Hiya,

I released this chapter to the FFML about two months ago.  It was cut off at 
a fairly arbitrary point.  I went back to work on it and it's now over twice 
as long.  However, it's in far rougher shape than I normally release 
chapters in.  The final scene with Akane reached over 10 000 words in 
length, and I realized it needed some spacing out: those spacer scenes still 
aren't written.  Though they'll hopefully prove important (otherwise why 
write them?), they shouldn't interrupt the main narrative flow.  Please, 
enjoy!

As always, C&C greatly appreciated and desired.  Be it an MST or general 
comments, I'm easy to please!  And, hey, if you're eager to try your hand at 
some fanart....

Finally, very special thanks to my prereaders.  You guys rock: Vincent 
Seifert, Carson Reid, and Ilana.  Thanks!

-Mike Noakes

***

What has gone before:

A fight between Happosai and Ranma brought a strange book into Akane's 
possession.  Her use of that book made her a target for unknown forces.  
Their search for her whereabouts led to the inadvertent death of innocent 
girls that resembled the youngest Tendo.  In putting an end to the violence, 
Ranma led the enemy to the Tendo Residence.  Allies were called in and 
preparations made.  The enemy attacked.  The fight was long and arduous, and 
destroyed most of the Tendo house.  In the end, the defenders held their 
ground . . . but at what cost?

***

The slow rise into consciousness came reluctantly.  He awoke to great pain.  
The first thing the man realized, swimming into the upper levels of dim 
awareness, was that he was lying face-up on tatami.  Then the hurting 
filtered in though the numbness.  There was a stiff itchiness in his feet 
and hands, and a dull ache across his chest and breasts with each breath; 
finally an agonizing pounding started in his head.  Sounds of movement and 
labor slowly filtered in as he regretfully eased into full wakefulness.
	Ranma Saotome groaned and opened his eyes and wished he hadn't.  The 
ceiling above him was torn open, and water trickled from Nabiki's room 
above.  His left foot lay in a growing puddle, a rhythmic cold patter 
dripping against an ankle.  You'd think somebody would've moved me, he 
thought, grumbling.  He went to sit up and, strain as he might, found that 
he couldn't move.
	"Awake, Son-in-law?" asked a dry voice, and Cologne's withered visage 
filled his supine view.  "You have been unconscious for nearly twenty 
minutes."  There were bruises on her face, dried blood, but at the moment 
she appeared as concerned for his well being as he had ever seen her.
	"Yeah," he said, and winced at the effort of talking, his feminine voice 
raw.  "But I can't seem to move."
	"I know.  Do you feel well?"
	"Terrible," he answered, "but I'll live."
	"Good," she said, and nodded.  Then she stepped back, hefted her walking 
stick--and whacked him upside the head.  Bright lights flared behind his 
eyes, and he screamed at the redoubled thudding of his brain.
	"Why'd'ya do that, old crone!"
	"Idiot child!" she yelled, face centimeters from his.  "Arrogant, 
bull-headed youth!  Have you learned nothing?"
	"What the hell you talkin' about?" he yelled back, again straining to sit 
up.  "And . . . and why the hell can't I move?"
	"Because I paralyzed you, Son-in-Law.  I knocked you out with a pressure 
point before you destroyed yourself--and us in the process."
	Ranma blinked.  "Huh?"
	The expression of rage on the Amazon Elder's face softened slightly.  "You 
overextended yourself, Son-in-Law.  They say the brightest flame burns 
quickest, Ranma: and in the final moments of tonight's battle, you nearly 
extinguished us all."
	He struggled to remember.  "That thing, after it . . . my father, and I . . 
. Kasumi's room.  The c-c-cats were all dead.  Or half-dead.  But I picked 
them up, buried my face in them.  The Neko-ken came, I fought, that guy 
grabbed me, and I start to black out, and . . .".  His voice trailed off.
	"And then I knocked you out," Cologne finished.
	Ranma stared at her, caught between frustration and hope.  "But I got the 
guy first, right?  If you're talking to me, that means we won, right?"
	Cologne shook her head, eyes darkening with anger and sympathy.  "We 
survived the attack, Son-in-Law.  Bloodied and tired, but we held our ground 
and gave better than we received.  But for you, I'm afraid, the battle this 
night is far from over.
	"The final opponent fled, Son-in-law, and he took Akane with him."


Let the Curtain Fall
By
Michael Noakes
(Started Sept 13/2001)

A fanfiction set in the Ranma 1/2 world of Rumiko Takahashi.
Pevious chapters available at http://www.geocities.com/noakes_m.


	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, Alexander Pope.


Act One,
Chapter Five:
Tokyo By Night


Swiftly and ghostlike, tenebrous buildings briefly looming and dimmed lights 
sporadically flaring through misty darkness, the shadowed impression of 
Tokyo flowed past as in a dream.  How she wished it were nothing but a 
dream.  For Akane Tendo, the obsidian arm that held her within its powerful 
grasp was all too nightmarish, all too real.  The skin of her kidnapper was 
cool and smooth, glassy as it encircled her waist.  Blurred suggestions of 
the city rushed past and night winds pulled at her burnt and torn clothes; 
but all sounds came to her muted, as from a great distance.
	Her initial shouts had gone unheard.  Slamming her fists against the broad 
expanse of her kidnapper's chest had only bloodied her knuckles.  He ignored 
her, crimson gaze set forward, wearing the faintest hint of a triumphant 
smirk.  Akane squeezed her eyes shut against the growing despair within.  
This can't be happening, she thought.  I've been kidnapped!
	Again, a cynical voice in the back of her head added.
	This time, however, she wasn't being used as a pawn against Ranma.  This 
terrible, strange man--she didn't even know his name!--wanted _her_--she 
didn't even know why!--and wasn't dropping convenient hints as to where they 
were going.  And what if he had?  All her friends, attacking in unison, had 
been effortlessly swept aside.  Even Ranma, ablaze in the fullness of his 
ability, had barely managed to scratch his opponent before being brutally 
knocked down.
	And then . . . .
	Akane swallowed.  And then . . . if it hadn't been for this man carrying 
her away, she might very well be dead.  Killed by her fiance.


	He had twisted and writhed and hissed, suspended in midair by wispy coils 
of darkness.  Feline yowls sounded across the house, and Ranma strained 
futilely to escape his attacker's bonds.  The obsidian man simply watched, 
eyes cruelly narrowed and taking in the weakening struggles with apparent 
great satisfaction.  The pigtailed martial artist's fierce aura dimmed, his 
body went limp, and he slumped, unmoving, held a full two meters off the 
floor.  The dark loops around him tightened further, coldly burning into the 
helpless victim, and the body twitched and bled in its unconsciousness.
	Akane ran forward, battering her fists against the last remaining attacker. 
  Her punches did nothing, the man's skin as smooth and cool as ice and far 
far harder.  "Leave him alone!" she screamed.  "Let him go!  You're killing 
him!"
	"Well, of course I am," the man said, voice tinted with amusement.  He 
finally turned flaming eyes towards her.  "I take great pleasure in it."
	"Don't!" Akane pleaded, powerful emotions swelling within as her fiance 
shuddered, his skin turning gray and pale.  "I'll . . . I'll do whatever you 
want!  I'll go with you, willingly, just--"
	"Willingly?  Do you think I need your permission, you stupid girl?"
	"You've already beaten him!  Don't--"
	"Be quiet," the man said, reaching for her.  He stopped, a fierce light 
blazing up behind him.  With a scream, Ranma tore free of his bonds, arms 
and legs lashing out and shredding the grappling darkness.  He dropped to 
the ground, landing in a low crouch.  Bright flames danced and crackled 
across his body.
	"Who are you, boy?" the obsidian man said, turning his full attention on 
the glowing martial artist.  Heat flowed from Ranma in palpable waves, and 
the light of his aura pushed at the swelling shadows of his enemy.  "What do 
you think you're doing?"
	Her fiance slowly stood, then stepped forward into an aggressive stance.   
Arms snapped up and stretched wide, then slowly drew down, finally crossing 
at the forearms, held at waist level.  Curved fingers seemed to rake at his 
own aura, and as his hands flowed into a classic Mouko Takabisha position, 
thin jets of fire swirled into the gathering sphere of power.  But this was 
something new: the ball of charged air suddenly ignited and swelled larger.  
Their enemy's eyes widened with surprise--and fear, she saw.	"Fool!" he 
cried.  "You'll destroy--"
	Blank-eyed, Ranma seemed beyond hearing.  Akane wasn't sure he was fully 
aware of what was happening.  Arms that trembled in restraining the energies 
he had called forth finally failed; his attack blasted free.  She suddenly 
found herself confronted with a gout of flame larger than she could have 
imagined, a rushing conflagration, it filled her vision, a wave of heat 
slammed into her; and then her enemy cradled her protectively, back turned 
towards her fiance's strike.  Flames flowed past the obsidian man's hunched 
form, punching a hole through another side of the house.  The heat was 
intense, her vision swimming, ears filled with a sizzling roar.  The man's 
shadows gathered close.
	With a final snarl, the obsidian man fled, carrying Akane with him.


	Akane's eyes snapped open at a sudden lurch.  Sounds and smells assaulted 
her in a dizzying rush as her surroundings emerged from the fading shadows.  
The obsidian man alighted on the quiet street below, and carefully, almost 
delicately, put her down.  One hand still held her by the wrist.
	"I have waited so long for you to come along, girl," the man said, sounding 
annoyed, "but I never imagined your capture would prove so difficult."  
Crimson eyes had faded back into stony impassivity, yet Akane imagined a 
faint redness still glimmered in the depths of the three parallel gouges 
running along his cheek.  "Nothing could have predicted that boy."
	She smiled, feeling a certain pride in her fiance.  "Yeah, and you just 
wait until he catches up."
	To her surprise, the man smiled as well.  "Oh, I most certainly hope he 
_does_ catch up to you, my precious Key.  I hope he finds you, and keeps you 
safe."  He released his grip.  "Now go, little girl.  Run away!"
	Blinking, rubbing at her wrist, she took a step away from the man.  "What?"
	Shaking his head, the man gave her a little shove.  "Are you stupid, girl?  
Run away!  Flee, faster than you ever have before.  Time is short!"
	She trotted a few more hesitant steps away, keeping an eye on him over one 
shoulder.  He watched her expectantly and made a shooing motion with one 
hand.  Then he glanced away, toward her right.  She thought she saw 
something move there, a presence in the shadows.
	"Quickly," the man added, voice filled with urgency.  "They're almost here. 
  I'll delay them, but you must flee.  Now!"
	Akane needed no further urging.  Confused, scared, heart pounding in her 
chest, she ran away.  At full speed, down dimly lit suburban streets, 
darkened houses on either side flashing past.  Turning down back alleys, 
dashing around random corners, working her way in an unknown direction, her 
own desperate breathing and the pounding of her feet against the pavement 
the only sound.
	Eventually she slowed, chest heaving, gasping for air.  She looked around 
and took in her surroundings.  With a sinking feeling, Akane realized that 
she had no idea where she was.  A residential area apparently, with narrow 
houses crammed together, occasional tiny balconies holding drying clothes, 
limp plants, satellite dishes.  A lone dog gave a forlorn bark somewhere; 
the faint sounds of a television drifted from a nearby house.
	Where am I? she wondered.  And how do I get home?
	She shivered at a sudden gust and hugged herself, feeling very alone.  It 
all felt so very surreal: just yesterday, she had been walking home with 
Ranma on a beautiful afternoon.  A visit to a park, print clubs made, 
cheerful conversation: a day free of worries.  They had gotten along better 
than in months.  The thought of that peaceful moment almost brought a smile 
to her face, but remembering her fiance just brought home how her own 
foolishness had almost gotten him killed.  It made her aloneness all the 
more painful.  She shivered again, and came to another realization: she was 
nearly naked.
	Somewhere in all the fighting, in Ranma's fiery strike, during the shadowy 
escape, her clothes had suffered grievous damage.  Her light pink 
blouse--stained dark by spattered blood--was fluttering shreds held together 
by a single tenuous button; the edge of her skirt was tattered, long rips 
running up to the waist.  Blushing deeply, she realized her every step gave 
indecent glimpses of her underwear.
	"This isn't fair!" she moaned, ducking into a narrow alley between houses.  
Alone and lost.  Strange monsters chasing her.  Her friends and family 
hurt--Mr. Saotome dead.  She was penniless.  Nearly naked.  Tears sprang to 
her eyes and a sob rose in her throat.  It was too much--too much.  Holding 
herself tighter, she slumped against the wall behind and slowly slid to the 
ground.  The concrete was cold and rough against her skin.  Hugging her 
knees to her chest, Akane stifled a sob.  Why, she asked herself, why did I 
have to steal that book?
	Because--
	It doesn't matter, she told herself.  She rubbed the back of one hand 
across her eyes.  It doesn't matter, I did it, and I'm lost, and dammit, 
Akane, pull yourself together.  Get up and find out where you are.  Keep 
yourself alive until Ranma finds you.  Then she shook her head angrily.  No, 
she berated herself, find your _own_ way home.  You can't count on them: 
they don't know where you are, and this is all your fault, anyway, deal with 
it yourself.
	It took some time to fully accept her own words, but when the reality of 
what she had to do became unavoidable, it brought with it an unexpected 
calm.  Akane sprang to her feet, suddenly energized.  "I can do this," she 
exclaimed, pumping her arm.  "I'll show them all I'm a real martial artist, 
I can take care of myself!"  The final suffering button on her shirt gave 
way.  The tattered remains fell away, leaving her standing with one arm 
raised, wearing nothing but a dangerously torn skirt and a lacy white bra.  
With a loud squeak, she hastily crossed her arms across her chest.  First, 
she added, I find some new clothes.


	"Let go of me!" Ranma yelled, struggling feebly.  Wounded and exhausted, 
his strength failed him, and between Mousse's chains and Ryouga's grip he 
couldn't escape.  "I have to find her!"
	The moment Cologne had released him from the pressure point, Ranma had 
jumped to his feet, ready to dash off in pursuit of his kidnapped fiancee.  
That bastard had a full half-hour on him; anything could have happened!  
Cologne, however, was having none of it.
	"Where will you go, Son-in-Law?  How will you fight, should you find her?"
	"Shut up!" he shouted.  "I have to save her!"  He twisted free of Ryouga's 
grip, his battered friend barely able to stand, let alone restrain him 
properly.  "Akane's in trouble!"
	"Akane?" Ryouga blinked, and turned to Cologne.  "She's missing?"
	Cologne sighed and nodded.
	"My dear Akane!" the lost boy cried, dashing outside.  "I'll save you!"
	"Why am I cursed to help such moronic children?" Ranma heard her mutter, as 
she turned to Mousse.  "Boy, chase down that idiot and bring him back before 
he gets lost."  Turning back to Ranma, she leveled her stick at him.  "As 
for you: stop struggling, sit down, and listen, or I'll knock you out 
again."
	Ranma glared balefully at the point hovering centimeters from his chest.  
He had failed to protect Akane, he had to find her; but he couldn't deny the 
truth of the Old Ghoul's words.  Even standing was proving difficult right 
now, and even if he could run--where would he go?  Akane could be anywhere.
	Tiredly passing his hand across his face, he slowly sank to the floor.  
Arms propped up on crossed knees pushed palms against eyes squeezed shut, 
and he struggled to hold back tears of rage and frustration and loss.  His 
fiancee, gone; his father, dead.  He had failed utterly.  What did it matter 
that most of the attackers had been killed . . . killed gruesomely, 
savagely.
	"Are you all right, Son-in-law?"  Cologne's voice was uncharacteristically 
soft, almost caring.
	"Yeah, sure," he answered, and then gave a dry, humorless chuckle.  "No."  
He looked up at the wizened face balanced above him.  "How could it be, 
Cologne?  Everything went wrong.  I couldn't protect Akane; hell, I almost 
killed her myself.  Take a look around: we wrecked Mr. Tendo's house, and 
everyone nearly died."  He buried his face in his hands again.  "And Pop--"
	"Isn't dead yet," Cologne said.
	He stared at her.  "Don't play games with me, Old Ghoul, not now," he 
growled.  "I saw him.  There was a hole the size of my fist through his 
chest.  You don't get up from that."
	"Maybe so, but I assure you: Genma Saotome still lives, though only barely. 
  Your mother is in an ambulance with him as we speak, if not already at the 
hospital."
	Ranma shook his head in denial.  "That's impossible."
	"But true.  Your father, Ranma, is a glutton and a coward--"
	"And an idiot," he added automatically.
	"--but I've rarely met a man with a stronger sense of self-preservation, or 
desire to live.  I would say his chances are very slim--but hope remains."
	For the first time since awakening, Ranma felt a stirring of . . . not 
hope, exactly, but at least a lightening of his despair.  He sat up a little 
straighter, drawing strength from his father's struggle.  If there's a 
chance Pop might live, the boy told himself, then I won't let him down by 
giving up now.  He took stock of his situation.
	He was in rough shape.  Exhaustion reached deep into his bones, his limbs 
feeling dull and lifeless, his insides dead.  His hands were badly burned, 
the palms puffy and blackened, the skin flaky; the underside of his feet 
were the same, and feeling past red locks he felt a similar burnt dryness on 
his scalp.  His chest hurt; pulling open his badly worn shirt, he found his 
torso crisscrossed with thin, pale bands.  His sinuous scar, winding from 
atop one feminine breast and under the other, stood out nearly dark against 
his palely discolored skin.
	Looking around, he saw his friends--those who were capable of 
moving--working hard at some task.  Repairs would come later, and take some 
time.  Ranma could not remember ever seeing the house in such rough shape.  
Not even Tarou and Ashura's tangle a year ago had wrecked the place like 
this.  That he was responsible for much of the damage only heightened his 
guilt.
	The phone rang.  He was surprised it still worked.  Kasumi floated by, 
serene despite the night's events.  Cologne continued updating him.
	"Everyone is busy cleaning up the mess.  Unfortunately, you can't have an 
ambulance pick up a man with a hole through him without the police becoming 
inquisitive.  There are likely to be some official types arriving soon.  The 
last thing we need them to see are bodies scattered across the house."
	"Bodies?" he asked, unsure what the police would think of monster corpses.  
Normally they avoided the Tendos.  Too many weird things always took place, 
and the martial artists were more than capable of dealing with them, anyway.
	Cologne nodded, and fixed him with an unnervingly serious, appraising gaze. 
  "Bodies, Ranma.  These monsters, it turns out, were all transformed 
people.  They all reverted back to their original shape--or what was left of 
it--soon after that obsidian man left."
	His heart skipped a beat at her words.  He flushed hot, then cold, 
trembling, the bottom dropping out of his stomach.  People.  He had 
killed--people.  Words came from far away, 'Son-in-law, you did what you had 
to,' but through a rising buzzing in his head they meant nothing.  People, 
not monsters.  Dead.  His father, Akane gone, too much, too much.  He wanted 
to sleep, wake up from all this, his fatigued body was drawing him that way. 
. . .
	Kasumi's clear voice sliced through his fevered thoughts.  "Ranma, there's 
a phone call for you.  It's Akane!"


	"AKANE?"
	Sounds of people, music behind her, cars.  Hard to hear her voice over the 
urban din.
	"Um, yeah, listen, Ranma, I can't talk long, I've only got about thirty 
yen, it's all I had in my shirt pocket, and--"
	"Akane, where are you?"
	"A phone booth in Shibuya."
	"Shibuya?  What the hell are you doing in Shibuya?"
	"How should I know?  That man, he just let me go, I think there were others 
out there, like him, so he let me go and I ran and--"
	"Just give me a landmark, Akane, where in Shibuya are you, I'll come and 
get you, and--"
	"I . . . I don't really know."  Her voice sounded hesitant.  "I've never 
been to Shibuya before, and--"
	Friends and family squeezing around the phone strained to listen.  A tired 
and dirty Nabiki, hands and clothes stained a disturbing pink, anxiously 
asked, "Where the hell is she?"
	"Shibuya," he answered, turning back to the phone.  "Akane, any, I dunno, 
stores or something?"
	"I passed a big bar or club or something close to here.  Umm . . . it was 
called Neo."
	The name meant nothing to him.  "Neo?"
	Nabiki's eyes widened at the name.  "Hey, I know where that is.  She's just 
off the main strip.  How the hell did she get there?"
	"Nabiki knows where it is.  Stay put, Akane!  I'll come get you."
	She sighed.  "Thanks.  I'll--oh, Ranma, it's been a horrible night.  I even 
had to steal some poor kid's uniform, I can't believe I'm wearing a junior 
high school outfit again, in Shibuya at night, people must think--"
	"Akane," Ranma said, "don't worry about it."  His throat tightened, the 
relief he felt at hearing her voice nearly choking him.  "Akane, I . . . I. 
. . ."
	"Ranma?"
	He suddenly remembered the people gathered around, eyes both expectant and 
disapproving watching him carefully.  "I'll be there soon."
	"I'll wait by the club.  I . . . I better go, I think there's a guy waiting 
to use the phone."  Sounds of movement, then her voice, frightened.  "Hey, 
what are you--he's got a sword!" she exclaimed.  Then she screamed.
	The phone went dead.


	Amidst a rain of shattered glass and rent plastic, Akane hit the ground, 
hard.  She rolled with the impact and rose to her feet, twirling to face her 
attacker.  The booth laid cloven in two, the phone itself sliced open.  A 
rain of brown and silver coins clattered to the floor.  The green plastic 
receiver remained in her hand, the severed cord hanging limply.
	Two men stepped around the debris.  They were tall and dark, wearing long 
trench coats that billowed behind them in a sudden gust of wind.  They both 
carried swords: not refined, slender katana, but mammoth blades nearly as 
tall as their bearers, the metal gleaming dully under the neon wash.
	She backed away, heart pounding in her chest.  They advanced, separating as 
they tried to flank her.  Akane desperately looked around for help, but the 
Shibuya crowd simply flowed by, seemingly unaware of her predicament.  She 
grabbed at the nearest passerby.  "Call the police!" she screamed at him.
	The man, a drunken salary-worker stinking of beer and cigarette smoke, 
stared at her with bloodshot eyes.  He tugged nervously at the knot of his 
loosened tie, blanching slightly.  His gaze flicked to the two approaching 
men, and his eyes unfocussed.  "I . . . I have to get home, sorry," he 
mumbled, and pulled away from Akane's slack grasp.  He faded back into the 
stream of people.
	"He can't help you," one of the approaching men said, his huge blade held 
low and to the side.  "None of them can."
	"What do you want?" she asked.
	The man paused as his companion continued to flank her.  They stood in an 
open circle, the crowd somehow unconsciously avoiding them.  Closed shops 
formed a solid wall behind her, and beyond the people, traffic crawled by.  
"I'm sorry," the man answered her, sounding genuinely contrite, "but I have 
to kill you."
	"For your own good," added the other man.
	"How is dying good for me?" she exclaimed.
	"You've become involved with forces beyond your understanding."  The man 
shook his head sadly.  "No doubt, those fools back at the Order would try to 
save you: altruistic idiots!  Your death brings this war one step closer to 
an end."  He gave a slight nod to his companion; the other one brought his 
weapon to bear; they were about to attack.
	Akane had no idea what he was talking about.  At the moment, she didn't 
much care.  They had her pressed against the storefront behind, the night 
security gate cool and rough against her back.  When she finally spoke, the 
fearful quaver to her voice wasn't hard to produce.  "Please," she pleaded, 
"Don't.  I'm just a young schoolgirl . . . I don't want to die."
	Maybe it was the tearful glimmer to her eyes, but the second man hesitated 
a beat as his companion charged.  The hefty blade, swung down with both 
hands, it clove through the store gate and shattered concrete--but Akane 
leapt aside with ease.  Even as the man recovered for a second swing, she 
rushed in close.
	"Leave me alone!" she screamed, and kneed him in the groin.  This close, 
she caught a glimpse of some kind of stylized armor hidden beneath his 
coat--something hard and metallic arrested her attack and bruised her knee.  
The impact lifted him off the ground and staggered him.  He punched wildly 
at her.  She blocked out and spun in, her hammerhand catching him in the 
back of the head.  He stumbled forward--
	--as the other man reached her, the flat of his blade catching her directly 
across the chest.  Akane flew back, pain flaring in her breasts and ribs, 
and bounced hard against the wall.  Torn and jagged gate links caught at her 
school blouse.  The man reversed his grip, the blade scything horizontally 
for her neck.  With a yelp she ducked, fabric ripping, and the man continued 
to twist, his blade again slicing in, this time low.  She jumped up, on the 
defensive and off balance, as beneath her the sword tore a massive gouge out 
of the sidewalk.  She grabbed the fence and hanged there for a moment, but 
weakened links suddenly snapped, and with a yelp she tumbled to the ground, 
landing painfully on her rear.
	"I'm truly sorry," the second man said, a foreigner, his Japanese heavily 
accented.  He didn't look any older than she did, bright blue eyes dotted 
with tears.  "But the Door must never be opened."  Words spoken by rote 
provided little comfort as he hefted the sword high overhead.  It shone with 
lurid greens and reds, reflected neon and something else, inscribed 
lettering she couldn't understand glimmering in the dull metal; and then the 
blade crashed down.  Before she could even scream or try to dodge, there was 
a loud clang of metal against metal.  Another weapon intercepted the blow.
	A man stood over her, dressed similarly to the others, though his sword 
was, in contrast, slim and narrow: a simple unadorned katana that gleamed 
brightly in the city lights.  "She is not yours to kill," he stated, before 
slamming a gauntleted fist into her attacker's face.  The young warrior 
slumped to the ground, stunned.
	The first man, fully recovered, glared at the newcomer.  "Takeshi," he 
said, and spat at her savior's feet.  "How dare you interfere?"
	"Since when does the Order destroy its own charge?  Eager to put yourself 
out of a job?"
	"You dare preach to me?  Dispossessed scum!  Your kind lost that right over 
a century ago."
	The man smirked.  "I remain truer to our purpose than you."
	"Don't you _dare_ take the high ground with me, Takeshi."
	"Why so defensive, Yamashita?  Still feeling guilty for betraying the 
Order?"
	Akane, meanwhile, scrambled away from the two men as they argued.  The 
younger man, the foreigner who tried to kill her, was slowly recovering, 
clutching at his gushing nose with one hand.  All she had to do was run by 
him.  By the time he hefts his blade to take a swing at me, I can be long 
gone, she thought.  Then what?  Between monsters on one side, and 
sword-wielding lunatics on the other, where can I go?
	"The girl dies tonight," growled the man called Yamashita.  "And with her, 
the Book."
	"I won't let you kill her," insisted Takeshi.
	The first man laughed.  "You think you can stop me?"  He lifted his massive 
blade with one arm, and held it there still and stable.  "You overestimate 
yourself."  He nodded towards Akane.  "And even if you should stop me--how 
long do you think the girl will live?  Word has it that the Children are on 
the move tonight.  Those high-and-mighty bastards of the Cup will no doubt 
make a try of their own.  And what if a few Truebloods show up?  Better a 
clean death than what _they_ would do to her.  How long, Takeshi, do you 
think this sad, unfortunate little schoolgirl can last against all that?"
	"Longer than you think," said a voice strong and clear, and much to her 
surprise Akane realized it was her own.  She glared defiantly at the unknown 
attackers.  "And I'm going to find out.  I don't understand what's going on 
tonight, but I'm not about to let you kill me."
	The older man, Yamashita, sneered and took a threatening step towards her.  
He was immediately checked by Takeshi.
	"Out of my way," growled the attacker.  "Or die alongside her."
	"You underestimate me," answered Takeshi, and he held his thin blade with 
easy confidence.  "We may have lost the Sword, Yamashita, but we never lost 
our skill."
	The younger one, however, ignored the stalemate.  He gripped his sword with 
both hands and leaned into a mighty swing--and dropped his weapon, Akane's 
swift axe-kick catching him at the wrist.  He fell back with a cry of pain, 
clutching at his arm.  She rushed forward, landing a solid fist to his 
stomach--her attack thudded uselessly against metal again--and ducked 
beneath his desperate punch.  She twisted as she rose, snagged the extended 
arm, and tossed him over her shoulder in a classic throw.  The boy slammed 
into the corrugated metal of a closed storefront with a loud clang; before 
he crashed to the ground, she caught him with a swift sliding side-thrust in 
midair.  Her attack imbedded him in the wall and left him there 
half-unconscious.
	"I'm truly sorry," she said, smiling sweetly, "but I don't feel like dying 
tonight."
	She turned and ran, Takeshi's urgent cries for her to flee unnecessary.  
The loud clang of metal against metal rang out behind her as she threaded 
her way into the swiftly moving crowds.  The sounds faded quickly, but an 
insistent buzzing in the back of her head convinced her that pursuit was 
close behind.


	Ryoho Wakashima was a fifth-grade primary school boy.  He liked the sort of 
things that many boys his age liked: Anpanman, and the Tokyo Giants, and 
role-playing games on his Playstation.  He didn't like school too much, 
hated going to bed early, and despised his older sister.  Sometimes, 
however, you made do with what you had.
	"Sis, please, there's something scary outside!" he pleaded, visibly 
shaking.
	Manami Wakashima rolled her eyes as she slipped out of bed.  "You little 
worm," she growled.  "This better be good."  She trudged after her little 
brother, cursing the makers of games aimed at young boys that were filled 
with images guaranteed to give them nightmares.
	"It is, it is, just please . . . be quiet!"
	"Whatever," she mumbled, wondering how they could share the same genes.
	She gingerly picked her way through the minefield of scattered game 
cartridges and pointy-edged action figures that littered her brother's 
floor, keeping the trailing hem of her nightgown from dragging on the 
ground.  In a few years, she'd suspect this was all some perverted trick to 
see her in her underwear--she took some pride in her lithe teenaged 
body--but as it was, she knew her retarded brother was still firmly stuck in 
the 'girls are icky' stage.
	 With unnatural dexterity, Ryoho had already dashed to the other side and 
was kneeling by the window, staring out.  He anxiously waved for her to 
hurry up.  "Yeah, yeah," she mumbled, reaching him.  She took one look 
outside--and quickly joined her brother in his furtive crouch.
	The Wakashima household was two-storied and stood at a suburban 
intersection, and her brother's room looked out from above.  In the pale 
streetlights abnormal figures faced each other, and the very night itself 
seemed to gather in thick coils about them.  The air was unusually warm for 
this time of year, and Ryoho had left the window open.  She could hear faint 
voices from below.
	"The pleasure is mine, really," said the tall, slender woman standing 
opposite a man who seemed, impossibly, to be smoothly cut from shiny black 
stone.  From this vantage point the woman's face was concealed, but Manami 
imagined she could hear the sneer in her voice.  "What an honor to again 
stand before the mighty Akuji!"
	"Enough pleasantries," answered the obsidian man, sounding unimpressed, if 
not outright bored.  "I have little time, Ryukiko, for either you or your 
pathetic brood.  Either come to a point, or get out of my way."
	There was a heavy pause, in which unnatural shapes seemed to shift from 
within the shadows.  Minami almost cried out at an unexpected tug on her 
nightdress: her brother, looking up at her with wide eyes.  "Who are they?" 
he asked in a small voice.
	Her only answer was a silent shake of her head.
	"Pathetic?" continued the woman below, her voice dangerous.  "Compared to 
what, Brother?"  The way she spat the final word, it sounded like an insult. 
  "To your own weakling Children?"
	"No," he answered, amused.  "To me, dear Sister."
	Another lengthy pause, and from the roiling darkness that pushed at the 
waving edge of the light, inhuman figures approached.  Monsters--there could 
be no other description for them.  Minami stifled a scream, hand flying to 
her mouth.  Her brother, however, almost jumped up at the sight.
	"This is so cool," he said in an excited whisper.
	"Idiot!" she hissed, slapping the back of his head.  "It's a nightmare!"
	"But don't you see?" Ryoho insisted.  "If those things are here, then it 
can't be long before some Magical Girls show up to save us or something, 
right?"  The optimistic idiot was grinning widely.  "Maybe we'll even get to 
see the Sailor Scouts!"
	"Everyone knows they hang out in Juuban, moron," she said.  "Now shut up."
	The horrific creatures--some parodies of the human form, others wholly 
alien--formed an aggressive semi-circle around the black-skinned man.  He 
seemed unconcerned, keeping his attention on the tall, slender woman 
standing before him.  She made a sweeping gesture that took in the four 
newcomers--her 'children', Manami guessed.  "Pathetic, are we?" Ryukiko 
snarled.  "You stand before us alone, bereft of your own offspring, and you 
dare call us 'pathetic'?"  She stepped back as her children tightened the 
circle around the dark man called Akuji.  His features, impassively black 
against the night behind, were unreadable. "Oh, yes, Brother, I am well 
aware of your losses tonight.  Your entire family slaughtered, yourself 
wounded, and yet you presume such arrogance."
	"And still you waste my time with words," he answered.  Manami shivered at 
the coldly mocking tone of his voice.
	"Only because I remain curious," the woman answered,  "as to how you could 
have lost your entire family, and yet failed to destroy the Key?"
	At that, the man took a step forward--the four creatures blocking him 
shifted hesitatingly backwards.  The night winds swelled violently around 
them.  Impassive stony eyes flared into brilliant crimson life.  "Now it is 
you who presumes too much, Little Sister.  Spy on me as you wish, but do not 
stand between me and the girl!"
	"You betray yourself, Brother!" answered Ryukiko angrily.  "Our Great 
Father mandated her death long ago!  You risk everything we have achieved by 
allowing her to live.  Your actions run contrary to the needs of the 
Family."
	"My actions are not your concern," he said, voice low and hard.
	"I question your motives, Brother."
	"Then you presume too much, Little Sister."
	"Not if they mark you as a traitor!"
	"Such accusations, dear Sister," he answered.  "You wound me."
	"I will have your betrayal exposed before the entirety of the Family, 
Akuji!"  She spun away, stalking off into the dark.  "Will you still smirk, 
I wonder, when the entirety of the Children have turned against you?"  Her 
four companions backed away slowly, never turning their attention away from 
the dark man.  They faded back into the night, beyond the reach of the 
feeble streetlamp.
	He watched them leave before turning away himself.  "Smile, Little Sister?" 
he said, softly and to himself, though somehow his voice carried to the 
watching siblings.  "Hardly.  I shall laugh and bathe in the blood of 
Father's bastard progeny."  Akuji looked up.  Suddenly fixed upon those 
crimson eyes, Manami Wakashima gasped, feeling hollowed and exposed before 
his glare.  "But such things," he seemed to whisper, words resounding 
painfully within her head, "Are not yet for others to know, child."  There 
was a sudden wash of darkness, chilling and heavy, and then she knew nothing 
more.


	"I'm sorry," the man said, squinty eyes staring at her from beneath a bushy 
monobrow, "but I can't let you in."  He was huge and muscular, squeezed into 
an ill-fitting black suit, and effectively blocked her entry into the club.  
Muffled cheers and pounding music filtered through the door.  "You've got 
the look, girl, but you've got to pay, just like anybody else."
	Akane bit back a growl of frustration.  Some instinct told her that she was 
still in danger.  Enemies were drawing close.  She needed to lose herself in 
the crowd, to blend in and shake off pursuit.  Desperation and chance had 
led her this nightclub, a neon-lit bass-thumping dance spot called 'The 
Underground Lounge'.  The man at the door insisted she pay up the 2 500 yen 
cover charge (one drink included) before entering.  How do I explain, she 
wondered, that I lost my wallet to a late-night assault on my home, but that 
I really need to get in off the streets, because sword-wielding lunatics and 
stone-skinned monsters are chasing me?
	"Hey, hurry it up, will ya?" drawled a girl from behind.  Akane felt a poke 
from behind, annoying and insistent.  "You're holdin' up d'line, bitch," 
added a man's voice.
	Very slowly and deliberately, Akane turned to face the couple.  A girl 
decked out in 70s-styled clothes paired with towering superplatform boots 
sneered at her insolently; the man, bleach-blond-haired and wearing 
too-tight black leather pants, looked down at her through red-tinted shades.
	"Push off, yes?" said the girl, giving her a little shove.  "No way you're 
getting in free looking like _that_."
	After everything else, Akane thought wearily, now I've got to deal with 
this, too?  She calmly waited for the next push, caught the girl's slender, 
weak arm, and gave a sharp pull.  Eighteen-centimeter heels gave very poor 
purchase, and with a tiny yelp the girl tumbled forward into Akane's waiting 
grasp.
	"Listen, I'm having a very bad night, okay?" the martial artist pronounced, 
her tone neutral.  When the boyfriend approached, mouthing some kind of 
protest, she reached out with her free hand, picked him up, slammed him down 
and held him pinned to the ground.  She glared at them both.  "Like you 
wouldn't believe."  The girl pushed vainly against Akane's iron grip as the 
boy gasped for air; her inch-long tiger-printed nails scratched at the 
martial artist's writs.  "So how about a little patience?"  She carefully 
placed the woman back onto her high-heeled perch and then hauled the man 
back to his feet.  For a moment it seemed like the couple might object, but 
after seeing Akane's harried expression once again, they chose to give quick 
nods and move a careful distance away.
	Satisfied, she turned back to the bouncer.  He, however, seemed unimpressed 
and no more likely to allow her to pass.  Akane quickly considered giving 
him a quick pounding, but decided it would be a bad idea.  She was trying to 
_blend_ into the crowd, after all--not start a bar brawl.  She hovered there 
for a moment, torn with indecision, nearly in tears from conflicting 
urges--not really wanting to go in, more convinced than ever that something 
horrible would catch her if she went back, unable to move anywhere, and she 
wished for another person to be with her, even one of her sisters: Kasumi 
could simply charm her way past the man, though the idea of her oldest 
sister in a dance club seemed ludicrous, and Nabiki could bluff her way 
past, she knew more about this kind of lifestyle, Akane having never even 
been in a place like this before, hell, she was still underage, and even 
with just a quick glance she could tell she was surrounded by perverts, and 
the bouncer was running out of patience, and the growing lineup behind was 
grumbling louder, and she didn't know what to _do_--when rescue came from an 
unexpected source.
	"Thanks, Ishi," a thin, well-dressed man said, cutting past the line and 
stepping through, "just needed some fresh air."
	The hefty bouncer nodded.  "No problem, Mr. Takahashi."
	The man hesitated at the threshold of the bar.  "What's with the holdup?"
	Ishi gave an awkward shrug.  "It's nothing, Mr. Takahashi.  Just a customer 
who can't pay.  I was about to ask her to leave."
	 Mr. Takahashi gave her a brief look-over, and then patted the large man on 
the shoulder.  "That'll be okay," he said.  "I'll cover it."
	"You sure, Mr. Takahashi?"
	"Positive."
	The bouncer stepped aside.  It took her a moment to realize she could pass. 
  Mr. Takahashi flashed a lopsided grin at a bemused Akane, and waved.
	"Your name?"
	"A-Akane."
	He motioned for her to follow.  "Well, A-Akane, you coming in or not?"


	It was within the wreckage of the training hall, amidst unraveled tatami 
mats, torn wooden beams, and shreds of rice paper that Nabiki Tendo took her 
break.  It was her first since Cologne had assumed charge after Akane's 
kidnapping.  The moment Ranma's mother had left for the hospital, everyone 
had been put to work: rescuing her father and older sister from the roof; 
scrubbing down stained walls, picking up body pieces . . . .  Cologne said 
she would take care of the corpses--she wouldn't say how, merely stating 
that she would use 'Ancient Amazon Techniques'--and that brought a frantic 
thought to Nabiki's mind: What the hell am I doing disposing of bodies?  
Exhausted beyond reason, she flopped to the ground and stared numbly up at 
stars visible through the collapsed ceiling.
	This wasn't how I imagined spending my time back home, she thought.  Then 
again, I wasn't expecting a late-night assault, either.  It's no wonder I 
have trouble relating to my friends at school.  They go home and deal with 
ex-boyfriends and estranged parents; I've got slavering beasts and sadistic 
snake-women waiting at my front door.
	And guilt, she added morosely.  She had seen Ranma's face when he heard of 
what happened to their attackers soon after the fight ended.  Just as she 
had expected, really.  Other people, just like that banker she read about in 
the newspaper.  Now splattered across her house.  And wasn't that exactly 
what she had wanted?  Ranma fighting free of his usual concern for others, 
unhesitant, savage.  Well, she'd gotten what she wanted, but having not told 
him the truth made the guilt all the worse.  She felt somehow complicit in 
the act.
	Don't be an idiot, she told herself.  Ranma killed them, not you.
	Heavy steps outside interrupted her thoughts.  She glanced aside and saw 
Mousse.  He nodded once as he struggled under the weight of a tightly bound 
figure.  With a final grunt he unceremoniously dumped the body to the 
ground.  It hit the wood floor with a dull thud.  "Cologne asked us to 
gather in the house," he said.  "The police should be here soon."
	"What's that?" Nabiki asked, sitting up.
	"Our captive.  I was told to hide her in the dojo closet."  He gave the 
body a rough shove with his foot, and it rolled over towards her.  The 
beautiful face wreathed in a silken cascade of blue-black hair, eyes closed 
in unconsciousness, was all too familiar: Ayumi Utada, who currently held 
the number one spot on the domestic pop charts.  Half the guys in her dorm 
had her picture up on their wall.
	Maybe it was the recent feelings of guilt, but the boy's rough treatment of 
the girl irritated her.  "Hey, careful!  She's already out cold, you don't 
have to go kicking her."
	Mousse stared at her coldly from behind thick glasses.  Nabiki had never 
seen the boy in such rough shape.  Wounds from yesterday compounded by the 
injuries of tonight left him looking haggard and bitter.  He turned his gaze 
down to the bound woman and looked at her intensely.  "You make me sick," he 
hissed, and then slowly and deliberately he cleared his throat and spat on 
their captive's face.
	"Hey!"
	"This bitch," the Chinese martial artist said, still watching the woman, 
"and her Family, nearly killed us all.  Do you really think that these. . . 
things, after what they did to Shampoo, deserve _any_ quarter from us?"  He 
eyes flicked back to Nabiki.  "I'd kill her now if Cologne didn't insist we 
might need her later."
	Chilled by his gaze but resolute, the Tendo daughter refused to flinch 
away.  "Tone it down, psycho boy.  She tried to kill me too, remember?  
Doesn't mean we've got the right to knock her off in her sleep."
	The boy chuckled.  "Don't take the moral high ground with me, Nabiki 
Tendo."
	"Excuse me?"
	"When these _bastards_," he started, and he emphasized his point with 
another kick to the girl, his eyes daring Nabiki to protest, "changed back 
into people, do you think we were surprised?  You're not the only one who 
can read a newspaper.  It wasn't hard to put Ranma's fight of last night and 
today's news together."
	"You knew you were fighting people?"
	"We were prepared for that possibility."  He nodded.  "Did Ranma know?"
	She looked away guiltily.
	"Did you?"
	She sighed.  "Yeah."
	When she looked back, his countenance had lost some of its hardness.  "You 
did the right thing, Nabiki, by not telling him," he said.  After a short 
pause he added, "He's the strongest of us now," and his voice was soft.  He 
reached into the folds of his robe and pulled out a wallet.  He tossed it at 
her feet.  "I found this outside," he added.  He spared a final glance at 
the unconscious pop star before walking away.
	Mousse's words did nothing to console her.  If anything, they brought a 
sharp stab of pain to her chest, an unpleasant churn in her stomach.  After 
a long moment Nabiki picked up the wallet.  Watching the unconscious girl, 
she flipped it open.  "Well, Ayu," she said, "let's see what you've got for 
us today."


	The man called Takahashi threaded his way through the tightly packed crowd 
with the ease of frequent passage.  He pulled an unresisting Akane along by 
the hand.  Many of the patrons seemed to know him, nodding or calling out 
his name as he passed.  More than a few gave curious, angry, or envious 
glares towards the girl trailing behind, but she hardly noticed: Akane was 
too busy staring in stunned amazement at the scene playing out before her.
	Strobing lights two stories up cut bright swaths of green and blue across 
the wildly dancing throng.  They bounced and twisted in time to the 
body-shaking bass pounding out of giant speakers suspended from the ceiling 
that were barely visible through the wafts of smoke roiling overhead.  Laser 
light cast flickering images across the clouds above and the people below; a 
projector flashed stock war-footage against a screen--and the broad chest of 
the mostly-naked man dancing in front of it--set above a booth where an 
intense-looking little man listened intently to a set of puffy headphones; 
neon gleamed through transparent panels in the floor; cigarette tips flared 
red in darkened corners.  People moved in a constant stream to and from the 
dimly lit bar removed from the dance floor, or sat at the counter on 
crystalline stools illuminated from within.
	I've seen ghosts, dragons, phoenixes, giant animals and bird people, Akane 
thought, but I've never seen _this_ before.  Everywhere she looked, 
sweat-drenched bodies swayed to an unrecognizable beat she could hardly call 
music.  Arms and legs everywhere seemed interlaced, and some people were 
even . . . Those people are making out on the dance floor! Akane thought, 
quickly turning away and blushing bright red.  They're kissing in public!  
She guiltily glanced back but the couple was gone, swallowed by the shifting 
crowd.  A sudden fear gripped her and left her hot beneath her collar, 
familiar yet very different from what she had felt for most of the night.
	I'm surrounded by perverts!
	A tall, skinny man, wearing nothing but a white high-cut metal-studded 
leather bikini, sat sprawled on a plush bench alongside the dance floor, 
with a tiny girl wearing the shortest of black mini-dresses perched on his 
knee.  She had one arm thrown around his neck and tugged playfully at his 
beard as Akane passed.  A few steps further, two long-haired girls kissed 
with a passion that made Akane distinctly uncomfortable--when they came up 
for air, she realized they were both men.  The bizarre costumes and 
confusing androgyny wasn't all that shocking to her--when your fiance 
changes into a girl on a daily basis, you gain some resilience to the whole 
thing; and Ranma and his entourage had worn their share of stupid outfits 
over the years--but the whole setting and blatant exhibitionism placed 
everything in a disturbingly sordid light.
	A well-dressed man held a glass door open, and Takahashi brought her up a 
curving stairwell into a far quieter section of the bar.  The heavy beat 
filtered in as a distant thrum, and the youthful cries were cut out by heavy 
windows that looked out across the dancing crowds below.  The man slid into 
a luxurious booth next to the window, and after a hesitant pause Akane sat 
in a chair opposite him.
	"Welcome to the Underground Lounge," he said, and smiled slightly.  "Can I 
get you anything to drink?"
	Akane just stared at him.  She couldn't think of anything to say.  She sank 
deeper into the softness of the chair and felt a warm comfort seeping into 
her legs.  The pane of glass next to her head vibrated slightly.  The 
reality of the night--the unreality of the night--was catching up to her.  
The night? she thought.  Hardly.  Only an hour, if even that, but it felt so 
much longer.  From the safety of her home to--this.
	"Hey, you okay?" the man named Takahashi asked.
	She gave a quick shake of her head to help clear it.  Focus, she told 
herself.  You're not home yet, girl.  Putting aside thoughts as to how Ranma 
was going to find her, she tried to relax and gain some strength from this 
brief moment of apparent calm.  "I'm. . . ."  She realized she didn't know 
what to say.  'Fine,' certainly didn't cover it.  'Beyond terrified' didn't 
make for good conversation.  Akane didn't know what to say and somehow that 
struck her as terribly absurd at the moment, and much to her own surprise 
she laughed aloud at her own confusion.  "I'm confused!" she said, and 
giggled.
	Takahashi grinned.  "I'm sure you are."  He made a brief sweeping gesture 
that took in the room.  "First time in the Lounge's VIP room?"
	"You--you could say that, yes."
	"It's a bit quiet now, I'm afraid, though some foreign rock band is 
supposed to come by a little later.  Normally there's a pretty refined crowd 
up here."  He shrugged apologetically.  "Sorry.  Why, we even had Ayumi 
Utada a few nights ago."
	 "Um, that's okay," she absently answered, thoughts wandering back to the 
siege on her household.  It was only then that she recognized the face she 
had punched.  "I already saw her tonight."
	"I'm sure you have."
	"She wasn't as, um, beautiful in person as I'd expected."  Her face bruised 
my fist, she thought, rubbing absently at her knuckles.
	"People rarely are."
	The man made a subtle gesture, and a waitress appeared at their side.  She 
was professionally and sexily attired, and quite beautiful, her makeup 
expertly applied.  Something about the woman didn't seem quite right, and 
though Akane couldn't immediately put a finger on it, she kept a discreetly 
wary eye on the newcomer as the man placed a drink order.
	"You like our staff?" Takahashi asked, as the waitress walked away.
	Akane frowned slightly.  "That was a man, wasn't it?"
	"I'm impressed!  Most people can never tell--it's a bit of private joke, I 
suppose." His smile broadened.  "How did you know?"
	"I'm not sure," she answered, and shrugged.  "I hang out with a lot of 
perverts, I guess."  She wasn't really thinking about what she was saying, 
her eyes sliding across the room and its sparse population, finally settling 
on taking in the dancing crowd below.  "My friend's got this transvestite 
ninja waiter who's really good at. . . ."  She suddenly realized what she 
was saying and trailed off.  "Um, that is--"
	"Transvestite ninja waiter?"  He leaned back into the sofa, arms thrown 
wide across the back.  He smirked, eyes dancing with amusement.
	Nice one, Akane, she thought.  "Would you believe I hang out with an 
interesting crowd?"
	"Yes, I believe I would."
	The waiter returned and placed two drinks on the table.  Her host took a 
small sip from his, and gestured for Akane to accept the other drink.  After 
a brief hesitation she accepted, suddenly realizing how thirsty she was.  
And tired.  She wasn't physically exhausted, despite running for so long, 
but she felt emotionally and mentally drained.  It felt surreal to be 
sitting in the VIP lounge of some bar with a man she didn't know buying her 
drinks.  She had no doubt that under different circumstances, there was no 
way she'd accept.  I wouldn't normally even walk _into_ a bar like this, she 
thought.  And even if I did, this guy would probably be buying drinks for 
Ranma instead.
	She took a tentative sniff of her drink.  "What is it?"
	"Nothing too strong," he said with an absent wave of his hand.  "Enjoy."
	Akane took a small gulp, grimaced, and put it back.  "I'm sorry," she said. 
  "I can't drink this."
	Takahashi looked surprised.  "Why not?"
	"Well, there's alcohol in there, right?  I'm only eighteen, I'm underage."  
She gave a small chuckle.  "I probably shouldn't even be in here."
	The man leaned forward, elbows on knees, and looked at her speculatively 
over steepled hands.  Akane took her first good look at him, suddenly 
realizing that, with the overstimulation of the dance floor below, and the 
distraction of her first moment of relaxation and the feminine waiter, she 
had all but ignored the man.  He was quite good-looking and probably only a 
few years older that Kasumi; his clothes were stylish and expensive, even to 
her undiscerning eye.  She didn't fail to notice the latticework of fine 
spidery lines tattooed across the back of his hand, briefly glimpsed as his 
cuffs pulled back.  Takahashi was young and in good shape, and Akane finally 
noticed that behind the quick grin and bright eyes, something steely and 
hard glinted as well.
	"Maybe not," the man mused.  "See, now you have _me_ confused."
	"I do?"
	"What are you, Akane?" he asked, though his tone was rhetorical.  "I 
_thought_ you were just another role-playing little bitch trying to get in 
cheap.  The way you're dressed, I thought you were looking for a pickup, and 
I had to admit, you played the part well and looked fantastic, so I let you 
in.  I pride myself on picking the right people to create the right 
atmosphere here, and you fit in nicely; and later, I knew you'd go down on 
your knees easy, just like all the other silly cows that roll through here.
	"But you kept the wide-eyed innocent schoolgirl thing going in the club, 
and then I _thought_ you were just another silly little girl looking for a 
spot of naughty excitement.  Which was fine, too.  I'm young and rich and 
good-looking, I don't give a shit that you're underage, and the challenge of 
getting you to spread your legs would've made it all the sweeter.  I get my 
fun, and you've got a wild little story to tell your idiot friends at 
school, and life goes on.
	"Then you sit here and ignore me, you _refuse your drink_, and you keep a 
careful eye on the place and people.  But what I took for the amazement of 
an overwhelmed kid isn't, is it?  You've got the eye of a professional, 
girl, you saw right through poor Momoko, and though this is _my_ bar and 
these are _my_ people, somehow, you've got even _me_ feeling edgy.
	"So I wonder, A-Akane," he said, and the contemplative tone slipped away 
and his eyes turned dark, "who the hell are you?"
	Akane met his hard gaze unflinchingly, leaned forward, and answered in 
even, measured tones: "I _am_ just an innocent schoolgirl, Mr. Takahashi, 
and I've been having a very, very bad night, and though I appreciate you 
letting me in and buying me a drink, if you so much as try anything the 
least bit perverted, I don't care who you are or how tough you think you may 
be, I will grab you by the throat and toss you through that window."
	The man smiled coldly.  "Is that so?"
	"Yes, it is, Mr. Takahashi."  The chilliness of her own voice surprised 
her.  She had no fear of him, and an excited thrill ran through her at the 
realization.  After the events of the last few hours, this man seemed almost 
laughably mundane.  The situation was menacing, and she had no doubt that 
this man knew how to fight, and she was acutely aware of the other men and 
women hovering nearby, ready--yet all she felt was an exhilarating 
anticipation of what might come.  Between her own martial skills and Ranma's 
recent training, Akane had no doubt that she could handle whatever this man 
threw her way.
	But to her surprise, the man's expression softened, and he even gave a 
small chuckle as he relaxed into the softness of his seat.  "Well then, I 
suppose I'd better not try anything perverted!"
	Akane nodded, a little confused--and maybe even a little 
disappointed?--that the situation had been so easily defused.  Takahashi 
smiled.  "I don't know what your story is, Akane, but you've added some 
unexpected fun to my evening, and for that I thank you."  He again summoned 
a waiter over, this one an ordinary looking, if quite handsome, man.  A 
quick whispered exchange, and then he returned his attention to her.  
"You've got the full run of The Underground Lounge tonight as my guest."
	She blinked, unsure if she had heard him right.  "Really?"
	He nodded.  "Really."  He gestured towards the dancing crowd below.  "I get 
so bored, sometimes, of the usual crowd passing through here.  Like you 
wouldn't believe.  These disillusioned kids and their silly little fetishes, 
so mundane in their need to try and shock and stand out in a crowd.  So 
pathetically desperate in their chase of something they don't understand--so 
frantic to forget themselves for just a night."  Shaking his head and 
looking almost sad, he turned away from the sight.  "I've had many eager 
little bitches pass through here and I've hit them with the same sad 
routine; but you, Akane, are the most genuinely interesting woman I've met 
in a very long time."
	Takahashi shrugged and stood up and straightened his blazer with a sharp 
tug.  "Here, maybe this will help," he said, and pulling his wallet from an 
inside pocket he tossed a few crisply folded bills onto the table.  "One 
day, you'll have to tell me why you're having such a bad evening."  He 
stepped away, but at the threshold of a door marked 'staff only' he paused 
and looked back.  "In the meantime," he added, and grinned, "I simply ask 
that you try and enjoy yourself.  Go and dance, Akane, and have a drink.  
Relax!  You're so tense, you're making even me nervous."


         "I'm sorry," the man said, staring at him with some distaste, "but 
I can't let you in."  He was thin but muscular, wearing casual, 
loose-fitting clothes, and effectively blocked his entry into club Neo.  
Muffled cheers and pounding music filtered through the door.  "Especially 
looking like that, girl!  You stink as well, and besides, you'd have to pay 
just like anybody else."
	Ranma glared at the man and, chest heaving as he fought to catch his 
breath, he refrained from pounding him into a body cast.  The rooftop dash 
south from Nerima to Shibuya had left him exhausted.  There hadn't been time 
to change his clothes.  No time for hot water.  He'd even forgotten his 
wallet.  Only time for Akane.  Every moment counted, he had to find her 
before it was too late.  Back at the shattered phone booth there hadn't been 
any signs of where she had gone, but nor had there been any blood.  The last 
he had noted with considerable relief.
	"Let.  Me.  In," he gasped, panting for breath.  His gore-encrusted shirt 
hung loosely off his feminine frame, and he was aware of people pointing and 
staring and whispering; he didn't care.
	"No," the bouncer said, crossing his arms across his chest.  "Now piss off 
before I'm forced to do something drastic we'll both dislike.  We're a 
respectable club here; take your shit down to the Lounge or somewhere, 
they're more into that kind of crap."
	"I'm.  Not.  Leaving," Ranma insisted.  A few more seconds, he thought, and 
I'll catch my breath and send this jerk to the moon.
	"Hey, hurry it up, will ya?" drawled a girl from behind.  Ranma felt a poke 
from behind, annoying and insistent.  "You're holdin' up d'line, bitch," 
added a man's voice.
	Ranma spun and faced the couple with a growl.  A girl decked out in 
tiger-print clothes teetering on towering boots sneered at him insolently; 
the man, bleach-blond-haired and scrawny chest accentuated by a stretchy, 
shiny shirt, looked down at him through red-tinted shades.
	"Push off, yes?" said the girl, giving him a little shove.  "No way you're 
getting in free looking like _that_."  She took a delicate sniff.  "Or 
_smelling_ like that!  Ugh."
	After everything else, Ranma thought wearily, now I've got to deal with 
this, too?  He decided at that moment that he had, in fact, rested enough, 
and caught the girl's arm and gave a sharp pull.  With a tiny yelp the girl 
tumbled down to the ground, though he controlled her fall and she only 
received a slight bump to the rump.  "Not again," the man moaned, before 
Ranma picked him up and tossed him down next to his girlfriend..
	"I'm having a very bad night, okay?" the martial artist pronounced, his 
tone tired and harsh.  He turned back to the bouncer, who was bearing down 
on him angrily.  The man was a talented martial artist, Ranma absently 
noted, as he easily dodged what was probably intended as a debilitating kick 
to his thigh.  He slid past and lightly popped his elbow into the bouncer's 
temple.  The man went down wordlessly.
	"I'll just be a moment," he told the bouncer, and stepped into the bar.
	Lights flashed and music pounded, and Ranma ignored it all.  He scanned the 
crowd but couldn't see Akane.  Grinding his teeth in frustration, he slipped 
through the multitude of people towards a central booth.  Some guy seemed to 
be in charge there: he had headphones on and kept shouting into a 
microphone, and the whole crowd faced him as they hopped to the music's 
beat.  Some man at the door to the booth yelled something at him, but Ranma 
shoved him aside and stepped past.  A scrawny nervous-looking man of about 
his age glanced up at his approach.
	"Sorry.  No requests," he mumbled, never looking away from the record 
spinning before him.
	"I'm not making a request," Ranma answered, and put his fist through a 
machine full of dials and sliders that looked very expensive.
	The man's eyes bugged out at the destruction of his equipment.  "Ah!  No!  
Not the LPs, not the LPs!"
	Ranma grabbed him by the collar and hauled him up out of his seat.  "I just 
need to use this for a sec', 'kay?"  He grabbed the microphone.  He tapped 
it but didn't hear anything.
	"You gotta turn it on first," the man said, gently prying it out of Ranma's 
fingers.  He flicked a switch and asked, "What's your name?"
	"Ranma."
	"What kinda DJ name's that?"  The man snorted and tossed the microphone 
back.  "Wannabe."
	The pigtailed martial artist stared at him for a moment, shrugged, and gave 
the microphone another tap.  A satisfying thud resounded across the bar.  
Grasping the tool lightly in one hand, he hopped up on the DJ's counter and 
waved at the sea of upturned faces spread before him.
	"Hey, can you hear me, hey?"
	'Hey, he- he- hey?' his voice rapped, deftly mixed in between the 
still-pounding music's beat.
	"Yeah!" roared the crowd.
	Ranma glanced down and saw the DJ intently working his other board.  He 
flashed a thumbs-up and said, "You're doing fine, wannabe."
	"Will you stop doin' that?" Ranma exclaimed.
	"They're listening, no?"
	The martial artist sighed and turned back to the crowd.  "Yo, Akane, you 
out there?"
	'Yo, yo, yo!'
	"Akane?" he yelled.
	"Akane!  Akane!" roared the crowd.
	Ranma hung his head.  This wasn't getting him anywhere.  How the hell am I 
going to track her down now? he wondered.  He would have to find a phone and 
call the Tendos.  Maybe Akane had called while he was on his way here.
	He stepped down and passed the microphone back.  "Thanks."
	"No prob," the DJ said.  "Not bad for a chick.  You free tomorrow night?  
I'm working this new club, I can get you in for free, give you some 
pointers.  Hell, wear some decent threads, something tight, take a shower, 
with a rack like that you'd probably score your own gig no matter how shit 
you are."
	Ranma didn't understand a word of what he said and considered smacking him 
on general principle, but settled for ignoring the creep.  He cleared the 
crowd with an easy jump (eliciting 'ohs' and 'ahs', and a few lusty stares 
as his top flared open) and stormed out of the club.  The bouncer was still 
staring up at the sky with swirling eyes.  The martial artist felt a 
momentary pang of guilt as he saw the idiot from earlier consoling his 
sobbing girlfriend.
	"It's not fair!" she said.
	"There, there," the boy said, patting her back, and fired a nasty glare 
Ranma's way.
	"The schoolgirl was bad enough, but the smelly girl, too?"
	"I know, I know."
	Ranma took a surreptitious sniff of himself as he passed and had to 
reluctantly agree.  Then the rest of the girl's words connected and he froze 
in his tracks.  He turned back to the unfortunate couple.
	"Schoolgirl?" he asked.


	The girl in the bathroom mirror was tired and dirty.  Too-tight school 
uniform ripped, face smudged with sweat and grime, expression harried, eyes 
dull: I look terrible, Akane thought, and sighed.  She made some nominal 
efforts to straighten herself out.  After running some water in the sink she 
splashed her face, then tried to straighten out her stolen clothes.  With a 
few attempts she even managed to tie the ribbon in front into a proper bow.  
But when she checked herself in the mirror again, little had changed: she 
was still tired and depressed, and still didn't know what to do next.
	Akane stared deep into her own eyes and asked, "What do I do now?"  The 
brown eyes reflected back held an answer she didn't want to accept.  The 
realization of what she had to do had been brewing for some time now in the 
back of her mind, ever since she had broken away from the dueling swordsmen. 
  No matter how much she poked at her hair or preoccupied herself with tying 
her ribbon perfectly, the harsh truth was becoming impossible to deny.
	"I can't go home," she whispered to herself, staring sightlessly into the 
mirror.
	Her knees felt weak, and she leaned heavily against the bathroom counter.  
Dampened music made itself dully heard from beyond in what seemed, at the 
moment, an entirely different world.  There were the rooms outside, filled 
with perverts and couples and people having fun--whether relaxed or out of 
desperation, as Mr. Takahashi suggested, seemed irrelevant.  Their lives 
were ordinary.  After the initial shock of the crowd wore away, Akane 
recognized how normal these people were, beyond the bizarre surface 
trappings they wrapped themselves in when they came to this place.  Once the 
sun rose and they staggered out into the brightly lit rubbish-lined streets, 
reality would forcefully reassert itself.  Whatever illusion they had 
crafted around tonight would fade along with the night's chill, and they 
would wander back to their jobs, schools, boyfriends. . . .
	But for me, Akane thought grimly, it's all horribly real, and if I wander 
back home I'll just be putting my friends and family in danger again.  The 
youngest Tendo stared deep into the mirror and beyond it she saw her 
friends, wounded; her family, bloodied; and Ranma, wrapped in coils of 
darkness that burned coldly into his skin and carried him to the threshold 
of death.  What frightened her most at that moment was the realization that 
he _would_ die to protect her; it was more responsibility than she could 
bear.  She had to flee, as much from these things pursuing her as from her 
friends who wanted to defend her.
	"Where can I go?" she asked herself.
	"Back to the dance floor," answered an amused voice, snapping Akane out of 
her introspection.  A tall, attractive girl stepped up to the counter next 
to her, and flashed a quick smile.  The sound of flushing water rang from an 
opened stall behind them.  "You don't want to spend the night staring at 
yourself, right?"
	"Um, yeah.  I mean, no," Akane stammered.
	The girl opened her purse and leaning towards the mirror, and started 
touching up her makeup.  "No worries, no worries," she said.  The woman 
glanced aside before dabbing at her lips with a small brush.  She pursed 
them, gave a small nod of satisfaction, and shrugged.  "You on mushrooms?  
No offense, but you look it.  Some fresh air might help."
	"No--I haven't eaten anything," she answered, wondering why she'd want to 
eat mushrooms.  She didn't trust them: you never knew when a piece of fungus 
might revert you to the age of a six-year-old.
	"Fair enough, fair enough."  The woman patted at her face a bit, carefully 
examining for minor imperfections.  She was sexily, but nothing too 
outrageous; Akane could imagine Nabiki wearing something similar (though not 
herself) and looking just as good if not better.  Akane watched her for a 
moment longer then turned back to the mirror.  Her own attempts at improving 
her appearance now seemed pathetically ineffectual.  The stranger's hair 
fell in sleek, straight lines; when Akane tried to smooth down her own, it 
sprang back into matted coils, held there by sweat and dirt and caked blood.
	"I hope they appreciate the effort," the girl said, smiling as if they were 
sharing some conspiratorial secret.  "I have to admit, you sure went all 
out, didn't you?"
	Akane blinked.  "Me?"
	"Oh, don't be so modest!" the other girl said.  "You did an awesome job!  I 
mean, sure, the school thing is, like, so passe, but what you did--wow.  
Perfect.  I've never seen the 'anime ravaged schoolgirl' thing done with 
such style.  You smudged your makeup just right!  And those rips in the 
sleeve--le coup de grace!"
	The ravaged schoolgirl looked in the mirror again and thought, I look like 
crap.
	"You'll be fighting them off with a stick," the girl said, snapping her 
purse shut and stepping away.  "Just one piece of advice: you want to _look_ 
like you've just run through an animated hell, fighting for your life," she 
said, and gave a small sniff.  "But you don't want to _smell_ like it, too." 
  The bathroom door, after giving way to a short blast of bass-intensive 
music, swung shut behind the woman.
	Shaking her head in bemusement, she returned to her contemplation at the 
mirror.  Try as she might, she couldn't think of what to do next.  She 
should call home--she had the money now, the crisp bills handed to her by 
Takahashi adding up to a very generous forty-five thousand yen--but was 
reluctant to do so.  She so wanted to go home, and her tenuous resolve to 
stay away might easily break.  I have to run, Akane decided, it doesn't 
matter where right now, I've just got to get out of Shibuya and find 
somewhere isolated, somewhere I can't be found.
	"Don't you just hate them," another girl next to her asked, her tone 
rhetorical.  Akane glanced aside, and was surprised to see that the girl 
next to her was pregnant.  Painted-on tight black Capri pants fell far short 
of covering her swollen belly, and the silvery tank top, stretched taut 
across voluptuous breasts, also proved far too short and merely accentuated 
the belly that bulged out the remaining gap.  Short spiky bleached hair, 
brightly colored make-up, platform heels: the girl seemed set for a fun 
night out, though Akane had trouble imagining her dancing at such an 
obviously late stage of pregnancy.
	"Excuse me?" Akane asked.
	"Those pathetically vacuous girls.  So self-absorbed, so snide and venomous 
and hurtful, so focused on their appearance, so devoid of depth--poke a hole 
through their expertly made-up faces and they're empty inside, you know, 
nothing but dust and shadows."
	"Um, if you say so," Akane answered.
	"But you know better, don't you?" the girl said, staring coolly at her.  
"You've got depth, I bet.  You've got something beautiful hidden inside, 
don't you?  I could waste all night tearing those others open--I could rip 
those gorgeous faces off and slash those perfect breasts and pull out coil 
after coil from their bulimic guts, and you know what--there's nothing 
there!  Nothing nothing nothing!"
	"I think I better be going now," Akane said, backing away slowly.
	"But you're not empty, are you, girl?" the woman insisted, her voice rising 
in pitch as she took a heavy step towards her.  "You've got something 
_wonderful_ inside, something precious, don't you?"  As the woman advanced 
she changed, her skin graying and drooping, eyes sinking deeper into her 
emaciated face; and even as her body shrank and withered and arced as her 
spine curved back on itself, her belly swelled grotesquely huge.  "You're 
like me!  We both have something beautiful inside!"
	The bloated stomach ripped and burst open like a pus-filled boil suddenly 
lanced; and Akane had a brief glimpse of gray-fleshed fetuses leaping at 
her, sharp fangs gnashing wetly.  With a terrified scream she turned and 
ran, the wailing of newborns following closely.


	Withered hands carried the simple unadorned cup to a face lined with years 
and worries.  She took a long, slow drink and sighed appreciatively as the 
hot tea sent tendrils of soothing warmth to exhausted limbs.  Cologne closed 
her eyes, the subtle taste lingering in her mouth briefly recalling 
half-formed memories of another place, another time; and then she brought 
herself back to the moment and nodded silently in approval to the tall woman 
kneeling opposite her.
	Kasumi gave a small nod of her own, a half-smile that suggested genuine 
pleasure at her tea being well received.  The girl seemed blissfully 
untouched by the night's events, nor by the aftermath's bloody cleanup or 
the authorities' cursory visit; somehow, even her clothes were unstained.  
Yet to the Amazon matriarch's knowledgeable eye, there was the slightest of 
shadows across the Tendo's daughter's features suggestive of an unchallenged 
faith newly tested.
	"You must be tired," Kasumi said, gently placing her cup down.  "It has 
been a long night for you."
	Cologne smiled wryly.  "For all of us."
	"Indeed," added Nodoka.
	The Amazon matriarch kept her features carefully neutral.  "But especially 
for you," she said.  "I did not expect you to return so quickly from the 
hospital."
	The redheaded woman--Cologne could see where Ranma's cursed form got its 
appearance--gave a slight shrug.  "After they took him into the operating 
room and I filled out a few forms, the staff said there was nothing I could 
do."  A sudden far-off look overtook her.  "I had forgotten how masculine a 
man Genma is," she said wistfully, and then smiled broadly.  "I'm sure he'll 
be fine!"
	"I hope so as well," the older woman said, and nodded.  "Indeed, by all 
accounts your husband's heroism may well have saved us all."
	"And my son's heroism as well," Nodoka insisted, eyes gleaming with a hard 
light.  "The way he avenged his father's defeat: truly a manly reaction!"
	"Of course," she agreed in an even voice.  A disturbingly violent vengeance 
by everyone else's telling, Cologne thought.  There would be a terrible 
reckoning for his actions.  Ranma was not the type to indulge in such bloody 
deeds and not feel remorse afterwards.  She saw the savage pain that briefly 
seized him upon learning their enemies had been human.  Only the 
interruption of Akane's phone call had saved him from that guilt.  No, not 
saved: displaced.  Once everything quieted down, the boy would have an 
entirely new battle to face.  And if women like his mother were the only 
figures he could turn to. . . .  The old woman took a deep breath and closed 
her eyes against an unexpected stab of pain and sadness.
	"Are you okay?" asked the eldest Tendo sister in a tentative voice.
	Cologne nodded.  "Yes."
	"Are you wounded?"
	The Amazon smile was self-deprecating.  "A little."
	That obsidian man: whomever or whatever he was, she had never fought an 
enemy quite like him.  His strength and speed were formidable--beyond hers, 
she had to admit ruefully.  Sitting in quiet contemplation with a cup of 
warm tea cradled between her gnarled hands, she had to accept that he had 
toyed with her.  In moments of bitterness she could blame her loss on age, 
on the ravages of time.  Held balanced between the elation of hard-earned 
victory and the despair of near-loss, as she was now, she enjoyed a brief 
moment of thoughts crystalline clear, devoid of egotism and self-lies--and 
she accepted that even at her physical peak, she could not have challenged 
the obsidian monster.  Her opponent had enjoyed playing with her and, like a 
cat soon bored with a mauled mouse, tossed her aside in the end.  Only his 
arrogance had allowed her to escape a far worse fate than a mere battering 
of body and ego.
	But Son-in-law!  Her lips twitched into a smile of reluctant admiration.  
Ranma!  The power the boy had exhibited there in the end!  She had heard 
from her granddaughter of his deeds in China against Saffron, but how the 
telling paled compared to the reality.  How many warriors had she met, 
capable of such feats?  Very few.  At his age?  A handful.
	And to think that some of that handful was asleep in this very room.  Her 
granddaughter and her friends, truly among the best martial artists of their 
generation.  Their accomplishments went beyond anything she could have 
hoped.  That thick-headed boy, Ryouga: by Mousse's account, he had exploded 
the chest of their enemy with the same Blasting Point Technique she had 
taught him so long ago.  An impossibility!  Dead tissue wasn't 'dead', not 
in the way cold stone was: the Amazon technique should have done nothing.  
Yet it had.  And Ranma: that idiot, stupid boy had had the temerity, the 
arrogance, the strength of will to try and emulate the technique of a 
god--and succeed!
	For a moment the old woman felt a shiver of fright.  These youths, these 
_children_: so young and immature, and yet running around with such power.  
But then her fear subsided and she felt an uncharacteristic swell of pride.  
She had trained these martial artists, and in some way their accomplishments 
were her own.  She had abandoned her own village and people to be here, yet 
knew this was where she was needed.  It was where she wanted to be.  Cologne 
sensed she was poised at the cusp of something momentous: and these 
undisciplined, prideful, idiotic, beautiful children were at the center of 
it.
	"Will you be okay?" Kasumi asked.
	"Yes," Cologne answered.


	Akane Tendo ran hard and fast through the crowded streets of Shibuya, 
knocking alcohol-slowed salarymen and fashion-crippled teenaged girls aside 
as they blocked her way.  When she glanced back she still imagined 
gray-fleshed abortions scrabbling along the ground in pursuit, bloated 
little arms carrying them quickly forward, withered legs trailing uselessly, 
slimy glistening umbilical cords, unformed lips curled, sharp-pointed teeth, 
and their cat-like yowls echoing like the wailing of a dozen 
feverishly-starved young.  Again, her heart thudding against her chest; a 
pulse-pounding dash through snaking back streets, pachinko parlor flashing 
lights and love hotel neon wash a luminous cascade across her vision, slow 
warm burn growing in thighs and chest as she rushed past multitudinous 
blurred faces that briefly loomed--surprised, shocked, amused, dazed--and 
slid past, gone, left behind as she raced deeper into the heart of the ward. 
  The city was utterly silent, the people voiceless, the cars mute, the 
shops quiet.  All she heard was the furious beating of her own heart and the 
hot heaving of her own breath, and the incessant twisting of her inner voice 
as frightened desperate thoughts turned in on themselves.
	She burst onto a main road into an even thicker throng of people surging 
past, a nonstop flow of cars beyond them; and with a sudden deafening roar 
sound returned to her, slamming into her with all the physicality of a 
concrete wall.  She stopped and gasped and, momentarily stunned, stumbled 
over to a building and clutched at the corner as if trying to keep from 
being swept away.
	Shit shit shit shit, Akane thought, gasping for breath, blinking against 
tears springing to her eyes.  That woman!  Those things!  I can't do this--I 
can't, not alone, where's Ranma, those things were _babies_, they were. . . 
oh shit, shit!  She felt like retching, she couldn't remember ever being so 
frightened in her life, she felt like curling up into a tight ball and 
hiding at that street corner, she wanted to squeeze into a crack in the 
pavement and disappear until morning, when the bright sunshine would banish 
these dark things and friends would come save her and everything would be 
fine, like they were yesterday, just Ranma and her at the park talking. . . 
.
	Except that even then Ranma had been on guard, watching for enemies by day; 
and Mousse and Shampoo had almost been killed in broad daylight; and the 
park was on the other side of Tokyo; and the stupid jerk was _never_ as nice 
to her in person as she liked to imagine; and, and . . . .  And the 
absurdity of her indignant anger somehow cut through the fear, and she 
giggled--though with a ragged, desperate edge to her laugh that somehow 
brought Kodachi Kunou to mind.  The thought of the lunatic gymnast--whatever 
happened to her, she wondered, I'll have to ask Kunou--also struck her as 
funny-- leotard and ribbon against these monsters chasing her--and that 
carried another laugh to her lips, and another, except now it sounded more 
like wracking sobs than laughter. . . .
	Akane lost track of time as she struggled between tears and laughter and 
gasping for air, leaning heavily against the side of the building, still 
lost, still alone.  But she quickly caught her breath, and the tears dried, 
and the urge to giggle subsided.  I'm okay, she told herself.  I can still 
do this.  Akane took a deep breath and opened her eyes.
	A large crowd surrounded her, staring with a mix of concern and curiosity.  
A young girl of around her age tentatively reached out.  "Are--are you 
okay?"
	It was amazing how quickly one could go from 'deathly afraid' to 
'embarrassed to death'.  Akane flushed a bright fiery red and smiled 
nervously before her unintended audience.  "I'm. . . ah, I'm fine, thank 
you!" she exclaimed, her voice squeaky.  "Um. . . and you?"
	The girl looked at her oddly.  "I'm fine."
	"Good!  Then we're all fine!"
	"Ooookay," the girl added and, shaking her head, she drifted away.
	People resumed walking, and soon Akane found herself standing alone at the 
corner.  She looked around in an attempt to orient herself.  Buildings 
reached high around her, steel and concrete fingers stabbing at the murky 
sky overhead; and brilliant signs everywhere sent shadows scuttling into the 
narrow alleys between buildings.  Skyscrapers loomed against the night, 
imposing brethren to the commercial fashion outlets around her.  To her 
surprise she recognized one of them.  To her left and further along the 
road, the massive Tokyu Department store sat where the way split in two.  
She heard a sudden roar and clacking sound--a subway rushing into a nearby 
station--and Akane suddenly oriented herself: this was Bunkamura Street, 
which led to the main Shibuya train station.  In less than an hour she could 
be home!
	Without further hesitation she stepped into the flow of people and let it 
carry her forward.  She took comfort in the bustle and press of people 
around her.  Moving with the crowd, she followed the road toward the JR 
station.  She walked quickly, eyes alert, trying to blend in while remaining 
attentive to her surroundings.  Surely the crowd would react if someone or 
something tried to attack?
	With her heart pounding in nervous anticipation, Akane stopped at a red 
light.  She was directly across from the train station.  She scanned the 
mass of people but saw nothing that struck her as suspicious.  Five roads 
met and released their human traffic at this single intersection, the 
busiest in Tokyo.  The sound and bustle of so many people was nearly 
overwhelming.  She felt a light buzzing across her brain, like a prelude to 
a headache.  A solid wall of people waited across the road, impatient as the 
flow of cars and taxis roared by.  Akane glanced up, distracted by a giant 
video screen set above a second-floor Starbucks; she smiled without humor at 
the latest Ayumi Utada video being played there.
	The light before her changed.  Green: go.  She resisted the urge to run 
across the street.  The human swell poured out across the half-dozen 
pedestrian crossings simultaneously.  Akane moved with the flow.  I'm almost 
there, she thought.  I'm almost there.
	A sudden movement to her side, aggressive.  Flash of metal, neon gleam: by 
instinct she twisted aside.  Too slowly.  Someone slammed into her, and the 
jarring impact knocked her out of the comforting stream of people.  She 
stumbled into the street.  Recovering with desperate speed, she tried to 
keep space between her and her surprise attacker.  Akane stepped back, into 
the very center of the intersection.  Everywhere she looked, unseeing people 
walked quickly in straight lines across the streets, forming shifting walls 
surrounding her.  She turned desperately but saw no escape, and even the 
towering buildings stabbing upwards seemed encircling, entrapping.  From the 
flow of people stepped tall men bearing large swords, and their armor 
glinted as flowing cloaks fell aside.
	"This is as far as you go, girl," pronounced the lead man, and she 
recognized him from before: Yamashita.  Three men followed, forming a 
semi-circle behind him.  "There'll be no escape for you this time."
	"Why don't you leave me alone!" Akane screamed at them.  Somewhere deep 
inside, a deep fury suddenly ignited beneath the overwhelming fear she felt.
	"You should listen to her," a dry voice called out, and from behind another 
man she recognized stepped from the crowd: Takeshi.  Others walked behind 
him, weapons drawn.  They waited protectively at his side, mirroring the men 
standing opposite.
	"You won't stop me again," Yamashita spat.
	"Really?"  Takeshi gestured toward the encircling wall of pedestrians.  "In 
just over sixty seconds the lights are going to change.  Your little 
sorceries might blind these people to our presence, but they won't do much 
against a Honda Civic.  I don't have to beat you, Yamashita, I just have to 
hold you off for a single short minute."
	The men glared at each other across the open space.  The cacophony of 
voices seemed almost subdued here in the middle of the intersection, the 
unexpected eye of an urban tornado.  A strange calm settled over Akane as 
she watched these men argue over her fate.  Her fear abated slightly; her 
anger continued to grow.
	"There's a statue over there," Yamashita began, the tone of his voice 
nearly conversational though he spoke quickly, each word pronounced 
succinctly.  "It's called Hachiko, and it's in honor of a dog.  The story 
goes that a foreign teacher used to live here, and would take the train to 
work every day.  His dog would accompany him to the station, and loyally 
await his return at night.  One day, the man died while away.  He never came 
back.  But Hachiko waited.  He waited for days and weeks for his master to 
return.  But of course the man never did, and eventually the dog died, loyal 
until the end.
	"Trust us Japanese to reward such blind faith with a statue.  But we of the 
three Orders, we're no different, are we?  We're no better than some stupid 
dog.  For centuries we have loyally fought for and awaited the return of 
something long dead and gone!  Those to whom we're pledged are dead, 
Takeshi!  Our Orders are enslaved to a dream, a fantasy, an impossibility.  
We've kept our promises for long enough--it is time for us to break away 
from the past and embrace what we've forged here in the present!"
	Akane braced herself.  She could see the men opposite her tense for a 
charge.  Less than thirty seconds before the light changed.
	"Still trying to justify your betrayal, Yamashita?" Takeshi shouted back.  
"Who are you trying to convince: yourself or me?"
	Yamashita's visage twisted in rage.  He shouted in a language Akane 
couldn't understand.  With a fierce yell he charged, his men closely 
following; Takeshi and his companions echoed his cry as they leapt forward 
to meet the attack.  Caught in the middle, Akane awaited her chance to break 
away.
	An unearthly shriek from above rang out.  Akane leapt aside as something 
grotesque and spider-like landed where she had been standing.  She scrambled 
away and recognized her attacker, and her stomach tightened in renewed 
fright: the pregnant woman from the Underground Lounge.
	"For the Father!" it shrieked, and its swollen belly burst open and 
disgorged its hideous offspring.  Tiny gnashing figures snarled and wailed 
as they leapt at the men.  Akane lashed out with a kick and her foot 
impacted with something soft and fleshy; and even as she stepped down she 
was pushing away, rushing towards her human attackers.  An enormous blade 
whistled overhead as she ducked and slipped past an unknown young man, and 
with a deft step she hooked his rear leg and sent him sprawling.  She 
ignored the man's scream as a gray bloated figure latched onto his head.  
Akane fled into the crowd.
	She spared a glance back.  Yamashita and Takeshi were standing back to 
back, fighting in unison against their monstrous fetal attackers.  There was 
another creature in their midst, something tall and gangly with far too many 
limbs, against whom the armored men were combating together.  Maybe they'll 
take each other out, she thought without much hope, turning away and 
resuming her run toward the station.  She shoved her way past protesting 
people.  A tall, freckled young schoolgirl yelled angrily at her, her green 
school uniform flaring out as Akane knocked her down.
	"Watch it!"
	"Sorry!" Akane muttered, pushing her way through the girl's friends.  She 
emerged from the crowd onto the street on the side of the station.  Only 
then did she realize that she hadn't seen the pregnant woman when she'd 
first glanced back.
	Instinct again saved her as she dove forward and slid across the concrete 
floor.  With a hiss the woman landed, body still curved impossibly back, 
bulging abdomen held high, spider-like, head hanging down between claw-like 
limbs.  This time the crowd reacted: with loud screams of terror and fright, 
people scattered and fled.  The creature hissed as Akane flipped to her 
feet.  Its belly pulsed and squirmed unnaturally as it crept towards her.
	Instead of fleeing or freezing up in terror, Akane suddenly felt her anger 
overwhelm her fear, and with a loud scream of rage she charged.  The 
creature spat something wet and green at her, and Akane leaned aside and 
narrowly avoided it; and rapidly closing, she slammed one fist down with the 
power of a sledgehammer into its bulbous stomach.  "Leave!" Akane shrieked, 
kicking one foot into its dangling head.  "Me!"  Another punch, and another, 
her full strength thudding into the creature's side with shuddering impact.  
"Alone!"  With a final yell she unleashed the strongest kick she could 
muster, and the woman went flying back into the wall.  Breathing heavily, 
she watched as it slumped to the ground. . .
	. . . only to quickly rise again, unhurt.
	Akane smiled wanly.  "Um, sorry about that?" she stammered, and turned and 
ran, the creature scuttling quickly after her.  People scattered out of her 
way, screaming as they caught sight of the thing behind.  In desperation 
Akane slowed enough to knock display stands and vending machines over in her 
wake, and was briefly rewarded as it halted to avoid the crash of machinery. 
  Then it leapt to the wall and continued its pursuit, effortlessly sticking 
to the vertical surface.
	A loud roar overhead: the sound of an arriving train.  Akane dashed deeper 
into the station.  Chaos erupted as the monster followed.  There: an exit 
leading up to the train's platform.  Without hesitation she ran for the 
stairs, hopping over an obstructing turnbuckle.  She took the steps four at 
a time.  She could feel the thing snapping at her heels.  Her breath caught 
in her throat, heart hammering an impossible beat.  She reached the top of 
the stairs with a final jump.  Planting her feet solidly, she twisted, arms 
held high.  She hammered a blind, fierce double-handed blow down at the 
monster.  Her fists connected solidly even as it leapt at her with reaching 
claws.  With a squeal it fell back, hitting the stairs hard and tumbling 
back down.
	Akane ran for the train.  It waited with open doors.  She was vaguely aware 
of a whistle ringing out, of an amplified voice calling for final boarding.  
With rapidly dwindling energy she dashed onto the train.  The doors remained 
open behind her.  Back at the platform, she saw her pursuer emerge at the 
top of the stairs.
	"Close!" Akane screamed at the doors.  "Close!"
	The monster rushed the train.  The doors slid shut.  The woman slammed 
against them.  There was a brief moment before the train jerked into motion 
in which her opponent uncurled, standing up on two feet and returning to an 
almost-human appearance.  The same spiky-haired face that had spoken to her 
in the bathroom pressed up against the Plexiglas window.
	"I want you," the woman mouthed, and though her face was human, wildly 
rolling eyes over bared teeth revealed an animalistic hunger.  The train 
pulled away.
	Akane collapsed onto a seat.  Only once her hurried breathing and pounding 
heart subsided did she realize that she was shaking, and that blood pooled 
at her feet.


	"Are you still at it?" asked Mousse.
	"What do you care?" Nabiki answered, stepping lightly around her prone 
captive.  She eyed the new angle speculatively.  No good.  It was hard to 
capture the passive charm of the unconscious pop star without accentuating 
the massive quantity of rope binding her.  Sleeping beauty: yes.  Kinky 
languid sexuality and minor bondage: sure, why not?  Seventeen-year-old girl 
battered into unconsciousness and wrapped in ten kilos of rope: not most 
people's idea of a turn on.  Nabiki allowed the camera to drop to her side.  
She pinched at the bridge of her nose and sighed.
	Mousse stepped into the dojo.  "I don't," he said, but then began to circle 
the incapacitated model, his eyes half-concealed behind the moonlight gleam 
of his lenses.  He cocked his head once, took a few steps back, and then 
moved a little to the side.  He crouched.  "Here.  Try it from here."
	Nabiki frowned.  "Why should I?"
	"I have an eye for this kind of thing," he answered in a dry voice.
	She allowed a bark of laughter to escape.  "You?"
	Mousse stood up.  "Don't, then."
	Nabiki shrugged and assumed his position.  She cast a critical eye at her 
subject, and then again through her camera.  After a brief hesitation she 
snapped a few pictures.
	"You'll find," the Chinese martial-artist said, "that you're better aligned 
with your secondary light source--that florescent lamp dangling from the 
wall opposite you.  It's a bit flat and unflattering, like all your Japanese 
lights, but the moonlight shining in through the broken ceiling helps soften 
it a bit.  Along with that softer light over _there_, you've got a crude 
three-point lighting scheme going."  He chuckled.  "Well, not really, but it 
will do.  You _are_ using black and white film, I assume?"
	She arched an eyebrow.  "Er, yeah.  Special occasion, right?  Of course I 
am."
	"Good."  He stepped in behind her and joined her crouch.  "See, from here 
the sweep of her hair helps conceal most of her bondage.  Along with the 
hard shadows from that light, it's more hinted at than obvious.  True, the 
angle is from the rear and we mostly see her back, but there's a flash of 
bare shoulder there, and her cheekbone is also highlighted in profile 
_there_, and a nice sweep of her neck as the head lolls back.  See?"  He 
pointed out the areas as he mentioned them.  "Framed right, you can even 
catch a glimpse of her tied hands.  The tight ropes at her wrist are a nice 
touch for the proper audience."
	Nabiki slowly lowered her camera.  "Since when did _you_ become an amateur 
photographer?"
	"I'm not," he said, standing.  "I prefer to paint."
	"To paint?"
	"Does that surprise you?  Unlike someone we both know, I feel a martial 
artist needs to be a rounded individual, expressing himself creatively 
through more than a single form."
	"I didn't know that," she said, regaining her feet.
	"There's a lot about me you don't know, Nabiki Tendo."
	"I bet Shampoo loves your paintings."
	"Sadly," he said, a hint of misery creeping into his voice, "she's broken 
every single painting I've made of her over my head."
	"A pity."
	"She doesn't appreciate the effort and timing required to paint her while 
she's asleep and unmoving for some length of time," he said, shaking his 
head sadly.  "My beautiful Shampoo is a very energetic girl."
	"I bet she is," replied Nabiki dryly.
	"Why do you take all these photos, anyway?" he asked.  "I've noticed you 
doing it to others, too."
	"Well. . . okay.  Take Ranma.  You've seen some of the calendars?"
	"Yes.  Shampoo's got one," he said distastefully.
	"The money off that's decent and all, but that's not why I do it.  The 
family's not _that_ hard off.  But the boy is just _way_ too full of 
himself.  I figure I'm helping him by toying with his ego a bit."  She 
smiled; her first, she realized, since everything had gone crazy.  "Besides, 
it's good for _endless_ hours of amusement."  Then she smirked and added, 
"And the pocket change is nice, too."
	"I bet it is."
	"But in this case," Nabiki continued, gesturing towards the unconscious 
Ayumi Utada, "I'm doing it for money.  My house was flattened, Mousse, worse 
than any of Ranma's psycho friends ever managed.  That's just not cool.  I 
might be playing way out of my league here, but I don't care: I've got one 
of the hottest stars in Japan tied at my feet, and even if it sinks her 
career, some quality 'unauthorized' photographs should go a long way towards 
paying for these damages."
	Mousse nodded but didn't answer, impassively staring at the unconscious 
girl.  Nabiki remembered him kicking their prisoner earlier.  Most of his 
bitterness and anger now seemed gone, leaving only bland curiosity.  He 
swayed slightly as he stood, and she realized the boy was far beyond 
exhaustion.
	"You should get some sleep," she suggested.
	He nodded again but continued watching the girl.
	"Mousse?"
	"Aren't you curious?" he asked.  "She's an attractive enough girl.  You say 
she's very popular here across Japan.  Why would she choose to turn into one 
of the things we've fought tonight?"
	"Who knows?  We don't even know if it's something she 'chose'.  I was 
hoping to find something in her wallet, but no luck."
	"Nothing at all?"
	"Hey, what do you want?  Her 'Evil Fiend Registration Card'?  The best I 
got was her driver's license.  That and some money, a few receipts, credit 
cards--pretty ordinary stuff."  She slipped the license out of her pocket.  
"She's twenty years old, 54 kilos, and 160 centimeters tall, for what it's 
worth, and born in Tokushima prefecture."  Nabiki chuckled.  "Sounds like 
the farmer's daughter's done good for herself--well, aside from the whole 
ravenous-demonic-spider thing, that is."
	Looking up, however, she realized Mousse wasn't listening.  Instead, he was 
roughly pulling the girl across the floor.
	"What the hell are you doing?"
	"I heard her moan," he said.  "She's coming to."  With a final shove he 
propped her up against a wall.  The girl released another soft moan, and her 
eyes fluttered.  Nabiki quickly joined the Chinese boy.  They waited for 
their captive to wake up.  She hoped they might finally receive some 
answers.
	Ayumi Utada's eyes opened.


	Ranma stormed out of the bar, angry and frustrated.  Akane had been here.  
The Underground Lounge was a chaotic disaster.  People were gibbering about 
giant furless rats and screaming babies.  Judging by the rest of the night, 
it sounded like something his fiancee must have left in her wake.	That was 
less than twenty minutes ago, Ranma thought.  Where would she have gone?  If 
something had been in close pursuit, she would have had to flee on foot, 
which meant he still had a chance to overtake her--but which way?  He 
scanned the surrounding streets.  Which way, he asked himself, would an 
uncute thick-headed tomboy go?
	Please be okay, Akane. . . . .
	He noticed a phone booth across the street and, with no other ideas, jogged 
over to it.  A moment's searching didn't turn up any coins on his person.  
With a shrug, he popped his fist through the hard plastic casing of the 
phone and ripped the side open.  Coins showered out.  He snagged a couple, 
slipping them into his pocket, and slid a hundred yen into the slot.  He 
called the Tendos.
	"Hello?" answered Kasumi after a few rings.
	"Kasumi, it's me."  He nearly winced at the sound of his own woman's voice: 
weary, desperate.
	"Oh, my!  Ranma?  Where are you?"
	"I'm still in Shibuya.  I haven't found Akane.  Has she called or 
anything?"
	"I'm sorry, but she hasn't.  Oh, I sure hope she's okay."
	Suddenly feeling guilty for further worrying the oldest sister, he tried to 
soften his voice.  "I'm sure she is, Kasumi.  Akane's a tough girl.  Listen, 
I have to keep. . . ."
	"One second, Ranma.  Mousse wants to talk to you."
	There was a sound of the phone being passed along.  Ranma wondered why the 
Chinese boy would want to talk to him.  He looked around as he waited, 
watching the people as they passed by.
	"Ranma?  This is Mousse."
	"Hey, man, what's up?  Listen, I'm in a bit of a hurry--"
	Mousse cut him off.  "Our captive is awake."
	"We have a captive?"
	"Shut up, will you?  She had interesting things to say.  About who she is, 
and the man she follows.  This is important.  These people, there are a lot 
of them, they are part of some kind of family calling themselves--"
	But Ranma wasn't listening.  Eyes wide, he stared across the street at a 
man staring back at him.  The martial artist recognized the man; he had seen 
him twice before.  Standing outside Akane's door the night all this began, 
and again after defeating--no, killing--the first of these creatures.  The 
man stood a full head taller than most of the people who walked by, hands 
sunk deep into the pockets of his long coat.  Long blond hair made him 
conspicuous among the crowd, yet nobody seemed to take notice of him as they 
flowed around and past.  When the man seemed assured that Ranma had noticed 
him, one side of his mouth twitched into a smirk.  He nodded once and then 
turned away and disappeared into a side street.
	"Hey, idiot, are you listening to me?" came Mousse's angry voice.
	"Gotta go," Ranma said, dropping the receiver and leaping after the man 
named Gabriel.


	This, Akane thought, is embarrassing.
	The sound of ripping fabric sounded obnoxiously loud to her ears as she 
tore another strip off the skirt of her stolen uniform.  Not that anyone 
reacted or said anything.  The other passengers sharing the late-night train 
kept their attention fixedly elsewhere.  Well, almost everyone.  One 
foreigner kept taking surreptitious wide-eyed glances at her, and she 
thought she'd glanced a camcorder in the rolled up magazine of a nearby 
salaryman.  Perverts, she growled to herself.  Aside from her covert 
audience, heads buried into newspapers or oversized manga magazines 
pointedly ignored her as she formed makeshift bandages for her injured side.
	When I clobbered that thing, she thought, it must have slashed me with one 
of its claws.  A jagged line across her ribs bled insistently, pain lancing 
across her chest if she twisted too quickly.  That thing almost got me, she 
realized.  Somewhere deep inside she knew she ought to be chilled by the 
fact, but Akane somehow felt numb to the reality.  I almost got killed, she 
told herself, and then shrugged.  It's hardly the first time.
	And I doubt it'll be the last time, she added morosely.
	Akane tried to preserve a modicum of modesty but her clothes left little to 
the imagination.  She tore off the bottom part of her blouse--leaving her 
midriff bare--and wadded it up into a rough compress.  A crude bandage made 
from the shreds of her skirt kept it tied securely in place.  She gave the 
knot at her opposing side a final tug and nodded in satisfaction.  Letting 
her shirt fall back--and trying to ignore the way it draped off her breasts, 
falling far short of her navel--she flopped back into her seat.  There.  
That'll do.  It'll have to.
	Once she had a moment to relax, she realized she had no idea where the 
train was headed.  It didn't really matter, of course: anywhere was better 
than being on the train platform with that swollen-bellied monster.  The map 
over the exit told Akane that she was on the Yamanote line.  It circled 
through the heart of Tokyo, and if she waited long enough it would 
eventually bring her right back to Shibuya.  A glance out the window 
confirmed she was moving clockwise and heading north.
	What a night, she thought.  Akane wondered if she was slipping into shock.  
She felt curiously numb and relaxed inside.  Aside from a slight buzzing 
headache and the pain in her side, she was fine, the burn of exhaustion 
draining from her legs and chest even as she rested.  With that rest came 
the freedom to think about her situation.
	Where am I going to go? she asked herself.
	If she got off the train on one of the northern stations along the loop, 
she could catch a separate line that would bring her closer to Nerima.  She 
was minutes away from Shinjuku station--she could even make the connection 
there.  But, she forcibly reminded herself, I _can't_ go home.  My friends 
and family are there and I can't--I won't--put them in danger again.  
Whoever these people and things fighting over me are, at least some of them 
know where I live.  They could be waiting for me at my house.
	Then her thoughts grew despondent and she added: but if I don't go home, 
where can I go?  I've been running all night, and I can't keep this up 
forever!  A day, a week, how long am I supposed to stay hidden?  Years?  
Alone. . .  I can't do this alone.  I'm not strong enough.
	Akane's face burned at her admission of weakness.  _Shampoo_ wouldn't be 
sitting half-naked on some train whining about her future, she thought.  
She'd be ready to make the sacrifice.  Ukyou had _already_ made the 
sacrifice, giving up ten years of her life, femininity and family in pursuit 
of a childhood oath.  And here I'm faced with giving up my family, friends, 
and school--with people's lives hanging in the balance!--and I hesitate.  
All my life I've waited for a _real_ challenge, that moment when I could 
show everybody that I _am_ a martial artist, a true warrior; but faced with 
the reality I've become a coward.  Her headache subsided as hot, heavy tears 
sprang to her eyes.  She struggled to stifle a sob but it escaped, loud and 
racking, and she buried her face in her hands.  I'm so weak, I'm crying 
again, I'm alone and useless and I can't make it on my own. . . .
	But you're not alone, a suspiciously unsympathetic masculine voice 
interrupted, you stupid tomboy.  Like, didn't I say I was comin'?
	You jerk, she told the voice in her head.  _You're_ the reason I have to 
stay away.
	Now what kinda stupid talk is that?  Like anything's gonna happen to me.  I 
rock!
	But you almost died tonight!
	Oh, you are _so_ uncute.
	Idiot!  Pervert!
	Akane found herself grinning despite herself, her tears already subsiding.  
I can't believe it, she thought, we even argue in my own imagination.  She 
wanted him with her so much at that moment; she had to keep him away before 
he did something to get himself killed trying to protect her.  I couldn't 
live with that, she told herself.  I've already cost him his father. . . .
	A sudden image of Mr. Saotome leaping past her and interrupting the charge 
of the creature behind sprang up in her mind.  Ranma's father, standing 
frozen with an arm speared straight through his chest.  There had been less 
blood than she would have expected.  He had had a curious smile on his face. 
  A familiar mischievous glint to his eyes.  Slumping to his knees and 
falling back.  And then: Ranma's tortured scream of loss and rage, as he 
tore his enemies apart.
	Enemies, like that bloated woman from the club.  Who erupted from apparent 
normalness into the monstrous form that chased her through the streets of 
Shibuya.  She remembered the hungry, hateful eyes that stared at her through 
the subway's window.  Had the attackers at her home been ordinary people as 
well?  Ordinary people that Ranma had--
	How can I ever face him again?  I've taken his father from him; I've forced 
him to kill.  There hadn't been time to fully appreciate what had happened 
until this very moment.  Guilt welled up within as the train continued to 
speed its way through the outer edge of Shibuya.  She stared out the window 
watching the urban landscape blur past, wishing for the familiarity and 
peace of a time not long ago.  The train slowed and halted at the next stop 
along the line, but no one boarded her car.  Preoccupied as Akane was, she 
hardly noticed.  Ranma told me to stay back, she thought.  He said it was 
too dangerous, that I was out of my league.  He was right, but I didn't 
listen.  I tried playing at martial artist and look what it cost him.  And 
now I'm doing it again!  Are more people going to die because of me?
	Why are these people after me! she wanted to scream, angry frustration 
rising up through her guilt.  What do they want?  What the hell makes me so 
important?  Guilt, Genma Saotome, loneliness and fear, sacrifice, three 
girls dead already, nothing normal, university dilemma, martial arts and 
failure, other people's bravery, fathers, Ranma. . . .  a sudden flurry of 
desires, needs, fears assaulted her mind, a tempestuous rush of thoughts 
through which she saw no solution, no end; and she gasped at the sudden 
redoubling of the hammering in her head.
	The pain caused her to raise her head, the heel of one hand pressed to her 
forehead.  The other people on the train quickly looked away, avoiding her 
gaze.  All but one: a tall man with dark flinty eyes.  He stared back at her 
from across the length of the car.  A tight-lipped smile split his long, 
narrow face as he noticed her attention.  He slid the door shut behind him 
without breaking eye contact.  He took a moment to straighten his tie and 
adjust his suit blazer, and then with measured, unhurried steps he walked 
forward.
	Somehow Akane knew she didn't want this man to reach her.
	Here we go again, she thought grimly, regaining her feet.  Which one is he? 
  Does he have a blade hidden under his blazer?  Is he about to change into 
something hideous?  And how the hell did he find me?  The man noticed her 
reaction but didn't break stride.  Akane took a hurried step back to 
maintain distance.  It didn't take long for her to bump into the door 
behind.  The man's smile widened at her retreat.
	Akane threw the door open, and the next, and moved into the next car.  She 
was heading toward the back of the train.  She ran down the car's near-empty 
length, checking over her shoulder for pursuit.  The man maintained his 
steady walk, though his pace quickened slightly.  The end of another car: 
she passed through into the next, and with a sinking sensation saw that it 
was the last.  She moved to near the back without knowing where to go next.  
Her chaser slid the final door shut.  He stopped several meters away.  A 
scattering of uninterested people barely even glanced up at their entrance.
	"My, my," the man said, his voice deep and smooth.  "Little kitten, you've 
led us on quite the chase tonight."
	Akane didn't answer.  She watched him carefully.  Was he a normal man?  If 
so, she felt some confidence that she might be able to hold her own.  But if 
he was like the woman from the club, and something terrible lurked beneath 
his calm facade. . . .
	"It would seem that you've run out of places to run."
	Akane's eyes darted to the door.  She noticed the emergency stop button 
next to it, covered under glass.  The man must have noticed, for his smirk 
grew.  "Go ahead.  It won't do you any good."  He took a step toward her.
	"Stay away," she growled, stepping back.
	"I don't think so," he answered.
	Their exchange caught the other passengers' attention.  One young couple, 
lost in a passionate embrace, didn't look up; a disheveled salaryman, passed 
out on his seat, released a loud snore; but a young, rough looking man with 
'Harajuku Dragons' painted across his leather jacket suddenly stood and 
interposed himself.
	"Oi, buddy, what's goin' on here?"
	"This doesn't concern you," answered her stalker.
	Akane was thankful for the interruption, but knew that if she couldn't 
handle it, the odds are this guy couldn't either.  "Maybe you should 
listen," she spoke up.  "I don't want you to get hurt."
	The wannabe savior glanced back incredulously.  "Excuse me?"  he exclaimed 
angrily.  "Are you telling Akira Nobuyaki he might get hurt?  No little girl 
tells Akira Nobuyaki that he might get hurt!"  He turned back on the other 
man.  "And the day some suit-wearing jackass pansy tells Akira Nobu--"
	"Akira Nobuyaki," the man interrupted, and grabbed him by the front of his 
shirt.  "You're not a hero."  He gave a one-armed shove, sending the young 
man hurtling back.  He crashed into a side window of the train, cracking it, 
bounced off and slammed into the floor.  The boy called Akira Nobuyuki 
struggled briefly to stand.  He managed to raise his head, pronounce, "that 
hurt, you know," and passed out.
	The man turned back to Akane.  "Right.  No more interruptions."
	There was a loud clang and thud overhead.  Akane glanced up, as did the man 
opposite her.  She saw through the window what looked like enormous mottled 
arms clutching at either side of the train.  Suddenly the ceiling overhead 
collapsed inward, and Akane had a glimpse of long claws piercing through the 
roof.
	"No!  It can't be!" the man yelled, jumping back.
	With a fierce screech of tortured metal the top of the train was ripped 
wide open.  The subdued sound of the train's passage became a howling wind 
in the exposed car.  The other passengers shrieked and cowered at the 
massive, bestial head that peered in.  Opalescent eyes flickered and focused 
on Akane.  The jaw dropped open, revealing rows of jagged teeth--and it 
roared, a high-pitched reverberating yowl that stabbed at her ears and sent 
the windows to trembling.
	Akane jumped at the door, her fist smashing the emergency stop button.  The 
train jerked and shrieked as it decelerated.  She grabbed at a pole and kept 
her feet as others were tossed forward.  Her pursuer stumbled, one shoulder 
clipping a seat and sending him crashing painfully into the floor.   The 
thing clutching to the top of the train seemed thrown off balance, 
momentarily disappearing from the hole gaping in the ceiling.  Even before 
the train had come to a complete stop, Akane tore the emergency escape 
window open.  A fearful cry escaped her lips as she leapt from the 
still-moving train.
	She hit the ground hard, tumbling head-over-heels before coming to sliding 
stop in a heap of gravel.  Pain flared everywhere; she felt trickling 
wetness across her body.  Akane ignored it all.  She jumped to her feet.  
Her immediate surroundings were cloaked in darkness, but in the distance a 
multitude of lights glimmered and flashed.  She stood in the middle of the 
train yard outside Shinjuku station.  Dozens of tracks ran on either side of 
her, many disappearing into the underground passage leading to the station.  
Even as she regained her bearings a train rushed by mere meters away, the 
wind of its passage tearing at her torn and tattered clothing.
	Not far away, the Yamanote-line train shuddered to a final stop.  Against 
the darker backdrop of the tunnel and over the flickering internal lights of 
the vehicle, she saw a hulking shape squatting atop the train.  The cars 
shook and trembled amidst the sound of creaking metal, and suddenly the 
silhouette was gone.
	It just jumped for me, Akane realized, and she broke into a run.  A moment 
later the ground shuddered behind her.  A shower of stinging rocks pelted 
her back.  In the gaping openness of the yard, she headed for the only 
object that seemed to offer any protection: the train itself, and hopefully 
the tunnels beyond it.
	The wind howled in her ears as she dashed for the train.  Any moment she 
expected to feel one of those awful claws tear through her.  She heard 
something heavy and terrible loping after her.  The doors of the train 
loomed open, welcoming as the other passengers fled.  A heavy breathing 
sounded directly behind her.  Some instinct led her to dive forward; she hit 
the ground and rolled back onto her feet and kept running, and she heard the 
earth being rent asunder in her wake.
	A final effort: she dashed into the train and dove behind a seat.  A second 
later the immense head of the thing pursuing her filled the door.  It's 
huge! Akane thought, peeking from her cover.  What the hell can I do against 
this thing?  Its massive distended lower jaw drooped open, and flared 
nostrils sucked in the air.  The stench of its breath stung her nose.  The 
head withdrew, and Akane felt the ground shudder as it stepped along the 
side of the train.
	She scurried along the floor of the car, keeping low.  A moment later there 
was a terrible crash as one massive paw tore through the wall a few meters 
from where she'd been.  Glass showered the inside of the car and the lights 
erupted in sparks.  Another fist crashed in, and with a resounding roar the 
thing outside tore the train in two.  Metal buckled and every window 
shattered as the car cracked open, and Akane sprang from her crouch and 
hurled herself through the sliding doors further along the train.
	The wall behind her was ripped off and the monster outside stared in at the 
martial artist.  It pulled away--but only so it could reach in with one 
giant fist.  She scrambled back, barely remaining out of its reach.  It 
stretched deeper--without thinking, Akane reached back and wrenched a pole 
from its fixture.  She slammed it down across the knuckles of the grasping 
paw.  The metal resounded loudly and vibrated madly in her grasp.  She heard 
its animalistic cry, and the fist withdrew.
	Akane turned and fled for the next doors.  Before she reached them the 
entire car shuddered.  She fell forward, her jaw banging painfully against 
the hard floor.  Her escape suddenly seemed to draw further away; and she 
realized that the beast had just body slammed her car away from the rest of 
the train.  I'm trapped! she thought wildly.  I have to get away, into the 
tunnel!  She hoped it was too big to follow her deep into the station.
	The young woman rose into a ready crouch.  Her heart hammered inside her 
chest.  She waited for it to make its next move.  Much to her surprise, she 
heard an angry voice call out:
	"You won't deny me my kill!"
	Akane risked a glance out the window.  She saw the man from earlier 
standing outside the train.  Crouched opposite was the mammoth newcomer.  
Even in its squatting dog-like pose, it was an easy three meters in height.  
It resembled a massive canine, but with mottled hairless flesh and a 
disproportionately large head.  Claws the size of her forearms dug troughs 
in the train yard earth.
	 It seemed to observe the man curiously for a moment, then a deep thrumming 
resounded from within its throat--laughter, Akane quickly realized.  Its 
mouth dropped open and to her surprise it spoke, though its speech was 
nearly incomprehensible to her ears.  The jaw didn't move and she wondered 
where the voice came from.
	"Traitor's child," it growled.  "The Key.  Is ours."
	"You won't stop me," the man answered.  "_I_ will kill her."
	Again that deep, mocking thrumming.  "Too weak.  Too human."
	"Won't Mother Ryukiko be pleased," the man said, "when she learns that I 
tore out the throat of a Trueblood?"
	Akane stifled a scream as her earlier pursuer suddenly exploded in a gout 
of flesh and blood.  But once the gore cleared from the air, she saw the man 
had changed, horribly, into something lupine and hairy, with claws and teeth 
that glinted in the light.  Tiny in comparison to the other beast, it 
nevertheless tilted its head back and released a howl that sent shivers 
throughout her body.  The transformed man charged the massive beast.  It 
responded with a shuddering roar of its own and lunged forward.
	But the martial artist was no longer watching.  Without waiting to see the 
outcome, Akane Tendo dashed from the train and ran as hard as she could for 
the tunnel into Shinjuku station, all the while wondering, what the hell is 
going on?


	"Alright, buddy," Ranma snarled, stepping into the back alley, "what the 
hell is going on?"
	The tall man stood staring into the display window of a store.  The 
shifting electric light of a giant-screen television set the glass aglow and 
sent flickering shadows across the narrow street.  The hum of vending 
machines filled the alley.  He turned at Ranma's approach.  "Ranma Saotome," 
he said, smiling, "it's good to see you again.  My name is Gabriel."
	"I know," Ranma answered, stalking up close.  "I've been meaning to give 
you something."  Without hesitation, he cracked a punch across the man's 
jaw.
	Gabriel's head snapped back; he stumbled a few steps.  Ranma kept close, 
grabbing the man by the front of his long coat.  He hauled the taller man 
down to his feminine eye-level.  "I don't like games, asshole.  You were 
there when this shit started.  You were there at my first fight.  Didja 
watch the whole friggin' show tonight too, you sicko?"
	The man looked back at Ranma, his eyes still enigmatically hidden behind 
small dark glasses.  He rubbed at his chin and nodded.  "I saw everything."
	"Yeah, I bet you did," Ranma yelled, growing angrier.  "Didja see our house 
get torn apart?  Didja see my Pop nearly die?"  He gave the man a hard 
shake.  "How about when I tore those guys into shreds, eh, you see that 
too?"
	The man reached up and gently pried himself free of the boy's suddenly 
unresisting fingers.  "Yes," Gabriel answered softly, "I saw it all."
	"Where's Akane?" Ranma asked, his voice nearly catching in his throat.  
"Where is she?"  All the frustration and exhaustion of the night came 
bubbling up through his body, threatening to overwhelm him.  He sagged 
against the smooth glass of the window.  He felt near the point of collapse, 
but he knew he couldn't rest, not yet, not until he found Akane.  "Please," 
he whispered, rubbing one hand across his eyes, fighting back sudden tears, 
"tell me."
	The strange man's features softened into something resembling 
sadness--though with his eyes hidden, it was hard to tell.  He straightened 
to his full height and looked past the martial artist.  The alley opened up 
onto the main street, the throng of people passing by; but the man's eyes 
seemed fixed on something less substantial.  "I should have come sooner," 
the man said, though he seemed to be speaking less for Ranma's benefit than 
for his own.  "It's not easy, you understand."  He turned back to Ranma.  "I 
told you the night we first met: it's my duty to watch--not to intervene, 
not to act--only to watch.  It's what I do.  I'm unable to directly get 
involved."
	"Yeah, well, that's just great," Ranma mumbled, taking a deep breath.  He 
pushed back his fatigue, locking it away somewhere deep inside.  "Then you 
just keep on watching.  If you're not gonna help, what use are you?"
	"That's for you to decide."
	"Where's Akane?"
	"I can't tell you that."
	"Can't?  Or won't?"
	The man shrugged helplessly.
	"Then fuck you," Ranma spat, and turned away.  He headed for the main 
street.  "I'll find her myself."
	"Ranma Saotome," the Gabriel called after him, "your fiancee is in great 
danger."
	The martial artist paused.  He slowly turned back, incredulous.  "Hey, 
thanks for the news flash, nimrod!"  He stormed back.  "You think I don't 
know that?"  Without breaking stride he walked up to the man and grabbed him 
by his lapels.  He slammed him up against the storefront window.  It nearly 
cracked from the impact.  "These things have been trying to kill her all 
night!"
	"No," the man answered, "they haven't."
	Ranma stared at the man for a long moment.  The reflection of his own face 
in the windowpane--still female--was nearly unrecognizable to him: gaunt, 
haggard, and bloodied.  "What the hell are you talking about?"
	"And when night darkens the streets," spoke Gabriel, his voice grim, "then 
wander forth the Children of Belial, flown with insolence and wine."  His 
voice quickened as he continued.  "So spoke a blind poet long ago.  The 
creatures you have fought these last two days are called--by the few who are 
aware of their existence--as the Children of Belial."  Something in the way 
he pronounced the name sent an unpleasant shiver through him.
	"So they've got a name.  Big deal.  Listen, I'll be honest, I don't really 
give a shit.  All that matters is--"
	"Finding Akane.  But others seek her as well.  The Children, for instance, 
though they often fall to fighting among themselves, are now united by a 
single purpose: the death of your fiancee."
	"Hey, you said they weren't trying to kill her!"
	"The clan you have thus far encountered was led by Akuji--the obsidian man 
you fought.  He is among the strongest and most enigmatic of the Children, 
though his clan itself was among the weakest.  He has betrayed the entire 
Family tonight.  He seeks to use your fiancee to his own ends, and his clan 
followed his will.  He sought to capture her, not destroy her."
	Ranma loosened his grip on the man without releasing him.  He took small 
comfort from the fact that this man insisted that the attackers tonight 
hadn't been trying to kill Akane.  "Why the hell would anyone want _her_?"
	"Contained within her body is something . . . valuable, that threatens the 
very existence of every Child of Belial.  They fear and despise her more 
than anything.  Her death means their survival.  They will stop at nothing 
to kill her.  Even now another clan draws close to her.  But as for why 
Akuji wants her, even I can not say."
	"Fantastic," said Ranma.  "Stupid tomboy."
	"There's more," added Gabriel.
	"I can't wait."
	"Your fiancee has encountered others in her flight across Tokyo.  Those 
originally sworn to the protection of this object now seek to reclaim 
it--though even there dissention has forced a split, and while some would 
take the girl alive, others hope to end their pledge through her death.  
Fortunately, their dislike for each other is only surpassed by their hatred 
of the Children."
	"Yay for us."  Ranma let the man go.  He still felt exhausted and numb, but 
knew he couldn't waste any more time in talking.  He had to resume his 
search for Akane--although he still didn't have any idea where to look.
	"Your fiancee has encountered many adversaries tonight.  The Children who 
seek her death, and the one who wants her for himself; the men sworn to her 
protection, and those who have betrayed that oath; and finally a creature--"
	"Yeah, that's just great," interrupted Ranma.  "But I don't got time for 
this."  He went to leave but hesitated.  "You know," he said, "you could've 
told me all this at the beginning."
	"I saw no reason to," Gabriel answered.  "Few have encountered the Children 
and survived."
	"Yeah, well, you can add another to that list.  You're not gonna help?"
	The man shook his head.  "I can't intervene directly."
	"Then you just keep on watchin', 'cuz I'm gonna find Akane and--"
	His voice trailed off as he focused past the window.  The image on the 
television bounced wildly--live news footage of ongoing chaos.  Dozens of 
people ran screaming mutely across the screen.   Flashing text proclaimed: 
Outbreak of violence across Tokyo!  People wounded!  Escaped animals!  
Sudden fighting in Shinjuku station!  Ranma's eyes widened.
	"How the hell did she get to Shinjuku?" he exclaimed, and ran off.  A 
moment later he jumped back into the alley, popped a coin into a vending 
machine, and grabbed a hot coffee.  "Hold on, Akane!" Ranma cried out.  "I'm 
coming!"  He leaped to the top of the building and dashed across the 
skyline.
	The man left behind smiled briefly before stepping away into the shadows.  
A moment later, the television screen flickered and died, and the empty 
alley grew dark once again.


	 The roar of another passing train drowned out the sound of her hurried 
footsteps.  Akane ran down the narrow concrete walkway that lined the tunnel 
plunging into Shinjuku station.  She clutched at the tatters of her borrowed 
school uniform against the rushing winds left in the train's wake.  The air 
felt dirty and heavy.  The thin pools of orangish light cast surreal 
wavering shadows against the opposing stone wall.
	Earlier reverberations of bestial roaring and combat had dwindled with 
distance.  Akane took little reassurance from this.  They've been catching 
up to me all night, she thought desperately, how the hell are they keeping 
up to me?  _I_ don't even know where I'm going, but they keep finding me!  
The tunnel curved ahead and she stuck to the left branch, and ahead saw the 
bright lights of a boarding platform.
	The walkway ended.  She could see a scattering of people waiting for their 
late-night train home.  Not wanting to jump down onto the tracks, she turned 
instead to the metal door set into the wall.  It was locked; a quick kick 
dented it, and another crumpled it nearly in two--with an easy yank she 
ripped it from its hinges.  Up a cast-iron stairwell, her steps ringing 
loudly in the narrow space; down a short passage, and another door: without 
breaking stride she bashed it open with a flying kick.  She tumbled out onto 
the platform.  The half-dozen people there turned at the noise, surprised.
	"Er, sorry about that," Akane said, brushing herself down and catching her 
breath.  They goggled at her, especially a young man standing close.  She 
glanced down and suddenly realized just how little her clothes covered.  At 
least my bra has held out this long, she thought wryly.  With the immediate 
pursuit apparently left behind, she had a moment to take stock of her 
situation.  The trains didn't seem safe; beside, the time on a nearby clock 
read 1:02--the lighted display above showed that the final local train for 
the Odakyu line would be arriving in precisely two minutes.  Maybe I could 
take a taxi, she thought.  The ten-thousand-yen bills given to her by 
Takahashi sat wadded in her breast pocket.  The same problem remained, 
though: where could she go?
	These thoughts flashed through her mind as she pushed past the young man 
ogling her.  She had just reached the stairs leading up to the station when 
screams rang out behind.  With a sense of grim foreboding, Akane glanced 
back.  The transformed lupine man of earlier stood at the edge of the 
platform.  It staggered on a bloodied leg as it recovered from its leap out 
of the tunnel.  Crimson poured out of numerous wounds across its body, and 
great clumps of fur were missing.  Torn and mangled flesh showed beneath.  
One arm hung limply, and its left eye was swollen shut.  Nevertheless it 
took several heavy lopping strides towards her, and its jaw yawned open in a 
toothy growl.
	Terrified commuters rushed the stairs, but Akane stopped and turned around 
as they flowed past.  She faced her pursuer.  The same dull anger that had 
been smoldering beneath her fear all night returned.  Her fists clenched at 
her side as she resolutely squared off against her enemy.
	"I've had enough of this!" she yelled at the creature.  "I'm not running 
from you anymore!"  It's easy to feel confident, she told herself with 
unexpected dryness, when your enemy's already half dead.  But her heart 
still hammered against her ribcage as she warily eyed her opponent: she had 
seen what these things were capable of when they attacked her house, and 
even injured it was probably way out of her league.  But as her rage grew 
and the creature approached, the possibility of flight became more and more 
remote.
	The gangly lupine beast leapt at her, terrifyingly quick despite its 
wounds.  Akane danced aside, barely dodging as it lashed out with its good 
arm; its bad leg suddenly took some of the weight from its landing, and it 
stumbled slightly.  She charged close.  A flurry of punches slammed into its 
wounded side.  It twisted, hindered by its injuries, and she followed, 
keeping to its damaged arm.  Relentlessly she kept near and attacked, aiming 
for open wounds whenever possible, her battle cry challenging its outraged 
wolfish howls of pain.  I'm almost there! she thought, her elbow catching 
the monster in the neck; just a little longer!
	Sudden deadness flared across her left thigh, and she instinctively threw 
herself away.  Hot white pain lanced through her leg and she cried out, and 
fell, sliding to a stop a single meters from the drop-off into the subway 
tunnel.  She numbly stared at the jagged parallel lines seeping blood.  The 
wound looked deep. Akane tried to move her leg but it refused.  A second 
later her entire leg throbbed, and she cried out as the pain resounded 
through her body.
	The creature grinned wolfishly as it approached, long crimson tongue 
lolling from its jaw.  Its single good eye blazed with hunger.  Akane 
struggled to focus through the pain but barely managed to stand on her good 
leg.  Her body felt both dead to her, yet angrily alive with pain: the fire 
in her side and in her leg, the pinprick lacerations of glass and gravel 
across her back, the massive bruising of her chest; and finally a 
mind-numbing pounding in her head in which every beat of her heart was 
loudly echoed.  This is it, she thought, and in a sudden moment of lucidity 
the entirety of her pain seemed to drain away: she was left in a state of 
thoughtless clarity unlike any she had ever known before; everything 
momentarily accentuated; and she watched with almost clinic detachment the 
play of muscles across her opponent's body as it tensed for the attack.
	The world sped up.  The creature leaped at her, howling.  Akane accepted 
the attack with her blocking arm.  Claws raked through the meat of her 
forearm.  Her wounded leg crumpled beneath her.  She fell.  Her other hand 
latched into its armpit.  Fingers dug vice-like into thick cords of muscle.  
Her good leg kicked up as she tumbled back.  Her foot slammed into its 
abdomen.  Akane rolled back and heaved with all her might, snapping her 
opponent away.  Yowling with fury it flew past her and tumbled into the 
tunnel.  She twisted and watched it hit the ground hard.  Sudden light 
flashed across its crumpled form.  The 1:04 Odakyu final train came rumbling 
into the station.  With speed born of desperation her opponent leapt for the 
platform.  Without hesitation Akane jumped, her good leg pistoning her 
straight up from her collapsed position.  She met her opponent in mid-air.  
With a fierce kiai that seemed to reverberate throughout the tunnels and 
dwarfed even the sound of the approaching train, she caught the wolfish man 
in the jaw with a massive haymaker.  It released a terrified howl as it 
plummeted back into the tunnel.
	The train caught it before it hit ground.  With a sickening crunch and a 
shattering of glass the creature was carried away.
	The martial artist landed.  Her leg gave out and she fell backwards, 
landing on her rump.  The heady pleasure of her victory momentarily drowned 
out the pain.  I did it, she thought grimly.  I took one of these bastards 
out.  Then the exhilaration from that brief flash of martial 
transparency--in which the entirety of her training seemed compressed into a 
single technique, and her opponent reduced to a single possibility of 
attack--drained away; feeling returned and she cried out in agony, tears 
springing to her eyes.  She stared at her bleeding arm and leg and wondered 
if they were going to scar.  She tried to stand and collapsed; after a 
moment of gathering her strength she tried again and managed to shakily rise 
to her feet.  Behind her the train screeched to a stop.  The doors flew open 
and people poured free, screaming madly.
	Oh crap, Akane thought.  She limped over to the train and looked in.  
Through open doors she could see down the full length of the train.  The 
front of the train crumpled inwards, and amidst broken glass and pooled 
blood the creature laid in a crumpled heap.  Even as she watched it stirred, 
one leg scrabbling for purchase and slipping in its own blackish blood.  The 
lupine face turned jerkily towards her.  Pathetic doglike whimpers of pain 
reached her ears, but the skin over its teeth curled back and it snapped at 
her.  It lay a dozen meters away, but with impossible determination it began 
to pull itself toward her with one arm.
	Oh, come _on_, Akane thought, I hit this thing with a friggin' _train_!  
She turned and fled, and her limping pace carried her awkwardly up the 
stairs into the station proper.  Overly bright florescence stung her eyes as 
she staggered across the low ceilinged passage.  She moved between the 
numerous white-paneled columns, continuously glancing over her shoulder for 
pursuit.  Of course, she thought grimly, its just as likely something's 
waiting ahead of me.  The pain threatened to overwhelm her at any moment, 
but resolute she struggle forward.  She pushed past the ticket station, 
ignoring the harried looking station attendant.  Down a narrow corridor.  
Felt fresh air and turned a corner. She saw stairs leading up.  She 
painfully hobbled up to the surface.
	The young woman nearly collapsed at the sudden overwhelming press of people 
and loud activity.  Despite the late hour the street was packed.  A small 
park across from the station exit held a rock band pounding out live music 
for passing pedestrians.  Flickering neon everywhere, constant buzz of 
walking conversation, street-side vendors hawking porno magazines or 
yakisoba, drunken babble, high-pitched delight, a young girl in a short 
skirt and tall boots sauntering by, the shattering of a bottle, a matronly 
woman standing serenely nearby in an elegant kimono: Akane had stumbled into 
east Shinjuku's infamous Kabuki district.
	Fighting down a wave of nausea, she forced herself to keep moving.  On the 
verge of collapse, Akane barely made it to the street.  Before her rapidly 
tunneling vision, a welcoming door yawned open.  She tumbled into it.  
Something soft met her fall as blackness overwhelmed her.


[Add scene between Soun and Kasumi.]
[Both feeling guilt as she tends to her poisoned father.  She remembers the 
moment on the roof: when she feared death, her thoughts were not for her own 
family, but for herself, and regret for what she had not yet accomplished.  
Soun recognizes his failure to protect his family.  Genma held off three at 
once yet Soun couldn't manage the weakest of them.  And now his friend lies 
near death.  Soun vows to resume his training; Kasumi vows to resume her 
life.]


	Akane awoke with a start.  She forced back vertigo and opened her eyes and 
stared up at the surprised face of a sandy-haired foreigner looking down at 
her.
	"Having a good night, eh?" the man asked in fluent Japanese.
	Akane gaped at him before realizing she was lying in the back seat of taxi. 
  She struggled into a sitting position, and the door closed automatically 
behind her.  Among all the weirdness and terror of the night, a foreign cab 
driver in Tokyo seemed pretty tame.  His car, however, compared to those of 
the normally immaculate Japanese drivers, was a disaster.  She gingerly 
picked her foot out of a pile of cheese- and sauce-covered french fries 
congealing on the floor.
	"Drink too much?" the man asked as she looked around in confusion.  She did 
a double take as something caught her eye: two men approaching the car from 
behind, scanning the area attentively.  A sudden wind tugged at their long 
coats, and she saw a glint of metal beneath.
	"Go!" she shrieked, ducking low in the seat.  "Drive!"
	Unfazed by her voice, the man shrugged.  "Hey, I'm not a tour service here. 
  You got anywhere in mind?"
	"Home!" she cried.  "Nerima!"
	"No need to get snarky, little lady," the man said, turning away.  "Nerima 
it is."  The taxi jumped forward.  Akane sat up and looked back and saw the 
two men directly behind the car.  Breastplates gleamed dully on their 
chests, and large blades half-concealed by their clothes reflected the car's 
brake lights in lurid reds.  Pulling onto the street, the men were quickly 
left behind.  Akane breathed a sigh of relief once they were out of sight.
	"The name's Dave," the driver said conversationally, arm thrown wide across 
the front seat.  He turned to talk to her, one eye on the traffic, the other 
eying her speculatively.  "You're looking kinda rough there.  You okay?"
	"No," Akane said.  "You have any bandages?"
	"First aid kit under the left seat," Dave answered blithely.  "Try to keep 
the blood off the leather, eh?"
	She pulled out the small white box with the green cross on it.  A lifetime 
of martial arts--and two years of having an injury-prone fiance--had given 
her not insignificant skills at treating wounds.  But quickly examining her 
own injuries, she knew she couldn't manage much more than temporary and 
superficial treatment.  I need a hospital, she thought.  She wasn't like 
Ranma, who seemed to bounce back from critical injury within minutes.  True, 
she was past the days when a minor sprain might force her to skip a 
tournament--at least she liked to think she was--but some of her cuts would 
require stitching.  Especially the cuts across her forearm; she had a 
feeling she'd be bearing the mark of the wound for the rest of her days.
	Hopefully, she thought morosely, those days aren't numbered in the single 
digits.
	The backseat quickly became a mess of gauze, tape, and cotton compresses as 
she tended to herself.  Shinjuku crept by, cityscape nightlights mirroring 
across the windowpane.  Dave the taxi driver took a right, and the car 
slowed in traffic as they passed over the [Insert Name Here] bridge.  To her 
right loomed the massive Lumine One and Keio Department Stores that sat atop 
Shinjuku station; to her left she saw Time Square, its large cube shape a 
sparkling blackness against the night sky beyond.  Below the bridge the JR 
train tracks twisted and merged and wound their way south.  Red and white 
lights flashed from atop emergency vehicles gathered near one of the train 
lines: the Yamanote line, she realized, and looked away.
	"Quite the night, eh?" continued the cab driver, as she pulled the bandage 
tight around her forearm.  "You wouldn't believe the stuff that's been 
coming over the radio."
	"I bet you I would," Akane grumbled under her breath,
	"Everything from escaped animal attacks to Sailor Senshi sightings.  Can 
you believe it?  And the crap going down in Shibuya!  I mean, hell, that 
place is _always_ kind of weird on weekend night, but, like--wow!"
	Akane only half listened as the man prattled on.  She did what she could 
for her injuries, and then sank back into the comfort of the seat.  She 
watched the many-lighted urban splendor of Shinjuku west pass by, the 
cramped commercial buildings and tiny restaurants and retail outlets giving 
way to the towering structures beyond.  The taxi turned right into the 
skyscraper district.  On either side, seventy-story five-star hotels soared 
high into the darkness above.  Amidst them all, and towering over most, 
squatted the imposing Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building, its massive 
bulk resembling the evil headquarters of some totalitarian despot.  She 
yawned and fought a losing battle against sleep.
	I shouldn't be going to Nerima, she thought sleepily.  I have to stay away. 
  But as exhaustion overtook her she couldn't think of a single reason why 
not to go home.  Her family and friends were there.  So was Ranma--no, wait, 
he was in Tokyo looking for her.  But he'd find her.  He always did.  And 
maybe Cologne could think of something.  The taxi driver's voice became a 
monotonous background buzz lulling her to sleep.  The car stopped at a red 
light near the foot of some hotel called the Keio Plaza, and the slight jerk 
caused her to slump over.  She drifted into momentary sleep, as she felt the 
car pull forward--
	"Holy crap!" shrieked Dave, startling her awake.
	Akane instinctively hugged the seat, suddenly fully conscious.  There was a 
terrible screech of metal against metal, and sudden cool night air wafted 
in.  She glanced up and saw that the top of the car being cleanly cleaved 
off.  The taxi driver gave a scream of outrage and gunned the engine.  The 
car leaped forward several meters--and released a terrible groaning and 
clunking noise.  Sitting up, she saw men on either side recovering from 
swinging their massive swords, as the car spun out of control and slid past. 
  The vehicle gave a final wheeze and died.
	Great, Akane thought, these guys again.
	Two men and a woman approached the car, flanking it as they approached.  
They held their weapons at the ready, all pretense of subtlety gone: the 
blades blazed with an intense blue light, scattering the quiet street's 
shadows.  By the illumination of their weapons Akane could see quite 
clearly: the damage a single swing had wreaked on the car's engine block; 
the stony determination set in their eyes.
	Akane stood in the back seat, shattered glass crunching beneath her feet.  
"Why don't you leave me alone!" she yelled at them.
	The taxi driver looked up from his huddle by the steering column and asked, 
"You _know_ these guys?"
	Akane nodded mutely.
	"Look what they did to my taxi!"
	"Um, yeah.  Sorry about that."
	He stared at her.  "What say you just get out of my car," he said in a flat 
voice, "and we'll call it even?"
Akane hopped out of the car onto the right side, facing the single 
swordsman.  She fell into a defensive stance, unsure of how to handle her 
three opponents.  They looked different from the others she had faced so 
far: more determined and sure in their movements, approaching with nearly 
feline grace.  Ornate breastplates and greaves glimmered unnaturally with 
each step.  The confidence she felt in facing the other human fighters 
earlier in the night was now lacking--she saw in these three a martial skill 
to match her own.
	It's not going to end like this, she growled to herself, standing with her 
back to the car.  One hand tightened its grip on the doorframe as her anger 
rose once again.  The man nearest her held back, just beyond striking range 
and preventing her from easily running off.  She was peripherally aware of 
the other two circling the vehicle, one on the opposing left side, the other 
rounding the back.
	"Why are you doing this?" she called out
         Grim silence was their only response.
	A distraction came from an unexpected source: Dave, the beleaguered cabbie 
driver.  With a string of curses in a language Akane couldn't understand, he 
kicked his door open.  It cracked back, catching the other man across the 
shins.  The swordsman staggered, briefly; more important was the brief 
flicker of distraction in the first man's eyes.  With a savage cry and brute 
strength Akane tore the door from its frame and hurled it at the woman 
approaching from behind.  With a resounding clang it knocked her off her 
feet.  The nearest man lunged forward.  Akane rolled away along the car.  
The blade narrowly missed, slicing through the taxi straight into the 
pavement.  She jerked to a stop; her hands crumpled the metal beneath her 
grip.  She twisted back.  The rear door came with her.  The man reversed his 
grip.  He slashed up diagonally.  His sword cleaved unhindered through the 
side of the car.  Straight for her torso.  Faster than she was.
	Akane's blood ran cold.
	The martial artist leaned back at the waist; one shoulder dipped down.  It 
was a technique she had observed Ranma employ dozens of times against Kuno 
but had never been called upon to try herself.  Her instinctive study was 
well rewarded as the blade whistled by.  Its passing was a breeze across her 
chest and face.  The moment seemed frozen, her attention seized by a tuft of 
hair, cleanly sliced from her forward bangs, puffing outwards in an 
expanding cloud.  The image was burned into her mind:  the wrecked car at 
the edge of her vision, the hazy night sky beyond, dual glinting towers of 
the skyscraper reaching skyward, shimmering azure afterimage of the weapon's 
radiance, her opponent's exposed right side as his attack failed--
	Those hairs, suspended before her eyes.
	Akane burned hot as she completed her swing.  The slab of metal in her 
hands shuddered with the strength of her blow, slamming the man to the 
ground.  "Leave me alone!" she shrieked, bashing the downed man again and 
again with the taxi door.  "I'm just an ordinary school girl!"  A dozen 
crunching blows later she noticed the crumpled metal in her grasp, and 
sheepishly tossed the impromptu weapon aside.  Her fury abated enough for 
her to remember the other opponents.  Something had prevented them from 
attacking.  With a sudden sense of dread she turned her attention back to 
the taxi.
	The man and woman were engaged in heated combat with something fleshy and 
bloated and only vaguely human-shaped, which Akane avoided looking at too 
closely.  They seemed to be holding their own--but only barely.  The woman 
performed a lightning quick block and riposte against the creature, tearing 
a bloody gash open; and in the spare moment she gained, she turned to Akane 
and yelled, "Run, fool!"
	Akane turned and ran as fast as she could.  It seemed she had been running 
all night.  The image of her near beheading remained fresh in her mind.  
Within moments of taking her first steps something lunged at her from the 
darkness.  She ducked away without breaking stride knowing she had narrowly 
avoided the unseen strike.  The newcomer chased after her.  The pursuit was 
too close, a scant meter or two behind as she ran down the quiet, darkened 
street.  Her wounded leg began to burn; the pain quickly became nearly 
overwhelming.  Buildings loomed on either side.  The sound of her steps was 
echoed by those following; she could hear the steady intake of its 
breathing.  Looking forward she saw dark silhouettes against the curve of 
the road ahead.  Her flight had been headed off.  Akane made a sharp turn to 
the right.  She skidded against asphalt and nearly lost her footing.  She 
caught a glimpse of her pursuer--burnt flesh, protruding bones, too many 
eyes--and desperately threw herself out of its path.  One blackened fist 
slammed down where she had been, and with a bright flash an electric 
concussion shattered the road.  The smell of ozone assaulted her nose as, 
teary-eyed and half-blind, Akane scrambled away.  The road unexpectedly fell 
sharply into unknown space below.  Without hesitation or thought the martial 
artist tossed herself over the railing.
	She plummeted several heart-pounding meters before hitting ground.  She 
managed to catch herself with her good leg and absorb the impact, dropping 
into a deep crouch without falling over.  She blinked through her spotty 
vision and looked around, and momentarily thought herself dropped into some 
urban arena.  Akane quickly recognized the embracing arms of the sunken 
atrium of the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building.  At night a scattering 
of lights cast soft pools of illumination across the area, but most of it 
remained cloaked in darkness.  Open air and circular, the sunken plaza was 
considered by some the most beautiful--and least seen--aspect of the 
gargantuan edifice.
	Momentarily free of pursuit, Akane limped towards the only light she could 
see: large glass doors leading into the main towers.  She saw movement 
within: cleaning staff, maybe, or even late-night security.  Somebody who 
could hide her, or provide a phone, and maybe even help.  A voice deep 
inside told her she was delaying the inevitable and grasping at straws, but 
she refused to acknowledge defeat at this point.  She had to reach the door 
before either the creatures or swordsmen from above followed her down.  Her 
dragging steps were the only sound in the open space.  A chill wind blew, 
carrying with it dust and debris; she shivered as it caressed her clammy, 
nearly naked body.
	A figure detached from the shadows opposite the plaza.  Though she was less 
than surprised, despair and fear swelled nevertheless swelled anew within 
Akane.  Her final avenue of escape was being closed off.
	"It's good to finally meet you," a woman's voice rang out, her tone amused 
and mocking.
	Akane came to a stop.  Her shoulders slumped, a final exhaustion overtaking 
her.  She drooped to the smooth ground.  The shadowy figure approached, a 
curvaceous silhouette against the bright light of the doors beyond.  The 
sharp click of the woman's heels echoed staccato across the plaza as she 
approached.
	"How?" Akane tried to cry out, but her throat went dry and her voice 
croaked and died.  She swallowed and tried again.  "How?" she called out, 
louder.  "I've been running all night!  _I_ don't even know where I'm going, 
but you keep finding me!  Everyone gets there before I do!"
	The woman's chuckle rang clear across the plaza.  "You burn like a pillar 
of fire blazing high upon the horizon, girl!  To those of us attuned to your 
presence, you are a beacon shining bright across the entirety of Tokyo!  We 
could not ignore you even if we wanted to!  Before the Key made itself know 
to us tonight, we could feel the beating of its unrealized potential; now it 
sings to us all, and I doubt there's a supernatural creature in this city 
unaware of your existence.  Even those unable to see you can feel you, your 
very movement stirs the air about you."
	That's just great, Akane thought.  I've been running around with a giant 
arrow on my head screaming, 'I'm over here!' all night.
	The hunger was palpable in the woman's voice, as was the hatred.  "You have 
no idea of the power that you carry within you, girl.  It draws us to you."
	"Yeah," Akane muttered, "like flies to shit."
	"Terrible, isn't it?" the Ryukiko continued, though her voice was devoid of 
sympathy.  "To die, without ever knowing the reason, for a power you can not 
comprehend."  A shadow dropped from the sky, and then another; they fell 
into rank behind the woman as she continued to approach.
"Then take it!" Akane yelled back.  "Whatever it is, I don't want it!"
	"Nor do I," the woman said, dark amusement tainting her voice.  "I intend 
to destroy it."
	"Oh."
	Two more figures detached from the shadows and joined the woman's misshapen 
retinue.  Akane recognized the shape of one of them: bent backwards, bloated 
stomach, drooping head.  But something strange happened: as the woman grew 
closer and the number of her followers grew larger, Akane found her own 
despair dwindle, her exhaustion rapidly ebbing as she crouched there in 
waiting.  Fear still gripped her stomach and her heart pounded loudly in her 
chest, but with an irritating buzzing beginning deep within her head she 
began to feel a cold detachment from what was happening.
	The woman paused a dozen meters away.  Akane could see her now in one of 
the pools of lights.  She was tall and slender and coldly beautiful, though 
that beauty was marred by the unconcealed cruelty that shone in her eyes.  
Dressed like a successful corporate CEO--well-tailored clothes accentuating 
subdued sexuality, open-toed heels tightening the sleek line of slim 
calves--she contrasted sharply with her monstrous entourage.
	"You've done well, girl.  You escaped my young Daughter here," she said, 
one hand coming to rest softly on the quivering belly of the creature next 
to her.  "And you nearly killed my eldest Son.  But now it would seem that I 
claim the prize myself."
	"I'm nobody's prize," Akane growled.  Strength flowed into her wounded leg 
as the pain faded; her breathing calmed as she caught her breath.  A final 
effort, she told herself.  I don't know how, but this isn't the end, not 
yet.  Not at this arrogant bitch's hand.
	"Strange that Akuji let you go," the woman mused.  "What does he see in 
you, beyond our Father's demands?"  The woman eyed Akane speculatively.  One 
of her children leaned in close--Akane recognized the creature as the 
blackened man that had chased her into the plaza--and said in a low voice, 
"Mother Ryukiko, the foot-solders of the Order draw close.  Perhaps we 
should--"
	"You dare presume--" The woman started to say, turning to her Son, when 
another voice rang out across the ring.
	"The Order," a familiar man's voice called out, "is already here."
	Yamashita strode from the shadows behind Akane.  At his side walked 
Takeshi, and whatever animosity lay between the two men seemed buried for 
the moment.  Both their weapons shone a brilliant blue.
	Ryukiko's face twisted in a furious scowl.  "You have interfered too often 
tonight!" she said, and spat to the side.  "Do you think to stand against 
the strength of my entire clan?"
	"Just the two of us?" Yamashita answered, glancing aside at his companion.  
"No."
	Azure flares erupted in a staggered semi-circle along the rim of the sunken 
plaza.  Figures crouched overhead took aim with hefty crossbows cradled in 
their grasp; swordsmen shattered the windows and doors blocking their 
entrance into the area.  Within moments a small army had assembled behind 
her.  Akane found herself crouching in the center of what had suddenly 
become a battlefield.
	"But the thirty of us?" Takeshi added, and grinned.  "Yeah, I do."


[Add scene with Ryouga, Kunou, Ukyou, and Shampoo.]
	[General conversation on what they've gotten themselves into.  Seen from 
Ryouga's POV.  Mostly silent, as he contemplates his own actions of the 
night--and what his rival accomplished.  Brief insights into the characters' 
lives over the last six months, if there's room.  Emphasis on quickly 
developing the secondary characters so far ignored by the story.]


	"Tonight we wipe out another of Belial's foul brood from the face of the 
Earth!" exclaimed Yamashita, one fist raised high.
	Akane tensed, ready.
	The man's arm dropped.
	A volley of crossbow bolts sang through the air; with a loud unified battle 
cry the soldiers of the Order charged forward.  Ryukiko's children roared in 
pain and fury and charged into the fray.  Only Ryukiko remained behind, 
trembling with anger but seemingly undaunted by the interruption.  From 
behind, Yamashita and Takeshi strode forward purposefully, eyes set on 
Akane.
	Akane still crouched, frozen, staring at the crossbow bolt imbedded in the 
ground a few centimeters from her foot.  Only an instinctive tilting of her 
head had kept it from ripping her throat open.  These newcomers were not 
here to save her.  They wanted to kill her for themselves.  Takeshi must 
have joined Yamashita's side--whatever side _that_ was.  There was no rescue 
here, only more danger.  The martial artist began to tremble as she stood, 
her vision swimming red with an outrage that did not entirely feel like her 
own.
	Battle raged about her, inhuman screeches mingled with human cries.  
Another flurry of projectiles flashed from above.  Ryukiko dashed for cover, 
one of her Children providing protection for her and absorbing a dozen bolts 
in its elephantine hide.  Akane rushed forward.
	She heard the approaching men cry out behind her, and ignored them.  She 
barreled into the fray, charging straight for the door of earlier.  Swords 
flashed and cut on either side; claws tore the air and lightning burned 
across her vision and teeth gnashed.  Akane ran and jumped and wove between 
random attacks and errant strikes.  For every one of Ryukiko's brood she 
spotted, a half-dozen sword-wielding warriors engaged it; and through it all 
crossbow fire rained into the plaza.  As she twisted past a young woman and 
evaded her sword--only to see the woman bashed away by something's sinuous 
tail--she had an unexpected flashback: ducking and dodging the morning mass 
of perverted schoolboys who charged her every day in hopes of a date.  A 
snigger escaped her lips, then choking giggles that she couldn't repress as 
she shoulder checked a man from behind and jumped over his body.  She ran, 
laughing, through the fighting mob, her cheeks streaked with tears.
	An explosion rocked the rim above and lightning danced, and one of the 
crossbowmen fell screaming to the ground, stone and debris showering around 
him.  He landed with a loud crunch and didn't move.  Akane danced past the 
body and escaped the outer edge of the fray.  Her feet pounded the ground as 
she hurtled towards escape.  The door shone bright before her.  She didn't 
slow down.
	Glass smashed and metal snapped as, arms crossed before her face, she 
crashed through the door.  She landed running and found herself in the 
expansive reception of the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building.  Behind 
her the battle raged on, though she spotted figures detaching themselves 
from the fighting in pursuit.  She hoped that she could leave them all 
behind her.  On the other side of the reception, large windows looked out 
into Shinjuku, and doors led back into the city.  If I escape them here, she 
desperately hoped, I'll shake them once and for all.  If I keep moving, 
maybe I'll get harder to track.  Maybe once the sun comes up they'll 
retreat.  Maybe--
	The opposite wall exploded inward in a rushing barrage of glass.  Akane 
screamed and ducked, covering her head with her arms.  Fragments flayed her 
in a sharp-edged rain, tearing at her skin and tattered clothes.  She opened 
her eyes and saw the gargantuan dog-like beast last seen at the Shinjuku 
Station train yards.  It crouched among the crumbling wall and released an 
ear-deafening roar that set the opposing windows to trembling.  Chunks of 
flesh had been torn from its hide and blood seeped from numerous deep 
wounds, but it seemed only slightly hindered by the damage.
	Great, Akane thought darkly, look like everybody's showing up.
	She ran left.  With a single leap the giant beast crossed the distance and 
landed in front of her.  Akane screeched to a stop and threw herself to one 
side.  She scrambled towards the first escape she saw.  Brightly lit and 
sitting open, Akane didn't realize that she had thrown herself into an 
elevator until she rebounded hard off the wall, cracking the mirror there.
	"Please don't hurt me," a man moaned.  Akane stared blankly at the man 
cowering in the corner beneath the elevator controls.  He glanced up at her 
and started to shake.  "I'm just a cleaner, I don't got nothin' to do with 
this, I just wanna--"
	Akane ignored him.  The ground shuddered as the huge monster approached.  
She jabbed one of the buttons; there only seemed to be a few of them.  
Nothing happened.  She stabbed the button again and again, but the doors 
didn't close.
	The creature's monstrous face filled the elevator door.  It roared, and the 
force of its cry at such close range sent her stumbling back into the wall.  
The scent of its breath brought bile to her throat, and phlegm and wetness 
from its throat spattered her body.  It pulled back, and a moment later 
reached in with a massive paw.  With a loud shriek Akane jumped to the 
ceiling and clung there desperately.  The hand groped blindly.  Her purchase 
began to creak beneath her weight.  The words 'thick thighs' pronounced by a 
suspiciously obnoxious voice floated through her mind.
	The ceiling of the elevator gave way.  Akane screamed and dropped, bouncing 
off the thing's outstretched hand and slamming into the mirror with her 
forehead.  Dazed, she had a momentary glimpse of herself there, fragmented 
and bloodied.  Rough-skinned fingers curled around her waist and legs, 
shocking her from her stupor.  Her hands scrabbled at the seams in the 
cracked mirror as the beast yanked her away; her fingers curled around the 
sharp edges of a shard the length of her arm and tore it free.  Akane felt 
the edge cut into her fingers as she lifted the triangular piece of mirror 
overhead.  The fist already held her high in the air, and she braced one 
edge of her weapon against her palm.  She plunged the glass down with all 
her strength into the hand holding her.  Ichors sprayed up in a crimson 
sheet, drenching her chest and neck.
	The bestial howl the creature released was echoed by Akane's cry of pain as 
the edge of the mirror sliced through the meat of her hand and dug deep into 
her palm.  The giant hand spasmed open and she flew from its grasp; she hit 
the concrete corner of the wall outside the elevator with the small of her 
back and fell to the floor face down.  The mirror shattered beneath her.  
Half delirious from pain and shock, she crawled back into the shaft.  To her 
surprise the door slid shut behind her, releasing a pleasant 'ding' as it 
quickly began to rise.
	The man crouched in the corner gave a little shrug and pointed at the key 
connected to his belt by a long string.  "After hours," he said, "you have 
to use the maintenance key before you press the button."
	Akane stared blankly at the man.  She rolled over and dragged herself to 
the wall.  She slumped against the edge of the elevator and turned her 
attention to the numbers above the door.  She watched them change.  They 
were already in the mid-teens.
	Right, Akane thought.  That's it.  I'm done.
	Her injuries were too extensive.  A life of martial arts had failed to 
prepare her for what she had been put through tonight.  Adrenaline and 
second winds and strange bursts of vitality are great and all, she thought, 
but I've hit a wall here.  She giggled when she realized that she'd hit a 
number of walls this night--usually quite painfully and not of her own 
volition.  Her voice sounded strained to her ears.  With a groan she lifted 
herself into a proper sitting position among the blood and broken glass and 
debris from the elevator's ceiling.  Akane absently noticed how she left 
sticky red handprints on everything she touched.  She wondered if she was 
slipping into shock.  The rhythmic thrumming of the elevator carried them 
past the twenty-fifth floor.
	"This elevator only goes to the Observation Deck on the forty-fifth," the 
cleaning man offered.  "Maybe we'll be safe up there?"
	I don't think so, Akane thought.  There were stairs and another elevator 
and for all she knew, one of the things chasing after her might just 
teleport to the top of the building or something.  She didn't know why these 
things were chasing her, and she no longer cared.  Splinters of glass in her 
chest, the deep gash across her palm, the wounds to her forearm and thigh, 
massive bruising across her chest and back, her face battered and bloodied: 
as Akane numbly took stock of her injuries, she felt a curious mixture of 
pride and despair.
	"I'm sorry, Ranma," she softly said to herself.  "I don't think I can wait 
any longer for you to rescue me."
	With another pleasant 'ding' and a soft female voice announcing their 
arrival at the Observation Floor, the elevator came to a stop.  The doors 
quietly slid open.
	The cleaning man quickly left the elevator.  Soon after she heard the heavy 
slam of a stairwell door.  Akane reluctantly hauled herself onto her feet, 
whimpering from the effort.  She stood there for a moment, wavering, before 
taking hesitant steps onto the forty-fifth floor.
	The Observation Deck was dark and silent.  Large windows on all sides 
looked out onto the city.  Pale shafts of moonlight slanted across the 
floor.  The air felt heavy and stuffy without the background hum of an air 
conditioner.  The martial artist slowly staggered into the room.  Each step 
with her left foot felt slippery.  Her leg was slick with blood soaking 
through her bandage, and she held her wounded hand clenched tight and 
cradled close to her body.  Akane stood haggard in the center of the room 
with the luminous sprawl of Tokyo visible spreading out in all directions 
about her.  Behind her the elevator dinged and closed and began its descent. 
  Here they come, she thought.
She had never felt lonelier than she did at that moment.  With a sigh--not 
so much of despair as of desolation--Akane sank to the ground.  She leaned 
back against an informational display and closed her eyes.  The hard marble 
of the stand felt cold against her wet and injured back.
	The glistening urban splendor of Tokyo at night seen from above resounded 
deeply in her heart as she lay there, bleeding and devoid of hope.  Tears 
sprang to her eyes for this final appreciation of where she was; of who she 
was; and though she felt that this must be the end, she felt hollowed and 
free of fear.  Even her final sadness that she would never get to see Ranma 
again, faded away as the room slowly grew darker.  Emotions and physical 
sensation seemed to drain away, leaving her aware of only the growing 
buzzing within her head.  She felt a profound insight hovering at the edge 
of her perception, ephemeral and elusive.  In reaching out the knowledge 
faded, and the emergent murmurs of her mind nearly overwhelmed her.  She was 
left with a final sense of pride.  I made it pretty far, she thought.  I bet 
even Shampoo couldn't have done this well.  Akane sighed and smiled and 
closed her eyes.  Akane waited.
	She felt his presence before she either saw him or heard his approach.  She 
opened her eyes and found her view of the city blocked by the tall 
silhouette stepping from the darkness.  His steps made no sound, and the 
shadows roiled and twisted about him.  From within that inky depth, two eyes 
flared a piercing crimson.  She recognized the voice immediately.
	"Well, my beautiful prize," Akuji said, "It seems I have caught up with you 
at last."


	[Add scene between Ayumi and Cologne.]
	[Nabiki and Mousse in background.  Ayumi spills some information about 
Akuji.  Most of what she tells is general information about the Children of 
Belial--stuff that Gabriel couldn't say because Ranma was short on time.  
Ayumi, being such a recent inclusion to the Family, knows little of what her 
Father hopes to accomplish.]


	Akane tilted her head towards the obsidian man, though she didn't bother to 
stand.  She watched his approach.  The obsidian man, she had to admit, was 
beautiful in a dark, sculptured way.  To be contemplating the beauty of her 
opponent as she hovered on the edge of unconsciousness, somehow did not 
strike her as odd at that moment.
	"You led us on quite the chase tonight," Akuji continued, though Akane was 
barely conscious of his voice.  She knew the man was no longer speaking to 
her.  "But I knew you would persevere.  Your host is strong and capable.  
You helped her survive, didn't you?  I can feel you rising through the 
layers of her being, protecting her, seeking to claim her at last."
	Something feather-soft and wispy brushed across her cheeks and forehead.  
Her eyes flickered open--she hadn't even realized that they had closed--and 
saw the tendrils of murky blackness reaching from the obsidian man.  Akuji's 
touch was cool and refreshing across a brow suddenly feverish.
	"Yes," Akuji continued, "You can feel my touch, can't you?  Do you 
recognize it?  Is it familiar to you?"
	Akane felt detached from her own body.  She could still see, and hear, and 
feel; but these senses were subdued and hazy, dreamlike.  She couldn't move; 
she wasn't sure she could bring herself to _want_ to move.
	"You are so very close, Old One," said the obsidian man, still gently 
stroking her with tendrils of darkness as he stood several meters away.  
"Though time grows short.  The others approach quickly and they seek to 
destroy you.  You are vulnerable while trapped within this female flesh.  
Your ritual was interrupted, your incarnation delayed.  How many centuries 
since you last tasted freedom?"
	Rising from somewhere deep within, Akane felt a presence roughly push 
itself past her fleeting consciousness.  There was a. . . bubble there, an 
entity dwelling within her she had not even been aware she carried.  It 
brushed against her as it strove for dominance;

__high vaulted ceilings groan and crack, ancient stone crumbling beneath the 
pressure of flooding waters, the idiocy of men, air burning and crackling 
with untamed energies, ice-cold waters flooding the palace, thronged with 
savaged corpses, final stalwart defender encountering the inevitable, 
ferocious roars of trapped brethren cut off from their home, walls 
shuddering with their panicked trashing, heady scent of blood, clashing of 
metal, high-pitched shriek of the Font, the stone itself sings, the Old One 
destroyed, the Gate stopped, the Font sealed; these fools have destroyed 
themselves, end of their Age, the dawn of a millennium of chaos, we shall 
flay the land and the earth shall drink and weep of blood, yet these last 
fools remain behind, oppose us in their presumption, mere flesh restraining 
forces primeval, the waters overwhelm them, the power of the Font consumes 
them yet they persevere, arms high, voices shouting words of power, binding 
my brethren and I to this world, to the physical, linking us to their Door, 
our own power entrapping us; even as the last of these men succumb they cast 
us out into the untamed wilds of their collapsed world, entrapped, waiting, 
patient, hungry. . . .__

	A moan escaped Akane's lips as she sank deeper into herself, shuddering and 
shrinking back from the presence within, wholly alien and primal, seizing 
her flesh, control of her body, her consciousness submerging into 
incomprehensible images playing across her mind.  As she felt herself 
devoured from within she flashbacked to her own room, the ancient tome open 
in her lap, mucous tendrils wrapped about her chest and face, the same 
invasive manifestation quickly overtaking her until Ranma's intervention.  A 
panicked scream rose in her throat as she fell back into darkness. . . .
	"I can not allow this."  The smoothness of Akuji's voice turned to steel.  
She felt the man approach.  His darkness coiled about her, enveloped her, 
lifting her from the ground.  The angry droning of her mind faded slightly, 
and with its retreat consciousness and feeling slowly returned.  The dark 
presence within pushed back and resisted Akuji's intrusion.  Pain wracked 
her body, her back arching in agony as two foreign psyches struggled within 
her own; but after the eerie nothingness of before the pain was nearly 
welcome.
	"You must remain locked away within her mortal flesh.  Buried within her 
consciousness.  Your essence made secondary to her own.  Your power enslaved 
to her weakness."  Akuji continued to speak and the thing lurking within her 
sank deeper into the unconscious reaches of her mind.  She regained minor 
control of her own body.  Fingertips tingled with release.  With something 
like an inaudible 'pop', she felt the primal force submerge wholly.  She 
felt herself standing, briefly, before the entirety of her body rushed back 
to her; the fullness of her pain and exhaustion; and with a whimper she 
collapsed to the ground, free.
	Dark, glassy legs filled her vision.  Akuji reached down and gently pulled 
her up.  After a moment she found the strength to stand on her own.  She 
stared up at the man in amazement.
	"You saved me," she said.  "That--that thing, it almost . . . _ate_ me."  
She shuddered, suddenly cold.  "I would have died.  You pushed it back."
	"Yes, I did," the obsidian man answered, sounding amused.  He brushed two 
finger across her forehead and held them there briefly; the center of her 
brow felt hot.  "I can feel its anger.  It radiates from within you in 
waves.  Such power poised to strike at me, yet blocked by the feebleness of 
the flesh.  Restrained and trapped within a wretched schoolgirl."  Akuji 
smooth lips twisted in a wry smile.  "An ironic cage for such a being, don't 
you think?"
	Akane trembled as she stood before the man.  She couldn't understand what 
it was she contained.  The images she saw in brushing against that vile 
presence made no sense to her; but as she recalled her vision her stomach 
twisted in fear and revulsion.  I was _there_, she thought, I stood beneath 
vaulting arches and in freezing water and felt the air charged with magic.  
The bodies floating and bumping against my legs.  Reptilian cold, scales.  
Alien flesh.  Akane licked her lips and tasted phantom blood there, and 
remembered a terrible hunger, and nearly gagged.
	"Please," she pleaded, "If you can stop it so easily, just . . . take it 
out of me."
	Akuji threw back his head and laughed, cold and callously.  He grabbed her 
roughly by the chin and held her, and fixed her with his burning gaze.  "Why 
on earth would I release it from you?"
	"But--"
	"Do you think I saved you out of pity, you stupid little girl?  Freed from 
you, the Key could lay waste to this entire city!  But locked away within 
your flesh . . . then, little girl, it can be made to serve me."  He leaned 
in close, until his burning eyes filled the entirety of her vision.  "The 
fullness of its power is subservient to you; and once you have been made 
subservient to me, only then shall I allow its return.
	"I feel your trembling, girl.  No doubt your mind quailed at its touch.  
And, yes, once it rises again, your mind will crack open like an eggshell, 
nearly everything that makes you _you_, bleeding away.  But under my 
direction the process shall be slow and controlled.  I rather suspect your 
torment will endure for a very long time, if not for an eternity.
	"That's right, little girl," Akuji continued, and the fire of his eyes 
seemed to stab straight into her soul.  "I shall warp your body and crush 
your mind and twist your soul.  You will become an empty vessel enslaved to 
me; and into that vessel will flow the essence of the Key, forever 
controlled by the withered remnants of your pathetic human soul and your 
ravaged human flesh."  He roughly tossed Akane to the ground and loomed over 
her.
	Akane stared up at the monster in horror.  She tried to move but felt 
paralyzed.  "No!" she cried out.
	"Yes," Akui answered, smiling cruelly.  "You shall become my slave, girl."
	"No," called out a rough masculine voice.  "She won't."
	Something sailed through the air and landed at their feet with a metallic 
clang.  It spun a few times before coming to a stop.  Coffee dripped from 
its rim, drawing a beaded arc across the floor.
	"Akane's _my_ fiancee," exclaimed Ranma Saotome.  His aura erupted into a 
fiercely bright corona of cackling energy.  "If you want her, you'll have to 
get through me!"


To be continued . . .

***

Quick comments:

Just a few things to say.  The short quote Gabriel uses to describe the 
Children of Belial is drawn from Paradise Lost, by Milton.  Dave the Cabbie 
Driver is a self-indulgent obscure reference to something I wrote and posted 
to the FFML a long time ago.  I'm playing a bit loose with Tokyo geography 
in those ending scenes.  I'm not too sure on the exact layout of Shinjuku 
station, and my memory of the area around the Tokyo Metropolitan Building is 
a bit hazy.  Fortunately, I'm heading into Tokyo in a week or so, and I'm 
hoping to swing by the area and scout it out a bit.

Other than that, hope you enjoyed the chapter--sorry it's so damn long!  I 
posted without writing out the three spacer scenes because I _have_ to put 
this story aside for awhile.  I've got other (work-related) projects to work 
on, and this things was taking up too much time.  I'm also turning to 
Choices next, and hope to finally get the entire thing finished within the 
next few months or so.  I'd still appreciate C&C, though, if you've got 
anything--whethe rpositive or negative--to say.

Later,
Mike Noakes

noakes_m@hotmail.com
http://www.geocities.com/noakes_m

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