InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Pitifully Hopeful ❯ Pitifully Hopeful ( Chapter 1 )

WARNING: This is a rather dark fic, so if that sort of thing offends you I suggest you don't read it. This story contains lemon/noncon/bond/anal/tort/etc. Just an early warning so you know what you're getting into.

I usually babble a little before my stories, but I don't feel like it this time. So without further adieu:

Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha.

Pitifully Hopeful

Like a gory, hauntingly beautiful work of abstract art, bloody spatters painted the dull grey walls, dappling them a sinful scarlet. Flecks of light illuminated the eerie canvas; twisted shadows writhing through the room like something from a nightmare. A single, slender silhouette stood out against the jumble of light and darkness, motionless.

A shaky intake of breath, the clank of metal: the only noises that permeated the otherwise silent room. The palpable stench of death was heavy, filling delicate nostrils with their foreboding reek. Cold and clammy, the air hung around her like a fog, caressing her sensitive, naked skin like frigid fingers.

A skittering sound came from somewhere behind her.

Azure eyes shifted slightly to the left, fear welling up within their desperate, anxious depths. After a moment of apprehensive silence they shifted back to their original spot on the wall, a sigh leaving coral lips. Rats… it was only the rats.

The thought brought no comfort, for while he was absent, his heady aura remained, omnipotent and consuming in its presence. Like hands wrapping around her pale, fragile throat it threatened to choke her, steal the very breath from her lungs.

Long, graceful fingers twitched, longing to scratch the annoying itch on her arm. Craning her neck, she settled for rubbing it with her head, moaning as her muscles screamed their protest. Head lolling back into place, she mumbled bitterly as her sore body was jostled slightly from the movement. Small, lily-white toes dangled helplessly off the floor, numb from the cold.

She wondered idly when her next bath would be, but dispersed the thought as quickly as it had come. To bathe would mean to face him again, and she was not looking forward to that occurrence.

Cruel did not begin to describe the devil that held her captive. Ruthless, malicious… such words paled in comparison to the unholy, purely evil charisma he seemed to radiate. The game he played was a merciless one; a tangled web of deceit, pain, mental torture… genius. He took great pleasure in watching her break time after time, lulling her into a sense of false security before shattering it with deadly crimson eyes and a razor edged smirk.

She knew his game, knew it well. She was a fool for allowing herself to fall into his traps, yet the notion never stopped her. Those short, sweet times were a sanctuary to her aching soul, giving her a moment to delve into a world of fantasy and the fruitless belief that perhaps there was hope for her yet.

But the tip of her fairytale rainbow was barren. No pot of gold sat at the end of the multicolor ribbon, only agonizing, crushing realization.

Sango was dead.

Miroku was dead.

Shippou was dead.

Inuyasha… her best friend, her first love… was dead. Flitting memories of silver and gold tugged her heartstrings more often than not. Recollections of claw tipped hands cradling her gently to a fire-rat haori clad chest as words of comforting endearment rang as clear as a bell through her mind. Seven-hundred-thirty-three days had come and gone since then.

For two years she had been held captive. Two years of blood, treachery and hatred. The monster that was her captor was unpredictable. At times he would treat her as though she were a priceless china doll; bathing her, feeding her, dressing her in the finest silk kimonos money had to offer. And then, just as the beginnings of contentment began to set it, he would rip it away from her. The seemingly caring gestures were nothing more than mocking joke.

He took great pleasure in verbally thrashing her, reminding her of her loss and shortcomings, relishing in her inner agony.

And through all of the beatings, all of the taunting, a small sliver of hope remained. How such a thing was possible was a mystery to even her. Perhaps it was her family, the knowledge that they were safe and forever out of his reach. No matter how he tried, he would never be able to completely break her, because she would always have her family to keep her going.

And of course her captor had many other enemies, so there was always a chance that one of said enemies would vanquish him, freeing her from the Hell she had been forced to live. And then she would return to her time, to her family, to the life she lead before she stumbled into this feudal nightmare.

Kagome Higurashi would never give up hope, and Naraku hated her deeply for it.

It was then, when he had pushed her to the breaking point and she looked upon him with determined blue eyes that he would grow angry. And then came the pain. His beatings were merciless. Had she been a normal human she would have had more than enough scars to bear the proof of that. Yet she wasn't normal. Born a miko, her body was quick to heal the many wounds inflicted upon her, leaving no evidence that they had ever been there.

He hated that fact as well, that he could never permanently mar her body with his mark. And so, he made certain to beat her often, so that there would always be a reminder of him upon her skin.

Her face, however, he never touched. She had asked him once, why he refused to hit her there, and he had replied with an evil chuckle and a vicious smile. His reply had chilled her to the bone.

“I do not touch your face, little miko, because I enjoy seeing it in its full, untainted beauty… I enjoy watching as that perfect face contorts in agony.”

He truly was deranged.

A sharp spike of miasmic stench alerted her to the presence that was currently approaching. Similar to Naraku's but not as potent, the smell of ash and rain perforated her senses.

From behind her the large, wooden door to her cell creaked loudly on its hinges, bathing the room in light. Peering through sooty lashes, Kagome spotted the minuscule silhouette of a child painted in shadow on the wall before her.

“Kanna,” she greeted more out of habit than civility.

The young, soulless girl said nothing, but walked silently across the stone floor to stand in front of the captive miko. For a moment, the ghostly youth simply stood and stared, with eyes so black and bottomless that Kagome found herself sinking in them. After a few secondly of eerie silence, she whispered, “Come,” and Kagome found herself falling to the floor in a heap of aching limbs and tender flesh.

Rubbing her wrists, where the skin was pink and raw, Kagome stood on shaky legs and followed the child into the hall, stumbling slightly as she went along. It had been five days since she had last been on her feet, and it took some time to adjust.

Through the winding, dimly lit corridors the pair strolled, neither saying a word. Kagome had always marveled at the enigma that was Kanna. The girl was smart and beautiful and deadly. Her soul-sucking mirror her most obvious weapon, but not her most dangerous one. The girl's uncanny ability to read a person as well as her unpredictable behavior made her a frightful opponent, and Kagome knew to be skeptical when dealing with her. Like her father, she enjoyed playing with her prey before killing them.

Yet over the years that she had remained within the walls of Naraku's mansion, she had come to a point where she shared an odd, unexplainable bond with the girl. Both of them were prisoners here, both of them wanted freedom. They were one and the same.

Kagome eyed the crimson carpeting she tread cautiously, as though it would rise like a monstrous snake and swallow her whole. She didn't doubt for a second that it could happen… this was Naraku, after all. Almost anything was possible in the labyrinth that was his abode.

Dreadfully old, beautiful paintings lined the walls, alerting her to the fact that she had never been in this wing of he house. Whoever had inhabited this place before Naraku obviously had a taste for art. Not that it mattered, they were all dead now. As she walked, she glanced languidly at them, taking in their ageless magnificence.

One particular picture caught her attention, and she fought the urge to scoff at the irony of it all. A family of four sat in a quaint little garden, a mother and her two daughters lounging under a sakura tree while the father stood a ways away watching them. The scene was so peaceful, so happy, so very out-of-place in this realm of hellish mayhem.

Perhaps Naraku left the pictures up as a mocking gesture… or perhaps he didn't care enough to take them down.

Large onyx eyes were the next thing to catch her gaze as she took in Kanna's still form. The young female stood facing her, white bangs shifting as she tilted her head to the side.

“Here,” she murmured while motioning to the door on her right. And then she was gone.

Warily Kagome slid the shoji aside, peering into the room with skepticism as she padded forward. She had been in many lovely rooms during her captivity at the mansion, but all of them paled in comparison to the one she stood in now.

Several white candles dappled the room, perched on the sills of windows, in corners, and on the ledges of nightstands. Their pale glow revealed to her an embellished changing screen, the black and violet thread woven across it depicting a pair of frisky larks and a shower of downy feathers.

Twin nightstands stood along the walls, one next to the bed while the other sat next to the changing screen. A table for tea was set up in the corner of the room, a fine set of cups and saucers already decorating the top.

The bed was an enormous futon adorned with violet and black pillows, the silken, indigo sheet accompanied by a thick, black fur.

What enthralled her above all else, however, was the katana that hung from the wall. Curious fingers traced the fine markings on the gold gilded sheath, following it onto the tsuka and to the tip of the kashiri. Fragile fingers wrapped around the handle, pulling it from the scabbard.

The cool metal of the blade shone in the dim lighting of the room, winking at her with deadly guile, beckoning her to touch it so that it might taste the tang of her blood. Doing just that, she brought her thumb to the yakiba and applied slight pressure, pulling away as the sting of splitting flesh shot up her arm. A small bead of crimson bubbled up on the pad of her finger, growing plump and fat before sliding into her palm.

She smiled for a moment as she entertained the thought of impaling Naraku on the katana's sinister edge. After allowing herself a quick chuckle at the idea, she re-sheathed the sword and shook her head. It was too large and obvious. Naraku would figure her out before she even had a chance to lift it.

That was when she spied the matching kogatana that hung below it.

And then she felt it, his menacing aura slowly creeping nearer.

Silence was his only companion as he strode down the hallway, his feet falling soundlessly against the wooden floor. Dark robes fluttered around him as he fluidly made his way toward the young miko, and he could not stop the smile that spread across his lips as he detected the spike in her aura. Her fear was almost tangible.

He paused at the door, inhaling deeply and drowning himself in the scent of her fright. It was most pleasing, knowing that he still held such power over the girl. Keeping her in his company for the past two years had proven to be very entertaining. The girl was so easily manipulated.
She was not, however, easy to break, and the fact filled him with loathe. For months on end he had tried to tear her spirit apart but to no avail, and the worst part was that he had no clue of what she was holding on to. He had seen to it that all of her friends were mercilessly slaughtered, and had no knowledge of her family. He had always surmised she had none.

He had put this woman-child through Hell and back and yet every time he stared into those intriguing cobalt eyes he found a tiny spark of hope and defiance. The thought of it alone caused his blood to boil, rage swelling up in his gut.

The little bitch had survived his ministrations for years, her damnable miko abilities making sure that all of his hard work went to waste. There wasn't a single scar on her, and to him it simply didn't seem fair. He had tried time and again to remove the spider scar on his back, yet every attempt, every whim, was in vain.

This wench, on the other hand, had only to wait for her healing ability to kick in and rid her of his branding.

It still amused him to inflict damage to her person, however, and the tantalizing sight of her pink lips parting as a scream passed them was deeply arousing. He thoroughly enjoyed ripping the clothing from her body time after time, watching as her young, pale breasts jiggled with the force of his assault.

She was still so coy, and it entertained him greatly. The furious blush that painted her cheeks never ceased to amaze him. During the years she had spent at his home, she had remained nude for the majority. Despite that fact, she would always attempt to cover her self when he unclothed her, and the fact that she was still highly modest and insecure spurred his desire for the young priestess further.

As of late things had taken a turn for the worst, and his lust for her had bloomed into an obsession of sorts. He obsessed over the thought of breaking her, the thought of killing her, the thought of fucking her until she collapsed beneath him in a pile of submissive, pliant flesh. He could only imagine how soft and hot she would be. Recently it had become a necessity for him to service himself, due to the fact that being around the miko tended to give him a painful hard-on. When he was reduced to such measures he would of course think of her, how tight and wet her virginal sheathe would be as he buried himself into her unexplored feminine depths.

A growl rose in his throat and he lifted a hand to grasp the edge of the shoji door, deciding that it was time to mar her flesh with his touch once again. He would break her, and damn it all he would do it tonight. These feelings he was experiencing because of her were becoming dangerous, bringing him to a point that presented weakness. That was why it was essential to break her on this night… so that he could kill her and be rid of this infuriating fascination.

When he slid the shoji aside noiselessly, he found her cowering against one of the walls, her huddled form shivering as she shrunk into herself. Grinning wickedly, he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

Taking a languid look around the room, he took a deep breath and inquired in a tone of feigned tenderness, “Do you like the room, priestess?”

He had grown accustomed to her lack of response to his questions, and so when she did not respond he simply continued, “I trust you behaved for Kanna?”

Again there was no response.

Smirking in a knowing fashion, he commented idly, “Good.”

He approached the futon in the center of the room and slowly lowered himself to kneel next to it, the silken robes of his haori rustling lightly as he did so. Brushing a hand across the black fur, he told her nonchalantly, “I spend many a sleepless night in this bed.” Crimson eyes taking on a deadly glint, he turned to her and queried, “Do you know why, Kagome?”

She shuddered as her name slid smoothly from his lips, the sultry sound of his voice humming in her ears like the distant rumble of thunder. That sweet, saccharine poison had struck her many times before, deceiving in its seductive tone.

As she stared into his disgustingly handsome face, she could not help but feel that something was different tonight… that he was different. He rose slowly, his hand going to the sash at his waist. She watched with horrified fascination as he pulled the cloth from its knot, letting it flutter to the ground. The violet robe her wore over his haori slid from his shoulders, making a soft noise as it hit the floor. Large, clawed hands pulled the navy haori from the waistline of his hakamma, and it soon joined the purple robe on the floor.

Cerulean orbs widened as he slid the final piece of cloth from his torso, revealing his chest and arms to her terrified gaze. Pale skin, flawless and smooth, was pulled taut over tight bunches of muscle, small grooves and lines etching through the thickly corded plain of tissue.

One lethal hand lifted to touch the opposite shoulder, and his eyes narrowed. She knew his train of thought at the moment. His scar, she knew he resented her for it, for while hers healed, his would always remain. Naraku was painfully beautiful, and vanity was one of his most obvious traits. Such a large mark wounded not only his memory, but his pride as well.

“I asked you a question, priestess,” he hissed, his eyes turning a vibrant shade of red.

“I spend many a sleepless night in this bed. Do you know why, Kagome?”

She recalled his question perfectly; she simply chose not to dignify him with an answer. Such had become a routine between them. He would ask a question, she wouldn't say a thing, and, usually, he would continue as though she had answered. Today, apparently, he expected her to reply. That didn't mean she would comply. Turning her eyes form him in a sign of dismissal, she scowled.

Growling as she continued to ignore his question, Naraku shot forward and had her in his grasp within the blink of an eye. His claw-tipped fingers dug roughly into the fragile skin of her neck, causing tiny rivulets of blood to trickle down her throat and pool in the groove of her clavicle.

“Bitch,” he murmured into her ear, his voice a mere whisper as his lips tickled her skin, “do you know why I spend many nights awake in this bed?”

With a ruthless, albeit strangled cry, she swung at him with the kogatana she had hidden behind her back, impaling it in his side.

He roared in agony, ripping her hand away and tearing the dagger from its place lodged in his flesh. Tossing it to the side, he threw a tightly coiled fist into her ribs, smirking when he heard the telltale sound of them cracking.

Gasping in pained breaths as she felt her bones snap under his assault, Kagome dangled limply from his grasp, her neck still held tightly in his hand.

“I'll give you this much, priestess,” Naraku ridiculed, “You've got guts. But that only gets you so far. Now answer my question.”

For a moment she refrained from speaking, groaning when he jostled her harshly. Then, deciding to indulge him and play the sick little game he was spinning, she hissed scathingly, “No. Enlighten me.”

“Dreams,” he replied heatedly, jerking her toward him with a forceful tug.

“Dreams?” she repeated, lifting a dubious brow. She felt a little more bold than usual and decided to take the opportunity to mock him. “Dreams keep the all powerful Naraku from his sleep? Are they nightmares? Images that make you wake with a frightful start?”

Snarling at her attempt to ridicule him, Naraku whispered in a venomous tone, “Dreams… dreams so intense that I wake in the middle of the night drenched with sweat… but not from fear. No… not fear… but desire.”

She had nothing to say to that. To be blunt she was afraid to inquire what, exactly, someone like him could possibly desire. Instead she settled for looking him in the eye, a move that she instantly regretted. His `desire' was obvious, and his intent shone brightly from blazing red depths.

In an instant she was on her stomach, sprawled across the massive futon and gasping for breath. The fall had knocked the wind clear from her lungs, and Naraku's weight at her back did little to ease that pressure that constricted her chest. She could feel his blood, hot and wet, against her skin.

Gazing down at her smooth back, the twisted hanyou eyed the remaining marks from their last encounter. Several pink scars littered the milky plain, criss-crossing over her shoulders and down her spine. He snorted. They were already almost completely gone. Only three days ago her back had been raw and bloody, bone showing clearly through split flesh. He had whipped her within an inch of her life, enjoying every second of her terror and every one of her musical screams… and now, not but three days later, all of his hard work had faded away.

The tips of his fingers pressed oh-so-gently into the tender skin of her back, and he heard her hiss into one of the pillows below her. Apparently she was still in some discomfort, which made him feel slightly better.

Trailing claws carefully up her spine, careful not to penetrate the skin, Naraku dug his fingers into her hair, yanking back harshly so he could take in the profile of her face.

“I lye awake in this bed,” he told her, “thinking of you. Thirsting for you. Aching for you. My body screams out in agonizing need every night as I do so. And do you know what I do then, little priestess?”

She attempted to look away from him, a feat that was near impossible due to the painful angle of her head and neck. Truthfully she didn't want to know what he did then, because she was sure it was something very twisted.

“I pleasure myself,” he informed her nonchalantly, taking satisfaction in her obvious discomfort on the topic. “I touch myself and imagine your hands flitting across my body. I imagine your sweet mouth tasting my heated flesh and your tight, virginal heat around my throbbing need. I imagine raping you, over and over again, until you're bloody and exhausted and can fight me no longer.”

“Shut up!” the young miko strained through clenched teeth, eyes slammed shut as she attempted to block out his very existence.

He snickered coldly as she tried fruitlessly to bat him away, her legs flailing beneath him in what he supposed was a vain attempt to buck him off. “Why do you fight, little miko? Why do you fight me… why do you fight this Hell, when it is all that you have left? No one will come for you. All is lost.”

She stopped moving then, her eyes opening slowly as she replied in a tone so soft that it was almost inaudible, “All is not lost.”

“All is lost,” he repeated, his voice becoming rough. His hand tore from her hair to wrap around her slender throat, his claws tracing the curve of her main artery. “Your friends are dead. Who will save you?”

She turned to look at him over her shoulder. A small, bitter smile played across coral lips. “All is not lost. There is still hope.”

“Hope?” Naraku mocked while quirking a brow. “What hope is there, miko? Is it in your belief that another will save you; one of my other enemies? Sesshomaru, perhaps?” An evil titter left his lips as he took in a languid breath, murmuring into her ear, “Even if the inu youkai defeated me… do you honestly think he would help you? Do not doubt that he would leave you here, or maybe he would kill you. Either way, little one, you can never escape this.”

“It doesn't matter,” she told him plainly, her eyes blank of emotion as she went on, “You have held me here against my will for two years now. I've endured two years of this torture… two years of pain and suffering… and yet I still know hope. I refuse to give up now. I'll be free someday.”

“Don't be silly.” The hanyou nipped roughly at her shoulder, his tongue snaking over her naked flesh to sooth the little red welt that formed on her fragile skin.

A cruel look overcame her features then, and she spat, “Are you angry?”

He did not reply.

“Are you frustrated because you've taken so much from me yet you cannot seem to succeed at breaking me? My friends are dead, and I am forced to live a life of suffering… but it doesn't matter. My scars heal, and I will be reunited with my friends someday. As for all other things I hold dear… they are safe, far from your reach, hanyou.”

He growled menacingly then, teeth gnashing against her neck as he hissed, “Is that so?”

She nodded once, confidently.

He snorted lightly, and smirked. “I can still think of one thing that I have yet to take from you.”

When she did not answer, he elucidated, “I'll give you a hint. It's something that all women hold dear, and they can only give it once.”

She gasped.

With that he lifted her bottom from the mattress, positioning her so that she was on her knees with her face pressed into the mountain of pillows. Eager, anxious hands tore at the tie to his pants, using it to bind her wrists together behind her back. The large, deadly appendages then dipped into the navy folds of his hakamma to grip the pulsing flesh that longed to be inside of her.

She wailed in protest as she felt something hot and hard prod her entrance; parting feminine folds to tease the little bud that rested within them. Fighting the urge to gag, she cried out frantically, “No, get away!”

“Get away?” he teased as he continued to hold her down, “And miss this opportunity to torment you? I am going to enjoy this thoroughly, Kagome.” With a violent, bruising thrust he tore through her maidenhead and impaled himself within her, groaning as her hot, dry passage stretched around his intrusion.

Tears sprung to her eyes as a strangled cry left her lips. The pain was almost unbearable as he speared into her again. She could literally feel him tearing her, and the warm, wet feeling of blood trickling down her rear cheeks alerted her that he was indeed causing damage. It was true enough that any injury he inflicted would heal in a few days time, but what he had taken form her that day was irreplaceable.

Searing memories flashed across her mind, remembrances of a time when she was young and coy and blushed at the thought of doing intimate things with a boy. Yet it hadn't stopped her about fantasizing what her first time would be like. It had always been her dream to give herself to Inuyasha. He would be sweet and gentle, slow and loving; his only wish to fulfill her.

Even after his death she had always held onto that dream, though she knew it to be a pointless endeavor. Now, however, such things were impossible. As she lay beneath the monster who had tainted her once pure soul, her childish fantasies were ripped brutally from her, shredded into pieces as he continued to mutilate her body.

Grunting as the young miko's body continued to grip him like a vice, Naraku quickened his pace, relishing the way she seemed to grow tighter still as his speed increased. She was obviously trying to ward off his intrusion, an effort that only succeeded in arousing him further. The sweat slicked plains of his torso seemed to drag so divinely against her smooth, soft back.

He bit her… hard. Blunt canines raked across the tender, alabaster skin on her shoulder, drawing blood. She moaned loudly as he sucked viciously at the twin lacerations, pulling her crimson life fluid into his mouth before swallowing it greedily.

Withdrawing his teeth from her shoulder, Naraku smirked and gazed proudly at his work. Lifting him self so that he could examine the creamy expanse of her back, the deranged hanyou took great delight in watching her smooth, ripe rear cheeks jiggle against his brutal thrusting.

“My, my, my,” he commented in a strained tone, “you certainly are tight, little miko. And yet I wonder… if your pussy is this tight, what would that luscious little ass feel like?”

She gasped as she felt him pull out of her roughly, only having a moment of relief from the pain before he intruded her body yet again.

Groaning in an animalistic manner as she engulfed him yet again, Naraku chuckled darkly, “Oh gods, Kagome, your ass is so fucking tight. Mmm…”

She thrashed her head back and forth wildly, horrified at what he was doing. “No, stop it please! It hurts!”

He ignored her plea and continued to anally rape her, claws digging into her hips as he humped her harder. When she continued to scream, he simply chided, “I'm going to bang you until your bloody and unconscious, miko. And even then, I will not stop. I'll fuck you again and again until I've had my fill of your sweet… hot… young body.”

“No,” she moaned weakly, her energy almost nearly depleted form her struggles.

Laughing in her ear, the onyx haired hanyou cooed mockingly, “What's wrong, little girl, aren't you having fun? Isn't this what every budding woman wants: to know a man's touch? Or are you disappointed that I'm not Inuyasha?”

She shook her head numbly, a stab of pain surging through her at the sound of her dear friend's name coming form this monster's lips.

“What a pity,” Naraku continued, his large, pale hands cupping her bottom and squeezing it roughly, “If you had made it this far with Inuyasha… do you honestly think he would have seen you? Or would he pretend that you were Kikyo? Would he be fucking you… or Kikyo?”

“Shut up!”

“Ah,” he mused cruelly, “hit a nerve, did I?”

A tear crept silently down her cheek, her throat constricted as she choked down a sob.

“She was always so much more elegant than you… much more graceful and poised. You… you were just a shard detector to him.”

Kagome whimpered at that painful reminder. She knew that Inuyasha had always loved Kikyo, and that his feelings would never be extinguished. Their love died a premature death, one that was unfair and sudden, and because of it the distraught hanyou was never able to give up his love for her. Kagome had always been second fiddle to Kikyo.

“It's your fault,” she whispered to Naraku, angry that she had not been able to stop him from causing all of the hurt he had inflicted on her friends.

“That's right,” the hybrid demon hissed triumphantly, “All of their pain… all of their glorious pain and suffering was brought on by my hand. I killed Sango's family and enslaved her brother. I cursed the monk to a life of fear. I weaved the web of deceit that caused Inuyasha and Kikyo to kill one another. And even you… your suffering belongs to me as well.”

Her curiosity perked at that, though she wished it hadn't. What did he mean? Was he simply speaking about her current suffering… or something more, something deeper? Before she had a chance to banish the thought, he elucidated.

“You loved Inuyasha… yet the feelings were never reciprocated. Why do you think that was?”

She scowled, hissing through clenched teeth, “Why would you ask such an obvious question? It is because of Kikyo.”

“Yes,” he groaned, almost hitting his peak but managing to hold back. “Kikyo… he could never forget her. And why is that?”

She didn't answer, and he smiled. “That's right, miko. It's my fault. Had they lived and loved she would have died an old woman, and perhaps the hanyou would have moved on. However, because they were never given a chance, the foolish whelp continued to dwell in his past. And then, when she was reborn, he saw it as an opportunity to pick up what they had left off, tangling him in the suffocating grip of Fate's cruel ploy… my cruel ploy. That is why he never loved you back… and it was my doing.”

She snarled, furious that he was succeeding in getting to her. She couldn't… no, wouldn't allow him the satisfaction of breaking her. It was not an option. That was one victory he would never know.

He tensed above her, moaning her name as his body shook. At the last moment, seconds before his seed shot forth, he removed himself from her ass and thrust back into her still sore flower.

She screamed.

He came.

Body jerking forward as his juices discharged into her now slick passage, Naraku chuckled breathlessly against the back of her neck, nipping the tender skin there before pulling out and flipping her onto her back. Prying her legs apart to and angle that made her wail in pain, he re-sheathed himself and began his twisted dance once again, grinning wickedly as she cried out in agony.

Wide, pained eyes stared unwaveringly out a window, refusing to look elsewhere in fear that she might catch his piercing, soul devouring gaze. Willing herself to remain still, Kagome felt her mind grow numb, the stinging pain of his brutal assault never once wavering. Knowing there was little she could do, the young miko simply lye quietly and bared it, knowing that it wouldn't last forever.

After what seemed to be an eternity of agonizing, soul-shattering torture, the beast above her collapsed in a quivering heap, shuddering against her as he came one final time. His scorching hot breath fanned against her neck, teeth nipping almost weakly at one of the many hickies he had given her.

By then, the sun had began its slow accent over the horizon, cradled precisely in a small cluster of clouds like a bright red egg in a nest of down. Had it been any other occasion, she would have marveled at the beauty of the scene, but at the moment she was far too violated to care about anything.

The sickening sensation of his now flaccid length sliding from her core made her cringe, the wet noise that accompanied it doing nothing to ease her discomfort. She felt his cruel yet warm lips press gently against her temple, the mocking gesture accompanied by a devious chuckle. She offhandedly thought she heard him say something about how that had been `the best night of his life'. She wasn't sure… and she didn't care, because it had been the one of the most terrifying nights she had ever experienced.

Her body grew cold as he lifted himself from her, but her eyes remained staring out the window. The quiet rustling of cloth could be heard, and the almost inaudible sound of his light footsteps came shortly after. She registered his arms sliding beneath her and lifting her from the futon, cradling her nude body to his chest in what probably looked like a caring gesture. Her head bounced limply against his chest as he carried her out into the hallway.

After some time, she felt her hands being lifted, and focused on her surroundings. She was in the dungeon again, her captor smirking devilishly as her gaze settled on him.

His pale, slender fingers raked gently through her hair, crimson orbs gazing cruelly into her cerulean ones as he crooned, “I hope you had as much fun as I did, love. I'll be back for you again tomorrow night.”

She groaned in protest, shaking her head weakly.

He laughed at her.

It had been his intention to kill her once his need was satiated, but reconsidered. It was simply too much fun. To kill her now would be depriving him of his entertainment. “Get used to it, Kagome, I plan on taking your body whenever I see fit for as long as I please. This is your future, miko, to remain here as my whore until you are no longer desirable. When that time comes, I'll simply leave you here to rot.”

The violated look in her eye made him smile, and he jeered, “What a sad fate; to spend the remainder of your days as a worthless slut… only to die in a cell. Where is your hope now, bitch?”

She stared blankly at the floor as he left the room, his taunting laughter ringing through the empty corridors clearer than a bell. Soon, the ominous sound faded, and she was left alone with the silence.

She smiled then.

He was so foolish. He actually believed he had won. Did he think that the thought of dying frightened her? In death, she would be reunited with her friends.

And she was hopeful, because with death… came her freedom.

Fin

Yes… rather dark, I know, but I felt like something different. I have a Kag/Inu shorty coming up soon under romance/humor. It's called First Aid, so if you are one of my loyal fans, there's a heads up for you. I also have a few Kag/Sess stories in the works right now. I'm not too sure when they'll be posted though.

And by the way, here are some definitions so you don't get all confused on me:

Katana: sword/blade

Kogatana: small knife

Yakiba: blade edge

Tsuka: hilt

Kashiri: pommel

Anyways, if you enjoy my style of writing, I have a few other fics you can check out. Just take a peek in my profile. I assure you the others aren't as dark.

Either way, I hope you enjoyed it. If you see any mistakes, feel free to point them out. I would really appreciate it. Please review.