Earthquakes shattered the scarred crust of the earth, rolling
pits of lava bubbling up from the bowels of the Earth.  The once great
spires of Tokyo toppled atop crumbling concrete cement structures
lying scattered around the dark landscape.  Nightmarish aberrations of
flesh, once human, lay gory and twisted upon the cold ground.  The sun
hung high in the sky, but no light touched the earth, as if the
creator himself was unwilling to risk the taint of madness flowing
like a pall on the Earth.

	Madness stalked the ruins of a once great home, soiling the
materials with his taint, unknowing the horror that lay around him.
He was a man, or once was, but his glazed eyes glided over the corpses
half absorbed by the house's very walls, swallowed into the pits of
insanity.  Giggles drifted amongst the dust motes, a deep male
baritone seemingly shaking the heavens themselves.  Life itself seemed
to seek and egress from the creature.  The man was dressed in
elaborate silks, red tunic and blackened britches, with a blue
transparent cloak draped across his shoulders.

	Another walked among the debris.  He was of the same height, but
his face burned and melted under the intense heat of the flames the
boiled under his flesh.  A burning cloak swirled behind him, matching
his brightly colored azure tunic and yellow slacks.  The cloak
remained the color of dried blood, looking solid and burned.  A sword
hung at his hip, the blade glowing within his sheath and the muted
blow of it hitting the polished greaves echoed among the tombs.  He
was seeking the other, for himself, and more importantly his master.
The two met in the centre of a demolished common room, the ceiling
ripped from the structure as that gray shadows blanketed the floor.

	"Where are you?  Shopping?  I can't find you!"  The younger
madman called out to the shadows and glossed over the grisly sight of
a beautiful woman, her skin unblemished, half swallowed by the walls.
"Kas-chan!  I-It's dark!"  The voice seemed to tremble in fear.

	The flaming man stood next to the madman, waiting to be
acknowledged.  The wind played upon his flames, vainly attempting to
extinguish the evil fires of the Dark One which consumed him.  The
cipher's hand fell to the madman's shoulder, burning the cloth to ash
immediately upon contact.  The man twisted out of his grasp, yelping
to cover the scalded skin.

	"Kill!!!!  Kill them all!!!!  Destroy the world!!  Crush the
heavens!!!  Take them all and grind their bones to dust!!!!!!"  The
madman tore at the flaming man's cloak, ripping a large tear down the
fabric, the loose cloth disintegrating to dried blood.  The feral
snarl changed to a pleasant smile.  "Kas-chan, we have a guest."  His
eyes went wide before going completely blank, reflection-less black
and blue, they were a doorway t his soul but all they showed was
insanity.  :Kas-chan?  Where are you?"  A fluttering scrap of cloth
from the flaming man's cloak brushed past the fallen woman, wiping a
tear from her eye.

	"Lews Therin, we meet once more."  The blazing man laid his hand
upon the pommel of his sword.  "Under the same circumstances no less.
The Wheel has spun once more, we have crossed paths, Lews Therin.  The
same actions from a by-gone age -you have earned the title, Kinslayer
once again."  He pushed the madman towards the wall, where the
beautiful woman's body, perfect in eternity, reached imploringly out
in death.

	"Kas-chan?  We have a guest!  She'd never be rube to a guest, my
friend.  I assure you a supper greater than a feast!"  The sad, empty
eyes were mirthless, the smile false.  "Where are you?!"

	"Silence!  You do not recall me at all, do you.  You should not,
we have not met in this world but memories uncovered in death shall
come to the forefront in life."  His burning gauntlets extinguished as
he roughly pulled the man into an embrace and laid a steely hand upon
the thrashing man's brow.  "Remember!"

	The thrashing increased.

	"Remember your bloody work, remember the Bore, the darkness and
my master's taint!  Remember I, Ishmael!"  The man calling himself
Ishmael thrust his palm forward, tossing the man through a crumbling
wall and clattering destroyed knick-knacks across the gloomy rooftop.
"Look at what you have done!"

	Kinslayer rose in a stumble, groaning as he clutched his head in
pain.  The madness had passed, spirited off his mind as fat is skimmed
from a pot of stew, now only deadly remembrance shown through his
eyes.  "Kas-chan!  Kas-chan!"  His eyes darted through the destruction
before centering upon the stiff form of the woman embedded into the
walls.  "KASUMI!!!!!!!!"

	Ishmael fell back from the backlash of the enormous influx of
Saidin drawn to the screaming man.  The world turned white around
them, Balefire blotting out the graying clouds overhead, leaving them
both to stumble about the Void.  "Kinslayer, you have fulfilled the
prophecy.  You will serve the Lord of The Dark in life or death!"  The
Void was sucked away as if in a vacuum both men pulled in after it.

---Title---

Kinslayer Reborn A WOT-Ranma 1/2 crossover

By Dr. Suekeiichi Kaiton
vze2jcwc@verizon.net

---Part One---

	The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories
that become legend.  Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long
forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again.  In one Age,
called the Third Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a
wind rose in the sun-blasted dunes of the Aiel Waste.  The wind was
not the beginning.  There are neither beginnings nor endings to the
turning of the Wheel of Time.  But it was _a_ beginning.

	Sand scoured his body, a curious parallel to the memory burn he
suffered at the hands of Ishmael.  The razor-sharp particles of sand
tore away layer after layer of his skin away, letting his life-blood
seep slowly into the yellow sands.  He moaned in his agony, coughed up
thick sanguine fluid and felt the last of himself sink into the
shifting sands.  He remained still for days, the wind brushing mounds
of sand over his still form and slowly sucking the life out of his
body.  It was a week later before a passing Aiel caravan discovered
his dehydrated remains after a scout spotted his black hair protruding
from a dune.

The Aiel were migrating from the Waste to the wetlanders territories,
as per the instruction of the Car'a carn - Rand al'Thor, the Dragon
Reborn.  True he was the reincarnation of Lews Therin Telamon, he even
had the maddening voice of the dead man in his head, but where had the
rest of Lews Therin gone?  The answer lay before the Wise Ones that
night as they struggled to restore the power of life to his frame.  He
had lost 90% of the water in his body, and the wounds he had suffered
were severe enough for the Wise Ones to attempt healing, a heavy
strain on the power of the individual, even in his weakened state.
When they were satisfied they had done all they could do, they sent
him back to the Aiel tents.

	He languished in pain for a fortnight before his body fluid level
equalized.

	Ranma opened his eyes, wincing as his fragile skin rubbed against
the thin sheets.  His entire body was pink with new skin, his entire
body sensitive to the touch as he stumbled about in the darkness of
the Aiel tent.  A tray with bread, cheese, and a modest amount of
water (for the Aiel) had been left on the short desk across from his
bed.  Hunger overrode his mind as he ate the food like an animal, his
body needing several such feedings to replenish the body fat taken
during his healing.  Slowly he ran his hands over the arms and legs,
the thin limbs bereft of the muscle he had previously accrued on
Earth.  Even before retraining his body, he had to do one thing...get
away from his saviors.  As long as he stayed near him they were in
danger from his madness, even after nearly a month of inactivity his
mind remembered the horrid fate of his beloved Kasumi.  At his hands.

	[My hands...my hands are stained with blood.  Kasumi...oh dear
God what have I done!!!!]  Saidin flowed through his body and the tent
exploded into tatters of red and yellow fabric, the entire camp
deafened by the blast.  His scream echoed in the heavens as Balefire
shot outwards towards the sky and dispersed in all directions, the
blasts burning a glass circle around the surprised Aiel.  "GET AWAY
FROM ME!!!  STAY AWAY!"  Ranma landed in the pillar of light and
pulled the darkness around him, cloaking his form as he slinked away
towards the supply wagon.

	Trishe, the eldest Wise Onein the camp, was taken aback by the
hammer blow of Saidin that knocked the council out of their tent.
Even the Car'a carn was not thought to cause such a backlash of One
Power over such a radius, if this stranger they had rescued was
powerful enough to rival the works of the Dragon Reborn, perhaps the
Car'a carn should be informed.  Little did the council know that at
that moment their Car'a carn, Rand al'Thor, was meditating
cross-legged on a small hillock overlooking the ruined city of death
Shadar Logoth with Darkfriends and the Forsaken stalking him.  Their
leader, or 'chief of chiefs' was wiping Saidin clean from the taint of
the Dark One.  No one knew that Rand's culminating stroke of Saidin
resonated with his counterpart's wave of Balefire and force of air.

	"What has happened!?  What was that power?"  The council picked
themselves off the sands and brushed off their long clocks and
dangling jewelry before stomping out, en masse, to find the epicenter
of the blast.  Trishe was impatient with good reason, if they could
not contain the heretic than he must be destroyed, the thought caused
an involuntary shudder at the mere thought of how many Wise Ones it
would take to accomplish such a feat.  "Where is the stranger?"

	"He destroyed his tent then...then he disappeared."  Saeli, a
tall maiden with a flaming shock of red hair barely came up to
Trishe's shoulders but her experience far outweighed her lack of
height.  "He must have used the One power, ma'am.  The camp is ablaze
and the sands around his tent have turned to glass."  Saeli unwrapped
her shoufa and pulled back her gray hood.  "He apparently took enough
supplies for a week.  He may have used Travelling to escape us."
Trishe shook her head.

	"No.  I did not feel the One Power being used, he is still in the
camp.  Find him then tell the council.  We will decide what is to be
done about him."  Trishe gazed for a moment at the smoldering sands
before snorting in disgust.  Such a power was now lost...such power
had to be reined, for his own good.

	Ranma watched the exchange from behind a wall of shadow,
carefully wrapping a sack of food and water pilfered from the supply
wagon.  He had to run, he couldn't hurt innocent people any longer and
he certainly wouldn't allow a disaster like Nerima happen again.  He
had to kill himself, he knew in the end that would be the only
answer...only he couldn't take his own life.  To kill oneself is the
way of cowardice, and even if he was a killer and a madman, Ranma
never ran from anything.  So long as he lived, anyone close to him was
in danger; the only choice was to live out the rest of his days in
solitude.

	With a heavy sigh, Ranma hefted the sack and plodded out of the
camp.  By the morning his footprints had been erased by the winds, by
the time the party reached Cairhein the man's face was all but
forgotten.  In contrast, the incident he had caused was far from
forgotten.

---A year later---

	Spring had returned to the Two Rivers, and with it a steady
trickle of merchants and tabac dealers swept into the bustling city of
Emond's Field eager for new goods.  The townsfolk were eager to
please, even if the village had grown large enough to be called a
city, Emond's Field was still a place steeped in tradition and the
village mindset.  The girls still dreamed of braiding their hair like
one of the Woman's Circle, the boys still swiped Mistress al'Vere's
sticky buns hot from the ovens and life continued as it always had in
the Two Rivers.

	In the wake of the bitter winter much work was left to be done.
Many roofs had collapsed due to the snow and stonemasons worked
feverishly on Master al'Vere's roof as more and more merchants flooded
the streets.  The times of Trolloc attacks and Lord Perrin Goldeneyes
were over, at least until the summer when, rumor had it, Lord Perrin
would return triumphantly from the Shaido Aiel-occupied south.  Still,
there was tabac to roll and barrel and Beltine to prepare for so the
boys were kept busy.  It was on a normal day that the sleepy town of
Emond's Field would once again be thrust into the spotlight.

	"I still don't understand what do be so important about this
place.  It do be just a little village."  Two men sat in Master
al'Vere's sitting room over mugs of ale and pipes of tabac.

	"Aye, but rumor has it this was where the Dragon Reborn grew up.
And where the rebel Amrylin Seat was born.  A few too many
coincidences for my liking."  The older of the two, his mustaches
bristling in his intoxication, barely noticed when a young man entered
the common room and warmed his hands by the fire.  A middle-aged
Emond's Fielder pulled up a stool next to the pair, tamping his pipe
before pulling a red coal from the fire.

	"Indeed it be my two strangers.  Young Rand al'Thor used to live
here, as did Egwene al'Vere- she is the daughter of the innkeeper mind
you so don't be speaking against them in town- but that young man over
there seems to me as suspicious as any of the lot."  The older man
huffed and laughed with the young, and considerably uglier, stranger.

	"After the Dragon Reborn you're scared of a scrawny little
farmer?  Ha!"  He washed down the rest of his ale before grabbing his
friend and tottering up the stairs.  "A little farmer's so frightening
to you?  I'd be a little more scared of wolves!"  The middle-aged man
placidly placed the coal back into the sandy box atop the glowing
mantle and tucked his tongs back into a patched pocket.  The fools
didn't believe him but something was strange about that young
man...something dangerous.

	Old Cenn Buie, an ancient thatcher and a head of the Village
council, wobbled into muttering something about the Woman's Circle.
The town of Emond's Field had been without a Wisdom since Nynaeve left
in search of Moirane Aes Sendai and young Rand al'Thor a long time
ago.  Old Cenn wanted a new one chosen to take care of pultices,
although everyone in the village knew he just didn't want to pay a
Wisdom from Baerlon to come down for simple cuts and bruises.  The
middle-aged man gestured to the seat next to him and placed the red
coal in front of the old man.