Reprisal

By katz

Part IX

Cologne watched from the roof as the fight degenerated from a formal duel to a bitter struggle for survival. At first it seemed Ranma might actually win, gods bless the boy, but Mousse proved to be too much for him. Now Mousse was holding a gun to her son-in-law’s head, ready to end it all with one squeeze of the trigger. She looked down at Shampoo.

“Are you ready?”

The cat mewed an affirmative.

“Then go.”

***

The hammer pulled back on the gun with an ominous click, and for the first time Mousse saw real fear in Ranma’s eyes. He grinned coldly and wondered how much fear it would take her to die from a heart attack.

Then something small and lavender dropped from above and onto Ranma’s head. It took Ranma, still bleary with pain, a moment to register what happened. But when he did, the change was immediate. If Mousse thought he saw fear in Ranma’s eyes before, what he saw now was absolute terror. Ranma screamed and flailed her limbs with surprising strength, the gun aimed at her head forgotten. Mousse stepped back in surprise as her body contorted in ways that made him ache by simply watching.

Mousse, after watching this for close to a minute, decided he had had enough and yanked the thing off her head. He stared flatly at what he held in his hand. It was a small, pretty cat with an exotically colored coat of pale violet. It seemed to be looking at him with an almost human expression of fright.

He looked back at Ranma, who was pressed tightly to the wall trying to keep as much distance from the cat and herself as possible, her eyes rolling with fear.

You’ve got to be kidding me, Mousse thought disgustedly. He was about to toss the cat aside when he paused thoughtfully and his lips peeled back in an evil grin. Unfortunately for Ranma, it was at this time that Mousse’s vicious streak decided to assert itself.

“You don’t like cats, do you Ranma?” he purred, dangling the cat in front of her face. Ranma didn’t answer but kept her eyes locked on the cat. “What’s wrong? Don’t you want to play with the kitty?”

Mousse shoved the cat in Ranma’s face.

“Play with the kitty Ranma!” He screamed maniacally. “Come on Ranma, play with the kitty!”

Ranma’s scream seemed endless. Even after it trailed off into nothingness as her voice gave out, her face was still petrified in the same expression.

Suddenly, whatever dark, powerful presence it was that Mousse felt earlier in Ranma, surged to the surface. Mousse reeled back, almost overwhelmed by the sheer force by which it arose.

He stopped a dozen feet away and waited. His rational side railed at him to end it, use the gun, to kill her before whatever it was he felt in her comes to bear. But it was just an annoying buzz in his ear compared to the dark, almost suicidal part of him that watched with equal parts curiosity and anticipation. He was distantly aware that this sudden macabre need to see what sort of hidden power Ranma possessed after all she put him through was quite insane.

He didn’t have to wait long. Ranma slumped forward and dropped to her hands and knees. Mousse thought disappointedly for a moment that she had passed out, before he heard something strange. Almost like a low growling…

Mousse barely had time to dodge when Ranma lunged forward, one clawed hand swiping at him, shredding through a flap of cloth of what remained of his coat. He whirled to face her and couldn’t quite believe what he saw. Ranma was on all fours, mouth curled back into a feral snarl. Any sign that she was suffering from the wounds he gave her was completely gone. Her back arched and she hissed at him, a sound that made the hackles on the back of his neck rise. But what disturbed him most was the complete lack of humanity in her eyes. Ranma was gone. He was now looking into the eyes of a cornered beast.

He raised the gun to his hip and fired three times. Ranma dodged, flitting between the bullets and closing the distance between them with incredible speed. Again she swiped at him, yowling in a disturbingly feline way, while he barely managed to keep out of the way. He fired again and ran, cursing himself for a fool. He could feel her behind him, just an arm’s length away, breaths coming in harsh rasps, focused on her running prey. He whirled and let himself fall on his back, gun raised. No one was there.

He got up into a crouch and dove into an alley. He pressed his back against the wall and waited. The only sound he could hear was his own heavy breathing and the blood thundering in his head. He counted out ten seconds and ran out of the alley the way he came, sweeping his gaze around him. The only warning he received was the growing shadow forming beneath him. He whirled, looking up at a black figure that fell toward him with the sun behind it. He squinted and instinctively brought his hand up to shade his eyes from the light. The figure hurtled into him before he could shoot, knocking the air out of him and driving him into the ground.

Mousse gasped and scrambled to his feet. Ranma was crouched before him ten feet away on all fours, staring at him intently. He was sure if she had a tail, it would be quivering in anticipation. He cursed to himself softly when he realized he dropped his gun when she tackled him. He stayed perfectly still while glancing from side to side, searching for it. The gun was two feet from where he stood. He glanced back at Ranma. She looked more relaxed now, but was still staring at him. She opened her mouth in a lazy yawn, exposing her teeth. He took a slow step closer to the gun, keeping his eyes on her. Her whole body tensed and she emitted a low growl. He froze. She relaxed and sat on her haunches. She delicately licked the back of one hand and ran it through her hair, preening herself while keeping her eyes focused on him. He cursed again. She was toying with him.

He glanced over at the gun again. It was so close he could actually read the inscription on the handle, Beretta. He took a step and slid himself closer to it. Ranma immediately sprang to her feet and pounced. Mousse dove for the gun. He grabbed it, turned over on his back and fired.

***

Akane ran faster than she ever had in her life and even then she couldn’t keep up with the two fighters. Ranma was stronger than she realized. She had heard stories of how powerful he was when he fought the Phoenix King Saffron but it still came as a shock to see it in real life. It was an even greater shock to see that the foreigner, Mousse, was even stronger. Even after Ranma threw everything he had against Mousse, he still seemed to do little more than make him angry. Even with the help of Ukyo and Cologne he couldn’t beat him. Mousse wasn’t unscathed, he was definitely hurt by the looks of him if a sudden loss of body weight and change in skin and hair color were any indication, but Ranma was in worse shape. It came to be a battle of attrition and Mousse was simply too much for him. But now things were looking up in a way. Shampoo forced Ranma to use the Nekoken and Mousse unwittingly helped her. He was on the run now with Ranma right behind him, literally screaming bloody murder.

The loud crack of a gun firing brought her and the few others who could keep up to a halt. A cold fear settled in her stomach as she imagined the bullet ripping through Ranma’s body. She forced the thought out of her mind and tried to run faster.

She stopped around the place where she thought she heard the shot. It was eerily silent, and the only sound she heard was the heavy breathing of the others. For a desperate moment she thought she had run in the wrong direction, when Mousse came crashing through a nearby wall.

He lay unmoving halfway through the hole, face down in the rubble. Akane thought, and was disgusted that some part of her actually hoped, that he might be dead. That thought was soon dispelled when he stirred, groaning as he lifted himself up and began crawling out of the hole. Just as he had gotten all of his body on the other side of the wall, a pair of clawed hands shot out from the hole and gripped him around one of his ankles. He cried out in surprise as the hands jerked back, pulling his legs out from under him and sending him face first into the pavement. The hands disappeared back into the hole dragging him along with them. Mousse roared in defiance, and slammed his hands onto the pavement, burying his fingers up to the first joint. However, he only succeeded in leaving finger-sized runnels in the concrete as he was dragged inexorably back into the hole. Akane could only watch the events unfolding before her with mounting horror, as Mousse cried out again, this time in pain, losing his grip. He disappeared into the hole and she heard him scream again, louder, followed by gunshots and cat-like yowls that could only belong to Ranma.

Akane was amazed that a small part of her simply would not accept what was happening and insisted that what she was seeing was still a duel, with rules and etiquette. But she knew that this had crossed the boundaries of any duel she had ever seen long ago. This was the true face of ‘anything goes.’ And she knew unless someone stopped it, the end result of such a fight could only be death.

***

While Mousse was on his back, struggling to hold back a clawing, biting, spitting Ranma, the insanely calm part of his mind wondered if this was how Lu and Chao felt when they accidentally fell into the tiger pit he dug. He wasn’t the least bit surprised by this train of thought or the memory of his first victims. The cold machine-logic that always fell over his mind in times of stress had kept him alive for as long as he could remember, and he felt it often enough that it never really came as a shock anymore.

Mousse was brought back to reality by a sharp pain below his right eye as Ranma wrested an arm away from his grip and got in a good swipe with a clawed hand. He hissed in pain and swung his freed hand in a hook, catching her in the side of the head. Mousse took advantage of her momentary disorientation and set his feet against her stomach and pushed, sending her sailing over the wall and into the street. He got up quickly, not wanting to waste time, and wiped the spittle from his face while searching for his gun. He found it jutting out from under a slab of rubble, a little scratched but still serviceable. He had fired four shots at her so far, which was three shots too many. It was now truly time to end it all.

His body ached and weariness hung heavy on him but he ignored its cries to stop and ran out of the hole, gun held at ready. Some of the crowd was still there, those that could keep up anyway, and so was Mori in the limo, but no Amazons and no Ranma. He swept his gaze across the street and up along the rooftops. He didn’t realize he was looking in the totally wrong direction until Ranma was upon him.

Mousse didn’t get a warning this time, so he was caught completely off guard when Ranma jumped from her perch on the wall and wrapped her legs around his arms, immobilizing them. She dug one clawed hand into his shoulder and used the other to push his head to the side, exposing his neck. She then bit into his jugular.

Mousse screamed in real pain and began thrashing wildly to force her off. But she only tightened her grip with her arms and legs and bit harder. He could feel her teeth burying deeper into his skin and his neck begin giving way under the pressure her hand put on his head in keeping it to the side. He would have shot his foot off with the pistol in his thrashings if it hadn’t dropped from suddenly nerveless fingers. The machine part of his mind absently and unconcernedly reminded him that this was how large cats killed their prey, by breaking their necks while keeping a firm grip on them with their teeth. Mousse finally understood what Lu and Chao went through when the tiger killed them.

Mousse instinctively lashed out with what was left of his chi, which exploded in the form of a blinding flash of silver light. It wasn’t cohesive, however, and didn’t have any physical effect besides managing to stun Ranma. She hissed in surprise and leapt off him. He fell forward soundlessly.

He could feel her prowling restlessly behind him, debating whether or not to finish him off. In a daze, he realized that was searching frantically for a weapon, any weapon, but his slipping consciousness wouldn’t allow him to focus on one. His mind search grew more panicked as every weapon he attempted to summon up slipped away before he could get a grasp on it. He could almost see her, crouched on all fours…

(a weapon)

her tongue running over a fang…

(any weapon)

eyes glittering in anticipation…

(now dammit)

muscles tensed…

(NOW)

Mousse swung the sledgehammer as Ranma pounced. He swung blindly, putting all the force he could muster behind it, half expecting to miss, and was greeted by a crunching sound as the metal head of the hammer impacted into her side. She was caught in mid-pounce and was sent flying off to the side.

Mousse lay on his back, exhausted in mind and body, and stared at the blue spring sky. The rubble-strewn pavement felt more comfortable at that moment than any bed, and he almost let unconsciousness take him, when he remembered what needed to be done. There was a killing to do.

He pushed himself up with support from the hammer and limped his way over to where Ranma lay. The only sound was a soft grinding as the heavy metal head of the hammer was dragged across the pavement. The going was slow, and the hammer caught several times on particularly large hunks of rubble, but Mousse wasn’t in a hurry. Ranma wasn’t going anywhere.

Ranma lay on her side facing him, her body almost convulsing with short, abrupt heaves of breath. She rolled her eyes up at him and attempted to snarl. Mousse knew he broke most of her ribs with that last swing. Some may have splintered off and punctured her lung, or maybe he crushed that as well. It wouldn’t take much encouragement on his part to finally end her life.

He lifted his good leg and planted his foot on the side of her face. She snarled and attempted feebly to claw at his leg. He snarled back and ground his foot in. He lifted the hammer high, fully intent on smashing her brains out her nose, when a pair of strong hands grabbed his wrists. He whirled as best he could on his wounded leg, twisting out of grip with the hammer still raised, ready to kill whoever it was that was stopping him. What he saw almost made him drop it. Akane was in front of him, tears coursing down her face.

“Please don’t hurt him anymore,” she begged. “I’ll go with you, just stop hurting him, please.”

Mousse lowered the hammer. The crying girl triggered something inside him. He had the feeling like he was awakening from a dream.

“You’re not the one I want,” he replied dazedly.

“I’ll go with you, just please stop hurting him, please!” She begged again and broke down in sobs, holding her face in her hands.

Mousse’s tenuous hold on consciousness was beginning to slip. He suddenly felt very, very tired. Through the fog that was beginning to enshroud his mind, one thought forced itself into clarity.

How sad Nodoka will be…when she finds that you took away her son…

He jumped as if goosed. He looked down at Ranma, who was now unconscious, and then back at Akane.

“Alright,” he said. “Stop crying.”

He waited until her sobs died down to sniffles before beckoning. “Come closer.”

She stepped forward tentatively. He snaked a hand around her neck and pressed a nerve. She fell forward into his arms, unconscious. He carried her in his arms and swayed under he weight. He knew she was by no means heavy, but to him now she weighed a ton. He walked over to the limo where Mori met him halfway.

“Sir?” Mori swallowed when Mousse turned his eyes toward him. “Perhaps we should take you to a doctor?”

“You didn’t tell me about Ranma,” Mousse replied.

Mori stiffened. “Sir, I…”

“Nevermind. Just take me back to my room. You can at least do that much right, can’t you?”

Mori lowered his head. “Yes, sir.”

Mori opened the door and Mousse gently laid Akane in the backseat. He took one last look back. Much of the crowd was surrounding Ranma, attempting to give him medical attention without hurting him too much. Ucchan stood glaring at him, with a white-knuckled grip on her huge spatula. He could tell she wanted to fight him, but fear held her back. He shook his head at her. Not today.

He climbed in the backseat and closed the door.

“Drive.”

Mousse adjusted Akane’s position until she was as comfortable as possible. She would be out for a good two hours. Perhaps she will have some of the answers he needed. As he stared at her, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that she was somehow familiar. He shrugged. It was unimportant now. The limousine’s engine rumbled a soothing lullaby to him, and he was determined to enjoy it during the short trip back. He settled back in his seat and passed out.

***

Nobody noticed when the exotically colored cat leapt into the backseat of the limo while Mousse silently faced off with Ukyo. It now lay under the seat, staring at the back of Mousse’s legs. He wasn’t the only one looking for answers.          

Part X

It was raining when the man in black arrived in Nerima.  Not a remarkable occurrence in itself, but it was coming down with a ferocity normally reserved for typhoon season.  However, it didn’t take a meteorologist to see what was causing it; a quick glance up would suffice.  Red clouds covered the sky, churning against each other in a way that made them seem alive.  Crimson lightning danced frenetically among the clouds, bathing the entire district in flickering red light.

Now that’s a lot of chi up there, he thought, and took one last drag of the cigarette before tossing it.  He knelt and lifted the hood of his poncho slightly.  He let out the smoke in a single breath and watched as it swirled up.  The tiny cloud of smoke lasted only a moment before it disappeared in the rain, but not before he saw it travel upward in a wispy spiral.

The man in black stood and pulled the hood back over his head.  Hiryu Shoten Ha.  That would explain the weather.

He walked alone among the debris of the battlefield, taking in the carnage.  His quarry was here, once again beating him to a Matriarch and once again using the Burning Red.  Though it seemed this time he got more than he bargained for by facing Cologne.  Perhaps the long hunt was finally over.

However, his expression darkened the more he investigated the battlefield.  He knew how Cologne fought and she was not one for long, drawn out affairs such as this fight.  Even if the quarry was on the Red, she was a crafty enough fighter to have found some way to end it quickly, in her favor or otherwise.  So that only left one other who knew the Hiryu Shoten Ha.

            A glint caught his eye.  He knelt and picked up the gun.   He scowled and crushed the filthy weapon in his hands.  His quarry was most definitely alive, he could feel it, but the same couldn’t be said for Ranma.  He would never be able to forgive himself if Ranma or anyone else here died at the hands of that madman.  He threw the scrap of metal away and pulled out another cigarette.  That boy attracted trouble as easily as he attracted women.

            The man in black turned and made his way to the Tendo household.  If Ranma were still alive, he would be there.  How ironic that his quarry would lead him back home.

***

Ashes.

It was the only word Mousse could think of as he stared at his reflection.

Ashes.

He remembered a time long ago, a few years after Corbo saved him from starving to death in the Chinese wilderness, when he and the other children were brought in to see Ashes.  Ashes, the man who invented the Red and the first to burn out on it.  He remembered how Hugh’s voice trembled as he told the story.  How he described the look of ecstasy and pain on Ashes’ face before he went up in flames.  How the chi-fire flowed like water, blanketing the entire room in a hellish red glow.  How when the fire died, all that was left was Ashes.  His real name was David.

Mousse could still remember the soft swishing sound of the respirator keeping Ashes alive as Hugh regained his composure and listed the side effects of using the Red.  Discoloration of skin and hair, internal hemorrhaging, emaciation, gran mal seizures, cerebral deterioration.  Mousse was by no means religious, but as he stared into Ashes’s eyes, he realized that those were just symptoms to a more sinister end that awaited anyone who used the Red.  When you use the Red, you risk losing your soul.

Mousse couldn’t remember how many quiet hours he spent seated beside Ashes, thinking.  The others knew he was prone to fall into periods of deep, almost meditative thought, so he wasn’t worried about arousing suspicion.  They may have thought it was morbid curiosity that drew him there, or perhaps contemplation on the fragility of life.  He spent those hours pondering whether it was worth using a tool that would cost him his soul to destroy those who had wronged him.  In the end, he came to the realization that is wasn’t too difficult of a decision to make.  The Amazons had already killed a part of his soul.  If the rest of it died while taking his revenge, then so be it.

Before he left, he unplugged the machine keeping Ashes alive.

            “Can you raise your arms, sir?” murmured the doctor.

            Mousse raised his arms, keeping his eyes on his reflection while the doctor continued wrapping the bandages around his torso.  His gaunt, slat-ribbed torso.  He counted off the number of ribs in his mind, now visible underneath taut, pale skin.  Pale, except for where wounds old and new criss-crossed each other.  The good doctor was taking great care to wrap the bandages light, for fear of breaking the new wounds open. 

Mousse knew he had seen better days, but he also knew that he should count himself lucky.  He paid the price for underestimating his opponent and second chances are hard to come by.  He knew how close he was to losing it all; his life, his soul, his chance for retribution, all in a single fight.  He would have laughed if not for the pain.  A cocky transsexual martial artist from out of nowhere had come closer to killing him than any one of the Matriarchs.  Life can throw some pretty mean curveballs at times.

The nurse moved aside a sweep of his hair, now an unnatural shade of black-flecked gray, to treat the bite wound on his neck.  He drew in a sharp breath as she rubbed in the disinfectant.

Can’t believe he actually bit me, he thought, gritting his teeth as the nurse cleaned the wound.  Fucking psycho.

Mousse was disturbed by how much of the fight he couldn’t remember.  Most of it was nothing but a blur in his mind, with glaring blank spots scattered through it.  The few parts he could remember were no less disturbing than the parts he couldn’t.  Ranma using Amazon techniques.  The Chestnut Fist.  The tornado that sucked away his chi.  Ranma acting like a wild beast and almost ripping his head off.  And through it all, the rage that permeated every fiber of his being.  It would be easy to blame the Red, but the Red could only magnify whatever the user was feeling at the time.  He shuddered.  Even now, ten years after the fact, it was hard for him to accept the truly dark side of himself.  The side that wanted nothing less than total annihilation of everything.

            The doctor paused in his ministrations.  “Does it hurt?

            “It hurts all the time,” Mousse replied.  “Are you almost done?”

            “I am now,” he said, tying the last end of the bandage.  “You should reconsider going to the hospital.  These wounds are quite serious.”

            “That won’t be necessary.”

            “Of course not,” he muttered.  “What do I know, I’m just a doctor.”

            Mousse was about to remind the good doctor that he was being paid to treat him, not offer an opinion, but the words died as white-hot pain shot up his neck.  He hissed and whipped around to face the nurse, who had just removed a long needle from the bite wound.  She backed up quickly in wide-eyed fear, stammering apologies, and so couldn’t catch him when he fell.  Bright spots of silver blossomed and danced in his vision.  When the spots disappeared he found the doctor had caught him and was supporting his weight with ease.  A few hours ago the doctor would never have been able to catch him like that.  Mousse shrugged the doctor off and shot a baleful glare at the nurse.

             “If you’re done, I have a guest I must attend to,” Mousse said, pulling on a robe.

            The doctor sighed.  “This is all I can do outside of the proper facilities.”

            “Then leave.  Mori will pay you.”

            “Very well.  Don’t eat solid food for about a week and take it easy.  If you need additional treatment you have my number.”  He cast a glance toward the bed.  “Does the girl need help?”

            “The girl is fine.  Goodbye doctor.”

            The doctor looked as though he was about to say something else but just shook his head.  Mousse watched in the mirror as the doctor and the nurse packed up and left.  He wasn’t worried about not fully recovering.  Either he would or he wouldn’t; it didn’t concern him as long as he was still able to pay the Amazons in full for what they have done.  He turned from the mirror and shuffled out of the bathroom.  The girl was still sound asleep on the bed.  Lucifer was curled up against her, purring contentedly.  The kitten had taken quite a liking to her. 

            A flash of movement out of the corner of his vision caught his attention.  He turned, slower this time, not wanting a repeat of what happened earlier.   There was nothing.  He glanced at Lucifer.  It was still asleep, curled into a ball against Akane.

            Mousse shook his head.  I’m starting to see things.  That can’t be good.

            He made his way past Akane’s unconscious form to sit at the table placed beside a large window.  A spectacular view of the city stretched out before him, the Tokyo skyline burning a fiery orange-red from the setting sun.  He watched unmoving as sunset moved on into twilight.  More memories came to him, as they always did when he wasn’t occupied, ones that he would prefer remain buried.  His brief, but violent childhood in the Amazon village.  The death of his father in the senseless war with the Musk.  The betrayal by the Matriarchs.  What they did to him after.  He couldn’t suppress a shudder as night set in.  The old fear stole over him, but he refused to move.  It would be a scar that would stay with him for a long time after the Amazons were all dead, but he was determined not to let them have the satisfaction in knowing they had hurt him so deeply.  Nonetheless, he was relieved when there was a knock at the door.

            “Come in,” he called.

            The light came on as Mori walked in, bearing his dinner on a tray.  The hotel staff refused to bring him room service after the incident where he almost decapitated a waiter with a rather large sword.  Mousse thought they were being unreasonable.  If the man had simply knocked before entering he wouldn’t have had six feet of Scotch steel thrown at him.  So much for ‘the customer is always right.’

            Mousse watched silently as Mori placed the tray in front of him.  Mori kept his eyes down as he worked, placing silverware and napkin down and then removing the elaborately worked bell-shaped cover from the plate.  A variety of fresh fruits were artfully arranged on it, meant to look as pleasing to the eye as they would taste to the tongue.  When he was done he stepped off to the side silently.  Mousse watched all this with a bemused expression.

            “You can stop sulking, Mori,” he said, taking a single grape and popping it in his mouth.  “It’s not a big deal.”

            “I failed you, sir,” replied Mori, keeping his eyes downcast.  “You could have died.”

            Mousse shrugged and popped another grape in his mouth.  “Like I said, no big deal.”

            “But sir-“

            “Let it go, Mori.  That’s an order.”

            Mori sighed.  “Yes, sir.”

            Mousse pushed the plate aside and clasped his hands in front of him.  “Now, I want you to send a couple men back to Nerima to pick up the weapons I left there.  Tell them to do it quickly, I don’t want them caught by the police or anyone else who might have an interest in what I’m doing.”

            Mori bowed and made for the door, but paused and turned back.  “Sir…”

            Mousse, now a little irate, spoke sharply.  “What is it?”

            Mori shifted his weight nervously, but didn’t say anything. 

Mousse noticed the old man kept glancing at the unconscious form on the bed.  He raised an eyebrow.  “Do you want to tell me something?”

Mori cleared his throat.  “I was just wondering what you were going to do with the young lady.”  He cleared his throat again.  “If you were going to… hurt her.”

Mousse blinked and then laughed.  He laughed hard enough to double over on the table.  He only stopped when his body cried out in protest at the exertion.

“Oh Mori, you surprise me,” he said, wiping a tear from his eye.  “I never figured an old hardass like yourself would have a soft spot for young girls.  So what, you have a daughter, granddaughter?  Maybe she reminds you of a ladyfriend you used to have way back when?”

Mori stiffened.  “Sir, I assure you, I-“

Mousse cut him off with a waving of his hand.  “Yeah I know, I know, I was just messing with you.  Now go on, get out of here.  I’m just going to ask our guest a few questions.  I was never planning on hurting her.”

Mori bowed and left, but not before Mousse saw a slightly relieved smile on his face.  He shook his head.  Just when you think you know a guy.

Mousse settled back into the chair and closed his eyes.  Weariness settled like a blanket over his wasted body, but he forced himself to stay awake.  There would be time enough for sleep later.  He was telling the truth when he told Mori he wasn’t going to hurt her.  He’d had his fill of pain for the day.  But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t give her a scare if she chose to be disagreeable.

            He shifted into a more comfortable position in the chair and waited for her to awake.

***

Akane awoke to a silky purring sound.  Her first sleep-filled thoughts were, We don’t have a cat, and then the memory of what happened hit her in a headlong rush.  She bolted upright, earning her a surprised mew from her sleeping companion.  She whipped her head around, taking in her surroundings.  The room was almost the size of her family’s dojo, furnished in a western style.  It was beautifully appointed but sparse, as though the owner had most of the furniture removed to make room.  Even the bed she lay on, which was more than twice the size of her own, had no more than a pillow on it.  Her breath caught when she saw said owner.

He sat at a table at the far end of the room, set next to a large porch window where she could see the darkening Tokyo skyline.  He didn’t appear to be moving.  She leaned forward, squinting to get a better look at him in the softly lit room.  Her eyes widened when she saw that his head was bowed forward in unconsciousness, his long gray hair obscuring his face.  She leaned back slowly.  It seemed too easy, but she knew that now would be the best time to attempt escape. 

She climbed softly off the bed and set her feet on the soft maroon carpeting.  A loud plaintive mewing behind her made her draw up in surprise.  She turned and saw that the kitten that was sleeping next to her was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking up at her.  She put her finger to her lips and made a shushing sound at it before continuing her silent way toward the door.

“Where are you going?”

She froze in mid-step and turned her head.  Her captor was awake, looking at her with a slightly amused smile on his face.  She glanced back toward the door.  She was close enough that she didn’t think he’d be able to catch her if she ran.  And if he did catch her, she doubted he was in any shape for a fight.  She glanced back at him.  He shook his head, the amused look still on his face.

“Don’t.”

Akane tensed for a moment, considering her options, before her shoulders sagged in defeat.  A feeling of weary déjà vu swept over her.  Her mind turned to times when she was kidnapped.  Pantyhose Taro, Kirin, the Bird People, and now this.  She didn’t know why she was even surprised.  Once again she was reduced to being a prisoner, bait, or, she shuddered, a bride, and once again it would be up to Ranma to rescue her.  That is, if he was still alive.

She took a seat across from him, where he watched her with curious green eyes.  She stared back obstinately.  Her eyes drifted behind him, where she could see the towering skyscrapers of the business sector of Tokyo.  She wondered briefly where her captor had taken her, before turning her attention to him again.

“Well?” she asked.

He didn’t answer, but reached to the side where a platter of fruits lay.  He pulled it in front of him and picked out a small orange and began to peel it with long, bony fingers.  Akane’s eyes narrowed.  He was in much worse shape than she thought.  He reminded her of one of the people she saw on the television, who lived in such abject poverty and hunger they couldn’t find the strength to brush away the flies that crowded around their wasted bodies.  He looked much the same way, wearing a robe that seemed two sizes too big for him.  While she did feel a small bit of concern for him, she knew that he was much stronger than he looked.  But if he was hurt, there might be a chance that she could fight her way to freedom.  She started when something small and furry jumped on to her lap.  She looked down to see the black kitten curling up into a ball and falling fast asleep.

Mousse grinned.  “I see Lucifer has taken a liking to you.”  He held out the half-peeled orange to her.  “Orange slice?”

Akane shook her head.  Any hope of escape by fighting was dashed.  He may look weak now but his voice still carried enough strength that she knew she would lose if she tried to fight.  But she was tired of being the victim.  Maybe she couldn’t fight him, but there were other ways to escape.  Maybe she could-

“Why did you do it?” he asked.

Akane blinked.  “Do what?”

“Sacrifice yourself,” he replied, peeling off a section of orange.  He popped it into his mouth, sucking the out the juice and then devouring the pulp.

“I couldn’t let you keep hurting him.  Why are you asking me this anyway?  You got what you wanted, didn’t you?”  Akane said in a steely voice.

“No, I did not get what I wanted,” he replied, peeling off another slice of orange.

“What do you mean?” she asked, genuinely confused now.  “You wanted me, didn’t you?”

He smiled slightly.  “I wanted the Amazon.  I’ve only met you today.  Why would I want you?”

Akane flushed in embarrassment.  “Well, I-“

“I don’t want you.  I wanted his fiancée.”

“But I am his fiancée.”

Akane drew back when he looked at her.  All the good nature he had been exhibiting disappeared in an instant, replaced with a hard, penetrating glare.

“Don’t lie to me,” he said quietly.

Akane shook off her fear and glared back at him.  “I’m not lying.”

He stared at her for a moment longer, as though searching for the truth on her face, before turning back to his orange.

“So what are you saying?” he asked.  “Ranma has two fiancées?”

Akane shifted uncomfortably in her seat.  “Well, actually he has three.”

Mousse paused for a moment in peeling the orange.  “Three?  I wasn’t aware that polygamy was practiced in Japan.”

“No, it’s not like that,” she protested.  “It’s… well it’s complicated.”

Mousse nodded slowly.  “I think I see.  You were already affianced to him when he defeated the Amazon in combat, am I right?”  He smiled.  “That must make you bitter that someone else has a claim to him.”

“Well, yeah sort of,” she said.  And then quickly, “No!