InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Tale of the Twins ❯ Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Last? ( Chapter 27 )

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

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The Last?

Shuarra Meitsuki didn't leave Kuraimaru's room for well over a week before Rin insisted that his bedding needed to be washed if she was going to continue sleeping on it. It was the first time that the younger youkai had ever snapped at her adopted older sister.

“No! You're not going to take it!” Shuarra's eyes had turned entirely red for an instant, before she realized how angry she had gotten. Her eyes softened back to gold. “I mean… No. That's not necessary. It's… fine.”

Rin realized that the sight of her adopted sister getting so ferociously angry so quickly had frightened her. She swallowed a little. “I understand,” she said quietly, turned, and left. She continued bringing meals up for her, but each time, she had to take away another untouched meal.

Three weeks passed since Kuraimaru's departure. Shuarra had not eaten and had not left his room—not once. When Rin was about ready to insist that Sesshoumaru and Naraku drag her forcefully from the room, she entered, not bothering to knock. Shuarra Meitsuki was floating inside a thick purple mist. Her body seemed incandescent. There was something wrong with her body. Something deeply, horribly wrong. Rin couldn't quite place it. There was something about the absolutely vile feeling in the air, the disturbing way the hair on the back of her neck rose. What was this?
She closed the door immediately, and ran, desperately trying to find either Sesshoumaru or Naraku.

She almost ran right in to the latter. She wheeled to a stop. “Shuarra,” she panted. “Something wrong.”
Naraku was gone in a heartbeat.

When Naraku threw open the door, he had been expecting something terrible. Upon seeing his daughter, he relaxed and shut the door. He was glad that Rin had come to him, even if it was not necessary, though.

Shuarra Meitsuki had gotten so upset that she had ruptured some kind of block on her demonic power. She was recreating her body, or at least, the power to do so was flowing through her.

It shouldn't be too much of a problem.

It hurt. But it didn't hurt. It was uncomfortable, but it was comfortable. It was unnerving, but strangely natural.

It was a lot like passing through babyhood to adolescence within the span of a few hours. Too much growth in too little time.

She felt like she had too much mass for her body, too solid. Heavier, but without visibly gaining a pound. How could she ever move again?

She wasn't sure what had brought it on. One minute, she had lying face-down on the floor miserably. The next, it was like something inside of her had woken up and taken over. She had been forced to sit back and watch, letting it run its course.

Kuraimaru looked up at the frozen sky. Damn, it was cold. For a desert, anyway.

Scorching hot in the day, freezing cold at night. He froze upon hearing the tell-tale sounds of a snake. He didn't want to get bitten out of clumsiness. He looked about for the snake and walked around it.

It was weird not having Shuarra Meitsuki around. Sort of peaceful too. They really needed to do more things by themselves, even though they were twins. Even twins should have different interests, different skills, and different life experiences.

She didn't realize that yet, but she would one day. He hoped. If not, she might, at best, not want anything to do with him any more for abandoning her like that. At worst, she would despise him for all eternity.

He hadn't wanted her to watch him leave. He wanted to be mysteriously gone when she awoke. That had been ruined by the twin psychic link—another invasion of his privacy via being a twin.

Well, he didn't really like being thought of as a “unit” anyway. They always called Kuraimaru and Shuarra Meitsuki “the twins.” Well, how about listing them as individuals? If they had been ordinary siblings, they would have a sense of individuality. But that really wasn't what this was about.

He could not stand being near Sesshoumaru. He really couldn't. He knew that it was only the male dominant dog instincts going on, but that didn't change that every time he so much as smelled Sesshoumaru, he wanted to go at his throat. And everything in that house had smelled like Sesshoumaru. Out here, so far away, he could breathe.

A gust of wind blew, getting sand in his long silver hair.

Albeit, if every breathe was filled with sand.

He shook his head slightly. He looked into the distance behind him. The sand seemed to go on forever behind him, but in front, it looked like it might end… eventually. He saw something far ahead of him that looked like it might be the end of the desert. He hoped so. He was getting weary of it, not to mention that he was utterly parched.

Well, he was almost a continent away from his family. Distance was really what he needed for a remedy.

In time, he could go back. Once he could stand Sesshoumaru's existence.

He didn't hate him though. No, he could never do that. It was merely his instincts to attack, kill, and conquer. Once he felt confident that he could rule those instincts, or he had his own established “territory” or family (not something he wanted any time soon), he could easily go back.

But he wasn't going to until then. It would be too hard.

Not that life on his own in the wilderness would not be difficult either.

He blinked sand from his eyes, irritated. He wasn't getting anywhere at this rate. He could either run through the rest of the way (not a wise decision with the terrain), or he could transform. That would be faster.

He chose the second option and loped off into the night like some kind of Japanese werewolf.

Not only was this easier and faster, it was a lot warmer too. Why hadn't he thought of this sooner?

He reflected on his life. He barely remembered Japan. Europe was easier to remember. But America… That was what he knew.

He could never consider himself “American”—his first language was Japanese, of course—but he definitely enjoyed this country. So much of it was so unpopulated, so easy for a youkai to live in.

He especially loved the Natives. He didn't speak any of their dialects well enough to say he could, but he liked their traditions, their ways of living, and—especially—their rituals. He had once chanced upon a ritual on his journey to the west coast. They were doing some kind of dance, playing instruments, and wearing costumes.

It was enthralling. He didn't know what they were saying, but it didn't matter; he understood the spiritual meaning. It was probably the only time he ever truly felt comfortable around a large group of humans. He had the idea that they knew he was present, too. But they didn't panic, and they made no move to acknowledge him. The ritual continued as if he were not there. But they knew he had been watching.

After all, the next morning, he found a freshly slain deer—an offering. He had accepted, naturally. After he had transformed and ate the deer, he found small things on the path, leading him out of the forest. The things he found told him to go left when he would have gone right, and downhill when he would have followed a stream. But the path that had been opened up for him did not stray him wrong.

He had never seen a single one of the tribe, but he could smell them all over the forest, watching him, in curiosity, reverence, and fear. But it wasn't the kind of fear he was used to. They had no intention or want to try to kill him. They worried about him killing them, of course, but retaliation would be unheard of. He was, after all, a youkai. And, while they called him by another name, he recognized the meaning. They knew, and it was okay that they knew.

He wondered if he would come across any more natives like that. The Europeans sure hated them, though. But he got the idea that they hated pretty much everyone, including themselves. They didn't have any problems putting thousands of women and cats to death for the sake of the church. They seemed to be all about death. Their religion preached some strange things, and killing others in the name of love was one of the strangest. But that was okay. The dead were probably reincarnated by now, and, if they deserved it, at peace in their new bodies.

He didn't like how the Europeans did that. He wondered if the European demons were like that too. Were there ever European demons? He would have liked to have met one, but they were probably all gone. So many of them were.

In fact, he hadn't seen another youkai, or even hanyou, in years. Not even in Europe, had they seen any kind of demon. It was strange. Were they all that was left?

The thought took a deep root in his brain. He couldn't shake the feeling, no matter what he did. The prospect of being the only ones left… was frightening.

He slowed down, to think more deeply about that.

It was entirely possible that he, Shuarra, Jaken, Iria, and Sesshoumaru were the only youkai left, considering how “many” they had seen. That would make Naraku, quite likely, the last hanyou.

That was a lonely feeling. He hoped it wasn't true. It would be too sad if it was. He didn't want to be the last of something. He didn't want to be a remnant of something that once made humankind tremble with fear, and now is whispered about in churches as almost mythical beings of evil.

Damn, did they have it wrong. Demons were living, breathing entities that required sustenance, sometimes companionship, sleep, and other basic needs. They had no interest in where one's soul is headed after death. They also had no interest in spiritually assailing a human just to torment him or her. If Kuraimaru was going to assail a human, it would be to eat them, not to cause torment and fear.

But… Was that the only way demons would exist? Through misguided stories? He sure hoped not.

After all, he was still here, and he had no intention of changing that.