Letting Off Some Steam (Ranma, Armina)

Ranma genuinely wanted no part in these slums anymore. Just another punk, he once was, running about trying to do errands for his aunt and uncle while beating back attempting thefts. Now, these districts made him sad, so bitterly sad… so why on earth would he ever make his way back to them? Huh? What on earth drove him to do such a stupid thing?

Simple. Closure. He was a son of bastards and burglars, after all – while he had tried to run from it all long ago, he still had parents who knew nothing of his whereabouts. Why not go back to them, tell them that he’d become a full-blown Shinigami, rub it in their faces a bit and then leave with his head held high? Tell them that they were shit for expecting any less of him back when he was little; tell his mum that her negligence in even breast-feeding him wouldn’t go unscathed, tell his dad that all the random fits of drunken rage wouldn’t be ignored anymore. That their puny, worthless Retsu had fucking evolved into a respectable member of the Soul Society… and that he did so by his own fucking power and wit.

…

Spotting the corpse of a young, blonde-haired boy sent shivers down his spine. “Shit… could’ve been me, even,” he mumbled to himself, wondering if fate had a fickle play in his life after all. Well, at least the boy’s soul was moving on from this damn place…

…

Ranma had made his way further into the district and took notice of a strange sight – another Shinigami wandering about, but whose aura almost made him puke at first sight. Her… her intent to kill was unquestionable. Approaching her would be suicide. Just being near her – nay, in the vicinity of hers – made the air feel raspy and cold. Ranma held his mouth with bloodshot eyes, preventing himself from coughing and giving away his presence, that terrified by the sheer aura of…

No shot she’s not from the Fourth Division… he thought, remembering back to his encounter with Shura. Shura was such a powerful foe, but Ranma could tell that she had plenty of reason behind her moves and didn’t want to go too far… at least, from his battle. This one, however… maybe she was reasonable too. Just maybe. Why not ask? What was so wrong with asking a fellow Shinigami, after all? Certainly, she wasn’t as bloodthirsty as her demeanor and whole ass reason for being here in the first place gave the impression of.

So he drew closer, following her until he could call out to her. “… *gulp* Fourth Division?”

… Well, she was very straight-to-the-point, but the moment he thought so, his nose began itching. Hold it… hooooooooold it… okay, there.

Upon watching her pull up a flask from her waist, however… Ranma’s fear of her dwindled. Surprisingly, he began feeling kind of warm, like a sense of familiarity – it was likely because he, too, was holding a gourd strapped to his waist for the very same purpose, to which he’d mimic the Scarygami and take a slurp. He’d also make sure to hurryingly strap it back onto his waist when she did so. “Armina Willsaam… I’m-“

Wait, what the fuck am I doing? Should I tell her my name now? She’ll know my name, then! Who the hell would know what she’d do next?! What if… what if she wants to have a fight now? Just like Shura from back then! Or what if Shura told the Fourth about me, and now they all wanna square up?!?! I can’t deal with that, that’s too tiring! I’ll die in a second, damn! B-But she just told me her name, I’d come off as a dick if I didn’t exchange my own as well, and then s-she’d get angry and likely punch me or something…

“-Ranma. Ranma Gekiretsu. Nothing special…” Phew, that ought to do for a greeting. A very passable greeting, a very… insignificant greeting of his.

Upon seeing her front, however, his fear had a strange dilemma. Upon first glance, she looked… pristine, really. And rather extremely gorgeous to boot… but Ranma was no fool. He wouldn’t be caught lacking, not of this Fourth Division member was any trigger-happy like Shura.

Wait… did she think that he was afraid of the place? Not her? Maybe she was friendlier than his gut feeling said. Really, she had a point, at least – Ranma was freaking out over nothing, really… just hunches. Gut feelings. He didn’t have any sixth senses – who did he think he was? “Pfffffffffffft, y-you know what, that’s… that’s, that’s a veeeeeeeeery good suggestion, but it’s not exactly the place…”

… Oh yeah, she approached him. She really did – Ranma didn’t want to lose face or anything, but she was walking awfully slow. Almost as if she was readying a damn Shunpo out of nowhere… and it made his skin crawl. Tremendously. The shaking intensified, small but sharp, with every step, until the taller Shinigami was staring through his damn skull with a simple question brought up – why was he here, exactly?

“I… got some dumb parents from here. Pretty sure I should’ve ended as a dead infant with how little time they gave me, but look at me now – a full-fledged Shinigami to boot, all thanks to not them. Problem is, I think they’d try to kill me if they saw me in this gear – I just wanna talk to them, though. Can’t a kid know why his parents didn’t want him?”

Huh, he appeared much less afraid now. Fear was being pushed aside by a bubbling, growing anger that he hadn’t felt in a while. Still, he just opened up just like that - perhaps Erica influenced him, a bit.

"What... what about you?"

Shit… he didn’t think about that possibility. The fact that his parents could’ve suffered the same fate as his aunt and uncle. Talk about poetry – something deep inside of him told the bandaged Shinigami that his parents’ neglect of him indirectly led to the death of those he considered his true parents, since that neglect made him angry and bitter about so many things that he tried day and night to shed away from his skin and brain. He was a better man now, so… why did he feel so bothered?

Maybe it was Armina’s tone – so brutally dismissive of any notion of emotional investments. So void of compassion. Even her reply just made her stand out more, which was one hell of an achievement in the heart of the far distant districts of the Rukongai – the kid wanted to kill her for clout, and somehow she came off far more menacing. She came off as a Shinigami with no limits, killing whoever she wanted, fu-

Oh… peculiar detail. How mad was her charisma- ohhhhh…

Oh no… she was unhinged. He had half a mind to dip, but she’d probably just catch him and, who knew, berate him for being a coward or something. Her next question made him feeling hella awkward, and I mean, hella awkward – should he out Shura or something? What would Armina do to Shura if he uttered her name?! What on earth would happen in the Fourth Division if he dared-

“Oh, uh…”

What will she do with Shura if I outed her? Challenge her? Fuck her? Pat her on the shoulder for a job well done, or stab her in the back for stealing too much clout? I can’t fucking tell!

“Their Captain… although just by rumors, I got an idea that the Fourth Division was… wild, to say it mildly. Having met two who give me those vibes now just confirms it, and you’re batshit crazy. Hot, not gonna lie, but fucking crazy… so uh, yeah, take that as a compliment if anything.”

Yeah, it was a waste of time going here at all. Ranma was about to turn heel when a roar suddenly emerged from between the walls of the shacks further away: “SAKOOOOOOOOOON! RANMA, YOU FUCKING ANIMAAAAAAAAL!!!” While screaming from the depth of their lungs, Ranma recognized that voice – a voice that belonged to a tall, white-haired psychopath who was there when Ranma got shanked in the face and received his mouth scars. By extension, he was one of the punks who attacked his aunt and uncle back then, too… which set something off in Ranma’s previously calm, heterochromatic eyes, turning them into the eyes of a not so stable individual.

“I’LL KILL YOU! I’LL KILL YOU IF IT’S THE LAST THING I’LL EVER DO!”

And with that, as if spawning from rocks and debris, a whole damn army of punks in all shapes and sizes rallied to the shouter’s call, all charging towards the two Shinigami like hyenas, each carrying different conventional weapons such as… well, rather worthless and broken furniture and knives in comparison to the Zanpakutō.

Ranma, strange enough, had no desire to fight them. He got pissed the fuck off, but he made a promise, didn’t he – no more Retsu. He’d certainly just lose himself and turn into the likes of the shapely bitch next to him, no fucking shot he’d go down that path… he made a promise.

Ah… yeah, why not the strongest? Good to know that she, somewhat, agreed on that… but she sounded so condescending. He was perfectly capable of performing his job, damn it! And he wasn’t ruled by fear – there was a damn difference between getting the wrong vibes from a person like her and being mortified… but given by her glance, she was reaching for some sort of mortification. Or petrification. Her eyes looked so damn venomous…

The last phrase felt wrong. Turn his fear into… anger? What, was he meant to fight with anger? Just anger, like a brainless brute? No shot – he nodded, but there was no conviction inside of him to go down that route. He was sort of tired of getting angry and that- oh fucking hell, he completely forgot about the punks who charged at them.

Armina had already jumped into the group like a monsoon, her Reiatsu choking the air around all of them as she created a crater of blood and broken bones. Even Ranma was hesitant to jump in, even though Armina wasn’t his adversary – yet her hissing command straightened his back out, as if she would tear him in two if he didn’t throw a punch or something. And at one point, he was forced to as some guys decided to stay away from their dying fellows who pretty much embraced death’s doorbell by facing Armina… by running towards Ranma with all the ill intent in the world. “Not you fuckers again…”

“Welcome back home, Retsu!!!”
“Don’t you fuckin’ call me that… Hadō no Jūichi, Tsuzuri Raiden!”

Ranma quickly unsheathed his Asauchi and let the simple blade twirl around his hands, showing exemplary swordsmanship as he cut through 3 bastards like butter, crackling sparks of thunder jumping from the blade via his cast Hadō technique. Their wounds soon sprayed out guzzles of blood, signifying their defeat at his hands, which Ranma didn’t savor nor made any attempt to acknowledge. “Such nasty Reiatsu… you wanna make the punk race extinct? Be my damn guest-“

*QUAKE*

“… The f-“

*QUAKE*

Ranma hadn’t met any punk like this one. Most definitely, it was Armina’s vile Reiatsu that drew the attention of a certain resident of the worst parts of Rukongai – however, while many of the younger people living here were such low scum – morally and physically – this one was different.


A gigantic, grotesque-looking dude was pushing back some of the worn-down apartment complexes that surprisingly withstood the test of time – just up until that exact moment. With a single hand, as if trying to turn a door, the walls crumbled down and collapsed the structure, alerting the Shinigami to the arrival of this celebrity of the far districts. Purplish skin, a sign of hypothermia, and a large, pinkish scar on the center of his torso that looked like a fancy-looking centipede. Not to mention his greenish hair – what caused it to turn out like that? Some sort of disease?

But he was almost tearing his skin apart with the super-sized muscles that allowed him to crush down buildings just by leaning on them. A majority of the surviving punks below were running away, some of them screaming out small pieces of intel: “Shit, the Arhat’s here! Yo, who woke him up?!”

“Fuck that, I’m stepping!”

At first, the giant who was called ‘the Arhat’ simply glared down at the smaller people, and at the two Shinigami present. He easily towered them by over fifteen meters in height, but Armina’s Reiatsu… in the giant’s eyes, it took on a giant form all on its own. The giant Arhat was facing a silhouette of an even fiercer demon-

And he wasn’t liking that one bit.

“Who the hell fed you what to get you that big?” Ranma grimaced at the sight of this large middle finger to nature, watching the Arhat take a step towards Armina… but due to Ranma’s position, the Shinigami was about to be stomped by the unaware giant-

If not for Ranma suddenly darting away, visually looking identical to using Shunpo, but… without some important identifiers. It was as if his own speed skyrocketed for a mere instant, allowing him to side-step from the crushing foot of the gigantic barbarian. “… Guess he likes you.”


The Arhat didn’t waste a second more and clenched his giant fist, revealing a sudden collection of wind to gather towards the center of his knuckle before he charged it down towards Armina like a meteor.

Should… should he jump in, too? This giant megalomanic fever dream was imposing, but- wait, why on earth did he want to help someone like Armina? She’d probably pull his ears off or behead him on the spot were he to even insinuate that she’d need the help of a wimp like him… and while Ranma visualized that scenario in his head, further souring his opinions of the other Shinigami times a thousand, sharp bells could be heard intensifying. And those weren’t coming from bells, but from Armina’s flurry of punches landing on the Arhat’s ankle, pushing it back slowly with road debris kicking up around her.

The Arhat was visible pained by this, witnessing his ankle turning blue with rashes from Armina’s flurry, so at one point, the entire leg was pulled back, almost looking like the Arhat was finally tumbling over… until he dug his entire foot through the ground itself in a swift freekick aiming right for Armina’s entire position, kicking up crushed rock in the process. The Arhat intended to send Armina across a few blocks like a damn football as a get-back for her violent assault.