[FFML] [Ranma/OMG] [Revised] NaRT4 II – Vile Fables For Progressive Children Ch. 1-2 - Interlude

[David Andersson]

NaRT4 - Part II: Vile Fables For Progressive Children – Chapters 1-2
 
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Nabiki has a plan. Urd has an itchy trigger-finger. Ranma has a life turned upside-down. Ryuu has a duty. Taro has a purpose. Ryoga has an unwanted nanny. Kuno talks funny. A yarn of twisted self-empowerment for those who want something experimental, unpredictable, witty, creative, layered, darkly ironic, a bit challenging, and very different.
 
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Ranma ½ © Rumiko Takahashi, Oh! My Goddess! © Kosuke Fujishima, as well as any local licensee affiliates. However everything of my own creation connected to this story is © to myself, and may not be used without permission. Any similarity to existing people or organisations is entirely coincidental, beyond archetypal significance. No animals were harmed through the writing of this narrative. Constructive comments & criticism are very appreciated.
 
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Warning: 
The story will contain a great deal of potentially offensive, politically incorrect, unfamiliar, or emotionally challenging material, including disturbing characters and philosophies, swearing, layers of irony, and occasional graphic violence. Much of the text incorporates sweeping, tongue-in-cheek, over-the-top satire. Please use personal discretion, and do not enter without a sense of humour. If you can stand watching South Park or even the Simpsons, this likely shouldn’t present too much of a problem.
 
It’s also using a loose timeframe between scenes, much like the manga itself. Jumps may imply anything from a few hours to several days. The portrayals are almost exclusively matter-of-fact referenced in the source material, rather than any derivatives. 
 
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Preface:
 
Once upon a time in the faraway kingdom of Japan there was a boy named Ranma, who was taken from his mother when very young. He and his father wandered all over Asia, to train, and train, and train in the martial arts. The boy came to meet many new friends, but they did not always agree.
 
One day they visited a strange and mysterious place named Jusenkyo. It had magic springs that transformed anyone that fell in into whatever bathed there first. Now, when touching cold water, the father changes into a panda bear of very little brains, and Ranma is replaced with a twin sister. 
 
After the journey they visited Mister Tendo. He was an old training-friend to Ranma's father. Mister Tendo had three daughters. “Pick one to marry and carry on our school,” the fathers said. 
 
The oldest was Kasumi, who was gentle, caring, and motherly. The youngest was Akane, who was strong, and noble, but had a fiery temper. Ranma learned to love her very much, and they helped each other through many troubles. 
 
And then there was Nabiki...
 
 
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The story thus far
 
 
Nabiki has a plan to use her available resources. Corporate life-sentences, Japanese glass-ceilings, and accountability are very, very bad words. Urd is a bored, higher-dimensional, time-spinning, semi-amoral meddler with an itchy trigger-finger, and very suspicious views of what constitutes an interesting ‘solution’ or ‘perfect girlfriend’. Ranma momentarily wishes to get out of a circular routine. Uh-oh…
 
Nabiki turns herself into an über-metamorph. Absolute power is kind of neat, and corruption is underrated. Urd gives Nabiki a conscience. She's NOT happy. Urd makes Nabiki obsessed with Ranma. She's really giddy. Peorth isn't pleased. Nabiki puts Ranma in hypnotic sex therapy to refocus his affections. Ranma is content, needy, ashamed, angry, suspicious, and enthralled. They become a dysfunctional couple! Bizarre situations, and wordy character interactions follow. Nabiki thinks it's perfectly normal to torture antagonists. Ranma disagrees, but forgives her ‘cause she's funny and cute. They still have nearly nothing in common, but that hasn’t stopped most people.
 
And now for something completely different…
 
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The neutral, the bad, and the badasses
 
 
6 months ago:
 
Hibiki Ryoga wandered again, then he wandered some more, and continued to wander until he was sick and tired of it, sat down by a nearby stream, and made a campfire to cook some food. He checked within his backpack. Just his luck, only canned beans left again. There was a book crammed beside it. He took it out. It had brief descriptions of history, traditions and sights within different countries, and useful phrases to ask questions with. It was a present from Akari. He was lonely. He wanted to find her… or Akane. Then everything would be all right. He shook his head. No not Akane, never again… Well, maybe… in case she invited him, or came to visit, or… No, no, show some spine. He had made a decision before that botched wedding. He had to stick to it for more than a few days at a time. Although it had been a few weeks now, that was an improvement. He collected water in his kettle to make some tea. There weren’t any wild boars or bears around,
 and Akari would have disapproved. Perhaps he could find some mushrooms or berries to make the meal palatable?
 
He sensed something! The hunter immediately stood up, and looked around for several moments. He checked behind some bushes, then under his backpack. He rubbed his head. How strange, he prided himself on having an incredibly sharp dairyokkan, or aura sense. Well no matter, the beans were ready. He took a spoonful, and instantly spit them out. Eeew! They were out of date.
 
“Hmph! How undignified.”
Ryoga looked around again. Where did the voice come from? 
“I’m right above, you blithering idiot!”
Ryoga looked up. His Imperial Majesty, The Throne Prince Hao Long Bu of the Musk Dynasty was standing with crossed arms on a thin branch of a tree, seemingly far too frail to support his weight.
“You! What do you want?” Ryoga was confused, but it was quickly supplanted by rage. This bastard had tried to hurt Akane. “Do you want a fight?”
“How quaint. The swine would think to challenge a dragon.” Hao Bu snapped his fingers. “Li Me!”
Ryoga instinctively leapt to the side, barely managing to avoid a two handed sneak-attack from behind, crushing the earth within a 4-metre radius.
Ryoga was shocked. “You destroyed Akari’s present! Shishi Hokodan!” He blasted Lime with a 6-metres wide powerful torrent of force, blowing the latter through a few dozen perfectly good trees. 
Hao Bu smiled, eyes dilated in intense captivated glee “Magnificent!”
Ryoga didn’t let up, nearly immediately reached Lime as he fell, and relentlessly started to pound away before the latter had a chance to recover, rendering him severely bruised and insensate. “You bastard! You bastard! You bastard!” Ryoga panted heavily, but managed to stop himself before causing serious damage. He wiped a tear from his eye. He had betrayed Akari! She would never forgive him! “Heeeerb!” He ran at full speed towards his nemesis.
Hao Bu descended to the ground 20 metres in front of Ryoga. Sneering disdainfully. “Can’t you do anything right? You were running the wrong way.” His teeth flashed in ferocious anticipation.
Ryoga ignored him and unleashed a torrent of chi-reinforced razor-bandannas, each capable of easily cutting through a few feet of solid steel.
“You are about to learn not to bother your betters with children’s tricks.” Hao Bu made a sweep with his right arm. “Hito Ryuu-zan Ha!” Several shimmering blades of pure chi, each capable of slicing past several metres of solid steel, blasted straight through the barrage. 
Ryoga managed to evade most of them as he advanced, but was struck dead centre by the others. That hurt! He looked down. It had drawn blood, but mostly surface-level. “Bakusai Tenketsu!” He struck the ground with both index fingers, unleashing a bombardment of small rocks towards the infuriatingly conceited dragon-prince, and screening him long enough to approach further. 
Hao Bu caught and threw hundreds of pebbles to the side at a pace far too swift to follow. His smirk widened. “Better.” A foot abruptly came into sight through the makeshift smokescreen, a few inches from his eyes, granting him enough time to receive a solid hit to the jaw and topple to the ground. Hao Bu instantly rolled to the side of a second blow, and somersaulted a few metres backwards to regain initiative.
Both fighters simultaneously unleashed more conventional chi-blasts. Ryoga’s stronger discharge was nevertheless drilled through by Hao Bu’s far more focused strike. While the latter was once more struck down, the former took comparable damage, as the torrent of pressure relentlessly battered at his abdomen. 
Hao Bu wiped some blood from his face, tasting it, still smiling as if invigorated. “Very good insect, very good.”  He stood up. “There was a time when you would be beheaded for lese-majesty, but I have some use for you.”
“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! You hurt Akane! You hurt Akari!” Ryoga descended upon him, attacking at full pace and power, hundreds of punches at a supersonic speed just short of Ranma’s own, and more than twice the force, somehow defying the constraints of mass and acceleration… thousands. Herb nonchalantly blocked them all. Ryoga didn’t care.
Hao Bu grunted. The exertion was taking a toll. His hands and arms were severely beginning to hurt. His anger flared. (Never invoke the wrath of a dragon!) Most sense of strategy and subtlety removed, he heedlessly struck Ryoga at full speed, landing two blows for every one from his opponent. Unfortunately he couldn’t match the latter’s brawn and endurance. They were locked in a contest of primal fury, mauling each other bloody until one of them would drop broken to the ground crumbling beneath their feet. Hao Bu sneered. “Enough of this! Hiryu Shoten Ha!”
Ryoga was carried off at the centre of a whirlwind. (Akari… I have failed you!) He managed to fire off one last desperate discharge, before losing consciousness.
 
Ryoga was violently slapped numerous times in the face. 
“Wake up!”
He looked around. Mint was standing in front of him, with Herb regally observing a few metres behind. There was a sizeable bump on the latter’s head. Perhaps that last strike hadn’t been so futile after all? Somebody was forcibly pushing him down into a kneeling position, and holding his arms behind his back. The grip was too strong even for him to break. It had to be Lime. That made things easier. “Oh! Some women are skinny-dipping in the river!”
“Really?” The grip slackened off. Ryoga quickly stood up and stomped Lime full force on the foot, making him scream and jump around on one leg.
 Ryoga grinned. “Sucker!” He was doused with cold water.
Min Te held the struggling piglet in his fist, and cleared his throat for a standardised recital. “Crown Prince Hao Long Bu of the Royal Dragon-Lineage has deigned to bestow a great honour upon you, an inferior non-Musk. He expects gratitude and obedience, not futile and insolent rebellion.”
Hao Bu raised a disapproving eyebrow at the sight of the diminutive black pig. “Pitiful… This won’t do, this won’t do at all. Min Lang Te! Li Mao Me! We are leaving immediately! Pack down those paltry souvenirs our guest seems to cherish so much, and inform him that he is either going to be very cooperative, or I will personally butcher and serve him as dinner to the royal stables. If that fails to catch his attention, simply note that his wretched sense of direction allows us to hold his loved ones at ransom any time we so wish.”
Min Te suspiciously stared into Ryoga’s eyes. “You heard our liege. Are you going to be a bother?”
The piglet sighed and dejectedly shook its head.
 
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Tokyo: ESP (Extranormal Squad Police) 
Kumon Ryuu read the sign on the door to the traditional-looking sizeable shrine. What a bother, having to hang around with a bunch of freaks just to use his own legacy. 
 
It had seemed like a clever idea at the time. The Saotomes had a problem with the Yamasen-ken school originally being designed for burglary. So he’d simply enrol at the Police Academy, get some purpose with his life, be admired by all the normal people, and get the freaky transsexual’s permission to use ‘the evil school’ for the opposite thing it was designed for. To redeem the dishonour the latter deemed that Genma had brought to his name. Brilliant! The last part worked without a glitch, but apparently Ryuu “wasn’t precinct detective material”, and was transferred here instead. He had heard weird rumours about it, but hopefully the officers were just ribbing him.
 
Ryuu reached out to ring the bell for admittance, but was surprised to be intercepted when the gate swung open ahead of him. 
A thin thirties-looking woman stood by the doorway. She had the darkened complexion associated with Osaka, and was clad like a Shinto shrine maiden. Not particularly attractive, which would usually make her of very limited interest, but with a calm and motherly, and traditionally dignified, expression that triggered some reminiscence of Saotome Nodoka. She politely bowed. “Welcome. I am Mitsumoto Kiyoko, the warden of this manor. We have been expecting you Mister Kumon. Please come in.”
Ryuu followed Kiyoko up a lengthy set of stairs, long short steps leading them over a 100 metres into the estate, passing a few levels of plateaus, containing attractively pruned small trees, ponds with blowfish, as well as certain other species he didn’t recognise, and gravel courtyards. He was hardly an authority but recognised the tranquil patterns as the work of an experienced Zen-master. What was this place? It certainly had nothing to do with general police work.
 
They reached the summit. It was more Spartan, with four rather plain-looking buildings evenly encircling a medium-sized Shinto temple, or was it Buddhist, or Christian, or even Hindu? When they moved closer, it seemed to be modified, incorporating ornaments and sculptures from each, as well as several Ryuu didn’t recognise. As they went past the entrance he noticed two rows of men and women, respectively seated in seiza alongside the walls leading away from the entrance, and like Masumi, all clad in traditional Shinto ceremonial garbs. They were collectively meditating, eyes closed, with the tips of their thumbs pressed together like vertical pyramids, and the remaining fingers in horizontal analogues.
A bald man was seated in the centre of the room, mirroring the others, but dressed in wide black trousers and an azure gi-like upper robe loosely patterned after a Shogunate samurai. With traditional short and long daisho tanto and katana blades fastened to his left side by a white cotton belt, both safely contained in unadorned silvery saya scabbards. No ceremonial, but slow, medium-length wakizashi… that might imply a practical or ruthless man. He looked rather young, but his smooth features made it difficult to ascertain a precise age. What truly made him stand out were the strange tattoos and etchings encircling every visible section of his body. Even more remarkably, a large portion of the symbols were of extremely lifelike iron, silver and golden coloration, as if the actual metals had bonded with or replaced his skin, in a vaguely circuitry-reminiscent pattern. His presence had a serene, almost holy, intensity of a nature that Ryuu couldn’t
 recall encountering before.
Ryuu found briefly himself captivated in a sense of wonder, his firmly enforced, demandingly harsh outlook swept away and forgotten. He shook it off. Leaving openings was dangerous, and not something he could afford.
 
The priest opened his eyes and instantly curled into an upright stance with a relaxed smile on his face. He bowed towards Ryuu. “Muramasa Taikio. I am pleased to make your acquaintance Mister Kumon.”
Ryuu frowned. “Any relation to…”
“Just so. The unholy sword-smith is unfortunately part of my heritage.” Despite the words, he didn’t seem troubled by the admission. He used his right hand to indicate to the left side of his belt. “These blades are part of my legacy, but have been purged and inverted from the path of corruption.”
Ryuu decided to cut to the chase. “Look, I’m supposed to become a police officer. This isn’t exactly my type of environment.”
Taikio’s ever-present sincere, alert and optimistic expression didn’t change in the slightest. “Do you have the patience and interest to listen to a clarification?”
Ryuu shrugged. “It’s not like I’m booked up.”
Taikio gestured towards the floor. “Then please be seated Mister Kumon. I will bring us some hot tea.” He went to the back of the room, bringing two steaming cups as he came back.
Ryuu decided to go along with the suggestion, even if tea likewise ‘wasn’t exactly his type of beverage’ to say the least.
 
Taikio inhaled some energising vapours from the refreshment. “It is a long story but can be rather swiftly summarised. Plainly, my father, Muramasa Hiro, was a particularly affluent individual. He considered himself modern, a man of the world, grasping destiny to unburden him from the past, and the stranglehold of time-honoured hierarchical absolute submission. Sadly it was not to be. Our ancestor had saddled him with additional unforeseen liabilities. Certain exceptionally dark elements, far outside his frame of reference, sought reimbursement or vengeance; I am unaware which, as they didn’t tell. What is relevant is that they considered guilt transferable by blood.”
He paused to sip some tea to clear his throat. “Our family was set upon without warning, bound by vile forces and, excepting my father and myself, were devoured alive before our eyes. I was let be because their thirst was not yet sated. Somebody had to be left to breed further generations. My father since it appealed to their wit to see an elevated man fall so far.” He made another interruption.
(So this poor little rich boy tries to trade sob stories when he still had a well-off father to take care of him? Big deal! I saw both my parents die, and mostly wandered the streets to survive on my own since I was four years old. Whatever.)
 
Taikio continued. “My father was a righteous individual. He could not fathom the horror before his eyes. This was not just. This was not right. This was not fair. Lesser men would have said that this should be accepted. This was the way of the world. This was the nature of life. This was inescapable. This should be ignored, or even adapted and embraced into a personal credo. He did not. He decided to see that it would not be repeated, and to seek preparations to fight the lot forced upon us. This was not an act of arrogance, but of ambition. He well understood his limitations, but decided to at the very least help to hold the darkness at bay within Japanese soil.”
Ryuu was pretty sure he saw where this was going, but decided to put up with it. 
 
Taikio put down the now emptied cup and resumed where he left off. “I was only a little over 2 years old at the time, perhaps fortunately as I did not remember much of the incident, and had not yet bred an extremely strong imprinting at the image of my mother. My father sold off his very considerable assets and invested them through several reliable brokers, to set up a foundation. He then brought me along on a very lengthy, and extremely unconventional, global training trip.”
Ryuu barely stifled a yawn. (This is starting to sound familiar.)
“It was not strictly the martial arts of which you are accustomed, but rather focused on spiritual exercises, systems and ceremonies. Nevertheless, I was only one man. My father kept himself busy on the side, brokering deals to permanently finance a new specialised, independent section of the police department, while searching for ways to enlist appropriate human resources and equipment, develop an efficient structure and instruction for specialised competence, and here we are.”
 
Ryuu choose to ask the obvious follow-up. “So what happened to the old man?”
“Nothing fanciful. Natural causes made him pass away from old age shortly after we returned some years back. I helped set the final wheels in motion without him.” Taikio’s bearing had remained unperturbed during the entire monologue.
Ryuu enquired about the second. “So you are the boss around here?”
“No. We have a command structure related to individual expertise and self-contained units, which is adaptable to specialised situations. In a certain areas that position is primarily held by myself, while I am the student or subordinate in others.” Taikio looked gravely at Ryuu. “This is a very young organisation. Our foundation is well bolstered, but we are thus far severely lacking in terms of enforcement. Regrettably, sections amongst regular authorities and bureaucracy have also come to regret our existence, and consider our proactive methods as culturally deviant. Limited efficiency grants them leverage to outlaw our vigilance. If you are everything I have been told, your expertise will be of utmost importance. You will bear a great responsibility. I cannot stress this severely enough.”
Ryuu nodded. He got it. He took all his pledges very seriously.
 
Taikio seemed reassured. “You will of course have to undergo a formal tryout Mister Kumon.” He stood up, drawing forth his still sheathed katana, holding it single-handedly and poised forward. “Come at me when you are ready.”
(Oh, come on! Look at this guy! He basically comes across like as the lovechild of a bodhisattva and a pacifist. He said himself that he just sat and chanted prayers for over 20 years. How the heck am I supposed to avoid killing him?)
Taikio tellingly glanced towards the audience. “We cannot use distanced attacks you understand?”
Ryuu shrugged. “It’s not like I’m allowed to use them yet anyway.”
Taikio’s eyebrows were raised the slightest millimetre. “You are a man of great honour then? I shall indeed be pleased to make your acquaintance.” He closed his eyes with an air of serene awareness.
Ryuu gaped. He wasn’t sure if he was dumbfounded or insulted. “Are you sure about this?”
“Do not be concerned Mister Kumon. This is of personal advancement, not of disadvantage or dishonour.”
“Have it your way.” Ryuu cautiously attacked, probing his opponent’s level to determine how far he could push this. 
He needn’t have worried, Taikio effortlessly tipped his blade to the sides, only using his wrist, forearm and minimal force but somehow succeeding in deflecting Ryuu’s ever increasingly fierce assault. 
Ryuu finally decided to go all out, barraging Taikio with a flurry of titanium-splitting punches, kicks, grapples and sweeps, successfully pressing him enough to use his full area of movement, but Taikio nevertheless consistently ended up at his initial spot. Ryuu assumed a much closer position and launched himself forwards at a pace too swift to avoid even for somebody twice his speed, risking taking a damaging hit in favour of landing a decisive blow. The latter simply stood unmoving in quiet acceptance. Ryuu struck him dead centre of the face at full force. Taikio didn’t budge an inch. By all logic his nose should have been fractured. Even stranger, Ryuu couldn’t even feel the impact in his fist.
Taikio opened his eyes. He smiled a bit further than usual. “Mister Kumon, you are raw, brash, and have an abundance of presently restrained power, certainly capable of inflicting a greater scale of destruction than any officer on the force. I have the utmost faith that you will serve as a magnificent complement.”
Ryuu frowned. “Complement?”
Taikio looked as attentive and congenial as ever. “Kiyoko did not tell? Once you have successfully graduated, as I am certain that you outstandingly will, I am to be your senior partner.”
 
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Pansuto/Pantyhose Taro was climbing a desolate, secluded and nearly vertical plateau. This had better be worth the effort and sheer monotony. According to his Tibetan contact, or rather a corrupt Chinese-stationed officer with extremely good underworld connections, he was not allowed to simply fly to the top of the mountain. The passage had to be ritualistic, by strictly choosing the most demanding and dangerous passages, without any equipment or protective clothing, just him, the ice, the snow, the hail, the wind, the avalanches, the rockslides, and the yetis. Being forced to make an effort to walk right into, trigger or provoke all of them. Never mind. This was a piece of cake for someone of his talents. Those “divine power-sources” turned out to be useless magnetic shoulder pads garbage, and he wanted power, lots of it. He was going to conquer the world someday, whether literally or figuratively, and then kick his boot so far up the ass of that
 freak geezer Happosai that he’d be given a name worthy of respect. This half-empty glass was going to get itself shine-polished, and filled to the brim with something much better than water, if it knew what was good for it.
 
He reached the top. It was empty save a bare-chested, muscular, slightly unshaved and rough-looking middle-aged man of unspecific nationality, clad in combat boots and green-speckled camouflage-style army khakis. He was resting with his back toward a golden-brown cloth sack, arms behind his head, and leisurely smoking a Havana cigar, stuck between a visible, shiny white row of teeth. Beside him there was a very odd-looking backpack, composed of an assortment of layered leather straps with built-in sheaths, and crammed with an assortment of swords, a few blades, a warhammer, a battleaxe, a spear, and a mixture of artillery.
 
Taro didn’t know what to think. “Are you The Veteran?”
“Guilty as charged kid.” The man had not seemed to register the question, but nonetheless answered it.
“I was supposed to meet you here?” Taro cautiously probed.
“Seeing is believing” Still no visible reaction.
(Am I just going to stand around waiting while making inanely clichéd conversation?) Taro was starting to get annoyed. Was this guy supposed to be the mythical champion mystics and assassins alike barely dared to whisper about? He took a deep breath to give this joker a piece of his mind.
“Face front trooper! Incoming!” Something landed with a thud, shaking the stone foundation.
 
A monumental figure stood before them. Over 2 metres tall, and nearly as wide, with cylindrical arms like massive tree trunks, entirely clad in, or consisting of, a jagged, featureless indigo armour with luminous gilded seams along the pivots, no nose, and vapours of sparkling light in the place of mouth, eyes and fingertips. Taro was in awe… or at least until he noticed the pink mini-skirt, the rugby helmet, the roller skates, the oversized “A” belt buckle, and the golden bling-bling neck-chain supporting a medallion with the inscription “Bow before da kang”.
The Veteran calmly pulled out a picnic blanket from the sack and placed it on the ground. Taro sat down beside him but simply gazed at the display. His peripheral vision vaguely registered how a single feather drifted out over the ledge.
The being spoke with a booming voice like the chill from a grave blended with cracks of thunder. “I! AM! ABYSSMIC! I WAS FORGED FROM THE ESSENCE OF WHITE DWARF STARS! MY HEART BEATS WITH THE RHYTHMS OF CAGED SUPERNOVAS! I CHANNEL THE ENERGIES OF A DIMENSIONAL NEXUS! THE PRIMAL FORCES WITHIN MY SHELL ARE UNYIELDING!”
The Veteran merrily unpacked the contents. “Just checking, but you do realise that none of that made any sense right? Guys like us need a little self-distance once in a while.”
“I AM LIKE UNTO A GOD, AND MY WAYS ARE BEYOND MORTAL COMPREHENSION!”
The Veteran enthusiastically chomped down bites from a ham & egg sandwich. “Of course you’d all like to think that.”
“I AM FIRST OF THE SEVEN! PRYMURDAL! PRYMEVYL! PRYMAUL! STARBLYTE! STARBAIN! ZENTROPY! COALESCING SCREAMING INTO BEING AT THE DAWN OF CREATION!”
“No patterned first syllables? Sounds a bit budget-bargain to me.” Chatting between bites.
Abyssmic seemed rather self-conscious, as far as its features allowed. “FATHER YAMBAD AND MOTHER WELLSTAYNE DIDN’T HAVE MUCH IMAGINATION!” It said apologetically.
The Veteran nodded in acknowledgement. “Ah, my Aunt Ethel was like that too. Her poor brats never lived it down.”
Abyssmic paused. “CLUSTROT WAS DISAVOWED! EVEN OUR PARENTS REGRETTED THE NAME! AND ZENSOURCE WOULDN’T STOP INSISTING THAT KEEPING QUIET WAS THE ONE TRUE PATH TO NIRVANA!” 
It wistfully shook its head and recommenced. “I AM IMPERVIOUS TO THE FORCES OF TIME AND SPACE! FOR AGES IMMEMORIAL I HAVE WANDERED THE LONELY WASTES OF INFINITY BETWEEN THE TINY SPECKS OF MATTER!”
The Veteran began eating an apple. “And how is that working out for you?” 
“I AM A PRIMORDIAL BEING EVER SEEKING FULFILMENT IN MY PURPOSE!“
“So basically you’re just bored and need a hobby.”
“I AM LIKE UNTO A TEMPEST! TESTING THE WORTH OF CIVILISATIONS, AND STRENGTHENING THE HERD!”
The Veteran threw away the apple core. “Nah, that’s my job, sort of, and it’s a pretty darned unoriginal rationalisation for genocide. You’ll have to work more on that.”
“MY DESTINY IS WRITTEN IN THE STARS!”
He helped himself to an ample serving of strawberry cake. “Did they tell you? Not very good speakers I hear.”
“I AM A FORCE OF NATURE SERVING UNIVERSAL BALANCE!”
“Mm, this is good.“ The Veteran took another slice, quickly wolfing it down. “Killing people serves a balance? Overpopulation tends to find equilibrium by itself. Basic math really.”
“I AM THE NECESSARY UNKNOWN ALIEN VARIABLE CREATING DISORDER IN A STAGNANT CREATION!”
“Stagnant? There are so many slump-factors around that you wouldn’t believe it. Almost nothing is entirely predictable… excepting yourself o’course.” Munching all the while.
“I AM A UNIQUE SINGULAR BEING DEVOID OF OPPOSITES!”
“No you’re not. Your kind of cheap dialogue is a dime a dozen, and didn’t you say that you enforce balance and disorder at the same time?”
“I CANNOT HELP MY NATURE!”
“Sure you can. You’re self-aware aren’t you, and don’t have any handicaps either I hope? Positive thinking, that’s the key.” He seized the last piece.
“I AM BEYOND JUDGEMENT!”
“Depends on who’s looking doesn’t it?” And swiftly finished it up.
“I AM A CONCEPT BEYOND GOOD AND EVIL!”
The Veteran pulled out a bottle. “It’s called amoral. The schooling these days…” He began to guzzle the brandy.
“I HAVE TRAMPLED ARMIES OF PRODIGIOUS TRANS-BEINGS BENEATH MY FRAME!”
The Veteran burped. “You really need to watch the diet.”
“I HAVE SHATTERED PLANETS WITH MY FISTS!” 
He took out another of his choice cigars, igniting it with a down-to-earth lighter. “Now I know that you’re shitting me. A small fellow like you would have to ram it at a substantial amount of the speed of light to accomplish that.”
“I AM A LAW AND COUNSEL UNTO MYSELF! I HAVE NO AFFILIATION TO YOUR PHYSICS OR CONCEPTIONS!”
“That would explain the angry loner shtick, and the tacky outfit.” He continued to puff away.
“THE DEATH-THROES OF THIS WORLD SHALL STALL THE END FOR ANOTHER CYCLE! ACCEPT THE HONOUR TO SUBMIT YOUR INSIGNIFICANT LIVES FOR THE GREATER GOOD!”
“You’re really into some home-brewed version of the Thugee-Kali-Hindu jig huh? Lemme think about that for a moment…” The Veteran grasped his chin in mock-contemplation. “Hmmm…nah! Your logic is as watertight as ever, meaning you-know-what, but I think we’ll take our chances.”
“MORTAL FLEA, BRING ME THE GREATEST WARRIORS OF THIS WORLD, THAT I MAY CONTEST THEIR MERIT, AND MAKE A WORTHY OFFERING AT THE ALTAR OF DESTRUCTION!”
The Veteran wiped his mouth with a napkin, dusted off his khakis, threw his cigar to the side, and stood up. “Destruction isn’t sentient, and the Universe doesn’t hinge on narrow conceptual segmenting of various processes or ideas, but I guess that would be my cue.”
“YOU? MUHAHAHA! YOU ARE NO MATCH FOR ME! I DETECT ONLY THE SLIGHTEST VARIATIONS BEYOND THE HUMAN NORM! EVEN YOUR COMPANION EXHIBITS NUMEROUS THOUSAND TIMES HIGHER READINGS!”
 
The Veteran took a traditional British boxing stance. “Life is full of surprises. Stop being a chicken and fight like a man.”
“I CAN EASILY WITHSTAND THE HEAT AND PRESSURE AT THE CORE OF A STAR! NOTHING YOU DO COULD POSSIBLY REGISTER!”
Taro impulsively stood up. “Are you crazy? This guy is no joke!”
The Veteran winked and made a thumbs-up. “You watch.” Thun! The Veteran punched Abyssmic in the gut. The latter doubled over, spewing a stream of fire. “Your kind always loses!” Thun! A strike aimed at the same spot. “Because you forget the most important thing!” Thun! Another gut-punch “I fight for taking liberties!” Thun! He hit Abyssmic in the chin, pushing the being backwards several feet. “I fight for glory!” Thun! This blow landed at the centre of the face. Thun! “I fight for greed!” Thun! “I fight for cynicism!” Thun! “I fight for deviousness!” Thun! “I fight for disregard!” Thun! “I fight for scorn!” Thun “I fight for prejudice!” Thun! “I fight for conflict!” Thun! “I fight for brutality!” Thun! Abyssmic began to waggle. “I can’t loose when everyone believe in me!” A final epic blow toppled the titan to the ground.
He unfastened one of the blades strapped to his side-placed backpack and yanked the dazed creature upright. “Because feeling good always wins!” Abyssmic’s head was sliced straight from its shoulders.
 
The Veteran immediately seemed to lose interest, picked up his backpack, lighted another cigar, and turned towards Taro. “Now, rookie, I understand that you were looking for some drilling.”
 
Taro felt the ground tremble underneath his feet, accompanied by a rising rumble. The plateau fractured, buckled and finally crumbled from the strain, as the feather had finally reached the bottom of its descent.
 
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Coming up: 
Ryoga is offered a position as Herb's new hobby-project. He doesn't think ”Obey, or everyone you know dies.” sounds like a very enticing proposition. Ryuu gets a job. Someone apparently thought that it was a good idea to put paranormal law enforcement into the hands of anti-authoritarian Shinto Matrix New Age Hackers. Taro enlists for a crash-course in terrorism for dummies, and is adopted by the spirit of glorified murder.
 
 
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As you go sightseeing into the Abyss…
 
 
1 month ago:
 
“Hfff!” The eyes of the tiger fixed on its infuriatingly limber prey. “Hrrruur!” It pounced. Once more having a magnificent success-rate… at striking sizeable craters in the bedrock, and receiving another kick to the face. Not even Herb could stand up to Lime without resorting to esoteric talents. Ryoga managed… barely. Lime at the very least matched his endurance, and was almost thrice as strong… at least under regular conditions, but Ryoga had a comparable advantage in terms of speed, skill and agility. They were roughly evenly matched, each winning about half the rounds when restricted to straightforward hand-to-hand combat.
Ryoga temporarily drifted away, wondering how Akari was doing. It had been a full day since he last called her. How would she cope with this? Could she?
That was all Li Me needed. He struck his opponent with tremendous force and followed up with a few more blows in rapid succession.
Ryoga rubbed his aching skull, and pushed himself up from the ground. He had to stop losing his focus.
Li Me placed a massive fist on Ryoga’s left shoulder. “It was a good bout brother.”
“I’m not your damn brother!” Ryoga snapped.
Li Me remained at ease. “You are Tiger. This is all that matters.”
Ryoga solemnly shook his head. There just wasn’t any use talking to some people. How could anybody be so pigheaded?
 
His current least favourite person descended from above. “We see that you are keeping yourself entertained.”
“No thanks to you.” Ryoga muttered. Referring to himself in plural was Herb’s most annoying new habit after ascending to the throne. He was uncertain if it even was a traditional custom among Chinese emperors, or if it was picked up elsewhere?
“ Do not ever speak out of turn again!” Hao Huang Bu snapped.
Ryoga actually felt relieved. Finally a situation he had a handle on. “So what are you going to do about it?”
Hao Huang Bu grimaced. “Apparently our generosity has been misplaced. This first-time privilege of proper continuous instruction has caused you to forget your place.”
“You mean with my foot crammed up your ass?” Ryoga grinned. Nowadays he had to take his pleasures where he could.
Hao Huang Bu kneaded the knuckle of a tightly squeezed fist. “You are Musk. Our laws are absolute. You will show compliance to our sovereignty, or we will devote the full might of our army to compel you to do so, and make an example for every single insolence.”
Ryoga truly hated this guy, but also knew that it wasn’t a bluff. Herb would see it as fully justified to pick off anyone he cared about one at a time, and he couldn’t stop the entire 14000-year-old warrior-dynasty, significantly undermanned or not. “Because you gave me so much choice in the matter.” Grumbling again.
“Silence! You are about to settle your debts and fulfil your duties!” Hao Huang Bu smartly walked away. Not bothering to voice the order to follow for the scheduled audience at the royal mansion. Disobedience was unthinkable. He briefly glanced over his shoulder, as a touch of spite flashed in his eyes. “Naturally, there is also the matter of your little…’problem’.”
 
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Ryuu was getting into the mechanics of his new job. The entire area was blanked and distorted from most perceptions and guarded by a host of protection wards against both conventional and supernatural assaults. Given the nature of their opposition it was necessary to at all possibly work as a headquarters.
 
The congregation of psychics in the main temple cleaned their minds from distractions through meditation, to expand their spiritual skills, and easier distinguish sporadic and generally fragmented precognitive flashes of significant potential hazards, murders, severe crimes, terrorism and catastrophes. 
 
The first adjoining building hosted a computer central, with an extremely competent staff that compared and coordinated the disparate data for pattern comparisons with real-life spots, upcoming happenings and exploitable weaknesses for more malignant-minded groups or individuals. Being crucial to the running of the entire operation their jobs were very well paid but the hackers and probability analysts were mainly motivated by the chance to get a part in highly diverse, unusual and stimulating happenings. The conclusions and instructions were then instantly reported to receivers at patrolling field agents like him, selected in relation to suitable fields of proficiency and vicinity to the danger spot. 
 
The third building contained a team of highly assorted and mostly unconventional mystics and more practical-minded espers. Working in conjunction to accommodate for the nature of more unusual threats, providing experience, counsel, crafting defences, formulating lines of attacks, adjusting the odds, and occasionally providing makeshift weaponry, as well as accompanying the strictly hands-on, brute force or combat-oriented workforce for backup, assistance or a subtler touch. Although the surreal nature of certain practices… evidently gave results, but the less said the better.
 
The fourth was focused on intense, high-level refining of practicable usage for extranormal aptitudes, combat training in a room reinforced by titanium, hardened steel and every additional seal or artefact the unit could provide, and learning about respective strengths, weaknesses and mutual harmonisation. The basement also hosted various offenders and creatures too powerful and dangerous to be safely confined in regular prisons, while keeping the people best adapted to handle them close at hand in case of emergency.
 
The fifth simply contained an arsenal of ordinary or unusual weapons, and a few confiscated dangerous items, kept under lock and seal while awaiting a very safeguarded and carefully handled methodical process of destruction.
All of the buildings allegedly contained zones with various degrees of tesseract attributes, expanding the available space according to requirements.
 
Muramasa Taikio had apparently exaggerated when claiming to become Ryuu’s designated partner, at least in the conventional sense. Certainly, he was the most frequent one, as their different methodologies did in fact complement each other, with Ryuu’s unrestrained heavy damage infliction, and the latter’s thus far unassailable guardian runes, or scalpel-like, disciplined application of force. Surprisingly he also carried a shotgun with very diverse types of ammunition, bullets blessed by holy water, Buddhist chants, carrying spooled Shinto O-Fuda seals with shifting effects, the works. Defining watchwords: “Attempting to find something worthy in all men can indeed be a proper conduct, but lack of accountability for grave offences does not equal justice.” “Who is more evil, the man that takes joy in murder and torture, and actively supports the slaughter of millions, but makes no excuses, or the man who does the same while maintaining that it
 is a moral conduct, and is unable to perceive himself as anything but good? Personally, I would maintain that the difference is negligible.” or “Eagerness is of great help when properly applied, but so is a cool head.” concerning Ryuu in particular.
 
However, there were others, depending on the circumstances and objectives. Tsukino Hitomi was a tough, no-nonsense, psychic field officer-slash-chemist-slash-occult profiler, having borne witness to a great deal of queasy activities over the years and endured. She referred arcane knowledge for significance, and brought potions or artefacts to counter the effects. She was rather low-rung in herself, but knew enough to capably use provided utilities. Her true strength lay in using this in conjunction with her low-powered but versatile esper skills. Refined to a level where she could clog selected blood vessels in crowds of people from 1000 feet away, alternately provide a spark of fire at the exactly right spot to ignite a distraction or heavy damage, depending on what seemed ethically viable. She tended to favour translocating trace amounts of customary drugs and poisons of touch or ingestion to incapacitate hostile elements during more worldly missions.
 Like Taikio, she was averse to killing whenever she could apply an alternative, but in her case it was not in the least due to sympathy or faith, strictly benefit of doubt. Defining watchwords: “Some paint, a basic chemistry set, Google, imagination, and a water-gun, that’s all you really need.” “True evil is sane, and only shadings of grey can face it. There can be no reasoning or middle-ground with something that hates you by instinct to the very depths of its being, for the mere existence of any innocence, joyfulness, compassion or scruples.” “There is only one solid validation for prohibiting the death penalty: That potential innocents will never gain a chance for acquittal. Unfortunately it is conclusive, and thus the scales will never be balanced.” He had overheard some prattle that she was a 5th-Dan adept of Shouki-Do. Psychic warfare. He wasn’t familiar with the term, but wasn’t in a particular hurry to fill in the blanks.
 
Fukui Ayumu was an infuriatingly unpredictable, and superficially stray-minded, symbolist chaos-magician who adjusted the odds by significance and action in conjunction, with intuitive behaviour to put little pebbles in movement, causing useful results at later junctures. Defining regularly reiterated annoying catchphrase: “It felt right.”
 
Takenaka Hayato was the assigned contact, a gangly, detached, Jolt-Cola-popping slob, with a hoarse nasal voice, odd facial movements, and a spasmodic, borderline orgiastic, toothy grin, frequently accompanied by fluctuating giggling. He handled or forwarded technical evaluation and calculation of potential damage/weakness points through Ryuu’s inconspicuous miniaturised bug and earpieces, while keeping track through a real-time video-feed. A bit excitable, but generally a good guy… tolerable… sort of… sometimes… almost… ok not really. Defining watchwords: “Zomgod! This is so cool! Lookit that head splatter! Do it again! It should score a huge snuff site rating.” “So you want to match petty, obnoxious, pompous, relentless, unreasonable spite with me? Huh? Huh? 10 winks, 20 tongues, 30 rolling on floor laughing out loud, 40 roll-eyes, 50 worms and trojans, 60 manure salesmen calling about the order, your account numbers overdrawn for the
 Vietnamese post-order brides arriving in a few days, a remote-controlled tazer waiting outside your window, and your WoW level 70 Druid is on the black market! Boo-yah waka-wak beeeyatch! Match that weak boy! That’s art!” “Come on, go a few days without the medication. Slash your wrists and be done with it. Oy dare you! The live feed should be worth a few chuckles. Oy’ve got catchy cheerleader animations and everything. Slash ‘em, cut ‘em, slash ‘em, cut ‘em, slash ‘em, cut ‘em… chicken!” “Oy’m not intolerant, or uncompromising. Oy loathe everyone equally, and just haven’t happened to be wrong yet. Your pain is funny, mine is a tragedy, and ‘being good’ is what the incompetent resort to when they suck at everything else. One hate. Oy really scare you. Nuke out… Kthx. Bye. Now fuck off, and go sodomise a leper colony.”
 
Mitsumoto Kiyoko, the warden, and supervisor of the sensitives, was the main reason Ryuu actually considered this madhouse worth his time, almost like a substitute mother of sorts, making sure that everyone was well-cared for, and devoting extra attention to himself. It was a major improvement just to have anybody give a damn about him. Ayumu was that weird uncle everyone tended to avoid, and Hitomi might qualify as some kind of dysfunctional cousin, maybe a half-brother in Taikio’s case, though Hayato was definitely just an adopted nephew, twice removed. Ryuu didn’t really understand Kiyoko, but she was genuine in her kindness, so he still appreciated that. Defining watchwords: “If all people knew how they were loved, they would be able to bestow it unto others, and not one of them would raise a hand in wrath again.” “Preserve a life and you save the world. Preserve a thousand and you save a thousand worlds, and untold thousands more in their
 children and grandchildren. The greatest amongst men would find it humbling to envision them all.” “No man is a Messiah. We are flawed beings in a flawed world. When we fail, find it impossible to make an ideal and dedication absolute, or don’t consider alternate options, this does not invalidate all the good intents, or aspects, and times wherein we succeed. Inconsistency is a part of human nature, but we can still aspire for a brighter path. Every little step should be cherished as a small triumph.”
 
Ryuu was looking forward to his imminent ‘graduation’; or rather allowance to work in the field under GPS supervision, and constant reports to Hayato or another contact about his development and procedure, though not consistently stuck with a chaperone. It wasn’t like he was anywhere close to truly finish all the studies, but they needed his brawn. The local Yakuza was slowly growing more esoteric, which constituted a major problem. Ryuu was not exactly a man of gracious social communication, or at least definitely not sentimental one, but during the current routine patrol, while swiftly leaping across near-skyscraper rooftops, he nonetheless offered Taikio a curt: “Some of you people are ok.”
 
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Taro had quickly learnt the ways of the world. His coach had dragged him all over the globe. They had helped to organise, educated, silently assisted or incited insurgents, militias, tyrannies or drug-wars in Africa, Central Asia, Eastern Europe, the Middle East, Indonesia, and South America. The Veteran handled the interaction and planning, while Taro kept to the shadows. He would have stood out too much from the local, generally extremely insular or xenophobic crowd. Assassinating reformists and diplomats, helping to carry out assorted terror deeds, or personally manufacturing them to be blamed at the opposing side. Moulding the geopolitical landscape to encourage conflicts of all sorts. “One shot, that’s all it took to initiate the ‘First’ World War. I was there.” as the living legend had said, but it wasn’t like they were truly needed in most cases, just trying to make sure that the world was progressing the way it should, and sometimes
 to trigger that tiny crucial tip of the scales, or taking down the occasional world-beater. As he phrased it “It won’t do to have the slate cleaned out and start over, after all the work I’ve put into it.”
 
If The Veteran ever had an ethnicity he had long since forgotten it. His appearance, perspective and mannerisms shifted slightly to fit differing local standards about what he represented. The need or legend held in the hearts of the local populace, the raging worldwide conflicts, a gale of wind switching allegiances solely contingent on where it could personally inflict the most widespread amount of damage.
 
The gung-ho adventurer, the free spirit, the unpredictable coyote, the revolutionary, the swashbuckler, the dashing swordsman, the golden calf, the dragon-slaying gloryhound, the wise and timeless old soldier, the dark paladin, the conqueror, the dreadknight, the barbarian butcher, the lord of battlefields, the eternal champion, all wrapped into one… The embodiment of war, and spirit of glorified murder, an eternal rogue and mercenary with all pretences of honour, nobility, civilisation, and higher causes than self-preservation, thrill of the hunt, and axiom of purpose utterly stripped away, shifting and mixing functions subject to any situation.
 
He was the primeval hero, the star of any story, the man who always looked good no matter his actions or circumstances. Greater than a mere legend; he was a concept who had long since expunged all doubts and honed his essence into pure intent. A merrily laughing, wisecracking, completely confident and unflappable mass-murderer with an eternal Cheshire-smile of shiny white teeth, allaying any gravity with quotable quips, playfully winking while storming into hails of bullets, effortlessly overcoming what should be impossible odds, and gunning down anything and everything in his path with absolute precision, each bullet calculated to cause a maximised amount of prolonged excruciating pain, or noiselessly slitting throats so immaculately that nobody ever noticed until their heads bumped against the soil; An inspiration or nightmare to everyone who ever met him, potentially capable of instigating fanatic fervour in millions at a time.
 
It was like everybody he confronted instantly lost all skill, aim, and sense of strategy. Despite no physical abilities beyond a high-level normal athlete, beings that could shatter mountains with a blow or move dozens of times swifter were quickly overcome by attacks that shouldn’t even connect, much less tickle. Any opponent was reduced to a hollow shell within his presence. Timeless because he ensured that the world just wouldn’t let him die. Taro was in awe of him. He had finally found a worthy role model.
 
Taro had been given strict directives. No more makeup, no more earrings, no more bangs, and no more net shirt. If he wanted to cultivate respect as a serious player, or even fit in to the environments they moved in, the metrosexual look was a definitely no-go. Only dressing in locally acceptable casual, military, or camouflage clothing with a sooty face, as part of the humdrum. 
 
His instructor usually didn’t address him much. He was incarnated pure action, showing by example and expecting absolute attention, but as they were sitting by the campfire at night, he occasionally imparted some crucial nuggets of wisdom at different junctures.
 
Flash. The Veteran tore off a piece of the freshly killed, bloody gorilla roast, spinning above the fire, and bit off a mouthful. “Kid, I’ve been around for a while, so listen up. Let me tell you, there’s nothing like being drenched in the blood of your enemies, cutting through their bodies like a scythe on a field, heart pounding, force of the moment, time in slow-motion, power over life and death. Pure ecstasy. You’re as alive as you’ll ever be. Nothing ever comes close.” Words to live by.
 
Flash. “Once you have chosen your true weapons, they are your strength, honour, dignity and very soul. Treat them with reverence, never let them fall into enemy hands, and stride through an ocean of spears to reach them.”
His face had an intensity and gravity that Taro had never seen before. He wordlessly nodded.
 
Flash. “The world is a pretty rough place when you get down to it, and there is no such thing as ‘principled’ or ‘moral’ conduct and ‘fair play’. Expect that everyone wants to screw you over, and you’re never disappointed. The ‘good’ are basically just maladjusted geeks and wussy preachers living in a dream world, too gutless to take on a ballsy view. If you want to grow from a boy into a man you have to kill. That’s always been the rite of passage, period. As far as I’m concerned, if you get away with it that’s ‘good’, and I bet your ass you’ll be a lot more fun guy to have around. If someone’s too weak to break the brainwashing then that’s his tough luck. You’ll see him on the wrong side of the finish line, bleeding out his guts over the track.”
 
Flash. “Watching them move, slaughter and die at your command is a captivating sight. There are few things more gorgeous than overseeing some coordinated, efficient, and truly ingenious carnage. Don’t let defeats emasculate you. If the opposition has you spooked, bide your time, take it down on your own terms, and teach the son-of-a-bitches what true terror is all about. Aspire for the grand standard of erasing every trace that your target ever existed.”
 
Flash. “Now, if you’ve got a tyranny the playground rules are mostly just about keeping the people in fear and managing the information. Handled right it can even work out pretty well for efficiency without speed bumps, just look at current China and Singapore for pointers…” The Veteran held a cigar between his right index and middle fingers, pointing it in Taro’s direction. “In a democracy the elected leaders are usually free to whatever they like as long as it’s not within the country, and either kept under wraps, ignored to death, or properly marketed by the spin-doctors. Mankind has an intense need to find a proper ‘us against them’ to stick together, because if there isn’t what’s to make them and their place any special? Find or create a convenient external threat, to funnel all their little pent-up fears and worries, and you will get a magnificent war to synchronise your subjects into conformist unity, or collective psychosis,
 whichever tagline you prefer. Refocusing from any turmoil, trouble, or dissent within your society, and leaving the door open to get away with more policies under the table while everyone is distracted by the shiny fireworks. The classics are tried and true, and always work, more or less. Individuals are smart, but I wouldn’t insult the stupid by comparing people to them. The trick is to work with that.”
He took a swig from a bottle of Tullamore Dew blended Irish whiskey. “You can justify anything with the right slogan. The truth is irrelevant, only the charisma, diversion, persuasion, persistence, and conveniently misrepresented paragraph quotations matter, and spicy entertaining lies are always a preferable anyway, as any lawyer or marketer worth his salt would say. You’re either not accountable, as a humble public servant and representative tip of the iceberg, or just following orders in honourable duty. It works both ways. At most a fall guy will get impeached and lose the position to an identical replacement. Right of sovereignty, unsigned conventions, diplomatic protocol, or threats of invasion take care of any feeble demands from ‘war crime’ tribunals, and the antagonism makes your backers root for you even more. That’s the true beauty of politics. You have no liability for offences so vast that nobody could possibly truly comprehend
 them, while the petty, comfortable stuff easily creates uproar in the right hands. Wholesome Saturday kill-o-rama with a complimentary “Get out of jail free” card.”
The Veteran threw the nearly emptied flagon into the flames, creating a bright flare-up as the alcohol ignited. “Case in point “One man’s terrorist is another man’s freedom fighter, just look it up in the dictionary” basically works for anything. Select an appropriate cause, feel a little oppressed today, make it known that you hug your children, and be romantically ennobled and justified to kill scores of people who have nothing, or a very disproportionate amount, to do with it, while those who disapprove are the nasty dim-witted bigots. Whoever came up with it was a genius. “I love my cause so much that I’m willing to kill for it” isn’t too shabby either, but only for starry-eyed ideologues that happen to agree with you.”
He paused, and gazed forward, enthralled by the smouldering embers. “In any case, ambition always trumps compassion, and ‘justice’ is only about enforcement and preservation instinct, devout crybaby peace-tripping or not. The five permanent members of the UN Insecurity Council are the Earth’s greatest weapons dealers. I’d say we’ve got our work cut out for us, wouldn’t you?”
Taro laughed at the irony. “Haw! Good point.”
“We’ve already won boy. The entire world is on our side, whether they admit it or not.”
“Well said.” Taro held up his own bottle. “Here’s to the manliest man alive.”
“That would be me all right.” The Veteran mused.
 
Flash. Running at the forefront side-by-side, cheerfully laughing as they advanced, with whirling knives and hails of bullets felling anything and everyone in their path. The Veteran’s voice a roar amidst the chaos, stirring the troops into action. “Do or die! Face the glory! Kill! Kill! Kill!” Awesome.
“Yeeehaaa!” The fever was upon him. This was life. This was beauty, and poetry in motion. This was heroism at its finest. Taro was a Shinigami, a lord and scythe of death, keeping hordes within his massive fists, and deciding when to squeeze. Ideals were for losers, and here the losers ended up dead.
 
Flash. The Veteran had only asked for, or rather demanded, information about Taro himself once, at the end of their 4-month crash course. “See, I’m not doing this for charity. It’s an investment for the future, and to see if you have the chops. It’s about time to let you try your own legs. Come back in a few decades and I’ll haul you to the next level.”
It had not occurred to Taro before, but he had somehow avoided changing into a chimera in any of these months, downpours, or even monsoons notwithstanding. It didn’t seem important at the time. It had no part in the ride. He gave the brief rundown, as was the acquired custom, including his surname. Keeping it secret to maintain respect was one thing, but complexes were for lesser men.
The Veteran was puffing away as usual. “Happosai? Is that squirt still around? It’s been a couple of centuries.” He briefly paused for thought. “The pansy moniker must go.” It was a statement of fact. He blew a puff of smoke from the corner of his mouth. “Now, what you need is the name of a warrior, to soak you in blood and fire. But I get to choose the new one. No questions asked. No compromises. No second chances. It’s all or nothing kid.” 
Taro nodded in affirmation. He didn’t call the shots around here.
 
Flash. The Veteran had made a call. That was all it took. A single call and Happosai showed up at the appointed time to convene with Taro at Jusenkyo by the cursed spring in which the latter was baptised. Taro had expected no less.
For once the irreverent lingerie-thief actually almost looked serious for a few moments. “I hope you know what you are doing sonny. Do you really understand what he is?” Happosai looked deep into two great dark chasms, as Taro met his stare with the triumphant grin of an apex predator finally cornering an elusive prey. “Yes. Precisely.”
The diminutive grandmaster sadly shook his head, but quickly perked up again, immediately disregarding it. “So what’ll it be then? I’ve always been keen on Negligee myself.”
“The first hero. Gilgamesh… Gilgamesh Taro.”
 
That was it. The last tie to his past life swiftly and cleanly cut off, and he was vastly better for it; reborn in blood and fire, and destined for greatness. Regrettably The Veteran had shot down any ambitions for revenge, much less assistance. “The midget is safe, that was the deal. Do whatever you like, but never break your word unless you can find a loophole. It’s bad for long-term business, and he made sure that this one didn’t.” Taro shrugged. It wasn’t like he had much interest after getting what he wanted. (I can probably live with that.)
 
Flash. In-between the missions Taro had been allowed some time to cultivate minor relationships with various Asian underworlds, mostly to emphasise his accessibility for elite, prestigious, demanding, or extraordinarily dangerous missions, priced inversely to the entertainment level. He was rather fond of Hong Kong and became enlisted as a temporarily employed blue dragon for one of the local Triads during a visit. It was successively receiving further troubles from the “Organised Crime and Triad Bureau”, as laws were consistently modified to enable even harsher zero-tolerance crackdowns, and the bribing fees were growing ever steeper. It was aiming to supplement the lost profits through expanded international co-operation. Or more precisely, trade routes of shifting legality with similar enterprises in prosperous reasonably neighbouring regions, partially related to drugs, bootleg tobacco products, cheap counterfeit software, hardware, and assorted
 multimedia replicas, or possibly money laundering and prostitution, but they were flexible people. However, Japan didn’t look favourably on any type of foreigners, least of all Chinese or Koreans, to the level that even minor guilt for W.W.II rape- and concentration-camps was virtually non-existent and taken as a national-level provocation whenever insinuated. Revisionism, thy name is pride. Taro could relate, but it constituted great practical problems of efficient acclimatisation for interactions with regular society, which lead the group to strictly work through far more pragmatic Yakuza, accustomed to routinely employ Asian immigrants within their ranks.
 
It was an unusual assignment. He had been employed as a middleman ‘diplomat’ to use his fluent Japanese and reputation with The Veteran to gain a better foothold during negotiations. Regardless, being no fool, and well-versed in following the wind, he regarded the Triads as too dangerous in the long run. They were waaay too focused on murder by torture for the tiniest amount of individualist ‘betrayal’ of, or rather limited loyalty to, the interests of other ‘brothers’, which potentially threatened Taro with imminent extinction. He had once hunted down a hiding renegade, and administered a modified “death of a thousand cuts”, as specified by the commission. Thanks, but no thanks. Bleeding to death while buried in the ground wasn’t a particularly attractive option, and neither was being chained atop bamboo as they slowly grew through his body. He may have the strength of a hundred thousand men when he sufficiently focused his chi, and
 some times that in chimera mode, but he could grow tired or be drugged too insensate to muster more than a flicker, and it would only take a moment of unsteadied vigilance.
 
After brokering a deal, he used the opportunity to move elsewhere into more modern, high-class milieus. The Yakuza sub-bosses were conniving elitist counter-plotting backstabbing bastards, his kind of people, and the pay was better. The Veteran trump card and Taro’s own considerable capacity had come in handy with the Oyabun, Kurosawa Takehiko, affording him an instant promotion to directly answerable kobun enforcer status, with the condition of undergoing some minor surgery for a more native look. He had acclimatised in no time. Short smart hair, forceful and contemptuous businessman gait, long-sleeved high-necked satin shirts, stylish Armani suits, too-cool RayBan Aviator shades, twin Chinese Long- and Japanese Tatsu-modelled dragonhead irezumi tattoos at the centre of his chest, with entwined upper bodies that separated to let the tails encircle his torso in opposite directions, and a smaller formal emblem of affiliation, the whole package, owning
 the ground beneath his feet. Fuck yeah! Best of all, unlike the suffocating ‘hiding in plain sight’ anonymity praxis to which he had grown accustomed, he could openly flaunt his vocation to put fear in the commoners while still being part of a ‘legitimate’ industry. And his refined outward appearance was automatically associated with nobility and superior inner qualities, no matter what he did, while an unsightly detective would have serious trouble. He really loved this country! Gilgamesh Taro was getting ahead in the world as a man who truly enjoyed and took pride in his work.
 
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Coming up:
The ride brakes for incoming lovebirds, as Nabiki tries to put her house and board pieces in order, but generally goes with the flow as usual. Kuno finds a new vassal, and perseveres in his life’s mission to induce cerebral haemorrhage in everyone within audible reach.
 
 
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