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Previously on C-T-C-D:
Ranma gouges out Akane's heart for trying to kill
him, and then attempts to slaughter a little old
man for a perceived insult.
Comments for improvement greatly appreciated.
***
Ikebukuro, Teito
05:43 PM
***
When the young man opened his eyes, the clouds streamed gold and
orange overhead. Before his vantage-point on the rooftop, the streets
spread to the dimming horizon in the bustle of the metropolitan
twilight. The sun was a red disk, slowly sinking in the sky.
"We're here," he said.
"Stave Fifty-Second, the King of Diamonds," whispered a voice
behind him.
>From his shadow there stepped moonwards a small female child clad
in a black dress of Victorian make. The crimson tresses beneath her
morning cap were still despite the breeze, and the gaze of her
cerulean eyes distant.
"Where are we at present, Ranma?" she asked, scanning the skyline.
"Somewhere close to home, hopefully," replied her companion. "The
way the city looks, I'm guessing we're in Tokyo, maybe within a
decade of Heisei Seven."
The girl approached the edge of the rooftop and gazed down into the
array of streets far below.
"Dense Akashic ambience," she noted, turning to regard her
companion with a neutral expression. "I'll need some time in stasis
to adjust."
"I understand," said Ranma, giving her a slight nod. "In the meantime,
I'll see if can't locate analogues of the people we used to know."
"I shall awaken in forty-eight hours," she said. "Earlier, if you should
happen upon a spare supply of energy."
"I'll think of something," said Ranma. "Rest well."
With a curtsy, the girl faded from view, leaving only a trace of ozone
and a handful of handful of black down in the space she had
occupied. Absently, Ranma snatched one of the feathers out of the air.
Between his fingers, it became a card -- the Ace of Hearts.
"Ah, yes," he said, a smile breaking his solemn expression. "The
Advent of the Birds."
The card burst into flames.
"I can stop it."
--- - --- - --- - --- - --- - --- - --- - ---
[c]asting [t]he [c]rying [d]ream
a ranma 1/2 multicross
by fallacies
act_1ne : [muimina hyoudai / garland]
"things that happened on september 4th"
--- - --- - --- - --- - --- - --- - --- - ---
***
Teito Budoukan
06:30 PM
***
They looked on with a certain intensity as the spotlights trailed Son
Goku across the vast floor of the Budoukan. Said personage was --
for the moment, at least -- the nucleus about which their monotonous
lives revolved, and their dialogue was thus accordingly shaped:
"You gotta stop acting like this," said one of them, a youngish man
with a staff hat and a goatee, seated behind a monstrosity of a camera
near the edge of the stadium. "I don't understand why you have a
problem with him."
The other -- a slightly older man wearing a pair of tinted,
wire-rimmed glasses -- exhaled a plume of smoke into the empty row
in front of him, leaning back in his own chair with his arms hanging
limp over the adjacent seat-backs.
"When a fight's reduced to a matter of pitting raw power against
more of the same," he said, "it's hard to claim with a straight face that
there's any martial arts still involved. Son Goku's Tenkaichi amounts
to a little more than a buncha muscle-bound Neanderthals engaging
in a pissing contest. It ain't respectable."
"It's not as if he actively encourages people to match his style focus
and preferences."
"Doesn't prevent the younger generation from cloning his techniques
move-for-move," said the older man. "The complaint the more
traditional schools have with institutions like the Tenkaichi is
precisely that there's no emphasis on skill or diversity of technique
anymore. Tournament fighting's become just another artless spectator
sport, to their view."
Goku waved to the audience at a round of applause, smiling
obliviously. In the front row, a fat man in a sweaty Hawaiian shirt
waved back, shouting something undecipherable over the roar of the
crowd.
"You're looking at it the wrong way," said the cameraman. "When
you get down to it, Goku's just an early exemplar of the modern style.
You talk as if he's trend-setter, but he really didn't introduce anything
that wasn't there before. If the conservative schools can't keep up
with the times, it's their own damn fault."
"By that logic, nobody ever started _anything_," said the older man
curtly, dunking his cigarette into a tea-filled Styrofoam cup in the
seat beside him. "And if nothing else, this trend of yours makes for
shitty fighting. The matches all look like reruns."
They let the cheering of the crowds fill the lull in the conversation as
Goku jumped up on to the fighting platform. A bank of lights flashed
on, and found their way to the entrance opposite.
[And up against the reigning champion in the next match,] said the
announcer excitedly, [Yagami Raito, hailing from right here in
Teito!]
A man in a black suit made his entrance, smirking as he locked gazes
with Goku.
***
Nerima, Teito
06:30 PM
***
*click*
[... chance he might surprise all of us here in audience today, but so
far we've found no record of him having participated in any
martial ...]
"Huh," said Ranma. "Hafta look into that, I guess ..."
The faint blue light of the television flickered across the table, but
achieved little more than to bathe the room in a dim, inconsistent
glow. Son Goku's smiling, confident face reflected off the corner of a
glass shard piercing out of the side of a trash bag.
Ranma picked up a framed photograph from off a dusty counter,
careful not to cut his fingers on the shattered cover-glass. It was a
family portrait, he noted, of Soun and his three daughters on a day at
the beach. The date penned into the bottom margin was July, 1994.
"Twelve years old, probably," he said softly. "Going by the date in
the paper, she'd be eighteen this year."
With a snap of his fingers, a ghostly light-bulb appeared in the empty
socket overhead, illuminating the room. Ranma stepped around an
array of beer bottles at the foot of the table, and scanned the debris
strewn about for anything at all of use.
[... insurance against potential collateral damage,] said the television.
[The newly installed distortion fields around the platform are capable
of blocking military-grade weaponry and the majority of the ki
attacks normally ...]
Annoyed that the Budoukai was interrupting his train of thought,
Ranma sent the television a glare. The word "Mute" appeared in
neon-green text at the upper left corner of the screen.
"They can't have been gone for all that long, though," he continued,
looking down again at the floorboards next to the refrigerator.
"Somebody's still paying the electric bills."
There was a patch of dry blood on the wood.
***
Misaki Township
06:30 PM
***
In a mansion study, a sliver of moonlight cast upon the surface of a
worn oaken desk the silhouette of a young woman. Over the polished
checkered flooring just beyond the reach of the light there rolled a
basalt mist, curling and pooling against the minute irregularities of
the marble slabs.
"Report," said the woman. "And stop that."
The gas ascended from the floor, flowing into the form of a tall man
in a trench-coat. Half hidden in the shadow of his wide-brimmed hat,
his grin revealed inhumanly long canines.
"A series of low-level IPW broadcasts were detected in Ikebukuro at
roughly 1745," he said. "As the set of frequencies exhibited were
markedly different from any of the ones we have on record, we
decided to look into the matter. Recon established visual surveillance
at 1800, and observation is ongoing."
"Show me what you have," the woman ordered.
A flat surface of light lifted into the woman's frontal plane from
between two rows of tiles, rising to the veneer of the ceiling. About
the blankness, black text pixelated into existence, and a photograph
of a pigtailed young man appeared besides.
"A name to go with the face?" asked the woman.
"No matches so far, but we're in the process of searching citizen
registration. The compound the paranormal is investigating is owned
by one Tendou Soun, a martial artist of some minor renown, student
of the Chinese ki specialist Ba-Bao Zhai. Little information is
available regarding the details of Tendou's personal life, and his
current location is unknown."
"Have you established any leads on this ... ki specialist?"
The man's grin grew slightly feral.
"I traded blows with him seventy years back, and I haven't heard
from him since," he said. "Not all that shabby for a mortal, but a little
too reliant on explosives. A bit like yourself, Miss Akiha."
Akiha eyed the man, unamused.
"Don't you start," she said. "I haven't forgiven you yet for the mess
you caused last time."
There was a faint chuckle as Alucard's body dissipated.
"So much easier to get a rise out of you than I can her Ladyship," he
said, voice echoing against the walls as he vanished. "I'm off to
determine the threat of the target. Call me if there's a problem."
A full minute passed before Akiha felt it safe enough to allow herself
a sigh.
"I swear," she said, swiveling her chair to face the night sky. "The
man's habits have got to go."
***
Minato, Teito
06:36 PM
***
[ ... contestants appear to be talking. Let's cut over to the
microphones out on the platform.]
The walls of Kounan Mansions Room 302 were plain, whitewashed
plaster, but the flat's current inhabitant had gone at some length to
soften the harsh, nihilistic modernity intended by the architects. As
such, wooden boards had been installed over the grey tiling that
furnished the original floor, and a crown molding of similar material
adorned the perimeter of the ceiling. To fill the emptiness of the
walls, there were a number of feline posters taped up, as well as an
audio system for the occasional bit of J-Pop.
The occupant of the 1LK -- a Yamamura Sadako -- sat at present
holding a cell-phone to her ear amidst the pile of multicolored plush
dolls on her couch. Across the room from her, between a large
Liddo-kun doll and a Chiyo-Chichi plush, there was an old, slightly
staticky Genom television, at which she was gaping blankly.
[Look, kid,] said Goku. [I don't really plan on hurtin' you or nuthin',
but ... just in case, you wanna quit?]
"Are you even listening to me?" asked the voice on her cell-phone.
"At this rate we'll _never_ get the lines memorized."
"Yes~, Kaorin ..."
"Don't you 'Yes~, Kaorin' me, missy. If you're busy with something,
get it done and over with. I can't have you all distracted like this, you
know? Gotta get this down before next week, or Kimura-sensei's
gonna throw a fit."
Sadako focused her eyes on one of the names at the bottom of the
screen.
"Kaorin," she said. "Can you do me a favor?"
"Yeah?" asked Kaori.
"Turn on your television, and switch the channel to WHK," said
Sadako. "They're showing the Budoukai."
The phone fell silent.
[Thank you for your consideration, Mister Champion] said Yagami.
[I don't think I'll be visiting the loser's bracket tonight, though. Let's
proceed with the match as planned.]
"That isn't who I think it is, is it?" asked Kaori. "Yagami, from our
course with Kurosawa-sensei? That guy you've got a crush on?"
"I'm not imagining this, then," said Sadako, blushing a bit. She
hugged her Nekokoneko plush a little tighter. "Yagami-kun ..."
***
Teito Budoukan
06:37 PM
***
As they slowly circled each other on the platform, Goku concentrated
on feeling out the quirks of Yagami's ki pattern for evidence of
power suppression. It seemed that the boy's energies were at best far
weaker than the Kame-sennin's at his peak, and that was giving a
charitable estimate; there was nothing at all distinguishing about
Yagami's aura, besides perhaps a hint of fire.
'Why's the kid so confident, then?' thought Goku. 'He doesn't move
around like a martial artist, and his stance ...' Goku fought the urge to
roll his eyes. 'He's got his hands in his pockets, for heaven's sake!'
Deciding to end the match with a quick incapacitation, Goku
instant-transmissioned himself mid-stride to the area immediately
behind Yagami. His knife-hand passed through empty air where the
boy's neck had been less than a second prior.
"Your aim seems a bit off, Mister Champion," said Yagami, standing
at the other end of the platform.
Goku blinked, slightly stunned.
'Some sorta teleportation?' he thought. 'No, doesn't feel right. How'd
he know I was gonna strike him? I didn't telegraph my moves, so ...'
Goku narrowed his eyes. 'Can he read my mind?'
To test out the theory, Goku made a dash to elbow the boy in the
stomach. The attack missed again, but this time he caught sight of the
"technique." A few milliseconds before impact, the boy's body
suddenly blurred and faded away.
"After-images?" asked Goku aloud. "Is that how you fight?"
The boy smiled. "You overestimate me, Mister Champion," he said,
adjusting his tie a little. I'm not well-trained enough to pull off
anything that fancy."
Behind Goku, an identical voice asked: "I don't imagine you know
anything about hallucinogenic blood toxins, do you?"
***
Nerima, Teito
06:37 PM
***
The shadows across the inside of the doujou deepened and twisted.
Ranma narrowed his eyes and carefully backed himself toward a
claw-scarred wall, noting vaguely to avoid the large splinters of
wood littered about. An area of pitch black gathered at the far end of
the room, drawing darkness to its center like a vacuum nozzle put to
dust.
A boot clanked down against the floorboards somewhere out of sight,
and from the heart of the cobalt vortex there emerged a man in a suit
and trench coat. In a gloved hand, he clutched a wide-brimmed hat
against his mane of black hair, and there radiated from behind his
shades a crimson glow. Once in the open, he started toward Ranma
with slow, calculated paces, grinning.
"My name," he said, "is Alucard. I'm a representative of the Special
Immigrations Unit at Foundation AEGIS."
"You here lookin' for me?" asked Ranma.
"Paranormal Identification Code #S24M," said Alucard. "I'm here to
notify you that we're forcibly enacting your deportation."
"You've got the wrong guy," said Ranma. "My name is Saotome
Ranma. I've never heard of this Para-"
There was an immense noise that tore through the room. Ranma's
eyes widened at the wisps of smoke rising from the bullet-hole
beside his head.
"I don't care who you think you are, #S24M," said Alucard. The gun
didn't waver.
Ranma frowned, but chose to remain silent in deference to the barrel
of the man's weapon.
"Does the size of my piece make you feel insecure?" asked Alucard,
smirking. "Be a good little boy and just give up."
Ranma bristled at the remark, and replied: "You wouldn't be using
that big a gun if you didn't have a few insecurities yourself, asshole."
"Contradicting brat," said Alucard venomously, pulling the trigger.
"Bon appetit."
***
Teito Budoukan
06:40 PM
***
"Poison," gasped Goku, struggling to remain upright. "You poisoned
me with magic!?"
The platform was filled with identical duplicates of Yagami Raito,
smiling and watching on as Goku attempted to regain control of his
body.
"Though it was once so-called, I assure you that my administrations
are _not_ magic," they said in unison, dispersing as if they were
made of mist.
The Budoukan was empty. Goku's shaking form stood in a lone
spotlight at the center of the darkened expanse.
"This is a hallucination," said a voice that came from everywhere. "It
is a product of your own imagination -- a waking nightmare."
>From the scores of seats beyond the floor, mannequins rose from
nothingness in standing ovation, wordlessly clapping their hollow
appendages in a parody of congratulations. A decapitated corpse in a
orange training gi lifted itself over the edge of the platform, trailing a
path of blood as it slowly clawed its way toward Goku.
"Kuririn," Goku whispered.
"I'm using a type of systemized ki manipulation, the effect of which
is usually referred to as Nen," said the voice calmly. "It was devised
so to empirically categorize the assorted applications of ki observed
in Oriental martial arts. There are only around five thousand
practitioners worldwide, so it's not exactly surprising you've never
come across it before."
More corpses materialized: the Kame-sennin, Yamcha, Tenshinhan,
Chao-zu, Vegita ... and Chichi, her empty eye sockets crawling with
maggots. Goku squeezed his eyes shut, but couldn't ignore the stench
of decomposition. The mannequins continued clapping. He collapsed
to his knees.
"This is impossible," he whispered. "No one can do this."
"Though it does require a little more concentration and effort than the
average ki-blast, my technique is fundamentally identical to your
trademark Kamehameha," said Chichi's voice. "A blast of free ions is
but the simplest tangible form a quantity of ki can be forced to take."
"When did you poison me?" asked Goku, clenching his teeth.
"I haven't the slightest clue, to be honest," said the voice. "At some
point, you must have tripped the trace amounts of macroed ki I left in
my footsteps as I walked. I formatted the energy to convert and
materialize into your bloodstream as poison molecules on contact
with your aura."
"Ki mines," spat Goku, opening his eyes to a blurred image of
Yagami's face.
"You're strong, but still ultimately bound by the limits of your own
physiology," said Yagami. "The era of Son Goku is ended."
***
Nerima, Teito
06:40 PM
***
The bullet compressed and ground to a halt against Ranma's forehead,
falling away at the close of its revolution to reveal no visible damage.
As the deformed slug clinked against the floor, the skin struck by the
gunshot peeled off in a rectangle and descended in uneven arcs to the
blood pooling at the boy's feet. At rest, the slip momentarily paled
from skin-tone to white before capillary action recolored it a dark
rose.
>From out of the wall, next to where Ranma's hand was, there
extended a curved spike of paper impaling Alucard through the
ribcage, entering the torso just off-center enough to puncture the
heart. Vascular fluids gushed profusely down the outer surface of the
suit, coating the silk with what appeared to be a layer of dark gloss.
Alucard's features were frozen in an expression of surprise.
"Fucking vampire," muttered Ranma under his breath. "Shouldn't
have tried backing me up against something that high in pulp."
He stumbled disoriented in the general direction of the door as if
concussed from the shot, but managed nevertheless to avoid most of
the fluid in his path. A gurgling noise from behind stopped him a few
steps from the exit, and unsurprised he turned to see the spray of
blood across the floor receding to Alucard's boots.
"You don't reek like most humans," said Alucard in a slightly
distorted voice. "At a glance, I'd taken you for an Invader. Seems I
was a bit too hasty."
Carried by the mess of blood around it, the dropped gun lifted into
Alucard's open hand, and with a slight motion of the wrist the
weapon was again cocked in Ranma's direction.
"The Invaders don't care enough about stealth to shield their presence
with ki-charged paper," said Alucard, "and as it's obvious you haven't
the ego to make a formal stand against me, I rather doubt you to be
amongst the Dead Apostles. Process of elimination says you're most
likely human. Who trained you in paper control? Pantywaist
Nakajima?"
"You talk too much," said Ranma.
"And you talk rather big for a coward who protects himself with
tissues," said Alucard. "If you had the slightest clue how to fight for
real, I wager you wouldn't be pulling parlor tricks like you just did."
Ranma cleaned out an ear with a pinky, expression betraying his
annoyance.
"If those were just parlor tricks, you wouldn't have been caught
off-guard like that," he replied. "Last I checked, you kinda died."
"I got better," said Alucard, firing again at Ranma's forehead.
The bullet hit its mark this time around, making a clean puncture
through the surface membrane with considerable force. Simultaneous
to the impact, however, the dome of the skull collapsed inward along
the trajectory of the air distortion, bursting open through the back of
the head in a cloud of shredded paper. A moment later, the body
unraveled into layers of white parchment.
Alucard stared. When the initial surprise passed, he sighed and
tapped his earpiece.
"Staff Delta to Central," he said. "Do you read?"
"Loud and clear, Delta," said the earpiece. "How'd the encounter
go?"
"Decently," said Alucard. "Temporarily redesignate the subject to
human, subclass nen-user, possibly paper control. Did you get ahold
of an IPW signature?"
"Sorry, but there wasn't a repeat broadcast after the initial burst,"
replied the earpiece. "Threat classification?"
"C," said Alucard. "But just to be safe, put him under surveillance the
next time he pops up. I think he's a stave-jumper."
***
In the mountain depths,
Treading through the crimson leaves,
The wandering stag calls.
~
End Chapter One.
***
The Real Disclaimer:
This fanfic is utterly horrible. It lacks any
discernable direction or organization, and, as
is, appears to be randomly introducing
unrelated characters in string of badly-
written, incoherent scenes flagged with
newbie-ish location/time markers.
The author is obviously an attention-seeking
hack with no skill or Voice. He shall humbly
accept any assistance that might render a ray
of hope to the future of this fic, and wishes
to thank all of those who have already
contributed.
- --- - --- - ---
Crapfic Wisdom #9
--- - --- - --- -
The longer the typical hero wallows in self-pity
at the abuse and injustice he supposedly
experiences, the less the gain of immense powers
at inversely proportional accountability seems
unjustified, no matter how deus ex machina the
means. This actually amounts to the promise of
divine retribution against the hero's perceived
abusers. Even if he never gets a chance to carry
out that retribution, it's the fact that he can
do it that matters.
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