Here's a complete repost of chapters 1-11, prior to 
posting the final chapter.


Disclaimer: The trolls in Great Britain at Games Workshop 
own Warhammer 40,000; I don't. I don't own the Ranma 
characters, either.
 
                 The Emperor's Hand

     The Emperor's body sat in the Golden Throne, the
arcane technological construct that sustained it beyond 
physical death, and his spirit soared through the cosmos.
It had barely been a century since the battle with the
Warmaster, Horus, that had marked the end of the worst
civil war that had rent his fledgling Imperium, and now
the form that had housed his immortal essence for thirty
thousand years lay rotting there.

     His soul free, the Emperor began to grow aghast at
the actions of his children. They began to fall to cultural
barbarism, regarding technology as a mystical or religious
secret, even as they grew more brutal and cold. They opened
themselves up to the very force of Chaos that had taken
his friend, the Warmaster, and made of him an enemy, all
the while actively fighting that force's manifestations,
the daemons, mutants, and deadly Champions of Chaos. The
Eye of Terror, where Realspace and the Warp, home of the
Gods of Chaos, overlap, grew each coming year.

     Chaos was not the only problem for his children. The
barbaric Orks, and their Gretchin slaves, would stage
frequent raids on whatever world they came across, to
pillage and destroy for no other reason for its own sake.
The insectoid Tyranids, and their bioengineered slave
races, such as the Genestealers, swarmed over world after
world to claim new genetic material. And the Eldar, who
should be Man's closest ally against the darkness far too
prevalent in the galaxy, was in an almost constant state of
war with the sons of Earth.

     Reaching out, he found those among Humanity in whom
his own bloodline was strong. Raising them to be his own
Champions, and naming them the Sensei, he sought to have
them lead his people to the way of enlightenment, so
that they would have the strength to simply reject Chaos,
and by doing so seal it away for all eternity. But the
humans perceived the Sensei to be just another form of the
Chaos Champions, and hunted them. The Emperor's soul wept
as, one by one, the Sensei were slain by those they were
sent to save, with no martyrhood to further their cause.

     Now, nearly ten thousand years after the Horus Heresy,
and forty thousand years since the start of Human 
civilization, the Emperor sought a different way. He would
send a Human among the Eldar, the ancient and graceful
race that once commanded the galaxy. They would sway the
Eldar into allying with Humanity instead of warring
against them. And, with the cessation of hostility, they
could help guide his children away from their barbarity, 
and into that state which no force of Chaos could touch.
But no one who lived who would trust the Eldar, now, and
no one could impress them enough to sway them. He would
have to reach through time and space, to the past. He
stretched forth his hand, reaching back ten, twenty, and
then thirty thousand years.

     Ah, yes. He will do. He will do nicely. I hope.

            ****************************

     Ranma Saotome decided that he _really_ didn't like
the taste of a bicycle tire. After all, he had tasted it
enough, with the number of times Shampoo's bike had 
landed on his face. Before he had a chance to express his
hard-earned decision, he found himself pulled to his feet,
and face to face with the overexcited Chinese Amazon. 
Most people who found themselves in such close proximity
to the gorgeous girl would simply relax, and enjoy the
intimacy. Instead, he felt the panic begin to rise.

     "RRRAAANNMMAA!" growled Akane. They had been on their
way home from school when the incident happened, and she 
wasn't too happy with him to begin with. During lunch, he 
had made a lame excuse to escape the unknown contents of a 
bento box she offered him, then gleefully accepted the meal 
that Ukyou had prepared for him. Admittedly, he had then 
tried Akane's meal, then had the gall to spend most of the 
next two class periods at the Nurse's station.

     'Oh no. Not again.' thought Ranma, more out of resig-
nation than fear. He knew what was coming next, and decided
to go with the flow.

     BLAM! A shoe rose, connected with his chin, and shot
him out of Shampoo's grasp like toothpaste squirting from
a tube. Akane lowered her foot, and glared at him as he 
flew out of sight. "I don't believe him!"

     Shampoo stood next to her for a second, also keeping
an eye on the beautiful ballistic arc he traced in the
sky. "Why Violent Girl do that to Airen?"

     Akane turned on her. "Get it through your head,
Shampoo, he's not your husband! I don't care what your 
laws are, you aren't married!"

     Shampoo kept her eyes on Ranma, then her jaw dropped.
"Eeep!" was all she managed to squeak out, pointing to the
sky.

     "What?" asked Akane, then followed the pointing finger.
Directly in her fiancee's path, a hole had opened up in
the sky. A huge, ephemeral hand reached out, and gently
arrested his headlong flight. Closing around the pigtailed
martial artist, it drew itself back in to the rip in time
and space, and it was gone. The only traces of the bizarre
phenomenon were the shocked expressions of two teenaged girls. 

     "Oh, no," whispered Akane, "what have I done?"

     Despite common perception, Shampoo was not an airhead.
She knew that a Ranma removed from this reality was no good
to anyone, especially her. Akane was here, and she had also
seen what had happened. "Come on, Violent Girl. We go see
Great Grandmother."

     The Japanese girl glared at her for a second, then came
to the same realization. Mutely, and somewhat in shock, she
nodded. 'Oh, Ranma,' she thought. 'I hope you're okay...'






 
                 The Emperor's Hand
               Chapter One: Encounters

     Ardallan stared out at the battlefield from the viewport of 
his Wave Serpent. The vehicle's armor and force fields protected 
him from harm, but only his own training as a warlock protected 
him from the horror just outside. 

     Everywhere he looked, green alien blood mixed with the pure 
red of the Eldar. Though more skilled and with greater 
technology, the Eldar just did not have the numbers to push back 
the Orks from the beachhead they had developed. 

     A shriek of sonic and psionic feedback announced a squad of 
Howling Banshees diving into close combat with the Ork assault 
troops. Their masks, fitted with special psycho-receptors, 
channeled both their battle cry and feelings of rage into a 
potent weapon, capable of overloading the nervous system of the 
target. So potent was this, that one of the enemy Orks found his 
head exploding from the feedback. Unfortunately, there were only 
eight Banshees attacking over thirty Orks, and the odds did not 
look good for the warrior-women of the Eldar.

     A flare of energy, and the Wave Serpent lurched. One of the 
erratic heavy weapons of the enemy had impacted against the front 
energy field, which barely dissipated enough energy to protect 
the vehicle. Ardallan turned his helmeted head to look at Farseer 
Dalhavadar. With a nod, the leader of Task Force Arweinydd 
motioned for the driver to stop, and let them out. One Farseer, a 
psyker of power more than any other race in the galaxy could 
imagine, and his five Warlock bodyguards, were a force that could 
aid the beleaguered Banshees.

     *************************************************

     The energy surrounding him faded, and Ranma Saotome found 
himself in what looked like Hell. Huge, green-skinned monsters 
were fighting what looked like women in strange armor. A hovering 
vehicle of some sort was disgorging helmeted men in robes with 
swords, and energy bolts were searing across the field. Making a 
snap decision because of the huge axe that narrowly missed 
splitting him in two, not that he really needed much help in this 
decision, he launched himself into battle against the greenskins. 
Perfectly placed shots sent his foes into each other, rendering 
them rapidly unable to continue the fight. 

     The sound of a pistol shot impacting armor caused the 
pigtailed martial artist to spin, and see one of the warrior 
women spinning from a round that had caught her in the shoulder. 
As she fell, so did an immense axe, heavy enough to cleave her 
in two. Unwilling to just sit and watch, he hopped forward, and 
snatched her up, and jumped out of the way of the green thing. 
Setting her down by the stopped vehicle, he bounded back into the 
fray with a leap kick at the axe-wielding thing. It flew 
backwards as one of its tusks shattered from the impact.

     As the sand of the desert world crunched under his feet, a 
loud whirring noise alerted him to danger from the rear. 
Spinning, he saw a clockwork monstrosity almost twelve feet tall. 
Two crane-like arms jutted out at awkward angles. One ended in a 
buzzsaw, while the other ended in a lobster-like claws. Two odd 
cannons sprouted opposite each arm, and it tottered on awkward 
legs. He ducked a sawblade, seeing the pistol-like weapons of the 
armored people bounce off the thing. "Geez, what is this, a 
tinkertoy robot? Gimme a break!" With a loud kiai, he projected 
his confidence forth. To most, shimmering waves of heat seemed to 
flow rapidly from his outstretched palms. To those with the eyes 
to see it, however, it was a lance of brilliant yellow energy. 
All, however, could see the armored shell of the lumbering thing 
rip apart like a tin can in a sandblaster. It fell, the tiny 
green thing inside flying clear just before it exploded. Looking 
around, and seeing that he was surrounded, it sprinted off in a 
random direction, knocking itself out on the hull of the hovering 
vehicle.

     Slowly, the tide of the battle began to turn. Routed by the 
appearance of this strange, invincible warrior, the unit fighting 
Ranma panicked and ran, spreading their panic to other units. Not 
knowing why their buddies were so scared, the others decided it 
must be something pretty bad, and decided to scarper, themselves.
Although still outnumbered, the armored warriors took advantage, 
and immediately counter-attacked. Only a short battle later, and 
the green enemies had either been cut down, or fled the field.

     *************************************************

     Seeing the injured Banshee by the Wave Serpent, Dalhavadar 
knelt by her. The wound was not severe, but a fragment of her 
armor had shorted her Mask, and the feedback had stunned her. The 
only reason she was still alive was the strange, unarmored Human.
Strange, that a Human would save the life of an Eldar. "Mon-
Keigh, I would speak with you," he said. The Farseer spoke in the 
crude tongue of the Humans, trusting that he would not know the 
full meaning behind the Eldar word for Mankind.

     The human walked over, and spouted gibberish, with a 
concerned look on his face as he glanced at the fallen Banshee. 
It was not in Imperial, or even Old Imperial, but in a lilting, 
musical language. Realizing that they shared no common language, 
the boy tried again, slower, while pointing to her shoulder.

     Dalhavadar shook his head. He did not know how this boy had 
gotten here, or what language he spoke, but he was a Farseer, a 
psyker with the powers of the mind. He removed his helmet, and 
locked eyes with the human. *She will be fine, warrior. But I 
must know about you.*

     Confusion grew in the boy's mind, making it difficult to 
maintain contact with. *I-in my mind? How? Not get too 
deep...thoughts of Akane not probed...* The boy shook his head, 
and steeled his gaze. *I a-am Saotome Ranma. I don't know how I 
got here. I jus' saw some girls fightin' monsters, an' helped 
'em. Waitaminute - pointed ears? Who are you?*

     *And who are you, Warrior, to not know the Eldar, or the 
Orks?* responded Dalhavadar. Squinting slightly, he read the 
boy's aura. At the core, the shining light of confidence burned 
with an intensity that shocked him, layered as it was with the 
touch of another. The signature was clear, for he had seen it 
first hand. This boy had been touched by the Emporer, perhaps 
even taken from his backwater home to this battlefield.

     *I dunno. I jus' know you look like an Elf from one o' 
Hiroshi's manga.* The word Elf carried with it connotations of 
not just pointed ears, but also grace, skill, and longevity, and 
not a little honor. 

     *Elf is a word I have not concieved of in thousands of 
cycles. How is it you were able to project your aura as a weapon? 
It was no psychic power, for I would know.* Dalhavadar cocked his 
head, as his Warlock bodyguard approached, and began to bind the 
Banshee's wounds.

     *You mean my Mokou Takabisha? Um, it's a chi blast. I gather 
my confidence, and channel it at an enemy. It does the rest.* 
Ranma shuffled his feet, nervous by an entirely silent 
conversation.

     *Remarkable. You will accompany us to Valdur-Avendel.* This 
was a statement, not a question.

     *I guess...what's Valdur Avendel?* asked Ranma.

     *Our home. But, first, take this...* He reached into the 
pouch he carried on his belt, and pulled out what appeared to be 
an earring of some sort. *Place it in your ear.*

     Doing as he was told, Ranma thought, *So what is this thing 
gonna do for me? I hope it isn't cursed or nothin.*

     Dalhavadar spoke. "No, it is not. It allows you to 
understand us, and us to understand you. I did not give it to you 
earlier, as I had not made contact with you long enough to guage 
the pattern of your thoughts."

     Nodding, Ranma did a double-take. "Hey, it works! But I 
kinda heard your voice in the background, an' Japanese in my 
ears. Does it sound like that the other way, too?"

     "Yes, Mon-Keigh. Now, you will get in this Wave Serpent, and 
we return to Valdur Avendel, and away from this blasted patch of 
blood-soaked sand." 

     What amazed Ranma most about that statement was that 
'blasted patch of blood-soaked sand' was only a single word.

     *******************************************

     Akane still could not believe what she saw. He was gone. 
Because of her. Her anger. Her...her jealousy. He wasn't coming 
back. He had to come back. But where was he? He was gone. He 
probably couldn't come back. And it was her fault.

     A loud 'Thwack!' on the table by Cologne's staff brought her 
back to her senses. "Child, I realize you seem to find it 
neccessary to wallow in guilt, but this will not help us find out 
where Son-in-law has gone to. If you please, could you describe 
the edges of this 'hole' in space?"

     Glancing around the table, she could not bring herself to 
meet Cologne's intense gaze, or the scornful look of Shampoo. Her 
eyes dropped back to the table as she spoke. "I-it was like a 
thousand swirling colors were mixed together for the outline. It 
was pretty ragged, but it was almost hypnotic. And the hand was 
pretty much the same. It was like I was frozen, and couldn't 
move. Um, Cologne?"

     Not dropping her intensity one notch, the old Matriarch 
simply said, "Yes?"

     Akane fiddled with her thumbs, and said, "Wh-why can't you 
ask Shampoo these questions?"

     Cologne nodded. "True, I could ask Shampoo. Or almost anyone 
in Nerima. With one problem."

     "Wh-what?"

     "Only the two of you saw what happened, and only you could 
clearly make out either the gate, or the hand. To everyone else 
in Nerima," continued the Matriarch, "the only thing strange 
appearing in the sky today was a white duck wearing glasses."

     "I don't understand, why could I see it as clear as... as, 
well, day, and Shampoo couldn't, when she was right next to me, 
and she even spotted it first?" Her voice dropped a few notches. 
"She's got better eyesight than me." An unspoken thought added to 
the troubles on her face.

     "I do not understand, but I will. First, you need to eat, it 
is dinner time." Cologne hopped down off her chair, and walked 
back to the kitchen of the Nekohanten.

     "Dinner? Oh! Kasumi will be worried..." began Akane.

     "SIT! I have called your family." Cologne peered out around 
the edge of the counter, as it was taller than her. "I have given 
them a suitable story, and told them you and Ranma are eating 
here tonight."

     "And they bought it?"

     "Yes. It seems that your middle sister had just left, 
probably fleecing more money of the Kuno boy. She ought to get it 
over with, and fleece him for it all." The Matriarch had raised her 
voice, to make it easier to hear over the clatter of pots and 
pans.

     "What you mean, Great-Grandmother?" asked Shampoo.

     "She ought to marry him," came the reply. In spite of 
herself, Akane started to laugh at the idea.

     The door of the Nekohanten almost exploded off its hinges as 
Kuonji Ukyou charged in. "Cologne, something's happened to Ranma! 
And I want to know if you had anything to do with it!" Her chest 
was heaving, causing her spatula shuriken to rustle in their 
bandoliers, and in her hands was her giant battle spatula.

     "N-no, Ukyou. It was my fault." Akane could not bring 
herself to meet the okonomiyaki chef's eyes, any more than she 
could Cologne or Shampoo. In fact, the tears she had been holding 
back by sheer denial finally erupted forth.

     Confused, Ukyou turned to the young Amazon. "What happened?"

     "Shampoo don't know. Was on delivery, and stopped to say 
hello to Airen, when Kitchen Destroyer knock him for loop. Then 
hole in sky open up, and hand grab Airen. Now he gone." Her face 
showed sadness, but, strangely, little anger towards Akane.

     "I-I thought I was hallucinating...but he's gone?" Ukyou 
pulled out a chair next to Akane. Glancing over at the crying 
girl, she reached over. They may be rivals, but they were still 
friends - somewhat. "Don't worry Akane, if anyone can figure out 
what happened, it's Cologne."

     "I know. But it's my fault!" Turning, she buried her face in 
the chef's shoulder. "I just lost my temper! And now he's gone!"

     Cologne watched the touching scene from her perch on her 
staff. A thousand swirling colors, drawing in the eyes. It 
sounded like... but it could not be him. Though he was ten 
thousand years old, still was he physically a child. And his 
power was not that great.

     Not yet.






 
                 The Emperor's Hand
               Chapter Two: Reaction

     The young man sat alone by the waterfall. He did not 
sit to meditate, or to watch the beauty of nature. He 
merely sat to sit. He had waited there for longer than many 
people had been alive, despite his apparent youth. For now, 
he waited.

     As he waited, his mind drifted back, ten thousand 
years. Before Mankind set stories into the written word, 
before the first cities were built, he was the student of 
an old Shaman. He was of a large tribe, one that would grow 
to cover the entire Indo-European continent. His own clan 
had over fifty shamans, each one tapping into both the 
power of magic, and the power of the mind. With their 
foresight, and their magic, they helped guide the clan from 
season to season.

     On one easy, summer's eve, the young man had been 
resting by the fireside with his fellow apprentices. 
Shamans had been coming to his village for the last thirty 
days, sometimes two, three, or four a day. Now, they all 
had been sitting in the hut at the center of the village, 
the one used for village meetings.

     "What do you think they're doing in there?" he had 
asked.

     Before he received an answer, though, his teacher had 
stepped out of the main hut. Striding with purpose to where 
he sat, the teacher nodded, and held out his hand to help 
the young man up. Together, they walked back to the hut.

     Once inside the hut, they had motioned for him to sit 
in the center. One of the shamans, he didn't know who, 
began to speak. "Child, be aware that, this night, we 
discuss momentous events. They are not to be spoken of 
outside this room." The apprentice nodded. "Then know this.

     "A great tragedy has occurred, very far away. So far 
away, in fact, that a thousand lifetimes could not walk the 
distance. This tragedy has spawned an evil force, which now 
begins to reach our world.

     "Mankind will grow more decadent, and find pleasure in 
the most grotesque of things. And those with the powers of 
the mind will be made vulnerable to the depredations of 
this evil's minions. To prevent this, we must seal away 
this ability."

     "Seal it away?" the young man had asked. "But I was 
taught that this power was part of a man."

     "Listen, and be silent. We are the strongest shamans 
in the entire Tribe of Indus. We are also the strongest in 
the power of the mind. By binding all of our power within 
you, this power will be sealed away, and you will have the 
strength to resist the fiend.

     "But know this. The other powers will not be sealed 
away. Instead, they will be hidden. For, though they do not 
leave one vulnerable, they cannot be fully controlled 
without the power we are sealing away. Only through the 
strictest circumstances will they be useable, and only then 
by the strongest in the Arts."

     Another shaman took over. "As for you, you will find 
that the power will sustain you. You will not age, nor will 
you need to eat or sleep. You will not die, unless slain by 
another's hand. 

     "You must bide your time, and wait. When the time is 
right, you will know what to do."

     He had spoken up at this. "What if I encounter these 
workers of the other Arts?"

     A third shaman laughed. "Then treat them with the 
respect that you never show your teacher." The rest of them 
had chuckled at this, then grew serious.

     The first voice spoke once more. "It is time. Boy, 
open up your mind, and prepare yourself."

     The next ten hours were the only thing he never 
remembered.

     ************************************************

     Cologne pondered the problems with what had happened. 
The obvious problem was the reaction of four fiancee-
starved young girls, upset at the loss of the boy they 
loved. Check that - Akane's reaction was quite clear. 
Irrational guilt, self-loathing, and fear. Fear for Ranma. 
She was pretty sure that Shampoo's mind had shifted over 
into 'warrior' mode, concerned only with completing the 
objective. In this case, that was finding a way to retrieve 
her Airen.

     It was the Kuonji girl that worried her. She had 
seemed to return to 'business as normal' over the past two 
days, but she always had her own agenda. Add into that mix 
the Kuno girl, and there was liable to be trouble. While it 
was unlikely that Ukyou would attack Akane, Kodachi would 
jump at any opportunity to rid herself of the youngest 
Tendou. Since she seemed to be the only one that clearly 
saw the phenomenon, Cologne could not let that happen.

     Yet.

     Right now, the most likely aspect to look into was the 
similarity between the phenomenon that Akane described, and 
the effects generated by an old friend. The problem was 
simply finding him.

     ************************************************

     Kasumi and Nabiki stood outside their little sister's 
room. In Kasumi's hands was a plate of food, while Nabiki 
merely wrung her hands behind her back. Reaching up, the 
middle Tendou girl gently rapped on the door. There was no 
answer. "Come on, Akane, at least eat _something_. It's 
been almost two days!"

     Slowly, the door opened. Akane's hand reached out, and 
accepted the plate, but did not open it far enough to admit 
them. Stepping forward, Nabiki stopped the door with her 
foot. "Sorry little sister, but you've got to let us in. We 
can't let you go through this alone."

     She was a mess. She was still wearing the same school 
dress that she had worn the day of the incident, rumpled 
and stained from a combination of crying jags, and rage at 
herself. Her eyes were dry, however; she had run out of 
tears. One hand clenched into a fist, then relaxed in 
impotence. Still holding the plate with her other hand, 
Akane slowly sat down on her bed. "Uh huh." 

     Kasumi glanced at Nabiki, and then the two young women 
sat on either side of their little sister. Kasumi spoke 
first. "Ukyou stopped by earlier today. She seemed worried 
about you." Akane nodded. "She told us about what you saw 
when Ranma vanished." Akane simply sighed. "Why didn't you 
tell us what you saw?"

     Akane spoke, her voice dry and cracked from 
dehydration. "I... I wasn't thinking. Ranma's gone. And 
it's my fault."

     "Now don't say that, Akane-chan." Kasumi glanced at 
Nabiki, then continued. "You see, we saw it, too. But we 
just didn't know what it was."

     Akane's eyes widened. "B-but Cologne said...>koff<" 
Her dry throat could take no more, and she broke down into 
a coughing fit. Nabiki reached... well... _somewhere_, and 
produced a glass of water. Akane accepted it, and sipped 
slowly. "S-she said no one else could see it."

     Nabiki spoke. "Akane, we were outside. I was home 
early, taking care of the Dojo's debts, and everyone else 
was enjoying the sunshine. Then we saw something off in the 
distance, some sort of shimmering light. Then, it was 
gone."

     Numbly, Akane added, "Gone. Just like Ranma."

"Now, stop that right now, Imouto-chan. He'll be back. He 
always comes back." Nabiki looked at Kasumi, and mouthed 
the words, 'Help me out, here!'

     Kasumi put one arm around Akane, and tilted her little 
sister's head to rest on her shoulder. "Anyway, we all saw 
it. That is, everyone except Happosai. Even Auntie Nodoka 
saw it."

     "W-was Mr. Saotome in panda form?" asked Akane.

     Nabiki grinned. "Yup. You should have seen it. He 
looked like he was stuck between changing to human and 
staying cool, or suffer the heat, and avoid Auntie Nodoka's 
katana." She shrugged. "One of these days, they're going to 
get things sorted out, but, for now, it's getting really 
annoying."

     "It was rather curious," mused Kasumi. "Auntie Nodoka 
and Mr. Saotome seemed to be able to see the light better 
than anyone else, even though Mr. Saotome's eyesight is not 
the best in his panda form. Nabiki and I could see it okay, 
and Father could make it out. But Happosai could not see it 
at all, and the neighbors didn't see a thing."

     Akane sat in thought, then her eyes flew wide open. 
Fighting the urge to down her water, she slowly emptied the 
glass, then began eating. However, Nabiki recognized the 
signs of her mind working. "Careful, Imouto-chan, there's 
smoke coming out of your ears," she teased.

     "I think I may know why some people could see the 
light, and others couldn't," she muttered, reaching for her 
dinner.

     "Oh? And why is that?" asked Nabiki.

     Akane started to answer, then blushed almost solid 
crimson, and simply sat, and ate. If she admitted what she 
had realized, she would have to admit something to her 
sisters, and herself, she didn't think was true.

     ************************************************

The cooling mists of the waterfall glistened like a cloud 
of infinitesimal diamonds before the young man. Closing his 
eyes, he breathed deeply of the clear air. It was time. 
Time to once more walk among men.

     He rose to his feet, and opened his eyes. His mind 
reached out across the world, finding the one he should 
seek nearly half the world away. Just the lightest of 
feather-like touches, and he knew. He gestured, even though 
there was no need, and exerted the incredible force of his 
will upon the very fabric of Reality. It resisted, and he 
bent every fiber of his being to the task. Eventually, the 
strands of time and space parted, a thousand myriad colors 
outlining a shimmering, dark pool in the sky. Steeling 
himself, he stepped through.

     Thus, did the man who had walked the Earth for ten 
thousand years begin the quest to fulfill his destiny. A 
quest that, thirty thousand years later, would lead him to 
choose a champion from the depths of history.






 
                 The Emperor's Hand
                 Chapter Three: Adaptation

     Sitting in the Wave Serpent, Ranma looked out the 
viewport at the battlefield. It was littered with the 
bodies of dead and dying Orks and Gretchin, and the bodies 
of dead Eldar. He had watched, confused, as Dalhavadar and 
his Warlocks had removed shining green gemstones from the 
chests of their fallen kinsmen, then left the bodies 
behind. Now, the force was moving away, in the opposite 
direction from the path of the Orks' retreat.

     To their left raced a flight of jetbikes, their 
carapace-like front fairings painted dark red, rising into 
stylistic flames. They stayed in a perfect wedge formation, 
each rider echoing the motions of the others perfectly. 
Behind the bikes was a larger vehicle, though not as large 
as the Wave Serpent, also hovering off the ground. It was 
similar in style to the bikes, but had an additional rider 
above and behind the pilot, apparently a gunner, as his 
seat swiveled, and was attached to the large, graceful 
cannon that was the vehicle's main armament.

     On the right, several small units of warriors 
maintained an easy running pace, despite the apparent mass 
of their armored suits. Each unit seemed to have a 
different style of armament, and had a different color 
scheme. Some, like the Howling Banshees he had assisted, 
wielded pistols of some sort, and blades, obviously 
specializing in close combat. Others, like the unit right 
outside the Wave Serpent, wore red and black armor, with 
huge vanes sprouting from the sides of their helmets, and 
carrying weapons slightly longer than the Eldar were tall. 
These, which the Farseer pointed out to him as Dark 
Reapers, were definitely long-range fire support. 

     Eventually, the force reached what was likely their 
rally point. It was the site of a series of obelisks, 
surrounding a pair of arcane constructs. The constructs 
were over six meters tall, and arched towards each other. 
Like most Eldar structures, they were encrusted with gems 
of varying hues, and runes connected by graceful swirls, 
knotwork, and other patterns. Totally confused by where he 
was, and what was happening around him, he tried to think 
of how he got there. All he could remember was a brief 
image, a face. It was a human woman, with a smile that lit 
up his heart like the sun. He realized that, when he first 
got there, he remembered much of where he was before, but 
the memories had begun to fade, even before he encountered 
Dalhavadar.

     Unit by unit, the entire force began to line up in 
front of the two constructs. Energy flared, and darkness 
filled the space between the constructs. The different 
segments of the Eldar battle force entered the darkness, 
and vanished. Finally, it was their turn.

     Dalhavadar turned towards Ranma. "Now, Human, be 
warned. You are one of the first to ever step foot upon a 
Craftworld. You will be watched by all, and likely insulted 
by many. Keep your temper, and watch your tongue. This 
which we enter is called the Webway. For your own mental 
safety, I ask that you allow me to put you to sleep before 
we enter."

     "Nah. Can't be much worse than... than... well, I 
really don't remember. But it can't be much worse than some 
o' the things I done," he boasted.

     "Very well. However, I would recommend that you close 
your eyes." The Farseer turned, and resumed his meditations 
upon the pouch full of gemstones in his lap.

     When the Wave Serpent entered the Webway, Ranma braced 
himself for nausea. What he received, however, was a 
bombardment of images, sounds, and emotions, most far 
beyond his naive experience. Tortured figures wrapped in 
leather and spikes reached out to other, and the Wave 
Serpent, taking pleasure even in the pain each others' 
garments inflicted. Their moans shocked him, and their 
radiating emotions apalled him. And then, as suddenly as 
they had entered, they left the Webway.

     **********************************************

     Akane sat on her bed, shortly after her sisters left 
her room. She was not as bad off as she had been, but she 
was still in a state of emotional turmoil. If Nabiki and 
Kasumi were telling the truth, and she had no reason to 
believe they weren't, then there was one thing that 
connected all those who had seen the phenomenon.

     They all cared for Ranma, in one way or another.

     What confused her was that not even his parents had 
seen it as clearly as she had. Did that mean that she... 
she cared for him... more than his parents?

     Preposterous. He was an egotistical, chauvanistic, 
self-centered, playboy. He was a rude, boorish jerk. He 
wouldn't eat her cooking until she practically had to force 
it on him, he was constantly flirting with other girls, he 
picked on both Ryouga and P-chan, and he wouldn't stop 
insulting her.

     But whenever she needed him, he was there. She had 
lost track of the number of times he had saved either her 
life, or her freedom. And, well, she was alone. She could 
admit to herself that he was cute. Sighing, she had to 
correct herself. He was downright handsome.

     The question was, did she love him? In the darkness of 
the night, all alone in her room, without even P-chan 
around, she decided she could admit that, yes, she loved 
him. The worst part about that was, he didn't love her. How 
could he? He, himself, said it. She was an uncute tomboy, 
she couldn't cook, she was a flat-chested, thick-thighed 
gorilla, and she had the face of a monkey. She always hit 
him, and he never raised his hand to her. He wouldn't even 
hit her when they sparred. 

     No, it was impossible. There was no way he could love 
her. There was no way anyone, other than that stupid Kuno, 
could love her. Before Ranma came, the boys wouldn't attack 
her to date her because she was cute, but because Kuno told 
them to. And she would rather die than end up with Kuno.

     But she didn't want to die without telling Ranma how she 
felt.

     ***********************************************

     Within the Nekohanten, two women and a man sat 
discussing the day's events, though there was little more 
that any of them could add.

     "If it is your old friend," started Mousse, "what 
reason would he have for kidnapping Ranma?"

     "None at all, boy, none at all." Cologne's brow was 
furrowed with worry. That is, it was furrowed even more 
than normal, and that's a lot of furrows.

     "Maybe he need boy with curse?" asked Shampoo.

     "I seriously doubt that. There is a boy among the Mei 
Shu Yin, not forty miles from our village, who has the 
curse, and he is not a warrior. This boy would have been 
much less trouble to deal with than our 'Untamed 
Stallion'." Cologne frowned. "What I really do not 
understand, is that such an action is against the code of 
conduct this man holds himself to."

     A thousand swirling colors swirled in the air beside 
the three. The swirl opened, and a young man, no older than 
seventeen, stepped out. His brow was beaded with sweat, and 
his entire body was shaking. "Now, Khu Lon, what is it you 
think I have done?" The shimmering gateway collapsed, and 
the young man simply dropped into a nearby chair.

     Cologne nodded at him. "Welcome, Shaman. It has been 
over a century."

     "Yes, it has. Pardon me, but the effort of holding a 
gate open over twelve thousand miles is rather exhausting." 
The Shaman looked at the two younger Amazons, both of whome 
merely stared at him. "Again, what is it I am accused of 
doing?"

     The story of Ranma's disappearance was related to him. 
"Yes, that sounds like a powerful psyker of some sort. You 
say that only certain people could see the effect?"

     "Yes. It was only my daughter, Shampoo, a girl named 
Tendou Akane, and a girl named Kuonji Ukyou. Of these, the 
Tendou girl could see it the best." Cologne pondered this. 
"Does this mean that the child has the potential to become 
what you are?"

     "No, Matriarch," said the young man. "That potential 
is locked away from all Mankind, until it is safe to once 
more release it to the world. Perchance, were these girls 
close to the boy?"

     "Ranma is Shampoo's Airen!" exclaimed the attractive 
young girl.

     "Yes, and, by the Japanese culture, the other two are 
his fiances. He spends the most time with the Tendou girl," 
added Mousse.

     "Then the answer is simple. Does this boy have any 
close family?"

     "Stupid panda Airen's father. Shampoo once hear from 
Mercenary Girl that Airen's mother is nice, honorable 
lady." She turned to Cologne. "Great-Grandmother, when 
Shampoo going to meet Airen's mother?"

     "Later, once he has returned, child."

     "Well, then," said the Shaman, "I would dare say that 
those two could probably have seen the phenomenon, as 
well."

     "What are you saying, Shaman?" asked Cologne, although 
she already knew the answer.

     The common connection between those that saw it, is a 
positive emotional relationship with the boy."

     "You mean they love him," said Mousse.

     "Or, are good friends." The young man looked around. 
"Khu Lon, do you perhaps have someplace I can rest? The 
exertion of reaching here was quite more... than.. I..." He 
slumped forward, and would have slipped out of his chair, 
if not for Mousse's quick reaction, as he righted the 
exhausted
Shaman.

     "Shampoo, carry him to Mousse's room. Boy, you spend 
this 
night in your cage."

     "But..." Splash! "Quack."

     *************************************************

     The Craftworld was an almost continual source of 
wonder for Ranma. Most of the Eldar went about their daily 
tasks in flowing silks, and fabrics that Ranma could not 
identify. They moved with as much grace as any martial 
artist he had known, yet did not carry themselves like 
warriors. Even the Aspect Warriors, as he learned the 
Banshees and Dark Reapers were called collectively, moved 
more like dancers or artists than warriors.

     No matter where Ranma went, he was accompanied by the 
young Warlock, Ardallan. It was he who answered any question 
the young man had, as though the others would not deign to 
speak to such a lower life form. It annoyed Ranma, but he had 
to keep his temper in check. These people weren't warriors; 
at least, most of them weren't.

     A few hours after reaching this place, Ranma asked the 
Warlock a question. "Ardallan, what exactly _is_ a 
Craftworld?"

     "Why, it is a starship the size of most worlds. It is 
here that the Eldar dwell, and not upon a sphere of rock, 
floating in the sky. Once , the Craftworlds were immense 
fleets of ships, linked only by a common philosophy. Now, the 
fleets have docked, and grown together, to form one, giant 
ship." He sighed. "To view Valdur Avendel from a ship, 
outside its confines, is to see myriad gems, orbiting one 
another, locked in a dance of light and beauty. Many sections 
of the Craftworld are not linked in physical form, but by 
safe paths in the webway. These sections swirl and float 
around the core, shifting and flowing with the gravitic 
ripples of space."

     "A starship? The size of a world?" Ranma could not 
imagine it. He barely had a concept of what a starhip was, 
and now to find he was on one that was not only larger than 
Tokyo, but was likely as large as the entire Earth, was 
staggering. "Jeez, how many people you got on this thing?"

     "Not many, I'm afraid. We are a long-lived people, and 
do not often bear progeny. The wars with the Tyrannids, the 
Orks, your own people, and the hated Chaos deplete us, and 
fewer and fewer of our kind are born each generation." 
Ardallan sighed. "I myself am the father of only one child, 
though I have been with my lifemate for over nine hundred of 
your years."

     "Nine hundred? Wow, the Old Ghoul's only three hundred. 
Ya don't look a day over twenty-five."

     The Warlock laughed. "Perhaps, when compared to your 
kind. As I was saying, when we first left our homeworlds 
after... an incident we do not like to discuss, there were 
billions of Eldar in each Craftworld fleet. Now, at least 
here, there are only a scant few million."

     "Oh. Um, I saw your people out there fightin' pretty 
good. Do you have a dojo, or training hall, somewhere here?" 
Ranma put one hand behind his head. "I sorta need to keep in 
practice, and I dunno how long I'm gonna be here."

     "There are training halls, as you put them, yes. 
However, they are the shrines of the Aspects of the War God, 
and only those dedicated to those Aspects may enter except 
upon extreme circumstances." Ardallan glanced down at the 
pig-tailed Martial Artist. "However, allow me to speak with 
my daughter. It is she who you saved, back on the blasted 
patch of sand stained with blood."

     "Oh, okay. Um, how long do you guys live?"

     The Warlock considered for a moment. "At this time, the 
oldest Farseer not yet in the Dome of the Crystal Seers is 
Ailunaraven, the Bright Flame of the Forge. He is over 
fourteen thousand of your years old."

     Ranma was speechless. "Wow... so your warriors can have 
thousands of years of experience. They must be incredibly 
skilled."

     His companion laughed. "Wild Horse, allow me to explain 
to you the Eldar Path. All Eldar are innately psychic. This 
leads us to be vulnerable to possession and worse by the 
daemons of Chaos. In order to defend our souls, we have 
developed a special way of life.

     "We dedicate ourselves to one aspect of life, to the 
exclusion of almost all else, so as to prevent the thoughts 
inspired by Chaos from affecting us. As a Warlock, my 
thoughts are dedicated to the task of improving my psychic 
abilities to be strong enough to protect the Craftworld. 
However, in a few centuries, my cycle will perhaps turn, and 
I will be a sculptor, or musician. Perhaps I will even join 
one of the Warrior Shrines.

     "But, only in a rare few incidences does an Eldar become 
stuck upon the path. This happens, unfortunately, most often 
upon the path of the Warrior. They become the Exarchs, 
champions and teachers of their Shrines. It is they who most 
often do not yet reach a thousand years of age, for theirs is 
a brutal path."

     Ranma nodded as if he understood, when he would need a 
lot of time considering what was said to fully understand. 
"This daughter of yours, is she an Exarch?"

     "No, Ranma. However, she could likely persuade her 
Shrine's Exarch to allow you access to the training area for 
your practices. But, you will be demanded to follow certain 
rules, and forbidden certain courses of action while you are 
there." Ardallan glanced over to his left, where a rather 
beautiful young Eldar Female gave the young Human an 
appraising glance. "Including a vow of celibacy."

     Ranma let out a breath he had been holding. "Trust me, 
after... well, I really don't remember what it's after, but 
ya don't hafta worry about me chasin' after them."

     The Warlock laughed, and led the martial artist down the 
long corridors of the Craft World, to the Webway entrance 
that would take them to his daughter's Shrine.

     ************************************************

     "I'm telling you, Daisuke, we were the only ones that 
saw it. Nobody else did." The Japanese schoolboy was 
scratching his head, talking with his slightly taller best 
friend.

     "I dunno, Hiroshi. I mean, it was right over there, and 
it was the size of a house! Someone else _must_ have seen it, 
whatever it was." Daisukehad his hands in the pockets of his 
Furinkan High School uniform, and kept pace with the other 
young man.

     Without warning, a long, slender blur whipped down, 
wrapping around Daisuke, and yanking him skywards. "What 
the... " yelped Hiroshi.

     "OHOHOhohoho! Could it be that these two peasants beheld 
what only I, the Black Rose, was so cursed as to apprehend?" 
The speaker was a very pretty young lady, dressed in a 
leotard, and little else, carrying a ribbon that was used in 
Martial Arts Rhythmic Gymnastics.

     "U-um, hello, Kodachi?" squeaked Daisuke.

     "Come, now, refer to me as Kodachi-dono, like you're 
supposed to, And, please inform me of what you saw, that you 
proclaim that none others saw?" She smiled sweetly at him. 
Daisuke couldn't decide whether to get a nosebleed, or a 
panic attack.

     "Umm, Akaneandranmawerewalkinghomefrommmrrfff!" A hand 
cut him off before he had really begun.

     "Please, one more, and with a little more decorum, if 
you don't mind." Kodachi lowered one eyebrow, and Daisuke 
felt like the sparrow in a serpent's grasp.

     "Okay, um, Akane and Ranma were walking home from 
school. Shampoo showed up, and glomped on to him. Akane got 
mad, and kicked him into low Earth orbit. About halfway up, 
some kinda glow popped up in front of him, and he vanished." 
He glanced at the ribbin. "Um, Kodachi, er, dono, can I go 
now?"

     The insane gymnast considered for a moment, then flicked 
her wrist. "You are dismissed," she said, not watching as the 
boy was flipped off the rooftop, his friend breaking his fall 
with his head. "Oh, Ranma-sama, I am here for you! I shall 
rescue you from this vile imprisonment that filthy peasant, 
Tendou Akane, has sent you into! OhoHOHOHOhoho!" With that, 
she bounded off into the night.






 
                 The Emperor's Hand
             Chapter Four: Confrontation

     "I don't care if he saved the life of the Avatar 
himself! The Mon-Keigh is not coming into my shrine without  
coming through me!"

     This was the second time Ranma had heard the words 
'Mon-Keigh'. While it technically meant 'Non-Eldar', it 
also carried severe connotations. He could almost hear the 
legend hidden within the words. A legend of cannibalistic, 
misshapen monstrosities, who subjugated the Eldar in time 
immemorial.

     Teldurin, the Exarch of the Shrine of the Howling 
Banshee, stood resolute before the door of her shrine. 
Unlike the other warriors the Human had seen, she kept her 
mask on, even out of combat. He still did not understand 
that part of it.

     "Honored Exarch, this young man is a warrior. It is 
said that he defeated over twenty Orks at the Blasted Patch 
of Blood-Soaked Sand, and had the restraint to not kill a 
single one. He even defeated a dreadnought, though none can 
say exactly how." The speaker was Eldaveril, the daughter 
of Ardallan, and the Banshee whose life Ranma had saved 
earlier. "If these tales are not enough for you, and they 
come from the lips of Farseer Dalhavadar, himself, then 
what is? He desires to train, and we have the space. Fewer 
and fewer come to our shrine, of late."

     The Exarch turned to face the pigtailed martial 
artist. He wasn't sure, but he felt that she was appraising 
him. Subconsciously, his chest puffed out a little farther, 
and he flexed his arms a little. "He must face me in the 
Fiol Brwdyr, the Ritual Combat."

     "Just say when and where," he boasted.

     "Here, in this hall. Clear it!" With her words, the 
few passersby scattered into other doors, and through 
Webway portals to other parts of the Craftworld. Soon, only 
Teldurin, Eldaveril, and Ranma stood there. Facing off 
against his opponent, he bowed, then dropped into a neutral 
stance. The Exarch simply looked at him, then at the 
younger Banshee. With a nod from Eldaveril, she dove at the 
Human.

     The first thing Ranma noticed when the Exarch charged 
was that her battle cry seemed to scream not only in his 
ears, but as a blazing hot power into the brain. It 
distracted him at the last second, able to defend, but 
unable to counterattack. As her body fell at him following a 
leap even he would have been hard pressed to duplicate, he 
deliberately fell back, planting his feet in her belly, 
flipping her. He kipupped to his feet, and saw that she had 
already landed on hers. He had to get the initiative on her.

     As she began another charge, he met her half way, 
cutting off her war shout in mid-scream with a kick to the 
face. She tumbled in the air, landing heavily on her side. 
He didn't want to do this, but she wasn't really a girl. At 
least, he could tell himself that as long as she wore the 
mask.

     A growl issued from the Exarch's throat this time, not 
a shout. Dropping deep into a low stance, she began to 
advance upon her foe. She could not let this Mon-Keigh into 
her Shrine. If he did so, then its sanctity could be 
violated. He was Human, and therefore dishonorable. There 
must be no mercy for the defiler of her Shrine.

     Ranma circled her, then darted forward with a rapid-
fire series of hand strikes. He did not push to the speed 
of his Chestnut Fist, but still exceeded the speed most 
fighters could ever achieve. He watched as his first 
several blows were parried or evaded, but more and more 
started getting through. He had the measure of her now, and 
stood back, losing all pretense of a stance.

     *He thinks he has me beaten by those blows. He does 
not know the wrath of an Exarch!* thought Teldurin. She 
dove at him high, then dropped low with a foot sweep. It 
was a perfect strike, but all she struck was air. A light 
sound behind her, and she spun, only to meet a foot on her 
chin. Spinning back the other way from the force of it, she 
continued it on into a backfist. Once again, she felt 
nothing connect.

     Standing on the sidelines, Eldaveril was struck 
speechless. The flowing grace of the fight was easy to see, 
but the speed of the moves was something she could not 
follow. The flips and spins used by the Human reminded her 
of... but there could be no connection. The Harlequins were 
a faction almost thirty thousand years old, and their style 
had been taught to them by the Laughing God, himself. And, 
the boy didn't even have the Flip Belt to assist him. But the 
evidence was frightening.

     Ranma dodged a combination of punches and kicks with a 
series of back handsprings, then dropped low, and kicked 
high with his left leg. Catching the underside of the 
Exarch's thigh after a kick, he shoved with that foot, firmly 
planting her on her back. He flipped forward, and stopped 
his last strike less than half an inch from her throat. 
"Gotcha."

     Teldurin could not believe it. She had been beaten. 
And by a mere stripling of a boy. At his age, Eldar 
children were just beginning to learn how to read the 
incredibly complex language they shared with the other 
Craftworlds. And, here, he had defeated an Exarch, with 
over three centuries of battle experience, as easily as she 
could defeat one of her students. Her humiliation was 
almost complete; it would finish when the Mon-Keigh set 
foot inside the Shrine. And then, thanks to the Infinity 
Circuit, all in the Craftworld would know of her dishonor.

     The pigtailed martial artist lowered a hand to his 
opponent. Grudgingly, she accepted it, and led the way into 
her shrine, head hung low.

     The footsteps stopped behind her. She turned, and was 
shocked. The Mon-Keigh had stopped at the precipice, and 
removed his shoes. Now, he bowed low, and clapped twice. 
She could feel the approval of the spirits within. But what 
could a Mon-Keigh know of honor? Did he know of honor? And 
if he could, then what of the other Mon-Keigh?

     **********************************************

     At the core of the Craftworld, and stretching 
throughout its environs, lay the Infinity Circuit. Within, 
the spirits of fallen Eldar sat waiting for the call for 
advice, or the call to war. They could return to the Spirit 
Stone, taken from their breast at the moment of their 
death, and be placed within a Wraithguard, or Wraithlord, 
towering robotic constructs of psychoplastics, and fight 
once more alongside their companions and descendants.

     In days of peace, the Infinity Circuit was the hub of 
communications for the Eldar of the Craftworld. And, now, 
the message being sent throughout, was of the victory, and 
honor, of Ranma.

     Thoughts transferred between spirits as they flowed 
through one another in the Infinity Circuit. Ardallan, 
meditating in the Dome of the Crystal Seers, heard their 
thoughts. He smiled.

     **********************************************

     The school dress she had worn for three days was 
hanging out to dry, and Akane was finally coming out of her 
shell of guilt. Rifling through her closet, she pulled out 
a fresh dress, and began to get ready for school.

     Breakfast was a quiet, subdued affair. Genma didn't 
even try to steal anybody's food, not that he really could. 
Since Nodoka was visiting for the rest of the week, he was 
stuck with bamboo shoots, leftovers, and Akane's failed 
cooking experiments.

     The walk to school was frighteningly quiet. She could 
even notice the missing footsteps on the fence beside her. 
Twice, she stopped, and glanced up. She then sighed, and 
continued walking.

     Once she reached the gates of Furinkan, she prepared 
herself for one of the constants of Nerima. Sure enough, a 
single, perfect rose flew straight at her. She sidestepped 
lightly, and watched as it continued past her, to land on 
the sidewalk. "Go away, Kuno-sempai."

     "Alas," began the kendoist, "is seems that the magic 
of the accursed sorcerer, Saotome, is strong enough to hold 
thee, even in his absence. But do not fear! I, the Red 
Storm of Furinkan High shall free you from that..." 

	BLAAAAM! "Honestly, he can't even understand me when I 
tell him right to his face." Noticing her older sister 
walking up to the downed young man, probably to drag him 
off to the Nurse's Station, she asked, "So he's changed his 
title again?"

     "Yup. He's been doing it for a while, and by now 
probably thinks that he can beat Ranma if he found the right 
nickname," Nabiki quipped. "By the way, didn't clobbering 
Kuno make you feel at least a little better?"

     Akane grinned evilly. "Yeah, it did. Now, let's get in 
before the..." BBBRRRRIIIIINNNNGGGG!! "...late bell. Oh 
well."

     By this time, Akane was almost comfortable standing in 
the hall carrying buckets of water. Nabiki was at the Nurse's 
Station, and so did not have to wait with her. This time, 
however, she didn't have Ranma to talk to. Funny, after the 
first few weeks here, they actually began to talk a little 
with the buckets on their shoulders. Nothing really serious, 
but little chit chat to pass the time. Of course, the 
conversation usually degenerated into an insult war shortly 
before the end of the period, but it was something to do.

     School just didn't feel right without him. There was 
always a sense of expectation, as everyone wondered what 
would happen to him next. Now, it was like that gap you feel 
as a kid, when one of your teeth has just fallen out. Your 
tongue keeps poking into the gap, reminding you constantly of 
what's gone.

     Lunchtime eventually rolled by, and two familiar voices 
called Akane's name. "Yes?"

     Turning around, she saw Ranma's friends, Hiroshi and 
Daisuke. "Hey, Akane, you better watch out. Kodachi seems to 
blame you for what happened to Ranma," said Daisuke.

     "Yeah, and she's even farther over the edge than she 
used to be. If that's possible. Oh, by the way, what was 
that, anyway? Daisuke an' I saw somethin' and we don't 
understand what we saw," added Hiroshi.

     "You mean you saw it?" she asked them.

     "Yeah, why?" asked Hiroshi.

     She just hugged the both of them. "Thank you. It means 
you cared for Ranma as friends. And I'm glad he's got friends 
that aren't involved in all this crazy mess."

     "Um, we kinda sorta got involved," muttered Daisuke, 
blushing beet red.

     She let them go. "What do you mean?"

     "We, um, were talkin' about it," began Hiroshi.

     "And Kodachi sorta overheard us. She's flipped 
completely, sayin' she's gonna rescue her 'Ranma-Sama' from 
you," continued Daisuke.

     The youngest Tendou daughter cracked her knuckles. "Oh 
really. Well, we'll see who needs rescuing if she tries 
anything. Thanks for the warning, guys." She turned, and 
headed off to sit with her friends.

     The Terrible Two looked at each other, then back at the 
departing girl. "You know, she never did explain what it was 
we saw," said Hiroshi.

     "Yeah. And what was with the hug?" queried Daisuke.

     "I don't know," answered his friend.

     "Not that I'm complaining, you understand."

     "Of course."

     **********************************************

     The Shaman staggered down the stairs somewhere around 
noon, still bleary-eyed from too much sleep. The Nekohanten 
was extremely busy, and he was treated to a display of 
precision and balance, as Mousse and Shampoo called the 
orders back to Cologne. In return, she tossed the bowls back 
to them, which they caught and placed without missing a drop. 
The overall effect could not have been better if it had been 
choreographed beforehand. He watched, amused, until the lunch 
crowd died down.

     Approaching the male Amazon, he bowed slightly. "Mu Tsu, 
I thank you for the use of your room. It was most generous of 
you."

     Still a little sore from sleeping in his cage, Mousse 
only nodded, and smiled slightly, as if sharing a secret 
joke. Turning to Cologne, the Shaman bowed again, slightly 
deeper. "Matriarch Khu Lon, I greet you this morning. I 
really hate to be so rude, but to determine what has 
happened, I must speak with the Tendou girl. Do you perhaps 
know where she could be found this morn?"

     Cologne nodded. "She attends school about this time of 
day. Mousse, show him how to find it." She thought, knowing 
he could read her mind, *I dare not send Shampoo - the last 
time she went there, they threatened to charge the Nekohanten 
for the damage to the wall. She seems to have an aversion to 
doors.*

     The ancient young man nodded, allowing half a smile to 
show. "Well, then, Mu Tsu, lead on." 

     When they reached the gates of Furinkan High, Mousse 
motioned. "She's in there. However, I don't know what class 
she's in right now."

     "Don't worry. I can find her, now." He turned to the 
master of hidden weapons. "I am sorry you had to spend the 
night in your cage for my sake, Mu Tsu. Do not worry, it will 
be several weeks before you will have to do it again."

     "How do you know?"

     "Simple, my friend," said the Shaman. "I asked her not 
to do it. And she listens to her teachers."

     "What did you teach her?" asked Mousse.

     "History," answered the other young man. "I will see you 
anon." With that, he turned, and entered the schoolyard.

     **********************************************

     Miss Hinako bounced back and forth across the 
chalkboard, still suffering the sugar rush from her lunch. Of 
course, it was only five chocolate bars, half a dozen 
chocolate chip cookies, half of a banana creme pie, a cheese 
sandwich, and a Jolt cola. So, the buzz would only last 
another half hour. It was almost one thirty, after all.

     The door to her classroom opened, and a young man walked 
in. "Excuse me! Are you part of my class?" she asked, hands 
on her hips, pouting.

     "Actually, no," he answered.

     "Then get to your own class! These boys and girls are 
here to learn, and they can't do that with you disrupting 
me!"

     "Young lady, I meant no disrespect. But I must speak 
with Tendou Akane," he stated.

     "Young lady? I'm a woman!" she scowled.

     "Of course, child." The smile on his face showed some 
small measure of disbelief.

     "Child? Alright, mister, that's it! Happo 5-yen Satsu!" 
Popping a coin out of nowhere, she initiated the drain of the 
boy's chi. Energy flowed from him, and filled her, aging her 
from eleven to twenty-five in an instant. "Now," she began, 
in a husky voice, "just...wha?"

     He merely stood there, apparently unaffected by the 
attack. "I am sorry, child, but I am sustained by other 
means. As I said," he turned towards the class, "I am seeking 
Tendou Akane. I must speak with her about the manifestation 
she beheld a scant few days ago."

     The heir to the Tendou school stood. "I'm Tendou Akane," 
she said.

     "You may call me the Shaman. My student, Khu Lon, does." 
He bowed slightly. "Shall we go someplace more conducive to 
open speech about the incident?"

     "Umm, okay. That is, if it's okay with you, Miss 
Hinako."

     The voluptuous teacher just stared at the young man. 
Even the mighty Happosai, the most evil man in Tokyo, was 
felled almost instantly by her attack, and he seemed totally 
unfazed. "Uh huh," she mumbled, nodding. When the two left, 
she shook her head, and snapped out of it. Seeing the girls 
fuming, and the guys drooling, she slapped her hand on the 
desk. "Class! Attention! Now, where was I? Oh, yes. If the 
leading indicators of the Meiji Restoration were..."

     **********************************************

     Akane was not quite sure where to talk to this strange 
man as she began walking, so she started the conversation on 
the way to, well, wherever. "Well, um, what do you want me to 
tell you that I didn't tell Cologne?"

     "First, I would like to know if you can tell me what you 
saw through the gate. What you could see on the other side," 
he replied. He carried himself with absolute confidence, but 
with a patience that mitigated this and prevented it from 
reaching arrogance, and a faint hint of a haunting sadness 
never left his eyes.

     "Well, it looked like night time. There were thousands 
of stars out, and I thought I saw a patch of sand near the 
bottom." She spread her hands. "Other than that, I really 
didn't see anything. Was I supposed to?" 

     "Perhaps, perhaps not. This hand that caught Ranma, how 
large was it?"

     Akane pondered. "Well, it was easily large enough to 
hold him completely covered when it closed into a fist. I'd 
say it was large enough that the little finger was about the 
same size as Ranma."

     "And how high was he when the hand took him?"

     She blushed. "I, um, really don't know. He was sort 
of..."

     "Alas, no sooner is the wretched Saotome gone, than his 
spell doth bind one of his familiar demons upon thee!" As 
soon as the words reached the pair of them, Kuno popped up 
from who knows where. "Aroint thee, thou rapscallion, and 
face the Red Storm of Furinkan High!"

     "Wow, he's kept the same nickname the whole day," 
muttered Akane. "Must be because Ranma hasn't beaten him 
again yet."

     "Tendo-san, who is this buffoon that has interrupted 
us?" asked the Shaman.

     "Buffoon? Why, foul demon, I am the noble Kuno Tatewaki, 
reknown star in the world of kendo, and captain of the 
Furinkan High kendo club!" He shifted from his ridiculously 
dramatic pose into a fighting stance. "And I am the one who 
shall rescue the heart of the beautiful tigress, Tendou 
Akane, from the foul enchantments of the sorcerer, Saotome 
Ranma!"

     "Oh, Kuno, get a CLUE!" The last word was punctuated by 
a perfectly executed kick, sending the kendoist high into the 
sky.

     "Um, Akane, so, how high was Ranma when the hand took 
him?"

     She paused, watching Kuno's flight. "Oh, about that 
high."

     "Okay, I think I get it." The young man waited a second. 
"He's coming down, now. Okay, about that high?"

     "Yeah that was about it," she answered.

     "Very well. Please, since I seem to have drawn you out 
of your edifice of education, will you accompany me to the 
Nekohanten? We must discuss this with Khu Lon."

     To one side, a voice rang out. "Pretty good hang time 
that time, Akane." Ukyou stepped up beside the two. "So, 
you're the one Cologne said might be able to help?"

     "Yes, I am, Kuonji Ukyou. And you may call me the 
Shaman."

     The okonomiyaki chef narrowed her eyes. "How did you 
know my name?" she asked.

     "Oh, I know many things," he answered cryptically. 
"Besides, the only other girl that wears a boy's school 
uniform that Cologne mentioned lives over in Tomobiki. Never 
met her, though."

     "Um, right. Listen, Sugar, I heard the offer you made 
Akane. Does that apply to me, too?" She shuffled her feet a 
little, then looked him in the eye, almost challengingly. "I 
want to find out what happened to my Ran-chan."

     Akane started to get a little angry. "Ukyou, he's not 
your... well, okay, he's not _just_ your Ran-chan. He... he's 
my Ran-chan, too." She blushed a little after saying this.

     Ukyou looked her in the eye, and her mouth wavered a 
little. "I know, Akane. I know."

     **********************************************

     Farseer Dalhavadar found himself in the chambers of the 
High Farseer of Valdur Avendel, the noble Ailunaraven, Bright 
Flame of the Forge. With them were several other Farseers. 
Some were younger than Dalhavadar, most were older, but all 
bowed in the presence of the Craftworld's guiding hand.

     "We cannot deny what the Infinity Circuit has revealed," 
insisted Dalhavadar. "Not only did the boy show honor to the 
Shrine, he paid respects to the spirits present. That clearly 
shows that he is more than we expected of the Humans."

     "Mere superstition from a primitive, coincidentally 
appeasing the Infinity Circuit. He probably thought he was 
appeasing demons, or something of that ilk." Gadremon was 
infamous for his hatred of Humans. "The Mon-Keigh could never 
understand the truth."

     "One would think that the Aspect Warrior's account of 
the Fiol Brwdyr, and the fighting style of the boy, would be 
fascinating enough to allow him to remain a short time 
further," stated Hallaravil, one of the older Farseers. 

     Valimparanor, a Farseer who used his powers as a 
Bonesinger to sing the psychoplastic called Wraithbone into 
the Eldar war machines spoke up. "And then there is the 
matter of his abrupt appearance on the Blasted Patch of 
Blood-Soaked Sand, his strange attack upon the Ork 
dreadnought, and his memory loss. I sense the work of a 
powerful force, and one not aligned with the powers of 
Chaos."

     "Great," groused Gadremon. "He is either sent by the 
Emperor as a spy, or the Laughing God of the harlequins as a 
joke. Either way, it bodes ill."

     "Perhaps not a spy, Farseer," said Dalhavadar, "but 
perhaps a mediator. One not here to ask for help in words, 
but in example. There is no guile in the boy. He tried to 
tell me he was not too uncomfortable here, even as his eyes 
darted to and fro."

     "Feh. He is too much like his namesake, the Anial 
Gorwydd, or Wild Horse, to ever be more than a nuisance to 
us, and a drain on our resources. Have you seen how much food 
he eats?" Gadremon pointed directly at Hallaravil.

     "Yes, and it is not as much as those pirates you called 
your private guard," accused Valimparanor. "They ate half the 
Craftworld out of house and home before you sent them back. 
Whatever Craftworld they hailed from, they were too stuffed 
to fight."

     Before Gadremon could respond, Old Ailunaraven spoke. 
"It matters not how much the boy eats. From what I have seen, 
he will be a boon, not a burden, to us. Go, Dalhavadar, watch 
him. Report to the Council of Farseers whenever you can."

     A dark gong sounded. All four began to look towards the 
only door in the room. A lone Eldar rushed in, and began a 
rapid-fire stream of the Eldar tongue. "Great Farseers! I 
greet you, but the Craftworld has gone to war! Even now, the 
Exarchs make their good-byes with the Young King, and he 
begins the ritual ablution. The Orks have allied with the 
Tyrannid to attack Blasted Patch of Bloodstained Sand, and 
draw off that planet's minerals. We have less than a month 
and a half to drive the beasts away, lest they destroy the 
entire biosphere.

     "Then we shall wait for another day. Gather the Guardian 
Squads, and summon the Aspect Warriors. We are not finished 
until we dwell within our spirit stones, and our descendants 
walk beside the Wraithlords in battle. Now, MOVE!"






 
                 The Emperor's Hand
              Chapter Five: Preparation

     Ranma was in Teldurin's Shrine, sparring with six 
Howling Banshees at once, when the Exarch shouted, "Stop!"

     "What's wrong?" asked the Human.

     "It is the call of the Avatar. We go to war." She 
turned, and left the Shrine. The Banshees left behind set 
down their practice swords, and took off the masks they wore. 
Instantly, he could see a change in their demeanor. They went 
from hardened warriors, willing to fight to their utmost even 
in practice, to soft and gentle women with the artist's 
demeanor so common to the Eldar.

     "Where's she goin'?" he asked.

     Eldaveril looked at him. "When the time comes to go to 
war, before the Farseers gather the Guardians, the Avatar 
sends a silent call to all the Exarch. One of their number, 
who was named the Young King the year before, is then 
ritually prepared for the Avatar. He becomes one with the 
Lord of Battle, and emerges, carrying the Suin Dallae, the 
Wailing Doom."

     "Alright, one thing at a time. First, what are 
Guardians? Second, what's an Avatar? And last, what's a 
Wailing Doom?"

     One of the other Banshees spoke this time. "When an 
Eldar has walked the Path of the Warrior, and returns to 
other duties, she still retains a fraction of the skills she 
learned. If the Craftworld goes to war, then they take up the 
arms and armor of the Guardian, and are the foot troops of 
our forces. Some, who were once of the Shining Spear aspect, 
ride either jetbikes, or the heavier Vypers.

     "As for the Avatar, each Craftworld carries with it a 
shard of our war god, Kaela Mensha Khaine, the bloody-handed 
god. He rests in the heart of the Craftworld, awaiting war. 
When the time is right, he issues the call, and all the 
Exarchs meet at his Shrine. The Young King, one chosen from 
their number, is anointed and prepared, and he enters the 
Shrine. Moments later, the Avatar erupts forth, bearing the 
spirit stone of the Young King. The Suin Dallae is his 
weapon, a blade which no armor can withstand."

     "Oh. Right." Scratching his head, he shrugged. "So, 
whadda _we_ do?"

     Eldaveril snapped her mask down over her face. "We 
practice, until we leave for battle." She picked up her 
practice sword, and the stun pistol, and began her assault on 
him anew.

     *************************************************

     Hours later, thousands of Eldar were gathered in a large 
hall, wearing red armor, and carrying red helmets with white 
faceplates. They surrounded a large dais, upon which the 
Farseers and Warlocks of Valdur Avendel were gathered in 
their runecast, wraithbone armor and flowing robes. 
Ailunaraven spoke to them, his power carrying his words to 
every being present. "Our scouts have returned, and carry 
with them war. You have been summoned to do your duty as your 
path has decreed. Even now, the ceremony of the Young King is 
taking place, and soon our Avatar shall stride the halls of 
our home.

     "Our foe is the Legion, the myriad forms of the Enemy 
known as the Tyrannids. They have deceived the Orks, and are 
using them as fodder for our weapons. Fortunately, the Humans 
do not care for the Blasted Patch of Blood-soaked Sand, so we 
will not have to worry about a third foe.

     "According to the scouts, the foe is on the move. It shall
be seven more hours, yet, before they reach any target of 
significance.

     "The Avatar will lead the main force, and I shall 
accompany them. Farseer Gadremon shall lead the Secondary 
thrust, while Farseers Dalhavadar and Valimparanor shall lead 
our flanking forces. The assignments of these forces shall be 
made once the Avatar awakens." He knelt. "May the Old Gods of 
our ancestors watch over us."

     Thousands of murmuring voices are as loud as a dozen 
shouts. "May the Old Gods of our ancestors watch over us."

     *************************************************

     Later that day, Ranma found himself doing what he does 
best. Eating, of course, what else? He was accompanied by the 
warrior maidens of the Banshee Shrine, and scattered members 
of other Aspect cults. Hanuril, one of the Striking 
Scorpions, spoke to him. "Well, Human, we have all heard of 
your victory over Teldurin. Perhaps, if you remain among us 
after the war, we will see if you can face real warriors, 
eh?"

     The pigtailed martial artist smirked, and paused in the 
endless task of shoveling food into his face. "I dunno, from 
the sound o' things, the only real warrior in the whole place 
is that Avatar-thingie. Maybe I could spar with him, huh?"

     The table erupted in laughter. "Anial Gorwydd, even as 
mighty as the Banshees claim you are, no mortal can hope to 
withstand an Avatar. Even the Phoenix Lords, the primal 
Exarchs that roam from Craftworld to Craftworld, cannot hope 
to match its skill or power," said Evanor, a Fire Dragon.

     "Yeah, well, anyway, so what's so great about this 
Avatar, anyway? So he's a war god. I kinda remember fightin' 
demons an' monsters, an' even a dragon or two. So, what's so 
hot about him?"

     Once again, everyone at the table laughed. "Hot, he 
says. Hot? Mwahahaha, Human, did no one describe the Avatar 
to you?" asked Hanuril.

     "No, why?"

     "Eldaveril, you and yours have always been a little 
reticent," said Evanor. "Boy, the Avatar's physical form is 
an iron shell, filled with the molten heat of a star! You may 
be fast enough to strike a blow against him, but your hands 
will burn as if they touched a hot iron."

     Now, it was Ranma's turn to laugh. "Don't worry, I got 
somethin' to deal with that," he said, a cocky grin spreading 
across his face.

     "Watch your pronouncements, Anial Gorwydd," said 
Fioranir, a Dark Reaper. His baritone voice carried tones of 
respect as he uttered Ranma's Eldar name. "The Avatar knows 
of all utterings referring to him."

     "Which brings up another matter. What is this 'chi'? The 
Warlocks who were with you say they saw something, but you 
have no psychic gift." Eldaveril paused. "And they also say 
this 'something' destroyed an Ork Dreadnought in less than a 
second."

     "Well, it's hard to explain. I've been studying my 
family's style of martial arts since I could walk. I don't 
remember when, or how, but I eventually learned how to 
harness my breath, and emotions, and use them as a weapon. 
That's chi."

     "I do not understand. But, if it works, it's good for 
the battlefield," said Evanor. "Anyway, Anial, have you tried 
this? It's very good, if a little rough for some palates." 
And so, the meal continued, as Ranma and the Aspect Warriors 
attempted to hold on to the little bit of peace they had 
until the coming battle.

     *************************************************

     Seventy warriors, each in arcane armor, and the masks of 
their Shrines, stood before a massive iron door. Three hours 
before, the Young King, whose name would forevermore become 
part of the Avatar's name, had entered, and begun his 
meditation. Now, they chanted, and waited.

     Seventy voices droned, knowing that their god incarnate 
would soon be among them. They waited, for the only moments 
in which they truly lived anymore were coming. The chant had 
not waver, could not waver, until the Avatar emerged.

     As one, the chants ended, as a scream of joy torn from 
an inhuman throat echoed in their ears, and in their minds. 
One hundred and forty eyes focused on the iron doors, and not 
even the sound of breath could be heard. One second ticked 
by. Two. Three.

     A mile away, the cacophony of the iron doors slamming 
open could be heard. Standing over ten feet tall, the hulking 
form of the Avatar exploded from his shrine. There was no 
sign of the Young King. The body of the thing resembled a 
sculpted statue, with emerald-green gemstones encrusted 
thereon, and a reddish glow radiating from within. In its 
right hand, was a nine foot sword, glowing as bright as the 
heart of a star. Black runes writhed like serpents in the 
heart of the blade, and smoke wafted off it, befouling the 
otherwise clean air. And the left hand of the thing dripped 
blood, blood that sizzled as it struck the ground.

     "It is time," said Kaela Mensha Khaine. "And bring me 
the Human."

     *************************************************

     "No, Ranma. You are our guest. You will not be going 
with us to battle. I am sorry, but I must ask that you leave 
the Shrine, so that we may prepare." Eldaveril put her hand 
on his shoulder, and smiled. "When we return, I'll make sure 
you get a sparring match you'll never forget."

     "Uh... we're just talkin' about fightin', right? Nothin' 
else?" he asked. Then he mentally slapped himself, remembering
that the warrior women have taken an oath, and don't think
about... about... He raised a hand to stop the impending
nosebleed.

     "Of course." Her confusion showed in her words. "What 
else would I mean?"

     "Umm, nothin'. Anyways..."

     "'Anyways', your presence is needed. Now." Teldurin walked 
in, not only in her mask, but in full armor, entered the 
Shrine. "The Avatar commands it."

     "Alright, some action," said Ranma.

     "Perhaps," said the Exarch. "But I do not believe you 
will enjoy it." She led him out into the hall, and to a 
nearby Webway portal.

     They emerged outside the Avatar's Shrine. The great 
thing stood outside, the Suin Dallae resting easily in his 
grasp, the blood still dripping eternally from his left hand. 
The remaining Exarchs were there, as well. "Human, there are 
matters that must be dealt with."

     Cocky as ever, Ranma thrust out his chest. "Yeah? What?"

     "None must be allowed to doubt my power. I must prove to 
you that I, and I alone, am the god of war." Pointing to one 
of the Banshee Exarchs, he said, "Hand him your powersword."

     As the Exarch stepped towards the martial artist, the 
hilt of a blade extended towards him, he shook his head. 
"Nope, I don't need no weapons. So, what, are we gonna fight 
right here?"

     "Arrogant whelp. You doom yourself. This battle is to 
first blood, and with no weapon, you cannot draw blood. 
Prepare yourself." With a gesture, the Exarchs fell back, and 
the wide hall was cleared for the duel. 

     Ranma stretched a little, popping those joints that 
needed popping. "Tell you what. You win, an' I'll admit 
you're better'n me. If I win, I go with you guys to the 
battle."

     Glaring, the Avatar merely nodded, and struck with the 
speed of a viper. It whipped past the dodging martial artist, 
and cut under just as suddenly, intending to catch him on the 
backswing.

     *Jeez, this guy's fast! An' he's got one heckuva reach! 
Gotta start now!* The Human began a series of dodges and 
evasions, barely able to escape the rapidly spinning Suin 
Dallae. He placed his feet carefully, and fell back before 
the onslaught.

     "Such a pity," said a Fire Dragon Exarch. "He is 
apparently very skilled. It will be a great loss to someone."

     The steps of the duel were as graceful as any dance. 
Despite its size, the Avatar was as fluid as any Eldar. It 
pondered for a moment ending the charade, and simply killing 
the boy, but it sensed the presence of something akin to 
another god dancing about the edges of its consciousness, and 
not one of darkness and Chaos. So, it fought with a careless 
ease, not exerting itself, but allowing its anger to grow, 
and fuel the power of its sword. It never noticed that the 
boy was entering a spiral.

     *Just five more steps... three more... one more... now!* 
With a heart of ice, and an uppercut that never landed, he 
cried out, "HIRYUU SHOTEN HA!"

     The resulting tornado was unlike anything the Eldar had 
ever seen. It was incredibly focused, no more than ten feet 
wide, and funneled straight up. The Avatar was carried up, 
his massive form ripping through deck after deck of the 
immense, world-sized ship. Ranma, on the other hand, stood in 
place, fist raised high.

     Eventually, the Avatar failed to penetrate a bulkhead, 
and rebounded, falling rapidly to the floor. Ranma hopped 
back, and watched as the force of impact sent the fragment of 
the god of war down to the deck below the one he stood upon. 
"Well, did that draw blood?" he asked.

     A blood-dripping hand reached up, and hauled the great 
thing back to the hall where the young man stood. The hand 
bearing the Wailing Doom reached up, and wiped at the iron 
face. From the corner of its mouth, a single drop of molten 
iron leaked onto its gauntlet. Its eyes opened wide, and it 
nodded. "Mortal, I know not how you accomplished this. But... 
you have won. You will accompany my warriors into battle."

     *************************************************

     Ranma was permitted to accompany the Banshees back to 
their Shrine, as they began their preparations for the 
conflict ahead. He did not understand much of what was done, 
but he waited in silence. His thoughts drifted back to his 
lost memory, and those few moments he could remember.

     An old woman, shrunken and withered, carrying a cane 
much taller than she was. "Son-in-law, you cannot go against 
three thousand years of Amazon tradition!"

     A woman, younger than the first, but still slightly 
older than he was. Her beautiful face was creased with tiny 
lines of sorrow. "Oh, Ranko, if only Ranma had been here. I 
had so wanted to see how manly my son had become."

     A dark pit, the feel of fur, and the hissing of many,
many... the image is violently thrust away.

     A man, going on towards middle-aged, and portly. A cloth 
was tied over his balding head, and glasses perched on his 
nose. "Come on, Ranma! I've just heard about a great new 
method of training!"

     Seeing the older man fall from a pole, into a pool of 
Water. A large, black and white animal leaves the pool, knocking
Him in another. He finds he has... changed?

     A girl, slightly older than he was, wearing an apron. 
"Don't worry about it, Ranma-kun. She may be a little angry 
at times, but she's really sweet, deep down. She'll calm down 
in a short while."

     A girl in a boy's clothing, a huge spatula strapped to
her back. "Hey, Ran-chan. How's it goin'?"

     Two young men, about his age, sitting behind wooden 
desks. "Hey, Ranma-kun, why can't you share at least one of 
your women with us, huh?"

     And the smile. A girl his age, her short hair framing a 
face that saw anger too often, now lit up in a smile that 
threw down all defenses he had. He would do anything to see 
that smile again. And with the smile, a name...

     "Akane..."

     *************************************************

     "So, what are these Tyralids?"

     "No, Ranma, Tyrannids. They're large, and rather 
disgusting, insect-like creatures. They use their mastery of 
shaping life forms to create servitor and warrior slaves. Any 
foes they defeat, but do not kill, become part of their 
genetic pool."  Eldaveril held up a hand, one finger 
upraised. "First, there are the Tyrannids themselves. They 
are almost as tall as the Avatar, have four arms, and large 
hooves. They are not only dangerous warriors, they also help 
coordinate the broods of slave troops.

     "Next, are Termagants. These creatures are much smaller, 
perhaps a head shorter than you, and carry bio-weapons that 
shoot a variety of living ammunition. Their 'cousins', the 
Hormagants, have had all four forelimbs modified into deadly 
scythes.

     "They have larger creatures, too. The Lictors can 
camouflage themselves at a moments notice, then erupt out to 
attack a foe. Their upper limbs are huge scythes, while their 
lowers bear razor sharp claws. The Zoanthrope is a powerful 
psyker, capable of destroying troops with the power of its 
mind. And the Carnifex is a squat, tank-like engine of 
destruction, with four immense talons that can rip apart a 
grav-tank in seconds."

     "Wow. Anythin' else?" he asked.

     "Only the worst of the lot. The Genestealers are only 
slightly larger than a Human or an Eldar, but are wickedly 
fast, with razor sharp talons, and a ferocity that is 
terrifying. The most dangerous part is that they appear in 
huge numbers, attacking like a swarm."

     "So," began Ranma, "any idea why they're hookin' up with 
the Orks?"

     Teldurin nodded. "The Orks are brutal, cunning, and 
savage. However, they are also quite stupid. A Tyrannid Hive 
Tyrant likely approached the Ork Boss, and convinced him to 
team up with them. Should the combination of the two prove 
too much for our troops, then the Tyrannids will fall upon 
the Orks, adding them to their genetic stock."

     "Jeez, that's brutal." He tugged lightly on his pigtail. 
"When are we gonna go and kick their butts back to wherever 
they came from? Assumin' they got butts, o' course."

     The Spirit Stones on the chests of the gathered Eldar 
pulsed once, then twice. "Now," said the Exarch. They 
gathered their weapons, and left the Shrine. Ranma took a 
deep breath, then followed.

     *************************************************

     Akane sat on her bed, clutching her little piglet 
tightly to her chest. "Oh, P-chan, I don't know. A friend of 
Cologne's knows something, and he might be able to bring 
Ranma back. But I don't trust her, and I don't know if I can 
trust her friend."

     "Bwee, bukwee!" squealed the little creature.

     "I know, P-chan. If it'll bring Ranma back, I have to 
help." She sighed. "But what if Cologne is bringing him back 
just to marry him off to Shampoo?"

     "Bwthhhhhp!" This was only about the second or third 
time Akane had ever heard P-chan give a raspberry.

     "P-chan! Now, that's not nice! But," she giggled, "it is 
pretty funny."

     "If he comes back... _when_ he comes back... I have to 
tell him.

     "I have to tell him I love him."

     "Bukwee? Bwee." As she lay back, a sad little piglet 
nuzzled her hand, then climbed down off the bed. With a sad 
sigh, trying to say goodbye, it looked back at her, then 
walked out the door. Right into the closet.

     *Yes, Tendou Akane, sleep. For in your sleep, you relax. 
And when you relax, you become unprepared* The shadowy figure 
clinging to the ceiling beams fought hard to stifle her 
trademark laugh. *Unprepared for the Black Rose!* Counting to 
thirty, the insane gymnast dropped, hammer in hand.






                 The Emperor's Hand
              Chapter Six: Destruction

     A hammer fell, this time not in Akane's hands, but in 
the hands of someone trying to kill her. The best part, by 
Kodachi's twisted definition, was that she wasn't doing the 
deed. The huge mallet, backed by gravity, would do it all. 
And she was just along for the ride. And, finally, with the 
death of the harridan, her Ranma-sama would be free of 
whatever trap he was currently in.

     Hearing a faint giggle, Akane's eyes opened, slowly, 
then flew open. Wood grain filled her vision, rapidly 
growing larger, and time seemed to slow. In fact, for a 
moment, it seemed that the hammer wasn't even falling 
anymore.

     That was when she noticed that the hammer was outlined 
in thousands of colors, as well as the leotard-clad girl 
holding on to it. The girl, Kodachi, was held so motionless 
as to not even be able to speak, though she was allowed to 
breathe. Suspecting who was her savior, she glanced to 
either side, and noticed the Shaman standing on thin air 
outside her window. It opened, and he stepped through.

     "Good evening, Tendou Akane. I had a... feeling... you 
would need my assistance, and Cologne _had_  asked that I 
look out for you." He smirked. "I take it this girl is not 
exactly a friend of yours?"

     She took a deep breath, and felt the tingle of 
adrenaline she didn't even notice before dying down into 
simply a rapid heartbeat. "No, she's not. She's the local 
psychopath, with an obsession for Ranma. Some friends of 
his ran into her yesterday, and warned me she was on the 
warpath. I guess I was still a little fuzzy-headed, and 
didn't lock my window."

     "Well, then," he said, "do you mind if I send her 
somewhere more suitable?"

     "Actually, allow me." Akane reached out, grabbing hold 
of the mallet's handle. The Shaman released his hold on it, 
while still restraining Kodachi. Akane spat into her hands, 
and rubbed them together. She took two practice swings, 
then hauled off and walloped the Kuno girl, right as her 
psychic ally released his telekinetic hold.

     "Remarkable," he said, watching as the gymnast soared 
off into the night. "Is there anything in the Kuno genetic 
structure that makes them so aerodynamic?"

     "I don't know." She thought it over for a minute. 
"Maybe it's part of the genes for stupidity."

     "Could be."

     ***********************************************

     Akane managed to actually make it on time to school 
the next day, as Kuno was nowhere to be seen. There was 
already a betting pool on where he was, but Nabiki wasn't 
running it. She also would not say why she didn't 
participate, which led to another betting pool.

     Lunch found Akane sitting with her sister, Ukyou, 
Yuka, Sayuri, Hiroshi, and Daisuke. The group had gathered 
together to try to make sense of what was happening. Yuka 
and Sayuri hadn't seen anything, but as they were Akane's 
friends, they were there to provide an objective opinion.

     "How do we know that this Shaman guy wasn't the one 
who took him in the first place?" asked Yuka. "You said 
that the colors around Kodachi were the same as what you 
saw when Ranma vanished."

     "I agree with Yuka," said Ukyou. "We didn't do much 
talking yesterday at the Nekohanten, and he just made the 
hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. This could have 
been one big plot to kidnap Ran-chan so he can marry 
Shampoo. You know, they take him, then spend a week or two 
pretending to try to find him, then move back to China when 
they 'can't find him'?"

     "But he seems so nice. And, he saved my life last 
night," said Akane.

     "So what. If they let you die, after all the trouble 
Ran-chan has gone through so many times to come rescue you, 
he'll go berserk if he finds out. Of course, that's just 
because he's had to rescue you so many times, eh? He'd be 
pretty mad to find out all his hard work was for nothing." 
Ukyou idly flipped her ponytail. "Of course, if he finds out 
_he's_ been kidnapped, who knows what he'll do..."

     "No." murmured Nabiki.

     "What?" asked Daisuke.

     "It's not a plot. What you're suggesting is too 
sloppy. And if this Shaman person is in on it, and has the 
power to do what we saw, then why didn't she call on him 
earlier?"  Nabiki tapped her pen against a small notebook. 
"There have been any number of times she could have called 
on him, and used him against us. Plus, if he is what he 
claims to be, he wouldn't care who marries whom."

     "Then what's up?" asked Sayuri.

     "I say we all go to the Nekohanten tomorrow, together, 
and find out. A show of force, if you will." Nabiki turned to 
Akane. "Do you trust this Shaman?"

     "I, um, actually, yes. I do. I don't know why, 
though."

     "Good. Then let's do it." Nabiki closed her notepad.

     "Umm, Nabiki," began Hiroshi, "just why wasn't Kuno at 
school today?"

     "Five thousand yen, please." Hiroshi dug out the 
required cash, and the middle Tendou daughter continued. 
"He asked me where the 'pig-tailed goddess' was, since he 
hadn't seen her in a few days. So, I sold, er, told him 
that she and Ranma left through a hole in the sky. He went 
off on a soliloquy about how this proved Ranma was a 
sorcerer, and he would free her if he had to cross the 
length and breadth of China to do so."

     "Why China?" asked Sayuri.

     "Well, I once told him that the source of Ranma's 
magic was the Springs of Jusenkyo." Nabiki smiled. "With 
any luck, he'll fall in Spring of Drowned Man With Uncommon 
Common Sense."

     Ukyou snorted. "We should be so lucky. Hey, wait a 
minute, where did Hiroshi just run off to?"

     Daisuke smiled. "He's off to collect our winnings. We 
both bet ol' Kuno was in China, and it was because you told 
him to go there, Nabiki-sempai."

     "Don't forget my 10% fee, boys."

     "Of course not."

     Ukyou remained behind as the others left for class, her 
ponytail still bouncing in her idle fingers. She knew what 
she had to talk to Akane about, but didn't know how to say 
it. And if she spoke too soon, she might attract the 
attention of the big players in whatever this was. That was 
something she didn't want. Right now, all eyes were on Akane, 
Cologne, and the Shaman.

     If everyone else found out that she had seen it just as 
clear as Akane had, there'd be a whole slew of new 
complications. Ones she didn't need. All she really needed 
was her Ran-chan back.

     Thinking for a minute, she came to a disheartening 
conclusion. From Akane's descriptions, the two girls had seen 
it almost exactly as clear. If the key really was a strong 
emotional bond with him... no, she couldn't. The tomboy is 
always hitting him, calling him a pervert, whacking him with 
that mallet. There was just no way.

     *Akane really couldn't love him as much as I do... can 
she?* came the quiet thought, in the empty lunchroom, from 
the girl with the vacant stare.

     ***********************************************

     Ranma followed Teldurin's squad of Howling Banshees to 
the staging area. He would fight along side them, just to 
the right of the Avatar, himself, and would ride in their 
Wave Serpent. As part of the main force, they would find 
themselves in the heaviest part of the fighting.

     Riding in the hover vehicle, the human prepared 
himself for the visions that would assail him as they left 
the Craftworld. In the Webway within the world-sized 
starship, the Eldar spirits within the Infinity Circuit 
kept the paths free of influence, but nothing could shield 
it once they had left the confines of Valdur Avendel. 
Before they left, the Banshees had given him a basic 
rundown on the nature of the apparitions, and the four most 
powerful gods of Chaos.

     The spiked fiends he had seen before were demons and 
spirits of Slaanesh, called the Great Enemy by the Eldar. 
As the Lord of Pleasure, he represented the corruption of 
the mind and spirit, decaying into decadence and hedonism.

     Khorne, the Blood God, was the Lord of Battle. 
Reveling in destruction for its own sake, his fervent 
followers spilled blood with every act, if possible. A 
world assailed by these berserkers could only be freed by 
the complete annihilation of the invading force.

     As a counterpart of sorts to Slaanesh, Nurgle was the 
force of decay, and disease. His pustulent champions 
lovingly spread the gift of Father Nurgle, in the form of 
virulent diseases that slew with horrifying certainty, and 
disgusting symptoms. A horrifying family, the servants of 
Nurgle only seek to spread the infection of their god's 
influence.

     Finally, there was Tzeentch, the Lord of Change. 
Patient, and powerful, he set plans in motion that could 
take generations to come to fruition. He infiltrated 
governments, and guided conspiracies. If his Machiavellian 
manipulations failed to bring about his beloved Change, he 
would simply utilize his greatest power, magic. As the 
greatest magicians of the four Chaos powers, this mystic 
might was formidable, indeed.

     Of these four, Ranma wondered which he would see in 
the Webway this evening. They were going to battle, so he 
suspected he would see the spirits of Khorne, the Blood 
God. He was wrong.

     Humanoid figures feebly scratched at the Wave Serpent, 
their flesh flowing and changing like melted wax. Brilliant 
blues shimmered through the spectrum to greens, yellows, 
and reds, and energies unknown to mortal man danced to a 
mindless rhythm. The rhythm caught the mind's eye, gifting 
it with visions, even as it robbed it of sense. Only with 
great effort did Ranma tear his eyes away from the display 
sent by Tzeentch.

     With a flare of natural sunlight, the Eldar forces left 
the Webway, and emerged on the desert planet where the young 
man had first appeared. At the moment, the only sign of any 
conflict was the soft, decayed bodies of the Orks. The 
greenskins were a fungus based life-form, and faded into 
mulch far more rapidly than their opponents. The Eldar bodies 
were gone, leaving behind their weapons and armor, something 
to be salvaged once the world had been reclaimed. He did not 
know what had happened to the bodies of the Eldar, and 
decided not to ask.

     A great dust cloud whipped up behind the swift vehicles, 
suppressed only slightly by a dispersal in the ranks. Shortly 
before the Orks and Tyrannids came into sight, they would 
spot the dust, and begin opening fire with their long-range 
artillery. Whereas Ork artillery was haphazard, and 
relatively conventional, the rounds fired from the living 
Tyrannid guns consisted of bio-acids, or explosive spores, or 
even pods that erupted into clouds of voracious things, fully 
capable of consuming the psychoplastic structures of the 
Eldar vehicles as easily as flesh and bone. So, about a mile 
from the point where they could be spotted, the Avatar 
commanded his forces to halt.

     "Dismount your vehicles! Jetbikes and Shining Spears, 
you will go with the Vypers on a flanking attack, arcing far 
to the north. Make your arc big enough that we will be upon 
them before they can react to your dust cloud. Falcons, you 
do the same. Pilots of the Wave Serpents, follow two miles 
behind. The rest, disperse, in a wedge. Banshees and 
Scorpions with me, at point. Fire Dragons, you are behind and 
to either side. Dire Avengers, take center. Dark Reapers, you 
will be behind them. Guardians, you take position between the 
Banshees and Scorpions." The great Avatar cocked his head, 
speaking telepathically with the remainder of his forces. 
Ranma took position with the Banshees, and easily kept pace 
with their rapid advance.

     As they trekked across the sands, Teldurin reached down 
to her belt, and handed a colorful, ornate mask to the human. 
"Wear this, Anial Gorwydd. It is the mask of a Harlequin, 
gifted to me two hundred years ago. It will help protect you 
from the psychic screams of our own masks, as well as protect 
your eyes from the glare of the sands."

     He accepted it, bowing as much as he could as the brisk 
jog. "Domo arigato, Exarch-sempai. It's an honor, an' it 
probably would be even more o' one if I knew what a Harlequin 
was." He smiled, and fastened it over his face.

     Nothing really seemed different - until he glanced over 
at the left flank. There, he spotted several Guardians, 
wearing cloaks that shifted with the sands. The lenses of the 
mask made them visible to him, and he was glad. He'd hate to 
have accidentally blasted one while fighting, if he didn't 
know they were there.

     All too soon, they made contact with the enemy. At 
first, the only foes they encountered were the Hormagants. 
They bounded into the Eldar lines slashing away with four 
scythe-like arms, sometimes leaping as far as ten meters in 
their frenzy to tear at the Aspect Warriors. However, most of 
them were blown apart by the heavy firepower carried by the 
Fire Dragons and the Dark Reapers, or sliced into pieces by 
the powerswords and chainswords of the Howling Banshees and 
the Striking Scorpions. 

     Hot on the heels of the Hormagants came the Orks, 
however. Not as fast as the insectoids, the sheer numbers of 
the greenskins, and their toughness, made them more fearsome 
opponents. For every one slain, two more took its place. 
Ranma glanced at the Avatar, who merely nodded. Diving over 
the heads of the Banshees, he landed deep within the Ork mob. 
Bodies started flying, as he unconsciously imitated Akane's 
method of dealing with the Horde o' Hentais that would attack 
her every morning when he first arrived. Sweeping blows 
rendered row after row unconscious, and their ranks dwindled 
with every minute.

     On the left flank, hideous red and purple Genestealers 
began shredding every Guardian they came across. Some few 
managed to fire their weapons, but the shuriken catapults 
failed to kill enough of them to save themselves. Eldar blood 
sprayed across the sands, as shards of devastated armor flew 
like petals on the wind.

     Like a hurricane of rage, the Avatar then dove in among 
the creatures. Bone talons raked harmlessly against the hot 
iron crust of the god's body, while the Suin Dallae sliced 
through several of the creatures at a time. Following close 
behind him, the Fire Dragons rushed in, their fusion guns 
vaporizing the Genestealers.

     By now, the battle was a swirling, chaotic mess. The 
Eldar squads stayed together only thanks to the telepathy of 
the Farseers and Warlocks, while they were beset on all sides 
by both the crude war machines of the Orks, and the genetic 
nightmares of the Tyrannids. Forced to fall back, Teldurin's 
squad gathered around her, and strove through a mass of 
Termagants to reach a hard-pressed unit of Dire Avengers. 
Together, the Aspect Warriors cleared a foothold, and began 
to link up with other harried units.

     Slicing through a Lictor that barred his way, the Avatar 
approached Ranma, and motioned with his great black blade. 
"Mortal, the Hive Tyrant is there. If we slay him, they lose 
their cohesion. But he is too well guarded by Carnifexes and 
Lictors."

     Recovering from a spinning back kick, Ranma glanced over 
there. "Yeah? How can I help? Want me ta blast a way 
through?"

     "No," said the Avatar, backhanding a Tyrannid Warrior as 
it tried to attack him from the rear. "Do what you did back 
on the Craftworld. To me."

     "What?"

     "Do it." The Avatar's voice would brook no disagreement. 
He charged the pigtailed martial artist, sword swipes 
seemingly aimed at him, but unerringly striking down the Orks 
and Tyrannids around them. Ranma found himself falling back 
into the familiar spiral, avoiding both the strikes of his 
erstwhile ally, and the foes that surrounded him. When the 
spiral was complete, he threw the uppercut of cold chi, right 
as the Avatar leapt into the air.

     Amazed, the Human watched as the Avatar flew into the 
air, riding the tornado. It launched him high into the sky, 
until he was barely visible. Ducking a claw swipe from a 
Carnifex, Ranma turned his attention back to the battle, but 
kept one eye on the falling god.

     An immense creature, the Hive Tyrant fired its bio-
explosive cannon at a safe range. Its creatures knew where it 
would fire next, and avoided the area, but it did not care if 
its Ork allies were caught in the devastation. So far, none 
of the Eldar were within close combat, but, if they were, a 
living Bonesword would make short work of them. Laughing with 
unholy glee, it noticed something above it.

     At first little more than a dark spot, the silhouette 
resolved itself into over two thousand pounds of half-molten 
iron, falling pell-mell straight at it, sword point first. 
With only enough time to fire a single shot, the Hive Tyrant 
was dismayed to see the living grenade miss. Then, the Avatar 
was on it. The nine foot blade drove deep through the thing's 
brain, even as its heavy feet shattered the carapace on its 
shoulders. What was left of the Hive Tyrant collapsed under a 
ton of hate.

     Bereft of guidance, the creatures surrounding the Avatar 
panicked, and attacked randomly. Some were able to swing at 
the god, others swung at nearby Orks, while most merely got 
in each others' way. Meanwhile, the Wailing Doom sliced 
through foe after foe. 

     On the other end of the battlefield, Ranma faced off 
against a huge Ork. It was wearing extremely heavy armor, and 
one hand was covered in a huge robotic arm. Grunting in its 
crude language, it swung the heavy thing at the human. Ranma 
easily dodged it, and dropped down below the return swing. 
With a cry of "Kashu Tenshin Amaguriken!", his hand blurred, 
repeatedly striking the plate armor in a single spot. In 
seconds, the armor shattered, and the next three punches sent 
the huge greenskin flying thirty feet.

     A wisp of wind brushed his neck, and he spun with a 
dragon tail sweep. His heel caught against a hoof the size of 
his chest, which failed to knock the great beast down. A 
Carnifex, four slicing blades crossing like obscene scissors 
across its chest, trying to cut down the Human. "Oh, great. 
As long as this thing doesn't drool on me, I should be fine." 
He jumped, landing on the top of the monstrosity's head. 
Howling in confusion, it struggled to reach its top pair of 
pincers up to him, and he simply leapt straight up. A loud 
kiai, and his Mokou Takabisha lanced down at the beast, 
knocking it to its knees.  Dropping in front of it, he lashed 
out with the strongest roundhouse kick he could muster. Even 
though the Tyrannids creatures were more like demons than 
Human, he couldn't kill them. Even the Orks he faced were 
simply knocked out.

     That was when he discovered that Teldurin's squad was 
killing the foes he rendered unconscious.

     ***********************************************

     Night fell quietly, and without fanfare. It had been 
over four days since the disappearance, and no one really 
knew what anyone was doing about it.

     "I'm telling you, Nabiki, she's hiding something." Akane 
clenched her fists at her side. "I say we go over there right 
now, and find out!"

     "Calm down, Imoutochan. The first thing we have to do is 
review the evidence, then use Occam's Razor to determine the 
most likely situation." Nabiki stretched her legs, and rolled 
over onto her stomach.

     "A razor? How do we get this Occam guy to let us borrow 
it?" asked Akane.

     Nabiki laughed. "No, Akane, Occam's Razor is a concept. 
Basically, it means that the simplest solution that meets the 
available evidence is the most likely truth."

     "Hm. Makes sense to me."

     "Exactly my point. Now, first," Nabiki ticked off a 
finger, "Ranma was taken through a hole in the sky by a 
glowing hand, both of which were lined in, as you put it, a 
thousand shimmering colors.

     "Second, only those with a positive emotional bond with 
Ranma of some sort, whether friendship or love, who were in a 
position to see it, _could_ see it." She nodded to herself. 
"Of course, there were a few who may or may not have a 
positive emotional bond with him who did not see it, mostly 
because they were inside at the time.

     "Third, Cologne knows a seemingly young man, who claims 
to be an immortal shaman, whose so-called psychic powers have 
the same sort of signature as the phenomenon that took Ranma. 
On the other hand, this individual saved your life from 
Kodachi last night.

     "Fourth, by your own story, Shampoo was just as shocked 
as you were to see what happened. And we both know how bad of 
an actress she is," noted Nabiki.

     Akane muttered, "Yeah, at least when she's not wearing a 
reversal jewel."

     "Be that as it may, the evidence suggests that this 
Shaman, or someone with an almost identical power signature, 
is responsible for Ranma's disappearance. That is definite." 
She placed her chin in her hand. "The real question is why."

     "What's to say that Cologne didn't put him up to it?" 
asked the youngest Tendou daughter.

     "The fact that this individual saved your life. If she 
knew exactly what was happening, she would have no need to 
ask him to keep an eye on you." Nabiki sat up on her bed. "As 
it is, with the clearest image of the gateway and hand, you 
have the strongest link to what happened to your Fiance. 
Thus, if she was in on it, she would more likely try to have 
you removed from the picture, rather than try to keep you 
alive.

     "No, Akane, she's about as much in the dark as we are. 
Right now, the lynchpin to this whole scenario seems to be 
the Shaman."

     "Well, what's the key?" asked Akane.

     "I don't know, Imoutochan." Nabiki sighed. "I don't 
know."







                 The Emperor's Hand
              Chapter Seven: Dissention

     "I don't care what you say, I will not kill!"

     "Ranma, how can a battle be won if the enemy aren't 
slain?" Teldurin was utterly baffled by the Human. On the 
one hand, he was one of the best fighter that he had ever 
seen; on the other, he was adamant against killing.

     "By knocking them out! Look, it's just wrong to kill, 
and I won't do it." He crossed his arms, and looked away, 
eyes closed.

     Teldurin threw up her hands in frustration. "Boy, those 
creatures we fought yesterday were dedicated to destroying 
all life that is not theirs! It's either us, or them."

     "I don't think we'll ever agree on this, Exarch-sama, so 
let's just leave it at that." He turned, and walked out of 
the shrine, stopping only to pay respects to the spirits.

     "Exarch Teldurin, I don't get it," said Allyria, one of 
the other Banshees. "Most Human warriors we have encountered 
have been as bloodthirsty as any Ork. This one though... he 
hurts even for the death of a Tyrannid. Is he perhaps brain 
damaged?"

     "No, he is not. Child, do you remember what is said of 
the Eldar right before the domination by the original Mon-
Keigh?" asked the taller Eldar woman.

     "I do not. I, er, really didn't pay attention to our 
legends."

     Teldurin sighed. "It is said that, though they were 
mighty warriors, they didn't kill their foes. It was that 
fact that allowed the Mon-Keigh to conquer us. It was only 
when we finally grew the will to slay them that we were able 
to throw off their yoke.

     "Allyria, perhaps the Humans are closer to us than we 
allow ourselves to believe." The two Eldar women looked at 
each other for a moment, one masked and the other not. 

     "Naaah," they said in unison. The younger warrior 
snapped down her practice mask, and they began to spar.

     **************************************************

     The Nekohanten was deserted when the Furinkan crew 
walked in. It seemed that someone had spread the word that 
there might be a confrontation there, so the regular lunch 
crowd decided to find somewhere safer to eat. Akane and Ukyou 
led the way in, with Nabiki bringing up the rear, and the 
others huddled in the middle. Hiroshi and Daisuke weren't 
complaining about how tightly the nervous Yuka and Sayuri 
were holding on to them, and weren't going to say anything 
that make the girls notice.

     Cologne watched dispassionately as they entered her 
home. Shampoo's hands itched for her Bonbori, assuming there 
was going to be conflict, while Mousse edged towards one of 
the corners, for a better view and better range. The Shaman, 
however, continued to sit at a center table. "Come, come, 
I've been expecting you," he said.

     The Amazon Matriarch flashed him an irritated glance. 
"You could have let me know, Shaman."

     "Oh, don't worry. And, Shampoo, Mousse, please relax, 
and sit down. Let's put some of these tables together, and 
see if we can come to some answers together." He motioned to 
the two high school boys. "Hiroshi, Daisuke, give Mousse a 
hand with that table. I'll get that one over there."

     As the three teenagers easily manhandled the table into 
position beside the first, a thousand shimmering colors lined 
a third one. It levitated slightly off the ground, and 
drifted into its own position on the other side of the first 
table. Chairs then glowed, and slid across the floor into 
their appropriate positions. "Please, everyone, sit down."

     Nabiki chose a chair directly across from the Shaman. 
"Let's get down to business. Everyone in my little entourage 
here, except for Yuka and Sayuri, saw the phenomenon, as did 
Shampoo. We have already given you all the information we 
can. Now, it's time for you to be a little more forthcoming. 
Give us some information, something we can work with. You may 
be ten thousand years old, but that doesn't give you a 
monopoly on rational thought."

     The seemingly young man nodded. "Very well. I guess the 
first place to start is an explanation of what psychic 
powers actually are. The public perception is of Uri Gellar, 
straining to slowly bend a spoon, or the gypsy with her Tarot 
cards. Some think of the science fiction approach, like in 
the movie Akira, or the Force from Star Wars.

     "In actuality, psykers are closer to workers of magic, 
or users of Chi. However, where mages call upon energies or 
entities from the universe, and Chi masters utilize their own 
energies, the psyker draws on energies from outside this 
universe. Specifically, they draw upon what is called the 
Warp.

     "The Warp is a region between universes, a continuum of 
pure thought and energy. Every sentient being has a shadow in 
the Warp, an echo of thought and emotion. If the thoughts and 
emotions are strong enough, they can resonate with what we 
call reality. As well, there are those whose essences are 
rather tightly bound to the Warp, despite the strength of 
their will or emotion. These can utilize psychic powers with 
little or no effort. At least, that is how it was ten 
thousand years ago."

     "Well, what happened?" asked Ukyou. She had taken a seat 
as far away from the Shaman as possible.

     "It seems that there was an ancient race whose every 
member was so bound to the Warp. They even built semi-
permanent gates through the Warp, for use in traveling from 
point to point. Another, more brutish race, conquered them, 
and it took them a few centuries to free themselves. After 
they had succeeded, they grew, and expanded throughout the 
galaxy. They grew in culture and in power, until even stars 
lived and died at their whim.

     "Unfortunately, such unprecedented growth leads to 
unprecedented decadence. They grew corrupt, and their 
hedonism grew until it knew no bounds. Acts that would shock 
and horrify even the ancient Greeks were commonplace to these 
jaded souls. Their system of gates grew to the point where 
they need merely walk out of their front door, to find 
themselves anywhere in the galaxy. Their advanced 
technologies were left to rot, as they grew more and more 
insular, and perverted.

     "A small number of this race eschewed the corruption of 
their once mighty race, and left in fleets from their 
homeworlds. Then they discovered the true horror of what had 
befallen their people.

     "As I have said, the Warp echoes strong emotion, and 
thought forms. These echoes and eddies also gather together, 
and gather into storms in the Warp. Since the energies and 
thought and life are part of the energies of the Warp, these 
storms are actually alive, and sentient. With the billions 
and billions of debauched hedonists that dwelled on the alien 
homeworlds, this gathered into a hideously immense storm.

     "In a single night, this storm gained true awareness, 
and consumed the life of every member of this race that had 
spawned it. Countless billions died at once, and their 
screams of terror echoed all the way to Earth. The entity so 
created was called Slaanesh, the Lord of Pleasure and 
Perversion. Only those who had left their homeworlds, and 
devoted themselves to a ritualistic and aesthetic existence, 
were spared.

     "The ancient shamans, from whom I received the power I 
now have, felt this scream, and discovered that Slaanesh was 
not alone. Other races in other galaxies had fallen to other 
urges, and their psychic death screams created other hideous, 
dark storms in the Warp. These storms were the Gods of Chaos. 
So, the shamans of old decided to take a path that they 
believed would prevent Mankind from ever falling prey to one 
of these Chaos Gods, or creating one of their own. I am the 
result of that path.

     "With a combination of magic and psychic powers, they 
bound Humanity's psychic potential into me. So long as I 
live, Mankind should be unable to even perceive the Warp, let 
alone echo it into reality. At least, that was the plan.

     "As the number of human beings on Earth grows, so does 
my power. However, I am less and less able to seal away that 
potential from others. If a child is born with the potential 
for psychic powers, and he is not shielded by my power, then 
he could grow into a powerful threat, for he would be a 
channel for demons of the Chaos Gods to reach Earth, by way 
of possession. Without some sort of guidance or seal, he 
would have no defense.

     "By the year 1999, there will be over six billion people 
on Earth. Shortly thereafter, the seal will crack. By 2014, 
it will break. Then I must be ready to guide the emerging 
psykers, to help shield them from Chaos. Otherwise, all is 
lost."

     "Fascinating," said Nabiki. The other teenagers were 
just a little too boggled to say anything. "Only one 
question- how does this apply to us?"

     "Since psychic powers are an echo of an individual's 
thoughts, they will have a definite signature, unique to each 
individual. My signature is the 'thousand swirling colors' 
effect you have noted. I definitely do not have the power to 
do what has been done, nor will I for many millennia to 
come."

     "Okay. The next question is, can your power reach 
through time?" Nabiki scratched the back of one hand, then 
continued. "More appropriately, why would you do it?"

     "I don't really know. To both questions, I don't know." 

     **************************************************

     Ardallan stood outside the chamber that was serving as 
Ranma's room. He knocked silently, and waited for the Human 
to acknowledge him before entering. "Boy, your statements 
about killing have completely confused the Exarchs. They 
can't decide if you're mad, or touched by one of the gods." 

     "I won't kill," stated the pigtailed martial artist.

     "Why?" asked the Warlock. "If it is war, then one either 
kills the enemy, or one is killed, instead. An unconscious 
enemy can come back to kill your friends. A dead one can't."

     "But an unconscious enemy can be your ally, later. Or 
even a friend. A dead one can't." Unbidden, images flickered 
through Ranma's head. His childhood, and another little boy, 
the two of them eating... okonomiyaki? Years later, fighting 
that boy on a giant hot plate. Discovering the boy was really 
a girl, and rather cute at that. Rediscovering friendship, 
but friendship clouded by his father's actions, something he 
didn't understand.

     "What was that thought form?" asked Ardallan. "It was 
strong enough for me to see it without trying."

     "I... I don't know. All I know is that she's my best 
friend." He sat down on the pallet that had been his bed for 
the last several weeks. "Why?"

     The Warlock held his expression carefully neutral. 
"Because that memory felt as if it is several thousand years 
old." Sitting down beside the Human, he took a deep breath, 
the better to carefully phrase his next question. "Anial 
Gorwydd, will you let me into your mind? I may be able to 
awaken those memories that haunt you so."

     Ranma stared out across the room for several quiet 
moments. An uneasy quiet spread through the ensuing minutes. 
Finally, he answered, "Yeah. But on one condition."

     "And what is that?"

     "If there's anythin' bad in 'em, don't edit it out. I 
wanna remember it all." The look in the martial artist's eyes 
convinced Ardallan of the seriousness of the question.

     Nodding his head, the Warlock closed his eyes, and 
entered the mind of Saotome Ranma, known as Anial Gorwydd, 
the Wild Stallion, to the Eldar.

     **************************************************

     Ardallan flashed through the clear memories of the past 
few weeks. The battle on the desert world, sparring with the 
Avatar, being allowed into the Banshee Shrine, and his 
arrival on the Blasted Patch of Blood-soaked Sand. Then, 
absolutely nothing.

     For a thousand years of potential memories, his essence 
drifted in the human's mind, encountering no memories at all. 
Two thousand. Five thousand. Ten thousand. Still no sign of 
any thought forms at all, let alone those bursts of memory 
Ranma seemed to exhibit.

     At fourteen thousand years of empty memories, he passed 
the age of the oldest Eldar on Valdur Avendel. Drifting with 
all the strength he had dedicated to staying on course, he 
sunk deeper, back twenty thousand years before. Finally, at 
just over thirty thousand years, Ranma's subconscious 
exploded into memory.

     Unable to cope with the myriad of images, thoughts, 
feelings, and impressions, Ardallan merely latched on to them 
all, and sent them to the young man. Sixteen years of life 
and training, culminating in six months of pure excitement 
and frustration, caught up with the Human at once. But the 
clearest memories of all were faces.

     Three young women, all about his age, all three 
beautiful. But, one's face was tinged with a predatory 
hunger, framed by purple hair. A second's was tainted by 
madness, encircled by a spinning ribbon. And the third's face 
haunted by desire, but uncertainty, wavering between 
friendship and love.

     Two older men. One was balding and round faced, wearing 
a pair of glasses, the other with long black hair, and a 
bushy mustache. Both were laughing in friendship with each 
other.

     Two young men, faces contorted by hate. One wore an 
orange and black bandanna, with small fangs, and carried an 
umbrella, while the other had very long hair, and wore 
glasses thick enough to give him sight, but nearly blind 
anyone else who wore them. Both had put aside their hate for 
now, to help out their greatest rival.

     Two more young women, one with a long ponytail and an 
apron, the other younger, with short hair and a sardonic 
expression. A feeling of contentedness and home, with a 
little apprehension for the younger of the two.

     Two ancient figures, wizened with age. One was male, and 
nearly bald, laughing and cavorting, with a large sack on his 
shoulder, and a crowd of women chasing him. Hate and a small 
amount of respect mingled at the sight. The other, a woman, 
with strong, white hair longer than she was tall, and a 
gnarled staff she hopped upon. Respect and distrust, echoed 
in Ranma's mind at the memory of her face.

     And there was her. The short hair, the smile that made 
it all worthwhile, and the reason he would dive into a 
dragon's mouth. They would fight, and argue, and he would get 
clobbered, but nothing would ever get through him to hurt 
her, if he could help it. Not even a god, he swore.

     Then, the shock of the massive thrust of memories caught 
up with them, and both the Human and the Warlock passed out, 
a silent psychic scream echoing through the Infinity Circuit.





 
                 The Emperor's Hand
             Chapter Eight: Dedication

     The Furinkan crew walked slowly away from the 
Nekohanten. They had learned more than they wanted to about 
how psychic powers worked, and not enough about how to rescue 
Ranma from wherever, or whenever, he was. "We've got to get 
him back, Nabiki. We have to!" exclaimed Ukyou.

     Abruptly, Nabiki stopped. Hiroshi, right behind her, did 
as well. Daisuke didn't stop in time, and collided with his 
friend, sending them both rather rapidly to the pavement. 
Somehow, they managed to be that clumsy without knocking 
anyone over, except each other.

     "What is it, Oneechan?" asked Akane.

     "It was right in front of me. I missed the most obvious 
clue of all!" She slapped her forehead, and grumbled, "We're 
going back, right now." She turned on her heel, and began 
striding back to the cafe. 

     By this time, the two young men had managed to untangle 
themselves, and reached their feet. "Whaddya think she's 
figured out?" asked Hiroshi.

     "I have absolutely no idea," said Daisuke. With a shrug, 
they turned, and marched down the street with their distaff 
companions.

     Back at the Nekohanten, the Shaman turned to Cologne. 
"Oh, just for your information, they're coming back. You can 
tell Mousse to put the tables back together again."

     "At least you've warned me this time," groused the old 
Matriarch. "Mousse, do as he said." She turned, and hopped 
back to the kitchen to prepare some ramen for the visitors 
they were soon to have.

     Less than five minutes later, the Furinkan crew 
returned. They found their places already set for them, and 
the two younger Amazons sitting down, ready for another 
lecture from the Shaman, or whatever would happen next. 
Nabiki headed straight for her seat, sat down, and started 
in. "Shaman, can you contact the remnants of this psychic 
race?"

     "Well, I believe so. I've met one or two, before; that's 
why I know what I do about them. Why?"

     Slurping down a spoonful of ramen, the young woman 
simply said, "They're all psychic. Thus, you can contact them 
telepathically. They have artificial tunnels through the 
Warp. The Warp is the source of all psychic power. An 
apparently future version of yourself took Ranma, apparently 
to the future. Thus, the Warp can extend through time..."

     "...And their tunnels in the Warp might reach through 
time as well as space!" blurted Mousse. Finding every eye on 
him, he shrunk back down in his seat. "Sorry."

     "Don't be, Mousse, that was absolutely correct." Nabiki 
fixed him with a predatory gaze. "If you're as smart as that 
when you're not chasing Shampoo, you might actually be a 
worthwhile catch." *Heh,* she thought, *let that one sit in 
for a few, and let's see what happens. Oh, well, on to 
business.*

     Mousse blushed, Shampoo grumbled, and the Shaman sat in 
his chair, eyes closed. As the gathered individuals waited, 
in an uncomfortable silence, Nabiki noticed a halo of a 
thousand, swirling colors lining his head. On top of that, 
was a similar aura, but one more resembling purplish shifting 
flames. Soon, the glow faded, and the ancient young man 
opened his eyes. "It is done. An old friend of mine will be 
here on the morrow. Let us eat, and wait until then."

     ****************************************************

     No less than thirty Eldar, mostly Aspect Warriors, 
clustered around the entrance of Ranma's chamber. The psychic 
scream had drawn them, most concerned for Ardallan, but at 
least some concerned for the Human, as well.

     Slowly, the two woke up, the Warlock first. Both were 
groggy, but otherwise okay. Eldaveril, Ardallan's daughter, 
and Aspect Warrior of the Banshee Shrine, helped her father 
to his feet, then put a hand on the young man's shoulder. 
"Anial Gorwydd, are you alright?"

     "Unh, yeah. Feel like I just went about twenty rounds 
with Tarou and Ryouga at the same time." He shook his head, 
then looked around. "Um, Ardallan, I'm not so sure this was 
such a good idea."

     "Oh?" murmured the Eldar psyker. "Wha' makes y' say 
that?" He, too, shook his head to clear the cobwebs out of 
it.

     " 'Cause I remember somethin' else, now. Um, can I have 
a glass of water?"

     Ardallan laughed. "Don't worry about Jusenkyo, young 
man. I felt the strength of the curse when I touched your 
memories, and I don't think it could last thirty thousand 
years."

     "Thirty thousand years? Jusenkyo? Father, what are you 
talking about?" asked Eldaveril.

     "It seems that Ranma, here, is the most ancient mortal 
on the Craftworld, now. The only thing puzzling me is where 
you have been for all the time between your last memory, and 
when you appeared among us." The Warlock shrugged, an all-too 
human gesture. "We can worry about this later. You may not be 
willing to kill, even in battle, but the rest of us must 
carry on with the war."

     "Yeah, the last thing I remember was Akane booting me in 
the head. And I thought the Hive Master, or whatever, was 
killed. What else is there to fight?" Ranma glanced at the 
Banshee. "Isn't it over?"

     "Sorry, no." Teldurin stepped into the room, as the rest 
of the Eldar wandered away. "We destroyed one Hive Tyrant. 
Perhaps he was the strongest, but there are several such 
creatures within the Tyrannid Fleet. The war goes on, and 
will likely last several months. You will accompany us no 
more, for the sake of your rather delicate sensibilities."

     Ranma nodded. He didn't like not being allowed to fight, 
but he knew he'd be asked to kill if he did go with them. 
"Yeah, well, anyway, I'm not so sure about that business 
about my curse, anyway, Ardallan. How can I be sure?"

     "We can always test it. Come on, let us go to eat. I'm 
sure your friends have a lot of war stories to tell." The 
Warlock put his hand on the martial artist's shoulder. "And 
you can now return the favor."

     Looking up at Ardallan, Ranma nodded. "More than you 
know. More than you... wait a minute, more than they know."

     ****************************************************

     Night came to Nerima in the usual manner, with an 
orbital Kuno. In this case, it was Tatewake, who assailed 
Akane on the way home from the Nekohanten. In return for his 
affection, he received a size six shoe, and a size eighty-
seven spatula.

     "Honestly, you'd think he'd learn," groused the youngest 
Tendou. "But, no, he keeps trying it."

     Yuka poked Sayuri in the ribs. "Hey, at least he's not 
after us, huh?"

     Sayuri glanced behind her as she noticed the two boys 
plotting together. "Maybe not, but..."

     She was cut off by a glomp, as Hiroshi and Daisuke 
attached themselves to the two girls. In an eerie stereo, 
they proclaimed, "Oh, my wild beauty, defeat me and I will 
allow you to date with me!"

     Ukyou broke out laughing, Akane shook her head, and Yuka 
wailed, "Hey, martial artists, we could use a little help 
here!" She struggled, but couldn't escape the grasping hands 
of Hiroshi.

     The okonomiyaki chef got control of herself, and 
chortled, "Sorry, you guys are on your own this time."

     "I don't know, I kind of like it," said Sayuri, 
snuggling up to the boy behind her. In response, Daisuke 
fainted in response to an intense nosebleed. "Works like a 
charm."

     Hiroshi grinned. "Sorry, Yuka, won't work on me!"

     "Maybe not... but this will!" One sharp elbow to the gut 
later, and she was free. "See you two tomorrow, at school," 
she said sweetly.

     "Sure... thing..." gasped the young man. "Later..."

     Dinner at the Tendou home was slightly more animated 
than it had been on the previous few nights. Genma was in 
human form, since Nodoka had gone home earlier that day, and 
Akane even managed to steal a little bit of food from his 
plate. "Well, daughter," said Soun. "You must have gotten 
some good news today."

     "Maybe. But I don't want to talk about it, right now."
She quickly downed a bite of yakisoba. "I might jinx it if I 
do."

     "Now, Akane, no need to be superstitious," said Nabiki.

     "Why not? If there's water-activated shapeshifting 
curses, powerful chi attacks, mirrors that can send people 
through time... did I just say what I thought I did?" Akane 
stopped, chopsticks halfway between her plate and her mouth.

     "Imoutochan, you are a genius. Happosai mentioned last 
month he still had the remnants of the Nanban Mirror... at 
least, he made a threat to that extent... and it may be in 
his room." Nabiki set down her chopsticks. "I'll be right 
back." She stood up, and headed upstairs.

     Soun looked back and forth between his middle and 
youngest daughter. "Am I missing something here?"

     Akane giggled. "Yes, daddy. Your dinner. Uncle Saotome 
just snatched it all up."

     "GENMA!"

     >SPLASH!<

     -I'm just a cute and cuddly panda- said the sign.

     ****************************************************

     "Good grief, he's got a lot of underwear... female, that 
is," muttered Nabiki as she rifled through Happosai's 
drawers. "Nothing but panties and bras."

     The door opened, and she looked up. There, in the 
doorway, was Akane. "Found it, yet?"

     She sighed. "Not yet. But I did find that pair of Batz 
Maru panties you've been missing for the past three months."

     "Wonderful. What about his closet?" asked the younger 
girl.

     "Haven't tried it yet. Be my guest."

     Akane stepped over one of the piles of unmentionables, 
and reached for the closet door. She turned the handle, and 
an ominous creak foretold her doom. Hundreds, if not 
thousands, of panties, bras, negligees, teddies, bustiers, 
and many more such garments cascaded down on her.

     "Hey, look, Akane, there's a box here," said Nabiki.

     "MMMMMPHH!!" garbled the younger girl, through many 
layers of lingerie. 

     "I'll get you out in a minute," said her sister. "I've 
just got to get this box out of here."

     "GLLRMPH!!!"

     "Oh, alright." Nabiki started digging, finally seeing a 
hand. Grabbing it, she braced herself, and hauled her sister 
to her feet. "Happy now?"

     "You could have helped me up sooner!" complained Akane.

     "Please, I got you up, and didn't charge you anything." 
She motioned to the box. "Let's look through all this junk, 
and see if we can find the mirror."

     Ten scrolls, two books, assorted odd pieces of 
underwear, two old sword hilts, three crystal balls, three 
yellow balls with assorted numbers of stars on them, and one 
tiger-striped bikini later, they had found it. Or, at least, 
what was left of it. It was in fragments, hastily taped back 
together, and back in the frame. 

     The sisters looked at each other, and down at the 
mirror. Nabiki spoke first. "You go downstairs, and get an 
onion and a knife. I'll clean up a little in here." Akane 
nodded, and left the room, not noticing her sister pocket a 
particularly pretty, and rather large, ruby.

     A moment later, the younger girl returned. "Got it," she 
said. The sisters crouched over the mirror, and Akane 
carefully sliced the onion. Rubbing one half below her eyes, 
she let a tear drop on it. "Take us to Ranma," she said.

     The mirror glowed briefly, then a large spark jumped 
from it. The fragments stopped glowing, and shattered in the 
frame. "You know," said Nabiki, "I don't think it's going to 
work. But it was worth a try."

     Akane's shoulders slumped. "Yeah. But it seemed like the 
perfect answer."

     "Don't worry," said the older girl. "We'll be seeing the 
Shaman's friend tomorrow. Maybe he... she... it... whatever 
it is, will be able to help us."

     "Maybe..."

     "C'mon, Akane, let's go. It's early in the evening, 
let's go get some ice cream. We're going Dutch, of course."

     ****************************************************

     Somewhere in the darkness of the night, time and space 
gathered their threads together, and spread them in a 
graceful arc. The warp and weft of reality folded through 
that arc, as the Eldar Webway opened on Tokyo Tower. Through 
this path stepped a lone figure, dressed in brilliant hues 
and patterns. The colors clashed, and wove themselves in 
patterns on his garments that threatened all good taste. On 
his face was a vibrant green and orange mask, and various 
scarves of bright colors were tied around his waist, thigh, 
and belt. Seconds later, time and space resumed their normal 
course, sealing the rift without a trace.

     "Welcome, Solitaire," came a voice behind him. The 
figure turned around, and saw a young Human stepping out of 
the shadows. "I'm glad you responded so quickly."

     "Your mind-call was most urgent, Shaman. It took me 
hours to find a Webway portal to this world. I trust that it 
is vital enough to take me from my people?" The Solitaire 
crossed his arms, waiting for the Human to answer him.

     "There is a boy lost in time, possibly by my own hand. 
My companions seek the assistance of your people. It is 
possible that the Webway spans time, in addition to space, is 
it not?"

     The colorful figure snorted. "Hmph. A single boy. I am 
one of the few capable fighters my people have, and you would 
take me away from them for the sake of a single child of a 
primitive race."

     "There are other factors involved. As I said, it 
appeared that I was the one who plucked him from this time, 
to pull him to what will be the present for me." The young 
man bowed. "Shall we discuss this somewhere more comfortable, 
over a light meal?"

     "Let us go, then," responded the Solitaire. A thousand 
shimmering colors surrounded the Shaman and his guest, and 
they levitated off the observation deck. A half-second later, 
and they were winging their way back to the Nekohanten.





                 The Emperor's Hand
            Chapter Nine: Demonstration

     It was roughly ten o'clock, and both Nabiki and Akane 
were skipping school. This was rather unusual, but also 
understandable. They were also walking into the Nekohanten, 
to meet this friend of the Shaman's. The sign said 'closed', 
but the door was open. "Cologne, we're here!"

     "Children," came the reply, "we're in the back."

     They passed through the dining room, and into the store 
room for the cafe. Mousse, Shampoo, Cologne, and the Shaman 
were there, as well as one of the most colorful sights they 
had seen. The figure was roughly human-shaped, but almost 
seven feet tall, and extremely slender. He wore a rainbow of 
colors in a multitude of patterns, scarves, and tassels. On 
his face, he wore a green and red mask, that was a parody of 
a frowning face. His head was covered by a black hood, with 
bright purple metal studs. "This," said the Shaman, "is a 
Solitaire, and the one I sought to contact."

     The figure bowed, and a voice issued forth from his 
mask. "I still do not know why I should help a Mon-Keigh, but 
I owe the Shaman a favor." He crossed his arms. "I will help, 
but this evens the scales between us."

     "Alright, Mr. Solitaire, let's get down to business. 
What _can_ you do to help us?" Nabiki put on her 'business' 
face, which would make the Gambling King jealous.

     "Think of him. Picture him in your mind. Drop your 
defenses, and allow me to see that image," said the 
Solitaire.

     "I think it would be better if Akane did that. She's his 
fiancee, after all."

     Nodding, Akane thought of him. Almost without her 
conscious thought, every time she had seen him flashed 
through her mind. From the time he showed up on their 
doorstep, a bedraggled girl with a wet panda, through his 
various challenges, and his dramatic rescues of her from foe 
after foe. She tried to keep it out of her mind, but one 
image that popped up was what she saw that first day, when 
she walked in on him in the bath.

     After a second, the Solitaire nodded. Turning to the 
Shaman, he asked, "Two people? I thought you said there was 
but a single boy."

     "That is true, my friend," said the immortal man. 
"According to Khu Lon, the boy is subject to a curse, of 
sorts, that causes him to change gender upon exposure to cold 
water, and back upon exposure to hot water."

     The Solitaire sighed. "I will pass this along to my 
brethren. Should they see him, they will use the Webway to 
send him home." He turned, and began to leave the Nekohanten. 
"But remember - this evens the scales between us. We owe you 
no more. And he shall owe us a favor, as well."

     Before Nabiki could protest, reality itself opened up, 
and swallowed the colorful form. "Well, that's something, at 
least," she muttered. "What now?" she asked.

     "We wait," said Cologne. "Would you like some ramen?"

     *****************************************

     The entire Craftworld seemed excited, as the Eldar 
bustled about their business with a little more haste than 
their usual, stately grace. Even Ranma could feel it, as 
Eldaveril and the other Banshees seemed distracted during 
their morning spar. "Hey, what's up? Why's everyone so riled 
up?"

     One of the other Banshees picked herself up off the 
ground, where the pigtailed martial artist had put her. "We 
received word, yesterday, that the Harlequins are to arrive 
this afternoon," she said.

     "Harikins?" he asked.

     "No, Anial Gorwydd, Harlequins. They are the servants of 
the Laughing God, the Lord of the Dance, and are both 
warriors and performers." Eldaveril dropped her mask, and 
Ranma could see the odd transformation that flew across her 
features as they softened into her peace-time aspect. "They 
pass along the ancient history of our people by their dance, 
and use their dance as a weapon in battle."

     "Martial Arts Dancing?" he asked, puzzled.

     "Well, you could see it that way. Or, to use your terms, 
it could be said that their katas are so like a dance, that 
by performing, they hone their battle skills."

     "Oh. Well, when are they gonna arrive?" Ranma glanced 
around. "I mean, I'm probably gonna hafta get cleaned up."

     Teldurin, the Exarch, glanced at him. "I am sorry, Anial 
Gorwydd, but you will likely not be allowed to meet with the 
Harlequin Troupe. They tend not to like Mon-Ke... er, Humans, 
and would likely take offense at your presence."

     "Oh. Too bad, I woulda liked ta have sparred with 'em, 
sounds like they practice martial arts, too."

     *****************************************

     It was a room in the Craftworld reserved for this 
specific purpose. Ailunaraven, High Farseer of Valdur 
Avendel, stood awaiting the Harlequins there, flanked by the 
other Farseers, and select Warlocks. The room, itself, was 
home to a Webway gate that none but the Harlequins could 
open, and was decorated in their own, inimitable style. 
Gleaming masks of various shapes and colors adorned the 
walls, connected by scarves of brilliant color and pattern, 
Mosaics representing the stages of Eldar history covered the 
floor, ceiling, and various wall sections, while the far wall 
was a single, black expanse. 

     In front of the dark wall, a ripple in space echoed the 
opening of a Webway tunnel. One by one, thirty members of the 
Troupe of the Lethal Song stepped forth, each one a cacophony 
of color and a maze of patterns. Their Dathedi, or Holo-
suits, were deactivated, but the eye still had trouble 
understanding the dazzling sight. First, came the Mimes, 
young Eldar who were in training, learning to be the warrior-
dancers they aspired to be. Behind them, the actual Troopers, 
who danced the chorus in the performances of history. Next, 
given a wide berth even by other Harlequins, came the Death 
Jesters. With black suits, and bone ornaments, they had their 
huge Buanna, or Reaper, cannons, resting across their chests, 
below the death's-head masks that hide their grim faces, 
ready to dance the roles of darkness and death. After the 
Death Jesters, came the Harlequins own Warlocks, their 
shining blank masks hiding a mind that could touch the fabric 
of reality, and carrying a backpack grenade launcher that 
launched hallucination grenades. The last of the Troupe that 
emerged was their leader, he who was considered to be the 
mortal Avatar of the Laughing God, himself. If the others 
were a cacophony of color, then he was a symphony. Though 
numerous shimmering colors wove around him in patterns 
dazzling to behold, they supported each other, and confirmed 
him as an artist second to none.

     "Greetings, Priests of the Laughing God," began 
Ailunavaren. "The halls of Valdur Avendel are yours, and all 
here breathlessly await your performance tonight."

     "Greetings, Farseer of Valdur Avendel. Tonight shall be 
an honor, for we shall perform the Great Dance." The mortal 
Avatar glanced around. "In moments, a Solitaire shall be 
among us."

     The Farseers exchanged a telepathic murmur of amazement, 
as the impact of the Harlequin Avatar's words sunk in. Bowing 
deeply, the High Farseer smiled. "You honor us, High Avatar. 
The place shall be prepared."

     The High Avatar cocked his head, then his grinning mask 
transfixed his counterpart. "Your Infinity Circuit tells me 
there is a Mon-Keigh aboard, one who is held in high regard 
by the spirits of the Fallen."

     The assembled leaders of Valdur Avendel stood in shock 
at this statement. "Why, yes. He has been sort of adopted by 
one of the Banshee shrines here, and named Anial Gorwydd by 
one of our Warlocks."

     "Send him here. He should be here when the Solitaire 
arrives." Nodding to the other members of his Troupe, they 
began to draw forth the furniture that sat against the walls. 
They placed the seats and began to stretch around them. 
"Please, let us rest here in waiting."

     *****************************************

     It didn't take long for Ardallan the Warlock to reach 
Teldurin's Shrine. Staying outside the door, he waited for 
the sparring match to end. Noticing him, the Exarch strode up 
to him. "Why do you come? Need you speak to your daughter?"

     "No, Exarch Teldurin. It is Anial Gorwydd I must speak 
to." He glanced in, and saw the pigtailed human demonstrating 
a particularly devastating leap kick to the gathered 
Banshees. 

     The Exarch crossed the room to him as he was giving 
comments to the Banshees, correcting the form of one of them. 
She spoke briefly to him, and he stepped out into the hall, 
after bowing to the Shrine. "Yeah, whatcha need?"

     The Warlock smiled broadly. "The Harlequin High Avatar 
has requested your presence in the Gathering room. If you'll 
accompany me, Ranma?"

     "Finally!  Say, this 'High Avatar' isn't like yer 
Avatar, is he?"

     "No," he laughed, "he's a Harlequin. An Eldar who is 
dedicated to the Laughing God, and second only to the 
Solitaires, and the Phoenix Lords, in his skill and battle 
prowess."

     "Then, c'mon, let's go!" exclaimed Ranma. He started to 
walk down the hall, then stopped. "Um, which way is it? And
just what is a Phoenix Lord?"

     "It's right this way," said Ardallan. He led the human 
through the maze of the internal Webway, to emerge in the 
gathering room. Whispering, he added, "And I'll explain about
the Phoenix Lords later."

     Ogling the explosion of color and movement that he saw 
before him as most of the Harlequins danced around the room 
in a symphony of grace, Ranma's eyes were drawn to a figure 
sitting near the middle of the room, speaking to the ancient 
Farseer, Ailunaraven. His full-head mask had a rainbow Mohawk 
sprouting from it, even as its grinning face shimmered in a 
pattern of ever-changing colors. "Izzat the High Avatar?" he 
asked, quietly.

     "Yes," responded the Warlock.

     The High Avatar finished his conversation with the 
Farseer, and stood, to walk to where the human stood, 
unheeding of the diving and bounding of his Troupe. "Anial 
Gorwydd, the Infinity Circuit speaks highly of you. I am the 
High Avatar of the Troupe of the Way of Heaven."

     "Um, yeah. I'm Saotome Ranma, of the Anything Goes 
School of Martial Arts. Pleased to meetcha." He bowed, a bow 
that was returned by the Avatar. "So, um, why'd ya wanna see 
me?"

     "To test you, boy. There is a tale spread throughout our 
order, that there should be a Mon-Keigh that shall appear 
within the Sight of the Eldar, who must be given a message." 
He stepped back, and the dancing of the Troupe ended. "If you 
are he of whom the legend speaks, then you shall be given the 
message. But the one who must test you has not yet arrived."

     "What kind o' test?" asked the pigtailed martial artist.

     The wall at the far end of the room rippled, and a 
figure stepped forth. More severe in his garb than the rest 
of the Troupe, he still was a riot of color. A simple black 
headband wrapped around his mask, and a single scarf hung 
from his belt. "Why, Mon-Keigh, it shall be a test that you 
will pass. Or you shall die."

     *****************************************

     Akane sat on her bed, once more. Tonight it would be a 
week since Ranma had vanished, and she had found that all her 
hope rested on the actions of an alien who didn't even seem 
to like humans. 

     Sighing, she reached over, and looked at her clock. Ten 
at night. She should be going to sleep, but couldn't. She 
knew she was missing something, that there should be 
something more she could do. But what it was, she couldn't 
figure out.

     Standing up, she crossed the hall to the bathroom. 
Noticing the sign on the door, she waited, and, minutes 
later, a rather drowsy-looking panda shuffled out. "Gruffle," 
it said.

     "Good night, Mister Saotome," she replied. The panda 
yawned and stretched, then shuffled into the room he used to 
share with his son.

     Akane stepped into the bathroom, but had no need to do 
anything. Instead, she just stared into the mirror. On one 
level, she saw herself as she thought of herself. Plain, 
ordinary, with short black hair, and a boyish figure, the 
uncute tomboy Ranma always accused her of being. However, 
just for a second, she caught a glimpse of the girl Kuno 
constantly raved about - the raven haired tigress, with 
flashing eyes. 'Why couldn't Ranma see that?' she wondered.

     "Bukwee?" came the squeal at her feet. She looked down, 
and saw her little pet pig.

     "P-chan? Oh, baby, come here." She bent over, and picked 
him up. Cuddling him to her cheek, she started to do 
something she hadn't done in weeks.

     She started to cry.



 
                 The Emperor's Hand
                Chapter Ten: Invasion

     The Solitaire stood there, weapons sheathed at his belt, 
motioning to one of the other Harlequins present. The 
colorful Eldar bounded up to him, and accepted the offer of 
the weapons the Solitaire presented. Now unarmed, he 
approached Ranma. "This room shall be cleared of all present. 
Only the High Avatar, and the Farseer Ailunavaren, may remain 
behind."

     Ardallan leaned over and whispered to Ranma. "My friend, 
beware. Not only does he retain his flip belt, which enables 
him to spin in the air, he also retains his Dathedi, or holo-
suit. Do not let your eyes deceive you." Straightening, and 
nodding at Ranma, he left the room. In the space of ten 
heartbeats, the gathered dignitaries of Valdur-Avendel had 
left, and the furniture arranged for them placed against the 
wall, once more. Two more, and the Harlequins had left the 
room, striding with a dignified grace through the door, to 
the Craftworld beyond.

     The ancient Farseer looked at the two Harlequins, then 
at Ranma. "Anial Gorwydd, do you understand what is expected 
of you here?"

     The pigtailed martial artist nodded confidently. "O' 
course. It's a challenge o' some kind. I fight him, an' if I 
win, then I'm the one he's got the message for."

     "And if you don't win," began the High Avatar, "you die. 
Do not forget this."

     "Yeah, yeah, the old 'Ranma, prepare to die!' nonsense. 
Don't worry." He smiled broadly, and thrust out his chest. 
"I'm the best!"

     "You had better be, Mon-Keigh." The High Avatar turned 
to the Farseer, and they retired to the rear wall of the 
room. Ranma also realized that, coming from this one, the 
phrase 'Mon-Keigh' did not carry its usual hateful overtones. 
He shrugged, and turned his attention to his opponent.

     There was no signal, only a moment when each simply knew 
the other was ready. Leaping into the air, they lashed out 
with fists and feet as they passed in mid-jump. Neither one 
touched home, however, and they landed opposite, facing each 
other once more. 

     "Not bad, boy. However, this is no easy test." With a 
flick of his wrist, he suddenly shattered into a cloud of 
thousands of shards of color, cycling and rotating where he 
used to be.

     "Oh, great," muttered Ranma. "That must be the holo-suit 
Ardallan warned me about." Keeping his distance from the 
amorphous rainbow cloud, he found himself bouncing from wall 
to wall, as the cloud moved as fast as the Solitaire had. In 
fact, as he moved faster, the cloud grew, and cycled much 
faster.

     Eventually, the human grew tired of playing the living 
ping-pong ball, and gathered his confidence. "Kiai!" he 
yelled, launching off a Moko Takabisha towards the center of 
the cloud. The nearly invisible blast impacted against 
something, sending it across the room as it crackled out of 
existence, and back into the form of the Solitaire. "Hah! 
Gotcha!"

     Another flick of his wrist, and the Eldar warrior was 
disgruntled to find he did not phase out again. "Very well. 
But the test is not over until I am beaten, hidden weapons or 
not!"

     As the two clashed in the center of the room, the 
Farseer leaned over to the High Avatar. "That was no hidden 
weapon. Somehow, the boy is able to generate pure force, and 
some heat, by the strength of his confidence, alone."

     The Avatar's dramatic mask frowned slightly. "Could it 
be the 'Chai' that the legends tell of? Or is he a psyker?"

     "He is no psyker," said the Farseer, as he turned his 
attention back to the battle.

     So far, neither fighter could land a blow. Every move 
was countered, and every technique was dodged. A rising 
thrust kick was avoided by a drop into a crouch, and the 
sweep in reply was deftly leapt over. A twin tiger punch was 
met halfway with a dual inside to outside block, and the 
follow-up monkey throw left the flying fighter on his feet, 
half a room away.

     "Not bad," sniffed Ranma, as he dropped his stance, and 
stood, relaxed, yet confident.

     "Please, Mon-Keigh. The fight is not yet won." Leaping 
forward with one foot out, the Solitaire engaged once more. 
Ranma responded by leaning only slightly to the side, and 
lashing out with an open hand, grabbing the Solitaire's 
ankle. Whipping around, he tossed his foe at the wall. As 
fast as thought, the Eldar placed his feet between himself 
and the wall, rebounding back to deliver a punishing blow 
against the chin of the pigtailed martial artist, dropping 
him to one knee.

     The Eldar could not let Ranma recover from the blow, and 
snapped back with a foot to the other side of the human's 
face. The impact sent him across the room, to crash heavily 
against the wall. Shaking his head, the young man 
straightened, then dove to one side to avoid the follow-up 
attack. As the fist of the Solitaire impacted against the 
wall, Ranma thrust forward with a side kick to his opponent's 
ribs, sending him skidding ten feet across the floor.

     Less than half a second later, the slender Eldar raced 
forward, leading with a fist, but dropping into a kick that 
narrowly missed the young man's knee. A hammer fist dropped 
down, but only struck the floor as the Solitaire flipped 
backwards. A touch of his foot to the floor, and the 
Solitaire began to spin in mid-air, feet rising and falling 
in a veritable storm of kicks. Ranma was only able to fall 
back, as his hovering foe drifted closer.

     "So that's the way you want to play, huh?" Ranma hopped 
back a bit, then lashed forward, his fist blurring into 
Chestnut Fist speed. Every kick was blocked, but every punch 
was countered, as the air crackled with the sound of hundreds 
of small sonic booms. Pushing himself to the limit, Ranma 
accelerated his fist, until one punch finally slipped 
through.

     The Solitaire, hovering and unable to plant himself, was 
sent careening back into the far wall, narrowly missing the 
awestruck Farseer and High Avatar. Cursing in his native 
tongue, the Eldar dashed forwards once again, in an effort to 
regain the initiative. 

     'Gotta put an end to this, quick,' thought the pigtailed 
martial artist. Dropping into the defense, he began his 
familiar spiral pattern. The strong passion of his opponent 
would surely end in a spectacular Hiryuu Shoten Ha. As the 
spiral wound to its inevitable conclusion, Ranma drifted his 
thoughts into the state known as the Heart of Ice. In 
seconds, the moment had arrived, and he threw the uppercut of 
cold chi that would spark the tornado.

     A tornado that never came. Blinking, he noticed the 
Solitaire had stopped a step early, and wasn't close enough 
for the interaction of their Chi. "I am no fool, boy. The 
legend of that attack makes clear how to avoid it."

     "Okay. Well, to heck with it. Kiai!" Another Moko 
Takabisha blasted out, impacting with the taunting Eldar. It 
was one of his strongest, and the Solitaire actually left a 
crater in the wall. The multi-colored warrior dragged himself 
to his feet, wobbling slightly, and then with more strength.

     "Impressive. But I am not defeated yet." Gliding 
forward, he slipped into a new stance and style, one Ranma 
recognized. In fact, it looked almost exactly like the 
variant of Wu-Shu practiced by the Chinese Amazons.

     A quick flurry of strikes and parries sent a tattoo of 
flesh on flesh echoing through the room. First one, then the 
other, would land a blow, only to lose the advantage seconds 
later. Eventually, one would make a mistake. This time, it 
was Ranma.

     It was perhaps a half inch too much follow-through, but 
it was enough for the Solitaire. He tugged the Human's arm 
around, exaggerating the overcompensation. Two quick knees 
landed on Ranma's kidneys, and a powerful palm-heel strike 
sent him across the floor. Before he could recover himself, 
the Eldar was on him.

     A snap kick to the crouching young man flipped him over, 
and a knee drop pinned him to the ground by his neck. "How 
unfortunate. It appears that you must die now."

     Three images flashed before Ranma's eyes. First, Ryouga 
and his constant threats - but his assistance when the chips 
were down. Second, his mother, and all the lost chances to 
actually tell her who he was. Finally, and most strongly, a 
smiling face framed by short, black hair. "NOOO!"

     The Solitaire gaped in shock, as he found himself flying 
through the air once more. His flip belt automatically 
activated, and he caught himself before he hit the wall. As 
he glanced up, he saw a red and black juggernaut bearing down 
on him, and barely had time to drop into a defensive stance 
before the human was on top of him.

     Blows that would have shattered cinderblock landed on 
the Eldar, who managed to roll with them enough to save his 
own life. The assault was almost inhuman, and he could not 
break free long enough to catch his breath. With one final 
punch, Ranma knocked him off his feet, skidding once more 
across the floor. Breathing heavily, the martial artist 
watched as his foe slowly pulled himself to his feet.

"It ends, now," said the Solitaire. Almost glowing with 
anger, but with no actual battle aura, he slowly strode 
forward. Ranma, unsure of what to expect, balanced himself on 
the balls of his feet, legs slightly spread, and ready to 
jump in any direction needed to avoid whatever came at him. 
The Eldar came to within ten feet, and knelt. 

	"Huh?" asked Ranma.

     Calming himself with visible effort, the Eldar looked up 
at him. "I cannot fight much longer, and to do so would 
likely kill me, something that must not happen yet. You have 
beaten me, and proven yourself, Saotome Ranma."

     "Waitaminute, how do ya know my name?" he demanded.

     "That is part of the message. Listen close, Mon-
Keigh..."

     ***********************************************

     School that day had an almost electric feel to the air. 
Something was going to happen, and it was going to happen 
soon. The students had developed a sense for that sort of 
thing after the past several months. In fact, so had most of 
the teachers, who seemed a little jumpy. For example, in 
first period alone, Miss Hinako drained seven students, not 
counting the unfortunates who were caught in the backwash. 
Lunch found Ukyou, Akane, Nabiki, Hiroshi, and Daisuke 
sitting beneath a tree, eating lunch, and making nervous 
chit-chat. Since Ranma's disappearance, Ukyou had finally 
broken down, and began to dress as her proper gender at 
school.

     "So, umm, Ukyou, how is the Ucchan's doing lately?" 
asked Daisuke.

     "Okay." The young entrepreneur just brushed off the 
boy's question, and hadn't stopped scanning the horizon since 
she left the building. 

     Hiroshi and Daisuke glanced at each other, and back at 
her. Hiroshi piped up. "So, how are you doing?"

     "Okay," responded Ukyou in an offhand way.

     The two young men glanced at each other, and smiled. 
"So, Ukyou, wanna go out Saturday?" asked Daisuke.

     "Okay," muttered Ukyou.

     The other two girls stared at her. "Ukyou, do you know 
what you've just done?" asked Akane.

     "Hm? Um, no, what?"

     "Five thousand yen," blurted Nabiki. After a quick elbow 
jab from Akane, she grumbled, "Sorry, knee-jerk reaction."

     Daisuke was all smiles. "You just agreed to go out with 
me on Saturday!"

     She bopped him on the head. "Yeah, right. Like I'd ever 
do that."

     "Um," began Akane, "you just did that."

     "I did?" blinked Ukyou. Four nods confirmed one of her 
worst fears. Slowly, she turned to face the grinning boy. "I 
did?"

     "Yup," chorused Hiroshi and Daisuke.

     "Daisuke no baka!" she yelled, nailing him into the 
ground with her giant spatula.

     Since it was a pleasant day, most of the students were 
spending their lunch outside. Some laughed at Ukyou's 
treatment of Daisuke, others simply >tsked<, and walked away. 
But, soon, the gentle murmuring of gossip and idle chatter 
gave way to screams.

     "Wha?" blurted Hiroshi, with uncommon intelligence. 
Looking up, the small group saw bizarre creatures pouring out 
of the doors to the school building, and dangling from its 
windows. Some resembled huge, muscle-bound men, with red 
skin, triple-jointed legs, long heads, and massive bull 
horns, carrying red swords that screamed and chortled. Others 
were little more than hideous, pink walking heads, with long 
arms that ended in huge hands. And the last type resembled 
sensuous women - if those women had only one breast, long 
snakelike tongues, and had lobster-like claws on their 
forearms in place of hands, wearing leather strips that did 
very little to conceal anything.

     "What the heck are those things?" asked Daisuke.

     "I don't know," said Akane, "but I wish either Ranma or 
Ryouga were here. Heck, I'd even settle for the China crew!"

     "Hiroshi, Daisuke, Nabiki, stay behind Akane and me! 
We'll protect you from them." Ukyou yanked her spatula out of 
the ground next to the recumbent Daisuke, and took a battle 
stance.

     Daisuke, meanwhile, had staggered to his feet, staring 
at the schoolyard, and the hideous things that were chasing 
down the Furinkan population. Hiroshi sidled up next to his 
friend, then his jaw dropped. "Dai-kun! Yuki and Sayuri were 
in there!" Not even realizing what they were doing, the two 
boys dashed past the okonomiyaki cook, and through the throng 
of creatures into the building.

     "You idiots! Get back here, you'll get yourself killed! 
Baka, baka, baka, baka!" Ukyou turned to Akane. "Stay with 
your sister. I'm gonna get those two hentai out of the 
building if I have to throw them through the roof!" Clearing 
her path with a few thrown spatulas, she dashed in after 
them.

     ***********************************************

     The Nekohanten was just beginning to prepare for the 
lunch rush, and Shampoo had returned from her latest 
delivery. Mousse was washing dishes, and the Shaman was 
making himself useful by clearing the table. Without warning, 
the ancient young man dropped to the floor, holding his head.

     Cologne saw this. Quickly taking a pot of ramen off its 
burner, she pogo'ed over to him. "Shaman, what is wrong?"

     The psyker was wobbly, and Mousse rushed over to help 
him into a chair. "Khu Lon, it is the worst possible 
development. Mankind has finally reached the point to where I 
can no longer fully shield this world. In fact, creatures of 
the Warp have already escaped into this world."

     "Aiyah, where?" asked Shampoo.

     "I... I'm not sure. All I know is that it is close. 
Many, many lesser fiends have already entered this world, and 
one of the greater fiends may, indeed, have crossed over as 
well. It will take me only a few moments, but..." The Shaman 
closed his eyes, and he was lined in a thousand myriad 
colors. After a second, the colors faded. "Furinkan," he 
whispered hoarsely, "they are at Furinkan!" Then, the strain 
of his shields breaking catching up to him, he slumped over 
the table, and passed out.

     Cologne snapped her gaze to her two charges. "Mousse, 
you and Shampoo go to Furinkan, and do what you can to stem 
the tide. I will see to my old friend, then join you. Now, 
go! And, whatever you do, you must not get wet!"

     "Hai!" shouted the two teenagers as one. Turning, they 
darted out of the restaurant.

     Mousse immediately began to jump to the roof, but fell 
face first into the pavement when Shampoo grabbed the bottom 
of his robe. "Stupid duck boy and Shampoo get to Foo-rin-kan 
faster if take Shampoo's bike!" Dropping him unceremoniously 
into the basket on the front, she rang he bike's bell twice, 
then raced off through the streets of Nerima.

     ***********************************************

     Kuno Tatewaki was now convinced that Ranma had returned. 
Why else would this horde of demons dare assault the sacred 
halls of Furinkan High School? No matter, he thought, he 
would defeat these creatures, and prove to Akane and the Pig-
tailed girl that...

     A derisive laugh interrupted his reverie. Looking up, he 
saw one of the red-skinned, sword wielding beasts. "So, 
mortal, you would face a Bloodletter of Khorne, the Blood 
God, with only a stick in your hands? Ha, your blood shall 
flow, and feed my master's eternal thirst!"

     "Foul spawn of a thrice-cursed master, never shall I 
allow the filth of the blackest Hells to defile the purity of 
these walls! I do decry you, and the bedamned master who has 
brought you here!" shouted Kuno, dropping into his favorite 
stance.

     "Bwahaha, you are indeed pathetic, mortal," growled the 
creature as it approached.

     "I don't know," hissed a sibilant voice behind the 
kendoist, "he has some spunk, you must admit." Glancing 
behind him, he saw one of the parodies of fair maidenhood 
that likewise swarmed these halls. "He also has lusts and 
urges that feed Slaanesh, the Lord of Pleasure, quite well, 
indeed!"

     "Daemonette, you will leave me my kill, or it shall be 
you I shall slay!" roared the bloodletter.

     "Oh, I don't think you shall," purred the daemonette. 
"Perhaps, instead, you will be destroyed, and I may have my 
way with the poor, perverted mortal." She clacked her huge 
claws together to emphasize her point.

     Glancing back and forth at the two demons, Kuno felt his 
bile rising. "I am Kuno Tatewaki, the Black Reaver of 
Furinkan High! You shall not ignore me, and speak as though I 
am not there!" He lashed out with his bokken, only to see it 
deflected by the daemonette's claws.

     "Leave us alone, boy," snarled the bloodletter, 
"pleasure and pain are old enemies!"

     "And, old friends," chortled the daemonette, as the two 
otherworldly things dove at each other.

     A familiar shape appeared at Kuno's side. "Sasuke," he 
demanded, "my sword!"

     The small ninja pointed to the bokken in his hand. "But, 
master, it's already in your hand!"

     "Nay, faithful Sasuke, 'tis the family sword I require!" 
Kuno recovered enough of what little wits he had to draw 
himself upright. "For, have I not charged you to have it at 
the ready at all times?"

     Sasuke, meanwhile, was busily sorting through 
bokkenspace. After about thirty bokken, he finally withdrew 
an incredibly beautiful blade. An Edo period katana, with the 
five-leafed lotus that signified a sword of the highest 
quality, it was a masterpiece of the smith's art. Wordlessly, 
he handed it to his master.

     Drawing it with the utmost respect, Kuno handed the 
scabbard back to his servant. "Should I not survive the 
upcoming battle, for the treachery of the Sorcerer, Saotome, 
knows no bounds, then my blade is not to go to my sister. 
Instead, present it to Tendou Akane, or the Pigtailed girl, 
in remembrance of me." Taking a deep breath, he yelled a 
powerful "KIAI!"

     The two demons stopped in their personal fight, to see 
the young mortal had replaced his stick with a sword. "Well, 
it's about time you finally got yerself a decent weapon, 
boy!" snorted the bloodletter.

     The daemonette sniffed. "It is still a toy. There is no 
magic within. It may hurt us, but it is no sharper than 
anything else."

     Those words were the last she had the time to say. 
"Begone!" thundered Kuno, as a well placed stroke met the 
fiend in the throat, and the keen, curved edge sliced neatly 
through her neck. Her head plopped to the ground, and rolled 
for a second, before it and she vanished into a cloud of 
rapidly vanishing mist.

     Pivoting his shoulder for a few practice swings with his 
own murmuring sword, the Bloodletter smiled. "Alright boy. 
Time to bleed!"

     They clashed and fought, and Kuno slowly grew aware of 
two things. First, he outmatched this thing in skill, and the 
battle would not last much longer.

     Second, there were no less than twenty more of the 
things charging down the hallway at his unprotected back.

     ***********************************************

     "Hiroshi! Daisuke! Come on, I can't kill the two of you 
if you get yourselves killed, first!" Ukyou yelled down the 
hallway. She had seen at least three other students that had 
been trapped within the school, and guided them to the exits. 
Miss Hinako had likewise been helping, though she appeared to 
be acting strangely. For one, she was in little kid form, and 
made no motion to drain the fiends, only dodge them, and 
distract them so the students could get away.

     A flash of black school uniforms caught her attention. 
Darting in to an otherwise abandoned classroom, she saw 
something that chilled her to the bone. There, in fact, were 
Hiroshi, Daisuke, Sayuri, and Yuka, cornered by four of the 
red skinned things. Before she could even make a move, the 
things shimmered, and entered the four school-kids' mouths. A 
moment later, and they ripped through their clothes, turned 
red, and sprouted horns, fully transforming into the hideous 
bloodletters.

     The one who had once been Daisuke saw her in the 
doorway. "Well, Uc-/CHAN/, care for a date now?" He laughed, 
exposing a row of razor-sharp teeth, and a long, forked 
tongue, as a bilious drool dripped off onto the floor. "And 
don't even think about fighting us. If you hurt us, you hurt 
your friends!

     As they advanced, Ukyou found herself doing the one 
thing she never expected. Pulling a page from the Saotome 
school of Anything Goes Martial Arts, she ran away, to try 
and figure out how to help her friends.

     ***********************************************

     Things were far more quiet for Ranma. Resting after his 
intense fight with the Solitaire, he found himself in 
conversation with the High Avatar. "I don't get it. He told 
me he had a message for me, but he won't tell me what it is! 
I passed his stupid test an' everythin'!"

     The High Avatar laughed. "Don't worry. I think I know 
why he won't tell you. Have the dances been explained to 
you?"

     "Umm, kinda." Ranma shrugged. "They told me ya do these 
dances to tell the history o' the Eldar, right?"

     "Quite," said the Avatar. "One of these dances is simply 
known as the Great Dance, and it is rarely performed. Of all 
our dances, it is the only one that requires a Solitaire, and 
only under rare circumstances will a Solitaire travel with a 
Troupe for more than a handspan of days.

     "There is a version of the Great Dance, however, which 
has only been danced once before, over thirty thousand years 
ago. It is the highest form of that dance. And it is one that 
directly concerns you."

     "Me?" asked the pigtailed Martial Artist.

     "Yes, you. It is said that a Human once joined the Great 
Dance, in the role of the one who, in fact, taught the 
Laughing God the fighting style that he would, himself, teach 
to his harlequins." Looking at Ranma directly, he added, "And 
you are the only Mon-Keigh I know of, or ever knew of, that 
could perform that role. Only you have the speed, the 
strength, and the skill."

     "I'm supposed ta dance? Jeez, I ain't a dancer!" Ranma 
scratched the back of his head. "What happens if I don't do 
it?"

     Sighing, the High Avatar spread his hands. "Nothing at 
all. However, you will not only be depriving the citizens of 
this Craftworld of their only chance to see the ultimate form 
of the Great Dance, you will also be depriving yourself of a 
significant part of the message the Solitaire has for you."

     "Oh. Um, couldja at least show me what I'm supposed ta 
do? An' I ain't gonna hafta wear a tutu, am I?"

     "Of course you won't. As for what you are supposed to 
do, follow me..."

     ***********************************************

Shampoo broke several land speed records in her efforts to 
get to Furinkan High as soon as possible, including 'Fastest 
Effort By A Bicycle With An Extra Passenger Along a Fence 
Top', and several even more obscure. Soon, the gates of the 
school were in sight. "Hold on, Mousse, We going in. HIYAA!"

     Had they known what to expect, their reactions would not 
have changed. As soon as the bike burst through the stone 
walls surrounding the schoolyard, they leapt off the mangled 
vehicle, diving into the nearest fray. To one side, they saw 
several students chased by hermaphroditic lobster demons, 
while red-skinned monstrosities toyed with a group of 
frightened girls. Near the center of the schoolyard, Akane 
was beset by a small horde of pink-skinned, walking heads, as 
they attempted to surround her, and her sister Nabiki.

     "Shampoo, I'm going after those red things. You take on 
the female ones. Whoever's done first helps out Akane," 
called Mousse.

     "Yes! Then we all go inside!" She leapt into the middle 
of the female caricatures, swinging back and forth with her 
twin bonbori, caving in skulls and shattering ribcages. As 
often as not, her victims faded into mist, and vanished. But 
they were not defenseless, themselves. One particularly lucky 
daemonette lashed out with a wicked pincer, and ripped away a 
small chunk of flesh from her thigh, causing her to stumble.
Cursing in Chinese, she dove at the thing, and continued her 
assault.

     Akane had problems of her own. The pink things didn't so 
much seem intent on fighting her, as they did on gaining the 
attention of Nabiki. "Come," they chortled in eerie unison, 
"join us. The power is there for you, the control, whatever 
you want!"

     "Shut up!" screamed Akane, punching one pink thing hard 
enough to send it back twenty feet. When it stopped, it did 
not turn to mist, but sprang back up as two smaller, blue-
skinned creatures, no longer laughing with glee, but snarling 
in anger. Bounding over their brethren, they immediately 
attached themselves to her, trying to slow her down.

     "Akane!" yelled her sister. "Think about Kuno's 
challenge!"

     "That's right! These aren't demons - they're BOYS! And 
I - >blam< - Hate - >crash< -BOYS!" With a mighty heave, she 
bowled over the milling demons, sending them flying back. The 
two blue things faded back to wherever they came from, but 
the rest sprang up, their numbers doubled, and their skin 
blue.

     "Mortal!" they screamed in unison. "You cannot resist 
the power of Chaos!" Bounding forward on their over-long 
hands, they buried her in a living blue pile.

     On the other side of the schoolyard, several chains 
lashed out of Mousse's sleeves, missing the demons, but 
entangling the students. A jerk and a small leap, and the 
students found themselves on the roof, safely away from their 
red-skinned tormenters. The Chinese boy, however, snapped out 
his wrist claws, and dove in the middle of the fiends. Claw 
strikes raked out, wounding but not killing the things, while 
he quickly found himself on the defensive, striving to avoid 
the shrieking swords the things carried. Horribly 
outnumbered, he realized that he may not be able to defeat 
them all. One swung a mighty overhand blow, and missed, 
digging deep into the ground. He felt, more than saw, the 
blade drink deep of the life of the grass there, and suddenly 
ducked to avoid another's blow that would have removed his 
head.

     Behind them, the walls of the school began to bleed.

     ***********************************************


     Deep in the bowels of Furinkan High, there is a very 
special room. Here, a bust of Principal Kuno rests before a 
tatami, for the most obstinate of students to kneel before. 
It is a repository of resentment and hate, mostly aimed at 
the psychotic principal. Now, one taloned hand caressed the 
icon, its bony extremities swathed in electric blue skin.

     "Yesss," hissed the shadowed creature behind it. "Thisss 
place isss ripe with hate, and with lussst, and with change. 
Thisss isss the perfect place.

     "Above me, the lesser demonsss do dance and revel in 
Chaosss. Sssoulsss have been claimed to bring before me, that 
I shall sssacrifice before my Lord.

     "Beware, Earth, for Chaosss comesss!"





                 The Emperor's Hand
             Chapter Eleven: Absolution

     Ranma stood in the performance room, shifting his weight 
from one foot to another. He looked down at his clothes, an 
ornate set of Eldar garb that echoed the red and black colors 
he normally favored. He would have scratched his nose, but he 
was given a mask to wear, one of the metamorphic ones that 
the Harlequins used, and echoed the expressions of the 
wearer. 

     One of the Harlequins glided up next to him. "Mon-Keigh, 
just remember. You yourself said the movements were almost 
instinctive for you. You should have no difficulties."

     "Yeah, I know," he muttered. "I'm just kinda freaked out 
that it's based on the Anything-Goes katas."

     He watched the performance onstage from his vantage 
point to one side, as the story slowly unfolded. Several 
Troupers, playing the role of the Old Eldar, danced a dance 
of carefree frivolity. Their holo-suits shifted slowly to a 
more corrupt sequence, simulating garb that slowly changed 
from graceful and demure, to daring and revealing. Four 
Troupers danced slowly away from the rest, cycling back to 
the demure garb of before.

     Slowly, the dances of the slowly corrupting Troupers 
grew wilder, and more debauched, so much so that Ranma was 
glad the mask concealed his small nosebleed. The four who 
stepped aside, however, retained the original steps of the 
dance. The contrast was mild, at first, but now was 
positively 
striking.

     With a scream that was heard both physically and with 
the mind, the corrupt dancers dropped to the ground. From 
above, the Solitaire dropped down. His holofield gave him a 
shifting, corrupted image, cycling from male to female, and 
leering in both forms. He touched the fallen dancers, and 
they rose up, fully corrupted, and neither male nor female. 
With shrieks of unholy glee, They turned their gaze on the 
four that were uncorrupted, and the four huddled against each 
other. Slowly, their twisted brethren danced their way 
closer.

     From the opposite side of the stage, the High Avatar 
appeared. The music rose in a heroic crescendo, as he danced 
around the Solitaire, and the fallen dancers, confusing them, 
and allowing the four dancers to leave the stage. He then led 
the corrupted dancers to the edge of the stage, where they 
left. For now, the High Avatar was alone on the stage.

     It was at this point that Ranma realized it was his 
turn. He still felt self-conscious, and embarrassed. Most of 
the dancing had been acrobatic, but it reminded him of the 
bits and pieces he had seen of ballet, combined with dazzling 
displays of acrobatics. Nervously, he strode out onstage, to 
confront the High Avatar. 

     The dance was not so much a dance, but a pattern of 
forms. He began with the most basic of the katas of his 
school, as the Avatar mirrored his actions. Moving with more 
confidence, he stepped into the next movement, a more 
advanced kata that displayed the aerial supremacy of the 
Saotome school of Anything-Goes Martial Arts. Again, the 
Avatar repeated what was shown to him. Finally, the end of 
the movement came, and he began a test of forms. They faced 
each other, and a slight nod began the form. Punches flew in 
a prescribed pattern, and parries flowed in direct response 
to their partner. Forgetting about the audience, and even 
where he was, Ranma lost himself in the form. The moves 
flowed out of the core of who and what he was, streaming from 
the seat of his soul, throughout his heart and mind, 
expressed in the rhythm of the form.

     At last, the form was over, and he bowed to the High 
Avatar. He leapt away, landing to the side of the stage, 
facing the Harlequins who waited there. They nodded at him, 
and he turned to watch the end. The Solitaire had returned, 
leading his forces, but the Avatar was ready. He displayed 
the skills he had 'learned' at Ranma's hands, and led the 
four dancers in a pattern of movement that baffled the 
corrupted ones. The remainder of the dance told the story of 
how the four led by the High Avatar found other Eldar who 
were uncorrupted, and helped them to achieve freedom from the 
doomed who walked among them.

     Soon, the dance was over. The pigtailed martial artist 
reached up, and removed the mask that had covered his face 
for the last two hours. Even though he had only been onstage 
for a few short moments, his heart was hammering as strongly 
as if he had finished a full bout with Ryouga. His mind 
drifted back to his part in the dance, and he thought he 
could almost understand why they needed him. But, it slipped 
from his mind.

     Taking one last look at the stage, Ranma left to change 
back into his own clothes.

     *********************************************

     Kuno Tatewaki raised his sword, dropping it on the now 
defenseless head of one of the demons. The thing dissipated 
into mist, but its brethren pressed the attack, slowly 
driving him towards the lunchroom. As the storm of blades 
lashed out, the kendoist found himself slipping deeper and 
deeper into a state he once thought he achieved regularly. 
Now, as his body moved in total harmony with the blade. He 
was falling into Zanshen, the state of No Mind.

     Three chaos-forged blades snaked forwards, diverted by a 
careless flick of his wrists. A half-formed thought, and two 
of the demons were cast back into the warp. Another half-
formed thought, and his consciousness submerged so deep into 
the way of the sword, that everything achieved a stark 
clarity.

     In that moment, everything that had ever eluded him, he 
understood. He knew, now, why the pigtailed girl rejected 
him. He knew, as well, why Saotome could not be at fault 
here. In his mind, images flashed of every moment he had seen 
where Ranma had placed himself in the path of danger to 
protect Tendou Akane. The first time, at the pool, when Ranma 
fell into the pool, but the pigtailed girl climbed out. 
Saotome and the pigtailed girl... were the same person?

     The thought was so shocking, that it snapped him out of 
the state of No Mind. Feeling the change, he hopped back, 
ready for any attackers. However, there were none left. 
"Verily, these beasts did fear my blade so much, that they 
ran away! Surely I didn't slay all twenty so swiftly? Wait, 
but of course I did! Am I not Kuno Tatewaki, the Black Reaver 
of Furinkan High? Now, what was I thinking about?"

     All he could remember, was the thought that his nemesis 
could not have summoned the demons. As he raced off to find 
more foes, something laughed beneath the school.

     *********************************************

     Nabiki could only stare in horror at the pile of blue 
demons that were smothering her little sister. If she had 
only learned more than a little martial arts, herself, maybe 
she could have been able to help Akane...

     A faint red glow began to seep through the pile of 
demons. In just a few moments, the blue horrors flew apart, 
most of them striking some form of rigid obstacle, and fading 
back to the Warp. Standing, as enraged as she had ever found 
herself, was Tendou Akane. Her breath came in snorts, and she 
swung wide, sweeping blows that collided with several of the 
creatures at once. Soon, they had all cleared away, or had 
run back into the schoolhouse.

     Shampoo, on the other hand, did her level best to keep 
her temper. As a trained warrior, she knew her anger could 
only weaken her. She didn't have the massive surges of 
adrenaline the Kitchen Destroyer did, and she would only end 
up making fatal mistakes. A snap of the bonbori from her 
guard position, and the huge maces met on either side of the 
head of one of her opponents. Twisting her wrists in opposite 
directions, and she slapped aside incoming claws with the 
hafts of the weapons. She was winning, but she wouldn't be 
worth much after... she threw such thoughts aside, as her 
chin was clipped by a glancing blow. Time to think only of 
the fight.

     Mousse saw the horror behind him as he spun to deflect a 
bloodletter's hellblade. The walls of the school had begun to 
ooze blood from the damage they had sustained in the ongoing 
battle, and that blood was beginning to congeal into bizarre, 
fleshy tentacles. Dodging left, and leaping over the crush of 
demons, he saw one of the tentacles flail about on the roof, 
trying to reach the screaming students. He couldn't help them 
without leaving himself wide open, and Shampoo was pretty 
hard pressed, but Akane... Akane couldn't leap that high. It 
looked hopeless. He mentally saluted them, sorry he could not 
do more for them, and lashed out, ripping out the throat of 
one of the monsters.

     *********************************************

     "Where in the world am I now?" moaned Hibiki Ryouga, the 
eternal lost boy. Looking around, he saw that he was in the 
baseball field outside Furinkan High School. "Hey! 
Waitaminute! I actually know where I am!'

     A cry of, "help," came whispering through the wind.

     "Huh?" Looking towards the school building, he saw the 
effects of the grand melee. He also saw the tentacles, and 
several figures on the roof. "Just when I was thinking that 
everything around here was Ranma's fault. Wait, it has to be 
his fault, somehow! Well, okay, maybe not this time." He 
sprinted towards his foe, the building, itself. A few seconds 
later, and one huge leap, and he was standing among the 
students.

     "Hey," said one, "aren't you that guy who's always 
fighting with Ranma?"

     "Shut up about him. Hang on!" He grabbed all four of 
them, and easily leapt off the roof. Another leap took them 
outside of the immediate environs of the battle, and he set 
them down. "Stay here. Who else is left over there?"

     "Um... I saw Daisuke and Hiroshi run inside, and some 
girl that looked like Ukyou-kun's sister, complete with 
spatula, ran in after them," said a girl. "Oh, and I think I 
saw the Chinese waitress and waiter from the Nekohanten 
helping Akane out on the other side of the building."

     "Akane? Why didn't you say so?" He took off, heading 
straight through the wall of the building.

     "Well," said one student, "at least he ran in the right 
direction."

     The building barely slowed down the rampaging martial 
artist. Plowing through room after room, he startled various 
clusters of demons, and accidentally knocked several out. 
Finally, he erupted from the building, only to see Akane 
relatively safe, but Mousse hard-pressed, and Shampoo in 
trouble. The Chinese boy was doing okay, but was hard pressed 
to make headway. The purple-haired girl, on the other hand, 
was facing a horde twice the size her countryman opposed. 
Although she had apparently slain several, judging by the 
lethal blows he saw her deliver, she had several wounds, 
including a nasty one on her thigh. He wavered for a second, 
but his warrior instincts overrode any lingering feelings for 
Akane.

     Shampoo felt something race up behind her, and spun 
around with one of her bonbori. She checked the blow just in 
time, though, as she recognized the yellow tunic out of the 
corner of her eye. "About time lost boy show up," she 
groused, while crushing the skull of one of the demonetizes.

     "Well, forgive me for not knowing anything was going 
on." He dropped, avoiding a double claw slash, and poked the 
pavement with a forefinger. His own body shielded his comrade 
in arms from the explosion of the Bakusai Tenketsu, but the 
hell-spawn weren't so lucky. Several of them vanished right 
then and there, while several others were wounded, and driven 
back.

     Mousse found he had less and less time to attack, and 
spent more and more energy on dodging. He was tiring, but 
these things didn't appear to even break a sweat, if they did 
sweat. They drove him back, until he quickly felt the rough 
bark of a tree behind him. Steeling himself, he tossed the 
claws away, and ducked long enough to draw a pair of tai chi 
long swords. With what he hoped was not his last thought, he 
sent a silent prayer to the Celestial Bureaucracy to watch 
over Shampoo, and dove into the middle of them.

     Akane glanced back and forth between the two warring 
groups, and back at Nabiki. "Go ahead," said the older 
Tendou, "I'll be okay. Help them out." Akane nodded, and 
dashed towards the fray surrounding Mousse.

     Hearing the collision of bodies to his left, the male 
amazon yelled out, "Shampoo?"

     "No, >blam<, it's Akane!" she responded.

     "You're fighting these things unarmed?" A spinning twin 
parry turned aside three blades. "You can't block these 
swords, they'll drain the life out of you!"

     "Then toss me a sword, I know you have one in there 
somewhere!" yelled Akane.

     A glint of light above the fray caught her eye, and she 
avoided a strike from a demon by dodging towards the spinning 
shape. Her hand snaked out, and caught the handgrip of a 
Chinese broad sword. Grinning, she twirled it around her 
head, ending in a decapitating stroke against the nearest 
bloodletter. "Alright, let's go!"

     *********************************************

     Tatewaki Kuno strode through the halls of the school, on 
occasion slashing a tentacle in half with his katana. "Truly, 
have I, the Black Reaver of Furinkan High.... no, the Grey 
Hunter of Furinkan High, now become the warden of these 
hallowed halls." 

     With a shriek that echoed in his heart as well as his 
mind, a hideous pink walking head dove at him from the 
Chemistry Club room. He turned and slashed as one motion, 
neatly bisecting the beast.  He turned, and continued on his 
way.

     "Do not ignore us, mortal," chimed twin voices behind 
him. He turned, and saw two blue creatures, identical to each 
other and the dead pink thing. He dodged their huge, grasping 
hands, and cut them down. Hearing footsteps further down the 
hall, he lowered his center of gravity, and raised his sword 
in an offensive stance.

     It was an unexpected sight for him to see the proprietor 
of the Uchhan's, dressed in a Furinkan girl's uniform, 
trotting towards him, her huge spatula in hand. He stood, and 
lowered his sword, as she met his eyes. "Hold, fair Ukyou, 
this edifice is far too dangerous for such a flower of 
womanhood as you."

     "Shut up, you jackass," growled Ukyou. "I've got to find 
out how to help four of my friends!"

     "My good lady," he began, "no matter what danger they 
may be in, little help can you do them if you are slain by 
the fiends who dwell within, at this moment. Allow me to 
escort you outside, and..."

     "Oh, Ukyou, we're he-ere!" snarled a bloodletter. 

     Kuno blinked, twice, at the sight of two of the demons 
in boys' uniforms, and two in torn girls' uniforms. "These 
wouldn't happen to be your friends, would they?"

     "They used to be, but they're possessed right now. And 
that's why we've got to go! We can't fight them without 
hurting the kids inside!"

     The four demons stood where they were. "Exactly, 
mortal!" It grinned, needle-sharp teeth clicking together in 
a sharp staccato.

     "Then we will grieve for them," said the would-be 
samurai, "once we have sent these damnable things back to the 
abyss!" He charged, only to be caught short by a strong grip 
on the back of his kimono.

     "Absolutely not, you jackass! I will not give up hope!" 
She dragged him behind her, racing through the halls, trying 
to keep one step ahead of their former friends. Down a flight 
of stairs, and through two different hallways, she noticed 
something. "Say, Kuno," she began.

     "What, >gasp<," he panted.

     "Ever notice how the Home ec room is right across the 
hall from the Shop classroom?"

     *********************************************

     "So, you're telling me that this immortal psychic guy 
who brought me here, told you guys to be on the lookout for 
me?" asked Ranma.

     "Actually," said the Solitaire, "it was the Emperor's 
hand that drew you here. The request to reclaim you came from 
his earlier life, nearly thirty thousand years ago. He spoke 
to one of my predecessors, who passed the image and tales 
down through his successors, to me."

     "Oh. Um, right. So, when do we leave?"

     "In six hours, the Webway portal to the Timeless Heart 
will open in the main Webway chamber. You have time to say 
your farewells, Mon-Keigh," said the harlequin. Turning on 
his heel, he walked out of the chamber that had been the 
pigtailed martial artist's home for the past several months.

     "Okay. Well, I'd better head to Teldurin's shrine." He 
stood, stretched, and sprinted off down the halls. Soon, he 
arrived at the door of the Shrine. The Banshee standing watch 
nodded at him, and opened the door.

     After removing his shoes and clapping twice, as always, 
here, he walked up to the Exarch. "Hey, um, Teldurin, I got 
somethin' ta say to all of you."

     "Very well." She clapped her hands, twice, and addressed 
the gathered warriors. "Our adopted brother, Anial Gorwydd, 
wishes to speak to the Shrine!" she called out.

     Noting all the faces and masks looking at him, he 
shifted his weight from one foot to the other, he cleared his 
throat. "Um, well, I ain't much good at talkin' like this, 
but I wanna say that I jus' found out that I can get home. I 
ain't gonna forget ya, but I can't stay. Not when I can get 
back to A... er, back home. That is. Yeah, right."

     A cheer rose from the gathered Aspect Warriors, and 
those unmasked even shed a few tears at this announcement. 
They gathered around him, and threw him up onto their 
shoulders. "Wonderful, Anial Gorwydd! Come, time for a 
celebration!" cried Eldaveril.

     Teldurin snorted. "I will leave that to you. Such 
matters are nothing to me, anymore." She walked up to where 
he sat atop the cluster of warrior-women. "Anial G... Ranma, 
you are a powerful fighter. You may even be a champion. But 
take pride that you are not a warrior, and that you have no 
true malice in your heart towards your foe. Hate is a bitter 
pill, one that has trapped me upon the Path of the Warrior. 
Congratulations on your impending return home, and may your 
life at home be peaceful."

     "I don't know about peaceful, but I will be home. I 
can't wait to see 'em all. Well, maybe not the Kuno's." He 
glanced down at Eldaveril. "So, is it jus' gonna be you guys, 
or are Hanuril, Evanor, an' the rest gonna be there?"

     "Of course," she replied. "We'll get the whole 
Craftworld there, if we can!"

     Two hours later found a rather large number of Aspect 
Warriors, Warlocks, and even a couple of Farseers gathered in 
a room usually set aside for celebrations. It was as large as 
the entire campus of Furinkan, and was packed with everyone 
who had been lucky enough to have their lives touched by him, 
and almost as many who had not, and hoped to see the Human. 
Ranma, himself, was beginning to get embarrassed at the 
attention, and in fact was feeling just a little crowded.

     Ardallan walked up to the pigtailed martial artist. "My 
boy, these last several months have been an experience I will 
not soon forget. The memories may dim in ten thousand years, 
but they will never fade."

     "Yeah, I feel the same. Um, not that I'm gonna live ten 
thousand years, but I ain't gonna forget it anytime soon." 
Ranma scratched the back of his neck. "I guess when I go 
back, then you guys might have a funeral, huh?"

     The Warlock was puzzled. "What do you mean?"

     Ranma allowed a small, half-hearted grin to slip onto 
his face. "I mean, that when I go back, I'll have, well, died 
thousands of years before you were born."

     Ardallan's back stiffened a little. "Please, Ranma, this 
is a celebration in your honor. Such topics are... difficult 
to discuss at the best of times."

     "Hey, Ranma," yelled Eldaveril, "come on over here and 
meet Tynerimar!"

     The Warlock smiled. "It seems my daughter wants to make 
sure the rest of the Craftworld has a chance to meet you 
before you go."

     The human nodded. "Yeah, I'd better go and meet this 
guy... er, girl... whatever Tynerimar is, I can't see 'em." 
He bowed to his friend, and hopped over to the anxious 
cluster of Eldar at the far end of the room.

     *********************************************

     Cologne pogoed down the street at her fastest pace, and 
could still barely keep up with the levitating Shaman. "Old 
friend," she asked, "when we arrive, will you be able to 
pinpoint the heart of the breach?"

     He nodded, as the scintillating colors of his aura 
carried him through the Nerima skies. "If I can find the 
breach, I can seal it."

     Moments later, and the school came into sight. The 
afternoon sun illuminated the scene better than could be 
hoped, and showed the scattered demons fighting the 
youngsters in their most hideous light. It also showed the 
blood red tentacles as they writhed through the gaping wounds 
at the heart of the school. Most horribly, it threw a stark 
relief on the gaping maw that once served as the main 
entrance, now transformed into an obscene, fanged mouth.

     The Shaman slowed, then gently dropped to the sidewalk. 
"It is below the school, perhaps in a basement. And it is not 
alone."

     Cologne glanced up at him. "More than one breach? Or is 
there a guardian?"

     "A guardian, Khu Lon. A demon so powerful that its kind 
were worshipped as gods by some primitive tribes when I was a 
boy. It is a Changer of Ways, a winged monstrosity with an 
absolute mastery of magic, and a cunning unmatched among the 
greater demons." The ancient young man breathed deeply. "I 
cannot face it. I am stronger, but to use my powers so close 
to the rift will only open it further. You, and your students 
and their friends, must face the thing, while I close the 
rift."

     "How will we defeat this ancient demon?" asked the 
matriarch.

     "A miracle, perhaps," was her answer. "And I assure you, 
I will be praying for one, myself."







=====
- Valandar the Red of the Empty Tankard
Captain of the Guard of the Barony of the Far Woods
                              Empire of the Iron Mountains
and Ruler of the Spammish Main

http://members.tripod.com/~Valandar/fanfic.html
http://members.tripod.com/~Valandar/ran40k.html
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