InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 5: Phantasm ❯ Final Confessions ( Chapter 45 )

~~Chapter 45~~

~Final Confessions~

 

Bas pressed the doorbell once more and tapped his foot, grinding his teeth together as he waited for Jared Brantley to answer. Just after three in the morning—it hadn't taken him long to find Brantley's home—and Bas just wanted to get this over with, to make certain that Brantley could never hurt anyone, ever again.

 

Sydnie's face flashed through his mind. Her eyes clouded with fear, with pain that delved far deeper than a simple cut or scrape. Because of Jared Brantley and Cal Richardson, she hadn't had even the simplest comfort of growing up with someone who loved her; because of them, she had been left alone for far, far too long . . .

 

“Trust your instincts,” Cain had always told Bas. Instilled in him from a time and in a place that Bas couldn't really remember having not known, he'd grown up knowing his duties, his responsibilities. “Care for those who are too fragile to care for themselves,” Cain had said. “Protect the weak from those who would prey on their vulnerabilities. Hold your head high and fight only when necessary: to defend the honor of the meek; to defend those you hold dear . . . these are your responsibilities as the next tai-youkai, Bas. Take care to always remember them . . .”

 

He sighed. Cain had told him to wait for backup, hadn't he? And yet Bas just couldn't do that. Sydnie's fitful slumber weighed heavily on his mind, and he'd known that he wouldn't be able to rest until everything was resolved, after all. He owed her because he loved her; because she'd seen the ugliest aspects of life and because she desperately wanted to believe that there might really be a future ahead of her—one that she'd never really believed she could have. Bas owed her that, didn't he? He wanted her to know what it was like, to wake up in the morning and to know that nothing could ever really hurt her. The longer he'd sat there with her as she slept, cuddled against him, the more he'd understood that it wasn't just the need to right something that should have been taken care of so long ago. No, he needed to fix this for her as her mate because it never should have been hers to deal with, in the first place. He didn't delude himself into thinking that Cain wouldn't be furious, but he also knew that his father better than anyone would understand just why Bas had to do this; why he couldn't wait.

 

Ringing the doorbell yet again, Bas fingered Triumvirate's hilt. The keychain Sydnie had given him for Christmas jingled softly as it bounced off the gold end-cap, offering Bas a tattered semblance of calm with the reminder of what he was fighting to protect: Sydnie, the mate of his heart, of his youkai, if not in fact . . . Forged from the fangs of his father, his grandfather, and his great uncle and undisputed Inu no Taisho, Sesshoumaru, Triumvirate was one of the most powerful youkai weapons in existence. Tetsusaiga and Tenseiga—the Twin Swords of the Fang—the absolute power of those ancient swords was legendary . . . Ryoteishuseishu—Ryomaru's twin-bladed sword . . . Nishuto—Kichiro's sword that was hardly ever really used . . . Triumvirate; Keppanshuto—Gunnar's guardian blade, forged from InuYasha, Sesshoumaru, and Toga's fangs; and even Ternion, Evan's sword . . . Collectively, they were the most renowned of the youkai blades, and Triumvirate—Bas' sword—had served him well in the recent weeks while he'd fought to protect Sydnie. `One more time,' he thought as he tamped down the desire to break down the door. `If I never have to fight again, let this one last time matter . . .'

 

The grating scrape and snap of the dead-bolt lock snapped Bas out of his reverie. The electronic keypad lock beside the door beeped softly seconds before the door swung open, revealing the sleep-disheveled youkai general who was tying his robe closed as he blinked quickly, his eyes slowly focusing on Bas' grim visage. “Sebastian? What's wrong? Is your father all right?” he demanded.

 

Schooling his features, blanking his expression, Bas nodded curtly and tried to make sure that his voice didn't register his emotions. “Fine. He's fine, but I need to talk to you.”

 

Jared Brantley looked duly confused but stepped back to allow Bas entry. He waited while the general closed the door and led the way through the darkened house to the study. It was in the basement and had no windows. The dusky room didn't hold light very well. Brantley turned on a solitary light on the prodigious desk. The soft light didn't travel far, only serving to cast even darker shadows in the corners of the room. The bookshelves that lined the furthest wall were a study of murky obscurity. `No windows, one door . . . no escape . . .' Bas carefully stepped over to block the doorway should Jared Brantley think to escape the questions that Bas was about to put to him.

 

If Brantley discerned anything, he didn't show it. Smiling cordially enough despite the hint of worry in his pale gray eyes, the jaguar-youkai leaned against his desk, crossing his ankles and resting his hands on the edge of the desk. The lamp behind him lent him an eerie sort of glow, darkening the planes of his face in such a way that lent the pinpoint glimmer of his steely gaze an unearthly air. “Surely something important brings you out this late, young Zelig . . . weren't you bringing in that cat-youkai—that girl?”

 

Bas shrugged. “That's why I'm here,” he admitted, narrowing his gaze so that he could better gauge Brantley's reactions. “How well did you know Cal Richardson?”

 

Brantley seemed surprised by Bas' candid question. “Cal Richardson? I . . . I didn't . . . Not really. Why do you ask?”

 

Bas forced a tight little smile, hand itching to reach for his sword. He didn't. “I think you and I both know that you're lying. I'll ask again: how well did you know Cal Richardson?”

 

Finally realizing that Bas was much too serious to be making small talk, Jared shifted slightly—a distinctly nervous sort of shuffling, in Bas' estimation. “I really didn't,” he maintained, slowly shaking his head. “What's this all about?”

 

Bas leveled a no-nonsense look at the youkai. “She says you knew him. She says you knew him really well.”

 

“Sebastian, I have no idea what you're talking about,” Jared maintained quietly, holding his hands out to his sides as though he were explaining something to a small child. Bas gritted his teeth. “She—I'm assuming you're speaking of this cat-youkai? She's mistaken—or lying.”

 

It took everything within him to keep from lighting into the general for the slight. “Be careful, Brantley. You're treading on very thin ice.”

 

“I apologize,” he added smoothly. “Suppose you tell me what it is she's accused me of? I am right, aren't I? It is an accusation, isn't it?”

 

Bas didn't blink as he scrutinized the general. Brantley was playing it cool, waiting to hear what Bas had to say before committing himself, one way or the other; not that Bas could fault him for that, he grudgingly supposed. Ties with Cal Richardson weren't something that one of Cain's generals really wanted to be known for, given that Richardson had spent years trying to undermine Cain, using subversive tactics instead of issuing a blatant challenge. The odds that Brantley was going to fess up were slim to none, considering. “I've heard a few things, and I've informed the tai-youkai of them, as well. I'm here to get answers,” Bas replied.

 

“Answers? And these things you've heard, Sebastian? Care to enlighten me as to what, exactly, I've been accused of doing?”

 

Bas crossed his arms over his chest and nodded at the chair between himself and the youkai general. “It's a serious enough charge,” he allowed.

 

Jared didn't seem surprised by the admission, and he didn't reply to that right away. “Why don't you sit down?”

 

“I'd rather stand, thanks.”

 

“Suit yourself,” Jared said smoothly. “A drink? You look a little out of sorts.”

 

“Out of sorts?” Bas repeated acerbically, identifying the subtle power-play for what it was: a blatant attempt to hold whatever edge Brantley felt he had in what amounted to home-field advantage—his turf, so to speak. Bas managed a tolerant little smile and nodded. “Tell me . . . was Kit Taylor the first woman you and Richardson killed? The only one? Or was she, as I suspect, one of many?”

 

Even if the name didn't ring a bell, the momentary shock that Jared Brantley hid quickly enough didn't slip past Bas unnoticed. Cheeks blossoming in a surge of outraged color, Jared pushed himself away from the desk with an indignant bark of laughter that sounded rather shaky to Bas' ears as the general prowled the floor, gathering his waning bravado before launching into a round of blustering rebuffs. “That's preposterous!” he scoffed, fumbling in a box on the cold marble mantle above the dormant fireplace across from the wall of bookshelves. “What sort of blasphemy is this?”

 

Bas quirked an eyebrow and leaned back on his heels. “A God complex? Makes sense, then . . . was that the reason you chose to prey upon a woman—a girl, really—who didn't have a chance in hell of fending one of you off, let alone two of you?”

 

He whipped around, jamming his glasses onto his face as his face deepened to a purplish hue. Gray eyes flashing dangerously, Jared stalked over to turn on another lamp without looking away from Bas. “I have done nothing wrong!” he insisted, drawing himself up proudly, chest heaving as he proclaimed his innocence.

 

Bas wasn't impressed. “How many, Brantley? How many women did you and Cal Richardson kill?”

 

“We didn't—I never—I don't know what you're talking about, but mark my words: your father will hear of your insolence!”

 

“Save your breath. I know you did it,” Bas cut in, turning halfway to push the door closed quietly. “I know it; you know it . . . and the cat . . . she knows it, too. As for my father . . . by whose authority do you think I'm here, anyway?”

 

Brantley's eyes narrowed to slits, pupils dilating as he flexed his claws in a futile gesture of impotent outrage. “So I've already been tried and convicted without a chance to plead my case? On the word of what? A ragtag little street urchin of a cat? A nobody?”

 

Bas' temper snapped. Hearing Sydnie's voice in his mind, saying time and time again that she was a nobody . . . and then to hear it from the general . . . in a streak of motion too fast to be discerned, Bas shot forward, grabbing Brantley by the throat and digging his claws into the tender flesh as he dealt him a firm shake. “Don't you ever call her a nobody again, you bastard . . . You've got two seconds to give me one good reason not to snap your fucking neck—right—now.”

 

Brantley's eyes flared wide, his claws digging at Bas' wrist, a futile attempt to break the hold that suspended him off the ground. “You . . . you're sleeping with her, aren't you? That's how she . . . was able . . . to convince you . . .” he wheezed as Bas' grip tightened.

 

“Damn you, Brantley! My father trusted you, and this was how you repaid him? Tell me the truth!” He heaved the general away, sending Jared careening back. He hit the wall so hard that the house shook precariously as Bas grimaced, shaking the general's blood from his claws.

 

Jared clutched his throat, his respirations wet, gurgling. No permanent damage, Bas was sure. He hadn't lost his wits completely, after all, and Cain wanted a confession . . . “I'm not telling you a damn thing, Zelig . . . I watched you grow up! I've known your family longer than you've been alive! I owe no explanations, least of all to the likes of a miserable hanyou like you!”

 

Bas drew back, blinking in surprise at the angry hiss—the words that cemented Jared's fate. If there ever was a doubt in his mind, it was gone. The bitterness, the animosity, the hatred . . . how long had Brantley been hiding that? Cal Richardson was another—one of the few—who had openly argued Bas' right to succeed his father as tai-youkai since he was hanyou, at least technically. So what that he couldn't transform into a dog-form and he couldn't transform into an energy-based-form, either? Bas was still stronger than most youkai—certainly stronger than a bastard of a general who got off on hurting those who weren't even close to being a match, strength-wise. Narrowing his gaze to a menacing glower, Bas opened his mouth to demand an answer. Brantley cut him off, throwing his head back as he sank to his hands and knees on the floor, as the sound of his hysterical laughter colored the air in a perfidious hue.

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

Sydnie woke up to the sound of thumping resonating through the townhouse from somewhere downstairs. Sitting up quickly, glancing at the clock, she threw the blankets aside and scooted off the bed. `Just after three in the morning? Who is pounding on the door at this hour, and . . . where is Sebastian?'

 

Stumbling through the townhouse, Sydnie blinked as she stepped into the foyer. Bas wasn't here; that she knew. Where he was, however . . .

 

`Where do you think he is, Syd?'

 

She frowned, but nodded, acknowledging the truth in her youkai's words. `He's gone after him, hasn't he . . .?'

 

`Of course he has . . . because he believes you, and you know, right? That's all you ever really wanted. You just wanted someone to listen to you and believe you.'

 

Was that true? Would that have really been enough? To know that someone—anyone—believed her? `Yes,' she supposed. Maybe it would have been.

 

Sydnie cautiously opened the door, barring her weight behind it and leaning to the side to peer out the crack. Frowning in confusion, she stepped back, recognizing the two silver-haired hanyous standing on the porch. The older one—Bas' grandfather—snorted indelicately, pushing past her in his impatience as the younger hanyou smiled at her. “'Bout time,” he grouched despite the grin on his face. “Where's Bas?”

 

She shook her head and stepped back. She hadn't changed before she'd fallen asleep. Still dressed in the skirt and tank top that she's worn when she'd trailed Jared Brantley all over the city, she rubbed her arms against the bitter wind that blew in behind the men and closed the door. “He's not here,” she whispered, her eyes darting from one hanyou to the other.

 

The older of the two snorted indelicately. “Keh! Tell me something I don't fucking know . . . Thought his old man told him to stay put, damn it . . .”

 

“You can't really say it surprises you,” the younger hanyou remarked, rolling his eyes. His smile had disappeared, and he cocked his head to the side as he carefully regarded Sydnie. “He went after Brantley, didn't he?”

 

“Well, hell's fucking hounds,” InuYasha grouched. “Get moving, Ryomaru.”

 

Ryomaru made a face, scratching the back of his head as he heaved a heavy sigh and turned toward the door. “Tracking in the city sucks balls,” he grumbled. “Doable but still a pain in the ass.”

 

InuYasha curt nod indicated his own distaste for it, as well. Sydnie didn't really have a problem with it though she supposed that was likely because she'd grown up in Los Angeles and had been forced to deal with the myriad of scents that tended to obscure the more organic scent of most youkai. They were from Japan, however, and Tokyo was huge, or so she'd read. “Why do you have to track him?” Sydnie asked as InuYasha jerked the door open.

 

He shot her a condescending sort of glower. “How the hell else am I gonna find him?”

 

She shook her head. “I know where he is . . . at least, I know where . . . where he lives. I could take you there.”

 

“I don't know . . .” Ryomaru drawled, casting his father a meaningful glance.

 

“Keh! Better than spending longer than we got to, finding the pup.”

 

For some reason, hearing Bas' grandfather calling Bas a pup bothered Sydnie, but she brushed the irritation aside as she slipped her shoes on and pushed past them. “It's not far,” she explained as she yanked the door open and strode outside. “Just a few blocks, actually . . .”

 

She didn't bother to wait for them, either. Running down the steps and onto the sidewalk, she heard them directly behind her though she didn't look to verify it. The streets and sidewalks were too busy to be practical, and she ducked into an alley before vaulting to the top of a two story building. Expediency was the issue, and trying to blend into a crowd of milling humans would end up taking way too long . . .

 

If he had been told to wait for his grandfather and uncle, why didn't he?

 

Sydnie grimaced as the trio streaked across the rooftops, cutting across the area in the most direct route to the general's house.

 

`Don't be stupid, Sydnie . . . you know why he didn't. After seeing how shaken you were, did you honestly think he'd just sit back and wait?'

 

No, she didn't. Wasn't that why it hadn't really surprised her, to wake up in the bed all alone? Somewhere deep down, she'd known the moment he'd slipped out of the room . . .

 

`Because he's your mate, Sydnie . . . you're his equal, and that's what he's been trying to make you understand.'

 

She shook her head but kept moving, her footfalls synchronizing with the hanyous who were following: Bas' family.

 

Dropping to the alley behind the house, Sydnie picked up Bas' richer scent still lingering in the area. InuYasha lit beside her, and Ryomaru landed on the other side. Both stared at Sydnie for a moment before exchanging glances. Ryomaru cleared his throat and grimaced. “Stay here, Sydnie. I doubt Bas wants you to see what's going on in there.”

 

She opened her mouth to protest. InuYasha's fierce scowl stopped her. “Go back to the townhouse, cat. Let the pup take care of his business.”

 

They strode away from her, leaving her in the shadows of the alley. Rubbing her forearms against the cold night air, she bit her lip and scuffed her toes on the stained asphalt. “Go back to the townhouse, cat . . . Let the pup take care of his business . . .”

 

She frowned as she gazed into the shadows. A stray cat dug through a dumpster behind an Italian restaurant. Somewhere in the distance, a dog let out a lonely howl. In the elusive darkness, she could feel the surge of millions of people. New York City was more compact than Los Angeles; grayer, dirtier, grungier . . . colder. An odd sense of resignation ebbed through her. How ironic was it, really? To have started this mission under the bright lights of the California skies and to have it all end here? From one coast to the other, and yet the task was still the same. Even the knowledge that it would soon be at an end did little to dispel the sadness, the melancholy that had been Sydnie's entire world; at least until she'd met Sebastian.

 

“Go back to the townhouse . . .”

 

She wrinkled her nose, balling her hands into tight little fists as she strode toward the unnatural yellow glow of the streetlamps illuminating the sidewalk beyond the alley. “The hell I will!” she spat indignantly, quickening her pace, breaking into a sprint.

 

 

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

InuYasha growled in frustration as Ryomaru fiddled with the keypad. He missed the days when most everyone used keys to lock doors. Those were easy enough to pick. These damn innovations could go straight to hell, as far as he was concerned. After a minute of tapping his foot while Ryomaru plugged the little hand-held deciphering device into the side of the key panel, he shoved his son aside and drew Tetsusaiga with a flourish. “Move it, pup. I got my own fucking key right here.”

 

“Like hell you'll do that, old man,” Ryomaru growled, rolling his eyes as he pressed the button to begin the deciphering sequence. “Don't really want the cops involved, do we? And they're gonna show up if you run around, blowing open doors with that.”

 

“Then get a move on, Ryo,” InuYasha snarled.

 

A soft beep signaled the release of the security alarm, and Ryomaru jerked the cord loose before gesturing at the door. “After you, old man.”

 

InuYasha snorted and smacked the door open with his fist, striding inside with Ryomaru close behind. Neither bothered to close the door, either, too intent on locating the idiot hot-head who didn't have the sense to wait for the backup that they were providing.

 

Following Bas' scent was easy enough. Down the long hallway and then descending a flight of stairs, InuYasha scowled as high-pitched, almost desperate laughter shattered the stillness.

 

Bas glanced over his shoulder, nodding almost imperceptibly as InuYasha and Ryomaru strode into the room. The jaguar-youkai—Jared Brantley—sat huddled on the floor by the wall. Bas stood in the center, his claws tipped in blackened blood. Brantley held his throat as he laughed, but when he spotted InuYasha and Ryomaru, he sobered up quickly enough. Ryomaru dug a tiny digital recorder out of his pocket and pushed the button before setting the device on a small table and crossing his arms over his chest.

 

Bas straightened his stance, glowered at the youkai general. “Jared Brantley, you are charged with the murder of Kit Taylor—you and Cal Richardson. You raped her; you tortured her . . . you beat her, and you killed her in a derelict building in Los Angeles seventeen years ago. Do you deny it?”

 

Jared slowly got to his feet, bracing himself against the wall for support. “I don't know what you're talking about, Sebastian,” he countered wearily, his tone almost placating, as though he were speaking to a mere child instead of the next tai-youkai. “I never raped anyone, and torture? You know me better than that!”

 

Bas shook his head, cracking his knuckles, flexing his claws. “I thought I did—so did my father. I know you're lying.”

 

“Lying? Please! On the word of some woman who could very well be making all of this up, just to benefit her own sordid agenda?”

 

“She has never lied to me. She'd never lie to me; not about this. I'll warn you again, Brantley: you're treading on very dangerous ground. I highly suggest you consider your words carefully.”

 

“Sebastian . . .”

 

Bas whipped around at the sound of that voice. InuYasha gritted his teeth as the stubborn cat-youkai darted past him, straight into Bas' arms. Burying her face against his chest, she peered over her shoulder for just a moment when Jared Brantley rasped out a choked sound.

 

InuYasha narrowed his gaze on the general. The man looked like he was seeing a ghost. Nudging Ryomaru, he nodded at Brantley. Ryomaru uttered a terse little grunt; acknowledging InuYasha's unspoken observation.

 

“Y-you . . . you're not real . . . you're . . . dead . . .” Brantley whispered.

 

Sydnie gasped softly as Bas' arms tightened around her. “Come on, Sydnie. You don't need to be here.”

 

Without a word, he escorted her out of the room. InuYasha shifted slightly, blocking the doorway lest Brantley get any ideas to run.

 

“Dead . . . dead . . . she's dead . . . dead girl . . .” Brantley babbled, sinking to his knees once more. Gripping his forehead in his hands, he crossed his arms over his stomach, leaned forward his nose nearly touched the floor before rocking back, his head thumping dully against the wall. “She was . . . the first,” he went on, claws digging into his hair. “My first, anyway . . . Cal . . . he'd done it before, but . . . but she's dead—dead! She can't come back . . . she can't come back!”

 

InuYasha ground his teeth together, stifling the growl that welled up in his throat. He doubted that Brantley realized that he was talking out loud, confessing to things that he'd just sworn never happened.

 

“I didn't want to . . . he said . . . it was sport . . . like hunting, he said . . . hunting girls—worthless girls, you see? Prostitutes . . . wouldn't be missed . . . They wouldn't be missed, would they? No one cares about prostitutes . . . filthy, dirty prostitutes . . . a favor to our kind . . . get rid of the riff-raff . . .” His voice cracked, and he kept rocking to and fro. “If he took over, I'd have lost my position . . . if Richardson got rid of Cain . . . He wanted to restore the glory of the youkai! Wanted us to stop hiding in the shadows as though we'd done something wrong! That's what he wanted—what I wanted! To remain a general . . .”

 

Ryomaru grunted out a harsh little snort. InuYasha glanced at him long enough to see the absolute revulsion in his son's expression. He agreed. Brantley was playing both sides of the fence; refusing to challenge Zelig, knowing he would lose, so he'd latched onto someone he perceived could rival Zelig, instead, and then he'd hidden his true motives, protecting his top-lofty position in the upper echelons of youkai society. One way or the other, he had thought, he'd remain a general . . . Peering down long enough to make sure the recorder was still picking up the makeshift confession, InuYasha narrowed his gaze on the pathetic youkai once more.

 

“The hunt . . . the hunt . . . but she can't be . . . we killed her—killed her! So much blood . . . I loved the blood! The scent, the feel . . . Needed it; needed it . . . the power—such power!” Lifting his chin, he leveled a look at InuYasha, his gray eyes flashing with an insane sort of light, a maniacal sense of sheer madness. Fangs flashing in the dim light, he bared his teeth in an exaggerated grimace. “I was God! Don't you see? Cal and I—gods over all youkai!” He gave a high-pitched little giggle. InuYasha gritted his teeth harder. “Addicting; so addicting . . . the screaming and begging and the scent of fresh blood . . . but I . . . I didn't want to do it . . . I didn't want to kill her . . . I never meant to kill her. Cal was the killer! I'm innocent! He was the . . . Oh, God . . . oh, God—oh, God! She's back, and she's dead, and she's going to kill me! She's going to do it because I killed her first!”

 

Bas strode back into the room, his eyes stony, impassive.

 

“That's enough,” InuYasha muttered, nodding at Bas as he brushed past. “You have your confession.”

 

Bas paused for a moment, nodding slowly. Jaw tight, ticking, he turned on his heel and faced the pitiful general. “What you've done with Cal Richardson is unforgivable. For crimes against youkai and humans, your punishment is death.”

 

InuYasha wasn't sure if the general even heard Bas' words. Sobbing pitifully, he rocked back and forth, hair hanging over his face, bringing to mind a man on the gallows. InuYasha had often thought that the archaic form of justice was odd in the sense that the hangman would invariably slip a hood over the criminal's head. Now he understood. Seeing the youkai doubled over on the floor; knowing that his grandson was being forced to do something that turned InuYasha's stomach . . .

 

There was no honor in cutting down someone who didn't fight back, and even if the punishment was deserved, it didn't really lessen the feeling of dishonor that accompanied the doing. He didn't know if he had it within him to do it. He'd cut down so many youkai during their quest to find the shards of the Shikon no Tama, hadn't he? The difference was that they had fought him; of course they had, and the one time that he'd lost himself to his youkai blood and cut down the bandits . . . InuYasha swallowed hard, grimaced at the memory, still vivid even after the passage of so many years, the blood that didn't want to be washed away . . . They'd begged for their lives, and while Jared Brantley wasn't asking for mercy, the sound of his broken sobs echoed in InuYasha's ears.

 

Bas drew his sword; held it up, resting the flat of the blade against his forehead as he inclined his head and closed his eyes. InuYasha had seen his grandson fight; he'd trained him for years in tracking, in defense . . . He'd taught Bas everything he knew, and he'd taken pride in the man that Bas had become. Standing there, watching his grandson do what needed to be done, InuYasha saw it: the integrity of the next North American tai-youkai—the one being who couldn't shirk his responsibilities because they found it unpleasant or distasteful, and the grim sense of pride that brought a tightening to InuYasha's chest overpowered the absolute horror of the task to which he was forced to bear witness.

 

Bas didn't take his eyes off Jared Brantley as he lowered the sword and squared his shoulders. Closing the distance between the general and himself, Bas hefted Triumvirate over his head, gripping the hilt with both hands, and still Brantley refused to look up. Seconds ticked away on the clock sitting on the fireplace mantle; the last moments of a life lived in shadows and treachery.

 

“You will never hurt another person, ever again, Jared Brantley. In the name of the tai-youkai—for the women you killed; for the lives you destroyed, you cannot be forgiven.” With an angry growl—a frustrated sound—Bas drove the sword down . . .

 

 

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A/N:

Tetsusaiga: InuYasha's sword (duh!).

Tenseiga: Sesshoumaru's sword (another duh!).

Ryoteishuseishu: Ryomaru's double-bladed sword forged from Sesshoumaru and InuYasha's fangs.

Nishuto: Kichiro's sword forged from Sesshoumaru and InuYasha's fangs.

Ternion: The number three; three things together; a ternary. Evan's sword forged from Sesshoumaru, InuYasha, and Cain's fangs.

Keppanshuto: Blade (of the) Blood Seal: Gunnar's sword forged from Sesshoumaru, InuYasha, and Toga's fangs.

Triumvirate: Bas' sword forged from Sesshoumaru, InuYasha, and Cain's fangs.

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Reviewers

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MMorg

OROsan0677 ------ Rawben ------ smallflower ------ GalacticFire ------ inuyashaloverr ------ Deceptress ------ Simonkal of Inuy

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Final Thought fromInuYasha:

Damn keypad locks …

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Blanket disclaimer for this fanfic (will apply to this and all other chapters in Phantasm): I do not claim any rights to InuYasha or the characters associated with the anime/manga. Those rights belong to Rumiko Takahashi, et al. I do offer my thanks to her for creating such vivid characters for me to terrorize.

 

~Sue~