Ranma burst back into awareness with a jolt that wracked his entire body and a loud gasp of pain. Blinking back hot sweat and the tears which stung his eyes, the pig tailed martial artist stirred fitfully and gazed up at the ceiling swinging high above him. The orange lighting was even more subdued than he remembered it, and there was an odd stillness in the oppressive air around him. That ever-present hum was still there as well, but the pitch had changed slightly, and seemed less maddening than it had before. There was no movement, save for the dusty sway of webs in the corners. It was as if Ikioi’s entire chamber were waiting for something.

Perhaps for his next move . . . perhaps for something more permanent . . .

(( Ryoga . . . ))

Grunting softly at the sickening pain in his head and ribs, Ranma attempted to ease himself into a sitting position and regretted the move immediately. He remained still for a moment, feeling the sticky heaviness of blood beneath his back, mentally gathering his determination and strength. Every part of his body felt wrung out and weary, and he could sense just from the feel of his own aura that his ki was dangerously depleted.

He couldn’t let it deter him, however. As he stared up into the close shadows, Ranma was able to make out the unmoving body of the Lost Body, still held suspended in the strangely metallic webbing of two dozen frozen spider creatures. Dotting the ceiling of the chamber, he could also see the resting forms of those additional beasts that had survived Ryoga’s Shishi Hokodan and his own assault, each curled up in a silent ball . . . waiting . . .

Ikioi was no where to be seen.

Ranma wondered briefly that she hadn’t killed him, then decided not to question fortune. His first priority was to extract Ryoga from that web while he had the opportunity, then find some way of getting them the hell out of here. Gritting his teeth hard enough to audibly grind them, Ranma firmly pushed himself up from the rough floor, scooting backwards until he was able to rest his back against the wall he had been slammed against. Every movement hurt and his head was spinning just from that slight exertion, but at present it was his leg that was concerning him the most. Disturbingly enough, he could see just how broken it was, for his shin was jutting away from his knee joint at an odd sickening angle. Compared to the pounding of his skull, it seemed curiously painless, but Ranma knew that there was no way he would be able to stand up on it. The very thought made him want to throw up.

But he could not give up, damn it . . .

Resting his head against the wall, he gazed up at Ryoga again, frightened by how still the Lost Boy was. Ranma swallowed down the bundle of panicky fear in his throat, following it with a gasp of pain as he let his eyes drift over the walls, trying to come up with an idea. (( Now what? )) The chamber was constructed of uneven material, and if his leg weren’t out of service, he might have been able to scale the walls. Though chances were good that he could climb to the ceiling on just the strength of his arms alone, would there be any benefit to that course of action?

Ranma worried his lower lip with his teeth as he squinted up at the spiders that were anchoring Ryoga’s metallic web to the walls and ceiling. They didn’t appear to be moving at all, and in fact almost looked as if they had essentially transformed into chitinous stone. Apparently rigging the Host up in a web was intended to be a permanent operation. He could attempt to climb up and dislodge the creatures from the walls, but after a few more seconds of contemplation, Ranma realized what a mistake that would be.

With his leg as it was, he had little chance of reaching those beasts which were camped out on the ceiling, and if he simply broke the wall connections . . . Ryoga would still be suspended by the weight-bearing spiders anchoring his waist, chest and neck. Without the support of the wall spiders, the Lost Boy might be crushed or strangled. Of course, his chi was still in Ikioi’s chest, so he wasn’t likely to die, but Ranma didn’t relish the thought of Ryoga being in further pain.

(( Damn it . . . Ryoga, what can I do? )) Steeling himself, the young martial artist somehow managed to drag his body upright, using the wall as leverage, until he was standing with all of his weight on the undamaged leg, sweating heavily. Again, he looked up at the web. He couldn’t see it very well from this distance or through the dancing black spots in his vision, but it did seem to be some sort of bio-metallic cabling, glimmering sharply under the orangish lights of the chandelier spiders, and was obviously thick and strong.

Still, the creatures themselves could be killed by the Kokoro Kogatana, perhaps the webbing would be weak against it as well. Ranma didn’t have much ki-strength left, but he might be able to summon enough for a blade if there were simply some way that he could not only reach the web, but also work quickly enough not to hang or crush Ryoga. Drawing in a soft breath to counteract his continued dizziness, Ranma looked at the Lost Boy, then shifted his gaze to the floor. It was a very long way down, but at this point letting Ryoga fall seemed to be a better alternative to letting him strangle.

He would have preferred more time to build his ki-strength back up, but Ranma knew he probably didn’t have that luxury. The spiders could wake up or Ikioi could return at any moment, so if he was going to do anything, then he had to do it now. He granted himself a few seconds to get centered and mentally prepare for what he was going to do, hoping that it would work. During the Kokoro Kogatana training with Tofu-sensei, Ranma hadn’t thought to ask if the ki-blade could be used in the way he was planning, but he couldn’t let that ignorance stop him from trying. It was -his- ki, hopefully he could make it do what he wanted. He couldn’t let anything stop him . . .

He also had no idea what he would do once he had freed Ryoga from the web, as there still didn’t seem to be a way out of the chamber, but he couldn’t let that deter him either. Perhaps he -was- fighting a battle he had no hope of winning, perhaps he -would- be better off if he just tried to find a way out for himself, but Ranma knew he couldn’t leave his friend hanging in that web like some sort of broken butterfly, leave him to an eternity of death here in Ikioi’s Realm. The hell with Ryoga’s last whispered urge that he get himself out . . . (( I will -not- leave you there . . . ))

Bracing himself against the wall, trying to ignore the continued dizziness and throbbing in his head, Ranma attempted to summon a battle aura that he could concentrate down into the Kokoro Kogatana, making a fist of his right hand as he did so. It was hard coming, but he poured all of the pain he was feeling into the blade to fuel it, and was grateful to feel his ki snap to life and move down into his arm. The resulting red blade was unstable and flickering, but hopefully it would do the job.

Drawing in a deep stabilizing breath, Ranma closed his eyes, but kept a vision of the web and its prisoner in his mind. He saw the lines of webbing as glimmering glowing bull’s eyes, picking out the proper point on each that would be to his advantage to cut, and overlapping them in his mind until they became one. Multiple locations . . . a single target . . . Rearing back as best as he was able, Ranma raised his arm and cast it forward, releasing the ki-blade as if it were a throwing knife.

"Kokoro Kogatana Shuriken!"

Ranma felt his ki leave his hand, as he hoped it would, detonating almost immediately into two dozen small star-shaped projectiles which whistled shrilly as they spaced themselves out and tore through the air. Even as he fell backwards from the force of throwing it, Ranma stubbornly tried to keep that visualization of the web in his mind, praying fervently that he would be able to make this work. His head pounded unmercifully as he forcibly directed each ki-star to their final destinations - the lines of the web which held Ryoga prisoner. The pig tailed martial artist gasped out the breath he had been holding when every star hit its mark, and the web was sliced neatly from its moorings.

Ranma winced as Ryoga’s body hit the floor, and fought down the waves of nausea which built in his stomach. The job done, the thrown ki-stars dissipated into the air, fizzling out one by one. Only a couple managed to flip around and make it back to Ranma, and their weak power wasn’t enough to draw strength from. The pounding at the back of his head leeched away at his stamina, and as his good leg collapsed weakly beneath him, he quickly discovered that it was almost all he could do to stay conscious. Groaning softly, Ranma crumbled to the floor, assaulted anew by every pain in his battered body.

But at least Ryoga was freed from the web. Gasping for breath, Ranma lifted his eyes and gazed dizzily across the floor at the Lost Boy’s still form, laying highlighted in a faint splash of orange light amidst a tangle of metallic webbing. There was something innately lonely about the sight . . . but it also seemed almost poetically right . . . as if this was the proper way for everything to end, with a kind of detached distance between them that Ranma might not be able to reach across. He was operating on the very last of his power now, and he knew that if he used his waning strength to transverse the floor to his friend’s side, he would not be able to stand against Ikioi when she returned. Feeling very cold and ruined, Ranma habitually fought back bitter tears, growling and sobbing brokenly. (( Ryoga . . . my Ryoga . . . ))

Despite all of the pain and the fact that he was on the verge of drowning once again in that unconscious sea, Ranma forced himself to crawl across the seemingly endless floor. Forced himself to make it to his friend’s side. This last act would end everything, but the only thought that penetrated the haze of Ranma’s throbbing mind was the notion that he could not let Ryoga lie there alone . . .

The Lost Boy was laying on his stomach in a snarl of webbing. He hadn’t reacted at all to falling, and already seemed as if he were on the far side of death, skin pale and waxy-looking, heavy dark circles punctuating his tightly closed eyes. A trickle of thin watery blood leaked from the corner of his mouth, disappearing into the rough lattice of the floor. Clenching his teeth and summoning every ounce of what remained of his strength, Ranma fought to turn him over and brush away the web lines, grimacing at the limp deadness of his body. It took the last of what he had.

Heaving a soft sob of utter exhaustion, Ranma slowly lowered himself down beside Ryoga, pressing his body close and draping an arm around his waist. He let his head fall beside the other young man’s, his labored breath drifting across the alabaster surface of Ryoga’s cheek.

"I’m sorry . . . Ryoga . . . " Ranma whispered almost inaudibly. "I’m sorry I couldn’t save you . . . "

The pig tailed martial artist was vaguely startled when Ryoga’s eyes opened, as easily as if he had only closed them for a moment, revealing those soft dark depths. They were unfocused and cloudy, but it was Ryoga nonetheless, and though a surge spread through Ranma’s body at the sight, it wasn’t enough to counteract the exhaustion or the pain. He could only tighten his hold on Ryoga’s waist slightly, a weak smile creeping across his face.

"Ryoga . . . "

Slightly curled lips parted, and the Ranma caught a glimpse of the fangs within. "Na . . . nani . . . ?" Ryoga muttered distantly. Those eyes blinked once, then the Lost Boy turned his head toward the young man beside him. "Dare ga . . ? Ranma . . . " he whispered, flickers of recognition dancing through his expression.

"Hai . . . " Ranma barely nodded. He vaguely wondered how much the Lost Boy remembered of the last few hours, what his degree of awareness had been. Had those shards of his soul actually participated in Ranma’s unconscious vision, or was that Ryoga the product of his own mind? Unfortunately, the thoughts were too complex for Ranma to be able to give them voice, and truthfully it didn’t matter, did it? This was the end, and right now the only thing of any importance was that of being close to the Lost Boy.

Ryoga blinked slowly. Ranma? Ranma was . . . was . . . Ranma was . . . no . . . Ranma shouldn’t be here . . . "Go ‘way . . . " Ryoga breathed. "Get out . . . "

"Can’t," Ranma replied ruefully, and his dark sapphire eyes twinkled in a ghostly mimic of the cocky self-assured Ranma that Ryoga thought he remembered. "I’m spent . . . Sorry, Ryo-kun . . . I tried t’ get you out, but . . . " Ranma trailed off, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Agony was etched on his features, pulling in the lines at the corners of his eyes, tugging his jaw tight. "Sorry . . . I failed . . . "

The Lost Boy saw Ranma from someplace far away, someplace where his own pain was dulled and continuous and, having accepted it, he almost didn’t notice it anymore. He stared at the pig tailed boy blankly, not quite understanding what was happening. He had little memory of the events leading to this point, and really had no desire to know about them. This was what was suppose to happen to him, this vague and unending discomfort, this eternity of endless death. It was what he deserved. But Ranma . . . was here, though he shouldn’t have been . . . and he was hurt.

That part wasn’t right. Ryoga knew it wasn’t right. Ranma wasn’t suppose to be the one in pain . . .

He moved slowly, as if pushing through a heavy syrup, paying no attention to the strange sensations and hurts within his body that told him important things were broken inside. That didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was Ranma . . . Ranma needed to get away . . . Ranma needed to leave Ryoga’s hell and return to all those who loved and cared about him, all those who depended on him. The Lost Boy lifted his arms, dispassionately noting the watery blood that spiraled down from his raw wrists and the long gouging scratches on his left arm, and placed his hands on either side of Ranma’s face, lifting it slightly.

He could not let another suffer or die for him . . .

Ranma’s eyes fluttered open, and he found himself mere inches away from Ryoga, just as they had been in the vision he’d experienced while unconscious, except that this time the Lost Boy’s eyes were disturbingly void of any sort of emotion, any sort of feeling beyond a simple detached sadness. They stared at each other for a moment, while the spiders all around the chamber began to stir, filling the air with soft chitters and the scrapping sounds of their movements.

"Ryoga?" Ranma whispered.

Ryoga said nothing. There was nothing to say. His only concern was to give Ranma what he needed to get away. Operating more on instinct, on the need to fix this mistake, than on any sort of conscious thought, Ryoga pulled Ranma forward and pressed their lips together.

For a heartbeat there was nothing, and then a strange roaring began in Ranma’s head, accompanied by an odd sense of being filled with a living warmth, originating from the point of contact. The Saotome heir made a soft sound of surprise, but accepted the bizarre sensation because it felt so good . . . so comfortable . . . and it was giving him strength, waking him up, helping to lessen the incredible pain that was raging all throughout his body.

And that was when he realized what Ryoga was doing . . .

He tried to pull back, tried to break off the kiss, but Ryoga held his face tightly and would not allow him to escape. Consumed with the instinct to help, the Lost Boy dug deep into the pit of his body and retrieved every bit of ki-strength he was holding in reserve, every spark of energy that had regenerated since he had released his last Shishi Hokodan. He knew well how make the transfer work, had become intimately familiar with the feeling of being drained; it was no problem to reverse the procedure and give willingly. Ranma was exhausted and hurt, and his only chance lay in having enough strength to somehow get away. People cared about Ranma . . . people depended on Ranma . . . he was loved . . . needed . . . he deserved the chance to live . . .

(( No! )) Ranma protested, even as Ryoga’s strength was filling his body, settling in as if it belonged there. It wasn’t much, but it was powerful. Very powerful. Ryoga’s reserves . . . the very purest ki he had to give . . . Ranma felt it roar into him with the intensity of a tiger, forcing him to take that necessary step back away from the edge of death. He did the only thing that he could and simply gave into the intoxicating feeling of drinking Ryoga’s ki, pressing into the kiss deeper as his own body began to revive. Even though most of his mind was frantically yelling that what he was doing was wrong, a more subtle shameful part of Ranma found that it suddenly understood why Ikioi was so fond of the taste of Ryoga’s energy . . .

A gentle accepting whimper of pain came from the nomad’s throat and his hold began to loosen as he utterly depleted himself. When the last tendrils of energy were transferred, Ranma felt Ryoga go limp beneath him, and his hands fell away slowly. The kiss was broken.

Stunned almost beyond thought, Ranma opened his eyes and stared down at the young man beneath him wonderingly. Stared at the face that was still and smooth, white as bone. Stared at the lips which were slightly parted, but through which no breath passed. Felt the slowly sinking coldness of the skin beneath his hand, and the stillness of a chest which contained no heartbeat.

Something terrible swelled up within Ranma then, something that screamed and fought to be released. Perhaps he did release it, but if so - he never heard it, and only vaguely sensed it resonate against the walls of the chamber around him. Gently running his fingers over the marble that was his Lost Boy’s flesh, Ranma knew . . . he knew . . . knew that Ryoga’s chi still lived within Ikioi’s chest . . . knew that the young man could not die so long as that was true . . . but to see this unfair facade of death fall over the broken body beneath him . . . it was almost more than Ranma could take. Fighting back tears and the hurtful feeling that wanted to explode again from his chest, nearly strangling himself with the effort of containing it, Ranma curled his fingers into a fist, pushing himself up into a more upright position.

Ryoga’s ki moved through and around him, settling in comfortably, fitting into place as surely as if it belonged there. Ryoga’s ki . . . which he had given away without a second thought . . .

Without any thought at all, Ranma realized starkly. He simply recognized the need, and he gave . . . just as he always did . . . Beneath all of the bitterness and resentment, as angry and hateful as he often was on the outside, as much as it had to hurt, even after constantly losing just about every battle, Ryoga was still always ready to give . . . to sacrifice . . . for the sake of those he cared about, for those who needed him. And all he ever received in return was pain . . . pain and disappointment and isolation. For the first time ever, Ranma suddenly really understood what it was like to be Ryoga, as he looked down on his friend and knew the same empty feelings . . . knew the same sense of unfairness . . . he understood what it was like to know that anger and loneliness were the only real places he had to call home . . .

It wasn’t fair . . . Ranma lowered his head, shaking violently, losing ground in the battle to keep himself in check. All that pain, and yet Ryoga still continued to give. Give every part of himself. Every part, even the last of his strength to Ranma . . . even though the pig tailed martial artist had been picking on him and berating him for years. A growl began to form in Ranma’s throat, as tears slid slowly down his cheeks and fell silently against the ice of Ryoga’s skin. There was anger, yes . . . but more than the anger, there was the sense of understanding . . . of knowing . . . that which he had never allowed himself to see before.

"My Heart . . . "

Ranma looked up sharply, Ikioi’s barely breathed words breaking through his grief. She stood before him in her ki-form, elegant body swirling with the same energies that now flowed within Ranma himself, as if they mirrors of the same intent and purpose. Spiders hurried to surround her, their protective hisses filling the chamber uncomfortably. Her fingers were gently playing within the silver lattice of Ryoga’s chi, even as her brilliant eyes gazed down at the scene before her with not only cold anger . . . but with a touch of sad confusion as well. She felt her beloved Host’s ki fueling that damned Saotome, and that wasn’t right . . .

"You took . . . " she began, bewilderment obvious in her tone.

"He gave." Ranma replied icily, drawing on Ryoga’s strength to straighten himself and stand, though he did keep all of the weight off of his broken leg. His head was still throbbing as well, but it was a sensation that he could ignore for the time being in favor of more important things. Things like fulfilling his promise . . . rescuing Ryoga’s chi from Ikioi’s prison . . . making sure that the young man who sacrificed himself for others at every turn had the chance to at last know happiness for himself.

For himself . . .

Ikioi shifted her gaze to Ranma, the very air growing shadowed and heavy around her. No! That definitely wasn’t right! Ryoga was -her- Host, -her- Heart! He would not give to another, he would not betray her in such a way. He belonged to her, and her alone. "He wouldn’t," she said lowly. "He would never . . . "

"He gave." Ranma insisted darkly, leveling a severe and penetrating look at her. "Because that is what he always does. And you . . . I . . . we took advantage of that. Took advantage of his needs and his generosity, and have given him nothing but pain in return." (( Not fair, not fair . . . )) the mantra repeated over and over in Ranma’s head. Just as Akane had said - Ryoga deserved to be loved. He deserved the same chance that he hoped to grant Ranma by giving his strength. The same chance he had given them all by agreeing to go with Ikioi in the first place. He had done that to save their lives, at the complete disregard of his own . . . and now Ranma was determined to repay the debt . . .

He faced the demoness squarely, only distantly interested in his own pain now, and gathered all the ki within, feeling it move through him with a passionate strength. As it permeated his every cell, every nuance, Ranma supplemented it with the emotions he was currently feeling . . . with the need to put things right, with everything that he owed Ryoga. His previous anger was diluted, barely there, as it was replaced now with a passionate and understanding love. A love that thought nothing of Ranma himself, but only of Ryoga, and the sacrifices the Lost Boy had made for the sake of others at his own expense. That love filled him, expanding outward rampantly, like a wild horse seeking freedom . . .

Ranma was already moving forward as he roped that feeling and corralled it down through his right arm, guiding it into his hand, with a trumpet of "Kokoro Kogatana!" sounding from his lips. Star-point tears fell away behind him as he closed the short distance between himself and Ikioi, fueled by his love for the Lost Boy. The blade that erupted from his fist burned a molten white-gold, and its light seemed to fill the chamber like a nova. The spiders surrounding Ikioi scrambled backwards in terror, and even the Shikome herself looked startled to find Ranma suddenly lunging forward with blade drawn back and ready to plunge.

Her own anger flared - how dare he take from Ryoga and then use that energy against her?! - and her ki-form flashed with the heat of that anger in the mere seconds she had before he was upon her. She threw up a shield, against which his ki-blade sparked, but his assault drove her to take a step backwards.

Again and again he struck, and she parried each time with quick efficiency, but his blows were coming too fast for her to do anything except block. And there was a different feel to the fight this time . . . the sense that she was no longer in the position to toy with him as she had been doing. This was serious now, and the light of absolute determination in his steel blue eyes told her that in no uncertain terms. Somewhere a line had been crossed, though Ikioi could not phantom what that line might have been. Ranma’s thoughts were a complete blank to her, so consumed was he by whatever emotion he was trying to use against her.

And it was that compete investment in their renewed battle that eventually forced Ikioi to take the defensive. She was waning in stamina, and didn’t even have enough energy available to form her ki-armor, whereas Ranma was newly charged, despite his injuries. He seemed to have little trouble keeping the attacks and his side of the fight in the air, to prevent placing weight on his broken leg. Ikioi tried to exploit that weakness, using her shields as battering rams and swiping at his off-balanced stance, but the pig tailed martial artist was able to counter her at every turn. She sent mental signal to her Brothers, prompting them to go for his legs as well, but he fought each back, the ki-blade in his hand moving with an astonishing speed. He was remarkably silent, with none of the growling or snarling that he had indulged in during their previous matches. His concentration was absolute, his goal clear . . .

Ikioi grimaced and quickly hopped backwards away from him. He immediately continued his push forward, but her brief retreat granted her the precious seconds she required to get her hand up and strike forth with a psychic punch. Once again, Ranma went flying, and there was a sickening crunch as he hit the wall. She did not expect him to rise again.

He surprised her. Fueled on by nothing more than his near-mindless determination and Ryoga’s ki, Ranma ignored all of his pain and slowly got back to his feet, though continuing to favor his badly broken leg. His breath was coming hard, but he leveled a severe gaze at her, eyes burning with sapphire fire. The ki-blade in his fist flared in response, golden white and blazing. He sprang forward once more and the fight continued in earnest, both combatants moving so fast that the spider-creatures could not keep pace with them. Ikioi continued to block Ranma’s blurred strikes, but could feel the edge of her strength waning from within.

An unhappily begrudging thought came to her as she caught sight of Ranma’s eyes in the midst of the fury between them. (( I’ve underestimated him. He is strong. And he -is- worthy of my Heart . . . )) She realized then . . . she was about to lose . . .

(( My Heart . . . my beautiful love . . . this will not end here . . . ))

It was only a few heartbeats later that Ranma nailed the strike he had been seeking. One pure burst of his desire to end Ryoga’s pain and suffering, one perfect surge of the understanding love he was using to fuel the Kokoro Kogatana; and the blade seemed to find its own home, seemed to draw him to the weak point on Ikioi’s shields. Under that assault, the ki barriers were as useless as paper, and the blade punched through them with a firm finality.

Seeing the attack coming, even as she was attempting to draw away from it, Ikioi threw her hands over her chest, seeking to protect her precious prisoner. (( No! He can’t! Doesn’t he realize . . . ))

Ranma slammed into her, a wild yell tearing from his throat as he brought his weapon down, driving it once again toward her chest but instinctively . . . somehow . . . knowing that this time it would work . . . this time his emotions and motivations would not hurt the one he loved. There was a violent blinding burst of light as the Kokoro Kogatana struck home, slicing through Ikioi’s ki-form easily, and violating her very core. She screamed, the sound coming from her chest as a strangulated cry. Together, the combatants hit the floor.

Pain and sudden wild terror became as one to the young Shikome. Shimmering light and a clear crystalline fluid were pouring from the grievous wound, from around the base of Ranma’s ki-knife. She could feel it all being torn from its restraints and flowing from her, she was losing everything she had held inside, and the pain was unbearable. (( No! No, my Heart! My Beloved! )) His chi was pounding hard within her chest, each beat like a violent crashing drum. She thrashed beneath Ranma, her hands pinned by his blade, body flickering crazily between her ki-form and her physical incarnation, as his powerful emotional energy danced over and through her in cutting electric static waves. (( Oh, Mother . . . oh, Kaliuma! My Heart . . . it hurts so bad . . . ))

Ranma blinked, pulling himself out of the detached calmness that had surrounded him upon his attack. Ikioi’s agonized pleading cries, and the extreme pain that twisted her delicate features froze him in place, stopped his heart cold. Had he done this? Almost instinctively, he drew the ki-blade from her chest, and let it dissipate away. As he did, sparks began to jump from the wound, static traces of bio-electrical feedback which snapped and popped, and spread like spider-webs over Ikioi’s body as her aura was disrupted and fragmented. Her hands now free, she brought them up and shoved them forward, throwing him off with barely a fraction of her normal power. He tumbled to one side, grimacing as his broken leg was bent, but sitting up quickly, ready in case she tried anything else.

Ikioi began to convulse violently, her back arching. Ranma stared, horrified . . . forgetting that only a few moments ago this was exactly what he had been striving for, vaguely recalling Tofu-sensei’s words that a direct attack with the Kokoro Kogatana would be disastrous to one who relied on ki for existence.

He’d been so right! Ikioi was breaking down before Ranma’s very eyes, every molecule of her form was being attacked by the ki he had struck her with, torn asunder and ejected wildly. Her cries were wrought with the liquid light of pain, and Ranma could do nothing except watch with macabre fascination as her energy structure was eaten away, and her physical body began to shrink and wither. She rolled over, still clutching at her chest, and somehow managed to get her knees up under her body, so that she ended up kneeling on the secreted floor before him, bent around herself, long black hair hanging around her like a limp curtain.

Beneath the snapping sounds of sparks and energy springing from her body, Ranma heard her voice . . . heard her begging in strained but whispered tones . . . as she attempted to hold back the silver jewel which was being pulled from her chest. She gave an anguished cry, her own tears falling like quartz points, and tried to grasp it as it was drawn away from her along with the flow of energy, spiraling upwards into the shimmering air. Ranma stared at the chi, marveling once again at how beautiful it was . . . the soul of his friend, and he was so overjoyed by the fact that it was no longer trapped within Ikioi’s chest, that at first he didn’t notice that it was growing smaller and less distinct as it moved amongst the released ki.

"No . . . " Ikioi gasped with a choking sob, reaching up in an attempt to grasp Ryoga’s chi, even as her own form was darkening and being eaten away. "No . . . my Heart . . . Ryoga . . . "

For a moment, Ranma thought that she was still trying to hold onto that beautiful treasure, even though her body was now a ruined vessel, rapidly losing energy and actual substance. But he saw something within the dimming glow of her eyes that startled him, and prompted him to look at Ryoga’s chi again. It was the light of stark fear and genuine concern, something that he could not recall ever seeing in Ikioi before. And when he shifted his gaze back to the floating chi . . . it was then that he realized that it was waning . . . growing dim . . . dissipating . . . becoming indistinct . . .

"Na - nani?" Ranma breathed, his own fear getting caught in his chest. Trembling with a renewed weariness, he braced himself on his good knee and also tried to reach the chi, stretching out his hand. His fingers barely brushed through it, scattering bits of light as they did. He was surprised to find that the light it radiated was cold to the touch. Pure energy. Light without heat . . . "Ryoga?"

Why? Why was Ryoga’s chi fading? Ranma blinked, trying to work through some sort of logic in his exhausted, addled and throbbing mind. He thought he remembered something having been said about this . . . something important. Slowly he brought back a hazy memory of sitting with the Amazons in the dining room of the Nekohanten, a sense of anger in his soul that now seemed distant and almost foreign. He could practically hear Cologne’s rasping voice as she explained the nature of the Shikome race and described how Ikioi would be able to keep Ryoga’s soul alive to torture for eternity . . .

(( As long as she holds his chi, she will be sure to use a small portion of the energy she drains from him to keep it active, and as long as it is active, the host can’t die. ))

But . . . but now Ryoga’s chi was free, and it was fading. Ranma understood suddenly, with a clarity that broke through the befuddled weariness that had settled into his mind. Of course, releasing the soul from a physical vessel meant death! Ryoga’s chi was waning because he was dying . . . a chill went through Ranma, and he recalled gazing upon a visage of the Lost Boy’s death only moments ago, and the extreme grief he had felt then. Ryoga’s chi was no longer safe in Ikioi’s chest. It was free, it was away from its body of origin and cut off from any source of energy.

Now, Ryoga’s death was a very real possibility . . .

Ranma quickly glanced at Ikioi’s pitiful remains, the thin skeletal sliver of matter which drifted downward like a sheet of discarded paper to sprawl greasily over the secreted surface of the floor. The strange omnipresent humming that vibrated through the Realm began to take on keening properties, and her form moved fitfully in response. He swallowed down the bit of nausea which rose in his throat at the thought of Ikioi still existing within that tortured shell, but knew there was no time to dwell on that.

Confident that she would not be able to offer protest, and stretching as far as he could, Ranma reached his hand out and wrapped it gently around the silver lattice of Ryoga’s chi, pulling it close to himself, still marveling at the very existence of such a treasure. Even waning as it was, it was beautiful . . . pure and delicate . . . a jewel unlike anything Ranma had ever imagined before, despite the black wound which still marred it. Small bits of light and color jumped from its internal glow, pattering against his hand and skin, unfelt except for the cold energy they radiated. Shifting his body onto his good leg, Ranma held the chi carefully, not wanting to crush it, and slowly inched his way across the floor to Ryoga’s body.

He was exactly as Ranma had left him, still and etched from a marble slab of death, thin trails of blood left behind on the whiteness of his face. Tucking in beside him, Ranma laid a hand on Ryoga’s chest, felt the coolness of his skin, and hoped that a heartbeat had returned while he had been delivering the final blow to Ikioi. To his relief, it was there . . . soft and irregular . . . but it was there. There was still a chance, but was it really enough of one?

Drawing in a breath to counteract the pain that was slowly beginning to creep back into his body, Ranma unconsciously pulled the chi a little closer to himself as he continued to gaze down at the stillness of Ryoga’s face. Fear edged in and doubt nagged at him. If he replaced the chi, would there be enough energy within Ryoga’s body to keep it alive, or would he simply die anyway, unable to sustain himself? After all that they had been through, Ranma did not want to watch his friend die, did not want to face the possibility that everything he had done had been for nothing, that all of the Lost Boy’s suffering had been for no reason other than to pave the way for his death.

(( No . . . )) There had to be something that Ranma could do. Even as he felt movement behind him, even as the spiders in the chamber clamored closer and a dark sense of looming fell over everything in the Realm, Ranma’s sphere of perception narrowed down only to the fading chi he held cupped in his hands. The gentle shimmering soul which he had fought so hard to free. It was weakening, but it seemed to be waiting . . . and Ranma could almost sense Ryoga watching him closely with those abyssal brown eyes that held so much beneath the cold hard surface the Lost Boy had conditioned them to project. Figuratively looking into those eyes, Ranma felt a wave of wild fear shoot through his body, and the answer came to him in a painful flash.

Of course! He would take Ryoga’s chi into his own body! He would nestle that jewel in beside his own soul and, just as Ikioi had done, he would feed Ryoga his own energy . . . keep him alive with his own ki. It was the perfect solution! And then . . . and then, he’d have Ryoga close to him always . . . the Lost Boy would be his to keep and protect, hold tight . . . never let go . . . it was the only solution! The only course of action that would guarantee Ryoga’s survival . . .

(( My Ryoga . . . my Ryoga . . . )) Ranma shut his eyes tightly and gently hugged his hands around the chi. (( I can’t let you die, not after all of this. And if I take you into myself, then I’ll have you forever . . . ))

There was a soft sound, the scrap of flesh over crystal. Ranma blinked his eyes open and turned slightly to find that Ikioi’s ruined form had come to rest beside him, her sharp and splintered body trembling wildly like a leaf in the wind. The last remnants of ki were still leaking from her, filling the air around them with soft red sparkles. She supported herself on knees and tiny hands, small face somehow still angelically pretty even as impossibly gaunt and shriveled as it was. She looked like some strangely emaciated insect, limbs thinned to the point of snapping and stretching out in every direction. Her eyes glowed sadly, as did that infinitesimal ember buried deep in her abdomen, as she gazed at the chi Ranma held.

"My Heart . . . " her words came from within Ranma’s mind, rather than sounding in the darkening ether. "My beautiful beautiful Ryoga . . . " Her tones were those of love and longing, and Ranma felt unaccustomed tears of pity come to his eyes at the very sight of this withered and cadaverous creature which had pulled herself across the floor to come to the side of the young man she loved.

Just as he had done . . .

"Ranma Saotome . . . " she shifted her gaze up to him, wavering unsteadily. "Hurry . . . " From within the twisted pain of her prolonged death, Ikioi could feel the denizens of her Realm sounding a mental alarm over what had happened. She was dying, and they would be coming to investigate. So too could she feel Ranma’s intentions, and knew as well as he that taking Ryoga’s chi into his body was the only way to insure that the Lost Boy lived to leave the Realm. It tore Ikioi apart to know that, to relinquish her beloved Heart to the young man who had fought her for possession every step of the way, but she did not want to see Ryoga die any more than Ranma did.

If she could not have him . . . if this was the only way . . . then so be it. It would not end here . . . whether she died or not . . . it would not end here . . .

And for the time being . . . Ranma had defeated her fairly and honorably, and had proven himself a suitable temporary guardian for her Beloved Heart. She would create a Portal for them to return to the physical dimension herself using the energies of her own death, but Ranma had to hurry . . .

Ranma gazed compassionately down at her for a moment, for the first time comparing her to himself and slowly coming around to a conclusion he had been avoiding throughout this entire horrible situation. She loved Ryoga . . . and despite Shampoo’s speculation that the Shikome would sooner kill Ryoga than see him in the hands of another . . . Ikioi was giving her Host to Ranma . . . to save his life.

The realization was an uncomfortable one for Ranma, because he had been operating solely on the idea that the young demon was heartless and cruel, that she only wanted to use Ryoga and cared nothing for him. To finally understand that she did indeed love her Host, that she had only wanted to keep him and hold him close forever, just as Ranma himself did, was a severe blow to the Saotome heir’s perceptions, and made the entire fight they had engaged in seem somehow hollow and pointless.

"Saotome . . . "

Nodding, Ranma drove those unsettling thoughts from his mind for the moment and turned his attention back to Ryoga’s chi. He understood from Ikioi’s mental urging that his time was at a premium and that he had best do what he needed to quickly. He did not want to even engage in speculation about what might be coming his way, intent on punishing him for mortally wounding the young Shikome. Once again he forced away all other distractions, all other thoughts. He cupped his hands slightly tighter around the waiting chi and guided it closer, with every intention of pressing it into his own chest, trapping it where it would be safe, where he would be able to hold onto it forever . . .

Forever . . . Ryoga would be his forever . . .

His . . .

For some strange reason, in the extended second of time that passed as he hesitated, Ranma’s inner vision led him back to that fateful day behind the Furinkan High P.E. Building . . . back to the moment when he confessed to Ryoga for the first time that he really did care, prompted by the Lost Boy’s insistence that Ikioi was the only one who had ever loved him. He remembered starkly the dark expression of shock and anger that had settled onto Ryoga’s face, a fraction of a second before Ranma found himself on the ground, felled by a furious punch.

The pig tailed martial artist realized that, from the very moment he had made that confession, he had expected Ryoga to reciprocate . . . to love him back simply because he had said it first. Because he had been tightly holding onto the Lost Boy ever since they met in Junior High . . . holding tightly, just as Ikioi had done . . . just as he was planning to . . .

(( Because your possession hurts . . . )) the Ryoga of his unconscious vision had tried to tell him . . . tried to make him see and understand.

Ryoga had never asked for any of the pain in his life, everyone around him had simply assumed . . . simply possessed. Akane had taken him as a pet, owned him. Akari had claimed him in much the same way. Ranma had manipulated and controlled him for years . . . It was true that the Lost Boy had allowed everything that happened to him. He was lonely and insecure, so he allowed it. But Ranma, Akane . . . everyone had taken advantage of that failing and made Ryoga into what they wanted. What they needed. They had all taken from him, assumed, possessed . . . never once considering his feelings. True to her statement, only Ikioi had ever actually given Ryoga a choice, and he had gladly taken it simply because no one else ever thought to ask.

(( I wanna to hold onto him forever . . . I wanna to make this fight actually mean something . . . I want him to be mine . . . but . . . if I took his chi into myself, then I would be the one holding him prisoner . . . I would be doing the same thing Ikioi did . . . ))

Slowly, Ranma lowered his hands, drawing Ryoga’s beautiful chi away from his chest, gazing down at it while tears made slow tracks in the dust and grime on his face. How could he have been so stupidly blind? How could he have not seen it before? How could he have actually attacked Ikioi with nothing more than possession and anger, all the while deluding himself into thinking that he was acting on Ryoga’s behalf? Now, at last he understood! His thoughts had been only for himself . . . for -his- pride . . . not for Ryoga. It wasn’t until Ryoga selflessly gave up the last of his ki that Ranma’s motivations truly turned strictly in defense of the Lost Boy. Up to that point, the Saotome heir had been doing exactly what he had always done . . . fighting to take back what was his . . . saving his own pride . . . assuming . . . possessing . . .

Not allowing Ryoga a choice over his own destiny.

Ranma felt Ikioi’s panic flare to life beside him as he lowered his hands further and leaned forward to guide Ryoga’s chi to a spot over the Lost Boy’s own chest. He ignored her distraught picking at the torn sleeve of his shirt, gently releasing the silver jewel to hang suspended in the ether above that pale cool flesh.

It hurt . . . oh Kami-sama . . . it hurt to give up that control! He wanted so badly to pull that soul into his own chest, to trap it there and make it his forever, but Ranma now realized how wrong that was. Just as Ryoga deserved a chance for happiness . . . he also deserved the chance to decide for himself whether or not he would live or die.

Ranma choked on the terror caught in his throat as he pulled away, leaving the chi . . . leaving Ryoga . . . to make his own decision.

(( Ryoga . . . ))

Together Ranma and Ikioi watched and waited breathlessly, the latter’s frantic sobs sounding softly in the blackening chamber. Ranma did not want Ryoga to die any more than she did, but he knew this was right . . . knew the decision to live had to be Ryoga’s alone. The chi simply hung there, rotating softly, now so dim that it was hardly generating any light at all and was difficult to see in the inky darkness settling into the air around them. Only the wound within the lattice was darker, and Ranma’s heart winced every time he gazed into that black hole, now understanding that his possession had indeed hurt Ryoga . . . and he issued a silent mental apology, hoping that the Lost Boy would somehow hear it before his chi had faded completely.

Faded completely. Ranma curled his hands into fists, once again feeling that wild sense of overwhelming grief forming within his chest. He wanted to scream, he wanted to shriek as loud as he could so that Ryoga would hear him . . . hear him and know that Ranma wanted him back . . . that someone -did- love him. His tears had dried, but that didn’t make this any less painful. As seconds ticked away, it was plain to see that Ryoga was not returning to his body . . . he was not taking that last slim chance at life, and why should he? All he had ever known from living was pain, it really did not surprise Ranma that the wandering young man would not be interested in returning to that existence.

But, even though he understood, it was the most grievous hurt that Ranma had ever known.

"My Heart . . . " Ikioi cried softly. Her sorrow was so obvious, so poignant. Ryoga was her very soul, her very fountain of strength. Ranma realized that the concept wasn’t as foreign or difficult to understand as he had tried to convince himself it was. Was he not feeling the same way? Forcing his fist to uncurl, Ranma slowly reached out and covered one of Ikioi’s tiny withered hands with his own.

"Please . . . " Ranma barely whispered, the word hardly making it over his lips. (( Please, come back . . . please at least try . . . I love you, Ryoga. Oh Kami-sama . . . I love you . . . )) At that very moment, as the despair grew wildly within him, Ranma decided . . . decided that he would not leave this Realm if Ryoga chose death. There would be no point. He would simply accept whatever horrors were coming his way and let this be his tomb as well. He loved Ryoga enough to give him up . . . but he also loved him enough to follow him into whatever lay beyond . . .

Ryoga’s chi glimmered gently as this conviction settled itself into Ranma’s mind.

After a few more tense seconds of silent stillness, the Lost Boy’s silvery soul slowly sank, gently dissipating into his chest, soft dim sparkles carefully flying from his flesh like subdued shooting stars. The two who loved him watched in uneasy anticipation, still fearing the worst, knowing that Ryoga’s body was practically depleted of energy. If there wasn’t enough, the chi would die regardless.

Together, they shared a quiet joy as the Lost Boy’s skin flushed with pale color, and he took a shaky strained breath in through his lips.

(( Ryoga! Oh, Ryoga . . . )) Ranma leaned forward, once again ignoring his own pain which seemed somehow ridiculous and superfluous, and gathered Ryoga into his embrace, wrapping one arm around his waist and supporting his back with the other. He pulled the battered young man in tightly, overcome by the intense feelings of happiness and gratitude that were now hounding him from within. (( Oh Kami-sama! )) Ranma knew that this could still go badly; he could feel the limp brokeness of Ryoga’s body beneath his hands, the possibility remained that the Lost Boy could still die, but Ranma was grateful for this one moment at least, and for the knowledge that Ryoga had chosen to take one more chance at life . . . one more try . . .

"Hold tight to him, Saotome . . . don’t let him go . . . " Ikioi’s sad strained voice filtered into his mind, and he was vaguely aware of her weak fluttering movement, of a strange glow coming from all around and the painful shrieking of the spiders, but he didn’t give a damn about any of that. It was unimportant. He did as she said and held Ryoga tight, but only physically, still prepared to give up the Lost Boy if necessary. Despite how much it would hurt, he would do it gladly, because the choice would be Ryoga’s, and Ryoga’s alone.

(( Ryoga . . . ))

There was bright blinding light and horrific noise everywhere . . . everywhere except for where Ranma held Ryoga. And when the wandering martial artist opened his eyes and shifted his gaze up to the young man who embraced him, everything else ceased to exist as far as Ranma was concerned. (( You’re beautiful Ryoga. Damn it, you are so beautiful! )) He simply drank in the lovely spark of emotion and recognition in those soft eyes, looking past the pain and confusion, and to the return of everything he loved so much about the young man. His fingers found the side of the Lost Boy’s cheek, and he gently turned that bruised face toward himself, shaking uncontrollably from a combination of exhilaration, exhaustion and pain. Leaning forward, Ranma pressed their foreheads together and shared the gaze with the Lost Boy, surprisingly dry-eyed himself, but knowing that tears would not be deterred for long.

The expression on Ryoga’s face was close to wonder, as if he were looking at something more magical than physical, a reality he wouldn’t have thought possible. He drew in a breath that was laced with an exhausted sob, obviously fighting to maintain his fragile hold on consciousness. "You . . . " he whispered raspingly, and Ranma had to strain to hear him. "You . . . really do care . . . about me . . . "

Ranma wanted to laugh, wanted to scream with the sheer joy of hearing that voice again. He smiled instead, letting the delight shine in his own dark sapphire eyes so that Ryoga would be able to see it and recognize it for what it was. "Yeah, I care," he grinned, fingers gently rubbing the young man’s cheek. "I already told you that, didn’t I?"

Ryoga’s tired eyes filled with tears. Someplace else, the world and the very fabric of local reality was being torn down around them as Ikioi’s Sisters broke their way into her chamber. The ki that had been ripped from her when Ranma attacked and the resulting energy from the break-down of the remaining spiders and the ruins of Ikioi’s form were now being formed . . . formed and shaped into a spinning galaxy of power . . . released as Ikioi gave up her hold on life to give the soul she loved the chance to escape.

But neither of the boys noticed this for the moment. As Ryoga drew in another delicate gasping breath and tried to reply, Ranma caught his mouth in a kiss. Lips pressing together, blood mingling, energy balancing itself out between them . . . the two young men closed their eyes, reveled in each other, and let the universe go on without them for the eternal span of a single heartbeat.

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