Crossover Fan Fiction / InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ The Journey to the City of Endless Night ❯ Chapter Ninety-Six ( Chapter 96 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Disclaimer: I do not own either Inuyasha or the Belgariad/Malloreon series. Inuyasha belongs to Rumiko Takahashi/VIZ and the Belgariad/Malloreon belongs to David Eddings/DEL Rey. There is absolutely no profit being made from this story. It merely fulfills a curiosity of mine---and a desire to keep some really old friends around for as long as possible. Please do not sue.Check out my dreamwidth journal for more information on updates and review responses. It can be found here: https://farawayeyes4.dreamwidth.org/Note: This story updates the 17th of EVERY month.

Chapter Ninety-Six

The twilight cast elongated shadows, exaggerating the sharp edges of the towers looming above. The cliff face behind the once extravagant mansion soared high, imposing and harsh. A twisted and mangled iron gate lay in a heap upon the cobblestones. Intricate curlicues spoke of a cruel elegance. The immensity of Ashaba overwhelmed, arrogance saturating its basalt walls.

The group led their mounts to a small alcove, hidden from view. There, they tethered them to a rusty iron railing. The roof's stone overhang protected the horses from the harsh environment or discovery.

They cautiously approached the massive black door. The wood rotted in places, exposing oxidized nails. Affixed to it hung an over-sized steel mask of Torak. This one lacked the polish the one in Rakand had---orange rust marring the coldly divine face with deep set pockmarks. It glared balefully down at them, rusty tears streaking down in thick globs as if mourning the deterioration of this abandoned place.  Much like the House itself, this mask had been left behind as an awful reminder---evidence of the splendor that had once been.

Miroku hesitated, transfixed by the mask's condemning expression. The eyes bore into his tarnished soul. It saw the darkness and self-loathing. It saw the easily exploited anger and malice seething inside him. All of it swirled just beneath the surface, exposed to the malicious Torak. The long-dead God cast judgment---it knew what he was: a monster.

“I know. Makes your blood run cold, doesn't it?” Garion asked quietly.

The monk glanced towards the plain-faced Rivan King. He caught the regret flickering across his features, his blue eyes somber. Miroku bowed his head. “It's certainly unsettling.”

Beldin trudged passed them, his long gnarled arms brushing the ground with each step. He glared over his large humped back, his eyes narrowed. “Well, are you two going to just take in the hideous scenery, or are you going to come along?”

“Yes, Beldin,” Garion replied dutifully, his head bowed in embarrassment. He gently clapped Miroku on the shoulder. “Come on. Let's get this over with.”

Miroku stiffened, cringing away from the touch. He refused to infect anyone else with the pervasive darkness that remained raw and exposed. Its pollution blanketed his soul, leaving him tainted beyond hope. Not even Kagome's miracle purification could erase the corruption that had always been there---now revealed for the stain he could never cleanse.

Near the doorway, Sango stood, frowning. Briefly their eyes met, Miroku's heart aching at the concern shimmering in hers. Quickly, the monk broke contact, stumbling to follow Garion into the foreboding House of Torak.

The stone walls encroached, making the hallways claustrophobic. A clamminess dampened the air, giving the House an inescapable chill. Debris littered the path. Cobwebs tugged at Miroku's face. A single torch bracketed to the crumbling wall provided dim, smoky light. As it flickered, ominous shadows danced, distorting the ruins. Each shadow made Miroku tense, certain that he had seen something rise to bar their path.

Across his aura, malice slithered. Its tendrils skimmed him---almost as if testing him. Miroku gripped his staff tightly, reciting a quiet mantra to push it aside. The evil in the aura chilled his heart and it nagged in its familiarity. The monk kept his gaze moving, not wanting anything from the gloom to catch him unaware. At his side, he saw Garion reach behind his shoulder, caressing his sword hilt anxiously.

A flash of white darted at the other end of the hall, disappearing around a corner.

The dwarf sorcerer opened various doors, the rusted hinges squealing in protest. He said gruffly, “Glance through these rooms and if you find anything in an ugly spidery script, bring it to me. Be careful. We may not be alone in this House.”

The rat-faced spy and his wife silently entered one room. Garion firmly gripped Ce'Nedra's hand, leading her into another. Miroku exchanged a hesitant glance with Sango. Anxiety and caution etched across her face as she scanned the hall, her hand clutching hirakotsu's strap in an iron grip.

Beldin shuffled into another room. He called, “Yer not goin' t' find anythin' standin' in the hall, monk an' little girl.”

Sango snorted, rolling her eyes. She grasped Miroku's cursed hand, leading him into another room.

The sparse room had fallen into disrepair. The curtains rotted away in places. The minimal furniture lay scattered in layers of dirt and dust. In one corner, a portion of the ceiling had collapsed, its debris spilling across the floor in jagged shards. The dim light made it impossible to search for any books.

“You wanted it. Admit it. You wanted it.”

Miroku wrenched his hand free, clutching it against his side. He rushed to the other side of the room, placing the overturned table between them. The monk crouched down, feeling the demon slayer's gaze bear down on his back. Miroku gritted his teeth, needing the distance. His skin crawled, the evil of the demon fresh and bubbling in his veins. He couldn't let Sango see how it still tainted him.

Softly, Miroku recited a mantra to push the evil thoughts away---the ones that whispered admission in the silence of his wounded soul. They haunted him, rubbing salt in deep. These vicious thoughts echoed his ordeal and the monk could not wallow in it if he had any hope of defeating them.

With an exasperated sigh, Sango marched to the opposite corner. She struck a match---a convenience from Kagome's time---its sulfur leaving a pungent aroma in the air. The added illumination did little to improve the room. A tall bookcase stood against a wall, coated in an elaborate gossamer of cobwebs. Over his shoulder, Miroku watched Sango slide her father's blade free, the flexing of her skin tight slayer outfit tantalizing. Deftly, she sliced the spider web away, revealing a mostly empty shelf. The demon slayer slid her hands over it, shoving book ends aside.

“You wanted it. Think of what you could have done---the power it'd give you.”

“You could help, you know,” Sango said, her voice clipped. She glanced over her shoulder, her concerned gaze boring into him. “Come on. I'm too short to reach the top, monk.”

The monk closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to collect himself. A terrifying drive threatened to possess him---a temptation he dared not name after the nightmare he had narrowly escaped.

And yet, it continued to plague him with these dark promises. He could not listen to them.

“Yes, Sango,” Miroku replied, his voice strained. He crossed to join her, stepping over some shattered stone. As he drew closer, he stopped, the hairs on his neck standing on end. The dark aura swirled around him, making his skin crawl. The monk grasped his staff tightly, a jingle sounding. It curled through the room, the air crackling. It grew more ominous---and terrifyingly familiar.

“Monk? You alright?” Sango stepped closer, outstretching a hand. She let it drop when he flinched back. “Talk to me.”

Miroku clenched his teeth, trying to push the aura and his dark thoughts away. He whispered, “Don't you feel that, Sango?”

The demon slayer tensed, her wary eyes piercing the gloom. Her hand gripped hirakotsu's strap and she took a battle stance, ready to spring into combat. “There's a great evil here.”

“Yes.” Miroku approached the bookshelf, standing on his tiptoes to reach the top shelf. “I think someone's here to welcome us to the House of Torak.”

Sango nodded, biting her lip. They both left the identity unspoken---as if saying his name would summon him into their midst. She whispered, “Anything?”

“No.” The monk dusted his hands on his robes. “Let's check the next one. Sooner we can find these Oracles, sooner we can put this awful place behind us.”


“I agree.”

“But you'll never be able to put what happened behind you. You can't. You don't want to. Isn't that right, Miroku?”

The monk's eyes searched the shadows for this voice. Its taunts pierced him---rubbing salt into the open and raw wounds. Nothing emerged from the murk, the stillness of Ashaba unnerving. He couldn't ignore these jabs. These thoughts had consumed him since his purification at Kagome's hands. Had he nearly lost to the demon because he had wanted to? He shuddered, clenching his teeth as he centered himself. They had a task to accomplish.


Exiting into the hall, Miroku spotted Garion and Ce'Nedra doing the same. The little red-haired queen clutched to the Rivan King's arm in an iron grip. A tight frown crossed her lips and she hissed, “Talk to me, Garion. You've been so quiet all day. I won't let you shut me out anymore.”

“Leave it alone, Ce'Nedra,” Garion said sullenly. A petulant pout crossed his plain face. “I just don't like being at Torak's House.”

“No! I won't leave it alone. It's more than that.” She stopped, stomping her foot. “I won't look in any more rooms if you don't say what it is and you won't dare leave me alone in this hall.”

“We can talk about this later,” Garion replied firmly. “Grandfather needs to read the Oracles before dawn. We don't have time to waste.”

“Make time,” Ce'Nedra said between clenched teeth.

“Ce'Nedra,” Garion said, sighing heavily.

“I mean it. I won't go into one more room, Garion.” She crossed her arms, a defiant glare on her face.

“Now you're just being childish.”

“Childish?” The little redhead's voice climbed a few octaves. She stomped her foot, rose on her tiptoes, and shoved a finger into Garion's face. “I'll show you childish, your Majesty!”

Garion threw his hands up, rolling his eyes. “Fine. I feel like we're picking over a grave. I don't like being here knowing what I did to Torak. It seems---disrespectful somehow. I know. It's crazy.”

“No, my Garion. It's the Sendarian in you that I love so much.” Ce'Nedra leaned her head onto his shoulder. “It's more than that.”

“I---,” Garion cleared his throat, taking a shaky breath. “What kind of monster am I? Why dig in his House now? I won. Why isn't that enough? I took everything from him and now I'm basically violating his tomb. I'm a despicable grave robber.”

“You are no monster.” The tiny woman kissed his cheek. “The fact that this bothers you proves it. Please. Don't talk like that. You're a hero. My hero.”

Garion pulled her close. “I'll try to live up to that.”

“That's all I ask.” She buried her face into his chest. “Now let's do some more searching. I hate this place.”

Miroku bowed his head, ashamed that he had taken in such a private moment. It struck him that Garion harbored such self-hatred about an act he had no choice but to commit. From what he understood, Garion had to kill this Torak. He had to stop the Dark God from subjugating the world. The act had saved countless lives---and yet the Rivan King carried such guilt for what he had done. It had scarred him, leaving him filled with doubt and shame.

Miroku could sympathize. He had used the Wind Tunnel in countless desperate situations---and for each one, he could point to a justification. He had used it to save Silk---but it had nearly cost him his soul and his life. It had nearly cost him Sango. He would do it again---he knew it in his heart. The consequences still lingered, filling him with a vast emptiness. His good intentions had nearly twisted into viciously evil action.

“Yes. You'd do it all again---but not to save anyone. You can't lie to yourself anymore. You crave power. It's why you use your curse so often. Its strength thrills you.”

Sango tugged on his hand and the monk flinched. He darted into another room, leaning heavily against the cold wall. Another secret---one not even Garion had revealed---hung heavily on the monk. Miroku couldn't voice it---but in the silence of his soul it relentlessly whispered. He and Garion both felt dread in this place because they both had enjoyed the power those moments had given them. Garion had bested a God. Miroku had absorbed a demon---and in so doing he had tasted the forbidden. For the briefest of moments, they each had been immensely powerful---on the cusp of taking the world as their own.

“You can have that again. You know what you have to do.”

Sango stood in the doorway, a compassionate expression softening her face. She asked, her voice vibrating with worry, “Monk?”

Miroku startled, rushing to the corner. He simulated searching, rummaging through rubble. His voice squeaked as he said, “Nothing found so far, my dear Sango.”

The demon slayer sighed, her shoulders slumping in resignation. She searched the opposite corner, shuffling through debris. Softly, she whispered, “I wish you'd just talk to me, Miroku.”

The monk's heart thudded in his ears. He squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to burden Sango with this as he had the truth about his demonic possession. He would not make her try to understand these dark emotions as he had the disgusting sexual desires he harbored. This new desire polluted him in a new and frightening way. Miroku had never truly lusted after power as he had women---but now---he couldn't stop thinking about it.

“Just give into it. Go ahead. Let power be your new obsession.”

“I've found something,” Sango called. “It's stuck under this rock. Come help me dig it out.”

The monk recited a mantra to clear his head. Thrusting away from the wall, Miroku crouched down next to Sango. He curled his hands around the stone, grunting from the effort to topple it. The demon slayer tugged hard on a leather bound book. It wrenched free and Sango stumbled back with a startled gasp.

Quickly, Sango flipped through it, a shout of triumph escaping her lips. “It's in that spidery script. Let's find Beldin.”

Miroku nodded curtly. The sinister aura ghosted across him again, taunting him. He knew that Naraku or one of his incarnations had to be in this desolate House. The foul miasma strengthened as they crept out into the hall once more. Sango paused to affix a gas mask to her face, offering him one to do the same.

In the shadows, a flash of ephemeral white darted around a corner. This specter led them through the maze, keeping in view but out of reach. The figure glanced over its shoulder, the blue baboon face confirming the monk's worst fears. A sinister smile graced its lips before melting into the darkness.

The spy and his wife also had a similar text in their possession. Velvet held it up. “I hope this is it. I had to dig this out of a rat's nest.” She pointed towards her husband. “And this one was no help. It had better not be in vain.”

Both of them also had similar masks on, blocking the foul air swirling in the air.

“Hey, I may be accused of looking like a rat, but I am certainly not one,” Silk protested, his beady black eyes narrowed. “I hope this is the right book, too. Torak had no taste, and there's nothing even worth salvaging. That offends me.”

“Salvage? That's a generous term for it,” Sango quipped. “Most call it looting.”

“Looting is such an ugly term. If I should find something of value and bring it to the world, how is that not a service? It most certainly wouldn't do anyone any good rotting here, right?” Silk asked. “I stand by salvage.”

“If you say so, Silk.”

“What? You're not going to defend me, Liselle?” Silk protested.

Velvet merely shrugged, laughing at his shocked expression. “Oh Kheldar, don't ever change.”

“Beldin!” Sango called, her voice a hoarse whisper. “We have something!”

Beldin stumped out of a room, cursing softly. His hideous face softened upon spotting Sango. “Well, what do you have, little girl?”

The demon slayer handed both tomes to the humpbacked sorcerer. “Here. They're in that spidery script.”

In the shadows, the monk spotted Naraku's figure lurking against the wall. His gaze met the evil hanyou's momentarily, the sinister intentions in his eyes exultant. Miroku shuddered, feeling vulnerable and exposed at the worst possible moment. After all this time in this strange world, their greatest foe would make an appearance. He ached to warn the others but found his tongue stiff and his mouth dry. The words would not come. In the darkest corner of his heart, Miroku relished this secret encounter---the obvious sightings meant to tempt him into battle.

“Soon. You will gain all the power you seek. You need only take it.”

Beldin jolted him from his thoughts, hurling both books against a wall with a crash. Stone sprayed down, littering the floor. “Useless! They're just that blasted Book of Torak. I should have remembered how many of those silly things would be here.”

The miasma started to thicken around them, its stench foul.

Garion and Ce'Nedra joined them, empty handed. The little queen looked wilted, leaning heavily on her husband. Quietly, Sango eased a mask into her hands and showed her how to affix it.

“Well, now what?” Silk asked.

“We'll keep going through this abomination.” Beldin snorted. “This is a wild goose chase!”

The group pressed further down the hallway, entering a large inner courtyard. Miroku held up the rear while everyone else scurried to reach another narrow passageway. The dusty floor had a multitude of footprints---some clearly made by the monstrous Hounds. Above hung a garish chandelier, candles missing and several crystals smashed. The house remained a monument to arrogance and evil---abhorring any sense of real grace. It twisted and turned upon itself into an elaborate maze.

“Good Ol' Burnt Face,” Beldin muttered. “Can always count on him to hate straight lines and beauty.”

Garion and Ce'Nedra disappeared first around a sharp corner. Next, Sango and Velvet did the same with Beldin and Silk following. Miroku paused as once again he caught the familiar white form as it stalked them. His eyes narrowed and his hand squeezed his staff. This behavior exposed a sloppiness so unlike Naraku. The monk questioned the spider hanyou's reasoning. Revealing his presence this early---tipping the trap before they've stepped into it---countered everything Miroku knew. It had to mask his real trap.

Miroku trudged behind the group, finding the House of Torak claustrophobic. At this juncture they lacked any rooms to search---it became all hallways that twisted and turned on themselves seemingly to go in a crooked circle. At each turn, the white pelt of his enemy taunted. Miroku wanted to confront him---stop the trap before it reached its endgame. He had the power to do it. He hungered to show it to the vile creature that had cursed his family so long ago.

“Yes. Embrace that power. Feel it stir. Give in.”

Miroku shivered, whispering a quiet prayer. He could not let his dark inner voice taunt him. To do so would lead to his destruction.

“Monk?” Sango called softly. “You alright? You look pale.”

“Nothing to worry about, my dear Sango,” the monk replied absently. “Just eager to find what we came for is all.”

She snorted but fell into step alongside him, her hand briefly brushing his. She muttered, “If you say so, monk.”

Ahead, a large moldered door barred their way. Its weathered appearance hid the once elaborate carvings and embellishments made to the heavy wood. A rusted iron ring hung on a door handle and Beldin tugged on it with a loud squeak. It echoed down the twisted corridors, reverberating. Inside, they found a vast room.

“'Tis be Ol' Burnt Face's throne room, don't y' know.” The dwarf sorcerer strode in, his stance wary.

The small group clustered close to him, entering the dingy throne room. Tattered curtains hung on the walls. A grisly black altar stood near the center, painted crimson with recent use. Behind that, a golden throne sat centered on a black dais. Above it hung a polished steel mask of Torak, gleaming like a mirror. Next to it hung another far more sinister mask: Naraku's.

Its gaze bore into Miroku. He stood frozen, staring into the cruel visage of his most hated enemy. The pale face with its malicious smile wormed its way into his soul, tugging on those darker impulses boiling just beneath the surface. The wavy black hair framed it, setting off the red eyes. They glittered with enmity. Miroku crushed his cursed hand around his staff.

“You wanted the power,” Naraku's dark voice curled in his ears. “You thrilled at having it---and you feel so empty without it. Admit it.”

Miroku gasped. Ice gripped his heart. The voice he had thought to be his inner darkness had truly been Naraku's all along. The dark hanyou loved mind games, and this new world had not changed that fact. In his vulnerable state, Miroku had fallen straight into his latest web---unable to resist his darkest promises.

Beldin started to approach a podium, his expression triumphant. On it rested a bound book, its pages open to reveal spidery script. He said, “Well hello there, me darlin'. To think you'd be in the open like this.”

They had found the Ashabine Oracles.

Emerging from the shadows, however, was the same white pelt Miroku knew so well. On the dais, his face uncovered, stood Naraku himself. A chilling smile curled his lips and his red eyes danced with delight. He purred, “Welcome to my humble abode. I hope it's been a pleasant visit.” Naraku's aura swirled around the room, blanketing it with his foul miasma. He eyed each of them disdainfully as he sat atop his golden throne. “I had so worried you might not arrive in time.”

Beldin snorted. “So you're the Torak pretender. Not impressed.”

“You should be.” Naraku turned hard eyes on the dwarf. He thrust out a tentacle, wrapping it around the sorcerer. “I think you'll find me quite capable of things Torak never dreamed of---and after your power is my power, I may even let you out again.”

Naraku's miasma choked the room. Next to Miroku, the tiny Rivan Queen crumpled, coughing and trembling despite the protective mask. Garion rushed to her aid, cradling her. She groaned in pain, her head on his shoulder. Ce'Nedra coughed, the sound grating. “Please. Can't. Breathe.”

“See? It seems that her Majesty is most impressed.”

Behind Beldin, another tentacle rose to strike. The sorcerer held still as Naraku squeezed a tentacle tighter around him, coiling it. He whispered, “Burn.”

Both tentacles quickly smoldered. They shriveled and disintegrated, burning to ash.

“Nice try, but still not impressed.” Beldin glanced over his shoulder. “Belgarion, protect Ce'Nedra. Clearly, this Naraku enjoys his own stench even more than me.”

Garion nodded, lifting his tiny wife into his arms. He retreated to a corner, crouching down with Ce'Nedra in his lap. He withdrew his massive sword, the blue fire weaving around the blade. The queen huddled close to him, her arms looped around her husband's throat. Slowly, a shimmering blue barrier settled over them. Garion's gaze ignited, focused on Naraku with an intense anger. His frame vibrated with potential violence just waiting to explode.

A group of Temple Guardsmen rushed into the room, brandishing their broadswords. They encircled the group, preparing to strike. Silk eyed them warily, taking a defensive stance. He executed a back flip, disarming one. He nabbed one of their swords, holding it with the point low as he advanced on them. Velvet tossed a knife into another's throat, grabbing his sword after it clattered to the floor. Sango deflected blows with hirakotsu, swiping at them with the hidden blade in her suit. She landed key hits, slashing their exposed skin wherever it appeared, leaving rivulets of blood in their wake. Beldin forcefully threw some of the men aside, disarming them with a single gesture. As the battle raged on, Miroku stood stiffly in its whirlwind. The Temple Guardsmen skirted around him---as if afraid to harm him.

Naraku chuckled from his perch. “What shall you do? Your friends all fight while you merely watch. Do you not care if they live or die, monk?”

Naraku's evil aura wrestled his, holding him firmly in place. It smothered Miroku's. After his arduous fight with the demon, he couldn't muster enough power to overthrow its malice. He shuddered as it caressed him, digging into the darkness there. All the evil thoughts he had tried to bury reignited, exposed and open to Naraku's gaze.

Silk and Velvet darted around, leading the Temple Guardsmen into various corners. The strategy seemed risky as they could be trapped themselves. Instead, it allowed them to box in the heavily armored men and butcher them before they could truly launch a successful assault in the open room. Miroku saw the Guardsmen for what they were: expendable and a decoy.

Sango and Beldin fought alongside one another, deflecting and trapping Guardsmen between them. Sango parried their sword strokes with her own, the grace of her movements second nature. Beldin, immovable and stubborn, used no weapons but his words and fists to devastating effect. Each one caused a man to fly back, a sword to heat up, or a blade to meet an invisible barrier. The Temple Guardsmen had been outmatched from the beginning.

Garion still sheltered Ce'Nedra under his barrier, his gaze watching the battle with barely contained fury. The little queen rested against him, lethargic.

“I've watched over your journey closely, Miroku. You call the Wind Tunnel a curse---but you relish the power it gives you, don't you?” Naraku asked, his black hair billowing about his face. He cupped it in a hand, sitting lazily on his throne. “You know the truth. You know that it is my blessing to your family, do you not?”

Miroku struggled weakly, trying to break Naraku's binding. He wanted to hurl insults, to tell Naraku that he was wrong, but couldn't find his voice. The dark spider hanyou held such power over him---crushing his spirit with the awful truth. Naraku exposed that secret---that the Wind Tunnel gave him extraordinary strength and that part of him delighted in that. He couldn't speak because he had nothing to say.

“I see into your heart---as Nahaz saw into your heart in Mal Yaska.” Naraku's lips curled into a vicious sneer. “I also know that you managed to best one of his demons with my gift and that you discovered a new joy after that.”

The world narrowed around Miroku. He could hear the clash of the raging battle, the shouts of his comrades, and the desperate cries of Sango. And yet, all he could see and hear clearly was the voice of his enemy. Naraku continued to burrow deep into his heart, dredging up the ugliest pieces of himself. He had confessed to Sango the truth of the demon---and had even expressed what it had wanted to do, using his body---but he hadn't told her everything. He hadn't told her how tempted part of him was to do it again---to gain a new level power.

“Ah. There it is. Your heart aches for it,” Naraku crowed. “You learned that you are like me. You learned, monk, that absorbing power has its own advantages. You crave it. I can feel it in your weak aura. Shall I feed that need?”

Sweat broke out on Miroku's face. He had tried to cloak this deepest and darkest secret---to hold it fast in his heart. He never wanted Sango to see him the same as Naraku. And now he had been revealed to be just as corrupt. He had wanted that power. He had enjoyed what it might bring him. He could have been unstoppable, immortal, and could have absorbed anyone through the power in his hand---forever bent to his will and not Naraku's.

Even so, Miroku recoiled away from it. This promise lied. It was a trap. Any attempt to absorb a demon's power to gain its strength would end in disaster. It wouldn't halt the inevitable. At some point, the Wind Tunnel would swallow him whole.

Naraku stepped into a small design etched onto the floor. He began to recite a strange incantation, the words harsh and guttural as his voice rose and fell. A strange entity shimmered near the altar, sizzling the cool stone as it solidified into the shape of a hideous demon. Its dark green skin glistened, the horns on its head long and pointed. The demon hissed as it eyed Miroku.

“Go on, monk. Absorb his power. Make it your own,” Naraku cajoled. “You and I---we are so alike---and power is your drug. Use the Wind Tunnel and take it. It's yours.”

The hirakotsu whizzed passed the monk, slamming into the demon. It flickered and howled, lumbering forward. Miroku clutched his Wind Tunnel closed, afraid to do as Naraku asked but feared the monster may kill Sango. He fingered the beads, preparing to open it and save her. With the power it gave him, maybe he'd be able to destroy Naraku, too. He needed to take the risk to stop the demon. The beads rattled as he tugged on them, preparing his strike.

“Monk---Miroku, don't listen to him,” Sango pleaded breathlessly. “You're better than he is. Don't give into his mind games. You just focus on me.”

Miroku's gaze shifted from the monstrosity raised from Hell. Sango fiercely battled the demon, transfixing the monk. She dodged its swipes, used hirakotsu as a shield, and slashed at it with her sword. The demon slayer's expression remained hidden under her poison mask, but her eyes swirled with tenacity. Sango exuded grace and power---all granted to her through her own diligence and fortitude. This woman made his heart swell as his love for her pushed back against Naraku's icy taint.

Sango cried, “Hang on, Miroku. Just watch me.”

Miroku's grip on the beads went slack, his hands falling limp at his side. Sango leaped high, landing a vicious kick to the demon's chin. She swung hirakotsu, sweeping its legs. It snarled, swiping as she dodged just out of range. She panted from her exertions, clearly unable to land a true killing strike. She shouted, “A little help, Beldin!”

Beldin cursed loudly. “Occupied meself, little girl. Naraku sure likes demon friends.” The dwarf sorcerer hurled a fireball at separate demon. “Good thing they only be wee imps, don't y' know?”

Naraku laughed, the sound chilling. “They will tire, monk. And then they will die. Make your choice. Watch them be slaughtered or absorb the demonic power and claim it as yours. Decide quickly.”

Involuntarily, Miroku fingered the beads to the Wind Tunnel, the skin around it itching. It would be so easy. He could take their power.

“Don't, Miroku! Don't do it,” Sango cried. “You are better than him!”

“Are you really?” Naraku chuckled. “You told her, didn't you---that you loved the power the demon gave you. You're a monster just like me. Embrace your destiny, monk. I shall raise you up as my first Disciple when I come into my inheritance.”

“Shut up!” Sango screamed.

Hiraikotsu whizzed through the air, flying towards Naraku. The spider hanyou jumped back, his eyes narrowed in ire. He landed, a sneer on his lips. He thrust a tentacle towards the demon slayer, trying to snare her. She hacked at it with her sword, keeping his attention.

“You no longer amuse me, slayer.” Naraku's aura surged, flooding the room with his evil. “I will possess the monk's heart. He will serve me.”

“Never!”

“You sure like to talk a lot,” a gruff voice snarled from behind the throne. “Anyone ever ask if you like the sound of your own voice?”

“What?” Naraku's eyes widened. “You can't be here! Not yet!”

“Sorry to disappoint.” The gleam of the transformed Tetsusaiga flashed and impaled Naraku through the chest. Inuyasha emerged from the shadows, his silver mane reflecting the dim candlelight. “Some trap, you fucking puppet.”

Naraku's body started to disintegrate. The evil hanyou chuckled darkly. “Fool. You still don't get it. You will.”

All that remained was his face, the cruel smile of triumph on his lips. It, too, vanished, leaving the small wooden puppet behind, the single black strand of hair wrapped tightly around it. Around them, the demons flickered and disappeared into smoke. The Temple Guardsmen lay dead in small heaps.

Miroku gasped as he felt the invisible bonds on his body break. He breathed softly, “Thank you, Sango, Inuyasha.”

“Don't thank me yet. The Oracles?” Inuyasha pointed towards the book on the podium. “These it?”

“Well done, half-breed. However, I am your true opponent.”

A sinister aura, so close to Naraku's, filled the room. Miroku glanced over his shoulder, his eyes meeting the eerie green eyes of a Hound. How could this creature have such a powerful demonic aura? It exuded the same miasma, blanketing the room with its poison. What had Naraku done?

“To read the Ashabine Oracles, you must get through me first. I am a Hound of Naraku.”

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