A Duet of Fists

Chapter 6

Ranma was amazed that they were both conscious, their flight somehow managing to avoid the trunks and thick branches of the trees, leaving the pair with a medley of cuts and bruises both dismissed as insignificant. Ryouga was less enthusiastic, moodily glaring back at the cottage, nearly half a mile distant.

“At least it ain't me you're mad at this time,” the pigtailed boy commented dourly, pulling a twig from his hair with a wince while hopping around to shake the itching pine needles from his clothes. This managed a short-lived smile from his partner, who'd opted to brave the momentarily light snow to remove his shirt and firmly snap it.

The walk back to the newly-perforated cottage was bitter cold, made only worse by the appearance of a sudden snowstorm, which continued to grow worse by the second despite Ryouga's stonily calm face and Ranma's best efforts to squelch his growing annoyance.

The cre'lak'din explained what he knew about the spell and their situation in terse sentences designed to minimize his lung's exposure to increasingly frigid air. The last time he'd gotten really mouthy in weather like this: Two years previously frequent taunts had earned him a sound beating and a case of minor pneumonia.

The Lost Boy's grunts after the occasional pause were the only indication he heard at all, his head tilted low and steady to keep the sharp, biting snow from his eyes as the pair hiked back towards warmth.

Minutes later, the muffled shouting in the cottage indicated their own moods, however, surly, were not the reason for their current misery. As Ryouga's hand opened the door, the storm outside abruptly halted as the shouting inside subsided, footsteps hurrying up the stairs. Miyuki's eyes still watched the stairs, Maz throwing the pair a cheerful wave as he rustled in a cabinet placed against the wall.

They blinked as the cabinet disappeared, the cheerful man now holding a simple-looking mallet. He paused on his way back to fix the holes in his home, feeling the weight of their stares.

“No need for my toolbox to clutter the place if it doesn't have to,” he quipped, hefting the blunt instrument to salute them. “Storing them in a dimensional fold might tie up a bit of my magic, but it keeps the lady over there happy and keeps my stuff close enough to be convenient.”

“And that?” Ranma asked, pointing to the mallet.

“It's generally called a hammer. Used for hitting nails and whatnot, ” Maz said dryly, chuckling as he used the tip to scratch his jaw. “I know you've seen a lot of magic kicking around here but not everything is enchanted to make our lives easier.”

“Only because I refuse to allow him to drag back a mystical trinket every time he steps out,” his wife added, turning her gaze to the pair. “There's wood in a shed out back. The quicker you help my thoughtless husband fix the holes he helped cause, the sooner we can explain the rest of what you need to know for me to get my mother's chains back.”

Shortly after Ranma and Ryouga began to help Maz with the repairs, the demon had stopped his work, noted their skill at carpentry with a grin. Ryouga had spent years doing odd jobs to earn his way, including the occasional stint as a handyman. Frequent damage to the Tendo dojo and the houses around it had forced Ranma to quickly learn carpentry or be forced to work multiple jobs to pay for all the damage.

Maz sat his hammer down minutes later, brushing sawdust off of his hands off with a sigh. Ranma shot a look at Ryouga, both stopping their own work and wondering why they were taking a break so soon after they'd begun.

“Look, I can see you boys have everything well in hand,” Maz said smoothly, rolling his hand to wave them back to work. He flashed them a grin. “Tell you what; I have to pop into the next plane to grab a few essentials. They've got the tenderest steaks you'll ever taste, I swear... And special spices you can't even get in the mortal world make them ten times better.”

“Sounds good to me,” Ranma said with a broad grin, his mouth already watering at the thought of the thick slab of meat. Ryouga's nod was perhaps less expressive than his rival's, though Maz noted the way the boy licked his lips with a smirk.

“Alright, perfect. You two have all the tools you need, and there's more than enough wood out back to finish up,” Maz noted, a flaming orb burning in the air behind him. “I'll be back before you two finish and then we can barbecue the meat and have a real meal while Miyuki and I fill you two in on what you need to know.”

With those words, he dove into the orb, which vanished with a quiet pop. The boys turned their attention back to the work, determination and resolve plain in their every action.

The majority of the work was done as the undeniable aroma of cooking beef wafted up the stairs, accompanied by the light sizzle which meant the slabs were being cooked at just the right temperature.

Ryouga sanded the last piece of wood to be nailed in place, while Ranma tapped the new planks and ensured they were soundly in place. While neither boy took any pleasure in working with wood, they knew they'd outdone themselves: Once it was all stained and varnished, even the most canny-eyed builder would have been lucky to determine any damage had been done at all.

The boys were nearly finished when Miyuki happened to wander upstairs. The snow woman ran a critical eye over the repairs, lips pursed as she tapped one forefinger to the tip of her pointed jaw. Finally she flashed the pair a warm smile.

“I was worried when Maz told me you two insisted on doing it yourselves, but I guess I shouldn't have been,” The beaming woman stated, sweeping a hand out to take in all of the repairs. “You two managed to do such good work I doubt that wily old carpenter will even be able to tell his own work from yours!”

“He's a carpenter?” Ranma sputtered, his voice shrill with righteous shock. Ryouga muttered to himself, his face turning into a mask of simmering anger so still it could have been carved from stone.

“Of course,” Miyuki stated, turning back towards the stairs. “My husband has lived through hundreds of centuries. He's actually the one who built this cottage. Now you two better hurry and wash up, as Maz told me the steaks are nearly ready.”

The boys exchanged quiet looks, not speaking as their host walked back down the stairs.

“That meat better be all he said it was,” Ranma growled, his fists clenching so tightly that his knuckles popped.

“If it isn't, we can return the favor in other ways,” Ryouga agreed.

Slumping back in the high backed chair, idly shifting the belt line of his trousers, Ryouga couldn't fight down the deep breath of contentment. The demon sitting across from him winked, well aware that his trick had been forgiven as soon as the Lost Boy had taken his first bite.

The steaks had been everything Maz promised and more. Ryouga knew by the look of amazement on his partner's face that even the blue-eyed boy had never had better: Given the astonishing quality of the fare, neither boy doubted that the only meal that would surpass the one they'd just had would have to come from a god of cooking.

“So, you two should probably be filled in on what you need to know. Preparation is always key, right?” Maz asked, sliding out of his chair and striding over to the couch. He waved the boys over, waving his hand and causing his armchair to vanish from it's place by the fire and reappear with a pop to face the couch and the TV, back just touching the wall. “Come and sit. No need to plant our asses in anything but the best if they're going to be planted for a while.”

The boys followed Miyuki, planting themselves on each end of the plush couch as the feminine spirit planted herself on her husband, ignoring the ritual token protest he raised. After a brief, futile struggle to liberate his left arm, the demon snapped the fingers of his right hand, grasping the TV remote which appeared.

“First things first,” Maz began, stabbing the remote towards the fanged boy. “How much did the girly-haired haired punk tell you about what he already knows?”

Ryouga paused, organizing the jumble of sentences he'd heard on the hike and processing the information Ranma had passed on during the times they'd worked together during the repairs, sorting it into a semblance of order.

“I know that the spell Happosai used didn't work. I've got some sort of protection, but not nearly as much as the spell was supposed to grant,” Ryouga began, opting to sort the facts chronologically. “The magic which brought us here means we can eventually succeed, but won't let us go home or give up. The next place we need to go is Fate's domain. He also told me some stuff about the gods and how their powers work, but it feels like every time I try and remember the words, my memory fogs up.”

“I guess Ranma tried to explain Fate and Luck to you,” Maz said with a nod. His eyes rolled up, as if he were trying to peer at his own lifted eyebrows. “I didn't tell him that the conversation is a test. Certain magic prevents anyone but a cre'lak'din from actually remembering the details. It probably blanketed that stretch of your memory and got the other stuff as well, so I may as well start from scratch.”

One finger found a button on the remote control, causing the TV to flicker on. The screen depicted a cartoon angel flapping her wings on the right side of the screen, an equally deformed red devil with a pitchfork, pointed tail and horns dancing in flames on the left.

“There are only two types of immortal spirits. Everyone you'll run into from the most powerful and omnipotent of beings to the weakest runts will either be a god or a demon,” Maz explained, his finger pressing another button on the remote. The screen zoomed in on the angel, comically pushing the protesting red devil off the left side of the display. “A god is an immortal soul which can't be destroyed, only diminished. A god's power springs from the domain he or she controls, and expands or shrinks based on the belief of mortals in the reality of the domain. They can lose or gain domains over the course of their existence, growing and shrinking in power accordingly... and can also willingly invest a portion of their powers in another being.”

Maz set the remote down on the unoccupied armrest for a moment, snapping his fingers and conjuring a smoking tumbler, from which he took a tidal gulp which left a gleaming blue rivulet trailing from the corner of his lips. Miyuki used the distraction to snatch up the remote and press a button, allowing the red devil to burst onto the screen and dropkick the angel out the right side, leaving him poised with hands on hips and chest thrust out as he cackled with glee.

“Demons, on the other hand, can be destroyed. Unlike a god, however, demons draw their power from a consistent pool of energy. They grow or shrink in power based on the deaths of other demons. They can also use souls or other forms of borrowed energy to temporarily augment their own strength,” Miyuki pressed another button as she paused, and the cartoon devil presented a well-dressed mortal with a contract. As it was signed, the devil grew in size, his horns becoming longer and thicker. “Killing a demon frees it's eternal energy and should there be nothing around to capture the use of it, the energy disperses and seeks out new demonic hosts at random.”

“The important thing you two need to remember,” Maz noted, pausing to toss his tumbler into the air to vanish with a puff of smoke, “is that being a god or a demon doesn't make the spirit good or evil. There are absolutely vile gods who routinely do things that'd make even the worst mortal flinch, while some demons are so pure and good they'd make the most altruistic soul feel guilty for it's failings. The only difference between a god and a demon is how it's powers work.”

“So, what happens if a god's body is killed?” Ranma wondered, thinking about what he knew of the previous Yuki-onna.

“Like I said, a god can't be destroyed, just diminished,” Miyuki noted, carefully resting her head on her husbands to avoid the four shark horns. “When a god is wounded so badly they can't hold their existence together, they get scattered across existence. They reform eventually, the intervening time feeling like a blink, but if they're weak enough the process can take thousands of years.”

“And if they're strong enough, days. Maybe even hours,” Maz noted, chuckling to himself. “If you manage to nail one of the stronger ones, don't stick around to celebrate or you might have to do it all over again.”

“Another thing to keep in mind is that the various planes of existence have a direct effect on the power a god or demon can use,” Miyuki noted, the press of a button turning the devil finding himself chased from his client by the furious angel. The world around the pair shifted, changing from a mundane street to a lava-streaked mountain. The devil and angel switched roles, the angel finding herself the one hunted. “Facing the same spirit can be wildly different depending on the level of reality you find as your battleground. It can mean the difference between victory and defeat.”

“You really think it's possible for us to fight these guys?” Ryouga asked scratching behind his ear as he sat forward in the couch, elbows resting on his knees. “I mean, I know I'm a lot stronger than the average person, but you're talking about beings we've been ”

“Your friend beat one not too long ago. Saffron was not just any old chump. He's a spirit who had not just one, but two prime domains to his name. His power might have been severely limited on the mortal plane, but any god would have come under the same limitations,” Maz explained, his eyes narrowing as his grin broadened. “The fact of the matter is that you two boys are absurdly powerful sacks of meat, and you're not going to be limited by the restraints which will occasionally bind everyone else. Under the right circumstances, there isn't anyone who can stand in your way.”

“And in others, even the weakest chump can flatten us,” Ranma muttered, souring at the thought. He didn't mind facing tough foes. It was pretty much his stock and trade. The thought of being hopelessly outmatched by simple bad luck was just irritating, though.

“There are ways around that,” Maz said, plucking a pair of identical malachite pendants from the air. Ranma caught them, untangling one and placing the other in the hands belonging to the curious brown eyes of his partner. Ranma admired the rough stone, bound tightly with leather, while Ryouga simply hung his around his neck, flapping the collar of his shirt to let the cool stone wrest against his chest. “Those stones grant you two the ability to sense, in a rudimentary way, the strength of whatever you concentrate on. Fang boy, focus on me and imagine the black outline of a four-sided diamon, a tiny glowing light pulsing at the center. Hold that thought and keep your eyes on me.”

“Ow!” Yelped Ryouga, jumping to his feet and slapping his chest. He growled, murder plain on his face as he glowered at the red-tinged man now chuckling in his seat. “Why the hell did I get shocked? It felt like someone flicked a live electrical wire on my collarbone!”

“That's a warning system,” Maz said smugly. His grin only increased as he waved a hand. “It means whatever you're scanning is too strong for you to fight in the plane you're in. If you ever come up against someone and that happens, you need to run fast and run hard... and not stop until you find yourself in another realm.”

“You're really that strong?” Ranma asked, as if seeing the cheerful devil in a whole new light.

“Well, yes and no,” The demon admitted, his eyes turning to his wife. “Miyu is Yuki-onna, and has absolute control over her realm. She sets the rules, including which sort of eternal spirit has full use of their magic. Honey, if you would?”

“If I need to remind you...” Miyuki replied with a sigh of exasperation, her face suddenly filled with a terrible calm as her eyes became opaque beacons of brilliant white light. Maz suddenly went pale, his grin becoming strained as he waved a hand at Ranma.

The pigtailed boy focused on Maz, picturing the diamond with the pinprick of light glowing at the center. The glow intensified, filling perhaps a quarter of the space in the outline before fading away.

“You can stop now, love,” Maz noted, giving the bright-eyed woman a firm poke in the ribs. Warmth returned to her face as the cold brilliance in her eyes succumbed to the intense fire the boys had come to know she usually possessed. Colour returned to the demon's face, his smile no longer forced. “Now I bet I filled about a third of that diamond, right?”

“Actually, it was only a fourth,” Ranma admitted, chuckling at the outraged look which flashed across the man's face. He laced his fingers at the base of his neck, resting his head against the back of the couch. “But I didn't get shocked like pork-breath did.”

“That's because with my wife clamping down on my powers, either one of you could have kicked me around like a schoolboy kicks a puppy. The diamond represents the theoretical limit of your power,” Maz noted. He flashed both a feral grin. “Though that's not to say a foe outside the shape is outside defeat, nor does it guarantee victory over someone who only registers as a pinprick.”

“I've got a question about this bag,” Ranma stated, slinging the shoulder strap over his head to lay the bag across his knees, eyes tracing the intricate embroidery. His gaze rose to meet the stare of the domain's owner. “You said it can hold a lot and can't really be destroyed, but how does it work?”

“I can't say for sure,” the woman admitted, her glance shifting to the bag. “One of my ancestors married a powerful human wizard, Fiznab or something like that, and he created the bag as a wedding gift. Anything put in can be pulled out later, just by thinking about the item and sticking your hand in the bag. The only limitation is items must be able to fit in the bag for the magic to store them.”

“I've also got to do some spring cleaning in my box of toys, but that can wait until later,” Maz noted, eyes flicking from one boy to the other. “Yuki-onna here can't transport you until it's winter in the mortal realm, which doesn't happen for another two months. If you're impatient, I could use my own magic to get you where you need to go, but you'd need to be able to survive the heat of a hell-fueled inferno.”

“We'll wait,” Ryouga gulped, remembering the white-hot ball Maz had used to escape the carpentry. Ranma twitched at the thought himself, nodding his agreement with Ryouga as he pictured jumping in and emerging as a blackened skeleton.

“It's settled then,” Maz nodded, waiting for his wife to smoothly rise to her feet before getting up himself, arms thrown high into the air as he stretched. His eyes flickered to the dangerously still girl glaring at the group from the bottom of the stairs. “Looks like you and your boyfriend will be getting to know each other a little better, sweetie.”

“The sight of the wretched blink in time makes me sick to my stomach. I'd rather date a Golgothan troll!” At the girl's confusing snarl, Ryouga's head whipped to meet Maz's amused eyed.

“Golgotha is a plain comprised mostly of crap. From behinds,” Maz gleefully explained, the green look on the boy's face drawing a chuckle. His eyes turned back to his daughter. “You know, you shouldn't make statements like that, honey. I know a few trolls who would love to take you to see some especially scenic methane geysers.”

“Line them up.” The girl retorted with a snarl, pointedly fixing her gaze on the door outside as she stalked across the room. She opened the door, turning on last time to glare at her parents. “I've got a lesson with Miyamoto. Don't you dare spoil it!”

The slam of the door echoed in the silence of the room.

“Sorry about that,” Maz muttered, absently pulling his earlobe as his eyes lingered on the door. “Koyuki is fairly unusual, in that she seems to be more interested in directing her focus towards martial arts instead of magical control. It doesn't really bode well for her future as Yuki-onna, but at least I know she'll be able to stomp anyone who needs a stomping.”

“Now now, dear... You know she only gets to train once every other month. He's got a very busy schedule for a mortal soul, you know,” Miyuki countered, crossing her arms and pausing in thought. After a moment, she glanced at the boys. “You two might want to meet Miyamoto-sensei. I imagine you'd return with a lot more satisfaction than most.”

“Miyamoto?” Ranma queried, his brow furrowing as the name plucked a familiar string in his brain. He looked at Ryouga, who flashed him a puzzled frown.

The moment stretched, Maz giggling at the sight as the boys pondered. Finally, Miyuki had had enough.

“You'd probably remember the name Musashi better,” Miyuki prodded, smirking at the twin looks of shock. The knowledge that one of the greatest swordsmen in recorded history prompted them to rush to the door, heedless of the possible wrath the angry girl might direct their way. Nothing in all the heavens, on Earth, or even below would stop them from taking advantage of the opportunity.

The boys flew through the forest, their eyes focused on the lone footsteps Koyuki had left on her way to meet the soul of a legend. Hundreds of questions raced through their minds, the thought of training even once with the man adding a spring to their step which wouldn't have been matched had Miyuki told them she could remove the chains in an instant.

Ranma glanced at Ryouga as the boys vaulted from tree branch to tree branch, receiving a rare grin in return. Musashi himself. A man who would never know an equal, a man with such skill he was the impossibly high standard against which all other swordsman measured themselves.

The act of leaping about, of moving with such speed should have been child's play to the pair. Ranma's heart was a jackhammer threatening to crack his ribs. Ryouga's brow was slick with sweat, his breath short and ragged. They burst from the edge of the trees, landing fifteen feet from the treeline.

The young man facing Miyuki with a bokken glanced at the pair in annoyance, brushing back a long mass of dark chocolate brown hair. His features were smooth, high cheekbones complementing a somewhat narrow jawline and round chin. The elements made the boys think the man's appearance was deliberately refined instead of feminine.

The most surprising aspect was the realization that the man's face was familiar to the duo of brawlers, though neither could marshal their mental resources to define how and why.

Ranma's enthusiastic, unordered gushing perished as it began. The the first syllable died in a high-pitched squeak: The scowl on the aristocratic man's face demanding a silence which would not, could not brook interruption for any reason. He slowly dropped his arms to his sides, his bokken held in a casual grasp, rising to his full height as he abandoned the footwork of his stance.

Ryouga shuffled his feet, suddenly guilty for coming. No matter how eager he was to meet her teacher, he had no right to interrupt her training. He noted the anger in her eyes and met it with a look of apologetic acceptance, nodding to her before he cast his gaze to the ground and hung his head. He thought brief surprise overshadowed the wrath on her face for an instant, though he wasn't sure. He lifted his head, slowly becoming intent on the way dead swordmaster studying them.

The man absently humming to himself once with disapproval after a moment, shaking his head sadly. The simple gesture seemed made Ranma wilt and fade like a rose left untended on a midsummer day, his shoulders dropping. He looked for all the world like a misbehaved puppy whimpering in front of it's master.

“How dare you two miscreants sully my time with this beautiful flower? Know you not who guides her lovely hand to the pure artistry of the blade?” The man's eerily familiar pontification suddenly threw the man's vaguely familiar features into a disturbing light: He looked for all the world like a shorter, broader-shouldered version of Kuno. The speech went on, ignored in the thought-negating realization which gripped the pair.

“Look man, I'm sorry!” Ranma sputtered, awe for the legend dying quickly in the face of the reality. Much as he knew he should respect this man, the thought of paying any sort of tribute to an eerie analogue to Kuno made his mind curdle. He raised his hands palm out, waving them. “It was a mistake! We just wanted to meet you, but it was rude to interrupt like this!”

“Indeed it was, foul cur,” The man growled, his knuckles whitening as his grip tightened on his wooden blade. The practice weapon stabbed towards the pigtailed boy with an air-shredding crack, point hovering dangerously close to sternum. “Bow and beg forgiveness, lest the Fearsome Typhoon of Nippon beat you within an inch of your life for your heinous trespasse.”

Ryouga groaned as the last chance for a peaceful end died a messy death, slapping a hand across his eyes as he considered the two possible outcomes: Either Ranma was about to be mangled by one of the most venerated men in Japanese history, or he was about to pay the ultimate disrespect by handing the man his own ass on a platter.

“Beg?” Ranma sputtered, heat flaring in his chest. Legend or not, he didn't beg anyone's forgiveness. Especially not over something like this. His brow tightened, narrow blue eyes glinting as he stepped forward, bokken tip now brushing lightly against his shirt. “I apologized once. If you really want to be a jerk about this, I'll apologize for kicking your ass when I'm finished with you.”

As the muscles in Musashi's jaw twitched, teeth clenched so tight they must surely be in danger of cracking, Ryouga grimly resolved to find a way to curb the blue-eyed jerk's arrogance, flashing another apologetic look to Koyuki as the air crackled around the two antagonists, getting a terse shrug in return as her piercing eyes tried to bore a hole through the Lost Boy's partner.

“I did my best to warn you. If you are such a foolish novice that this lesson must be taught with agony instead of quiet words, I shall give you the chance. Prepare yourself, for I would never be so crass as to humiliate even a wretched thing like you without the formality of a proper challenge,” the man's blade twitched in his grasp, Ranma not moving a single muscle as his blue eyes stayed locked on his foe's brown. The man then allowed his blade to fall, deliberately turning his back on Ranma to face his angry student. “My sweet butterfly, I am most regretful that we must suddenly end our time together. The loss of your precious company is a debt I will repay thoroughly on his body.”

“I know a guy like you back home,” Ranma snorted, crossing his arms and grinning broadly with an arrogant bob of his head, stepping forward to lean his head over the kenjutsuist's shoulder, well within the man's personal space. “Kuno ain't never been able to humiliate me. You're not gonna be any different, pal.”

“It brings my heart solace to know that the fruit of my forbidden romance with the Kuno family's youngest daughter has produced a soul noble enough to seek your heart,” The man retorted, beginning to fade as he rested the dull side of his bokken on his shoulders, prompting Ranma to lean back or be struck in the head. The longhaired man seemed not to notice Ryouga's dropped jaw, his eyes not leaving Ranma's face for an instant as they peered through the flowing cascade of his hair. “If my descendant cannot grasp victory, I shall claim it in his stead. Two months, mangy hound.”

After he finally was gone, Ranma cursed for a solid minute, no longer bothering to mask the surprise caused by Kuno's ancestry. His cursed began with Fate and reality in general, before he began to rail against the injustice of the extraordinary coincidence. He stopped sharply mid-rant, head whipping to cast his intense gaze into the path of Ryouga's stunned gaze.

“The True Blunder can never know. He can never learn this,” Ranma noted solemnly. The thought of how much more unbearable Kuno would become if he learned that he was not only the descendant of Musashi but also bore a striking resemblance to the man... Well, it was just far too horrific to consider.

Ryouga nodded his agreement, turning his attention to Koyuki as he wondered how the fury in her every move could be gently settled, preferably with the bandana-topped youth emerging unscathed. Despite the illusion of focus as he spoke to the girl, his mind was as solidly gripped by the trick of Fate as Ranma.

Kunou could never know. Some secrets should be, must be taken to one's grave.

Author's Notes

Oh yeah, I went there. I completely ignored what I knew about history for the sake of the funny. I choose to blame it on the inevitable madness which is the unavoidable result of writing 15,000 words in four days. In that short period, I've also rewritten fully one fifth of my other multi-part Ranma story and made the first three chapters nearly half the length of the original.

Kuno being the bastard descendant of Mushashi was totally a spur of the moment decision. I wanted to give him a little cameo, to give the boys a moment of being totally starstruck. Then I needed a reason for them to not learn awesome swordplay and making him antagonistic seemed to fit the bill.

Like all bad decisions it started with a seemingly innocent idea: I decided to make him a pompous ass like Kuno. The decision to throw the offhand comment about “a night of forbidden passion” struck my mind like a bolt of lightning halfway through the scene, searing the thought and branding me irrevocably.

I couldn't resist and nothing proved as cathartic as sharing the pain.

Cheers,

Gaming Ikari