Right.
	Well, slowly trying to ease myself back into fanfic writing.
Stuck on my other project, so thought I'd work on this instead.  Enjoy.
(And, of course, C&C welcome and appreciated!)

	-Mike Noakes
***
             Let the Curtain Fall
			by Michael Noakes


     Lo! thy dread Empire, Chaos, is restored;
     Light dies before thine uncreating word:
     Thy hand, great Anarch, lets the curtain fall;
     And universal darkness buries all.
     -The Dunciad

Prologue:


     Ranma recovered quickly from the teeth-jarring blow to the
back of his head.  The howling cyclonic winds on which he hovered
quickly tore the boulder away.  He could not afford to acknowledge
the pounding pain in his head, the burning of his skin as speeding
sand and stone tore and flailed him raw; he could not blink, flinch,
turn away: too much was at stake.
     With smooth, sure twists and steps he wove his way nearer
his opponent, dodging and ducking wayward stones still caught in
the maelstrom of his own making.  The boulders proved more help
than hindrance: as he moved in closer, riding the chunk of rock and
ice he was firmly attached to by his weapon, they provided
extremely good cover.  Necessary, too: with a cry tinged with
desperation of "Why you. . ." his foe began lashing out with blasts
of energy , incinerating any and every rock threatening to the
bastard's hide, and coming near to scorching Ranma's own.
     Th . . . this panic, Ranma realized, there's no doubt about it! 
Saffron's weak -- he's vulnerable to simple kicks and punches! 
Galvanized by the realization that his foe was not invulnerable, the
martial artist swooped in during a moment's distraction on his
enemy's part.  "EAT THIS!" he screamed.  "METEOR LEG
STRIKE!"  Swinging around a hurtling boulder, he slammed both
legs into Saffron's head.
     Eyes open but empty, the lord of Phoenix Mountain
tumbled away into the center of the cyclone.  Ranma felt a savage,
bitter pleasure as Saffron disappeared among the violent turbulence
that swirled at the root of the Hiryu Shoten Ha.  "Serves you ri. . .
," he started to mutter, when a rumbling, bubbling sound from
below cut him off.  His eyes widened in disbelief -- and fear -- as
unnatural and terrifying power swelled and ballooned outward from
the center of the tornado.  It hungrily consumed the rock and debris
still caught in the winds; and then, after a moment, with a burst and
surge of flame, it collapsed in on itself.  Ranma felt himself being
drawn in; a savage blast of fire and molten rock erupted towards
him; only by placing his crystalline boulder between him and the
attack did he manage to survive.  Even then, the heat was painful
and raised blisters on his exposed flesh.
     Out of the fiery upheaval below rose a figure: like the
phoenix reborn, Saffron spread his wings wide and gazed down at
his antagonist with undisguised contempt.  How like an angel he
looks, thought Ranma, then shook his head and dismissed the errant
thought.  No time, no room for distractions.  Focus.
     "Ha!" said Saffron, lips curling up in a sneer, "Looks like
you've gotten a little too carried away, peasant.  It is over."
     Ranma braced himself for the worse, thinking, Dammit, if
this fight drags out any longer, Akane and I are both. . .
     And then Saffron was screaming to the heavens, arms
spread and glowing with manifest rage: "Phoenix Mountain Royal
Family Ultimate Technique!  IMPERIAL ARMAGEDDON 
BLAST!"
     Suddenly the world was nothing but flame; an impossible
ball of fire loomed before him.  He was frozen.  There was nothing
he could do, nothing anyone could do against this kind of might. 
What was he, who was _he_, to presume against such raw, primal,
elemental power such as _that_?
     There was a brief, epiphanic, eternal moment, suspended
between full realization, awareness, and oblivion -- a moment in
which all suddenly became clear, in which, finally, he understood --
and then. . .


     . . . with a strangled, startled yelp, Ranma bolted upright in
his bed.
     The sheets stuck tenaciously to his sweat soaked body.  His
heart pounded in his chest as he sucked down rapid gulps of air. 
"Shit," he muttered.  "Shit."  That dream -- that damn, stupid
dream!  Again.
     He looked around his empty room.  His father had been
sleeping in the guest room with his mother, lately; he was glad they
seemed to be getting along better, but tried to avoid thinking about
what his father's absence implied.  Though it was probably for the
best: if Pop heard me screaming like that in the middle of the night,
Ranma thought, he'd be going on and on 'bout how womanly I
sound.
     And he'd be right, Ranma fumed.  Waking up in the middle
of the night like this, screaming about some stupid fight that
happened six months ago.  Sheesh.  It's not like I lost or anything,
not like Akane . . . died or nothing.  I kicked Saffron's ass. . .
     _primal flame, heat; pervasive chill of death_
     But it had been so close, so very, very. . .
     _love lying dead in his arms, too late, too slow_
     Close.
     _glorious suspension between Heaven and Earth_
     Ranma shook his head.  Stupid meaningless dreams.  He
needed his sleep.  Well, not really.  He _wanted_ his sleep.  There
was no real need to be well rested: nothing important was
happening tomorrow.  Or the day after.  As of late, life was
wonderfully calm and relaxing and, aside from school, perfectly
peaceful.
     Perfectly.



     Begins in:
     Let the Curtain Fall
     Act One, Induction

	Thanks to Brigit Engman-Wilde for the v.38 fight translation
(though I took a few liberties of my own).

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