For someone who wasn’t prone to caustic language, Ranma was proving himself quite the sailor as he stood against the current waves of insanity. After all, he’d dealt with fiancées before. He’d dealth with c-c-c-mutant squirrels before...
But really, catgirl fiancées was TOO MUCH! “Oh shit, oh hell, oh shit, oh hell, oh shit, oh hell, oh shit, oh hell!” was the pigtailed martial artist’s mantra as he ran through the castle, cursing out the maze-like arrangement of this place.
He would’ve sworn he’d passed that same suit of armor four times already...
But he didn't have time to worry about that. No, he had to run away as far and as fast as he could—which granted, would be helped if he was going in the right direction. But it might confuse the demonic banshees from Hell that the Old Letch had released on him. If anything, he was setting up a confusing trail. He’d sock you if you stated differently.
...And now he’d passed that suit of armor a fifth time already. “Damn it! I’m going in circles!” the youth cursed. Okay, it was time for further evasive action. He turned about and ran back the way he came but he didn’t go all the way. No! It was time to start checking doors! Doors meant rooms and that meant the possibility of windows to jump out of!
“Let’s try Door #1!” the heir of the Saotome School of Anything Goes Martial Arts prattled on as he took a firm grasp of the handle and opened.
“RROOOOOOAOAAAAAAARRRRRRR!!”
Ranma simply stared at the sight before him, blinking, and wondering why he suddenly seemed sane and everything seemed so clear right now.
Oh! Now he knew. “Man, you have some bad breath!”
“...HEY!” bellowed the dragon, before Ranma slammed the door shut, a small stream of flame shooting out the barred window in the door, nearly roasting Ranma alive.
“Man, you smell even worse when you burn it!” Ranma claimed, before moving towards the next door. What sort of idiot kept dragons in cells? “Come to think of it, how’d that idiot get that big-ass dragon through that tiny doorway?” the pigtailed martial artist wondered aloud.
He shrugged his shoulders. This was no time to dawdle! Attractive, nubile, buxom devil kitty ladies were on his trail! He needed to escape! “Let’s try Door #2!” the pigtailed martial artist proclaimed as he grabbed the next door, hoping his luck would prove better than it had with a dragon with gingivitis.
“Bra~aaaaaains...” was the low, soulful cry of the shambling corpse behind the door--flesh rotted, vacant stare in it's eyes, and smelling only slightly less worse than the dragon’s breath.
Ranma blinked his eyes once, twice. “...Don’t I go to school with you?”
The mobile corpse’s jaw clenched shut. It stared at Ranma with its vacant gaze for a long time. “...Maybe. Where do you go to school?”
“Furinkan High School, Nerima,” Ranma replied.
Shaking its head, the zombie replied, “Nope, Nightshade Academy.” It grinned with a wide, lipless smile filled with rotten, jagged teeth as it pumped its arms in the air. “GO PIGEONS!”
Ranma twitched once, twice. “...I’m going to shut the door now,” he said firmly as he slowly shut said lockable door—and suddenly wishing there was a chair around to prop up against it as well.
Sighing, Ranma looked towards the ceiling, cursing this haunted and insane maze. “I just want to know the way out!” he cried as he leaned back against a wall, feeling a brick slide in.
*KER-CHUNK!*
Blinking, he looked towards his side. The suit of armor he had passed several times had moved aside, revealing... a hidden passageway.
“Oh yeah, nothing creepy about this at all,” the raven-haired teenager muttered. But if the choice was between a dark, dank tunnel or hundreds of demon-people, the choice was obvious.
“I am going to kill the Letch when I get back, Grandmaster title be damned,” he muttered irritably as he made his way down the hallway, hoping to get away quickly from the evil c-c-c-mutant mongooses. His luck, they would probably follow him... but hopefully this was a secret passage to outside of the castle...
“Or the secret passage to a hidden secret... er... place they keep books? What do they call this sort of place again?” Ranma questioned himself as he tried to wrack his brain to remember the term, ‘library’.
The area wasn’t too bad. Sure, the torches somehow lighting themselves as he neared them, going out after he passed them a certain distance was a little odd. But he’d scene weirder in Nerima during Halloween... or was it Kuno’s last birthday party...
Anyway, the sound of the armor moving back into position and the fact the lights were going off were going to help hide his trail. After all, what were the chances those c-c-c-bulemic ferrets would know of it?
“......I just jinxed myself, didn’t I?” he wondered aloud, before shaking his head. Man, thinking clearly was not as much fun as he was led to believe! After all, what did thinking clearly do for him? It just made him realize doom, made him know he was lost, made him understand that this truly was his hell and gave him the deepest desire to kill the old letch, preferably by stuffing a rusty meat-hook up his ass side-ways with a twist!
Okay, that last one he didn’t need to think clearly to have to come up with—that he did on his own. But still, it would’ve been nice to forget these horrors in favor of something calming and cool and give him a feeling of childish exuberance like a...
“SHINY ROCK!” Ranma proclaimed as he realized there was a table that had quite the luminescent piece of quartz on it... many glowing pieces to be exact.
Poor Ranma. If only he realized that this was actually Iceron’s secret magic laboratory... and like in any secret laboratory, there is one rule never to break: don’t touch the shiny stuff.
It was a trio of male werecats that did their best to get the pieces of the dead lord Iceron off the silver-coated statue as best they could. A good portion of his body—which had been blown apart when their savior landed at speeds of Mach 3—had fallen atop of said structure that he would use to taunt them.
But there was far more to deal with than just the bastard’s death!
“So, our former master is dead,” a werelioness said, without any grief to her tone. “What now?”
“Feh,” the werecheetah High Priestess snorted as she ground her shoe on what had been Iceron’s left eyebrow. “It’s simple. We claim the hunk that crashed down was his son; illegitimate so no idiot shows up trying to claim everything. Then we burn our former master’s body to ash and spread said plots across the four corners of the earth.”
“Won’t they ask for proof?” the werelioness asked. She didn’t think the feeble subjects would accept a new master that easily.
Again, the High Priestess snorted. “No. They’ll assume it is true. After all, our former Lord was obsessed with immortality.”
“No shit,” muttered a weretiger, using a spear to try and knock a partial arm off an edge on one of the spires.
“As such,” the female werecheetah continued. “Many will assume that whoever birthed him kept it secret, and he was able to slaughter his father before the father could slaughter the son. If we throw in some crap about blood wards and lineage rituals, I think it’ll work nicely.”
“Yeah, but...” a male jagwere spoke up, catching bits of Iceron that fell off from the statue with the back of his shield, using the defensive armament as a bowl. “Do we have to go to such trouble to burn all of this? Can’t we just toss this stuff into the latrine?"
“Hey!” the werecheetah cleric shouted in irritation. “Unlike those idiot wererats, I say we make damn certain that he doesn’t come back this time!”
“...So... fire?” was the jagwere’s reply.
Nodding her head firmly, the High Priestess of Iceron Ranma Saotome proclaimed, “Fire makes everything better!”
“And make sure they don’t roast anything over it,” the werelioness stated quietly. “I’d rather not hear jokes for the next month about ‘real Iceron smoked-in goodness’.”
“Fine, take away all our fun,” the jagwere muttered, as they continued to gather up dripping bits of Iceron.
The other two males that had been ‘voluntold’ into getting the bits of Iceron off the statue all grumbled irritably. Damn females, taking away all their fun... and worse, when they did get to have fun, that was when said ladies were ‘in the mood’—that stopped being fun after the first four hours!
As males mumbled and the females plotted to set their new master up on the old one’s throne, it was then that a weretigress in leather armor came rushing onto the scene, flanked by two similarly-garbed female jagweres. “High Priestess Tswana!” she called out to the werecheetah.
Said Egyptian-garbed golden feline turned about. “Captain Scyde! What is it?”
“We...” she gulped nervously. “We lost track of our new lord!”
All of the sudden, it was good to be male. It wasn't their asses on the line. They were told to clean the courtyard and now burn the remains of Ye Old Dirty Bastard. It was the females who had ‘decided’ to look for the new Lord.
Frankly, they silently blessed and cursed him. Blessed him because he might survive the night if he kept running, cursed because sooner or later, the females would turn their attention towards the male werecats.
Well, at least that fate beat dying in some nameless town, slaughtered for someone’s ego.
Clenching her hands into fists, Tswana stared down at the Captain of the Guard. “You... you lost our new God King!?”
“I-I can’t explain how but we did,” the weretigress replied, feeling great shame—and regret, knowing if they DID find him, that she was going to be last in line! “When we got to the east tower... there was nothing. His trail went cold. And we KNOW he was there, the former master’s pet dragon saw him!”
“And for some reason, was asking for toothpaste and some floss,” one of the jagwere trackers piqued up.
“The minty kind,” the other verified.
Tswana hissed, trying to keep from lashing out and turning the Guard Captain into paste—if only so they didn’t have to separate out that which was Iceron and ensure it was all burned—the nearby garden would probably be lost. “Get your best trackers to the East Tower NOW! He is there somewhere! Find him!”
“Maybe he found one of the former Lord’s labs?” offered the werepanthress who’d been quiet all this time.
The hackles on the back of the High Priestess’ neck stood on end. “...If he dies before you find him, Captain, I assure you that my reaction will be the last thing you would need to worry about.”
Just as she finished speaking, it was then said East Tower went up in smoke... literally! The tower rocked with an explosion: stones coming loose as black smoke suddenly sprang forth from all the windows.
“...I guess the Late New Master found one of the Late Old Master’s labs...” the werepanthress foot-washer commented.
“...Oh, fuck me...” Captain Scyde whimpered.
“Not with something you would enjoy,” muttered Tswana as she and the rest of those not on ‘clean-up’ made their way towards the former tower.
The remaining guys just shrugged. Well, at least they didn’t have to clean that up.
“ACK!”
“Feroul, we told you to watch your step. It’s slippery here.”
“...At least whatever's left of the new boss won’t be slippery,” the werelion muttered as his two friends helped him off from the ground.
Standing in a crater, most of his clothing charred away, the soot-covered martial artist twitched. It took him a few moments to realize he felt the breeze of the wind and sunlight on his skin. “...Well...” he coughed. “At least I have a way out now...”
Minutes earlier...
As Ranma tossed the shiny stone into the air, catching it only to flick it back up, he looked around the room he was in. The ceiling looked retractable, surrounded by what looked like hundreds of crystal mirrors, with multi-colored crystals somehow hanging between them. The floor was covered with tables, with the exception of the center, which seemed to have some weird design panted into it. Along the walls were shelves with bottles of what was definitely not food floating in them.
And a deep rumble let him know that a regular c-c-c-handicapped hamster was in a small cage in the painted circle. It had light black spots over the yellow fur, reminding him of one of the Things-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named he had met on arriving here.
Still, there was something ‘off’. It was moments more before the raven-haired youth realized, “Wow! Not a spider-web or nothing,” he whistled, looking about. Yet another thing TV lied to him about. These places were supposed to be old and decrepit. “What kind of person has a lab that’s not a walking disaster area?” Ranma muttered to himself. If he couldn’t see what was dangerous—besides the obvious one with the spotted thing—than how was he to stay safe!?
Obviously... it was time to leave!
Spotting no door—nor suits of armor to ask for directions, Ranma continued to edge around the room, being careful to avoid the caged cheetah in the corner.
That he may have met something genuinely scarier than one of the regular furry demons, didn’t mean he was ready to hug on now.
Smirking as he saw a barred window a bout ten meters from the floor, Ranma’s hopes grew. Neither bars nor stone could hold a Saotome!
Leaping into the air and grabbing the ledge, he pulled himself up and looking out the window... only to feel his hope die a painful death. “How the fuck did I get up so high?” he grumbled. He’d been walking along a level floor since he got there! Now he was higher than some of the times when Akane launched him into LEO!
Obviously, Ranma had much to learn about spatial displacement via magic for people to get the most use of space in buildings. Just because he walked on ground level, didn’t mean it hadn't gone all over the castle...
Yes, it was one of Iceron’s favorite security measures.
“Man, this day just keeps getting worse and worse,” he muttered, hopping back by bracing himself off the wall... and landing at the center of the room, near some chains.
Automation is not a new idea. Mages used it to get potions created in large stores. Even Iceron couldn’t have made his large armies of Lycans without it. All you needed was a spell array, an animal, a subject at the center, a bit of magic, and highly focused lunar energy.
Well, the subject was now Ranma, the magic provided by the dripping blood off him from Iceron and his own energies.
Sadly, it was a New Moon.
Hearing a large cranking and whirring sounds and then even seeing sparks flying as the magic array of spells and magic foci were forced to work overtime due to the lack of moonlight, it was honest to say Ranma was startled as he looked about the room. “Wuh-what the hell!?”
In normal operation, the crystals would align, letting the moonlight enter the chamber roof at any angle, and focus that lunar energy for maximum effect.
That was what normally would happen.
Then again, normally a guy obsessed with immortality wouldn’t be killed from a fall onto a silver sculpture and an exploding time mirror. That would be like being killed by a baby reflecting magic at you. It just didn't make sense, so you never planned for it.
So, the pre-programmed spell looked for a substitute.
Luckily, Ranma had a viable power source to offer: life energy. For a normal person, this would suck them dry and leave only ash and perhaps a few hairs behind. It was the reason Iceron had used lunar energy, despite the flaw of silver allergy, instead of it.
Ranma didn’t have that issue.
Raising his hands, Ranma looked up at them, watching as his fingers started to wrinkle, gain liver spots, and his skin lose elasticity; varicose veins running up along the length of the arms. “...Ooooohhh shiiiiiiit...” he said, his vocal chords moving slower and becoming slowly raspy.
Hey, just because he could survive the initial spell to attain power for the process, didn’t mean it wasn’t going to suck!
Hearing a loud roar of pain, his eyes snapped to the caged beast, watching as it seemed to... turn into dust, dust which an unseen wind picked up and whipped around him, slowly enclosing him. Seeing it, he could only think one thing.
EWW! Ewwewwewwewweeeewwww! I got dead demon all over me!
It was then that another function of the crystals was missed. As stated before, they controlled the lunar energies to make the most of them.
But since Ranma was inside the spell array, and not an external source of power, nothing was present to regulate the flow of life energy.
A creepy feeling down his spine, a sixth sense, and the fact everything was glowing white all told Ranma the same thing: “This is gonna hurt,” he muttered as the room exploded.
Back in the Present...
“Well...” Ranma coughed again, looking at his hands. “At least I’m not an old guy anymore... gotta clean up all this fuzzy stuff though...” he mumbled before looking about the destruction, wondering if he should feel bad for that poor spotted demon or not.
Shoving some loose rocks off his body, he tried to see his new location. But his eyes still slightly burned from the bright light he hadn’t shut out in time, even his ears were still ringing at that. As such, he could barely see vague shapes.
He already knew that damned light had done something to him. He felt... drained—and not in the way Hiroshi and Daisuke would tell him they wished Hinako-sensei would ‘drain them’. It felt like he had gone a full ten rounds with the porker with the Old Letch taking pot-shots in-between.
“My lord?” came a concerned voice. “My Lord Ranma Saotome... is that you?” the voice asked once more, a tone of awe obvious to it.
Ohcrap!Ohcrap!Ohcrap!Ohcrap!Ohcrap!Ohcrap!Ohcrap!Ohcrap! was all Ranma could think as he tried to stand up, stumbling back and grabbing the first thing he could find.
“Our Lord has been—” was called out by a voice he didn’t recognize as a huge gasp sounded through the surrounding throng of people, letting him know that he was somehow surrounded, making him wonder if when the tower exploded, if he fell or simply landed outside the castle.
“He... he is touching silver!” cried one female voice.
“And he is not being burned!”
“Our Lord has become one of us! He shows his knowledge that the hated curse can be cured!”
“Hail Lord Saotome!” were the cheers of many voices. “Hail the God-King! Hail the Blood God! Hail the Furry Lord!”
“...Furry Lord?” Ranma repeated. That was a new one.
“My Lord...” came a meek female voice from right next to him. “Does this mean you have chosen to become like me to make me more than just your High Priestess?” was the inquiry of Tswana.
...’Like her’? Oh, he did NOT like the sound of that! Gulping—both in fear of the close mutant female and what she hinted out—Ranma took his hands and ran it along his bare arms, face, anywhere he could find skin.
But he didn’t find skin, just bits of dirty... and fur.
And like that, he discovered a fear greater than fiancées, greater than furry little demons, greater even than furry demon fiancées.
He’d become... one of them!
And like that, his conscious mind decided to go to a Blue Screen as it required an immediate shutdown.
“...My Lord?” High Priestess Tswana spoke up, unsure of how to take her new God-King going rigid. “Lord Saotome?”
“...Nyaaaaaooooooo...”
“Well, don’t see that every day...” muttered a nearby jagwere, before were-Neko-Ranma moved.
“And next thing I knew,” the weretiger said as he accepted another mug of ale. “Our new lord jumped the High Priestess like a tomcat in Rutt! A flash of his wrist and BAM! Her ceremonial outfit was shredded and she found herself so damned defiled that there was no way in hell the Gods would accept her as a sacrifice, let alone a ‘virgin’ one!” he leaned his head back, downing the alcoholic liquid in one go. “And he didn’t stop with just her...”
The few humans and assorted magical creatures just gaped at the weretiger. “You mean your new Lord gave into his instincts?”
The werecat just shrugged his shoulders. “Not sure, maybe with how he made himself immune to silver,” he muttered, not noticing how a few sets of ears perked up upon hearing that. “But by the time he was done, the former Lord’s entire harem lay defeated, moaning, and smiling a smile the same as the High Priestess had.”
The bartender nodded, refilling another mug for the weretiger. While the people had rejoiced that Iceron was no more, hearing these new tales left them uncertain what this new Lord wanted.
But since the weretiger wasn’t there to collect ‘taxes’, he’d keep filling the mugs until he heard enough.
“Oh, thank you, Bar-Keep,” the weretiger grinned as he accepted yet another mug. “A toast to the new Lord, Saotome! The best little bastard to ever be popped out of some whore’s womb!”
“Here, here!” Many people cheered as they raised their glasses high.
As drinks were downed, the Tavern Owner asked of the visiting Weretiger, “One thing I don’t understand though... why are you so bloody impressed that he can handle an entire harem of werecat women?”
Placing his now empty glass down, the werecat courier gave the human a half-lidded gaze. “Do you have any idea what our women are like? My God-King! Two are risking death by Snu-Snu!”
“...Snu-Snu?” The Bar-Keep questioned, rather confused.
As the celebration and stories continued—the latter which was nearly all pornographic and the former likely to make a few women of the night a few pounds of gold richer—two figures slipped out from opposite ends of the bar.
As they took off in different directions, any who was able to spot them as they darted about dark paths barely lit by the returning moon and stars, would have noticed their appearances, that of a wolf and a rat, each on their way to tell their leaders what had been heard that night—and a few friends who would like to hear the naughty stories as well.
But the most obvious thing that needed to be reported was simply: Iceron had a child, and that child now ruled the werecats.
Read the comments on this episode
See other episodes by Red Priest of the 17th Order
(Posted Sun, 04 Jul 2010 19:38)
Questions? Problems? Suggestions?
Send a mail to addventure@bast-enterprises.de
or use the contact form.
らんま1/2 © Rumiko Takahashi
All other series and their characters are © by their respective creators or owners. No claims of ownership of these characters are implied by the authors of this Addventure, or should be inferred.
The Anime Addventure is a non-profit site.