InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Devour Prometheus ❯ Hidden Wounds ( Chapter 2 )

Disclaimer: These characters belong to Rumiko Takahashi and other associated companies.

 

 

Chapter Two: Hidden Wounds

 

 

Setting the Staff of Heads down along the road so that she could find it easily again, Kagome swallowed hard on the lump of anxiety that stuck in her throat before taking her first steps back into the field. The waist-length grass tickled her fists, one gripping her bow and the other Inuyasha's lost clump of hair. With careful steps, she slipped silently through the clearing, her wary eyes rarely wandering from the dark cluster of trees.

 

The disturbed earth of the barrier a distance behind her, the miko finally broached the border of thinning grass surrounding the copse. Ahead lay a thick blanket of dried leaves and fallen twigs. Her attempt at stealth likely to end with their crunching, she swiftly paused in indecision. What was she to do? Passing through a field of soft, quiet grass was easy enough, but that was definitely the limit of her agility. A priestess is not a hunter and she was barely a priestess.

 

Then a faint wave of demonic aura kissed her skin with goose bumps and sent her fingers to pull an arrow from her quiver. In an easy motion, she dropped the knot of white hair into her ample sleeve and docked the thin projectile. Gripping the smooth string lightly as she balanced the arrow, Kagome's honed reflexes waited patiently for the advent of danger. Even if she was not the image of priestess perfection, her skills in archery were nothing to scoff at.

 

Prepared for the worst should it attack, she relaxed enough to absorb the youki that filled the crisp air around her. Fierce and strangely familiar, the aura would tell her less than the creature's struggling breaths. Barely audible at first, her rapt concentration from studying the youki and the unnatural silence of the night had cued her into its pained gasps. Whatever it was, it was injured and it most definitely wasn't human.

 

Straining her sight in the dim moonlight, she scanned the thick foliage for a glimpse of what was concealed behind the dense tangle of branches and leaves. Hints of white clothing peeked through as she crouched down and shifted side-to-side to get a better look, causing the sense of familiarity to only grow. That she had met it before and that it was now hurt dwelled in her thoughts and the miko knew there was no retreat. There was no abandoning it to the night. She had to discover what it was and how she could help it.

 

Another tingling wave of youki swept over her, leaving the certainty that it was a powerful demon in its wake. Nibbling again at her lower lip, Kagome anxiously debated between two avenues of action. The first would be to do her best to sneak in closer so that she could discover who it was and what its injuries were. The second was to announce herself at this close, but conceivably safe distance. It was the likely event of startling a wounded demon of considerable strength that ultimately decided for her. She really didn't plan on dying tonight, especially when Inuyasha's life hung in the balance.

 

“Excuse me!” she called out nervously, unsure of what to say even as the words left her mouth. “I-I'm Kagome and I've come to help you.”

 

The low rumble of a growl was the reply as invisible winds of youki fluttered the leaves clinging to the branches. Piercing through the web of undergrowth, a pair of red eyes glowed brilliantly as the growl grew into a vicious snarl. Then the flashes of white she spied earlier rushed toward her. The sharp sounds of limbs snapping heralded its way and reflexively, the miko pulled her bowstring tight. A blur of white, black and muted red erupted from the copse and lunged. The ready arrow was loosed from her grip as she screamed her terror and the hot beam of purification magic burst pink as it struck the creature hard in the chest.

 

Colliding lifelessly into her, Kagome felt her feet leave the ground as they flew backward together. With the heavy weight of its body on top and the weightless air underneath her, time seemed to crawl as they soared back. Then in a series of loud thumps, they struck the ground hard, sliding and tumbling over jagged clumps of roots, rocks and clods of dirt before they came to a stop. The air knocked clean from her, the miko struggled to cough and breathe with the excruciating pain from their impact radiating across her back and through her chest. Smothered completely under its body, she desperately clawed and pushed against it, her justifiable fear of suffocation fueling her frenzy. Using the strength of both her feet and hands, she flipped it over onto its back, finally freeing herself.

 

Moans and curses lacing the deep breaths that heaved her chest; Kagome winced as the sharp ache that flooded throughout her torso spiked painfully with every intake of air. Turning her head, she finally spied over at her assailant and then gasped. Meeting her glance was a handsome face with a pair of stripes painted on each cheek and a crescent moon centered on his forehead. Forgetting her pain and her purpose, she scrambled to her hands and knees and slid away from the motionless figure of the perennially dangerous daiyoukai.

 

“Sesshoumaru,” she whispered his name, her frightened eyes washing over him as she mumbled. “I'm dead. I'm so, so dead.” Darkly stained, her once white haori coat caught her attention next and she gasped again. Sticky and wet with blood, the truth of her hushed words resonated in her mind and distressed whimpers escaped from her lips. Could it be that she was already dead? Ripping open the front of her overcoat, she felt frantically between the folds of her undercoat for the flesh beneath. Smooth skin welcomed her seeking fingers and she wrenched her clothes open further so that she could see for sure. No raw, open wounds greeted her sight; instead it was only the gentle curves of her womanly chest that reflected the soft light. `If it's not my blood,' she thought wordlessly, her gaze rising from her creamy skin and falling to the unmoving youkai lord beyond, `Then it's his.'

 

Tucking her coats securely back into place, the miko rose to her feet. Leaves and mud clinging to the back of her clothes, she cautiously approached the demon. With eyes closed and unnoticeable breaths, he remained deathly still as she neared. As she came to stand beside his head, the air grew heavy with the sound of her heartbeat thundering in her ears. There she studied his peaceful expression, swallowing dryly on a hard knot of dread stuck in her throat. As inescapable as destiny, she imagined the violent demon's red eyes blinking open in a rage before he sprang up and snapped her neck to end her fragile life.

 

“S-Sesshoumaru,” she called out softly as if afraid of her own voice, but as she spoke it again louder, he remained unmoved and unnaturally pale even in the cool moonlight. Putting away her conjured fears for the reality lying before her, Kagome poured over the stains of dirt and grass soiling his refined attire of silk and leather, searching for what had felled such an unrivaled demon lord.

 

Protruding conspicuously from just beneath his left collarbone was her answer and her hand flew to her lips in a gasp as she instantly recognized it. Fletched with white feathers at its end, an arrow had pierced his chest, leaving a ring of black, singed silk around the wound. Since recovering from that terrifying moment when he had lunged at her, she had forgotten about the purifying arrow she had loosed. Collapsing to her knees, she lightly grasped the smooth shaft of the thin projectile. Gripping it tighter as her nerve hardened, she took a final, deep breath and gave the arrow a firm yank. Stubbornly lodged, it did not budge, but after several more determined tugs, she felt it slowly give. Then with a wet sound, out it came, its sharp arrowhead slick with blood and with bits of red flesh hooked in the barbs.

 

“Sesshoumaru, I'm sorry,” she pleaded, tossing the offending arrow away and then seeking his placid expression to wait with mixed desperation for him to wake. “I didn't mean to. It was an accident. I didn't know it was you.” Despite the earnestness of her apology, the torture of his unconsciousness persisted, leaving her to wonder of the unthinkable. To wonder if he was still alive.

 

Nervously, she leaned in close, holding her breath as she listened for his. Emptily, a long moment passed to deepen her fears before she sighed shakily in weary relief. Disturbingly shallow and sparingly given, the miko felt the daiyoukai's light exhales brushing icily against her cheek. At least there was no doubt now that he was alive, even after being struck by her purification arrow.

 

Her respite was short-lived as a new dilemma took root in her mind, driving her to carefully inspect his figure once more. Even with the arrow removed, he hovered dangerously near death, his usually overwhelming youki nonexistent even as her honed sensitivity groped for its presence. Dark and effectively camouflaged by the black armor surrounding it, an unnoticed stain of blood finally caught her eye. Low on his side and just above his left hip, the fabric of his haori coat was drenched and heavy to the touch. Kagome felt the ragged sensation of a tear and then through the tucked folds of cloth, she slipped to the skin beneath. A deep gash met her fingers and in the midst of torn flesh and the thick viscosity of coagulated blood, there was something hard buried in the muscle. Using a pinching forefinger and thumb, she dug into the wound, but with his coats and armor impeding her attempts, she could not pry it loose.

 

Cursing under her breath, she eventually withdrew her hand in marked frustration, wiping the excess blood that slicked her fingers onto her leg. Then without a pause of indecision, she reached under the spiked, metal arch of his shoulder armor and undid the leather straps that bound it to his body. Doing the same for the ties at his waist, she stood up to lift the hardened leather backed with plated steel away from his chest and then with a grunt, tossed it clumsily onto the grass beside him.

 

Returning to his side, she settled again onto her knees and then took the lapels of his overcoat into her hands. Pulling them firmly up, she loosened the tucked ends from beneath his hakama pants. Parting easily after being freed, she opened his coat up to reveal the thinner one below it and blanched at what she saw. Blackening as it clotted, the creeping designs of spilt blood dyed the delicate silk. She then peeled the soaked fabric away, revealing the blotched skin and hard lines of his muscular torso underneath.

 

Fine, silver hairs reflecting white in the moonlight trailed down from the groomed field on his well-built chest to form a line of red as they continued onto his rippled abdomen. Tracing her fingers along his sinewy waist, Kagome rediscovered the open wound she had found earlier and slipped her forefinger and thumb back into it. Biting her lip while she blindly groped through the shredded muscle, she encountered the hard roundness of a string of beads with her touch. Gliding up them gently, she soon found the true culprit behind his injury, the forged smoothness of a long, metal, needle.

 

Gripping it tightly, the miko pulled hard on the deeply-sunken weapon, careful to drag it back down the path it had struck when it had pierced him. Thickly coated with blood, the slender end of the needle finally appeared at the opening and her eyes widened as she smeared away the gore from the beads that dangled from its narrow grip, realizing they were tiny bells instead.

 

After one last pull, the cruel weapon fell out easily and landed onto her palm. In that moment, red, glowing eyes split by thin, navy pupils flew open and the demon lord's dormant youki whipped up in a violent torrent. A snarl laced with uninhibited rage growled from his lips and his fierce glare which previously held the night sky above flashed to Kagome as she sat beside him frozen in terror. With protruding fangs glinting and claws sharpened, the daiyoukai slowly sat up, his inhuman sight never leaving her ashen face or allowing her to doubt his malevolent intent as he slowly raised his right hand glowing green with poison.

 

“S-Sesshoumaru,” she forced out in a stuttered whisper, wanting desperately to flee her certain death, but finding that her once dependable strength had instead abandoned her to it. “I'm sorry. I didn't know it was you.” Uttered so timidly that the angry blood rushing in his ears nearly deafened him to it, the familiar sound of his name penetrated his enraged mind. Burning red fading to a cool gold, his eyes softened to a look of puzzlement as he recognized the frightened woman kneeling beside him.

 

“Miko, why are you here?” he asked evenly, his deep voice hoarse and quiet. He instantly regretted speaking as a stabbing pain erupted behind his temples and his hand flew to cradle his head, the acidic vapors of youki surrounding his fingers dissipating before they touched. After several more wince-inducing surges, the youkai lord began to anticipate the waves of his throbbing headache and then through discipline, he subdued its potency so that he could bury it in the back of his mind.

 

Once satisfied, he blinked his amber eyes open and then lowered his hand to seek the reason behind the priestess' unusual silence. She was never one to hold her tongue in the past, an irritating nature of which he could not understand Inuyasha's fondness for. Spying up, he caught her vacant expression, still unchanged from when he first realized who she was. His brow furrowing lightly, he did swiftly notice one change; shimmering streaks now traced her cheeks as tears seeped from her wide, unseeing eyes.

 

“Miko?” he called out again, waving a clawed hand in front of her face, “Miko?” Unresponsive to his repeated address, the notion of slapping her into reasonableness crossed his thoughts before being dismissed when a more effective idea came to mind. Now what was that name? “Kagome?”

 

Startled into the present by the sound of her name, Kagome blinked slowly and then with it spoken once more, she took a few deep, shaky breaths until her gaze focused on the puzzled look of the demon before her.

 

“Yes,” she finally answered, rubbing away the wetness glossing her cheeks with the heel of her hand. “I'm sorry. I didn't know it was you.”

 

“While I am not necessarily inclined to punish you for your indiscretion in disrobing me as your intentions were for my health, I cannot fathom how you were unaware that I was Sesshoumaru.”

 

“No, I mean,” she whispered remorsefully, pointing toward the charred, circular wound in his chest. “I didn't mean to shoot you.”

 

“Hn,” he snorted with nearly indiscernible surprise, fingering the oozing hole below his collarbone. Invisible but doubtlessly at work, he felt the tickling sensations of youki rebuilding the burned muscle and bone. “Your concern is unnecessary. It is already healing.”

 

“But, I shot you. Aren't you angry? Don't you want to kill me for my impudence or something?”

 

“How can I fault you for protecting your life?” he remarked disinterestedly, his attention instead following his hand as it slid down his long torso to examine the larger wound on his side. “I was not in a rational state to discern your priestess powers from theirs and you did only as what one would expect in your position. Ultimately, fortune favored us both in that moment.”

 

“But-”

 

“Where is it?” he interrupted brusquely, bored of her trivial concern in light of the grim injury he now squeezed shut between the pressure of his thumb and fingers. Willing his weakened aura to seal it, the youkai lord then spied up at the miko puzzled into silence and elaborated. “Where is the needle?”

 

“Oh, here,” she replied, producing the cruel weapon that she still held in her palm. Picking it up carefully by its slightly wider handle, she carefully reached toward him with it in hand and the dangling bells jingled as they swayed. The dulcet sound rang sweetly in the air and the demon's outstretched hand that meant to take the needle instead lowered slowly without it. Drained of their burgundy color by the toll of his injuries, the daiyoukai's eyelids drooped and the blood once staunched by his healing youki began to trickle again from his wounds.

 

“Do not permit them to ring,” he whispered slowly, his words slurring as drowsiness consumed his faculties, threatening to send him back to unconsciousness.

 

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry,” she apologized frantically, scooping the tiny bells into her palm and squeezing them tight to keep them from chiming. “Are you all right? Is that better?”

 

“Yes,” he answered groggily, blinking his eyes as his overpowering lethargy reluctantly departed.

 

“What are they?” she asked in amazement, peeking at the innocuous balls of metal from between the grip of her fingers.

 

“They are tools of your kind, priestess. You should know their purpose better than I.”

 

“Tools of my kind? Do you mean this belongs to a miko?”

 

“Hn,” he snorted as he attempted to refocus his youki into his wounds. To his benefit, the puncture in his chest had been cauterized well by the heat of the arrow; however the blood loss from the deep gash at his waist was nothing short of troubling. He would have to take measures to replace it and soon. “That you are a revered miko and that you do not recognize the weapons of your trade is astounding.”

 

“Look, I was never formally trained until recently, so I don't know all there is to the art of being a priestess. These bells look ritualistic and from how you reacted, they must do something, but beyond that, I don't know what they are.”

 

“You will discover their purpose sooner than you might expect,” he predicted coolly as he spied over his shoulder at the dirt road hidden beyond the field. “They are returning.”

 

“Who are?”

 

“The ones who took Inuyasha and my retainers.”

 

Rising to a cautious crouch, the wary miko peered over the waves of grass and caught the gray movement of a wagon approaching. Dressed in black with stark, white masks concealing their faces, shadowy figures leapt over the gate from the hold and began their stealthy weave through the clearing.

 

“What are we going to do?”

 

“You will commit one act, miko,” Sesshoumaru commanded as he finished rewrapping his exposed torso in the soaked silk of his raiment and then reached for the weight of his armor.

 

“What will I do?”

 

“Fetch your arrow,” he answered solemnly, blindly knotting the ties of his chest piece, but never once letting his grim sight waver from hers, “And pierce me through the chest.”