Chapter Text
A Ranma ½ Mega Crossover
Goldhammer
Featuring
Exalted
Warhammer 40k
Guest Starring
Starcraft
Star Citizen
By: Grounders10
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1
Golden Wish
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“Congratulations on your victory, Miss Ranma,” The two attendants singsonged together as they bowed to Ranma Saotome. As one they opened the doors leading further into the shrine for the redhead. “Please, enter and receive your prize.”
“Remember to cure my curse too boy!” Ranma felt her eyebrow twitch at her father’s bellow from the courtyard below. Others joined a heartbeat later.
“WISH BE ONLY US, AIREN!” Shampoo shouted. The purple haired amazon’s voice sounded hoarse and pained, likely from the handle of the giant baker’s peel that had put her through a wall earlier.
“Do remember to be manly, my child!” Her mother called.
Yes, manly, because it was manly to take part in a woman only pageant with a martial arts battle segment at the end. Ranma grit her teeth and ignored their calls as she followed the attendants inside the shrine, the hem of her slightly tattered pink yukata swishing about her heels in counterpoint to her loose hanging hair. As they walked down the hallway she could hear others who’d failed to get in on the competition or who had lost were also calling for her to make a wish on their behalf. That was the prize after all. It was why she’d dared to risk her mother’s displeasure by joining a girl’s only competition. One wish was to be granted to whomever wore the prize of the competition.
“Such strange people,” one of the attendants whispered to another.
“It is only natural that the desperate and strange would come out on the day of selection,” the other replied with a slight shake of her head.
“But why would they wish her to be manly?” The first asked.
“Perhaps they wish to wish for a son?” The second replied.
“How chauvinistic,” the first sighed, “Such pressure to put on a young woman.” The second hummed.
Ranma felt her eyebrow twitch as both of them shot her a scrutinising gaze. “It’d really suck for them if I just wished for something unrelated like, I dunno, being the Princess of a Galactic Empire or something then, wouldn’t it?” she snarked jokingly in an attempt to throw them off. They didn’t need to know she was born a guy.
One of them giggled. “I can’t possibly say if that is a wish that could be granted, so it might be best to keep your wishes smaller,” the other one said.
“Of course,” Ranma replied as they reached a rice paper sliding door. Much of the shrine was built from wood frames and rice paper so it did very little to block the sound of people shouting demands from down the hill.
“Behold your prize,” The first said as they each grasped one half of the door and slid it open to show a nearly barren room with a simple table in the center. Light spilled through the high wooden rod-barred windows across a box on the table.
“Open the box for your reward,” The second said. They both bowed as Ranma walked by them up to the table. She jumped as the door clacked shut behind her and spun to face it in a stance.
“We shall await you out here,” the voice of the first said.
Ranma let out the small breath she was holding. Her nerves were on edge after an entire day of one bout of insanity after another. It didn’t help that she had a history of reaching the point where she could have a shot at curing her curse only for someone or something to get in the way or destroy the possible cure. She shot the small windows a look. It would be just like the old goat to try and ruin things right now.
Once she was certain no one was lurking just outside, Ranma turned back to the box. The box opened easily. Its hinges didn’t even give off a creak. Inside was a neatly folded pile of iridescent cloth. The cloth felt cool and smoother than cashmere to the touch and it rippled with rainbow reflections as she lifted it up.
“... A dress?” She questioned as she shook out the sleek off-silver sleeveless dress. It looked almost damp like fish scales as it shimmered, or a bit like it was woven from metallic threads. She had expected a sword or maybe a piece of jewelry, but a wish granting dress? That was a new one. It didn’t look skimpy as she shook it out, so this wasn’t a pervert’s trap. Probably.
She cast a glance about to double check then laid it back over the box and set about removing her tattered yukata. The ‘magic’ dress felt comfortably cool on her skin in the summer heat. It was a bit loose and a touch long, pooling at her feet and hanging baggily enough that it looked more like a fancy sack than a dress.
“So fancy,” She deadpanned as she plucked at the dress. So this was supposed to grant wishes? “So how does this work?” She asked loudly.
The door cracked open just enough for the second Attendant to stick her head in. “Oh my, you are very petite aren’t you, Miss,” she said. Ranma just gave her an unamused look. “Ah yes, you just need to invest it with a little of your own emotions to bring out its magic. That may take a few minutes of work for someone of your skill.” With that the door was shut again.
“Raaaaaanmaaaa! Cure your father!” Her father’s voice drifted through the window from somewhere in the distance.
“Bweeee!” And that sounded like P-chan a lot closer. Ranma rolled her eyes at the noise of the piglet.
“Emotions… Ki maybe?” Ranma mused as she hopped up to sit on the edge of the table. She let out a breath and focused on her Ki. The bundle of life and emotion that lay within everyone was hard to stir unless you knew how to prod it along. She closed her eyes and steadied her breathing as she prodded her Ki out from her body and soul into the ‘magic’ dress. To her surprise, the Ki flowed smoothly off the material like water off a rock. She frowned and pressed harder, a soft blue glow forming around her as excess Ki turned into a weak light.
Minutes passed and she continued to work her Ki slowly and steadily into the material. Most bled off, but some stuck and became a foothold for more that began to slowly merge with the dress. Outside voices continued to shout requests for wishes. They were occasionally interrupted by the sound of scuffles. In either case they disrupted Ranma’s focus, increasing the difficulty of guiding her Ki into the material and increasing her general irritation with them and the day.
Very abruptly, something with the material seemed to slide out of the way and her Ki flowed easily. With a rippling ‘hiss’ the dress shrank until it was sized properly for Ranma. She let out a small startled gasp as it tightened at her waist. It had even been tailored properly to hug her curves and show just a small bit of cleavage.
“... Definitely magic,” she said as she slid off the table and inspected the dress more closely. It was flowing and elegant like a gown meant for a high society party and sparkled with a hint of iridescent rainbows as she twisted and turned. It felt comfortable, almost like a second skin despite it not being that tight. “Now how do I-”
“RANMA!” Ranma’s heart jumped to her throat as the face of her father appeared in one of the tiny windows, his fingers making the wooden rods creak loudly. Genma Saotome was a broad shouldered man and stocky, balding man, though the latter was hidden by a white bandana atop his head. “Have you- Why are you in a dress? Do you want your mother to get angry?” He hissed softly.
“Do you want me to make a wish or not?” Ranma snapped back equally as quiet, “Cause guess what? It’s a magic dress this time!” She threw her arms wide as she stared him down.
“Well you’re wearing it, so hurry up and make that wish then!” Her father said, pivoting immediately like she knew he would, “We can be free of these curses!”
Ranma opened her mouth to tell him to push off ‘cause she was working on it, only for another voice and face to appear at another window.
“Airen!” Shampoo squealed, her round face and bright smile shining in the sunlight as her purple hair took on a glow, “You wish for us to be cured and happy in village, yes?” She was promptly shoved to the side as a brunette appeared in the window with her.
“Ranchan! Don’t listen to her! Wish that you took me along with you! We could be married already!” Ukyo said.
Ranma felt a twitch in her eyebrow as a black piglet with a yellow and black dotted bandana around it slammed into the third window and promptly got stuck in the bars. It flailed and squealed, gesturing from it to Ranma and back again. At the other window the fiancees disappeared as Shampoo tried to attack Ukyo and soon the sound of metal on metal echoed as they went at it.
“Ignore them!” Her father snapped, “You know what to do! Freeee-” His face was squashed against the side of the window as Shampoo’s foot abruptly hit his cheek.
“Spatula Girl stupid! Airen is Shampoo’s!” The Amazon screamed before kicking off Genma to launch an attack.
Ranma’s eyebrow had reached new heights of twitching as the situation continued to devolve. She had yet to make a wish. She didn’t even know how to make one! She tried to ignore them and think of what she was going to request exactly. Wording could be important if this had some sort of weird monkey-paw effect! The words slipped through her mind as the wall rattled. The clashing of metal on metal didn’t help nor did the squealing. Not too far beyond the wall a duck quacked loudly, its tone stabbing through her forehead in a building headache.
“WOULD YOU ALL SHUT UP?!” Ranma finally bellowed as a stabbing pain shot through her temple, “Seriously! Here I am trying to figure out how this works! How to word the wish and here you all are making demands constantly!”
“Ranma-” Her father started.
“SHUT UP!” She snarled, hand flying to her temple to massage the pain out, “Just for once in your life would you all be quiet! Every time we find a wish or a cure or anything at all it’s the exact same BULLSHIT! Demands, attacks, constant harassment to try and get me to do things your way! AGAIN!” Her breath was heavy as something inside her snapped. “AND EVERYTIME YOU MAKE A MESS OF IT! EVERY! SINGLE! TIME!”
“That is not how you-” Her father started, only to quail as she fixed him with a murderous glare.
“Buckets. Of. Crabs. Flying. Takoyaki. Carts,” She ground out, referencing two of the incidents that had served as memorable highlights throughout the day. Her eyes and cheek twitched as she stared at him with the madness of someone hitting their limit, “I-You. Why do I have to have you as a Pops? Why do I have to constantly do what you and everyone else says? I’d be better off with literally anyone as my Pops! I’D EVEN TAKE BEING THEIR DAUGHTER IF IT MEANT I DIDN’T HAVE TO DEAL WITH YOUR STUPIDITY FOR ONE MORE DAY! AT LEAST THEN I’D BE ABLE TO DO MY OWN THING!”
Unnoticed by Ranma, the dress began to shimmer brightly. Rays of rainbow light lit up the room in swirls of whirling light.
“Ranma maybe you should-” Genma tried to speak in alarm, but Ranma was on a roll as she vented her frustrations onward.
“YOU KNOW WHAT?” the redhead snarled, her hair rising around her on a cloud of glowing blue Ki and rainbow light, “I WISH THAT WAS THE CASE AND THAT I DIDN’T HAVE TO STAY HERE ONE MORE SECOND!”
With a clap of thunder and a flash of rainbow light Ranma Saotome, Heir to the Saotome Anything Goes School of Martial Arts, vanished from Earth and the universe entirely.
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“We have another candidate,” The realm between rumbled, as the first great entity spoke. Grey clouds of proto-matter roiled and parted to reveal a small figure falling through them. Red of hair, small and clad only in a dress of the finest Starmetal.
“Human, as ordained,” a second said, their voice a higher rumble mixed with the crack of distant thunder.
“A skilled warrior,” A third said, a reedy whistling breeze letting the light of distant universes through the cloud, “But is she strong enough of mind and body?”
“Many hardships she has faced, many more she would have,” The second muses, “Our gift has plucked her away before her ordained fate.”
A fourth voice, stern, low and loud like the crumbling of a cliffside, spoke, “The games of children. Her body is strong, but her will has not been tested against the likes of the monsters that shall require death.”
A murmur of agreement rippled through the clouds.
“Disappointing,” the third sighed, “But you are correct. She has the skill, and the body, but her mind-”
“Can be guarded,” the first rumbled, cutting through further conversation, “The Unconquered’s gift is called by her.” Silence fell on the realm between.
“Does it sense something we do not?” The second mused after a long while.
“Exaltations see potential. We see what is,” The first said. More silence followed.
Finally the fourth spoke again, “Then release His gift and let us grant her one of our own to guard her mind until she is ready.”
“She might be the first to be worthy of its interest, but does that mean we must settle for the first we encounter?” The third asked, their voice stirring the clouds around the girl as though the entity was peering closely at her.
“Time has flowed on in the realm beset by Parasites. The situation worsens by the day. Time favours us not,” The second muses, “But we have but one chance. Do we take it now? Shall we change this one’s ordained fate forever?”
“I say aye,” The first’s voice cut through the discussion, “What say thee?”
“Aye,” said the fourth.
“Nay,” said the third, “We should not rush this.”
“... It is not rushing when fate favours our intervention,” The second said, “We might wait another fifty millennia and not see another. I say aye for time is of the essence.”
“So be it,” The first declared and from some point far above the falling girl came a glimmer of light that swelled until it eclipsed the distant light of far-off universes as the sun eclipsed a candle. Warmth, safety, purity and a resolute sense of purpose washed over the girl as the source of the light met the young girl. Golden light burst from her forehead in a glowing sigil of the dawning sun and an aura of golden light swelled from around her. A two-headed phoenix of gold, purple and orange rose above her, its wings pushing back the clouds.
All but one bit of cloud. “I disagree with this course of action, but if a bet must be made, might we weigh the dice in our favour?” the third voice said as a finger of cloud twirled through the wings and burning aura of the phoenix to lightly touch the forehead of the young girl. “Oh, Ranma Saotome, we grant thy wish. A new family, a new world, one teaming with adventure and risk. To your new father we send thee and with thee a gift. Guard thy mind, for this realm is dark and full of monsters who care not for the sanctity of the self.”
With a flicker of gold, a tiara of Orichalcum flashed into existence atop her head. It bore a singular decoration, a gleaming diamond that glittered in the light of the sun set above a two-headed eagle, its wing outstretched to cradle the gemstone.
“Go forth. Slay the parasite and free the future of this universe,” the first declared. There was a ripple of clouds and the young girl disappeared with a sparkling trail toward a distant universe.
There was silence in the realm between once more.
A reedy rumble rolled through the realm. “Our other preparations… are in place, yes?” The third asked.
There was another moment of silence. “... Mostly,” the fourth said.
“Mostly?” The third repeated.
“Mostly,” The fourth repeated with finality.
“... I shall attend to the remainder,” The first said, their rumbling fading into the distance following the golden trail.
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The adamantine doors of the chapel rumbled and rattled as something heavy hammered them. Corporal Jacque Brell of the 233rd Tarsonis Mechanised Infantry’s second battalion, third company unsteadily gripped his Tarsonis-Pattern Lasgun as he sighted on the doors with what was left of his platoon.
“When those doors open, do not give them an inch!” Commissar Horgin shouted from behind them. When, not if.
“Fucking traitors,” Jacque’s friend William Argent hissed from beside him. The short blonde-haired man’s head was wrapped in a bandage that was bloody at the left temple. His eyes were bloodshot and gaunt and Jacques suspected his weren’t much better. They’d been fighting this warp madness-spawned mutiny for nearly two days without much more than a few minutes of rest.
Something abominable howled from outside the chapel. It grated at Jacque’s ears and he could feel it clawing at his mind, setting his trigger finger trembling. The door rattled as something heavy struck it again. It was probably whatever had made that howling noise.
“Steady! Steady! Any man who runs gets a bolter shell for their cowardice!” Commissar Horgin shouted. Jacque shot the older man a glance over his shoulder. His signature cap was missing as he peered over the altar before the statue of the God Emperor. Behind him Preacher Martch was readying his flamethrower.
“Remember! Though you are but men, you are the tools of His righteousness! The Hammer of the Emperor! Do not hesitate because of who these men were for they have turned away from his light and aligned themselves with the mutant and the heretic! Strike them down as faithless dogs they are!” Preacher Martch bellowed as the door bowed inward under the assault.
Jacque grit his teeth and took a steadying breath. A gap formed as the doors bowed further inward and something slimy poked through briefly.
“Steady!” Horgin shouted again, “Be ready to fire on my command!”
Then the pounding on the door ceased. Silence fell as men across the large chapel, the last chamber before the bridge of the Vagabond-Class troop transport Eta-319, as their fingers flexed at the triggers of their weapons. Another horrific howl, worse even than the previous one, ripped through the chapel sending men tumbling to the floor clutching their heads.
Jacque flinched as the sensation of something clawing at his mind returned, but held his place even as several others fell with blood running from their eyes. “Steady!” He shouted.
Then the doors were blown wide open as the howling ceased and a mutated monstrosity the size of an Ogryn charged into the room. Its arms were tentacles and its head had swelled to twice its normal size as a horn had grown from its forehead. It was hunched over, its back bent with swollen muscles and protruding bones. The worst part was Jacques could just barely recognize the face of the fourth platoon’s lieutenant.
“FIRE!” Commissar Horgin shouted as his bolter barked and the fallen lieutenant’s face exploded. The mutant wasn’t the only thing entering, however, as men in disgraced and defiled flak armour ran in behind it.
“For the Dark Gods!”
“Death to the Corpse Emperor’s hounds!”
“BLOOD FOR TH-”
Jacque’s lasbolt took an axe-wielding lunatic through the neck as he tried to run straight down the walkway to the altar. He shifted his aim and put two through the tattered chestplate, and the eight-pointed star carved above the heart, of a bulbously muscular man hefting a heavy stubber like it was a lasgun.
“BURN FOUL HERETICS!” Preacher Martch screamed as a stream of fire roared over the heads of the men to douse everything in the doorway.
For a moment, it seemed as though they were winning. Heretics died left and right as men scrambled back to their feet and rejoined the line. Lasfire and burning promethium swept the pews closest to the doorway clear once, twice, three times. It was as a fourth wave of heretics charged in through the lasfire that Preacher Martch’s flamer ran out. The fifth when another mutant, its arm fused with a heavy bolter, mowed through the men on the other flank before the Commissar’s bolt pistol blew its chest open.
All the while the air was getting more foul. Unintelligible whispers slithered into Jacque’s ears as blood flowed across the floor toward the altar.
“Oh God Emperor of Mankind! Watch over your servants! Guard their souls as they give their lives for you! Might that their heroism earn them a place by your side!” Preacher Martch chanted as he charged past Jacque wielding a two-handed chainsword to meet the rush of several madmen wielding chainswords. He stared as the aged man redirected the first swing into the leg of one of the other heretics before taking the man’s face off. His blade shrieked as it clashed with that of the next opponent.
The melee continued, bodies piling up around the priest even as more heretics poured into the chapel. His chant of prayer never slowed as he advanced toward the door and for a moment some of the Heretics seemed to waver. A few even ran out of the room.
Then a shriek echoed off the walls and through Jacque’s mind sending him to the ground. He hit the floor on his side as agony lanced through his every thought. It gave him a narrow view of the doorway as a tall red monster with a long skull and two curved, spike horns charged through the door wielding a burning blade as long as its torso.
Through what had to be nothing more than faith and willpower Preacher Martch charged it head on. An unholy scream echoed through the hall as Martch’s chainsword clashed with the burning heretical weapon of the warpspawn. Once, twice, three times they clashed as Martch was rapidly forced back by the creature.
“Blast it man!” Commissar Horgin shouted, “I can’t get a clear shot!”
Martch stepped back and to the right as he parried the heretical weapon into the floor. Then Horgin’s bolter thundered. Round after round slammed into the warpspawn sending it’s right forearm tumbling to the floor along with its weapon even as holes were opened across its torso. It screeched, but didn’t die. It’s wounds were bubbling and boiling and closing.
Then Preacher Martch’s blade caught it in the neck. “BEGONE WARPSPAWN FROM THIS HOLY PLACE!” He screamed, “BACK TO THE WARP WITH YOU!”
Daemon Blood splattered the floor as the beast’s body began to burn away into nothing. Horrified heretics quailed, ducking into cover as an odd silence fell across the room. A silence swiftly broken by Preacher Martch.
“Behold the price of heresy! Your foul Gods have no power here! Men of Tarsonis! In the name of the glorious God Emperor, finish-” He was in the middle of swinging his blade toward the doorway when not one but three more of the warpspawn charged around the corner and through the doors.
Jacque scrambled to his feet, his hands searching fruitlessly for his lasgun as the clash of blades screamed once again throughout the chapel. A monster howled in pain as the Commissar’s bolter barked. Lasbolts crisscrossed the chapel once again. Men screamed, explosions shattered pews, and Jacque finally found his lasgun.
Looking up with his weapon once again in hand, Jacque felt his heart catch in his throat as he found one of the warpspawn standing over him, its blade already raised.
“God Emperor, protect me,” he breathed desperately. He couldn’t move. His arms refused to lift the lasgun and his feet refused to move.
He was going to die.
Then a miracle burned itself into his mind as the statue of the Emperor began to shine with a bright golden light.
The warpspawn reeled away from the statue of the Emperor, one hand raised to guard its eyes as its skin sizzled and cooked. It screeched in pain.
Jacque’s eyes shifted from his death to the statue, and a golden light-wrapped figure floating before it. It was a woman, or perhaps a girl. She was short, clad in a shifting dress that shimmered like a rainbow, with flowing shoulder-length red hair that waved in the breeze that washed off of the statue bringing forth the scent of flowers. A simple golden tiara rested on her head and her forehead had the glowing sigil of a golden sunburst.
“A miracle. A MIRACLE!” Preacher Martch shouted as the girl drifted down to the altar. Her eyes, closed as they had been, opened the moment her bare feet touched the stonework. Jacque’s breath disappeared as her crystal blue orbs blinked as though waking up from a long sleep.
It was then he realised she wasn’t just wrapped in golden light. The golden light was coming from her! It filled the room, driving back the feeling of taint and corruption as it flickered with flares of purple and orange like a sunset. Faintly visible within the aura was a two-headed bird akin to the Aquila but with a more regal bearing.
The warpspawn closest to Jacque screamed a challenge and charged her.
Her eyes snapped up to the monster and with a casual contempt she leaned out of the way of its sword strike, only to snap a kick straight into its forehead. The warpspawn flew backward and rolled across the floor to slam to a stop in a pile of shattered pews.
She stared around the hall with concern before saying something in a language Jacque couldn’t understand. It certainly wasn’t low or high gothic. Whatever it was must have offended the monsters as all three still standing roared and charged. One was stopped by Martch as the Preacher practically threw himself into its path. Heretical weapon clashed with blessed chainsword once again.
The girl lashed out with a hand and a sudden flash of light, sound and pressure shook the room, hurling both of the monsters back, and knocking Jacque to the ground again. Staring at the floor he shook his head. Everything was spinning and his ears were ringing.
“-p. Get up! JACQUE!” A hand clamped down on his shoulder and hauled him to his knees behind the pews. He blinked at Will as the injured man shook him. “Focus!”
“Ah, ah,” Jacque shook his head and glanced around, his arms finally lifting his lasgun again. “Right. Right. Thanks, Will.”
“No problem,” Will said, slapping him on the shoulder, “C’mon, fight ain’t done yet.” Jacque joined his friend firing into the heretics as the human element started breaking and running. In truth though, it really wasn’t needed. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see one of the monsters pinned by its own sword to the wall over the door until both it and the weapon burned away. Another one died as Preach Martch carved it in half. Of the last two one was missing from the room entirely while the last was…
He paused his firing to stare in awe as the red haired girl, who could have only arrived by way of a miracle, casually manhandled the last of the warpspawn. Its strikes missed her by hairsbreadth that left its guard open for return strikes that shattered bones and sent it rolling across the floor. It sprang up again and charged to meet her, only to swing through empty air as the girl flipped over its strike and came down on its face. Her bare foot slammed its head back and down to the floor where the giant horns skipped off the ceramite tiles of the chapel. She hopped off with a little kick that sent its weapon in one direction and the warpspawn itself slid across the tiles on its face to just in front of the doorway.
It was in the middle of standing up when a petite foot slammed its head straight into the floor. With her back to the chapel, the red haired girl grabbed the warpspawn by its horns and started pulling. Bare arms that seemed soft at first glance revealed powerful muscles as the demon screamed and flailed. There was a creak, then a crack, followed by another, and then with a loud ‘bang’ its horns snapped clean off.
The piercing shriek of pain the beast let out clawed at Jacque, but somehow it seemed unimportant as he watched the girl spin the horns about and drive both of them through the back of its neck and chest. Its shriek cut out abruptly leaving the air feeling empty and… strangely clean.
Any heretics that hadn’t already been running dropped their weapons and ran from the chapel, oaths and prayers for salvation to their dark gods on their lips.
“VICTORY! GLORY TO THE GOD EMPEROR!” Preacher Martch shouted, grabbing the girl’s hand and thrusting it up into the air. She seemed startled and quickly pulled her hand free, but Jacque was already cheering as the chapel erupted in victory shouts.
A bolter shot to the ceiling cut through the cheering. “Enough! Get the wounded to the back. Corporal Brell, get that door barricaded again!” Commissar Horgin shouted before lowering his gun. Further orders to gather ammunition and take an accounting of who could still fight flowed out as Jacque shook off his excitement.
Right, they’d won this round due to a miracle. That didn’t mean the enemy wouldn’t come back. Heretics weren’t that smart.
Jacque clapped his hand on Will’s shoulder. “C’mon, I’ll need a couple of extra hands,” he said to his friend before heading to find something heavy to put behind the bowed-out doorway.
-0-0-0-0-0-
Ranma’s heart was thundering as she looked around the room. One moment she’d been in the back room of the shrine shouting at her pops the next she’d been… been… She was sure she’d been somewhere, but it wasn’t coming to her. There’d been voices, a judgement of… her perhaps? Then a surge of strength and she found herself atop that altar near the giant golden statue of a man while glowing gold in a room full of soldiers and screaming people and what had to be literal demons.
They certainly hadn’t taken kindly to her showing up at least.
She looked down and grimaced at the bodies on the floor. Her feet were still bare and now they’d been soaked in blood and worse on the floor. She lifted a foot to shake it off and stared as all of the filth slid off like water. She put her foot down on the bloody floor and lifted the other one. The filth repeated its performance.
That was different.
A voice spoke and she looked up into the eyes of an old man wearing a brown robe. In his hand was a lump of metal vaguely shaped like a sword, if swords looked like chainsaws. There was something in his eyes she couldn’t recognize.
“I have no idea what you’re saying,” she said to him and he grimaced, clearly realising her point even if he couldn’t understand the words. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and pushed her lightly toward the statue of the golden man.
A stern man in a very formal black uniform with a high-brimmed hat. A metal sigil of a two-headed eagle was pinned to the front. He said something demanding and Ranma shrugged and repeated what she’d said before. She didn’t expect him to start raising the massive oversized gun in… was that hand metal?
The man in a brown robe stepped forward and caught his hand, shaking his head as they spoke swiftly. The words grew heated after a few moments before the man in the black cap sighed and holstered his weapon. He nodded once and poked the older brown-robed man in the chest before turning away and walking off shouting at the soldiers.
Ranma watched him go and mentally labelled him ‘Grumpy Cap’. “Not very grateful, is he?” Ranma deadpanned. The older man patted her on the shoulder and gestured for… her to follow? The pressure on her shoulder increased slightly as he led her along and she complied. It was as good as anywhere else at the moment.
She clenched a hand as they walked around the altar and statue. She was glowing. It was fading a little, but she was definitely glowing and her Ki felt like it was rushing through her veins at a frenzied pace. She felt almost twitchy.
So, glowing. Demons. A shrine to a golden god-man? Yup, the frescoes made the odds of it being a shrine rather high.
“... This dress didn’t grant that dumb wish, did it?” she murmured, earning a glance of concern from the older man as she hugged herself. Yet, while she wanted to deny it, here she was. “I didn’t mean it though.” She bit her lip. She’d spoken without thinking out of sheer frustration. She hadn’t expected it to actually work.
Her thoughts were muddled as she was led into an office behind the statue. The old man guided her to a chair that she sat down in bonelessly as everything hit her at the same time. She had no idea where she was, or how to get home. There were demons. She’d just killed what felt like a demon. Three of them in fact. Unlike the men, those things had seemed to understand her which lent credence to the idea they were demons. There was no other good reason for them to know Japanese.
She blinked as a steaming cup of something dark was shoved in front of her face. She blinked down at it, then looked up at the old man and his expectant look. After a moment she accepted it and whispered, “Thank you.”
She sipped the drink and grimaced. It was bitter, though rather like coffee. Maybe it even was a form of coffee. She sipped more of it. The caffeine would help calm her nerves.
She nearly wound up spitting it out anyway as a human skull fitted with all sorts of metal bits floated through the door of the office and started reciting something to him. The priest simply nodded and quickly made a note on a sheath of parchment as though floating cyborg skulls were a normal thing.
Where the heck had she wound up?!
She waved the old man off as she coughed. She was midway through taking another sip, her eyes resolutely fixed on the human skull, when everything in her senses rippled. Reality itself felt like it ripped and distorted for a brief instant before suddenly reasserting itself… Stronger than before in fact. Like reality had been a weak illusion until now.
She shot the old man a bewildered look as he said something aloud. It sounded at once gleeful, celebratory, and full of zeal.
Then the lights outside turned red and a siren began to wail, prompting a volley of angry words from the old man. He waved to her, beckoning her with a hand as he picked up his chainsaw sword. Ranma set the drink aside and followed the old man and the floating cyberskull.
The shrine looked more organised as they hurried through it. The doors had been barricaded with the extra pews. Several men were focused on welding plates together along the door side of the remaining pews. The old man was intercepted by ‘Grumpy Cap’ and a quick exchange was had before Grumpy joined. The old man paused long enough for her to reach him before placing a hand on her shoulder and guiding her through a large golden wrought doorway and up a staircase that seemed designed to awe with vaulted ceilings and a plush red carpet.
It made her wonder where she was being led.
At the top of the stairs a squad of soldiers had set up a checkpoint. Though they seemed transfixed by Ranma until Grumpy said something and they snapped salutes before several of them opened the next door onto a room full of activity.
Men hurried from station to station in a vaulted room, voices called out loudly in stern and stringent tones, and Ranma came to stop as she spied a window. One entire end of the room was nothing but tall windows and out through them was a sight she’d never seen outside of the movies.
Space.
A large round orb of moulted greens and blues and white fluffy clouds filled most of it, but she could see stars beyond and the tips of great spires that poked up from below.
She was in space.
“Where did that wish take me?” she demanded. Unsurprisingly no one responded beyond the slight pressure of the old man’s hand on her shoulder. She yanked her gaze away from the windows and let him guide her again. Crewmen were staring at her as she walked by. A few made the same strange gesture. Was it the glowing? It was probably the glowing.
Their destination was a dais that rose over the multiple tiers of stations with a large throne atop it. A man whose face was half metal wearing a formal-looking uniform sat on the throne. His voice rang out over the others whenever he bellowed.
If this was space, then this was probably a spaceship. A ship under attack no less.
She needed more information, a lot more.
So for the first time in a long time, Ranma simply went along with what was happening. She stood straight and proud as the old man brought her before the man on the throne and listened. To the words, the context, the reactions, and tried to put together enough hints to decipher their language.
The conversation was, unfortunately, rather short as the man on the throne gestured to the planet ahead and declared something while slamming his fist on the arm of the throne. Both Grumpy and the old man became even grimmer at whatever it was he said. The old man bowed to the man on the throne and tugged lightly on Ranma’s arm.
Ranma let him guide her in silence, her eyes roving the bridge and her ears taking in everything. There were men with cybernetics and red robes manning many of the stations. Others were unaugmented and in what appeared to be a formal uniform. Combined with the soldiers this had to be a naval vessel.
She glanced back at the windows, briefly trying to spot another vessel, only for something else to strike her. The planet seemed to be getting closer. Well, that made sense. Ships had destinations and if they were having some sort of demon outbreak maybe they were hoping for additional troops from a local station?
They passed a man who seemed to be more of a machine than a man carrying a heavy box. His movements were jerky and stiff. Almost robot-like. She frowned. There was something strange about these people in a not good way. But it wasn’t like she had options. Being in space there was nowhere for her to run and whatever else was going on she didn’t know the first thing about operating a ship.
She was led through a back door of the bridge by the old man just as a large group of armed men marched in through it. A glance showed them heading for the door they’d arrived in. It was likely they were going to be reinforcing the shrine’s defences.
Their march slowed as a few of them stared at her. She ignored them and walked with the old man out into another large hallway. She had to wonder how large this spaceship was if they were willing to waste so much space on vaulted ceilings and enough room you could probably fit a tank between the walls. The floors were even carpeted and there were statues and banners with that two-headed bird on them.
Speaking of two-headed birds, there were sigils of it everywhere. They’d been on the workstations in the bridge, the armour of the soldiers, the banners hanging in every room and even engraved into the floor. The only thing as common was a skull motif that seemed to be used for handles, decoration, and just anywhere they didn’t seem to want to put a two-headed bird.
Not far from the bridge she was brought into a well-appointed sitting room with plush carpets, cosy armchairs, and several shelves full of books. The old man led her to an armchair then…
It took her a few moments to understand his pantomiming. She nodded her head. “Yeah, I’ll stay here,” she said, giving him a smile and sitting down. He seemed relieved as he quickly hurried out of the room. Her smile fell after he left and her eyes turned to the shelves of books. Books meant information.
When she left her chair and started looking over the books she found their language looked oddly familiar. The letters were almost the same as English. The font was oddly extravagant and there were a couple of extra ‘letters’ mixed in alongside some slight changes. If it was related to those types of languages though then…
She carefully removed a book from the shelf, one marked with the Roman numeral for one, and sat back down in an even more plush and comfortable armchair. She flicked it open and set to work on something she normally disliked, studying.
Time passed without proper measurement as she examined the writing in first that book, then another, and another after that. She didn’t have anything to write on, but her memory seemed up for the challenge as she compared and contrasted the words with what she’d heard. Pronunciation met context and context provided reason. Each bit a piece of the large puzzle. Two puzzles she soon realised. There was one more formalised language very similar to Latin in use in one of the books while the other two were written in a less formal form.
A High and Low if you would.
The first book she found she was fairly certain, was a book on strategy called the ‘Tactica Imperialis’. It was interesting, but no more so than the Art of War or Clauswitz ‘On War’. She’d read both at different points. She’d say it was a bit less useful than either as well since it had the feel of being partially propaganda. Not a good thing for a book on strategy.
The other two seemed to be treatises on religion. A rather insular and single minded religion in particular that seemed focused around a ‘God Emperor of Mankind’. She didn’t get far in either book at all.
Finally as she cracked open a fourth book the door of the room opened again to admit the old man, Grumpy, and a pair of familiar looking soldiers… ah, from the Shrine. She closed the book and set it down on the chair as she stood up.
The old man beckoned for her to come and said something to Grumpy. It took her a moment to translate. “I hadn’t expected her to start trying to read since she can’t speak the language,” the old man said in what she though was the ‘low’ version of the two languages.
“How certain are you that she can’t?” Grumpy grumbled, his hand twitched toward his gun for a moment.
“Not well,” Ranma said in the same language, causing all four to jump. She continued slowly, “Books help, but need time.”
The old man spoke, “Would that I could,” he said something she didn’t quite recognize, “but the ship will soon crash.”
Crash as in… “Planet?” Ranma asked. The old man nodded. Oh. That would explain the alarm earlier.
“We are evacuating everyone who isn’t required to try and save the ship,” the old man said, “Please, come with us.” And there was that word she didn’t recognize. It had to be a title or something. An honorific maybe?
Well, she didn’t want to stay on a spaceship that was about to crashland so there was really only one choice.
She paused to pick up the books she was reading, along with a couple others. She doubted they’d be missed if the ship was crashing. “Very well,” she said, walking over to them, “Lead the way.”
-0-0-0-0-0-
The ship waiting for them, and oddly her for some reason, wasn’t very large. Wide with forward-swept wings that were folded up, but not very long. She’d seen American fighter jets that were longer. Actually, it bore a resemblance to the two-headed bird sigils everywhere. The interior was fairly plush with seating for six in the passenger compartment.
The priest, herself, ‘Grumpy Cap’ -- she’d finally figured out his name was ‘Commissar Horgin’ which sounded like a title -- and the two soldiers were joined by a middle-aged man in an elaborately decorated officer’s uniform.
“Major Kestrel, where’s Colonel Hartwell?” Horgin had demanded as they found him aboard the transport -- one of four in the gloomy hangar they’d been sent to.
“Dead. A warpspawn killed him and his retinue right before we transitioned back,” The man said with a gravelly voice that made deciphering his speech quite challenging for Ranma. There was an almost southern American twang mixed in. “God-Emperor protect their souls.”
“Indeed, I shall lead prayers for all of our losses once we have the time,” the old man -- who was called ‘Preacher Martch’ apparently -- said.
Kestrel nodded and made a sign over his chest with both hands before his gaze shifted to Ranma. “And this is the girl?” He asked, staring at her with distrust. She stared right back with her own hard gaze over the books she was holding.
She smirked as he looked away.
“Yes, she is the miracle that stopped the heretics. She appeared aglow with his light, though all that remains is this sigil atop her brow at the moment,” Match said.
“Sigil?” Ranma repeated and she tried to look up at her forehead. There was a slight glow now that she was looking for it, but she couldn’t see anything more.
“I see,” Major Kestrel said, “Take your seats then. It is best we leave sooner than later.”
Ranma found herself led to a seat by the cockpit door as she tried to see more of her forehead. She gave up on seeing anything without a mirror as she stored away the books she’d ‘borrowed’. She settled into the surprisingly comfortable jumpseat and set to listening as Major Kestrel and Commissar Horgin conversed. Their speech was rapid and danced through a lot of terms she didn’t recognize.
Finally, after a couple more minutes, a man in bomber jacket-styled uniform entered followed by a couple of men in the same uniform as the other two already in the ship who were carrying a large crate. “Is everyone ready to depart?” The man asked as he hurried to the cockpit door.
“Seeing as this ship is about to crash, we would prefer an immediate departure,” Major Kestrel said dryly.
“Yes, my apologies for the delay. Several servitors responsible for fueling in the hangar are down. I had to help the techs get the ship ready,” the pilot said, sparing a very intrigued look for Ranma. She glared at him and he quickly entered the cockpit.
The other two men set the crate down in a space by the entrance and hurried out only to return with two more crates of similar size that they then stacked atop it. “Ammunition and rations loaded, Major, Commissar,” One of them said, flashing them a salute.
“Are you riding down with us? It won’t be a comfortable trip, men, but I think we have the space,” Major Kestrel said.
“Ah, we were hoping to get a ride on one of the company landers, but if you wish it Major, we’ll not say no,” The one who saluted said.
“Then find a place to sit, we’re leaving immediately.”
The one who saluted quickly found a spot to sit, wedged between the last couple chairs and the crates. The other one hesitated. “Sir, do we have space for one more?” he asked.
The Major sighed. “Only if they’re right here,” he said.
“One moment,” The man ducked out of the entrance, “HEY! JOHANSSEN! GET IN HERE! THE MAJORS OFFERED A RIDE OFF!” A moment later he returned along with another soldier. Johanssen flipped a lever by the entrance and the door closed as they hurriedly found places to sit.
Commissar Horgin reached over and hit a button beside the cockpit door. “Everyone’s ready. Get us out of here,” he said.
The engine on the ship started with a rumble that quivered through the entire frame. “Make sure everyone’s secure. This is probably going to be a bumpy ride,” The pilot’s voice said as the engines rumbled louder before with a lurch it began to ascend, then accelerate.
Ranma sagged into the seat and felt something move atop her head. She reached up and plucked a golden tiara off her head. She shivered at the phantom sensation of eyes turning toward her as she did so. After a moment she brushed it off and turned the tiara over in her hand. The metal felt warm to the touch. It was rather plain, however, with no engravings except for the twin-headed eagle sigil she’d seen everywhere on the ship just below a single large diamond set into the front. Simple, but with an elegant form.
The thing was, she hadn’t been wearing it before she got here. She’d have recalled wearing a tiara of all things. So where did it come from? Her wish maybe? What was her exact wish anyway? She’s said a lot while venting so what had it interpreted as her wish? She was pretty sure that she’d wished for different parents, but she hadn’t exactly shown up in a family setting.
“Is something troubling you?” Priest Martch asked quietly, leaning over from his seat.
“Ah, no nothing,” she said, shaking her head and returning the tiara to her head. She had nowhere better to put it and as she did the feeling of eyes on her back vanished. She felt oddly safe suddenly. “Do you know where we’re heading?”
Martch gave her a look that said he didn’t believe her, but he thankfully didn’t push. How was she supposed to explain she’d wished for a new family because a few people were being pushy? “We’ve arrived in orbit of the planet Seti. A bit too close for a proper orbit from what I’ve been told. The world here is rather underdeveloped. Medieval even,” the old man said, “It’s somewhat arid in places, but most of the planet is a temperate zone. One continent-”
“What do you mean by ‘Medieval’?” Ranma asked. He couldn’t mean what she thought he did.
“Ah, well, that is… Local development was last reported to be at an iron age level,” the old priest said, clearly searching for the correct terms, “By the standards of the Adeptus Administratum it’s a ‘Feudal’ world. I believe one of the local Astartes chapters once upon a time used it as a recruiting world and they prefer recruits who are tempered by such a life.”
Adeptus Administratum? Astartes? Ranma sighed and rubbed her temple. “I have no idea who or what either an ‘Adeptus Administratum’ or an ‘Astartes’ is. But who leaves a planet undeveloped? Why is it undeveloped? It had to be settled at some point by people with technology, or did they just drop a bunch of prisoners here with a few sharp rocks?” A penal colony wasn’t unheard of. Australia had gotten its start from the British Empire that way.
“Ah,” The priest looked quite stunned as he stroked his chin. The ship shook slightly. “I hadn’t considered that you wouldn’t know… I had thought someone who arrived by a miracle of his hand would at least know the basics of his works.”
Ranma stared the old priest straight in the eye. “I don’t know who you are. I don’t know where I am. The last thing I remembered before I appeared before you was it being nineteen-eighty-nine on Earth. Ever heard of it?” She asked, crossing her arms.
“Hrm…” He stroked his chin thoughtfully, “Nineteen-eighty-nine? As in one-nine-eight-nine?”
“That’s right,” Ranma noted a few eyes turning her way, including the Commissar and the Major, “What year is it?”
“The question is what calendar you’re familiar with,” he mused, “The God Emperor laid down that the Imperium would continue the use of the, I believe it’s called the ‘Gregorian Calendar’. It was originally created in the ancient days of Terra long before mankind reached the stars-”
Ranma grabbed his arm. That was the right calendar. “And what year is it?” She demanded.
“Ah, I believe it should be 231.M35,” The old priest said, “I don’t believe we went over the time of the Sanguinala but-”
Ranma dropped back into her seat bonelessly. 231. M35. The year 35,231. “Thirty-three thousand years,” she breathed feeling something in her heart break, “I-” Tears gathered in her eyes.
“Miss, did you say thirty-three thousand years?” The priest demanded, grabbing her arm. Hard.
“Yes, I did. I was born nineteen seventy-three… or as you’d say, 973.1M,” she said, staring blankly at the ceiling. Thirty-three thousand years.
Thirty-Three THOUSAND YEARS. Gone. Missed. All because of a wish she’d said in frustration. Shaking hands reached up and took off the Tiara again. She turned it and stared at the two-headed bird as that strange phantom eye sensation returned.
“Impossible,” Major Kestrel said, “I’ve never heard of anyone being so lost in time before.”
“... There have been cases of ships losing or gaining multiple centuries, but I have to agree, that is far longer than I have ever heard,” Commissar Horgin said.
“And yet you were there when she appeared. She appeared from the statue of the God-Emperor, unless you wish to try and claim that someone so clearly marked by his power must be working for the archenemy?” Preacher Martch demanded, “She did not come to us by means of a ship. She was brought here by His power. His will.”
“From thirty-three thousand years in the past? Certainly there would be more recent points from which he could call a champion,” The Major said, sounding rather offended, “The Imperium has stood for nearly five thousand years now.”
“Do not try to grasp His plan, for we are but mortals,” Preacher Martch said before placing a hand on Ranma’s shoulder. She started and nearly dropped the tiara. “You’ve been staring at that for a while now. Is something the matter with it?”
Ranma looked up at him, her mind bouncing from thought to thought erratically, “I- Yes. I don’t know where it came from.”
He held out a hand. “Might I examine it?” He asked gently. Ranma hesitated then let him take it. G-forces pressed them all to one side for a few moments before the flight evened out… mostly. The rumble of the engine still shook the airframe. A magnifying glass was produced from the depths of the priest’s robes allowing him to peer closely at the tiara.
“Thirty-three- Patently ridiculous,” Major Kestrel grumbled, “And strangely appearing jewellery? Sounds like a trap to me. Commissar, I believe-”
“Major, matters of discipline are for me to decide, not you,” Horgin interrupted the Major, his eyes firmly on the Tiara, “In this matter I have been convinced to rely on the knowledge of experts. Martch, what can you tell from it?”
“The design is simple, yet the material is not,” Martch replied, glancing up from the Tiara, “I believe this is what is normally referred to as ‘Auramite’. I have beheld something made from it only once before.”
“Auramite? Never heard of it,” One of the soldiers said before being shushed by his comrades.
“Given how rare it is, I doubt there are many who have seen it’s like, even once in their lives, let alone random guardsmen. A Rosario in the Cathedral Imperialis on Tarsonis is made from it. I assisted with the maintenance of the stasis fields once. During that time I briefly handled the Rosario,” Martch said, “Its metal was warm to the touch, as this is. As though some heat source is trapped within. It is the metal said to be used for the God Emperor’s own armour and the wargear of his companions the Adeptus Custodes.”
Ranma’s eyebrow twitched. Another connection to how she arrived then?
“The only markings I can find is an Aquila on the front below the gemstone. It’s a touch odd, however,” he said.
“Odd how?” Horgin asked.
“... This is not the modern Aquila,” Martch said, “The wings are angled too high. The claws are less prominent and these feathers here are lightning bolts. This is a variation of the Palatine Aquila. These days used only by the Adeptus Custodes and their attendant mortal assistants.”
There was a sharp intake of breath from multiple people in the compartment.
“What does that mean?” Ranma asked, shifting in her seat as she tried to ignore the feel of more and more eyes staring at her.
“... I do not know,” the old man said before gently placing the tiara back in her hands, “But I am certain that it is a sign of trust. Anything more is beyond me to judge. You have the God Emperor’s favour and grace, miss…” He trailed off with a look of realisation. “I’ve just realised that we’ve gone this long and have yet to ask you your name.”
“Ranma Saotome,” she replied reflexively, gazing down at the mysterious Tiara, “I’d love to know why though.”
“Some things can only be known in hindsight. I imagine that the God Emperor has some purpose in mind for you, Miss Ranma,” Martch said.
“Hrm…” Ranma settled the tiara back on her head. The phantom sensation vanished and she sighed as what had felt like a million eyes were suddenly off her. She didn’t know what to think about a god having plans for, but she’d love to know what that feeling was. It didn’t feel right, like something foul was evaluating her in ways that felt like a violation. Kinda like being peeped on by Happousai actually.
The ship shuddered. “This is your pilot speaking,” the intercom squawked, “We are entering the atmosphere. Increased turbulence is expected.”
“By the Emperor, please no,” one soldier complained as Preacher Martch leaned back in his seat.
“Make sure you’re strapped in,” the preacher said, “This next part is always rough.” Ranma hurried to make sure she was actually strapped into the chair.
The rest of the trip from orbit was done in technical silence as the turbulence increased. The ship shook and rattled loud enough that any conversation would have had to have been very loud indeed. Ranma didn’t mind. She had far too much on her mind already.
Eventually the turbulence eased a little, a feeling accompanied by the sensation of slowing. “This is your pilot, we are approaching Seti spaceport. The weather is overcast with high winds and heavy rain. Please dress accordingly,” the pilot said over the intercom just as the ship bucked again.
“From one storm to another,” one of the soldiers complained.
“Quiet down. Make sure your weapons are ready. No one other than us has been here in decades,” Commissar Horgin barked. He put action to words giving his sidearm a look over. Preacher Martch meanwhile checked over the massive two-handed chainsaw and what looked like an oversized flamethrower.
“Are we expecting a fight?” Ranma asked, feeling confused.
“Not particularly, but Seti hasn’t been visited by even a Tithe fleet in nearly two hundred years,” the Preacher said, “Not since the Governor’s station was destroyed by… I believe it was pirates?”
“According to Shipmaster Trak,” Commissar Horgin said, “We hope to find shelter, but the archenemy might have found a foothold here in the absence of an overseeing authority.” The ship shuddered and the force of deceleration pushed Ranma deeper into her seat for a moment. Not long after, with a rattle, thunk, clank, the ship came to a halt.
“Men on your feet,” Major Ketrel barked, rising from his seat with one hand on his laspistol and the other on the hilt of a very normal-looking sword.
Ranma unbuckled herself as the soldiers scrambled to their feet. Preacher Martch held a warding hand out to her as she went to rise. “Give them a moment to secure the area,” he said. She shot him an irritated glance but leaned back in her seat. She was getting annoyed with being shepherded around.
The back door opened letting in a whistling breeze and the sound of water pounding the earth. Ranma shivered. Her outfit wasn’t exactly the best for cold weather. The Guardsmen were out first, followed by Commissar Horgin.
“Clear!” Multiple voices shouted from outside, their voices almost lost in the whistling breeze and the sound of many powerful engines.
Major Kestrel adjusted his hat, nodded once to Preacher Martch, and walked out after his men.
“How about now?” Ranma asked, standing up herself and fixing the Preacher with an annoyed look.
“... We shall need something to cover the books,” The old man said, “I shall worry about that, so feel free to disembark, but I would advise not travelling far. Stick with Commissar Horgin if you can. His authority should act as a shield.”
“... Fine, I can do that,” she said before striding to the doorway. She had to take a step back as the soldiers who had loaded the ship ran back in to grab the crates. She stepped out of the ship behind them into a heavy downpour where the wind was sending the water cutting nearly sideways.
The ‘Spaceport’ was nothing too impressive to Ranma’s eyes. Large rundown buildings made from some sort of concrete material encircled a massive field. A field of grain silos extended off in one direction.
No, the more impressive thing was the ships descending through the storm. They had been one of the first, but many more were landing around the field. Ships like theirs, even smaller but more bulky shuttles, and a few other craft of similar size were landing and unloading their cargo. Further out, however, were the truly massive craft. Two vessels akin to flying skyscrapers in length had landed much further away. Others could be seen in silhouette descending through the storm. From the landed ones poured large armoured vehicles and hundreds more Guardsmen.
Commissar Horgin and Major Kestrel were conversing with several men dressed similarly to both of them. Officers and junior commissars she assumed. The wind shifted and Ranma turned her head so the rain wouldn’t catch her in the eyes before walking over to the gathering of officials.
“... entirety of the fourth battalion was lost trying to hold Engineering,” one of the other Commissars said loudly, “I only managed to extract two Arvus Lighters full of men.”
“They died well,” Horgin replied, “For now, you’re their commander. Congratulations Westree.” The Commissar in question’s cheeks were bright red, though it might have been from the stinging wind.
“Understood, sir,” the young man said.
“For the rest of you, focus on keeping morale up. We don’t know how long we’re going to be here either so make sure to keep an eye on ration use,” Horgin continued, using his metal hand to hold down his hat as the wind surged.
Ranma’s dress snapped around her legs, fluttering hard enough to be heard over the cacophony. Horgin glanced her way. “Miss Saotome. Not waiting in the shuttle?”
“I’ve had nothing but ships since I got here. I don’t mind a bit of rain if that’s the price of stretching my legs,” she replied. She noted how the young commissars looked at her.
“Horgin, sir, I wasn’t aware we had such an august personage amongst us,” One of the Commissars said, giving her what had to be an attempt at a flirtatious grin.
“There is still debate about how august, Corbrook. Meet Miss Ranma Saotome. She appeared in the chapel by the bridge from the glowing statue of the God Emperor when we were about to be overrun,” Horgin said.
“Preacher Martch told me to stay by your side for now,” Ranma told him, casting a look about at the busy ‘spaceport’. She shivered slightly.
“This is the rumoured saviour?” Westree asked, giving her a surprised look, “A pleasure, Miss.” He put one hand to his chest and bowed politely.
“... Thanks,” Ranma said dryly despite the rain.
“Alright. You have your orders. Get to work. Miss Saotome, this way. Let’s get you out of the rain,” Commissar Horgin said, grabbing her by the shoulders and guiding her toward a large hangar-like building not far from where they landed. Guardsmen hurried to and fro as crates were haphazardly stacked in dry spots before their porters ran back out into the storm to retrieve more from the small transport craft.
“Is it such a good idea to be unloading already?” Ranma asked, “You don’t even know what’s around here!” There couldn’t have been time for them to secure the area yet.
“We don’t have much choice, unfortunately,” the Commissar replied, “This is the only place on the planet equipped to handle spacecraft of any sort. Now stay here out of the rain. I do not need a lecture from Preacher Martch if you were to catch a cold.”
Ranma rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “I’ve dealt with much worse,” she replied, though that didn’t stop her from shivering. She had always been more susceptible to the cold as a girl.
The Commissar frowned and shook his head. “Then at least stay out of the way,” he said before heading to the nearest group.
“I kill a demon with my bare hands and somehow they think I’m made of china,” Ranma grumbled. Well, whatever, she didn’t want to deal with the unloading anyways. This would be a good chance to think.
She found a small pile of crates by the open hangar doorway and sat down atop them with a sigh. So, space. Strange monsters. Weird armies. Thirty-three thousand years lost. She had been glowing and now wasn’t. Oh, and she’d somehow managed to learn not one but two languages in under six hours. You could call her a bit fixated at times, but she had never been stupid.
She examined her hand intently looking for anything different but even an intense examination turned up nothing. Her hands were her hands, nothing new there. She shivered and glanced out the door at the pounding rain. A small open-topped tracked vehicle rolled up pulling a trailer full of crates. She was different. Maybe it wasn’t visible on the surface, but something had changed when she’d been hurled into the future.
She shivered again and spied Major Kestrel out in the rain. The guard officer had a heavy, high-collared coat and a cloak. She’d love to have at least the cloak, but something other than the dress she was wearing would be even better. It didn’t have to be her own clothes, at this point she’d take one of the uniforms the guardsmen were wearing or maybe something similar to Commissar Horgin. It was a bit militant, but it looked practical, warm, and she had to admit the cap was cool.
Ranma closed her eyes and leaned back until her head touched the concrete wall of the hangar. If she imagined hard enough she could almost feel warmer. It was like the wind couldn’t touch her arms anymore… though this pose was making her shoulders feel heavy…
She sighed and stretched. She froze as something brushed against the entirety of both arms.
“What the hell-” Ranma stared at her arms in confusion, then down at herself. She wasn’t wearing a dress anymore but something vaguely reminiscent of the Commissar’s uniform. It was a dark blue, double-breasted uniform with silver piping, pants, sleeves and a heavy long coat. All with a clean elegance to it that suggested it should have cost her… Well she wasn’t sure what it would have cost her. She’d never owned anything this nice before.
Weirdly, she could feel her Ki flowing through it like with… the…”Dress,” She whispered as she caught a rainbow shimmer in the buttons. She’d thought that its magic would have been used up sending her here, but was it still granting small wishes?
“I wish I was home,” she hissed. Nothing changed. That would have been too simple, wouldn’t it?
She sighed and brushed her hair behind an ear. She didn’t feel cold anymore, though her dress hadn’t suddenly given her a hat to go with the tiara. Which was something she really wanted to know more about, including why it felt so comfortable to wear. It wasn’t normal! Then again, neither was jumping through time…
Her hands wiped away forming tears, but the action did nothing to stop more forming. Rivers of tears rolled down her cheeks as her mind turned back to Nerima. She hadn’t meant to wish herself away. She hadn’t meant to lose her temper and now-
Now she’d lost everything.
She bit her lip to help hold in the tears as she hugged herself, her shoulders shook with sobs that squeaked out. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, though to who she didn’t know. Herself? People that would have been dead for over thirty thousand years?
As she cried quietly to herself, however, the sky began to rumble. Bangs, pops and a whistling like thousands of the damned were falling from the sky grew. It started small, just at the edge of Ranma’s hearing, then grew louder and louder until she looked up. Standing she wiped tears away as she approached the door and stepped out into the rain. She barely flinched at the rain as the sounds came closer and closer.
Then the clouds parted as the tip of something vast pierced through. The clouds were pushed aside as the thing continued to descend. The bangs and pops grew louder and everyone in the spaceport turned their attention skyward as what had to be their starship carved a path through the heavens above. Lightning cracked at its flanks and the roar of the sound barrier being shattered again and again drowned out the thunder. Flashes of sunlight poured through the swirling holes in the clouds left in its wake.
Ranma gaped at it. It was so large she couldn’t put a size to it and she couldn’t tell how far away it was either. Kilometres long at least. She’d never seen anything like it before with its armoured prow and gothic architecture along the flanks. It was less a sailing vessel and more a city that had decided to ignore the bounds of gravity and logic. At least until now.
It disappeared into the fog of rain toward the horizon, leaving only the bangs, pops, and swirling clouds in its wake.
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Corporal Jacque Brell watched the Vagabond-class troop transport disappear from sight with mixed feelings. On one hand, it was nice to be off the ship and not immediately on the way to battle. On the other, they were stranded on a primitive world now.
“Quite the predicament huh?” Will said, clapping Jacque on the shoulder before yawning, “Fuck, I’m tired.”
“You’re not the only one,” Jacque replied as he wrenched his eyes away from the sky. “But we’re not getting rest yet.” He turned around and marched back toward the landers. There were still plenty of supplies that needed to be moved and he knew Horgin wasn’t going to let anyone rest until things were secured.
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A dozen miles south atop a hill a man clad in plate armour covered by a waterproof green cloak sat astride a brightly painted motorcycle. One hand held his visor up out of his way as he watched one of the Emperor’s Chariots burn a path across the sky. He had never seen them before, nor had his father or grandfather. No one had seen them, not since the Wvw of the Night Star when the Emperor’s Watch burned in the sky above.
“That does not look good,” he said, speaking to the half dozen younger men on motorcycles around him. Each of them was also clad in plate armour and covered in a heavy green cloak. As with him a sword and handgun were holstered on their belts.
“That’s a Sky Chariot, is it not, Milord Havlik?” The youngest of them, the Rezek boy Radomir, asked, his voice cracking, “Just like the stories old Zlata tells.”
“It would appear so,” Count Alan Havlik replied as he watched the Sky Chariot carve a path through the storm like a sailboat across a calm lake. Though with the flames spewing from some of the ports and the angle it was descending on a part of him doubted the sky portion of the name would remain for very long.
“Doesn’t look to be in very good shape though, does it?” asked the boy next to him. A foot taller than Radomir you wouldn’t expect Dominik Hanak to be only a fourteen-year-old boy. Havlik suspected the boy would tower over even him by the time he grew up.
“It explains the sudden arrival of so many to the old portsite,” Havlik said to them. He raised the ancient eyescope his grandfather had gifted him and peered at the distant hive of activity. Many machines far larger than the noble motorcycles of his people filled the fields of the abandoned facility. Once it had been bustling with the red robes of the mythical wizards of Mars, but after the Night Star they had vanished.
The middle-aged knight slipped his eyescope back into its protective case before making sure his sword was still secured by his side. Then he revved the engine of his loyal motorcycle. “Come, we make for the King’s Tower. The Regent Council must be made aware of their arrival,” he said.
Engines revved and the one knight and six squires dug circles into the mud as they turned back to the narrow trail down the mountain. What had begun as a learning experience for the young nobles had turned into something far more important for the former King’s Huntsmarshal.
The Emperor’s representatives had returned at last.
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