DISCLAIMER: Ranma Nibunnoichi is the property of Takahashi Rumiko,
Shogakukan Inc, Shonen Sunday Comics, and Viz Video. It is used without
their permission and is not intended for profit but only for the
enjoyment of fans of the Ranma series. All characters within this fic
that are not the property of the above mentioned are copyrighted to the
author, Joseph Kohle, January 1997. This work of fiction is the result
of the author's hard work and is for the enjoyment of others. Please do
not change, modify, or use any segment of this story without the
author's knowing and written consent. Feel free to archive this work.

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

                       Meiyo Ai soshite Nikushimi

                       A Ranma Nibunnoichi Fanfic
                            by Joseph Kohle

                       Part IV: Separate Paths
                    Chapter III Teacher and Student


                                -- 1 -- 


     Like a suffocating blanket, inky darkness engulfed him. It stalked
him like a hyena waiting for the chance to pounce on its hapless prey.
Blindly he spun trying to defend himself as one did against the bogey- 
man. "Help!" The blackness swallowed his voice, sucking the breath from
his chest, driving the fear deeper into his heart. Then the hyena
pounced.
     A heavy weight crashed into his mind, dragging him down, heavy jaws
ripping at his mind and body. He screamed and tried to push it away, but
his fear only drove it into a wilder frenzy. Inch by inch it pressed its
advantage, the invisible teeth and claws brushing and than breaking his
skin, leaving hot trails of pain and fear.
     It was too much, the thing was too strong. It pushed at his defen- 
ses, dove beneath his crumbling sanity. Closing his eyes, blanking his
thoughts he waited for the inevitable, but it never came. Even though he
could feel the hot breath, the ravenous desire, the jaws never closed.
     "Go," The voice was soft and reassuring. "I'll stay. This is my
task."
     He didn't argue. Scrambling backwards he fled like a child from the
basement, terror strangling his chest. Behind him he heard the voice
chant, "Like old times, ne? You never get to dance with my partners.
Come, let's dance, demon." A light, ghostly laugh followed as the world
filled with light.
     He ran and ran, the light surrounding him and forming a tunnel to
light his way, behind him he heard a dark voice. "It's not a dance
anymore, Mortal. No more." Then the girl screamed as the world went dark
around him. Like a sailor litening to the Siren's call, he was entraped
by the agonizing shriek that filled the air. 
     "Nooo! Its not the same. Ranma, help! Please," The last was cut
short in a gurgling sob as his eyes snapped open. Bolting from his
sleeping mat, sweat-damp hair plastered against his forehead, he clamped
his mouth shut on the scream that was trying to burrow its way out of
his throat.
     His heart was racing in his chest. Fear filled him, not fear for
himself but for the voice, the girl. He had to help her, but he did not
know how. But it was only a dream, he told himself. A dream that he had
had three nights running, although it had never been a girl saving him
before, just a presence, a feeling of protection. Why was it suddenly a
person? It had to mean something. But the only girl he knew who could be
in trouble was...
     "Xian Lin!" he whispered hoarsely, his voice trembling with fear.
He was a blur of motion as he clawed through the clothes next to his
mat, pushing aside his shirt and grabbing at the pouch as a dread cer- 
tainty filled him. Ripping the pouch open, he dropped the idol into his
hand, his eyes tracing over every inch of it.
     He breathed a sigh of relief.
     It was unchanged, the white aura of Xian Lin glowing lightly about
it, a dark smudge the only blemish on its surface. Frowning, Ranma
glanced at the smudge. He could have sworn it had been smaller before,
but he was unsure. Even in his fear, he could feel Xian Lin's comforting
aura, that sense of fulfillment and warmth he only felt in Akane's arms.
Sighing, he sank back on his sleeping mat and hugged the idol tightly
against his chest.
     "Three nights," he whispered. He didn't understand it. Although he
sometimes had nightmares, they were never intense, they never woke him,
and they never repeated, until now. He didn't know what it meant. The
first three nights of his training trip, he had been woken by nightmares
like the one he had been trapped in before waking from the datura induc- 
ed sleep, but now they were similar. They were terrifying, reminding him
of the darkness that had been his first contact with Boukyaku, and that
was what scared him.
     In the back of his mind, he knew Xian Lin was trying to tell him
something. It wasn't guilt on his part for leaving her. The dreams were
too real, too similar to be that. So what did she want? Did she need him
to free her now? But how?
     He shook his head and rolled out of his sleeping mat. Padding over
to the fire, he stirred it gently with a stick until the orange and red
tongues of flame were licking the twigs and branches as if it were a
ravenous beast. Settling beside the warmth, he turned his eyes skyward.
Stars filled the heavens, the quarter moon casting its eerie glow across
the slopes of Mount Fuji. In the distant valley, the competing light of
the Tokyo megalopolis shone in all its garish glory. Ranma returned to
the stars, he liked them better.
     Even the stars, though, could only keep him entranced for a time,
and the longer he looked the more thoughts of Akane and eventually Xian
Lin would intrude on his mind. He knew the oblivion of sleep would elude
him for the rest of the night, and he was unwilling to face the oblivion
that was waiting for him, so he decided to make the best of it. Standing
up, he grabbed a canteen of water and walked over to the sleeping form
of Mousse. 
     Ranma knew he would have to deal with his problems sooner or later,
but sooner he was not in the mood for. Upturning the canteen, he acti- 
vated Mousse's curse and then went for the hot water as an angry duck
quacked at him. Training Mousse would clear his mind.


                                -- 2 -- 


     As he panted on his hands and knees, a flicker in the corner of his
eye was the only warning Mousse was given. With a supreme effort of will
he forced himself to roll to the side, but the stone still nicked his
bruised shoulder, drawing blood. With a grunt he landed on the hard
earth and continued the roll until he was on his feet, facing his
adversary. 
     Ranma was crouched on his rump, leaning casually against a tree, a
pile of small stones next to him. Dressed in only his pants and twirling
a pair of chopsticks in one hand, he looked like someone enjoying the
day's cool breeze and warm sun. Mousse knew different. He could see the
calculating look in Ranma's eyes, the subtle play of muscles and tendons
in his body that told him Ranma was preparing something. He was not
disappointed as the chopsticks suddenly flashed.
     Dropping into a crouch, Mousse rolled to the side, dodging the hard
projectile. He didn't finish the dodge. Instead he planted his feet, and
pushed himself back the way he had come, using his hands to spring into
the air where his feet grabbed a low-hanging branch. Swinging into the
tree, he quickly did a backflip that took him toward the ground. Above
him he heard several dozen thuds as stones slammed into the branch he
had just left.
     Hitting the ground, he rolled and started to come to his feet, when
a rock slammed into the dirt in front of him. The dry earth sprayed
across his face, sticking to the sheen of sweat that covered his body.
He was frozen for a moment, his body still adjusting to the ground. He
knew the next rock was coming, but it Ranma's voice that came instead.
"That's enough for now, Mousse. Get something to drink and cool down.
We'll get lunch and then continue."
     Climbing to his feet, Mousse nodded at Ranma who had only a few
stones left beside him. Ranma nodded in return, his crystal eyes never
leaving Mousse's own. It was almost unnerving, until Ranma smiled at
him. "You're getting better. If you keep this up, we might not even need
the full month." Mousse grunted at the compliment before heading off to
the nearby camp.
     He had to admit Ranma was right. He was improving, but not at a
rate that he found comfortable, and the fact that Ranma refused to spar
with him or let him fight with his weapons irked him even more. It had
been that way since the first day. That was the only day Ranma had
sparred against him, if their fight could've been called sparring. That
was also the day all the laws had been set down.
     They had stopped in a small clearing outside of Nerima, the sun
already past its zenith and slowly descending toward the western hori-
zon. Ranma unshouldered his pack and motioned for Mousse to do the same.
He complied, dropping the small pack into the dirt beside him. Expecting
an attack from Ranma, he settled into his ready stance, his hands tucked
into each sleeve, his tense muscles hidden by his voluminous robes. 
     Ranma was kneeling at his own pack, rummaging through it. Casting
a glance over his shoulder, he shook his head and went back to his pack.
"Relax, Mousse," he said. "We're not sparring yet."
     "We're not..."
     "Sparring. I want to talk first. So relax your guard and sit down,"
Ranma said.
     "How did? You barley looked at me." Mousse was flabbergasted. Sao-
tome had glanced at him for no more than a second, and he had seen he
was ready? How?
     "It's pretty obvious," Ranma commented, answering Mousse's unspoken
thoughts. "I know your style. Your hands are probably touching a blade
or chain. By crossing them like that I can tell how you're going to
throw. The robes hide your body, so I can't see your form, but you're
standing straight which means your legs are close together. You fight in
a closed stance, using your robes to conceal the initial movement of the
attack. But even then, the face always gives it away. You cleared your
face and went calm and serious in a moment. Why? Because you're expec-
ting an attack or are preparing for one."
     Mousse listened as Ranma rattled off his martial style's set up as
if he had been practicing it for years. He detailed tenets and positions
that could be obtained from the closed stance, how easy it was to slip
into The Form of the Swan or launch into any other avian form. Although
the recitation impressed Mousse, the flippant tone Ranma used infuriated
him. It was as if he was mocking his years of training it took to
develop his style.
     "There are draw backs to every form, but most especially to forms
like yours. They are effective, once, on a person who hasn't seen them.
Sure your weapons are useful, but what good do they do you when I'm
expecting you to throw everything short of a bus at me? Not much, ne?"
     "You've fallen under my weapons before, Saotome," Mousse answered
coldly.
     "Oh yes, I remember that," Ranma shrugged, withdrawing a length of
rope from his pack. "I seem to remember Kunou and Ryouga pummeling me
while you threw maces at me. Is that your form beating me, or just sheer
power and numbers? If your form is so good, why can't you beat me one on
one?"
     Mousse couldn't answer, he was seeing red. Although he knew Ranma
was rude and obnoxious, he had never even thought he could be so callous
of another's Art. This went beyond taunting to insults. Ranma, however,
seemed to be unaware of his words as he continued to talk.
     "Well, I'm going to show you how to beat me. First, I want you to
unlearn everything. Weapons are useless against an unarmed opponent who
is better than you or even equal to you. You need a variety of stances
that move from one to the other. You have to learn to hide your move- 
ments and, in the best case, trick your opponent into reading you wrong.
You can't do that, but I'll make you able to do it. Now take of your
robe and we'll start."
     "I'll show you how good my form is!" Mousse growled, his patience
worn thin but Ranma's last words, and launched himself at Ranma. The
fight was short and sweet. Mousse found himself on the ground a few
moments later, gasping in short breaths as Ranma stood over him, a
humourous glint in his clear eyes. 
     "Do you understand now?"
     Nodding numbly, Mousse tried to push himself to his knees, wincing
at the pain in his chest and neck. He had no clue what had happened. One
moment he was descending on an unprepared Ranma, ready to cleave his
body in half, the next Ranma was gone. Then there was pain in his back
as he was thrown forward to the ground. He could recall climbing to his
feet to see a white flash as more pain explode in his chest and his
breath was knocked from his lungs. Then his neck was encircled, and he
found himself in the air, until he hit the tree, light and pain explo-
ding in his head. 
     "H-h-how did y-you ge-get...so good?" Mousse gasped as he finally
gained his knees.
     Ranma glanced down at him, the smug superiority in his face and
voice gone as he spoke, "I've been this good for a while. Do you remem-
ber our first fight?" Mousse nodded. How could he forget it? "I was
fighting you in my cursed form. I wasn't used to it and so was not
reacting very well. If I'd been a guy, I'm sorry Mousse, but you proba- 
bly would've only gotten the first blow in." 
     "But they always seem like fair fights?" Mousse protested.
     "That's because I make them fair. I've been fighting and training
since I could walk, Mousse. My dad took me on my first training trip
when I was two. I left my mom when I was five. I've been training since
then. Only Ryouga, Cologne, and Happousai can challenge me on a regular
basis. Even my pop is not as good as me."
     "I thought he trained you." 
     Ranma sat down in front of Mousse. Mousse could see the strength
and confidence in Ranma's face. It was something he had never seen.
Ranma generally seemed like a good-natured although somewhat distant
friend to people. He was arrogant and cocky about his abilities, but he
always fought with the other person, almost as if he was training them
unconsciously. "I beat Oyaji when I was ten. I'd let him win the past
few days, giving him the fights so I could watch how he reacted, what he
went for. He has patterns like everyone else. Once I thought I knew his
pattern, I began fighting back. After a week I knew I was ready. I went
all out against him. It was a dead heat for almost an hour, but he fell
into a pattern when I started to let up. I had him then, and I've been
able to take him ever since. I don't do it very often, since it isn't
any fun."
     "You don't fight to your potential?" Mousse asked incredulous.
     "No, not that. It's just that I don't fight with what I know well.
I'm training so much that I pick up techniques better than Nabiki makes
money. The problem is, you've gotta work on each technique to make it
perfect and then integrate it into your form. So I generally switch to
one of those techniques I haven't mastered, or just came up with, and
fight with them till I become too good at it to continue, then I just go
to the next."
     Contemplating Ranma's words, Mousse kept his mouth shut for a few
minutes. Ranma seemed to understand and stood up and returned to his
backpack. Mousse didn't pay too much attention. He kept thinking of
Ranma's words. It seemed like Ranma was going to teach him the Anything
Goes Style, but he didn't want to learn it. He had trained himself in
the Arts of Misdirection, and as such did not want to change to an open-
hand and power based style like Anything Goes. "So you're gonna train me
in your school and send me against Shampoo."
     "Roughly," Ranma answered.
     "I'd rather keep my own style," Mousse muttered.
     "Do you know what my school is about?" Ranma asked as he returned
and sat in front of Mousse, a length of rope in his hand. 
     "You just seem to accumulate everything about other schools and use
them. So why should I learn it? My school is very versatile."
     "Do you know why it is called Anything-Goes?" Ranma didn't wait for
Mousse to formulate his answer. "'Cause anything goes. It is not a style
so much as a philosophy of fighting. Look at any member of my school and
compare my fighting to theirs. The closest you'll find is my father, and
he prefers a combination of jujitsu, akido, and judo. Akane prefers
kenpo and techniques relying on strength and power mixed with endurance.
I've never fought her father, but I'd assume he uses a similar style as
Akane but emphasizes quick deadly strikes after moving his opponent into
place. I've meet two other members of my school. Both had very different
styles and were nothing like my father or Happousai, even though they
trained under the old fool before my dad was born."
     "So what do you know?"
     "A lot, but not enough. Straight kenpo I'm very good, maybe ninth
dan or almost a grand master, with a few others I'd probably rank in the
fifth to seventh dan. There are several more schools I could beat their
second dan with only a little trouble, but as a practitioner of my
school I'm one or two step from a grand master."
     "High opinion of yourself?" Mousse asked, but it wasn't a question.
He thought he was seeing Ranma's arrogance again.
     "No, I know my school and you don't. I told you it was a philosophy
not a style. I can use most weapons. I know their advantages and disad- 
vantages. I've watched thousands of martial artists and fought just as
many. The trick is in how you fight. What are you? Maybe an eighth dan
in your school?"
     "Seventh," Mousse answered, "I was tested at seventh before I left
for Japan."
     "So you're probably eighth or ninth now. You've had a lot of prac- 
tice fighting me and the others."
     "What does this have to do with anything?"
     "It's simple. In your style, I can't beat you. I'm maybe a high
beginner, but when I fight you with Anything Goes I become the eighth
dan and you the beginner." Mousse gave Ranma a skeptical look, but Ranma
ignored him. "It is because Anything Goes is trained as a fighting
school. We learn as much as we can and incorporate it into our own style
which is unknown to any but the student himself. Because of this, you
cannot even begin to guess how I'm going to attack or with what. One
moment I'm fighting with kenpo, the next I might grab a weapon to slash
you backward, and then switch quickly into judo to get the maximum from
a throw only to finish with a combination that exists only in my style.
How can you fight that? You can't unless you're really good, like
Cologne and Ryouga, but even they use a little bit of Anything Goes in
their styles, and I'd bet money that Ryouga's family were practitioners
of it until they formed their own school." 
     "So what are you going to teach me? All those other styles?" Mousse
argued. "That'll take years, not a month."
     "I'm not teaching you any new style. I'm going to teach you how to
observe and learn from others. I'm going to improve the basics in you,
speed, strength, agility, endurance, coordination. I'm going to build a
core that can accommodate the Anything Goes style. That will take a
month, and from there you are on your own. You'll have to learn the
techniques that will defeat Shampoo. I'm trusting in you."
     "You can trust in me," Mousse answered after a few minutes. What
Ranma had said made sense, and he was prepared to give him a chance.
     "Good," Ranma said and held up the rope, "Now take off your robe
and tie this around your waist. We're going to work on balance, and I'm
not letting you stop until you've collapsed on the ground."
     Grabbing a mug of hot water, Mousse headed for the nearby stream.
Ranma had been true to his word. For a week they had traveled and
trained, trained until he could barely stand at the end of the day. It
was a new experience for Mousse. He was accustomed to training and
practice, but the way Ranma went about it was nearly fanatical. No, he
corrected himself, it was fanatical. 
     Ranma had a strange concept of training. He considered everything
worth training. Even traveling from place to place, Mousse was uncertain
when Ranma would suddenly start training him. But even as annoying as
that was, it was nowhere near as annoying as the 'training' that had
taken place the last two nights while he was sleeping. Sometimes Ranma
took it too far.
     Mumbling vulgar epithets under his breathe, he removed his clothes
and splashed into the stream, his curses turning to angry quacks as he
paddled around the stream and dipped beneath the water, enjoying the
feel of the water beading off his water proof feathers. Diving under
water again, he shook himself, allowing the oil from his skin to work up
the feathers as the water touched his inner down. 
     Invigorated by the cold water and the avian joy he got from swim-
ming, he waddled from the stream and knocked the hot water on himself,
instantly becoming a human again. Gathering his clothes, he slipped into
his pants and returned to the camp to find Ranma dressed in a white
Chinese battle shirt by the fire. He was heating lunch, a simple soup,
while some dried rice cakes warmed on the fire stones.
     Plopping in front of the fire, Mousse snagged a rice cake and began
munching on it. "Are we going to spar this afternoon?" he asked between
bites.
     "No," Ranma answered simply as he pulled the soup from the flames
and dished it out.
     "Why?" Mousse protested. "I've been training every hour of the day
for a week. I've been run ragged, bruised, beaten, dirtied, and now
bloodied." He presented the shoulder that had been cut by a rock to
Ranma. "I think I deserve to test that on someone."
     Ranma handed Mousse a bowl of soup in answer, his eyes boring into
Mousse's own. The blue was hard like granite, unyielding and very disap-
proving of his comments. Ranma's eyes were always like that. After a
week under their scrutiny, Mousse had learned to read Ranma's mood well.
He had the most expressive eyes Mousse had ever seen. A poet had once
said that the eyes were the mirror to the soul, it was true with Ranma.
Ranma rarely gave compliments, and often talked with a blustering
bravado, but neither represented him well. If he approved, his eyes
would sparkle and almost smile even as he berated Mousse's style. If he
was angry or disappointed, they flashed a dark blue and than became the
granite Mousse was now staring at.    
     "I'll decide when we spar. I'm not in the mood for it now, and
you're not ready."
     "How will I get ready, if I don't spar against someone?"
     "If I give a new student a sharp katana and tell him to fight me,
is he going to get better or slice off his foot?"
     "But we'd be using bokkens," Mousse argued, hoping to make Ranma
see the obvious.
     "Drop it, Mousse," Ranma snapped, "I'm in no mood for this today."
     "So now fighting is a mood thing?"
     "I never said that."
     "Then what are you saying? That you don't want me to get better?
You don't want me to beat Shampoo? I thought you did, but I don't see
how that is going to help!" Mousse pointed his finger at the remaining
rocks. 
    "I'm trying to make you better. Maybe this ain't the best way, but
it works, and it works fast. I need results, and I'm getting them. When
I think you're ready, I'll spar with you. I promised you Shampoo, and
you'll get her."
     "You would've promised Shampoo to anyone," Mousse said calmly from
a seated position, "if they would've gotten her off your back. Well, I
love her too much to make her a toy."
     Lost in his own martyrdom, Mousse was startled when Ranma surged to
his feet, his eyes burning as he glared down into Mousse's upraised
face. "Who's made who a toy? Answer that Mousse. I'm just a prize to be
won by Cologne and Shampoo. They gain honour and protect the precious
pride of the tribe if I marry Shampoo. Do I have a say in this? No! Can
I do a damn thing about it? Until now, no! Maybe I'm treating her like a
toy, but at least I'm doing it so she won't be hurt too much. At least
she'll have someone who loves her."
     "That still doesn't make it right!" Mousse retorted leaping to his
feet, his face inches from Ranma's. "So why should I endure this?"
     "Because, just like me, you don't have a choice," Ranma answered
emphasizing each word with a step, forcing Mousse to retreat. "You're
bound by your tribe's law. Whoever beats her, gets her. If you think I
like being with you, then you're just as mistaken. I don't like this. I
could be at home. I could be with Akane right now, but I've gotta run
all over Japan training you and then go to Hong Kong. If I had my
choice, I'd walk away right now. I've got my own problems, and I don't
need you as one of them. But I can't. So just leave me alone. We're done
for today, Mousse." Clamping his mouth shut, Ranma spun away. For a
moment, Mousse saw eyes smoldering like a rabid beast. Then Ranma was
gone, disappearing into the trees without a sound. 
     Shuddering, Mousse sank back to the ground and watched the fire
crackle merrily. He found no comfort in its warmth though. Ranma's dark
gaze had chilled his heart as if death's angel had grasped his hand. For
a moment he had thought his life in danger and knew, in an instant,
there was nothing he could do to prevent what might happen.
     Somehow he had tapped a festering wound within Ranma. Whether it
was his callous words and presumptuous airs, or his own disgust at Ranma
using Shampoo that had done it, he was not sure. It was clear, however,
that he had to find out, if not for his own safety, then to help Ranma.
He knew a man who was being eaten by an inner demon. He promised himself
to speak with Ranma that night, as a friend. Watching the swaying bran- 
ches that marked Ranma's passage, Mousse realized Ranma needed a friend
more than anything else.


                                -- 3 -- 


     Ranma forced himself to walk, forced his legs to carry him away,
away from Mousse, away from the burning rage, but from himself there was
no escape. After little more than a mile it caught up with him. Memories
of the past, of being used and hounded after like a preschooler's toy.
Like a wave it crashed over him, filling his body with searing hatred.
With a cry, he unleashed it, his glowing fist slamming into the earth,
the ground rippling around him as his rage poured forth shaking trees
and cracking rock. 
     His rage spent, the wave slid back to sea, the undercurrent grab- 
bing his feet, dragging him with it. At first, he allowed it to carry
him deeper into himself, to the oblivion that awaited. He didn't want
this anymore. He was tired of fighting, tired of what it took to go on
each morning. 
     As he neared the edge of the drop off, he saw Akane watching him
and beside her Xian Lin. Both were pleading with him, begging him to
return. 
     Love and duty. Neither of which he could deny.
     Gritting his teeth, he fought for them. He would swim. They pulled
him upward, forced him to tread water. Eventually, he was in control
again, floating over his rage and helplessness. Although he was far from
shore, as long as Akane and Xian Lin were there, he would be safe. At
least he would for a time.
        Ranma opened his eyes to a battered world. The earth was
scorched, the trees still swaying, a few of the smaller ones cracked and
fallen. It was a grim reminder to him of his own power. Though terri-
fying on its own, with his rage, it became horrific. He had to control
it, but it was like trying to control an avalanche by standing in front
of it. It scared him. He could understand the hatred of Cologne. He
could deal with the simmering anger against being used, but why did he
explode at little things like Mousse's words? It was like a trigger was
pulled. One word led to another, and soon it snowballed, dredging up
every insult enacted upon his person as it rolled over him, carrying him
to destruction and finally death. 
     This time he had held it off, but he had always stopped it without
an outburst before. How long before the anger snapped him in two? Before
the safety net frayed, and he was swept away by it? It could not be
long. Each time brought him closer. He just hoped he would be finished
with Cologne before it happened.
     It was only rational that it was because of Cologne and his recent
problems that he was losing his focus, his control. Once she had been
removed from the picture, his life would become easier, would begin
anew. In Nerima he had Akane waiting for him. Ukyou was still there as a
friend and confidant. That only left Xian Lin, his curse, and his own
family. All uncertainties, but no pressure except with Xian Lin.
     Until that time, he had to cope, put up as many defenses as possi- 
ble, bury it as deep as he could. Xian Lin's techniques had not done it,
so he would use his own. Training and the Art could bring him his wa,
contain the demons that raged within him. But even that seemed as if he
was running away from everything and just making it worse. He shook his
head. If he had control, it would never happen again. Pushing himself to
his feet, Ranma made his way slowly back to camp, hoping Mousse would
not be there.


                                -- 4 -- 


     Mousse had left the campsite a few minutes after Ranma, hoping a
calming constitutional would clear his mind and give him the wisdom and
strength to proceed. It had done neither very effectively. So, as
always, he returned to camp with more questions than answers, only
knowing that this was his only way to Shampoo, and that he didn't under-
stand Ranma in the slightest.
     Moving silently throughout the trees, he saw the campsite unfold
ahead of him as the trees thinned. Hoping to get something more substan-
tial to eat than the rice cake, he began to increase his pace. There
might even be the chance for him to practice his Art, since Ranma had
called off the training for the day. A slight flash of white and black
in the corner of his eye though, brought his steps to a halt, and then
beheaded his short-lived prospects of fun. 
     Ranma walked into the clearing they had built their campsite in.
His hair was slightly wild, and his shirt bedraggled and dirty as if he
had been rolling in the dirt. Whether because of this or not, Ranma
striped off his shirt and threw it at his sleeping mat as he walked to
the center of the clearing.
     Mousse watched in fascination as Ranma walked with heavy steps, his
eyes flashing even at this distance. Once in the center, he slipped into
a ready stance and then began to move through a kata. His movements were
deliberate and choppy like an automaton at one of those family resorts.
It was not something Mousse expected to see, and after a few moments it
became obvious Ranma did not like it either.
     He halted in the middle of a form and growled something under his
breath. Mousse watched as he went back to the ready stance and commenced
the kata once more. Although he started out smooth, his moves became
rough after only a few positions. Again Ranma stopped and went back to
the ready position.
     Four more times he started, and four more times Ranma halted him- 
self in mid-form. Finally after the fifth failure, Mousse could see the
anger darkening Ranma's brow. He was about to slink away, leaving Ranma
to his own, when Ranma just sank to the ground and held his head in his
hands. If it had been anyone else but Ranma, Mousse would've sworn he
was crying, but even without his glasses, he knew that Ranma was not
crying.
     He watched as Ranma's hand slipped to the pouch on his belt. For
the hundredth time, he wondered what was in it. Ranma had never men- 
tioned it and had avoided his questions about it, but it still nagged
at him. Whatever it was, it seemed to calm Ranma. His breathing was more
even now, not the short inhales he had been taking. Standing up, he
entered the ready stance, but this time moved to a different opening.
     It was a simple kata even Mousse knew was common, in one way or
another, to every form. It went through the basic stances for kicks,
punches and blocks, traveling in a circle until the original position
was once again formed.
     Ranma did the kata slowly, like a beginner, his body moving with
agonizing slowness, each move formed with perfect precision before going
onto the next. There was nothing amazing about it, but Mousse was still
mesmerized as Ranma reached the ready position and began the cycle once
again. Though the speed did not increase, Mousse saw the difference in
the forms. They were smoother, more confident as Ranma seemed to almost
flow through him.
     As the second series ended, Ranma closed his eyes and began the
third. Mousse watched in fascination and then frowned. It was not the
same this time. At first he could not place it, but at the climax of the
kata, before it began its descent back to the ready position, he under- 
stood. Ranma had subtly changed each placement so that, at the end, he
was attacking in such a way that the opponent would have been unable to
block, even if he had known the kata.
     Now Mousse was even more enraptured. He watched as Ranma repeated
the kata again and again. Each time it changed slightly, a foot posi- 
tion, a length of step or depth of block. Soon it was not the simple
kata of beginners, but a complex weave of attacks and parries that
flowed around the clearing until it came back to the original position
and began again like a round of music where one person starts the melody
and the next repeats and emphasizes.
     As he watched, Mousse began to understand Ranma's words of the
first day. He watched Ranma closely, seeing the styles he incorporated
into the simple kata, and was amazed. There was no pattern in the kata.
Each repetition was different enough from the one before that the
attacks, while expected, could not be stopped. The amazing thing was
that Mousse could still see the beginner's kata within the complex weave
of Ranma's forms. It was the base upon which he was building, emphasi- 
zing or only changing slightly to bring about the desired effect. 
     It was as if a door opened in his mind. He began to understand
Ranma's teaching style and thereby the Anything Goes School of Martial
Arts. He was not interested in the style so much as the process. By
understanding himself and building his eye and body, Mousse realized he
could easily adapt anything to fit him or fit himself to anything. Ranma
was not practicing a kata, he was developing a technique as he flowed
around the clearing, and that was what he wanted Mousse to be able to
do, not memorize something but to create something that fit him or
reacted to the environment around him.
     With a new found respect, Mousse continued to watch Ranma as he
reached the ready position again. This time as Ranma started, Mousse
inhaled sharply, his breath catching in his throat. He saw it almost
immediately. He saw Ranma's body relax, the muscles loosening as Ranma 
took the first step forward. Then he moved into the first from.
     Before Ranma had been a graceful figure, dancing with his body in
an imaginary battle, changing the form and making it beautiful to
behold. Now the form was no longer important. Mousse was captivated by
Ranma. It was as if something took over Ranma's mind and did everything
for him. His body flowed from one form to the next, the form's changing
to conform to his body.
     It went beyond art. Mousse watched the subtle play of muscles as
every single piece of Ranma's body working to create the perfect balance
and form. He watched the muslces ripple underneath Ranma's skin as his
skin reflected the sun, the white line of a scar accenting the body
instead of detracting from the perfection. So too was each movement the
bare minimum needed, each position accenting Ranma's abilities while his
body gave the form its substance. 
     Never in his life had Mousse seen the like from any martial artist.
This was perfection. Ranma had somehow become one with himself and the
Art to create this dazzling display. Mousse would never remember what
Ranma did that afternoon. It was no longer a kata but a flowing of
movement from one position to the next, each move needed because of the
form before it and because of the body itself. It was impossible to
memorize, but Mousse would always remember Ranma's tanned body flowing
through the molted forest light, the standard of what a martial artist
should be, but could never be.


                                -- 5 -- 


     The angry chattering of a squirrel, brought Mousse into wakeful- 
ness. Rubbing his eyes, he blinked at the bright light as he groped for
his glasses. Finding them, he slipped them on and groggily looked about
the campsite. 
     Nothing was amiss. The fire was burning with Ranma seated by its
side, having woken before him. For a moment Mousse wondered if Ranma
ever slept. Ranma was always up before him, and he never went to bed
before him. It was just like last night. Ranma had still been up,
watching the fire when Mousse had slipped into his own bed, and now he
was by the fire again, for all appearances, looking as if had never
moved. 
     Only his face was different. Instead of the slightly bewildered yet
content expression of last night, a brooding frown covered his brow.
Mousse was almost tempted to stay in bed or slip away when he saw Ran- 
ma's countenance, but he had promised himself to talk to Ranma. So he
pulled himself from bed and brought his cooking utensils to the fire.
     Sitting across from Ranma, he filled a pot with water and placed it
on a stone in the fire. Glancing over at Ranma's troubled face, he deci- 
ded it was a good time to the break the ice, and given Ranma's apparent
mood, he thought an apology was the best. "Ranma?" he asked tentatively,
bowing his head slightly. Ranma did not say a thing, but lifted his eyes
from his intense study of the glowing embers in response. "I just wanted
to apologize for yesterday. I had no right to question you. You're the
teacher, and I agreed to it. I'm sorry for my loss of control."
     Ranma did not respond, and, when Mousse chanced a quick glance
upward, he saw his teacher's eyes again contemplating the fire as if it
held the secret of life. After a while he became convinced Ranma was
ignoring him, or was just not going to answer when he spoke. "There is
no need for that. A student may question, just not in the way you did.
And though it is right for a teacher to discipline, I shouldn't have
lost it like that. I could've hurt you or even killed you."
     "I doubt hate-filled glares would hurt me," Mousse answered.
     "Do you have nightmares, Mousse?" Ranma asked, seemingly ignoring
Mousse's comment.
     "Nightmares? Yeah. I guess. I mean doesn't everyone?"
     "Are they the same one again and again? Making it impossible for
you to sleep? To find peace? Well, they are for me, and I can't take it
anymore. I realized that yesterday." Ranma paused for a moment and then
lifted his eyes to Mousse and spoke. "I want you to find a different
teacher. I can't teach you anymore. I'm afraid I might hurt you."
     Mousse was stunned by the pleading expression on Ranma's face,
mocking the haunted eyes. "What's going on with you? What dreams are you
talking about? And who else could ever train me? You need me, Ranma! *I*
need you!"
     "I had to try," Ranma said. "I knew you'd say that. We make a fine
pair. Too stubborn to back down, and too arrogant to admit when we're
wrong. Well, I'm telling you to leave. I won't have another problem on
my hands. I've got enough to deal with. I've done enough training for
you. If you practice and find someone else, you'll defeat Shampoo. Just
be in Hong Kong in three weeks. That's all I ask."
     "I'm not leaving until I get an answer," Mousse stated defiantly.
     "What's there to answer?" Ranma asked in a tired voice.
     "Everything. How long have we been fighting, Ranma? A year? Maybe
more? I really don't remember anymore. It has become sort of a blur. But
over that time I do know what I learned about you. Eventhough we were
enemies, I respected you. I don't know why. You just had this personal- 
ity it was hard to resist. You fought when you had to, but never against
those too weak. Even you yourself told me that you rarely fight to your
potential. And there was always this cheerful air about you. You seemed
to enjoy life, but now look at you. I've never seen someone so...so...I
don't even know what it is. You look like a demon is eating you from the
inside. And, even if I'm not your friend, I owe you."
     "How do you owe me?" The edge was gone from Ranma's voice, but
Mousse knew he was nowhere near to cracking the shell around Ranma.
     "You're giving me the one thing I've always wanted. I owe you for
that. So just tell me, Ranma. What is actually going on here? I've kept
my questions for a week, but now, now it is going to far, and I think
you're about to kill someone. Probably yourself."
     Surprisingly, Ranma began to laugh. "No, that'd please Cologne too
much. Besides I already tried, and it didn't work out." Ranma fell
silent again and turned to face the forest and then back to the fire
before finally coming to rest on a concerned and very confused Mousse.
"It started three weeks ago. I was at the movies with Akane. Our first
real date. Some things had happened that sorta brought us together.
Well, Shampoo showed up and ruined the night, chasing Akane away. I blew
up. I was so pissed at her for ruining the night. I told her there was
nothing between us, that she would never have me, then I went after
Akane." 
     "You shouldn't do things like that," Mousse stated. "Shampoo can
be very vindicative."
     Ranma sighed and nodded his head. "I know I shouldn't have done
that,
but I didn't have a choice. Things went downhill from there. I broke my
engagements. I wanted Akane and me to have a chance, but Cologne," Ranma
spat the name, "decided to take things into her own hands. She wanted me
to be punished for my slights on her honour. Hmph! More like her wounded
pride. So she 'punished' me with this." Ranma pulled open the pouch on
his belt and pulled out a small idol for Mousse to see.
     It took a moment for Mousse to recognize it, but when he did, his
mouth went dry, and he backed several paces from the fire. "How?..Where?
...You can't! That's impossible. Even the Amazon's don't use that any-
more. It's too dangerous for us, and you're not Dedicated." He stopped
and glanced up at Ranma. "How long have you had that?"
     "Since I broke free."
     "You broke...without a Matriarch to reverse the Judgement. That's
impossible!"
     "I didn't do it on my own," Ranma answered, examining the idol
instead of Mousse. "Toufu-sensei did something at the end after Cologne
'forgot' to complete the ceremony. And Xian Lin. She sacrificed herself
for me, and now she's in my dreams, always suffering. Calling out for my
help, but I can't do anything, dammit! I can't do a damn thing about any
of this!"
     "Ranma," Mousse said solemnly. "What Cologne did to you was wrong"
     "Thanks for the news flash," Ranma answered bitterly.
     "You don't understand, Ranma. The Judgement is never given out
lightly. It-it requires a very serious transgression for even an Amazon
to receive it. Even then it takes all the Matriarchs to agree on it.
Most often, especially in the recent generations, the Amazon has been
given the chance to choose banishment and the loss of all family honour.
Some don't take that option and go to Boukyaku, but it is rare even
among the rare occurrences of The Judgement."
     "I don't think Cologne was too worried about banishing me. She
wanted me dead. Why else would she place this kinda curse on me?"
     "She had no right to. It is never done on one not Dedicated, and
for what she used it for," Mousse shook his head. "She could be given
the Judgement for that." 
     Ranma lifted his head at that. "I think I'd like that, Mousse."
     If Mousse had been shocked before, he was in a state of apoplexy
now. "No, you don't know what you're talking about. She's a Matriarch of
the Tribe. She is the oldest member of one of the Thirteen Clans. If she
is sent to Boukyaku..." Mousse trailed off as he saw Ranma's determined
eyes. "No one deserves that, Ranma. No matter how much you hate her. You
don't understand what you're asking."
     "I think I understand more than anyone else ever could or ever
will. I was in this thing for two weeks!" Ranma screamed, waving the
idol under Mousse's trembling face. "Don't you ever tell me I don't know
what it means. I was faced with my destruction every moment I was in
there. Do you know what that's like? Could you ever have a clue?" Mousse
shook his head mutely. "I want my revenge, Mousse. She has done enough
to me. It's not enough anymore to just keep Shampoo from marrying me.
Cologne will think of something else, and I won't be able to, nor will I
try to, hide my relationship with Akane. And once Cologne sees that..."
Ranma's eyes were blazing with fury at the moment, an intense fire that
made the one Mousse warmed his hands at seem like ice, but his voice was
a steely rasp of cold, calculating hatred. "She will not get the chance
to touch her. I will bury her before she does that."
     Mousse bowed his head under the onslaught. He could see there was
no way to reason with Ranma. Maybe if it was just rage and hatred he
could, but Ranma had connected Akane with his vendetta, and even Mousse
knew the lengths Ranma would go for Akane. He owed Ranma because Ranma
had given him a chance at Shampoo. He owed Ranma for the months of
hounding and hatred he had harboured against him. More than that he had
to protect the Amazon tribe as much as possible. There was no doubt in
his mind that Ranma would and probably could crush the tribe to destroy
Cologne. 
     How could he prevent that? The light in Ranma's face and eyes told
Mousse he was a very determined man, a man who had been forced to grow
up in a very short time by circumstances beyond his control. Ranma had
matured in the past few months to someone Mousse had no experience with,
except for the last few days. In that he had only seen what Ranma wanted
him to see, a teacher and a martial artist. This was a dangerous man,
but one who deserved his help.
     To do that he knew he would have to get to know Ranma, become his
friend. Could he push aside his old hatred like a curtain obscuring his
view? He did not know, but by staying with Ranma and helping him, talk- 
ing to him, he might find a way to like his old nemesis. "Ranma," he
said quietly, "I'd like to help you. What Cologne did was wrong and she
deserves to be punished by the Tribe, but not in your way. You're giving
me a chance at Shampoo, let me give you a chance at peace of mind."
     Ranma stared at him for a moment. Mousse did not know if it was
surprise or gratitude that filled his face but it didn't matter when
Ranma spoke. "Arigato. I-I need someone I can count on, someone who can
help me. I don't want to burden those I love. I've hurt them enough
already. I'll take you up on the offer." There was silence for a moment
as Mousse mentally sighed in relief. "I guess that means I'm still
training you."
     "I guess," Mousse acknowledged.
     "Then what are you doing sitting around?" Ranma asked. "You're no
where near ready enough." Ranma pushed himself to his feet and slipped
the idol back into its pouch. "On your feet!" Mousse snapped to his feet
in surprise, his sudden movement knocking the boiling water into the
fire. "Clumsy. I think we're gonna work on coordination today." Mousse
sighed and followed Ranma as he walked from the campsite. Behind them
the fire regained its composure and began to burn again despite the
small, watery setback.


                                -- 6 -- 


     They broke camp the next morning and left the slopes of Mount Fuji
behind them as they descended toward Gotemba and the main super highway
that curved around the city. It took a day of walking to reach a rest
area near the city, and several more hours to find a truck heading in
the right direction that they could stow-away on.
     Ranma spent most of the trip south sleeping, trying to make up for
a week of restless nights and most likely several more weeks ahead of
him. Mousse spent the time watching the cities and country-side of Japan
fly past them in a blur. They had obviously chosen a good driver. Fif- 
teen hours later they snuck off of the truck in another rest stop at the
edge of the Kyoto Prefecture.
     Ranma and Mousse quickly settled into a daily schedule of training
and traveling from that point on. Mousse was actually surprised by Ran- 
ma's knowledge of both martial arts and training grounds. Ranma seemed
to have memorized nearly every Buddhist and Shinto temple that had ever
taught a form of martial arts in it's past and just as many training
grounds, both active and ruined from years of neglect.
     Though Ranma had not yet sparred against him, he led Mousse north
through Kyoto and often had him challenge local martial artists in the
small towns and temples they encountered.  At first Ranma refused to let
him use his weapons, telling him to instead use the skills he had been
developing to fight.
     The first challenge was nearly a disaster. He faced off against a
tall heavily muscled man who preferred the bo-staff and used the
Houzouin Style to take advantage of his strength and speed, Mousse was
at an early disadvantage. Though he would have been able to easily
defeat the man with his own style, Ranma had forbidden it. So he was
forced to face the man with hand and foot, his robe and shirt discarded
on the side of the ring. He managed to dodge the first few blows, but
one landed, sending him sprawling and igniting a burning pain in his
side from the lash of the bamboo staff.
     "You're never gonna beat him if you don't attack," Ranma commented
from the sidelines. A small wave of laughter floated through the gather- 
ed spectators at Ranma's comment. Mousse ignored it and the speculative
looks the young women were throwing him and Ranma. Without a sound, he
leaped forward ready to attack. The swinging staff of his opponent,
however, brought that plan short as Mousse was sent tumbling once more.
     "What did I tell you?" Ranma snapped. "Analyze, adapt, and over- 
come. Kunou could beat that fool. Heck, Gosunkugi could beat him. Now
are you gonna do this right, or do I hafta show you how?"
     Brushing the dirt off, Mousse regained his feet while glaring at
Ranma. His opponent was waiting expectantly, a slightly amused look on
his face. For some reason, it irritated Mousse even more than Ranma's
comments. The tittering crowd did not make matters any better. He'd show
them, but he'd do it carefully. This was no time for rash behaviour.
     Slowly, he began to circle his opponent, imagining a length of rope
tied from his waist to the opponent, like Ranma had done their first day
of trianing. He pictured it just longer than the reach of the staff, but
not by much. His opponent didn't realize this, and was calculating if he
could hit Mousse. Mousse could see it in his eyes and by the slight fur- 
row on his brow. Taking a step in, he closed the distance until he was
only a few centimeters outside the man's reach. His opponent took the
bait.
     He stepped forward. 
     Mousse stepped back. 
     The bo-staff whizzed in front of Mousse's chest, but Mousse was
moving the moment the bamboo staff whistled past him. He was within the
man's reach in an instant, using his Swan Kick to strike the man's
midsection as he struck the collarbone with a knifehand. Mousse however,
underestimated the man's strength and speed. Before he could get out,
the staff swung back around connecting solidly with his midsection.
     Grunting in surprise, Mousse reacted quickly, curling his body
around the staff and using his weight to tear it from the man's hands.
Although the blow stunned him, Mousse was able to get to his feet before
the hulking ape could gather his wits and retrieve the staff. With a
weapon in his hand, Mousse felt his confidence build. He spun it through
his hands, flashing it from move to move before coming down in a ready
stance. Then a stone struck the staff, snapping it in two and knocking
it from Mousse's hand.
     The ape smiled evilly and advanced. Mousse shot Ranma a dirty look.
Ranma returned the glare with an innocent "what did I do?" look. Then
the fight was on. It was a dirty and quick match, the ape-like man using
his height and weight to try and pin Mousse down. Mousse was forced to
go low, striking at the knees and hip joints. The giant quickly fell,
but kept on fighting by grappling Mousse's legs and dragging him down.
Reacting quickly, Mousse loosened his leg muscle, a trick from his
style, and broke one of the vice-like grips the man had on his ankles.
The next instant he smashed his foot into the man's face, once, twice,
thrice, knocking the man unconscious.
     Taking a shuddering breath, Mousse extracted himself and stood up.
Shooting an accusing glare at Ranma, he accepted some water from a small
girl, while a few of the villagers helped the large man to his feet.
"You're learning," Ranma commented from behind him. But when Mousse
turned to retort, Ranma was already walking from the village, a backpack
on his shoulders. Cursing, Mousse was forced to forgo the victor's
laurels and hurry after his sensei. 
     The next challenges went easier. Mousse learned from the first
experience what Ranma wanted. He wanted him to out think his opponents
by finding their weak points and then exploit them. Ranma also wanted
him to develop his own style that accented his weaponry skills while
still making him harder to fight against.
     Mousse began to enjoy the training. In each village and temple,
Mousse found himself treated with respect and more than polite interest.
Traveling students were rare these days, so someone like Mousse was
enough to generate rumours and stories that would last through a season.
     Where Mousse received acceptance and understanding, Ranma was met
with scarcely veiled contempt. This did not come from the normal villa- 
gers but the instructors of the other schools. They refused to believe
that a seventeen year-old could ever train a decent martial artist, and
many went so far as to openly petition Mousse to join their schools 
while Ranma was eating with them.
     Ranma was never one to hold his tongue, and though he always
entered the dojo and villages with a very reserved tongue, the similar
nature and frequency of the disrespect shown to him made it impossible
for him to hold his tongue for long. Mousse himself had trouble holding
his temper in check on those occasions. He knew Ranma was young, but
after traveling with him and watching several dozen other instructors,
he had become deeply respectful of how knowledgeable Ranma was and how
good his teaching skills actually were.
     On most occasions the confrontations settled of their own accord,
but more than a few times Ranma was forced into a match against the
dojo-sensei. Mousse knew Ranma hated it. Mostly because Ranma was better
than every martial artist they encountered. 
     Despite not liking the challenges and being better than them, Ranma
never put down a school's master in a matter of seconds. Instead he
played with them, but made it seem like they were in an even contest. He
even went so far as too make it look like the masters struck blows and
that he landed blows. Mousse, however, could see that no one ever
touched Ranma, nor did Ranma hit hard, the students did not have the
experience, and many master's who would've watched wouldn't have known
either. Ranma was just too good.
     Mousse knew why Ranma did this. By play-acting the fight like he
did, Ranma insulted the master, but allowed him to keep face with his
students. It was coldly calculated on Ranma's part and always brought
about the same response from the aggressors when Ranma grew bored of the
charade and finished the fight in but a few blows. Ranma did not seem to
care though and left quickly after each challenge.
     They worked their way north through Kyoto, east into Hyougo and
then into Shimane for two days before striking southward into Okayama
for four days. From here they hitchhiked across Hiroshima and spent
several days within Yamaguchi before crossing over to Kyuushuu and
Fukuoka Prefecture.
     The pace was a rapid one, and it confused Mousse. Although they
covered a lot of ground and went to many places, sometimes three or four
in a day, there were many places they had skipped that they could have
gone through. One night, within their second week, while they were still
in Shimane Prefecture, Mousse brought this up over dinner.
     "Ranma, why are we moving so fast? I mean there are many places
that you've been to and told me about, but we don't go there." 
     "They won't help you that much," Ranma shrugged as he dished out
some rice and grabbed a few pickles the last temple had donated to them.
"Besides, if we stopped at every temple, village, and training ground,
it would take us a year to get from here to Kyuushuu. I spent ten years
wandering Japan, and trust me, there are still places I have yet to go.
We don't have that much time, and we need to be in Omura in two weeks."
     "Why Omura?"
     "I need an airport to get to Hong Kong. I've enough money to buy us
both round-trip tickets to Hong Kong, but I have to fly from somewhere
in Kyuushuu or else it will be too expensive for both of us to go."
     "Oh! That makes sense," Mousse decided and then began to eat as
Ranma dug into his own food also.
     Nights were often like that for them. During the day Ranma rarely
spoke unless it was related to training or Mousse asked a question about
the area they were traveling through. Ranma told Mousse a little of his
travels through this area of Japan. Mousse was surprised by Ranma's
memory, especially when he admitted that he hadn't been down near Kyoto
and Hiroshima since he was eleven. After that he had spent most of his
time in Hokkaidou and northern Honshu before traveling to China when he
was fifteen. It was in their nightly talks by the fire, though, that
Ranma opened up under Mousse's probing questions.
     They never followed a pattern in their discussions. Mousse was
trying more to find out what made Ranma tick. It didn't work out exactly
as Mousse wanted. Ranma was good at keeping painful memories below the
surface and even better at skirting them in stories. Despite that,
Mousse still learned a lot about Ranma in their short time together and
began to realize that Ranma was a much deeper person than he actually
appeared to be. He had a fine grasp of martial history and thereby the
history of Japan and surprisingly parts of China and Korea. But it was
Ranma's willingness to ask questions and probe into subjects that
affected him that surprised Mousse the most.
     They had been on the road for thirteen days and had camped early
to regain their strength for the next length of the Journey across
Okayama the next day. If they didn't find a ride quickly, they would
have to spend most of the next day running with brief walking breaks, so
they knew they had wanted to get some rest, but instead they found
themselves talking around the fire late into the night.
     "I don't believe your father did that," Mousse exclaimed, trying to
control his laughter and failing. Ranma's serious face made it even har- 
der for him to do it.
     "I wouldn't lie about something like that," Ranma said, smiling
slightly, the fire light reflecting off his teeth and eyes.
     "But dressing up as a woman to con some food out of a vendor?
That's too much." Mousse broke down again and began laughing until tears
rolled down his cheeks.
     "Oyaji was always a sucker for a bet, and had the worst luck of
anyone I've seen. If he can't cheat, he can't win," Ranma said.
     "D-di-didn't he know you would win?"
     "Maybe, but he made the bet anyway. To him, having me cook, clean,
and secure supplies for a month was worth dressing up."
     "What makes someone do something like that?"
     "What makes someone do anything at all? Why do so many girls chase
after me even if I don't encourage them? Why do you love Shampoo?"
     "Why do you love Akane?" Mousse shot back.
     "Oh no you don't," Ranma tsked. "I asked first. So you get the
honour of answering first."
     "I guess it's a lot of things," Mousse answered after a moment of
reflection. "We were both born in the same month and Dedicated on the
same day. She's about a week older than me, but she never makes an issue
of it. Her mother was the premier fighter of our Clan. She had won the
clan place for nearly a decade running, and for the few years before
Shampoo's birth she had been the Tribal Champion. That gave her a
special status among the Council. It allowed her to sit in with the
Matriarchs and actually discuss instead of listen like the other Clan
victors. I don't know much about Shampoo's father. He is quiet and with-
drawn. Many wondered how he defeated Shampoo's mother, but the rumor was
that Shampoo's mother let him win because she loved him. My father was
the best male fighter in our Clan, and though he did not win any place-
ment in the Tribe until I was maybe six, he was still the best within
the Clan and so held a place of honour next to Shampoo's mother. They
were responsible for training the new warriors, and, as such, Shampoo
and I were together a lot."
     "So you liked her because you were close?" Ranma asked curiously.
     "No. Shampoo was very different when she was a child. Her mother's
death affected her very deeply."
     "How so?" Ranma asked, curious about the purple-haired girl that
chased him without pause.
     "I'd rather not say. It's not my story to tell," Mousse begged off
before continuing as if nothing had interrupted. "We were good friends
from the moment we were allowed to play together until I made my inten-
tions known when we were six."
     "Six?" Ranma asked incredulous. "You started chasing after a girl
when you were six? I didn't even know the difference between boys and
girls until I was eight and spent a semester at a co-ed school."
     "Actually, I decided to go after Shampoo when I was three. No one
knew about my vision problem until I was about four or five. Before that
I kept making a fool of myself talking to inanimate objects and bumping
into things. This is humiliating for an Amazon, and the other children
who were growing up with me and training with me used to think it was
fun to play tricks on me. All except Shampoo. She stuck up for me and
faced them down. Even at three she was a fierce girl. I remember her
taking down an eight year old who had gotten in the middle of one of our
games to bother me. I fell in love with her at that moment and began
staying by her learning and trying to please her. She thought it was
funny and often called me her little shadow, but I didn't mind. She was
the one person besides my parents who treated me with respect."
     "But you fought her for her hand, and began chasing after her when
you lost," Ranma said quietly.
     "It was when we were six. I had gathered up my courage and let slip
the fact that I wanted to marry her when we grew older. She didn't laugh
at me but at the thought of marrying. She then told me that only someone
who could beat her would win her heart, so I challenged her. She won
easily, and I continued to follow her, trying to get her to love me.
Then her mother died and everything changed."
     "Has she really had a hard life?" Ranma asked after a moment.
     "It wouldn't look like it. She was the prize of the Clan. It was
assumed she would soon become as great as her mother had been and keep
our Clan in the position of power. Cologne was even more adamant about
it. She wanted Shampoo to be the best and so forced Shampoo's father to
let her train Shampoo. Ever since then she has been forced to excel, to
be the best, and to always triumph. When you came and beat her so
easily, it was too much of a blow for her and a major blow for the Clan
and Cologne in particular."
     "So she followed me," Ranma added, "because she had nothing else
to base her life on. I never knew."
     "Hai."
     "Why do you still love her? She rejects you and she ignores you so
she can follow me, but you still go after her and never give up. I don't
understand."
     "If love made sense, no one would seek paradise for we'd already be
there." There was silence between the two for a minute before Mousse
spoke again. "You question my love for Shampoo because of how she treats
me, but you chase after a girl who fights with you, hits you, slaps you,
poisons you, and rarely ever agrees with you. Are you any different? How
can you love a girl like that? Especially when you have a spirited
fighter in Shampoo or a devoted confidant in Ukyou."
     "I don't love either of them," Ranma answered simply, but under
Mousse's disbelieving stare, he continued. "Ucchan is my friend and
always will be. I know she loves me, and it hurts me to destroy that
love because I'm afraid I'll destroy our friendship. I can never love
her the way she wants, though. Sure she's a great cook. I can talk to
her and unload my problems, but she isn't Akane. And Shampoo, well I
don't think we got off to a good start."
     "From what I've heard, neither did you and Akane," Mousse answered
with a slight smile.
     "True, but Akane didn't want to kill me from the get go, just make
sure we never got married. Besides I just can't understand how Shampoo's
mind works. She went from wanting to kill me to wanting to marry me
simply too fast. How can I be assured that she loves me or is only con-
vincing herself she loves me? And I just don't feel anything when I'm
with her."
     Ranma fell silent a moment as his gaze becoame speculative and
distant. "Akane though. I don't know why I care so much for her. I hated
her after she called me a pervert when she walked in on me. I hated how
she kept taking everything I said and did as an insult to her, so I just
continued to instigate it. After a while, though, I began to hate myself
whenever I made her cry or upset her. But she kept saying she hated me
and wanted nothing to do with me. Half the time I believed her, and half
the time I didn't. Do you understand?"
     "No," Mousse answered leaning back on the ground and watching the
full moon slowly ascend in the night sky as dark clouds boiled in the
east, "not really."
     "When we're together, it's like...I don't really know how to de- 
scribe it. There is a comfort to it. I know she is there, and no matter
what I do she'll be there to help me, and I'd do the same for her.
Neither of us expected anything from the other, and more often than not
expected the worst. Maybe she can't cook, sew, or control her temper,
but she wouldn't be Akane if she did."
     Ranma paused and joined Mousse in reclining in the soft grass. "Do
you know when I first thought I actually liked her?"
     "No, when was it?"
     "It was before you showed up. Heck, I think it was the first day of
school. I had gotten soaked and Kunou was looking for me. Akane brought
me some water while I was in a tree. She threw it to me and then went to
face Kunou so I could change back into a guy. She did it naturally,
without expecting to have me owe her or even like her. That was the
first time I began to really respect her."
     "So you love her because you respect her?"
     "Yes. But it's more than that. She doesn't smile a lot, but when
she does, it's absolutely gorgeous. I also think some of it is because I
can't control her. I don't want a wife who will be domesticated. She has
a free spirit that reminds me of, well, me. We complement each other."
     "I still don't see how you can love her, but I'll believe you."
     "I don't either, but when she's not by my side, it feels like I'm
empty inside. I used to love traveling, and even with these dreams, this
would've been nice, but there is this hole in me where she should be,
and I want to get back to her. There is something between us, and the
only word I can think of to describe it is love."
     "But..."
     "I'm tired of this, Mousse. Tomorrow is a long day, and this is
just gonna depress me if we keep talking about Akane. Besides it's only
a few hours before the moon reaches its apex, and then the dreams will
come."
     "I'm sorry for keeping you up. Goodnight, Ranma."
     "Sleep well, Mousse. And thanks." Ranma slipped away to his mat and
quietly curled up. Mousse watched him fall asleep, his mind at peace for
the first time in days. Even though Ranma had been anything but chipper
for the last few days and at times caustic and bad-tempered, Mousse had
started to peal away the armour encasing Ranma, and he liked what he
found under the surface.


                                -- 7 -- 


     He knew this place. The blasted red earth, the burning sky and
fiery ocean all were sights with strong emotions attached for him.
Anger, uncertainty, helplessness, and most importantly fear haunted this
world, but one other thing was in this place, a person who rivaled Akane
for importance in his life. Xian Lin.
     He knew this was a dream, but how he knew that was beyond him. It
was not like the others though. It felt different. He was not here
because of Xian Lin. He was dreaming for some other reason, and the rank
odour that permeated the air, the oppressive glee and hungry that filled
the world instead of Xian Lin's comfort confirmed it. Boukyaku had come
for him again.
     This time he was ready. He was not enslaved to the statue. He was
floating in his body free of the monster's influence, but Xian Lin was
not. She was trapped, alone, and he needed to find her. 
     Determined, he brushed aside the presence of Boukyaku like it was
an annoying fly and began to walk, his confidence growing as the world
around him conformed to his wishes. Encapsulated within his own wa, he
could feel Boukyaku's burning hatred and shocked displeasure as he
walked. More than anything, Boukyaku's lost composure made him smile.
When connected to his own body and free of the statue, he was obviously
the dominate player, and he enjoyed being in control.
     Boukyaku, however, was bent on breaking his will. With a humourous
curiosity, he watched horrors rise from the ground to stand before him.
He saw visions of Akane and Ukyou being dismembered and brought to their
knees or of Akane betraying him. None of the ploys worked. He could see
through the illusions now, and, with a barely perceptible flexing of his
mind, he snuffed the annoying illusions as he continued to walk, search- 
ing for Xian Lin with his mind.
     Suddenly the air shimmered in front of him, a black swirl slowly
coalesced from the decaying light that had appeared. The swirling mass
slowly took form, and he found himself facing what could only be
Boukyaku.
     The demon obviously had more imagination than he had given the
thing credit for. Boukyaku stood before him, a golden skinned male
towering somewhere near two and a half meters in height. His eyes burned
red behind closed lids, his sliver mane flowing down one shoulder and
across the hilt of a katana that was belted at the beast's waist.
     "You will be mine again, Ranma." The voice thundered inside of Ran- 
ma's head, but he ignored it and glared defiantly back at the creature.
Boukyaku only laughed. "You are strong, but no one is as strong as me.
You're bound to me. I will devour your soul and destroy your world. It
was promised to me three thousand years before, and I will get my
reward. You will be the second. After I feed upon your beloved Amazon
bitch."
     The air began to shimmer again and then Xian Lin was standing
beside Boukyaku, her head downcast, her red hair hanging limp about her
shoulders. Ranma ignored her. "She's an illusion. You don't have any
power here. This is my mind, my body. I rule here, demon!" Ranma hissed.
     "She's not real?" Boukyaku's voice dripped with malicious humour.
His hand reached down and cupped Xian Lin's chin and lifted her face so
Ranma could see her eyes. They were no longer blue but green, but some-
how Ranma knew that was their true colour. "Why don't you see if she is
real? Try and destroy this illusion." Boukyaku clenched his hand, his
gleaming finger nails biting into Xian Lin's cheek and dragging bloody
gouges down them.
     Ranma could not help himself. He reached out with his mind and
found Xian Lin's mind screaming in fright and helplessness. It was not
her whole spirit, but enough was there to make her feel what was happen- 
ing. Rage washed through Ranma as her pleas for help echoed in his ears.
He struck out, his energy lashing through the air, slamming into the
golden-skinned monstrosity in front of him.
     Boukyaku laughed in glee as the power washed over him and then ran
off his body like water. "It's a dream mortal. I can't touch you, you
can't touch me, but to her I can do whatever I want."
     "Touch her and you'll die!" Ranma growled. His anger was mounting
but he could do nothing as he watched Boukyaku lift Xian Lin by the
chin. He pulled back his other hand and sent it flashing toward Xian
Lin's chest. The cry of horror died in his throat as he watched the fist
pass through her skin. Involuntarily his mind went to Xian Lin, trying
to help her.
     His efforts were ineffective, slamming into an invisible barrier.
In horror, he felt Boukyaku brush her soul. A sickening, oily taste
filled his mouth, gagging him. Xian Lin's fear and panic drilled into
his mind as a pylon is driven into the ground. He was helplees and
couldn't watch. He squeezed his eyes closed, but he could still feel the
violation as Boukyaku obscenely caressed Xian Lin's soul, playing with
it like it was a helpless kitten. 
     Boukyaku struck.
     Pain flared in his mind, sending him realing as Xian Lin began to
scream, her voice rising to a tremedndous pitch in his mind. Unable to
help himself, his eyes snapped open and he saw the white glow of Xian
Lin's soul ripped from her body. A vile taste filled his mouth and
senses as her body became an empty husk. He fell to his knees as Bouk- 
yaku shredded Xian Lin's body, scattering chunks of flesh and bone
across the blasted land. Throughout it all, Xian Lin screamed in his
mind, a distant howl of grief, pain, and fear. 
     Then the glowing ball of her soul was at Boukyaku's mouth and his
lips were parting, his tongue touching it, licking it. Revulsion filled
him. The teeth descended, Xian Lin screamed. He screamed. Darkness sur- 
rounded him and it was only her scream of terror and pain filling his
mind as Boukyaku's laughter burned in his mind.
     Screaming, he woke from his bed as thunder crashed above him, the
rain drenching his body as tears filled his eyes and poured down his
cheeks. His stomach turned in nauseating sickness as the pain and horror
of the dream continued to assault him. He couldn't stop himself from 
rolling off the mat and retching on the ground. Xian Lin's screams
echoed in his mind as the salty taste of tears mixed with the acidic
burning of his own bile assulted him.


                                -- * -- 

     
     Author's Notes:

     I'm just a ripe bastard, aren't I? The sickening part is that I'm
not coming back to ranma and Mousse for at least another section,
probably pt 5. SO I get to let you seethe and wonder what is going to
happen.
     Well, anyway, this part was meant to be a more lighthearted
transition piece that exlored the characters of Ranma and Mousse. I've
been trying to define my characters, and this way seems to work, if no
the best, than damn near close to it. There ain't much else I can say.
The part is very straightforward, except maybe the dreams, but then
dreams are always hard to understand. 

     Well, until next time
     Joseph Kohle
     
     Please comment on this.

   ----*----*----*----*----*----*----*----*----*----
   All rights and priveleges to Ranma Nibunnoichi       
   belong to Rumiko Takahashi. The characters of           
   Her series are used without her permission for the       
   purpose of entertainment only. This work of 
   fiction is not meant for sale or profit.                    
                                                                         
            
   All original characters are the creation of the
   author. All copyright privileges to these chara-
   cters are reserved for the author.

   This story is a product of the author's hard work    
   and imagination. Do not modify, add to, or make 
   use of any part of this work without the author's 
   knowledge and consent. Please feel free to archive 
   this work.                             
                                                                         
            
   Comments and criticism are welcome.                   
   Written by Joseph A. Kohle, (c) 1997.                 
   Send all comments to ashira@worldnet.att.net
   Find some of my fics at
   Http://www.geocities.com/Tokyo/Flats/6184/index.html