Ranma sighed as he heard the cries of Akane once more. Nope. No way, no how. He was NOT coming down from the roof. He wasn’t stupid and he was just plain TIRED of being the guinea pig to her culinary disasters.
It had taken nearly two weeks for his skin to take on a normal and healthy shade of pink from the previous yellow-polka-dotted blue pallor it had turned when he’d eaten a stew she insisted was a bread recipe.
“RANMA!” was the continued shouting of the youngest daughter of Soun Tendo. “RANMA! Get your butt out here right now and eat this! It’s only a curry dish! You know I can cook curry!”
From his place, Ranma carefully peaked over... and went back atop. Nope. Not going to happen. He may not have been much of a cook, but even he knew that curry wasn’t supposed to be chartreuse and steaming pink smoke.
Resting back, and deciding he’d wait for Akane to go back inside before he began heading off to either the Ucchan’s of the Nekohanten for a bite, the pigtailed martial artist felt he was pretty much in the clear.
“RANMA!” came the shout of a withered old man. “There you are, you blasted boy! Now, come over here and wear this lingerie for me! It took me hours to shop—I mean... ‘liberate’ this silky beauty from the mall’s Victoria Secret and their heavily-armed forces of Private Security Guards!”
“...You mean you actually paid for that?” asked Ranma. He gave off a low whistle. “Wow, Old Letch, I’m impressed.”
“Really?” asked the hopeful pervert. “So you’ll wear it?”
“HELL NO!” the pigtailed martial artist cried, punting the Grandmaster of Anything Goes into the sky.
“RANMA!” shouted Akane, glaring at the roof from the ground.
“Um... cock-a-doodle-doo!” Ranma cried in hope that she’d believe it was just a simple chicken on the roof.
Akane blinked her eyes once, twice. She then frowned; a crimson miasma of her aura of anger growing around her. “DAMN IT, RANMA! GET YOUR REAR IN GEAR AND GET DOWN HERE!” She raised her left hand, coughing into it. “This curry is delicious! Why, even daddy and uncle Genma enjoyed theirs!”
Laying on his back with drool coming out the corners of his mouth, Soun whimpered, “Saotome, I see a bright light...”
Shivering and sweating as his body was somehow both on fire and freezing, the fat martial artist looked over to his long-time friend from his own spot on the floor. “That’s the light on the ceiling, Tendo.”
Managing to raise his right hand slightly to the ceiling, the Tendo patriarch whispered, “But I see Kimiko.”
“...Does she look happy?” Genma inquired.
“...No.”
“Then don't go towards the light, old friend,” he said, managing to raise his head. “Quickly, we need medicinal alcohol!”
“To the bar!” Soun proclaimed.
Genma twitched. “We can’t move our legs, Tendo.”
“...To the Ultra-Top-Secret-Sake-Stash!”
Ranma twitched from the cries of said old men from inside the house. “Er... no thanks, Akane. I just ate some... er...” he looked about where he stood. “Roof shingles!”
“...Roof shingles?” the youngest Tendo asked disbelievingly.
“Yeah! Roof shingles! Tasty, delicious roof shingles!” the pigtailed martial artist laughed nervously, hoping the uncute tomboy would buy that.
She didn’t. Sure, the youngest Tendo may have bought some magic beans that one time by trading in his father—in Panda form—to the circus once, but she wasn’t buying this. "RANMA NO BAKA!" Akane shouted as she threw her concoction up onto the roof with him.
Wisely, Ranma dodged to the side, hoping to the Heavens none of it would touch him.
“AAAAIIIIIIEEEEEEEE!”
Sadly, the Kuno family retainer, Sasuke, had not been so fortunate.
“GET DOWN HERE, RANMA!”
Now, he had a choice, he could stay here, and flee when the Tomboy came up. He could go down, probably save Sasuke’s eyes, but then he’d be point-blank for Mt. Saint Akane, or he could crow like a chicken again and hope it worked.
*WHAM*!
Oh, and the clock was ticking, as Happosai had apparently only gone straight into the air, now landing through the roof in what looked like Nabiki’s room. Well... at least he didn;t have to fix it. He blamed them for having a pitched roof. It totally threw off his angle for kicking.
“RANMA!”
Oh, right. He needed to make a decision and fast! Considering this was Nerima, there was only one logical choice.
“Cock-a-doodle-do~oooooo!”
“RAANNNNNNMMMAAAAAAA!”
Ranma rolled his eyes. Oh great, even jiji was upset. Man, you’d think he just wasn’t likeable, with all these people out to get him.
“Now, boy, you have made me angry for the last time!” the diminutive pervert proclaimed, climbing out from the hole and glaring at his sometimes heir—depending on who was chasing him. “Now, behold the source of your defeat!” Happi cried as he reached inside his gi and pulled out...
“...A pair of small panties with a hole in the bottom?” asked Ranma, missing the sound of a ladder hitting the side of the house.
Happosai blinked, before looking at what he grabbed. Well, now I have to figure out if I just liberated these from Nabiki or if she borrowed them from someone else in the house. Kami-sama help Soun if they were his. I am not dealing with that again, the old pervert thought bitterly. “Not these, my boy! This!”
The pigtailed martial artist blinked his eyes once, twice. “...A rubber stick?" asked Ranma.
“GAH!” cried Happosai, throwing down the black, rubber sexual aid—and oddly smacking Akane with it. “I need to start checking those silkie darlings before liberating them...” the old pervert grumbled irritably. He reached into his gi and smirked. He then pulled out... a cracked mirror... held together with duct tape?
“WAIT!” the heir of the Saotome School of Anything Goes Martial Arts shouted in sudden awe as he realized what the old freak was holding. “Is that...”
“YES!” the diminutive gnome cackled. “The Nanban Mirror!”
“...Are ya sure?” asked Ranma disbelievingly as he caught sight of something else.
The Grandmaster glared at the youth. “Yes I am, boy! Don’t distract me!”
The pigtailed youth shrugged his shoulders. “I was just saying, I see a price tag still on it.”
“WHO THREW THIS AT ME—ACK! WHO WOULD MAKE SOMETHING LIKE THIS?” cried Akane in pure, unadulterated horror.
“DAMN IT!” came a shout from the eldest Tendo from over in her room—the fact it was a curse coming from there causing all to pause. “WHO TOOK MY SHINY, BLACK MR. HAPPY!?”
“...Do you yield, boy?” demanded Happi, deciding he really, really needed to re-evalutate the other Tendo girls.
“And exactly how is a broken mirror supposed to punish me?” Ranma asked, stepping away from the ladder as it shook, signaling someone was coming up.
Happosai grinned. “Because while it’s true that I may have bought the mirror, I pieced it back together with a large shard FROM the original Nanban Mirror!” he cackled. “It’ll work just like new!”
“...A new what though?” Ranma asked, taking a couple of more steps from the ladder.
“RANMA!” cried Akane, approaching the top.
Part of him wanted to pay attention, he really did, especially since she seemed to be waving that rubber stick at him. Besides, if he didn’t pay attention to her, she’d just stop yelling and attack.
No, he knew he had better be focused on the Old Letch. Akane’s reactions were quick and simple. Happosai’s usually cost a lot in the long run.
Pulling out an onion, Happi quickly crushed it, sniffing the fumes and dropping a tear on the mirror. “I want my wayward heir to be sent to a place where he’ll be faced with his greatest fear!” cackled the man.
Ranma just blinked. “Doesn’t it only take whoever is holding it?” the pigtailed martial artist asked curiously.
“...What?” asked Happi, before paling. There was suddenly a glow from said mirror; the duct tape evaporated as the surface of the mirror cracks fused glowed brightly. “OH, HELL NO!” the old man shrieked as he tossed the mirror at Ranma...
...Who deftly dodged. “Phht! Fat chance, old goat! Like I’d really let you hit me with—”
“EEK!” Akane shrieked as she held up the rubber stick in an instinctive reaction to bash perverts. She whacked the mirror hard, sending the glowing mirror that was the origin for one hell of a show-show sailing back the direction from whence it came.
Spinning around, old instincts flaring to protect the Tomboy. Ranma turned just in time to see the mirror hit his face.
Now, had the Grandmaster of Anything Goes not sent it towards the boy, the broken mirror would have started to draw anything and everything in to acquire the heir it was meant to transport.
Luckily, Happosai’s toss and Akane’s overhand shot saved the world from a small black hole.
Ranma... not so much.
Yes, the pigtailed martial artist might not have been the most mature or foul-mouthed of people to understand the nuances of curses. But even he knew the proper send-off for his fellows as he experience what it was like for one to implode.
“FFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuccckkk...”
*Ping*!
Akane just stared at the spot her ungrateful fiancé had been standing, then to the rubber item in her hand, back and forth, until her mind came to a conclusion.
“ACK! THIS PERVERTED THING SENT RANMA AWAY!”
We never said it was even close to being correct.
Crossing his arms over his chest, the small gnome cackled. “Now the boy will learn his lesson!”
“Um, Master,” called Soun from the ground, Genma and he having been crawling back from their Ultra-Secret-Sake-Stash—which they had drained last month while drunk and fresh from being kicked out of the bar. “How would you retrieve him to see if he has learned his lesson?”
“...” Happosai twitched.
“And,” the Tendo Patriarch continued. “Now the boy won’t wear the garments you wanted him to in the first place...”
“...Soun, no one likes a smart-ass.”
Meanwhile, in the space between dimensions, Ranma tried to scream as he felt himself pulled, turned, stretched, twisted, and pause to narrowly avoid a large blue police box, before it started all over again. He swore he could taste the colors—and purple did not taste like grape! His only hope was that it ended soon... before he blew chunks, as he didn’t know which way to turn for it not to land on him.
Iceron stood at the front edge of castle, looking over the army he had gathered and prepared. It had been months since that bitch Sherisha had betrayed him... had... inflicted him... slowly but surely, he was turning into a wererat... and there was nothing that could stop it short of death before it took full hold; hers or his.
Well, screw that! Bitch didn’t want to know her place at his bedside, bent over and taking it up the ass, well FINE! He'd show her! He’d used his available resources—slaves and transactions with traders to acquire rare animals—and had created whole new breeds of his might lycanthropes: werecats! There were the Lions! Jaguars! Tigers! Panthers! Cheetahs! These breeds of werecat would search and destroy any and all wererats!!
Taking the stage on a raised landing of his castle, he looked down upon his creations, creations that knew their place. Smiling at the fact his revenge was at hand, he closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of the air, a scent of approaching battle.
Thus, he missed it as a pinprick of light formed a few hundred feet above him.
“My minions!” the lord of lycanthropes declared. “Now that you have been created and trained, the time has come! You men shall march on my territories! Destroy my enemies! Die for my cause while your women remain here, acting as my fine pieces of ass to fu...” Iceron blinked his eyes. “What’s that whistling noise?”
*BA-BOOM*!
Ranma groaned as he lay in a crater amongst stone flooring. It was rather odd as while definitely a hard landing, it was also moist... did he vomit and land in it? “Ewww, what’s in my mouth!? It tastes like Akane’s steak surprise!” he gasped in disgust.
A weretigress, a handmaiden—in more ways than she liked to admit to their lord—stepped forward. She looked the scene up and down before smiling. “That is part of our Lord’s heart.”
“...Well... shit...” the youth grumbled, spitting out the excess. Blinking his eyes slowly, Ranma looked up.
It was his greatest fear. Those lips, that body, that bust, the lack of clothes, the fur...
Yep... catgirl fiancée!
Oh sure, he probably just killed some poor guy. But seriously, he had to prioritize at the moment. What was worse: killing some wrong-place idiot or a catgirl fiancée?
Looking around, he gulped. Scratch that, he found something worse: catpeople. And he spotted a lot of them that were like the catgirl before him.
A lone voice of sanity rapidly spoke in his mind, stating he would personally gut the Old Letch when he got back to Nerima... assuming the demon-people didn’t render him limb for limb.
The Werecheetah High Priestess looked back and forth between the female court—she refused to call themselves a ‘harem’—that had been gathered for Iceron’s declaration looked about at her sisters, the dead overlord and the gore-covered youth whom was shivering like a leaf in a strong wind.
She didn’t know what possessed her. Perhaps she wanted to remain in some comfort zone. Perhaps she felt he could do the job better. Perhaps it was a spur of the moment thing and she felt, ‘why not’? For whatever reason, the werecheetah in garb befitting an Egyptian Queen raised her two staves. “All hail the Savior of Werecats!”
That made Ranma pause for a moment. He turned from the striped catgirl standing near him over to the spotted catgirl raising two sticks. “Um... I’m sorry? What?” That could not have been what he’d heard...
“ALL HAIL THE CHOSEN ONE!” The werecheetah proclaimed once again. Her proclamation was returned with the cheering of the armies and the slaves of Iceron.
Ranma sat there, dumb-founded. “...WHAT!?” This wasn't happening! It couldn’t be! Oh sure, they praised him now. But any moment now, something would happen, he’d get blamed, and out would come the claws, teeth, pitchforks, and torches.
He’d been forced to watch the political channels in class a few times when one of his teachers had been hung over.
Trying to back away from the catpeople, being careful not to slip in the slush that was the sad SOB he had fallen into and likely through whatever thing has been at the bottom of that platform, he tried to plan for a quick exit.
Cats were evil. He didn’t know what to classify big-breasted catgirls with barely any clothes on.
“My liege, were are you going?” A werepanthress with long hair in dreadlocks asked as she kneeled by him with a bowl of water and towel. “If you seek to get clean, I can wash you. I was the foot-servant of the previous lord and would wash his feet but I do have what I need on hand to clean more than just that.”
Ranma stared... the others might have been skimpy but THIS woman was topless!! Licking his lips—and steadfastly ignoring whatever it was coating them—he took another step back, being careful not to get cut on the sharp and shiny things surrounding him, looking about, and deciding not to feel sorry at all for the dead guy.
Who in their right mind would have something like this below a landing without a handrail?
No, he needed to focus on saving his own ass. If he had to guess, he would wager catgirl fiancées would have to be more painful than either cats or his fiancées. He would rather face Saffron after eating Akane’s mincemeat pie than face them!
Meanwhile, a few of the male werecat warriors were chuckling at this, not certain if the man had the right idea or was a real failure with women. After all, some had been allowed to tap some werecat booty. There was a reason they never had harems/prides like their namesakes.
The werecheetah walked around the altar that had been set up and came towards the youth on the floor. “My Lord...” she said as she kneeled beside him, giving the pigtailed teenager a GREAT view of her cleavage. “What, if I am inquire, is your name so we may praise your greatness?”
...Greatness? Since when did faincées wish to offer praise? Gulping, he took a few breaths, trying to keep his voice from shaking, as he looked at her. “Ranma,” he stated, ice forming around his feet and freezing the pool of blood—incidentally further ensuring Iceron wouldn’t ‘bounce back’ from this. “Ranma Saotome.”
“All hail Ranma Saotome!” cried the werecheetah, turning to the crowd.
“ALL HAIL THE NEW LEADER!” cried the surrounding werecats.
And... that was the breaking point, as Ranma made a run for it. He’d seen what happened to leaders who were turned on by their people, and knowing how vicious furry little demons could be, he wasn’t going to take a chance.
But it was then Ranma found out just how fast the spotted priestess was. Even with his speed, it would seem that this catgirl in somewhat slightly more garb than the rest was faster than him... as if she were the fastest land animal. With a solid slam, Ranma found himself smacked into her; his face smack dab in her cleavage.
“My Lord Ranma,” the Priestess said in an almost admonishing tone. “Where do you think you’re going? You cannot rush off to join the warriors yet. You must be given a tour of your fortress and become acquainted with your private court and generals.”
“I-I-I didn’t mean to kill him!” the pigtailed martial artist begged, hoping to appease them.
“Be that as it may, my Lord,” the cheetah-girl started. “This is your responsibility now, thus you should be fully... debriefed on what awaits you now.”
Ranma whimpered as he stood there in her grasp. “...You’re not going to let me go, are you?”
Slowly shaking her head, the Priestess calmly replied, “No. Why would I? You are now our new God-King.”
“...GOD-KING!?”
“ALL HAIL THE GOD KING! ALL HAIL THE SLAYER OF THE DARK ONE! ALL HAIL THE BLOOD GOD!”
Nodding, the werecheetah turned back from the bowing crowds to their charge... who was now gone.
“Wow, he’s fast,” the weretigress handmaiden commented.
The werepanthress smirked. “Just means he won't get too winded after a few rounds.”
The now-official harem purred out loud, as the broke off to search the fortress. Surely, the God-King couldn’t have gone far. He couldn’t be faster than the cheetahs, could he?
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(Posted Thu, 01 Jul 2010 00:16)
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