This copy of the story is from my centralized fanfiction archive at http://www.thekeep.org/~harnums/fanfic. I can be reached by e-mail at harnums@thekeep.org ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Prologue - Musk Empire, 665 CE ---------------------------------------------------------------------- The palace was a rotten tooth protruding from the desert's ragged mandible, its torn brown outline the last incisor in a gaping, blue-roofed maw. Once, long hours ago, it had been HER bite, with which she crushed opponents, chewing their remains and absorbing their strengths to add them to her own. With each death, her strength grew, until she stood high as Marpa Kon himself. But now... now, they had cast her forth, and with her all the life had gone out of the Citadel. Marpa Kon might still hold court in Faradu, but only in his warped and senile mind would any trace be left of justice, judgment or refinement. All others would see little but what lay before her now: dead rock fingers rising from a ground of barren sand and sprinkled liberally with swirling and inconstant dirt, with only a shrunken withered tree upon this or that ridge-top to stand witness to the fact that once this area lived, and grew, and reached towards the skies. And, of course, the pools. The pools were the true stewards of the Empire, born with the first Emperor and destined to outlive the last. Their power brought the Musk their strength, distinguishing them from all other petty tribes and giving them a focus and a unity unknown to the neighbouring Hordes. They were a heart to Faradu's bite and the Emperors' assumed (if not in practice) mind, pumping the blood of power that had let them dominate the area and resist the Hordes - and she was their chosen one. They had made her their avatar; she was Jusenkyo incarnate, she WAS the Musk. And only her consort was too blind to see it, and too proud to acknowledge it. Manly pride. Wu Lin scowled. Maybe the Amazons knew a thing or two, after all. And yet they too lay under the yoke of the Musk - but, then again, only her surprise attack had shattered their last stand... What had driven the Emperor to this extreme of indiscretion? Nothing but his own near-sightedness and insecurity. Always inwards were his eyes turned, never to the world outside. That's why he always seemed so poised, and silent... his senseless egotism passed for nobility among the unaware. She, too, had been fooled. For a while. But then she began to notice, and so did he... At the daily audiences, messengers would fight each other to be first to report her tactical successes. They drew straws to speak of the results of _his_ stratagems, and the loser was to speak - and quite often, Marpa Kon's reaction was to kill the messenger, or at least relieve him of a body part or two. Minstrels from all conquered lands - and even free ones! - would sing her praises in new songs and poetry, while Marpa Kon's chief source of flattery was paid by the hour. He no longer lay by her; he feared to, feared to approach the bedding of her as an equal and not as a master, but masked this with pretence of boredom. Another foolish move. All the warriors and half the wives in the capital had personal reason to scoff at the suggestion, and his play-acting only made them doubt his virility. If the fool had only taken a lover or two, the whispering would have stopped. But he knew well that any lover he took would be known to her in an hour, and dead within two. Another man would have accepted and submitted to the will of the Imperial Spirit, left the cloak of his office to his heir, and gone to become one with his ancestors and the pools. Marpa Kon had done his part. He'd conquered and enlarged the reach of the Musk, and wisely presided over the rituals required by the pools of power. A deep and prescient pool he may have been at one time, but days of sun-soaked battle and breezy nights of cool-tempered planning had evaporated his self, will and being until all that was left was a barren pit, fit only to be filled in with earth. That's what SHE was there for. Water without a pit, an embodied dakini that was one with the pools... And now exiled for filial overperceptiveness. That the heirs to the throne should come to HER for permission during an Imperial Audience and leave without seeking the Emperor's approval of her plans bent him to the breaking point, and now... May someone else have mercy on him, for she would have none. Nor upon those of his court who had stood by like cowards and said nothing as he cast her forth from her home, her people, her children. Wu Lin shall rule alone in Faradu, she swore. If I must water the desert with blood, until crimson trees and red flowers bloom, then I shall. "Your..." Behind her, a general struggled for a suitable honorific. She could imagine his confusion. What to call her now? Majesty? Excellency? Highness? None of the old titles fit. "Wave Empress," she prompted. "If I have for the moment lost Faradu, I am yet the Mistress of the Pools." And she would sweep over this valley like a tidal wave, claiming it in the name of the waters she was born of. "Yes... Wave Empress." "What is it that you wish, general?" Her gaze stayed fixed upon the jagged Citadel. "Your... army, Great Lady. Ready." "How many?" "Six hundred souls only, M... Wave Empress." "I care not for souls, only for soldiers. How many?" "Five hundred and fifty-six." She smiled and turned to look downhill towards the encampment of her supporters. Voluntary co-exiles, the lot, and willing to follow her to death and back. Where else had they to go now? When one steps away from the Emperor of the Musk, to turn back is invariably fatal. They would do, to start. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- W A T E R F A L L S a mystery by Alan Harnum and Chris Willmore ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Based on characters and situations created by Rumiko Takahashi and used without permission. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Chapter 3 : Awakenings ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Taste the whip, in love not given lightly Taste the whip, now plead for me I am tired, I am weary I could sleep for a thousand years A thousand dreams that would awake me Different colors made of tears -The Velvet Underground ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Long legs wrapped lazily around a sweat-filmed, heaving torso, and farther up, somewhere between a bed of dirt and covers of night air, a pair of white orchid hands brushed against a chest of smooth, sun-bronzed skin. Tiny, downy hairs covered it, slick with sweat. It smelled like fear. She touched a finger to her ruby lips. Tasted like it, too. She liked that. She felt the skin beneath her nostrils widen as some part of her willed a smile. Her eyes took his in. Wide-open, staring but not seeing, like some domesticated animal finally perceiving that its caring parent is also its butcher. And the mouth? Lips wet with liquids not his own, a little dribble at each corner... no movement, though. He wouldn't dare. Not anymore. She grabbed his hair and pulled his head up, and moved it from side to side, taking in all of his profiles. Nothing interesting. She'd seen it all before. A disdainful snort rolled off her fair lips, and she released her grip. His skull met the ground with a resounding thunk, but somehow she doubted it would do her servant any harm. He'd be doing little thinking of his own, from now on. "You are mine, slave." "I..." He swallowed to clear his throat, but didn't attempt to shift his neck from its current awkward position. "I am yours." "I did not ask for confirmation." She pressed her hands against his shoulders and peeled herself from him, ending in a squat between her minion's parted legs without more than a quick and mocking glance downwards. In another age, she would have laughed outright, but this was neither the place, nor the hour - her skin already began to tighten, and there was still so much to do... "Slave, you will find her, and you will bring her, and you will do so with all the haste you proved this night to have in excess." Behind her, something clattered. She whirled like a harvester's scythe, but stopped herself before doing any damage to the dwarf whose pipe had dropped from his mouth. "Aaaa..." His withered jaw went up and down. "My turn now?" His turn? HIS turn? The very thought was so wretched that for a moment she considered spending some of her precious power in annihilating him for the affront-- And then, she laughed, with her temple wind-chime voice. Why had she never seen jesters like this one, before? That's what he'd be for her, once... once... Still slightly hunched from the uncommon exercise, she waved her previous servant towards a pan of water. Her laughs grew harder, louder, and she only caught a glimpse of a winged and tentacled shadow lifting off, from the corner of her tear-filled eye. "And now, it's my turn," she repeated, "MY turn..." and the laughter stopped. She heaved and held her chest, allowing herself a few deep breaths. The lady never noticed the departure of her smaller servant, or his sad slink out of the ring of trees, towards a place of comfort. She had more timely matters to attend to. * * * * * The night was hot. Akane tossed and turned beneath the sheets, even more agitated in her repose than usual. Her arms flailed; her legs kicked. She battered the mattress and pillows as though they were hated foes; perhaps, in dreams, she fought. Beads of sweat shone upon her forehead in the light from the hallway. So hot... so hot it seemed that waves of heat could be seen rising in the room, slowly dispersing, rising again... Ranma stood in the doorway and watched, as still as a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. He did not dare to move; hardly even did he dare to draw breath, to risk disturbing her. His face was hot and flushed. The door had been open when he came back from the bathroom. Though he couldn't remember why he'd gone to the bathroom. Had he wanted a drink, or to relieve himself? No memory of either thing. He hadn't opened the door quietly, so that he could stand there and watch her sleeping. It had been closed when he went down the stairs to the bathroom, open when he came back up. That was certain. She was beautiful; he wanted to stride inside and take her in his arms, hold her tight against him, let his lips brush time and time again her lips and cheeks and throat. The heat was almost unbearable; the room felt like a furnace. He _needed_ to quench himself in her; but it was not allowed. She had not given him leave, and he would never do such a thing, never such a thing without her consent... "Ran...ma..." The tiniest of whispers, but he heard it. His heart leapt; he stepped beyond the threshold. A floorboard creaked beneath his feet. Akane bolted upright in bed with a gasp, and Ranma stopped dead. "What are you doing here?" she asked, half-fearful. Her hands trembled as she clutched the edge of the blanket. He wanted to reach out and tell her that she did not have to fear him, that he would never hurt her... the heat... the heat was fading. The room was cooling down, thank the gods; it was hard to think with such heat. And Akane was looking very, very angry. "Umm... I can explain," he said quickly. Even though he couldn't. "Hurry up," Akane replied flatly. Things had changed, he realized; months ago, she wouldn't have even given him a chance to explain. He thought quickly. Explanations, or at least believable lies, escaped him like the wind. Akane's glare became more and more fierce with each passing second. "The door was open," he said at last. "I wanted to... umm... make sure you were okay." "Really?" He licked his lips. Hot again. "Yeah." Still scowling, Akane got out of bed and crossed the floor until she stood before him. "Don't lie to me, Ranma." "It's not a lie." It wasn't, either; he did worry about her at night, with everything that happened around here and all the crazies who seemed to be after him. Especially the old lech, although he hadn't been around lately. Akane raised her eyebrow. "Oh? And there was no other reason you were staring at me while I slept?" So hot... "You called me," he whispered. "You called me, and I came." She blinked. "What the heck are you talking about?" He had to lie but so hot too hot to lie... "You said my name," he continued. "While you were sleeping. I dunno, maybe you were dreaming about me, but you said my name..." A deep blush rose upon Akane's face. "I don't dream about you. I've _never_ dreamed about you!" A lie. Cool again. She stepped back from him, and balled her hands into fists. "Look, Ranma, I don't know why you've got the need to constantly peep on me while I'm trying to sleep, but I don't like it at all." Ranma smirked and said, before he could stop himself, "A tomboy like you ought to be flattered if a handsome guy like me is peepin' on you. Which I wasn't doing, for that matter." Akane had grabbed her desk chair and lifted it overhead when they heard the heavy tread of footsteps in the hall. The two of them froze; slowly, she lowered the chair to the ground again. Genma, nails clicking on the hardwood as he padded down the hallway in panda form, paused and looked into the room with an inquiring growl. Spotting Ranma and Akane standing so close together, both blushing and staring away from the other, he jumped to the obvious conclusion and reached for his markers and sign. *A midnight visit, eh boy? Good job! Just like your old man!* Ranma blanched. "It ain't like that!" *A late night of conversation, then? Excellent! Remember, a successful relationship is founded upon being not only lovers, but the best of friends!* "Go away, Mr. Saotome," Akane said commandingly. To Ranma's surprise, his Pop turned and almost hurried down the stairs, without even a farewell sign. "You go away too, Ranma," she continued, turning her gaze to him. "I've got to go to school tomorrow, and I don't really feel like dealing with you right now. I'm too tired." Ranma opened his mouth, closed it, and left her room. * * * * * *RRRRRIIIIIIIIIING!* "Hello, Nekohanten, we deliver..." Cologne's voice dropped. "Oh. It's _you_." She clenched the phone cord while making a few punctiliously polite inquiries, and listened carefully to the replies. "Yes, I have heard the story of what transpired after your departure." Her cool voice turned frigid after the next announcement. "How... good of you to honour us again with your presence, Son of Dragons." Shampoo watched the conversation from the doorway, holding a serving platter to her bosom as a shield. "A meeting, Master of Pools?" Old looked to young, smiled, tried to reassure that the ice of the tones had nought to do with her. Young bobbed her head, left. "Yes," she agreed, with somewhat more warmth. "I suppose." A pause, and a quick glance upwards. "I know the place. It will do." * * * * * "Where's the old ghoul gone?" "Not your business, dummy. Run cash and serve. I cook." Mousse clenched his teeth and grabbed up the order pad from where it rested beside the register. Trust Cologne to leave him and Shampoo to handle everything during the lunch time rush hour. The customers called out their orders as he walked around, and he tried to scribble them down while remembering who wanted what. "Wonton soup!" "Noodle platter!" Not, he would admit, with great success. "Stir-fry!" "Side order of rice!" The ceiling fan chopped overhead as he took orders, giving him mild relief from the hot air of the restaurant. As he finished writing down the orders and turned around to call them back to Shampoo, the phone rang. Shampoo flounced out of the kitchen and snatched it up. "Hello, Nekohanten, I help you?" "Waiter, my check?" "Do you have fries here?" Mousse ignored them and watched Shampoo. Even when she spoke on the phone she was beautiful... the way her lips moved to talk to the customer, the way her free hand toyed with one of the tails of hair that dangled over her ear... "Waiter!" "Yes, we deliver. Address? What you want? That a lot of food. You very hungry? Yes?" She laughed. It was like the voice of an angel. "WAITER!" He turned around, and the thrown chopstick bounced off the back of his skull, rather than his forehead. Shampoo called to him: "I making order for delivery, then leaving. Run restaurant by yourself, until I get back." As the customers began to shout louder, Mousse tried his hardest not to break down and cry. * * * * * Akane yelled and brought her fist crashing down. The cinderblocks shattered beneath the blow as though made of porcelain. She laid down another two atop each other, cried out again, and broke them. Stupid Ranma. Even after a whole day of avoiding talking to him at school, she still felt mad. He'd come into her room like some sort of stalker, and even when she'd given him a chance to explain all he was able to do was insult her and make up lies. And if she'd lied as well, about having dreams about him... well they weren't _romantic_ dreams, or anything. Not all of them. Everyone had strange dreams about things that probably weren't ever going to happen. He was an idiotic jerk. So what if he was cute, and brave, and could sometimes even be nice to her - he was still just a jerk! She snarled, and moved up to breaking three blocks at a time. "Who am I kidding?" she said quietly. She had been dreaming about him last night; he had woken her up in the middle, so the memory was still vivid. She had been a princess trapped in a tower, kept prisoner by an evil witch who bore a close resemblance to Shampoo. The witch had two helpers, who looked quite a bit like Ukyou and Kodachi, except not quite as pretty. All three of them had used all their wiles to try to seduce the handsome prince who came to rescue her, and... And then Ranma, the stupid jerk, had woken her up. Well, all that stuff about dreams reflecting your true heart was stupid anyway. It hadn't even been a very good dream; more like a nightmare. Breathing hard, she stood up from the ruins of another three cinderblocks and wiped her hand through her sweaty hair. It was hot in the dojo; the weatherman had said that today was going to be one of the hottest days on record. Now that she'd stopped concentrating on the blocks, she could hear the sounds of Genma and Ranma sparring in the backyard, and smell Kasumi cooking dinner. Breaking the blocks had certainly made her feel better, but it hadn't got rid of the real problem. The best of friends. Hah! Genma was as much of an idiot as his son sometimes; he certainly wasn't one to be giving advice like that. Though it would be nice, she had to admit, if she and Ranma fought less... Something made her turn around, to see Happosai standing mere feet from her. "Akane-chan," he said quietly. "How I've missed you these last few days." He looked, Akane thought, even worse than he usually did. His bulging eyes were ringed with dark circles, so badly that they looked like bruises, and his clothing was torn and dirty. And he stank; Happosai never smelled especially good to begin with, but rankness steamed from him in a visible fog. And were those flies around his head? She blinked, and they disappeared. "What do you want, Happosai?" she asked, taking a step back. There was something... dangerous in his eyes, truly dangerous, and the state of his clothes made her worried. What had he been up to? "You don't know what it's like, Akane-chan..." he said, taking a step across the dojo floor towards her. "Pray you never know what it's like, because oh my head, my poor head my darlings, quiet now, let me be me, let me think, my head..." Don't be afraid, she told herself. Ranma is right outside; if you scream, he'll hear you. Happosai took another step. "And the buzzings and the lappings of the waves, my darling, my dear Akane, such beauty as never I have seen but my head hurts so..." There were flies. Or there was something; some cloud of buzzing, dark shapes flitting about his head, nearly invisible. One moment she saw them, the next they disappeared. What the... She began to wonder if she hadn't somehow hit her head during her practice. "I must take comfort in your bosom!" The midget sprang and clung to her chest like a limpet, working his hands beneath the tunic of her gi and trying to squeeze them underneath beneath the sports bra she wore and she screamed and lashed at him as best she could... "Get OFF me!" And he did. He dropped like a burnt leech, and scuttled back from her. Happosai's bald skull was the eye of a hurricane of flies, so many that she could not imagine where they came from. His eyes were wide and fearful now. The room felt almost sickeningly hot; heat waves were rising all around her, but that had to be an illusion... Akane reached out with her hand and brushed the flies away. And they _burned_, burned like torches to her eye, and... Happosai looked up at her. He did not seem frightening any longer; he was small and dirty and almost pitiful. His gaze was no longer one of lust; adoration, rather. But that faded quickly, and was replaced by horror. "The pit," he said quickly, "down in the..." A dry hiss cut off his next words. She saw the skin of his face ripple. His mouth was still opened and closed, as though he were still trying to speak, but had no breath to speak with. His hands came up, fingers curled into talons, and he clawed at his throat, tearing it into moist rags and strips of skin and fat and meat... but pink, not red, for water flowed from his wounds in place of blood, and the puddle below him grew larger, until it eclipsed his projected shadow. He clawed even when there was nothing left to shred; clawed until she screamed at him to stop, and he did, and then Ranma and Genma rushed in, and everybody else, because they'd heard her screaming, and Happosai lay on the dojo floor in a shallow pool of his jugular water and gasped until he died. * * * * * Two shadows and their owners stood between four walls of chain. The position of the sun had grotesquely elongated the shadows, so that one was a giant, and one was nearly the height of a normal woman. The owner of the taller shadow smiled at the owner of the shorter one. "Had I known it was such effort for you to reach a place so close to your dwelling, I would have visited you there." Cologne ignored the barb. She had watched him for nearly an hour as he stood patient on the grass, nothing betraying any frustration he might have at her lateness. That was her prerogative as the elder in the situation. "And to what may I owe the honour of this visit?" A smiling Musk prince was never a welcome sight. Cologne fingered a faded scar on her left arm to remind herself of the fact, and automatically checked her guest for hidden weapons as best she could without actually laying hands upon him. He wore robes in the Musk Imperial fashion, perfect to hide a dagger, sword or ten-pound cannon in, but so far, he seemed to offer no- Cologne caught the object hurled at her by reflex. It took her mind a moment to register what it was. "Finest Musk teddy bear wrapping paper." The Amazon cocked what remained of an eyebrow. Herb bowed. "AND a red ribbon." "My thanks for accepting this unworthy one's most humble offering. I am sure you will find that all is in order." Cologne dropped the package to the weed-choked earth of the vacant lot, the best spot she could think of on such short notice to meet with a potential danger like Herb. "I accept nothing." "It would sully both our honours if you were to give it back. You took it, and you must keep it." "I will do no such thing." She would NOT be in debt to that man, not even for... for... whatever was in that box. "I am afraid you have little choice. Let me... unwrap this for you." Herb lifted the present, brushed seemingly invisible specks of dirt from it, and carefully undid the bow, flattening the wrapping paper as he took it off. He lifted two objects from the cardboard box within and presented them with just barely exaggerated formality. "A knife and an envelope. And it's not even my birthday. You shouldn't have." Cologne's emphasis on the last sentence was unmistakable. "I am honour-bound to do so. What I give in this object--" Herb held the knife up "--is an item of my personal use, by the standard legal definition of both our tribes." The blade and carved copper handle were worn and rusted as to defy any reflection of light. "I thought you would be able to find use for such a carving knife in your... ah... establishment." Cologne glowered. "And in the envelope--" He tore it open and pulled a brightly-patterned paper from inside "--is a cheque for twenty thousand Musk crowns, drawn on my account at the Imperial bank. Proper and just payment, by the standard legal definition of both our tribes, for several weeks of lodging." Cologne started. "Lodging? I fear my 'establishment' is too cramped and lacking in splendour to accommodate the honoured Emperor of the Musk." "Not at all. It is I who would be honoured to stay with..." He cleared his throat. "With one who won so much _distinction_ as a Matriarch of the Amazons." "The burden of honour is still too great for my tired and aged body. I must thank the honoured Emperor and decline his kind and generous offer." Herb stopped Cologne's departure by placing an open book before her face. "The collected laws of the Musk and the Joketsuzoku. I have proceeded according to the letter of the law as regards the request of food and lodging by a visiting dignitary. You have accepted my tribute." "You tricked me." Cologne's eyes were frosted granite. "But you accepted. By the letter of the law. Would you have your sisters hear of this?" The Amazon turned away. "I thought not. Your face has dropped from more than age too many times, already. You may lead me to my lodgings, now. I hope the sheets are clean. And I would like a kettle of tea." "How long will you be staying... honoured guest?" The last two words were hissed through gritted teeth. "Long enough." Herb smiled. "Indeed, as I seek rest, I may stay long enough to..." The Emperor looked thoughtful for a moment. "My line has been too long without a consort, and the capital begins to feel the strain of a bachelor's neglect and clutter. You have close to you a neglected flower, too little in the light and once too often watered, that I think would flourish in my soil." Cologne looked somewhat mollified. This presented... possibilities. If 'son-in-law' persisted in refusing to live up to what she called him, well, there were other ways to make up for lost honour. "And this sprig... it would blossom?" "My fertilizer has never yet been called into question." "Or activity." "I-" "Shampoo!" A blur in a white robe streaked into the lot, leaving a man-sized hole in the chain-link fence. Cologne grabbed the black mane trailing behind it. "AAAAAAARGH! My HAIR! Let GO, you dried up old-" ***WHAM!*** "Don't mind him, honoured guest. As you were saying?" "Yes. Your-" "SHAMPOO!!! SHE'S-" ***WHAM!*** "Doesn't that hurt him?" "I doubt his brain can be further damaged." "But... but..." Mousse groaned. "Sha... Sha..." Cologne raised her staff. "She's GONE!" The Matriarch blinked. "What?" Mousse sighed, and licked a dribble of blood from his lips. "Shampoo is gone," he said. * * * * * Doctor Tofu pushed his glasses back up his nose and shook his head. "I don't understand it," he murmured, sounding confused and slightly afraid. "This... this is unbelievable." The Tendos and Saotomes stood in a circle around Tofu as he examined Happosai's body. Nodoka was ashen-faced, Kasumi was softly crying, and even Nabiki looked upset, perhaps at the unpleasant sight more than anything else. Akane held onto Ranma's arm as if she were adrift on the ocean; he held her back almost unconsciously, eyes troubled as he stared at Happosai's still form. Genma hesitantly spoke. "Doctor, is he truly..." Tofu looked at him oddly and gave a quick significant glance at the little that was left of the ancient master's neck. "Let's just say that if he isn't, he'd better be awfully careful when he nods." "Free at last!" Genma cried, embracing Soun. "Our years of prayer have paid off... Praise the gods!" "How we have waited for this day!" Soun sobbed, as he hugged Genma back. Tofu glared disapprovingly, and bent down over Happosai again. "Pop, Mr. Tendo, stop it!" Ranma snapped. "He's dead. It's not funny. It ain't right to celebrate when somebody dies, no matter how much ya hate 'em! This ain't the time or the place!" "The boy is right, of course," Genma said soberly. "Tendo, I do believe you have a bottle of most excellent sake we've been saving for this occasion for nearly twenty years, do you not?" "Indeed I do," Soun replied. "Let us adjourn to the back porch, with said bottle, and toast the memory of our dear, departed master, whom we shall miss so much." Arm in arm, the two men walked out of the dojo. "I wish they were not so insensitive," Nodoka said quietly. "I remember the Master well from when Genma was courting me. He was a most manly man, though he perhaps took it too far, if such a thing can be done." Akane said nothing, only pressed her face against Ranma's shoulder in a vain attempt to hide her scattered tears. He sighed gently and patted her on the back, feeling distinctly helpless. Tofu was still looking over Happosai's body, pressing his fingers against the wrinkled flesh at the wrist, belly and throat with a frown upon his face. "I still can't believe it." Kasumi blew her nose on a tissue and asked, "Can't believe what, doctor?" Tofu looked up, and seemed to notice her for the first time. "Well, Kasumi," he said, and giggled. "It's really quite stupendously amazing, you see. If I didn't know better, I would say that his blood has been replaced with water. Though how that could happen, I cannot say in my capacity as a medical man." He dipped his fingers into the spreading pool around Happosai's body, and popped them in his mouth. "Yup. Most definitely water. Really extremely astonishingly remarkable, Kasumi. I wonder where he dropped all his red blood cells?" He laughed again. Ranma stared at him in open-mouthed disgust. Nabiki frowned. "Why am I needed here? I'm going to my room." The far wall of the dojo exploded before she could leave. When the dust cleared, a slender figure stood beyond the newly created portal. Lightly as wind moving over grass, she stepped over the rubble and into the room. She wore silks, and jewelled slippers, and golden bangles hung upon her wrists and ankles. A ruby necklace glittered at her throat; a silver circlet held back her silky black hair from her forehead. And she was, perhaps, the loveliest woman that Ranma had ever seen. Her figure was perfection; looking at her made it hard to breathe, hard to think. A mild buzzing began to emanate from the centre of his skull. The woman smiled at him; the buzzing grew. Black specks... Akane stepped between him and the woman, and the noises ceased. "Who are you?" she demanded. The woman took deep breath, and changed. Brown wings, white-speckled like a hawk's, ripped through her clothing and unfurled, stirring dust from the demolished wall with their flapping. Fingernails became long talons as she flexed her hands; from her open mouth, large fangs dripped a liquid that made the wooden floor it fell on hiss and bubble. Limbs shifted, lengthened; the rest of her body followed suit, and in the end she was a half-head taller than before. Ranma watched, enraptured. Dimly, he realized that he should be getting ready to fight; whoever the woman was, she was obviously dangerous. But she was so beautiful... "Who are you?" Akane asked again. "Never shall you know my name, little child," the woman said. The serpent-fangs distorted her mouth and voice, but it was still almost unbearably sweet and seductive. Even from here, Ranma could see that her tongue was forked. "For I shall kill you before granting you even that much of an increase in your power." The monster laughed, and raised her wrathful hand. ====================================================================== END CHAPTER 3 ====================================================================== Acknowledgements: The writing of the third chapter of Waterfalls took a little longer than the writing of the first two, as it suffered from numerous delays, lapses of memory, vacations, and otherwise. Still, in the end, we managed to produce it, helped along at times by the prodding of our prereaders, who then helped us get the finished product into something presentable. Krista, Lara, Vince, Mercutio--we thank you. -AH and CW