When Ryoga came to it was to a world of pain, his body ached from his wrists where they were pinioned over his head to his ankles where they were likewise trapped to the wall of the apparently small wooden room he was secured in. Someone had apparently taken the time to get a few good kicks in while he had been unconscious and he could not only feel the bruising on his ribs but taste that familiar tang of blood in his mouth.

His head was still fuzzy for reasons he could not explain but would later find out were leftover effects of the rather powerful magics that had been dropped on him and the sleeping party. Magics that had ensured that they would not wake from their rest even while Olhmin and his crew had snatched them up.

Through that haze Ryoga became dimly aware of something else, the familiar sound of solid objects and flesh. He had heard it enough during his breaking point training to feel the ghost of the impacts and certainly didn’t need to see them to know how much they would hurt whoever was on the receiving end.

“Ranma” sounded a desperate female voice, made hoarse by what had to be more pleas of the same and the shed tears of a friend who was watching something she could not bear, “just stay down!” Nabiki pleaded, “for the love of god stay down” he begged.

The voice was coming from outside the wooden room Ryoga was fastened in, quite where he couldn’t tell, but then that wasn’t particularly new to the young man who had earned the title of ‘Lost Boy’. It was answered with something that he couldn’t quite make out but the renewal of those wet meaty sounds was more than enough to give the bandanna clad boy a hint of just how little Ranma was playing along.

With immense effort Ryoga turned his aching neck, the throb in one side of his face having extended down from his temple to his shoulder-top, and finally checked about himself.

Two feet to his right Gos was pinioned in a similar way to him, bound with steel cuffs that seemed to flow out of the metal bands that bound the room. He too had obviously taken a tanking, his face puffy and red, one eye swollen over and old blood showing dark along his pale skinned arms. The boy was also gagged thoroughly with something that appeared a great deal more professional than Ryoga was used to seeing. The fledgling mage was also obviously concussed and all but insensate, a sizable lump on his temple offering a probable explanation.

The room, at a second look, turned out to probably be the back of that wagon that had been following them, and it was clearly no stranger to this type of cargo, there being a good dozen other such fastenings ready and waiting for more human cargo.

One of which was as darkly stained as the trails down Gos’s arms. Ryoga was no stripling youth anymore, he could recognise blood when he saw it, and combined with the words that were filtering through the wall he had to guess whose it was.

The worst part however was not what he could see but what he couldn’t, there was absolutely no sign that the girls had been in here, no sign at all. Which meant all sorts of very dark and nasty things about where exactly they might be now.

This after all was not Nerima, nor even modern Japan, this land was cruel, basic and brutal, the people into whose hands they had fallen even more so. Slowly Ryoga’s mind was inching towards some very dark fears about just what sort of use Ohlmin would be putting his female captives to.

Which is when he heard Nabiki’s horrified scream again, and the half muffled cry of someone who could only be Ukyo. They at least were apparently still outside and not in pain themselves. Instead apparently they were merely spectators to the hurting of another.

The lack of Akane’s voice however had to worry Ryoga, quietly he pleaded with the powers that had hitherto always ignored him that her silence didn’t mean what he feared it did.

“Stop” said a commanding voice, one he recognised from the ‘favourite’ of the games, the man who had sworn revenge and apparently actually found a way to do it, “give him some time to hurt and we’ll see how much he likes hearing his women scream” the voice said.

Apparently the muffled sound that followed was rude enough to earn a renewal of the beating despite the order, but then that too was cut short by another order “Stop!” Ohlmin barked, calling to the other folk who were apparently assisting in his ‘remonstration’ to cease as well, “the bounty is for live thieves” he insisted and for a moment all was quiet but for the muted sobbing of one of the women who had been forced to watch.

Then came the sounds of dragging and a moment later the door at the end o the carriage opened up to reveal the silhouetted forms of two people carrying another and a fourth stepping up behind.

It took Ryoga a few moments to recognise the bloodied tenderised meat the first two were carrying as a person let alone as Ranma, and almost immediately his stomach turned. No matter how rough he felt he knew that the pig tailed martial artist must be feeling it worse.

He had never undergone the breaking point training, and even years of conditioning and harsh training from his father and rivals could never have prepared the young man for this. Blood covered every last inch of his skin, matted his hair and dribbled unheeded from his mouth and a half dozen open wounds. Ryoga couldn’t see his erstwhile rival’s face but he could see the way that the man was desperately trying to lift his head again and knew that Ranma was still trying to rise.

“Some people don’t learn” sneered Ohlmin as the other two unceremoniously dropped Ranma to the floor, “we have enough enchantment on him to mean he can barely lift his arm” the slaver laughed, “and still he wants to fight!”

Ryoga heard the beaten down figure mumble something though his bloodied mouth and even if he couldn’t quite follow the words he could tell they weren’t pretty and were probably about Ranma not losing, unlike some others. The lost boy’s mind recoiled at the sheer obstinacy that was involved.

Ohlmin on the other hand just kicked again. “We hamstrung him, beat the life out of him and took a pry bar to his sword hand” the slaver continued to chuckle, “and still the idiot wanted to fight”

Ryoga tried to say something but his mouth was too dry, his head too fuzzy. From the floor Ranma continued to try to rise, the pain it was causing evident in every line of his abused body.

“This isn’t over” Ohlmin offered in a dark promise of pain to come, kneeling to make sure that Ranma heard him, “when I get back we’ll heal you up and start again” the slaver insisted, his eyes narrowing as he swore further revenge for his ‘humiliation.’ He nodded towards a healing draught in it’s clay bottle that he had set out of reach from Ranma’s lowered position. But Ryoga saw no hint of acknowledgement from the subject.

Ranma spat another insult into Ohlmin’s face, receiving another room shaking punch in reply, one that drove the pig tailed man back to the deck.

“Anyone would think he enjoyed the pain” Ohlmin offered, straightening and spitting a bloody gobbit of his own at the fallen warrior, one that also inadvertently told Ryoga things outside hadn’t been quite as one sided as their captor was trying to make it appear.

But before he could remark on that the asshole was turning about and heading back through the door, “I wonder if your whore friends will feel the same” the man offered, just to twist that knife too.

Ryoga’s rage was immediately welling up, forcing away the muzziness and the confusion as the man who caught them finally confirmed what his intentions were towards the captured women. It was every bit as bad as he had feared.

But even after ten minutes and even after opening some wounds of his own straining against those cuffs the bonds held strong, he had moved not a fraction of an inch from where he started.

Ranma on the other hand had, while Ryoga had been straining he had been dragging himself on his one good hand across the floor of the caravan, towards the door, a broad, wet, dark crimson stain on the floorboards all the way behind him.

“Gotta piss em off” Ryoga heard him say, “use up energy hurting me” the fallen figure mumbled, “make em too sick to hurt the girls” Ranma breathed through bloodied teeth. Then he looked up and Ryoga found his stomach turning again, on the bloodied, split face a further horror lurked, the grey gel-like matter of one eye actually splashed over Ranma’s left cheek, the socket a bloody, empty mess.

But in the other, still living blue-grey storm, and beyond the pain, there was something else, a cold hard determination that was refusing to die, a purpose that went beyond the hurt body, beyond the wreck they had left him in, he wasn’t seeing Ryoga or even the room, Ranma’s good eye was full of the consequences for three other people if he didn’t get up, didn’t force his broken body to do the impossible, again.

And at last it made sense to Ryoga, why his sometime friend wasn’t letting this one go, why he was spending so much effort to stay awake. It wasn’t about self preservation, it wasn’t about fears of being woken with a bucket of water, it was about protecting the others. Apparently Ranma had decided the only way to stop the captors hurting the girls was to tire them out, to turn their stomachs too, to remove the desire to hurt the similarly enspelled, defenceless women.

Even with his face maimed, hand a mess, his legs unable to work and undoubtedly a myriad of other injuries the pigtailed martial artist was still trying, was dragging himself across the floor to keep at his self appointed task, with absolutely no regard for the personal consequences.

Ryoga had never felt so small. Here he was, the one with the thick skin and the ability to soak up damage like a proverbial sponge, and he was comparatively unhurt, when he had strained his bonds he had given up and suddenly he knew he had given up far too early, that Ranma certainly wouldn’t have stopped for a little pain and blood.

It was the story of his life, Ranma always that one step better, that one step more, the center of things while Ryoga was on the outside, lost. Only Akane had been different, that one Ryoga had won, but even now he knew, deep down, that it was a hollow victory, that the competition had never been fair, that had he wanted her Ranma could have…

And Ryoga would have lost her too. Like he lost his battles, like he lost his sister, lost his house, lost those bread fights, lost his humanity to the curse, lost his way. When they had needed him he had lost consciousness, when Ranma had been fighting he had been here, as good as miles away, he had been as good as lost, again.

The cold dark depression of Ryoga’s mind settled into him like a shroud, extinguishing all else, blotting out the fears and the hatreds, washing away all his conscious mind into oblivion. It’s dark ki infused his body, flowed through his limbs and his heart.

He stood up, there was a brief flicker of meaningless pain as the skin from his wrists and hands was torn by the now broken cuffs and another from his ankles as they likewise parted the forged iron that should have held the strength of twenty men, he ignored it and turned for the door.

Outside he was only dimly aware of the bloodied grass and the sudden confusion of the captors. With a dark enshrouded arm he lashed out and swept aside the ones who came towards him, headed for the other enclosed wagon, another covered caravan, from where there were coming sounds that twisted that darkness further still.

Another flare of pain exploded in his back, once more he ignored it as he obliterated the door and stepped inside. His far from rational mind wasn’t really aware of the whole evil picture, of the bound friends whose clothes had been torn away, or the real meaning of the way the men who were with them were positioned. His mind only saw the targets it had been looking for and he systematically stepped across the small room his steel hard fists wreaking dire retribution as he righted this wrong.

A bearded face crumpled into crimson mush under a swung fist, another one, keen and sharp nosed followed soon behind as a palm strike ruptured it against the back wall with a sound not unlike an overripe melon hitting a paving slab.

But the second hit had been slower, softer, and the third was worse still. By the time the dark being that had been Ryoga had cleared the compartment it was beginning to fall, unable to work out why even as it’s lifeblood was running from it’s wounds in near rivers.

O

O

O

Ryoga woke up to a world of pain, agony searing up from his wrist and ankle, from the small of his back and the length of every limb. But blessed relief followed a moment later as something cool and wonderful fell across him.

“Not too much” chided a muffled voice bearing the rasp of injury but the clear precise tones of someone that could only be Gos.

“But” replied another voice, it’s tone and accent uniquely Osakan and female, it was Ukyo and there was an element in the way she had spoken that Ryoga had never heard before, and was too spun out to recognise as anything more than different. One thing it wasn’t though was her normal abrasive.

“Akane” replied Gos, and that apparently settled that because the cool, pleasant wave was gone and the pain was back, if somewhat less severe this time.

“Are you awake?” Gos asked as the renewed ache dragged a groan from the Lost boy.

“Urg” he replied, which was more or less a hell of an achievement considering the state he was in.

“You’re very hurt” Gos supplied, his voice still baring the traces of his own injuries but as calm and level as he could make it, “but we’ve stopped the bleeding and the muscles are starting to knit again” he supplied, which by extension identified the substance that had brought that blessed relief as one of their precious healing draughts.

“Ranma” Ryoga gasped, part of him rebelling at the very idea that he should be receiving any of the magic restorative when Ranma had suffered so much more.

“He and Nabiki are gone” Gos replied, his tone carrying some sincere disapproval, and concern.

Concern that Ryoga completely missed, “Gone?” he asked, his tone fearing the very worst and with that cold dark pit of despair threatening. Gos had to actually turn him back towards him to stave off another descent, one which the mystically inclined young man had no belief Ryoga would survive.

“Not like that!” he insisted, the raise in his own voice causing him to wince in pain, “they are alive” he asserted, his eyes holding Ryoga’s as he willed the lost boy to hear him. “I used the first draught on him, on his ankles” Gos explained, “he wouldn’t take anymore” he added, a tone of regretful concern returning to his voice. “He and Nabiki went after the ones you didn’t get” Gos explained.

As Ryoga had powered out of the slave wagon the flare of power had been enough to shake Gos at least partly out of his confusion, for long enough to realise that not only was he suddenly free but also that the healing draught that Ohlmin had been planning on using to patch Ranma up were now within reach.

Gos had splashed enough over himself to clear away the lingering concussion and then the rest over the fallen friend in the bloody smear on the floor, luckily getting to that recently made maiming at the back of Ranma’s before it became more permanent, beyond even the draught’s ability to heal. Like the eye already was.

He had helped the broken fighter to his feet and staggered out on Ryoga’s trail, just in time to see the lost boy shot in the back as he forged his way up the steps to the other caravan and he had made the only decision that he had felt he could.

He had gone around the caravan that Ryoga had just entered, dumped the barely conscious Ranma onto the flatbed seat and climbed up behind him. Then he had taken the whole lot and gotten as lost as he could, as fast as he could.

Ohlmin was still out there someplace, undoubtedly furious as hell itself at losing his captives, and with a half dozen good men to help him refind them, nobody had been in any fit state to stop him then and to be honest Gos was in no mind to try.

The simple truth was that he was scared, and had rarely been more so in his life, all the mess in Nerima had never seemed as nasty as those few men and their dark plans. Even finding the crushed head of the mage in the back of the wagon when he had finally dared to look hadn’t done much for his courage since. Right now all he wanted to do was curl up into a ball and blot out the world.

But he wasn’t and even if he didn’t know it himself that was counting for a lot with the people whose lives he had actually saved.

“Gos” Ryoga asked, “Akane?” he said, and he saw the new mage’s face fall in reply.

“It’s not good” Gos offered, the pain in his voice reminding Ryoga that this boy too had been in love with Akane once upon a time, “they hurt them all” Gos said, swallowing hard as he remembered how the girls had looked when he had first found them in the back of this very wagon.

O

O

O

It was almost nightfall by the time that Nabiki and Ranma returned, the former on a horse that had to be one of their own and the second driving their missing wagon, complete with the gear they had had, plus more, plus a trail of horses behind.

Ukyo, who had been tending to the campfire-kitchen, immediately stood and stepped towards them. She was dressed in men’s clothes once more, ones whose bloodstained shirt clearly indicated the origin of, and in her hand suddenly was a bared blade.

Gos, for his part, had been sat pouring over a book again, desperately trying to relearn anything that might have given them some sort of mystical fighting strength too, and the relief on his face was almost palpable as he saw the other pair return. He immediately called to Ryoga who in turn stood up from where he had been guarding the one tent they had put up and it’s single occupant.

“Well?” he asked not stepping any further from the tent than he had to.

Ranma didn’t immediately reply, instead he hauled up his horse and reached his good arm down to a baize sack hanging on his saddle horn. Even in the gloom Ryoga and the others could see the dark stain on the bag, one that neatly matched the stains on the bandage that covered Ranma’s right hand and left eye.

He threw the bag to Ryoga who duly looked inside before passing it to Ukyo.

“He’ll not bother anyone again” Ranma swore, “none of them will” he added, his tone dark and dreadful, leaving none in any doubt as to what exactly he and Nabiki had done when they had found Ohlmin and his men.

“Thank you” Ukyo offered, her accented voice a little choked and her heart hard as she looked down on the cold dead face of the man that had led her tormentors.

“Thank Nabiki” Ranma replied, his voice still stone hard as he debated getting off the horse. Every last bit of him still ached, was still feeling like it was being fed through a mincing machine, and putting his part healed tendons back to the floor would only make it worse, and risk damaging them again.

Which in turn would mean less of the recovered draughts for the others.

Ukyo turned to the silent form on the flatbed. She had only heard Nabiki say two words since it happened, and those only to insist that she went with Ranma as he had dragged himself onto a horse. He had of course objected, but only once, the look in the Ice Queen’s eyes stopping any further debate dead.

“I shot him” Nabiki supplied “Through his fetid guts” she elaborated, her voice coming through set teeth in a hard lined jaw. “He screamed a lot before Ranma cut his head off” she added, making no attempt to hide the satisfaction in that.

In fact she had shot three of the slavers, taking their lives with a calm precision that belied how new killing was to her, and nor had she batted an eyelid as Ranma had killed the others or taken a the stolen sword to Ohlmin’s neck. She had been sick afterwards but Ranma wasn’t about to say that, and she sure as hell wasn’t either.

On the other hand she did have one thing she did need to say and as soon as she had locked the brake on she was stepping down from the wagon and heading over to Ryoga.

To his surprise the middle Tendo then wrapped him into a hug and squeezed him with enough force that even he felt it. “Thank you” she whispered, “I Owe you” she promised, her voice softening to reveal the depth of the gratitude in her heart.

“And you” she added towards Gos, who she hadn’t forgotten had been the one who had actually got them out of there, who had cut her free. Tendo Nabiki was not a woman used to being indebted to people but for the life of her she could think of no measure of thanks big enough for these two men who had defied their own hurts to save her from the hell she had been thrown into.

Or for Ranma whose every bandage was a visible reminder of the price he had been willing to pay to buy the time that the other two had needed to come around. There were however all sorts of other issues there too and she wasn’t ready quite to deal with that.

Ukyo, feeling the gravity of the occasion, strode across the grass and wrapped Nabiki into a hug of her own, one that immediately had the ice Queen stiffening in instinctual response before she could dream of relaxing into the silently needed comfort.

Ranma, his face still dark and set, turned his horse about and headed off “Going to check the area” he asserted, the steel in his voice hiding none of the pain from any that knew him.

“You’re going to have to talk to him” Ukyo whispered to the woman she was holding.

“I know” Nabiki replied, her voice tinged with pain and uncertainty, “I just don’t know what to say” she said, slowly extracting herself from the embrace.

“Food’s nearly ready” Ukyo offered in a clear attempt to cover that moment, and give everyone an escape to simpler things. One they readily accepted as one by one they volunteered to do things to help.

Anything to keep busy and keep their demons at bay.