InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity Zero ❯ Aoizoku ( Chapter 9 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Sitting with his back against the thick trunk of an old sakura tree, Sesshoumaru frowned as he stared out, over the marshland, at the solitary dead tree in the midst of the swampy ground.

The sun was just beginning to set, which meant that he still had a few more hours’ worth of waiting to do.  As it was, his clothing had finally dried out—well, mostly, anyway.  Jester had opted to head into a nearby settlement—really only a few huts, grouped close together—to see if he couldn’t find out anything more about the Night Reaper, which was also fine with Sesshoumaru.  He didn’t particularly mind having Jester around but having a little bit of time alone was entirely welcome, too.

Pulling Kagura’s feather out of his armor plate, he frowned as he twisted it between nimble fingers, remembering the many times he’d watched her toss it into the air, only for it to expand so that she could hop upon it and fly away.

He hadn’t realized that the last time that he’d watched her do it would really be the last time.

The finality of that cut him deep as he ground his teeth together, clenched his jaw so tightly that it ached.  That horrible feeling, like some part of him was missing, dug at him, opened up an ache so vast, so awful, that he had to will away those thoughts.

It made no sense.

How was it that a simple memory of her was enough to make him want to rip into something—someone?  The rage was so consuming, so overwhelming, that he could feel the tell-tale stirrings as the flow of the blood in his veins shifted, grew stronger, far more powerful with every beat of his heart.  He could feel the pressure in his body, could feel every nerve in him—the final step before his visceral nature took over, but he managed to subdue it, to calm it, before he slowly, almost carefully, opened his eyes.

It had to be anger, didn’t it?  Anger was the trigger for the transformation—at least, without the effort that it took to will himself to do it.  And yet, that feeling wasn’t quite the same, either.  No, it was far more intense, more . . .

‘Do you honestly think that was nothing more than anger?’

For some reason, he didn’t trust himself to answer that question.

‘You really do hate to feel anything, don’t you?  Hate it so much because—’

‘Emotions are a human convention,’ he cut in coldly.  ‘Youkai—This Sesshoumaru . . . does not understand such things because they simply do not exist.  They are nothing to me.’

‘Because you closed that door a long, long time ago, didn’t you?  You shut it all away, along with the memories of Hibana.  You didn’t need them, right?  Just as you didn’t need her . . .’

‘That was a long time ago,’ he argued.

‘But you do know it on some level.  That was why—'

‘Enough.  Digging up the past avails me nothing.’

‘Except you never did want to hear it, did you?  Even when you found Rin, you—’

‘Rin has nothing to do with this.’

‘Doesn’t she?’

He didn’t respond to that, either.

“What do you think they’re made of?”

Sesshoumaru blinked, turned his head to frown at Hibana as the two of them lay in the tall, thick grass in the small and picturesque meadow.  Full of the summer flowers and the long and wavering grasses, the smells of earth and the sunbaked sweetness that he tended to think of as ‘brown’, they’d spent the last few hours, chasing butterflies, trying to catch them.  They hadn’t managed to catch any of them, which was fine since it was more fun to chase them, anyway.  Even so, Hibana’s question had caught him off guard since he wasn’t sure what she was talking about now.  “What what are made of?”

She wrinkled her nose.  “The clouds, Sesshou!  I mean, they have to be made of something, don’t they?”

His frown deepened as he turned his attention back to the skies overhead and the puffy, white clouds that seemed to be floating so high above.  “They’re not made of anything, really,” he told her.  “They’re just kind of . . . damp, like fog, only in the sky instead of on land.”

She heaved a sigh, very obviously disapproving of his blunt and pragmatic answer.  “They look fluffy, like piles of feathers,” she ventured.  “Do you think they’re as soft as your Mokomoko-sama?”

Wrinkling his nose as he yanked the end of his Mokomoko-sama out of her hand, Sesshoumaru made a face.  “They’re not made of feathers, baka, and they don’t feel like much of anything—except damp,” he scoffed as he rolled to his feet.

“Have you flown through them before?” she demanded, pushing herself onto her hands and knees as she tried to grab the fur once more.

“It’s not a toy,” he told her with a frown.  “And of course I have.  How else would I know that it’s nothing but damp?”

She made a face, settling back on her heels, her hands falling into her lap in a dejected kind of way.  “I wish I could . . .”

“You mean, you still can’t transform?” he asked.

His question earned him a rather sullen look.  “I tried, but it’s too hard.”

He said nothing about that for a moment.  Given that his own father had said that transforming was harder to do if he wasn’t angry and reacting to emotion, he supposed he could understand that.  “All you have to do is practice,” he told her, mostly to alleviate that sense of defeat that was rolling off her in waves.

“Everything’s easy for you,” she pouted.  “There’s nothing you can’t do.”

Letting out a deep breath, Sesshoumaru slowly shook his head.  It might well have had more to do with the backhanded compliment, but still . . . “Come on,” he said, waving a hand to get her to hurry.

“Where are we going?” she asked, her tone, still quite sulky.

“Just come on,” he stated once more, taking a few steps away from her.  He wasn’t very big, no, but he’d definitely be large enough to carry a slip of a girl like Hibana . . .

She giggled, her slight irritation with him, instantly forgotten as she hopped up and darted to his side while he concentrated on transitioning to his visceral form.  He was getting better at it—faster.  If he kept working on it, he’d be able to do so whenever the mood struck him, he supposed.

Uttering a terse woof at her, he waited until she crawled onto his back before leaping off the ground, straight into the sky.  He’d never managed to leap quite that high before, but with a mighty lunge, he broke into the lowest cloud.  Hibana’s laughter rang in his ears, and he shook his head, barked out a happy sound in response.  

He could feel the moisture in the cloud as it instantly condensed on him, but it was in a vaguer kind of way.  Still, he was able to round a couple of times before he could feel his body dropping lower.  Fatigue set in pretty fast when he did manage to transform, but that was fine.  He could feel the girl’s happiness, it was so thick in her youki.  He lit on the ground without incident, and Hibana scooted off of his back when his feet touched down once more, and he flopped onto his back, struggling to catch his breath, as his body reverted to its humanoid form.

“They still look like feathers,” she said, her eyes sparkling in the afternoon sunlight.  “When I can do that, will you take me to see your home?”

Cracking an eye open, he slowly gave a nod.  She’d mentioned that before.  He lived in the sky mansion with his parents, but Hibana’s parents had opted to remain on the earth.  The sky mansion was always shrouded in those clouds, isolated, maybe even a little lonely, and the only way to get there was to transform.  His father had once said that there was a barrier in place, that only those who were in their visceral form could see it.  Then he’d gone on to say that Sesshoumaru was getting too big to be carried to it, which was why he was concentrating so hard on his transformations . . .

“Sesshoumaru!”

Pushing himself up on his elbows with a grimace that he tried to hide, he quickly scrambled to his feet as his father landed, not far away.  The wind blew his silvery hair, lifted the ends of the long sash he wore around his waist, the stark black of his armor such a contrast from the white of his clothing beneath, the burnished metal of his shoulder and arm plates, shining brilliantly in the light.  Bright golden eyes that missed nothing immediately lit upon his son, and he broke into a small smile.  The strength that fairly exuded from him was enough to give Sesshoumaru a moment’s pause.  He had very little doubt that his father was the strongest youkai in the world, and he grinned as he hurried over to greet him.  “Chichiue!  Welcome home!”

His small smile widened slightly as he paused long enough to ruffle Sesshoumaru’s hair.  “All is calm, as it should be,” he said.  He’d been gone for the last fortnight, checking the reaches of his domain.  “Ah, Hibana-chan . . . Are you keeping Sesshoumaru out of trouble for me . . .?”

The little girl laughed.  “Yes!  He took me to see the clouds!  I rode on his back!”

“Did you?” his father asked, cocking an eyebrow as his gaze shifted to Sesshoumaru once more.  “Very good.”

Sesshoumaru’s cheeks pinked slightly, basking in the warmth of his father’s praise . . .

The memory faded, and Sesshoumaru’s frown darkened.

‘Utterly useless,’ he thought, brushing aside the misplaced feelings of nostalgia.  What was the point of remembering those who were long gone?

There was no answer, just the steady whisper of the trees.


They needed some help.

Striding away from the huts that stood in close proximity, Jester frowned as he lifted his chin, let his gaze sweep over the landscape.

Yes, they had some things to work from, vague references to this Night Reaper, but nothing really aside from that—nothing that really explained anything, as far as what the Blackened Tears were or how to obtain them . . .

It was too soon to give up, of course, and, even if that were an option, something told Jester that Sesshoumaru was a little too stubborn to admit defeat, anyway.

No, the thing that bothered him the most was Kagura herself.  If she gave in—if she ate the food of Yomi—then there wasn’t a thing that anyone could do to save her.  Unfortunately, too, no matter what his own feelings on it were, there was nothing he could do to prevent it from happening, either . . .

It had already been over a week in earth time, and, while time passed slower in Yomi, it didn’t reassure him as much as he’d like.  No, there was only one being who could really dictate anything, but the problem was, whether or not she would—or could.  After all, there were a few things that even Izanami-sama couldn’t control . . .

Glancing around the immediate surroundings, ascertaining that he was alone, Jester slipped off the path and into a small alcove created by some bushes that grew just outside the line of sparse trees on the rise of the hillside.  It wasn’t exactly an ideal location, but it would do for what he needed.  A little bit of cover, just enough to be hidden from wandering passers-by . . . Sinking down, resting against a thick boulder, he pushed up the long sleeve of his robe, pressed his hand against his forearm, allowing his youki to flow into it—the invisible mark that Izanami had put upon the body he was occupying . . .

“Ah, Jester,” the ruler of Yomi greeted, her voice coming to him in a whisper well before he opened his eyes.  “Is there something you require?  Have I not done enough, granting you leave of this accursed place?  Is it the body?” She sighed.  “I apologize.  It was very short notice, you realize, so I was limited in what I had to work with . . .”

Frowning thoughtfully at the woman, he slowly shook his head.  “The body’s fine, Izanami-sama—well, aside from it having belonged to a weaker youkai, but then, I’m not there to fight, now am I . . .? Anyway, I wanted to know if you had more information on the keepers of the Sacred Ward—specifically, the southern ward.”

“Isn’t that your task?” she parried, though not unkindly.  In fact, she almost sounded as though she might be teasing.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned back, gaze almost lazy, taking in her black-clad visage.  In all the years he’d known her, even he had never seen her true face.  Vanity, she’d once said.  She couldn’t stand the idea of anyone looking upon her . . . “Do you want him to fail?  Surely not in the retrieval of the Ward—that benefits you, after all—but in his quest to regain Kaze no Kagura?”

“Do you honestly think that I would resort to such trickery?” she demanded.  “Do you believe that I would waste his time and my own on a whim?”

“Come now, Izanami-sama.  All you really have at your disposal are your whims.  You didn’t have to allow him audience at all, now did you?  Yet, you did.  Why?”

“Were you not the one who told me of his determination?  That he braved the wraiths, just to see her?  His courage was commendable—those were your words, Jester.  Or were you simply being sentimental, seeing someone who still walks above us, braving this forbidden realm, all for the sake of a woman?” she countered, her voice taking on a hint of censure.  “I extended him an invitation because I wanted to test him, to see how deep his resolve dwelled.  He proved his mettle, and I granted him audience.  Yet, after all that, you question my motives?  Why is that?”

Unmoved by her long and pretty speech, by the outrage that belied her words, Jester shook his head.  “Because you told him yourself that if she eats the food of Yomi before he completes his tasks, she’ll be lost to him forever, so I’m asking: did you set him up to fail, Izanami-sama?”

He could sense her irritation, her instant and intense spark of righteous outrage, and she verified it was she rose from the dais and strode past him, over to the doorway, out of the opened shoji screens, only to pivot on the polished walkway to face him once more.  “So, you believe that I asked him to gather the Ward, simply for my own benefit, and, all the while, you suspect that I anticipate that he will fail?”

“That’s what I’m asking, Izanami-sama,” he replied calmly.  “You know that the odds are high that she’ll eat the food of Yomi.  You, more than anyone, understand that hunger—how consuming it can be, how ugly it is—and how rare it is that one is able to resist the lure once it is offered.  You know that gnawing ache that never goes away, that grows, larger, uglier, with every passing moment when all you can feel—the only thing you can feel—is that awful ache.”

Uttering a terse little grunt, Izanami waved a hand, opening a projection in the air before him, and he frowned thoughtfully.  It was Kagura’s soul, still trapped in that desolate little chamber.  That she hadn’t begun yet to assemble her visage of hell meant that she still hadn’t eaten, and that was encouraging—for now.  Far stranger, however . . . “You still haven’t presented her with food?”

Izanami sighed.  “I haven’t allowed it yet,” she admitted.  “However, it must be soon.  Her soul grows restless.  She must either fight the temptation . . . or not.”

Jester nodded slowly.  It was a fine line, indeed.  A restless soul if left alone would slowly begin to degenerate.  The very act—the struggle against the temptation of allowing oneself to eat the offered food or not would ultimately preserve her spirit—or damn it, should she give in.

“There is nothing I can do about that.  As time passes—as I watch her—it becomes clear to me that she is already showing signs of loss.  How much of herself do I dare to allow to fall away before she is given the choice, Jester?  What percentage of her does Sesshoumaru look to save?  A vague shadow?  A profound sense?  Tell me, then . . . You know as well as I that the balance is precarious, at best . . . Shall I withhold the one thing that could preserve her soul, just to keep her from giving in to temptation?”

Jester frowned at the candid sense of gravity in the woman’s tone, in her very subtle movements.  It was something that she was weighing with every moment that slipped away.  How long did she dare to keep Kagura from making her own choice, and yet . . .

Izanami shook her head.  “Tell me, Jester.  What would you do?”

“Forgive me for doubting your intentions, Izanami-sama . . . Kagura’s loss . . . It is not yet profound, is it?”

“I wouldn’t know without visiting her myself,” the queen remarked at length, watching as the wind sorceress’ soul seemed to ebb and flow in the darkness.  “She had suffered some of it, but the extent isn’t something I can judge just from observing her.  At such time, however, that I feel that she is on the brink of losing herself entirely . . . You must know—Sesshoumaru must be told . . .”

And he understood that, too.  Izanami-sama . . . It was all there, all in her every action, her every word.  She honestly did want Sesshoumaru to succeed, not just for her own benefit, but for himself, too.  Something about him, about his plight, had touched the timeless queen . . . and . . . “Just what did you see when you looked into his mind?” he couldn’t resist asking, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Flicking her hand once more, dismissing the vision of Kagura, Izanami glided back over to the dais once more, knelt on the cushions, her irritation spent.  “In truth?  I have never seen a more determined spirit.  He will restore her, or he will die, trying—and he really doesn’t even understand why.  In his mind, he has convinced himself of these reasons, and yet, he cannot quite grasp the simplicity of it all, either.”  Suddenly, she laughed, but it was a sad kind of sound—full of a melancholy born of ages within the confines of this place.  “That one . . . He has lived his life, convincing himself that his reasons are sound—tells himself convenient answers so many times that he absolutely believes them to be his truths.”

“That sounds . . . sad,” Jester mused.

Izanami nodded slowly.  “It is,” she said.  “I have seen it, Jester.  If he fails in retrieving her . . . then he is doomed to live out his life, stuck where he is now, and all of those things that he tells himself will dictate everything now and in the future.”

“The future . . .”

“I see great things in him—and yet, I see a nothingness, too.  Both possibilities exist within him, but whatever he does or does not do will surely hold great impact for the shape of the world in the centuries to come.”

“Is he really so important?”

“Do you think that he is not?” she challenged.  “Isn’t that the true reason you wished to accompany him upon this mission?”

Jester shook his head.  “I wouldn’t know.”

She laughed, and this time, it was entirely pleasant, but that laughter died away quickly enough, and she sighed instead.  “The only thing I can tell you is that the Night Reaper that they told you about—he is not the keeper of the Blackened Tears.  However, in order to obtain the Blackened Tears, the two of you must confront the Night Reaper.  Only then will the way to Aoizoku open.”

“Aoizoku?”

She nodded slowly.  “The Night Reaper captured Aoizoku long ago.  It’s the Blackened Tears that gives the Night Reaper his power.”

“I see.”

“Good.  Then you’d better return now.  I sense that Sesshoumaru is looking for you.”

Jester bowed quickly, and when he opened his eyes, he blinked in disorientation as he stared up through the tangled branches of the bushes at the sliver of a moon so high overhead . . .

“The Night Reaper captured Aoizoku long ago.  It’s the Blackened Tears that gives the Night Reaper his power.”

‘Aoizoku . . .’