"... Spring of drowned warrior angel, Shìtiānshĭnìquán." The guide pulled out a worn sign with large characters in bright red. "Terrible tragic story of warrior angel who drown in spring, three thousand year ago! Very, very cursed spring! All who fall in, die terrible tragic death!"
Upon hearing this, the man-turned-panda developed an expression somewhere between constipation, "The Scream", and blubbering like a little girl (read; Tendo Soun). His thoughts could best be described as;
"Boy'sdeadwife'sgonnakillme-ohwoeismewho'ssonisaweaklittlegirlwhodrownedbecauseofalittlecurse-boy'sdeadwifes'sgonnakillme-I'mjustacutelittlepandaI'mtofurrytodie!!!"
As the elder Saotome tried to figure out how not to end up with a knife in his guts courtesy of an irate wife, and the Jusenkyo guide began preparing for the funeral of yet another victim of the cursed springs, a meeting of souls was taking place.
"Wha- where the heck am I?" Ranma had hit the spring cursing his moron of a father, his own inattentiveness which allowed the idiot to get that last shot in, and his idiot pops again, this time for dragging them to yet another cursed training ground, despite their experiences over the previous decade. When he hadn't hit the water though, he'd opened his eyes, and found himself standing in a barren dessert. Howling winds tore across the desolate landscape and in the distance he could see a furious storm.
"Where is not as important as why, young warrior."
The deep voice suddenly speaking up right behind him had Ranma spin around into a defensive stance. He didn't have time to formulate and answer before his higher mental faculties shut down though.
The man standing behind him was a giant, easily twice as tall as Ranma himself with upper arms thicker than Ranma's waist. As if this wasn't intimidating enough, the man was dressed in a huge golden armour, bigger and more decorated than anything Ranma had ever seen. There was one detail which slipped Ranma's mind though, until he noticed the movements as the wings flexed. The wings real.
All in all, Ranma could only blink uncertainly at the warrior in front of him.
"So?" He finally snapped out, unable to meet the man's eyes any longer - eyes that seemed to peer straight through his soul, laying bare every fear, every hint of insecurity and every shred of doubt.
The man merely stared stoically at him until he expanded upon the question.
"Why am I here?"
"You already know what the cursed springs do." The man stated rhetorically.
"Yeah?" Ranma warily agreed.
"The spring you fell into though... It isn't like the other springs. It is more cursed, yet also blessed..."
"What? Ho-" Ranma got no further before a sharp look silenced him.
"The spring is blessed, for the one who fell into it was not a mere man. The one who fell into the spring was an Angel of Battle, a veteran of countless wars across more worlds than you can see in the night sky. Anyone who falls into his pool receives his body, the body of a warrior angel."
Normally, this is where Ranma would have interrupted again, but not only was the man's physical form intimidating - there was a presence around him, a presence that made even the Wild Horse be still and quiet. He did have a sneaking suspicion where the man in front of him was going, but he didn't know to what end - and it was making him nervous.
"However," the man continued, "not just anyone is worthy of receiving the blessing of the Emperor of Man. Despite that, many who sought, and many still seek, to empower themselves through the springs would try to claim the Angel's body for themselves. None of them made it out of the spring alive. The Angel, though trapped by the curse of the spring, would not let them leave. Hence, the pool is more cursed." Here, the man paused, and Ranma puzzled for a moment before cautiously asking the question he thought the one in front of him wanted to hear.
"Why would the Angel not let them leave? I mean, I understand not wanting a bunch of guys turn into him and all, but why couldn't he just let them leave?"
"Because the Angel could not control the curse of the springs. Any who fall in its waters receive the Angel's body - this he could not change. But normal men were never meant to become angels of war, and many died that way, their bodies and minds tearing themselves apart."
"And the others? Those who could change?"
"Only one who is already a great warrior can survive the change. However, all the great warriors who fell into the pool were corrupt - selfish fools who cared only for their own power and pleasure. Rather than letting them spread their misery across the world, wearing his form, the Angel decided to slay them." The man stated this without a hint of remorse or sadness, but rather an almost dutiful satisfaction that disturbed Ranma.
"Still," Ranma said, shifting slightly in his stance to something less obvious and slightly more comfortable, "that doesn't tell me why I'm here. Or where 'here' is, anyway.
"You are here, because for the first time since I fell into these cursed waters, I feel hope. For the first time in almost four thousand years, someone has fallen into the spring who can not only survive the transformation, but might prove worthy of becoming one of the Adeptus Astartes, a warrior of the 9th Legion."
Hearing this, Ranma straightened, real pride filling his chest - not the feigned arrogance when he claimed to be the best, not the hollow triumph of besting those so far below his own level of prowess, but pride, true pride in that he, Saotome Ranma, could be found worthy.
"Of course, you are not perfect. Arrogant, petty, ignorant and foolish," each word like a hammer blow, crushing Ranma's spirit, "but most of all... The most important rule for those who would become one of us, one of the Angels of Death..." The angel faded as the world darkened, the dry earth rising to become like the walls of a great pit. Ominous thunder roared in the distance as Ranma suddenly found himself shivering, his tattered gi covered in ropes with fish products. Malevolent eyes opened all around him, yellow and green and blue, slitted pupils reflecting the last of the fading light as they stared at him. A chorus of hisses and yowls slowly rose, a whispering murmur at first but then slowly growing in strength until it was a deafening roar.
"... Is that we Know No Fear."
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(Posted Wed, 14 Apr 2010 14:41)
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