Disclaimer:   All characters herein belong to Rumiko Takahashi, and I am making no profit from their use in this story.

It's not too late.  I can still have him.  I -will- still have him.

  It used to be different.  He used to pursue me, with that trademark aggressive passion evident in his every move, every look.  Sometimes he really frightened me with his intensity, with how strong and determined he
was.  Other times I would ignore him, or even tease him.  Sometimes, my mind would be on other things and he would show up unexpectedly, startling me.  So powerful and single-minded.  Admittedly, I didn't really notice it back then, but I can see it now.

 He is so beautiful.

 Oh, I have tried and tried to come up with other words to describe him, but beautiful is the only one that truly fits him, truly does him justice.  His grace and ferocity are simply breathtaking, and he can mesmerize me simply by leaping into a fight, those firm trim muscles of his moving together in tandem like a well constructed machine.  And when he's not fighting, he is even more beautiful.  Quiet, nervous, vulnerable,  like a sweet new angel . . . one who is not used to the world of the living.

 I simply adore that look of mild confusion that seems to be his constant companion when he's still, and that lovely light of a trusting smile in his dark liquid eyes that shines whenever he's happy.  Unfortunately, he's not
happy very often.  I recognize that his lack of happiness is usually my fault, and I shall spend the rest of my life making that up to him.  I miss that shimmer in his eyes when he has nothing to smile about.

 How blind I was not to see him sooner for the beauty that he is!  But after being only peripherally aware of him for years, one day I could not help but notice his loveliness.  It was summer and the sun was casting a beam of pure light down through the sky simply to spotlight him.  His dark shaggy hair looked so warm and soft, and his eyes were abyssal.  He had come to fight, as usual, and his entire body was tense and poised in anticipation, a feline waiting to strike.  Watching him move, I saw the incredible power encased within his well-toned muscles, saw the fierce determination in his expression, and I realized in a sudden light-headed rush what I had been missing.

 Heaven had sent me an angel, and I hadn't even noticed.

 Oh, then I began to love everything about him.  Everything.  I loved his eyes, how they were edged with thick black lashes and shadowed by his heavy bangs.  I adored the unconscious grace in his every move.  I cherished the sound of his voice, the heaviness of his silences, and everything in between.  After the day of my awakening to his beauty, whenever he would show up, I found myself holding my breath.  And when he was gone, my nights were filled with aching dreams of his body pressed against mine.  I wanted that more than I could ever express.  It will be so wonderful when it finally happens.  I will make sure of it.

 He's skittish though, like any brand new angel might be, so I kept my feelings to myself at first, content to admire him in secret and plan out how it would be between us, how I might make my adoration known to him.  For weeks I plotted exactly how I would get him to come to me, and it would be so easy!  He was such a dear and trusting soul, and would suspect no ulterior motives on my part . . . well, perhaps he would suspect something, for he is not entirely stupid, but even he would never dream of what I had planned.  It would be fantastic, the life he and I would share together, simply fantastic.

  But before I could announce how I cherished him,  things began to change, and at first I didn't even notice it.  I simply took it for granted that he would always show up again, that he would continue to pursue me.  After all,
angelic passion like his does not just fade.

 But I began to see him less frequently.  That in itself would not have been  cause for alarm, as he has a tendency to get lost easily, a habit which, though endearing, I will have to break him of.  Once he and I are together, I'll not have him wandering off anymore.  No, the wandering wasn't the problem.  What bothered me was that whenever he -was- around, I noticed that his fire was diminished, as if he had used it up somewhere else without saving any for me.  He was subdued . . . calm.  When he looked at me, it was without the intensity that I had grown accustomed to and had learned to cherish.

 I was annoyed and angry, to be sure, even . . . hurt?  Normally I would never admit to a feeling like that, but I was so used to his attention, that when he withdrew it I felt as though I had been shot through the head.

 I tried to justify how wounded I felt.  It wasn't his fault, as he was unaware of how much I adored him.  How could he know?  I'd never given him even the slightest of indications, and I'm sure he grew tired of the
constant fighting and bickering that always surrounded us both.  Perhaps it was no wonder that he turned in the direction he did.

 I can forgive him that small failing, certainly I can.  Obviously my passionate angel had been tainted, corrupted . . . he is such a trusting person when it comes to matters of the heart, after all.  I know it could not have been entirely his fault.  So I watched and I waited, keeping my senses peeled for any confirmation to my suspicion, and it did not take me long to discover the one responsible for such a heinous act.

 It was that unwanted noose around my neck, that burden which was unwillingly foisted upon me by my father.

 My iinazuke.

 I followed them to make sure, but there was no doubt.  I saw them embrace, I witnessed their impassioned kisses.  My angel had been stolen from me, cruelly and without a second thought.  Certainly he looked happy when they were together, but I knew better.  He was simply too innocent, too pure to understand what was being done to him, the primrose path he was being lead down.  There could be no other explanation.  And he could never be happy in such a sick and deplorable partnership, the very thought is absurd.

 He would never know the same fulfillment from that relationship as what he will experience with me.  I will worship him, I will adore him.  I will keep him safe and never let him go.  My sweet powerful angel.  Now that I know what's happening, I will not allow it to continue, I can not!  I have to save him, save him from the vicious beast who is stealing him . . . save him from himself and his own innocence.  He doesn't know how to get along in the world, which is why he needs me to guide and protect him.

 And that is exactly what I am going to do!  I am going to gather him close, and hold him tightly forever.  I will do whatever I must to make this happen, and I already have a plan in mind.  When it is all over,  he will know that I love him.  That I adore him.  He will know that I am the only one who deserves a treasure such as he.  Oh, it will be perfect . . . it can't be any other way.

 It's not too late.  I can still have him.  I -will- still have him.  Ryoga Hibiki belongs to me.


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


 It is evening.  I watch, unseen, as my treasonous iinazuke waits for Ryoga in the back yard.  It has been a long wait, for I'm sure that my angel has gotten lost again.  As the light fades and the stars begin to twinkle on one
by one, I breathe slowly, preparing myself for what I must do.  It's going to be very difficult for Ryoga to begin with, and I feel pity for him . . . for the pain he will have to endure . . . but I will make him understand and
eventually he will love me as much as I love him.  He will.  I will not accept anything less.

 He hops over the garden wall, several hours late.  Oh, but he is magnificent in his beauty, even with his hair in disarray and looking rather tired.  Obviously, he has fought a great personal battle to get here on the day he was suppose to and appears pleased at his accomplishment.  The shine in his eyes is a delight to see.

  He faces my iinazuke with a fanged smile.  I love those sweet little fangs, they give him a look of innocent evil, if there can be such a thing.  His voice is low as he whispers a greeting.  They embrace and share a kiss, and I almost lunge forward then and there.  But I hold myself back.  The proper moment will present itself, I must wait for it.

 That creature I am engaged to tells Ryoga why the meeting was arranged.  "It's over."

 Ryoga is facing me, I can see every emotion as it plays across his gentle face and through his beautiful deep eyes.  He looks puzzled for a long moment, then worried.  "Over?  What's over?" he asks hesitantly.

 "The engagement.  I spoke to my father.  He wasn't happy about it, but I don't really care."

 My angel is stunned by the news.  This is more than he expected.  He stutters, another endearing trait that I adore.  "B - but . . . but what about the dojo?  C - carrying on the t - tradition?  W - what about . . . ?"

 "It don't matter.  None of it matters, Ryo-kun.  Let's leave here, make our own way, and forget all of this nonsense."

 The thought appeals to Ryoga, I can see it plainly in his eyes.  But he's worried, and I know that he really doesn't understand the implications of what he's being told.  How could he?  He has no idea what he really wants.  Sweet dear Ryoga.  I will take care of him, shelter him.  I will never let him get lost or feel confusion.  I will tell him what is good and what is  not.  He need never worry again.

 He smiles softly, that wonderful trusting light in his eyes.  "Yes," he agrees innocently.  "Let's leave."

 Now.  This is when I strike.  It is important that I do this just when his hope is in full bloom, so that later he will realize the terrible mistake he almost made.  Though it will cause him pain, I do this because I love him.  He will thank me for it eventually, I know he will.

 I spring from my hiding place and run towards them, gathering strength for my attack.  Though I am silent, my Ryoga-Angel sees me.  He looks up and fear ignites in his widening eyes.  Fear!  Oh, it is beautiful to see!  The  reality of my forthcoming attack dawns on him, and just as I reach them, Ryoga moves.  With a soft shout of warning, he pushes his lover out of the way and receives the full force of my strike.

 It drives him down with a splash of blood, but I am not sorry.  He should not have tried to protect that wicked creature, and the damage I did to him will serve as a reminder of that.  I turn quickly and deliver my fatal blow
while the other is still off-guard, taking great pleasure in the loud cracking sound of bones being shattered.  It is a beautiful moment of perfect vengeance, of revenge for all of the wrongs piled upon me since the first moment of our meeting.  It is retribution for tainting my beautiful perfect Ryoga-Angel and trying to turn him onto the wrong path.

 There is so much blood!  I am momentarily startled by the sight of it as it rivers into the koi pond and everything seems to turn red.  Then . . . I feel only joy.

 I have saved my angel.

 He's struggling to his knees, hand to his head in an attempt to stop his own bleeding.  Crystalline tears stand in his beautiful dark eyes as he registers what I have done and crawls to the body of his lover . . . my former iinazuke.  I stand and watch, knowing that he needs this moment in his evolution of understanding.  Someday he will see that this is necessary, but for now he only cries.  He shrieks softly, pressing his face against the body.  Their blood mingles.

 Only an angel could cry over the death of a demon.  Only an angel.

 "Ryoga," I say.  He has had his moment, now he must pay attention to me.

 "Why?!" he wails, "I don't understand!"

 No, of course he doesn't.  That's why he needs me, to help him, to show him the way.

 But for right now, I want him away from that body, least the soul of its owner try to steal Ryoga to hell when it goes.  I reach down and take a handful of my Ryoga-Angel's hair in the grip of my fingers.  It feels so soft and satiny.  I yank him away from the body, and this brings a cry of hurt and pain from his throat, but I must do it.  It is necessary to make him understand.  Wounded and shattered himself, he has no choice but to fall where I throw him.  He moves like a bird with a broken back, fluttering gently.  A fallen angel.  I stand over him, casting my shadow across his body.

 He looks up, and there is nothing in his beautiful eyes save pain and fear.  That is good and I am pleased to see it.  Already he knows who is in charge, and he will have to get used to the pain, for he will be punished for
allowing himself to be swayed and tainted.  There is a trail of darkened blood running from his temple and around his eye, staining his cheek like a tear. 

His lips tremble as he gazes up at me and whispers,  "Why?  Akane, why?"

 I smile down at him.  "Because you belong to me, Ryoga Hibiki."

 He shivers, I see the tremor work its way through his body and I feel one run through my own in response.  Tossing my mallet carelessly aside, I kneel down and run my fingers over his blood soaked cheek, feeling the smoothness of his skin beneath.  He tries to turn to look back at Ranma's shattered form, but I won't allow it.  I grasp his face and force him to stare only at me.  There is lovely beautiful terror in his eyes.

 Yes, this is exactly the way I dreamed it would be, and it will only get better from here.  At last he is truly mine, truly my angel.  And I . . .

 . . . now I am his goddess . . .


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1999 raptor@lavadomefive.com

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