Late afternoon was just beginning to darken the sky, prompting street lights to wink on one by one as the sun slipped toward the horizon on its continuing journey to warm other parts of the world. Hands clasped in front of her, Akane Tendo leaned back against the wall that surrounded Dr. Tofu’s establishment and watched the colors change and shift in the sky.

Behind her, in the front room of the clinic, she could hear Shampoo and Mousse talking quickly in their native language as they sparred together. Akane wondered what they were discussing, because it sounded as though a mild argument was brewing. Shampoo’s voice was growing softer and more coy, while Mousse’s was gaining pitch and intensity. The thumps of chairs and other furnishings being knocked around was the next thing Akane heard, and she sighed, reflecting for a moment that Dr. Tofu might be sorry he’d let everyone come to the clinic for training when all was said and done.

Akane was already sorry that she had come.

From further back, she could pick up the very faint sounds of Ranma still practicing and intensely experimenting with the new technique in the small yard behind the building. Tofu was with him, giving him quiet and helpful instruction while Cologne looked on and made sure the pig tailed boy didn’t get out of hand, as he had threatened to several times during the training.

With the passage of the day, Ranma had calmed somewhat, but Akane could plainly see the extreme worry that was buried beneath the shining surface of his dark blue eyes. Worry and fear. On one hand it made her happy to know that he was finally beginning to understand exactly what Ryoga meant to him, finally embracing his feelings for the wandering martial artist; but it also saddened her to think that those forward advances were because of Ryoga’s pain and the danger he was in.

Fuel for Ranma’s fire. He had grasped the Kokoro Kogatana faster than any of them, getting the ki-blade to manifest on his very first try. His anger caused the deadly weapon to glow bright and pure, and wielding the new technique came with an ease born of determination and the desire for vengeance.

Shampoo and Mousse had also mastered the attack, though not with Ranma’s ease or intensity. The Amazon girl was a trifle more proficient with the technique than her tribal brother, a point of honor which had already ignited one extended argument between them, the end result of which was Shampoo’s renewed insistence that she was going to snag Ryoga for herself once this was all over, and a rather dirty brawl in the exam room involving Mousse and Ranma.

Everything had been settled nicely by a well-timed bucket of cold water, delivered expertly by Akane herself.

Ukyo was a little slower to properly execute the attack than the other three, and it was clear that she wasn’t terribly comfortable being in control of her own ki and emotions in that manner. There was an expression of distaste on her face whenever she manifested the ki-blade, and she wasn’t capable of summoning the same strength or intensity that Ranma or the Amazons were. Her efforts produced mediocre results at best and Cologne had already designated Ukyo to be the second line of Ranma’s defense, behind Shampoo and Mousse. If she was hurt by the placement, the okonomiyaki chef didn’t let it show, and continued to practice diligently with what she could do.

And then there was Akane herself. The dark haired girl frowned and closed her eyes briefly, pressing back a little tighter against the coolness of the stone wall. When she opened her eyes again, a furious tear slipped down her cheek and she reached up quickly to wipe it away, ashamed of herself and her failure.

She had not been able to produce more than just a weak hint of a blade that dissipated quickly, despite repeated efforts and Tofu-sensei’s coaching and encouragement. She understood his explanation of how to filter the ki through her body and ultimately into her fist, but deep down inside, Akane knew that the blade scared her. She didn’t like the prickly feeling in her aura whenever one of the other teens had their blades out and shimmering, it made her feel vulnerable and skittish, and she didn’t like the feel of her ki concentrated in her hand. And after Ranma experimentally put his blade through both a wall and then several sterile steel basins, demonstrating how easily and effortlessly the weapon could slide through almost anything, Akane simply couldn’t shake the thought of how dangerous this technique really was.

She didn’t like the implications of holding that sort of power in her hand. She knew that, oftentimes, she was barely in control of her temper as it was, and her fists and mallets could do more than enough damage when she was angry. It wasn’t a personality trait that Akane was particularly proud of, and she did her very best to temper it, but the threat was still constantly there. She wasn’t eager to add something potentially lethal to her arsenal, and she certainly didn’t want to become comfortable and skilled enough at its use that she might pull it out in a fit of anger, not thinking of the consequences.

But . . . at the same time, she wanted to learn it! She wanted to help Ryoga! And it shamed her that she didn’t have enough confidence in herself or her temperament to feel comfortable enough to execute the technique. Looking down at the sidewalk, her face feeling hot, Akane traced a circle with her toe and fought back the angry tears of unfairness that wanted to come.

Ryoga had always been there for her, despite his lousy directional sense, whenever she really needed him. And he was willing to do anything for her, no matter how it might have hurt him. Akane could now look back and recognize times when she had unthinkingly used Ryoga’s loyalty to her own advantage and was ashamed at the pain she caused him. But he always seemed to brush it off, ready to be there for her the next time she needed him. Ready to rescue her from danger. Ready to defend her honor. Ready to train her seriously and constructively, as her own father seemed unwilling to do. He was content to quietly listen to anything she needed to say, and always willing to play the part of a pet for her, because he knew how much she needed something to take care of and mother. As she had told Ranma . . . Ryoga was her confidant and her best friend. She trusted him beyond all others.

But now that -he- was the one in trouble . . . now that -he- needed help . . . Akane couldn’t return the favor, couldn’t help him. She was too frightened by her own limitations. Too unsure of her own abilities. Now that the tables were turned . . . she was failing the one who had always been there for her.

Akane looked back up at the changing colors in the sky, at the low lazy clouds gathering against an impending sunset. (( I’m so sorry, Ryoga-kun . . . )) she whispered in her mind. (( My protector . . . my big brother . . . I want to help you so much! I want to . . . but I just . . . the Kokoro Kogatana . . . it just doesn’t feel right. I’m not comfortable with it . . . I can’t . . . ))

"I can’t . . . " Akane whispered, letting the tears finally fall.

"Akane-chan . . . " A hesitant hand fell on her shoulder from behind. Jumping in surprise, the Tendo girl quickly wiped her eyes and turned to find Ukyo standing there, looking concerned. Valiantly, Akane tried to reign her emotions in and get herself back under control, not wanting the other girl to think she was weaker than everyone already knew she was.

"Ukyo! I was . . . I was just . . . " Akane fished for a plausible excuse to explain why she was out here alone instead of practicing as the others were still doing. "Just . . . watching the clouds . . . "

Ukyo blinked, her dusty blue eyes reflecting the late afternoon light. "Oh," she said quietly, but looked as though she didn’t really believe it. She moved her hand down Akane’s arm and squeezed gently, reassuringly. "It’s all right, Akane."

Akane was not in the mood to be reassured. "No! It’s not all right!" she snapped and turned, pulling away. She crossed her arms over her chest and brought her right hand up to her mouth in an attempt to stifle her crying. After several unsuccessful moments, she finally gave in and let the tears begin to fall again. "I can’t believe how worthless I am . . . " she muttered sadly.

"Worthless?" Ukyo frowned, stepping closer once again. "Akane, you’re not worthless."

"Yes I am! I want to help Ryoga . . . he’s always been there for me . . . but I can’t even master this -stupid- technique! I can’t do this one thing for him when he needs help. I’ve been so worried about him . . ." Akane paused, realizing that she was rambling and probably not making much sense, but a helpless feeling of shame was bubbling up inside of her and practically forcing the words out. Her voice lifted in pitch as she continued, tears coming harder and harder. "I could have stopped it in the beginning, Ukyo! I knew that there was something strange about Ikioi, but I didn’t say anything because I was hoping he would have a chance to be happy, but I was wrong and now it’s too late and I can’t even do anything to help!"

Ukyo’s slender arms wrapped around Akane and the smaller girl felt herself being pulled into a hug. Forgetting to be surprised by the gesture of comfort and friendship, Akane buried her face against Ukyo’s shoulder and cried.

Her hot tears were both angry and frightened as she worked through the guilt of her inaction and inability to master the Kokoro Kogatana technique. She was failing her best friend! Her dear sweet handsome friend who had helped her through so much and whom she had never really properly thanked for his loyalty, support and thoughtfulness. Very soon it could be too late, and Akane mourned a thousand missed opportunities when she could have smiled at him and told him how much she appreciated his friendship . . .

And that would have meant so much to him . . .

"Akane-chan," Ukyo began quietly, hesitantly stroking one hand in the Tendo girl’s short dark hair. "The technique doesn’t matter . . . "

"Yes it - -"

Ukyo pulled back and pressed her fingers against Akane’s lips, interrupting her protest. Her eyes glittered with fond sternness as she looked down at the young woman in her arms. "Don’t interrupt. Just listen, okay Akane?"

Staring in surprise, Akane nodded silently.

"Good." Ukyo dropped her hand from Akane’s mouth and moved it to her shoulder instead, gripping firmly. "The technique doesn’t matter, Sugar. To tell you the truth, I’m really not very comfortable with it myself. I prefer to use methods grounded in the physical, I guess, like my spatulas. I know I can trust them every time, but this ki-blade thing? I don’t like the feel of it. Regardless, it doesn’t matter. What really matters is that Ryoga is your friend, right? And you know that would mean more to him than if you mastered every ki technique in the world, wouldn’t it?"

"H - hai . . . " Akane sniffled, blinking a few more tears loose as she thought about that. It was true. Ryoga would not want to see her upset and feeling guilty over what was happening. Were he present, Akane knew that he would give her that soft nervous half-smile of his and tell her not to worry, because to Ryoga . . . intention meant just as much as action, and he would be far more likely to praise her efforts than condemn her failure. And that she was trying for his sake . . . that would be a treasure in itself to him . . .

Akane nodded and realized that Ukyo was right. The technique didn’t matter because Ryoga’s salvation was likely to come from Ranma anyway, they were going along only to serve as backup to the pig tailed martial artist. Perhaps she could not master the Kokoro Kogatana technique, but her intentions were just valuable. She would not fail Ryoga as long she went into this fight armed with her fond love for him. Coming to that conclusion made her feel worlds better.

A new thought occurred to Akane, and she gazed questioningly up at the okonomiyaki chef who was watching her carefully. "Is he -your- friend, Ukyo? I’ve always kind of wondered about that, because sometimes you’re cool toward him and other times you almost act like a couple."

Ukyo shifted a bit uncomfortably, glancing away for a moment. "I guess I wouldn’t be here helping if I didn’t consider him a friend, but until now I’ve never really given it much thought." Her face in profile, she looked thoughtful as she considered her answer, a breeze whispering through her bangs and pony tail.

"Sometimes he feels like an obstacle, but I’d say that most of the time Ryoga and I are partners more than anything else. We’ve always worked pretty well togther, even if we don’t really trust each other, and I suppose that sort of makes us friends, after a fashion. Truthfully, I’ve never given him much thought beyond how his actions were directly affecting me at any given time, and we’ve -never- been a couple. I guess he’s kind of cute, you know," she glanced up at Akane, a twinkle in her eye, "the same way a lost puppy is cute. But he’s really not my type."

"Your type being Ranma." Akane sighed, not bothering to pitch her words as a question. She wasn’t sure if that bothered her because she had grown used to being ruffled by such things, or if it bothered her for Ukyo’s sake. Through his concern, anger and fear, Ranma had made his desires plainly known. His interest was in Ryoga, and that left no room for the okonomiyaki chef who had been pursuing him for years.

Ukyo flushed a bit and stepped away, putting distance between herself and Akane. "Ran-chan is more a point of honor to me than anything else, Akane. All those years of what I thought was rejection . . . I was angry, you know? I wanted justice, I wanted revenge. And when I saw that things weren’t as I imagined . . . then I wanted what I thought was mine." She smiled softly, sadly, looking up at the clouds that Akane had been contemplating earlier. "That just happened to be Ranma. I don’t think I ever wanted him for who he actually is . . . just for what he represented to me."

Akane watched her, looking for any signs of untruth, but finding none. She saw nothing beyond a rather lonely young woman who had based her life around the acquisition of something she could never have. "I . . . " Akane swallowed hard and stepped forward to touch Ukyo’s arm. Though she and the taller girl had never exactly been friends, Akane offered the option now. "I’m sorry, Ucchan . . ."

Ukyo shook her head and looked back at Akane, her smile warming. "Don’t be, Sugar. I think I’ve gotten over it. Like I said, I never truly wanted him for himself and I gave up on him when I realized that he was interested in Ryoga."

Akane watched her questioningly for a moment, wondering if it was really that easy to give up on someone you had been pursuing for years, or if perhaps Ukyo was simply smoothing over her true feelings in the matter? Deciding that the latter was most likely, Akane nodded understandingly, then returned Ukyo’s smile.

"So . . . if not Ranma . . . " Sensing that they both needed a break in the tension, she tipped her head playfully, running her tongue along the bottom edge of her top teeth. "Who -is- your type, Ucchan?"

Ukyo flushed again, this time a much deeper pink, and though the effect was nearly lost in the low light of the waning afternoon, Akane couldn’t help but think that the okonomiyaki chef looked prettier than usual when she was caught in a blush.

To cover her embarrassment, Ukyo slung an arm around Akane’s shoulders companionably and maneuvered the smaller woman around, heading them back inside the clinic. Her voice was low as she replied, "Let’s save this conversation for later, okay Akane-chan?"

"Okay," Akane agreed, feeling a little flushed herself as the two stepped into the building. "Right now we should be concentrating on training anyway, so that we can get Ryoga back. I’ll ask Tofu-sensei if he’ll show me that technique one more time . . . "

*********************************************

As the sun slipped below the artificial horizon of houses and buildings, it set the sky on fire. Oranges, reds and pinks battled each other for supremacy of the evening, flickering and shimmering behind the cover of low hanging clouds. From the far side of the sky, the dark indigos and blues of an encroaching night advanced ever forward, intent on ultimately winning the territory of the heavens through sheer stealth and patient progression.

Ryoga watched the sunset, as he stood beside the window in his room and stared outward, arms crossed and leaning his left temple against the cooling glass. The rest of the room was dark and shadows had been growing in the corners for some time, silent testaments to the passage of the hours and constant reminders of what was going to come. As the young man gazed out at the death of day, he wondered vaguely if this would be the last sunset he ever witnessed.

He really didn’t understand what Ikioi meant when she spoke of some ‘Seal’, and he wasn’t sure that he wanted to. Mention of the subject was always accompanied by assurances that soon they would be leaving together, and that bothered Ryoga a great deal. Whether he accepted his fate or not, he certainly wasn’t looking forward to facing its nebulous nature, and Ikioi’s eagerness only complicated his anxiety. Ryoga didn’t want to go away. He had never liked being separated from the people and places he loved and cared about, but in the past he had always been secure in the knowledge that he -would- make it back, eventually.

Now . . . now . . . he doubted that he’d have that option.

Sighing wearily, feeling the weight of the past several years bearing down on him, made ever heavier by the reality of his current situation, Ryoga shut his eyes slowly. The colors of sunset stayed behind his closed eyelids and he concentrated on them for a moment, but was unable to find that welcome sense of distraction that had kept him oblivious to what was going on. Apparently he had rejected it along with Ikioi’s illusions, but he briefly found himself wondering if that had been a mistake. She kept reminding him that they were going to be together forever, and he wasn’t sure that an eternity of awareness in her realm of origin was something he was going to be able to face.

But he would have to . . . because this was exactly what he deserved.

Guilt . . . shame . . . unhappy resignation . . . they were becoming the defining parameters of Ryoga’s existence, and he knew that he’d carry these feelings into whatever infinity Ikioi had planned. Guilt over the death of his Shirokuro and her little ones. Shame over the no-win scenario he’d allowed himself to sink into because of his own stupid desires and needs. Resignation over what might have been . . . what never could be . . . what he had never considered before.

(( Ranma . . . why didn’t you say something sooner? Why did you hurt me so much . . . and why did I let you . . . ? ))

The night emerged victorious in its battle against the last of the sun’s rays, and a heavy shroud of twilight settled over the neighborhood outside Ryoga’s window. Empty, echoing inside, and no longer occupied by the sunset, the young man sank to the floor, folding up like a clam hiding within its twin shells. He rested his head against the wall and stared at the heavy atmosphere of his room. At the weighty clutter and dulled souvenirs. At all the mementoes that had always seemed so important before, but which were little more than dust collectors now.

Ryoga blinked slowly in acknowledgment of the meaningless possessions.

Had living really been so pointless? All that would remain of him would be the trinkets in this room and a few scarce images on scattered photographs. A couple of people would remember him, and perhaps fondly, but those memories, and the photos, would fade eventually. Even whatever Ranma thought he felt would ultimately give way to the passage of time until there was little left of those feelings. Erased like a sandstone being scoured by desert winds. When all was said and done, nothing would endure to mark the passage of Ryoga Hibiki’s irrelevant and brief existence.

Ryoga shut his eyes tightly and didn’t even look up when Ikioi came into his room, stepping quietly and sliding the door shut behind her.

She frowned at his inattention, not liking it in the least, but knowing that some antipathy was to be expected now that he could see the truth behind what was happening to him. It saddened her, because she had hoped that he would love her as much as she treasured him. That he would come to her willingly and understandingly. That hurting him wouldn’t be necessary. She didn’t like to hurt him, but he was so beautiful, even in his pain, that she was willing to do it in order to keep him. Watching him writhe as she gripped his chi was like seeing an angel being stripped of its wings.

And seeing him now; sitting alone and forlorn in his dark room, was akin to looking at heaven.

Ikioi hardly dared to breathe as she stared at him for a long moment. He was so wonderfully strong, but had been so willing to trust and share, Ikioi had never known anyone like him. Acquiring him had been risky due to his strongly felt emotions, but she had been unable to resist the temptation after the first time she saw him wandering about Nagoya years and years ago. Even as young as he had been at that time, she had felt his strength and sensed his developing beauty, and Ikioi had fallen for him. Had known that he was the one she wanted. Desired. Needed.

Needed. She had never expected to love him.

He was an enigma, an uneasy harmony of darkness and light. A serious young man who had never been a child, but still somehow retained the soft innocence that came from being new and naive. And he was so beautiful. So perfect. Oh, she did love him, loved him with a passion born of need and possession. All the long years of feeling him, occasionally touching his mind while she waited for her own maturity . . . it had been arduous torture. So many times she had wanted to go to him, comfort him, make everything right for him, and the moment she laid eyes on him again in the okonomiyaki restaurant, she had felt as if she were looking into a flame. A flame afraid of its own heat.

Now. At last. He was hers, and hers alone.

After a long pristine moment passed, Ikioi cleared her voice gently and spoke up. "Ryoga. My Heart. My Soul. My Everything."

The young man finally looked up, slowly, recognizing from the tone of her voice that the time for . . . something . . . had come. He prepared to stand, ready to face bleak eternity, only to falter and slide back to the floor, his dark eyes wide with shock.

The only thing Ikioi wore was a long draping veil of shimmering violet silk. The piece of material was artfully arranged over her diminutive body, but did very little to hide her natural curves and . . . attributes. She wore her hair down long and loose, and it fell around her in a dark cascade, framing her small perfect face and large brilliant eyes flawlessly. She reminded him of the classically realistic statues he had seen when in Greece once; a beauty so absolute that it could only be captured in milky marble, adorned with living splashes of onyx, amethyst and aquamarine.

Ikioi smiled at his surprise and stepped forward, advancing on him.

Breathing hard, Ryoga backed up until he was pressed tight against the wall, staring up at her transfixed. He felt heat rush to his face in habitual response to being exposed to the stimulating mystery of the opposite sex, but somehow he managed to maintain his senses enough to question her fairly obvious intentions.

"Ikioi-sama?" he swallowed, breaking out in a sweat as she hovered closer.

"Yes, my beloved?" Ikioi replied, coming to a stop in front of him. Her proximity removed his power of speech, for he was suddenly aware of her warm musky scent and couldn’t answer. He was capable only of staring up at her, stupefied. Purring softly and reassuringly in the back of her throat, Ikioi slowly lowered herself until she was straddling his lap in a rather unladylike position that exposed her completely, her silk-covered breasts brushing against his chest as she leaned forward, fingers seeking his face and hair.

Ryoga all but jumped out of his skin. Trying fruitlessly to back further away, he averted his eyes, but still found it necessary to press a hand against his nose as blood began to erupt from it.

He was absolutely mortified, not only by her blatant advance, but also by his reaction to it. His teenaged body was heating up considerably, attracted to the hints of her form and the closeness of her presence. She smelled so good, so warm . . . But within, Ryoga was balking, wanting to flee. Wanting to be sick from the sensations of desire. How could he be attracted to her after everything . . . after what she had done to his dogs . . . after all the lies and illusions . . . after the torture she had inflicted on him . . . ?

"No . . . " Ryoga shook his head, voice still hoarse from his earlier screaming. Each breath was hard fought for as he battled his body’s selfish interest, trying to temper it with his loathing of the girl in his lap. She had killed his dogs! Threatened his friends! And she was so close . . . her hands brushing gently against his face . . . her jeweled eyes attempting to catch his.

"We must, Ryoga-kun," Ikioi whispered in a low throaty tone, letting her small pale hands drop and running them over his chest, massaging in slow sensual circles that set his nerves on fire. He winced and suppressed a soft sound that built in his throat, and Ikioi smiled knowingly. "The time has come for us to break the Seal, and that can only be achieved by penetration. Then, the energies we release in our climax will be the fuel used to open the Portal to my Realm."

"Ikioi-sama, I can’t," Ryoga protested plaintively, shocked by her straightforward explanation. The Seal . . . he would have never thought . . . Blood escaping his hand and spiraling down his chin and neck, he kept his gaze firmly on the wall to his left, grinding his teeth as his body responded to her feathery touches, and to the love she was projecting. Just as she had the night before, when they danced together in the livingroom, she wrapped him in a warm cocoon of her passion for him, and it felt so good. Ryoga longed to drown in it . . . to forget all about what was happening and just let himself drift again, to let go and do whatever she wanted as long as she continued to touch him . . .

Yesterday he would have blindly and gladly accepted what she offered. Today he couldn’t. Despite the tightness that his body was tensing into, a tension that felt wonderful and burning at the same time, Ryoga knew that he simply could not. She had tortured him. Killed. Lied. He brought up his free hand and pressed it against her small shoulder, feeling the delicate bones beneath the surface of her warm satiny skin. He thought briefly of how easy it would be to crush her if he gripped just a bit harder, but resisted the urge. He might not be fast enough to prevent her from using his chi against him again. Instead, he pushed at her, hoping to dislodge her from his lap.

"You can and you will, Ryoga," Ikioi said softly. She reached up and removed his hand from her shoulder, while pulling his other hand from his face at the same time. Apparently not noticing or caring about the blood staining his fingers, she guided him to her breasts, nudging him to place a hand over each.

A jolt went through Ryoga’s entire body as he realized where his hands were and what they were doing. It seemed as though all of the heat in his body shifted and concentrated itself in his lower regions, thrumming at him insistently, demanding that he do something in response. Something that he knew he didn’t want to do. It was an unpleasant feeling, but one he was worried he could become easily addicted to. Shocked and ashamed, Ryoga tried to remove his hands, but Ikioi held them firmly in place and was finally able to capture his gaze with hers.

He fell unwillingly into those ocean depths and was instantly drowning.

"The time has come, my Heart. I am mature and I am ready. It will be now. We will break the Seal and open the way to my Realm so that I can rejoin my Clan, and so that you and I can be together forever." Ikioi’s voice was whispered, but it seemed to shimmer through Ryoga’s mind like a thousand crystals rubbing together. He began to shiver violently, involuntarily, as he fought her influence in his mind. Kami-sama help him, but he wanted her! He wanted to do as she ordered . . . wanted to explore what she was offering him . . . but . . . but . . .

He felt his hands move of their own volition. He was stroking her softness beneath the silk of her wrap. The twin nubs of her nipples were hardening in response to the shifting of his fingers and he could feel her flush with heat. Ryoga whined softly, protesting . . .

"I can’t do this . . . " he insisted, despite the fact that he -was- doing it. He forced his eyes shut, trying to block the influence of her gaze, but the liquid green ice of her eyes was burned in the afterimage behind his lids. Ryoga tipped his head back, distantly feeling it hit the wall behind him, as her hands traveled ever down his chest and stomach, teasing and playing tag around the heat that was gathering in his lower region.

"My Ryoga, my Heart . . . " Ikioi purred lovingly, leaning closer and slithering one hand down to brush against the growing bulge beneath the material of his pants. His entire body jerked again, and she saw his eyes tighten as he tried valiantly to fight back the desire his body was feeling. He was a teenaged boy, and like all such, he was easily stimulated and hard pressed to control himself.

But Ryoga was stronger than most, in body if not in will. He ground his teeth together and determinedly brought an image of Shirokuro and the puppies to mind, least he forget what she had done to them. And then to him . . . the torture . . . that black screaming death . . . Ikioi’s small warm hands found their way beneath the waistband of his pants, and Ryoga tensed, pressing himself even tighter away from her.

He purposely tilted his head forward and swung it back again, slamming it deliberately against the wall to counteract the flush of need that flashed through his body, tracing the path of every last nerve. He forced himself to remember that Ikioi had disgraced the memory of his mother . . . that she had threatened his friends . . . Akane . . . Ranma . . . Ranma . . .

Straining with the effort, Ryoga pulled his hands from her breasts . . . from that inviting softness that was somehow firm and full beneath his touch . . . and gave her a rough push, exhaling the word, "No!" as if it were being said with his last breath.

Ikioi’s invading hands retreated as she was forced to brace herself against the floor to avoid tumbling. She looked up at him, a mixture of surprise and hurt in her eyes that was quickly replaced with a sort of disappointed anger. There were blood stains marring the whispering violet silk of her wrap, marks left by Ryoga’s fingers. The bright smudges bore silent testimony to what he had just been doing . . . to what he had almost let happen . . . and jarred him back to full reality.

No . . . he would not be used in such a way . . . the desire he had felt melted slowly, regrettably, out of his body. Ryoga shuddered as tendrils of heat dissipated away.

Ikioi recovered quickly from his abrupt shove, straightening herself and regaining her composure. She gazed at him, her fine mouth drawn into a cold neutral expression. "Ryoga," she began in a tight tone, her hand moving up to her sternum, to hover over his trapped chi menacingly. "That was a mistake."

Ryoga flinched, drawing back, memories of his recent torture still painfully fresh in his mind. "Ikioi-sama!" he exclaimed, ashamed of the crack of fear that slipped into his voice. "Please, no. It doesn’t work that way. Y - you can’t threaten me into having s - sex with you when I don’t want you."

"Yes, you do," she replied simply, a hard edge growing in her expression. "You want to be touched, Ryoga, to be loved. And I will give you that, one way or another."

Her fingers tensed and teased in and out of a full grip, but with each flex, Ryoga felt the blackness and paralysis whispering in on him. Panic began to build, but he fought it back, countering it with anger. He gritted his teeth, fangs showing in a plain display, and jammed his fist downwards against the floor. The resulting crack of wood and shuddering tremor went almost unnoticed.

"That’s rape, Ikioi!" Ryoga snarled.

She tipped her head slightly, as if contemplating that for a moment, then shrugged fluidly. "Perhaps, but perhaps not. You responded to me, Ryoga. You want this as much as I do. You said that you love me."

"My -body- responded! But I don’t want you, and I c - can’t love you. Not after . . . not after what you’ve done to me . . . " Ryoga’s protest trailed off as Ikioi moved a bit closer, her chilling expression whisking away any further objection. Her eyes told him that he was treading on very thin ice, and was liable to fall through at any moment, and Ryoga wanted to retreat, wanted to take back his protest and defiance, as he saw her grip tighten over her chest.

"No . . . " Ryoga whined, again ashamed of how weak he was being. But that black death . . . that was more terrifying and painful than anything he had ever experienced . . . he simply couldn’t go through it again. "Ikioi-sama . . . p - please don’t."

"Your body, my Heart?" Ikioi asked lowly, closing the distance between them. Ryoga realized suddenly that they were no longer on the floor, but on his futon, pressed together beneath the sheet and blankets. Startled, his first instinct was to move away from her, to get her warm inviting body off of his, but he discovered that he could not. Her fingers were gripped just tightly enough to freeze him in place, and the beginning whispers of darkness were closing in on him. Ryoga’s breath stilled in his chest and he gasped for air, eyes going wide with fear.

"I’m disappointed, beautiful Ryoga," Ikioi’s voice was soft and gentle as she lifted her free hand and touched it against his forehead. "But luckily, your body is all that I need . . . "

There was a brief spark of light, and Ryoga felt something warm and solid move through his head, originating from her fingers. He fell heavily into the pillow beneath him, rather bewildered and wondering exactly what was happening. His vision tunneled, and he saw that Ikioi had pulled back and had dropped both of her hands to his body, to move them along his chest and down the hard surface of his stomach. Her touch was firm and demanding now, and she found the waistband of his pants again with ease, tugging to untuck his black shirt. Again, Ryoga’s body responded, recapturing the heat that it had only temporarily lost.

Ryoga brought his hands up to ward her away again. Or at least he tried to. Though she was no longer holding his chi, he discovered that he was still unable to move . . . was still paralyzed. Panicking, he fought for the command of any of his appendages and found them all beyond his mental reach. He could not speak, could not protest, could not resist. But he could still feel . . . every wonderful sickening sensation . . . every touch of her fingers, every answering surge within his own body . . . the tightening in his groin . . . the fluttering in his stomach . . . Ryoga could feel it all . . .

Then, to his horror . . . he moved . . . but it was not in protest as he wanted. From within his own eyes, Ryoga watched as his body betrayed him and embraced Ikioi, pulling her close . . . increasing the heat and friction between them. Operating on pure instinct, and driven by the desire that Ikioi was building within him, Ryoga’s physical form went forward without him. His hands moved over her, finding their way under her silk wrap to the flushed skin beneath, and each of his fingers drank in the feel of that satiny surface. Laying now on his stomach, Ikioi pushed his shirt up and gently kissed along his midline, her own fingers teasing at his nipples playfully. Ryoga felt it . . . heard himself moan softly in response . . . and began to scream in his mind.

Somehow . . . somehow she had cut off his free will . . . he could only watch and feel helplessly as his body responded to and interacted with Ikioi’s demands. Moving and twisting together . . . Ryoga’s physical form sought the desire and release that Ryoga himself would not give in to. A prisoner in his own mind, the Lost Boy observed and felt every touch, every kiss, every iota of heat . . . but could do nothing to stop it . . .

(( No!! Oh Kami-sama! This can’t be happening! )) Ryoga shrieked in his mind and he struggled to make his body respond to his commands. The frustration and the pleasure kept shorting him out, derailing him, but he continued trying, figuratively pounding frantically on the door of his mind, seeking desperately to get out. This was rape! She was raping him, and his own selfish body was helping her do it! Willingly, it responded to her commands like a trained animal, eagerly doing whatever she wanted in exchange for its own satisfaction and the love she was projecting. The two of them danced together as if they had been practicing for years, conscious and aware of each changing nuance of the other, ready to respond and further stimulate. Energy danced with them, rising from the heat of their bodies and filling the air heavily.

When he reached the point where she had aroused him into action, Ryoga’s physical body took control and rolled them in the bedclothes, putting himself on top so that he could fully explore and properly worship her perfect alabaster body. She allowed it, twining her fingers in his hair as she arched her back, prompting him into suckling. Ryoga felt his fingers in her inferno depths, minutely examining each fold of skin, each little nub and exploiting the spots that seemed to excite her the most. Between his own legs there was hard insistence . . . primal desire which overrode nearly everything else.

In his mind, Ryoga wanted nothing more than to curl up and die, as the conflict between sensation and will continued. Had he been capable of it, he would have been crying . . . would have been screaming . . . (( No, no, no! )) He stared wildly through his own eyes, caught and wounded like an animal in a steel trap, at Ikioi beneath him, at the satisfaction and pleasure in her cold ocean eyes. Ryoga knew that she was aware of what this was doing to him . . . how it was ripping him into shreds . . . for his chi was beating frantically in her chest in an attempt to escape its prison and his own mind was shrieking loud enough for anyone with even the least bit of awareness to hear.

(( Please! Stop!! Don’t do this to me!! You said you loved me! You said you loved me! How can you tear me down like this if you love me? . . . please . . . please Ikioi . . . don’t do this to me . . . ))

In the real world, Ikioi reached up and brushed her hand against his cheek, gazing into . . . through . . . his dark eyes and smiling beautifully, flushed with her desire and passion. "I -do- love you, my Heart. My beautiful Ryoga. I love you with everything that I am . . . "

Somewhere around the two entwined figures on the futon . . . something else was happening . . . something unreal and swirling with the building energy . . . but Ryoga could not concentrate on that. He reeled as his physical counterpart quickly reached a dizzying point of no return. It was all too much . . . the conflict, the loathing, the wonderful pleasure of being with her . . . he screamed and raged, banging against the walls of his mind, inflicting irreparable damage on his own psyche.

Ikioi rose to meet him, spreading herself open and digging her nails into the meat of his shoulders as he instinctively maneuvered himself into her compelling depths, feeling her enclose around him. There was a slight hitch as he encountered a barrier, but he wasn’t interested in stopping or taking his time. Encouraged by her hastily whispered assurance, Ryoga pushed hard.

Breaking the Seal.

There was a flash of light and a soft snapping boom, as all of the gathering energy came together suddenly. Neither Ryoga or Ikioi were distracted by that, however, as they were more interested in what was going on between them. Ryoga felt himself being massaged and tugged in deeper by her inner muscles, which shifted and contracted, prompting him into a firm hard rhythm which he willfully fell into, nearly driving her small body into the futon. She didn’t seem to mind, and whispered soft exclamations in his ear as she clung to him tightly, legs wrapped securely around his waist and driving him deeper.

Within, Ryoga folded in on himself. As his body built toward shuddering climax, all of his energy being drawn off to fuel the coming explosion, Ryoga weakened and his struggles faded beneath the overwhelming surge of power that was impending in the real world. As he was overcome, Ryoga could only curl up in a lost corner of his own mind and try to shut it all out. He splintered away, seeking solace . . . finding only darkness . . . the black death that was forever waiting to engulf him . . .

(( Kami . . . )) he whispered from some small place beneath all of the heat and desire. (( Help me . . . someone . . . please . . . help me . . . ))

***********************************************

Sitting silently on the stoop of Tofu-sensei’s back door, Ranma watched with very little interest as the young doctor worked with both Ukyo and Akane, trying to bring the girls to a higher level of confidence and ability. They had been going at it for nearly an hour, with very little progress, and Ranma had long since ceased protesting the futility of their activity, helped along in no small part by the threat of Akane’s lightning swift mallets.

To calm him down, Cologne had talked Ranma into a state of half-awareness, ordering him to center himself and get a rein on the anger and distress that had been dogging him all day. She reminded him that he would be no help at all to Ryoga if he jumped into the fight without being in control of his emotions, new technique or not.

And Ranma knew that she was right, so he did his best to recall all of the meditation exercises he had been taught over the years, most of which he had paid very little attention to, and get himself calmed down. The drone of Tofu’s voice as he patiently explained the technique to Akane one more time helped considerably, and Ranma was able to find a calm spot within himself to concentrate on.

Tofu was telling her all of the same things that he had told Ranma, about how the Kokoro Kogatana was driven by emotion, but that it wasn’t necessarily the most destructive emotion that was the strongest. Ranma frowned inwardly, wondering what in the world the doctor thought he meant by that. Personally, he was saving up all of the anger that he felt, specifically so that he could concentrate it all down into his blade when he squared off against Ikioi. Faced with his wrath, there was no way that she would have a chance to beat him again. Hadn’t it been his anger that had penetrated her defenses before? Well, this time he had a whole lot more saved up. Growling lowly, Ranma curled his hand into a tight fist. The bitch was going to pay.

Beside him, Ranma heard Cologne clear her throat meaningfully. Realizing that he had slipped out of his calm state, Ranma forced his body to relax and uncoil, and mentally went looking for that point of calm within the raging storm that was brewing in his mind.

But just as Akane was finally able to manifest her first decent ki blade, that serene spot within Ranma was invaded. From far away . . . the soft whisper of Ryoga’s voice drifted into the pig tailed boy’s mind, bringing mental pain and a strange sense of splintering with it.

(( Help me . . . someone . . . please . . . help me . . . ))

Ranma’s entire body reacted, as an electric jolt dashed through the fiber of his muscles and his stomach twisted in response. He jumped to his feet, battle aura springing into full being and crackling as it blazed around him like an avenging halo. Those in the small back yard froze and stared at him, all admittedly a bit frightened by the wild anger in his eyes and the sheer fury that he was projecting.

"That’s it!! Enough of this!" Ranma snarled, flinging his hand in a downward cutting gesture. Without another word, he tore across the yard, tensing into a spring that carried him over the wall and out into the night. His aura left a shimmering residue in his wake.

Instantly the other four teenagers were galvanized into action. Shampoo was the first to follow Ranma over the wall, bon bori held tightly in her clenched fists and an expression of feline ferocity on her small delicate face. Mousse was close at her heels, long hair flying behind him like a black feathered cloak. Though slightly slower to react, Ukyo and Akane followed, moving together like synchronized dancers to disappear into the night.

Tofu and Cologne stared for a moment at the wall, then looked at each other. They sighed simultaneously.

"I was hoping to have more time," Dr. Tofu muttered regretfully. "Akane and Ukyo still aren’t very confident and Ranma . . . "

"Ranma is angry," Cologne finished for him.

He nodded, rubbing the back of his neck worriedly. "Yes. I was trying to get him to understand that anger may not be his best emotional weapon in this case, but I don’t think he was willing to understand. I hope he’ll realize it on his own."

"We will see," the Amazon matriarch responded, sounding rather unsure herself.

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