InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Small Moments ❯ The Monk's Misadventure ( Chapter 19 )
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By: ladygriddlebone 
Miroku makes a careless mistake, and suffers the consequences.
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Romance / Angst | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 07.11.2010 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.1K | Visits: 466 | Status: Completed
Miroku makes a careless mistake, and suffers the consequences.
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Romance / Angst | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 07.11.2010 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.1K | Visits: 466 | Status: Completed
With nearly all its inhabitants eagerly observing what they could of the ongoing demon extermination, the village was a quiet and tranquil place. Meandering down its main street with an exceedingly lovely woman beside him, Miroku felt almost at peace. There was, of course, the customary niggling voice of doubt in the back of his mind, but for the moment he was content to ignore it and simply enjoy the day.
He and his companion walked in silence. She was beautiful indeed, surpassingly so. And enigmatic, too.
She had been unwilling to give her name or any other information until they were assured of privacy, and this was what they were seeking now. She had not even given him a chance to ask her if she might be interested in bearing his child; now it hardly seemed important. There was clearly a matter of great importance afoot.
And while her behavior might, perhaps, have otherwise set off warning bells in his head – particularly if, say, she had been a he – he had never been able to resist a damsel in distress. So he went with her willingly, trusting his companions to take care of the village's demons. He fully intended to find out what this woman's story was, and if there was any way he could help her. And if there was any way he would be likely to end up in her bed tonight.
They walked for a while longer, until they had passed the last buildings of the village and were walking across open countryside. Long grass billowed in the wind, whipping around them on either side. If she was looking for privacy, this would more than suffice.
“What is it you wished to discuss with me?” he asked pleasantly, when the village had faded into the distance.
The woman gave a shudder that was visible even through the many layers of clothing she wore, and the voluminous robe she kept draped over her head. She kept walking and did not look back. Miroku had just decided that she did not wish to tell him, after all, when she paused and said, “I am a lady from what was once a prestigious house. But it was destroyed in battle and I... I am the only one left.”
It was a terribly tragic fate, and Miroku told her as much.
She nodded, coming gradually to a stop and letting him catch up to her. She let him draw close, so close that he was almost holding her. Her story was moving, there was no doubt about it.
“Because I am the last one left alive,” she went on, her voice tremulous and near to tears, “It is my duty to revive my house, by giving birth to a strong son, who will grow into a strong lord...”
“And for that,” Miroku guessed, “you cast your gaze upon me.”
She did not contradict his assessment, but pressed herself hard against him. Clinging almost desperately, she whispered, “Would you like to make my wish come true?”
And, unfortunately, Miroku could no longer deny that something was not right with the situation. A noble lady would not have led him out into an open field in search of privacy, much less a place to make love. A noble lady would not have been able to escape slaughter without help, but she had made no mention of being abandoned by her assistants.
Perhaps her story was meant only to elicit sympathy, to aid her in convincing him (never mind that she was attractive enough that he'd have come with her anyway). Perhaps she was deluded and really believed what she had said. Perhaps it was even true, and she was merely desperate enough for this.
But all of those things were moot points, because a pair of enormous mantis arms was rising from her back, preparing to strike. Miroku caught sight of them out of the corner of one eye a moment before it would have been too late. The jointed arms drew back...
“I knew it sounded too good to be true,” he commented dryly, and struck the woman across the face with his shakujou.
The holy staff made a sizzling sound as it contacted her face; she vibrated, wavering for a moment before the false skin was shed completely. Miroku leaped backward, but did not manage to make it out of striking range before the demon revealed itself.
The skin of a young woman crumpled to the earth at its feet.
“So you were just wearing the girl's skin,” he mused. “Did you kill her?”
“I ate her insides,” the demon rumbled.
Miroku scowled. The girl had been young and beautiful, her life cruelly snuffed out before its time by a hungry monster. If he could not share at least a moment of time with her, if he could never even learn her name or the truth of her story, then the least he could do was avenge her death. And, hopefully, allow her soul to rest in peace.
“I'm going to eat you, too, monk,” the demon went on.
“Then you'll regret your choice of victim,” Miroku replied calmly, reaching for the beads that kept the kazaana bound.
“I'll eat you!” the demon mantis cried, leaping toward him.
Miroku took a step backward and opened the kazaana. “You're the one that will be eaten, demon,” he said.
The inexorable winds of the kazaana drew the demon forward, pulling it inside no matter how hard it tried to escape. Miroku's eagerness to avenge the demon's young victim had made him careless. He had forgotten that the mantis possessed sharp blades on its forelimbs... and as it was devoured, these blades cut into the edges of the kazaana.
Miroku grimaced as pain shot up his arm. Damn it, it's been torn open wider, he thought, wrapping the beads back around his arm. Even that did little to help; the wound still throbbed painfully.
His thoughts took a dark turn as he made his way back to the village. Had he just shortened his already limited lifespan by making such a careless mistake? As if to taunt him, the wound in his palm throbbed more hotly with every step. If it did not calm down soon, there would be nothing to do about it but go see Mushin. The old monk would know what to do. He hoped.
He and his companion walked in silence. She was beautiful indeed, surpassingly so. And enigmatic, too.
She had been unwilling to give her name or any other information until they were assured of privacy, and this was what they were seeking now. She had not even given him a chance to ask her if she might be interested in bearing his child; now it hardly seemed important. There was clearly a matter of great importance afoot.
And while her behavior might, perhaps, have otherwise set off warning bells in his head – particularly if, say, she had been a he – he had never been able to resist a damsel in distress. So he went with her willingly, trusting his companions to take care of the village's demons. He fully intended to find out what this woman's story was, and if there was any way he could help her. And if there was any way he would be likely to end up in her bed tonight.
They walked for a while longer, until they had passed the last buildings of the village and were walking across open countryside. Long grass billowed in the wind, whipping around them on either side. If she was looking for privacy, this would more than suffice.
“What is it you wished to discuss with me?” he asked pleasantly, when the village had faded into the distance.
The woman gave a shudder that was visible even through the many layers of clothing she wore, and the voluminous robe she kept draped over her head. She kept walking and did not look back. Miroku had just decided that she did not wish to tell him, after all, when she paused and said, “I am a lady from what was once a prestigious house. But it was destroyed in battle and I... I am the only one left.”
It was a terribly tragic fate, and Miroku told her as much.
She nodded, coming gradually to a stop and letting him catch up to her. She let him draw close, so close that he was almost holding her. Her story was moving, there was no doubt about it.
“Because I am the last one left alive,” she went on, her voice tremulous and near to tears, “It is my duty to revive my house, by giving birth to a strong son, who will grow into a strong lord...”
“And for that,” Miroku guessed, “you cast your gaze upon me.”
She did not contradict his assessment, but pressed herself hard against him. Clinging almost desperately, she whispered, “Would you like to make my wish come true?”
And, unfortunately, Miroku could no longer deny that something was not right with the situation. A noble lady would not have led him out into an open field in search of privacy, much less a place to make love. A noble lady would not have been able to escape slaughter without help, but she had made no mention of being abandoned by her assistants.
Perhaps her story was meant only to elicit sympathy, to aid her in convincing him (never mind that she was attractive enough that he'd have come with her anyway). Perhaps she was deluded and really believed what she had said. Perhaps it was even true, and she was merely desperate enough for this.
But all of those things were moot points, because a pair of enormous mantis arms was rising from her back, preparing to strike. Miroku caught sight of them out of the corner of one eye a moment before it would have been too late. The jointed arms drew back...
“I knew it sounded too good to be true,” he commented dryly, and struck the woman across the face with his shakujou.
The holy staff made a sizzling sound as it contacted her face; she vibrated, wavering for a moment before the false skin was shed completely. Miroku leaped backward, but did not manage to make it out of striking range before the demon revealed itself.
The skin of a young woman crumpled to the earth at its feet.
“So you were just wearing the girl's skin,” he mused. “Did you kill her?”
“I ate her insides,” the demon rumbled.
Miroku scowled. The girl had been young and beautiful, her life cruelly snuffed out before its time by a hungry monster. If he could not share at least a moment of time with her, if he could never even learn her name or the truth of her story, then the least he could do was avenge her death. And, hopefully, allow her soul to rest in peace.
“I'm going to eat you, too, monk,” the demon went on.
“Then you'll regret your choice of victim,” Miroku replied calmly, reaching for the beads that kept the kazaana bound.
“I'll eat you!” the demon mantis cried, leaping toward him.
Miroku took a step backward and opened the kazaana. “You're the one that will be eaten, demon,” he said.
The inexorable winds of the kazaana drew the demon forward, pulling it inside no matter how hard it tried to escape. Miroku's eagerness to avenge the demon's young victim had made him careless. He had forgotten that the mantis possessed sharp blades on its forelimbs... and as it was devoured, these blades cut into the edges of the kazaana.
Miroku grimaced as pain shot up his arm. Damn it, it's been torn open wider, he thought, wrapping the beads back around his arm. Even that did little to help; the wound still throbbed painfully.
His thoughts took a dark turn as he made his way back to the village. Had he just shortened his already limited lifespan by making such a careless mistake? As if to taunt him, the wound in his palm throbbed more hotly with every step. If it did not calm down soon, there would be nothing to do about it but go see Mushin. The old monk would know what to do. He hoped.