Benten Kusanagi watched her father as he continued to stare at the front door. It hadn’t been long since the unexpected company had arrived, and only minutes since they left, and her father was still watching the front door as if waiting. For what, she didn’t know. Her father was usually an open book, but right now, he was closed off. She could have cut better reading material from a block of granite.
Not accustomed to this, or to the silence, she decided to speak up. “Papa”, she started, her voice at once lyrical and questioning, “who were they?”
Her father turned to face her, and she could see that his eyes were filled with memories. Clearly, whoever those people had been, they were familiar to him, to cause this reaction. He shook his head.
“I never really did tell you where those flames you just made came from, did I, daughter?”
She shook her head. She knew that the flames were part of the Kusanagi fighting arts, passed down for centuries, but beyond that she knew little of the history. She suspected instantly that there was much more.
Her father’s abrupt sigh confirmed her suspicion. He rose, and cleared his throat. Instantly his voice was stern. “This conversation seems made for the dojo. Come with me.” He began walking; she followed.
Being that the dojo was in the same compound, it was reached moments later. Her father sat on the floor, and guessing his intentions, she took the same position, sitting across from him, looking him in the eyes as best she could.
Her father took his time, seeming to mull over his words even as he spoke them. “Our family is very old, girl, very old indeed. Clan Kusanagi came to prominence in these islands millennia ago; before even the Roman Empire, in the west. But...our fame as warriors was truly born about eighteen hundred years ago.” He cupped his hands in front of him, and a small sphere of crimson fire soon filled his hands. He nodded for her to do the same, and she did so. She would be able to hold it for hours if she chose: a fireball of this size took negligible effort.
“Eighteen hundred years ago - I don’t know exactly when - the dark god Orochi manifested itself in this world, as an eight-headed beast. There were some who believe that Orochi was the spirit of Earth itself, and that it willingly gave up its divinity to punish mankind for the damage it was causing to the Earth. If true, I find it laughably premature. Orochi should have waited until the western Industrial Revolutions, at least.” He smiled. “What is known is that the beast, regardless of the origin of its power, began killing a great number of people. And...some influential but stupid people got the idea that a ritual of human sacrifice would stop the killings. So eight virgin maidens, girls only a few years older than yourself, were chosen and taken to Orochi. Seven died, in brutal ways.” He shook his head. “Cowards.” The fireball in his hands intensified before extinguishing, of his own volition. A second later Benten extinguished her own fireball.
“Shortly after the deaths of seven of the maidens, Orochi was defeated and sealed by warriors of clans Kusanagi, Yasakani, and Yata. You, my daughter, and I are directly descended from one of the surviving Kusanagi warriors. What happened next is the source of many centuries of violence and grief. Our ancestor of that generation, a very greedy and foolish man, took credit for the defeat of Orochi, implying it was solely his work. This was a blatant lie, but there were few around to check him, and so it was accepted as the truth. History is recorded by winners and opportunists, daughter. Remember that.”
Her father shook his head again, angrily this time. “Naturally, the deception could not go unchallenged forever. The Yata clansmen didn’t care, but the Yasakani clansmen...were not pleased. For eleven hundred or so years, there was jealousy and antipathy, but not much more. Clan Kusanagi had become like kings, and Clan Yasakani, their cousins, got nothing. Kusanagi and Yasakani were originally **one** clan, and warriors of both could wield the crimson flame that runs in our blood to this day.”
She decided to interrupt her father, for she was confused. “So where do these...’Yagami’...come in?”
Her father nodded, his expression grim. “Almost seven hundred years ago, a man of the Yasakani clan weakened the seals holding Orochi in place. In return for this, Orochi gave him power to use against our clan. He returned to his clan, and fueled his allies with this blood-money power. The deal he made with Orochi tainted his spirit and his spirit flames, or ‘Magatama’. From then on, Yasakani clansmen would summon purple flames instead of crimson. They called this the ‘Magatama of Orochi’. They changed their name to Yagami, and nearly annihilated our clan. The remaining Kusanagi clansmen, including our ancestor of that generation, teamed with the Yata and some others to nearly eliminate the Yagami clan in return. We have been in blood-feud ever since.”
“Until now”, Benten interjected.
Her father nodded. “Iori Yagami grew up hating me and our family. He was raised to be a monster and a Kusanagi killing machine, by his father, who was a true monster in all senses of the word. I...am deeply ashamed...of the ways I avoided Yagami in the past. I have never told you any of this, partially out of vanity and partially from fear, but for many years I have been waiting for Yagami to find us. I did not expect to live when he did. I think I could, possibly, kill him or at least permanently cripple him, but doing so would definitely take my life, and probably all of Tokyo with it.” He shook and hung his head. He then stood, facing the wall and the miniature shrine in the center. “Please leave me be for a while, daughter. I have some things to think about before the next class.”
Out of respect, Benten obeyed.
~_~
[Lunchtime at Furinkan, Monday after skating rink incident]
Let it be said that truly great arguments rarely occur in five-star restaurants. They’re much more likely to take place in the parking lots of said five-star restaurants. When people are in the restaurant, generally their minds are too focused on eating to pay attention to anything anyone says that could start an argument.
Let it further be said that the above is a tremendous load of bullshit.
Let it also be said that Nerima possessed no five-star restaurants of any description. Fights were too frequent and the people were too easily impressed. Such a world-class dining establishment could never succeed.
Even if there were such a place, it wasn’t likely to be attended by three particular teenagers sitting at a table under a large tree on the grounds of the local high school, Furinkan. For one thing, as long as the food was edible, two of the said same didn’t care what or where they ate so long as the food was both cheap and plentiful; and for another, neither one of said same would care enough about the atmosphere to forget the fact that the food served would be neither cheap nor plentiful.
In any case, at this lunch table, no argument was in progress. Rather, two of the teens were conversing. Per normal for them, the topic was fighting.
“What do you fight for”, one asked.
“To be the best there is”, came the reply.
That led to no verbal response. Rather, one of the teens reached into his jacket and pulled out something. When the other looked at it, he saw that it was a laminated newspaper article, one written about three years before.
It was an article about the unexplained collapse of Ayer’s Rock, in Australia. The teen then pulled out another article, this one on the winner of a King of Fighters tournament two years before the collapse.
The obvious implication was that the tournament winner had caused the destruction of that rock formation. It was the correct implication also.
The headline of the tournament article read, ‘Unknown man K2 wins King of Fighters Tourney’.
The teen let the articles be studied for a minute before calmly saying, “If you want to be the best, that’s who you’ll have to beat.” He then took the articles away, confident that the discussion was over.
It was then that the closest wall to their tree-shaded table exploded towards the common. The dust cleared and the three teens saw a teenage boy.
The boy was quite obviously agitated. He dropped his heavy rucksack onto the ground, pulled a belt from it, and snapped it straight. He stared straight into the eyes of one of the teens, and screamed, “Ranma Saotome! Prepare to **DIE**!”
And then he rushed at them.
Ranma Yagami began to move. He pulled Nabiki away, and yelled for all the other students to clear off the common as well. Seeing the fight in progress, the students did so.
Ranma Saotome was having a good fight. He dodged the attacker’s slashes and stabs with the makeshift sword, wondering simultaneously who this person was, and how he made a sword out of his belt. One near-miss cleaved through a stone bench. Another chopped a table in two and sent the pieces flying.
Both Ranma’s could feel ki welling up within Hibiki. The belt sword glinted.
Ryouga slashed the belt sword forward. A huge burst of ki-laden air pressure exploded forward, in the form of a blade. Operating only from instinct, Ranma Saotome dodged. The air blade hit a statue twenty yards behind Ranma, pulverizing it into rubble.
“Pressure Knife”, Ryouga said angrily, his face twisted into an evil scowl. “A technique I invented to kill **you**, Saotome.” The sword glinted strongly.
Ranma Yagami moved.
Ryouga Hibiki fell forward, unconscious.
Ranma Yagami returned the jo to the inside of his jacket. Picking Hibiki up by the shirt, he threw him backwards over his head, not caring about where the other boy landed. No one killed his friends without his consent.
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(Posted Thu, 08 Apr 2004 21:33)
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