Well, ALS is not cooperating and my Mind's Eye wants to look at things
I can't write yet. So lets try a little block-busting. Series continued
at such intervals as permitted by other effects. Whatever gets the best
comments
gets to be worked on the next time I get blocked. Probably.

GenericDisclaimer: The situations and characters depicted in this fanfiction
may or may not be drawn from sources copyrighted by other people than
myself. I make no claim on those which aren't mine.

GenericWarning: This is the first in a series of prologues and teasers for
fics which I am in the (slow) process of writing. There may be dark
elements here and there. There may be citrus, or not. Some really
icky-bad-nasty stuff may happen on camera, or not. Ranma will probably
be present. Crossovers and fusions with various things may happen. 
I may even put in some things of my very own, which don't come from
anywhere else at all. If these things disturb you, you will probably
not enjoy the fics in question, so don't read them. Otherwise, welcome
in, yes?  Read, C&C, tell me what you like and what you don't. The
prologues that get the most positive response will probably be the ones
that get the most work. Probably. 

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   Ranma was dead, to begin with. Quite thoroughly, and unequivocally
deceased. He knew this fact because of the two big, burly figures who
had materialized out of thin, er, water immediately after he hit the
river bottom.

   Since he had inhaled at least two lungfuls of water from the
abovesaid river before he hit bottom, and since his impact with the
bottom had ocurred with sufficient force to shatter his spine, and since
he had impacted at least two concrete walls on his way _to_ the river
-- at least one of which had managed to break his neck in passing --
it would not normally be thought that he would have needed the
appearance of formally robed bruiser types to inform him of his demise.

   The figures in question, however, had not bothered to inquire after 
his comprehension of his state of mortality, or lack thereof. They had 
merely informed him that he was, in fact, dead. Then they had informed 
him that, since they themselves rejoiced in the ancient and honorable 
titles of *Bailiffs of Life and Death*, they had been charged with 
conveying him to the initial waystation in his now-and-forever-after
life, or, perhaps, now-and-forever _afterlife_, as the case might be.

   Then the Bailiffs had touched him, one on each shoulder, and he had
found himself _here_. 

   Here, in this case, being a drab and dreary plain, imperfectly 
provided with chairs or tables or places of rest or nourishment, but 
well endowed with, indeed possessed of a complete, pluperfect over-
sufficiency of, lines or queues. 

   _Long_ lines, _extended_ queues, which seemed to each be composed of 
an essentially infinite number of plodding linestanders, snaking toward 
some indefinite goal at a pace which could easily be exceeded by any 
random arthritic snail. Only to arrive, finally, at a desk occupied by 
an officious petty bureaucrat who would immediately hand you 3 reams of 
paperwork and direct you to the next queue. 

   Ranma had been engaged in this process for what he conservatively 
estimated to be a short eternity now, and the only thing he had 
accomplished was to ruin 3 pens and 200 sheets of paper. He would have
preferred to deal with the situation by simply beating up a few of the
bureaucrats, instead, but it was obvious to him that they had no 
capability to speed the process up. He would have jumped the line, but
he had no conception of which line to jump _to_, and the idea of spend-
ing effort to get more paper more quickly held little appeal. Action of
any sort seemed to be especially hopeless as a matter of fact, and 
_surely_ he was getting somewhere. Wasn't he?

   Several _long_ eternities later, Ranma came to the conclusion that 
he had in fact been getting nowhere, and had been better off that way.
He came to this conclusion as the line he was currently occupying 
approached a door set in the wall of a freestanding building, towards
which all the various complexes of queues were gravitating. Entering
the door, his paperwork was suddenly whisked away by a hapless clerk,
who ushered him into large hall before scurrying away. The focus of
the hall was the imperial figure who sat, robed in gorgeous brocade and
encrusted with Chinese symbols of divinity, luck, magic and judgement,
in a low, backless throne at the apex of the hall, veiled in shadow
and surrounded by ministers, clerks and eunuchs.

   The audience, if such it was, was dissapointingly brief. No sooner
had he stood in front of the great being then a clerk had placed a
paper in the robed one's outstretched hand. The judge, or emperor, or
whatever had glanced at the paper, and then waved a languid hand.
"Out of place, out of time, impious, unfilial. He is not recorded in
/The Book of Life and Death/. We need spend no time on him. Throw him 
into the 13th hell."

   No sooner had the words been spoken then he saw a flash of black and
felt a hand on each shoulder. Then he was flying through the air to 
land on hard earth in a bruising sprawl qutie unlike his normal grace.
Staggering up, he looked around and saw no figures in black, nor 
anything at all, save a plain even more barren and desolate than the one
with the lines. The only people in view did not form lines, nor did
they progress in any purposeful manner, instead they seemed to simply
wander about dispiritedly under the leaden sky. The grey color of the
light even seeming to wash out all their color, and leave them pale
and lifeless appearing. Almost transparent, in fact, in what simply
had to be some optical illusion or other.

   Then one of the trudging figures passed by him at close range, and
he saw that it was, indeed, colorless, gray, and semi-transparent.
Which was of course when Ranma realized. They were ghosts; or spirits,
anyway. They were dead. So was he. Not only was he dead, but he was
in hell. Well. That sucked. And the day had started off so well, too.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

   Well, now that he thought about it, not 'well' exactly. But no worse
than normal and better than some. Akane wasn't especially angry, his
other fiancees weren't being especially annoying, and he had been 
winning a fight with Mousse and Ryouga both. 'Concentrate, now, don't
lose it. Trace the fight. What went wrong?'

   He had dodged one of Ryoga's attacks and set up Mousse for a take-
down when it had first happened, hadn't he? Ryoga had swung his umbrella
again and Ranma had attempted to dodge when; when what? His eyes narrow-
ed. Let's see ... Ryoga had swung, he had begun to dodge, and then ...
his eyes widened in startlement, then he hadn't been able to! His arms
and legs had felt like they were weighted down with chains, and _hadn't
moved!_ So Ryoga had hit him and he had gone flying. But then ... he
had fallen towards a roof-edge and made to land on it, but .... His 
eyes widened further, his balance had gone and he couldn't move! So he'd
missed the edge, but that shouldn't... he frowned. And then his eyes
shot open, huge and dark. He had fallen past the edge, and then he had 
been _punched_, _hard_, in the back, and he'd gone flying into the walls,
and, ultimately, into the river.

   Punched, but thered been nobody there to punch him. So what had ...
fire! He'd seen fire out of the corner of his eye, felt a burning when
he felt the blow. His briefcase! He'd slung it on his back to protect
it! It had blown up!

   Someone had made him lose the use of his arms and legs. And then had
hidden a _bomb_ in his briefcase! Someone had gotten him killed. Murder.
Someone had murdered him. Why, he was gonna ...!

   Going to what? What could he do, haunt them? And who was he going to
do it to? Who had set him up to begin with? He didn't know, and he
didn't have any way to find out. It had to be someone who could get at
his pack, but .... Who wanted to kill him, anyway? There were Mousse,
and Ryoga, and Kuno, of course. But all three of them were more the
stand-up type. Murdering him with a trick would be akin to admitting
that he had them so far outclassed that they had to cheat. They'd never
do it. And who else wanted to kill him, anyway?

   Well, Akane, sometimes ... and she certainly had access to his bag, 
but he couldn't believe it! Wouldn't believe it. She wouldn't ... 
would she? Had he made her _that_ mad? Hurt her _that_ much?

   No! No, he wouldn't believe that until he had no choice. It had
probably been Mousse, anyway. The guy was just mental, sometimes. But
he had to find out! He'd have to get back to life somehow, and find out.

   Wait a second here. Something ... something odd. Yes! That's it!
_He_ had to! _He_ felt! _He_ saw! He'd gotten _wet_, he'd fallen in a 
_river_. And he wasn't a girl! Yes!

   Well, that was nice. Maybe being dead wasn't so bad after... Which
was, of course, when it began to rain. A cold, leaden rain, falling
from the gray sky with malice aforethought, and soaking everything in 
sight. Oh. Well. That wasn't so good at all, no. She guessed she really
_was_ in Hell then. The only good thing about the situation now being:
at least the rain hid the tears.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

   After some time had passed, the rain stopped, and Ranma began to feel
that she was hungry. So, since it was at least _something_ to do, she
got to her feet and wandered off to see what was available as food.

   After wandering for some time without success, Ranma noted that he
had pretty much dried off. So, it appeared, the curse now only worked
while he stayed wet. Well, that was something. Now if only he could
find some food; he was getting _really_ hungry.

   Soon after, Ranma saw, off in the distance, a short, slovenly,
demonic figure, carrying what appeared to be food of some type. Several
others among the gray folk wandering the gray land also saw him, and a
crowd soon gathered. Ranma was about to go over and join the crowd when
he noticed that the servant demon was not providing food, so much as
slinging slops into the crowd. And that, only when one or the other of
the desperate faded throng waved or handed some slightly less faded
object or other to the demon, or tossed it pleadingly at its feet. The
slops were the focus of desperate, beastial, struggle within the crowd, 
producing more animation than any other thing Ranma had yet seen in all 
the gray waste, and the smaller or weaker were trampled underfoot.

   Ranma turned from the scene in disgust and was moving to quit the
whole area in a search for wholesome food, or at least wholesome 
company -- which, he felt, must be present somewhere -- when he heard, 
above the crowd noise, a girl's sobbing voice. Spinning around, he 
narrowed his eyes and observed, a little distance from the main melee, 
a small girl spirit, apparently 10 or 12 years in age, laying curled 
around herself on the colorless ground and weeping faded, bitter tears.

   Her story was not difficult to read: Ranma was already aware that the
overall color, or lack of same, was in some sense a signal of the 
'health' of the spirits present in this place, or lack thereof. By that
standard, the small spirit could not be far from disappearing altogether,
and she had apparantly been only stealthy or lucky enough to aquire
a small amount of 'food', without being sufficiently so to avoid being
noticed. As she was much to weak to defend her prize, a coalition of
lesser thugs had set upon her and relieved her of it. The aforesaid
'food' they were now attempting to divide between them, predictably
destroying most of it, while quickly gobbling whatever small bits each
might individually be lucky enough to get in the vicinity of its mouth.

   Ranma glared at the squabbling spirits and cracked his knuckles. This
was a problem he could deal with, at last, and he wasted no time in
dealing with it. Unfortunately, even with his speed, by the time he had
thrashed the faded ghosts into submission no particle nor crumb of the
small girl's original food remained. This the girl acknowledged with
a continued series of wracking sobs, as Ranma looked down helplessly
at the complete lack even of scraps of the demon's slop in the vicinity.

   Ranma turned to the girl and attempted to cheer her up, without much
success. "My necklace," she sniffed, "I bought it with my necklace. It
was all I had left, and he didn't give what he promised and now even 
that is gone." She continued weeping quietly and hopelessly, as Ranma
gently set her down against a nearby boulder and stood slowly erect,
glaring at the demonic 'vendor' and thinning his lips. She continued
crying softly as Ranma jumped lithely over the low rise between him
and the crowd which still besieged the vendor and his slop-bucket, but 
the noises which then began emanating from that area slowly attracted 
her attention.

   Slowly ceasing to weep, and making some ineffectual effort to dry
her eyes, she crept to the ridgeline and peeped over it. Her eyes began 
to widen as she observed the action before her, soon coming to take up
most of her face. Her benefactor, it appeared, had scattered the crowd 
by rendering many of the ghosts composing it unconscious. Then he had
loomed over the cowering vendor, intimidating that demonic coward into
rendering up the 'wealth' he had extorted from the unfortunate mob.
He had also shaken that unworthy down, relieving him of his purse and
pouch and confiscating the cache of wholesome 'food' he had secreted on 
his person, apparantly for the purpose of hawking it to those fortunate 
enough to afford it, once the slop ran out.

   Then, finally reacting to the approaching demons drawn by the
vendor's shouts for help, Ranma picked the quivering demon up by the
chest, and threw him into the faces of the first squad of arriving
guards. This attack reduced the column into a pile of tangled and
bedraggled demons incapable of extricating themselves from their 
fellows. This pile Ranma then finished off with a Mouko Takabisha, 
before launching himself into combat with the second and third squads.

   The battle that followed was short, but brutal, and ended in total
defeat for the forces of Law and Disorder. A defeat that would no doubt
have been more bitterly bewailed had any of the demons been conscious
to bewail it.  The small girl's eyes didn't get any bigger, they were 
already as big as they could get, as Ranma packed up the liberated
foodstuffs and trinkets and returned them to her side, placing her
necklace back around her neck, and setting out a small feast. The
girl inhaled the food, growing perceptably in color and strength, and
picked up a small comb that Ranma offered her for her hair. Then she
attached herself firmly to Ranma's leg and could only be persuaded to
reliquish it for a grip on his back, instead.

   In this manner Ranma moved off and began searching for a place to 
spend what he was going to call, for the sake of argument, the night.
He had been walking for no more than few minutes before he noticed that
he was being hailed, and turned to see a large broken-nosed man with
the look about him of a chinese peasant of no more than twenty or so.
He had an open, pleasant face, wore garments too good for the peasantry
but too poor for aristocracy and of a cut and material that marked
them as at least a century old, and by appearance at least, was
probably somewhat stronger than Ryoga. He bowed to Ranma respectfully
and said, "If the honorable sir will but follow this humble peasant, he
will conduct the noble one to a place where one awaits and desires
to consult with him on a matter of some urgency. And where also may
be found shelter and sanctuary from the demon patrols that would no
doubt otherwise disturb the esteemed warrior's rest."

   Ranma blinkblinked at him and commented, "All that. You must have 
studied."

   The other grinned at him unabashedly, "Master Li says that it never 
hurts to expand your capabilities. Seriously though, it's important, and
there will be demon patrols on this whole area like a fungus in about
twenty minutes. Oh, by the way, my personal name is Lu and my family
name is Yu, but I am not to be confused with the eminent author of
the 'Classic of Tea'. Call me Number Ten Ox, everybody does."

   Ranma grinned back, and stuck out his hand, "My personal name is
Ranma, and my family name is Saotome. Pleased ta meetcha. Lead the way."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

   Master Li turned out to be a small, wizened man, even more ancient
than Happy or Cologne. He was also even smaller and more wrinkled,
and exhibited an aura similar to Cologne's, though with less of an air
of martial skill, balanced by an even greater sharp, focused, questing
intelligence. He was also possessed, so he said, of a 'slight flaw in 
my character'. He poured Ranma a glass of a foul but strong wine 
analogue and leaned forward sharply.

   "The fact is, my boy, that I don't know what caused it. But I do
know that Ox and I were investigating one of our cases when the sickness
got us. And I do know that the order that sent us here was faked. And I
do know that the 'sickness' was faked too. I hadn't been able to get
a grip on the blasted case before, but now I yearn to take another look
at some things that I might have probably understood earlier if I hadn't
been dieing like a tree, from the top down, the last several decades.
Ah, if only I could be ninety again!"

   Ranma decided that if this was what he was like after "several 
decades" of decline, then he didn't even want to think of what the old 
man must have been like in his prime. "So why do you think that this
'case' was so important, anyway?" 

   "We've had only 3 cases with this level of supernatural involvement
before," Ox answered, "in one of them the crisis threatened all of
China, the second threatened the whole world, and the third threatened
the structure of reality."

   Ranma gulped. "But what can ya do about it from here?"

   Master Li grinned evilly, "My boy, I've been here for centuries now
and I've kept my eyes open. With Ox's strength, your fighting skill,
and the plan I worked out we may have, so to speak, a hope in Hell. 
You see, I've bribed some of the guards thoroughly, and found out how
to get over the wall of this Hell. And also where they store the body
clay, so we can make new ones to use on earth. And one more thing."

   Ranma leaned forward and narrowed his eyes, "What's that?"

   Master Li's eyes nearly disappeared into his wrinkles, "I know where
they keep the keys to the main gate."

   Ranma sat back and considered briefly. It would almost certainly
get him in even worse trouble than he was now. But it was a way out,
_if_ it worked. He thought of the faces he knew in Nerima, he thought
on a watery grave, and he thought of a small girl, even now clinging
to his leg. And he made his decision: he might be dead, he might be
damned, but he didn't have to take it laying down. "Okay," he said,
"I'm in. Now what?"

   Master Li grinned and leaned in close, "Now here's my plan."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Ranma Nibunnoichi
						And Smash the Bolts
The Memoirs of Number Ten Ox

-- 
"I am the terror that flaps in the night!  I am...apparently all out
of my trademark blue smoke..."
	--Darkwing Duck
-Eric Hallstrom, Happy New Year
Eric Hallstrom  hallcon@mindspring.com