Disclaimer: Ownership - feh, who really cares about such a stupid thing like OWNING something? Mecasa sucasa, right? (I don't know Spanish, it's quite obvious) And didn't we learn in kindergarten to share things with one another? Well, think of Rumiko Takahashi SHARING her characters with me; except of course, I didn't really ask her for the Ranma people, so it could also be considered stealing. . .er, but what's in a word? I promise to play nice. Really I do. *forced smile*



Author's Notes: Yay, happy birthday to me! XD It's June 18th at this very moment, and I'm celebrating my 15th birthday by. . . writing fanfiction. . . my life has hit a new low. -_- (Damn you Hanakin and your handcuffs! DAMN YOU!) Naw, I'm kidding. It's late at night, and I have nothing else to do anyway. I'm all alone. . . there's no one here besiiiiiiide meeeeee. . .



Ooh! I just got the 'Ranma ½: Digital Dojo' box set for my birthday, so that's a bit of inspiration. Yay me! ^_^ That, and 'Kate & Leopold'. I could just eat that Hugh Jackman up, prrowr! *sigh* Sexy sexy man. . .



*er-hem*



Indeed. On to relatively serious business.



Rating: Well, this chapter in itself isn't NC-17, however I'm leaving the fic's rating as it is, due to the graphic content of last chapter. At most, this chapter is an R for weapons, violence, and all that jazz.



Author's Other Notes that I Forgot to Include in the Author's Notes Above: Sectioning of different parts of this chapter, no da! ^-^;;



'. . .' indicates thought

//~*~// indicates the beginning/end of a dream sequence

*=*=* indicates the next scene of the story



Okie day? Ja, and now for something not-so-completely-different, the long awaited, long winded 9th episode of. . .



~*~

Pandora

~*~



It was not as if he had never been to the Tendo house before; being the current place of residence for both his Pigtailed Goddess and the equally lovely Akane Tendo, he had visited them before to their absolute. . .

Joy. Yes, that was it. Had to be. Why would they feel any other way? Tatewaki Kuno wasn't sure why he was doubting his obviously solid relationship with both his loves, however his mind seemed to wander to such a subject as he walked with the girl beside him. They both traveled in silence, neither quite wishing to start a conversation and open possible floodgates; they were scarcely friends, not close enough to confide in each other.

It was for that reason Nabiki was wondering why in the name of Kami-sama she had invited him to stay at her house. Sure, perhaps pity was a factor; but she was Nabiki Tendo - she felt no such emotion for any man, woman, child, or barn animal with conspicuous-looking yellow bandanas. Pity was a sign of sensitivity, sensitivity was a sign of weakness, and weakness was a sign of a very bad businessperson. That was, simply put, the way of things. Nabiki strived to be one of the best people in the money making industry, and had considerable practice and experience. For the longest time, she had obeyed her mantra of 'cold hard heart, cold hard cash', and it served her well when it came to the art of monetary acquisition. Yet, still, there was a void. . .

"Nabiki Tendo?" Kuno asked, although his voice sounded farther away than that of a person just on her heels. Turning around with a rather irate expression, Nabiki hooked her arms on one another over her chest.

"What is it, Kuno?"

"Er, I believe that you passed the Tendo homestead." True to his word, the young man pointed to the building beside him and a good distance behind Nabiki, more specifically to a sign reading 'Tendo Dojo of Anything Goes Martial Arts', hanging cheerfully on the ashen wall. Feeling the sudden need to hit Tatewaki and simultaneously acknowledging the fact she was, indeed, related quite directly to her younger sister, Nabiki stifled this initial reaction and walked back to her house, calm and cool. With a haughty yet somehow sarcastic 'hmph', she breezed by Kuno, refusing to look at him. It was enough she invited him into her house; it didn't give him the right to start acting all precocious and narcissistic.

That nagging, logical part of her brain that Nabiki had managed to ignore, at least temporarily, pointedly noted that she was overreacting, and doing so would not allow her to have her cool apathy that she so craved and loathed. Finally allowing herself to fall back into the rational, analytical pillow of thought, Nabiki Tendo felt at home - both physically and mentally - for once that night. While announcing it aloud would be redundant in her mind, it was necessary for the others in the household to be aware of her presence. She was, after all, Nabiki Tendo.

"I'm home," she called out nonchalantly, listening to her voice seep through the paper walls and be absorbed by the wooden planks beneath her feet. The girl removed her shoes at the door, placing her sneakers on the mat next to her; Kuno, who had entered after her, followed in much the same suit, save declaring he was in the Tendo house. Kasumi Tendo, the labelled 'homemaker' of the family, walked from the kitchen to the hallway in front of the stairs, an ever-present smile plastered on her face.

"Welcome home, Nabiki!" she answered politely, her voice its usual tone of utter cheeriness. She held a ladle, splotched with parts of whatever meal they were having that night for dinner, near her dress. Despite the fact that the food on the large spoon was dark brown, not a trace of it was to be found on Kasumi's pristine, white apron. Yet another mystery of life. Kasumi's eyes caught the figure of the man behind Nabiki.

"Oh my, and you brought a friend! Please, do come in Tatewaki," she offered amiably, still smiling. Besides the obvious fact that she never fought, one of the things that stood Kasumi apart from the other inhabitants in Nerima was that she believed nobody had any enemies, rivals or opponents - only friends. It was a lovely stance on life, however it also lead some people to the belief that she was under the influence of some sort of brain nullifying drug. Others just assumed she was a naturally kind and caring woman.

"Thank you," Kuno responded in kind, bowing. Nabiki leaned against the wall behind her, crossing her arms.

"Kuno-baby's just gonna crash here for the night, is that okay?" she asked Kasumi in her casual manner, glancing at the rather disheveled and apathetic-looking boy behind her. The eldest Tendo daughter blinked once, before smiling in her oh-so-sweet way.

"I'm sure that would be fine. Thank you for telling me, so I could set an extra place at the dinner table for him," Kasumi noted, chipper tone withstanding. Kuno shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

"I am sorry Kasumi Tendo, but I must confess that I am not very hungry. I would only waste your delicious food," he replied quietly, looking down for the most part, only glancing up at the homemaker. She looked in a concerned manner at the younger man before her.

"Are you sure? Are you feeling alright?" Kasumi inquired in a very motherly manner, placing one hand daintily on her cheek. There was a short period of silence.

"I am sure, thank you for you concern," he replied, lifting his head, looking Kasumi in the eye. He wore what could be considered a smile, if it weren't so terribly strained and looked so out of place under his dull, grey eyes. Kasumi either ignored this fact, or missed it completely.

"Oh. Well then, please feel free to use our bath to. . ." she began, searching her mind and Kuno's body for a moment, ". . . freshen up." Kuno seemed a bit perplexed for a moment, however, after a short time in which his short-term memory had miraculously come to life, he remembered that he was looking significantly less than his best. Nabiki shifted her gaze back to Kuno's form, who standing a bit uncomfortably in front of the doorway, though at least trying to keep up an appearance now.

He had, for the first time that night, realized he looked more than a bit unkempt, which certainly did not befit a man of his stature - despite the fact he didn't feel rich today. How he felt didn't matter at the moment, though; he looked like a mess, and he shouldn't have. He never enjoyed looking filthy; well, nobody did, but especially not Tatewaki Kuno.

The remaining bits of silence left over from this exchange were quickly gobbled up by familiar sounds from the second level of the Tendo prefecture. There was a shout, a scream, something that sounded eerily like wood impacting on a head, another scream, and a door slamming. Emerging into view were two bickering teenagers, one with a Chinese style pigtail, the other wielding a dangerous looking mallet. Ah, the sweet sight of normalcy.

"RANMA, YOU IDIOT!" screamed the aforementioned wielder of the mallet, her oceanic blue eyes tinged with the familiar sight of anger. She swung her weapon, showing off her years of hard work in the field of pain. Combining temper tantrums with large, heavy objects was a mainstay in Akane Tendo's angle of attack, and it usually never failed. That is, unless, you were her fiancee.

"It ain't my fault you're a clumsy tomboy!" Ranma Saotome retorted smartly, confident in the fact that he was, indeed, crossing a line with Akane. Of course, this line had not only been crossed, it had been jumped upon, shoveled with dirt, set afire and, most likely, the site of a few pagan rituals that will not be spoken of here. It seemed to Ranma (and most people who knew the pair) that there was really no line with Akane - she simply *was*. This didn't change the fact that the blue haired girl with the thing of destruction in her hands was easily pissed off by the man who she was supposed to marry one day. She swivelled the mallet once more; much to her dismay, Ranma ducked, keeping his head safe from Akane's wrath - the same was not to be said for the wall that was, unluckily, directly behind him. It cracked and splintered under the tremendous power behind her swing.

"Ha, you're uncute, unsexy, and a bad shot to boot!" the gender-ambiguous martial artist taunted, laughing in his cruel-yet-good-natured way. Though his oxymoronical joviality stemmed from the fact he was winning this specific match, his feet decided at that particular time that balance wasn't in style anymore. His arms flew out beside him, flailing madly, trying to regain the Zen-like state of equilibrium that he usually managed to possess, however it could not stop him from leaning back just a smidgen too far. With all the grace and dignity of a fat man playing Twister, Ranma Saotome toppled down the wooden staircase, the so-labeled 'silent killer' by many a senior citizen and those with less-than-ample co-ordination. At the top of the stairs, Akane stood triumphantly, heaping praise on the Mallet Gods once more.

"Who's calling who clumsy now, you pervert?" she snorted, stepping down the stairs in a fashion far too daintily for someone carrying a weapon of her mallet's size. Akane leaned her weapon du jour against the side of the wall, not really wanting to carry it anymore, but in arm's reach lest Ranma should forget his manners again. The now dazed and slightly confused martial artist, sprawled gloriously at the feet of the stairs and his fiancee, muttered a few incomprehensible words before beginning the arduous task of getting up.

Having been wrapped up in her own little world again, the youngest of the Tendo clan failed to notice the people standing in the foyer, watching with bemusement, concern, and just a hint of surprise. Ranma was still trying to remember if the place he was in right now was Disneyland or not, the dizziness slowly starting to subside as he gazed around, just a tad woozy.

"Hey, Nabiki!" Akane greeted cheerfully, making the nearly bi-polar switch from enragement to utter cheerfulness. As she surveyed the entrance to her home, she found someone there that normally wasn't. She looked at him with some confusion.

"Kuno? What are you doing here?" Akane asked, a hint of contempt worming its way into her voice, her gaze fixed steadily on the boy in front of her. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she noted that Kuno looked scruffier than usual; however her mind was severely set in the frame she used when normally dealing with the kendoist - annoyance. She awaited the familiar and tiresome speech that Kuno would spout next.

Tatewaki Kuno stood there, staring at Akane, something akin to confusion, perhaps even shock, showing on his face. It seemed that, at first, he opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. His eyes looked to be glazed, as if he wasn't all there; his head drooped down slightly, and still he made no sound. By this time, Ranma had accomplished the awesome feat of standing up and thinking straight.

"Uncute tomboy," he muttered under his breath, rubbing his head where a bump was merrily forming. Blinking a couple times and regaining his composure, Ranma realized, for the first time, that someone other than Akane was in the room with him. Still massaging the back of his sore head, he took a couple steps forward to stand beside his fiancee.

"Kuno, listen, I'm not really in the mood for fighting," the pigtailed martial artist mumbled, eyeing the kendoist oddly. He noticed that Kuno wasn't in his normal attacking stance - in fact, he didn't even have his bokken with him from the looks of it, not to mention he wasn't wearing his regular samurai outfit. Coupled with Kuno's exceedingly strange behaviour in the past couple of days, it lead Ranma to wonder exactly *why* Kuno was in the Tendo home, if not to declare war once again.

"Nor am I," Tatewaki replied distantly, still not looking up at either Ranma or Akane, "however, Nabiki Tendo has graciously offered for me to stay the night." Needless to say, both of the engaged duo were surprised. Tatewaki Kuno was a guy who was well off - no, that's an understatement, he was one of the richest men in all of Japan - and neither Akane or Ranma could fathom, for the life of them, why in all the rings of Hell Kuno would need to stay the night in the Tendo house, that was cramped as it was.

"What?? Why? Nabiki, why?" Akane demanded, more shocked than angry for once in her life, turning to face her older sister, still calmly leaning against the door, her arms crossed.

"Beats me," she replied conversationally, "but we all know Kuno-baby's not really the sharing type in this department."

"He's paying you, isn't he," Akane said, more of a statement than a question.

"What else would motivate me?" Nabiki replied nonchalantly, waving her one hand in a dismissive manner. Akane sighed in a frustrated manner, stalking back up the stairs, opening her door and slamming it shut once more; Ranma assumed it was 'that-time-of-the-month', as all the other boys called it. What exactly happened once every month to girls was still beyond him, but finding the answer to that question wasn't important at the moment.

"Well, she seems happy," the middle Tendo daughter commented sarcastically, "not as much property damage as I would have thought." To this, Ranma snorted.

"Yeah, well, that violent maniac has still gotta tone down her temper a bit. Ain't my fault she's built like a brick, I was just tellin' her is all," the black haired boy asserted, crossing his arms. He studied Kuno, waiting for the anger to surface in the kendoist that a sentence demeaning Akane Tendo in any way would bring. Tatewaki lifted his head somewhat, looking at the staircase the short haired girl had just stalked up, then at Ranma, then back down again.

"I think I will go have that bath Kasumi Tendo offered," he said quietly, "where would it be located, Nabiki Tendo?" Ranma watched in, as was the style of the night, surprise, as Nabiki pointed up the stairs, her expression unreadable. Both noticed Kuno cringe slightly, but the sullen boy said nothing as he ascended the flight of stairs, disappearing as he turned on the upper hallway, heading towards the furo.

Ranma shot a look at Nabiki that could have been considered speculative, if not for his eyebrows being knotted in confusion.

"Something really weird's going on," Ranma muttered, looking up at the wooden stairs, leaning against the wall behind him, his hands clasped behind his head. Nabiki sighed.

"That stunning Ranma perceptivity strikes again," Nabiki observed, walking over to the base of the staircase as well, standing opposite of the pigtailed boy, "still, I want to find out what's happening." The martial artist cocked one eyebrow.

"You almost sound concerned, Nabiki. That's a bit terrifying," Ranma bit off, glancing up at the stairs, then resting his gaze on the Tendo girl's face once more.

"When money's involved, I'm always concerned," she retorted, looking just a smidgen venomous, somewhat tainting her pretty features. Ranma shook his head.

"Always about money, isn't it?"

"Better than something stupid, like revenge, or pride, hm?"

Both of the teenagers were silent, neither of them wanting much to look at each other. Ranma Saotome had always been uneasy around Nabiki, even when he had first met her. Damn her uncanny wit!

"Feh. I'm going off to the dojo to practice. If you feel the need to extort me or somethin', that's where I'll be," Ranma finally said, his words dripping with sarcasm. With that, the martial artist strode down the nearby hallway, confident in his righteousness. Watching him go, Nabiki clicked her tongue in aggravation.

Nabiki looked down at herself; she was still wearing her jogging clothes, and they were starting to feel uncomfortably warm. She gazed up the stairs, placing one foot on the first step. In order to get to her room, she would have to pass both the abode of her virulent little sister and the furo.

Sighing in a resigned manner, she continued up the wooden stairs, listening as the old boards creaked under her weight. Looking down the entire time, somewhat lost in thought, Nabiki noticed a little splotch in the stairs that she knew wasn't there before. On a closer inspection, it looked like blood.

'Probably from when Ranma tripped down the stairs', Nabiki concluded, proceeding to the upstairs level of her home. However, as she reached the top of the stairs, she noticed tiny droplets of the same shade of red standing out against the wood on the floor. Following them with her gaze, she saw they lead a short trail to the door of the furo. She looked at the door, worry plastered on her features.

'What's going on with you, Kuno-baby?'



*=*=*



He watched the steam waft up from the hot water, lazily following the tendrils of water vapor with his eyes. Experimentally, he touched the liquid in the bath with his fingers; the water felt to be a few degrees less than boiling, and on closer inspection of his fingers, Kuno found they had already turned an angry shade of red.

Perfect.

Tatewaki Kuno unbuttoned his school shirt, throwing it to the opposite end of the furo, allowing it to land in a heap in all its wrinkled glory. His undershirt came next, rolling it off of his upper body, and tossing it into the general vicinity of where his button-up shirt had settled. Already he could feel the beckoning heat of the bath, filling his head with promises of relaxation, cleanliness, and much needed warmth. It had been astonishingly chilly outside; to think, he was honestly going to sleep outside on a night like this, without any sort of equipment. . .

He continued with his train of thought as he discarded himself of the rest of his clothing. His pants, socks and underwear joined their brethren in the forgotten corner of the bathroom; slowly and deliberately, he allowed himself to sink into the steaming water. He sighed and closed his eyes, the water encompassing his body up to his neck, allowing his tense muscles to relax in the bathtub's soothing embrace. It felt so wonderfully therapeutic; for the first time, he realized how tired he was.

It was a full ten seconds before Kuno drifted off into a deep sleep.

~*~

There was darkness.

It enshrouded him, covered him completely, almost to the point of suffocation. It was the kind of dark that light simply could not penetrate, no matter how valiantly it tried. The blackness, sweeping over his body, its touch cold and clammy, felt like death itself. In an almost vain sense of reasoning, Tatewaki thought that perhaps it was.

Kuno blearily made his way forward (forward, backward, how could he rightly tell?), the confusing and nauseating gloom seeping through his very being, making his flesh rise with goose bumps from the cold. He blinked once, surveying the empty dark that surrounded him; it was severely depressing and lonely, not to mention confusing. It was just a desert of nothingness. . .

Then the deathly night began to take shape.

Before his eyes, the darkness began to melt, running downwards like some sort of macabre candle, the wax liquefying from the flame that was Kuno's presence. It ran in thick, sticky gobs, running atop itself, the blackness lumping together at the base of where Tatewaki was standing; and yet, despite the fact it had melted, the dark did not let up.

And from the pile of dark at his feet, creation rose. Swirling upwards at impossible speeds, the black gloom, almost liquid in its state, took shapes of things that were disturbingly normal; a desk, a vanity, a lamp, hell, it even decided to throw some chairs into the mix. Out they spiraled, sloshing together as the black, aqueous shapes took their correct places in the void around him that suddenly didn't seem so much like a void, but a room. . .

The black pieces of furniture set themselves; despite the fact they were most obviously liquid, they defied any and all laws of science and stayed in the shape they had chosen. Once landing in their chosen spot, the obsidian pieces rippled, as if debating whether the form they have decided on was correct or not, and then set themselves completely; whether it be wood, or metal, or glass. In a few minutes, black, grotesque walls of running liquid had erected around Tatewaki, trapping him completely within the deranged room. The melting ceased for a moment; the walls shimmered, and then became completely solid.

Breathing heavily, looking all around him, Kuno realized, with a sinking feeling, he knew exactly where he was.

This was Kodachi's bedroom; however, it was still completely intact, unlike when he had last saw it, where everything was bro-

With a resounding CRACK!, the opaque desk before him suddenly split down the middle, dark wood splintering out, almost as if an invisible blade had cut through it. Gasping in shock and taking a step back, he saw the chair topple over, pushed by an unseen force, smashing to the ground. The bed, with a terrible ripping sound, exploded in a flurry of feathers - dripping, rather than floating - to its torn surface; in front of him, the large window smashed into millions of tiny pieces, shards of glass flying out at him. Kuno brought his arms up in front of his face to protect him from the barrage of window fragments that assaulted his form, biting into his forearms, searing his skin as they flew past.

After a moment, Tatewaki allowed his arms to slowly drop back to his sides, being cautious in case something else sharp decided to randomly explode. The places where the glass had cut him were bleeding freely; trickles of blood made unique patterns on his skin as they flowed downwards, dripping on the dark carpet of the room, shadowed in darkness. Faint streaks of moonlight made their way through the destroyed window, illuminating. . .

. . . a large pool of blood. Kuno swallowed dryly, stepping backwards without really thinking about it. The chaos of destruction had retired for the chaos of complete silence that was slowly seeping through his mind, driving him insane. After all that, everything was just suddenly so still, so quiet. As he looked around the now destroyed bedroom, he realized something wet was touching his feet. Biting his lip, he looked down.

Blood exuded through his toes, overlapping his feet, running in currents under him; he could feel its soft caress on his soles, staining them a dark crimson colour as it continued to course around him. With a shuddering breath and a strangled cry, Kuno attempted to back away, get out of the small, morbid river his feet were drenched in; he only managed to fall backwards, right onto his back. He sat up as quickly as he could, madly shuffling backwards from the impending rivulets of blood; he scurried back until he felt himself hit the wall, the door to his left. In a panicked manner, his hands, slick from blood after falling into it, managed to grasp the doorhandle.

Pulling himself up, blood dripping off the kendo outfit he normally wore, he rattled the doorknob. It was locked. Cursing loudly, Kuno threw his weight on the door - still, it wouldn't budge. He could feel the thick, red liquid beginning to touch at the heels of his feet, causing a chill to run up his spine. Breathing shakily, pounding on the door, he felt the blood lap at his feet, washing up on the shore of misery; looking down, Kuno saw the blood run through the crack separating the door from the ground.

He was frightened as hell, but he knew there was no way out. Whatever was here, he was going to have to face; he turned around, not knowing what to expect. Swallowing dryly and vaguely noticing it was storming outside, Tatewaki saw what the source of the river of blood was.

Bathed in the ghostly rays of moonlight, laying atop the shards of window, was his sister, Kodachi. Her eyes stared, open and unblinking, at nothing; a trickle of blood ran down her mouth, and her hair was fanned out around her, a grotesque mix of raven locks and fast drying blood. There were numerous cuts all over her body; the white nightgown she was wearing was soaked vermilion, beginning to turn an ugly shade of brown. Stab wounds oozed with blood still flowing out of her body; her arm, outstretched, almost as if crying for help, was laced with contusions and cuts, trickling in a fashion that looked like a disturbing imitation of a spider's web.

Lightning flashed, illuminating her features even more so, the flash of light revealing her entire body to be covered in blood. And still she stared, her eyes blank and dead, now just brown pools of nothingness on her face. Tatewaki froze in his place, trembling, his mouth moving but no sound coming out. He was dimly aware of the tears, but only because they blurred his vision of the horrible sight laid out before him on her bed of glass, like some nauseous platter.

"K. . . K. . ." he managed to stutter, breathing heavily, blood still encompassing his feet, never ending its eddying course. Through the thick liquid, Kuno's feet shuffled almost mechanically, permeating the area with a sickly squishing sound for each step he took towards the dead body of his little sister. It joyfully replaced the sound of silence that had once damned the room; he concentrated on the sound, listening as if his life depended on it.

Step. Squish. Step. Squish. Step. Squi-

He couldn't hold it in any longer.

"KODACHI!!" he cried out, his baritone voice cracking at the end; it reverberated around the empty room, which now, for some reason, seemed to be so much bigger, so much more foreboding. Thunder boomed, shaking the old room slightly; lightning followed soon after, playing cruelly with the shadows on the girl's ashen skin. He stumbled onwards, tears coursing down his cheeks, eventually finding himself collapsed on his knees before her; although his fingers began to outstretch, he desperately feared touching her, dreading she could fall apart.

His sobs echoed in the barren room, reverberating inside, reaching only his own ears once more. He muttered his sister's name under his breath over and over, trying to make himself believe that none of this was happening. Glass crunched under his knees, some shards biting into his skin through the material of his hakama, ripping it. His own cuts still dribbled with blood; it ebbed and flowed, joining with the stream of life force that was his sister's, the smell overpowering.

Kuno closed his eyes, trying to block everything out; if he couldn't see it, it wasn't there, and if it wasn't there, it wasn't real, and if it wasn't real, then Kodachi wasn't dead. No. She couldn't be, there was absolutely no way that she was laying there before him bleeding on the glass looking up at him with those glazed eyes and oh gods she's really dead she's dead Kodachi's dead oh gods oh gods oh gods. . .

His panicked mind forced him to turn away from the horrible sight, his hands trembling worse than before. Trying desperately to calm himself somewhat, Kuno found that it was really quite the Herculean effort; his breaths remained choked and stuttered, and he had to fold his arms into themselves across his chest to nearly stop them from shaking. Tears still coursed out of his eyes, dripping down his face and neck; he looked up to the ceiling, trying to find a point of nothingness to lose himself in.

As he stared upwards, trying to convince himself that the blood covering him really wasn't there, he thought he heard a sound. It was very soft and faint; it would be almost soothing, if not for the fact that it made him feel utterly disturbed. Very slowly, it began to grow louder; it sounded almost like a song or a chant, being sung by a voice that could have belonged to a child. It resounded through the room, cutting through the silence, despite the fact it was still almost imperceptible.

It felt like someone whispering in his ear, and yet they were a million miles away, watching him, observing the mess around his form bloodied by his sister's wounds. Was it one, or a hundred of them, Kuno couldn't tell for sure; he drooped his head slowly, attempting to find the sound's source. He whirled him; no one was there, only the shadows from the lightning strikes kept him company.

Not even Kodachi's corpse.

The volume of the chanting increased as lightning struck again, brightening the dark room for split seconds at a time; swivelling his body around, his heartbeat increasing, Kuno could swear he saw faces around him. Ghostly, evil faces; and with their child-like voices, they sang.

'All is still in your rest

May your sleep be serenely blessed

The winds whistle over the wild. . .'

His heart's beating ever-rising, Kuno looked wildly about himself, trying to trace the sound of where the voices were taunting him from. Their vocalizations were so empty, yet so eerily like the voice of a child that it made Kuno's arm and neck hairs stand on end. In the back of his mind, he noted the temperature in the room dropped a few degrees.

'Lu-lla-by

Sleep on, my child,

Lu-lla-by

Sleep on, my child. . .'

They were coming closer, he just knew it; it became increasingly colder, and the loudness of their voices augmented, yet still he saw nothing. Thunder roared outside, a fierce wind beginning to pick up as well; it blew in through the open window, creating a small storm of tiny, blood-soaked glass shards that flew around his body, scratching and biting into his skin. His own blood joined in the torrential windstorm, whirling around him; despite this, those damned voices kept singing.

'So lu-lla-by,

Sleep on, my child. . .'

The children's voices, lacking all the tones of innocence and joy that came with being a child, pressed ever closer, giving Tatewaki the maddening sensation of claustrophobia. The windstorm surrounding him picked up, throwing already wrecked pieces of furniture akimbo, crashing into the walls and breaking, if not already completely destroyed. His ears rung from the huge crash of thunder that followed, beginning to feel dizziness set firmly into his brain.

'May angel gleams. . .'

Suddenly, as if it were some sort of magic verse all in itself, he could see the people singing. If one were to quickly glance at them, taking in only their small forms, they would assume that those surrounding Tatewaki were children. However, the similarities to the neonates would stop abruptly, like a driver pounding on the brakes to avoid an inescapable accident.

The "children's" skin were grey, and scarred in many places. Criss-crosses of scars, some bleeding, some beginning to heal, were made apparent on their sleeveless arms; the red drips stood out terribly against their ungodly pale and dead skin. The clothing they wore was reminiscent of the kimonos and yukatas that were donned in the days of yore, when wars ravaged Japan, and honour ruled all that the inhabitants did and said. They were torn and dirty, blood soaking through in many places on many of the children; regardless, the most disturbing features about the children were their eyes.

They had none.

Where their eyes were supposed to be, only gaping, black holes loomed back; like two abysses, swallowing Kuno's soul in their depths. The ghost-like kids pressed in on Tatewaki even more, their dead, empty voices resounding through the broken room. Simultaneously, they drew breath to complete their eery song.

'FILL YOUR DREAMS!'

Screeching the last verse of their warped lullaby, the children rushed at Kuno; their tiny, bloodied hands reached out for him, as their bodies floated off the ground. Letting out only a shaky gasp, Kuno found himself to be paralyzed where he stood; looking down frantically, he saw his feet to be buried in the sea of blood that now reached his ankles, forcing him to remain where he stood. Pulling his strong legs as much as he could, even using his arms to help, Kuno found that they were, indeed, stuck.

Their hands fell forward, and their mouths opened; they emitted cries like banshees, each unearthly child slowly merging into one another as they continued forward to Kuno's defenseless form. Twisting and turning, their morbid features, slowly began to shift into each other, at first becoming a formless lump. Like water rippling over the surface of a lake, the grey mass' skin swirled, changing its form, different colours pervading its essence. It sectioned off into two separate entities; almost as if someone was carving them from the feet up, the grey mounds began to take shape.

With disgusting, slurping sounds, the grey formed itself into what could be human legs, then a torso, slowly inching its way towards creating two people; as the grey swarms continued to play the artist, Kuno watched, entranced and more than slightly nauseated. As the twining, twisting ripples finished off with the heads, Kuno noted that they looked like the sort of blockish, generic people children would draw.

It was then the grey melted off. He stared, wide-eyed, at the two familiar women before him.

"Pigtailed Girl. . . Akane Tendo. . .?" Both said girls stared back at Kuno; the Pigtailed Girl had her arms crossed over her chest now; her oceanic blue eyes bore into Kuno's cloudy ones, a scowl tugging at her lips. Akane's hands rested on her hips, also looking at Kuno with a neutral expression on her face.

Before he could ask either of them what they were doing there, he felt a pulling sensation on his ankles; snapping his head down, he beheld the sickening sight of hands - bloody hands - grabbing his feet. The hands seemed not just to be covered in blood, but actually *made* from blood; they reached upwards, gripping on his leg, slowly pulling him down into the sea of grisly crimson below. He frantically reached down; much to his horror, he found that his hands passed directly through the liquid, yet still they did not cease their grappling on his body.

His frightened gaze went back to meet the stony ones of both the lovely Akane Tendo and the vibrant Pigtailed Girl; though at the moment, neither looked too lovely or vibrant. In fact, the Pigtailed Girl seemed to be out and out scowling at him, her normally beautiful visage twisted in an expression of contempt. Akane, on the other hand, had something akin to a smirk on her face; it certainly wasn't a nice smirk either, more like a knowing sneer.

"Akane Tendo, Pigtailed Girl, help me!" Kuno cried out, extending his blood-covered hand in their direction, his eyes wide and pleading. He took in shaky gasps of breath, feeling the ever-present pulling and sinking of his legs into the river of blood; in a few moments, his knees would be completely submerged. He leaned forward as much as he could, watching the droplets of blood fall from his fingers, splashing back into the sea of liquid under him, sucking him down.

Akane Tendo and The Pigtailed Girl saw this, and they laughed. Cruelly, their voices echoed throughout the room, their malicious tones embedding themselves into Kuno's mind, shock apparent on his face. The two women continued to watch him sink into the ghastly pool, the blood now past his knees, encompassing his thighs; casually, Akane took a step forward.

"Pathetic," she mumbled, observing the boy before her, "asking a girl for help like that." Stepping up beside her, the Pigtailed Girl 'hmph'ed, her normally warm eyes cold and hard as a slab of concrete. Despite this, Kuno still reached out for them; they would save him, wouldn't they?

"Please. . . h-help me. . ." he begged brokenly, his fingers outstretched and trembling, feeling a wave of dizziness overtake him for a moment. The blood hands continued to claw at him, by now having reached his hips, which were close to being immersed; the Pigtailed Girl reached out with her own dainty hand, and hope swelled in Tatewaki.

"Of course I'll help you, Kuno," she said, now smiling, her beautiful voice renewing Kuno's faith in the love that he had for her. Her arm extended, her fingers brushing Kuno's blood-encrusted ones. Before Kuno could offer her his gratitude, her 'smile' changed to something of a sadistic grin; with a swift motion, she struck Kuno's hand away violently. She looked at him square in the eyes.

"I'll help you to die. It would be an improvement," the red-haired girl bit off callously, the bitter tones in her voice freezing Kuno's blood in his veins. His pigtailed goddess, his vibrant beauty, his venus, sashayed back to her place beside Akane Tendo, her leer still plastered onto her perfect features. Akane smiled herself, watching Kuno slowly sink into the pool of blood, thin tears trickling down his cheeks.

"Face it. We hate you. Everybody does," Akane explained, as if talking to a small child, "and frankly, you would be doing us all a favour by just offing yourself right here and now. So much less noise pollution."

Kuno's grey eyes, flooding with tears, tried to respond in defense of himself; yet, Akane Tendo was saying this to him. She was always right, as far as things about him were concerned. Always. Was. . . this time no exception?

"Ak-k-kane, no. . .!"

"Just die and make us all happy. Do something right for a change." With that, she and the Pigtailed Girl turned their backs on Tatewaki Kuno, who was still crying their names out, clinging to the desperate hope that they would save him, that they cared enough to rescue him from his death. They continued to walk, almost as if they couldn't - chose not to - hear his pleas.

His chest was now wholly sunk into the disturbing sea of blood, the terrible, godforsaken hands scraping at his shoulders, trying to bring his still-outstretched arm down into the morbid fate awaiting him. Kuno refused this, now attempting to grab at the air, his heart racing, becoming more panicked than ever. He screamed Akane's and the Pigtailed Girl's names over and over again; the bloody fingers hooked into his mouth, the taste of blood filling his mouth, making him feel utterly sick.

Despite this, he still tried to call for them, his screams reduced to a hoarse, croaking sound, his voice nearly completely gone. The hands scratched at his cheeks, grabbing onto them painfully, one hand still curled into his mouth; they pulled his head back, and Kuno could feel this tips of his ears touching the blood.

Tatewaki continued his useless rasps as he felt his head begin to submerge; his free arm, still jutting out from the pool of red liquid, thrashed wildly, his fingers curling and uncurling worthlessly, realizing that his cheeks were now halfway covered in blood. He continued to do this, even when his tear-filled, cobalt eyes were forced into the abyss of lifeblood, stinging them, saturating his vision. His last, lingering screams were silenced as his mouth and nose were pulled under, the sick, nauseating blood filling his windpipe. Kuno's arm flailed more sporadically as he tried to draw in breath, but only succeeding in supplying his lungs with relentless, merciless blood.

Suffocation and its associated panic made Tatewaki try desperately to break the surface above him, to spit out the disgusting liquid and breathe. His lungs felt like they were going to explode soon; the hands still grabbed at his arm, and Kuno felt darkness begin to overtake his body. He knew it; his arm slowly began to cease movement, knowing that he was drowning. . . drowning. . .



~*~



. . . drowning. . . DROWNING!!

Kuno's eyes snapped open, his mouth opening in a scream under the surface of the water, soundless bubbles exploding to the surface of the warm water. Sitting up frantically, Kuno emerged from the bath's water, coughing madly, spitting up the water that he had breathed in. At first, he only managed to take in short, gasping breaths between his coughing fits, managing to get a hold on precious, precious oxygen. His hands shook as his breathing slowly became more regulated, water dripping from his soaked bangs into his eyes.

'Another dream. It was another damned dream,' he thought, the gravelly coughs becoming less and less frequent as time passed. The boy lifted his hands up to his face, watching them tremble against his own will; looking around, he saw that there were no disturbing children, corpses, or blood. It was just the Tendo's furo, and that alone, nothing grotesque or unearthly. He closed his eyes, running his shaky hand through his wet hair.

"Just another dream," he muttered, "and I nearly killed myself in th-the bathtub. What. . . wh-what a way to go." He laughed bitterly at this, and allowed his arm to drop back into the now lukewarm water. Looking down, he saw blood swirling from cuts in his forearms, swirling out of the lacerations, mixing with the water.

With morbid curiosity, he lifted his forearms closer to his eyes, inspecting them. They were clean, slightly deep cuts, straight across the muscle, blood trickling down from them. Thinking back (though not really wanting) to his upsetting nightmare, he remembered being marred by the small pieces of glass in such a way presented to him now.

'Like the last time.'



*=*=*



The scent of dinner wafted up from the kitchen to Nabiki's nose as she strolled out of her room, closing the door behind her as she did. She hadn't eaten much during the day, and her stomach was clamoring for sustenance; fear not, she thought, for soon it was coming. Kasumi's cooking was just the thing to put her mind and other parts of her body at ease from today's eccentric weirdness.

She padded, almost silently, down the wooden hallway, her blue, wool slippers flip-flopping on her feet as she did so. Nabiki walked slowly, at her own pace; no need to rush right now, she was tired, and frankly, couldn't be bothered with the whole power walking deal.

As she made her way down the hallway, she realized, with some sort of dull interest, that she was currently passing by the furo, to which Kuno was in presently. Sighing quietly, she continued walking past the room, willing herself not to think about why Kuno-baby was acting the way he was; it wasn't really her business first off, and despite the fact that something not being her business had not stopped her in the past before, she found no reason to go prying into Kuno's state of mind. It was obvious she wasn't going to get much money out of the whole deal, so really it was a waste of time.

Just as she had cleared the door to the bathroom, Nabiki heard the sound of a horrible fit of coughing, obviously coming from inside the furo. This made her stop for a moment; it had to be Kuno, no one else was in the area she knew of. Ranma was most likely still in the dojo, Genma and her dad were playing their never-ending game of shogi, Kasumi was preparing dinner, and Akane was all the way at the other end of the house in her room, still fuming. The coughing continued, though it seemed to be getting a bit better.

Nabiki turned around, her mind sparked with inquisitiveness. It certainly couldn't hurt to take an elementary interest in the situation, could it? Of course not, what a silly question. She approached the door; Nabiki was about to knock on it when, much to her surprise and convenience, she found the door to be open, just a crack.

'He wouldn't let me in if I knocked anyway, this is simply more productive,' she reasoned, crouching down, touching the wood of the door with her hand. Biting her lip and pushing it open a little further, Nabiki's brown eyes peering through the crevice between the wood and the threshold. What she beheld made her blush.

Kuno, who was previously soaking in the bath, stood up, though slowly. Water dripped from his disarrayed, mahogany hair, down his cheeks and neck, continuing down his well-muscled upper body. The droplets glinted in the dim light of the lamps, suspended from the roof of the washroom, illuminating his body as he continued his way out of the tub. Nabiki's eyes widened as he stood at full height; she was seeing the part of the male anatomy that she was obviously not supposed to see until her wedding night.

She turned her head away, feeling a bit flustered, her face hot. Most of her mind regretted this move, for as she turned back, she saw that Kuno had grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist. Disappointed (and shocked at this) yet a bit relieved at the same time (which came as an even greater shock), Nabiki resumed her spying, her cheeks still beet red.

Appreciating the eye candy and telling herself that she was spying on him for educational purposes only, the brown haired girl watched her subject intently as he crossed the room, bending down, picking up a wrinkled heap of clothing. She noted that, while he acted like an infuriating idiot most of the time, Tatewaki Kuno was a complete babe.

He walked back, towards the entrance; for a short moment, Nabiki feared that perhaps he had seen her and the jig was up, however he seemed to be quite preoccupied with his thoughts. Kuno was close enough to the door for Nabiki to see that his grey eyes were slightly clouded over, and very distant. Though his eyes were very interesting, Nabiki couldn't help her eyes from wandering downward; past his neck and shoulders, to his sculpted pectorals, his abs, his. . .

. . . scars?

Blinking once to clear her vision, the middle Tendo daughter looked again at his chest area; sure enough, standing out terribly against his skin, reddened by the heat, were white, thin scars. They were almost everywhere, now that she was really looking; mostly on her lower chest, his upper arms, and all over his abdomen and legs.

'What the. . .?' she wondered intelligently, observing the tiny, ashen traces of cuts and gashes. She continued to watch as Kuno lifted up his right forearm, looking at it; from Nabiki's angle, she also had a clear view of his arm.

Blood trickled down it; there were three straight, deep cuts, all of them bleeding profusely down his arm, dripping onto the ground below him. Nabiki gasped involuntarily; obviously, this was enough to snap Kuno out of whatever thoughts he was asphyxiating in.

His head turned to the direction of the door; he saw that it was open, yet even when craning his neck, he saw nobody. Biting his lip, he walked over, closing the door completely.

Nabiki, who had been hiding against the wall beside the crack of the door after making a sound, let out a short sigh of relief. He hadn't seen her, Nabiki was sure of this. There was no way he could prove it was her he saw. However, at the moment, the teenager's desire to know exactly what the hell was going on with her Kuno-baby overrode the small sense of accomplishment she got from peeking in on him when he didn't know it.

For now, she pushed it to the back of her mind, filing it away to be retrieved for later use. Right now, dinner sounded about good.



~*~*~*~



OH MY FREAKIN' GOD THAT TOOK FOREVER TO WRITE!! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please don't kill me, gomen gomen gomen gomen!! _;; I started in June, ended in August. It is unforgivable. v_v

*sighs* Anyway, there you go. At least it was extra disturbing, and there was near-pointless fanservice included!! And there was much rejoicing. *yaay*

You know what else requires rejoicing? Reviewing. Because when you review, you're too cool. Too cool for school.

Ja ne, and until the next gruesome time we meet. =D

~Chibikat