Disclaimer: I don't own Ranma or any of the characters associated therein. This story is written for entertainment purposes only and no money is made from its production. On that note, I hope you enjoy the story.
Nerima Ward, Tokyo City, Japan. Home to overpowered martial artists, demons, shape changers, cross dressers and the resident chaos magnet, one Ranma Saotome, who was currently being chased by most of the people just listed. Whether fiancée, rival, or interested participator, each person in the impromptu parade was attempting to catch the wildly dodging pigtailed martial artist.
Standing outside the Tendo compound, watching the parade, was Kasumi Tendo, eldest daughter and partial slave of the Tendo Family. Broom in hand, she continued to sweep the walkway, a serene smile on her lips, eyes partially closed, for all appearances oblivious to the world except for occasional glances at the rampaging group. Only the tightening of her grip on the broom gave any indication to the turmoil raging within her. Unshed tears brim at the edge of her eyes as she strugglea to control her feelings. Every day, fighting for his life, while still trying to help out around the house. Never taking advantage of his opponents, or of the various women who threw themselves at him. Not even taking advantage of her.
A blush stained her cheeks as she recalled one time when she had offered herself to him, breaking down in tears after the failed wedding to Akane after everyone had left the place in shambles and only she was willing to clean up. The sight of the ruined and almost destroyed dojo almost brought her to tears in itself, but it was the indifference of everyone else that finally broke through her shell of carefully constructed oblivion.
At the time, she had been startled away from her tears by a rustling in the rubble, a shifting of wood and stone as a battered form rose from the wreckage, dressed in a ruined tuxedo. Ranma slowly rose to his feet, in female form after a chance encounter with cold water, wincing in pain from the explosions and beating he had received. Looking around, he had merely sighed, reaching for a cup of water that had somehow survived the mayhem. A burst of focused ki heated the water, changing him back to male form. After one last glance around, he then proceeded to begin cleaning up the mess, slowly, methodically, with the same quiet efficiency he always used helping around the house.
Kasumi watched the battered warrior the entire time as Ranma righted pillars, hammering them into place with his bruised hands. There was none of the usual bravado that permeated his every action, that cockiness that seemed to draw women and anger rivals like nothing else could. Instead, it was a subtle display of power and economy, strength and control. Her heart thundering in her chest at the display, Kasumi finally understood why all those women chased after Ranma. No longer could she look at him like the younger brother he had come to be. In an uncharacteristic display of emotion, she had thrown herself at him, tackling him to the floor and sobbing into his chest. It was cute the way he had panicked and tried to make everything right until she'd calmed down and suddenly kissed the started boy.
The kiss wasn't fantastic or spectacular. Kasumi remembered better kisses in high school. The fact that Ranma barely responded went a long way towards killing the fire that had been suddenly ignited within the normally docile woman, but she had to try. Her words were heartfelt as she asked him to kiss her back, to please kiss her. Instead, she found his finger on her lips, a soft smile on his own as he kissed the top of her head, saying she deserved better. Then helping her to her feet, he gently chided her back to cleaning the dojo.
Since then, it had seemed that things would quiet down. As if sensing they had gone too far, all the rivals and fiancées had backed off, giving Ranma space to breath, to try and make his life somewhat normal. No random challengers arrived to face Ranma and even Ms. Hinako settled down in school when she saw Ranma paying more attention instead of sleeping. The only person Ranma really had to deal with was Akane and he had finally come to the conclusion that she was never going to trust him, always seeing him as the convenient punching bag, a focus for her own insecurities and anger at herself and others. So he stopped taking it. There was no point in letting her hit him anymore. She could no longer hurt him, which meant the hardening conditioning was useless with her anymore. So he stopped. Anytime she would blow up at him, he would just stop talking instead of putting his foot in his mouth, and if she still attacked him, he would dodge her mallet and disarm her. The one time she actually swung at him with her fist, he'd dislocated her arm and she wasn't able to use it the rest of the day.
That lasted all of two weeks. Then the craziness returned, with everyone trying even harder to date or kill Ranma, as if to make up for lost time. And that led them to today, one month later. Ranma, nearly 18 and the focus of love or hate for almost every powerful entity in range. Ranma, who finally had enough of running and stopped in his tracks, turning around to face the combined might of Nerima. Ranma, who was glowing with a deep golden aura as he waiting in the street in front of the Tendo Compound. With a roar, he tore into the front lines, weaving between blows and striking his opponents with paralysis shiatsu.
All the while, Kasumi watched with trepidation, hoping that nothing would harm Ranma. Inwardly, she prayed. "Please, let nothing happen to Ranma. Oh, I wish he could be somewhere that he didn't have to deal with all these people."
"Wish Granted." The sound was almost too faint to hear but the apparent results could not be ignored. A towering pillow of blue light pierced down from the heavens, engulfing the pigtailed martial artist and knocking aside anyone who happened to be near him. There was no sound, as if the world was standing in silent witness of a momentous event, without quite understanding what was going on. The light intensified and everyone still able to see covered their eyes. When finally the light faded, there was no sign of Ranma, only a golden plaque on the ground reading, "So Be It".
The reactions were mixed and varied, from confusion to joy and anger. Joy from those many rivals who saw this as a sign of the demise of their hated foe, while one member of that same group crowed about the judgment of heaven. That earned him the immediate enmity of several fiancées, who proceeded to trounce the speaker into the ground. This of course encouraged the other suitors for those same fiancées to shout for joy and begin their own pursuit. Needless to say, those women weren't happy. Everything quickly devolved into a general melee with everyone out for themselves. No one could reign in control and soon the group made its way down the street and out of sight.
The eldest Tendo watched with tears in her eyes as she walked to the spot where she had last seen Ranma. Kneeling down, she ran her fingers over the smooth lettering, the words repeated over and over in different languages. What did it mean though?
"It means your wish was granted, Kasumi Tendo." The voice spoke from nowhere and everywhere at once and the young woman suddenly felt a peaceful presence behind her. Slowly standing from the plaque, she turned to find a gorgeous woman standing about a foot off the ground, her elaborate dress billowing without the presence of the wind.
"Do not be afraid. My name is Belldandy. I am a Goddess and granter of wishes. Your wish, of all those offered concerning Ranma Saotome, was the one finally granted completion. You see, nearly everyone Ranma has met has made a wish in one form or another. Out of all those wishes, only yours was made with no thought for yourself, a completely selfless wish that had only Ranma's welfare in mind with no hidden agenda. Even though your heart cried out to make another wish, you went for his happiness first."
Kasumi blushed, for she knew of the wish that Belldandy spoke. Instead, she gathered her wits and asked what had happened to her dear friend. The Goddess smiled. "He has been sent to another world. You see, one thing about Ranma is that he lives for combat, to be challenged and overcome that challenge. He has been given a world where he will be allowed to grow and overcome. And a world where he is badly needed. It will not be easy and he may very well die there, but it is where he needs to be and gets him away from these people here."
"But what about all of us here? Will he forget about us?" The tears that Kasumi just barely kept from her voice she was unable to keep from her cheeks.
That same gentle smile adorned Belldandy's lips. "Ranma will never forget those he cares about. Never fear for that. If he truly desires it, he will find a way back to you. Or maybe, if there are those that truly desire it, they will find a way to him." That last part was said with a wink that was gone almost before Kasumi could tell it was there.
"Do not worry too much about the future, Ms. Tendo. Nothing is ever set in stone. Instead, we must each make what we can with what we are given and forge on with our hopes and dreams in mind. If you want something enough and work hard enough, it will happen. You'll see. For now that, I must be going. Father's work is never done." With a flash of light, Belldandy seemed to disappear into the side view mirror of a nearby car, leaving Kasumi alone with her thoughts.
So many dreams she has pushed aside for her family and then when she had been given a chance to change from the everyday grind, she had pushed it away out of fear. Today was the second time that Kasumi had ever regretted that decision and she knew that she could no longer stand idly by while the world passed on. Starting right now, she would prepare for her future, take hold of her chances, and forge a brighter hope. And maybe, that future would include a certain pig tailed martial artist. For some reason though, she kept seeing Ranma with a pony tail.
Somewhere in heaven, a silver haired goddess giggled to herself and sighed contently.
Nic Becosea slumped against the inner wall of the estate, cursing under his breath as he struggled with the crossbow bolt embedded in his shoulder. Gritting his teeth, he gripped the bolt and pulled hard, freeing the shaft from his flesh and freeing an even more colorful curse from his lips. Had he been standing, the man would have been a good few inches over six feet tall, his light brown hair kept short. Pale blue eyes, like a clear summer sky, glared at the person next to him. Standing beside Nic with a grin on his lips was his best friend, the wandering barbarian plainsman, Matthew. At least, that's the name he had given Becosea. The young noble had no idea of the warrior's real name and had gotten over not knowing years ago. Instead, he just held up his hand to the man.
"Help me up you smug bastard. So you were right and I was the first one shot." Nic tried to glare a hole through his friend who just laughed as he tilted his head back slightly to avoid another crossbow bolt flashing through the air. The barbarian stood just over six feet tall with short dark hair and deep brown eyes that shimmered with amusement and the lust for battle that seemed a constant in the large man. His skin was lightly tanned and his clothes were leather that seemed molded to his body like a second skin. Each movement of his body was an economy of motion, a fluid flow from stance to stance. Reaching out, he took the hand of the taller man in his and hauled him back to a standing position, then hauled him even further from the wall as another crossbow bolt flashed by.
"You're the one who thought to play hero up here on the battlements instead of waiting with the rest of the estate troops in the courtyard." Still chuckling, he turned to bat a bolt out of the air, glancing over the edge to watch the milling forced arrayed against the castle. There were over fifty soldiers outside, mostly light infantry, though a full dozen seemed to be carrying crossbows. No real archers in the group which meant it was more of a scout force than anything else. Shrugging, he leaned over and hefted his axe from where it lay against the wall and started down the stairs, heading for the assembled warriors.
Nic watched his friend for a moment and shook his head in wonder. As the second son of a border noble, Nic's responsibilities extended to caring for the estate caravans that routinely ran north into the neighboring country of Kazon. There had been occasional raids on the wagons which was why he had been taught combat from a young age. His elder brother was the bureaucrat though, overseeing the affairs of the estate with their father. Still, he'd never expected an actual invasion to come. Sure, there had been tensions between the two groups but nothing like open warfare.
When Nic finally arrived at the courtyard, it was to see his younger brother strapping on armor and joining the soldiers. He could have been the spitting image of his older brother except that he kept his hair longer, tied back by a leather thong into a ponytail that dangled between his shoulder blades. Nathan had no responsibilities in relations to the estate, living the carefree life of someone who was well to do and had nothing to really spend his time or money on. As a result, he spent his time with the estate retainers, learning the ways of combat. Surprisingly, he was one of the top ranked fighters among the men at arms, with only the resident blade master and the captain being able to best him in combat. Well, them and Matthew, though the barbarian routinely beat every one of the retainers just for fun, usually more than one at a time.
Rubbing his injured shoulder, Nic joined the group of men gathered in the courtyard, bringing the total to twenty-two armed combatants, less than half the size of the attacking force. It was a grim prospect. Most of the men on retainer were seasoned warriors, having seen many border skirmishes. They knew the results should they fail to defend the estate. Women left to the tender mercies of brutish soldiers. Children were to be either taken as slaves or killed outright if they weren't subjected to the same treatment as the women.
The blade master stood in the center of the group, the hilt of his great sword jutting over his shoulder, a broad sword belted at his waist. The tall man was grizzled and weathered, having seen more summers than both Becosea brothers together. Regardless of his age, he had earned the respect of every man in the estate with his combat prowess and his ability to lead. Once again, he was being called to defend the estate that he had learned to call home for over two decades. Gazing around at the assembled men with intense grey eyes, he nodded grimly.
"This is not going to be an easy battle, lads. Many of us shall be giving our lives to ensure the safety of those we love and care for. Unless we can cut a path through all those men lingering outside our gates and can keep them away from our courier, we will never be able to warn the kingdom of what is coming. Without that knowledge, the entire land will be overrun in blood and tears."
He paused a moment to allow his words to sink in, strengthening the resolve of each man present. It was a harsh dose of reality but without it, they had no chance of surviving the onslaught. "I've fought with each and every single one of you and I know your abilities. I know that we will win this day. We will send each and every one of those bastards to meet the Mother's dark embrace."
A cheer arose from the assembled warriors and Nic felt his hopes rising.
The gates to the estate slowly creaked open and the men milling without it gripped their weapons in anticipation. Just as they were about to dash through the opening, they were greeted by a hail of steel bolts flashing through the air, catching many of them unaware. One crossbow bolt impacted against an armored soldier and sent him flying through the air as if he had been hit with a ballista instead of a crossbow. The shock was enough for to keep the men in their places instead of charging. Their reward for their hesitance was to see the assembled defenders rush out from the gate with weapons drawn. Some of the attacking soldiers managed to snap out of their surprise and snapped off a few crossbow shots of their own. A few of the defenders went down in a spray of blood but the rest continued onwards, crashing into the attackers just as the gates seemed to crash shut behind them.
Nic ducked a sword slash and responded with a vicious backhand slash that took his attacker across the face, opening up the man's cheek in a bloody streak. He felt someone at his back and knew it was his brother, the two watching over each other since the first hazy moment of fighting. Dead man lay everywhere, friend and foe alike and Nic could feel the burning in his lungs from the strain, the sword growing heavier with each swing. How long until he wouldn't be able to lift the sword to block a swing that would kill him? That moment seemed to arrive all too soon as a second man joined the attack against him, slashing a stinging wound against his shoulder. The attacking soldier reared back, arm raised to deliver the finishing blow. The arm dropped, straight to the ground, severed at the elbow by an axe blow from behind. A hard shoulder from the same rescuer sent the soldier crashing into his comrade and Nic looked up to see the smug smirk of his barbarian friend. Silently groaning to himself, he took the moment to catch his breath, knowing that if he survived the fight, he'd be hearing about this save for days.
Nathan grinned as he flowed through the fighters, heedless of the plight of his fellows other than his brother. Instead, he enjoyed the thrill of combat, the freedom of being one with his blade. The short sword flashed past defending blades to slash across ribs, over arms, through armor, each slash drawing blood, hisses and cries of pain. He was one with the rhythm of the battle, flowing between the notes of combat that echoed with the beating of his heart. No man in this fight was his equal and he carved a path from one side of the battle to the other, with his brother at his back and a raging barbarian roaming along beside them.
All too soon it seemed that the clash of steel on steel fell to silence disturbed only by the sounds of the wounded and dying. The grim-faced defenders were few in number, half the number that had rallied to the estate's defense. That there were that many survivors was in itself a miracle and a testament to how determined the men were to defend their homes. After dispatching the wounded among the besiegers, the remaining men gathered their dead and trudged back towards the gates of the estate that were slowly creaking open.
A piercing scream rose into the air and searing pain erupted along Nic's back as he was knocked forward, dropping the man he had been carrying. Flames licked over his clothes as he rolled in the dirt, trying to put out the flames. All around him, the other defenders were doing the same, those that could still move. One smoldering corpse bore silent witness to the effectiveness of the attack. Finally managing to stifle the flames, Nic turned to find the source of the attack.
Just cresting the rise was a fresh group of fifty men, with at least a full hand of them mages, by the looks of the bright red robes that adorned their bodies. The creak and strain of wheels and wagons heralded the arrival of siege weaponry to actually knock down the gates.
Barely able to stand, let alone wield his sword, the middle Becosea son looked on with grim determination, ready to give his life to make sure no one reached his home to ravage those he cared about. Sheathing his sword, he reached to his belt to wrap his hand around the familiar barrel of his crossbow. Slowly lifting it, he placed a steel bolt into the groove and silently called forth magic to imbue the bolt with a little extra gift for this attack. Taking aim, he let loose a bolt. The steel shot streaked through the air, red and angry and straight for the lumbering construct of wood that was destined to pound through the gates of the estate. Instead, said construct burst into flames.
Smiling in grim satisfaction, Nic let his arm fall back to his side. He'd done all he could and now just needed to wait for the blow that would end it all. Standing beside him, Nathan looked on with an eager intensity in his eyes, as if welcoming the challenge. Matthew merely grunted approval at the display of pyrotechnics, his axe gripped firmly in his strong hands.
Suddenly, a shaft of blue light pierced down from the heavens, striking the ground directly between the two groups, pulling up short the initial charge of the second army wave. All present had to turn away lest they be blinding by the brilliant pillar of light that bound the heavens and earth together for one intense moment. When finally the light faded enough for everyone to see, there was a single young man standing in the middle of a burned circle on the ground. The young man stood well shy of six feet tall, closer to five and a half. His raven black hair was tied back in a pigtail and deep blue eyes gazed from a face filled with many emotions, too many to read. Dressed in a red shirt and black pants, he was unlike anything or anyone that Nic had ever seen. The newcomer blinked in surprise at his surroundings before noticing the two groups. There wasn't much time for consideration as a shout from the group of attackers urged the men back into action, the soldiers charging the lone man.
Nic offered several silent prayers for the soul of the unarmed man who had been unwittingly thrust into the middle of a fight that was not his own. Those prayers sputtered to a quick agonizing death as he watched the man sidestep a blow and respond with a vicious roundhouse that knocked the heavily armored man a dozen feet away into more of the attackers, knocking them all down. Nic's eyes widened as he saw what could not have been possible for anyone save his barbarian friend.
The young man weaved through the blows, fighting off half a dozen men at a time while some sought to pass by and others joined the fight against the young warrior. No matter what they could do though, not one blow landed upon him. He was like quicksilver, flowing through the movements with a fluid grace that was as beautiful as it was brutal. Bodies flew away from his blows, each attack taking out two or more men. There was no more time for consideration as Nic found himself under assault.
Stumbling backwards, Nic tried to clear his sword from the scabbard only to stumble over a body in his exhaustion. Instead of the pain of a sword thrust through his belly, he found the attack blocked by his brother who smiled at him before jumping into the fray. Matthew looked down at his fallen friend and shook his head in amusement before snapping his arm back to elbow an attacker then brought his axe around in a calm beheading. Nic was then left alone to watch the combat as best he could, along with the few other men who couldn't join the fight. Instead, only three men faced the onslaught. Three men, one of who didn't even belong to the estate, were all that stood between carnage and carnal savagery.
Standing back from the battle, the five mages watched with a mixture of awe and anger at the one man who seemed unbeatable. Gathering together, they conjured the workings of a spell, their chanting rising into the air, bending the elements to their combined will. A large humanoid shape began to take form as the air seemed to shimmer and warp, tendrils of heat bending together in answer to the will of the mages. Moment by moment the creature grew until the large fire elemental finally began to move on its own, turning to follow the silent commands of its masters, stepping with a burning gait toward the pigtailed warrior.
Soldiers scattered, those still left conscious, running back towards the dubious protection of the mages, leaving the pigtailed warrior to watch them running, confusion evident in the depths of his sapphire gaze. Then he noticed the large being of fire, all of twelve feet tall, shambling towards him. A smirk graced his lips as he seemed to skip forward, a deceptively slow dance that circled the beast, weaving between the clumsy swings of the lumbering monster. All other combat ceased as those few soldiers who hadn't retreated to the protection of the mages turned to watch the strange non-fight. Even Matthew and Nathan paused from killing their opponents to gaze in wonder at the man standing up to the monstrosity of magic.
Continually backing away from the fiery beast, the warrior spun and weaved around every attack, seemingly taunting the monster, all the while spiraling around it in an ever tightening circle. Suddenly, a loud shout rang out from the warrior as he thrust his fist into the air. Wind whipped around as a large tornado formed around him, sucking the fire elemental into the air and ripping it to shreds, the fire dispersing to the winds. Those watching could only stare in shock. A warrior mage! The attacking mages worked frantically to call up more spells even as the rest of their soldiers tried to huddle around the even more dubious safety their own mages might offer.
Lightning bolts, fireballs, hail, and other forms of mystic projectiles began to rain down around the warrior, who spun through the onslaught with an almost casual ease, though occasionally he would kick or punch a block of ice towards the assembled attackers, catching soldiers glancing blows that knocked them around, if not knocking them out. After a few moments of this, more screams were heard from the attackers as Matthew and Nathan crashed through their meager ranks, blades flashing in sprays of blood.
The mages turned their focus inwards, frustration mounting at not being able to hit the wiry warrior. Instead, they concentrated their attacks on the two fighters, catching Nathan off guard with several fireblasts to his side as he was engaged with two swordsmen at once. He crumpled to the ground, his clothes smoldering. Matthew arrived a moment before any blows could land against the prone fighter, scooping up the fallen Becosea and carrying him back towards the estate, soldiers hot on his trail, at least until the mysterious warrior stepped in and engaged the remaining soldiers once again.
Standing with the last remaining defenders, Nic held his breathe in anticipation, not daring to speak or breath as he waited for his friend to bring his brother back from the fight. Ground eating strides carried the barbarian swiftly across the field of battle, past crumbled corpses, some still burning from the initial spell cast by the mages. Chest heaving with exertion, Matthew slowed down from his frantic run long enough to deposit the youngest Becosea to his elder, then sprang back towards the battle, great axe gleaming blood red in the light of the fires that still raged throughout the area.
Nic was panicked, unsure what to do as he quickly knelt at his brother's side, trying to tear off the charred leather and metal that had once been armor. Only the wheezing breathing of his brother assured the middle Becosea that Nathan was still alive. Suddenly he was shouldered aside, the grim form of the estate blade master taking his place beside his brother. Skilled hands searched for injuries, though the set of the old man's mouth did little to reassure Nic. With nothing to do other than worry about his brother, Nic had no choice but to return his attention to the fight, worry for his friend replacing worry for his brother. Shocked eyes met the sight of a devastated army.
The red robed forms of the mages lay strewn about the landscape, many missing limbs though it was hard to tell among the carnage. Even as Nic watched, Matthew seemed to reach out with that wicked axe and remove a man from his arm at the shoulder, blood spraying in every direction. A loud scream accompanied the form of another soldier flying through the air, his armor dented. The strange warrior stood amidst the devastation, pigtail flowing freely in the breeze. Those piercing blue eyes considered the barbarian for a moment before nodding slightly. There was a moment of fierce tension before Matthew nodded in return, both warriors relaxing from their combat stances. If a bow string could be said to relax. Neither warrior seemed ready to completely let down their guard and for once, Nic agreed with his friend. These were strange times and one had to be careful, especially with such as these scouting forces roaming around.
Standing amidst the broken remains of a once intimidating army, Matthew the barbarian tried to calm the call for blood that sang within his veins. Drenched in the blood of his foes, leather armor gleaming red in the fading light of day, he longed to test his abilities against this strange young man who had appeared from the heavens to save them all from a most dire fate. It was the battle lust, a state that threatened his entire people, always lingering along the edge of their senses waiting to take hold of their minds. There were some that gave into that seductive song, unleashing death and destruction. Those who had truly mastered the rage were able to channel it into a combat sense that transcended normal abilities. Yet always it was hard to come back from the edge, to pull back from the desire to fight, to compete, to dominate, especially against someone like the mysterious warrior.
After cleaning his axe on a nearby corpse and then slowly sheathing it at his waist, Matthew showed his open hands to the stranger, though the blood drenching his arms did little to dismiss the grim vision of death. "My thanks for the timely intervention, warrior. I bid you greetings on behalf of my comrades." The barbarian's rich baritone rang through the air, easily cutting through the sounds of the wounded and dying. The mysterious warrior just cocked his head to the side, shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head, responding with a string of words that Matthew couldn't begin to understand. Though the words flowed off the stranger's tongue, none of them were familiar to the barbarian. Shrugging his own broad shoulders, Matthew beckoned towards the young man before turning to head towards the waiting survivors.
There was nary a whisper to betray the movements of the foreign warrior and Matthew felt his respect for the stranger raise another notch. Only the feeling of being followed allowed the barbarian to know that the young man was still behind him. It didn't take them long to cross the grounds to the survivors, the gates of the estate even now slowly swinging open, women and children pouring forth to help those who could still be saved and to dispatch those among the wounded too far gone to survive. Matthew barely refrained from shaking his head at the display. No matter how many times he'd seen the cold efficiency presented by these people, it never failed to amaze him with their pragmatism.
Nic had stopped watching the warriors the moment he had gotten over his shock, instead turning his attention to his wounded brother, barely refraining from pushing aside the arms master to attend to his family. Only the knowledge that his brother was in far better hands kept him from kneeling in the dirt and seizing Nathan in an encompassing hug. Flicking his gaze towards the gates, he saw the family healer shambling as fast as he could burdened with the instruments of his trade, two attendants trailing behind him heavy laden with bandages and healing balms. Forcing himself to stand and back away, Nic ran his fingers through his hair, trying to find some center of calm amidst the madness of post combat survival. His muscles burned with exhaustion and his entire body ached. His shoulder throbbed loud and relentless, a pounding pain that spiked with each movement of the joint. All those feelings he forced aside to focus on his concern for his brother.
Matthew slowed to a stop beside his friend, turning his gaze towards the youngest Becosea, for once allowing the concern he felt within to be shown upon his face. During combat there was no time for concern other than to make sure that your allies survived to help you fight. Once they were out of the fight they had to be forgotten until you had time to worry, time to heal. Those were the codes he had been raised on and what he based his life around. Worry about the living while they live, worry about yourself before others or you won't be around to help others. The strong survive to protect those who aren't as strong. Watching the healer trying to save Nathan's life wasn't something that he relished but he knew it was what gave strength to his friend.
Risking a glance at their strange savior, Nic blinked in surprise at the intensity of focus so openly displayed upon the stranger's face. It was as if the man was looking beyond the surface to the world that lay beneath, something Nic had only heard about from the older campaigners among the retainers. What type of man was this that had stumbled into their lives?
Ranma watched the flow of ki surge and ebb within the young man, terrible burns visible through the rents in the armor along his side. The flesh beneath was seared beyond repair and would need to be dressed and tended every day for a long time before they had hope to heal. If the boy could even heal. Each wave of ki that surged around the boy was weaker than the one before, although the efforts of the surgeon seemed to be helping strengthen the young man. It wouldn't be enough though and Ranma had to fight to keep from shaking his head in sadness. Turning to those around him, he wondered again just where the chaos in his life had taken him.
Signing in frustration, the family healer worked fast to cut the leather from Nathan's body, the armor almost melted into the wounds. Mystic fire was always a tricky beast to tame, the wounds contorting and charring under the onslaught of heat. Even tempered steel failed the fight against such a monster. Little beyond magic healing would be able to save the boy, but perhaps, just perhaps, they would be able to prolong his life long enough for a true mystic healer to be fetched from the city or capital. The courier heading to the city would know to fetch a true healer and with luck, the young master could be saved.
A hacking cough drew the attention of everyone around as Nathan struggled to consciousness, fighting the waves of agony that swept over him. His eyes slowly slid open as he searched the small crowd, his eyes alighting on his brother. A smile slowly graced his lips as he lifted one blackened hand, beckoning his brother over.
Nic responded with a small smile of his own as he took the healer's place beside his brother, leaning down to hear what was whispering past Nathan's lips. Nic tried to jerk back as Nathan suddenly reached up and grabbed his collar, dragging the older brother within reach, parched lips nearly brushing his ear. "You need to be strong brother. I won't be here to watch your back for awhile…" The words were soft, barely audible over the sounds of the dying, but they filled Nic's entire world, his eyes widening as the possible implications jumped through his mind.
A soft chuckle brought him back to the present as his brother continued speaking. "Don't worry, I don't plan on dying on you. I think I'm going to take a break and let you do all the work for once." Chuckling slightly once again, Nathan finally released his grip on his older brother, sinking back to the ground and into unconsciousness.
Nic looked down at his brother and didn't know if he was supposed to frown or smile at the impertinent youth. He wouldn't change his brother for anything though and decided to smile, accepting his brother's words for what they were meant to be. Slowly rising to his feet, he turned his gaze to his friend, searching the barbarian's eyes for some sign of the future, trying to draw wisdom from the experience of someone older and supposedly wiser. What he found instead was a slow shake of the head. Matthew didn't have any answers either.
Turning away from his friend, Nic considered their rescuer, trying to get a better look at him now that the threat of combat no longer loomed. At first glance there was little in the way of physical appearance that made the man stand out. Until you looked beneath the casual observation and watched him with a combatant's eye. The man was a warrior true and through, constantly scanning the area as if searching for the next attack. Each movement was a smooth economy of motion, nothing wasted, all energy conserved until it was needed. Just as Nic was about to speak, he caught the slight shake of Matthew's head. Curious as to what he meant, Nic made his way to the barbarian's side, walking together towards the gates to the estate.
"Our friend is not of this land or any of those nearby." Matthew always was one to get directly to the point. "I cannot place his language or his accent though it is possible he is from the eastern or southern continent. I feel that I should know him though. His fighting spirit…" The large man trailed off as his gaze was pulled back towards the pigtailed warrior, who remained oblivious to the scrutiny. Shaking his head in frustration, Matthew turned back to his friend. "I don't know what to make of him though. He saved our lives, all of our lives and yet, I cannot thank him. There is something about him that sings to my blood, Nic, almost a pull that tugs at my heart. I cannot put it into words for you, one who is only partly a warrior. Your brother would know of what I speak."
Another frustrated shrug of those broad shoulders were the end of Matthew's speech, leaving the middle Becosea with more questions than answers. So. A foreigner who neither spoke nor understood their language. Maybe one of the mages from the capital would be able to divine something but those questions would have to wait. There were more important things to worry about.
Ranma's hands tightened into fists as he watched the young man struggle for life. From the looks of the lad, he couldn't have been any older than Ranma, though the young man topped Ranma's diminutive form by quite a bit, a sore point that Ranma would forever blame his father. Pushing away those thoughts, he focused on the sight beyond sight, reaching beneath the surface to see the flow of life struggling through the young man. There was definite strength there, a will to life that fought against the damage to his body. But there wasn't enough energy to sustain that will and it was slowly losing the battle. Sighing in frustration, Ranma made up his mind. There was nothing else he could do.
Striding quickly across the short distance, Ranma knelt beside the healer, ignoring the worried looks around him as his hands took on a soft blue glow, energy trailing from his fingers to envelope the prone form. Ranma eyes slipped closed as he lost himself in the effort of offering his own strength to help support the wounded boy. The effort hurt, as if his own life was being drawn away, but Ranma didn't know any other method of transferring the energy.
Nic barely suppressed the gasp of shock and started heading towards his brother when he felt Matthew's hand on his shoulder. Growling he whirled to confront his friend, only to stop short at the shake of the barbarian's head. "What is he doing to my brother?"
"Saving his life."
Simple words delivered in that level voice, yet they carried with them a weight all their own. Nic whipped his head back to the scene playing out before him and wondered to all the Gods and Goddesses in the Heavens just what type of stranger had been brought to them.
The glow surrounding Ranma's hands flowed up his arms until his entire body was surrounded by the blue corona. He could feel his life flowing from him, entering the boy almost like an IV of life. There was another sense of being drained, somewhere in the back of his mind, a feeling Ranma couldn't identify. There was no pain associated with the other type of drain but that did little to comfort him. Unknown things tended to bite him in the ass at one point or another.
More people continued to arrive from the estate, watching the scene playing out before them. All around them the dead and dying lay strewn about the battle field, yet like a bright beacon amidst the sadness, this young man stood out, giving his all for a people he had no obligation to. Many gasped as the life seemed to surge brighter, a blinding pillar of light slamming down from the heavens, hiding the two men from view.
When everyone could see again, they found the pigtailed warrior slumped over face down on the ground, the healer shaking his head as if to rid it of the cobwebs, and a shallowly breathing Nathan struggling to sit up, many of the burns in his body closed up, no longer the blackened charred messes they were a moment before. Not that he was healed. The damage was still extensive, but there was no longer the sense of urgency. It was a true miracle.
Nic broke loose from his friend's grip and rushed to kneel beside his brother, struggling not to throw his arms around the boy. Instead he settled for examining him from head to foot, grimacing over the wounds, yet amazed at the recovery. No longer did the youngest brother seem on the gateway to the other world. Nathan looked like he was as good as a week in bed would have been, though he remained flushed and burned. "Brother?"
Nathan slowly opened his eyes, groaning in surprising pain. Surprising because he expected to be dead after the searing pain had lancing into his back from the mages. Most people don't surprise mage fire. "Nic?" Worried eyes searched for the elder brother, coming to rest on the equally worried eyes gazing back at him. He started to chuckle then stopped as a cough wracked his body. "By all the gods that hurts."
Unable to help himself, Nic laughed, earning strange looks from those around him. He didn't care. His brother was fine if his sense of humor was still intact. Nic grinned at the wounded brother. "That's what you get for almost dying on me. If you weren't such an invalid right now I'd rap you a good one myself for the stunts you pulled." The sparkle in his eyes robbed his words of any sting they might have possessed.
Nathan just grinned back, finally able to sit up again. "Oh? Keep that in mind the next time I beat you around the practice yard. I feel generous though. I'll give you the time if takes me to get over this little incident to get some practice in so you can be a decent challenge for me." Motion out of the corner of his eyes caught his attention and he noticed the stranger from before slowly fighting to sit up.
"My thanks for the timely rescue, stranger, and for what you've done for me here. I could feel your presence and feel it still. With all that I am I thank you again."
Ranma shook his head gently then waved away the thanks. "Don't worry about it. Just doing my duty as a martial artist."
All motion among the retainers and the surviving combatants stopped as Ranma slowly climbed to his feet. The pigtailed warrior, oblivious of the impact those few words had, just stretched, trying to work out the kinks from healing the boy. Healing was never easy and he'd yet to find a way to do it without the pain that came with having your ki drained away. It was something like the opposite of Hinako's draining technique, though no less draining to the one using it.
Matthew looked like he'd been smacked in the head with a war mace, his eyes wide and eyebrows threatening to climb into his hair. "I thought you didn't speak our language?"
Looking around at the confused gathering, Ranma finally caught onto the meaning of the question. "Um, I don't?" He rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment, unsure of how to explain how he knew the language. It wasn't that he really knew the language, just that he seemed to understand the meaning behind the words and when he spoke them, knew how to shape them into the strange language spoken by the boy he'd healed.
Sudden understanding flashed through him as Ranma glanced down at the boy. "It was you! Somehow when I shared my ki with you there was a feedback. Knocked me unconscious for a moment. What happened? Was there something you did?"
The rapid fire questions only confused everyone as the accent became more pronounced, blurring the words together. Nathan, Nic, Matthew and the healer all just shook their heads in the confusion, though the barbarian was the first to act. "Woah there stranger. What did you mean by sharing your… what did you call it? Ki?"
Pursing his lips in thought, Ranma tried to find the words, struggling to use the new language that seemed stuffed into his mind. "I shared my life energy with him." Each word would carefully spoken, over enunciated yet clearly stated. "I tried to use it to strengthen his life energy to where he would heal on his own. I didn't expect that type of reaction, but I've also never tried healing anyone who was that hurt either." All this thinking was hurting Ranma's head. It was as if the words were being used through a filter that wasn't quite his own, yet was still his own. Something borrowed from the young man sitting near him.
"A life link." The words came from the arms master, the grizzled figure making his way over. "I'd heard about them during my travels and campaigns but I heard that only mage healers could perform them. Though I'd never heard that they could teach a man another's skills." The man turned his level gaze towards Ranma, who blushed slightly under the scrutiny, wondering just what it was that was so important to these people about what he'd done.
Matthew grinned at the young man. "Well, if you tried to keep Nathan alive you're alright in my book. My name is Matthew, a traveler from the barren plans of northern Kazon. I bid you welcome and share my thanks for your part in the battle to save this estate, the home of my friends and those I sometimes call family." He offered his hand and arm to the warrior.
Ranma looked at the warrior in confusion for a moment before smiling, reaching out and clasping the man around the forearm, a sign of trust among combatants. It signified lowering your defenses. Matthew's grip was strong, just enough to show confidence but without the arrogance of trying to test one's strength against another. A true show of friendship and camaraderie. "I'm Ranma Saotome. I'm from Nerima."
The barbarian cocked his head to the side, searching his memories. "Nerima you say? Can't say that I recall having heard of it. What Kingdom does it belong to?"
Ranma blinked in response. Kingdom? "Um, it's part of Japan, a little part of Tokyo City. You've never heard of it?"
The hairs on the back of Matthew's neck threatened to rise at the eerie answers. Somehow he knew this was the case but held out hope for the boy. Strangers from another world generally weren't trusted, though the Becosea family seemed a little more tolerant of the strange and bizarre. "Well Ranma, seems like you're a long way from home. Come inside, we've warm food and hospitality for the man who helped us survive this day. Bad times are coming, if these men are any indication."
At the mention of food Ranma's stomach took the opportunity to make itself heard, earning a rather pronounced blush for the pigtailed martial artist. Grinning sheepishly, he made his way inside behind the barbarian.