InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Futile ❯ The Hollow Plea ( Chapter 1 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Luna Rain Glimmer 
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Horror / Romance | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 08.28.2011 | Pages: 4 | Words: 7.7K | Visits: 254 | Status: Completed
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Horror / Romance | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 08.28.2011 | Pages: 4 | Words: 7.7K | Visits: 254 | Status: Completed
This story is set strictly in Sesshomaru’s POV, from third person, until the very end where Death has Her say. If you’re hoping for a happy ending, turn back now. Dark, horror-themed, sexual situations/details, desperation, gloom, and a lovely couple, my first and eternal OTP; you are forewarned.
The deviation from canon is intentional.
Dokkas?-Poison Flower Claw
S?y?a- Dragon Strike
I own nothing.
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“Gail y I lived as ease and nature taught,
And spent my little life without a thought
and am amazed that Death, that tyrant
Should think of me, who never thought of him.” ~ Rene Francoi Regier
The only emotion that is capable of completely obliterating pride, is desperation. A fallacy occurs in that logic however, when love becomes a close second. Hopeless feelings in an impassioned heart form the most powerful weapon: a double-edged blade.
Three days and nights had passed, the sun slipping into a bloody-red outline against the horizon, and come the dawn, the sky bled with the youkai lord’s loss of sleep. It was of no consequence, for his body could easily recuperate within a few hours rest, if not a full day if he was to obtain the tantamount of his usual strength.
The blessing of sleep was his reward, for he had questions that needed to be answered, inquiries that needed to be fulfilled, at any and all costs to his personal comfort.
The thought was laughable, but if he was to try and attempt such a feat, it would come out sounding satiric, brittle to the ear, and the furthest thing from mirth. There was nothing amusing about this present situation, nothing at all.
Instead of focusing on how he had sunk so low in his life, so low as to where he was seeking answers from the literal underworld, he focused on the why, the what, and more importantly, the who.
Never did Sesshomaru give favors, either willingly, or unwillingly. There was nothing he needed in life from people that asked for help from him, nor did he in return, need their assistance.
He was inexorably wrong.
There was something he had been unaware that he needed, and once more, craved after the first satisfaction proved to be more than appeasing. Also, there was a question he needed answered, and the only being that could do it was not of this world.
‘Love and death always did walk in tandem.’
Love. There was that word, and once more, the emotion and sensation that came from such a grave, wondrous feeling. That was what his life had lacked, as pitiful and absurd as that was. From the Lord who had everything in his iron grip, there was one notion that he would never be able to grasp at will; it was a feeling that came on its own, without any semblance of a forewarning.
It had happened, and it had been too surreal to place into words. Feelings like that could only be described in hyperbole, in endless fashions of metaphor and simile. Those decorative, pretty words would do nothing to even graze the surface of those emotions, of the intensity of the passion between him and Kagura.
Kagura. Yes, it had been her, that once accursed detachment of his one true enemy. It was a dark irony in the bleakest hour of midnight, a gloom that would shield the appearance of dawn.
She had once stood on the opposite end of the battle field, and he recalled her sneering at him, the smirk playing on the edges of her ruby-red lips like a renowned musician to the strings. He remembered the way that her eyes flashed with annoyance when he wouldn’t accept the compensation for freeing her, and dismissed her with a cold shoulder.
All of this was memory, engraved in stone. New memories however, scratched out the cruel epitaphs he had created with his insolent behavior, and before long, they were swept away on a warm, caring wind, undoubtedly forgiven.
It had taken a few meetings, some with her siblings, some without, for him to become in the least bit affected. Physical beauty fascinated him, but he was well aware that those with the faces of angels could have the souls of twisted and cowardly hellions. In the superficial regard, Kagura wasn’t beautiful. There was her surface appearance, the peach skin, the long limbs, and the way that her clothes were the perfect contradiction: leaving much to the imagination, but still pronouncing her full-breasted, hourglass figure. She was a beautiful woman, a kaze youkai that governed one of the elements. In every regard, she was prodigiously beautiful. There was intellect behind those rose-red eyes, a sharp wit, and a mind to match. She would’ve made an excellent chess player he knew, for there was calculation in her spirit, a fortitude that remained inextinguishable by mental and physical torment. There was strength in her, intelligence...and above all, a worthiness that far surpassed the fools in his court.
She was unlike anyone, or thing he had ever met. She was otherworldly, exotic, like a flower he had uncovered beneath a bramble of thick, black thorns. There was mystery there as to how she had managed to germinate and stay alive under such trying circumstances. She was a survivor, this one.
One year previous, they had one such solitary meeting. He remembered that it was about nothing more than the passing of news, for this woman that could control both the wind and the dead played the part of the messenger as well. The fact that would’ve meant nothing to him now enraged him; someone of her incredible spirit deserved to be the one giving orders, aside from following them.
Somehow, that thought had slipped from his mouth. He who had barely spoken a handful of words before to her, was now complimenting her. Sesshomaru remembered that she had given him a look that suggested he spend the next century in a healer’s quarters.
Then, remarkably, her eyes softened, and the armor that she donned like a costume fell to the ground. “Thank you. I must admit, I never expected such high praise from you.” Her voice was also a contradiction. She was unafraid to be blunt, to say what was on her mind. Even around her “Master”--a term he despised with every shred of his being--her tongue remained loose. The tone of voice was neither saccharine, nor guttural; it was as if he had found a wavelength that no mere mortal could hear, a sound in-between Sound itself. It was lovely, yet it was surprisingly deep for a female.
For the first time in his entire life, the sound of someone’s voice, the sound of another, had a significant impact on his body. Sesshomaru began to feel the light-headedness of a long days run through a desert claim his mind, turning all rationale inside out with heart-stopping vertigo. His feet remained solid on the ground, but he wondered that if he was to take even smallest of steps forward, he wouldn’t exist anymore. The feeling was indescribable, exhilarating, and it made his heart-rate quadruple.
All because of this lovely, scarlet-adorned enigma.
She was born of Naraku, but he was also born of his father and mother. She shared Naraku’s eyes and ink-washed hair; he shared his father’s height and his mother’s facial markings. Just because someone was born from another, didn’t mean that an indestructible connection came of it.
Despite what others thought, Sesshomaru was a firm believer in free will.
Their eyes met, and he knew that if he were to tilt his head either to the left or right, the sound would’ve been that of vapor hitting a frost-lined stream: simmering, scintillating with heat.
Her oculars held no pupil, and he found that in the brief expanse of a few moments, he lost himself in the shade of blooming roses, in the colors of the Goddess’s easel that painted the skies. There was profound concentration in her eyes, almost as if mentally, she was trying to unearth his compliment for an untruth, for any degree of a trick. She was looking for anything to indicate a false sense of security, anything suspicious; she would find nothing but the blazing outlines of oblivion.
She licked her lips, and for the quickest moment, he saw the flash of pink between her teeth. His eyes dropped to her lips, and he entertained the fancy of claiming them for his own, of ravishing her mouth with the building passion in his body.
Kagura caught his eye, and she merely stood there, almost as if waiting for him to act, to do something to indicate the truth of his intentions.
The truth...it terrified him. The thought of kissing her, the woman who was the counterpart of Naraku should’ve revolted him. His skin should’ve broken out in hives by merely being in her proximity.
But it didn’t. It was instead blistered with both a chill and an intense, muscle-deep heat that wouldn’t be too quick to depart. Nothing could ease this sickness, this disease without an action.
She blinked, and he came as close as he could to her without completely overpowering her ability to escape him. He gave her the option to leave, to flee back to her Master and creator without so much as glancing behind her. Also, he gave her the option to be with him, to lie with him, and to be his lover.
A low, resonating growl rumbled from his throat, one that stated that he wished to soothe her, and not scare her to the skies. He wished not to terrify her, but instead, to invite her into his willing embrace, for he was more than willing to hold her.
‘There is no other.’
The thought cut him deep, cut him to his inner-most core. He knew that if he had the ability to examine his own soul before him, that wavering shimmer of white, there would be a slash of red right in the middle. The words razed him, and if he had been paying careful attention, would’ve been a foreshadowing of events to come.
But he hadn’t been. The one he was paying attention to took one step, then a second, and finally completed the four steps to close their proximity.
It didn’t have to be spoken, for he had read the signals correctly: Kagura yearned for him just as equally. Their mouths met, their lips parted, and tongues delved into ever-ready crevices. She moaned, and the sound was intoxicating, thrilling, and it sent a jolt of heat up and down his spinal column.
He gripped her shoulders in his hands, and then slowly, slid them down her back. Her hands gripped his face, almost as if she were afraid that he would disappear, like the remnants of a half-finished dream; it wouldn’t happen.
They fell to the ground in a clashing of red and white, long limbs and breathless moans. The wind was never silent, and it felt as if they were making love in the middle of a hurricane wind, brushed every so often by a cooling breeze that relieved their enflamed skin.
Afterwards, she cried. Her tears were hot, impassioned, and the taste of them was anger itself.
“I’m not free.” Her voice had returned, and it wasn’t the same tone he recalled hours previously. This was a voice detached from emotion, a life that had resigned itself to becoming the embodiment of an unpleasant reality. She stated the obvious, and it afflicted her. She wasn’t the only one that felt pain over this truth.
Kagura’s head was bowed, and in their tussling, the feathers that held her hair in place fell free, leaving her ebony hair free from restraint. It was beaded with perspiration around her neck and brow, and instead of giving her body a welcoming, warm feeling, it showed that she was someone who was gravely tired, and sick of feeling so hopeless.
Every curve and pore was exposed to him, and in the feathery moonlight, it gave her skin a darker appearance, dancing with shadow and bleached light. One minute, she looked like an ethereal star goddess and in the next, she looked like a silhouette’s doppelganger.
Gently, gentler than he had been in well over hundreds of years, Sesshomaru reached for her. He wrapped his arm around her frame, and he let her weep. He let her grip his hand when she sobbed, and she allowed for him to place his head above her own, in the way that he knew other creatures comforted one another. He knew that animals did this to comfort their mates, and he saw a flash of memory before his eyes, of his father doing this towards his late mother.
When her cries abated, and discomfiture threatened her frame, Sesshomaru slipped his hand from her grasp, and placed his fingers over the skin above her left breast, the part of her body that held her heart. There was the steady thump thumping of life there, the thudding of a life that was desperate to live. It was a phantom drumming against her bones, a shadowed cymbalist against her flesh, creating the tone; she didn’t have an organ there, in the way that he did. There was nothing but an echo.
He focused his attention on the disfigurement of the spider mark on her back, the scar that appeared as if she had been branded. If that was true, if that sinister kumo had held a fresh-from the-fire brand and marred her skin, he would spend his days tracking him for her sake only. Nothing could take the one that he had made his own.
The thought scared him with the intensity, and the fangs of doubt sunk into his subconscious, biting, gnawing, telling him that it was a bad idea to get so involved with a woman damned.
'No,’ he protested 'she is not damned. Not if I have something to say about it.’
She gasped aloud, and her surprise was a beautiful thing. His lips closed around the mark on her back, and his mouth trailed a heated pattern all the way down her spine. In this way, in the way that he couldn’t express with words, he was doing two things: accepting her for who she was by making the scar something precious to touch, as well as promising her that he would do everything in his power to free her.
He had promised something without words, something unspoken. In that manner and regard, it made it all the more powerful. Silence was binding.
Through the months, the months in which they had their trysts, both in the forests beneath whipping branches, and deep in the folds of sheets in his castle, he had searched for her freedom. There had to be a way, a way in which he would salvage her spirit and life from being bound to that horrid kumo for the rest of her days.
Sometimes, after they coupled, Kagura would lay against his chest and listen to his heart beat. Her eyes slipped closed, and he knew that for her, it was the melody of everything Divine and sublime, the symphony of the afterlife that the spirits played, on gold encrusted instruments.
Other times, she would confess to him what would happen to her if Naraku found out that she had disobeyed. With a snap of his fingers, he could kill her. If she so much as stood wrong, he could summon her heart and grip it, pulverizing it into ashes. She had no idea if she would just die, her soul fleeing from the sham of flesh her body had become, or if she would suffer in long drawn out torment. It terrified her, and she trembled against him deep into the night, until his deep growls and kisses put her to sleep.
He lapped her tears away, always made sure that her dresses remained free from dirt or wrinkles, and he cared for her. He cared for her in a way that would’ve seemed shocking to anyone else. He was Sesshomaru, a youkai Lord who would’ve treated the pebbles in his shoes better than the living beings who crossed his path. He was Sesshomaru, a soul that would’ve sold his soul to grasp the handle of Tetsusaiga and use it to annihilate all of those who opposed him. But now, he had become Sesshomaru, a youkai Lord who had spiraled into the abyss of love, unsure of which way was up or down, and beyond caring what was possible. No one ever landed gently in love; they fell.
Meaning, for this being of wind and fire, he would travel anywhere to find her a heart, and more importantly, freedom.
Those he spoke of were of high enough merit and youkai moral standards that they wouldn’t cheat him of his privacy. They were paid up-front, and they were to tell him everything they could about granting one the solace of freedom, and a heart.
Some laughed at him and told him it wasn’t possible. Others looked at him with a wary eye, almost as if they couldn’t believe he wanted to cheat death, and ignore the fine lines of the contract Kagura was bound under. There were some that yearned to help him, but they told him that the only way that would work was if he completely destroyed Naraku, and then found a way to save Kagura from being joined with him for all eternity. There was an abysmal light in those youkai eyes, in the eyes of those that he wished for advice from.
There was one statement in common however, one that he was willing to partake in, even if it was insanity: speaking with Death, Herself.
Sesshomaru instantly knew who they were talking about. This being had no name, and the manner in which she was addressed was subjective to who you were. If you were to come to Her, you would have to cross over the realm of the living, the dead, scare the guards to her home lands, and then be found worthy of having an appearance with her. She was the one who was said to make death less painful, if you could impress her that far, and to perform what humans claimed as miracles.
He didn’t believe in miracles; he believed in concrete solutions to the matter at hand, a matter close to his heart.
That was why he currently found himself traveling through the realms of the living, and deep into the heart of a land where sunshine was a weak, thin light that didn’t so much taunt the black, acidic clouds above in the firmament. The creatures here were twisted, grim caricatures of things that might’ve been living in the world he knew of, or the half-alive souls that yearned for a form, hence their warped husks of bodies.
Eyes constantly watched him from the mottled nests of the forests, from the black and dripping foliage. Mouths gnashed together from somewhere behind him, and fangs clicked against blood-slick molars.
He held out Tokijin, and it kept all harm away from him. The poisonous taint of the aura bled through the sickness of this world, keeping all of the beasts at bay. If something got too close, he slashed them, they shrieked, and he went on his way. Nothing was going to prevent his meeting with Death.
There was a sudden dip on the path he was on, and he saw that there was a large pit of slithering, wriggling things beneath him. They roared at him, and crimson slated eyes stared up at him, just daring for him to take a false step and fall into the abyss of gaping mouths. It wouldn’t happen.
Sesshomaru took a running start, and completely leapt over the pit. He landed without a sound, and instantly, he was attacked by thin, scaled oni. They were awful beings that looked as if they had been birthed before their time. Some had eyes where noses should’ve been, hands where the ears should’ve grown, and spines where hair follicles forgot to grow.
Perhaps he had once knew this soul in his court as a vile creature that enjoyed vanity over creating a safe land to rule. It didn’t matter though. What he did know was that they were in his way, and preventing him from helping the one who needed it most.
He slashed, and for those that were foolish enough to come near enough to him, punched them with Dokkas? rendering them a blind, screaming mass of twisted flesh. He yearned to unleash the S?y?a, but it would’ve wasted precious energy, energy he would need later on.
The poison dripped, screams permeated the air like clouds of perfume, and blood spattered everywhere on his attire, coating his armor and garments with foul-smelling gore.
The survivors that clung to their bleeding bodies scampered off, like the cowards they were. Sesshomaru flexed both of his hands and continued walking through the hellish void, knowing that he was very, very close.
‘She’s testing me.’ He had always aced every test hurled at him, be it mental or physical. This time would be no exception.
He was attacked three more times, and in the attacks, he merely killed them with his poison, for S?y?a would have to wait until the time when he truly needed it. In these attacks, he killed the youkai without mercy, leaving only a spattering of remains of what might’ve once been a living being. It was of no consequence to him what they had once been, for they were still hindering his meeting.
The final time he was attacked, he found himself battling by an acidic stream, one that hissed and bubbled every so often with a thick, gelatinous pop. He hurled the corpses into the river, and they dissolved into the poisonous water with a stink of flesh and organs. The bones could be seen in a few moments, and afterwards, the bones jutted up in the dark liquid, an eerie contrast to the stream.
It was then that Sesshomaru saw the opening in the middle of the river. It was attached to a part of land that seemed to be caving into itself with a small opening. He would’ve missed it, had he not been searching for it.
It was there: the opening to the chambers of Death.
He brought out the katana to his right, and focused every ounce of his mental abilities to form one word, a word that would dictate his right to be seen: rise.
The water shimmered on the surface, appearing for an instant like polished obsidian before it reminded him of the moving scales of a black snake. The water parted fully to the right, and he could hear the cracking and melting of the land as it was eaten away by the water. Beneath the river, a scattering of skeletons and creatures were buried in the mud in a mock burial, and Sesshomaru felt that their empty eye-sockets could still see the horrors in the world they were placed into.
His ankle-high boots sunk into the mud, and he proceeded to walk ever-forward, all the while keeping the water in place with his mind. Tokijin never once relaxed in his grip.
The opening, when it was covered with water and the occasional remnant of a hellion, was disguised as being too small of a gap to be the place of gathering. Sesshomaru knew better; he figured that if he were Death, he wouldn’t want too many people lining up to talk with him.
In reality, it was large enough to where he could walk in if he ducked his head. That was precisely what he did, and he was instantly met with darkness.
There was a staircase carved entirely out of bones, and a guardrail was created from what looked like the spinal columns of countless hell-beasts. Small, guttural moans could be heard from somewhere in the lightless place of meeting, and he wondered what Death was doing down here. He would find out soon enough.
Sesshomaru held out Tokijin, and the aura lit up the surrounding area enough to where he could discern almost everything in his immediate vicinity. He blinked a few times, and his eyes instantly adjusted to all of the horrors he would indubitably see here.
Thick, leathery wings flapped from up above, but there was no presence of a threat; they were prisoners here, and their will to fight had long since drained out of them, out of whatever it was.
Probing forward with his mind, he gently released the water he had been mentally holding in place. The water sloshed, and a few drops fell through the opening, but not an iota of moisture touched his body. He was thankful for the small blessings, for he knew that he didn’t look his best. How one should’ve dressed for the sake of meeting with Death was beyond even his understanding.
Something howled at the base of the staircase, and he knew two things: he was in for a battle that would showcase his worthiness, and Death knew he was here.
‘There’s no sense in wasting anymore time.’
Sesshomaru held out Tokijin, and leapt all the way down the staircase, aiming for a solid point on the ground. As he leapt through the air, he felt the gaining inertia brush his inner-youkai, caressing the secret part that yearned for blood, for carnage; this was the place where he could unleash those carnal desires that thirsted for the deaths of others, for those in his way. He would appease his beast.
His eyes flashed red and malachite, and he knew that the stripes on his cheeks turned into sharper points, red daggers that were arrows; the targets were the enemies he would destroy.
The things he would annihilate were abominations, and if possible, they looked more revolting than what he had defeated out in the open. They were huge, lumbering beasts with horns that were too big for their small, oval heads. Crimson eyes flashed in their skulls, and they roved every which way, as if they were looking for something to inflict pain upon. Forked tongues flicked from their mouths nonstop, almost as if they were trying to smell him.
As they trudged over to him, parts of their body fell to the ground, deteriorating before they even reached him. It was an odd enemy, but he wasn’t too quick to underestimate them;underestimating had led to the loss of his arm once upon a time.
He charged into the melee and cut down whatever came his way. Limbs went flying, parts of tongues flew to the ground, and heads rolled, screaming until the light died from their claret eyes.
Those that didn’t die screamed and screamed, and before long, the sound began to rake on his ears. The sound vibrated deep in his cranium, a haunting rhapsody that would rattle and raze his thoughts from his years and years of battle experience and reduce his tactics to nothing but a muzzy mashing of words and actions.
He panted, and yearned to rip into his head, if only the sound would cease. The vibrations. That’s what would drive someone mad.
He had no time to lose his sanity, nor would he be Death’s pet; there was a way out of this. Once he thought of it, he immediately leapt into action.
The throats. He would aim for the throats always. If there were no vocal cords, then there was no way for the monsters to scream, to hurt his mind with those awful noises that threatened his reserve. If it was a psychic pull, he would literally tear the brain stem out of the creatures to prevent this attack.
The sword tip flicked forward, Sesshomaru took a running start, and he imagined his victory. He did this for every battle, and all of the time--unless he was battling his bastard brother--he emerged the winner.
The throats were slashed, heads were tore into from the jaw, and brain juices leaked out. The screams were there, but it wasn’t the persistent, ringing echo in his mind. It was merely a whisper, a shade of what it was; he had prevailed.
Rage glossed over his want to unleash his animal instinct, for he became aware of something watching him. No, not something, but someone. However, that suffix still wasn’t quite right. It was as if someone were watching his every move all of a sudden, from over his shoulder, or from somewhere across the black, bone-encased battlefield. Yet, when he attempted to figure out where it was coming from, it disappeared. It was there, it was present, but he couldn’t locate the source.
It was Her then.
The smallest smirk came to his mouth, for he knew that in this sick game of toy soldier, he was being observed based on how well he delivered his attacks, where his strength ran out, and above all, if he cared enough to gain permission for an audience with Death. He would deliver to the best of his abilities, his strength was boundless, and there was no limit to how much he cared.
For once in his life, he was fighting for another, fighting for the will to protect someone else. And that was worth the hindrance, the battles, and what he had to go through.
‘Father, I understand you now.’ It was so ironic that he would make peace with his Father in the midst of all of this chaos.
The final monster came at him, and in a quick maneuver with the sword, claw, and the sword once more, the creature was sliced into thick, meaty shreds all around his crouched position. He felt something wet stick to his hair and face, but for the moment, he didn’t care. Appearances meant nothing to a being that knew what your soul would look like when the time came.
Sesshomaru eased himself from the ground, and blinked the gore from his eyes. He placed his sword back into the sheath, for he knew that there would be no needing it from this point forward. He passed the test, and anything that wanted to test him otherwise would pick their poison.
For a moment, he thought about cleaning himself up for the meeting. The moment he raised his hand, he instantly dropped it. A warrior didn’t clean himself up after he had won a battle and endured the march back to his homeland. It was a reminder of his victory, no matter how messy. No one ever said that winning guaranteed a clean future.
He straightened his back, took a few deep breaths, and walked forward.
The lighting in this area was minimum at best. Anyone who wasn’t born with full-blooded youkai eyes would be left blinking into the shadows, the after-images of apparitions and foul looking beings haunting their vision afterwards.
What he saw was different than that however, and he knew that those that couldn’t see the truth of these chambers was blessed with ignorance.
From where he had battled the shrieking demon, there was a long path that seemed to be dripping with something. It looked like a darker version of blood, of crusted wounds and vile juices that no man should ever have to look at. Along this road were phantoms, wraiths that hollered and tore at their hair, pleading with one another in voices lost on the winds of nightmare.
Smaller, child-like demons looked at him, and in their hollowed, abject eyes was a plea: to let them live one more day. That, or to help them escape here. Their business was not his own, and he knew that.
Had he been the same way he had been before Kagura, he wouldn’t have cared less about what he saw along this hellish pathway. But for a moment...no, for less than a moment, he felt something like empathy towards these souls.
Tenseiga pulsed at his hip, but he ignored its call; it was foolish to think he could save those who were truly damned.
Still, that didn’t stop the spirits from reaching toward him with brittle, barely-there hands. He continued walking, not giving himself enough time to register the chill he felt when he was touched. They were dead, hence they were cold; there was no need to call attention to it.
In a situation like this, when he was more or less wading through condemned ghouls that wanted him for his warmth, for his life, he yearned to sprint towards his destination. He hated nothing more than being hindered after endless delays; there was nothing that made him angrier than wasted time, especially when it wasn’t his to waste.
His pride, whatever was left of it, demanded that he walk towards Death. There was no sense in racing towards something that would catch up with all things, no matter how slow or fast their efforts. Also, he didn’t wish to appear eager, flustered, or ill at ease, though that was hardly the case. His emotions, no matter how much he yearned to deny it, were beginning to leak through once more.
Desperation, when love was at the heart of it, had the ability to fell even the strongest of creatures.
Step by step, he walked forward, blocking out all thoughts of failure, of appeasing the dead, and of showcasing his emotions to the world. Though, an inner-voice told him, he wouldn’t be here, in the belly of this abyss, if not for emotion.
Golden eyes focused directly ahead, and in doing so, he blocked out every being that swam in his peripheral vision. They touched him, and their hands either gripped cloth, or slipped right through the bone. They screamed at him, or pleaded with him, but their cries fell upon his self-made deaf ears. His purpose lay before him, not around him or behind him.
A pulsing, gold light came into his sight after what seemed like an infinite amount of time later. The hue seemed to be timed with his heart beats, and the closer he got to the glow, the more his theory made sense. He was the only living thing here, hence the light source depended on him alone. It was beautiful, in a warped sense of the word.
Sesshomaru blinked, and before he knew it, he found himself at the base of a large, pearl-polished throne. The frame of the chair was grotesquely appealing, and the closer he came to it, the more he realized that it was fashioned from bones, just like the staircase that led to this black, death-filled pit. There were onyx stairs that were polished and dotted with what looked like rubies, winking in the thrumming light like crimson stars on their last stage of life. The pillars that supported the misshapen chair were of the same stone, ebony through and through. When the light angled a certain way however, Sesshomaru saw what looked like a skeletal membrane shifting in the stone.
Seated upon the pointed, jagged throne, wearing what looked like a skull-mask of a large bull, was Death. She wore a large garnet brooch on a thin, silver chain around her neck, and it flashed in the middle of her chest where her heart should’ve been. Sesshomaru didn’t know what he expected her to be dressed in, if anything at all, but he didn’t expect this.
It was a dress that seemed to be fashioned from ashes, diamonds, and if he looked closely, flesh. How such a thing had been spun and placed on her body, he would never know. Also, he didn’t care to ask how such a grim thing could be possible. The garment hung all the way to her ankles, and it showcased her bare, pallid feet. The skin was smooth, unmarred by age or scarring, despite the harsh ground that she made her home.
Whatever he envisioned for Death, this wasn’t it.
Her right hand raised, and she gestured him forward with her fingertips. He complied, and walked all the way up the staircase, pausing only when she held out her hand, motioning for him to stay where he stood. For once, he obeyed another’s rules.
From what he could tell of Her face, she was either smirking at him, or smiling. It was impossible to tell her emotions from her mouth up, for the mask completely concealed her features. This was intentional he knew, for nothing living was allowed to see Her face, lest they lose themselves in either the horror, or unnatural beauty that lay beneath.
The lips didn’t move, but the voice was pronounced, loud and resonating. “Lord Sesshomaru. You have passed every test bestowed upon you, and you resisted the urge to attempt to heal what cannot be healed. Tell me what you seek.”
If his enemies would’ve seen what he did next, they would’ve been too stunned to do anything but gawk. Sesshomaru looked first at the skull-mask, and then placed his eyes on the floor. He bowed, placing one knee to the base of one step, and his hair fell around him, obscuring his vision. Desperation obliterated pride, forevermore.
“I seek an answer, a way for a being to live.” He heard laughter, and Sesshomaru knew not if it was mocking, or if his question struck Her as amusing. “This being is a detachment from an evil entity that holds her captive. She has no heart, and is bound in the contract of flesh.” Silence. “Is there a way to free her?”
It was spoken. If Death needed anything else, she would let him know.
A ghostly hand brushed through his hair, and it immersed itself into his head. She wished to know his thoughts, the situation that led to a Demon Lord begging for his intended’s life in a facet of the Underworld. He would show her.
Sesshomaru closed his eyes, and he allowed the chaos of his thoughts to run rampant. He felt a pair of eyes sifting through his memories, briefly glancing at the parts of his life that were of utmost significance to this gathering, and ignoring all else.
The inner-most parts of what he shared with Kagura were razed from the soil of Memory itself, the seeds split apart, scrutinized with a critiquing eye, and then placed back into the earth, damaged. He gritted his teeth against this intrusion, the violation of the recollection he held most dear. It was not something she took pleasure in he knew, but it was something that this being did without a shred of mercy.
He wished to say that he wasn’t a lovelorn fool that took it upon himself to save his beloved from a locked tower, or from an enchantment that kept her in a comatose sate; he simply wished to free her, in any way possible.
If it was futile, she needed to tell him now.
After what seemed like the passage of eternity, she released her grip on his mind. He expelled a breath, and he felt beads of sweat dot the back of his neck. Sesshomaru resisted the urge to massage his temples, for that would’ve been an indication of weakness, something that he could be called out for. It was the little things that kept his pride from tumbling to tatters at his feet.
Death spoke, and he listened. “She is the wind. She was fashioned from the element, and the transformed soul of the half-youkai, the one that afflicts the whole for power. Her Master holds her heart, part of her spirit in his hand, and if he squeezes hard enough, she will return to him. The personality however, the being that you have fallen in love with, is strictly her own.” The hollowed out parts of the skull looked directly at him, but in the gloom, he could see nothing of Her eyes. “I have your answer: there is a way to free her.” There was too much room for error, too much room for a clause at the end of this hope-strewn statement, that Sesshomaru didn’t feel any semblance of relief. He was correct in his assumptions. “She cannot live and be free; only death can free her, a quick one, by this blade.”
The air before her split, and an electric charge hummed around the air. Sesshomaru raised his head, for he knew that this show was for him. She reached forward, and grabbed a thin blade that was the length of her forearm from mid-air. The dagger shimmered with a hellish light, and then went still with a dormant aura.
With her fingertips, she held both the hilt and the tip of the blade out to him, an open gesture for him to take it. He would do as he was bid.
Sesshomaru rose from his crouched position, and walked before Death. He took the dagger and slipped it down his left sleeve, concealing it from all but two parties.
Death spoke again. “Through the heart. She will go directly to the afterlife and there will be no methods that will ensnare her soul, for all eternity.” There was a lapse in her speech, an unspoken something that she wished to say. The words startled him and affected him deeper than he ever would admit. “This is a blade that kills almost instantly, and no being is immune to its cut. Should you wish to join her, there will be no healing, nor will there be a promise of a peaceful reunion.”
The blade weighed heavily on his sleeve, and it felt like his arm was encased in iron. The words were grave, etched with the utensil of the grim reality itself. There would be no happy ending, no happily ever after.
He bowed before her once more, in an unspoken expression of his gratitude. Had he tried to speak, to his utmost shame, he knew he would’ve pleaded for another way, or worse, felt the sting and burn of tears in his eyes. Neither would be acceptable, no matter how much he longed to do both.
Freedom. He had sworn an oath, the oath to free her, and he would see it through to the end. The sands in the hourglass would be stained with blood.
He rose, and made his way out of the gloom, out of the darkness. The stars greeted him the moment the water sloshed against the shores, and in barely repressed silence, he made his way back to the place he called home.
The moment he found himself on safer land, he broke into a dead run. He assumed his true form without being aware of it, and lumbered through and over trees, valleys, and thick geysers of water.
Sesshomaru paused, threw his head back, and let out howl after howl of anguish. For all those that heard the cries that night, they knew that a being was in mourning for the loss of something dear, for the loss of something that could never be retrieved again.
Desperation, love, and the expense of freedom came at the cost of shattered futures of bliss.
Converting /tmp/phprMe8CI to /dev/stdout
The deviation from canon is intentional.
Dokkas?-Poison Flower Claw
S?y?a- Dragon Strike
I own nothing.
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“Gail y I lived as ease and nature taught,
And spent my little life without a thought
and am amazed that Death, that tyrant
Should think of me, who never thought of him.” ~ Rene Francoi Regier
The only emotion that is capable of completely obliterating pride, is desperation. A fallacy occurs in that logic however, when love becomes a close second. Hopeless feelings in an impassioned heart form the most powerful weapon: a double-edged blade.
Three days and nights had passed, the sun slipping into a bloody-red outline against the horizon, and come the dawn, the sky bled with the youkai lord’s loss of sleep. It was of no consequence, for his body could easily recuperate within a few hours rest, if not a full day if he was to obtain the tantamount of his usual strength.
The blessing of sleep was his reward, for he had questions that needed to be answered, inquiries that needed to be fulfilled, at any and all costs to his personal comfort.
The thought was laughable, but if he was to try and attempt such a feat, it would come out sounding satiric, brittle to the ear, and the furthest thing from mirth. There was nothing amusing about this present situation, nothing at all.
Instead of focusing on how he had sunk so low in his life, so low as to where he was seeking answers from the literal underworld, he focused on the why, the what, and more importantly, the who.
Never did Sesshomaru give favors, either willingly, or unwillingly. There was nothing he needed in life from people that asked for help from him, nor did he in return, need their assistance.
He was inexorably wrong.
There was something he had been unaware that he needed, and once more, craved after the first satisfaction proved to be more than appeasing. Also, there was a question he needed answered, and the only being that could do it was not of this world.
‘Love and death always did walk in tandem.’
Love. There was that word, and once more, the emotion and sensation that came from such a grave, wondrous feeling. That was what his life had lacked, as pitiful and absurd as that was. From the Lord who had everything in his iron grip, there was one notion that he would never be able to grasp at will; it was a feeling that came on its own, without any semblance of a forewarning.
It had happened, and it had been too surreal to place into words. Feelings like that could only be described in hyperbole, in endless fashions of metaphor and simile. Those decorative, pretty words would do nothing to even graze the surface of those emotions, of the intensity of the passion between him and Kagura.
Kagura. Yes, it had been her, that once accursed detachment of his one true enemy. It was a dark irony in the bleakest hour of midnight, a gloom that would shield the appearance of dawn.
She had once stood on the opposite end of the battle field, and he recalled her sneering at him, the smirk playing on the edges of her ruby-red lips like a renowned musician to the strings. He remembered the way that her eyes flashed with annoyance when he wouldn’t accept the compensation for freeing her, and dismissed her with a cold shoulder.
All of this was memory, engraved in stone. New memories however, scratched out the cruel epitaphs he had created with his insolent behavior, and before long, they were swept away on a warm, caring wind, undoubtedly forgiven.
It had taken a few meetings, some with her siblings, some without, for him to become in the least bit affected. Physical beauty fascinated him, but he was well aware that those with the faces of angels could have the souls of twisted and cowardly hellions. In the superficial regard, Kagura wasn’t beautiful. There was her surface appearance, the peach skin, the long limbs, and the way that her clothes were the perfect contradiction: leaving much to the imagination, but still pronouncing her full-breasted, hourglass figure. She was a beautiful woman, a kaze youkai that governed one of the elements. In every regard, she was prodigiously beautiful. There was intellect behind those rose-red eyes, a sharp wit, and a mind to match. She would’ve made an excellent chess player he knew, for there was calculation in her spirit, a fortitude that remained inextinguishable by mental and physical torment. There was strength in her, intelligence...and above all, a worthiness that far surpassed the fools in his court.
She was unlike anyone, or thing he had ever met. She was otherworldly, exotic, like a flower he had uncovered beneath a bramble of thick, black thorns. There was mystery there as to how she had managed to germinate and stay alive under such trying circumstances. She was a survivor, this one.
One year previous, they had one such solitary meeting. He remembered that it was about nothing more than the passing of news, for this woman that could control both the wind and the dead played the part of the messenger as well. The fact that would’ve meant nothing to him now enraged him; someone of her incredible spirit deserved to be the one giving orders, aside from following them.
Somehow, that thought had slipped from his mouth. He who had barely spoken a handful of words before to her, was now complimenting her. Sesshomaru remembered that she had given him a look that suggested he spend the next century in a healer’s quarters.
Then, remarkably, her eyes softened, and the armor that she donned like a costume fell to the ground. “Thank you. I must admit, I never expected such high praise from you.” Her voice was also a contradiction. She was unafraid to be blunt, to say what was on her mind. Even around her “Master”--a term he despised with every shred of his being--her tongue remained loose. The tone of voice was neither saccharine, nor guttural; it was as if he had found a wavelength that no mere mortal could hear, a sound in-between Sound itself. It was lovely, yet it was surprisingly deep for a female.
For the first time in his entire life, the sound of someone’s voice, the sound of another, had a significant impact on his body. Sesshomaru began to feel the light-headedness of a long days run through a desert claim his mind, turning all rationale inside out with heart-stopping vertigo. His feet remained solid on the ground, but he wondered that if he was to take even smallest of steps forward, he wouldn’t exist anymore. The feeling was indescribable, exhilarating, and it made his heart-rate quadruple.
All because of this lovely, scarlet-adorned enigma.
She was born of Naraku, but he was also born of his father and mother. She shared Naraku’s eyes and ink-washed hair; he shared his father’s height and his mother’s facial markings. Just because someone was born from another, didn’t mean that an indestructible connection came of it.
Despite what others thought, Sesshomaru was a firm believer in free will.
Their eyes met, and he knew that if he were to tilt his head either to the left or right, the sound would’ve been that of vapor hitting a frost-lined stream: simmering, scintillating with heat.
Her oculars held no pupil, and he found that in the brief expanse of a few moments, he lost himself in the shade of blooming roses, in the colors of the Goddess’s easel that painted the skies. There was profound concentration in her eyes, almost as if mentally, she was trying to unearth his compliment for an untruth, for any degree of a trick. She was looking for anything to indicate a false sense of security, anything suspicious; she would find nothing but the blazing outlines of oblivion.
She licked her lips, and for the quickest moment, he saw the flash of pink between her teeth. His eyes dropped to her lips, and he entertained the fancy of claiming them for his own, of ravishing her mouth with the building passion in his body.
Kagura caught his eye, and she merely stood there, almost as if waiting for him to act, to do something to indicate the truth of his intentions.
The truth...it terrified him. The thought of kissing her, the woman who was the counterpart of Naraku should’ve revolted him. His skin should’ve broken out in hives by merely being in her proximity.
But it didn’t. It was instead blistered with both a chill and an intense, muscle-deep heat that wouldn’t be too quick to depart. Nothing could ease this sickness, this disease without an action.
She blinked, and he came as close as he could to her without completely overpowering her ability to escape him. He gave her the option to leave, to flee back to her Master and creator without so much as glancing behind her. Also, he gave her the option to be with him, to lie with him, and to be his lover.
A low, resonating growl rumbled from his throat, one that stated that he wished to soothe her, and not scare her to the skies. He wished not to terrify her, but instead, to invite her into his willing embrace, for he was more than willing to hold her.
‘There is no other.’
The thought cut him deep, cut him to his inner-most core. He knew that if he had the ability to examine his own soul before him, that wavering shimmer of white, there would be a slash of red right in the middle. The words razed him, and if he had been paying careful attention, would’ve been a foreshadowing of events to come.
But he hadn’t been. The one he was paying attention to took one step, then a second, and finally completed the four steps to close their proximity.
It didn’t have to be spoken, for he had read the signals correctly: Kagura yearned for him just as equally. Their mouths met, their lips parted, and tongues delved into ever-ready crevices. She moaned, and the sound was intoxicating, thrilling, and it sent a jolt of heat up and down his spinal column.
He gripped her shoulders in his hands, and then slowly, slid them down her back. Her hands gripped his face, almost as if she were afraid that he would disappear, like the remnants of a half-finished dream; it wouldn’t happen.
They fell to the ground in a clashing of red and white, long limbs and breathless moans. The wind was never silent, and it felt as if they were making love in the middle of a hurricane wind, brushed every so often by a cooling breeze that relieved their enflamed skin.
Afterwards, she cried. Her tears were hot, impassioned, and the taste of them was anger itself.
“I’m not free.” Her voice had returned, and it wasn’t the same tone he recalled hours previously. This was a voice detached from emotion, a life that had resigned itself to becoming the embodiment of an unpleasant reality. She stated the obvious, and it afflicted her. She wasn’t the only one that felt pain over this truth.
Kagura’s head was bowed, and in their tussling, the feathers that held her hair in place fell free, leaving her ebony hair free from restraint. It was beaded with perspiration around her neck and brow, and instead of giving her body a welcoming, warm feeling, it showed that she was someone who was gravely tired, and sick of feeling so hopeless.
Every curve and pore was exposed to him, and in the feathery moonlight, it gave her skin a darker appearance, dancing with shadow and bleached light. One minute, she looked like an ethereal star goddess and in the next, she looked like a silhouette’s doppelganger.
Gently, gentler than he had been in well over hundreds of years, Sesshomaru reached for her. He wrapped his arm around her frame, and he let her weep. He let her grip his hand when she sobbed, and she allowed for him to place his head above her own, in the way that he knew other creatures comforted one another. He knew that animals did this to comfort their mates, and he saw a flash of memory before his eyes, of his father doing this towards his late mother.
When her cries abated, and discomfiture threatened her frame, Sesshomaru slipped his hand from her grasp, and placed his fingers over the skin above her left breast, the part of her body that held her heart. There was the steady thump thumping of life there, the thudding of a life that was desperate to live. It was a phantom drumming against her bones, a shadowed cymbalist against her flesh, creating the tone; she didn’t have an organ there, in the way that he did. There was nothing but an echo.
He focused his attention on the disfigurement of the spider mark on her back, the scar that appeared as if she had been branded. If that was true, if that sinister kumo had held a fresh-from the-fire brand and marred her skin, he would spend his days tracking him for her sake only. Nothing could take the one that he had made his own.
The thought scared him with the intensity, and the fangs of doubt sunk into his subconscious, biting, gnawing, telling him that it was a bad idea to get so involved with a woman damned.
'No,’ he protested 'she is not damned. Not if I have something to say about it.’
She gasped aloud, and her surprise was a beautiful thing. His lips closed around the mark on her back, and his mouth trailed a heated pattern all the way down her spine. In this way, in the way that he couldn’t express with words, he was doing two things: accepting her for who she was by making the scar something precious to touch, as well as promising her that he would do everything in his power to free her.
He had promised something without words, something unspoken. In that manner and regard, it made it all the more powerful. Silence was binding.
Through the months, the months in which they had their trysts, both in the forests beneath whipping branches, and deep in the folds of sheets in his castle, he had searched for her freedom. There had to be a way, a way in which he would salvage her spirit and life from being bound to that horrid kumo for the rest of her days.
Sometimes, after they coupled, Kagura would lay against his chest and listen to his heart beat. Her eyes slipped closed, and he knew that for her, it was the melody of everything Divine and sublime, the symphony of the afterlife that the spirits played, on gold encrusted instruments.
Other times, she would confess to him what would happen to her if Naraku found out that she had disobeyed. With a snap of his fingers, he could kill her. If she so much as stood wrong, he could summon her heart and grip it, pulverizing it into ashes. She had no idea if she would just die, her soul fleeing from the sham of flesh her body had become, or if she would suffer in long drawn out torment. It terrified her, and she trembled against him deep into the night, until his deep growls and kisses put her to sleep.
He lapped her tears away, always made sure that her dresses remained free from dirt or wrinkles, and he cared for her. He cared for her in a way that would’ve seemed shocking to anyone else. He was Sesshomaru, a youkai Lord who would’ve treated the pebbles in his shoes better than the living beings who crossed his path. He was Sesshomaru, a soul that would’ve sold his soul to grasp the handle of Tetsusaiga and use it to annihilate all of those who opposed him. But now, he had become Sesshomaru, a youkai Lord who had spiraled into the abyss of love, unsure of which way was up or down, and beyond caring what was possible. No one ever landed gently in love; they fell.
Meaning, for this being of wind and fire, he would travel anywhere to find her a heart, and more importantly, freedom.
Those he spoke of were of high enough merit and youkai moral standards that they wouldn’t cheat him of his privacy. They were paid up-front, and they were to tell him everything they could about granting one the solace of freedom, and a heart.
Some laughed at him and told him it wasn’t possible. Others looked at him with a wary eye, almost as if they couldn’t believe he wanted to cheat death, and ignore the fine lines of the contract Kagura was bound under. There were some that yearned to help him, but they told him that the only way that would work was if he completely destroyed Naraku, and then found a way to save Kagura from being joined with him for all eternity. There was an abysmal light in those youkai eyes, in the eyes of those that he wished for advice from.
There was one statement in common however, one that he was willing to partake in, even if it was insanity: speaking with Death, Herself.
Sesshomaru instantly knew who they were talking about. This being had no name, and the manner in which she was addressed was subjective to who you were. If you were to come to Her, you would have to cross over the realm of the living, the dead, scare the guards to her home lands, and then be found worthy of having an appearance with her. She was the one who was said to make death less painful, if you could impress her that far, and to perform what humans claimed as miracles.
He didn’t believe in miracles; he believed in concrete solutions to the matter at hand, a matter close to his heart.
That was why he currently found himself traveling through the realms of the living, and deep into the heart of a land where sunshine was a weak, thin light that didn’t so much taunt the black, acidic clouds above in the firmament. The creatures here were twisted, grim caricatures of things that might’ve been living in the world he knew of, or the half-alive souls that yearned for a form, hence their warped husks of bodies.
Eyes constantly watched him from the mottled nests of the forests, from the black and dripping foliage. Mouths gnashed together from somewhere behind him, and fangs clicked against blood-slick molars.
He held out Tokijin, and it kept all harm away from him. The poisonous taint of the aura bled through the sickness of this world, keeping all of the beasts at bay. If something got too close, he slashed them, they shrieked, and he went on his way. Nothing was going to prevent his meeting with Death.
There was a sudden dip on the path he was on, and he saw that there was a large pit of slithering, wriggling things beneath him. They roared at him, and crimson slated eyes stared up at him, just daring for him to take a false step and fall into the abyss of gaping mouths. It wouldn’t happen.
Sesshomaru took a running start, and completely leapt over the pit. He landed without a sound, and instantly, he was attacked by thin, scaled oni. They were awful beings that looked as if they had been birthed before their time. Some had eyes where noses should’ve been, hands where the ears should’ve grown, and spines where hair follicles forgot to grow.
Perhaps he had once knew this soul in his court as a vile creature that enjoyed vanity over creating a safe land to rule. It didn’t matter though. What he did know was that they were in his way, and preventing him from helping the one who needed it most.
He slashed, and for those that were foolish enough to come near enough to him, punched them with Dokkas? rendering them a blind, screaming mass of twisted flesh. He yearned to unleash the S?y?a, but it would’ve wasted precious energy, energy he would need later on.
The poison dripped, screams permeated the air like clouds of perfume, and blood spattered everywhere on his attire, coating his armor and garments with foul-smelling gore.
The survivors that clung to their bleeding bodies scampered off, like the cowards they were. Sesshomaru flexed both of his hands and continued walking through the hellish void, knowing that he was very, very close.
‘She’s testing me.’ He had always aced every test hurled at him, be it mental or physical. This time would be no exception.
He was attacked three more times, and in the attacks, he merely killed them with his poison, for S?y?a would have to wait until the time when he truly needed it. In these attacks, he killed the youkai without mercy, leaving only a spattering of remains of what might’ve once been a living being. It was of no consequence to him what they had once been, for they were still hindering his meeting.
The final time he was attacked, he found himself battling by an acidic stream, one that hissed and bubbled every so often with a thick, gelatinous pop. He hurled the corpses into the river, and they dissolved into the poisonous water with a stink of flesh and organs. The bones could be seen in a few moments, and afterwards, the bones jutted up in the dark liquid, an eerie contrast to the stream.
It was then that Sesshomaru saw the opening in the middle of the river. It was attached to a part of land that seemed to be caving into itself with a small opening. He would’ve missed it, had he not been searching for it.
It was there: the opening to the chambers of Death.
He brought out the katana to his right, and focused every ounce of his mental abilities to form one word, a word that would dictate his right to be seen: rise.
The water shimmered on the surface, appearing for an instant like polished obsidian before it reminded him of the moving scales of a black snake. The water parted fully to the right, and he could hear the cracking and melting of the land as it was eaten away by the water. Beneath the river, a scattering of skeletons and creatures were buried in the mud in a mock burial, and Sesshomaru felt that their empty eye-sockets could still see the horrors in the world they were placed into.
His ankle-high boots sunk into the mud, and he proceeded to walk ever-forward, all the while keeping the water in place with his mind. Tokijin never once relaxed in his grip.
The opening, when it was covered with water and the occasional remnant of a hellion, was disguised as being too small of a gap to be the place of gathering. Sesshomaru knew better; he figured that if he were Death, he wouldn’t want too many people lining up to talk with him.
In reality, it was large enough to where he could walk in if he ducked his head. That was precisely what he did, and he was instantly met with darkness.
There was a staircase carved entirely out of bones, and a guardrail was created from what looked like the spinal columns of countless hell-beasts. Small, guttural moans could be heard from somewhere in the lightless place of meeting, and he wondered what Death was doing down here. He would find out soon enough.
Sesshomaru held out Tokijin, and the aura lit up the surrounding area enough to where he could discern almost everything in his immediate vicinity. He blinked a few times, and his eyes instantly adjusted to all of the horrors he would indubitably see here.
Thick, leathery wings flapped from up above, but there was no presence of a threat; they were prisoners here, and their will to fight had long since drained out of them, out of whatever it was.
Probing forward with his mind, he gently released the water he had been mentally holding in place. The water sloshed, and a few drops fell through the opening, but not an iota of moisture touched his body. He was thankful for the small blessings, for he knew that he didn’t look his best. How one should’ve dressed for the sake of meeting with Death was beyond even his understanding.
Something howled at the base of the staircase, and he knew two things: he was in for a battle that would showcase his worthiness, and Death knew he was here.
‘There’s no sense in wasting anymore time.’
Sesshomaru held out Tokijin, and leapt all the way down the staircase, aiming for a solid point on the ground. As he leapt through the air, he felt the gaining inertia brush his inner-youkai, caressing the secret part that yearned for blood, for carnage; this was the place where he could unleash those carnal desires that thirsted for the deaths of others, for those in his way. He would appease his beast.
His eyes flashed red and malachite, and he knew that the stripes on his cheeks turned into sharper points, red daggers that were arrows; the targets were the enemies he would destroy.
The things he would annihilate were abominations, and if possible, they looked more revolting than what he had defeated out in the open. They were huge, lumbering beasts with horns that were too big for their small, oval heads. Crimson eyes flashed in their skulls, and they roved every which way, as if they were looking for something to inflict pain upon. Forked tongues flicked from their mouths nonstop, almost as if they were trying to smell him.
As they trudged over to him, parts of their body fell to the ground, deteriorating before they even reached him. It was an odd enemy, but he wasn’t too quick to underestimate them;underestimating had led to the loss of his arm once upon a time.
He charged into the melee and cut down whatever came his way. Limbs went flying, parts of tongues flew to the ground, and heads rolled, screaming until the light died from their claret eyes.
Those that didn’t die screamed and screamed, and before long, the sound began to rake on his ears. The sound vibrated deep in his cranium, a haunting rhapsody that would rattle and raze his thoughts from his years and years of battle experience and reduce his tactics to nothing but a muzzy mashing of words and actions.
He panted, and yearned to rip into his head, if only the sound would cease. The vibrations. That’s what would drive someone mad.
He had no time to lose his sanity, nor would he be Death’s pet; there was a way out of this. Once he thought of it, he immediately leapt into action.
The throats. He would aim for the throats always. If there were no vocal cords, then there was no way for the monsters to scream, to hurt his mind with those awful noises that threatened his reserve. If it was a psychic pull, he would literally tear the brain stem out of the creatures to prevent this attack.
The sword tip flicked forward, Sesshomaru took a running start, and he imagined his victory. He did this for every battle, and all of the time--unless he was battling his bastard brother--he emerged the winner.
The throats were slashed, heads were tore into from the jaw, and brain juices leaked out. The screams were there, but it wasn’t the persistent, ringing echo in his mind. It was merely a whisper, a shade of what it was; he had prevailed.
Rage glossed over his want to unleash his animal instinct, for he became aware of something watching him. No, not something, but someone. However, that suffix still wasn’t quite right. It was as if someone were watching his every move all of a sudden, from over his shoulder, or from somewhere across the black, bone-encased battlefield. Yet, when he attempted to figure out where it was coming from, it disappeared. It was there, it was present, but he couldn’t locate the source.
It was Her then.
The smallest smirk came to his mouth, for he knew that in this sick game of toy soldier, he was being observed based on how well he delivered his attacks, where his strength ran out, and above all, if he cared enough to gain permission for an audience with Death. He would deliver to the best of his abilities, his strength was boundless, and there was no limit to how much he cared.
For once in his life, he was fighting for another, fighting for the will to protect someone else. And that was worth the hindrance, the battles, and what he had to go through.
‘Father, I understand you now.’ It was so ironic that he would make peace with his Father in the midst of all of this chaos.
The final monster came at him, and in a quick maneuver with the sword, claw, and the sword once more, the creature was sliced into thick, meaty shreds all around his crouched position. He felt something wet stick to his hair and face, but for the moment, he didn’t care. Appearances meant nothing to a being that knew what your soul would look like when the time came.
Sesshomaru eased himself from the ground, and blinked the gore from his eyes. He placed his sword back into the sheath, for he knew that there would be no needing it from this point forward. He passed the test, and anything that wanted to test him otherwise would pick their poison.
For a moment, he thought about cleaning himself up for the meeting. The moment he raised his hand, he instantly dropped it. A warrior didn’t clean himself up after he had won a battle and endured the march back to his homeland. It was a reminder of his victory, no matter how messy. No one ever said that winning guaranteed a clean future.
He straightened his back, took a few deep breaths, and walked forward.
The lighting in this area was minimum at best. Anyone who wasn’t born with full-blooded youkai eyes would be left blinking into the shadows, the after-images of apparitions and foul looking beings haunting their vision afterwards.
What he saw was different than that however, and he knew that those that couldn’t see the truth of these chambers was blessed with ignorance.
From where he had battled the shrieking demon, there was a long path that seemed to be dripping with something. It looked like a darker version of blood, of crusted wounds and vile juices that no man should ever have to look at. Along this road were phantoms, wraiths that hollered and tore at their hair, pleading with one another in voices lost on the winds of nightmare.
Smaller, child-like demons looked at him, and in their hollowed, abject eyes was a plea: to let them live one more day. That, or to help them escape here. Their business was not his own, and he knew that.
Had he been the same way he had been before Kagura, he wouldn’t have cared less about what he saw along this hellish pathway. But for a moment...no, for less than a moment, he felt something like empathy towards these souls.
Tenseiga pulsed at his hip, but he ignored its call; it was foolish to think he could save those who were truly damned.
Still, that didn’t stop the spirits from reaching toward him with brittle, barely-there hands. He continued walking, not giving himself enough time to register the chill he felt when he was touched. They were dead, hence they were cold; there was no need to call attention to it.
In a situation like this, when he was more or less wading through condemned ghouls that wanted him for his warmth, for his life, he yearned to sprint towards his destination. He hated nothing more than being hindered after endless delays; there was nothing that made him angrier than wasted time, especially when it wasn’t his to waste.
His pride, whatever was left of it, demanded that he walk towards Death. There was no sense in racing towards something that would catch up with all things, no matter how slow or fast their efforts. Also, he didn’t wish to appear eager, flustered, or ill at ease, though that was hardly the case. His emotions, no matter how much he yearned to deny it, were beginning to leak through once more.
Desperation, when love was at the heart of it, had the ability to fell even the strongest of creatures.
Step by step, he walked forward, blocking out all thoughts of failure, of appeasing the dead, and of showcasing his emotions to the world. Though, an inner-voice told him, he wouldn’t be here, in the belly of this abyss, if not for emotion.
Golden eyes focused directly ahead, and in doing so, he blocked out every being that swam in his peripheral vision. They touched him, and their hands either gripped cloth, or slipped right through the bone. They screamed at him, or pleaded with him, but their cries fell upon his self-made deaf ears. His purpose lay before him, not around him or behind him.
A pulsing, gold light came into his sight after what seemed like an infinite amount of time later. The hue seemed to be timed with his heart beats, and the closer he got to the glow, the more his theory made sense. He was the only living thing here, hence the light source depended on him alone. It was beautiful, in a warped sense of the word.
Sesshomaru blinked, and before he knew it, he found himself at the base of a large, pearl-polished throne. The frame of the chair was grotesquely appealing, and the closer he came to it, the more he realized that it was fashioned from bones, just like the staircase that led to this black, death-filled pit. There were onyx stairs that were polished and dotted with what looked like rubies, winking in the thrumming light like crimson stars on their last stage of life. The pillars that supported the misshapen chair were of the same stone, ebony through and through. When the light angled a certain way however, Sesshomaru saw what looked like a skeletal membrane shifting in the stone.
Seated upon the pointed, jagged throne, wearing what looked like a skull-mask of a large bull, was Death. She wore a large garnet brooch on a thin, silver chain around her neck, and it flashed in the middle of her chest where her heart should’ve been. Sesshomaru didn’t know what he expected her to be dressed in, if anything at all, but he didn’t expect this.
It was a dress that seemed to be fashioned from ashes, diamonds, and if he looked closely, flesh. How such a thing had been spun and placed on her body, he would never know. Also, he didn’t care to ask how such a grim thing could be possible. The garment hung all the way to her ankles, and it showcased her bare, pallid feet. The skin was smooth, unmarred by age or scarring, despite the harsh ground that she made her home.
Whatever he envisioned for Death, this wasn’t it.
Her right hand raised, and she gestured him forward with her fingertips. He complied, and walked all the way up the staircase, pausing only when she held out her hand, motioning for him to stay where he stood. For once, he obeyed another’s rules.
From what he could tell of Her face, she was either smirking at him, or smiling. It was impossible to tell her emotions from her mouth up, for the mask completely concealed her features. This was intentional he knew, for nothing living was allowed to see Her face, lest they lose themselves in either the horror, or unnatural beauty that lay beneath.
The lips didn’t move, but the voice was pronounced, loud and resonating. “Lord Sesshomaru. You have passed every test bestowed upon you, and you resisted the urge to attempt to heal what cannot be healed. Tell me what you seek.”
If his enemies would’ve seen what he did next, they would’ve been too stunned to do anything but gawk. Sesshomaru looked first at the skull-mask, and then placed his eyes on the floor. He bowed, placing one knee to the base of one step, and his hair fell around him, obscuring his vision. Desperation obliterated pride, forevermore.
“I seek an answer, a way for a being to live.” He heard laughter, and Sesshomaru knew not if it was mocking, or if his question struck Her as amusing. “This being is a detachment from an evil entity that holds her captive. She has no heart, and is bound in the contract of flesh.” Silence. “Is there a way to free her?”
It was spoken. If Death needed anything else, she would let him know.
A ghostly hand brushed through his hair, and it immersed itself into his head. She wished to know his thoughts, the situation that led to a Demon Lord begging for his intended’s life in a facet of the Underworld. He would show her.
Sesshomaru closed his eyes, and he allowed the chaos of his thoughts to run rampant. He felt a pair of eyes sifting through his memories, briefly glancing at the parts of his life that were of utmost significance to this gathering, and ignoring all else.
The inner-most parts of what he shared with Kagura were razed from the soil of Memory itself, the seeds split apart, scrutinized with a critiquing eye, and then placed back into the earth, damaged. He gritted his teeth against this intrusion, the violation of the recollection he held most dear. It was not something she took pleasure in he knew, but it was something that this being did without a shred of mercy.
He wished to say that he wasn’t a lovelorn fool that took it upon himself to save his beloved from a locked tower, or from an enchantment that kept her in a comatose sate; he simply wished to free her, in any way possible.
If it was futile, she needed to tell him now.
After what seemed like the passage of eternity, she released her grip on his mind. He expelled a breath, and he felt beads of sweat dot the back of his neck. Sesshomaru resisted the urge to massage his temples, for that would’ve been an indication of weakness, something that he could be called out for. It was the little things that kept his pride from tumbling to tatters at his feet.
Death spoke, and he listened. “She is the wind. She was fashioned from the element, and the transformed soul of the half-youkai, the one that afflicts the whole for power. Her Master holds her heart, part of her spirit in his hand, and if he squeezes hard enough, she will return to him. The personality however, the being that you have fallen in love with, is strictly her own.” The hollowed out parts of the skull looked directly at him, but in the gloom, he could see nothing of Her eyes. “I have your answer: there is a way to free her.” There was too much room for error, too much room for a clause at the end of this hope-strewn statement, that Sesshomaru didn’t feel any semblance of relief. He was correct in his assumptions. “She cannot live and be free; only death can free her, a quick one, by this blade.”
The air before her split, and an electric charge hummed around the air. Sesshomaru raised his head, for he knew that this show was for him. She reached forward, and grabbed a thin blade that was the length of her forearm from mid-air. The dagger shimmered with a hellish light, and then went still with a dormant aura.
With her fingertips, she held both the hilt and the tip of the blade out to him, an open gesture for him to take it. He would do as he was bid.
Sesshomaru rose from his crouched position, and walked before Death. He took the dagger and slipped it down his left sleeve, concealing it from all but two parties.
Death spoke again. “Through the heart. She will go directly to the afterlife and there will be no methods that will ensnare her soul, for all eternity.” There was a lapse in her speech, an unspoken something that she wished to say. The words startled him and affected him deeper than he ever would admit. “This is a blade that kills almost instantly, and no being is immune to its cut. Should you wish to join her, there will be no healing, nor will there be a promise of a peaceful reunion.”
The blade weighed heavily on his sleeve, and it felt like his arm was encased in iron. The words were grave, etched with the utensil of the grim reality itself. There would be no happy ending, no happily ever after.
He bowed before her once more, in an unspoken expression of his gratitude. Had he tried to speak, to his utmost shame, he knew he would’ve pleaded for another way, or worse, felt the sting and burn of tears in his eyes. Neither would be acceptable, no matter how much he longed to do both.
Freedom. He had sworn an oath, the oath to free her, and he would see it through to the end. The sands in the hourglass would be stained with blood.
He rose, and made his way out of the gloom, out of the darkness. The stars greeted him the moment the water sloshed against the shores, and in barely repressed silence, he made his way back to the place he called home.
The moment he found himself on safer land, he broke into a dead run. He assumed his true form without being aware of it, and lumbered through and over trees, valleys, and thick geysers of water.
Sesshomaru paused, threw his head back, and let out howl after howl of anguish. For all those that heard the cries that night, they knew that a being was in mourning for the loss of something dear, for the loss of something that could never be retrieved again.
Desperation, love, and the expense of freedom came at the cost of shattered futures of bliss.
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