Here it is, slightly shorter than I originally intended, but
in all its appropriate glory. Go ahead and C&C it to your heart's
content, as long as it is CONSTRUCTIVE criticism - no flames,
please. If you don't like it, you can still be polite about it.
Disclaimer: The trolls in Great Britain at Games Workshop
own Warhammer 40,000; I don't. I don't own the Ranma
characters, either.
The Emperor's Hand
Chapter Seven: Dissention
"I don't care what you say, I will not kill!"
"Ranma, how can a battle be won if the enemy aren't
slain?" Teldurin was utterly baffled by the Human. On the
one hand, he was one of the best fighter that he had ever
seen; on the other, he was adamant against killing.
"By knocking them out! Look, it's just wrong to kill,
and I won't do it." He crossed his arms, and looked away,
eyes closed.
Teldurin threw up her hands in frustration. "Boy, those
creatures we fought yesterday were dedicated to destroying
all life that is not theirs! It's either us, or them."
"I don't think we'll ever agree on this, Exarch-sama, so
let's just leave it at that." He turned, and walked out of
the shrine, stopping only to pay respects to the spirits.
"Exarch Teldurin, I don't get it," said Allyria, one of
the other Banshees. "Most Human warriors we have encountered
have been as bloodthirsty as any Ork. This one though... he
hurts even for the death of a Tyrannid. Is he perhaps brain
damaged?"
"No, he is not. Child, do you remember what is said of
the Eldar right before the domination by the original Mon-
Keigh?" asked the taller Eldar woman.
"I do not. I, er, really didn't pay attention to our
legends."
Teldurin sighed. "It is said that, though they were
mighty warriors, they didn't kill their foes. It was that
fact that allowed the Mon-Keigh to conquer us. It was only
when we finally grew the will to slay them that we were able
to throw off their yoke.
"Allyria, perhaps the Humans are closer to us than we
allow ourselves to believe." The two Eldar women looked at
each other for a moment, one masked and the other not.
"Naaah," they said in unison. The younger warrior
snapped down her practice mask, and they began to spar.
**************************************************
The Nekohanten was deserted when the Furinkan crew
walked in. It seemed that someone had spread the word that
there might be a confrontation there, so the regular lunch
crowd decided to find somewhere safer to eat. Akane and Ukyou
led the way in, with Nabiki bringing up the rear, and the
others huddled in the middle. Hiroshi and Daisuke weren't
complaining about how tightly the nervous Yuka and Sayuri
were holding on to them, and weren't going to say anything
that make the girls notice.
Cologne watched dispassionately as they entered her
home. Shampoo's hands itched for her Bonbon, assuming there
was going to be conflict, while Mousse edged towards one of
the corners, for a better view and better range. The Shaman,
however, continued to sit at a center table. "Come, come,
I've been expecting you," he said.
The Amazon Matriarch flashed him an irritated glance.
"You could have let me know, Shaman."
"Oh, don't worry. And, Shampoo, Mousse, please relax,
and sit down. Let's put some of these tables together, and
see if we can come to some answers together." He motioned to
the two high school boys. "Hiroshi, Daisuke, give Mousse a
hand with that table. I'll get that one over there."
As the three teenagers easily manhandled the table into
position beside the first, a thousand shimmering colors lined
a third one. It levitated slightly off the ground, and
drifted into its own position on the other side of the first
table. Chairs then glowed, and slid across the floor into
their appropriate positions. "Please, everyone, sit down."
Nabiki chose a chair directly across from the Shaman.
"Let's get down to business. Everyone in my little entourage
here, except for Yuka and Sayuri, saw the phenomenon, as did
Shampoo. We have already given you all the information we
can. Now, it's time for you to be a little more forthcoming.
Give us some information, something we can work with. You may
be ten thousand years old, but that doesn't give you a
monopoly on rational thought."
The seemingly young man nodded. "Very well. I guess the
first place to start is an explanation of what psychic
powers actually are. The public perception is of Uri Gellar,
straining to slowly bend a spoon, or the gypsy with her Tarot
cards. Some think of the science fiction approach, like in
the movie Akira, or the Force from Star Wars.
"In actuality, psykers are closer to workers of magic,
or users of Chi. However, where mages call upon energies or
entities from the universe, and Chi masters utilize their own
energies, the psyker draws on energies from outside this
universe. Specifically, they draw upon what is called the
Warp.
"The Warp is a region between universes, a continuum of
pure thought and energy. Every sentient being has a shadow in
the Warp, an echo of thought and emotion. If the thoughts and
emotions are strong enough, they can resonate with what we
call reality. As well, there are those whose essences are
rather tightly bound to the Warp, despite the strength of
their will or emotion. These can utilize psychic powers with
little or no effort. At least, that is how it was ten
thousand years ago."
"Well, what happened?" asked Ukyou. She had taken a seat
as far away from the Shaman as possible.
"It seems that there was an ancient race whose every
member was so bound to the Warp. They even built semi-
permanent gates through the Warp, for use in traveling from
point to point. Another, more brutish race, conquered them,
and it took them a few centuries to free themselves. After
they had succeeded, they grew, and expanded throughout the
galaxy. They grew in culture and in power, until even stars
lived and died at their whim.
"Unfortunately, such unprecedented growth leads to
unprecedented decadence. They grew corrupt, and their
hedonism grew until it knew no bounds. Acts that would shock
and horrify even the ancient Greeks were commonplace to these
jaded souls. Their system of gates grew to the point where
they need merely walk out of their front door, to find
themselves anywhere in the galaxy. Their advanced
technologies were left to rot, as they grew more and more
insular, and perverted.
"A small number of this race eschewed the corruption of
their once mighty race, and left in fleets from their
homeworlds. Then they discovered the true horror of what had
befallen their people.
"As I have said, the Warp echoes strong emotion, and
thought forms. These echoes and eddies also gather together,
and gather into storms in the Warp. Since the energies and
thought and life are part of the energies of the Warp, these
storms are actually alive, and sentient. With the billions
and billions of debauched hedonists that dwelled on the alien
homeworlds, this gathered into a hideously immense storm.
"In a single night, this storm gained true awareness,
and consumed the life of every member of this race that had
spawned it. Countless billions died at once, and their
screams of terror echoed all the way to Earth. The entity so
created was called Slaanesh, the Lord of Pleasure and
Perversion. Only those who had left their homeworlds, and
devoted themselves to a ritualistic and aesthetic existence,
were spared.
"The ancient shamans, from whom I received the power I
now have, felt this scream, and discovered that Slaanesh was
not alone. Other races in other galaxies had fallen to other
urges, and their psychic death screams created other hideous,
dark storms in the Warp. These storms were the Gods of Chaos.
So, the shamans of old decided to take a path that they
believed would prevent Mankind from ever falling prey to one
of these Chaos Gods, or creating one of their own. I am the
result of that path.
"With a combination of magic and psychic powers, they
bound Humanity's psychic potential into me. So long as I
live, Mankind should be unable to even perceive the Warp, let
alone echo it into reality. At least, that was the plan.
"As the number of human beings on Earth grows, so does
my power. However, I am less and less able to seal away that
potential from others. If a child is born with the potential
for psychic powers, and he is not shielded by my power, then
he could grow into a powerful threat, for he would be a
channel for demons of the Chaos Gods to reach Earth, by way
of possession. Without some sort of guidance or seal, he
would have no defense.
"By the year 1999, there will be over six billion people
on Earth. Shortly thereafter, the seal will crack. By 2014,
it will break. Then I must be ready to guide the emerging
psykers, to help shield them from Chaos. Otherwise, all is
lost."
"Fascinating," said Nabiki. The other teenagers were
just a little too boggled to say anything. "Only one
question- how does this apply to us?"
"Since psychic powers are an echo of an individual's
thoughts, they will have a definite signature, unique to each
individual. My signature is the 'thousand swirling colors'
effect you have noted. I definitely do not have the power to
do what has been done, nor will I for many millennia to
come."
"Okay. The next question is, can your power reach
through time?" Nabiki scratched the back of one hand, then
continued. "More appropriately, why would you do it?"
"I don't really know. To both questions, I don't know."
**************************************************
Ardallan stood outside the chamber that was serving as
Ranma's room. He knocked silently, and waited for the Human
to acknowledge him before entering. "Boy, your statements
about killing have completely confused the Exarchs. They
can't decide if you're mad, or touched by one of the gods."
"I won't kill," stated the pigtailed martial artist.
"Why?" asked the Warlock. "If it is war, then one either
kills the enemy, or one is killed, instead. An unconscious
enemy can come back to kill your friends. A dead one can't."
"But an unconscious enemy can be your ally, later. Or
even a friend. A dead one can't." Unbidden, images flickered
through Ranma's head. His childhood, and another little boy,
the two of them eating... okonomiyaki? Years later, fighting
that boy on a giant hot plate. Discovering the boy was really
a girl, and rather cute at that. Rediscovering friendship,
but friendship clouded by his father's actions, something he
didn't understand.
"What was that thought form?" asked Ardallan. "It was
strong enough for me to see it without trying."
"I... I don't know. All I know is that she's my best
friend." He sat down on the pallet that had been his bed for
the last several weeks. "Why?"
The Warlock held his expression carefully neutral.
"Because that memory felt as if it is several thousand years
old." Sitting down beside the Human, he took a deep breath,
the better to carefully phrase his next question. "Anial
Gorwydd, will you let me into your mind? I may be able to
awaken those memories that haunt you so."
Ranma stared out across the room for several quiet
moments. An uneasy quiet spread through the ensuing minutes.
Finally, he answered, "Yeah. But on one condition."
"And what is that?"
"If there's anythin' bad in 'em, don't edit it out. I
wanna remember it all." The look in the martial artist's eyes
convinced Ardallan of the seriousness of the question.
Nodding his head, the Warlock closed his eyes, and
entered the mind of Saotome Ranma, known as Anial Gorwydd,
the Wild Stallion, to the Eldar.
**************************************************
Ardallan flashed through the clear memories of the past
few weeks. The battle on the desert world, sparring with the
Avatar, being allowed into the Banshee Shrine, and his
arrival on the Blasted Patch of Blood-soaked Sand. Then,
absolutely nothing.
For a thousand years of potential memories, his essence
drifted in the human's mind, encountering no memories at all.
Two thousand. Five thousand. Ten thousand. Still no sign of
any thought forms at all, let alone those bursts of memory
Ranma seemed to exhibit.
At fourteen thousand years of empty memories, he passed
the age of the oldest Eldar on Valdur Avendel. Drifting with
all the strength he had dedicated to staying on course, he
sunk deeper, back twenty thousand years before. Finally, at
just over thirty thousand years, Ranma's subconscious
exploded into memory.
Unable to cope with the myriad of images, thoughts,
feelings, and impressions, Ardallan merely latched on to them
all, and sent them to the young man. Sixteen years of life
and training, culminating in six months of pure excitement
and frustration, caught up with the Human at once. But the
clearest memories of all were faces.
Three young women, all about his age, all three
beautiful. But, one's face was tinged with a predatory
hunger, framed by purple hair. A second's was tainted by
madness, encircled by a spinning ribbon. And the third's face
haunted by desire, but uncertainty, wavering between
friendship and love.
Two older men. One was balding and round faced, wearing
a pair of glasses, the other with long black hair, and a
bushy mustache. Both were laughing in friendship with each
other.
Two young men, faces contorted by hate. One wore an
orange and black bandanna, with small fangs, and carried an
umbrella, while the other had very long hair, and wore
glasses thick enough to give him sight, but nearly blind
anyone else who wore them. Both had put aside their hate for
now, to help out their greatest rival.
Two more young women, one with a long ponytail and an
apron, the other younger, with short hair and a sardonic
expression. A feeling of contentedness and home, with a
little apprehension for the younger of the two.
Two ancient figures, wizened with age. One was male, and
nearly bald, laughing and cavorting, with a large sack on his
shoulder, and a crowd of women chasing him. Hate and a small
amount of respect mingled at the sight. The other, a woman,
with strong, white hair longer than she was tall, and a
gnarled staff she hopped upon. Respect and distrust, echoed
in Ranma's mind at the memory of her face.
And there was her. The short hair, the smile that made
it all worthwhile, and the reason he would dive into a
dragon's mouth. They would fight, and argue, and he would get
clobbered, but nothing would ever get through him to hurt
her, if he could help it. Not even a god, he swore.
Then, the shock of the massive thrust of memories caught
up with them, and both the Human and the Warlock passed out,
a silent psychic scream echoing through the Infinity Circuit.
=====
- Valandar the Red of the Empty Tankard
Captain of the Guard of the Barony of the Far Woods
Empire of the Iron Mountains
http://members.tripod.com/~Valandar/fanfic.html
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