Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction ❯ Nezumi ❯ Training and Portents ( Chapter 4 )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: SoulSurvivor 
Anime/Manga: Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Action / Adventure / Drama / Horror / Martial Arts / Occult / Supernatural / Thriller | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 08.28.2001 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.5K | Visits: 607 | Status: Completed
Anime/Manga: Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Action / Adventure / Drama / Horror / Martial Arts / Occult / Supernatural / Thriller | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 08.28.2001 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.5K | Visits: 607 | Status: Completed
Nezumi - Chapter 4
A few days hike from Nerima there lies a wooded area fondly refered to as 'Mt. Terror'. Where it got this moniker is unclear, and it truly offers little to warrant such an imposing name. What it does have to it's name however is privacy, privacy enjoyed by generation after generation of local martial artists who go there to train away from the prying eyes of neighbors and rivals alike.
This day was no different than any other in that regard, however, if you were to ask the younger of the two who trained here, he would beg to differ... Once he regained his senses anyway.
Ranma was not the happiest of campers. Well and enough that he now turned into a monster when he got angry, add to that nearly killing Ryoga and alienating Akane. Now to top it off, his old man was trouncing him in bout after bout, half the time without allowing him to get a blow in! He'd lost count of the times he'd shifted in the last week, but whenever he did, his father simply vanished, only to re-appear once he had regained control.
So far, the only thing he had going for him was control, control over his shape that is. The frequent outbursts brought on by frustration and pain were becoming easier and easier to deal with, his bursts of frenzy easier to halt as well, which, he decided, was what his old man had in mind all along. Now all that was left to do was find out how the old fart was managing to pull it off. Pausing in his latest futile attack, he regarded his nemesis with hostile curiosity.
"Alright Pops, spill it! When did you get this good?"
Genma regarded his rebellious offspring with no little amusement. "Heh! You mean to tell me that you have yet to figure it out boy?" He straightened from his defensive posture and paused a moment for effect. "I have ALWAYS been this good! You, my dissapointing student, have simply never looked far enough past your nose to see this!"
Denial burning in his veins, Ranma pointed an accusing finger at his father. "What the hell do yo mean Old Man?! I've pounded you every day for the last two or three years now, and you've never moved this fast before!"
Eyeing his son seriously for a moment, Genma considered a moment before speaking. "You won because I allowed it." Warding off his son's protests. he continued "Now, I can guess your wondering why, right? Well then, take a seat and I'll explain..." Taking his own advice, he made himself comfortable before continuing. "Ahh... Where was I... Oh yes... Why I've been letting you win our bouts for the last couple of years." He paused for a moment to clear his throat. "When I was around your age boy, I traveled to many an odd place in my efforts to perfect my Art. One of those places ended up being the western half of America when I heard of an incredible evasion technique called 'Dance of the Rattlesnake'. While the technique was even better than I had hoped, it took time for me to gain the trust of the man who taught it and while I was there I ended up hanging around with a local rodeo hand. Ahh the nights we spent sampling the local whiskey and discussing our seperate paths in life... But I digress... Anyway, after watching the rodeo show at his invitation, I asked him about the one thin that struck me a truly odd. Yo see, one of the events in a rodeo is a rather dangerous sport called 'Bronco Busting' where the riders compete to see who can remain the longest on the back of an unbroken horse. What struck me as odd was that no matter how often they were mounted, not one of the horses would give in, not one of them would allow itself to be ridden without a fight. Now, breaking a horse for riding I can understand, but... How does one train a horse to NOT be broken?" He paused a moment to drink from his canteen and insure that Ranma was still paying attention.
"So," he continued "one night while enjoying the local bars, I decided to find out. 'Bill,' I asked 'how in hell do you train a horse to NOT be broken?' 'Well Genma,' he replied, 'what yo gotta do is get the horse to expect the rider to come off, that way, when he dont, it tries harder and harder till he does.' Well, after a few more rounds, I finally got him to explain how it was done. The process is laughably simple yet strangely effective... What they do, in effect is let the horse win, a rider gets on, and when the horse tries to throw him, he lets it have its way. After a few weeks of this, the horse expects to win every time, and when it doesnt, it tries harder and harder until it gets its way." Pausing for a moment, he gave his son an amused smirk. "Are you getting the picture yet, Wild Horse?"
For a moment, all Ranma could do was sit there with his jaw agape as the implications of his fathers tale sank in. Then came Rage, waves of it, as days of frustration and anxiety mixed with justifiable anger at his fathers deception boiled up as an almost palpable force. This time, when the change came, he made no effort to fight it... Not that it did him any good. This, as every other time, his father simply vanished into thin air, leaving nothing but mocking laughter in his place.
=================================================
Aloof and alone, the Kuno mansion stood on the outskirts of Nerima, a lone sentinel in open defiance of the wards normally crowded living conditions. Its unofficial lord and master was enjoying one of his rare episodes of lucidity when the feeling struck him as a bolt out of the blue, if one will pardon the pun.
Tatewaki paused in the practice of his favorite pastime, his bokken held in a guard position, as a feeling of wrongness washed over him. Not the doom and destruction he had seen in Saotome's eyes, this was closer to a feeling of malevolence that threatened someone he was aquainted with. Letting the feeling engulf him, he felt the world around him slowly fade away, leaving him drifting in a sea of darkness, then a form began to take shape, it was a girl, her features almost familiar though distorted by death, her body gaunt and pale, her bloodless corpse hanging from a rafter by her long purple hair.
Slowly drifting back to reality, or what passed for it in his life, he decided that perhaps dinner in a chineese restaurant was in order.
=================================================
Deep under the streets of Tokyo, farther from prying eyes than Mt. Terror could ever hope to be, another was experiencing visions as well. His, however, consisted of spots, streaks and splotches covering every hue in the rainbow.
When he opened his eyes and realized that he was still alive, Sasuke's first reaction was to surge to his feet in triumph... That was a mistake. After retching what little was left in his system onto the cavern floor, he carefully regained his footing and took stock of his surroundings through bloodshot eyes.
At some point in the plague he had been removed from the council chamber, that much was obvious. Looking to the blood memory of his kind, he recognized his current surroundings and his position in relation to the surface. 'Time to go then' Pausing only long enough to pay his respects to the elders in the council, he began the long journey to the surface, towards his destiny, toward his revenge.
=================================================
In Nerima general, ironically only a few doors down from the room Ranma had awakened in a little over a week ago, Ryoga brooded. He had regained conciousness three days ago and had regretted it almost immediately, the pain of his injuries being beyond anything he had ever experienced, including the breaking point training that Cologne had put him through.
The pain, however, was not bothering him at the moment, what had him concerned was the fact that for the life of him, he could not remember what had happened to him. He remembered wandering into what he thought was Kobe, then... Nothing. Every time he tried to recall what happened afterword, his guts would wrench with nameless dread and he would draw a blank. There was one thing he was absolutely sure of however... Whatever had happened was somehow and in some way All Ranma's Fault!
tbc
A few days hike from Nerima there lies a wooded area fondly refered to as 'Mt. Terror'. Where it got this moniker is unclear, and it truly offers little to warrant such an imposing name. What it does have to it's name however is privacy, privacy enjoyed by generation after generation of local martial artists who go there to train away from the prying eyes of neighbors and rivals alike.
This day was no different than any other in that regard, however, if you were to ask the younger of the two who trained here, he would beg to differ... Once he regained his senses anyway.
Ranma was not the happiest of campers. Well and enough that he now turned into a monster when he got angry, add to that nearly killing Ryoga and alienating Akane. Now to top it off, his old man was trouncing him in bout after bout, half the time without allowing him to get a blow in! He'd lost count of the times he'd shifted in the last week, but whenever he did, his father simply vanished, only to re-appear once he had regained control.
So far, the only thing he had going for him was control, control over his shape that is. The frequent outbursts brought on by frustration and pain were becoming easier and easier to deal with, his bursts of frenzy easier to halt as well, which, he decided, was what his old man had in mind all along. Now all that was left to do was find out how the old fart was managing to pull it off. Pausing in his latest futile attack, he regarded his nemesis with hostile curiosity.
"Alright Pops, spill it! When did you get this good?"
Genma regarded his rebellious offspring with no little amusement. "Heh! You mean to tell me that you have yet to figure it out boy?" He straightened from his defensive posture and paused a moment for effect. "I have ALWAYS been this good! You, my dissapointing student, have simply never looked far enough past your nose to see this!"
Denial burning in his veins, Ranma pointed an accusing finger at his father. "What the hell do yo mean Old Man?! I've pounded you every day for the last two or three years now, and you've never moved this fast before!"
Eyeing his son seriously for a moment, Genma considered a moment before speaking. "You won because I allowed it." Warding off his son's protests. he continued "Now, I can guess your wondering why, right? Well then, take a seat and I'll explain..." Taking his own advice, he made himself comfortable before continuing. "Ahh... Where was I... Oh yes... Why I've been letting you win our bouts for the last couple of years." He paused for a moment to clear his throat. "When I was around your age boy, I traveled to many an odd place in my efforts to perfect my Art. One of those places ended up being the western half of America when I heard of an incredible evasion technique called 'Dance of the Rattlesnake'. While the technique was even better than I had hoped, it took time for me to gain the trust of the man who taught it and while I was there I ended up hanging around with a local rodeo hand. Ahh the nights we spent sampling the local whiskey and discussing our seperate paths in life... But I digress... Anyway, after watching the rodeo show at his invitation, I asked him about the one thin that struck me a truly odd. Yo see, one of the events in a rodeo is a rather dangerous sport called 'Bronco Busting' where the riders compete to see who can remain the longest on the back of an unbroken horse. What struck me as odd was that no matter how often they were mounted, not one of the horses would give in, not one of them would allow itself to be ridden without a fight. Now, breaking a horse for riding I can understand, but... How does one train a horse to NOT be broken?" He paused a moment to drink from his canteen and insure that Ranma was still paying attention.
"So," he continued "one night while enjoying the local bars, I decided to find out. 'Bill,' I asked 'how in hell do you train a horse to NOT be broken?' 'Well Genma,' he replied, 'what yo gotta do is get the horse to expect the rider to come off, that way, when he dont, it tries harder and harder till he does.' Well, after a few more rounds, I finally got him to explain how it was done. The process is laughably simple yet strangely effective... What they do, in effect is let the horse win, a rider gets on, and when the horse tries to throw him, he lets it have its way. After a few weeks of this, the horse expects to win every time, and when it doesnt, it tries harder and harder until it gets its way." Pausing for a moment, he gave his son an amused smirk. "Are you getting the picture yet, Wild Horse?"
For a moment, all Ranma could do was sit there with his jaw agape as the implications of his fathers tale sank in. Then came Rage, waves of it, as days of frustration and anxiety mixed with justifiable anger at his fathers deception boiled up as an almost palpable force. This time, when the change came, he made no effort to fight it... Not that it did him any good. This, as every other time, his father simply vanished into thin air, leaving nothing but mocking laughter in his place.
=================================================
Aloof and alone, the Kuno mansion stood on the outskirts of Nerima, a lone sentinel in open defiance of the wards normally crowded living conditions. Its unofficial lord and master was enjoying one of his rare episodes of lucidity when the feeling struck him as a bolt out of the blue, if one will pardon the pun.
Tatewaki paused in the practice of his favorite pastime, his bokken held in a guard position, as a feeling of wrongness washed over him. Not the doom and destruction he had seen in Saotome's eyes, this was closer to a feeling of malevolence that threatened someone he was aquainted with. Letting the feeling engulf him, he felt the world around him slowly fade away, leaving him drifting in a sea of darkness, then a form began to take shape, it was a girl, her features almost familiar though distorted by death, her body gaunt and pale, her bloodless corpse hanging from a rafter by her long purple hair.
Slowly drifting back to reality, or what passed for it in his life, he decided that perhaps dinner in a chineese restaurant was in order.
=================================================
Deep under the streets of Tokyo, farther from prying eyes than Mt. Terror could ever hope to be, another was experiencing visions as well. His, however, consisted of spots, streaks and splotches covering every hue in the rainbow.
When he opened his eyes and realized that he was still alive, Sasuke's first reaction was to surge to his feet in triumph... That was a mistake. After retching what little was left in his system onto the cavern floor, he carefully regained his footing and took stock of his surroundings through bloodshot eyes.
At some point in the plague he had been removed from the council chamber, that much was obvious. Looking to the blood memory of his kind, he recognized his current surroundings and his position in relation to the surface. 'Time to go then' Pausing only long enough to pay his respects to the elders in the council, he began the long journey to the surface, towards his destiny, toward his revenge.
=================================================
In Nerima general, ironically only a few doors down from the room Ranma had awakened in a little over a week ago, Ryoga brooded. He had regained conciousness three days ago and had regretted it almost immediately, the pain of his injuries being beyond anything he had ever experienced, including the breaking point training that Cologne had put him through.
The pain, however, was not bothering him at the moment, what had him concerned was the fact that for the life of him, he could not remember what had happened to him. He remembered wandering into what he thought was Kobe, then... Nothing. Every time he tried to recall what happened afterword, his guts would wrench with nameless dread and he would draw a blank. There was one thing he was absolutely sure of however... Whatever had happened was somehow and in some way All Ranma's Fault!
tbc