The city streets of Sunshine City in Ikebukuro were packed and dense during the late afternoon hour, forcing people to walk and bump shoulder to shoulder in opposing directions. It was the typical scene one would expect with any modern city where conversations blended together into a rumbling background noise interspersed by the sounds of passing vehicles, clopping of hard soles on pavement, and the distinctive digital tune of "Kagome, Kagome" as pedestrian crossing signs changed from red to green.

The melody was a very old and popular one introduced to most during childhood, but the lyrics were something that people never really gave much thought to. There were many interpretations of the song, but one in particular was that it was about a demon hiding among a group of people that jumped from host to host until it was eventually captured in a cage. So the irony of the schoolyard game coming full circle was not lost on him. The dense flow of people formed a ring around him as though they instinctively knew that a demon was once again in their midst, and without really intending to, he played his role well.

Hardly recognizable these days as Ranma Saotome, the pigtailed martial artist noted privately to himself that the situation was progressing much as he had expected. "So far so good, I suppose."

His long, dark hair was matted in places and veered off in wild clumps in others. From head to toe he was covered in a crusty second skin of indescribable filth that water alone had no hope of scouring away. A plain button shirt that might have once been white was worn untucked over tattered stonewashed jeans and a hooded jacket was draped over his shoulders like a pauper's mantle. It was a departure from his usual attire and he was in a state that would render him hard to recognize by even his closest family and friends in Nerima.

Even more curious than his disheveled appearance was his right arm that was bound with so many strips of appropriated cloth that it looked like an oversized club. He cradled it in a protective fashion and kept it close to his chest beneath the coat.

Some of these people would later rationalize that they tried to sidestep the young man for all those unwholesome traits, and while accurate, it would only be a half-truth at best. More than anything related to his hygiene it was the unnerving gaze that motivated them to stay out of his path. They were unwavering and void of that vital human quality that allowed a person to quickly make the distinction between one's own kind and a dangerous predator. The interval where the eyes capture an image and the brain processes what it thinks it sees and fires off a response is a moment measured in fractions of a second, but it was in that small window that primal instincts hardwired for self-preservation triggered with varying intensity.

"Got to hold it together and keep it steady."

The Soul of Ice from the Amazons of China was the technique he was employing here. Through repeated use he had become intimately familiar with it - enough to allow him to modify it to its current incarnation as a projectable eye effect.

As a martial artist Ranma had a certain sense of right and wrong that he liked to adhere to. Even taking into account that as a practitioner of a fighting style predicated on the notion that "anything goes" and that his values were skewed, he understood that he was playing a dangerous game here that could easily blow up in his face. That he was working with a good reason in mind lessened the burden of guilt somewhat.

Ranma's eyes moved from a trembling street thug to a startled yakuza wannabe who jumped out of the way and it was in that moment that an old man in the middle of crossing the street met his gaze full on. He tried to immediately look away, but the damage was already done.

Pedestrians came to a screeching halt, bodies colliding with each other like a multi-car pileup. They fought to come to a dead stop to avoid touching the man who was clutching at his chest and bubbling from his mouth. Just that quickly the crowd's fear turned into panic and Ranma lost control over his technique and with it went the means to rein in his arm. It was like throwing rocket fuel onto an already raging bonfire.

The cloth wrapped around his arm exploded, sending tattered fabric like confetti flying through the air. There was enough force packed behind it to knock almost a dozen people around Ranma clean off their feet. The windows of two passing vehicles were blown out and it sent them careening into others to set off a chain reaction. Terrified men and women ran every which way possible in a mass panic.

Ranma stared into the glassy eyes of the old man and solemnly took in the accusation he imagined to be there. He was interrupted when a middle-aged man in a business suit grabbed him roughly by the shoulder.

"This," the man wildly gestured to everything around them with his hands, "This is your fault! You did this!"

Ranma looked over his accuser's shoulder, refusing to look away from the body lying in the street. "You're right," he replied, resignedly. The businessman angrily tightened his grip around the bunched clothing in his trembling hands, unwilling to let him go.

Ranma closed his eyes and repeated the man's words a few more times to engrave it more strongly in his mind by invocation. A heartbeat later he twisted free and blurred out of sight, leaving the jacket still clutched by the startled man.

Synnecrosis
Chapter 2 - Trapped Thoughts

Disclaimer: The characters and setting of Ranma 1/2 belong to Rumiko Takahashi, Shogakukan, Kitty, and Viz Video.

Fate/Stay-Night is the property of Kinoko Nasu, Type-Moon, Kadokawa Shoten, Studio DEEN, and Geneon Entertainment.

"That went as bad as bad could get." Ranma rubbed at his face, heedless of how the layer of grime on his cheek smeared like peanut butter. Ambition and carelessness paved the road into the jaws of hubris. That was the valley where he found his thoughts stranded with a busted wheel.

Oh, he could say now in retrospect that it was ultimately a wild, harebrained scheme. Too much so he freely admitted well after the fact, but he was blinded by desperation bolstered by small successes. Combined with the learning methods he had been reared on in his youth and it made for a bad cocktail.

His father's training style was to jump immediately into the application phase once the basic concept was outlined with revisions left to be made on the fly to hammer out any kinks that might arise. It was a good mentality for an adaptable and unpredictable fighter, but unfortunately not something applicable in all situations. Failure in this case extracted a terrifyingly high human cost that he was sure he could avoid.

Ranma's lips receded to form a tight dissatisfied frown. "Like on that train," he remarked to himself, trying not to acknowledge the particularly harsh memories that still festered like an open wound.

Maintain an even keel and stay calm - he needed to reaffirm that point in his mind once again. Strong emotions were an enemy that he had to firmly keep under lock and key. Bury it deep down inside and allow the Soul of Ice to quench the burning fire pumping through his veins.

"Yeah, that's just not helping," Ranma admitted. He wanted to scream and explode instead and needed to do it quick.

A percussive boom preceded the journey taken by a dumpster that spun crazily down the length of an empty alleyway. It came to a rest, lodged firmly into the side of a brick building. The metal bin groaned as its upper half was forced to droop over the top of a large dent that marred its face.

That felt good. The release of weeks of pent up frustration was liberating, yet he knew full well that it was a stupid thing to do. Ranma counted out the seconds in his head until he growled a guttural string of curses. His arm throbbed in sync with the movement of black marks that ran from the back of his hand to now around his elbow. Jagged, corded patterns looped around his forearm in rings with its tip resting at the base of his bicep.

"Shit, crap, damn!" Those three simple words summed up his situation nicely. Ranma knew better, he really did, even if it didn't seem like it as he whipped his arm up and down to work out the pin needle stings that was causing his fingers and upper arm to spasm. "It's up even higher now," he said, as a hollow, humorless chuckle arose at the worsening of his condition by his own recklessness.

It started just as a messy star-shaped wound that didn't seem to heal right. Then later it was as if a plant had taken root in the back of his palm as black, vine-like filigree started to wrap around the length of his arm. There would be no mistaking it for some gentle ivy though as wicked, barbed prongs marked it as a briar if anything else. Between each coil were squiggly marks, as far as Ranma could tell. He was familiar enough with the different written characters he'd come across during his travels, but it wasn't recognizable as anything of Asian origin.

Ranma suddenly swayed back and forth unsteadily from the effort of just trying to remain standing. It spoke volumes about the sorry physical state he was in given the endurance like a thoroughbred that he was known for. Wide, bloodshot eyes danced frantically in their sockets and were rimmed by dark discoloration more suited on the face of his father's cursed panda form. His eyes burned, his head throbbed, and most of all he was exhausted. More so than at any point during physical training or any fight, he felt a bone-deep weariness.

"Can't fall asleep though," Ranma reminded himself, shaking his head to try to fight his weariness. A part of him knew he was getting just a little more incoherent as the days rolled by without appreciable sleep, but he had to stay up as he had yet to figure out how to control his condition.

Through unfortunate trial and error, he found that lapses in concentration could leave him open to becoming a passenger in his own body. So Ranma turned to using meditation techniques, but it just wasn't the same. Calming his mind was hard enough, but pressed to do it and in the condition he was in made it almost laughable.

"Pretty sure I've almost-" His sentence went unfinished as he caught himself just as his head fell forward. It was a micro-sleep and a sign that he had gone past the point of running on fumes. Ranma could see an inky blackness starting to creep in at the edges of his vision.

Slate blue eyes snapped open in a desperate attempt to scan what was available around him. There was a four-inch sliver of glass, the remnant from a beer bottle. That would have to do. Ranma jabbed it into his arm and the sharp pain helped pull him back from the brink.

"Too close," he hissed as the haze began to recede and the endorphin rush injected a much needed jolt to his system. He knew well it wouldn't last though. Ranma was a veteran of enough battles to recognize that this was a war of attrition and not a straight up fight, which put him at a severe disadvantage.

As he watched his lifeblood freely flowing from the ragged wound he'd carved, a much darker part of his mind that he didn't allow to be voiced often thought it wouldn't be so bad if he died now. It was a silly morbid thought though since he knew full well what was coming next since that as well had occurred often enough.

There was tingling followed by a weird swelling sensation as if his arm was being inflated like a balloon. The wound closed up and aside from a sticky mess he was none the worse for wear.

The truth was that even if he had a desire to do so, Ranma couldn't even kill himself to get out of this living nightmare. He allowed himself one more outburst in the form of bitter laughter pockmarked with hiccups.

The city of Shiki in the Saitama prefecture was a tiny city founded in 1970 with few remarkable qualities to offer visitors. Ruins of an ancient castle built near a waterfall and the John Lennon museum were one of the few public attractions, but it was duty that had summoned Kirei Kotomine, a devout servant of the Holy Church.

A request for assistance had been submitted by the Church of St. Ignatius and he was dispatched to the area to render aid. What he had found was the beginnings of an artificial infestation of ghouls perpetrated by a low-ranking magus dabbling in craft far above the limits of their capabilities.

Kanazuki Kohraku was that perpetrator. She was a second-year student at the nearby Sophia University. Born of an unremarkable first-generation family of magus, but with ambitions that far exceeded it, she systematically went about bewitching several young men from the school into joining a harem of her design.

In an attempt to secure ties to bind them all to her will she used her own body to create an adhesive patch that once applied fused with the flesh of her targets and subjugated them to her control. She found the experience better than the insubstantial pleasures of any lucid dream. For while it lasted, it was the crystallization of her heart's deepest, darkest desire - dream given flesh to exist in the waking world.

What she did not account for was that in similar fashion to an intoxicating narcotic, each member became dependent on partaking in her vital fluids in ever increasing dosage. It continued to escalate exponentially until they became voracious and in the end, consumed her entirely down to the marrow in her bones. It was the end of a ridiculous life's story that amounted to a low brow cautionary tale like Icarus, but with a grisly modern twist.

When the orders for this assignment arrived by post in an envelope bearing a wax seal of authenticity there was a brief moment of offended incredulity when he read the objectives it entailed. Some who knew him on a casual basis would find it surprising, but Kirei was not the type to adhere to pretentiousness when it came to his occupation. He did as he was told without complaint, but that did not preclude him from having a measure of what was befitting of his experience and skill set. His initial impression was that it fell far below what he thought as being appropriate.

"But this is no ordinary case." It may have been spoken as a statement of fact, but it served as a question as well. It tickled his mind in a way that fascinated him.

The crackling of timber popping as heat caused moisture at its core to fissure was loud. That it was from a house being engulfed with occupants of the Kohraku family home, both human and non, spewing acrid smoke as they were immolated didn't bother him in the slightest. In fact it provided adequate lighting needed to review the material so he took a seat on a nearby stump. Officials would classify it as a gas fire after the fact, and as long as the bounded field to confound casual observers was maintained he had time to linger.

Kirei had procured the services of an individual in the office tasked with matching Executors to their missions and for a modest fee he insured that interesting assignments would just so happen to fall into his lap from time to time.

"Tokyo Boogeyman," Kirei read aloud from the case file, derision dripping from teeth bared in amusement like venom. "It would be a gaudy title for a shameful fool of a magus and an unnecessary one if used for a mindless beast designated for mere termination."

Kirei quickly skimmed the document to get a general sense of what the mission might entail. Several cases where groups of people vanished under mysterious circumstances were compiled, but the connective thread that bound them to a singular source was weak at best with only the general area of occurrence being cited. There were notes written in a different hand within the margins that mentioned photographs.

He unclasped the binder clip to flip through the attached images that were available of the target. They were few in number and the qualities of each were unhelpfully poor. Most were grainy or pixelated because of poor equipment, others distorted by trying to capture rapid movement causing streaks and blurs, but one single photo proved fruitful.

Kirei brought it closer for inspection and managed to pick out just enough details to make his call. "Germanic runic alphabets," he said with a fair amount of certainty. He was no expert in its historical backstory nor used it with any regularity. An acquaintance of his employed by the Mage Association hailing from the Fraga Clan used it quite extensively.

"Perhaps a consultation visit could be arranged." His mind whirled as disparate ideas formed into interlocking threads and were arranged into fitting the grand tapestry he was attempting to construct.

The shaking of branches overhead and the drifting of loose leaves across his face drew his attention to a monkey that studied him with far too intelligent eyes and beckoned him to give it the attention it was due.

The voice of an old man, far too grave and articulate for the creature, addressed him familiarly. "Kotomine, I bear news of your target."

"Speak then," Kirei bade, as he arranged himself to be more comfortable. "If what you have is worthwhile it will be your normal commission and a bonus."

The primate bared its teeth in the approximation of a pleased leer.

Ranma was not exhausted by running from the scene of his failure, but a sign of it showed plainly in his face. The most dominating emotion etched there was fear. It was in his eyes, in his posture, and every nervous movement of his body. If it had a tangible scent he would reek of it like bad cologne. His belief in the ultimate outcome that would play out was shaken from this latest setback. Perhaps it was a sign that he'd become too complacent and took things for granted when he shouldn't.

Obstacles were something to be taken in stride, to be seen as another challenge that he would overcome through determination like so many others. This affliction, however, had a way of chipping at his confidence. He was getting rather sick of having it shoved in his face that he was in way over his head. There would be no fooling himself into thinking that he had everything under control and that things would turn out in his favor.

"The police are still investigating an incident that occurred earlier today in the Shibuya ward where eyewitnesses claim an explosive device of some sort was detonated in a crowded street by an unidentified individual. We have three confirmed casualties and the numerous injured were taken to local area hospitals for treatment-"

Ranma reached over and turned off his pilfered, hand-sized radio.

It was late evening now and the commotion stirred from earlier in the day had died down with theories of an unclaimed terrorist action being the popular theory being discussed in media circles. Even indirect accusations like that stung since he knew his culpability in the affair.

The air packed a particularly frosty bite tonight and though the wind was rather intermittent, it was as stiff as one would expect with winter waiting around the bend. For a reason he had yet to identify, it was not enough to make him shiver since his body was kicking off an unusual amount of heat. While he did keep a purloined leather bomber jacket around it was mainly to keep up appearances so as to not attract unwanted attention.

Dark rooftops weren't designed with the coziest of amenities in mind, but the view was almost worth the admission of minor discomfort. From this vantage point, the city and sky merged into a single, black canvas dotted with blinking rainbow colored pearls of light that blurred where one started and the other ended.

"It's a nice night," Ranma said. He playfully let loose a jet of air and watched the trail of mist it left behind like dragon fire. Truthfully, it was during solitary times like this when some melancholy always seemed to sneak up on him, making him wonder how things were going in Nerima.

The lone phone call he had placed was answered by Happosai of all people. His tone must have been a dead giveaway because the old man was in one of his rare moods where he actually refrained from steering the conversation into the territory of stupid. The perverted master had listened to what he had to say and weighed in by suggesting that he not attempt returning and seek out a cure on his own for the time being. It was also suggested that he use this as an opportunity to go on a training trip. Ranma thought the shrunken pervert was trying to put him off so he ignored the advice and boarded a train that very night.

Ranma hardened his gaze on his damaged right hand that was responsible for turning that idea into regret and made Happosai's words so prophetic in the end.

Nine weeks had gone by since he left the hotel in Shizuoka, which was hard to imagine. With the up and down rollercoaster ride he'd been on it felt more like his ordeal had dragged on for years now. For a moment he fell into the trap of imagining what it might have been like had he kept his nose out of it and not gotten mixed up in this whole monster business. He had to squash that line of thinking before it got out of hand because all the wishing in the world wasn't going to solve his problem. No, his options were limited to what he could come up with on his own or what he could get by calling Nerima.

Ranma hissed as a shooting electric pain traveled the length of his arm. Having become all too familiar he knew what was coming and tried to brace himself as best he could. Ranma squeezed the ball of his right shoulder with his left hand as a tremor made his arm flop around and spasm wildly. Glancing to his left brought into view red neon digits that displayed the time above a bank's storefront.

11:59:45... 46... 47... 48...

The seconds ticked away at a constant pace as the thrashing continued, leaving Ranma to wonder how long it would take to end this time around. In the distance a bell tolled and it was not until some moments afterwards when the digital clock showed 12:01:17 AM that he was granted his reprieve.

Ranma wiped the beads of cold sweat off his brow, while wearing a worried look. Fifteen seconds longer than the last time. The only thankful part of this latest fit was that the intensity was dialed down and easier to manage, but the frequency and intervals between each occurrence was becoming worrisome. He'd come to quickly associate the instances of intense pain as his guest's dinner bell - a signal to Ranma that it was demanding to be fed. If left ignored, it would progress to the second stage where it would start a contest of wills to wrestle away control of his body.

Tentatively, Ranma unwound just enough of the cloth bandage to examine his arm. The black marks were spreading, leaving less and less unblemished flesh behind. It not only tracked the worsening of his condition, but also reminded him of his spotty win-loss record in trying to fight it to this point.

Amid all the negatives of his affliction, he was amazed, yet also disturbed, by an ability his unwanted occupant paid him by way of rent. He could "feel" the ebb and flow of the people below him in a way that he never could before. More than just sensing them he could actually identify unique concentrations and discern those who possessed a strong life force from that those that did not.

If he focused, past the surface noise around him, he could actually make out details of the tenant in the ramshackle hobble three buildings over who struck his screaming wife with an open palm as an infant shrieked in the next room, or of the man who stank of sweat vigorously working between the parted legs of his underage and cheaply liquored partner in the side alley a block away.

"Way too much information," he amended with a blush.

There was a momentary falter in his steps and he grimaced as he leapt down from the roof back down to street-level. Without moving his head he kept walking in a straight line as he re-adjusted the knot that secured the binding to his arm. He used the subtle movement to hide how he trailed his eyes up and to his right where it traced a weaving path along the rooftops. Someone was following him and it didn't seem like they were trying to be discreet about it. Repeated bursts of hostile intent were being aimed at his back that just dared him to do something despite the presence of people still around him.

"What a moron," Ranma commented with disgust, finding the lack of discipline to be dislikable.

He broke away from the main road and ducked into a more remote side street that took him outside the flow of regular foot traffic. Eventually he reached the end of an alley where he met nose-to-wall with a concrete barrier that he easily cleared in a single leap.

Kirei followed the well-worn career path purposefully laid before him by Risei, his dearly departed father, and as the dutiful son that he was he carried on the responsibilities given to him from a young age as "Executor" for the Holy Church.

In that capacity he was tasked with the destruction of elements deemed to be unnatural and abominable in the eyes of their leadership group who professed to speak on behalf of their almighty God. On the whole, they focused their attentions on the affairs of the visible world and left the dirty jobs to people like him, and secular elements in the hands of the Mage Association and their Enforcers.

Despite similarities, the religious order saw them as comprising nothing more than a pack of heretical dogs. And Kirei was a dog of unique distinction by serving both the Church and Mage Association, depending on circumstances. He'd gained a foothold with the magi when he was taken in and formally recognized as the apprentice to a man named Tokiomi Tohsaka.

"Let old remembrances be forgotten," he said and banished the thoughts of the past to where they belonged. Kirei shifted his attentions to matters in the present of greater interest as uncharacteristic anticipation gnawed away at the stoic facade he liked to present publicly.

The journey from the city of Shiki to Ikebukuro was a short one with it only being a half hour away, but it felt as if it had taken much longer. Rare were the instances where duty and personal interest crossed over and dovetailed nicely as was the case here.

The message delivered by the monkey familiar added further details that helped confirm the doubts he and the assignment officer under his payroll had entertained. The behavior noted in the documentation was far too complex for a mindless ghoul, which left open the possibility that the target was a Living Dead, a Vampire, or a Dead Apostle.

Dead Apostles were ancient beings that for the most part had human forms and desires that could be understood to a degree. The exceptions were far more fantastical in form like the Forest of Einnashe, which was a predatory living sea of trees over 30 miles in diameter that consumed entire populaces whenever it manifested.

"Fortuitously that is not what you appear to be," he said, while skirting the tops of buildings to keep his current target in sight. "In such a case I may have been obligated to release you to the mercies of the Burial Agency instead."

The recklessness of the attacks, one occurring in broad daylight on a busy street, was uncharacteristic of the known members. It all but eliminated that likelihood from his consideration and left two remaining options in play.

"So what are you then that you elude easy classification?" Kirei found himself pondering that question as he tailed what looked like a homeless street rat. Casual appearances that said otherwise were misleading as his target gave subtle indications of being aware of his position on the roof and that he was being pursued.

"I do hope I am not building up undue anticipation only to be disappointed."

Sunshine 9 was a well-publicized attempt to construct a state-of-the-art apartment complex designed to balance affordable living with space conservation in mind by building tall instead of wide. Concerns about underground water pockets causing the entire structure to sink into the ground amid an earthquake by liquefaction brought a screeching halt to the project. It was a detail that explained why the construction yard before him was conveniently empty.

Ranma shot a contemptuous glare to his side where he viciously squeezed his right arm that was wrapped in dirty gauze. "Found something you like?" Ranma whispered, as the pain increased noticeably.

"You can come out now," Ranma called out. He scanned the steel needlework above, trying to find his guest amongst the hedge of crisscrossing I-Beams and rebar.

A figure stepped out from behind one of the vertical columns overhead. The smiling man was very tall, well above average, but he was not lanky. He was fit from what Ranma could tell, although his thick priestly robes made it hard to pick out any more details than that with any certainty. However, the way he moved and stood balanced on the balls of his feet - right down to the way the man's eyes analyzed both Ranma and the area - it all screamed that this was no stranger to combat.

"I commend your taste in locale away from prying eyes and interference." The speaker's voice was a baritone, not wholly unpleasant, but there was a hint of smugness to it. "Though I must admit being unaware that the lesser of your kind was so conscientious about preserving civil peace."

"What do you mean by my 'kind'?" Ranma asked, detecting an odd connotation being attached to the term. His voice came out frosty and harsh without its natural inflection - the Soul of Ice was holding back the bristle and barb that would've normally leapt out of his throat. Despite the numbing effect of the technique, he felt a sliver of unease around this supposed Holy Man.

"Oh, but where are my manners. Kotomine Kirei, a humble servant of the Church," he said, adding a flourish to his apologetically sketched bow. His eyes didn't match the feigned pleasantry of his smile and they glinted in a manner that said he was no vicar selling a bible and a sermon.

"What do you want?" Ranma was tense now. The burning sensation in his appendage grew as well in proportion to his worry and he fought to keep both clamped down.

"What indeed," he intoned. An upturn of his arms caused two sets of blades to fan open between the fingers of both hands.

"You're making a mistake," Ranma barked out through fiercely clenched teeth, which ended in a hiss when the bandages once more burst free from his right arm. Inky blotches seeped out of the wound on his palm, tracing and darkening the coiled pattern around his forearm.

"I sincerely doubt that, but your concern is duly noted," Kirei replied with a casual air. Ranma noted that the man wore a smirk now that suited him far more aptly.

The sense of helplessness he felt back then against the creature now in his arm, the feeling that he bit off more than he could chew, was eerily reminiscent to what he was feeling now. Ranma hoped that he'd survive this encounter just as he had the other, though he prayed it wouldn't be at a similar toll to his wellbeing.

Debris fell around his head like deadly raindrops and kicked up a powdery plume that stung his eyes and made it hard to see and breathe. Ranma lifted his shirtsleeve to his mouth to prevent a cough that might give away his position, but allowed himself a grimace though when he tasted the mixture of blood and plaster that had pervaded his mouth.

"I was expecting a far more interesting show of skill. Why do you persist on hiding the extent of your abilities?" Kirei's voice, laced with boredom, revealed the man's position and gave Ranma just enough time to angle behind a girder that served as his shield. "My eyes do not deceive me, young man. I know that you are hesitating with the pauses in your body's movements. What are you afraid of?"

Ranma did not oblige the man in chatter, choosing instead to circle around. He was presented with an odd puzzle. His opponent outclassed him in his weakened state, perhaps even if he was at full strength, but he wasn't pressing his advantage. Why? He was being toyed with like this was all some kind of weird game.

The priest slowly walked, where Ranma ran, and was calm, while Ranma was frantic. No matter the speed he used to dart from nook to cranny, the man would simply turn and face him, all while wearing that ever-present smirk of condescension that was getting on his nerves and rattling his command over the Soul of Ice.

Ranma took a moment to catch his breath while hiding behind a concrete wall. He thought to himself how unfair the situation was now that the shoe was on the other foot, leaving him playing the part of Ryoga Hibiki as the victim of taunting in this little fight - minus the stupidity, direction sense, and terrible looks, of course.

Not only was he fighting the Priest from Hell, but he was also dealing with his unwanted condition that was making it very clear what it would rather be doing right now if the persistent burning in his right arm was a clue.

It was like carrying Cologne on his back as a backseat driver who would bop him on the head and tug on his pigtail to get him to move this way and that. A second brain that had its own impulses and reactions to what was transpiring was crossing him up. It was hard to coordinate his actions so he was realizing he'd have to go with the flow of what it wanted to do and adapt it into an overall scheme. Unfortunately training or fighting for that matter hadn't come up so he was dealing with this now in real-time.

Ranma picked up a steel water pipe with no resistance and flung it spear-like at the man, but the air it cut through made it whistle loudly, allowing Kirei enough time to avoid the attack.

"If you are not going to approach this with any measure of seriousness then I am going to have to put an end to further proceedings." Kirei flung a piece of paper that attached itself to a support beam above Ranma's head.

Ranma knew when trouble came a calling so he jumped away only to hit an invisible barrier that jolted him with what he thought was enough juice to light up an entire city block. He hit the ground as a trembling wreck, the sound of electric popping in his ears and the smell of burnt hair and fabric filling his nose.

"For a pitiful creature that made a sport of killing so many in such distasteful fashion, you certainly are a pathetic challenge in the face of real opposition." Kirei stared at the twitching boy with an indifference one might reserve for a cockroach.

Ranma crawled onto his stomach where he shot the man a defiant glare through messy bangs that clung to his sweat soaked face. "I'm Ranma Saotome," he loudly, and in a firm unwavering manner declared, "and I'm no murderer."

"Ranma," Kirei echoed, as if tasting the name on his tongue. "But you are," he recused before driving a kick that caught Ranma flush under his chin and flipped him onto his back.

"Rest easy in the thought that judgment has been passed onto you by those most pious and wise," Kirei said, as he placed his foot on Ranma's outstretched hand and ground it under his heels, "and find comfort that I come as the dutiful attendant to pass sentence and free your soul."

Ranma stared up at the patch of sky visible through the unfinished ceiling above him and vowed that the fight wasn't over. As the exhaustion and the weight of hopelessness began to press on him, a familiar haze began to slide over his eyes. He could feel himself beginning to sink into the depths of his mind, but he grabbed hold of it and channeled it in a familiar, yet entirely different manner.

"What is this?!" Kirei felt an unfamiliar... heaviness pushing down on him, making it hard to remain standing up straight, let alone move in any direction. He didn't detect any trace of prana or mana being expended, but there was an eerie green, red glow emanating from the boy like the tongues of a raging inferno.

"The world is a dark and lonely place, and I'm beyond the point of despair... Shishi Hoko Dan." Ranma said it in a near whisper that was immediately drowned out by the roar of changing air pressure. An upward draft was created that nearly lifted the priest off his feet.

Kirei just happened to catch a glimpse of a gigantic swirling orb that crackled with spikes and discharges of residual energy. His eyes widened as it reached some unseen apex and dropped like Newton's apple as gravity recalled it back to earth. It struck with ferocity like the descending fist of an angry titan and detonated like a bomb on impact. What took a construction crew two years to erect was erased in seconds as steel beams and concrete were reduced to scrap and rubble.

Untouched within the depression of the massive impact crater was Ranma who hovered in an odd bubble of numbness that left him feeling hollow from the exertion of his attack. He stared eye to eye with his opponent who no longer looked at him with casual dismissal and disdain, but it was also obvious that he had managed to escape mostly unscathed.

Instead of fighting it this time, Ranma willingly allowed the foreign influence of his arm to take hold of his mind as he willingly threw himself into the depths of his consciousness. The sudden and intense spike of prana forced Kirei to take cautious steps backwards to gain distance as Ranma slowly rose to his feet. One glance at the young man and Kirei knew it was a new breed of animal that stood before him. There was no hesitation, nervousness, or indecision like prior. The blank emotional canvas he hid himself behind where an angry fire occasionally manifested in his gaze was gone, replaced by dead doll-like eyes that shined with singular intent.

"Is this some kind of Battle Hypnosis?" Kirei wondered what it could be as the boy seemed to enter into a trance-like combat state that greatly augmented his previously exhibited abilities.

A burst of displaced dirt and debris signaled the opening of pleasantries followed by a sonorous clang that reverberated through the flattened and empty construction yard. It was a testament to his training that Kirei was able to raise his Black Keys in defense at the unexpected speed, but he quickly found himself struggling against the surprising power that was slowly driving him backwards.

"Transfiguration?" To his surprise Kirei found that he was asking a great many questions during this fight, which was already more than what he had expected. He had the boy's attacking arm trapped between two blades, but instead of an appendage being sheared loose with an accompanying spray of blood he was met with the sound of metal grinding against metal.

Kirei just did manage to throw his head back when fingers turned into pronged barbs that shot towards his face. He twisted Ranma's arm to the side, which forced the attack to go even wider. Dropping one of his blades to the ground he used the freed hand to withdraw a parchment that he slapped onto the boy's back. Retaking his blade he jumped back just in time to avoid as an explosion that flung the pigtailed youth into a thick metal strut with enough force to dent it.

Already his foe was back on his feet, which sent a mixture of annoyance and adulation coursing through him amid a melody that was his own rapid heartbeats. Ranma dashed forward at speeds easily double what he had demonstrated earlier.

"Yes, yes, excellent!" Kirei exclaimed, as he hurled a Black Key like an arrow that unerringly found its mark. The enchanted weapon punched through Ranma's shoulder and pinned him to one of the few standing pillars behind him. "This is more like what I expected of you!"

Ranma wrapped his hands around the imbedded weapon where an audible hiss and thick white smoke billowed at the point of contact. The blade took on an ochre sheen before it disintegrated into a fine dust that poured through the fingers of his clenched fist.

"Enhance," Kirei said. His words invoked a pale light that enveloped him for a moment then faded away. He shifted his form so that he was in the opening stance of his specialized bajiquan fighting style.

Had Ranma been fully cognizant there might have been actual appreciation given for the chance to steal the technique, but he instead stared with an unwavering, predatory focus that drew an appreciative noise from Kirei. It was plainly clear to him that the feral boy was something far more interesting and all together mysterious than your average run of the mill stooge that he encountered on the majority of his assignments.

Kirei noticed a furtive glance being made by his opponent in an apparent ploy to escape and he was having none of that. Using nearly triple the speed that he used before, Kirei maneuvered behind the boy and hoisted him by his shirt collar and threw him at a concrete wall. A vast spider web of cracks branched out from the point of impact as displaced slabs crashed around Ranma's body.

"I don't seek to kill you, Boy," Kirei remarked, off-handedly, "however, the hardiness of your constitution is beginning to test the limits of my restraint." Kirei paused on that very word he uttered as an inkling of an idea of how to deal with the situation came to him.

"I am certain there is some humor to be had that an accused dog such as I would think to turn a muzzle of all things on you."

Pain recalled pain, and what Ranma had felt on that first night on the rooftop eclipsed anything he had encountered since by a wide margin, current injuries included. Relatively speaking, that is. He sat atop a mound of shattered debris and bent steel, looking like some kind of urban monarch holding court. He was sucking down air in heaving gasps, as sweat and blood dripped off of his bowed head.

Despite appearances, this was the best he'd felt in a long, long time. It felt like he had walked through a hurricane for months without end only to encounter an unexpected calm in the eye of the storm. It wasn't a bad feeling by any means. The suddenness that it came upon him though was weird - much like everything else he had experienced lately.

"I regret having to interrupt your contemplations, but I feel it necessary to offer you my humblest apology since it appears you were speaking the truth after all," the priest said, ignoring the severe glare Ranma shot him. "The dispatch from the Church assured me that they had confirmed you to be a vampire of sorts, but I see that our intelligence was regrettably flawed."

"You don't say," Ranma groused before rapidly blinking. His expression quickly flashed from panic to puzzlement when he noticed his Soul of Ice was totally down and nothing bad was happening.

Kirei quirked his brow at Ranma's odd behavior, but didn't make mention of it. "With the misunderstanding placed behind us now, perhaps we can discuss the situation with more civility?"

"I'm open to that," Ranma said. "But first, what are these things?" He indicated, tapping the nearly half-dozen sheets of paper that were affixed to his arm.

"They are holy scriptures for the purposes of sealing and warding. I believe your Shinto holy men use something similar." Kirei re-holstered the last of his blades back in his inner coat pocket as Ranma nodded in basic understanding.

One of the sheets suddenly fell away from Ranma's arm in a shower of shredded paper that burst into flames that didn't even make it to the ground as ash. Ranma gave the priest a questioning look.

"Whatever entity currently resides within you appears to have a predilection for the arcane."

"What's that mean in normal talk?"

"It enjoys eating magic."

"Oh." Ranma wondered with a frown why the man couldn't just say it like that in the first place. In fact, the entire way he talked seemed overly polite and geared specifically to make him feel stupid without a dictionary on hand to translate, which was annoying.

Kirei waited patiently as Ranma took that piece of information and visibly rolled it around in his head. He seemed to be wrestling with whether to voice a follow-up question or not, if he was reading the amusing stops and starts correctly.

Ranma licked his lip nervously and was obviously uncomfortable with having to even broach the subject, but the man in front of him seemed to know something about this stuff. "Is it supposed to be just magic that it eats?"

"How do you mean?"

"Is it normal for the thing to try eating other stuff?"

"Other 'stuff' being human lives, I imagine," Kirei said, passively. Ranma found the man's stony expression difficult to read, but took it as a statement of fact rather than an accusation. It still struck with noticeable effect as Ranma refused to meet his gaze, and instead hunched over to run shaking hands over his quickly paling face. He made no move to refute the priest though, and eventually responded with a weak nod of his head.

"That would seemingly explain the initial reports of vampirism from the Organization," Kirei noted aloud. "I assume you do not do this willingly?"

"Of course I don't!" Ranma shouted vehemently, and then far more softly, "I can't stop the damn thing though. Hell, this is the first time that it's not jerking me around when I'm not using the Soul of Ice."

Kirei hummed thoughtfully and made a mental note about this "Soul of Ice" but refrained from interrupting.

"But I'm not doing any of this because I want to! I'm not the one who-!" His eyes momentarily lost their focus for a half-second as a ghost of a memory flashed before him. There was a phantom sensation of sticky, wet warmth on his hands that buckled him to his knees where he gagged and dry heaved without actually retching.

"Well, your problem isn't so bad, I suppose," Kirei calmly remarked. Ranma gave him a look of angry disbelief as he spat residual bile and wiped his chin.

"It's plenty bad enough!" he retorted bitterly. He pushed himself up onto wobbly legs to better level a glare at the man who he thought was making light of his situation.

Hands rose in placation, however. "You misunderstand me, dear boy," he said soothingly. He met the heat of Ranma's anger head-on without flinching, and went so far as to dare a smile in the face of it.

"Then get to the point already! I don't have the patience to be dealing with this right now," Ranma barked, clearly unsettled. He was in no mood for further niceties with this man as the euphoric novelty of being freed from his ordeal was rapidly fading.

Kirei frowned at Ranma's blatant cheekiness. A part of him wanted to disengage the holy passages granting him his cognizance in reprimand out of sheer malicious spite, but he let it pass. "What I mean is that a solution to your problem readily exists."

Ranma's eyes shot wide-open in disbelief and his mouth moved up and down but no words issued forth. It couldn't possibly be this easy could it? No. Mysterious strangers offering up a miraculous cure-all were usually snake oil salesman looking for a sucker.

"What's the catch?" Ranma asked.

"Come to Fuyuki City and partake in a little game," Kirei replied.

"And what kind of game is this supposed to be?" Ranma guardedly asked even though he was sure the unspoken 'yes' was telegraphed by the eager tremble he couldn't quite restrain. "This is life and death stuff that I'm dealing with so this better not be some kind of sick joke."

The priest flashed him a smile that spoke of how pleased he was with his response. "Oh, I assure you, that it is without a doubt all about life and death."

End Chapter 2

Author's Note:

More of the story to come at some point.