Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction ❯ Chained World: The Fall of the House of Kuno ❯ Round one! ( Chapter 60 )

I originally published this under the name Anduril at Anime Addventures, with the only changes being a few corrections in spelling, punctuation and the occasional word choice. If you like the beginning of my story but think I've gone off the rails, or have your own ideas for a great branch-off, or think I'm taking too long to update and want to continue the story yourself, come to Anime Addventures and join in the fun!

I claim no ownership rights to any of the works of Rumiko Takahashi, or anyone else's published work.

Warning: some high citrus content.

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

Only the fact that it would be a distraction kept the Mentalist from indulging in a profane rant as he once again found himself spinning through the void of Ranma's inner mindscape. Concentration was already difficult enough, with the scenes of strangely disjointed memories flashing through his mind as his self-image pinwheeled through the points and balls of light making up the lattice of the young man's life, no need to make it even harder. This is not working, he thought grimly as he brought his tumbling progress to a halt and turned to face the grinning pigtailed young man.

“An' here I thought this'd be a challenge,” Ranma taunted from where he bobbed back in the midst of the lattice of lights, smirking. “I sure hope Pyo-baka didn't pay ya in advance, or he's gonna take it back outta yer hide. On second thought, I hope he paid ya already. Maybe I'll even hold back long enough ta let him do it once we're done here.”

The Mentalist fought to keep his anger under control as he watched Ranma drift back through several ribbons of light — here as in the Martial Arts, losing control meant losing, period. That hadn't been a problem since his early days as a mercenary, but this wasn't his usual kind of fight — what did he know of the ebb and flow of brute physical combat? He tried once again to impose his will on the mindscape, to dissolve it into the more typical indescribable mix and flow of memories and sensations for him to shape as he wished. For a moment everything seemed to shiver and blur, only to snap back into focus a moment later, and he snarled — the few solid blows he'd managed to land during however long it had been since he'd so stupidly started the fight hadn't weakened the boy's mental control at all! If anything, he was growing stronger, the fuzziness of his image solidifying and the red streaks and highlights in his hair fading to the same black as the rest.

The same couldn't be said for the Mentalist, not with the way that the younger man seemed able to land blows at will hard enough to shake him to the core. And the stimulation Ranma had to be feeling from the Mentalist's servants didn't seem to be having any effect at all. And here I thought the two hours Ranma's original Adjustment took just meant the Shogun's lapdogs were losing what little competence they'd had to start with. He was seriously reconsidering his decision not to tell his target what was happening in the real world, to win on pure power and skill. At first, he'd held back out of overconfidence; now, he held back out of fear. Certainly, if the story made Ranma lose control of himself it would all be over but the clean-up, but if instead the young man focused that anger on him like a laser it would also all be over — and not in a good way. Though at least he'd survive it. Probably.

Ranma's smirk broadened as he drifted to one side and upward, forcing the Mentalist to turn in place. The smirk turned into a laugh when the nondescript mental powerhouse overcompensated and had to desperately pull himself back. “Yeah, you're good, all right,” Ranma jibed.

The Mentalist blinked, ignoring the taunt — for the briefest moment, the sleekly-muscled impressively hung raven-haired boy had been replaced by the curvy-cute redhead that he'd examined on the table just before beginning his mind-dive. But why ... ? The Mentalist focused on the large ball of light that had emerged from one breast of the redhead just before she reverted to male form. As best he'd been able to determine from Ranma's size in the memories the Mentalist had passed through, the larger the size of the ball of light the more recent the memory it marked — and this one was as large as he'd seen, it must be practically brand new. So what about that memory had momentarily shifted Ranma's self image so radically?

Fighting to keep the flash of hope off his face just as he had his growing frustration, the Mentalist started drifting up and to the side, twisting as he went to keep himself facing the completely untrained powerhouse that was making him look like a fool. At least there aren't any spectators.... Ranma circled with him, not just turning in place but maneuvering to rise above his attacker — not that it mattered, in a mindscape without top or bottom, where “down” was whichever way your feet were pointed. But the instincts ingrained from his long years of training in his aerial Art held true even here. Perfect, the Mentalist thought as he slowed to a stop dead center on the ball of light that had triggered Ranma's brief change.

/\

Ranma rose to her feet from where she sat on the cool tile floor, stepped over in front of the luxurious bathroom's full-length mirror, spread her legs slightly, and carefully looked herself over. Bright red hair, both that falling down about her shoulders, framing her own slave chain, and the patch where her legs joined, outsized but firm mounds on her chest ... and just below her trimmed patch of soft pubic hair ... Reaching up with one hand to cup a breast, gently running a finger across a nipple, she shivered as the fingers of her other hand traced a path between her again-dampening nether lips.

A soft moan escaped, and she closed her eyes for a moment, until the final image of her dream flashed into her mind, Akane lying on Kuno's bed beside her, smiling happily at one of her lovers, wishing `Ranko' happy birthday. Yeah, right, like that'll ever happen, she hates his guts. Can't blame her, either — she had ta cut off her pop's head `cause a' him! Sure, he's a loon, he didn't really know what he was doing, but still ... Stepping back, the redhead squared her shoulders. I'm not Ranko. I'm Saotome Ranma, lover of Tendo Akane and kami willing will be her husband and father of her kid, son of Genma and Nodoka, heir of the Saotome school of the Anything Goes style of martial arts.

/\

The Mentalist blinked again as he shifted off the ball of light, the memory it represented vanishing from thought. Ranma had actually been tempted to stay as he — she — was now? ! What had brought that on? She'd thought something about a dream ... ? He glanced around at the ribbons of light undulating away from the glowing sphere, searching for the one that ... yes, that one seemed to be the largest of the connected nodes that wasn't actually larger still. Focusing back on Ranma just in time to twist out of the way of a diving rush, he kicked out and for once actually managed a glancing blow, sending the pigtailed young man spinning to the side. Eyes widening in shock at his success, he smirked at the recovering (and equally shocked) Ranma as he moved back alongside the ribbon toward the new node.

/\

As Ranma once again began to shriek out her building pleasure, the lover still gripping her hand once again leaned down to recapture her bouncing nipple as for long minutes Ranma's world narrowed to the sensations washing through her. Then the redhead's back arched as the building pressure broke and wave after wave of her orgasm ripped through her. Her spasming pussy clamped down on her master's pistoning cock, and he shouted as it swelled and flooded her depths to overflowing with his seed.

Ranma slumped back onto the bed as her muscles finally relaxed, aftershocks echoing through her limp body, and the mouth on her breast again let go as her lover lay down next to her. Turning her head, Ranma blinked sweat out of her eyes and focused to find herself staring at Akane's smiling face, loving happiness shining from her eyes, a Kuno slave-chain around her neck. “Happy birthday, Ranko,” Akane whispered.

/\

The Mentalist jerked away from the memory node, fighting a furious blush. It wasn't close to being the first time he'd experienced someone else's memories of sex — or dream, rather, the scene had definitely had that slightly hazy, unreal quality of a fantasy. It wasn't even the first time he'd experienced sex through a woman's viewpoint (a nice change of pace, on occasion). But the sheer ... joy? ... relief? ... that had suffused the scene had been breathtaking, and intensely personal.

Okay, so she really was tempted to remain a girl, but the dream didn't go into why. So let's do some more digging, He began backing off alongside a random ribbon radiating away from the dream node to earlier memories — and not so incidentally, away from the mindscape's master.

/\

“Ranko” and another blonde slave looking after a soul-weary Kuno-tono the night after the captured otokodate slavers were executed.

A concerned Kuno-tono first allowing her to meet the demands of honor by watching those executions, then sending a heartsick “Ranko” home when the executions of the otokodate she'd helped capture were finished while he stayed to watch the rest.

Kuno-tono even more reluctantly allowing “Ranko” to risk rape going undercover to protect the kidnapped girls from their enslavers when the lording law enforcement stormed the otokodate's transshipment point.

The first night Kuno-tono had taken his new slave to bed, and the gentleness he'd shown a girl he'd thought had been abused by a previous master.

“Ranko's” first meeting with the blonde slave, and the redhead's shock at the loyalty Kuno-tono had engendered in the younger (and sexually frustrated) girl.

/\

“What're ya tryin' ta do, find out if this place has any limits?”

The Mentalist jerked slightly at the question as he moved away from the last memory's node. Shocked at how much he'd gotten caught up in the cascade of events he'd been reviewing, he refocused on a now faintly amused pigtailed boy. “No, just taking a ride down the path of your memories,” he replied with a sigh. He slowly drifted slightly higher, just enough to hint at dominance without posing a threat, before taking a deep breath. Time to roll the dice. “Tell me, Ranma, why are you fighting this so hard? It's what you want, after all.”

“What I want? What're ya talkin' about?” Ranma asked, his amusement fading into confusion.

The Mentalist stared, flabbergasted, then barked laughter. “Of course you don't know, I just came in here and started throwing my weight around — or trying to, anyway,” he replied, shaking his head. “I really have gotten arrogant over the years, haven't I?” Sobering, he continued, “I'm the Mentalist, and I was hired by the Master of Servants to ... ah ... reprogram you — make you in truth what Kuno-tono believes you to be.”

Ranma froze, gaping. “You can do that?” he demanded.

The Mentalist shrugged. “Easily. Well, usually easily. You've proven to be more of a challenge than I expected, or even hoped for.” He watched intently as the pigtailed boy absorbed his words — not a hint of a smirk, or anything else to show that the ego his file had indicated was taking the bait. Not a good sign.

Ranma drifted up and to the side, toward the Mentalist's left side, incidentally negating whatever height advantage the mind-sifter had. Probably unconsciously, considering how focused he was on his opponent. “What d'ya mean, what I want? Ya think I wanna become some sappy girly-type that worships the ground Kuno walks on?”

“No, but then, that's not what Kuno-tono thinks you are, is it?” the Mentalist replied. “He thinks you're a strong, vibrant woman and a skilled warrior that worships the ground he walks on.” Watching Ranma closely, he suppressed a sigh. As expected, the rebuttal hadn't seemed to make the pigtailed boy any more accommodating. Nonchalantly, he added, “That's what Akane is now, if you don't go along you're going to be left behind.”

“What? ! You ... you ...”

“Already did an extreme Adjustment? Yes,” the Mentalist said, smirking. “Kuno-tono ordered her picked up this afternoon, and the Master of Servants decided to get the easy one out of the way first. I have to say she didn't put up anywhere near the fight you have. She's upstairs eagerly waiting for you and her master — her two lovers — now, you're going to have a fight on your hands if you try to take her away from her `Tate-sama'.”

“We ... we can do that.... Now that Kuno's broken our agreement I can get her out, take care of him, we can fix her —”

The Mentalist shook his head, turning serious. “You don't really want to do that — you have too much ... not `liking', that's a stretch even now ... respect for Kuno-tono to want to kill him. Besides, even if you do, you aren't going to find anyone like me to change Akane's mental state. And there is no `we'. Pyo-san ordered a strike on your people when Kuno-tono gave him the order to bring in Akane. You'd be all alone, on the run with Akane fighting you all the way. And if you kill her `Tate-sama' she will never forgive you.”

“An' d'ya r-r-really think Kuno's thugs can h-handle the like a' Ukyo or Cologne?”

Finally, something's shaking him up ... just a little more.... “For Ukyo-san, Konatsu-san and the Amazons, it's already done,” the Mentalist replied, shrugging. “Perhaps none of Kuno-tono's people are a match for them in direct combat, but a prepared ambush with large amounts of high explosive can balance that out nicely. I don't imagine the Tendo dojo will fare much better.” He hid a smile as Ranma began to shake — now they were getting somewhere. Any time now ...

And Ranma was in motion, flashing across the space between them, legs circling his enemy, one arm around his throat. The Mentalist ignored the blows hammering into his back where a kidney would be if a mental avatar had any, ignored the way the blows shook him, forced himself to focus ... wait for it ... and when the void around them seemed to shiver he struck at its foundations. The feel of the blows, the arm and legs holding him, all vanished as the world abruptly dissolved into a riot of sensations and memories. Yes! My turn!