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Chapter Text

Author's Note: The 365 Project is an experimental project to write and post at least one short every day for the next year, not including my semi-regular bi-weekly updates. Whether or not that goal can be reached, we'll see... This is The 365 Project, 22 February.

After 'killing' Saffron, Ranma doesn't return to Japan, instead he is brought to a new teacher...

Disclaimer: Ranma 1/2 is the creation of Rumiko Takahashi and "The Shadow" of Smith & Street Publications, as written by 'Maxwell Grant', each being used for entertainment purposes without permission or intent to profit. Some dialogue is borrowed from the novelization of the movie "The Shadow" by James Lucano.

There was no real way of knowing how long he had been walking; it could have been days or weeks, months or years. Time had no meaning, he slept when he was tired, found food and ate when he was hungry, walked when he wasn't either. But he didn't have to fight, and for the first time in his life, he welcomed that. For the first time in his life, he didn't want to fight, didn't want to learn any new techniques or practice the ones which he already knew. He had tried, at first, but something was missing now, he knew what it was, how he had lost it. He had seen himself without limits and for the first time in his life, something besides memories of the pit scared him. He scared him. So he left everything behind, left the girl for others to take home, and started walking. He hadn't stopped since for more than a few hours at a time. If he stopped, someone might find him and then he might have to fight. He didn't want to fight, he didn't want to risk reaching that point again where he might have to kill to survive. If he did, he wasn't sure he would survive it. He already wasn't sure who he was anymore. There were certain pillars his life was built on, but one was cracked and crumbling already before this and now with the loss of a second, he just wasn't sure of anything anymore besides the fact that he never wanted to see that part of himself again, that part that could kill...

It scared him because it was so easy to let go and let it out. He scared him.

Two men had been following the young man for three days without rest or stopping on the part of either party. Between themselves, they would admit that they were impressed by their target's endurance, proof of a level of mastery over the physical that few reached. That endurance, however, would not keep them from completing their mission. It was a point of pride, of purpose and of honor that they and others like them never failed in a mission for their master.

That night, when their target finally slept, he became their prisoner.

When Saotome Ranma awoke, he felt as if he were flying. It was as the ground approached that he realised that he wasn't flying, he had been thrown through the air. It was only a lifetime of training in The Art that gave him the ingrained reflexes needed to roll and reduce the force of the impact despite his disoriented state. As Ranma rolled up to a knee and gained his bearings, he heard the sound of movement and looked behind him to see a large set of double doors swinging closed, the view of outside between them growing narrower by the second until with a resounding boom they shut tight. Ranma's problem with that was the simple fact that he didn't see anyone else in the large, richly funished hall he now found himself in, certainly not the four or more people it would take to shut doors of that size.

"Two men run, a coward and a wise man," a voice echoed in the room, "Which are you, I wonder."

"Who's there?" Ranma demanded, "Who're you?"

"I am an insect fluttering in the dung. I roll in the dung like a pig. I digest it and fashion it into gold dust, into a brook of pure water, into stars," The voice answered, "To fashion stars out of dog dung, is that not great work?"

Ranma frowned as he stood up and looked around the hall, "What've I gotta do with stars?"

"Nothing. But you have much in common with dog dung."

"Alright," Ranma's eyes narrowed at the insult, "Who are you?"

"Your teacher."

"No thanks," Ranma retorted, "I've had enough teachers for one lifetime."

"Then perhaps it is time for a second," the voice suggested.

Ranma started walking down the hall, between the massive red marble and gold columns supporting the roof and away from the sealed door, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Your body is strong, Saotome Ranma..." the voice observed, "I will make your mind stronger."

"What makes you think I want to be stronger?" Ranma snapped back defensively, uncomfortable with the fact that this faceless voice knew his name.

"You have no choice. There is a darkness within you, Saotome Ranma, a black shadow which thrives on creating chaos and destruction, you have given into it by taking a life."

"I did it to save Akane," Ranma answered, standing in the middle of the hall and looking around, "To protect an innocent, I took a life."

"Nevertheless," the voice continued, "That shadow exists. Now you will learn to use it to stop chaos and destruction, to combat darkness instead of fomenting it. Every one pays a price for redemption, this is yours. You have no choice. You will be redeemed."

Eyes narrowed and nostrils flared as Ranma focused trying to fight back that fear enough to charge up a Moko Takabisha, "Or I could just blow those doors open and leave."

"I wouldn't do that," the voice advised.

Contrary, though, Ranma turned back towards the large doors and unleashed the Moko Takabisha, watching in satisfaction as it flew through the air towards the doors. Satisfaction turned to surprise and shock, however, when it simply bounced off the doors and came back towards him, blasting him down the other half of the hall when it hit and leaving him on the floor with his back against an altar at the far end of the hall from the doors.

The voice had a comment for that, "He who knows how could live comfortably in hell."

"Is that where I am?" Ranma groaned in pain from having his own attack turned back on him, "In hell?"

A young boy appeared, hovering above the altar in a seated lotus position, clothed in robes that matched the surroundings in their richness. He had narrow eyes, a wide nose and full lips on a face under a cleanly shaven skull. Leaning forward to look down at Ranma, he smiled lightly and spoke with the same voice that had tormented him since being thrown into the room...

"Not yet."