The characters of the Ranma 1/2 universe are the creation and possession of the brilliant Rumiko Takahashi.

 

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Hearts of Ice                                        

Part 22: Heaven and Hell, Part Two

by Krista Perry

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            "Ranma!"

            Ranma blinked as Akane's voice floated up from the dark mists that writhed and curled beneath the towering, jagged peak of the Mountain of the Ancient One.  Her voice pulled at him, filling him with an incredulous joy that pierced him to his core... and a near wild-eyed panic. 

            Oh crap!  How could she be here now?  Now, of all times? 

            Looking over his shoulder, he spared one last glance at his lifeless body, sprawled in the blood-soaked dirt of the narrow mountain path, before he turned to look down the mountain. 

            Then he moved.

            He moved without thought or reason towards the mists, running, but not running, for he couldn't feel his feet pound against the ground, couldn't feel the flow of air against his skin, because he had none with which to feel... 

            "Ranma, please answer me!"

            She was coming.  And he had to stop her, somehow.  Even though he was dead, nothing more than an intangible ghost.   

            That one thought focused in his mind above all else.  He couldn't let her find his body.  Because.  Because, if she really loved him, like she had said so long ago... because if she felt even an inkling of what he felt for her... because if their situations were reversed and it was him climbing the mountain, and he stumbled upon her body, broken and lifeless on the rocky path...

            He didn't even want to think about it.

            She was close now.  He could hear her crying.  Her faint, choking sobs filtered up through the mists... and Ranma stumbled to an abrupt halt.  He stopped at the edge of the mists, on a part of the path that he didn't even recognize, and yet he must have been there, for his blood was splattered across the ground in large, dark droplets that had yet to soak into the earth.  He stopped moving and just stood there, unconsciously clutching his chest with one hand, staring fearfully into the mists because...  

            Because he was suddenly, desperately afraid to see her.

            What was he thinking?  He was dead!  She probably wouldn't be able to see him or hear him... and he couldn't even touch her... 

            He couldn't stop her.  She was going to walk right by him and never know he was there, and she would find his body...

            And he could hear her weeping.  The sound tore at his soul until he couldn't bear it.

            "Akane," he cried hoarsely, helplessly.  "Don't..."

            Don't cry, don't come up here, please don't.

            The weeping stopped.

            "... Ranma?"

            Ranma blinked.

            She could hear him?

            And then, before his stunned eyes, she emerged from the mists...

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            ...and she froze, her wet, glistening eyes widening as she saw him.

            The blood belonged to someone else.  He wasn't hurt.  He was safe.  

            Her hands trembled, fluttered like nervous birds, moving upwards to cover her mouth.  She could taste the salt of her tears, feel the wet streaks on the skin of her face, on her fingertips, and suddenly, all she could think about was what a terrible mess she must look like. 

            And how beautiful he was.

            He... was perfect.  Just like she remembered him.  So young, his braided hair dark and tousled, and he was still wearing that red Chinese shirt of his, and she wanted to laugh, but she didn't because she was afraid that if she did, she would wake up...

            And his eyes.  He stood there, staring at her, his mouth hanging open slightly, and his gaze was so open and intense, she felt unable to move, unable to speak. 

            She held her breath as his blue eyes traced slowly over her face, lingering on the hollow of her cheek, pausing to take in the thin white line of a scar that hadn't been there five years earlier.  And then, slowly, his gaze went to her hair... her long hair that fell to her waist, torn free from its usual braid in the heat of battle, matted with her own blood... And then her clothes, torn, stained with blood and ichor... 

            And her heart was beating so swift and loud that she felt for sure that he must hear it, and she was ecstatic and delirious with joy, and yet terrified... 

            Oh... what did he think of her? 

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            Ranma felt frozen.

            Some distant corner of his mind that wasn't completely numb from shock was aware that his mouth had sagged open in amazement, and that he hadn't blinked in a long time; that he might never blink again because he just couldn't stop staring. 

            Akane.

            She could see him.  Hear him.  And she was... was...

            He swallowed hard.

            Oh... wow.

            So many questions filled him as he looked at her... and yet, in that moment, he couldn't find his voice to ask a single one.

            Her face.  Pale, smudged, bloody and tear-streaked, yet radiant in the cool starlight.

            Her hair.  Long, impossibly long, tangled and wild.

            Her body, lean and strong... taller somehow... and yet her tattered, bloodstained clothing couldn't hide the soft, sweet familiar curve of her shape...

            His mouth felt suddenly, impossibly dry.

            And her eyes.  Dark, wet with tears... full of an unfamiliar strength... and yet shadowed by a terrible, raw loneliness; a longing that he felt echoed in his own soul.

            The blood spell was broken.  But too late.  Far too late for her, for him... for them both, Ranma realized, and his eyes began to sting.

            Akane...  What's happened to you?

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            Ranma was staring at her, his blue eyes almost luminescent with amazement, and yet he seemed stricken.  Akane's breath caught in her throat as she saw a tear escape the corner of his eye and slide, unnoticed, down the pale skin of his cheek to linger, glistening, on the edge of his chin.