InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Once Upon an Inuyoukai ❯ Once Upon a Time... ( Chapter 1 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Hello all! Empatheia here with my first fanfiction.

If you're reading this again, you've probably noticed that this is not the same author's note that was here before, and that's because it was no longer true. I said this was going to be fluff with occasional moments of sobriety, and now that I'm on Chapter XIII I've discovered that's it's rather the opposite and thought I'd come back and change this to be more accurate.

Also, I've come back and added a few things to the earlier chapters that I think are going to be necessary in the later chapters, as well as fleshing out some of the more emaciated passages.

Edits on the chapter done January 20th, 2006.

Enjoy the new and improved 'Once Upon and Inuyoukai!', or if you're reading this for the first time, if you like it: leave a review. If you don't, ditto. Smile and enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha or anything to do with it. It belongs to the immortal Rumiko Takahashi, may she live in peace and prosperity for all her days.

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Chapter I: Once Upon a Time...

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Blood. Blood everywhere. Everywhere. It was under his claws, dripping from his moon-pale hair, in his mouth. His clothes, once pristine white and pure, were crimson with vengeance. They dared! They were only humans. Where had the courage come from, the stupid, slow courage that allowed them to disregard the obvious outcome and attack what was his? Mine!

The village was not important to his holdings. It was small, backwards, tucked away in a corner of his land. Only lower level youkai resided there, the pack animals and pests of the demon world. But it belonged to him. The Dog Lord never suffered any creature to touch what was his. And the village, worthless as it was, belonged to him. Was his responsibilty.

Inutaisho whirled like a moonbeam in running water and gutted yet another soldier. A human. A man. Soft and breakable like putty left too long in the sun. The soft sucking sound his claws made when he retracted them from the soldier's stomach fell dead in the air. The stench of innards falling out into open air clogged his nostrils, and he wrinkled his nose. He contemplated the possibility that he had grown complacent.

The humans resided in isolated villages and small cities throughout Nihon, or Nippon as the idiot outsiders were calling it, and the youkai let them be. They tilled the land, invented things, built things, and tithed to the youkai accordingly. It was a useful arrangement that had been in place for centuries. Possibly millenia, now. But something had changed, now. Before, the humans never failed to recognize where authority truly lay- in the hands of the four demon lords, who each ruled the lands to a cardinal direction. Inutaisho was Lord of the Western Lands, a dog demon, and thus fiercely protective of his domain and subjects.

The day before, the humans had done something unprecedented- they had organized an army and wiped out a youkai village. Armies were permitted, as the humans had an insatiable need to slaughter eachother, but it was mutely understood that the wars must be confined to humans only. And they had been. Until yesterday.

Once again, the mute rage welled up and Inutaisho howled as he dismembered the next trembling, urine-soaked soldier. There were few left. The idiots had returned to their home village, so their wives and children were also fair game. At the very least, they would have to watch their husbands and fathers die in ignominy under the demon lord's claws. There was so much blood.

Of a sudden, he became aware of an eerie silence. His claws reached out and found nothing. The conclusion soon followed that they were all dead, or escaped. He felt curiously empty, and suddenly very, very tired. Vengeance was wreaked. All in a day's work. He sighed wearily and shook himself, flinging vermilion droplets all over the dust of the street. His clothes were ruined. Again. His tailor would be quietly furious, and would probably 'accidentally' leave a few pins in the fabric when he went for measurement again. The tailor was ancient and well loved, else Inutaisho might have taken umbrage at his gall.

Head filled with mundane details of the paperwork awaiting him back at the castle, he wandered down the street, thoughtlessly avoiding the sprawled corpses. He'd send scavenger youkai in later to clean up. It was approaching morning, he dimly noted. The sky was aflame to the East. The whole slaughter had not taken as long as it had taken to fly there. How pathetic. His nose twitched disdainfully, and so, almost by accident, he caught the wafting scent on the breeze. In the midst of the carnage, the stench of blood and foeces and urine and vomit, it was like wildflowers in the mountains. He found himself trying to identify it, with little success. It was not one single scent, but the scent of an entire scene, racing waterfall, spring wind, and setting sun included. Despite himself, he inhaled deeply, and of their own volition his feet followed the sweet trail.

A door stopped him. He gazed at it muzzily. He really was extraordinarily weary- sleep had eluded him for several days now. Perhaps there was a bed inside he could lay down on for a few minutes? At least until phantom scents stopped tormenting him. Yes. That sounded acceptable. He obliterated the door, being too tired to even begin looking for the knob. Out of the suddenly vacant space, then, the mysterious smell flooded, until he was nearly drunk with it. Very pleasant indeed. He staggered in. So very pleasant. A sudden indrawn breath drew his attention. A woman. What a pity. He really had little stomach for killing women, it seemed beneath him somehow. But she was in his way, and clutching a dagger, no less. Fool.

An extraordinary idea occurred to him then. He had options. He could kill her, or brush past her and go to sleep. Whereupon she would use that flimsy dagger she clutched. Or. Or... he could be merciful. He examined the thought carefully, trying to determine where it had come from. The great Inutaisho was not merciful. Ever. What a ridiculous idea.

"If you wish to live, get out. Go elsewhere and do not return." Now where had that come from? Very curious. She began to shake, almost imperceptably to the human eye, but she did not weep, or beg. Or run. Idiot. Instead, she lunged towards him with the dagger outstretched, desperation and total resignation written in her eyes. A flash of what might have been admiration skittered through his brain, but was quickly ignored.

Easy as breath, he flowed around her pathetically slow thrust and within fractions of a second was behind her, holding her dagger-laden hand to her slim throat. She gasped, and a tear squeezed out of her left eye. It would have only taken a twitch, a ghost of a movement on his part, to sever the soft column and leave her gushing yet more of the crimson liquid onto the floor. But he had run up against an unexpected obstacle. His face, his traitorous nose specifically, was planted firmly in her voluminous mass of impossibly fragrant hair. He was swimming in delight, the phantom scent suddenly made real and so very exquisite. He found himself inexplicably loath to sully that sweetness with the bitter iron tang of blood. Damn.

"I told you once. Leave. Now. You will not be warned again." It was a very good thing, he speculated, that his subordinates were not seeing this. They would think him dangerously weak and start plotting. Again. It was neverending. He roughly released her, pushing her away. She stumbled and caught herself on the stairwell. Then, incredibly, she straightened and glared at him. At him. She must be resigned to death to be so reckless, he thought. Her eyes were dark and limpid, like quiet pools in autumn woods, still and deep and contemplative. Her soft hair fell in clouds about her slender shoulders, falling to her knees. She was young, and fit, and healthy. And staring at the Lord of the Western Lands defiantly. How very foolish.

Without a word, he strode past her and ascended the stairs. She stared after him incredulously. "Monster! What are you doing? There are children up there!" Oh. How had he missed their banshee squalling? He hated killing children. They were so weak and defenseless, it seemed unnecessarily petty, like methodically stepping on ants or tearing wings off flies.

"Remove them." There. That sounded properly aloof and lordly. She drew a long, steadying breath and climbed the stairs behind him.

"Why are you doing this? You killed all the men. We have no one to care for us. Without the men to protect us and hunt for us, we will die soon anyways. Why bother leaving us alive?" He stared at her. She was practically asking him to slaughter her and the children. Was she mad?

"Are you mad?" he blurted, astonished at his lack of control. "Do you want me to kill you all?" Her eyes fell.

"No!" she cried, panicked for a moment. But then creeping speculation crawled over her face. "Death is inevitable," she whispered then. "Either by your claws instantly, or picked off one by one by stray demons and wild creatures. For the babies... slow starvation, as too many of them are orphans now for the living to care for them. I only wish to prevent their prolonged suffering. So... yes. It would be the most merciful thing." She paused, seemingly astonished at the darkness that flowed from her mouth. She turned her face away, hiding in her hair. "Though it tears my heart from my chest to say it." He had gone beyond astonishment. In his experience, human women always fought to the death to protect their young. They did not think like this, logical and clearheaded through the ever-present compassion. They were flighty, impulsive, and never thinking beyond the moment. She sounded positively... demonic?. He found himself unsure of how to react. So he did whatever the first thing to come to mind was.

As it turned out, what came to mind was the truth. "Killing children is beneath me," he announced. "They are too weak to merit any attention. Remove them, or I may be convinced to lower myself after all." The last he spoke with a hint of a menacing hiss, and she quaked, though she hid it well. She fled his cold gaze up the stairs, and returned moments later with a bevy of women and shrieking children in tow.

The terrified women inched past him, then bolted as soon as they figured themselves out of his reach. He heaved a sigh of relief once they were gone. The stench of fear had been making him nauseous, and the noise level was simply intolerable. He realized suddenly that they had not all left. "What do you want now, woman?" he snapped, finally on the edge of his tolerance.

"My name is Izayoi, not woman," she snapped back without thought. Then she caught herself, took a deep breath, and... "Thank you," she murmured, and swept out gracefully. And damn it, he was staring again. This was ridiculous. He firmly shoved the woman from his mind and collapsed on the first bed he found, nevermind that it stank of baby excrement and unwashed woman. Compared to the carnage outside, it smelled like roses. He passed gratefully into unconsciousness.

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Izayoi pressed her back against the closed door and gulped air as fast as she could. She had thought herself resigned to death, but when it came for her in the form of a silver-haired demon and her own dagger, she had found herself woefully unprepared. She had spoken so coldly of mercy killing to the demon, but after the fact, her heart thundered in her chest and she gasped in pain at how close she had come to getting them all killed. Now, in the daylight, their chances didn't seem so bad. She could use a bow and arrow, the dagger at her side, and her fists, and several of the other women were also not completely unskilled. They could probably hold out until they reached the next village.

The image of the demon was still etched across her eyeballs, and she was afraid he would be there for a long time yet. He had been so tall. The top of her head barely came to his chest. He was all in white, like an angel, except where he was spattered and soaked in the blood of the villagers. An angel of death, then. His hair, long and fine and an impossible shade of silver, had been scraped up severely into a tight queue pierced and held in place by long lacquered pins. And his face, that inhuman face with its deep blue cheek markings, aristocratic high forehead, and the eyes. Cold as the metal whose colour they shared, glowing golden in the dim light of the foyer.

He had been beautiful. Somehow, she had never expected death to be beautiful.

She looked at the huddled cluster of nine women and twelve babies, and her heart clenched. Still alive, no thanks to me, she thought. I'm such an idiot! I'm so lucky he didn't take me up on the offer. Well, but then I would be dead and not inclined to feel guilty, right? Hopefully. Unless there really is an afterlife, in which case...

"Izayoi? What are we going to do?" The whimpering women drew her attention back. She gathered her thoughts with an effort, and stepped away from the door.

"Find provisions, as much as you can carry. Include warm clothing and blankets. No personal belongings that you can't fit in your sash. Also, bring all your savings. We may need to buy our provisions from hereon out. Any questions?" She gazed around at the pile of quivering womanflesh and winced. Getting all of them to safety alive was going to be quite a task.

"Where is the monster?" Migane asked timidly. It took a moment for Izayoi to figure out what she meant.

"The demon? He is upstairs. I believe he is resting. Do not get any foolish ideas about killing him in his sleep- he is a dog demon, his hearing is far superior to ours. He would wake up before you got within twenty feet. So no heroics. Understood?" They nodded vehemently. The idea had obviously not crossed their minds, the spineless, blithering fools.

Having been raised among demons, she had inherited somewhat their contempt for human weakness, though she loved them as no demon ever would, and saw their strengths as well. Kasurami Izayoi was the daughter of Kasurami Tokoge, the liaison officer and diplomat who presided over relations between the Eastern human tribes and the Lord of the East, Ryuunomei the dragon demon. She had grown up in an atmosphere of intrigue and tension, and had little fear of demons in general. But she had never met the Western Lord before, and was shaken to find that he was stronger than Ryuunomei, who had always been the epitome of power to her. His youki, or demon aura, flooded the entire region. She was no holy woman, but long exposure to demons had sharpened her supernatural senses, and she could sense and guage youki with the best of them. Inutaisho's was nearly causing an electric spark dance between the hairs on her arms. She shivered. The sooner they were out of the range of that incredible aura, the better.

She took two babies out of the arms of the overburdened women and shooed them off. "Go on, find supplies. We shouldn't waste the daylight."


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When he woke, it was still daylight, but only barely. The sun was setting. A whole day! He leapt from the rancid bed, noting with distaste that his bloody clothes were now dry, and rather stiff. How vile. After a brief search around the house, he located a serviceable pair of haori and hakama. Though they were a little short on his tall form, they were a hundred times better than continuing to walk around in his filthy battle garb. Once acceptably covered, he leapt out the window and took to the skies, cringing at the feeling of clean wind whistling through his chunky, clotted hair. At least it was no longer dripping. There was a hot spring not far from here, his nose told him, and he arrowed for it as fast as he could. He hated being dirty.


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"Please! Izayoi, we're tired! Can't we please stop now? It's getting dark!" She hissed between her teeth. There was still a good hour of daylight left, and she hated to waste it. Who knew how far the next village was? It could be days away, even weeks. The less time they rested, the sooner they'd arrive. Assuming they didn't all die of exhaustion first.

She heaved a sigh. "Set up camp." The women rejoiced, quietly, and within minutes had a fire, a meal going on the fire, and bedrolls neatly arranged. She itched to continue, but she could see that the women, unused to long hours of walking, were exhausted. They would burn out if she pushed them further. Damn. She could almost hear the wild animals beginning to stir around them, beginning their nightly hunt. If they went unmolested that night, she would be very suprised indeed.

On the positive side, she knew there was a hot spring not far from here. While they rested, she would go cleanse herself. She was sticky with sweat and road dust, and a little rank with the bitter scent of fear. She hated being dirty.


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Well, there you have it. I haven't changed much in this chapter, only added a physical description of Inutaisho which I somehow missed the first time around, a few words here and there, and fixed Ryuunomei's name. In the original I messed up and it was Ryunomei, which doesn't work out later in the story. I know this chapter is short, but there's no way to make it longer without unnecessarily stretching things, so this one will remain short. A few of the others will be getting emergency extensions, however, as there is quite a bit of background information I want to squeeze in. Thanks for reading! Leave a review so I know who's all reading this!

Note: When people review, I tend to go read their stories and review back. So if you're looking to boost your numbers... (hint hint nudge nudge). Even if you didn't like it, please give me suggestions as to what you think I could do to make it better. I always respond well to constructive criticism. As the purpose of this fanfiction exercise is to sharpen my claws for when I write original fiction, your input is pretty much necessary for the exercise to work.

Rant over. Thanks for reading, and hopefully see you next chapter!