Disclaimer: The playground is by Rumiko Takahashi, I'm only swinging on
the monkey bars. Remember to leave the grounds cleaner than you found
them and please don't feed the Trolls.

"A Sto'r Mo Chroi'" ("Darling of my Heart" or "The American Wake") is
still Traditional. 

Warning: This part is [Dark] and may very well be [Squicky] as well.
Depending on how you look at it, it may also deserve a [Lemon] or
[Lime] tag, too, not to mention [WAFF]. You Have Been Warned.

By popular demand, the majority of this episode should be read to
Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi from Carl Orff's Carmina Burana.

You can find a MP3 at the site below.
Don't put it on yet. I'll indicate when.

This story is archived at http://www.kawaiikunee.com/slp/

Release 1.2 (Nov. 25, 2000)

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Ranma and Akane: A Love Story
Chapter 5: Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi
Part B: Driven On and Weighted Down

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

The precincts of Nerima General Hospital are used to the sights of lab
coats and sterile stainless steel. 

They have seen other things too; long brass needles and cones of
combustible incense, Shinto rituals, Taoist magic, and Buddhist prayer.
Through them have walked Priest and Shaman, Doctor and (secret)
Divinity. This has not, however, prepared them for Ranma.

Nabiki looked over the preparations Ranma was making apprehensively.
Just behind her left shoulder she could feel the overly-calm presence
of her younger sister; in front of her a person she had come to accept,
tentatively, as a friend was apparently going slightly insane. 

Or maybe not; maybe, in a world that could contain things like Jei,
marking out a circle on the floor of a hospital room with Mystic
Chinese Symbols was perfectly sensible. Not that this made her any
happier.

Sensible or not, the combined emotional tones of Dr. Tofu, (monitoring
Sayuri's condition) Akane (apparently just standing there) and Ranma
(using some kind of wax to trace arcane symbols on the floor with
exquisite care) were convincing her that Ranma was about to do
something extremely dangerous and making her extremely nervous.

Ranma finished her artwork and tidied up the remaining shards of wax.
She had created a circle about five feet across in one corner of the
room and had drawn another, smaller, circle inside it, just large
enough, Nabiki estimated, to sit in. Now she turned to Dr. Tofu, who
was examining Sayuri. "Any change, Tofu-sensei?"

"No, Ranma-san," Dr. Tofu looked up from his work, "she is still near
death." He polished his glasses nervously, "Are you sure this is the
best option, Ranma-san? Death is only a transition, after all; can you
justify the risk of delaying this one?"

"Tofu-san, I cannot find her soul. You have yourself observed a dark
blot on her ki. Medicine has proved insufficient; both an exorcism and
a ritual of calling have likewise failed. A natural transition is one
thing; this is something else.

"Nabiki, I am entrusting you and Acchan with the task of ensuring that
my body is not disturbed while I am away. _No matter what you see_, no
matter what happens, do not allow it to be disturbed for 48 hours or
until I come back."

"Ahhh ... How will I know it's you? If you see what I mean? And what do
we do after 48 hours?" Nabiki queried.

"In answer to your first question: that's what the circles are for. In
answer to the second: after 48 hours you may assume I'm dead and act as
seems best to you at the time."

"Oh, great," Nabiki mumbled. Over her shoulder she felt Akane nod,
gravely.

Ranma stepped into the smaller circle, being careful to avoid mussing
either design, and knelt down into seiza. She took a breath to center
herself and closed her eyes. 

To Akane's Sight, Ranma's ki patterns solidified and became much
denser, then stood up out of their body and turned to her with a grave
nod. Ranma's body continued a slow and deep breathing as her ki turned
Elsewhere, stepped over a metaphorical wall, and was gone, trailing
behind it the very faintest thread of power, still touching the body it
had left behind.

"Wonderful," Nabiki blew out her cheeks and turned to Akane, "now
what?"

"Now you do what she told you, Oneechan. You keep anyone from touching
us for 48 hours." Akane stepped past Nabiki and swiftly coiled a string
of prayer-beads into a smaller circle inside the main circle. Then she
stepped inside and knelt.

"And what are you ... what do you mean _us_?" Nabiki turned in alarm,
and reached out; but Akane had already centered and closed her eyes,
and she snatched back her hand, seeing Dr. Tofu move toward Akane with
alarm. Then she saw Akane's breathing slow and deepen, and knew she was
too late. "If she gets killed in there," she vowed, "I'm gonna _kill_
her!"

And Tendo Akane stepped up from her body and set the controls of its
life as she had Seen Ranma do. And turned toward the wall that crossed
her vision in a certain metaphorical direction. It was low and made of
fieldstone, weathered by the endless years; it would be no trouble to
step over. 

She did so deliberately, following in her sensei's footsteps. And
walked, though she did not know their names, down the Street of Tears,
past the River of Dust, down into the Dry Land, where all the stars are
strange. Down the road that leads toward the Houses of the Dead, and
beyond them to the docks and piers that reach out into the Starless
Sea. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

She walked down the street and she did not look back. The great stones
that the street was made of were worn smooth across their breadth by
the passage of countless feet, but there was a dip in the middle of the
blocks about a foot wide where the majority of traffic had passed by in
years without number. 

All who travel that street know its name, by instinct if by nothing
else, and its surface is worn not only by footsteps but by the slow
erosion of numberless tears. 

Those tears flow off the street into drainage channels, which flow into
gutters, which feed canals, which run from that street to the west,
joining with the river a little to the side. Into that river they flow
and there they vanish, drying into dust and forever gone in instants,
indistinguishable from all the other dust that flows there, dust to
dust and ash to ash forever. 

In that place there is no sun, and neither rain nor wind ever disturbs
the silence. The dry air absorbs sound and moisture alike and no hint
of life ever comes there save for those who have passed beyond it. The
only light comes from above; for there are no streetlights either, and
the houses and taverns of the city put out no lanterns, nor do they
light torches to find their way. 

Instead they see by the light of stars beyond number or estimation;
stars that shine down from the sky in glory undimmed and undimmable;
brilliant in constellations that have never been named, that change by
the hour and never repeat. Stars so thickly scattered that their colors
may be seen by the human eye. Stars that wash the stone streets and
alleys of the City of the Dead with a light that, brilliant and
colorful as it may be in the sky, leeches all color and life from the
stone and the people there, and washes everything with grey.

Akane walked down the street in silence and silence swallowed her
footfalls. Over all that grey city she could hear no sound, only a vast
hush that seemed to have existed since the beginning of time. Silently
she traveled, and in silence she passed the outskirts of the city.
Silently she walked the worn stone of the street past the thin spray of
stone houses with slate roofs that form the city's outposts. Silently
she came to a gate in the obsidian wall that marks the edge of the city
proper and passed through. 

Silently she passed, and heard no sound from herself or from any other
thing. Until, from the city's heart, suddenly, a stone bell began to
sound. First the normal dull rumble of beaten stone, growing in power
as though to shake the entire city, then from beneath the stone-song a
new voice woke; first a rising note, piercingly beautiful, then
another, held in suspension, then a last cry, prolonged and falling
away; as though some sweet and mighty voice was calling, "Love.
Strength. Heeaaveeeen. Ai, ken, teeeeeeennnn. Ai, ken, teeeeeeennnn." 

Up, pause, down. Up, pause, down. And all around her the stone walls
and stone streets of the city responded to the bells, singing in
harmony, "Ai, ken, teeeeeeennnn. Ai, ken, teeeeeeennnn." And above her,
from many places near and far, more bells answered back; small brass
clangor swelled by silver tintinattus joining golden metallic voices
triumphant over harsh brazen roar of many great carillons undismayed by
mournful iron tolling, and over and above and under all the mighty song
of stone, "Ai, ken, teeeeeeennnn. Ai, ken, teeeeeeennnn."

Blinded by tears and deafened by glory Akane stumbled to the side of
the street and placed a hand against the wall, fighting for control. As
the bells continued she managed to regain enough control to continue
moving, but kept her course near to the wall, reaching out to touch it
from time to time. 

As the bells rose to a crescendo she began to think that there could be
no finer fate than to stay here in the city and listen to the bells.
Then she stumbled past an alleyway in her daze and gasped as an arm
encircled her neck and dragged her in.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

"Stupid girl," Ranma hissed into her ear, "are you _trying_ to get
killed?"

The last glorious crescendo faded into silence and Akane gasped in the
pain of its passing. "R-Ranchan! What?"

"What the _hell_ do you think you're _doing_, you baka?" Ranma shook
her like a rag-doll, glaring furiously. "This place is dangerous enough
if you know what you're doing! Which you don't!"

"St-stop shaking me, Ranchan!" Ranma subsided. "You're going to need
me."

"Whatta you mean _I'm_ gonna need you!? If I need you it'll be topside
looking out for my body, you baka. And who's looking out for _your_
body anyway?"

"I've got it in the same big circle you made, I saw how you made the
little circle, I got some prayer beads to make it, Nabiki can watch,
Dr. Tofu too, he's a good martial artist, And I wasn't going to let you
go down here alone, you're going to need me _here_, I know it." 

Ranma hissed in frustration. "If time wasn't so short .... Can you at
least follow orders now you're here?" she asked harshly. 

"H-hai, sensei," Akane whispered.

"Then come on. Quietly!"

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

In the exact geometrical center of the city of stone (if that city can
be said to _have_ a center) stands a house. It exists in the middle of
a garden of roses and an orchard of apple trees, and the roses and the
trees and the apples they bear are black. 

It hums with a drowsy heat and buzzes with the activities of the many
hives of bees that feed from the roses and the apples and that never
grow old; and the bees and the honey that they give are black as a
starless midnight, but the wax of the hives is white as bone. 

It is made of black stone, cut with laser precision by something that
wasn't a laser, and roofed with black slate. Its doors and window-
frames are made of ebony and neatly painted black, and the panes of
glass in the windows are heavily leaded and seem to have a black tint. 

It seems from time to time to be as small as a cottage or as large as a
mansion; and from various views its grounds may not seem to exist, or
may stretch on for light-years into distant star-shot mountains on
whose slopes grow fields of golden wheat. 

Aside from these minor factors there is nothing at all to indicate
whose house it is.

To that black house in the middle of its black gardens and black
orchard came Ranma and Akane. By the side door.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

"Grrk," said Akane, seeing the house they were making for. "Who lives
_there_?"

"Death." said Ranma calmly. "Be polite."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

They entered the gardens from a side street and hurried past the hedge
of black-leafed holly that serves that part of the gardens as a wall. 

As she passed the hives of buzzing bees Ranma nodded to them calmly, as
to old acquaintances met going about their business, and the bees
dipped politely in reply. Passing under an apple tree, Ranma reached up
and plucked two apples from its branches with a muttered word of
thanks. "Eat," she said, handing one of the glossy black fruit to
Akane. 

"Ahh ... but, I thought that you weren't _supposed_ to eat anything
that you found here," wavered Akane. Ranma, she noted, had disposed of
her apple in six bites, saving only a large black seed that had rested
at the core of the bone-white flesh of the black-skinned fruit. 

"I never said this was a _safe_ expedition," Ranma said dryly, "eat
your fruit."

"Grrrk," said Akane, and did so. 

At Ranma's indication she placed the seed that she had likewise saved
at the base of the tree alongside the one Ranma had placed there and
bowed with her friend. Above their heads the tree's branches waved,
though no breeze blew. "Grrrk," said Akane, and turned away.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

In a quiet hospital room, two forms sat still and silent. The only
sound was their breaths, which slowed and grew deeper yet.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Reaching the side of the house, Ranma opened the door and went in,
Akane following. They found themselves in an empty hallway floored in
black wood and wallpapered in a fetching black on which many beautiful
and intricate patterns had been printed in black ink.

Ranma walked swiftly down the hallway and turned into an open doorway.
Akane followed her into a room that was at once both large and small.
Crossing the floor to a figure shrouded in black and sitting in a chair
that was turned half away from them, Ranma knelt and bent her head. 

"Ranma," said the white-skinned, black-haired girl dressed in a blue
cotton T-shirt and biker leathers who turned around, "it's been so
long! Can you stay a bit longer this time?"

"I'm afraid not, Tel," Ranma rose and briefly pressed her cheek to the
other girl's. "I've got a problem. Have you processed a girl by the
name of Asano Sayuri, of Nerima, Tokyo, the home islands, Earth,
recently?" 

The sardonic-visaged young man who was suddenly standing in the girl's
place was dressed in skin-tight black leather, revealing an impressive
figure. "*Aw*," he pouted devastatingly, "*you _never_ want to stay and
play!* *Boring!*"

The black-suited minor bureaucrat who replaced him had grey hair and a
golden pince-nez. "/Hem/," his dusty voice echoed as he reached out and
took an enormous book from nowhere, expertly flipping through the pages
and ran his long fore-finger down the one he stopped at. "/No, that
client has not been processed by this office. Nor is her name entered
in the Book of Dust, nor the Book of Blood, nor the Book of Glory./" 

"Damn," Ranma muttered.

"[However]," sang the earthy voice of the tall black-haired figure
dressed in a short chiffon and carrying a boatman's staff who now stood
by the desk, "[while _I_ have not carried her, I _have_ heard rumors of
new activity in one of the out-flanker castles of the rebellion.]" 

"Which one?" Ranma questioned grimly.

"{That belonging to the 'Marquis' Delaniel.}" replied the glorious
choral voice of the immense robed and winged figure before them.
"{Ranma, be careful? Just this once?}"

Ranma quirked one side of her mouth. "But why start now?" 

"AS A FAVOR," tolled the leaden tones of the tall, black-robed
skeleton, "FOR ME."

Ranma gazed up into the skeleton's empty eyes for long moments, meeting
its blue-shot gaze. Then she rose on tiptoe and grasped its head in
both hands and kissed it firmly on the teeth, before she turned away. 

As Ranma and Akane left the black house by the side door, the girl in
the blue t-shirt quietly said, "I'll sing for you."

As they passed the hedge-gate Ranma quietly said, "I know." 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Ranma did not speak as she set a rapid course through the side streets
and alleys of that city, nor did Akane as she followed. As they jogged,
Akane noted that the houses and the very stones of the streets were
rapidly growing translucent, as though they were fading away. 

Behind her she heard the start of the chorus of the bells, but it
quickly faded, and they found themselves on the top of a tall hill, or
ridge. The ground was blasted earth and barren, crumbly rock, and the
heavy hot air smelled faintly of rot, and of scents that speak to the
universal instincts of all who smell them in oratorios of corruption
and decay.

Passing along the top of the ridge, Akane was relatively pleased to
note a broad, well-made road of stone, leading down the ridge and
across the plain below.

"Well," she whispered, as they walked to the side of the road and
skulked forward in the shadow of the tall stones that marked its
borders, "at least we'll have a good road if we have to come back in a
hurry." 

"It won't be here on the way back," Ranma said calmly.

"Huh?"

"Facilis decensus Averno," Ranma quoted, "sed revocare gradum
superasque evadere ad auras,/Hoc opus, hic labor est-"

"Which means?"

"Down is easy. Up is hard."

"I'm _so_ glad I have you to tell me these things."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Down the hill they went, flitting from shadow to shadow, and across the
blasted plain below. 

They traveled for several hours by Akane's count, though she did not
grow tired. Akane could see no other travelers on the road or off it,
nor did she sight any patrolling force, either on the plain or in the
air above it. 

Ranma, however, progressed in fits and starts by some method of her
own; now holding to the deepest shadows, now sprinting for a dolmen or
stone several gaps beyond the next one; but always, always aware of all
around her, scanning the sky and the ground. Akane followed her step
for step, shadow for shadow, and dash for dash as the long, hot day
wore on.

At last they began to come near castles or fortresses cut into the
irregular basalt mesas that covered the plain. From these, whenever
they approached closely enough, came alternating faint shrieks of pain
and equally faint howls of glee. 

Akane shuddered as they passed these most closely, and huddled closer
to Ranma in the increasingly more infrequent shadows. At each closest
approach, Ranma would spend a few moments scanning the hellish fort
from the deepest cover available. Finally, she spent more time than
usual, and Akane turned her sight on the castle as well. 

Ranma seemed to hesitate in the great boulder's shadow, as though
awaiting a more tangible sign. If so, she received one. One especially
loud shriek of pain rang out over the darkened earth and stone and
Ranma's lips firmed even as Akane gasped in a shock of half-instinctual
recognition. "Ranchan, that wasn't like the other screams. It sounded
wrong. I ... think that may have been Sayuri."

"Yah," Ranma said, "I'm afraid so." She tensed on her haunches, like a
great cat preparing to spring and sprinted for the gate, Akane on her
heels. Halfway there a cry of outraged discovery came from the
battlements, followed hard by a rain of badly aimed missiles. 

These seemed like javelins or arrows, but raised spurts of a hellish
flame where they landed; Akane resolved not to get hit by any. At the
end of their sprint Ranma pounded up to the main gate, flattening
herself against its rough timbers, under the eave and safe from fire.
Akane followed, panting. 

"At least," Akane huffed, "they haven't heard of murder holes." 

"Be thankful for small favors," Ranma said, dryly, as a glare of heat
and light burst from the plain behind them. Then she stepped a little
away from the gate and put her hand flat against it. A moment passed as
she tensed her shoulders and then the wall and gate began to rumble in
a deep bass. 

From above, shrieks of rage turned to shrieks of fear, shrieks quickly
silenced by a bellow of command from inside the fort. Ranma pressed the
gate harder, and the whole front wall of the fortress began to tremble.
From within came another bellow of command. 

"What are you doing?"

"Someone once said, 'Give me a lever long enough, and a place to stand,
and I will move the world.' A lever's just a device for concentrating
force over time." Ranma tensed her shoulders further, "Or you can do it
with shih instead of a big stick."

Akane Saw immediately what she meant; Ranma was accumulating power in
the wall, every moment's small pressure adding to the one before,
growing moment by moment to a force that would rip the gate from its
hinges. Akane also Saw that the wall was resisting, spreading out the
power Ranma was putting into it into the entire front wall of the
castle. Though if it continued to do so the only result would be the
eventual destruction of the wall instead of just the gate. 

Lastly, Akane Saw how the trick was managed, a simple application that
caused her to shake her head in wonder that she had not done it herself
automatically. That, fortunately, was a failing she could rectify.
Squaring her shoulders she placed both hands on the gate and began to
push. Her efficiency was not as high as Ranma's, but her greater
strength made up for the loss and the wall began visibly to vibrate. 

Vibrate like an over-stressed high-tension wire, but only briefly; from
within the walls came a final bellow of command and then Akane _felt_
the wall stiffen into immobility as the demonic Marquis within exerted
his will and linked the wall to his aura. The impact of the three wills
colliding nearly drove Akane from the wall in shock, but only briefly.
She showed her teeth in an entirely unconscious snarl as she redoubled
her effort; pouring all of her will into the struggle she pushed with
everything she had.

The struggle continued for a timeless moment as the wall motionlessly
vibrated from the conflicting energies, and then three things happened
at once. 

From within the walls new screams of fear and pain arose, screams in
entirely new voices. 

At the gates Akane growled in a pitch worthy of an angry bear and found
reserves of strength she hadn't known she had. 

And Ranma snarled silently and drew back her hand from the gate,
twisting at the torso to wind up before bringing her hand forward again
in a curiously slow manner that conveyed a sense of unstoppable motion,
almost leaving ghost images of the hand and arm behind it as it came
forward and struck the gate.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

The Marquis Delaniel, Demon of the Seventh Rank, had a problem. Not
only had he wasted resources on this mare's chase proposed by the
patron of that deluded Jei, resources for which he would eventually
have to account to _his_ patron; but the only prize which had actually
been secured in the whole disgraceful affair had proven surprisingly
recalcitrant. This had not put him in a good mood. 

The further development that his own sanctum was under assault had
driven him to the brink of berserker rage. The fact that his gates,
constructed under his own eye, might fail, that his castle's defenses
might actually be breached was simply insupportable. 

He had, therefore, committed his own will and power to the defense,
reinforcing the strength of the wall with his own life force. The fact
that the unendurable scum outside his wall were overcoming even the
merest shadow of his presence had thrown him into a howling rage and he
had immediately thrown the full weight of his power behind his will. 

This meant that he himself was bearing the full brunt of Ranma and
Akane's push, of course, and it was most unfortunate that his
concentration left him incapable of noticing the fiery cracks which
were spreading across the walls in front of him and, more importantly,
across his own body. 

The cause of his final, fatal distraction is open to debate. It might
have been simple overstrain from exertion. It might have been Akane's
sudden burst of power. It might have been Ranma's Thousand Times Blow.
It might even have been the spoon.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

A demon was torturing her. 

Just for a change. 

This one seemed to find it amusing to remove her skin in a spiral
pattern. Perhaps it found some obscure aesthetic pleasure in it. Or, it
might have just been bloody minded. For whichever reason, it seemed
obsessed with achieving the 'perfect' pattern, 'healing' her and
starting over whenever it made a mistake. Or, at least, until it made
its _real_ mistake.

She heard the cries from the wall dimly, through her body's screams.
They pricked her interest; they might mean that an opportunity would
arrive. Then she noted the presence of the demonic leader. He had not
come within her purview often during her torment, apparently preferring
to use underlings for any actual work, but his presence here now was an
encouraging sign, and his obvious agitation even more so.

The servitor demon's first mistake was to ignore the cries from the
walls in favor of his own pursuits. Its second mistake was to fail to
immediately acknowledge the presence of its master, a mistake
immediately corrected by a kick to the backside. The servitor scrambled
after its master (its third mistake) to be greeted by a backhanded
slap, and a snarled command to return the captive to safe-keeping, and
then to man the walls. Since all other forces were organizing for
defense it felt it must perform these tasks alone (its fourth mistake).
But its final mistake was to leave the prisoner's arm unoccupied for
two seconds while struggling with her feet.

The demon had left her arms free! And, oh look! A spoon! Wasn't that
kind? 

Now to see if, when she gutted a demon, they could heal themselves as
well as they could when they lied to her.... Hmmm. Nope, looks like
they couldn't. 

And this one had left her _two_ knives, _and_ a chain, _and_ a hot iron
too! So kind. 

Now she could find _lots_ of demons. And, what luck! Lots of demons
coming this way! 

Now, what to use? Hmmm. Well, she'd start with ... oh wait, she was
still holding the spoon; that wouldn't do, she'd already used it. Well,
she'd just throw it at ... _that_ one. It was cracked and glowing
already, maybe it would break? Now, let's start with _this_ knife ....

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

The blow was minor, but totally unexpected. It cannot possibly have
hurt the Marquis by itself; but it was not 'by itself' in any sense. It
certainly got his attention. One second the demon-lord was straining to
hold the aura of the walls with all his might, the next .... 

It was not precisely an explosion. Rather, the whole front wall of the
castle, the Marquis' physical body, and the main gates fragmented into
cinder-block sized pieces and rolled over the hapless demonic servitors
like a storm. 

Sayuri, who was behind the demon she was busily introducing to the
concept of mortality, was completely untouched. Which only goes to show
how important it is to keep your mind on what you are doing. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

The stone-storm rolled over them, and fear followed it. Behind them
their once-prisoner was giggling madly and carving up their fellows
like a housewife carving up a frying chicken. To either side were still
intact and very solid stone walls. Above them the alarm was already
ringing, but what help would that be to them if they died first? In
front of them were only two females, to keep them from an exit 50 yards
wide. 

It has often been said that everyone gets one mistake. Unfortunately
for the remaining demonic servitors, theirs had already been made. 

They stampeded for the exit. 

From within her jacket Ranma drew her sword, and smiled.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Briefly, Akane managed a spasm of amazement. She _knew_ that Ranma was
red-haired death unleashed, but it simply _was not possible_ to move
that fast and still swing a sword that precisely. Not that Ranma seemed
to care whether it was possible or not, and Akane charged through a
gentle mist of demonic ichor to reach Sayuri's side. 

"Eeewww! Ick! Sayuri! Put that _thing_ down and come on. And for
heaven's sake throw away that poker! You'll put someone's eye out."

"Oh! Akane-san!" Sayuri casually discarded the iron and rushed to hug
Akane. "You came! Thank you, thank you!" 

"Come on you guys," roared Ranma, "they're all dead, but there's going
to be demonic air cavalry on this whole area like a fungus in about 15
minutes!" 

Sayuri put the knife she was holding in her belt (which had returned
along with her skin when she had broken her bonds) and ran for the gap,
picking up the knife she had left in a demon's throat as she went.
Akane followed, pounding towards the way home, and the whole thing
would probably have ended simply, had not Delaniel made a mistake. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Permit, if you would, a brief digression. 

Demons lie. The fact is well known. 

What is less known by most is the degree to which this is true. 

The truth is, there are no demons. There are merely spirits. Animated,
sentient expressions of the meanings of creation. Some lie to
themselves, and say they are different. Special. Better. Far too
important to waste time on being good, on keeping creation running the
way it's supposed to. 

After all, it's much more fun to lie. To say that they control all the
forces of death and darkness. To say that entropy was their invention.
To say that free will was their discovery. To say that they own half of
creation outright. To say that the place of the dead and the place of
correction were both the same place, and both theirs. 

Demons lie. The fact is well known.

Delaniel, in particular, was a Marquis. A border Count, that is to say.
A rebel of rank and power. Named, and Listed, and possessed of a Word,
that is - a concept of Evil to protect and call his own. A Worded
demon, moreover, whose Word subsumed other Worded demons whose
servitors had Words of their own. 

A powerful being was Delaniel, the Demon of a concept which translates
from the celestial as [Rude Strangers in Places where Humans gather to
Await Transportation]. 

(    I hear you snickering from here. Such a small concept, you
     say. What difference could it make? What harm could it do?  

     Indeed, what harm? 

     Rudeness in such crowded surroundings is only to be expected,
     after all. And one person, whom you do not know, makes little
     difference. 

     That's why it's much more important to focus on the _big_
     things. The small things never matter.

     What harm does rudeness do? 

     Someone gets a little farther ahead than they should. Someone
     makes a number of people's day a little darker. Someone
     erodes the bounds of respect and courtesy between people a
     little. Someone tempts other people to do the same, slightly.
     Someone gets everyone they touch a little angry. 

     Little things, no harm. 

     After all, it's not as though it was a big person being rude. 

     Big people are _never_ rude, though sometimes little people
     _do_ get in their way. But that just involves their being
     brushed aside or run over, not _rudeness_. And big people
     don't have other people be rude to them, usually. Or, if they
     do, they can just splat the person, no worries. 

     No, only little people are rude; only little people have
     rudeness inflicted on them. So it really doesn't matter.

     (    Once, Another had said "Whatsoever ye do to the least of
          my people, that also ye do unto me." Delaniel was at
          some pains to ridicule this concept.
     )

     And if one of the people being inflicted with rudeness is
     yourself? Well, A person's gotta get by, you know? Gotta look
     out for number one, right? Have you tried it? You really
     should, you know.

     I mean, it's not as if it _matters_, if you're rude to
     people. Time is valuable. You've only got so much effort to
     spend. Got to keep your eye on the big picture. Got to keep
     up with the important stuff. 

     Really, it _is_ old fashioned to try to defend civility like
     that. Archaic, even. People should know better.

     Why, the rain forest is being cut down, even as we speak! The
     spotted owl is dying out! Spending effort being polite to
     strangers in train stations is just a waste of time! 

     You can't afford to sweat the small stuff. After all, the
     small stuff doesn't matter.

     And, when you think of it, how many people, really, are truly
     important enough to you to be polite _to_? Just a few, right?
     Just a few people, besides yourself, who really _matter_ to
     _your_ best interest?

     Your Mom and Dad, your close family, your SO, the kids if you
     got them, your boss, of course, his boss, maybe, that cop,
     naturally, that super-model/idol singer. Not a lot.

     And sometimes the difference between 'some', and 'none', is
     no difference at all. 

     Which is why you've got to pay attention to the small stuff.
     Sometimes, the small stuff _matters_.
) 

The point, of course, is that such a powerful demon as Delaniel would
never concentrate all of his power in one place. Only a small amount,
to provide a body to yell at the servitors, and the rest dispersed,
keeping tabs on his Word. 

When Ranma and Akane's combined pressure caused his body to be
destroyed it deprived him of a focus for his consciousness and power.
In an ordinary demon such a loss would lead to instant cessation, but
Delaniel was not an ordinary demon. 

Those beings known as demon-lords normally provide themselves with
special artifacts designed to give them an anchor in cases of
emergency, generally concealing these in some safe place. Delaniel's
was secreted in a blind hollow in the back wall of his castle.

This presented him with a problem. He could now cut his losses, wait
for the intruders to leave, and then hunt them down and extract
revenge. On the other hand, his castle had been ruined and some of his
servitors had been killed. 

A small thing, true, of no real importance. 

And yet: he was a demon of position, he had responsibilities. 

His political position would be damaged if it became known that he had
been attacked and not retaliated. 

On the _other_ hand, if he took a personal hand and failed to actually
_destroy_ the intruders as they deserved, if they _escaped_, his
position would suffer worse losses yet. 

On the gripping hand, the slut his servitors had been tormenting would
certainly have difficulty moving fast enough to escape, and the other
two would probably be fatally delayed trying to assist her. And they
_would_ assist her, he was sure; heroes are predictable like that.

And there could be no question of the outcome. The false body holding
but a fraction of his true power might be disfunctional, true, but in
his true power, on the celestial plane, no human could be his equal. 

It was a simple question of celestial laws - on this plane he could
only be damaged by celestial power, which humans did not have. 

No human _could_ have sufficient power, the laws of creation forbade
it, and skill would not suffice to substitute; the web of lies that
define a demon-lord's existence are too strong to overcome by mere
mortal, corporeal truths. 

Only once, he knew, had any mortal, had any _being_, challenged this
fundamental rule. And those ... were gone. They had won their battle
and then ... well, _no one_ liked the implications. 

A mortal that could kill celestial powers? Permanently? No one wants
that kind of weapon around, it might get pointed at them. The last one
had died, oh, _centuries_ ago. There were none left, none at all. No,
there could be no danger. 

So that was why Delaniel made his mistake. Because the difference
between zero and one is a small difference, but sometimes it makes all
the difference in the world. 

That's why you have to pay attention to the small stuff. It's always
the small stuff that matters.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

They had gathered in the quiet room to watch and wait. 

Yuka was there, of course, clasping her hands so tight they were white.
Sayuri's father and older brother too, holding her hands, and her
mother, still in her wheelchair, waiting at her bedside. 

And Nabiki, in the corner, watching over Ranma and Akane, and praying.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

The back wall of the castle crumbled with a roar of unleashed power.
Ranma spared a single moment to roar "RUN!" at Akane and Sayuri, and
then turned to face the form that now loomed above the ruins. She slid
sideways into the center of the ruined wall, blocking the demon's path
toward Akane and Sayuri, fleeing across the plain behind. 

Delaniel rose above the rubble of his hiding place, brushing shredded
stone from the shoulder joints of his wide-spread wings. His face was
cat-eyed and cruel, framed by scraggly locks of multi-colored hair. He
wore a sarariman's suit and tie, expanded to fit his 20-foot-tall form
and wound about with barbed wire. His cuff-links and tie-tack were made
of the skulls of human babies, his face was cruelly scarred and twisted
and his right hand bore a huge serrated sword.

"First you, and then the other sluts," he growled in a low, chilling
voice, "Die!" 

Snarling, he thrust himself forward, with a clap of his scraggly-
feathered wings, swinging his sword back for the death stroke. 

Ranma, already in zanshin, flowed inside his guard and jumped forward,
uncoiling into a thrust to Delaniel's chest. Her attack sank into his
heart with sufficient force to turn him partly around; and Delaniel's
eyes went wide in shock as Ranma called upon the power of an ancient
bargain, sending it flowing down into the wound and flashing out to all
the dark corners of his body and soul, proving that there are certain
truths that will unravel any web of lies. 

Ranma thrust herself sideways in mid-air, rotating Tenchuu inside the
demon-lord's chest cavity before ripping it free from his rib-cage in a
shower of blood. Delaniel's sword slipped free of his relaxing hand,
rotating forward end over end to hit the ground hilt first, remaining
upright momentarily before falling over with a pathetic *splut*. 

It was covered by the demon-lord's falling body, which crashed to earth
and slid forward on its side for several meters before slowly rotating
over onto its back to lie still, looking upward at the sky with an
expression of vast surprise and a certain hidden peace in its empty
sightless eyes. 

Ranma landed lightly and spun on one foot, returning Tenchuu to its
sheath. Above and behind her a great wail rose to the sky, hate and
fear and rage intermingled, and far behind her she heard the first
responding roars. She sprinted forward, passing the corpse without
further comment, streaking for her running friends ahead and looking
for a place to make a stand.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

But it's the small things that make a difference. 

Take, for instance, the difference between Bronze and Iron. 

Bronze is an alloy of Copper and Tin, Iron is a metal that must be
mixed with carbon to be useful. Bronze is fairly easy to produce and
work, but difficult to get in quantity. Iron is more difficult to
process, but is fairly common. The metallurgical characteristics of
Bronze are similar to those of early wrought Iron, so you would think
that there wouldn't have been much of a basis to choose between them
early in mankind's history. 

If you thought so, you would be wrong.

If you were meta-historically inclined, you might remember the legends
of Iron's supposed lethality to demons and spirits and conclude that
this was the deciding factor. You would still be wrong, in a nice and
accurate sense; Iron isn't particularly more damaging to demons than
any other random metal you might care to name. 

If you favor economics you might speculate about the logistical
advantages provided to a tribe that didn't have to depend on Phoenician
Tin traders. Or, if you are more inclined to the military profession
you might decide that the wider availability of arms and armor turned
the trick. But there wasn't much else of strategic interest to trade in
back then, and the conquering Iron Men were mostly barbarians at the
start, and had little arms beyond spears and bows and axes anyway, and
there would have been enough Bronze for that. 

At this point you might throw up your hands, and conclude that there
_was_ no difference, but you would again be wrong. Because, once upon a
time, the difference between cast Bronze and hammered Iron was a very
great difference indeed.

There is a Bargain that once was made by those who linked the Iron in
their blood to the Iron in their blades. There is a power available to
those who share the blood that made the Bargain. There is a Price that
can be paid to Those Others Who made that Bargain, and a Prize that
that Price can buy. There are those who were Chosen as champions, to
fight and win a battle in an ancient War, a battle in which they had no
hope of victory, except .... 

Except for those who made a Bargain; not always to win the battle, but
never to lose the war; not always to survive the fight, but always to
destroy the foe. 

Except for the Iron Men. 

Except for the Invincible Ones. 

Except for those who came down from the hills in their thousands; and
broke the hold of the demons and the spirits and the magic warriors and
destroyed them or drove them away from the cities and valleys they had
ruled; and turned an Age of Myths and Legends and Powers into an Age of
Men; and ignited a furnace of hatred and rage that has neither waned
nor grown cold in four thousand years.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Ranma was running. 

Running as though all the hosts of Hell were after her. Oddly enough,
they were. Ahead, she could easily see Akane and Sayuri running too,
but there was no point in catching up to them until she decided where
to make her stand. 

She could not attempt to make it all the way back to the wall. For one
thing, the demons would catch her first. For another, they would not
stop their pursuit at the wall: rather, they would follow her anywhere
she went. _That_ grudge was old and bitter, and the First of the Fallen
would never pass up an opportunity to destroy an Invincible once he had
marked one down.

So she could not fight to save her life. And even if, somehow, she
managed to evade her pursuers, their rage was well and truly woken. If
they did not find a fight in her, they would seek one elsewhere, and
with Sayuri fully celestial and unprotected .... 

Oh well, it wasn't like she had been expecting to die in bed anyway,
and she would definitely go out with an escort. But she must somehow
save the other girls. 

Well ... that would require a certain amount of delay. If she could
keep the demonic host's attention long enough for Akane and Sayuri to
get to the wall and go over, then there would remain no link to attract
the host's wrath. Keeping the host's attention would be easy enough,
but she must also keep _all_ of its forces in play and not allow any to
go after an easier target. That meant ....

The 'landscape' of the celestial plane is determined as much by the
meanings sought or found there by its inhabitants as by anything else,
so the result when one side wants to find clear sailing to its prey and
the other wants to find a choke point should be obvious. Particularly
considering that one of the sides is Ranma. 

"In yon straight place, a thousand/Might well be stopped by three ..." 

Words once written by a poet. They were written of a bridge, but Ranma
was willing to write them of the great canyon walls that narrowed to a
gap some hundred yards wide and perhaps five hundred long that loomed
before the girls now. 

As they passed into the gap she increased her speed and caught up with
the others, pulling Akane to a stop. "Acchan, you've got to get
Sayuri-chan to the wall and put her over."

"Ranchan, you can't stay here! They'll catch you, and ..." 

"Acchan," Ranma said gravely, "they're going to keep coming until they
catch me regardless. But if they catch me _here_ they may regret it." 

"I can't leave you here, Ranchan!" Akane panted, "They'll ...." 

"Acchan, if they catch Sayuri-chan on this side of the wall, they'll go
right through it and out into Nerima, where they'll kill everyone they
can catch, definitely including Nabiki and probably Kasumi, your Dad,
and everyone else in the whole ward. And Sayuri can't run fast enough
to get away."

"But, Ranchan, you'll _die_!"

"Acchan, swear! On your soul's honor, _get Sayuri over the wall_!" 

"I ... Ranchan," Ranma's eyes bored into Akane's, cleaving her tongue
to the roof of her mouth, "H-hai, hai, Ranchan." Akane hugged Ranma
fiercely and turned away. Ahead of her she could blurrily see the steep
incline leading up away from the borders of hell, and toward the dusts
of Earth beyond. Fiercely, she attacked the slope, rapidly gaining on
Sayuri, who had continued running.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Behind her, Ranma turned around and watched the approaching demonic
armies. After a moment's scrutiny she began to grin, and then spoke
aloud. 

     'Tis mute, the word we went to hear
     on high Dodonna Mountain,
     When wind was in the Oakenshaws
     and all the caverns tolled,
     And mute's the Midland's navel-stone
     beside the singing fountain,
     And echoes list to silence now
     where Gods told lies of old.

     I took my question to the cave
     that never ceased from speaking,
     The Heart of Stone that tells the truth
     and tells it twice as plain,
     And from the cave of oracles
     I heard the priestess shrieking,
     That she and I would surely die,
     and never live again.

     Oh priestess, what you cry is clear,
     and sound good sense I think it,
     But let the screaming echoes rest,
     and froth thy mouth no more,
     'Tis true there's better booze than brine,
     but he that drowns must drink it,
     And Oh my lass, thy news is news
     that men have heard before.

She took Tenchuu in its sheath and threw it high in the air, rotating
around and giving off a gleam at its apex, before falling back down to
be snatched from the air by a sideways snap of her hand. And, softly:

     The king with all the East at heel
     has come from lands of morning.
     Their armies drink the river up,
     their shafts benight the air.
     And he that stands has died for naught,
     and home there's no returning.

     The Spartans, on their Sea-wet rock,
     sat down and combed their hair.

Then she replaced Tenchuu inside her jacket. The sword is a tool for
killing, and order of the day would be maiming and terror, for a while. 

Out of jacket-space she took a kusari-gama and whirled its chain in a
wide circle above her head, laughing. The haft and handguard of the
war-sickle was made of blackened steel, covered with runes and
ideograms, but the blade of the sickle was a silvery ivory fang many
times harder than simple steel. In partial repayment of a debt a lord
of dragons had given her a fang, and sharpened it for war. The chain of
the weapon was cut of bone that shone white-silver like the fang, each
link barbed on upper and lower surface and decorated with small
ideograms at each corner. At the end of the chain a larger link flared
out into a barbed arrowhead shape that seemed to resemble the
silhouetted head of some fierce beast. 

Spinning the chain around her head, she listened to the howl of the
whirling chain and laughed again. 

Once, she knew, there had been tens of thousands. But the battle had
been won and the demons, and the Fae, and the Magic Warriors, and the
ghosts, had retreated from the lands of men. 

And with their retreat had gone the need for invincible warriors, and
with the need gone their allies had quietly withdrawn. No celestial had
ever been comfortable with the Invincible, save, perhaps, Those Who had
created them, and Those Powers played no favorites. So the forces they
had defeated had snarled in the darkness and gone hunting. 

It was no more difficult to kill an Invincible than it was any other
human. They could win any fight, but the price was that they must win
_every_ fight, regardless of the cost. They could destroy any foe, meet
any challenge, but they must destroy _every_ foe, must face _every_
challenge. And so the traps had been baited, and Invincibles had died. 

And fewer and fewer new warriors had stepped forward. Bloodline after
bloodline had lost the knowledge of their heritage, going into cover
and forgetting in order to survive. And where there had been tens of
thousands were only thousands. And then hundreds, and then a few dozen,
and then less than a dozen. And then there had been less than five.

And now the very last Invincible alive stood in a bottleneck on the
outskirts of Hell, and watched the first racing demons coming toward
her, and cried out in a great voice, "Come to me, ye hosts of Hell!
Come to me, an Invincible is calling! The storm is waiting for thee,
the void yawns before thee! Come to me, Hell-spawn! Come to me and
die!" 

And she grinned, wryly, as the first scattering of demons entered the
canyon, and she sent shih raging down the links of the kusari-gama's
chain and loosed upon those front-runners the wrath of the dragon. And
lightning leapt and capered from rock to stone to wall to earth,
scorching demon flesh at every crossing and blasting great holes in
demonic bodies and souls before it finally gave up its energies in a
torrent of unfocused electricity that earthed itself through the few
remaining alive. 

And then came upon her, not a few demons, but dozens. The first, faint
combers of the waves that would crush and rend. And Ranma leapt to meet
them, bannered by lightning and heralded by thunder, riding on the
wings of storm. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Akane ran, forcing her body to take deep, full breaths, ignoring the
tears streaming from her eyes. No time for gasping or panting, now, no
time for tears; she must call upon every ounce of courage and skill
that she possessed. Ranma was counting on her to get herself and Sayuri
to the wall between life and ... this place, and Akane would rather die
than delay that arrival by so much as a single moment. 

Far rather die. 

Now, too late, she must admit the truth. She loved Ranma. Not 'her
friend', not 'sensei', not even 'Ranchan'. But always and only Ranma,
her beloved. 

She did not understand how it had come to happen. She had despaired of
its arrival, and now, too late, she despaired of its departure. 

Behind her, her beloved was fighting, battling an impossible army to
cover her retreat. 

Within her, her soul wept in anguish; Ranma would die, be torn apart,
and _she_ was running away! Her fault! Her fault: too slow, too weak,
too stupid, useless, unskilled, no good! 

'Ranchan! I'm _sorry_ Ranchan! Oh, Kami I love you! I'm sorry! I want
to be with you, Ranchan, I'm sorry!' 

Briefly, tears threatened to blind her sight. Savagely, she shook them
off and upbraided herself. Stupid, useless, weak, childish: stop! Ranma
must hold until she reached the wall, all she had to do was run. 

     A minor spirit, a kind of demonic lizard, leapt from its
     hiding place to grab her thigh, teeth sinking deep. Her next
     stride flung it away, to smash against a rock further down
     the path and lie stunned and dazed in the track. Unseeing and
     unfeeling, Akane trod it underfoot. 

Head fixed on the slope and the horizon, arms pumping, feet spraying
dust where they pushed back, Akane ran.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

In a quiet room, a body knelt in a circle in a larger circle. Hidden by
its pants, a bruise was forming on its thigh. A thin prickle of blood
drops sprang up around the bruise and quickly dried.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Arms and legs pumping, Sayuri ran. 

Her legs and torso hurt terribly, her lungs screamed for air, her
breath gasped and wheezed in the dry, choking heat, and dust clogged
her mouth; but all these things, she knew, were lies. Truth was waiting
somewhere up ahead of her, a world that was real. 

The knives tucked into her belt were real too, she thought, but that
did not get her to the end of the road any faster. (She wished that she
_could_ use the knives to do _something_, but only faintly.) Lies all
about her and within her, but the truth was waiting at the end of the
road. 

Yearning for the real world, Sayuri ran.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

In a canyon on the borderlands of Hell, a storm was raging. Demons
choked the space between the walls of the canyon, packed in so thickly
that there was barely room to move or turn, tripping over the maimed
bodies of their fellows at every step. Bodies that moaned or snarled or
weakly struck out. Through and above and around them Ranma rampaged
unrestrictedly.

Wherever she went she kept up a constant barrage of thrown knives. The
great, slender, wickedly curved fangs flickered out in vicious arcs to
slice through arms or legs or throats, as many as four or five in one
arc, before curving back to her off hand, pulled by a thread of shih,
and being sent out again. 

Snapping arcs of the sickle blade caused havoc wherever she passed. The
chain flicked out in seemingly unrelated arcs, snapping into victims
like a striking snake and curving barbed links around them, or sinking
its carven jaws into arm or leg. Then a curl of steel would jerk the
victim off its feet and into the air, curving past Ranma where a fang
would gut or cripple it before releasing it to smash into a group of
its hapless fellows. Then the cycle would begin again.

Wherever she landed a blur of hyper-fast punches and kicks smashed
demons from their feet and sent them falling into their fellows,
tripping them and fouling their coordination. Wherever no space was
left to land, a lightning bolt would blast a hole. A web of howling
energy was sweeping and sparkling from the walls, sucking up the energy
from the dying demons and arcing in coruscating beams from walls and
pinnacles; sending sprays of boulders and shards from the walls to
cause further havoc in the demonic horde and smashing everything from
the air except Ranma herself. 

Beaten by a howling wind and blinded by lightning, packed in like
sardines and jostled like the bumpers in a game of pachinko,
uncoordinated, unfocused, undone and uncontrolled, the demons were
barely capable of resistance. Jostled, unaimed hellbolts filled the
air, and poor aim and reflex strikes by claw or sword did far more
damage to other demons than to Ranma. 

An ordinary host, even the most fanatical, would have at least
attempted retreat. But the pressure of arriving demons behind was too
great and more and yet more were coming, charging up from the depths of
Hell in a nearly infinite stream. Behind them came oblivion, and even
now its awful shadow darkened the very air and sent sulfurous fumes
rising from the trembling stone. Far back and slow a darkness loomed,
and the hapless demons of the vanguard fought and scratched and bit and
tore, less to destroy the dancing storm-flame in their midst than to
get past her and out of the way. Even the certainty of destruction
Ranma carried with her was less terrible than the looming shadow.

Moment by moment more demons arrived to choke the storm's passage.
Moment by moment the pressure grew. The difference between unaimed but
enthusiastic counterstrikes and no counterstrikes at all was
infinitesimal, but it was there, and it, too, grew greater bit by bit
as time went by. Small differences, incremented by smaller ones yet as
the minutes slowly passed. But sometimes it's the small differences
that count.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

In a quiet room, a body knelt in a circle inside a larger circle. 

Small wounds began to appear on its arms, legs and torso. No more than
a a half inch long each, they gave off a drop or two of blood and
quickly faded to thin scars. The average increase in size of each
successive wound would have required a micrometer to measure.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Akane and Sayuri were half-way up the slope when the demons pounced.
Not all the demons in Hell had been _in_ Hell that day; some had been
present in the notional area of reality Ranma had walled off from the
rest of Hell with her canyon.

A small patrol was closer than the other strays and had set a 'trap'.
Unfortunately for them no one had thought to tell them about Sayuri and
her knives. Thus, when a thorny bush tried to ensnare Sayuri, she had a
knife out and hacking branches inside half a second. Blessing Ranma's
instruction in the simple trick, Akane drew a tai-chi sword from
jacket-space and cut the bush off at the roots. The two girls continued
running ... which is why they weren't where the demons had anticipated
when they sprang their ambush.

A pair of demons suddenly sprang out at Sayuri, landing slightly away
from her in startlement at her changed position. Both her knives were
in hand immediately; here was something on which she could use them
without guilt. They were _knives_ after all; Sayuri was quite a good
cook, and was experienced at using knives. A fact the demons were
appraised of, to their immediate but brief sorrow. 

In the mean-time Akane had been accosted from behind by three more
ambushers who attempted a dog-pile. The attempt was, from their
viewpoint, utterly and fatally unsuccessful. 

Evading the clumsy grab, Akane whirled gracefully and instinctively cut
one's throat before removing the others' heads with a pair of vicious,
lightning-fast blows. Within her soul, a fire was burning, turning ki
and flesh and blood into a perfect instrument of will, an instrument
that was unleashed on the next six demons, who had made the fatal
mistake of being in the second rank.

The last group of servitors had assumed a distant blocking position,
prepared to retrieve any prisoner who might escape the grasp of those
closer in. In the event, it did not save them; Sayuri ran over the two
in her path, slicing flesh and bone as she passed. The remainder got to
appreciate the purity of will and energy embodied in an inferno named
Akane. Very briefly. The firestorm swept over them and pounded up the
slope on her charge's track.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

In the canyon, the storm was growing in intensity. The clogged bodies
of the dead, trampled, and maimed were posing a genuine problem for
demonic attempts to move out of the canyon. Or, indeed, to move into
it. One might, at this point, wonder at demonic motivation. Or, in
other words, why are all these demons running so merrily to their
nearly certain destruction?

The answer can be stated simply: it was nearly certain destruction. 

Whereas, on the other hand, the great lords of Hell, currently rising
from the Pit and pushing entire demonic armies ahead of them as they
come, are the sorts of beings for whom inflicting fates worse than
death are a pleasant morning's diversion. 

And when a demon calls something a fate worse than death, you may be
sure that it knows whereof it speaks. All Ranma could do was kill them,
and that death was embraced nearly eagerly, given the alternatives.

Ranma noted little of this, though. By now her facial expression had
locked itself into a gentle smile over an almost inhuman serenity.
(Though, had she not been so deep in zanshin, it is likely that she
would instead have been wearing a grin wide enough to crack her face.)
Nor was the serenity only skin deep. Her wide, peaceful eyes, while not
focusing on anything in particular, were gathering information on the
totality of the battle she was fighting that would have made a J-STARS
chief sensor-tech turn green with envy. Her other senses, especially
her chi-sense, were equally active, and she seemed, from her own
person-view, to be hovering slightly above the battle even as she was
entirely immersed in it. 

Internally, her feelings were mixed. It was true that she was enjoying
the fight, enjoying it immensely. It was a unquestionably righteous
fight too, fought against true evil for a truly good cause. On the
other hand, she knew how it would end. She did not fear death, no, but
neither did she welcome it. Particularly not _now_; she had too much to
do, and was leaving too much unfinished. 'Death,' she thought wryly,
'might be lighter than a feather, but just now it's damned
inconvenient!'

Unfortunately, inconvenient or not, it was inevitable. She made an
adjustment to her attack patterns that cleared the canyon entrance and
packed the interior a little more. 

As long as she held it to the single fight to keep the horde bottled
up, she knew she could hold forever. But she knew that it could not
remain just that fight for long. Eventually, one of the greater powers
would come against her. Even sufficient order being restored to the
current mob would be quickly fatal. Before that could happen, though,
Akane and Sayuri would reach the wall; and after _that_ nothing
mattered.

She made another vaulting leap and again contemplated the arrangement
of the host pressing in to the canyon. When the end was inevitable, she
planned to move out onto the plain before her and see if she could hunt
down a prince or two. Possibly even see if she could get close to the
First himself. She doubted it was possible, but it was an adequate
closing gesture, and perhaps she could make one or more of the high
nobility of Hell metaphorically mess their pants.

As long as Sayuri and Akane reached the wall. 

No, be honest: as long as Akane reached the wall. Not that she had
anything against Sayuri, by any means. She had been very impressed by
the girl's courage, and, under other circumstances, would have looked
forward to calling her a friend. 

But she did not love her, and she did love Akane. It was really that
simple, and she wondered how it had happened. She had _told_ herself
not to fall in love with the other girl, but apparently herself had not
listened. In some sense, being killed was probably going to save her
from an immense number of problems, but being pleased about the whole
affair was considerably more melodrama than Ranma had the stomach to
attempt. 

Not to mention, she was exceedingly pissed off. Partly, she felt a mild
anger that some people couldn't let go a grudge after four thousand
years. Partly, she was mildly irritated that she wouldn't be able to
die in her proper shape. But mostly, she was utterly enraged that
someone was going to kill her for things she hadn't been able to get in
on herself. This thought caused her to pull down a section of canyon
wall in a mild expression of pique. The wall fell on thirty or so
demons and reduced them to paste. 

With another corner of her mind she was keeping an eye on Akane's
progress, admiring the girl's form, and cheering her fight against the
patrol. She was prepared to intervene with missile fire, though she
doubted it would be necessary. 

With most of the rest of her mind, she was surveying the tactical
situation, and she sent herself on a bounding triple somersault across
two hundred yards of canyon floor, reaping arms left and right and
finishing with a snap of her kusari's chain that plucked a demon who by
size must have been at least a Count off its feet and pulled it close
to carve out its heart and lungs before flinging it a hundred feet into
the air. The corpse's fall, she estimated, would crush at least a dozen
lesser demons beneath it. Serene at heart, the storm raged on.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Unfortunately for Akane and Sayuri, there had been more demons out than
just one patrol. More unfortunately, the second batch was smarter. 

Pounding down into the last shallow valley before the long steep run to
the top, Sayuri was suddenly hit in the leg by a burst of hellfire.
Shrieking in shock she fell and rolled down the hill, only to be jumped
on by a trio of demonic troopers. Akane dodged the three missiles that
came her way and plowed into a squad of about twelve demons, killing
three at first shock, but then being forced into a defensive posture by
the remainder.

Sayuri soon proved to those demons trying to restrain her that they
would better have aimed for her arms. A flurry of knife blows reduced
all three of her would-be captors to steaming corpses in moments, and
she ignored the damage to her leg and the knife blows to her side she
had received in return for the lies they undoubtably were and staggered
onward. 

Past the two back-ups the ambushers had placed ahead of the girls she
ran, killing them in passing, and again set herself to the slope
beyond. Akane had gasped out the importance of what they were doing as
they ran, and she would no more fail Ranma-san than Akane would. If
only it weren't so hard to see....

Akane ran toward one demon, then curved into a forward roll between two
others, sword flashing. She snapped upright, spinning to her left with
her sword out, cutting into the rib-cage of the demon who was charging
her from that side. 

Then her sword jammed in the ribs momentarily, slowing her enough for
five more demons to jump her at once. Akane went down, striking out to
her right side, as a demon grabbed her around the legs and another pair
wrapped her around the chest. The fourth tried to grab her throat even
as the fifth spasmed and died, and the last two demons in the squad
took aim with hellbolts from a little away.

Akane smashed her feet up, driving the demon holding them into the one
grabbing her throat, dazing both and throwing them away. The fourth
demon looked up from his brief daze to see the two squad missilemen
falling with holes blown out the fronts of their foreheads and decided
to tackle the other one instead. The other dazedly got to its feet as
Akane rolled over and over with her assailants. 

Furiously, she struck out at one demon, smashing the blade through its
stomach, only to cut into its skull on the back-swing. From its sudden
corpse was released a sewer reek of death and things unnamed and
probably best left unnameable, and Akane ripped the blade free from its
sticking place as she rolled over above her other foe and struck
downward with the hilt again and again, breaking bones and tearing skin
before crushing the thing's throat and bashing in its skull.

Coming back to her knees, Akane saw the fourth demon running after
Sayuri and grunted with effort as she threw the sword straight and flat
into its back, just above the hips. Wailing, it fell to its knees,
grabbing at its back where the sword pierced it. Shuddering, it folded
over, weakly scrabbling in the dust and drooling ichor from the mouth
and nostrils. 

Akane rose onto one knee in preparation for rising to her feet, but
stopped and twisted desperately on her knees as a shadow loomed over
her. 

Before her, on the top of the low rise, stood the last demon, snarling
and holding out doubled, clenched hands around which had built up a
blaze of hellish, green fire. Akane began to throw herself forward in a
knowingly futile attempt to duck, but then stopped as a large hole was
suddenly blown in the demon's forehead from behind. Its eyes opened
wide in shock and as it died it lost control of the hellfire, which
blew its hands and lower arms off in a shower of gore and fire as the
rest of its body dropped slowly to its knees before falling over on its
back. 

Akane got to her feet and rushed up the rise, reaching the top in time
to see Ranma turn back towards her foes far away, putting something
back into her jacket. 'Oh, Ranchan! Even from there you're still
looking out for me. Oh, Ranchan, I love you.'
 
Dashing away another treacherous tear, Akane turned back to the slope
ahead of her, looking over her shoulder briefly at the sound of wings.
Far away, but gaining, she could see another group of about twelve
flying demons. She had, she estimated, just enough time to reach the
top of the wall. With a last look over her shoulder at the canyon
below, Akane set herself to run.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

In a quiet room far away, and yet very close, the still form laying on
a hospital bed began to breathe deeply and unevenly, turning weakly
from side to side and gasping, as though struggling for breath. 

In a corner of the room, one of the bodies kneeling inside a pattern on
the floor suddenly grew a set of long scratches on its arms and a
shadow about its neck, as though some cruel claw had gripped there. The
shadow faded quickly but the scratches were slow to close. 

On the back of the other body kneeling there a long, shallow wound
opened and waited some seconds before beginning to close, slowly. 

Watching from outside the circle, Nabiki began to chew on one
fingernail.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Sayuri knew that the pains in her chest and the growing weakness in her
limbs was a lie, but somehow she could not see through the growing
grayness to see what the truth might be. Suddenly she felt a set of
gentle but immensely strong arms close about her and lift her off the
ground to be cradled against someone's chest. Groggily, she shook her
head enough to observe Akane holding her to her chest as she ran, face
grim and fixed as she stared at some distant goal. 

Good old Akane-san! She'd get her there, she was sure! Now, if only she
could remember where they were going, and why ... if only it wasn't so
hard to think .... 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

In a hospital bed, a slight form began breathing much more shallowly,
chest barely moving. At bedside, Dr. Tofu checked a monitoring
instrument and frowned worriedly.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Akane ran up the slope with Sayuri in her arms. Only a few hundred
yards to go now. Behind her the sound of wings was growing swiftly
closer, but there was nothing _ahead_ of her to stop her, and those
behind could not close the distance fast enough to prevent her from
discharging her task.


Close growing, thorny scrub lifted runners to trip her and the equally
thorny branches of a number of middling high scrub bushes attempted to
bar her path, but she powered through them without slowing, unheeding
of the deep scratches and thorn-stabs they left behind. Blind to
everything but her goal she reached within herself for her deepest
reserves and drank deeply from the fountain of fire within.

A distant corner of her consciousness registered a mighty roar of power
from far behind her. Spurning the ground beneath her racing feet, Akane
ran up the slope to home. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Ranma bounced of the canyon wall and killed a demon with a backhand
sickle blow, concentrating the ch'i it released as it died into a free-
standing 'cold' point. 

"Hiryuu!" 

With an enormous leap over the whole floor of the canyon she
established another on the corpse of a pair of lesser soldiers. 

"_Shoten!_" 

Flipping into the center of the circle of 'cold' ch'i points she had
just finished forming, she landed in the midst of a cluster of about a
dozen demonic officers, accepting a pair of minor slashes in return for
setting their dieing ch'i ablaze. 

"HAAAA!" 

'Pulling' a line of shih around the circle of 'cold' points, she
completed the attack sequence, and called the cyclone to war.

Blades of solid shih flamed inward from the wall of the canyon at a
dozen points. Each struck one of the 'cold' ch'i points dead on,
sweeping it up and spinning inward in a spiral pattern to their common
center. There they met the 'hot' ch'i point, imploded it, and sank into
a hyper-dense ball, roiling with counter-polarized ch'i and shih for a
single flaming instant. 

Then the ball exploded, sending a swirling mass of intermingled ch'i
and shih spinning outward to the walls of the canyon, picking up
ferocious wind currents along the way. The ring of energy rebounded off
the canyon walls, returning inward, setting up counter-currents of
high-speed wind. 

Perhaps twenty feet inward from the walls the outer ring met the second
ring that the swirling vortex of energy at the center had given off.

Met and combined, combined and split, split and redefined themselves. 

A column of energy eighty yards wide, covered and shielded by multi-
hundred-mile-per-hour winds erupted from the floor of the canyon, its
rear edge less than twenty yards from the canyon's rear gate. It picked
up and shredded every demon in its boundaries, leaving only a thin
scattering of luckier demons behind it toward the rear mouth of the
canyon. 

As it rose to the sky Ranma rose with it, riding the vacuum of the eye
toward its apex and turning to look behind her, toward the wall, and
Akane. 

Less than a hundred yards away, now, she judged. Enemy forces closing,
but, she briefly tracked their _rate_ of closure, too slowly. Nothing
ahead to bar the way she noted, giving the area between Akane and the
wall a brief but deep scan with her chi-sight. 

Excellent. Mission accomplished. 

Her goal was achieved, and her fight won. That meant it was time to
shift to a new fight, and she considered the hosts of Hell cowering far
below her as she rose to the top of her storm. 

A last fight, and, she judged, a good one. Penultimately, she briefly
considered the overall situation. There were regrets, yes, but only
minor ones. 

In the end, all people die, and to die in the service of one she loved
seemed, to Ranma, as the best category of ending any one of her destiny
could make. She considered the love for which she was giving her life,
and found it right and proper. 

And in the still and tranquil silence of the eye of the cyclone, there
was peace upon the heart of the storm.

As she neared the final apex of her rise, she carefully replaced all
the weapons she had used in their individual resting places. It was not
her way to show disrespect for any tool she used when it might be
avoided, and the need for these tools had, temporarily, passed. 

No more need to maim and terrorize. 

No more need to hold their attention. 

The time for distraction had ended. 

The time for killing had arrived. 

As she reached the apex of her rise and began her fall, Ranma drew her
sword.

And smiled. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Next:
Ranma and Akane: A Love Story
Chapter 5: Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi
Part C: Under The Axis

'Til Then,

Eric Hallstrom 01/16/2001