Disclaimer: I do not own Ranma ½, or the characters associated with it. They are the products of the mind of Ms. Rumiko Takahashi, in whose garden I feel privileged to play. But heck, if you for some reason DO think that I own Ranma ½... Please send me money.

Disclaimer 2: A word about Anglicization. I live in the United States, and do not speak a word of Japanese, other than a very few select ones such as "Sayonara," "Ohayo," and, of course, "Baka." These words will not be used here because I do in fact have some standards. I also know very little about Japanese culture, and amusingly enough what I do know has come primarily from reading the Ranma ½ Manga and fanfiction of all kinds. You can imagine then, how slanted and skewed my vision of it must be. However, I am quite familiar with the English language, and with American culture. As such, they form the basis of this work. I decided that instead of trying to pretend that I know anything about Japanese by sprinkling words and phrases here and there, that I would instead not use them at all. Family names are going to come after individual ones. Honorifics will be in the English form, i.e.: "Lord" instead of "Sama," "Mister" instead of "San," "Sis" instead of "Neechan" and so forth. If this is a problem, please feel free to substitute Japanese honorifics where appropriate. Swearwords will likewise be in English. Once, again, when Ranma curses, as he is wont to do, just imagine that he is using the nearest Japanese equivalent.

By the same token however, I won't have him chomping on a hot dog, drinking a Budweiser and commenting on the latest Yankees game. Standards again.

Souls and Shadows

Part One: A Door Once Opened.

Chapter 1

In the ward of Nerima, in the city of Tokyo, Japan, there was an empty lot. Few remembered or cared about the construction project that had once dictated its creation, and fewer still cared to press the matter. In the past few years, it had been taken up by a select group of the local population for use as a training yard, dueling ground, and general purpose meeting place. As a result, the more normal sectors of Nerima's inhabitants most often refused to walk within several blocks of it, on the off chance that they might be struck by flying debris. It should then be taken as implicit that the young man sitting silently atop a neatly stacked pile of discarded lumber was far from normal. Were the observer a visitor, however, the only clue that this was so would have been the breeze. As it flowed through the lot, it picked up a few fallen leaves and bits of discarded paper and dashed them against what obstacles it could find. None struck the young man however. If one watched long enough, one would become certain that the breeze did not touch him at all, indeed it moved aside for him, as if fearful of what might happen were he disturbed.

He was eighteen, or thereabouts, although he often appeared younger to those who knew him. His hair was black, and rather unruly, although some attempt to tame it had been made by gathering it up into a pigtail. His build was average to the casual glance; not quite six feet tall, and neither skinny, nor heavy, nor bulky. Only upon closer inspection would one see that under his red silk shirt, his muscles stood out as rigidly defined as a granite statue. If he had deigned to move, it would not have seemed out of place to think of the sound of a fine steel blade whistling through the air. But he simply sat, unmoving, eyes closed, and mind focused on the events of the past three months.

In the mind of Ranma Saotome, a storm of fire and ice raged. It had been building for some time now, and was still not truly in the throws of its full might. It had begun... When? At the wedding perhaps, when he had suddenly woken up to find himself dressed in a ridiculous white tuxedo, and his idiot father telling him that he was to be married right that instant. And, angry at being forced along into something like this, he went charging of to find Akane, who could always be counted to back him up on THIS subject, only to find...

Only to find her in a wedding dress, not looking ridiculous at all somehow, and ready to fulfill the engagement that had been made two years previous. He had looked at her, and for an instant everything had been right. Then he had asked... "Why?"

And she had replied, "You love me, don't you?"

As if he could have answered a question like that. But no, that was not the beginning of the storm. After all, that question wouldn't have been asked if it wasn't for what came before. China. Mt. Phoenix. Saffron. Memories of pain, and fire, and loss, and hope regained.

Ranma had, by and large, refused to speak about his experience fighting the God-King of Mt. Phoenix. He might be more willing to do so, he thought, if he understood more about what had happened. Saffron was an opponent completely unlike anything he had ever fought before; graceless, artless, almost completely lacking in even the fundamentals of combative skill. But in the place of those things... Power, like an endless sea of fire, like all the flames of the sun gathered into one place. Tenacity, a refusal to give up that had crossed the line into madness. And an arrogance so towering that it dwarfed his mountain home by comparison.

Of course, he had reason to be arrogant. Ranma had very nearly died at his hands, reduced to ashes by Saffron's deific anger. Akane had nearly...

Ranma's closed fists clenched in an involuntary spasm, bringing with them the still unaccustomed pull of the burn scars that rippled across his forearms, twitched as he fought back the stream of memories. He had come to this point in his mind several times over the past few hours, and had no more desire to continue onward now than he did before. But for all that, this was where the storm began. With a sigh, he finally allowed himself to go on.

Akane had nearly died. Reduced to a doll by power beyond his understanding, her eyes closing, and the waters of her salvation so close at hand that Ranma could nearly touch them... Saffron barred the way; all looming godlike might and blind aggression, refusing to allow her this one chance at life. He was beyond Ranma's power to defeat; he had shown this again and again. And so Ranma had seen... What?

Two pathways, stretching out from that moment had opened before him. Down one, Ranma had seen Akane's eyes closed forever, and an escape with his life barely intact. He went back to the Tendo's, and stayed only long enough to attend Akane's funeral before setting off again, never to return. Down the other, he had seen Akane's eyes open again, a smile once again cross her face. But beyond that, there was darkness and shadow that he could not see the end of, more terrifying in its way than a thousand Saffrons.

A voice inside of him had spoken then, had told him "Choose one." There had never been a question of which he would choose. Down one, Akane lived. Down the other, she died. Everything else was immaterial.

He made the choice, and that was when everything began to blur. The world seemed for some time to stop, and when he finally emerged back into full awareness of his surroundings he was high up in the air, with winds howling around him, and a broken figure covered in ice falling before him. He hadn't understood what had happened, or what he had done, and wouldn't for some time. In that time, in that place, he had done as he had so often before; moved without thought, summoned the winds again, and forced the dragon to look to the heavens.

The next few hours were, in their own way, as much of a blur as the fight against Saffron. The horror of his failure to save Akane, the sheer blinding relief when he found out that he had not, in fact, failed. The disappointment when he had found the pools of Jyusenkyo, all mixed and awash over the ground in the torrential downpour. He hadn't had time for real thought until that night. But once he had time to curl up in his bedroll, in his tent, silent but for the patter of rain against the fabric, thought had come to him.

Saffron's resurrection had fooled him. He could just barely remember a brief sense of relief when he had seen him again in his infant form, crying in Kiima's arms. Seeing him there, even reduced to this state meant that he didn't have to stay up nights remembering what he had done. It meant that he didn't have to do any more soul searching than he had on the account of any of his other defeated opponents. It meant that he wasn't a murderer.

Only, that wasn't quite true, was it?

And so he had stayed up nights, had looked within him for answers, and, aggravatingly, found none. It meant that his relationship with Akane, so tenuous and fragile that even now it was difficult for him to wrap his mind around the idea that it existed at all, was beginning to crack under the strain of his melancholy. When was the last time he had spoken to her beyond words of a single syllable? Two days? Three? They seemed to flow together, these past few months...

Right, three days ago. It must have been. That was when the letter from Ryoga had come. He must have told her about it. It had been so oddly concise for something written by the usually overdramatic boy that it managed to stick in the mind, despite the efforts of the storm to sweep it away.

'Ranma, be at the lot in three days. We've got to talk, and probably fight.

-Ryoga.'

It was probably the most accurate representation of any possible meeting between him and Ryoga that he'd ever received, although he was more than a little unsure of whether his old enemy/friend/rival/comrade in arms would be there at the appointed time.

It's getting harder to categorize Ryoga too. Damn it. When did that happen? When did Ryoga go from being 'that damn guy who keeps trying to kill me' to being... whatever he is now? And when did Akane go from being 'that macho chick that my pop engaged me to' to being... whatever she is? He shook that particularly dangerous line of thought away. At least Kuno hasn't started getting complicated, or I'd probably just throw myself off a bridge and be done with it.

He heard the car stop just outside the entrance to the lot, and heard the passenger get. His ears were a lot keener than most people suspected. He couldn't quite hear an ant's footsteps, but he could thankfully, hear a cat's. And he was more than capable of recognizing an individual's pattern of footsteps. Even so, he opened one eye in order to verify what he was hearing.

Ryoga Hibiki, wearing his habitual traveling garb, and shouldering an enormous backpack was waving away a taxi, which sped off, apparently not anxious to be in the same area as these two. He then walked to one side of the lot, set down his backpack, removed some wood from the pile, and began building a campfire. He had yet to speak to Ranma, or give him more than a momentary glance.

Who was it that first started stocking this yard with firewood anyway, thought Ranma. Cologne? Could be Ukyo. Not knowing little details like that was beginning to bother him these days. Someone had recognized the fact that a lot of the people that used the lot could oft times use a pot of hot water, and had taken action. There was always a brass kettle and tripod under the tarpaulin too.

Ryoga blew on the newly birthed flames a few times in order to get them going, and then retrieved the aforementioned kettle and tripod, and set them up, before filling the kettle from his water bottle. He still hadn't said anything. It was beginning to get on Ranma's nerves.

"Hey, Ryoga. Since when have you been using taxis to get around?" The words fell flat, and Ranma suddenly realized just how quiet the space around two people could be when only one of them was talking.

Ryoga lifted his eyes slowly off the kettle, and settled them on Ranma. He waited a few seconds before responding, just long enough to begin to irritate him. "Akari's idea. Told her that I was going to fight you in three days. She thought this would get me here..."

"This week? She's a smart girl, that one. Hang on to her. So you can find your way home, I mean." Ranma smirked. This was better already. Almost like the old days: him insulting Ryoga, the other boy failing to insult him back. A couple seconds more and Ryoga'd throw a punch and then, maybe, he could loose himself in the melee. He waited expectantly for a bit, and was disappointed when Ryoga's face failed to even twitch. "Y'know, 'cause you got no sense of..." He paused, irritated. "Okay, what's this about? Are we gonna fight or what?"

The other nodded. "Probably. But we should probably talk first." He stood up, and brushed some of the dirt off of his pants. Ranma noted with some displeasure that Ryoga had grown a couple of inches since the last time he'd seen him. The other boy had used to rely on the fact that his near inhuman strength was entirely concealed beneath a largely normal exterior. These days, it appeared that he was working on intimidation instead. He'd grown more heavily muscled in the last few months, and if he grew any more, he'd be officially classified as 'huge'. "Ranma, I visited the Tendo's a couple of weeks ago," he began.

Ranma blinked. "When? I didn't see you."

"You weren't there. Nobody knew exactly where you were, but you were probably off training or whatever it is you do these days."

Ranma frowned. If that last statement was turned over in his head enough, it almost sounded as though Ryoga had managed to tag him with an insult. "...Yeah. Probably. So?"

"I talked with Akane while I was there." He began removed his jacket, then folded it neatly and placed it on top of his backpack. "She said that she was doing fine, even though you never talk to her anymore. But you know how she is..." He began performing warm-up exercises. Simple stretches and lunges designed to loosen the muscles after some hours sitting in the back seat of a taxicab.

Ranma stood up suddenly, his face flushed with anger. "What the hell do you mean, Ryoga? I know that you're trying to get at somethin', so you'd better just get to it now, before I beat it out of ya!" His finger waved threateningly under Ryoga's nose. The larger boy stared impassively down at it.

"What I mean, Ranma, is that you've screwed up." Ryoga's voice remained calm, cutting right through the cloud of anger surrounding the other boy. Ranma stared at him in disbelief. This wasn't the way that conversations with Ryoga were supposed to go. There was supposed to be some banter, some light bragging, a few insults, then Ryoga would shout and attack and Ranma would kick his ass. They'd perfected that formula years ago, why change it now?

"Plan on telling me how I've screwed up? Or are you just going to make me guess?" Ranma was gratified to note, for the first time, a suggestion of anger in Ryoga's expression.

"Akane, Ranma! After everything that happened between you two, you've just abandoned her like this? After I let you have her you decide to just throw her away?" Ryoga's voice was more irritated than angry, but the words were more than enough to infuriate his opponent.

"Let me have her? Okay, first off, she wasn't ever yours to give to me, right?"

Ryoga winced, and muttered something that might have been "That's true enough," under his breath, but Ranma continued without hearing.

"And second of all, you got no right criticizing me about 'abandoning' her. Damn it, Ryoga, I'm the one who faced down Saffron for her! Not you, me! I'm the one who fought that crazy bastard, and nearly died... for her! I'm the one who got the cold cursed water for her, while you were standing around being useless. Me! I'm the one who killed for her!"

Those last words for a few moments even after silence had returned to the lot, save for the sound of Ranma's heavy, angered breathing. Ryoga's face had returned to impassivity. Ranma glared at him.

"You don't know what I've gone through for her. So don't you dare..."

"Was it worth it?" Ryoga spoke the question quite softly, but Ranma heard it nevertheless. He stared for a few moments at Ryoga before answering.

"What the hell do you mean by that?"

"Was it worth fighting Saffron and nearly dying, and having to kill him, for Akane's sake? And what about the rest of the last two years? Was she worth all the other times you've had to go through hell for her? Because if you don't think so, than maybe you don't deserve her." Ryoga's voice was still impassive, but was now strained around the edges in an obvious attempt to contain his own anger.

Ranma rolled his eyes. "That didn't make any goddamn sense, Ryoga. If this all you came here to say to me, then I'm getting out of here. Hope you can find your way home..." He began to walk past the larger boy, only to meet a balled fist coming the other way.

He'd fought with Ryoga innumerable times in the past, and was more familiar with his fighting style than that of any other opponent he'd ever faced. The nature of the punch: forceful, direct, and relatively slow, came as no surprise to him. The lack of introduction did. As he skipped back out of the way of the blow, he shouted out in anger, "Hey! What the hell was that for?" before realizing that it was, in fact, a rather stupid thing to say.

Ryoga didn't seem to care. "Ranma! If you aren't going to treat her right on your own, than I'm just going to have to make you!" He aimed another series of punches at Ranma's upper body, all of which were neatly avoided.

The two moved across the courtyard, Ryoga advancing and Ranma retreating before his furious onslaught. As always, Ryoga found it frustratingly difficult to even come close to landing a blow on the faster boy. Ranma, for his part, was equally irritated. Ryoga's new reach was making it more difficult than anticipated to land his own blows, and all but impossible to land one that would tell against the larger boy's tough skin.

Hell, I saw him get hit by a car once and come out of it with nothing more than bruises. If this keeps up, I might have to do something nasty to him, he thought.

Their progress began to follow a clockwise pattern around the outside edge of the lot. Neither of them had yet taken any damage to speak of, when suddenly Ryoga reversed his steps and backed off, eyeing his opponent warily.

Shit, he caught that one, thought Ranma. "So, Ryoga, are you calling it quits? Might save you a few lumps if you get out now."

Ryoga's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. Instead, he drew back, and crossed his arms in front of him. Ranma barely detected the rising tide of heavy chi before it was launched at him in a rippling orb of dark green energy.

"Oh for the love of..." he muttered, summoning up his own, icy blue sphere, and colliding with Ryoga's. "You can't win like that you know..." His taunts were suddenly cut short as received a nearly instantaneous glimpse of Ryoga hurtling forward through the cover of the dissipating balls of power. Before Ranma could react, the larger boy's arms had wrapped around his body, and were suddenly clenched in a bear hug.

Ranma's mind blanked. Ryoga was using tactics. Ryoga wasn't supposed to use tactics! Then, as the grip tightened, his mind began racing again. He knew that Ryoga was more than capable of snapping him in half if he was given enough time... so what to do about it? He raised one arm, and brought the edge of his hand down hard on the strong boy's shoulder, before wincing in pain. Well, that was no good. Then, as his tactical mind caught up, he thought Oh shit. I can't get enough leverage to hurt him from this position...A few test blows proved him right; no matter the manner or placement of his blows, he couldn't bring enough force to bear from where he was to cause Ryoga to do more than grunt. He could feel his spine beginning to strain under the pressure Ryoga was putting on it.

"Well?" growled Ryoga, "Do you give up? Promise to treat her better and I'll let you alone. Otherwise..." His arms tightened fractionally, causing Ranma to give an involuntary gasp.

His eyes closed in thought, ignoring the screams of pain coming from his back. There wasn't much he could do in this situation. His whole fighting style was built around the idea of mobility, and didn't have a lot to offer if he was deprived of it. He could feel consciousness beginning to fade, but oddly there were two kinds of blackness in front of him. One was the familiar grasp of unconsciousness, but the other was a darkness of a deeper and more profound kind. If only he dared to touch it...

His eyes opened. He had an idea.

Ryoga hadn't really expected Ranma to answer. After all, in all the time he'd ever known him, he'd never even heard of Ranma conceding defeat to anyone for any reason (those trick glasses Mousse had for a while didn't really count, he thought.). He didn't really want to kill him, though. He'd just squeeze until Ranma went under, then leave him there, with a warning not. Maybe he'd draw something on him with a marker too. Or...

He frowned. Ranma was getting... colder. A tangible mist was springing up around them as moisture began to condense out of the air, and condensation began forming along the smaller boy's still arms.

There was a sudden shift, and suddenly the body Ryoga was holding was a great deal smaller, and his face was full of a distressing softness. Reflexively, he dropped the girl.

Ranma jumped backwards, moving almost before she hit the ground, ignoring the warning flashes of pain from her back. Flowing into a guard stance, and giving no sign whatsoever of the discomfort she was in, she eyed Ryoga with growing worry. He was fighting well today, as he usually did whenever he was this strongly angered, and while transforming into a girl had freed her from his bear hug, it now left her at a severe disadvantage. Their difference in reach was going to be hard to overcome now, and the drop in physical strength that accompanied her transformation would make it nearly impossible to hit Ryoga with a telling blow.

Ryoga glared at his opponent, now a small red headed girl. "Nice trick, Ranma. Since when have you been able to do that cold thing?"

Ranma bit back the answer, Since Jusendo, and instead began a wary circle of her adversary. "Why should I tell you? You couldn't use it anyway, unless you like turning into a set of walking pork chops." Even as she said it, the insult sounded trite to her ears. The slight narrowing of Ryoga's eyes showed that he found it even less amusing. He straightened up, and jerked a thumb toward the hot water kettle.

"Go over there and use it. I'm not going to be able to punish you properly when you're like this. I'll wait until you're done."

Ranma paused for a brief second, weighing the options, but finally decided that being able to fight back effectively was worth more than discomforting Ryoga. She moved over to the kettle, which was by now more than hot enough, still watching the larger boy out of the corner of her eye. I don't think that Ryoga would attack me in the middle of this...but he's already acting weird, so...

The change from female back to male took only a couple of moments, and then Ranma threw down the kettle, not bothering to fill it up again. Without a word, he flowed back into a combative stance, and the fight began again.

This time, Ranma was more aggressive. Ryoga fell back under the hail of blows that Ranma dealt out, unable to launch an attack of his own. Ranma's mouth was twisted into a grim smile; the prospect of beating seven kinds of hell out of Ryoga was a welcome poultice for his bleak mood. He struck with precision, aiming for those few points on Ryoga's body where he could cause enough damage for it to be worth the effort. Ryoga blocked or avoided most of them, but enough got through that the outcome of the battle was no longer in doubt. Barring luck, or some other brilliant strategy from Ryoga (Ha!) the inevitable conclusion was in sight.

Ranma's left foot struck a smooth, round stone, and slipped from under him. It was a single slip, not enough to cost him the match, not against an opponent that was so far behind him in terms of speed, but enough to leave him momentarily vulnerable. Ryoga's fist lashed out, and Ranma was able to block, but the sheer force of the blow sent him across the lot.

Ranma had just enough time to be irritated at himself for the mistake before twisting in the air in order to bounce off the opposite end wall. It certainly would have worked, if not for the obstacle that had gotten in the way. There was a cry of shock, and of pain before the both of them were slammed into the fence.

He scrambled up, frantically moving aside the debris, and numbly took in the sight of blood dripping from Akane's head. Her eyes were closed, and her dress was torn where fragments of the fencing had stabbed her. There was a great deal of blood. When Ranma attempted to move her off of the debris, she gave a small whimper, and his hands came away red and sticky.

He felt Ryoga run up behind him, and turned toward him. The other boy's eyes were wide and horrified. "I... I didn't see her there! I didn't mean for this to happen! What in the world was she doing here?" Ryoga was beginning to babble. "Is she alright? Oh, God...If she's hurt..."

Ranma turned back toward Akane's prone form, and stared at her wordlessly. There was a bento box near her, now smashed open and the contents scattered across the ground. Enough food for two.

The last time he had spoken to her had been what, three days ago? When Ryoga's letter had come. He had mentioned that he'd be meeting him here, hadn't he? Oh God...she must have been bringing lunch...

"Damn you Ranma, this is all your fault!" Ryoga's cry shot through Ranma's head like a knife. He'd been thinking the same thing, but he'd be damned before he'd take it from Ryoga. Inside him, the storm broke, and dark winds howled over him.

Ryoga stepped back, suddenly uncertain. He had a keen aura sense, possibly even better than Ranma's, and it was one of the few things that he took genuine pride in. Ranma's aura was as familiar to him as anyone on earth; all blue-white and shimmering, save when it was concealed for a disguise, or for a special technique. But aside from concealment, a person's aura never changed more than a tiny bit, to indicate anger or fear or so forth. It certainly never did anything like he was witnessing in Ranma now.

His aura had become shot through with black streaks, like veins of darkness amidst the normal colors of Ranma's self. And it had begun pulsing, as though beating in time to some unheard melody, which was insane because auras weren't supposed to do anything of the kind. Ryoga was seriously contemplating simply running for it when it suddenly exploded.

The blackness of the aura washed away his aura sense for a moment, but his vision was still working fine, although it was difficult to believe it. Ranma's eyes had become blank white pools, around the edges of which blue flames trailed. Some kind of light armor was forming around him, midnight black but seeming shadowy and insubstantial, more the suggestion of armor than the reality. His face, just previously in an expression of pain and anger, became black, frozen and cold. Ranma straightened up from his crouch, and when he moved, a suggestion of a blurred afterimage followed him. He turned toward Ryoga, and even though his eyes were as blank as the rest of his face, Ryoga knew, somehow, that he was glaring at him. Then his aura sense returned, and he gaped at the swirling, blue-black shadows that howled around Ranma like the wind of a hurricane. All his instincts screamed that, despite the superficial resemblance, this was not Ranma.

Not-Ranma's voice halted him, just as he was about to run for it. It was Ranma's voice, but cold in a way that his had never been. "Do you imply that I am at fault, Ryoga? You dare to accuse me, when it was your careless incompetence that brought this to pass?"

There was a slight blurring, and then Not-Ranma was standing in front of him, no more than an inch away. Ryoga blinked. Didn't even see him move...He responded instinctively, throwing a devastating punch toward that cold face, only to have it effortlessly deflected.

"Ever since you have come into my life, Ryoga, I have tolerated you. Tolerated your attempts to best me, tolerated your presence in my dwelling place, and tolerated your endeavors to come between Akane and I." This last statement was punctuated by a sudden thunderclap, and blow that sent Ryoga hurtling across the lot, landing him in the pile of firewood. It took a couple of stunned moments for Ryoga to realize that the thunderclap had been Not-Ranma's fist breaking the sound barrier.

Again, the distorted reflection of Ranma appeared in front of Ryoga faster than his eye could follow. Ryoga scrambled up, and flung another desperate blow toward his opponent. This time, his hand was caught, stopping it cold. His eyes widened as he was effortlessly forced back to the ground. The hand that had entrapped his own squeezed slightly, causing sparks of pain to shoot up Ryoga's arm. Not-Ranma gave a frigid smile.

"My patience is finally at an end, however. I can't think of why I haven't done this before now... How many times, Ryoga, have you been at my mercy? How many times could I have, with no effort at all, removed your meddling presence from my life? Well..."

"Who the hell are you?" The words burst out of Ryoga before he could stop himself. He was confused, and suddenly afraid for his own existence in a way that he'd never experienced before. It sounded like this thing believed that it was Ranma, but while Ranma wasn't a killer, this thing was certainly implying its own willingness to become one. Not-Ranma's faint smile vanished.

"Don't interrupt me Ryoga." The steel arm gave a sharp twist, and there was a wet cracking sound. For a moment, Ryoga simply stared at his own forearm, snapped neatly in half. Then the pain hit him, and he howled in agony.

The smile returned. "I'll make this brief. You've irritated me, and worse, you've harmed my beloved. You will not do so again." His other arm raised into the air, his hand slashing edge ready to descend. "Goodbye, Ryoga."

And then he turned, and caught out of the air the half-brick that had been flung at his head. Ryoga gasped at the shock of pain as his broken arm was released, and he fell limply to ground. Akane was standing there, her dress torn, her scalp bleeding heavily and her face full of anger, but certainly conscious. Her arm was still frozen at the end of the throw.

Akane took a step back. She was still a little woozy from the blow she had taken, but she was damned certain that Ranma didn't normally look like he did just at that moment. She was also pretty sure that he didn't usually catch the things that she threw at him. A trickle of nervousness began working its way down her spine as Ranma stared at her.

And then, with a sensation as if the world had blinked, Ranma was once again how she remembered him, and running toward her, his face full of worry. "Akane! Are you alright? God, I thought you were really hurt! Do you need anything? You should do something about that cut..."

She nodded, overwhelmed by the sudden outpouring of concern. "I'm fine. I was just a little stunned before, that's all. What about you? I mean, you looked... odd, for a second there."

Ranma frowned. "No, I'm okay. Man, that really looks pretty nasty..." His fingers brushed aside a lock of her hair, sticky and wet with blood. "I'm gonna take you to Doctor Tofu's, kay? You might need stitches or something..."

The whimpering groan from behind him caused the both of them to look over at where Ryoga still lay, clutching his ruined arm. Akane's hands flew to her mouth, and Ranma's eyes widened.

"Holy shit! Ryoga, what the hell happened to you?" he exclaimed, rushing over to his side. "Aw man... this is really bad. Here, come on..." He reached down to pick Ryoga off the ground, and was surprised when he was feebly pushed away. "Hey man, fight's over okay? I'm just gonna..." His voice trailed off.

"Ranma... why in the world did you do this to him?" Akane's voice was strangely distant. "I mean, I thought you were being a bit rough on him, but I never thought that you would..." Her voice became angry. "I know you've never known when to stop, but this is just too much! How could you possibly..." She stopped. Ranma was standing there, silent and unmoving, his eyes looking at nothing. "Ranma? Are you okay?"

"No... no, I don't think so," he murmured. "But Ryoga's worse. C'mon, man." He reached down again, and this time picked him up despite the other's attempts to stop him. "I'll figure this stuff out later, okay? Right now, the both of you need to see the doctor." With that, he began swiftly walking in the direction of Doctor Tofu's, supporting Ryoga, and Akane worriedly following behind.

Across town, there was a Chinese restaurant that had been open for a few years now, and which was quite frequently the site of events both exciting and supernatural. As such, it was quite popular, since the citizens of Nerima liked a good show as much as anyone, especially since, unlike at the vacant lot, combat here was unlikely to spill over onto innocent bystanders. There were two reasons for this. The first was that even the more unusual residents understood the wisdom of allowing a good restaurant to operate mostly unhindered. The second was the proprietress, who even now was taking a quite cup of tea in the back room.

Cologne's movements were slow and deliberate as she stirred the tea, as seemingly befitted her ancient form. Not that there are any customers to fool at the moment, she thought. Still, it's best to keep in practice. Besides, my left wrist has been aching something fierce lately...She sighed happily as the aroma wafted up toward her face. She quite liked days like this, when there were few customers to distract her, and she could indulge herself. Idly, she wondered what the children were doing today. She'd been keeping a close eye on them since they'd come back from Mt. Phoenix, but they hadn't shown any of the expected signs yet. She was beginning to think that she'd been worried over nothing. She lifted the teacup to her mouth, and sipped from it, feeling the warmth of it spread through her body. It really was sad... no matter the arts she used to extend her life, to keep her body strong and quick despite the passing of three hundred years; she still couldn't find a way to keep the cold out of her bones. Ah well.

On the other side of the room, something flickered. The teacup dropped from suddenly nerveless fingers, and shattered on the table. She slowly got up, now feeling every one of her three centuries, and walked over to where a small mirror hung on the wall. It was an antique, of course, as were most of her possessions. But even the most ardent antique enthusiast would have been astounded to know just how old it was. It was a round glass, about nine inches across, in an intricately worked bronze frame, set with six translucent stones. One of the stones, the upper right one, was blinking on and off.

"Oh no..." she murmured, sadly. "I'd hoped for a little more time. They still aren't ready for this. Too much needs to be resolved yet." She waved a hand in front of the mirror, and spoke again, this time with steel in her voice. "Show me."

The surface of the mirror rippled, and an image appeared in it of a familiar, troubled face. She sighed. "It's you then... I thought it might be. Ah child, you don't deserve this, but our world demands a sword. I just hope your forging hasn't gone too far awry."

And with that, she again waved her hand, causing the image to vanish. Without bothering to clean up the fragments of teacup, she grabbed her ever-present walking stick, and bounded through window and out onto the rooftops with inhuman speed. Despite the essential sadness of the event, she somehow felt excited. After so many years of waiting, her final, greatest task was finally about to begin.