Ikioi - Part Nine

"Ranma!! Where are you going?!"

Without looking back, the pig tailed boy quickly left Akane behind, running and hopping from rooftop to rooftop as the morning sun sparkled low in the sky. A stiff cool breeze pushed at him as he went, still carrying wet and unpleasant hints of rain from the night, and the air pulled heavily at him, making his clothes cling to his body uncomfortably.

Ranma neither cared about the weather or noticed it, his mind was fixed squarely on one thing and one thing only - the strange feeling of unexplainable dread that had been haunting him all night. He’d gotten very little in the way of sleep, waking restlessly every few minutes to internally fight with himself over the need to rush over to Ryoga’s and find out what was happening to the young man. He could feel . . . something . . . something not right . . . something close to death . . .

But he hadn’t given in to the need to rush to Ryoga’s defense, as much as he wanted to. Cologne had given him a stern warning upon leaving the Nekohanten the night before, not to get anywhere near either Ryoga or Ikioi until she had more information on how to engage the Shikome.

Ranma understood the logic behind her order, he really did. If Ikioi managed to pick a stray thought out of his head concerning their admittedly nebulous plans against her, everything would be forfeit. He had battled against that knowledge the entire night, but now that morning had arrived and his shadowy fears seemed somehow illuminated, Ranma simply could not shake the urgently unsettled feeling that had kept him awake. He -knew- that Ryoga was in trouble. Knew it with every fiber of his being. Knew it as surely as he knew that the sun would continue to rise in the east. It was a fluttering feeling that somehow managed to hurt as it beat within him, even as insubstantial as it was.

Ranma quickly veered from the rooftops, dropping down onto the train that he often hitched a ride on when taking the short cut to Ryoga’s house. He had no illusions about whether or not Ryoga and Ikioi would be in school, as Akane had suggested to him that morning. After what had happened the day before, Ranma knew that Ikioi wouldn’t risk Ryoga having close contact with him, or anyone else, again. That would be a severe tactical blunder, and despite the fact that the pretty little demon had made mistakes, Ranma didn’t think she would be foolish enough to make that one. He wondered what excuse she would feed Ryoga as she took back one of the alleged gifts that she had given him.

Ignoring the commuters glancing curiously out the train windows at him, Ranma ground his teeth together angrily as he held on and watched for the river where he would hop off.

The Hibiki residence was only four rooftops from the watercourse, and very soon Ranma was perched on the neighboring roof in the same spot he had been the evening before. He stayed there for only a moment, however, as he immediately spotted Ryoga sitting alone on the back porch of the house, seemingly watching as Shirokuro and the puppies played in the yard. Grasping the opportunity of Ryoga’s solitude, Ranma quickly jumped down onto the Hibiki’s back porch.

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

"Ryoga? Ryoga! C’mon buddy, answer me!"

The familiar voice seemed to come from very far away, but Ryoga really wasn’t terribly interested in responding to it. There was pain in that direction. He was far more occupied by the glittering morning color of the dew on the leaves, the ruffling of the grass as a breeze whispered through the back yard where his beloved dog and puppies playing together in a happy huddle, and the soft shaft of sunlight which danced through a crystal wind chime hanging from the back porch and scattered little rainbows all around the patio.

Mild irritation flickered through him as he realized he couldn’t properly see the rainbows because someone was shaking him. Annoyed, Ryoga reached out and sharply slapped whoever it was away.

"Ow! Ryoga, damn it!"

He tried to go back to his hazy contemplation of the back yard, but now his concentration had been broken. Blinking his dark brown eyes several times, Ryoga shifted his gaze from the rainbows to the young man crouching beside him, an expression of concern on his face. He distantly realized that he should have been surprised to see Ranma looking worried about him, but for some reason it simply didn’t matter all that much. Nothing did, really, except for the rainbows and the dogs, and a thousand other distractions which were so much more interesting. More interesting than reality . . . pain . . . shame . . .

Ranma saw those blank eyes focus on him for a brief second, and then Ryoga looked away again. A strange icy terror snapped to life within his chest. This was wrong! The Lost Boy’s eyes were never blank, never without emotion of some sort. The life and fire in those deep dark crystals was one of the things that Ranma loved the most about Ryoga, though he had not realized it until this very moment when he saw that those qualities were missing. Ryoga hadn’t been this way only the day before . . . hadn’t been distant and introverted like this . . . what had happened? Had she taken everything . . . everything . . ? That feeling of dread in the night came back to him, rattling around in his heart.

"Ryoga!" Ranma snapped, this time putting more force and command in his voice. Fear and anger fueled him as he drew back and nailed Ryoga with a firm shattering punch which knocked the young man clean off the porch to sprawl out on the stones of the patio.

The blow was jarring. Ryoga was up on his feet in an instant, that fire immediately back in his eyes. He returned the punch with a swinging kick of his own, catching Ranma off guard and slamming him against the back wall of the house.

Despite the pain and mild property damage, Ranma was elated. Grinning wildly, he sprang back to his feet instantly and crouched into a defensive position that mirrored Ryoga’s own.

"What the hell was that for?!" Ryoga snarled, his fangs showing.

"To wake you up, you moron!" Ranma retorted, taking automatic note of Ryoga’s stance and form. He was obviously weak, nowhere near his usual level of strength, as he hadn’t grounded his feet as firmly as he should have. Though he held his hands up in a ready block, Ranma could see the young man’s arms trembling with the effort of tension, and his face was extremely pale, his cheeks gaunt and his eyes sunken. Just seeing his rival a milky thin shadow of his former self made Ranma’s stomach hurt.

In order to prompt Ryoga to relax, he straightened from his own defensive position. "Cool it, Ryoga," he said quietly. "I ain’t here to fight you."

Ryoga straightened a heartbeat later, moving to return to his spot on the porch. Ranma saw how he carefully lowered himself into a cross-legged position as if his body were made of glass. "Then what do you want, Ranma?" Ryoga asked in a terse tone.

"Checking up on you," Ranma admitted, sitting beside him and letting his feet dangle off the porch. "Not going to school today?"

Ryoga looked away sharply, fixing his attention on a row of flowers which ran along the back of the house. (( He said . . . checking up on me . . ? )) Firmly pushing the thought out of his head, he hesitated just long enough for Ranma to sense his unhappiness. "No. I don’t like school as much as I thought I would."

"Riiight," Ranma frowned at the obvious lie. "Why ain’t she letting you go?"

Ryoga’s hand curled into a fist. "It’s not like that, and none of your business anyway. Just go away."

"Nuh-uh," the pig tailed boy shook his head, then glanced towards the house, at the back door. He was trying to keep his emotions riding high to prevent Ikioi from detecting him, a task simplified by how Ryoga was looking and acting, but he wanted to make certain they were alone. If the girl was a demon, then she might have other tricks, and ways of detecting him, up her sleeves. "Where is she?"

"Resting," Ryoga muttered. (( Conserving my energy . . . ))

Ranma smirked slightly. "Good," he decided. "Then we can have a chat."

"I’m not interested in talking to you Ranma," Ryoga told him firmly, his gaze still fixed on anything besides the young man sitting beside him. What the heck did Ranma think he was doing here anyway? Still pretending to care? Ryoga wasn’t sure what kind of game the pig tailed martial artist thought he was playing this time, but he was sick of it. Sick of the false concern. Sick of getting his hopes up.

And it was too late now anyway . . . Ryoga drew in a slow breath and let his concentration drift again, finding a drop of dew sitting on the grain of a wooden plank in the patio to throw his attention towards. It shimmering invitingly. Contemplation of its silky rounded shape was safe, and hopefully by the time he felt like moving again, Ranma would be gone.

"That’s fine. I’ll talk, you listen." Ranma reached out and gave Ryoga’s far cheek a firm but gentle slap, forcing him to turn his head and look at him. "Pay attention to me, buddy. I don’t want you slipping off into another daze and missing what I got to say."

Growling, Ryoga knocked Ranma’s hand away.

That was fine. Ranma was grateful to just have his attention, not wanting to ever see that disturbing blankness in Ryoga’s eyes again. "Listen to me," he said again for emphasis. "You know damn well that what’s going on ain’t right, I know you do. But it’s worse than you realize, pal. Your little girlfriend is a demon, Ryoga. The Old Ghoul says she’s a Slick-ome, or something like that, and she ain’t interested in love. She just wants your chi and your ki. She just wants to suck you dry, you hear me? She’s not your iinazuke. She don’t love you. She ain’t even human."

Ryoga simply stared at him for a moment, long enough that Ranma began to wonder if he wasn’t drifting off again. But just as he was looking worried, Ryoga surprised the hell out of him by smirking a bit.

"Yeah right, Ranma," he scoffed. "Very amusing."

Ranma blinked, then frowned, agitated. "I’m serious, Pig-Boy."

"Sure," Ryoga nodded, shifting his gaze once again. "Go away Ranma."

The pig tailed martial artist resisted his habitual reaction of anger, though not without some internal warring. He and Ryoga had been spitting nails at each other for so long that defensiveness and insult were now second nature. Ranma had to stop his immediate snapping reply and consciously remind himself that he wasn’t saying these things to piss his rival off. He was here trying to talk some sense into him. Drawing in a steadying breath, he uncurled himself from the tight tenseness his body had automatically adopted and leveled a glare at Ryoga, opening his mouth to further argue his point.

Before he could speak, however, Ranma noticed Ryoga’s profiled expression. The sad hollowness to his face. The numb cloudiness of failure and dull acceptance that tempered the fire in his eyes. Ranma pulled back a bit, startled . . . shocked, recognizing the look from dozens of fights and confrontations. It was a look that said Ryoga was defeated, and he knew it . . .

The pig tailed boy could only stare, pain beating alongside his heart. (( He . . . he knows . . . he knows I’m right. He knows what Ikioi is . . . here I am trying to tell him that she’s a demon, and he already knows! Oh Kami-sama! Ryoga . . . if you knew . . . how could you have let this happen? . . . Why didn’t you fight? . . . How could you have given in so easily? ))

Ranma answered the question as soon as he thought it, with the knowing in his heart and soul. Ryoga had allowed it because he was lonely, because he needed someone to give him love . . . even if that love was hollow and fabricated.

Stomach hurting, Ranma laid a hand on the Lost Boy’s arm. "Ryoga . . . "

Brown eyes lifted to meet blue and Ryoga looked at him for another long moment, a heaviness falling between them that made Ranma feel as if he were drowning in some sort of thick liquid. That strange sense of dread also began to flutter in his stomach again as he squarely returned the gaze, silently telling Ryoga what he had never quite been able to say before with words.

Ryoga saw the meaning behind the look, just as he had seen it the previous afternoon. It was truth and he half-remembered Ikioi saying something about Ranma meaning everything he said . . . He -did- care about Ryoga. He was here now because he cared . . . trying to tell Ryoga what he already knew . . . trying to make him see what he already understood.

The anger and bitterness that had been present before, however, was now buried under Ryoga’s self-induced apathy. The best he could muster up was a vague sense of disappointment and resignation. If only Ranma had said something sooner . . . but now it was too late . . .

Ryoga smiled, ever so slightly. Sadly. "Too late, Ranma," he said quietly. What might have been . . . what never would be . . .

"No, it ain’t Ryoga," Ranma squeezed his arm firmly, but loosened his hold almost immediately, shocked to feel the slenderness beneath Ryoga’s clothes. The Lost Boy was noticeably thinner than he had been only the day before . . . and that strange sense of near death was lingering around him like an invisible shroud . . . Ranma could feel it . . . a sensation of eternal darkness . . . hollowness . . . emptiness . . . He suddenly recalled the black light of pain that had been in Ryoga’s eyes when Ikioi crushed his chi . . . and he knew with absolute certainty . . . this intangible death was the only thing in Ryoga’s immediate future . . . (( Unless I do something . . . ))

Ranma shook it off the unsettling feeling as quickly as possible and continued urgently. "Cologne’s looking for some way to get you outta this, and as soon as she tells us what to do, we’re all gonna come and get you away - - "

"Stop it," Ryoga interrupted monotonously, pulling away. "Get it through your head, Ranma. Whatever she is, she needs me. Loves me. In her way. Maybe I didn’t expect things to turn out like this, but . . . " he trailed off for a moment, as if not liking the way his statement was leading. He continued with something different. "You’ve got Akane, and if you give her up then you’re a bigger fool than I ever thought." He fell silent and reached out to ruffle Shirokuro as the dog and the puppies came close, spreading in a semi-circle around their Lost Boy. The two-toned matriarch of the brood smiled, lolling her tongue as Ryoga buried his hands in her thick fur.

"But," Ranma protested, his temper rising again. Didn’t his concern mean -anything- to Ryoga at all? "Akane and I aren’t - -"

"Ranma," Ryoga frowned sternly, signaling plainly his desire to end the conversation. He sighed and shifted his attention, trying to distance himself from the young man sitting beside him. Losing himself in the feel of his dog’s fur, Ryoga let his mind begin to drift . . . drift away from the reality of his situation . . . drift away from the pain that Ranma had reignited within him . . . it was so much easier and required very little energy . . .

Ranma saw him go, and felt as if he were grasping after vapor. He tightened his grip again and shook Ryoga once more, hoping to prompt further response. "Damn it, you thick-headed moron! I ain’t interested in Akane, all right?" He paused briefly as a new thought came to him. "She’s an uncute macho tomboy jock!"

Ryoga twitched slightly in response, a conditioned reflex to any insult directed toward Akane. But even that seemed like too much effort to deal with. Let Ranma think whatever he wanted to. Ryoga was no longer Akane’s protector. Something bittersweet drifted through his emotions at that thought, but he knew it really was for the best. Akane had never returned his interest, and as always Ryoga had found himself on the painful end of a relationship.

(( Does love always have to hurt so much? )) he wondered briefly, then shoved the thought far away, mind drifting into the contemplation of the warmth of the sun on Shirokuro’s fur.

His throat tight, Ranma let his hand drop from Ryoga’s arm, the hollowness of defeat echoing through him briefly. Insulting Akane had earned him only the barest flicker of attention. Remembering Cologne’s description of the near-death existence of the Shikome’s host, Ranma shivered inwardly. Was Ryoga already that far gone? Or was this just Ikioi’s influence on his mind? The effects of being separated from his chi? Anger built up within the pig tailed martial artist once again, immediately replacing the sense of defeat.

Ranma looked down at Ryoga’s hands, which were slowly and rhythmically kneading in Shirokuro’s fur, and the flicker of another idea flashed through his mind. He needed Ryoga’s attention back, needed him to care about something enough to shake him back to reality, and if the Lost Boy cared about anything - it was his dogs . . .

Ranma cleared his throat. "That reminds me, we have Kuro-Ko at the dojo. I thought you might be worried about her."

The name of his favorite puppy penetrated the fog in Ryoga’s mind. Brow furrowing vaguely, Ryoga tipped his head slightly.

Encouraged, Ranma continued. "I found her last night. You knew she was lost, right?"

Ryoga frowned. "Ranma . . . " he began, then slowly looked down at the puppies gathered around his feet. All five were there, gazing up at him adoringly. Kuro-Ko sat closest, her little bean bag rear actually resting on Ryoga’s shoe, black eyes bright in her dark face.

Ranma followed Ryoga’s line of sight and spotted the puppy. Confused, he drew back a bit. "Huh? But . . . how’d she get here? I left her with Kasumi this morning." Wonderingly, Ranma bit his lower lip, reaching down to fondle the puppy’s tiny ears. She yipped at him happily, even as the other four mobbed his hand, demanding their share of the attention.

"Well, that’s bizarre," Ranma decided, giving each dog a skritch in turn. "Guess the puppy I found wasn’t yours. Weird, though. The one I found looks exactly like her. And I found her just up the street from here, right after I talked to your mom."

Suddenly, Ryoga looked up, his eyes instantly clear, his attention slamming fully onto Ranma. "My -mom-?" he exclaimed sharply, the expression on his face somewhere halfway between shock and fear.

Startled, a shiver darted up Ranma’s back. What . . ? What was that for? "Yeah," he nodded warily. "Ryoga, what’s wrong?"

"Ranma, you couldn’t have talked to my mother," Ryoga replied simply, though there seemed to be the tiniest hint of a challenge to the tone.

"Sure I did," the pig tailed boy assured, sounding slightly defensive. "Yeah, it’s been years since I seen her, but you think I don’t remember your mom? She answered the front door, told me that you and Ikioi had gone out for a walk. Even invited me to stay for dinner, just like she used to." Ranma tipped his head curiously. "What? Is she gone again already?"

Ryoga’s pale face had gone even whiter and he seemed at odds for a long moment. From someplace far away, Ranma could feel a strange sense of pain and loss that felt like the Lost Boy’s emotions, but they were too distant to tell for sure. The wounded light in his eyes was plain to read, however, and Ranma wondered what he’d said to bring it on. "Ryoga?" he asked in concern, reaching out to touch the Lost Boy once again.

The young man evaded his grasp, got to his feet, and turned toward the house. "Go away, Ranma," he ordered, grasping the patio door in a visibly shaking hand and sliding it open.

"What? Wait, we ain’t finished here!" Ranma hopped up quickly and grabbed Ryoga by the shirt sleeve.

He pulled away, turning on Ranma with a snarl, lifting his fist in preparation for a sharp strike. Ranma drew back, his own hands coming up to block.

"Yes, we are!" Ryoga hissed. "Now, how many times do I have to tell you - GO AWAY." He whistled for the dogs and Shirokuro led her brood into the house. Ryoga followed and began to slide the door shut behind him.

Ranma jumped forward and blocked it with his hand. From within, Ryoga’s brown eyes glared at him dangerously, but there was still a glint of fear there as well. Fear and pain . . .

"Ryoga," Ranma said quietly, letting his own eyes plead for him. "What is it? What’s wrong?"

The Lost Boy locked gazes with him briefly, then looked away even as he reached up and removed Ranma’s hand from the doorjamb. His fingers were ice cold and sent shivers through the pig tailed boy’s body.

Without a word, Ryoga slid the door shut and clicked the lock into place.

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

Within the darkened dining room, Ryoga waited . . . waited until Ranma left the back porch. He knew that the pig tailed boy wasn’t likely to go farther than the neighbor’s rooftop, but Ryoga wanted to make sure that he was at least away from the house. For his safety or Ranma’s . . . Ryoga wasn’t sure. But either way . . . everything had just changed.

(( Okasan . . . how could she . . . she . . . ? Doesn’t she know . . . ? ))

He slowly wound his way through familiar rooms, fighting back the attractive desire to slip into distracted disinterest once again. Grinding his teeth, he repeatedly curled his hands into fists and did his best not to give into the urge to break something as he made his way into his parent’s room on the first floor, followed faithfully by Shirokuro and the mob of puppies. He shut the door behind them and leaned back against it for a long moment, staring at the furnishings and contents of the room. After a long moment of extreme pain and sorrow, the young man made his way to the bed and fell to sit on the corner.

His dark eyes found a picture on the bedside table. A rare picture of his parents together, in their younger days when they had traveled together a lot. His father’s arm around his mother’s shoulders, they both seemed bright and happy, smiling with a pure delight that Ryoga himself had never known or understood. He leaned over and picked up the frame to gaze at the picture closer, and silently ran a finger over his mother’s beautiful face.

(( Okasan . . . )) his thoughts whispered painfully. A tear splashed against the glass over the picture. Wiping it away, Ryoga caught a breath that was close to a shaky sob. Miserably, he looked at his father’s face . . .

(( Did she . . . ? ))

Ryoga clutched the frame close to his chest and slid over to the cordless phone that also rested on the table. Flicking it on, he pressed a button to dial one of the numbers stored in memory. After three rings, the line was answered at the other end.

"Hibiki Yasuhito International," a masculine voice stated.

Ryoga swallowed down his tears and tried to sound as steady as possible. "Yasihito-san? This is Ryoga Hibiki. I apologize for bothering you."

"Ryoga! Young man, I haven’t spoken to you in ages. It’s no bother at all. How are you, boy?"

"I . . . I’m fine. I do have a question, though."

"Hai?"

"Has my father been there recently?"

There was a bit of a pause at the other end, and Ryoga got the impression that papers were being shuffled. "Here? I certainly hope not! He’s suppose to be in Los Angeles, attending a tech show and discussing an export agreement with Del. Hold on a moment, Ryoga." There was another brief pause, then the older man on the other end of the line spoke again. "Ah here it is! Yes, I just received a fax from him two days ago."

"California?" Ryoga said softly, feeling a huge empty chasm of bitterness open up within him. "Are you sure? How long has he been there?"

"A little over three weeks, I believe."

The young man shut his eyes tightly. "Nakao-san is with him?" he asked, referring to his father’s assistant, whose primary duty was to make sure that his boss didn’t end up lost.

"Hai. Ryoga, is there something wrong? You sound upset. Do you want me to get a hold of him for you? Or, I can give you his cell phone number . . ."

"No," Ryoga interrupted promptly. "No, thank you, Yasihito-san. I’m fine. I was . . . I was just sort of wondering where he was . . . "

He hung up as quickly and politely as he could, narrowly avoiding the torturous task of making small talk with his father’s business partner. Letting the phone fall from his hand, Ryoga looked down at the framed photo he still clutched, and suddenly felt smaller and more alone than he ever had before.

(( He wasn’t here either . . . she lied to me . . . she lied to me . . . ))

Shirokuro and the puppies gathered close as the young man slid to the floor and buried his head in his arms. The older dog leaned against him, whining softly in response to his tears and her need to make him feel better. She tried shoving her head under his hand, ducking under his arms to lick his face, but none of her attention prompted reaction from him. As Ryoga continued to sob, obviously grieving terribly, the two-toned dog curled as close to him as she possibly could and pressed her head against his side. Taking a cue from their mother, the five puppies cuddled close as well and whimpered sympathetically.

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

"What do ya want?"

"Ranma come back to Nekhanten. Obaba say she know how to fight bad woman."

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

Something was wrong.

Ikioi frowned slightly to herself as she checked the rooms upstairs for any sign of her beloved Ryoga. Upon waking from an extended energy conserving and concentrating trance, the petite young woman was faintly annoyed to discover that she could get no sense of Ryoga’s presence whatsoever. She was aware of Ranma on a neighbor’s roof, as well as the approaching Amazon girl, but neither of them posed any sort of threat at the moment, and they retreated quickly. The more urgent problem was that she couldn’t feel Ryoga . . .

Even his chi within her chest was distant and withdrawn. Not good . . .

"Ryoga-kun?" she called quietly, making certain that her voice sounded steady and loving. She moved gracefully and unhurriedly throughout the upper level of the house, poking her head into each room, but saw no sign of him. Growing ever more concerned, Ikioi headed downstairs and checked the livingroom and kitchen, then glanced out the patio door at the back yard. Nothing.

Where was he? Even while she was in her trance, Ikioi had been able to pick up Ranma’s presence close to the house, and knew that at one point he had engaged Ryoga in conversation. It had bothered her a great deal, but she was confident of her hold on the Lost Boy and knew that there was really very little that pesky Ranma Saotome could hope to do to break that hold. But right after Ranma retreated from the house, Ikioi had lost her sense of Ryoga’s presence and that -was- a matter for concern. Even if he had left, no matter where he was in the world, she still should have been able to feel him . . .

"Ikioi."

The girl jumped, startled, and turned to find Ryoga standing in the hallway which led to his parent’s room. As he gazed at her, his expression was perfectly neutral, but there was something new in his eyes . . . something Ikioi had never seen him direct at her before. Anger . . . smothering extreme anger . . . and overwhelming pain. She sighed and relaxed. He hadn’t left, but he was very upset about something, which was why she couldn’t feel him.

Well, that was no problem. Everything could be dealt with one way or another, and now that the immediate concern of his absence had been solved, she relaxed into her normal composure. Pasting a perfect porcelain smile on her face, Ikioi stepped forward, her large dimensional eyes shimmering with concern. "Ryoga? What’s wrong, my Heart? Tell me what the problem is and I will fix it."

"Ikioi . . . " he began, his voice low and laced with a dangerous growl. "My mother is dead."

She blinked rapidly, surprised not only by his abrupt statement, but also by the information it contained. Though rebellion from this young man was not altogether unexpected, she had not expected it to come from this reason . . . nor had she even known that the reason existed. For a moment, Ikioi looked bewildered and at a loss, hands fluttering by her sides aimlessly. "What? She is?"

"Yes!!" he fairly shrieked, then settled again, looking away from her, his entire body clenched and tense. "She died well over a year ago. Hit by a drunk driver while hiking down a highway in the States."

Ikioi processed that, reflecting to herself over her choice of the emotional young man as her host. She loved him, she truly did, with all the possessive passion that her kind were capable of, but she was at a serious disadvantage when it came to controlling him. She did not yet have access to her realm of origin, where his containment would be a simple matter, and he felt things so strongly and completely that a significant portion of his thoughts were blank to her. Because of the extreme shame he felt, Ikioi had not known of the Jusenkyo curse, and now the knowledge of his mother’s death had apparently been blocked as well, due to Ryoga’s sadness and loss.

Soon they would break the Seal and everything would fall into place. Until then, she would just have to deal with the handicap. The look of surprise that had appeared on her face melted into one of genuine concern and sadness. "I’m truly sorry, my Heart," she said softly, lovingly. "I didn’t feel that she was gone, it must still be very painful for you." Stepping forward, she extended her arms and offered to wrap him in a hug. She was again surprised when he pulled back and leveled a new glare at her.

"Ryoga?" This was getting a little more serious. He should have gladly accepted her comfort.

"You don’t get it, do you?" he hissed. "I know that you somehow recreated her, and I know that you did the same with my father. He’s out of the country and has been for weeks. But you had him show up here rather conveniently just when I needed an explanation and you needed to gain my trust."

Ikioi sighed, stepping back slightly and dropping her hands. Ah. So this wasn’t exactly about his mother, but rather Ikioi’s recreation of the woman, which obviously that damned Ranma had told him about, and the illusion of his father as well. "I did that for you, my Heart, so that you would be comfortable and secure. When we came home that first day, you hoped someone would be here to explain things, and so I made it happen. I gave you the reasonable explanation that you desired. I didn’t want to hurt or frighten you, especially when I need you so badly. Since then, you’ve learned the truth about me and you accepted it, why does this make a difference now?"

"Because you deliberately lied to me!" Ryoga lashed out, swinging his arm in a wide circle. His fist connected solidly with a ceramic bowl of flowers which adorned a small wooden stand, knocking it off. It crashed to the floor, shattering loudly, causing Ikioi to hop back and Shirokuro to dart out from his parent’s room to investigate. "Because you betrayed me! And because you used an illusion of my father - a man I trust, respect and love, to do it! And now you’ve also perverted my mother’s memory!"

"Ryoga, calm down," Ikioi said quietly and sensibly. "I didn’t know that your mother was deceased and I’m sorry. I really truly am. You know that I wish no harm to you, my Heart. And don’t you see what this really shows, dearest?" She paused in the hallway and fixed her brilliant eyes directly on his dark ones. Blinking slowly, she tipped her head ever so slightly and added a faint caring smile to complete the picture. "Whatever you want, I can give you. If you want your father here, I will make it happen. If you want your mother back, I -will- bring her back."

The young man froze, staring at her with an expression of horror. "No . . ." he whispered, shaking his head. For a moment, he felt himself sinking into her eyes . . . felt the welcome fogging enter his mind . . . but he banished it quickly, breaking eye contact. "No! It would be just an illusion, and I don’t want her back that way. It’s the truth or nothing. I‘m tired of being played with."

She frowned, eyes narrowing as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Truth, my Heart?" she asked, her tone rather sharp and biting. "Truth has been slowly tearing you apart and pulling you down for years. My illusions are just as real as your truth, Ryoga, but with one significant difference."

Her voice lowered, softening. "I can create anyone you want, my Heart, and my illusions for you will be exactly as you wish them to be and they will never hurt you. They will never leave you alone for months on end. They will never berate you or tease you. They will never play games with your heart and affections. Ryoga . . . " she paused for a moment, letting the silence sink in before delivering her last words. "They will forever love you, unconditionally. And that’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?"

Throughout her speech, Ryoga felt each of his deepest nerves hit and he shivered with the shame and desire that welled up within him. Yes, that -was- what he had always wanted . . . someone who would be there, who would touch him and make him feel as though he had worth . . . someone that would lead him home when he got lost, or be waiting for him when he returned . . . someone who loved him for no reason other than what he was . . .

He wanted it . . . and he was tempted. Tempted to let Ikioi cast her illusions and wrap a fantasy around him that he would never have to wake from. It would be so easy . . . he was already half-way there . . . already letting his mind drift away from him on a tranquil sea of aquamarine glass, beneath which a storm was growing. Ryoga looked down, warring with himself mentally. He was already this far gone, and she held his chi. His fate was hers anyway, taking that last step would be ridiculously easy.

(( And there would be no more pain . . . ))

Shirokuro and her puppies were gathered around the pieces of the ceramic bowl at his feet, which glimmered at him as they investigated the mess. It took him several long seconds, but he slowly realized exactly what he was looking at. It was a bowl that he himself had made, long ago when he had been only a handful of years old, in a day care art class for his mother’s birthday.

His own childish creation . . . shattered. The illusion that he had allowed Ikioi to draw him into shattered with it, and he realized with clear and frightening certainty . . . just how hideous and entangling the beautiful young girl’s trap really was.

He had been so weak! For years he had followed others, deluding himself for tossed scraps of love and attention, even when it hurt, simply because he so wanted to be a part of something, to know closeness. He could try to blame Ranma all he wanted, but Ryoga knew damn well that he had allowed himself to be abused, time after time, simply because negative attention was better than no attention at all. And he had let himself fall for Akane, even knowing that she did not return his feelings, because when she held his pig-form, it felt enough like love to make him forget that it wasn’t.

It was those desires, those needs, that had been the catalyst for this. Ikioi had preyed upon his severe loneliness, his willingness to even hurt himself for attention, and she had twisted those feelings for her own means. Perhaps it was too little, too late, but Ryoga now knew that it was time to wake up. She held his chi and therefore his life, and there was nothing he could do about that, but he would not be led like a mindless sheep to whatever slaughter she ultimately had planned for him. He would go to his fate on his own feet and face squarely whatever happened.

"Ikioi . . . " Ryoga looked up at the petite young woman, who was still waiting for his answer with a cool expression on her small rounded face. "No more illusions," he told her firmly.

Her lips pressed together tightly. Not good. She could see the new glimmer of fierce understanding in his dark eyes. "Everything will go far easier for you if you let me - - "

"No illusions!!" Ryoga interrupted with a snarl, baring his fangs. This time his angrily flung fist went through the wall of the hallway, splintering wood haphazardly. The entire house seemed to rattle from the force of his fury. "I know where I stand with you, Ikioi. You have me and I can’t do anything about that. But I will not be blinded or played with any longer! If you want to keep me happy, as you say you do, then abide by my wishes. No. More. Illusions."

Ikio was not pleased, and for the first time Ryoga saw her face darken with an anger of her own, directed at him. Ocean eyes narrowing, she shot him a look that might have been called a pout were it on the face of a spoiled child. Against her beautiful countenance, however, the expression was icy and disturbing. "Very well, my Heart," she said simply and made a slight gesture with her right hand.

The house seemed to darken around them. Heavy shadows fell and a layer of dust settled over all of the furnishings as if it had been months since anyone had set foot in the residence. Ryoga could, in fact, see his own tracks in the sediment, trails made from days of moving around in the closed-up building. Flowers that had seemed fresh and vibrant moments ago now lay withered in their vases, and the musky scents of candles and incense vanished instantly. An uncomfortable but familiar silence descended . . . it was the silence of coming home to find his family gone and himself alone. There was pain in knowing that the house was as empty as it always was, but Ryoga recognized that it was better that he knew. Better that he was no longer blinded.

With a soft sigh of resignation and sorrow, the young man closed his eyes, and reached out to lay his hand on the comfort of Shirokuro’s head. Upon not encountering her steadfast presence, Ryoga froze and looked down.

She was gone.

She and her puppies. An icy stab thrust through Ryoga’s body, he turned wildly to look behind himself, and saw no sign of his canine family and no dog prints in the layers of dust. A slow keening pain built within his chest, fluttering hard in the empty space contained by his ribs, and he took several bewildering steps in no particular direction, searching frantically for any sign of the animals. Shirokuro! His sweet faithful dog! Where was she? Where were the puppies . . .

Vaguely, he recalled Ranma mentioning Kuro-Ko . . . that he had found her on the street . . .

Ryoga whirled and looked at Ikioi, who simply stood and watched his panic mounting. "What . . . where . . . where is my . . . ?"

The beautiful young woman tipped her head slightly, but her expression of cool indifference did not change. "Gone," she informed him simply. This was what he wanted, therefore, he was going to have to deal with it.

"G - gone . . . ? Where? Why?!" Ryoga’s mind was screaming at him in both fear and anger. -She- had done something to his dogs! She had taken them away! He wanted to attack her, but at the same time was held in place by his incomprehension. Why? Why on earth would she do something like that to them . . . to him?

"Because she was a threat to me, Ryoga-kun. I’ve told you - you belong to me alone. I love you, and I will not share you. Not with your anglicizing of Akane Tendo. Not with Ranma Saotome’s abusive possessiveness. Not even with the loyalty of a dog."

There was something about the tone of her voice . . . something that left no room for doubt about what had happened to Ryoga’s beloved dogs. He knew it with a sudden crystal clarity. They were irretrievably gone and he was never going to see them again. She had . . . she had . . . Pain snapped within him as he stared disbelieving into her cold glacier eyes. His dog . . . Shirokuro . . . whom he’d had since she was a puppy . . . and her babies . . .

"No . . . no no no . . . " he choked.

"Ryoga - "

"NO!" he shouted, sudden rage consuming him as surely as if he had been set on fire. He sprang forward, a surge of power and adrenaline completely wiping away the weakness he had felt that morning while talking with Ranma, his shimmering red battle aura snapping into place. (( Shirokuro . . . )) With no thought but to wrap his hands around Ikioi’s slender gentle neck and break it, Ryoga attacked the girl, hot furious tears in his eyes and a vicious feral growl in his throat.

He never reached her. In the midst of his charge, Ryoga saw her lift her hand to her chest and curl it into a fist, aquamarine eyes still and glowing slightly as a power wind tossed her long black hair. Fear slammed hard into him in the few seconds between her gesture and the pain that flashed through his body, and he had just enough time to realize that he had made a very serious mistake before he was slammed hard against the floor, and overwhelming agony was all he knew.

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