InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Inevitable ❯ Virulence ( Chapter 8 )

Disclaimer: I do not claim to own Inuyasha or any of the Inuyasha characters. All rights go to Rumiko Takahashi.

 

Author's Note: Lots and lots of pocky to the wonderful, witty and watchful Wendy for her enormous help with this chapter that would just not come out the way I wanted, kudos!

 

 

 

Inevitable

 

Chapter 8

Virulence

 

 

I had stared at him wordlessly, completely speechless for well over a minute, before I had finally been able to form a coherent sentence to throw at him.

 

“Why are you here?” I said it with contempt.

 

He did not move, didn't even flinch. Just stood there.

 

I turned away, my hair hiding my face, my eyes landing on the body.

 

Glancing out of the corner of my eye, I saw that he had followed my gaze and was staring at the bloody corpse not four feet away from me.

 

“Well?” I asked.

 

He met my eyes. He said nothing.

 

“Well?!” I demanded, facing him fully, my arms still hugging my breasts to my chest. I tried not to shiver in front of him. He simply stared.

 

I fumed. “Aren't you going to say anything!?” I thrust one arm out to point a finger at the corpse, my other still tightly wrapped around myself. “Don't you care?!”

 

That seemed to hurt, and he flinched.

 

I waited, but he was still silent.

 

“Well…?” I asked again.

 

He closed his eyes, only for a few seconds, and then he opened them, locking them with mine. I swallowed.

 

“I care,” he said hoarsely.

 

I turned away. “Then why won't you say anything?”

 

“There's nothing to say.”

 

“Of course there's something to say!” I yelled, my head snapping up again.

 

Shaking his head, he diverted his gaze to the body once again. “He's regained his honour; he no longer suffers from shame.”

 

I choked, sniffling as I tried to hold back another sob. “You jerk. You won't even cry,” I accused, “you never cry.”

 

His eyes snapped back to mine. His expression stayed the same. “Why cry?” he said indifferently. “He died with honour; he was atoning for his shame. He wished to die.”

 

I gripped the sides of my arms. “But…Sango-chan, she -”

 

“Will understand.”

 

My eyes flashed angrily. “How can you say that?!”

 

He remained impassive. “She will understand.”

 

I sobbed, lowering my head. “No. No, no, no, no, no…” I murmured.

 

When I heard him step up on the bank, I stiffened instantly and I brought my head up hastily to see him pause at the edge, slowly bringing up his left foot. He took a step.

 

“Don't!” I shouted, holding out a hand.

 

He stopped.

 

“Don't - don't come near me!” I warned. I began to shiver.

 

“You're cold,” he said, and slipped off his haori, walking towards me.

 

“No!” I yelled. “No, no! Don't come any clos - don't!”

 

Mere feet away from me, he stopped at the urgency in my voice, watching me with a very guarded expression, his eyes lingering on the tears that glistened on my cheeks. I could see the emotions warring in his eyes.

 

“Kagome…” he whispered.

 

“Don't!”

 

Dark eyebrows drew down and stepped towards me.

 

“No!”

 

He threw his haori overtop of me.

 

Angry tears spilling from my eyes, I flailed uselessly for a second before I managed to bunch up the garment in my hands and throw it at him. I clutched myself, glaring at him, seething. “I don't want your filthy clothes,” I spat, and his eyes widened and I saw him go rigid.

 

Stiffly he bent down and snatched up his haori.

 

“Why did you come here,” I stated, not asking.

 

Staring down at his haori as he gripped it, he did not raise his head. “Because…” he said slowly, his tone gruff, the tone I was used to. “I had to.”

 

I remained silent for a time, hugging myself. “No you didn't,” I said softly, and he glanced up sharply.

 

“No you didn't,” I said it louder, and shook my head. He opened his mouth to speak, but my look silenced him.

 

“It's over, Inuyasha,” I said, trying to be strong, but even as I spoke the words, the tears fell and I had to look away.

 

“No…” I heard him whisper, “…it's -”

 

“Over!” I yelled, cutting him off and glaring at him defiantly. Then softer, “it's over.”

 

I stared at the ground, but in my peripheral vision I saw his red clad legs come closer. I stiffened.

 

“What do you want? I told you - it's over.” I wasn't able to understand why he could not accept it.

 

“No,” he said just as firmly, “it's not.”

 

“Yes, it is!” I yelled, glaring up at his impassive face. His proximity was making me nervous, but I didn't show it. “Get away from me!”

 

He folded his arms over his chest, still holding his haori, his face now impassive. “You don't understand…do you?” he asked me quietly.

 

“Of course I don't understand, you idiot!” I screamed at him, angry tears spilling from my reddened eyelids. “Why the hell should I understand?” I asked, my tone less severe. I began to sob again, and I bent over, one hand braced on the ground while the other still held my breasts.

 

“You never explained anything to me,” I accused, my clogged nose making my voice sound odd. I didn't look up. “All you ever did was - was treat me like your property,” I spat, choking and swallowing between sobs. The emotions I had held back for so long threatened to spill over all at once, all the confusion, the frustration…the fear. I felt even more confused than before, and he wasn't doing anything to help, either.

 

“I mean - dear gods - you nearly raped me!” I shrieked, shuddering and collapsing on the cool grass, sobbing desperately.

 

I felt, more than heard him, crouch down next to me.

 

When he placed the haori overtop of me again, I instantly flung it off, sobbing into the ground.

 

“Go away,” I whispered.

 

Looking up through the gaps in my hair, I could see him looking back at me, hard and unflinching.

 

I sobbed. “Go away - just go away.”

 

“Kagome…”

 

“Go away!” I screamed at him, clenching my teeth and glowering at him through my tears. “I hate you! Just leave me alone! Go away!”

 

“Kag -!”

 

“NO!” I shrieked, bringing my left fist to the ground. My chest heaved. “I said no.”

 

For a moment, I thought he was going to argue, to protest, but he remained motionless and silent, looking like he was about to say something, but then he just snorted and walked over to the body, staring down at the boy's face. He gripped the hilt of his sword. “It was bound to end up this way, wasn't it.” He did not make it a question.

 

I had wondered which he had meant, about the boy or about us. The answer was still the same.

 

“Yes,” I answered quietly, almost afraid to say it.

 

I started when he pivoted, facing me.

 

“You're cold,” he said again.

 

“I know that.” I said it calmly, as if to soothe him.

 

He turned back to look at the glazed eyes of the dead. Cautiously, he bent down, observing the face indifferently, almost like he was waiting for something. Then he closed the boy's eyes.

 

“He was very brave,” he said solemnly, and I frowned. “He didn't even have a second.”

 

I remained silent.

 

“I would have been his second,” he said, so quietly that I barely heard him. “If he'd asked me, I would have done it.” I watched his grip tighten on Tessaiga. “I would have done it; I would have ended his pain.” He shook his head. “But he gutted himself and bled to death, no one to end his pain.”

 

“Yes,” was all I had said, swallowing hard.

 

He did not turn towards me, but he lifted his head, gazing straight ahead.

 

“Sango-chan,” I began to say, but had to swallow first, my throat strangely dry. He made no outward show of hearing me. “Sango-chan,” I said again, “wouldn't - wouldn't Sango-chan have been his second…?”

 

He shook his head. “No, Sango wouldn't have let him, she believed in him too much. She'd be strong enough, but she would have tried to change his mind.” He hung his head. “She'll be upset, but she'll understand.”

 

I let my head droop. “Will she?” I asked, crying.

 

I was staring at the ground so I couldn't tell if he was looking at me or not. “If - if she wouldn't let him do it, then why will she understand? Why now, why after? Why, why?” I whispered. “Why?”

 

“She will,” he said, and I looked up. He was still facing away.

 

“But he was only a boy,” I murmured softly.

 

“He was seventeen, and that's no child,” he snapped, and I looked up to see him facing me.

 

“But he wasn't even samurai,” I insisted. “Only samurai commit seppuku.”

 

“Perhaps he wasn't in name,” he said, glancing briefly at the dead boy.

 

I swallowed hard. “Gods - gods why though, why?” I was weeping again. Gods damn it but I couldn't stop! I mean - gods I was even swearing, swearing! Me, swearing.

 

I had to be going insane.

 

“Don't you know the meaning of honour in your time?”

 

It stung, but he hadn't said it in a hurtful way.

 

“Of course we do,” I retorted, “we just don't do - that, anymore. Not that I know of, anyway,” I added.

 

He walked back over to me, and I stiffened automatically, but he stopped a foot away from me. He lowered himself down into a crouching position, watching me guardedly.

 

“What do you want,” I asked sharply. I was tense and I was already reaching for my power - only to discover in horror that I could barely even tap into it. I was exhausted, utterly and completely, but my frayed nerves were keeping me on edge so that I hardly noticed it, so high-strung up on my pumping adrenaline that I didn't feel what my body did. But now - now I could. I could feel the soreness of my cracked lips, the scratches and bruises all over my body, and the cold - oh, the cold, the cold, painful numbness in my toes.

 

My anger flared again. At him, at myself, at - at everything and everyone in this strange time, with all their ancient ways and traditions and narrow-minded opinions…I just - I didn't belong here. Not anymore. I had thought I belonged with Inuyasha, but…after what he'd nearly done to me… I just didn't know what to think anymore.

 

With my sudden awareness of my body, I felt very tired, very tired and extremely weary, and my heart sped up in a near panic. The urge to close my eyes and pass out was almost overwhelming - but no, no, I had to stay awake - awake damn it!

 

He held up his haori. “Put it on,” he ordered.

 

“Don't order me around,” I snapped.

 

“You're cold, you're going to get sick, now put it on,” he persisted.

 

“Get away from me,” I spat.

 

“Fuck - I know I'm half-breed and I know I'm shit, but my fucking coat isn't, so just put the fucking thing on already!” he yelled, his fists curling as the gripped the haori. He nearly growled but managed not to, even though he did show his fangs. His facial features struggled to morph back into a state of impassiveness.

 

My hands curled into fists, my fingers digging into the dirt. “Get away from me, you bastard,” I swore, my own lips curling into a scowl. “Just get lost.”

 

As he frowned deeply, it was easy for me to tell that he was struggling with himself and trying desperately not to be angry.

 

`He has Tessaiga,' I told myself, `he has Tessaiga.'

 

He was glaring at me. “Put. It. On.”

 

“No.”

 

The logical thing to do was to accept his haori; I was freezing and would end up sick if I continued to stay there for any real length of time. But I couldn't do that. Accepting it would mean forgiveness, and forgiveness would mean he'd defeated me - again, like he always did. And I couldn't let that happen.

 

“Put it on, Kagome,” he sounded tired. “Just put the fucking thing on.”

 

“Go to hell.”

 

“Kagome -”

 

“Go to hell!” I screamed, and I tasted blood when I bit my cracked lip.

 

“Fuck! Damn it, Kagome -!”

 

“Damn it what?!” I screamed, punching the ground again. “Damn it what, damn it what?! What, what, what, what, what?!” I wailed, pounding my fist on the ground, the tears streaming down my cheeks.

 

And then I felt calloused hands roughly grab me by the arms, heaving me up onto my unsteady feet, and forcing my arms through the wide sleeves of the red haori.

 

It took me a moment to realize what was happening, and with a gasp, I snapped out of my brief trance and screamed.

 

“No! No! NO! Get off me! Get off! Off! Let me go - let me go - let me GO!” I shrieked, flailing uselessly in his grip, kicking and fighting, biting down on his arm as he wrapped the garment around me. Wriggling desperately, I tapped the last of my energy and power to send a sudden jolt through him, my insides practically burning with the effort.

 

I had felt all the little hairs on my body stand on end, and I'd felt him jerk, letting me go instantly, and I'd fallen to my knees, already realizing my mistake, but it had been too late. I hadn't even felt myself hit the ground. I had already entered darkness.

 

 

Seppuku:

(Sape-puu-kuu)

Seppukuwas considered a privilege for samuraiand the nobility. Feudal Japanese history is full of cases of defeated enemies, who were 'forced' by their conquerors to commit suicide. This was considered as a grace. The looser received a chance to keep his honor.

If the circumstances allowed it, the ritual suicide was executed in a formal, procedural manner. Even spectators were not uncommon. The suicide candidate was clad in a white kimono. Before the final act, he was expected to write his death poem, formerly a practice common for the higher social classes.

Now the seppukucandidate was supposed to take a short dagger and cut his abdomen by slicing it from the left lower part of his upper body upwards in right direction. This must have been extremely painful. Then the candidate was supposed to lower his neck. This was the sign for the assistant, the kaishakunin, who stood behind him, to proceed to the last step - to blow[slice]off the seppuku candidate's head - possibly with one blow of his sword. The kaishakunincould be a person close to him, sometimes his best friend. The kaishakuninhad it in his hands to shorten the suffering of the one committing suicide by executing a strong and swift blow.

Suicide was often committed by samuraiwarriors and noblemen on the battlefield. Then there was no time for the above ritual and seppukuwas done hastily.

Suicide was not unique for men. For women existed the practice of stabbing into the heart with a knife or a long and sharp hair-pin. (A/N: it could also be done by slitting their throat with a small knife.)

Reasons for seppuku:

Seppuku was traditionally used as the ultimate protest when one's own morals stood in the way of executing an order from the master. It was also permissible as a form of repentance when one had committed an unforgivable sin, either by accident or on purpose. Finally, in the feudal period (1190-1 867) it was the form of punishment preferred in cases where the subject required an honourable, but necessary, death sentence, such as the 47 Ronin.