A finished fic by me, posted all at once without previous notice?
Boggle. Sorry if it appears twice.
As you all know, characters invented by Takahashi Rumiko used below.
I respect her from the very bottom of my heart, though you may not
guess it from the contents of this fic.
In some ways, this is very different from my previous works. In
others, it's similar. At any rate, it's dark. Consider yourself
warnted. For continuity nuts, these events take place a week or so
after the end of the manga. Now...
Enter Night
"You died as you lived by the flash of the blade
...in a corner forgotten by the world.
You lived for the touch for the feel of steel
...one man and his honor."
Bruce Dickinson - Flash of the Blade
Whenever Ranma stopped to think, he tended to realize how stupid he
had been during recent times. To avoid this feeling, he made sure not
to activate his brain all too often, leading to a downward spiral of
stupidity and guilt. Walking through a deserted city street in a run-
down residential area, he growled, inwardly cursing himself, as so
many times before. Around him, dusk was slowly setting, and
streetlights cast his shadow to and forth as he progressed from one
illuminated area to another.
A week had now passed since that disastrous day when he and Akane
had almost been wed. A week during which he'd done what he could do
act as his normal, cheerful self - but now, the strain proved too
great, as he knew it inevitably would, and he allowed the misery to
penetrate his thoughts.
He didn't have to take any action, didn't have to make any of the
decisions that he dreaded so. All he had to do was to simply go with
the flow, let the situation run its course, and it would all have
ended; and if not all of it, then still only a small improvement would
be worth a lot. While he certainly enjoyed the attention early on, he
grew more and more weary of the endless bickering - perhaps simply
because he invariably ended up on the recieving end of anything
unpleasant that happened.
He would've been married to the violent tomboy, of course, but maybe
that wouldn't be so bad; at least he most of the time thought he liked
her, and it would probably happen sooner or later anyway.
But what did he do? He threw it away, abandoned the opportunity in a
futile attempt to regain the masculinity that now seemed lost forever.
His footsteps echoed rhythmically against the sidewalk. No cold
water had splashed him today, and he took some comfort in this,
grateful for every minute he could keep his manly exterior, knowing
that at any moment it could be washed away, simple because someone
threw a glass of water out a window, or misdirected a garden hose.
At least a certain pig hadn't, figuratively or literally, tried to
bite him at the wedding, and he had thought that maybe, just maybe, a
tiny fraction of his problems was gone.
Wrong, of course. Problems never disappeared, they just grow worse.
He should've known better.
A few days ago, he'd gathered his resolve. 'I'll talk to her,' he
had thought. 'Straighten this out.' By the time he reached her door,
his courage had drained, as it always did when no challenge or
fighting was involved. Barely enough remained to open her door, and
perhaps it would've been better if he never did. Fate, however, wasn't
kind enough to spare him the sight of his fiancee petting a black
little vermin.
What happened next does not need to be described in great detail; it
had happened innumerable times before. Suffice to say certain insults
were involved, a mallet Ranma knew only all too well, and a parabolic
path through the air.
An innocent rock came in his path, and Ranma struck out with a foot,
sending the semi-spherical piece of granite flying through the air,
hurrying his steps when the sound of crashing glass made him realize
that he'd hit it a bit too hard. The subconcious objective of the act
was probably to get rid of some frustration, but as anyone can tell
you, hitting immobile objects seldom makes anything better, and Ranma,
being, indeed, Ranma, itched for a proper fight, something he'd been
denied during the past week. There was Kunou, of course, and Akane,
and Pop, but they didn't count.
He would've gone home again, vented his frustrations at his uncute,
tomboy fiancee, and kept on living as always, if not for the simple
yet cruel twist of fate that now made him encounter his old rival. All
that happened could have been avoided ... but let us return to the
situation at hand.
They spotted each other simultaneously, coming around opposite
corners of a house, and sparks flew from their eyes as they turned to
look at one another from less than thirty yards distance.
"Ranma!" the bandana-clad boy shouted with fury in his voice, as he
ran towards his enemy. "Die!"
Grateful for the opportunity, the pig-tailed martial artist happily
obliged, shifting to a combat stance. "Come get some, P-chan," he
taunted, in his usual, haughty tone, a subtle underlying strain
betraying that perhaps he wasn't really all that cheery. Ryouga had
never been able to catch subtle hints, and in the end, that proved to
be his demise.
Having never been a warrior and not likely ever to be one, I cannot
accurately describe what followed next. For a few minutes, the two
combatants seemed more like blurry lines than people, interacting with
fleeting speed under a constant barrage of noise.
When the dust settled, Ranma stood, breathing heavily. Ryouga
didn't.
The victorous boy seemed to still glow red for a few seconds, his
features displaying not his usual arrogance but pure fury, a fury that
faded away just as fast as his aura. Only a trained eye would have had
time to notice.
Ryouga didn't see it. Lying motionless on the cold concrete, he
turned his head to the side, coughed up a gout of blood, and slumped
back, the spark gone from his eyes.
Only now did Ranma really look at his defeated opponent. The bandana-
clad boy was bruised and battered, but so was he. More shocking was
the nearly crushed neck, blood pouring from the wound, proving that it
wasn't quite as tough as the boy's skull.
A lot of it had been splattered over the surrounding area. Some had
reached Ranma, and a few drops slowly floated down his chin like
crimson tears, but he didn't notice. As realization slowly washed over
him, Ryouga's pale face seemed like a grinning skull, a devil come
from hell to taunt him, and he couldn't stand it. His hands reached
out, formed a bowl, and as the energy gathered, he cried out like so
many times before. "Mouko Takabisha!"
The blast struck the center of the lifeless, fragile shell, and tore
it apart, sending small pieces of dismembered limbs flying. Blood
smeared over the street, the walls, the house lawn, over Ranma ... and
what remained could perhaps once have been a human being, but just as
well a large bucket of offal someone had scattered.
But it didn't help, for the waste was even more offending to Ranma
than the body had been, and he ran, ran to escape the scene, but
perhaps even more, to escape himself.
An attempt doomed to failure.
When he caught up to himself, he was no longer really sure where he
was, or how he had gotten there. Wet grass brushed against his legs as
he fell to his knees, holding a gnarled tree for support. A park of
some sort. It didn't really matter.
Ryouga ... dead.
Dead by his hands.
What... God... What should he do.
The answer was painfully obvious.
There were many things Ranma held dear. Friends. The Art. His
fiancee, maybe. But foremost among those things was Ranma himself ...
and this loved one had just commited a horrible, unspeakable act, had
just brutally taken someones life.
Murderers end up in jail, or worse; but only those who were caught.
Despite everything, Ranma was quite happy with his life, and firmly
determined to keep it.
Nobody had seen. He was certain of that. Nobody knew, and nobody
ever would. The bloody remains he had run from ... He'd seen enough of
them be certain that even if their human origin could be recognized,
it was impossible to identify them as Ryouga.
They were all stupid. A quick wash, and he could return home,
pretend that nothing at all had happened. All so goddamn stupid. For
all they knew, lost-boy could have wandered off and accidentaly
drowned himself, or got turned into pig-soup. Perhaps he was still out
there in the world, travelling, looking for the way back, just
suffering from a terrible case of bad luck.
Just act calm, and they'd never guess. Fools. They probably wouldn't
guess even if he blurted it out, shouted it at them at the top of his
lungs.
Yes. He was better than those morons, and he'd prove it.
* * *
Only moments after the soft knocking, Akane was at the door. She
worried, not that she'd ever admit it to anyone. It was silly, she
knew. Ranma could take care of himself, and if he'd been gone for a
few hours without telling anyone, he probably had a good reason.
Still, she couldn't help it.
It relieved her, yet confirmed her fears, when she saw the condition
the still wet young girl on the other side of door was in; her clothes
torn, eyes tired and bloodshot.
She pulled her in, gasping. "Ranma! I'll get you some hot water at
once!"
A few minutes later, Akane laid a hand on her now male fiance's
shoulder, somehow recognizing the need for comfort deeply hidden in
his eyes. "What's happened?"
"P-chan..." the boy began, then faltered. He almost swore out loud.
'Don't tell her, you moron. Remember, you're better. They'll never
know.'
This, of course, did nothing to ease her concern, and with obvious
worry in her voice, she asked him, "What about him?"
"Oh, nothing." His voice was still uncertain, but Ranma had regained
some confidence. "I went looking for the pig, figured you'd like to
have him here, but I couldn't find it. Sorry to disappoint you."
Akane couldn't stop herself from hugging him tight, her eyes even
watering slightly. "Oh, Ranma!" The failure meant nothing, compared to
the act, unrequested, in itself. "It doesn't matter!"
He had to stop himself from smiling. She bought it. She was even
grateful. He had fooled...
Fooled her...
He had fooled the girl he loved. He had lied to her and now she was
thanking him. Thanking him for killing her friend and forever taking
her dear pet away from her.
It struck his head more violently than any mallet, and he reached
out to touch her, to make the embrace mutual, as he allowed his head
to rest on her shoulder, allowed tears to start slowly floating down
his cheeks when he realized the implications of his horrible
deception, ashamed that still, he could not make himself reveal the
truth.
Stunned by the sudden outburst, his fiancee tightened her grip,
trying to comfort him, making it worse as he could not avoid feeling
the contact he didn't deserve, the closeness no-one should ever let
him feel again.
Lacking the mental energy to tear free, the same disgust that made
him want to leave keeping him firmly attached to her shoulders, Ranma
simply stayed there until he ran out of tears and there was no more
self-loathing to push out.
His arms slumped to his sides as he rose wordlessly, walking up the
stairs with slow, heavy steps. Akane stared as his retreating back,
confused, and concerned, yet afraid to ask, afraid to reach out to the
boy with whom she still argued on a daily basis.
* * *
The long, healthily green grass rustled quietly beneath his naked
feet as his joyful steps brought him steadily closer to the laughing
ice-vcream vendor, and the warm rays of the sun reached down from a
perfectly bly sky to touch Ranma's face affectionately.
He jingled the coins in the left pocket of his black trousers as he
turned his head towards the slightly trailing companion he led in his
right hand.
Ryouga smiled back at him... Not the friendly, happy smile that
could be expected, but a sick, twisted grin, the grin that had formed
on his lips when he died. He marched on, not bothered by his pale face
and sunken cheeks.
Ranma could see the grass behind his companion through a large,
circular hole in the boy's chest. Blood had trickled out through the
wound, and the grass was gone where it had hit the ground, burning
like acid.
But even worse was Ranma's own footsteps, sick and decayed, the
dying grass crumpled underneath his unclean, murdering soles.
"Thanks to you, I've seen hell," the still bandana-clad boy said
with the voice of the grave, somehow without opening his mouth, as the
fires of inferno burned beneath his deep, brown eyes.
"NO! YOU'RE LYING!" Ranma heard himself shout, as he struck out with
a fist to remove the offending voice.
The hand hit his rival's head with the force of a cannonball, and
the skull exploded like an overripe watermelon falling to the ground,
drowning Ranma in a fountain of blood. He gasped and gurgled,
struggling for breath...
* * *
Finally, Ranma took a deep breath, coughing out water as his head
broke the surface of the pond. The sun slowly rising on the morning
indicated it was morning, time to get up ... and from a window, the
old man grinned at him.
The boy struggled backwards, unable to tear his eyes away from the
grinning face ... the grinning face ... of his old rival taunting him
from the other side of the grave ... the grinning mask of death...
Gathering what little willpower he still had, he turned away, and
his now large chest bounced enticingly as he jumped out of the pond,
leaving the poor Koi to their own musings.
* * *
"Pop?" Water still dripping from every part of her body, forming a
small pool on the floor below, the very feminine boy approached the
family happily munching away at breakfast, a strangely calm look on
her face.
"Yeah?" The aged martial artist looked up from the plate of food he
was busily stuffing down his throath - his son's plate, in fact.
"Thanks for waking me up." Ranma's dry tone creaked like autumn
leaves being stepped on, and anyone with a minimum of subtlety would
have taken the hint.
Subtlety was one of the few things Genma could not be accused of,
and he was simply glad that his son had finally begun to see things
the right way - his way. "Dou Itashiiii..."
The boy's derisive snort coincided with a snort when his father
broke the surface of the Koi pond outside. "Hah! I was expecting
that!" a panda-sign defiantly exlaimed but no-one was listening; or,
in this case, reading.
Ranma grabbed the tea-kettle and headed for his room, choosing to
save any further comments for later.
* * *
Dry, and more importantly, male, Ranma soon came walking down the
stairs again, now in his usual chinese red-and-black outfit. The
others had yet to finish their meal, with both the main consumers
gone, and he sat down next to his fiancee, immediately starting to
wolf down in the pace they were all used to, though no cheerfulness
reached his eyes, which remained unreadable.
'Remember,' he told himself, 'you didn't kill anyone yesterday. You
have no reason to act strange. Everything is just fine. They can't
tell.' But how could they not? He was stained, a killer, a madman who
crushed people like ants benath his feet and laughed in the faces of
the survivors... The dark stain on his soul was visible even to
someone simply passing by, he knew, it had to be.
His musings were interrupted by a gentle tapping on his right
shoulder, and he looked up to stare into Akane's shimmering deep brown
eyes, concern written all over her face, only a few inches away from
his. "Ranma? What's wrong?"
What was wrong? "NOTHING!" 'Everything,' he wanted to shout at her.
'Can't you see? Isn't it obvious?' Did she simple mock him? Why?
Not able to take it any more, he rose from the low table, surprising
everyone with the unfinished plate he left behind. "I'm leaving for
school," he announced, returning to the calm, dry voice he had used
earlier.
"Wait!" Akane called as he left, increasing the pace of her eating
to catch up. "I'm not finished yet!" Anger softly glowed beneath her
eyes as the door slammed shut, the only response she got. 'Baka!
Didn't hear me!'
But the words had reached Ranma's ears, he just choose not to
listen, as he had left simply to get away from her, get away from the
torture of her concern..
* * *
Despite his supposed hurry to get there, Ranma never went to school.
If he showed up there, he'd have to deal with Akane, with the
worried face, with the pleading, concerned eyes, the ones that wanted
to reach out to him, to share all the demons in his mind... But he was
a merciless killer, an honorless dog - how could she possibly care for
*him*?
He wasn't certain he could lie to her again. He wasn't certain he
even should. He'd abused her concern, rewarded her affection with
nothing but falseness and lies; accepting her comfort after killing an
innocent...
An innocent?
He remembered Ryouga's last words. "Ranma! Die!"
Indeed, those words seemed to be the only ones he ever heard from
his old rival's lips. The rival who had slept in his fiancee's bed and
then got him in trouble for it. The rival who had attacked him without
warning on multiple occasions. The rival who hated him above
everything else and had been out to kill him for a long, long time.
Issues which all individually more than enough justified taking his
pitiful, honorless life.
Ryouga certainly deserved what he got; and it was unavoidable -
otherwise, it might one day be Ranma himself lying dead on the ground
with a crushed neck and twisted limbs.
Yeah. He hadn't done nuthin' wrong.
Strangely, Ranma didn't feel any better after coming to this
conclusion, but he still took it to his heart, clung to it like an
anchor of sanity, and closed the doors to the parts of his mind which
violently protested.
* * *
Ranma's stomach growled. He couldn't go to school - Akane probably
wouldn't agree Ryouga deserved to die. Did he really agree himself?
He abandoned the line of thought to survey his surroundings as
another deep growl made it obvious that Ranma hadn't consulted with
all parts of his body when he left from breakfast. Not far from
Ucchans. Good, she'd probably treat him to a free Okonomiyaki or two.
On the way there, his mind struck onto yet another path.
Ryouga had been pretty hung up on Akane to begin with, but deep
down, he was a coward, and perhaps things would never have gotten as
far as they did if he hadn't been encouraged to pursue her. Strongly
encouraged ... by Ucchan.
If Uccha... Ukyou. If Ukyou hadn't pushed Ryouga on, he might have
given up on Akane, realised that he didn't stand a chance, long ago.
But why? She didn't have any particular reason to care about the boy
personally, and she had to realize they'd come to blows over it
regularly.
She had to realize ... had to realize that sooner or later, one of
the fights would end up with Ryouga dead. Ryouga or himself; even with
his inflated view of himself, Ranma knew they were pretty even at
times, and Ukyou should also be able to come to the conclusion that it
might just as well have been Ranma getting killed.
She knew... Yeah, that's right, she knew her pushings would
eventually cause a death. Probably, she also knew how hard it would
hit the survivor, the mentally agony he would be forced to go through.
Yet, she did it. Why? There could only be one reason, one obvious
conclusion. She wanted it. He had no idea what she had against Ryouga
- perhaps the poor lost boy was just a victim of circumstances, an
outsider whose life mattered little to her - but she'd been hunting
him, trying to get her revenge, for ten years. After that, would she
simply fall in down with him? Yeah, right, fat chance.
Ranma's mind worked feverishly as he absent-mindedly knocked on the
door of her restaurant and went in, hardly aware of his surroundings.
"Ranchan!" the okonomiyaki-chef shouted cheerily upon spotting her
fiance. He hadn't stopped by for quite a while, and it exalted her to
know that he still cared, even after the wedding incident.
Her voice breaking his trance, he looked up at her. Could she see it
already? See that her plans had finally come into fruitition?
"Ranchan? What's wrong?"
"You..." He spat out the words. "You know what's wrong. Don't try to
act innocent with me, you bitch."
Ukyou stared at him in shock. He was mad at times, yes, but Ranma
never acted like this. Never. "Ranchan?" Her voice faltered under his
furious gaze, and she almost dropped the spatula she held.
"I'll..." His hands shook with rage, and he could barely constrain
himself from reaching out to strangle her, give her the reward she so
justly deserved after what she'd done - but if he did, he wouldn't be
any better than her, would he? No, Saotome Ranma was an honorable man,
not a cruel, heartless killer. Better leave while he was still in full
possession of his senses.
That bitter irony of the last thought was lost to the boy as he
slammed the door shut again behind him, leaving a non-understanding
Ukyou behind.
* * *
"Ranma?" Finding him waiting for her outside the school gates, Akane
didn't know what to think, what to make of his absence during the day.
She didn't fail to notice the upset look in his eyes, sensing that he
had something to say. "What is it?"
"Ukyou..."
For a short moment, the boy lost some certainty, and she bore into
him with her eyes. He'd been gone all day, and if he hadn't used the
chef's full name...
Finally, Ranma found the words. "Ukyou killed Ryouga."
"U- U- Uk... Ry...?" Unsurprisingly, Akane couldn't quite believe
her ears, and she took a few steps backwards. The notion was so ...
absurd. "Ukyou wouldn't kill Ryouga," she stated confidently.
"She..." Ranma began, but in his heart, he knew she was right. Ukyou
didn't kill Ryouga, and she was certainly no scheming demoness. The
one who killed Ryouga was he. He sank to his knees. "I killed Ryouga."
Yes. There it was. The pure, unadultured truth. "I... killed him." A
few tears slowly drifted down the edges of his eyes.
The concern for her loved one overriding anything else at the
moment, Akane reached to confort him again, but this time, he wouldn't
let her. Wouldn't let his bloody hands stain anyone else.
He jumped backwards, out onto the road, determined to put an end his
shame before he lost his resolve.
* * *
The world emptied. All that remained in it was a young girl in a
school uniform, crying on her knees, and the barely identifiable body
of a pig-tailed boy, a tire mark running straight across his chest.
* * *
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
---------------
Deep thanks go to Marilyn Manson (the music, not the opinions),
Fjodor Dostojevskij and Takahashi Rumiko, without either of which this
could never have been written, and apologies to the latter, whose
characters I have used and abused.
Still a bit rough, and I guess I should wait for tomorrow and give
this another read-through before posting, but I'm too "high" on
writing right now to have the patience.
While I think it's basically right, I'm worried I might be taking
Akane's worry to OOC levels, pun intended. Opinions on this (and on
anything else) appreciated.
As always, all forms of comments - flames, MST, C&C, whatever - are
welcomed, to "thark@swipnet.se", and my other crap can be found at
"http://nabiki.newberry.edu/fanfic/".
As for my current fic status; TPTD has moved quite a bit from the
posting a month ago, but is still far from complete, and kinda stalled
this week - hopefully, I should be able to get it going now that I've
got this one out of my system.
---
Ronny Hedin, thark@swipnet.se, http://nabiki.newberry.edu/thark/
#KotTF# "Nuke'em 'til they glow and shoot'em in the dark."