Well, the following is a rather revised first part of my `Ragnarok' 
fanfic.

I'm not sure if my first posting got though completely; I got a couple 
of comments, but it was in the middle of the (most-recent?) ffml 
meltdown, and I didn't get a copy myself, so...!!

For those who got the original, this isn't the same as the original 
posting, its actually Parts 1 & 2.
There are some small changes in part 1, the `prefix' part of the story.

For those who didn't, an explanation.

***
Although it does have a RealWorld-protagonist as part of the
storyline, I am/have/will be trying very hard NOT to make it an
Otaku-fic, i.e. no godlike powers, wisdom, etc...

And I do have a reason (fairly vital to the plot) of requiring
the insertion of a character not from the main universe who has
certain information (which is why a crossover character wouldn't have
been too easy for me to fit in)

It will involve the `Ah! My Goddess' universe, and a few others.. :-)
Although its rather darker than the usual fic's set in AMS - no
fluffy bunnies here, unless they are roadkill!!
(er, the revengefic thing isn't still running, is it...???)

NO Ranma, NO Sailor Moon...!
***

I'd very much appreciate comments, mail, flames, whatever on this..!
Positive or negative, public or private.

Even if this isn't a Ranma fic! :P

Oh, and for the misspelling experts, I'm British, and this is not spelt 
in American, OK? :-)

All the various characters are copyright of their respective
creators, etc. etc. as usual.

David Row
(Ecchi, and still scratching...)
davidrow.ryoohki@pop3.hiway.co.uk
 

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The Ragnarok Agenda


Part 1 - Prequel, or Don't worry, it's only a dream...


It was a dark and stormy night...

Well, actually, it wasn't. Stormy, that is. It WAS dark, but then it
does have a tendency to get that way at night, and no-one but some
seriously paranoid individuals consider this to have any special,
esoteric or mystically significant meaning.

Scene : 
A bedroom. In the middle of it, a man sleeps in a double bed...

Not very well, judging by the way he keeps tossing and turning, and the 
disheveled state of the bedclothes gripped tightly in his clenched 
fists. The only sounds are the muffled humming of a clock and the
occasional low moan coming from the body in the bed.
It is dark, and the only illumination comes from the twisting shadows 
thrown onto the curtains by the streetlight outside, a faint orange 
flickering...

Inside the man's head, however, things aren't quite as mundane...


Mmmm, odd sort of dream... why isn't it in colour, I ALWAYS dream in 
colour... cheap low-budget dreams, probably got an Art grant or
something... all flashy effects and no decent FX...

He looks around at the landscape, a true blasted heath, nothing but dry 
grass and a few stunted trees, twisted into shapes it were perhaps 
better not to look at too closely. His dream-body feels like it should 
be shivering in the thin arctic wind, as spatters of slushy snow whip 
past him, but they don't seem to impact upon him.

Looks pretty desolate, too. All this grass, no signs of life. No 
animals. Or people. Just me. And its bloody cold... and that odd 
music... Good job its only a dream, I don't think I'd like to be out in 
this if this were real. 


He shrugs, ignoring the inconsistances, tuning them out of his 
consciousness, wandering forward, not really aiming to go anywhere, 
after all this is just a dream, right? Feeling the cold brittle grass 
under his feet slowly die away, as the landscape changes (in that fuzzy,  
not-really-noticed-till-it-does-it way it tends to in dreams), until he 
is staring at a vista rather less benign.

A city. Well, an area that probably was once a city, before something 
happenned to it...

Clouds roil turgid and black above a landscape that consists mainly of 
destroyed buildings, their skeletal remains poking up above the general 
devastation like random rotting teeth in steel and concrete,  lit badly 
by the flickering glows of a few fires. 
Nothing moves, and the air has a dead feel to it. The only sound the 
thin whistle of a bitingly cold wind. 
Underfoot, the ground occasionally trembles, as if it would do more but 
is afraid to draw too much attention to itself...


Hey, havn't seen so much rubble since we went to see Independence Day 
... looks rather like it, too, looks like someone nuked the place... no, 
only a few small fires, so I wonder how they caused all this 
destruction... nice effects... don't try this one at home, kids, we're 
trained mad scientists!
Pity its so bloody cold... It looks odd, though, I dont think I ever 
saw colour effects quite like this - it isn't monochrome, there are 
sort of some colours, but the look all washed out...faded_how weird...oh 
well, its a dream, right? My dreams never make sense, so why worry about 
it...?


He wanders forward, never really noticing how he moves, or how fast, the 
scene shifting and flicking without really changing, until he comes to a 
more open space. Now, at last, he can hear something other that the low, 
desolate howling of the wind. Or maybe its just that he notices, now.

Before him is was what once a fairly large building, judging by the 
amount of space the rubble of it now occupies. Not a tall building, it
cant have been more that a few stories high. The faint sounds of 
people moaning seem to come from somewhere - maybe the building, he 
can't tell - and finally he can see signs of life.

Spread, no scattered, around the ground are a number of bodies - well, 
all the pieces should add up to a fair number. And quite a lot of blood. 
More than a few of the bodies aren't human, by any stretch of the 
imagination. Large, brutal, and ugly is the best way to describe them, 
as well as armed to the teeth - well, fangs, but lets not be too picky 
here...

There is one - person - however, who seems to be fine. Standing 
arrogant atop a mound of rubble, his stance one of arrogant possession, 
monarch of this domain of devastation.


Oh my... I wonder what happened here? And what IS that man doing? Don't 
I get to see all the fight first? How boring. I wonder what those 
creatures are supposed to be? I wish that wind would stop that bloody 
howling, it sounds like a wolf with a toothache...

And some of those bodies look - familiar? I...can't place them...Who 
do I know who's a dark-skinned girl with long silver hair...And GREEN 
blood from those monsters? How predictable... I'm going to have to have 
some serious words with my subconscious about the programming of this 
dream...


Shrugging mentally a little, he allows the vagueness of the dreamstate 
to allow him to ignore the unease that he doesn't seem to be able to put 
a name against some of the motionless bodies, even though he's quite 
sure he recognises some of them.

He watches, feeling a growing sense of...not panic, exactly...maybe 
concern? It feels odd, he can't quite place his finger on it...it's as
if this scene concerns him a lot, but somehow he cant get involved, or 
affect it...and that itself is starting to worry him more and more. 
Although he reminds himself yet again that this is only a dream, that it 
can't hurt him, that mantra itself is wearing very thin; indeed, the 
amount of usage it's had so far is beginning to cause it's own worry.

Shivering, he starts to examine the standing figure, who isn't looking
in his direction as he stares balefully and arrogantly over the scene 
as if it were his personal property. Certainly he gives the impression 
that he is responsible for all this. Somehow the watcher feels he 
doesn't want to attract more of his attention to himself, even if this 
IS only a 
dream!

The figure is a man...well, male. Mind, he doesn't know many men who are 
the best part of 7 foot tall. That wouldn't be so bad, but the feeling 
of menace that the figure seems almost to exude is frightening. No, lets 
be honest here, terrifying. Worse than that, though, is the almost 
palpable feeling that the man is stark raving mad. Something about the 
way he stands, or maybe the barely-suppressed bubbling laughter. Its not 
really something you can put into words, but somehow the way he stands, 
the pose, reminds him of those old newsreels of Hitler at the peak of 
his crowd-mesmerising peak... a horrifying blend of power, evil and 
barely-in-check insanity.

One of the female bodies lying amidst the devastation moans, pushing up 
with one bloody hand as she tries to rise to her knees, her long hair 
tossing in the bitter wind, as she tries to face the man. He looks at 
her, a smile of pleasure crossing his face, as he raises his left hand 
to her, then clenches his fist, in a slow, almost sensual manner. With a 
crackling roar, wildfire bursts up from the ruined pavement upon which 
the girl stands, enveloping her now-writhing figure in a tossing, 
crackling tower of flame, her outline barely visible within it as she 
screams, a high, shrieking wail ripped raw and bleeding from her throat 
until the flames die to reveal little more than some scraps of 
carbonised bone among greasy ashes...

Tossing back his head, the man laughs...almost cheerfully, as if he's 
just witnessed something greatly amusing - that in itself being even 
more chilling to the watcher than the scene he has just observed.


This isn't getting to be fun anymore... Just what IS that guy up to?
He definitely seems to be a few bricks short of a full load, upstairs.
.. Maybe I should leave before he notices me...?


He attempts to move backward, to get away from the terrifying figure 
in front of him, but his feet can't move...in fact, he doesn't seem to 
be able to move, or speak, or anything. He stands there, straining, 
trying to move, to do something, anything - to no avail.

Slowly, with the solid, inescapable certainty of a glacier, the man 
turns, until he is staring him straight in the face. If it wasn't for 
those eyes, he might even be able to see what he looks like. But those 
glaring, hate-filled, eyes dominate everything, staring at him, 
seeming to drive an icepick into his brain. He tries again to move, 
desperate now, only wanting to get away, but he seems immersed in 
jelly...

The man starts to smile. Not a pleasant smile, more like a starving 
shark that's just seen a helpless swimmer appear on his lunch menu. 
The terrible, staring eyes start to glow with a baleful wildfire, as if 
small flames were flickering in the depths of them, growing stronger, 
fiercer, devouring. Making one final, frantic effort, he tries to hurl 
himself backwards, just as the figure starts to laugh again, a manic, 
shivering wolf-howl of anticipation and terror...


With a sudden gasp, he sits up in his bed, heat hammering, cold sweat 
running down him, as he pants...

"Oh god... it was only a dream. Ugh, more like only a nightmare! I 
haven't had one so bad in a long time..."
He shivers, and starts to draw the blankets about himself, then reaches 
out, slamming the lightswitch on to banish the dark shapes that part of 
him still sees moving in the shadows, finally relaxing a bit as the 
familiar shape of his bedroom reestablishes itself about him.

"Whew... that's better. Damn, that was scary...and so odd...it still 
all seems so clear. Coffee, I need coffee..."

Crawling out of bed, he staggers over, grabbing his robe, and cursing 
the cold as he stumbles downstairs, blearily finding the kitchen, and 
putting on the kettle as he spoons two large measures of coffee into a 
cup, the mundane actions serving to reassure him that everything is 
normal, and that all that was in fact just a nightmare.

He makes his drink, and finally relaxes as he starts to sip the bitter,
caffeine-loaded brew...

"Aaah, that's better. This should help me sleep again. Better get back 
to bed, its bloody cold for November. Haven't had it this cold so early 
for.. I can't remember when..."

Grimacing, he hurriedly returns to his bedroom, slipping back under the 
blankets as he cradles his coffee, sipping it as he starts to relax 
properly at last. After all, while scary, this WAS only a dream. And 
dreams can't hurt you, can they...


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Part 2 - To boldly go where no-one has boldly gone boldly before 
(boldly)

unfortunately parts 1 & 2 seem to be too big for my mailer..<sigh>