Merlin to preserve Arthur’s body for its voyage to Avalon so that he would be able to return to England once again.
Needless to say, funding his trips across the world had been less taxing on his body and power reserves. Why teleport when you could travel in a limousine or fly like a bird when you could go First Class?
The trip to Norway had been a breeze and he’d spent a good couple of months trying to find the supposed weapons of some of their more prominent ancient gods: Odin’s spear Gungnir and Thor’s hammer Mjolnir. Sadly he was unable to unearth either but a private auction gave way to the discovery of the warrior Siegfried’s mighty weapon Gram, even if the auctioneer didn’t realize what had come through his establishment. Also known as Balmung or Nothung, depending on who you talked to, the sword of Siegfried was an item that housed the power of the dragon Fafnir, whom Siegfried had killed when he pierced the dragon’s heart with it. The power had called out to him like a Siren’s song. Fortunately, the Philosopher’s Stone saw to it that he was able to outbid everyone else and pay for it with little trouble.
He’d taken two weeks out of his quest to find such goods to practice using Gram, both on its own and in tandem with his katana that housed the Stone of Scone. A weapon was only as good as the person who used it and he wanted to feel he was proficient with the long-sword before be continued further. While Ranma would find that he was a decent combatant with either sword, it would turn out that he was most dangerous when wielding both of his weapons at once; the power of man and the power of myth complimenting each other quite nicely.
From there, a more confident Ranma continued searching for more power, no longer worried about possible assailants that could ruin everything. Yes, hubris was the downfall of many but the raven-haired dark savior couldn’t help but feel pride with what he’d accomplished in so little time.
And it only got better from there as the Philosopher’s Stone would give him further power. Not only in the sense he was used to but power over mankind itself. Being able to make gold when needed allowed him to play on the greed of humanity. After all, as he had known all along, starting with his own father, people were self-serving wretches; himself included. They had great desire for money, wealth, power, food or other possessions, especially when their gain would deny the same goods and goals to others. In being able to give people money and wealth he was able to further his collection of powerful possessions, further stockpiling his power, both physical and mental. During his time he’d learned that knowledge was just as powerful a tool as a sword in the right hands and used at the time time.
In the last few months he hadn’t even traveled, preferring to purchase a villa along the coast of Calabria, Italy. Good atmosphere, warm temperatures but not oppressively hot thanks to the sea-breeze, good people, good food and drink. He was able to live in comfort as he paid to have items of curiosity and interest brought to him while private investigators and the internet were used to attain information on the world around him. Getting what he needed done while having his desires met along with it made the place more of a home to him than any place ever had before. He might actually come to miss the place once it came time to cleanse the world but like many things, it was necessary.
“So here I am...” Ranma muttered to himself, fingers rubbing along the crystal surface of his wine glass. He brought it to his lips and took a deep sip before relaxing back. “I have what I need. I have money, I have power... now all I need to do is cleanse this world. But how?” He always assumed once he had what he needed he’d just burn the world to a cinder yet his travels and practices had been an eye-opener. You couldn’t just destroy everything in one go; there were too many variables involved. “Too many heroes...” he snorted in annoyance.
Heroes... good-guys and girls seeing to protect the world, defeat the villain, find the treasure, save/fuck their prince or princess, yada-yada-yada. It didn’t take a genius to know they were doing it for their own benefit; look at Sailor Moon for crying out loud!
Lifting his glass to his mouth again, the one-winged-angel took a bit of a fiercer chug. He’d seen her, damn it, HE’D SEEN HER! Lying there dying as he was, he saw her taking on the woman who’d damned him to die! She destroyed that bitch Beryl and then what? That was it, POOF! Gone.
He’d gathered news of the exploits of her and the other Sailor Senshi... the craziness that had been brewing back in his homeland of Japan surrounding them. Youma continued to come even if they called themselves things like “Cardians” or “Droido”, huge trees taking over building complexes, black crystals appearing in Tokyo skyline along with BLACK HOLES and Death Phantoms...
No, he couldn’t let things continue on as they were. The presence and actions of the Sailor Senshi was just inviting trouble. Ranma would be damned if he let someone who had no plans for the world get it destroyed before he set his own machinations into motions.
“Speaking of which,” the raven-haired individual that had been ‘purified’ by darkness thought as he placed his wine glass down on his black marble desk. “Where do I begin?”
Drumming his fingers along the smooth ebony surface of his polished stone furniture, Ranma pondered his plans. He knew he had the power to make his dreams, his desires come true but there was still personal grievances. He hated the Sailor Senshi, Sailor Moon in particular and while he was loathe to admit it, curiosity still baited him into checking on the state of Nerima, if only to settle some scores. “Not to mention that I think the Vatican’s spies have been snooping around here,” he thought bitterly. Then again, he should have expected it. There was no way they’d simply give up possession of Helena’s Nail without a fight and it certainly didn’t help that he’d set up ‘shop’ in the same country.
“Well, that’s hindsight for you,” he mumbled to himself as he chuckled, the laughter a low, dark rumble in his chest. Hindsight had been really kicking his ass as of late. “Oh, if only to have known then what I do now...” he lamented as he reached again for his wine glass. He bent his head back and downed the last of the wine within the finely-crafted crystal before placing the empty container gently back onto his desk.
His attention turning to the window once more, Ranma let off a sigh. He knew what he needed to do.
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(Posted Thu, 12 Mar 2009 05:34)
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