InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Little Bits ❯ Shared Blood ( Chapter 5 )

Shared Blood

He smelled the blood taint on the wind and--merely because he was curious--decided to locate its source. Ignoring the squawk as his companion was abruptly left far behind, the youkai flowed through the dark: a pale, silver ghost that could not be tracked by any mortal eye. He found the source of that blood scent, that was at once familiar and strange, and paused to observe. In the meadow lit by the waning half-moon, a lesser youkai stood that was a tasteless combination of leathery, bat-like wings,  scaly, spiked and clawed legs, an over-long forked tail, and a round head that connected to a round body with no visible signs of a neck. The pair of blood-red, slit eyes looked down to focus on him, and the scent of battle-rage and blood-lust shuddered under the impact of fear as the youkai recognized what, if not who he was.

Unlike most lesser youkai, it did appear to have at least some courage.  Or, perhaps, it was simply too far gone in its struggle to remember that fleeing was an option. Or, it could have been that it had lost too much blood to cogitate. Only one of the two pairs of tentacles the youkai clearly had had was still functional, currently wrapped tightly around its intended victim. One hung limply, attached by a few shreds of skin and muscle. One was entirely missing, and the final one lay lifelessly on the ground, severed.

Of course, 'severed' was an entirely inadequate word, implying that the limbs had been cleanly cut through. From the appearance of the two tentacles, claws much smaller than the diameter of those tentacles had wreaked the damage, with dozens on dozens of of ragged cuts required to do the job.

The youkai growled, baring its ridiculously over-sized and crowded set of fangs set in a more or less circular maw, and jumped backwards, the one undamaged wing flared to full extension, beating back and forth in a threat display. He ignored it, shifting his gaze to the small person caught in the final tentacle. Golden eyes stared back at him out of a mask of splattered blood and gore. Some of the blood was the boy's: at least at much was the youkai. He revised slightly his understanding of how the supposed victim had severed the tentacles. Teeth had apparently also been used.

The growl was answered by a strangled grunt and a barely audible snarl. He watched, mildly scornful, as the boy clawed and tore at an already sizable wound with his single free arm and his teeth, making it obvious that the half-breed was too weak to use his youki as a weapon. The youkai yowled, flapped its good wing once more, then finally showed a tiny bit of intelligence by letting go of the boy. As the bloodied body slammed into the ground, the youkai leapt, obviously aiming to pinion the boy with its claws. The half-breed tried to roll out of the way, but was just a fraction too slow, as two claws landed, piercing shoulder and side. The youkai lowered its head, intending to finish and eat its vanquished foe.

With a soft growl of annoyance, he moved. Before the youkai could even register the fact that he had decided to stop observing, his hand was into its body, just below the ungainly jaws, his powerful fingers closing on the beast's spine. It shattered, and the youkai's body twitched violently twice, before going limp. Effortlessly, he lifted the body and tossed it away, ignoring the reaction of mortal and minor youkai as it crashed back down through the trees. Flicking the excess blood from his hand, he looked down at the limp, bleeding body at his feet. And his normally impassive expression slipped, eyes narrowing and lip curling, as he studied the creature his noble father had so shamefully sired.

* * * * *

He knew the scent, knew they had met once before, while his mother lived. He remembered nothing of the meeting itself, save the scent. His mother had warned him that his brother was nothing like their mutual father, and that he should never hope to be able to ask a favor of the full-blooded inu youkai. Nevertheless, in the years since his mother died and he had been been banished from her home, he had always kept alert for any indication of an inu-youkai scent that he knew he would recognize when he smelled it. Hoping that his mother would be wrong. Hoping that even a youkai would recognize a blood-bond. Hoping that his brother would find him, protect him, teach him.

He knew, vaguely, as he lay there, gasping against the pain of his wounds, fighting against shock and exhaustion, that his half-brother must have killed the youkai and saved his life. But he also knew that his brother had simply stood there and watched while he struggled against his larger foe.

Opening his eyes, he stared at a pair of elegant boots, into which the ends of the white silk of the hakama were tucked. Fighting not to whimper, Inuyasha struggled to a sitting position, clutching his wounded left side with his hand, feeling the hot blood leaking over his fingertips. Peering up through blood- and sweat- soaked bangs, the boy raised his gaze past the yellow and purple sash, past the armor, and the odd length of fur on his right shoulder, to the handsome face with the markings that matched his mother's description. Eyes as golden as his stared down at him, and he could not suppress the whimper as he took in the cold, disgusted expression, or keep his ears from lowering. Hope, so carefully nurtured, began to shrivel.

Nevertheless, he tried. "N-nii-chan?" he whispered. "Y-you are my nii-chan, aren't you?"

If anything, the eyes became icier, and the expression more disgusted. "The father of this Sesshomaru also sired the dirty-blooded half-breed called Inuyasha."

The boy flinched, ears going flat. He fought tears, fought the pain twisting in his breast. He couldn't--wouldn't--give up. "Nii-chan," he whispered. "Please. Let me--let me stay with you? I-I don't want to be alone. I want--I want to--learn to be like you." To be that tall. That beautiful. That strong.

Rage flashed in those distant eyes. "Like me?" snarled the youkai. "You think a weak, dirty-blooded, disgusting--thing like you, can ever be anything like me? Why don't you go crawl back into the mud where you belong, hanyo?"

And with that, the inu youkai turned and stalked away, the fur on his shoulder and across his back bristling and standing straight out. Inuyasha stared at the retreating back with blurring eyes, an incredible pain tightening his throat until he could not breathe. Rejected. Again. His brother. His big, beautiful brother. Hanyo. Hanyo, hanyo, hanyo!

Something broke, twisted, transformed.

Pain vanished into an abrupt maelstrom of pure rage. "I hate you!" he screamed. "I hate you I hate you!" Blindly, mindlessly, filled with a white-hot, raging fury that he had never felt before, Inuyasha lashed out with his right hand, blood-covered fingers arched to claw, though there was nothing within reach except air. A useless gesture, but he didn't know, didn't care--

* * * * *

 

Sesshomaru stalked away, struggling to recover his emotionless exterior, one distant section of his mind astonished that a few words from a lowly hanyo could trigger his temper. He sensed, but ignored, the shifting emotions from his injured half-brother. He didn't care what his brother felt. He didn't care if the hanyo lived. Or if the hanyo died. The boy's youki flared. But it was only a hanyo--and a child. Beneath his notice. Too small, too weak, to be accorded acknowledgement, even, let alone respect. Worthless, beneath contempt--

Or so he was telling himself, when a dozen razor-sharp youki blades slashed through the back of his legs.

He reacted instinctively, leaping sideways, then whirling to face his foe, snarling, his hands arching, venom rising. Eyes reddening, he searched for his foe.

And found only the half-breed boy, whose face was twisted in rage, ears flattened, eyes wild. Whose free hand, fingers arched just as his was, was covered with blood blazing with youki.

For a moment, he stared, disbelieving. A mere hanyo, a mere boy, had managed to hurt him. Even if they were just simple cuts, already healing.

Then his rage returned, redoubled. A mere hanyo dared?

He moved, snatching the boy up with one hand, his other hand cracking knuckles as he spread his fingers, the tips that were glowing green. Eyes red, his long hair whipping under the rising wind of his youki, he snarled at the youngster, ready to kill the intolerable impudence, the intolerable insult that was his half-brother. For a moment, he felt fear flaring from the boy, and felt a vague sense of satisfaction. The hanyo should, after all, fear him. Should grovel. Should beg forgiveness for even existing.

And then, the fear fled, as rage drowned it. Claws dug into his wrist, and he found himself matching glares with golden, slitted eyes, his snarl matched with a snarl. Claws drew blood, and the scent of his blood rose and mingled with the boy's own.

It wasn't the same smell. One blood was drenched in human mortality, diluted with human weaknesses, while the other was pure inu youkai.

But it was still shared blood.

Their father's blood.

The disgusting hanyo was his--brother.

And Sesshomaru discovered that he could not kill the boy. His envenomed hand would not move to fill the body with poison; nor would his other hand shift its grip and break the boy's neck. He reigned in his fury, somehow managed to restore his outward stoicism, and still could not move to end the life that never should have been.

He dropped the boy, and once again pivoted on his heel.

"This Sesshomaru has decided not to kill the hanyo--for now," he declared coldly, not quite managing to hide his anger in his voice. "The hanyo is not worth killing."

He walked away, still angry, but less at the hanyo, than at fate. How could the mere fact of shared blood have stopped his intent to kill? The hanyo had no right to life. Yet the knowledge of shared blood had wound tentacles around his soul, forbidding his desire to rid himself of his father's shame.

But that would change. He would find a way to remove that restriction which he did not understand. The hanyo would die at his hand.

Someday.