Dies Irae A Ranma 1/2 Fanfic by Alan Harnum All Ranma characters are the property of Rumiko Takahashi, first published by Shogakukan in Japan and brought over to North America by Viz Communications. This copy of the story is from my centralized fanfiction archive at http://www.thekeep.org/~harnums/fanfic. I can be reached by e-mail at harnums@thekeep.org The story takes place after the end of V38; familiarity with that volume of the Japanese manga is a necessity to understanding what follows. *** 'And the fourth angel poured out his vial upon the sun; and power was given unto him to scorch men with fire.' ___ This is Tokyo. See how she is fallen. See how her towers are reduced to twisted girders rimmed with blackened stone, skeletons standing barren to the wind. See how the dust blows through her streets, past shattered hulks of train cars and shards of glass strewn like fallen snow through the cracked streets. This is Tokyo. In Tokyo, there is a place that was once called Nerima, in the time a few hours ago when people could live in Tokyo. Go there. Walk through the streets, to a spot where once-white walls lie in ruins around the ruins of a house. Amongst those ruins, perhaps the eye will catch upon a spot of red, a tattered piece of colour clinging to the splintered and blackened bamboo of an umbrella, a vividness somehow surviving amidst the destruction. Even the wind seems dead here, lifeless and barren. See how the dust blows through the ruins of the house, and how the wind tears free that scrap of red, that glistening scarlet piece, and sends it tumbling with the swirling dust through empty streets. Everything in Tokyo is painted in shades of black. Burned by fire. The canals that ran through her are dry. The waters in her harbour stand still and heavy. This is Tokyo. See how she is fallen. ___ Report 67-B R Division, China Observation Post, Shanghai Observer C-42 The unknown entity was first noted on eastern edges of Qinghai province. Reports are consistent. Thousands in Xining described a winged man covered in fire. Sightings of the UE coincide with the destruction by fire of most of the central section of Xining. The death toll of the Xining attack is estimated at this point at over one hundred thousand. Chinese air forces moved to intercept. UE is reported to have destroyed nearly sixty attack jets before retreat was called. Several surviving pilots claim to have struck UE with cannon fire or missiles. UE escaped with minor or little damage. UE headed roughly east at a speed estimated to be over six hundred miles per hour. Any settlements passed over were attacked. Death toll for total activities of UE in China are counted at one point five million, with another one million still unaccounted for. UE passed out of Chinese airspace at roughly 0600 GMT, and was last spotted at Qingdao after it attacked the harbour. [A few scribbled notes complete the document] -Possible Chinese bio-experiment? -ETE? ___ There is an old woman who screams a name in her sleep, in a hospital in China. Shrunken and impossibly ancient, blind and crippled by the ravages of age, she still yet refuses to die. They take care of her there. Her skin is only burn scars. She has no ears or nose or eyes. No one knows her name. The medical teams found her in the burned ruins of a small village in western Qinghai. She was the only survivor of the attack. No one knows her name. Some think it is the one she screams in her sleep. But it is not. That is a god's name, and not hers. ___ Report 67-B R Division, Korea Observation Post, Seoul Observer C-29 UE attacked Seoul at roughly 0700 GMT. Chinese warnings were no help. South Korean air forces attempted to bring UE down off the western coast of the country. Video footage clearly shows UE being hit by missile. Nothing is left after the explosion. UE rises into view again moments later. Cannon fire seems to wound it. Wounds heals moments later. It is not safe to go out of the bunker yet. I can hear the city burning overhead. All radio, all television, all communication, is down. Have lost all means of outside contact since 0804 GMT. ___ Once upon a time, there was a very brave young man. He was a great warrior, loved by many women, and friends to many other great warriors. He had many adventures. He won and lost many battles. Once, a god stole the soul of the one woman who he truly loved, and would not return it to her body unless the young man could defeat him in combat. The young man fought the god with the aid of a powerful magic staff and the help of his friends. The young man was brave and strong, but a god is a god, and a god can be stayed, but he can never be defeated. But the young man stayed the god for a time, and took back the soul of the woman he loved and returned it to her body. They went back across the ocean, to the land of their birth. In time, they were married. The young man and his friends thought they had defeated the god. But they had not. In time, the god returned, and his wrath was great. First, he destroyed his servants, for they had failed him, and a god does not tolerate failure. Then he took flight on wings of fire across the ocean, for he was a god, and in the end, the gods are always revenged. He went towards the young man's home, killing as he went. The god came upon the young man as he and his wife celebrated with their friends the anniversary of their wedding. Perhaps he had known, somehow, for who can guess at the mind of a god? The young men and his friends fought bravely, but they fought a god, and while before the god had been made weak, now he was full of the glory of flame, and no force upon the earth could stay him now. And the young man had no magic staff to help him this time. The young men and his friends were as strong as mortal men and women might be, brave of heart, and full of the love of life and each other. They fought with all the bravery and skill and love that mortal man and woman might have, but they fought against a god. They died, in the end. Not quickly or easily, and not without courage. But still they died. ___ Report 67-B Document X-11-Beta C-38: This is observer C-38. HQ, do you copy? HQ: Copy, C-38. C-38: Huey is destroying Tokyo. I still have satellite viewing, but that's all. The city looks like a bomb hit it. Dear God in heaven, what is this thing? HQ: Wish we knew, C-38. C-38: They were hitting it with everything short of nukes at the start. Then they just started trying to get people out. HQ: Are you evacuating, C-38? C-38: Safer down here than anywhere else. I'll ride it out-- ___ The scrap of crimson paper, varnished and stiffened, tumbles through the streets until it is pinned against a blasted brick wall. Alerted by the soft noise, the huddled figure lying against the wall raises his head. It is dark on the dead streets of Tokyo. Clouds of dust were thrown so high into the air that they blotted out the sun. Tokyo has died in a little over an hour. Her streets and buildings and alleys and houses and canals and streets were burned, first with the fire of a god, and then with the fire men made themselves from the heart of an atom. The missiles fell on Tokyo perhaps an hour after the attack began. Most of the population of the city were dead by then; the god had unleashed his fury upon them, and his flames swept through the city. Some were not dead, though. Some fled the wrath of the god, or hid below the earth, or lay dying or wounded. Sacrifices had to be made, those who pressed the buttons said. What the hand of the god had not destroyed, the hand of man did. The nuclear fire rained through dead Tokyo once, twice, a dozen times, two dozen, blanketing the entire city in light. A hand picked up the ragged square of paper, and crimson eyes studied it neutrally. A thin trail of smoke at first, a blackening of one edge, and then the square of paper burst into flame, and fell to ash. The god looked about idly. The heat of the blasts had done nothing to him, but the shockwaves had been enough to batter his body apart. He stretched his wings; golden, with the pinions coloured like the arcing of a rainbow. A single slow flap, and the dust and ash stirred about him in a lazy circle. There had been silence on the earth about the space of half an hour. Around the world, they waited, to see if anything might rise from the ruins of once-great Tokyo, if there would be sign of the god's return. Men with their fingers on buttons, families crowded around televisions or radios, crowds huddled in the street. The sign would be given now. Unseen yet by the eye of mortal man, the god spread his wings, and rose, like the phoenix, from the ashes. ___ 'And he doeth great wonders, so that he maketh fire come down from heaven on the earth in the sight of men.' *** Author's Notes: The genesis of this story was a challenge by Matthew Lewis on the FFML to write a story illustrating the concept that might does not necessarily equal right, and vice versa. He has my thanks; without that challenge, the seeds of 'Dies Irae' would not have been planted in my head. Also a nod to Jamie Wilde for his correction of my incorrect use of military time in the earlier drafts. 'Dies Irae' was first written to Beethoven's 'Missa Solemnis', and in later drafts to the songs of Leonard Cohen.