InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ The Archangel ❯ Chaos Incarnate ( Chapter 8 )

AN: I'll be incredibly brief, but I just wanted to address the confusion about Sesshoumar's last name. As far as Kagome knows, his name is Sesshou Tadiama, who works at the investment banking firm which his family holds ties to, Tadiama Investors. His real name is Sesshoumaru Takishima, and we all know he is most certainly not in the banking business. Hopefully all this will become more clear in the next couple of chapters. I will go back and check for errors though, so please let me know if you see any.

 

I also, in one of many incredible reviews(thanks guys!), got a great question about the tensaiga. I don't think I will introduce the sword in this story, as the plot doesn't seem to require it and it would just be forced, but it does lead to some interesting possibilities for a sequal, but that will have to wait until after TFB or I may be flogged...

The Archangel

By: Undecidedlycertain

Chapter Eight

Chaos Incarnate

 

New York City

Project Miasma, Underground Headquarters

Sunday, June 19th 1:45 pm EST

43 Hours to Archangel Release

 

There just wasn't much good to say about the 10x10 concrete box they had her kenneled in: it was cold, dank, and filthy, she was cast in a dismal amount of filtered yellow light, which did nothing to brighten her already depressing situation, and there was a strong smell of moldy decay that clung to her clothes and hair like a parasite.

 

But, on the up side, the acoustics were fabulous!

 

CLANG

 

BANG

 

RATTLE

 

"I demand to speak to someone in charge NOW!" Kagome screeched at the top of her voice, giving the bars of her ratty cage a shake for emphasis. Her throat was beginning to get raw, cracking on the highest pitch, but she'd been screaming her head off for the better part of an hour now.

 

Her guard continued to stare at her blankly, as though what little bit of brain he may have possessed was as stagnant as the air in the dank dungeon. He was young, maybe sixteen - seventeen at most: far too young to be entangled in such a sordid criminal organization. But sadly he wasn't the only disaffected youth she'd seen scuffling down the hall, looking far too fierce and broken for their lack of years.

 

She had been watching carefully, trying every trick in the book to garner some attention and sympathy. From the few faces she'd seen passing her hovel, it seemed that Naraku attracted everything from the drugged out dregs of society to some pretty lethal looking seasoned fighters. Probably hired muscle.

 

But no matter what she tried, none of them would tell her anything. It was incredibly frustrating!

 

With an infuriated scream she kicked at the bars once more, the loud metallic clang ringing off the walls loudly. Her guard didn't even blink.

 

And now her foot hurt.

 

Kagome sighed loudly, glaring at the young man and almost daring to miss the fruit loop. The overly effeminate guard had bolted when they brought down her lunch: cold soup and stale crackers. She was pretty sure it was supposed to have been vegetable, but it looked like brown broth sparsely flavored with unidentifiable brown lumps.

 

Actually, it wasn't half bad if you didn't look at it, though that was probably the hunger talking. She had swallowed it down with zeal, barely noticing the taste as she savored her victory over Queenie McFroo-Froo.

 

Once Kagome had realized that the primped up man in the pink shirt and camouflage pants would jump like he'd been bitten every time she coughed, she'd made a game out of seeing just how high she could make him go. Unfortunately he didn't find it nearly as amusing. Now she was stuck with the drone.

 

Dark hair pulled into a low ponytail, and bangs that shadowed over expressionless eyes: he looked like a cast-off from The Night of the Living Dead set, minus the groaning and brain sucking.

 

Kagome sighed and slunk back into a corner.

 

She needed a new plan.

 

New York City, Financial District

CIA Headquarters

Sunday, June 19th 10:00 am EST

46 Hours 5 Minutes until Archangel Release

 

"Seriously though," Inuyasha skipped forward to keep up with his brother's hurried strides, "does the old coot actually live in there?" He pulled the rusted blade, Tetsusaiga, a few inches free of its sheath. Still rusted, still corroded, and still looking like it wouldn't even cut paper.

 

"I don't ask questions that I don't care to know the answers to." Sesshoumaru answered stiffly, turning down the corridor back toward the central control room where Shippo was hunting for leads.

 

Inuyasha slapped the battered old sword into its skin with a scowl, "Keh. I bet he does. Crazy old goat."

 

Sesshoumaru stepped through a door on the right that led to a room filled with the soft hum and whirr of at least two-dozen next generation computers, all running at top speed. The static charge in the air given off by the machines was enough to set the fine hairs on his arms on end.

 

He had never had much love for the things himself, but they served their purpose.

 

Shippo looked up nervously from his seated position behind a wide monitor, green eyes creased in concentration, and flaming red hair nearly brown where it stuck to his forehead with perspiration. He had been running every program known to man, and a few he'd been developing on his own, with nothing to show for it.

 

Sesshoumaru could tell just by the look on his face that things were not going well.

 

"Give us good news Shippo." Inuyasha demanded, spinning an empty chair around backwards and dropping into it.

 

"I...uh...I wish I could. It's like he's just dropped off the face of the earth. No trace of unidentifiable jaki, not even a sign of Kagome's aura. I don't understand it. Even as repressed as her power is, I should still be able to get a reading from it. It's like they've just disappeared."

 

“And what of Onigumo?” Sesshoumaru's fists tightened at his sides, but he forced a sense of calm.

 

“That's the weird part.” Shippo swung his chair back and fourth with a nervous tension. “It seems like the entire public façade has been completely shut down. The phones at the corporate offices are all being directed to a public mailbox, and an operative scooping the building said its been closed up and cleared out, like they were never there to begin with.”

 

“What?” Inuyasha's eyes were wide and incredulous. “How the hell does something like that slip under the radar? Don't we have people watching them?”

 

“Yeah, its crazy! I mean an organization that size, completely purged in one night. And the building was under surveillance. How they did all that right under our noses…well, it's a little scary.”

 

“Underground tunnels?” Sesshoumaru asked, walking around to look at the screen.

 

Shippo frowned, pulling up the satellite pictures, and then the buildings blue prints in a smaller pop-up box. “None that we've been able to find. Unlike the hotel, this building is rented.”

 

“Who owns it?”

 

“What does that matter?” Inuyasha asked his brother with a quizzical look.

 

“There could be a connection.” Shippo conceded, pulling up the information with swift keystrokes that echoed with a soft tap-tapping. “Its unlikely though. The building is owned by Rudolph Estrada of Estrada Real Properties, LTD. He's an old real estate mogul who hit his hay day thirty years ago, and has spent the last fifteen enjoying his millions while living on the coast of Greece. He supported a wild-card Libertarian candidate with some generous donations a few years back, but otherwise has no political or criminal connections.”

 

“Who runs the company if he's in Greece?” Inuyasha piped up curiously, rolling his chair closer to get a look at the information scrolling on the screen.

 

“Um…managed by an accounting firm, reputable, no affiliation with any known contacts of Naraku.”

 

Sesshoumaru flicked his hand impatiently. “Bring up the blue prints again.” He stared for a long time at the three-dimensional building design, occasionally indicating with a gesture of his hand to enlarge here or zoom there.

 

A grim frown pulled at his mouth as he finally spoke. “Get me the city's zoning plans for that sector.”

 

“Sure.” It didn't take the technological genius long to pull exactly what Sesshoumaru wanted, regardless of the poor quality and sheer mass of information compiled about the city's underbelly.

 

An intense look of concentration covered his naturally stoic face. He signaled to zoom once, then once more, at a section of sewer line.

 

“This section is newer.” He pointed out.

 

“Hey, yeah. You're right. I didn't see that. Looks like a bypass. Lets see where the old line ran.”

 

It took a little longer, the information had been buried quite effectively, but Shippo wasn't the Agencies youngest ever Head of Technological Research and Development for nothing.

 

“It was coded?” Inuyasha sat forward, clearly surprised. “I didn't think public records were coded like that.”

 

“They're not.” Shippo said lightly, cracking the code in a matter of moments by running it through a program he had developed himself. “Its not a problem,” the blue prints appeared on screen, and the teckie grinned smugly, “but it was done intentionally. Someone was trying to hide this.”

 

The print was old, the scanned copy faded in some areas, crinkles from the original showing like a spider webbing of pale gray lines. It was still readable though.

 

Shippo blew out a low whistle through his teeth, leaning back in his chair and locking his hands behind his head. “You see that?”

 

Inuyasha squinted at the screen. “Looks like the old sewer line ran right under the building.”

 

“Yup.” Shippo agreed. “And take a lookie here,” he clicked on a section of the page, zooming in.

 

“Well, shit.” Inuyasha cursed softly. “I guess we know how they did it, then.”

 

Apparently not only did the old sewer line run directly under the building, it seemed the complex had been built directly on top of an old access station. It connected to the buildings basement.

 

From the old line, they would have easy access to the bypassed line, and from there…from there they would have an unobstructed path to anywhere in the city.

 

“I want teams sweeping the sewers. If they're using the tunnels to get around, they may have a bunker furrowed out down there somewhere. I want youki tracers, thermo - scans, and DNA screens run all along those lines.”

 

“Sure thing, boss.” Shippo snapped to attention, sending out the urgent memo to Miroku's blackberry via e-mail. “If they're down there, we'll find them.” He paused, considering his words carefully. “Unfortunately, if they're only using the lines for transport, and judging by their thoroughness in hiding the clues, they were probably smart enough to cover their trail. It'll be tough to follow them. The search could take hours…maybe days.”

 

Sesshoumaru's angry growl cut off any explanations the fox may have had to offer. Inuyasha jumped to his feet as Tokijin was pulled from his brother's belt, the angry jaki of the sword radiating with a palpable blue aura.

 

"Whoa, Sess, be reasonable. I'm sure it wont take that long."

 

Sesshoumaru ignored his brother's weak attempts to placate him, instead turning his rage on a wall of computers at the back. Power shot forth from the sword with out any sort of spoken command - with out even being swung, turning the computers and the wall behind them to ash in an instant.

 

"Get a team down there now. I want a thorough sweep.”

 

Shippo nodded mutely, clearly terrified by the menacing timbre rolling through his voice like distant thunder.

 

“I want her found. If you don't find her your way soon, I start my own search." Sesshoumaru warned with a snarl, turning on his heel and stomping back out the way he came.

 

Shippo gulped and dove headfirst back into his calculations, trying to find something, anything, lest he might be on the receiving end of Sesshoumaru's next fit of rage.

 

A head poked through the charred hole in the wall, staring incredulously at the carnage, just as Inuyasha turned to follow his brother.

 

"That bad, huh?" Koga hazarded a guess, looking thin lipped to the silver haired hanyou. Inuyasha nodded stiffly. "Well I just got news, our plane leaves in thirty minutes. We've got to head down to the strip."

 

With a torn expression, Inuyasha looked from Koga to the door his brother had disappeared through moments before.

 

"We've got to go man." Koga stated cautiously, no sense in invoking the rage of both inu brothers. "I know you want to help him, but the best way to do that right now is by getting the Shikon. Once we get Kagome back in one piece you two can hunt the bastard down and rip him to shreds."

 

Inuyasha sighed and nodded. As much as he hated to admit it, the wolf was right. Sesshoumaru would do what he felt he had to do, and he would do what he could to help.

 

New York City, Lower East Side Manhattan

Project Miasma, Underground Headquarters

Sunday, June 19th 2:00 pm EST

42 hours 45 min till Archangel release

 

The damp grit that coated the walls now also coated the palms of both her hands in a thick, coal-black stain. She'd been over every inch of dirty cinderblock that she could reach and had found nothing: not a crack, not a chip.

 

She refused to give up though. She began again, starting in the back right corner, running her hands searchingly over the cold stone. There had to be something. If only she had something she could use as a sledge.

 

She cast a furious look over her shoulder at her guard. He was still standing exactly as he had been fifteen minutes ago, which was the same spot he'd been in for the last two and a half hours.

 

It was seriously pissing her off.

 

On some level she knew it was an irrational reaction, but on another much more gratifying level, she realized she didn't care if it was rational or not.

 

“If you're still breathing over there, rub your belly and stand on one leg.”

 

No reaction.

 

“Oh well.” Kagome sang in mock disappointment. “I suppose that means you're dead. If you could just toss the keys my way before keeling over, that would be great.”

 

Still nothing.

 

Kagome huffed out some bad words under her breath, too far past her limit to be embarassed at her laps of femininity, and turned to resume her search. About three rows of gray concrete bricks later found her raging around her cell like a caged animal, screaming at the top of her lungs, and shaking the wall of iron bars that refused to budge even a smidgeon.

 

Even though she knew it was foolish, that it wouldn't work, she wedged her shoulder between two of the bars. She managed to squeeze most of her right leg and arm through before getting hung on her hip and collarbone. It startled her to realize she was crying again. The warmth of her tears was a stark contrast to the cold metal against the soft skin of her cheek.

 

In a last ditch effort she tried to push the bars farther apart so she could squeeze through, screaming and rattling them again when she failed.

 

It was incredibly frustrating to feel so trapped and helpless.

 

“Please.” She slid to her knees, the bars slipping easily through her fatigued finger. “Please let me go.”

 

She was begging him, damn it. The least he could do was look at her.

 

“Please h-help me. I don't h-have anything to do w-with this.” Her voice cracked and wavered piteously. “I have to get out of here.”

 

She wept for a long time then, the top of her head barely brushing the bars as her body quaked.

 

Exhaustion was setting in, and her raging and weeping had left her feeling empty, completely drained of emotion. She wanted to lay herself on the ground and sleep. Maybe she would be granted the mercy of having one last dream of the happy life that seemed forever ago now.

 

One last dream of Sesshou.

 

Ever so slowly her body lowered to the floor, limbs sprawled whichever way they landed. She felt heavy. Her body ached fiercely: she supposed whatever virus they had infected her with was starting to take hold. It was nothing compared to the hollow aching in her chest, though.

 

There, she felt cold. Cold and completely alone.

 

New York City,

City Sector B43, Municipal Sewer System, Section 7

Sunday, June 19th, 11:45 am EST

45 Hours Until Archangel Release

 

Miroku Houshi chose to lead the team sweeping the sewers himself, despite his distaste for the destination. As soon as Shippo had sent him the data, even before he'd explained the technical readouts and the attempt to bury the old blue prints, he'd felt a terrible prickle of foreboding that clenched his stomach like sour milk.

 

Ordinarily he would just send in a group of five or so of his subordinates, running the operation from the peace (and cleanliness) of his office where he was set up with as many monitors as he had camera's on site. He was a strategist, and occasionally served as a negotiator, his smooth demeanor and keen intellect best suited in a planning capacity.

 

That's not to say he couldn't hold his own in a fight, far from it. Anyone at his rank had to be the best of the best, or they'd have been taken out long before reaching Captain.

 

There was just something about this, though, that had his instincts screaming with unease, which was unsettling all of its own. His instincts were spot on more often than not, and they never screamed.

 

Now, down in the black, stinking underbelly of the city, everything had gone deathly quiet, as if the entire universe was suddenly holding its breath.

 

“Team two, report.” His voice was low, but not whispered, as he spoke into the COM.

 

There was a touch of static, nothing to worry about, but it was obvious immediately that Sango had been grinding her teeth again. The oral mic's were a flashy bit of technology usually reserved for undercover work, but in the dark, with unknown combat situations looming before them, it was best to have your equipment someplace it couldn't easily be dropped, crushed, or knocked off.

 

“Nothing yet.” Sango sounded tense. It was probably because of their location: the combat specialist was as tough as they come, but she had always been afraid of the dark. The thought made Miroku smile a little, reminding himself to take the piss out of her for it later.

 

Even with the aid of the night vision lenses, the dank, wet expanse of tunnel was dark and eerie, everything cast in shades of green, gray, and black. Other than the constant motion of the sludgy river down the central vale of the piping, the sewer seemed devoid of any sight or sign of life. Not even the scurrying of rats could be heard.

 

“Infra-red scan.” He instructed Spence, the operative scuffling stealthily along the grating on the other side of the tube. There was a nearly inaudible click when he switched the device on, and a small whirring as it heated up.

 

“Nothing, sir.”

 

“Nothing at all?” he asked in concern.

 

“No sir. Other than you and I, that is.”

 

This was bad. There were always rats in the sewers. Sometimes snakes found their way down, drawn by the dark seclusion, along with an assortment of other small rodents, and occasionally a hobo or two, but there were always rats. That meant something down here was driving them off.

 

Or eating them…

 

“Sango.” He called smoothly over the mic.

 

“Here.”

 

“Hold your position. I'm going to do a sweep for Youki.”

 

“Did you find something?” she asked, sounding both relieved and tense.

 

“No. That's the problem.” He didn't have to explain. They had been working together long enough that she was often able to instinctively grasp his train of thought almost immediately, with few words having to pass between them.

 

“No rats.” She whispered, realization coating her voice with the cool alertness of a seasoned warrior.

 

“Precisely. You're so quick and intelligent,” he crooned, teasing her despite the seriousness of the situation, “no wonder I can't keep my hands off you.”

 

There was an indelicate snort, which sounded oddly distorted through the oral inset, but her amusement was clear as a bell. “The reason you can't keep your hands off me has a lot more to do with your condition than my intelligence.”

 

“Condition?” Spence piped up with a concerned sort of interest. Usually he feigned deafness when they started in on the heavily intoned sexual banter, but this obviously piqued his curiosity enough to speak up.

 

“Ah!” Miroku placated with a little chuckle. “Nothing to worry about.”

 

“Yes.” Sango's quick-witted response cracked over the audio feed, warm and vindictive, just the way he liked it. “Chronic Perversion is neither contagious nor fatal.”

 

Spence seemed quite unsure what to say to that, and so settled for “That's good to hear, then.” Then more quietly added, “I guess.”

 

Sango's quiet laughter rolled over the headset, even though she could have muted the mic.

 

“Ok.” Miroku cleared his throat loudly, pulling the long Shakujou staff from its place on his back. “Let's get down to business. We are on a time limit here, people.”

 

The Shakujou was not the most practical of weapons to bring into battle, at least not in the 21st century, but when dealing with spiritual energy, human or youkai, it had always proved its worth despite its ungainliness. The jangling of the rings echoed around them, sounding more like a wind chime than a powerful tool, but that peaceful tinkling was part of what he liked about it. The mix of Zen and chaos, monk and warrior, combined in a perfectly balanced, ever moving circle.

 

With a grand sweep and a few softly uttered words, Miroku felt his spirit fan out around him, searching for even the slightest remnant of energy. It didn't take long.

 

“Shit.” He rarely swore, even under the worst circumstances, but when he found himself rebounding off a barrier strong enough to send him staggering back into his body, he couldn't seem to bite one off fast enough.

 

“What is it?” Sango asked immediately, already moving her team back toward them. “Did you find something?”

 

“You could say that.” He replied, steadying himself with a hand against the slimy tunnel wall. “There's a barrier down here strong enough to stop a small warhead.”

 

“What?” Sango's voice was incredulous, her feet slapping hurriedly at the damp grating and concrete that made up the access pathways. “How did we not pick that up on the sensors?”

 

A dark grimace pulled his mouth into a taught slash below his perfectly straight nose. That was an excellent question, but a better one would be: how did he fail to detect something so strong before now? Or better yet, who was this Naraku to have the kind of power it would take to mask such a huge amount of energy?

 

“Get your team over here as soon as possible.” He ordered quietly, his mind already running through projections and scenarios, trying to pick out the best course of action to avoid his teams annihilation. “I have to call this in.”

 

“Already on my way.”

 

Pulling out his phone with hands that still shook slightly from the shock of running into such a powerful force so unexpectedly.

 

“Give me the good news first, Houshi.” Kaede's age-crackled voice answered halfway through the first ring.

 

“I'll give you both together, there's not much distinction between the two anymore, it seems.”

 

 

New York City, Lower East Side Manhattan

Project Miasma, Underground Headquarters

Sunday, June 19th 2:15 pm EST

42 hours 30 min till Archangel release

 

Her eyelashes fluttered a few times before lowering to rest at the crest of her cheeks, her breathing becoming shallow and even, though she was still very much awake.

 

Everything around her, though, had gone still, and, perhaps because she was too spent to wonder at it, the peace of it washed over her like a warm, familiar smelling blanket.

 

Her senses fanned out, both heightened and numbed all at once in a strange mix of awareness. She could no longer feel the cold seeping into her bones from the floor, or the way the bare concrete made her joints ache, but she could feel the multitude of bodies in the building.

 

 

The way their aura's glowed, or pulsed, or writhed: the delicacy of the human soul and the inherent power deeply seated with in the Youkai. It was nearly overwhelming.

 

And she could feel him too: dark and malicious. Writhing as if in a constant struggle with in his soul. Naraku's presence loomed over the whole place like a dark shadow.

 

Then she was reaching outward, unsure whether it was a subconscious need to be away from the oppressive presence of her captor, or a secret yearning to search for something.

 

Someone.

 

There were many humans, their aura's faint and flickering; too caught up in the day to day to even realize their light was dying. She ran across Youkai too, though not as many, and none as powerful as Naraku.

 

It was a frightening observation.

 

Still…she felt empowered, never having drawn her sense out in such a way. Her training in the `family tradition' had been left at her grandfather's speech about her honorable bloodline, and her duty to maintain the memory of the past. Memories of the great past could be passed along through books, long hours of fasting and training were no longer necessary. Of course Jii-san had been severely disappointed when she'd informed him of this bitter truth.

 

Now she almost wished she had at least given it a shot. She might have been able to get herself out of this mess if she had.

 

Before she could stretch farther, she was pushed forcefully back to her body - riding on a wave of power so strong that it crashed into the building with the force of an incorporeal tsunami.

 

A shuttered breath left her lips like a lovers sigh, her eyes open and unblinking as her body seized up in both shock and recognition.

 

An indescribable warmth sprang to life in her belly, spreading like liquid fire to the tips of her numb fingers and toes. A feeling both foreign and instinctual: something she'd never experienced, yet somehow always known was there.

 

She watched her still hand in mute fascination as the pinkish haze of her aura leapt and crackled, brightening like a supernova in the dimness of her cell.

 

Then, as soon as it flared, it began to fade, colors bleeding back to their normal hues as her aura stabilized. The small confining space of her prison suddenly felt so much more restrictive and binding than before.

 

There was yelling all around her, and the pounding of frantic feet, but it all seemed distant and unimportant because that incredible light that had just flared with in her like a spiritual inferno…that was the power of her bloodline…the power of a priestess.

 

And the power that had crashed into the building like an angry storm…that was her Sesshou.

 

 

New York City

City Sector B43, Municipal Sewer System, Section 7

Sunday, June 19th, 1:45 pm EST

43 Hours Until Archangel Release

 

Miroku's hands ran in an endless series of motions just over the surface of the crackling, malignant barrier blocking the tube. He had never seen one quite like it, both solid and malleable in a way that should have been impossible.

 

The water, for instance: that constant flow of sludgy by-product passed though unhindered, but it was by design rather than weakness. Grudgingly, he had to admit it was rather ingenious. The energy was strange though, like it was forged through the cooperative effort of hundreds of lower-level youkai combining their power rather than the construct of one, singular powerful being.

 

That theory was an invariable impossibility; such creatures were simply not permitted to run wild in civilized places for the sheer amount of damage they tended to wreak with their havoc. Besides, they were bestial creatures driven by the baser needs of survival: hunger, thirst, procreation, and the constant struggle for dominance.

 

Such creatures were simply incapable of pooling their power in such a way, even if one considered the staggering improbability of a productive collaboration that didn't disintegrate into animalistic brawling.

 

Regardless of how the barrier was built, tearing it down should have been a fairly simple, if time consuming, matter once he located its weak points. Unfortunately, he had been testing it for hours now with out finding so much as a hairline fracture in its integrity to work with.

 

And from what he was hearing from HQ, Sesshoumaru was getting impatient.

 

“Anything?” Sango asked hopefully from her place against the curving slope of the wall.

 

“No.” he grunted in a rare show of frustration. It was as if the sustaining energies of the shield were in constant motion. By the time he got to a perceived weak point, it had already filled in.

 

“Can't we just pummel it until it gives?” She wheedled, impatience wearing at her normally cool, confident demeanor.

 

“Why, Sango my love, you sounded so much like Inuyasha just now I was almost envisioning him in a sexual light. It was quite disturbing, please be more careful in the future.”

 

Sango laughed lightly, barking out a fairly good `Keh' that had him cringing bodily.

 

“Why haven't we tried hitting it with anything?” Spence asked, ignoring the sniggers of his two fellow junior operatives in favor of actual mission-related commentary.

 

Miroku pulled out the plain black elastic that held his shoulder-length hair, ruffling the sweaty locks at the roots in an attempt cool his head, both physically and mentally. He hadn't been this frustrated over something other than Sango in longer than he could remember.

 

“That would work in theory.” He explained, the rings of his Shakujou jangling as he swung through a few cleansing kata. “Inevitably the barrier would come down if we hit it hard enough in the right spot. Unfortunately, a barrier of this size has the potency to level half a city block if it shatters outward rather than collapsing upon itself.”

 

“And we haven't found the right spot yet, right?” Kinsley, an ex-military man with a pock marked face and an even spottier personality, quipped with a touch of cheek.

 

“That's right.” Miroku found himself snapping back before he could reign in the urge. “But maybe you'd like to go hacking away at it anyway. Doesn't your sister work a couple of streets over? I'm sure she'd enjoy the show.”

 

Kinsley grunted out a curt “no sir” followed by some bit off curses, but he made no more comments about their slow progression.

 

His phone pinged in a near silent alert from his pocket, signaling that he had a call from HQ. Great, because he wasn't already under enough pressure.

 

“Houshi.” He answered shortly after fishing it from his pocket. His team fell immediately silent.

 

“Progress.” It was Kaede, sounding stressed to her limit.

 

“Nothing new, except that the constitution of it seems to be in constant motion.”

 

“That's unheard of.” Came the retort. Tell me about it, Miroku thought blithely.

 

“Maybe so, but I'm just reporting my findings.” His reply was just as clipped. “Its almost as if its in a constant cycle of regeneration, but there doesn't seem to be a power source, unless its being generated from somewhere else.”

 

“Its possible, I suppose. What is your plan?”

 

“There's a pattern to it.” Even as he said it, his eyes were following the invisible movement of the energies swirling and converging inside the barrier. “If I can just get ahead of it I should be able to create an instability. From there its only a matter of time before we can bring it down.”

 

“Get it done.” Was all she offered for encouragement, but he understood the underlying message: Get it done before we have to take down a rampaging Tai youkai on top of everything else.

 

Still, he couldn't help but tease. “I've never had a problem `getting it done' in the past.”

 

“Just move your ass before Sesshoumaru starts shredding interns.”

 

“Roger-dodger.” He affirmed with a false vote of confidence before snapping the phone shut with a frown.

 

He watched the barrier in silence, waiting for the timing to synchronize in his head. It ticked off beat like a broken clock in a room full of spot on metronomes: agonizingly close, but still not quite there.

 

Then the cogs whirred, and everything clunked into place.

 

“There.” He whispered, his movement nearly too fast to follow as he jabbed the end of his Shakujou at the barrier. The pointed end met a fraction of a seconds resistance before sinking in, spearing out the other side.

 

The barrier shimmered, wavering like the restless swell of an ebony ocean as the integrity of the barrier began to fail. It did not immediately collapse as he'd hoped, but it was, at least, more progress than they had made since finding the thing.

 

“Hell yeah!” Sango whooped; jumping to her feet and shouldering the weapons she had laid carefully on the ground behind her. “That's what I'm talking about! I swear - you are so sexy some times, Houshi!”

 

Miroku grinned wolfishly at her, which she returned with a sultry sweep of her tongue over her lips. “You can tell me all about it later.” He promised in sotto tones, his dark eyes sweeping over the curve of her breasts, the flare of her hips, before settling hungrily on her face.

 

A throat cleared, accompanied by some uncomfortable shifting against the dirty concrete.

 

“Oh, come now. You gentlemen are hardened professionals. Don't tell me a little sexual tension and innuendo is making you jumpy.” Miroku threw out the jab casually; wary to stay out of Sango's reach should she decide to get embarrassed. She was like that sometimes.

 

“Lets just get this over with.” Kinsley suggested gruffly. “You two can mind-fuck later when we're out of this stinking sewer.”

 

“We can fuck-fuck later, Kinsley.” Sango practically sang, her boldness drawing a gasp from Spence, and a barking laugh from Henson (the fifth member of their team). One hand propped imperially on her hip, while the other stroked sensuously down the barrel of the AK47 draped through the crook of her elbow. “If we mind-fuck now, it'll be all the better. You wouldn't want to ruin that for me, would you?”

 

Spence slapped one hand over his eyes in embarrassment, Kinsley looked a bit shell shocked, not having worked much with the infamous Bonnie and Clyde pair, while Henson busied himself securing the scope on his rifle. Miroku turned his face toward the barrier to hide his smirk. God, he loved that woman. So feisty.

 

“N-nn” Kinsley had to clear his throat rather forcefully before he could continue, “No, ma'am.”

 

Miroku chuckled, deciding it was time to break the tension and chosing to do so by slapping Sango firmly on the ass, knowing perfectly well he would get knocked up side the head for it. Sango liked his innuendo and banter, but she did not put up with man handling outside of the bedroom.

 

Still, he couldn't seem able to resist that sumptuous curve, and it was a sure way to clear the air when things got uncomfortable for his team to a point where he worried about their performance. There was also a sick part of his dirty little mind that liked it when she was forceful with him.

 

Right on the mark, Sango swung around with an impressive backhand that sent him staggering against the wall. Before he could right himself with his customary `but Sango' ploy, the tunnel began shaking like a train tube at five. The emergency lights flickered overhead like an orange, fluorescent warning. Kinsley ended up going down on one knee to stop from toppling into the murky river of sewage.

 

It stopped after a few seconds, but after a cursory inspection, Miroku confirmed that it was not from the barrier.

 

“Earthquake?” Spence asked, his shoulders taught with tension as he readied his weapon.

 

Miroku gave a mental nod to the young man's perceptiveness. He may have been fresh on the force, but he was no fool, which was more than he could say for the other two on his squad. They were looking up at the ceiling like it was about be peeled away by a beanstalk climbing giant.

 

“Doubtful.” Miroku said calmly, feeling out the source of the disturbance.

 

The tunnel started shaking again, this time accompanied by the iron-on-iron screech of thickly corded vocal cords grating in a feral scream.

 

“Everyone stay close to the walls.” Sango intoned, already moving like a shadow toward the bend in the tunnel just ahead. “Night vision on.” She commanded as a series of well-aimed shots took out the overhead lights, casting them in total darkness.

 

Miroku covered her rear, in all seriousness for once, while Kinsley stalked forward on the other side of the grate, Henson covering his back, and Spence taking up a central position on one of the mesh wire bridges connecting the access routes. There was another rumble, more subdued, but closer, followed by a series of inhuman clicks that had the hair on the backs of his arms defying gravity.

 

With out a sound, he tapped Sango's arm, motioning for her to look at the water, which was beginning to churn like a blender on frappe. She nodded firmly, confirming his theory. What ever it was, it was in the water.

 

He reached up, tapping his jaw to activate his audio. “We have a disturbance, down below.” He whispered smoothly, receiving three neon green nods in reply. The water was screwing with the night vision somewhat, but they wouldn't have been able to see through that murky ass juice with a 300-watt fog lamp.

 

Everything went still, all eyes intensely focused on the water and the waiting.

 

Without warning it sprang up behind Spence, long and serpentine like a Chinese dragon, but easily as long as a bus and twice as thick as a telephone pole. Spence spun with a yell, managing to fire off a volley of rounds before he was caught in its snapping jaws and pulled back under the water.

 

“Spence!” Miroku yelled, rushing back toward his teammate's last position, a nauseating dread filling him.

 

“Spencer!” Sango was right on his heels, throwing off her goggles and switching on the wide beam flashlight tethered at her hip. “Come on, Spence! Don't let him get you that easy.”

 

But there was nothing - nothing but the restless swirl of muddy water and a lone pair of aviator's glasses laying desolately on the grate, knocked off in the tussle. Before he could stop her, Sango had dropped her pack, drawn a knife the size of a small pirate sword, and dove into the water with barely a splash.

 

“Sango!” Miroku screamed after her, swearing impotently under his breath while he stalked along the grated edge. “Sango!”

 

“What do we do?” Henson was asking frantically. “Shit, that thing was huge! What the hell do we do?”

 

"HOLD YOUR FIRE!" Miroku shouted at them when they started to look twitchy. "We've got two agents down there, don't forget that." He was already slinging his own pack to the ground. “Call HQ for back up, give Kaede all the information you can.”

 

“What are you going to do?” Kinsley asked warily.

 

A low, screeching shudder echoed around them, steeling his resolve.

 

“I'm going in after them.” He stated with a collected sense of calm that he sincerely wished was real.

 

He shucked his heavy vest, pulling out a set of binding beads and a knife, and was bending over the water when a hand broke the surface. Stunned, he hesitated only a moment before wrapping his fingers around the slimy wrist that undoubtedly belonged to Sango, heaving her up to where he could gain better purchase on her.

 

Halfway out he realized she wasn't alone. They scrabbled together, their combined strength pulling both her and Spence out of the foul smelling ooze. In the distance he could hear Kinsley speaking in a hurried, panic driven voice to someone at HQ, but it was all secondary to the slippery, shit coated woman before him.

 

Spence was unconscious, bleeding from several severe puncture wounds, one in his upper arm that looked like it had torn in the struggle, but he was still alive…for now.

 

“We need a bird. Now.” Miroku barked to Kinsley, who repeated it to whoever was on the other end of that phone. He then rounded on Sango with a dark glower as he hurriedly aided her in rinsing Spence's wounds with water from his canteen, a severe wrinkle crinkling the skin between his brows.

 

Sango glanced up at him briefly, worry showing through the layer of sludge that painted her with a uniform brownish-green. Were he not so angry with her, he'd have had a good time coming up with new nicknames.

 

“Don't look at me like that.” She said in a hard, confident voice as she tied off the first of the punctures with a roll of bandage from her discarded pack. “I did what I had to do.”

 

Miroku grunted, the lines in his youthful face deepening with strain.

 

“What was I supposed to do? Let him die?”

 

Miroku still refused to speak; concentrating instead on his work while the others stood guard.

 

“What would you have done, then?” She demanded, her voice betraying the emotion warring with in her. She was close to tears.

 

“I would have done the same.” Miroku consented, moving to the last, and worst, of Spence's wounds: a deep puncture to the thigh, seriously close to an artery. The kid was going to need a lot of stitches.

 

Sango made a dry noise at the back of her throat, it may have been a stifled sob of a wry laugh; it was hard to tell. “Then why are you being this way?”

 

“Because it was you, Sango!” He shouted, making her jump, making Kinsley and Henson shift uncomfortably.

 

“How would it be different if you had gone in after him instead? You know I'm capable, probably more so than you when it comes to hand to hand.”

 

Miroku tied off the tourniquet, moving to wrap the wound with stiff, jerky movements.

 

“What the hell is your problem?” Sango shouted, caught between anger and disbelief. “What difference does it make if it was me or you down there?”

 

Miroku cursed harshly, grabbing her filthy hands and pressing them to the rapid thump-thumping in his chest. Her eyes went wide, her body stilling as she watched his face.

 

“It matters because you took away my choice, Sango.” His voice was all straight edges and professionalism, but there was something in the way he said her name that gave away his inner turmoil.

 

“Miroku, I - ”

 

He didn't want her apologetic excuses. “If you had died down there…” he tried, his naturally smooth voice going gruff around the fringe. He had to stop, gather his resolve, then start again, “If it had been me, if I had died, it would have been an acceptable loss.”

 

Her outraged “How the hell do you figure that?” fell upon deaf ears.

 

He rolled to his feet. Shouldering his pack once more, moving forward to take a defensive position between the water and Sango.

 

“You're not going to give me a straight answer, are you?” she asked sourly, picking her AK47 off the ground and checking it for damage.

 

There was a low rumble of warning before the youkai surfaced, bowing like a cobra ready to strike.

 

Four sets of fire opened up, lighting up the tunnel with the yellow-orange spark of black powder exploding in the barrels. The creature screamed in agony, its body jerking as the bullets pierced its flesh. In a practiced motion, Miroku slipped a sutra from his vest, imbuing it with power before wrapping it around the blade of a throwing knife.

 

He only hoped his shaking hands would hit the mark. Angry or not, Sango would never let him live it down if he missed. The knife hit the creature's pale underbelly, sinking in clear to the hilt. There was a flash of power that momentarily lit the tube as it cleaved the demon in two.

 

Several things happened then in rapid succession. Sango whooped triumphantly as the top half of the creature fell toward the water with a graceful, boneless arc, Spence uttered a pained groan from his prone position behind them, turning Miroku's attention momentarily away from the remains of the youkai. Before he could so much as step in his fallen teammates direction though, he felt a prickling of something strong and fast moving headed straight at them a split second before a shockwave of power flooded the tunnel like a tsunami, knocking them against the walls and to the ground forcefully, and shattering the barrier like a bubble of finely blown glass.

 

Shakujou clattered to the grating, the sound echoing loudly in the void that followed.

 

“That was some sutra, boss.” Kinsley whistled low when he had righted himself and regained his breath.

 

“That wasn't from my sutra.” Miroku told the group quietly, retrieving Shakujou and doing a sweep for nearby energies. Everything seemed quiet and clear.

 

“The youkai?” Sango mused, staring at the water with a calculating fierceness. “It's unusual for such a low level creatures to be used to store power or maintain barriers, but not unheard of.”

 

Miroku considered this, but the energy hadn't felt like any youki or jaki he was familiar with. It had almost felt…pure. Like unfiltered miko energy, but on entirely too huge a scale to be from one person. Only problem was...there weren't that many miko's around anymore, their power diluted and diminished over the years. It seemed that theirs was a dying art.

 

“No.” he said after a moment. “I believe it was something else.”

 

New York City, Financial District

CIA Headquarters

Sunday, June 19th 2:10 pm EST

42 Hours 35 Minutes until Archangel Release

 

There was a warm breeze sweeping over the city, but even standing on the roof of the Tadiama building, the public face of the CIA's HQ, Sesshoumaru couldn't feel it.

 

Even as it snapped up the soft strands of his hair in a sensuous dance, as it tugged and billowed his shirtsleeves, he remained impassive to it, his eyes set and unmoving on the distant horizon.

 

He could smell her scent as if it were a part of his own, hear her voice whispering teasingly at the darkened corners of his consciousness, and feel the silken texture of her skin against the pads of his fingers. She was as much a part of him as his own blood…his skin…his heart.

 

And he had let her down.

 

His youki was still fluctuating slightly as his body continued to adjust to the absence of the regulator, but he had to admit, it felt good to be rid of it. It felt free.

 

And he realized just how much he craved freedom as he stood there in the glaring afternoon sun on the roof of that high rise, tasting freedom on the wind.

 

He would chase it, he decided. When this was over he would find his peace and the freedom promised in the blurred haze of the horizon…and he would have Kagome by his side.

 

He allowed his eyes to slide shut, allowing his power to build from deep with in. It swelled and swirled around him like snapping banners of lightening, pulling his mouth into a grimace at the intensity.

 

Apparently he'd been collared for too long, his body was unused to such a massive surge.

 

It felt good though, painfully good.

 

His claws lengthened as his power began to eat away at his human façade. His senses sharpened to a near painful degree, the smell of smog and car exhaust nearly choking him, as his elongated fangs pricked at his bottom lip like ivory senbon. His limbs tingled as muscle and bone were saturated, strengthened, by the onslaught of youki.

 

Something snapped with in him then, a surge of his aura rolling outward like a shock wave. The sheer force of it shook the building, sending several satellite dishes flying. It was strong enough, shocking enough, to drop him down to one knee as hundreds of points of light tingled across his flesh.

 

What was that?

 

It didn't take him long to regain himself, rising back to his feet to stair at his hands wonderingly. More aptly, it was the vivid red stripe curling around the pale skin of his wrists that had his attention.

 

That - that shouldn't be possible.

 

But obviously it was. He couldn't deny what he was seeing with his own eyes. (Were his father still alive he'd never have heard the end of it.)

 

He stilled then, almost unable to believe what he was sensing. There was a flair, a momentary flash of power that rose over the muddled din of the city like a flower blooming in a compost heap. Then it faded, receding to little more than a faint tingle on the frayed edge of his senses, but it was there: weak and distant, but wholly recognizable just the same.

 

It seemed his Kagome had instinctively answered his call. He wouldn't leave her waiting.

 

The heavy steel door that led back into the building flew open with a loud bang. A steely looking Kaede rushed out, sutra in hand, and backed by about a half dozen armed agents.

 

Sesshoumaru turned slowly to face her, calm and unmovable as ever, but there was a fire burning in his soul that he knew he couldn't hide. It was evident by the immediate shock that overtook the old woman's face.

 

“Takishima?” She began with a wavering hesitancy that was foreign and out of place. The sutra, he was certain, was meant to help him regain control.

 

The thing was…he already had.

 

Sesshoumaru brushed past his gray haired chief, deciding that now was not the time for idle conversation. He had warned them…made it perfectly clear that if they could not find her, he would.

 

The other operatives parted before him like the red sea to his Moses. They were below the worth of his recognition, but at least they had the sense of mind to know when to back down.

 

Without so much as a backward glance, Sesshoumaru stepped off the edge of the building, plummeting like a pale meteor to the ground below. He was vaguely aware of the startled yelling from above, but was already too caught up in the rush of free falling to care.

 

The sidewalk splintered beneath his feet on impact. People screamed and darted into storefronts and alleys as he stepped out of the small crater he'd pounded into the twelve inches of solid concrete.

 

The red was seeping into his vision, but he held it back by a (mere) thread of control. Someone was running at him from the front of the Tadiama building, but he sped off like a blur. There was no time for contingencies and back up plans. He would debrief them once Kagome was safely back in his possession. Until then, they were better off to just stay out of his way.

 

His blood was up. It was time to hunt.

 

New York City, Lower East Side Manhattan

Project Miasma, Underground Headquarters

Sunday, June 19th 4:00 pm EST

40 hours 45 Minutes until Archangel Release

 

"Kagome, darling." A deep voice drawled from with in the shadows, raising chill bumps on her arms. "You've been a naughty, naughty little girl.” Naraku stepped out of the shadows to stare heavily at her through the bars. “What's the matter? Are you accommodations not to your liking?”

 

"Go to hell." she snarled, pushing herself up from the wall, forcing herself not to stagger. She would not allow him the thrill of seeing her weak.

 

"Still spunky as ever I see," he paused dramatically, "though I am most interested to see just how long it will take for your fire to snuff out."

 

He was baiting her, Kagome's eyes narrowed warily at the way he was watching her. Whatever reaction he was trying to dredge out, she would make sure he didn't get the satisfaction of pulling it from her.

 

"What do you want from me?" She asked coolly, grasping the bars that separated them, trying hard not to show her fear.

 

He chuckled at her bravado, the sick bastard. "Such a brave little nightingale, aren't you."

 

She scowled.

 

The patient tone he was using made her feel that he might be willing to humor her, to play along with her little game. If she wanted answers, this might just be her only chance. She watched him expectantly, knowing her poker face sucked, but recognizing that he would talk anyway.

 

He certainly seemed the type to crow at his own twisted brilliance.

"Nothing actually.” Naraku conceded finally, a casual, eerily pleasant lilt in his voice. “I don't want anything from you." He made a passive gesture with his hand, a cruel smirk firmly in place on his sinister face.

 

"Then what am I still doing here?"

 

Kagome's fear of the man before her was held fast by the taught rope of anger and confusion that had wound its way around her like a constrictor's grip. Why in God's name had she been dragged into this if he wanted nothing from her? It didn't seem like a random `wrong place, wrong time' scenario when those two muscle heads jumped into her cab and kidnapped her.

 

Naraku ran a knuckle across the fingers of her left hand, which were tightly wrapped around the two-inch thick bars between them. She jumped back in revulsion, cradling her hand like he'd burnt it with his touch.

 

"You, my dear, are a tool. A bargaining chip." At her puzzled look he continued. "You see, I am in the market for a certain trinket; very rare, very powerful, and nearly impossible to get a hold of. You will ensure I get what I desire. A means to an end, if you like."

 

"What? That's crazy, why would anyone trade something powerful enough to interest you for my life? That would be foolish. What's one life compared to keeping something like that out of the hands of a mad man like you?"

 

"Very astute of you." he sneered. "You're quite right. While your precious Sesshou may be willing to trade the world for your safety," She grimaced, a bitter taste rising in her mouth, "the central government would never be so foolish as to deliver such a tool of destruction into the hands of …let's see, a mad man did you say? How charming." Naraku stepped forward, his eyes glowing red in the dim light. "However, if they do not deliver the Shikon… I will use you to kill millions of innocent people."

 

Kagome felt her blood freeze in her veins. Shaking her head weakly in denial, she drew her hand up to curl weakly against her chest. "Wha…how…"

 

"All in good time, my dear." Naraku turned down the hall and motioned for something. Moment's later two armed guards appeared with what looked like a straight jacket in hand. "But for now, we need to take a little trip. You're making my men anxious, and I cant really have a revolt on my hands at such a crucial time, now can I?"

 

 

To be continued...

 

AN: Whew! That one was a beast! But we're getting to the good stuff now, eh? We should be seeing a grand reunion in the next couple of chapters, along with a distinct possibility of some romantic naughtiness...all in the name of good fun, mind you. And its about time too! Next chapter is also shaping up to be a whopper too, and full of Kagome and Naraku interaction (not like that), but we will also get to see Sesshoumaru finally start kicking some ass! Woo-hoo!

 

Reviews are better than coffee! (hint hint) ...I have no shame...