Ranma kicked his legs up, leaning back in the chair and allowing his legs to land, crossed, on the table's polished top. This was the first formal request for assistance that the gods had made since Kami-sama occasioned Ranma's apotheosis, but Ranma, while he had loosened up considerably, was unwilling still to reveal weakness except to those closest to him, so he concealed his careful examination of his surroundings behind a veil of unconcern.

He knew, though in this environment his senses were too limited to allow certainty, that the dark mirror on one wall was an observation mirror, a one-way mirror, and that someone was behind it, watching him. From the look of it, however, he doubted that the room was ever used for interrogations... the hanging projector overhead, the expensive furnishings, the wet bar in the corner all belied the thought. Rather, he guessed, the room was used for both briefings and debriefings. While the briefings might be as easily conducted in other environs, the debriefing would need to occur somewhere where the proceedings could be both observed and likely recorded.

Probably the briefing was to occur in the same room so that the operative would be familiar with it already upon his return, thus being more relaxed and forthcoming.

It had only been about fifteen minutes, nowhere near reaching the limit of his patience, when his briefing officer entered the room, so he had shown no visible signs of noticing the passage of time. He recognized his briefing officer easily enough, though he had never encountered this universe's Urd before. The platinum hair, sensual body, and revealing clothing were all quite familiar; which, he supposed, was at least part of why she had been chosen. It had been Urd, after all, albeit not this particular Urd, who had trained him in the use of his deific and demonic powers, not to mention awakening the latent Talent, the telepathic and psychokinetic powers lurking in the dragon's blood he had been given.

She sat across from him, and favored him with a warm smile, just slightly short of being sultry. She set a folder on the table, unwound the cord that bound it, and opened it, setting beside it a black oblong device that Ranma guessed was the control for the overhead projector.

She flipped the first sheet over, and Ranma's quick senses caught an image of the sheet, pulling it up in full detail before his minds eye, though the lower regions were just a bit fuzzy due to the angle. It was his dossier, or a portion of it. He turned his attention from it, knowing that his eidetic memory, enhanced by the dragon blood and deification, would retain that image for later perusal without any conscious effort on his part, and focused instead on the remote control which Urd had lifted and pressed upon with one slim, tapering finger.

The projector whirred softly into life, the fan coming on first, so that when the bulb received power, the resulting heat would be drawn away immediately.

In moments the bulb flickered into life, and an image of a devastated world, its surface in ruins, sprang into life. As Urd began to speak, more images of devastation blinked past.

"We've uncovered a plot by a malicious First-Class Entity to cause the destruction of the Earth in a timeline of particular importance. Unfortunately, the nature of his interference was remarkably minor... he simply caused one single individual to be moved across dimensions."

The images showed innumerable dead bodies, cities razed to the ground, forests burning, mountains smashed into rubble... none of the images showed the slightest sign of life remaining.

"Our problem is that this particular Entity does not fall within the realm of our direct jurisdiction, and so direct action against him would not be bound by rules... meaning that it could easily result in the deaths of numerous gods, the destruction of worlds and possibly whole universes, and could draw other Entities into conflict."

An image of a man's face appeared, thin and wrinkled, the skin slightly discolored, and set off by a bushy white mustache. He looked like he had long white hair, though the length was impossible to determine from the photo, other than that it was greater than shoulder length. He had a simple gold earring in each ear, no eyebrows to speak of, and light grey eyes. He appeared to be wearing a yellow shirt with a black vest, and a tall black hat.

"However, the Entity has similar restrictions on his own actions, and as long as we reply in kind, we have a chance to recover. A certain God of Mischief who will remain unnamed suggested you as an appropriate counteragent to this Entity's agent, who is a force of Order, a scientist."

The slide projector displayed an image of a massive computer.

"This individual, Dr. Gero, is, as I said, a scientist, and upon finding himself in this new world, he promptly built a computer. Unfortunately for us, he apparently had with him at the time a capsule containing the DNA of the greatest warriors on the world from which he came. He will use this DNA to create a perfect warrior, a nearly unstoppable force of destruction."

The image changed to that of a tall being, mostly humanoid, with chalk grey skin around the face, and green skin mottled with black in most other areas. The creature had wings similar to those of an insect, dark black in color, and what seemed like a black chest-plate, black shoulder-plates, and black plates on his lower legs.

"Unfortunately, we cannot allow you to fight this creature directly either, for if you face Dr. Gero or this being, which is named Cell, head-on, the resulting display of power will attract attention from other hostile elements in the Earth's galaxy, before the Earth is ready to defend against them."

"With you gone, after completing your mission, they would be defenseless, and we would be lost, again. Therefore, we are authorizing you to make the necessary changes in the timeline to create a group of heroes capable of defending the earth, who can increase in power over time, so as to match the threats that will approach upon feeling the power used in the defeat of the current threat."

"It is up to you to select the warriors or heroes, and to choose how you augment them. Just recognize that your own direct influence must be minimized as much as possible."

"Do you have any questions?"

Ranma considered this. Clearly, given the leeway he had been given, there was no point in asking who he should select. They had their reasons for leaving it up to him. However...

"One question... Can you tell me what the critical event is that must be protected? You said this timeline is important, and yet my interference, while it may gain the timeline's continuance, will still leave it significantly altered from what it was, since you won't allow me to simply take out Dr. Gero directly, so can you tell me what I should ensure happens?"

Urd sighed unhappily, and shook her head. "Unfortunately, no, all I can tell you is that it is important that the Earth survive, that humanity survives."

"Very well," stated Ranma, standing, and bestowing a gleaming smile on Urd, who found herself momentarily breathless, "I am ready to depart."

"So you'll do it?," Urd asked happily. She hadn't really expected to be able to convince him. After all, everyone in Asgard knew that he had not really joined up... Kami-sama had granted him powers, true, but it had been as much a favor to Kami-sama and the other gods from Fey Ranma, whose only reason for accepting the power was to control the degree to which his unconscious powers of chaos affected the activity of the other deities, as it was a gift from Kami-sama to Ranma.

He had no real requirement to work for Asgard... indeed, one of the points that had been made clear in the briefing the Asgardians had received on the new Midgard deities was that they were equal in rank among the Demons, and could as readily choose to work for Hild, without incurring any penalties from the Yggdrasil system..

She definitely hadn't been expecting him to be quite so... charismatic. It had been a long time since Urd had truly been affected by something so simple as a smile... she had jaded herself with her own constant posturing and sensual behavior, and the reactions they inevitably drew from gods, mortals, and demons alike. She wondered for just a moment if she mightn't find him attractive largely because of his ability to resist her charms so easily, but brushed the thought aside. What was important was that he had agreed, which meant she'd done her job successfully for once, without mishap.

First Choice

Ranma grumbled to himself as he packed up their camping gear. His father was dragging him along to yet another 'famous training ground,' only this time, he didn't seem to have the foggiest clue what made it so great. He would only say that no-one trained there anymore, which must mean that it was terribly dangerous. Ranma wondered whether it might not actually mean that the training ground was merely inacessible, like that one cave they had tried to reach. There had to be some reason that it was no longer used, and since there were always idiots like his father willing to do something no matter how dangerous it seemed, the idea that its hazards were the reason it was no longer used seemed far-fetched to Ranma.

Besides, it had been ten years, and Ranma was feeling anxious about the imminent return to Japan. As he finished tightening the last tie on his backpack and shouldered the burden, he wondered again whether his mother was still alive, and what she would be like. He could no longer remember her, and Genma would never speak of her, so there were no facts to fuel his speculations, and his mind soon moved on to planning out how to defeat his father this time.

It had been some time since Genma had been a real threat to him. He had been beating him in sparring regularly for a number of years by this time. Nonetheless, he had to stay with the old man... after all, he was his father, and for all the stupid things he had put Ranma through, he still loved the old man.

He followed his father, who was a thickly built man, only slightly overweight, wearing a bandanna around his bald head, and glasses. They both wore training gi, largely because Genma was too cheap to buy both ordinary clothing and gi, though in this case they were in fact heading towards training.

Genma looked upon his son as they walked side by side, now that they had encountered a clear path, and he no longer needed to lead the way. His son had grown strong, through all of the challenges that Genma had thrown at him, and Genma felt a strong swelling of pride. He proceeded to thoroughly mangle that sensation. It would not do, it absolutely would not do to allow the boy to learn that he had already surpassed Genma's expectations. Why, if he knew that, he might get cocky, he'd start slacking off, he'd listen to Genma even less. Better make sure he wasn't getting a swelled head.

"Foolish boy!" Genma snarled, swatting the back of Ranma's head, "It took you far too long to get packed this morning! Why, we didn't even have time to spar before setting out," stated Genma, ignoring the fact that he had basically been lazy, and not assisted his son, not feeling like putting forth the extra effort needed to get the camp put away quickly enough to allow a morning spar.

"You'd better impress me at this new training ground, Ranma! For it is here that I will decide if you are yet man enough for us to return! You must be the best!"

Ranma grumbled silently, not deigning to respond. His father was always rambling on about how Ranma needed to be manly, and nothing Ranma ever did seemed good enough for the old man. The slightest sign of unwillingness or hesitation, though, and it was 'Oh, I'm so ashamed! My son is acting girly! What are you boy? A girl? Or a man!?' Ranma had long since grown sick of it, but he could not deny that he had become a skilled martial artist through his father's teachings. He just couldn't quite decide if it was because of his father's training, or in spite of it.

Genma vacillated between a brooding silence, as he considered their imminent return to Japan and his son's likely response to the news of the boy's engagement, which given the boy's recent reactions to the occasional downside of the training was likely to be painful for Genma, and thinking about the boy himself and how proud he was of him, which inevitably led to a short round of insults.

Ordinarily, Genma would have soon grown concerned at his boy's uncharacteristic silence, his lack of response to Genma's insults, but Genma was preoccupied. In fact, Ranma had been growing steadily more taciturn for the last several months, not that Genma, ever perceptive individual that he was not, ever noticed. The only insult that consistently got a rise from Ranma was when Genma questioned his manhood, calling him a girl. Had Genma been aware that this was because Ranma had eked enough details out of Genma over the years to recognize that his ever seeing his mother again depended upon his manhood, Genma would have been startled at the boy's perceptiveness. As he was not aware, he remained blithely confident that the boy had no particular idea why it was so important that he be a man, and he further remained blissfully unaware of Ranma's feelings on the subject.

Soon they stood together at the beginning of a downward slope that led into a valley cloaked in dense white mists. As they continued down the trail, the mists parted before them, and by the time they had reached the bottom, the rising sun had burned off much of the mists.

Ranma tried to stop for a moment to take in the view. One of the parts of this trip that he had truly appreciated had been the sheer natural beauty of some of the places they had visited. Unfortunately, though not in the least bit unusually, Genma interrupted his attempt to enjoy Nature's splendor.

"Come on, boy, don't stand around all day! Let's spar!" Genma looked out over the vista of innumerable pools of various sizes, with freshly cut and trimmed bamboo poles rising from them. As he leapt up to land balanced easily upon one of the poles, he noted two things to himself. First, that in spite of what the brochure said, this training ground must remain in use, or there would not be freshly cut staves of bamboo rising from each pool. Second, that this would be a good final training ground, perfectly suited to the aerial nature of the Musabetso Kakuto Ryuu that the Saotomes practiced.

It would not, he could see, be like many of the places he had gone, where Ranma had been put through hellish experiences that tempered him as the forge tempers steel. Still, it would be a good site, in that it would act something like a cooldown after a good spar, letting Ranma down easy in terms of ceasing his heavy training schedule. Rather than it simply stopping outright, they would enjoy this last training ground, fine tuning their skills, as a way of allowing Ranma to ease into his new life. After all, he would still be sparring with his son regularly . . . but the heavy training was over.

This was still definitely a higher level workout than the sparring would be back home in Japan, for the air was thinner here high in the mountains, and that water should be extremely cold. Losing focus here would definitely result in a jarring awakening.

Ranma dropped his pack and leapt easily to a pole across from his father, and moments later the two were clashing steadily in the air. Their sparring lasted for some time, as they bounced back and forth across the expanse of poles, and they were near to their starting point when Ranma finally tired of the insults Genma continually threw, and blasting through his father's defenses, sent Genma plummeting into the icy depths of one of the pools.

Ranma dropped easily to a pole a few pools away, waiting for his father to emerge. When Genma did not emerge immediately, Ranma called out to him. "Ano, Oyaji, are we done already?"

The pool frothed suddenly, and a massive shape barreled forth from it, springing to land back atop the pole. Ranma gaped at the black and white panda balanced precariously on the thin bamboo pole. He was frozen in surprise and had only time to notice that the panda was strangely enough wearing glasses and the tattered remnants of a training gi when it attacked him.

Genma leapt from the pool and tried to focus on his son. He felt strange, slightly off-balance, and his sight was fuzzy . . . he assumed it was from the water still dripping from his eyebrows, and the fact that his glasses were askew.

He was about to adjust them when he realized that Ranma had still not moved, much less taken advantage of the opening. What was this?! He had taught the boy to take every advantage in a fight, not sit there gawking! He leapt to the attack, intent on teaching the foolish boy a lesson, and to his great anger, Ranma hardly managed to even attempt to block and was sent flying into another pool for his folly.

Genma growfed angrily, then paused, startled. Growfed? He what? He held up his hand, and looked at it. Not a hand . . . fur, claws . . . he looked down at himself, caught his reflection in the pool, and fell from his pole in shock. He managed to catch it on the way down, and push himself off so that he sailed over the pool that Ranma fell into and onto solid ground.

He spun to face where his son had gone in, mind frantic with horror. His worst fears were confirmed when what rose from the pool was a dainty redhead wearing Ranma's gi, and the shriek she gave off when she opened her gi and looked down would have confirmed her femininity even had her form not done so.

"Oyaaajiii!" she growled, launching herself at him, the intent to main and possibly dismember clear in her still startlingly blue eyes. Genma turned to flee when they were both brought up short by a quietly spoken, "Stop," that somehow seemed to come from every direction at once. In the air before Genma an apparition appeared that frightened him terribly.

Powerfully built, clearly male, the man's features were indistinct due to the writhing aura of blue flames that tore the air about him in eerie silence. Genma did not need to see him, to feel that this man's aura rivaled that of the dreaded Master whose name he did not even dare to think, and even worse . . . this man had wings! Was this some divine kami of retribution come to visit judgement upon him? Genma immediately launched into the only attack in his repertoire that was usable against beings of this power level . . . the Saotome Special Technique - Crouch of the White Tiger!

He fell to his knees before the man, bowing and scraping, kowtowing before the kami. The Lord Fey looked down with disgust on the panda, but nonetheless poured hot water upon him, a stream of steaming water that appeared from his outstretched hand to trickle over the man's head. After all, Genma couldn't offer his son to save his skin if he couldn't speak.

Fey awaited the inevitable, maintaining a stern look, while Ranma simply watched in disgust and mild curiosity. Her disgust was for Genma, and his simpering, while her curiousity was for her father's return to humanity. Could her own curse be so easily cured by this man? She growled low in her throat when she heard her father offering her up to appease the strange man. She knew well what he was about, he had done much the same when they encountered martial artists who held grudges against him for one reason or another and she knew he intended to come for her. She couldn't help her feelings of revulsion, however, when she heard him offering not his son . . . but his daughter, and extolling her virtues, her beauty . . . her compliance?! The bastard!

"I accept, Saotome Genma!" the man said, in a voice that seemed to reach into their very bones and rattle them. He held out a scroll, and a golden quill pen. Genma signed hurriedly. "Now leave," the man growled, and Genma shot Ranma an apologetic glance before racing away.

Ranma set herself in a defensive stance. She could feel the power rolling off the man, but she was damned if she was going to allow some damned man to buy her. Who knew what he wanted to do, but whatever it was, she wasn't having any of it. She was beyond tired of being the scapegoat for Genma's schemes, and this last one . . . well, it just went too far! How could she see her mother now? What would she think?

---

In a village in a valley not far distant from the training grounds of Jusenkyou, Kho Lon stood beside her great-granddaughter, as Xian Pu watched and awaited her next turn in the tournament. Xian Pu was well on her way to winning the tournament, which would be quite a feat. It was quite unusual for any girl to win the tournament in the first year of her participation, and most of those who had accomplished the feat had gone on to become Elders themselves. Xian Pu was determined to make her great-grandmother proud of her, and to take the tournament prize. She would prove to them all that she was the best fighter of her generation.

Kho Lon looked up, startled, when she felt a flare of powerful ki in the Jusenkyou valley. She concentrated on it for a moment, and judged it to be approximately equal to her own. She glanced around, noting that a few of the other elders had also felt it. She wanted to go and see what it was, but she couldn't leave her great-granddaughter without support... besides, she had a lot riding on the outcome of this tournament, herself. She would investigate tomorrow... or perhaps, she might not need to. The Jusenkyou Guide might bring whoever it was to the village.

Taking A Chance

"You know he was lying," Ranma snarled, and was startled when the man nodded. The man allowed his aura to fade away and Ranma was quite startled to realize that she recognized the face. While he was taller, she thought, then she had been as a man, though she couldn't be certain, as she wasn't clear on how much shorter she now was, the face was unmistakably her own . . . or what hers had been.

She felt a sudden heat in her eyes, and fought back tears. Was it all over now? Was this man going to take her place as Saotome Ranma? She certainly couldn't be much of a man for her mother now. Nonetheless, even if the reasons behind her need to be a man might be beyond her reach, she still would not allow the tears to fall. She could not release her control, or she might never get it back.

"Who . . . Who are you," she demanded, painfully aware that based on his aura, and the fact that he had made it visible with so little apparent effort, not to mention the fact that he was her . . . well, err, his twin, she had little chance of defeating him. It simply was not in her to give up.

"I think you've guessed that already, Ranma, or close to it," he replied, and she felt a sudden sharp wave of relief flood her as he called her by her name. "I'm you . . . from a different world, with different experiences. I'm here to help you . . . but I'm also here to lay a burden upon you."

Ranma allowed herself to relax slightly. He had made no threatening moves, and she had difficulty believing that she would ever really attack herself . . . though she wasn't entirely convinced. He could be something else, masquerading as her twin. After all, he had those peculiar white wings, and that unbelievable feeling of power that she had felt coming from him, that made her wonder if he wasn't really a kami or something.

"Can . . . can you cure my curse?" she asked, barely daring to hope, though he could see the pain and the desperate desire in her eyes. A quick mental probe and he learned why she was so fearful, and he smiled softly.

"Hai, Ranma, I can . . . in a sense," he answered, and he noted the visible flood of relief and joy that spread through her, and its sudden halt when he qualified his words.

"What do you mean, 'in a sense?'" she asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

He sighed. "First of all, let me say that I intend to hold Genma to the promise he made to me. You are mine, by the contract he signed." He cut off her imminent and furious protests. "Hold up, Ranma! Please, don't get angry at me, this is for you, not me! This is your shield, Ranma," he continued, handing her a copy of the scroll, "your protection against your father's stupid schemes. One of the clauses in this document, that he didn't bother to read, is that it supercedes any and all prior arrangements. There is a second sense, though, in which I want you to be mine."

Again he had to head off her visible anger. "Not like that, I assure you. It is simply that I want you to be my avatar, my hand in this world. I want you to take up my task. I am here, Ranma, because without my intervention, this world will be devoid of all life in a little under thirty years. Nothing will survive."

He sighed again, noting her disbelieving expression. "I don't have time to try and convince you that what I say is true. I must make you my offer, and you will have to decide whether you can accept me on faith, or not. There are three paths forward from this point, Ranma."

"One, I can dissolve this agreement between your father and myself, and you can return to him, and deal with this curse, the engagement he is taking you to, and all of the pain and misery that he has accumulated for you, including the fact that due to an agreement that he made, that I can see you at least have some inkling of, as long as you still have that curse, he will force you to hide from your mother, who, by the way, is still alive."

Neither individual noticed the approaching Jusenkyou guide, who had been deliberately led astray by Fey before the father and son reached the valley. He was nervous at the sight of the winged man, and kept his distance, but watched and listened.

"Two, I can use the curse to split you into male and female. Both will still be you . . . it will be as if you were cured, and yet you were not. Then the Ranma that is trapped as a female can bathe in the Nannichuan, and become cursed to be male, and come with me, while the male Ranma returns to your father. Only one of you would ever be able to see your mother again, for obvious reasons, and would have to put up with all that your father has done, and the other would have to put up with being a girl cursed to be a man."

"The last option is that I can split the curse from you, and use the body to revive the spirit of the poor girl who drowned here so long ago, the spirit that has been trapped in this pool for centuries upon centuries . . . at least fifteen hundred years, by what I can see. You can choose to free her, and together, you will go to your mother, and you will have this agreement to shield you from all that Genma has done. However, Genma would be hurt by this choice, for he would have no-one to fulfill all of the pledges he has made, and would have to answer for them himself. Furthermore, I will only do this if you agree to work for me, to dedicate your life to saving the world."

"Take all the time you need to decide," he continued gently, smiling down at her, "in the meantime," he held out a kettle to her, "all it takes to reverse the curse temporarily is hot water."

She snatched the kettle from him, and poured it on her head, and sighed in relief as she changed and shifted, and became a man again. He walked over to sit beneath a tree, mind whirling with all that his lookalike had said to him. Neither Saotome nor Fey Ranma noticed the sudden bubbling of the pool, as the spirit trapped within desperately cried out to Ranma to free her.

It took everything she had, trapped in that void of nothingness, to cause any impact on the outside world, and her efforts went unnoticed by all save the Guide, who stared at the pool, and moved slowly and carefully away, afraid that if the bubbling increased, the water might splash in his direction.

She didn't have much hope . . . after all, who would want to take such a burden upon himself . . . surely he would choose to walk away, and if not, then he would choose the second course, wherein he could save the world and his honor alike. She tried not to hope, but couldn't resist. It had been so long, so long spent knowing there was no way out, she would be here for all eternity, never to know the peace of death, never to be born again, never know even the blessedness of sleep, that she couldn't resist grasping at the thinnest strand of offered hope.

It was all so strange. It sounded like a dream, and that was what the first option was like. He could pinch himself, and awaken from the dream . . . except that he'd still be in the nightmare. He'd still be turning into a girl . . . His lookalike had said hot water only reversed the curse temporarily. Ranma wondered how long it would take before he was a girl again, as he looked at his hand, that only moments previously had become something strangely unfamiliar, for all it had remained his hand . . . well . . . her hand, anyway.

The second option wasn't so bad, and to an extent his honor said he should take it. After all, it was a martial artist's duty to protect the weak, and if the world really was due to end, then he couldn't in good conscience take the first option. Yet it would mean that he would still be cursed while he fought to save the world, and surely Genma would plague the Ranma that went with him for the cure, and what was that about an engagement? He was too young to be thinking about marriage, though he already had an inkling, given Genma's behavior, and his love of sake, as to why Genma would want a marriage. He wanted to live off the sweat of Ranma's work, no doubt, wanted to be lazy all day, just sit around drinking sake.

Ranma was not naive enough to think that this was another engagement like several he recalled in his youth, that Genma had used to get free food and shelter for a while. No, from what he said, the agreement had already been made . . . and well, it just wasn't like Genma to worry about fulfilling an agreement. He always made sure that he got something out of an agreement right away, and once he was done with whatever that was, he forgot about the agreement entirely. The fact that Genma would remember and try to honor this one after who knew how many years sent a thrill of foreboding down Ranma's spine.

Besides, his duty as a martial artist really insisted on the third option. He had to help save the world, which meant either the second or third option. He also had to help protect the innocent, which meant if there was a girl trapped in that spring, and he could save her, he had to do so. He worried for a few minutes about the failure of honor of not fulfilling his father's promises, and what his mother would think, then realized that the scroll his lookalike had given him was more than a protection against those Genma had made promises to, it was also a safeguard for his relationship with his mother. She could not insist that he had to fulfill the agreements his baka oyaji had made when he had proof that Genma had signed away Ranma's right to do so.

He stood, and walked up to his winged lookalike. "Alright, I'll do it," he said firmly. "Free her. Cure me of this curse and free the spirit, and I'll do my best to save the world for you."

Fey grinned. He had hoped that he'd judged his counterpart in this world rightly. He had searched for a warrior or martial artist with the right degree of potential, the necessary power level, the rapidity of learning, and found a number of them. When he deepened his search, and looked for the personality that would lead one to choose the fight to save the world for the right reasons, and not the fame or glory that might seem due the position, he had been startled when it was the name of Saotome Ranma that had floated to the top.

"Very well, but there is yet one more task to be taken care of, before I can do that. You see, there is a strong possibility that the spirit, having slept in silence for so long, may have lost many of its memories of its life . . . yet I need her to be effective, and ready to be trained, right from the beginning. Therefore, I am going to give her access to your memories of your life . . . it will also, I hope, help the two of you stay close, that you will have someone who truly understands all that you have been through."

Ranma looked startled, then pleased, as he thought of having a friend like Ucchan or Ryouga, but that actually understood him, then he realized that there was a grave danger in what his counterpart was saying. "But . . . what about the N-N-N-Neko-ken?"

"That," Fey smiled, pleased to see that his estimation of Ranma's intelligence was not off, "is the task that must be taken care of first." He had hoped that he was right, that Ranma, even one who'd been in Genma's care all that time, and in spite of his having received such a dismal report from Nabiki, when he had used her to learn of Ranma's life, was not actually dumb, but merely ignorant.

After all, the described speed of his rise in martial arts implied great intelligence . . . but it was possible that it was an autistic form of intellect, as with those people who could perform very intricate math in their heads, and yet be clueless in every other field.

Ranma paled at Fey's words. What was his counterpart going to do to him? The main impetus of his fear came from the fact that his own father's attempts to cure him of his fear of cats had been based on the simple plan of throwing him back in the pit with more food, after allowing the cats to starve some more, again, and again, until he got over it. Only finally learning the Neko-ken, and using it to savage his father, had ended the cycle of pain.

"Not to worry, Ranma, I don't intend to throw you in a pit. I think I can proceed a bit more delicately than that. Come," Fey said, dropping easily into a lotus, "sit before me, and clear your mind." Fey spread his wings out after discovering to his mild dismay that he could not sit with them folded behind him but showing no sign on his face of the momentary pain that had flared in his wings when the tips had bent against the ground.

Ranma did as he was bid, and tried to clear his mind. Having little experience with meditation, he was not very effective, but Fey had been expecting that. It was Ranma's preoccupation with trying to clear his mind that Fey had been after, for it would prevent Ranma from noticing his work.

Fey reached out, and gently probed the mind of his other self, finding easily both the darkness within which Ranma's mind would retreat in his fear, and the cat. Moving closer, and with the aid of his divine senses, Fey was surprised to discover a slight hint of divine magic about the cat-spirit. Probing deeper, Fey came to the conclusion that the reason that Ranma managed to come out of the Neko-ken without going permanently insane was that some divinity had interfered and placed the spirit of one of the dying cats into Ranma, to fill the void left when Ranma's mind and soul retreated into the darkness.

Fey touched the cat-spirit, and judging its reactions, decided that he was right. This was not some malevolent spirit, but a playful though easily frightened house-cat. It was then that Fey really got a sense of what the Neko-ken was . . . Not the version that he had mastered, but that taught by the pamphlet . . . for if the divinity had not intervened, then there would have been a hole in Ranma, a space waiting to be filled.

Given the stories of what those suffering from the Neko-ken did, killing even those they loved in some cases, and causing massive destruction, as well as the similarities to possession in general, Fey decided that the manual was probably a demonic plant designed to lure foolish masters into opening their students to demonic possession. Ranma had been lucky indeed, as had Fey. He would have to discuss this with Neko when he returned, and see if his memories and experiences matched.

As it was, Fey suppressed the fear that Ranma felt, then slowly drew the two spirits together, to allow communication. It would take some time, but without the fear, Ranma would be able to face the cat, and perhaps, something more could be done.

Ranma found himself quite suddenly standing in darkness, and he heard a cat mewing somewhere nearby. He tensed to run, then slowly loosened up again, as he realized that strange though it was, he was feeling no fear. The sound wasn't triggering flashbacks of his time in the pit, wasn't reminding him of their tearing claws, their flashing eyes, their dagger-like teeth. In fact, it . . . it sounded almost . . . piteous.

Feeling a sudden surge of compassion, Ranma tried to move toward the sound, and to his surprise, the movement was almost instantaneous. Hardly had he formed the intention than he was beside the cat. He crouched beside it. It was a tiny thing, compared to him, its ribs easily visible through its side, and it meowed again, stumbling about as if searching for something.

Ranma wished he had something to give it, and suddenly he found himself again draped in fish sausages. He shivered for a moment, but steeling himself, looking at the pitiable cat, that was scarcely a danger to him now, and pulled off a sausage. He set it before the cat, and watched it devour it. It felt like he should be shivering in fear, watching it eat, but he could not feel any fear . . . only sadness.

"What happened to you?" he wondered aloud, picking the cat up and setting it in his lap, feeding it another sausage, "Poor little fella."

As Ranma held the cat, more and more began to appear around them, crying out in hunger, and he moved suddenly, with his full speed, unwrapping the sausages in the merest instant, separating them rapidly, and flinging a sausage in front of each starving cat. Even as he did so, the realization hit him, that these were the cats that had died with him, the cats in the pit, that he had slain when he learned that terrible technique. As he looked at them now, at their scrawny forms and desperate hunger, he felt a growing anger towards his father.

The scene vanished, as Ranma's attention was caught by a flash of light. He blinked against the glare, and realized he was again seated across from his lookalike.

"The first cat was real, Ranma," Fey said, grimly, "one of those cats gave up its spirit to make you whole. Had it not done so, I believe a demon would have filled the space, the emptiness left when you fled into the darkness. That is what your father did, Ranma, he opened the way for a demon to possess you. You are inordinately lucky that someone or something intervened, and you are possessed merely by a cat."

"I . . . why wasn't I afraid?"

"I suppressed your fear, Ranma . . . I want you to reach out, in your mind, try and find the cat. I am still withholding your fear, and I want you to consciously choose to embrace the cat. Accept the cat, Ranma," Fey's voice was low and hypnotic, as he guided Ranma's mind down the appropriate paths, "embrace the cat, remember your compassion, and embrace it."

Ranma's stance shifted suddenly, visibly, even though he was seated. His eyes widened, as he stared at Fey, then held up a hand before his face, and concentrated. Long blue claws flickered in the air above his fingers, barely visible. "But . . . but I'm awake! I'm still here," Ranma protested.

"This is the beginning of the path to the true Neko-ken, Ranma. When you see a cat, do not run in fear, afraid that if you do not, you will succumb to the fear, and release the cat within. Instead, reach out, immediately, and embrace the cat within. Then you will be a cat, but consciously, not sleeping, as you are otherwise, and as a cat, you have no fear of cats."

Ranma's eyes grew wide with startled awe, as he faced this remarkably simple solution to the Neko-ken.

"I have removed my suppression of your fear, Ranma," stated Fey, and Ranma glanced at him, but showed no signs of fear, even though he was behaving like a cat at the moment. Fey summoned a small housecat, and held it out to Ranma. Ranma took it, purring himself, and rubbed his cheek against it.

"But I'm not afrrraid," he protested.

"As I said, Ranma, you have no fear of cats when you are a cat, so all you need to do, is embrace the cat, rather than the darkness. Release the cat, now," he ordered.

Ranma released the cat-spirit, and felt the sudden upsurge of fear at the dangerous, deadly beast in his hands. He made a sudden motion, as if to flee, but his will was stronger than his fear for just long enough for him to reach out to the cat within him. He relaxed, the fear draining away, as a smile grew on his face. It worked, it truly worked!

"You would have been right to fear, to run and avoid the chance of awakening the Neko-ken, Ranma, had Genma succeeded, had not someone or something else intervened, for then the Neko-ken would have been a demon possessing you, and under its influence, you would have slain indiscriminately. As it is, while under the influence, you must be careful, for you will, in certain ways, tend to react as a cat would. For example, if you fall in love, then while under the Neko-ken, you will tend to express that love quite openly, even if you've been hiding it otherwise. And if someone else should threaten your love, you will react as an angry cat would. Therefore, you should practice embracing the cat, and retaining your control."

"I summoned this cat," Fey continued, taking the small housecat from Ranma's hands, "because I am afraid that when I give your memories to the spirit in the spring, that hole will be there again. I do not want to chance a demon filling it, so I will place this cat's spirit within her. This, in case you hadn't noticed," and he grinned, "is a female cat, while the spirit in you is male."

"But," Ranma protested, "that's not exactly fair to the cat, is it?"

"I can communicate with cats, Ranma, and this one has agreed to what I have asked of it," remonstrated Fey, "it will live far longer within her, and it will no longer need to fear. It is not a domesticated cat, as was yours, but a wild-cat, so I am afraid she will be a bit feistier when under the influence." Fey grinned evilly.

"It hasn't exactly been feisty around me," Ranma argued.

"I've been keeping it calm," replied Fey. "Now, it is time . . . re-enter the pool," Fey ordered, pointing to the Spring of Drowned Girl, as he stood, rising easily from his cross-legged position, still holding the cat.

Ranma turned to enter the pool, and was surprised to see it bubbling. He did not worry about the strangeness though, as he was feeling an unusual amount of confidence in this stranger that wore his face. After all, this stranger had somehow given him conscious access to the Neko-ken, as well as a safer escape from the fear, something Genma had never been able to do.

He waded in, and turned to face Fey, who was focusing some kind of blue light between his hands. Fey drew up the threads of magic, carefully examining the weave of the pool, and teasing it apart, while simultaneously suppressing Ranma's ability to feel pain, splitting him magically, and shielding them all from the reaction of the magic all around them.

He had to very carefully balance his division of Ranma against his unweaving of the pool, lest he either allow the spirit in the pool to escape his grasp completely, or allow the curse to attach to Ranma's male body as he separated them. It was an extremely delicate process, but Fey's powers of concentration, his ability to focus, was unparalleled, and he did not falter.

As he levitated the two unconscious youths from the pool, one clothed, one not, and set them upon the ground, a figure materialized a short distance away. Fey erected a quick barrier around them, staring at the black-cloaked, hooded figure carrying a massive scythe.

"There is no need to fear for them," Death said, in a hoarse whisper, "I am come to warn you. The time of her death," he pointed at the nude redheaded girl, "has come and gone long ago, but the magic of the pools comes from one whose deal with Death prohibits the collection of their souls. Even now that she has been freed, I cannot come for her soul, I cannot give her the bliss of death."

The bony finger shifted to point at Fey, "You must give her some means of regeneration, or the first time she is slain, she will begin to rot, but she will not die, and she will then exist to the end of time, trapped in a decaying body, in an eternity of pain and suffering far beyond what hell might offer. Make her body immortal, or you will doom her immortal soul to great suffering."

Having delivered his warning, the figure disappeared. A quick mental tap awoke the two teens. Ranma sat up, and immediately the nude girl wrapped him in a strong hug, tears streaming down her beautiful face.

"Thank you, thank you, bless you Ranma!"

Ranma was clearly at a loss. He had a naked girl in his arms, crying profusely. He wanted to comfort her, but he didn't want to touch her lest she get angry at him, and he didn't really want to say anything that might call her attention to her state.

Luckily for him, Fey noticed his distress, and rather than teasing him about it, drew up the threads of magic, and clothed her in chinese clothing that matched what he'd seen Ranma wear that day when he and Akane had come to Nabiki's dorm with the three Norns to confront Fey.

She pulled back, apologizing for embarrassing him, then looked down at herself in surprise. She jumped up, and bounced over to the pool, and stood looking down at her reflection in it for several minutes while Ranma tried to collect his scattered senses. She turned and faced Fey.

"Why don't I look like I used to?" she demanded, stamping her foot angrily.

Fey sighed. "Because the only body I had to give you was the one the springs gave Ranma. You look as Ranma would have looked at this age, given his life, had he been born a girl."

She looked down at herself, then moved closer to Fey, glancing at Ranma sadly out of the corner of her eye, and spoke quietly, that Ranma might not hear. "You mean, we're like brother and sister. We can't . . ."

"No," he hastened to reassure her, "you don't share any heritage. The spring draws on the natural appearance of the victim, but I changed the genes . . . well . . . not all of them. Suffice it to say, if you have children, they will be as they would have been if you, in your original body had been the one to bear them, though all else is drawn from Ranma. I rather suspected you might have that desire," he grinned at her, "so I made sure nothing would stand in your way."

Her eyes widened, and she grabbed Fey in a strong hug as well, thanking him quietly, before turning to bounce over to Ranma, reminding Fey that he had forgotten a certain undergarment when conjuring her clothing.

Fey turned away, looking down at the small pile of ashes where he had incinerated the soul-less, life-less body of the cat, and summoned a light wind to disperse them across the valley.

Ranma stared at the girl as she bounced back over to him. Now that she was not clinging to him, he was able to appreciate her beauty. He had never gotten a chance to see himself while in girl-form, during the short time he had possessed the form . . . at least, not from the outside. She was beautiful . . . about a head shorter than him, petite yet remarkably well-rounded. Her hair flared out like a fiery halo around an elfin face with large almond shaped eyes of deep blue.

"Hello, Ranma. I am Xian Tal . . . or . . . I was . . .," her cheerfulness collapsed suddenly, and tears brimmed in her eyes, as she thought of all her friends, her family, long since dead and buried. "My . . . my family, my friends, they are all dead . . . you are all I have left. Will you let me come with you?," she begged him, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"Of course, Sha . . . Shan," Ranma stumbled over the pronunciation of her name, and she giggled, and put a finger on his lips.

"It has been a long time since any knew my name," she said sadly, "and now I have your memories too . . . and we are going to Japan, so . . . will you pick a Japanese name for me?" She had a sudden thought. "What would your name be, if you were a girl?"

"Uhm, well, I dunno really, I mean, I dunno what they woulda picked, but my name is Ranma, and I guess, the closest girl's name would be Ranko."

"Wild Child? I like it," Ranko enthused, demonstrating her pleasure with a strong hug.

A sudden thought hit her, as she realized a deeper implication of the man's reassurance. This was not her body . . . would it still be capable of doing magic? Without her magic, she was not much of a fighter. Maybe that was different now that she had Ranma's memories, but she would feel even more bereft if she could not access her magic, and she stumbled back away from Ranma, staring down at her hands. She was trying to muster the will to reach for her magic, but she was so frightened of losing the last piece of her old life, the last thing left to her, that she could not force herself to reach for it, and tears sprang to her eyes, as her fear of loss overwhelmed her.

Ranma saw the tears in her eyes, and leapt forward to take her hands. "What's wrong, Ranko? I'm sorry, please don't cry, what's wrong?"

"I . . .," Ranko began, but couldn't continue, and pulling away, ran to the man who had freed her. "Tell me! Can this body do magic? I'm afraid to reach for it," she said, eyes pleading with him, even as her mind berated her for admitting to fear, "it's all I have left of who I was."

"Try," he replied, and she shivered.

"But . . . But I'm . . ."

"Try," he repeated. She felt Ranma's comforting hands on her shoulders, and she stilled herself. She could not afford to show such weakness, she was an Amazon, and besides, she had Ranma. Even if she did not have her magic, she had Ranma.

Fighting back her tears, she focused on her hand, and reached deep within herself, forcing her mind to reach for the power in a smooth practiced motion, ignoring all her fears and doubts. Her mind and heart sang in triumph when her hand flared suddenly, yellow flames flickering about it. They were not ki-flames, as had surrounded the man before he had freed her from the pool. They were true, simple flames, and all three could feel the heat of them. The flames seemed to blur, and Ranko realized that she was crying again, out of relief and happiness.

Fey waited for her to regain her composure, then caught the attention of the pair. He handed Ranma a large roll of yuan. "You must keep this from Genma, if he should follow you. Head to Japan. Take a direct route, but there is no need to hurry just yet. Train regularly."

He focused on Ranko. "You have the knowledge, and this body, created from Ranma's, has the muscle memory. You should be able to get up to speed on his style of fighting very quickly. Please do so, do not let this gift go to waste. In the same vein, however, the fact that you are still capable of magic implies that Ranma might be as well. Try and teach him. Oh, and do not go to the Amazon village!"

He focused on them both together now. "Most importantly, train with the Neko-ken often. I will find you, when you are ready for the next step."

Before they could react or object, he vanished in a swirl of blue flame. Ranma swore. "Kuso, I forgot to get his name!"

From all around them, Fey's voice sounded one last time. "You may call me Fey," he said, then repeated, "Do not go to the Amazon village." They were both startled by the voice, not to mention the peculiar sourcelessness of it, though they recovered quickly.

First Steps

Ranma turned now to Ranko, knowing that he had to talk to her, had to discuss what they were going to do, but not knowing how to do it. The mere thought that after all this time doing what his father said, he now had to fend for himself, as well as protect this young girl, whose knowledge of the world was either fifteen hundred years out of date, or second hand from himself, was terrifying.

He fought in his mind for something to say, but found his attention caught by the glistening tracks of the tears on her cheeks, slowly drying. He knew little enough about girls, and had no idea why the sight of her tears had affected him so viscerally, yet somehow seeing her cry made him feel a strong desire to protect her, to shield her from anything that might make her cry, and a dread of causing her to cry himself. Where were these feelings coming from?

Ranko, for her part, was happy to turn her attention to Ranma. Fifteen hundred years ago, she had been a reasonably strong Amazon battle-mage, though by no means the strongest in the area. Her memories of that time had two distinct veins of emotion running through them. A powerful stream of confidence in her own battle skills was primary, but it was met and countered by an equally strong thread of depression rising from her failure to find a strong male who could defeat her.

She had detested the weak males around the village, their wills broken from childhood, and longed for someone who could meet her on an equal level. They were rare in the village even then, but there had been those few warriors who had outsider males, and the two warriors she most admired were among them. They had not broken their mates, but met them as equals, and if anything, they were admired all the more for it in the village, that they could handle marriage to strong men who refused to be broken. They were honored for it, for they took the more difficult path, and in so doing, blessed their children with the strength of two strong parents.

Now, she had Ranma, and from his memories she had come to admire him. Indeed, from her perspective, the memories Fey had given her were far more important for the understanding of Ranma that came with them than for the skills and knowledge that they had imparted.

Because of those memories, she knew the training that he had been through, and surpassed, and to her amazement, it was beyond what even the best Amazon warriors were subjected to. He was a truly strong male, and his pride would never let him be broken, never allow him to be subservient, but at the same time, she could see the endearing vulnerability in him. From his memories it was clear that he had an overwhelming fear of loneliness, of rejection, and a powerful need to be loved.

She had little doubt that he would be hers, for he would meet no-one who could understand him as she could, and most of those who might have the potential to learn to love him would be put off by his rough exterior, by the complete lack of social skills he had gained from his father.

Ranma looked at her for a long moment, waiting for her to speak, as he had no clue what to say. When she did not speak, but simply watched him, her eyes traveling over him in a fashion that made him uneasy, though he didn't know why, he finally gave up, and hoping that she would not react to badly to his ineptness, he tried to think of her as just another guy. What would he say if this were his childhood friend Ucchan?

"So, uh, I guess we should be going, huh? My pack's over there." He pointed across the field of pools.

"Alright," Ranko replied.

He waited a moment, not sure if he should respond, then decided it was too hard to think of her as a guy when he was looking at her, realizing how beautiful she was, with that hair, and those eyes, and gah! What was he thinking? He turned away, and started walking towards his pack, hoping that she would follow without making him say anything else. He felt flustered, and his cheeks felt hot, but well, what was he supposed to say? "Baka Oyaji, how come you never told me nothin' about girls?" he silently groused.

They weaved their way carefully through the pools, both dreadfully conscious of their dangerous closeness, though the locus of their fears differed. For Ranma the fear was that he would fall in and his humanity or his manhood would be stolen away again, as his mind replayed for him the horror of discovering that he had become a girl. For Ranko the fear was far greater, and it took all her willpower to follow Ranma through the pools, for in each one she knew that some poor spirit was trapped as she'd been. What if they desired vengeance against the one who had escaped? What if the magic that fueled the springs reached out to take her again?

They walked through their fears, and came out unscathed, to stand over the two large packs. Ranma paused as he was about to lift his pack to his back, staring at his father's pack. "Oyaji . . ." Memories of the ten years rolled through his mind, and this time it was the pleasant memories that assaulted him. He thought of the nights under the sky filled with an endless stream of stars, a sky that most people, living within the light polluted cities, would never see. He thought of the clear mountain air as he walked with his father through beautiful forests, of the cold clear mountain streams and pools they would bathe in, of the waterfalls he'd seen.

Ranko watched him and from the expression on his face, divined the course of his thoughts. It amazed her, knowing all that he had been through, that he still apparently had strong feelings for his father and was able to remember the good times he'd shared with the old man. She knew, of course, of his fear of loneliness but sensed that this was something deeper. After all, what teenage male could feel loneliness because he was trading in an abusive old man for a gorgeous female companion his own age? No, this was true emotion. Clearly he still loved the old bastard. Ranko feared that his love for his father would yet be the cause of further trouble for them both.

Unbeknownst to the two, a portly figure had shadowed their passage through the pools, and even now was watching from beyond the guide's hut. This was not a figure with a bandanna and tattered gi, however, but a figure that neither teen had yet encountered or seen, the Jusenkyou guide.

He was in something of a quandry, for it was his clear duty to guide any who accidentally encountered the waters of the Nyannichuan to the Amazon village, where they might receive guidance, lest they fall into the hands of the Musk.

He had been near enough to hear the voice of the winged man twice warning the two teenagers not to go near the Amazons, but the Amazons would be wroth with him if they learned that the spirit of the Amazon who had drowned to create the pool had been resurrected, and he had not guided her back to the place of her birth.

He frowned in indecision for a time, until the sound of a splash caught his attention, and looking up, he realized that the teens were gone, and that someone had just landed in a pool. He hurried towards the sound, worried that the victim might drown before he could get there, for it was some distance away, near the base of the cliff, about where the path from the cliff-top opened out into the valley.

As he reached the vicinity of the pool, he recognized it, and paled, even as a massive black wolf erupted from the disturbed waters. The victims of the pools were often distraught upon emerging, and whenever the form taken was that of a large predator, there was the chance that in their emotional turmoil, they would act on the animal instincts that they might otherwise have been able to resist.

The guide was very nervous, therefore, as he approached the disturbingly large beast. He leapt backwards in fear when the beast shook its coat vigorously, sending droplets of the dangerous water flying in every direction. There were two reasons for the Guide's fear. First, of course, was the water itself . . . it was not likely that enough water would be present in the spray to cause a curse, but then, no-one really knew how much was required. The main reason, though, is that the victim's reaction had been very in character for a wolf, which indicated that there was a strong probability that the victim had succumbed to instinctive behavior.

The guide approached very slowly, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible. This was always the worst time. Sure, it was terribly frustrating to watch customers fail to heed his warnings and become cursed . . . but that frustration was nothing compared to the genuine danger present whenever he found a victim without having seen them in their true form first. After all, the springs would affect animals as well, and coaxing the victim to the hut to apply hot water was never easy. The victims were generally incoherent, so it was rarely possible to be sure via simply observation whether the victim had been human or not. He did not fancy introducing the victim to hot water only to discover that it had been a tiger, or a poisonous snake, or a wild boar, all three of which had happened to him on at least one occasion.

Before he could capture the creature's attention, it had turned back to the pool, and with its teeth, grabbed the strap of a backpack lying partially submerged at the edge. The wolf dragged the huge pack from the waters, then stilled, unmoving, not reacting in the least to the guide's approach.

The guide had seen this before, too. The victim had gone into shock. That was a good thing, as was the backpack, as they indicated a human victim, though of course, the shock was certainly not a good response in and of itself. It was unquestionably a common one though. Indeed, the responses of the accidentally cursed seemed to vary between two common reactions . . . the victims generally either went into shock for a time, becoming unresponsive as they struggled to assimilate what had happened to them, or, if there was someone present upon whom they could vent their anger, they would become violently angry, as if sheer vituperation and violence could repudiate their curse.

The guide waited patiently, knowing that there was little he could do. If the victim had become something smaller, the guide could have carried the victim to the hut, but with the size of this wolf, there was no chance of that. He would simply have to wait until the victim got over the shock on his or her own.

Finally, the wolf stirred, and the guide moved forward slowly. Seeing the wolf fix its yellow gaze upon him, the guide gulped, and spoke, softly. "Do you understand Mandarin?"

Seeing no reaction, the guide tried several more languages, before getting a positive response when he tried Japanese. That was certainly curious . . . while it was not uncommon to have foreigners show up at Jusenkyou, it was rare for foreigners from the same country to show up the same day, unless they were in the same party. He wondered if this victim might be connected in some way to the strange pair that had just left.

He had no way of knowing how right he was. The victim, in fact, was none other than Hibiki Ryouga, the 'Lost Boy,' who had been following Ranma, after failing to meet up with him in time to have their fight. He had known Ranma in school, where they had met in fights over bread in the cafeteria. A strange mixture of friendship and rivalry had built up between the two, both of whom were martial artists.

Ryouga had issued a challenge, and named the time, and place, a lot behind his house. It had taken him longer than he had anticipated to reach the lot, and Ranma had been gone.

In another time, another world, one where Fey had not intervened, Ranma, in his female form, chasing after his father in a blind rage, might have passed by Ryouga on the cliff top, from which Ryouga would have fallen, landing in a spring and becoming a small pig.

The travel from Japan to China was as nothing to Hibiki, who, due to his painfully poor sense of direction, traveled constantly. The curse, on the other hand, would have turned an otherwise pleasant search into a nightmare, as cold water would seek him out, and he would be forced to flee time and again, as he was seen as free meal by those he came upon.

By the time he caught up with Ranma a second time, the horrific experience would have built up his anger until he was no longer rational with respect to his rival and former friend.

This time, though, Ryouga made his own way into a pool, and it was one which, as he learned more about it, would affect him in very different ways. While a wolf would be hunted under certain conditions, it was well-suited to avoiding notice in the region he first found himself, and most importantly, it could defend itself much more effectively than a small piglet.

When the guide finished demonstrating the curse, in the small hut, and explaining the triggers, Ryouga's constant depression had eased somewhat. The guide, recognizing the signs, had spent some time listing the pools he knew of, describing them in such a way that even Ryouga could feel some gratitude that he had fallen in the one he had, and not some of the others.

The thought of them made him realize that if he had followed Ranma here, then there was a good chance that Ranma had been cursed. Ryouga growled, thinking of the boy's no-good father, remembering the ground at the empty lot where he had intended to meet Ranma. He had talked to one of the neighbors, and been told that the boy had waited there for three days, showing up soon after sun-up, and not leaving until the sun fell again. The ground had shown signs of a struggle.

The simple fact that Ranma had waited three days, and the presence of a struggle, had convinced Ryouga that his rival's father had forced him to leave. If Ranma had waited three days, surely he would have waited four.

When he asked the guide about it, he learned, to his horror, that a boy matching the description of Ranma had indeed been seen at the pools a few hours before, and had fallen into the Nyannichuan. Ryouga shuddered, picturing turning into a girl.

Ryouga felt the last dregs of his anger at Ranma draining away. During the short time he had been a wolf, he had reveled in the heightened senses, in the way that scents seemed to make paths on the ground . . . he had successfully followed the guide to the hut, by following the guide's scent, and he had not gotten lost, in spite of the ease with which he normally did so. It had been strange, the way there were no colors, but the almost visible smells had made up for the lack. His hearing had been much sharper, and the body had felt powerful. It was a curse, to be sure, particularly given the way the guide described the trigger . . . but it was one he could live with.

To turn into a girl, though, to have all his strength taken away, his manhood gone, his balance stolen, seemed horrific. He wondered how long it would take Ranma to regain his center. From the description the guide gave, it sounded like Ranma's father had left him, which didn't surprise Ryouga much. He had never had much respect for Ranma's old man.

The guide said nothing about the second man that appeared, or the apparent cure. He knew well enough that there ordinarily was no cure for the curse of Jusenkyou, and he felt certain that the winged man had had some reason for what he had done. He was also familiar with the obsession victims could develop regarding cures to their curses, and did not want this young man to waste his life in that way, so he held his silence.

Examining the sky outside, the guide decided that his explanations to the young man had taken too long. Insufficient time remained to reach the Amazon village before nightfall, and he had no desire to approach the village after dark.

It took some doing, but he managed to convince the boy that the Amazons would be able to help him with his curse, though the guide was careful not to imply that they could offer a cure. In any case, it was sufficient to convince the youth to camp by the hut for the night, and in the morning, let the guide bring him to the Amazon village.

The guide hoped that by bringing in this youth, he would appease the elders. He knew that it would not be sufficient to buy forgiveness for having been unable to stay the Nyannichuan cursed youth, but this Japanese boy seemed to know the other, so hopefully, the aid he could offer in finding his friend would be enough to placate the elders and have a meliorating effect on his own relationship with them.

As he pitched his tent, Ryouga's thoughts were on Ranma. The thought of what might have befallen his one-time rival was causing Ryouga to reevaluate how he felt about the boy. Unable to feel any anger towards Ranma, who had already, it seemed, been punished far more thoroughly, not to mention harshly, than Ryouga had ever intended, he found himself looking back on the events of their brief acquaintanceship in a new light.

To be sure, Ranma was a jerk, always taunting and insulting, and constantly wearing that annoying supercilious smirk, but he was a genuinely good martial artist.

Furthermore, there had been no need for him to lead Ryouga back and forth to school. Granted, Ryouga had not really thought of it as leading, at the time, as he had generally been in a state of rage chasing a taunting Ranma, but in the light of hindsight, Ryouga realized that, infuriating as it had been, it had also been the longest stretch of time that he had attended school regularly in his life.

Whatever Ranma's reasons for his behavior, he had become a constant in Ryouga's life, a fixture even in the short time he'd been there, and Ryouga realized sadly that his following of Ranma had been as much due to his desire for that constancy as to his desire for revenge. Ryouga had become used to the insults . . . they had become part of his routine . . . and he missed them.

He had to admit that he had never improved so swiftly in the art as when Ranma had fought him. He had never had an equal or near equal sparring partner for any significant period of time before, and he recognized consciously, finally, what he had already subconsciously realized . . . he needed it, needed that rivalry, the constancy of Ranma's arrogance, to give himself a target to work towards, if he wanted to continue his steady improvement . . . which he did, indeed he did.

Coming to Terms

Some distance away now, Ranma and Ranko moved steadily towards the coast. They were taking a route that avoided the comforts of society. They had spoken little, Ranko respecting Ranma's obvious discomfort, and his apparent desire to obtain considerable distance, though whether from the site of his cursing, or from his father, she was not certain. She was fairly certain that Ranma's avoidance of the roads, and the way they kept turning aside to avoid the lights of the small towns they passed, was due to his desire to avoid his father.

She had his memories, and so knew well that after an event such as that which had just befallen them, Genma would be in search of sake, as much as trying to find them, and by avoiding the locations where he could obtain sake, they increased the chances that he would give up on them, or lose their trail, or at least be delayed by trips to obtain his comfort.

When the sun disappeared in the distance, and the sky began to darken, Ranma searched out a clearing. His moves were practiced, and required no conscious direction, as he was well used to setting up his tent. They did not always use them, sometimes choosing to sleep out under the stars . . . but generally they did use them, as Genma was not one to chance the discomfort of sleeping outside should rain come upon them in the night.

It was only as he finished, that he realized the deeper implications of having left his father's pack behind. There was only the one tent, and there were two of them.

"Uh . . . I . . . I'll sleep out here," Ranma said nervously, "You can have the tent, Ranko." He did not wait for a response, being still overly nervous about speaking to his beautiful companion, and instead, hurried into the forest to begin collecting dry wood to make a fire.

Ranko's eyes followed his departure, and she grinned inwardly. It was sweet of him to offer his tent, though she would rather have shared it with him. Still, she knew better than to try to move too quickly with him. Her best bet was the Neko-ken, in which his inhibitions, if what Fey had said held true, would be reduced.

She needed to avoid scaring him off, and at the same time, she had to make sure he did not succeed with what he was trying to do, which was, she felt sure, to see her as a buddy, as one of the guys. She wasn't sure she'd be able to overcome it if he managed to start thinking of her as a buddy, or even as a sister. She needed to make sure that he was never in any doubt that she was a beautiful and desirable woman while still not scaring him off.

When Ranma returned to the clearing, a fair stack of dry branches in his arms, he was treated to the sight of Ranko, near the tent, stretching her arms back over her head. The thought that this might be a deliberate action on her part went over his oblivious head but that did not keep him from noticing her full breasts, straining at the shirt, or the curve of her neck, the slim lines of her arms . . . Ranko grinned to herself as she watched Ranma's reaction out of the corner of her eye, and slowly released her stretch, before turning to face him.

"Oh, Ranma, you're back," she exclaimed, as if she had just seen him.

He was startled out of his daze by her words, and flushed, as he realized he had been staring. Avoiding her eyes, he moved to quickly prepare the fire. He built up the sticks in a careful arrangement, designed to burn slowly and evenly, that reflected his long experience, but when he turned to his pack to get flint and steel, Ranko put her hand on his arm.

"Let me," she said, and turned to the fire. Ranma felt the heat rise to his cheeks at the touch of her warm hand on her arm, and hoped that she did not notice. Of course, his hope was unfounded, as she had indeed noted his response, which was exactly what she had hoped it would be. She turned her head slightly to hide her smile of satisfaction. She pointed at the sticks and a small flame appeared in the center of them, catching the wood, and growing stronger.

He was, as she expected, oblivious to her interest in him, and did not recognize anything that she did as meant to entice him; nonetheless, his body knew and reacted.

After they had eaten, they sat staring at the fire as it slowly died. Ranko sighed softly, taking Ranma's continued silence to mean that he was not going to overcome his nervousness at speaking with a girl unless she forced it.

"Ranma, about tomorrow," Ranko began, then paused to force Ranma to respond.

He looked up, eyes widening as he was struck by the gleam of the fading firelight in her eyes. "Yes, Ranko?"

"I . . . I kinda get the feeling you'd rather travel for a while, before we take time for training, right?"

Ranma looked down at his hands, and sighed. "Yeah . . . Genma's likely to be after us, so I wanna try and get ahead of him." He looked up at her, his face holding a vaguely questioning look, "I figure . . . I know Fey said we didn't need to try and push to get to Japan, but I figure, we push hard for a couple of days, it'll get us beyond Genma, and he'll be slowed down cause he'll be askin' in all the towns after us, and not hearin' nothing. 'Sides, he'll probably get drunk when he doesn't pick up the trail right off. I reckon that day after tomorrow we can train a bit in the morning, and then spend most of the next day trainin'."

He fell silent, realizing that it was the most he'd said to her since she'd been . . . awakened. He felt nervous and embarrassed trying to explain his reasoning. After all, it was probably all backwards anyway . . . he knew he wasn't any great shakes mentally, and Fey had told them not to push too fast, and told them to train hard. He looked down at his hands, not wanting to see her reaction, but sure she was going to object.

"That sounds reasonable, and it's about what I'd figured your plan was. I thought of something to add to it, though . . .," Ranko said, careful not to sound condescending, and pausing to again force him to respond.

"Yeah, what's that?" Ranma perked up, she hadn't shot him down . . . maybe he wasn't as stupid as he sometimes thought.

"Well, Fey put particular emphasis on training with the Neko-ken, right?" Again, Ranko deliberately paused, though her question had really been rhetorical, and she certainly could have already said all she had to say without waiting for his input. She wanted him to become comfortable with speaking to her, to see that she wouldn't ridicule him, and to build up his confidence in personal relations.

"Yeah, he did. But I really want to get some distance, first . . .," Ranma was a little more uncertain now. It sounded like she was questioning his decision, but . . . hadn't she already said she agreed with him?

"So, I figured, why don't we invoke the Neko-ken while we're traveling? Not fight or anything, just get used to it. After all, part of the Neko-ken, as I understood his explanation, is the influence the cat-mind has on us, right?"

Ranma sat up straight, and Ranko cheered inwardly, as Ranma took a more active role in the discussion. "I see what you're gettin' at, Ranko! Learning to fight with the Neko-ken's good and all, but if we ain't used to it, the different senses and reactions could throw us off. So we focus on them first, till we get used to 'em, right?"

"Exactly," replied Ranko happily, gratified at this evidence that Genma's foolishness had only hampered Ranma's knowledge, not his intellect.

"That makes good sense, Ranko," Ranma said, nodding. Fey, watching from a distance, smiled to himself.

"That's a good sign," he soliloquized, "Ranma has not been infected by Genma's belief in the uselessness of the advice of women. And Ranko clearly has a good head on her shoulders." He had been surprised to discover that the spirit of the spring had been a magic-user, but it was all to the good for his plan. After all, according to his understanding, in the world Dr. Gero had come from, while magic existed, it was generally not used to attack, but on a grander scale, that of wishes. Ranko was a wildcard, an unplanned and unknown element, even to him, and Fey decided that that was quite appropriate. After all, if Dr. Gero was representing the forces of Order, and Fey, acting as the counter- balance, was representing Chaos in this instance, it only made sense for his plan to include chaotic elements whose influence not even he could predict.

Ranko was staring at the dying fire when a sudden thought hit her. Sure they had only one tent, and Ranma had offered it to her . . . but didn't that mean that he had only the one bedroll, as well? If he didn't even have a bedroll, surely he couldn't sleep outside . . .

It took nearly fifteen minutes of arguing, but eventually, a very nervous Ranma entered the tent, and slid into the bedroll beside Ranko. To her credit, she restrained her desires, only heightened by his bare chest, though he had chosen to wear a pair of black pants to bed. They went to sleep facing away from each other.

Ranma woke first with a jerk and shiver, as in his dream Genma threw him in an icy cold stream. He realized that the cold was not imaginary, and as the fog of sleep slowly cleared, he realized that Ranko had just turned over, drawing the blankets off of him. He also realized with a sudden rush of sweat, that he could still feel the slowly fading warmth of her form where it had been pressed against his back. He shivered, both at the cold, and in concern over what would have happened had she awoken in such a position.

He slid off the bedroll, and out of the tent. He moved to his pack, and pulled out a shirt, pulling it on over his head. They were going to be traveling today, so there was no reason to wear his gi. As he thought about this, he realized that Ranko had only the one set of clothing. Fey had probably planned for Ranma to buy her some more, and some supplies, with that yuan he'd given Ranma, but he'd been absorbed by his need to get away from his father, and had forgotten to consider her needs.

Ranma felt a sudden wash of shame, as he realized that in point of fact, he'd forgotten the need to get supplies for her because he'd been deliberately avoiding thinking about her ever since they left. Sure, he might be uncomfortable around her, but that was no excuse to ignore her needs.

"Damnit," he muttered, "I shoulda gone by and got supplies for her. I am such a jerk."

Fey, discreetly observing the pair, heard his comment, and realized that indeed, Ranma had not thought to provide for Ranko's needs. Well, the reasons he and Ranko had discussed the night before for not following Fey's advice to the letter seemed sound enough, and implied the need to avoid towns, so perhaps Fey should intervene. After all, it wouldn't do to allow Genma to find them. Then again, his avatar did need to learn to plan, and a confrontation with Genma might actually be worthwhile, as long as it happened after enough time had passed for Ranma to gain a little more confidence in himself. Perhaps it would be best to wait and see if Ranma managed to come up with a solution. He could intervene if it looked like Ranma wouldn't come up with anything.

Ranma looked back at the tent then loped into the forest. He returned in short order, and prepared a new fire. Not wanting to wake his sleeping companion, Ranma thought back to what she'd done the previous day to light the fire. His incredible memory for fights and the arts kicked in, as he analyzed what she'd done. It availed little. He tried hard, but was unable to replicate her feat, and set about lighting the fire in the traditional manner, with flint and steel.

Ranko awoke to the smell of tea, and exited the tent, still dressed in the red shirt and black pants Fey had given her. She carefully positioned herself where Ranma could not help but notice, and stretched the morning kinks from her muscles. She felt his eyes upon her, roving over her taut form. She finished her stretching and padded over to the fire, dropping easily to sit near Ranma, gratefully accepting the metal cup of tea he handed her. She held it in both hands, letting the warmth seep into her palms, inhaled the aroma, then drank deeply of the green tea.

She smirked inwardly, as she watched Ranma set his cup down after finishing it off. She hadn't told Ranma quite all of her plan . . . Ranko embraced her cat soul, and immediately let out a loud meow. She giggled at Ranma, who was instantly across the clearing and up a tree, crouching on a branch, before his will caught up with his reflexes, and he yowled back at her, dropping to the ground, landing easily on his feet.

"What was that for?" Ranma demanded, then blinked in surprise at the sound of his own voice, and the rolling r's.

Ranko finished off her tea and stood, stalking over to him. "Simple, Ranma. If the Neko-ken is to be useful, then embracing it must be your reflex, not fleeing. You've already built up that reflex, and it's going to take some time to replace it. I was thinking that every so often, we should part for a while, drop the Neko-ken, come back together, and travel for a time. One or the other of us should re-embrace it, when it's least expected, after our guard has dropped again. That way, we'll use each other to build up the correct reflex."

Ranma nodded, then asked, "We have to separate to drop it, or the first to drop it would have to re-embrace because there's still a cat present, right?"

"Yeah, basically."

"Hmm . . . I dunno, I think maybe we ought to work on trying to stay together . . . if we can suppress the fear for just that long, that'd be better than having to get out of each other's sight to drop it."

Ranko flashed a wide smile at Ranma, leaving him suddenly breathless. He was really thinking this through, and it just made him that much more desirable to her. "Sure, that makes sense. I guess we can try it, anyway."

As they cleaned up from breakfast, Ranma thought about his waking realization, and came to a decision. Stopping Ranko, he handed her the roll of yuan that Fey had given him. "There ain't much we need, Ranko, but the next town we come to, you're gonna go in, and get you some clothes, a backpack, and if you can, a tent and bedroll."

"Why are you giving me the money?"

"Simple. Oyagi's gonna be looking for a black-haired Japanese boy. He might look for someone with your description, since he knows I was cursed, but when he learns you spoke Chinese and are an Amazon, he'll know it ain't me. We gotta get you some supplies, but I don't wanna leave him any clues I don't gotta, so I'm gonna wait in the woods for ya."

Ranko grinned and nodded happily. There were several good aspects to this development. Not only would she get some clothes . . . though she wouldn't look too hard for a tent or bedroll, sleeping pressed up against his hard body was just too good to pass up, even if it meant letting him fall asleep first . . . but Ranma was trusting her to do this alone, showing that he respected both her intelligence, to handle the money and the deals, and her strength, to defend herself should anything happen.

She knew, from Ranma's memories, all the bile that Genma had spewed at Ranma about women, and how useless and weak they were, and she found it strongly mirrored what she'd been told as a child about the attitude of outsiders, and she was inordinately gratified to see that her Ranma did not share such a disposition.

Aftershocks

Xian Pu watched bemused as her great-grandmother rushed them both through breakfast. Xian Pu had put forth considerable effort the day before, winning the annual tournament, becoming the official champion of the unmarried women of the village for the first time, and had expected this day to be slower than usual, expected her grandmother to show lenience.

Well, Kho Lon was definitely being lenient and showing her affection, but she was also insisting that they get ready in a great hurry. The sun was still making its way above the distant horizon as Xian Pu and Kho Lon made their way from the village. Kho Lon had refused to say a word about the purpose of their trip through all the preparations and Xian Pu was in a frenzy of excitement by the time they left the walls of the Nichiezu village behind them. Was her great-grandmother going to show her some new secret technique? Why else would they be going somewhere so early?

It was not until they were a good hour away from the village that Kho Lon finally broke her silence. "Xian Pu," she said sharply, catching her excited heir's attention, "during the tournament yesterday, I felt a strong surge of power from the direction of Jusenkyou. You did well to win." Kho Lon cackled suddenly, then continued, "for I was able to leverage your win into the right to investigate this phenomenon alone."

Xian Pu didn't have to think too hard about why that might be. She squealed in excitement. "Do you think it might have been a strong man, Great-Grandmother?"

"We'll soon find out, Xian Pu, we'll soon find out," Kho Lon replied, cackling madly again as she hopped along on her staff beside her buxom heir, who was unrestrainedly exuberant in her excitement. To herself, she privately wondered if the power she felt was beyond her daughter's abilities. In fact, she knew it was, it had felt nearly as strong as her own aura. Still, that was what was needed... a truly strong male would be required to defeat her great-granddaughter. Besides, even the strongest of men could be tamed by a woman's charms, and her heir was well-endowed in that respect.

At the other end of the path they traveled, the Jusenkyou guide was just beginning to lead Ryouga towards the Amazon village.

Kho Lon detected the approaching pair well before they came in sight, but had no difficulty recognizing the aura of the Jusenkyou guide. The two groups came together well on the Jusenkyou side of the path, as the guide was finding it extraordinarily difficult to keep his customer from wandering off. Their speed had increased about halfway, though, when a sudden rainshower activated Ryouga's curse. Ryouga found following the guide's scent to be easy enough, perhaps because it was something this body could do on a subconscious level and was thus not short-circuited by Ryouga's ever wandering mind.

As soon as Kho Lon approached them, the guide began begging forgiveness. Kho Lon silenced his importunings, and turned him about. As they walked to Jusenkyou, the guide explained all that he had seen, having already determined that the boy did not know Mandarin well enough to follow their fast speech.

Kho Lon made the guide go over his description of the winged man several times, as she compared his description to the winged people of Pheonix mountain. If Saffron were on the move again . . . but the guide's description was clear enough that she felt confident that it was not one of the pheonix people. The man, according to the guide, and he well knew what would befall him if he were mistaken, had shown no other avian characteristics other than the wings.

Once she had ascertained that it was not one of Saffron's people, she moved on to the meat of the matter. The Joketsuzoku had over three thousand years of experience with Jusenkyou, and in all that time, never had a cure been found.

The description of this winged man simply and without any elaborate preparations, materials, or powerful magical items splitting a cursed individual and raising a dead spirit held bound by Jusenkyou back to life, was beyond belief. Yet she had no reason to doubt the guide . . . he knew far too well the cost of lying to the Joketsuzoku. The magic of Jusenkyou was powerful beyond measure, and the implications that had for the power of this winged man put him above even Saffron, the immortal god-king of Pheonix mountain.

When she asked about the cursed boy traveling with the guide, the guide was quick to warn her of his peculiar difficulty with directions, lest she think to bring him into her tribe and then blame the guide for the boy's failings. Having thus protected himself, he went on to explain that the boy, in wolf form, had had no difficulty following himself, and that furthermore the boy was apparently acquainted with the victim of the Nyannichuan.

Kho Lon accepted the guide's frantic explanations and assured him that he would not be punished for failing to bring the victims to the Joketsuzoku. She herself was absorbed for the moment in the possibilty that the apparent resurrection of the spirit of the spring had in fact been what it looked like. The description of the girl setting her hand on fire reminded Kho Lon of the old tales of battle-mages. Could the girl who had drowned in that pool have been an Amazon?

Fey watched the quartet approaching the waters of Jusenkyou, and wondered. Kho Lon had been an ally to himself, but he had never had significant need of her abilities. To the Ranma of whose life he had learned from the Nabiki who became his dragon-daughter, Kho Lon had been both a most persistent and clever opponent, and something of a mentor. To be sure, Ranma and Ranko could benefit from techniques such as the Kachuu Tenshin Amaguriken, and the Hiryuu Shoten Ha, not to mention the Bakusai Tenketsu.

He had to consider whether he should take the risk that Kho Lon might successfully draw them back to the Amazon village. Would that affect his plans adversely? Did it matter, in the long run, where Ranma was situated? Fey groaned. Of course it did! There was very little chance of Ranma retaining the position of leading a group of defenders in the Amazon village, with their treatment of males. If he had left him with the curse, perhaps . . . but Ranma would not have been very happy about that. Worse still would be the Amazon's interactions with the other needed members of Ranma's team.

Kho Lon in the other world had not managed to drag Ranma back to the tribe, though, and that Ranma did not have the advantage of conscious use of the Neko-ken. There was also Ryouga to consider. In Fey's world, Ryouga was a friend of Ukyou, rather than Ranma, but in Tatsu-Nabiki's world, he had been a persistent rival of Ranma. To be sure, that rivalry increased the strength of both, but it also led to considerable friction, and contributed to Ranma's eventual breakdown. Fey wondered idly whether the breakdown he had sensed approaching had in fact happened, or if something had occurred to ward it off. If he had known then what he knew now about his interactions with the worlds he encountered, he would have acted more directly to aid his counterpart there.

As it was, he decided to leave well enough alone for now. He had heard the conversation between the guide and Kho Lon, and was fairly confident that Kho Lon would decide to follow Ranma and Ranko, if only to learn how they had been cured of the curse. Ryouga would follow of course, and in all likelihood, Kho Lon would bring Xian Pu along for the opportunity to find a strong husband for her.

Fey was uncertain whether Kho Lon would attempt to interfere in the budding relationship between Ranma and Ranko, but decided again that not trying to know everything about what was coming would of necessity be a mark of the side of Chaos. All was as it should be . . . but that thought brought in a memory of another manipulator he had once encountered, and he worried over what her reaction to all this would be.

Leaving the group as they approached the grounds of Jusenkyou, Fey ranged outward, reaching out to Pluto with his senses, drawing on his divinity to obtain the range he needed. As he had expected, he detected there a power, and intensifying the focus of his senses in its vicinity, he detected a living presence, and translated himself to a nearby position.

Fey was shocked at what he saw. Curled in a fetal ball a woman lay, green hair hiding her face, a tall staff shaped like an old fashioned skeleton key lying some feet from her. She was unconscious, and Fey's senses told him that she was alive only because she was in Senshi form . . . it seemed she had not eaten or drunk for an indeterminate period of time . . . days at least.

He knelt beside her, feeling the heat of tears in his own eyes, as he looked on her frailness. He reached out, and brushed the green tresses from her face, and drew in a sharp breath. The dried tracks of tears were visible, but went unnoticed compared to the gauntness of her far too pale face.

Reaching out, touched to the heart at her obvious misery, Fey drew her onto his lap, and was even more distressed when she showed no reaction to being moved. Holding her, cradling her in his arms, he bathed her in a white aura, using the technique Ranko had taught him to heal her, and at the same time, reached out across the dimensions to his kitchen in Fey Castle, drawing back food and drink.

As the warmth of his comforting aura faded, Setsuna awoke, tears springing immediately to her eyes. Awareness returned slowly, and she was deeply disturbed to realize that she was being held in strong arms, and to smell well-seasoned meats. She shifted slightly, and a strong scent caught her attention. She felt a light pressure on her lip, and opening her mouth to protest, felt a warm liquid invade her mouth. Hot chocolate . . . someone was trying to make her drink. She swallowed, and allowed the person, whoever it was, to comfort her, to feed her, and wash it down with hot chocolate.

She knew, with utter certainty, that she was delusional, for she had collapsed at the Gates of Time, and no-one could come there, nor were there any who even knew, in this time, of their location, much less that she was there, and so she did not open her eyes, fearing to dispell the comforting illusion.

Finally the feeding stopped, and she was simply held, rocked back and forth in strong arms, as someone murmured comforting nonsense in her ear. Setsuna was a strong woman, in spite of having given in to her grief, and she eventually decided that illusion or not, it was her duty to guard the gates, even when doing so had become so hopelessly futile, and she strained to open her eyes. They had become encrusted with her tears, however, and refused to open. She reached a hand towards her face, but it was caught in a strong hand, and she felt a warm wetness on her eyes, as her illusion carefully wiped the sleep from her eyes.

Finally, her eyes were free, and she opened them, to look up into the deepest blue eyes she had ever seen. She lost herself in them. Her hand was released, and she brought it up to the illusion's face, drawing back slightly, pulling her eyes away from those blue orbs, to take in the face of her comforter. He was handsome, was the first thing she noticed, as her hand rested on his cheek.

"Who . . . ?" She breathed out slowly, confused, and wondering why the delusion was not dissipating, and was showing no signs of being a dream.

"I am the Lord Fey, Pluto, and no, you are not dreaming," the apparition replied, in a warm masculine voice.

Setsuna leapt to her feet, staring down at the man, realizing with a sudden sense of despair that not only had the destined future been somehow destroyed by an act she could neither find nor alter, but someone had penetrated to the very Gates of Time, and she did not have her staff to defend herself. The adrenaline that knowledge gave her was not enough to sustain her, however, and her legs quavered beneath her, threatening to spill her.

A moment later, she calmed. She had been completely out of it, that much was clear. Had this man intended to manipulate the gates, he could have done so without the slightest concern. A second wave of despair hit her when she realized that he might very well have done so, before rousing her, but she thrust it aside. The future was death anyway, nothing he could do would have mattered, for the destined future had already been lost.

Fey watched as differing expressions flashed across her face, until she finally settled on wary curiousity.

"How did you get here?" she asked softly, looking about, and noting the position of her staff. It looked like he had not moved it, which implied that he was either not planning on giving her cause to use it, or simply had no reason to be concerned if she did.

He responded, but not to her question. "I assume your condition just now was due to the bleakness of all possible futures?"

She nodded sadly, knowing that it could do no harm for him to learn of this. What did knowledge of the future matter, when every path was death and destruction? "Something happened," she said, her voice catching in her throat, "and the future changed. It ends . . . in a little over thirty years . . ."

She cried out suddenly, as if defending herself from accusation, "I tried! I tried everything," she sobbed suddenly, but continued through her tears, "I searched the possible future day after day, but nothing made any difference. Every future is dark, they're all dark!"

"Look again."

Setsuna paled and shook, "No, no, I can't, it hurts too much. I've seen too much death already!"

"Look again." Fey's tone was gentle, cajoling. He held out a hand, and her time key shifted, and rose from where it lay to stand in the air before her, waiting for her to reach out and grasp it.

"Well," she thought to herself wryly, "at least now I know why he didn't bother to move the staff further from me."

She reached out a wary hand, and closed it about the staff, feeling only the vaguest sensation of comfort at the familiar feel of it, before the certain knowledge of the future drove out all pleasant sensations, leaving her filled with nothing more than a choking emptiness that tore at her. "No! No, I can't, I can't look again, you haven't seen it, it is too much to bear!"

Tears fell from her eyes again, as dread of what was to come stripped her of the ability to act, knowing that he would force her to look again, to see again the death of all she knew, the destruction of all that was to be.

"Very well," Fey said, his voice still gentle, and his acquiescence sent a wave of relief crashing over her, driving out for a moment the terrible emptiness. "Then lock the gates."

Her eyes widened, and she wondered why he desired such a thing, and who he was to ask it of her, but it made sense. If she could no longer bear to look into the future, then the gates were useless. Rather than standing guard over them, she could seal them.

She nodded jerkily, and spun to face the gates. As she approached them, she shivered spasmodically, and Fey strode to take her shoulders, offering her strength and comfort and she drew on it gratefully, feeling the loneliness of millenia ease, as she abdicated the burden of decision for the first time since she took up the mantle of the Senshi of Time, so very long ago. With his hands still upon her shoulders, she touched the key to the Gate, and under her breath, she whispered the words of sealing.

The swirling mists of the Gate's opening dissipated, as the great doors swung inward, sealing the archway. To her surprise then, she felt a surge of power from behind her, and silver chains bound the Gate, slithering about it, winding through the handles, and sealing the opening a second time. Somehow, Setsuna knew that the Key of Time would not be enough to undo those bonds, and she wondered again just who this was, standing behind her, still offering her strength.

"May I have the honor of your name, Lady Pluto," Fey asked softly, hands still resting on her shoulders. She turned in his arms to face him.

"Tell me who you are, first. I have your name, but that explains nothing. How did you get here? How did you even know there was a here? Who are you!?" Setsuna's eyes betrayed her confusion. After all, it was all over anyway, so why had he come? What purpose could it possibly serve?

"Very well, Lady, I will tell you. I am the Dragon Lord Fey, God of Chaos, Balance, and Change." He smiled gently, as her eyes widened in disbelief. "I was sent to correct a change that was made in this universe by a powerful, malicious entity. There are rules, though, that bind my actions. Yet had you been willing to look, you would have seen that there are now paths to the future that do not end in darkness."

Setsuna's eyes widened more than Fey would have thought possible, and tears sprang to her eyes as she spun to face the gate, understanding now the reason for the extra chains. She had been given her chance to look on a brighter future, and she had thrown it away. She buried her face in her hands, sobbing softly.

Fey reached out, grasping her shoulders, and drawing her back against his body, whispered into her ear, "Yes, Lady Pluto, you have given up your chance to see a brighter future before any other. That does not mean that you cannot see it . . . you will simply have to walk through time to get there. Will you? Will you help bring about that brighter future?"

Setsuna sighed, drawing her hands away from her face, though tears still dripped slowly from her eyes, and she reached up to take his right hand in hers, and draw it down in front of her, clasping it in her hands. She had felt a strong momentary surge of disbelief when he claimed to be a god, but looking on the chains with eyes that had millenia of experience with magic, she could sense the incredible complexity, and yet the elegant simplicity, of the bonds that held closed the Gate of Time, and she could no longer find it within her to doubt him. A God! A God, a literal God, had come to her aid, when she thought she was beyond all help. How could she not hope?

"Yes, Fey-sama, I will do all that I can," Setsuna promised fevently.

---

Fey focused on the current location of the Goddess Urd, this universe's Urd, who was neither the one who had taught him nor the one who had briefed him. To his mild surprise he found her in Japan still. He had put Setsuna back to sleep and made her comfortable, to rest, while he got some answers about her, and when he found the location of Urd, he immediately placed himself in her proximity, raising a shield as he did so.

He was shocked and dismayed to find himself in the Morisato living room, looking on as Belldandy sobbed in Urd's arms, while Skuld looked on helplessly. An instant later he was the focus of their attention, as the sudden sense of power shocked them to their senses.

He flared his god tattoos quickly, barely in time to prevent Urd from throwing the lightning she held ready, and Skuld from throwing her Neo-Skuld bomb. He focused and projected a calming aura.

Skuld jumped in between him and her sisters. "Who are you?!" she demanded, holding her mallet at the ready.

He bowed deeply to them. "I am the Dragon Lord Fey, God of Chaos, Balance, and Change, First Class, Unlimited," he replied formally. "I wish to speak to Urd, Goddess of the Past. I apologise for the intrusion." Even as he spoke, he guessed the reason for Belldandy's pain. She must have been told that Keiichi could not be taken to Asgard to be spared the coming darkness, or perhaps he had refused to go and leave his family behind.

Urd nodded to her sister, and Skuld slipped into place as Urd stood, Belldandy being handed from one sister to the other. Urd strode forward, swaying slightly at the hips in spite of her emotional pain, as Skuld stroked Belldandy's hair and tried to comfort her.

Urd led him to her room, and sat on the bed, staring at him. At any other time, she would have enjoyed being in the company of such a specimen. Not only was he possessed of a perfect physique, power rolled off him in waves in spite of the suppression he had clearly placed on it. This close, she could feel his power, and knew that he must be high up in the ranks of the Class Ones, and yet she had seen the compassion in his eyes when he looked on Belldandy, and felt the calming aura he had projected a short while before.

Not now though, could she indulge herself. She could not ignore her sister's pain.

"What is it?" she asked, tiredly.

"I wish to know of Sailor Pluto, why she was permitted to do what she did, and whether is was within the mandate she was given by her Queen."

Urd sighed unhappily. Sailor Pluto was a sore spot with her. A woman more in need of a good romance she'd never known, but she could never get her close enough to a man to let anything happen, and the fall of her kingdom had not helped. Now she was a thorn in the side of the Norns, but not one they would act against.

"She . . . no. Her mandate is to guard the Gates, to prevent other entities from using them or similar means to attack her worlds by means of the past or future. She was never supposed to create a future . . . it is too great a burden for any human, immortal or no, to be solely responsible for guiding reality to a single future."

"I thought as much. Why then?"

"It's simple really, and so sad. I tried," Urd tried to smile, but it was halfhearted, "I tried to get her to fall in love in the Silver Millenium, but she fought it too well. She could not bear the thought of love lost, and so she cut herself off from it completely. In spite of that, she went through the very pain that a lover feels when her lover dies, when her kingdom, her Queen, and all that she fought for was destroyed. For a short time, she did as she was instructed, merely guarding the gates, but inevitably, she took up her time by watching the possible futures. She saw too much darkness, even in the futures that were mostly light. There is supposed to be, as I'm sure you understand, being the God of Balance."

"But she saw only the darkness, and became determined to eradicate it. So over time she worked, trying to guide the future to a state of perfection . . . ," Urd trailed off, sighing heavily.

"And what happened as a result?"

Urd shook her head unhappily. "Nothing good. The brighter the one future she crafted, the darker the rest of the possible futures got. The darker they got, the harder she tried to ensure that the one future was bright. She built up a situation where if anything varied from her set pattern, almost anything at all, her future would vanish, replaced by a horrific future. Had she left well enough alone, she could have simply acted when the future was heading towards the dark, and nudged it back to the light, but as it is, she has set things up for a fall. Her own actions have steadily increased the pressure on her, and correspondingly increased the pressure that is to be placed on her reborn Senshi, for the brightness of that one future also became matched by the darkness the world would have to pass through to reach it, and the greater darkness it would risk falling into along the way."

"We can do nothing about it, with the non-interference pact, but even if we could, we would do nothing to her. It is so like one of the Greek tragedies, she has created her own hell . . . there is nothing we can do to her worse than she's already done, and no way to heal what has been done that she won't fight."

"But now . . . now the future is dark on every line, or so Kami-sama has informed us. Poor Skuld . . . it was her place to see that, to inform us, but she is still learning her magic."

"Not so, Urd-san, not so. The future is not all darkness, not now. That is why I am here, to restore the balance, to restore the threads of possibility. I am raising up a pair of champions that will throw down the darkness. I am afraid that the cycle is inevitable now, the cycle of waves of darkness, but they are no longer guaranteed victory."

Urd stared at him, wide-eyed, then rushed from the room. Skuld and Belldandy looked up, startled, when Urd raced to the phone, and began dialing a long series of numbers. Fey walked slowly out after her, and gave the weeping goddesses a comforting smile.

"Yes, I need to speak to Kami-sama, please," Urd said, crossing two of her fingers surreptitiously.

"What? Yes, Father, he is here. He is? Truly?" Tears sprang to Urd's eyes, and Belldandy and Skuld sat up straight, worried that she had heard yet more bad news.

She hung the phone up slowly, and turned to face them, and they gasped at her wide smile. "They're not all dark anymore!" she cried out, and Belldandy gasped.

"Truly?" she pleaded, wringing her hands.

Fey nodded, striding over to the couch, taking her delicate hand in his, and lifting her up. He pulled a cloth from the air, and wiped her tears away.

"I am not bound by the same rules you are," he said, "and I promise you this, Belldandy, if the darkness comes and is not stopped by my champions, I myself will bring Keiichi to you, no matter what stands in my way. If I have to make him my avatar, or raise him from the dead myself, I will bring him to you."

Belldandy's face broke into a glorious smile, and she threw her arms around him, crying tears of joy. Skuld looked at him with a worshipful gaze. She disliked Keiichi, but Belldandy's inconsolable sorrow had broken her heart, and Fey had made her happy again, and that was all that mattered. Urd herself had tears in her eyes.

Even his assurances had not promised victory. After all, he was the God of Chaos, he would not promise the outcome, he was the God of Balance, he would give both sides a chance, he was the God of Change, he would not accept a static future, but if he promised to bring Keiichi to her no matter the future, then it didn't matter if the world was destroyed. Her sister would not die with it, as she had so feared.

Building Trust

Ranma watched from the cover of the trees as Ranko picked her way steadily down the hillside towards the small town below them. They had spent a short while that morning discussing whether to go to the first place they came too, or wait until the day was well begun, and the town would be active.

In the end, they had decided to chance the first town. She would doubtless make more of an impression on the shop-keeper, but then, she was not exactly suited to blending into the crowds anyway, and hopefully they could minimize the number of people who saw her and could describe her to Genma, and thus ensure that whomever he did find to describe her would have met her, and would mention that she was a Mandarin-speaking Amazon.

Though the hour was still early, the town was beginning to stir. There were lights visible in a number of windows, and there was some movement on the streets, a few people getting an early start.

Ranko was moving stealthily, dressed in all black, having borrowed one of Ranma's black shirts. They had nothing that could conceal her hair, but she intended to get into the village without attracting undue attention in spite of it.

She slid easily from shadow to shadow, still enveloped in the embrace of the Neko-ken, depending on the stealth of the cat to guide her, for her own experience as a battle-mage had included little in the way of the hidden arts. She was a bit concerned about the possible reaction of any dogs she might come across, and was planning on dropping the Neko-ken as soon as she reached the city. That intent was as much because Ranma felt it important that Genma not know that Ranma had gained conscious control of the Neko-ken, as it was for the dogs, though she was also somewhat concerned about the possibility that ordinary people would be able to sense the Neko-ken, in spite of any attempts she might make to avoid the obvious signs, as a danger sense of sorts, subconsciously perceiving her as a dangerous predator, rather than a defenseless young girl.

She blessed the extended senses the cat gifted her with when she sensed a dog some distance away, yet still between her and the town. Focusing on where her senses told her it was, she looked for a way to pass by it without it noticing, then decided to not take the chance. Muttering under her breath, she wove a sleep spell, and cast it at the distant beast. Here again she thanked the cat spirit within her, for giving her senses that not only increased her accuracy many times, but also let her feel the dog succumb to the spell, collapsing into sleep.

She picked up her pace, not wanting the delay to worry Ranma unduly. Though she was gratified by the degree of trust he had shown in her, she did not want to chance triggering his protective instincts, sending him into the town to save her. She knew well how he had been taught, and was concerned that his trust in her might be merely intellectual, forced by his knowledge that she had been an amazon warrior, or perhaps based on the fact that she had his memories, and might be overridden by a well-programmed visceral response due to his father's training and blandishments.

Reaching the edge of the town, she looked up at the house in front of her, and without really thinking about it, leapt to the roof, as Ranma would have done. As soon as she landed, she paused, startled. What had she just done? She looked down, gauging the distance in surprise. It wasn't really something that would have been beyond her ability in her past life, but it was nonetheless something she would never have done. Her instinctual response in the past would have been to invoke a quick spell, lifting herself to the roof. After all, why risk a misjump, and a bad landing, that might result in a twisted ankle, or worse? She felt a shiver of apprehension run up her spine, as she wondered just how deeply Ranma's memories had affected her . . . or was it because this was really Ranma's body? With his muscle memory?

She shook her head, clearing her mind of the distractions, and crept across the roof. As she did so, she noted the way she was moving, and realized with a sudden sense of relief that it might well have been the influence of the cat-spirit that caused the leap, and not Ranma's memories after all. She hoped that was the case . . . after all, it was a lot easier to release the cat, than it would be to try to resist the effects of Ranma's memories.

Crouching on the edge of the roof, she looked out across the street. She could not yet see a store that might have what she needed, but she could see the business area. A strong leap took her into the shadow of a building across the street, and a second powerful jump propelled her back to the rooftops. She continued roof-hopping, and in short order she found herself in an alleyway beside a store that she hoped would have what she needed.

She was about to walk out of the shadowed alleyway and into the shop, when she realized with a start that she had not released the Neko-ken at the edge of town as she had intended to. It was so comfortable, that she had hardly realized she was employing it, but still, she had thought of the Neko-ken as the reason for her leap to the rooftop . . . so why hadn't she remembered to release it? She had been thinking of it, after all.

Slowly, and a bit regretfully, she released the cat-spirit. She checked her appearance, brushing her clothes free of the few twigs and leaves that had caught on to her as she had made her way down the hill, then sauntered out into the street, and slipped quickly into the shop.

The shopkeeper, a middle-aged man whose hair was just slightly streaked with grey, a firm build showing natural strength, but little training, a tired face that spoke of years of working long hours, and sad eyes that told of loss sustained, looked up from where he was rearranging a display of farming equipment.

He had inherited this shop from his father, and run it all his life. He mostly catered to the local farmers, but he also ran a brisk trade with the hunters that passed through. A fair number of the hunters and trappers that worked the lower ranges of the Byankala mountains passed through his town and stocked up, though the town got little or none of the return trade. By shouldering the burden of transporting the goods to the small city about seventy miles southeast, they obtained far better prices.

He was surprised, given his usual clientele, to see a beautiful redhead enter his establishment. He had no thoughts of declining to serve her, or making a pass at her, though. His village was on the path the Joketsuzoku used when heading to the coast, and he had heard many stories of the Amazons. Looking at this delicate beauty, wearing men's clothing, and walking fearlessly into his shop alone, and the way she moved with such uncanny grace, he was certain she was one of the famed Amazons.

He was about to stand and greet her, not wanting to learn what she might do if she felt she were being ignored, but she merely nodded in his direction, and slipped past a set of shelves and out of his line of sight. Well, if she did not want to be waited upon, and would rather find what she needed herself, all the better, for he knew nothing really of how such a one would desire to be treated.

When she eventually approached the counter with a backpack, and several other items appropriate to a traveler, he was unsurprised, having already decided that she was probably an Amazon heading out on a journey for some reason. Why she had chosen to stock up here, rather than somewhere earlier on the route, he was unsure, but did not question his good fortune, happily accepting her money, and silently thanking the gods that he had managed to avoid giving offense.

Ranko exited the shop, cursing silently to herself. She had hoped to have to make only the one stop, but while this store had had most of what she needed, all of the clothing was sized for men, and she was small for a girl.

She appraised the nearby shops quickly, selecting the apparel store that looked the most likely to have her needs, then strode quickly across the road. Thankfully there were few people on the street, but still, she noticed the few who were out and about taking note of her. While she found her new luxuriously red hair delightful, there was no denying that it made it difficult to blend in.

Slipping quickly into the clothing store, she noticed with a twinge of apprehension that the proprietor was a motherly figure, looking a little over thirty.

Her concern was justified when the woman bustled over, and began making comments about Ranko's beauty, and recommending dresses to bring out her eyes and hair. It took Ranko several minutes to convince the lady that she wanted more of the shirt and pants combinations like that which Fey had given her. She did eventually give in to the lady's importunings and purchase a silk sleeveless mini-dress. She did want to catch Ranma's eye, after all, she simply had to make concessions to their traveling necessities, not to mention the training they would be doing.

She paid and left the shop, feeling intensely grateful to be away from the woman's intense mothering. Unlike Ranma, Xian Tal had known her mother all her life, and she had spent fifteen hundred long years getting over the death of her family. She did not need yet more mothering.

She looked around, noting that the number of people about, while still low, was steadily climbing, and walked briskly into an alleyway. There she reached inward, finding the cat and embracing it, then leapt to the roof of the apparel store. Running across to the edge, she watched carefully until the street was clear before leaping down and back up, crossing the street in a pair of jumps. She repeated the process until she reached the edge of town where she had entered.

She smiled, noticing that the dog she'd put to sleep was still out, and made her way back up to the treeline, where Ranma stood waiting. She noticed his shiver as she approached, and the sudden shift in his stance, and realized he had just embraced the cat. He had been in the Neko-ken when she left, since she had been. Obviously he had dropped it . . . she wondered whether it made him uncomfortable.

"Any trouble?" queried Ranma, "I noticed you didn't drop the cat when you reached the town . . . I thought . . ."

"Yeah, I . . . I changed my mind, no trouble though," replied Ranko, not really wanting to admit that she hadn't even realized that she hadn't until she was well past the town's edge.

He nodded shortly, clearly out of things to say for the moment. He glanced down at the town, then turned and headed back into the forest. She followed in silence, sighing inwardly. Getting him comfortable with talking to her was definitely an uphill task. Perhaps it would become easier once they started sparring and training.

---

When the small group reached Jusenkyou, Kho Lon admonished her daughter to keep her distance from the pools of sorrow, while she verified the guide's story. The guide headed for the hut, followed by Xian Pu and Ryouga, who was still in wolf form. In the hut, the guide put water on to boil, while the wolf watched eagerly, whining softly.

Xian Pu sat on a chair, sighing heavily. She had been hoping that her great-grandmother was going to teach her a new technique as a reward for winning the tournament... or give her some form of reward, anyway. Instead, they were here at Jusenkyou, a place that gave her the creeps. It was, after all, used by the Amazons as a punishment worse than death... not the sort of thing you expect to be brought to when you have just accomplished the greatest feat of your short life.

Sure, Xian Pu knew she wasn't here to be punished... but the momentary excitement of the possibility of a strong outsider male, strong enough for great-grandmother to detect his presence across all the distance between the valley of Jusenkyou and Nichiezu village, had been stunted by traveling the rest of the distance with the guide, a dumpy fellow who seemed a living reminder of the danger of seeking an outsider male. After all, even such a one as he could defeat an Amazon with a stroke of luck. Imagine getting stuck with him! It fairly turned her stomach.

The wolf too, she understood, was an outsider male, who had blundered into the pools of sorrow, not even trying to train there, just an accident. Not only was he so incompetent as to get accidentally cursed at a place he had not even known existed, the guide had explained that he had a truly terrible sense of direction, and was constantly getting lost.

No, if these were the examples of the manhood she could expect from the outside world, she'd pass on them. She still held out a modicum of hope for the man her great-grandmother detected, but from the sound of the guide's story, assuming it wasn't just a drunken hallucination, the man sounded like a legendary being, an angel, or transfigured dragon, or maybe one of the Pheonix people, none of which Xian Pu really believed to exist. She didn't want to marry a myth, she wanted a man!

There was the boy that the guide had described. From the sound of the story, he would not be the one that great-grandmother had sensed, but he must have some value, if so powerful a being came down solely to cure his curse, which had never been done in all the history of Jusenkyou. The problem with that was that Xian Pu felt sure that he would have already been taken by the Amazon the guide said was resurrected from the spring. Well, the guide hadn't actually said the girl was an Amazon, but Xian Pu figured that with her luck, the girl would be, and since they had gone off together, according to the guide, well, it certainly seemed obvious enough.

She looked up as her great grandmother approached, having completed her examination of the area by the springs. Khu Lon was looking far more worried than Xian Pu had expected, and she felt a shiver of apprehension.

Khu Lon stopped by Xian Pu, looking at her great granddaughter with concern. While an excellent warrior, Xian Pu was headstrong, and inclined to take risks that a more seasoned warrior would avoid. With the destruction of the Nyannichuan, which Khu Lon had verified was no longer cursed, the Musk would be turning their eyes once again upon their ancient enemies in search of brides, and in search of revenge, and the thought of her heir on the front lines, taking risks in the face of the Musk sent shivers down her spine.

"Xian Pu," Khu Lon said, catching her heir's wandering attention. "It is time we find you a strong husband, whether this Ranma be the one, or no. We will go to Japan."

She glanced at the boy that the Guide had thought to use to lessen his own pain, and dismissed him. He was unimportant. They could not afford to simply follow the two cursed . . . or uncursed, as the case might be, children, since the Musk would likely be doing likewise, if they learned of it.

No, it was time to get her granddaughter out of danger and find her a strong husband.

Learning to Play

Ranko tore through the underbrush, then leapt twenty feet to rebound off a tree trunk, grinning madly. Ahead of her, Ranma leapt from branch to branch, moving with a feline grace, and a power that kept him in the air for upwards of fifty feet at a time.

Together they raced through the forest, startling the wildlife as they tore through. Though this was meant for training, they were making excellent time.

Ranma perked up when he heard a startled and plaintive yowl behind him, and instantly redirected his momentum, barreling back the way he'd come like a maddened pool ball, caroming off the trees with blinding speed, and came to a sudden stop clinging to the tree trunk, supporting himself with a single hand on the base of a higher branch that left him just above Ranko.

She mewled piteously at him, but her eyes glared, daring him to laugh. She'd managed to catch a short broken stub of a branch in the straps of her backpack, and was hanging from it. Doubtless she could have gotten herself down, but his reaction to her complaint had been too swift for her to have a chance.

He flicked out one finger, laying it against the branch, and canted his head at her, giving her a playful meow. Her eyes widened as she caught the implication, and she snarled, twisting towards the tree, just as he flicked his finger, cleanly slicing of the branch.

She stabbed out at the tree with her claws instinctively, as Ranma had expected her too. He wasn't just playing around, or teasing her. They both had to learn to correct the instincts of their cats. Some things that a cat could do with its claws simply weren't possible when your claws cut through anything that got in their way.

Ranko's eyes were wide indeed, and she yowled angrily at him, as she began to slide down the tree, long curls of bark and wood peeling away beneath her too efficient claws. She hissed at his bark of laughter, and focused on her claws.

Ranma silenced as her descent ceased and she scampered back up the trunk towards him. He mewed questioningly, and she grinned at him, as she came level with his branch. He gave a startled hiss when she slashed through the branch supporting him, and he too found himself beginning a descent.

For just a moment he was tempted to simply kick off into a controlled jump, but his ego stepped in. She had done it, so could he. He stabbed his claws into the tree, slicing deep gouges, then focused on them, until he came to a sudden bone-jarring stop.

He grinned happily as he climbed back up to her level. When he reached her and looked into her face, grinning, she moved forward, kissed him quickly, then leapt away from the tree. He stayed still for a moment, nonplussed, before shaking himself, and leaping to the pursuit.

The lead was swapped several times over the next hour. Ran