Bound in Honor, by overbore
I am sure in some reality in the multiverse there is a me that owns the rights to Ranma ½. Unfortunately, it is not this one.
He came to her asking for help.
He said he had a curse, and was looking for a cure. She had never heard of these "pools of sorrow" before, but that was no surprise. The shape of the curse was. So she asked to see his aura.
He began glowing.
After the shock had worn off he explained his martial arts.
She told his that his power, as impressive as it was, was not what she meant. She want his permission to cast aside the physical and see the true shape of his soul.
She let her spirit fly free from its fleshy prison, soaring again upon the winds of the ether, and push aside the veils the enshrouded his spirit. What she saw was unlike anything she had seen before.
She stood within and endless whiteness, an infinite room with no walls, no ceiling, only a matching white floor stretching to eternity. The only feature was the figure some ways in front of her.
He was naked, but without genitals, sitting with his legs apart and knees drawn up. Loose hair framed his face and his eyes were closed. Sitting against his back, in almost the same position was a smaller, equally sexless female figure. Unlike the male her head was bowed and her arms were limp at her sides.
How strange, She thought. She'd rarely seen a soul with multiple incarnations, and most of those were mental patients. But his curse explained it. All people had some of their opposite gender within them, but this one was much more pronounced, due to the curse. But still something seemed odd about the soul image. As she willed her awareness closer she discovered that what ever angle she viewed from, she seemed to be facing the male figure with the female mostly obscured. Odd, but understandable, given his male side's dominance.
She drew closer, and felt her non-existent stomach heave.
He was covered in wounds.
Bloodless injures of various natures marked his body from heat to foot. In many places, long raking scratches, like the claws marks of some great cat, stretched across him. Other places had deep, raged gouges. Slashes both neat and sloppy were also present in number as well as deep, crater-like, blunt impacts marks. One eye was swollen over and a horrible looking spur of bone emerged from his lower leg; evidence of a very messy break. All of the were overlaid on top of dozens of scars of similar wounds that seem to have been inflicted in the past.
And over all of it was the chain.
At first glance it was a beautifully crafted piece of art, every link a unique masterpiece shaped from dragons, phoenixes, tigers, turtles, vines, waves, flames, and many other things. It bound his body and the female form as well, trapping them tightly in its embrace. It seemed so delicate, but she somehow knew it was incredibly strong.
But as beautiful as the chain was, it was also terrible. Sharp spikes and blades emerged from every link, digging into vulnerable flesh. The wounds cased by these actually bled, leaving red streaks and droplets to taint the chain's silver perfection.
The two ends of the chain were gripped in the man's hands. She could see his knuckles white with this grip and the tension in is arms as he strained to keep the chain taunt. It confused her. Why did he maintain a deathgrip on this thing that was restricting him, strangling him, wounding him?
She moved closer, and an oddity caught her eye: one link that was different from the rest. A link shaped into a simple metal rectangle, with a round hole at each end for the connecting links. On this link was inscribed many tiny words that formed the shape of another word when viewed from afar:
And then she understood.
He had been hurt, terribly so, and was still being hurt. He was alone and tired. And all that he could truly call his, in this vast, empty void of an existence, was a beautiful, horrible chain made of obligations. But he clung to that chain with all his might, because it was all he had. The poor child, with nothing but the chain that bound him to his cruel fate.
And she wept.
For a lonely tortured young man. For a soul of purity and pain. For a youth of tortured strength.
And so she did the one thing she could to aid him.
She cast the spell that sent Ranma Saotome away from this world.
New project started. Hope you enjoy. I would like reviews, and critiques are welcome too but if you cant say it nicely, don't say it at all.