InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 8: Vendetta ❯ Face-Off ( Chapter 78 )

~~Chapter 78~~

 

 

 

Kurt rubbed his face and tried to stifle a yawn without being too obvious about it. Damn, he was tired. He'd been too busy trying to ignore the lure of Samantha's body to fall asleep for the majority of the night, and when he finally had, that devilspawn, Evan had busted in to unfasten him.

 

“Well, damn, Drevin! You're telling me that I went to all that trouble, and you two didn't do a fucking thing?” Evan complained.

 

He'd shot Evan a darkened scowl for that . . .

 

Then Tanny had stumbled in, rubbing her eyes as she crawled onto the bed, but instead of going back to sleep, which was what Kurt had hoped, she'd proceeded to start jumping up and down on the bed.

 

`No rest for the wicked . . .'

 

He grimaced inwardly, realizing that there was definitely something wrong. While he was used to being watched during these exercises, it seemed like everyone had come outside for this one, with the exception of Sydnie, who was probably still lying down, and Samantha, who was probably keeping Tanny preoccupied since the girl tended to throw herself into the fray if she saw that Kurt was being pummeled.

 

Cain stepped forward, a serious expression on his face. “Kurt, we've decided to allow a special person to spar with you today. Let me state: you cannot back down, and you must fight.”

 

Kurt's frown deepened as he reached for the bokuto that was stuck, point down, in the ground nearby. It made no sense, did it? He already knew all that. He didn't understand why Zelig was being so formal, but it didn't really bode well for him, did it?

 

Samantha stepped out of the mansion without Tanny, and he narrowed his eyes. Wearing skin tight black leggings, black boots, black shirt, and . . . and the little beret just like the one he remembered . . .? The only thing missing from the ensemble was her black leather coat, but that was in the storage facility he'd rented; he hadn't had a chance to get it to give it back . . .

 

But she strode over to them without stopping, striding forward until she was standing about fifteen feet away from him. Cain handed her a bokuto without a word as Kurt's eyes flared then narrowed dangerously. “N . . . no way,” he stated flatly, tossing down the weapon.

 

“Morning, taijya,” Sami said with a brusque nod. “You ready to do this?”

 

He shot a quick glance around, trying to figure out if they were actually being serious or not. They looked serious, especially her father, who looked like he wanted to step forward and have another go at Kurt, himself, but . . . “No,” he stated once more, louder this time. “I won't fight you.”'

 

“`Cause he knows she'll kick his ass,” Ryomaru muttered. Nezumi smacked him in the middle of his chest with the back of her hand to shut him up.

 

“You have to,” Samantha reminded him gently with a smile, damn it. “You promised.”

 

“The hell I will!” Kurt growled.

 

“You do have to,” Cain said quietly.

 

He shook his head, gritted his teeth. “Then pick someone else,” he told them, “anyone but her.”

 

She heaved a sigh and stared at him for a long moment. “Okay, then I'm coming after you.”

 

Her movements were little more than a blur to his eyes, and Kurt had to dive out of her way when she swung at him. Eyes flaring wide as she landed in a half-crouch, pivoting on her left foot as her right one swept out in a wide circle, he barely managed to lean out of the way of her follow-up attack.

 

`Damn, she's fast—faster than the lot of them,' he thought as he grabbed the bokuto he'd discarded and held it between his outstretched hands to block her next blow. The sheer determination on her face was unsettling, and he grunted as he heaved against her. She stumbled away a few paces—just enough to let Kurt roll to his feet, to right his stance.

 

She smiled at him—she even winked, damn it. “Come on, taijya. You can do better than that,” she teased.

 

He scowled at her, wondering if he'd fallen into some strange and macabre parallel universe or something. No, he didn't think so, and she really did look the same, but . . . but why the hell was she trying to fight him?

 

She flew at him again, her bokuto whistling through the air as she brought it around in a wide arc aimed directly at his chest. He grabbed at her wrist to disarm her but missed, and in another blur of motion, she grasped his fist, wrenching her hand in one quick, deft jerk, and quite neatly flipped him over.

 

Grimacing as he landed flat on his back, he didn't even try to move out of the way as she stalked over to stand beside him, staring down at him with a completely disgruntled expression on her face, as though she couldn't figure out exactly why he wasn't bothering to fight her back. “Fight me,” she gritted out between clenched teeth.

 

“No,” Kurt insisted again without bothering to move.

 

“You have to!” she insisted stubbornly.

 

“I won't,” he retorted.

 

“That's enough, Samantha.”

 

She opened her mouth to argue with Cain, but he shook his head slowly. “You can't expect him to do it,” Cain said. “Step away, hunter.”

 

Samantha didn't look like she was willing to comply, but at last she did. Turning on her heel—he could feel her upset thick in her aura—she stalked away to stand beside Cain.

 

“All right, Drevin,” Cain went on. “Since you won't fight Samantha, then you'll fight everyone else, instead. Ten minutes apiece, and all you have to do is endure it. If you can stand on your own after that, then you're free to go.” He glanced at Samantha and cocked an eyebrow. “Does that sound fair to you, Samantha?”

 

She didn't look like she liked the terms that Cain set down, but she stared at Kurt for several moments then nodded. “Yes,” she said.

 

“Do you understand the terms, Drevin?”

 

Slowly, cautiously, Kurt pushed himself up, staring around the assembly. Take on every one of the men for ten minutes each? He had to be nuts to agree to that, especially since Samantha's father still looked like he wanted to beat the living bejesus out of him, and if it were up to Kurt, he'd refuse. The white-coats hadn't given Samantha a choice of how long she stayed there, did they? Why should he be offered that?

 

But Samantha . . . She must have understood what he was thinking—the thoughts that were flying through his head. Her eyes had taken on a certain pleading. She wanted him to be free, didn't she? Wanted him to be able to come and go as he pleased . . . whether they kept him here for two months or twenty years, they never would be even a quarter as inhumane in their treatment of him as the white-coats had been to her, and there really was no point, was there? Samantha . . . she knew that, and maybe . . . maybe it was all right for him to wish to take that first step forward; the first step on the path that ultimately led to her . . .

 

“I . . . I understand,” he said.

 

“I'll go first,” Evan remarked, strolling forward almost lazily with a half-cocked grin on his face. “I'm not going to slap-box you this time, `taijya',” he sneered good-naturedly. “So you'd better bring it.”

 

Kurt gripped the bokuto and readied his stance. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Gin's smile. Her lessons were paying off, at least a little, and while he was no where near good enough to even come close to claiming to be a swordsman, at least he wasn't entirely laughable anymore, either.

 

Evan chuckled and slowly drew his sword, the bright silver glinting in the subdued sunshine. He dashed forward, cleaving the weapon without pulling any punches. The blade reverberated as though it were an extension of his arm, an extension of himself.

 

`Damned youkai weapons,' he grunted to himself as he met the blade head-on. He'd figured out through the course of his training that those weapons enabled their users to harness powers that shouldn't have been possible otherwise. Having those attacks directed at him, however, was more than a little daunting.

 

Evan grinned and shoved Kurt back, using his weight against the flat of the blade to send Kurt stumbling. He caught himself and righted his stance, wincing when Evan shot forward, spinning his sword on his nimble fingertips. He caught the hilt in one fluid motion and flicked the blade. Kurt wasn't quite fast enough to spin away, and the rip of fabric was punctuated by the white-hot burn that exploded on his left forearm. Evan hadn't cut him deep, but he had cut him, and it took all of his concentration to keep from dropping the bokuto to grip the injury.

 

Evan didn't stop to gloat. He darted forward, only to stop, digging the tip of his sword into the earth and using it to anchor himself as he spun around, kicking out his legs, knocking Kurt flat on his ass in the gravel. Evan sprang back, jerking the blade free and bringing it straight up, sending a shower of dirt and stones down around Kurt.

 

He rolled to his feet before Evan could attack again, irritation rising at his perceived inability to mount much of an offense. Gritting his teeth so hard that he could feel them scraping, he swung around, the wooden sword smacking hard against the Ternion's blade. He might not win against any of them in a battle of brute force, but that wouldn't stop him from fighting . . .

 

Evan chuckled, blue eyes igniting in an amused glimmer. “Nice,” he approved just before he heaved Kurt away once more.

 

He remained upright, sliding back about ten feet, chest heaving as he wiped his forehead with his right arm.

 

“Time,” Cain called out.

 

Evan nodded, tossing his sword end over end into the air, only to catch it on the way down, sheathing it as he turned away.

 

Gunnar stepped forward next, his expression completely impassive. He sprinted toward Kurt, drawing his sword as he closed in fast. Kurt managed to parry the attack but winced when his knuckles scraped against Gunnar's sword. The arrogant hanyou narrowed his gaze and kicked out a leg, bringing Kurt down. He leveled his sword at Kurt's throat, his eyes taking on an almost gloating glow. With a growl, Kurt knocked the blade to the side and scooted out of the way.

 

Gunnar uttered a somewhat derisive chuckle. “Better,” he allowed. “So why don't you take off that glove and really fight me?”

 

Kurt shook his head, regripped the bokuto. “Don't need to,” he growled, lunging forward, bringing the sword up, aiming for Gunnar's wrist.

 

The hanyou ducked out of the way, though not before Kurt discerned the momentary flash of surprise that surfaced. He spun to the left, swinging the sword with all his might. Gunnar knocked the blade to the side with a twist of his weapon.

 

Caught off-guard by the force Gunnar had used to block him, Kurt grimaced when Gunnar smacked him with a harsh blow aimed at his ribs. He sucked in a sharp breath and smashed his left arm against his side. For one agonizing second, he though he was going to pass out . . .

 

He was so dazed that he had to blink to clear away the darkness that ringed his vision.

 

“Kurt! Watch out!” Samantha's scream split the haze enveloping his mind. Kurt hissed as pain erupted when he dove out of the way to avoid the glowing ball of energy that Gunnar flung at him.

 

He pushed himself to his feet once more, slightly disoriented by the receding ache. A second later, Kurt grunted as Gunnar shot forward, smacking him across the back hard with the flat side of the blade.

 

“Come on—taijya, is it? Get up,” he taunted.

 

Kurt did, slowly, unable to hide the grimace of pain on his face.

 

Gunnar shook his head, gaze narrowing as his lip turned up in a derisive sort of sneer. “Pathetic,” he said.

 

A surge of anger shot through Kurt—anger at the unsettling feeling that he'd never, ever be good enough. With a loud shout, he dashed forward, knocking Gunnar's sword to the side as he swung at him. Gunnar caught his fist, yanking him forward as he shoved with his free hand, sending Kurt sprawling back into the gravel yet again.

 

“Time,” Cain called as Kurt got to his feet.

 

Gunnar dropped his sword into the scabbard and fairly swaggered over to the side, passing by Bas, who strode forward, crossing those damn hamhocks he called arms over his chest. “I want you to fight me for real,” Bas remarked, nodding at Kurt's hand. “That glove helps you contain your spiritual power, right?”

 

Kurt eyed him for a long moment. “Yes.”

 

“I want to see what you can do,” Bas insisted. “Please.”

 

He hesitated, glancing past Bas at Samantha. She seemed to understand his reluctance and nodded once. He wasn't entirely certain why they wanted him to fight that way, but given the fact that Bas was pretty well indestructible, he slowly tugged off the glove and tossed it aside.

 

“Keh! Here,” a voice called out from the gathered mass. Kurt frowned and caught the long teak staff that InuYasha tossed to him. The rings that dangled from the ornately carved metal loop on the end jingled softly, and he scowled when he noticed how sharp the deceptively beautiful loop was. “Hella stupid, if you ask me. Damn monk was never any good with a fucking sword, anyway.”

 

Kurt frowned at the deceptive weapon. `What the hell am I supposed to do with this?' he scoffed. `Smack `em over the head with it?'

 

A strange sense of familiarity seeped through him; a feeling that he somehow knew the weapon. No, it wasn't that he knew it—it was more like he'd seen it somewhere before . . . He sighed inwardly. Even if he had seen it before, it didn't mean that he had even the smallest clue how to use it.

 

But he didn't have a chance to consider that too deeply, either; not when Bas wasn't giving him time to ponder it . . .

 

The dull thud of his footsteps drew closer and closer. Kurt didn't have time to think; he simply reacted. Swinging the staff, he whipped around in a tight circle, the jingle of the rings echoing in his head. Bas tried to alter his course but couldn't as he brought Triumvirate up to block the staff.

 

The man hissed and hopped back as the sharpened loop sliced into his arm. Sparing a moment to glance down at the injury, he nodded. “Not bad, Drevin,” he remarked before he hefted the sword again.

 

Kurt didn't have time to gloat. With a mighty growl, Bas jammed Triumvirate into the ground and dashed forward, lowering his shoulder as he closed in.

 

The impact felt like being hit by a ton of bricks. Kurt grunted, wincing as he hit the ground a few feet away. It was sheer force of will that forced him back to his feet; instinct alone that made him duck in time to avoid the heel of Bas' hand as it snapped past his head.

 

Kurt blocked the next strike with his forearm and swung at Bas, who leaned to the side and kicked out his leg, catching the back of Kurt's knees to bring him down. Kurt retaliated in kind, catching Bas' ankles between his feet and jerking hard.

 

Bas hit the ground beside him then rolled to his feet as Kurt pushed himself up, wiping his brow as he scowled at Bas. Taking a step back, Bas slowly lifted his hand.

 

A hiss, a crackle, as a bright ball of energy formed in his outstretched palm . . .

 

Kurt reacted on instinct, dashing to the side to retrieve the weapon he'd dropped. Hefting the weapon over his head, he bore down on it with all his might, slipping to his knees as he held onto the staff with everything he was worth.

 

A flash of light, a gust of wind blew Kurt's bangs out of his face as a hazy purple light engulfed him. The blast hit Bas head-on, sending him flying back a good twenty feet. He landed hard and didn't move.

 

“Time,” Cain called out tersely. Gin broke away from his side to dart over to her son. Gunnar beat her over there, hunkering down beside Bas to assess the damage.

 

Kurt blinked and stood up slowly, unsure exactly how he'd done that. Bas groaned and sat up. Kurt frowned. He looked rather woozy, but he managed to get to his feet of his own accord, though he did lean rather heavily on Gunnar and Gin as they helped him away from the field of battle.

 

Kichiro snorted and shot Kurt a scathing glower as he brushed past them all. “Come on, Bas. Let me take a look at you,” he said, waving Gunnar away as he helped the young man toward the mansion.

 

“Guess that means I'm next,” Ryomaru muttered from behind Kurt. “This should be fun.”

 

He turned around, facing the hunter. It was on the tip of his tongue to say that he was finished. Samantha, though, was staring at him with a determined sort of expression on her face.

 

Ryomaru slowly, deliberately circled Kurt, taking his time in sizing him up. A lazy grin spread across his features reminding Kurt of a deranged serial killer or something. “A taijya, are you?” he rumbled. “Let's see what you've got, then. I won't be as easy to take down with a fucking barrier as Bas was.”

 

With a low growl, Ryomaru shot forward, splitting his swords apart. Reaching behind himself with both hands, he whipped the blades around to unleash a sizzle of energy from each one. The two forces met and collided, creating a vortex; twin whirlwinds that spun away from him, closing in on Kurt in a rush.

 

He dove to the side in an effort to avoid the tornadoes, but hissed when one of the cyclones caught his shoulder. The pain that reverberated through him was harsh, shocking, and he grimaced a moment later when the very earth shook. The funnels that Ryomaru had loosened impacted hard against a sturdy oak tree about fifty feet behind Kurt . . .

 

Ryomaru wasn't finished though, not by a long shot. Kurt barely managed to block the descending blades, the clash of metal and teak much louder than it ought to have been, rattling through Kurt's head. He barely managed to block the descending blades. The staff groaned, creaked, but didn't give.

 

The man chuckled and pushed against the staff, springing back, away from Kurt. He only spared a moment before he shot forward once more, dragging the swords across the ground, raising sprays of sparks on either side of him as the metal raked against the dull gravel that encompassed the practice area. Kurt sprang to the side as Ryomaru lifted the blade but couldn't avoid the double assault. Grunting as he felt the tip of a blade cut through the fabric of his jeans and the soft flesh of his upper thigh, he just barely managed to land on his feet. The cut wasn't too deep—maybe half a quarter of an inch deep at the worst of it, but it hurt fiercely, and Kurt grimaced as he blocked a string of lighter, faster blows from the nuisance swords. Hands slipping as sweat saturated his palms, he gritted his teeth and tried to hold on . . .

 

“Time,” Cain called, and not a moment too soon. Letting his arms drop—the felt as though they were cast of lead—Kurt fought to keep his fatigue from showing.

 

Ryomaru grinned and stepped back, fastening the swords together once more. Kurt flinched as a flash of light erupted from the fissure where the blades met.

 

“So who's next?” Ryomaru asked carelessly as he sauntered away.

 

Cain glanced at Kichiro, who had returned with Bas during the last fight, though Bas didn't look like he was feeling particularly well, at the moment.

 

“Kichiro?” Cain asked, staring pointedly at Samantha's father.

 

Standing with his arms crossed over his chest, he narrowed his gaze on Kurt for a moment before glancing at his daughter. Kurt didn't know whether or not Samantha knew that Kichiro was watching her, though, since her gaze was fixed on Kurt—a steadiness that seemed to be whispering in his head. `You can do it; I know you can . . .'

 

He saw it, didn't he? The expression on her father's face . . . As though he understood something, though Kurt had no idea what it was, Kichiro narrowed his eyes and gritted his teeth. With a loud snort, he turned on his heel to stalk away. “There's no honor in fighting the likes of him,” he tossed back over his shoulder without breaking his stride.

 

Cain frowned but didn't comment for a moment before glancing over at InuYasha. “You want to finish this up, InuYasha? Unless you've gone soft . . .”

 

“Keh! Shut the fuck up, Zelig,” InuYasha growled. “I don't see you runnin' your happy ass out there to fight. What are you? Chicken shit?”

 

Cain ignored the blatant jibe at his ego and looked around. “Griffin?”

 

The bear-youkai quirked an eyebrow, pinning Cain with the classic `you've-got-to-be-kidding-me' look. “No, thanks,” he muttered.

 

“I don't know . . . maybe the old man's right, Cain,” Evan drawled. “I mean, the rest of us fought him, didn't we? Are you chicken shit?”

 

Cain snorted. “I am not chicken shit, son.”

 

“Your father's scared of him?” Gunnar growled in a very loud aside to Bas, who was sitting on a chair that Gin had dragged over.

 

“Kind of seems that way, doesn't it?” Bas mused in a slightly weaker tone than usual.

 

“I'm not afraid of—I'm not,” Cain stated flatly though his eyes were a little darker than they normally were.

 

“For shame, Zelig-sensei,” Gin said with a slow shake of her head. “I could always fight him, if you don't want to . . .”

 

His head snapped to the side, his gaze widening as he gawped at his little wife. She appeared not to notice as she gave a little shrug and stepped forward. Cain rolled his eyes and caught her arm. “Keep time, will you?” he growled as he yanked off his watch and shoved it into her hand.

 

She smiled sweetly and stepped back beside Samantha. Cain strode over to retrieve the bokuto that Kurt had tossed aside when InuYasha had given him the staff.

 

Kurt eyed Cain warily, unsure what to expect. He'd never seen Cain fight, but Samantha had told him before that youkai bowed to the mightiest, relying on the strength of the tai-youkai, and in their way of life, they truly respected and recognized the strongest as the different regions' tai-youkai. That meant that Zelig was regarded as one of the strongest youkai in the world . . .

 

Mighty heavy claim, wasn't it, considering Kurt had fought Bas and the others on a daily basis . . .

 

Kurt went on the offensive, dashing forward with the staff hefted aloft, only to bring it down hard. Cain parried with the bokuto as Kurt hit the ground and scrambled to his feet.

 

Cain slipped around Kurt in a fluid burst of motion, flicking out the blade to catch Kurt under the arm. He bobbled the staff but didn't drop it, swinging around as he brandished the staff in a wide arc. Cain jumped back, neatly avoiding it, eyeing Kurt warily, his movements controlled, steady. Knocking the staff to the side, he whipped around, using his momentum to smash his elbow into Kurt's stomach.

 

Kurt doubled over, fought to keep himself from puking as his guts twisted over upon themselves in a mass of pain.

 

Cain stepped back, waiting for Kurt to straighten up. “Damn,” Kurt groaned with a wince as he stumbled a few steps away.

 

“Come on, Dr. Drevin. You're not finished yet, are you?” Cain asked quietly.

 

Scowling at him, Kurt forced himself to stand up straight. “`Course not,” he ground out.

 

Cain nodded in silent approval.

 

Damned if he didn't move faster than Samantha. It was almost as though he could dissolve his body or teleport to another place. Shooting from one side to the other, Cain moved with dizzying speed. He swung the bokuto at Kurt, who managed to block with the staff, but not before the blunt blade cracked against his left shoulder.

 

Kurt shoved Cain's sword aside then lowered his right shoulder to bump him back.

 

Cain stumbled. Kurt swung the staff before he could recover. The sharpened loop sliced cleanly through the fabric of his shirt and connected with his skin. Cain hissed out a sharp breath and tossed the bokuto to his other hand as blood seeped into the stark white cotton sleeve of his shirt.

 

Kurt blinked as the blade of the unremarkable weapon took on a teal glow, as though Cain were somehow able to channel his energy into it. A second later, he swung it hard, unleashing a volley of teal blurs shooting directly at him.

 

Kurt vaulted off the ground in an effort to avoid them. The shards of energy ripped through his clothes, singeing his legs. The pain was negligible, but the tingling shock that reverberated up his legs wasn't, and when he landed a moment later, he had to lean upon the staff to keep himself from falling flat on his ass.

 

“Time,” Gin hollered.

 

Cain flipped the sword in the air and jammed it, point down, in the dirt before strolling back over to his wife and reaching for the watch again. “InuYasha?” he asked with a pointed look.

 

The hanyou snorted but stomped forward, standing with his arms crossed over his chest, his ears flicking as though he were listening for something. He glowered at Kurt for a long moment—actually, Kurt had a feeling that he wasn't glowering as much as he was considering something really deeply. His clothing, however, seemed oddly familiar to Kurt—a strange but archaic looking outfit constructed in a recognizably Japanese style and crafted out of what looked like red suede or something like that . . .

 

Kurt wiped the sweat off his brow on his right shoulder and blinked in surprise as InuYasha unsheathed an impossibly old, horribly rusty sword. After being on the receiving end of so many youkai swords of late, why was it that the one being with the most inscrutable aura had a weapon that was so damn pathetic? Straightening his back, he started to smile despite himself—an incredulous sort of sound as he slowly shook his head. That had to be a joke, right? And a really, really bad one, too . . .

 

InuYasha flicked his wrists, and Kurt's humor died away. In a flash of light, that pathetic looking sword transformed into the biggest, meanest, scariest damn thing that he'd ever clapped eyes on. Easily six feet long, the blade, itself, was curved, shiny and razor sharp, and around the hilt was a strange sort of silver-white fur.

 

“Oh, hell, no,” he gritted out, taking a step back away from InuYasha. “You've got to be kidding me!”

 

InuYasha grinned then pushed off the ground, heaving the massive sword over his head and bringing it down as he aimed for Kurt's head. He tried to leap back out of the way, but that damned sword was huge. Lifting the staff between his hands in a futile hope that he could block it, he squeezed his eyes closed as a surge of adrenaline rushed through him.

 

The blade connected with a heavy smack that shook him all the way down his arms. A flare of light erupted around him—from somewhere deep inside him: a flash of power that was stronger than any that he'd ever felt before, and he opened his eyes in time to see a hazy glow emitting from the staff—or was it from him? InuYasha sprang backward as the sword flew the other way, end over end. It sank deep into the earth about fifteen feet away, the blade giving off wisps of smoke that rose and dissipated in the air. It was just a rusty old sword once more, and suddenly, InuYasha chuckled. “So you really are his reincarnation,” he rumbled.

 

“Whose?” Kurt asked. Sure, he'd heard the rumors. InuYasha and Kagome had both told him that he was the reincarnation of some monk they'd known six hundred years ago or so. It bothered him, didn't it? Standing there on that morning with the wind picking up, lightly carrying the scent of impending rain . . . He was Kurt Drevin, wasn't he? The name `Miroku' meant nothing at all to him . . .

 

A flash of a dream that had laid dormant in his memory . . . That strange cave . . . the singing . . . the woman . . . and he'd been holding this weapon in his hands, hadn't he? Dressed in strange black robes with a dark purple sash . . . Miroku . . .?

 

“That was his,” InuYasha called out, waving a hand at the staff in Kurt's hands. “Shakuju,” he said. “Shippou kept it all these years.”

 

“Shippou . . .?”

 

InuYasha nodded, crossing his arms deep within the folds of his strange shirt, his hair blowing in the wind coming off the ocean. Eyes bright gold—he saw everything, didn't he?—InuYasha looked like he was thinking about something: something long past . . . “He traveled with us, too. Worthless little kit at the time . . . ain't worth much more now, come to think of it . . .”

 

Kagome heaved a sigh. “Baka . . .” she muttered under her breath.

 

“You done with this, Zelig?” InuYasha called over his shoulder.

 

The first droplets of rain started to fall. Cain chuckled, too. “Yeah, I think we are,” he said, giving a slow nod of approval. “Kurt . . . you're free to go.”

 

 

Final Thought from Kurt:

Free …?

Blanket disclaimer for this fanfic (will apply to this and all other chapters in Vendetta): 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.