InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Devour Prometheus ❯ Hunger ( Chapter 3 )

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

 

 

Chapter Three: Hunger

 

 

“What?” Kagome asked incredulously, not quite believing the words he had undoubtedly spoken. “You want me to shoot you with another arrow?”

 

“Quiet your voice,” the youkai lord warned, “They are nearing.”

 

“I don't understand,” she whispered. “You're already injured, why make it worse? I might kill you this time.”

 

“It is a ruse,” he elaborated harshly before his tone softened to its typical severity, “Stab me with the arrow in the same location that it struck before and perhaps we can deceive them into believing that I am slain.”

 

“Why would we need to do that? What do they want?”

 

“We do not possess time for explanations, miko and as they approach, our prospects of mutual survival diminishes. If you truly care for that hanyou brother of mine, you will do as I say.”

 

With his unsettling assurances of Inuyasha's peril spurring her into action, the priestess reached for another arrow from her quiver. Then an abrupt wave of his hand drew her attention to the burnt and bloody one she had tossed away instead. Believability was the key to their deception and she nodded in agreement before crawling quietly toward the discarded weapon. Dirt clinging to its shaft and fletching, she freed it of the dust with a few sweeps of her fingers and then made her way back to the demon's side.

 

The triangular tip still tainted with blood and globs of flesh, she held it steadily over the dark wound surrounded by charred silk and suddenly felt her determination falter. Fetching the arrow was simple enough, but as its barbed head hovered over his chest, the cruel reality of the next act stayed her hand. The impersonal nature of using a bow had kindly sheltered her from the brutal intimacy that came with piercing an enemy with a blade and even though it was the familiar feel of an arrow that she gripped, the idea of stabbing another with it disturbed her deeply.

 

Clammy and strangely cold, a hand wrapped around hers and Kagome's gaze left the hole in his chest for the serious intensity of his golden eyes. Then without a hint of warning, he plunged her hand down and the arrowhead drove deep into the wound. The ease with which the sharp tip penetrated startled her and she winced while he bore the pain with unflinching sobriety, his hard sight never leaving her horrified expression. Her body shaking even as he held her hand steady, the sensations of his healing flesh and bone tearing persisted until the tight fit of the deep tissue beneath locked the arrow in place.

 

Accompanying a hushed rustle of grass, tall, jagged shadows fell over her and Kagome felt her heart jump into her throat with their sudden arrival. A mixture of dread and terror coursed through her and she slowly looked back over her shoulder at the looming figures standing behind her. Dressed in a black that even the bright moonlight dared not touch, they stared down at her from behind strikingly white masks, their wicked beaks and painted lines reminding her of grotesque birds of prey. A panicky gasp escaped her and she whipped her sight back to the daiyoukai to find him lying lifelessly before her, the odd comfort of his hand missing from hers as it now lay emptily by his side. Skin ashen in color and clothing soaked with blood, no breaths seemed to heave his chest and she could scarcely avoid the notion that perhaps their ruse was instead a reality.

 

“Who are you?” a distinctly feminine voice demanded, its curt tone coming from the figure in the center and the miko turned to face her. Shorter than her companions, the imposing woman stood with her arms crossed tightly against her chest. Poorly concealed as they glinted gold in the cool light, a dangling cluster of bells hung from a slender needle in one of her bandaged hands. Noticing the telling drift of Kagome's eyes, she quickly tucked it away into her frayed sleeve and reasserted her command with a renewed sharpness. “Tell us who you are.”

 

“I-I'm Kagome,” she admitted, startled into a truthful answer. “I'm a priestess.”

 

“We gathered that. Where are you from?”

 

“I'm from a village to the east.”

 

“If that is true then you are far from home. I do not recognize you as a miko native to this region.”

 

“No, it's several days passage by foot at the very least.”

 

“Then why are you here and not tending your village?” the woman asked, her gravelly voice growing more suspicious and the figures flanking her on either side shifted in their stances with the silhouetted blades in their hands flashing silver.

 

“We were called out for a youkai extermination in another village. It had little protection, so when we heard of its dilemma, we traveled there and helped to defend its people from the attack.”

 

“We?”

 

“Y-yes,” the priestess answered nervously, realizing her mistake once it was made and also the honesty that was to continue with her quick-witted reply. “But I'm alone now. During the battle, he was taken from me. So once the last of the demons were subdued, I began my journey home.”

 

“Hm,” the woman snorted, finally finding satisfaction when Kagome looked away, the miko unable to hide the sincere loss that nuanced her expression.

 

“I was camped in the forest not far from here when I heard a commotion in the night and I came out to investigate,” she continued after a weighty sigh, anticipating what they truthfully wished to know. “Before I could inspect much, I was attacked… by him. My arrow struck true, but despite the purification, his body still remains.”

 

“He's dead?” she asked solemnly and the priestess did not miss the restlessness that faltered her once rigid posture. “Are you certain?”

 

“Without a pulse or breaths, I can't see how he could be otherwise. Considering that he was already wounded, my blow must have been what finished him. I just don't understand why he didn't turn to dust.”

 

“It is a mystery,” the woman remarked vaguely before gesturing with her empty hand to the dark red stain that soiled the miko's white coat. “Are you injured?”

 

“It's only a scratch. He surprised me, but I shot him before he could do more than that.”

 

“Then count yourself lucky. I am certain there were others who were less fortunate.”

 

With a subtle nod of her head toward each of them, her two guardians stepped in close and together they began to whisper harshly. The nerve-wracking tension lessening for the moment with their interrogation finished, she listened intently and heard a few sharp words spoken while the rest remained too hushed for her dull ears. Vague remarks about the unexpected gain brought by the death of their comrade and the mention of organs captured her interest, but soon it was the delicate needle still gripped in her hand that truly spoiled for Kagome's attention. Under their ever present watch even as they were embroiled in their secretive discussion, she cautiously leaned forward as if to inspect the fallen demon one last time, slowly slipping her occupied hand down to the loose soil in front of her knees. Concealed from their notice, she swept the dirt over the needle until it vanished from sight.

 

“Miko.”

 

Startled by the abrasive bark delivered by the woman at her back, Kagome's shaky breath hitched in her throat as she dreaded the real possibility that her attempt to rid herself of evidence had been discovered. The quiet rustle of grass soon followed and a terrifying shadow fell over her. The chill night seemed icier in the eclipsed moonlight and she stared at the puffs of steam that she made with every shuddering exhale. Then she jumped when the bite of a bandaged hand grasped her shoulder, the bindings tattered and mottled with suspicious stains.

 

“You may go, priestess,” the woman ordered in a noticeably gentler voice, “We will dispose of the remains. As members of a nearby shrine, we have unfortunately dealt with situations such as these in the past. You may leave without concern for your welfare or ours.”

 

Releasing Kagome as she stepped toward the daiyoukai, a heavier set of hands then grabbed the miko's shoulders and lifted her effortlessly to her feet. Spying back, her gray sight met his repulsive mask; the hooked beak and stark paint enhancing the cold and cruel eyes that peered down at her through the two holes. With a light yet persuasive push, he shoved her toward the distant road, making it abundantly clear that her role there had ended and followed it with the flash of his blade to extinguish any doubt about the matter that she might consider.

 

Then as if starved scavengers lucking upon an unclaimed feast, their hunched figures closed in around the lifeless youkai lord. Withdrawing the long needle from her sleeve, the woman knelt down warily, holding it at the ready as her free hand hovered over him. Never quite touching, her crooked fingers meticulously traced over invisible pathways stretched over the length of his body until they finally settled upon the dark wound high on his waist. Head tilting to the side in perplexity, the woman's hand did not stray from the air above the soaked fabric as she shifted in her crouch to examine it at a better angle. Hard and foreign beneath her worn, black sandal, her gaze slipped down to the ground at her feet and discovered the glint of bronze. Half unearthed and pressed flat into the soft dirt by her shoe was a bloodied needle and she knew in that moment it was too late.

 

Glowing hot, crimson eyes flashed open and a low, murderous growl rumbled from the wakened demon's throat. With a deadly swipe, the masked woman's neck opened in a spray of red, the droplets splattering across him as she stumbled back in horror. Silver blades plunged, their sharpened points piercing only clods of earth and crushed shafts of grass as the daiyoukai swiftly slipped out of reach to tumble to a crouch a few paces away. Balanced on one knee, he glared over his shoulder at the two stunned men and snarled. Undaunted by the threat, they yanked out their swords and twirled them once to prove their unswerving confidence as they slowly approached.

 

Bloodied hand falling to the golden-hilted blade at his waist, Sesshoumaru felt the familiar grip of Bakusaiga. Yet as the allure of the powerful weapon was tempting, he quickly abandoned it for the sickly green vapors that scorched the air around his claws. He wanted to feel them dissolve with his own hands.

 

Staggering back unsteadily as she clasped her slashed throat, the dying woman collided with the miko who was watching on in paralyzing disbelief as the youkai lord melted through the mask of one man, his horrified shrieks shattering the night as the acid met his face. Knocked hard by the unexpected blow, Kagome toppled to the ground with the dead weight of the woman collapsing on top of her. Wet and terrifyingly human to her ears, the man gave another blood-curdling scream as the daiyoukai's corrosive nails sunk lower to carve out his chest. And then with his final, agonizing cry, unchecked desperation seized her. Frantically clawing and kicking, she scrambled out from beneath the limp body, her heart racing and tears stinging her eyes.

 

Nearly to her feet, a hand grabbed her by the wrist, fingers digging deep and jarring the priestess from the blind panic that had consumed her. Gurgling and bubbling as she gasped through the deep gashes of her shredded windpipe, the masked woman held her fast while slowly turning her hand over. Trembling as her life slowly bled out, she withdrew her other hand from the grisly wound at her neck to pull the mask from her face. The black ribbon undoing with a firm tug, it fell away to reveal ashen skin and the youthful features of a human woman with light gray eyes, a girl who looked no different than the miko did a few years ago. Dry lips crusted with bloody foam, she mouthed words, but even as no sound was uttered, the pain and regret that haunted her expression spoke for her instead. Then her hand dropped the mask to fumble along the ground by her side. Glimmering bronze, she retrieved the long needle with dangling bells that she had wielded earlier and placed it in Kagome's open palm. Once she finished, she closed the priestess' fingers around the delicate weapon and her hand fell away.

 

“Wait!” the miko cried out, gently shaking her shoulders, “Don't die. Who are you? Why are you doing this? I don't understand!” Blinking slowly, the woman's anguished expression lessened as the soothing release of unconsciousness loomed. Her approaching death then drove the priestess into action. She could save her. She could undo the decision she had made. She could make it right. She could find another way where no one had to die.

 

Biting hard into the cuff of her sleeve, Kagome tore a ragged strip of fabric from her coat and pressed it firmly against the deep wound, leaving one gaping slit open so that the woman could still breathe. Red blossoms blooming across a field of white, blood rapidly soaked through the cloth and the weary miko whimpered in frustration. Presented with the futility of applied pressure and the absent luxury of a needle and thread to stitch with, she desperately racked her brain for a solution until the weak grasp of the woman's hand found hers and pulled it away.

 

“You don't have to die!” the priestess begged when she shook her head faintly at her efforts. “We can find another way. There has to be one. One where no one dies and no one suffers. So, let me save you. I want to save you.”

 

Arriving with a rapid string of sickening pops and snaps, a black boot suddenly crushed the woman's neck, shattering her spine under the grind its heel. With blank eyes and a tear-stained face, the last sigh of breath left her and Kagome's stunned stare slowly rose to seek its cause. More red than white, the demon lord towered over her, the burning crimson of his glare still lit as he watched her. The bitter odor of poison lingered around him and in his hand was the masked head of the last guardian, the sludge of his liquefied brains oozing from the base of his skull.

 

“Why did you do that?!” she cried out with overflowing anger as the numbing shock of his act thawed to free her rage. “I was going to save her! I wanted to save her! There could have been another way!”

 

“Move.”

 

“W-why?”

 

“Move!” he commanded again, the cold and threatening tone of his voice chilling her through. Still kneeling, she pushed off of her knees and onto her feet before shakily rising to a stand. Taking a few hesitant steps back, the priestess watched him suspiciously as he removed his foot from the broken woman's throat. Along the side of the corpse he strode before stepping over the body to straddle it beneath him.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“It would be in your best interest if you did not look,” he warned, tossing the decapitated head away into the field as he sunk down to crouch over her. Tracing the line of her plummeting collar with a soiled nail, the daiyoukai paused at the dip between the swells of her breasts. Then with both hands, he ripped open the woman's coats, baring her pale, unblemished skin to the icy breath of autumn.

 

“No!” Kagome screamed, an unexpected surge of anger voicing her wrath as she lunged forward, “Don't you dare touch her!” Grabbing him fiercely by the shoulder, she pulled back hard, vainly grappling against his overwhelming strength.

 

“Release me or join her,” he snarled with his white fangs flashing as he glared at the priestess over the same shoulder she gripped, his sure promise multiplied by his burning eyes and the jagged markings gracing his cheekbones. Growling one final time for good measure, he swiftly dissolved what resolve of hers that remained and her hand fell limply from him. Satisfied that there would be no further interruptions, his clawed finger pierced the cooling flesh, drawing a line of red along the contour below her ribs on the right side. Gaping slightly as he finished, the youkai lord slipped his fingers into the bloody wound and pulled it apart.

 

Bulbous and slick, the glossy sheens of her organs lay exposed in the dim light with the sour scent of her ruptured abdomen saturating the air. A wave of nausea flooded her with the pungent odor and she felt the acid in her stomach creep up her throat at the sight, the abhorrent notion of his intent forming in the shadows of her mind. Hand hovering over a large, dark organ, he deftly scooped up the liver next, severing the connecting tissue with a few precise sweeps of his claws. Carving away a chunk with the nails of his other hand, Sesshoumaru took the portion to his lips and the dread of the miko's unthinkable suspicions came into fruition as he bit down.