InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ The Heart Within ❯ Chapter Twenty-Five ( Chapter 27 )

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

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, etc., of Inuyasha or Yu Yu Hakusho. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and not for profit.THE HEART WITHINSummary: She has carried vengeance in her shadowed heart for 500 years, sacrificing her self for that dream. Now, Sango just might get her chance… (IY/YYH crossover) A/N: Whew! Lemme tell ya, this chapter was a dog to write, and edit, and finally post. I’ve dithered over it for months, thinking I have not included enough description of the journey. But sometimes, the journey is just that, the journey. And the end is where the action is. Though this is hardly the end… (MWAHAHAHAHA)
WARNING! SPOILERS FOR YYH BLACK AND THE THREE KINGS SAGA

Chapter Twenty-Five

The nightmarish trek through this so-called Mukuro’s lands was not something Sango ever wanted to remember. At times it seemed as if they literally had to hack their way through a mob of blood-maddened demons. Demons who continually attacked them for no apparent reason other than they had strayed across their path or territory. It was never a fair fight, for such bestial brutes as they crossed swords with rarely had the wit to pose any real challenge. Ruled by their baser instincts, low-class youkai such as these were primitive and all but mindless with rage and violence, like rabid dogs let loose on each other.

They were the sort of demon Sango had been raised to fight, for before the kakai barrier had been set by Spirit World, such nasty monsters had ravaged freely across the land of her birth. Preying on her people, who had little defense against such marauding savages, Sango had never questioned the rightness of her calling. She had been young when Naraku attacked her village and slaughtered her clan, and that evil had blinded her to anything else. It was right for her to despise youkai, save those few she counted as personal friends.

The long centuries that had followed---well, she had never felt the need to question her views. Demons were bad. They deserved to die. It was a simple, rather childish perspective, but she had had countless examples before her of demons as eager to kill her as she was to kill them. Her hatred for Naraku and all the others who had ever gone after the Jewel for the empty promise of its power only fueled her disgust and anger.

But only the most petty or pathetic of demons had ever needed the Jewel, for they were too weak to attain power and strength on their own. Like those demons too impatient to hone their natural abilities through training, and ate human flesh for the quicker road to power it gave them, the Shikon no Tama was only a magic pill for the weak (and weak-minded) who sought to hasten the process, like some humans used diet pills or steroids.

And so Sango’s disdain---fed by her own bitterness and hatred---had only felt justified over the years. She would never know how many of those youkai that she had fought and killed were tainted by the angry aura of her own self-rejection, as those poor innocents in the Forest of Fools. Since coming to Makai, she had been forced to confront everything she had ever believed about herself and the world around her, and what she had found left her both humbled and ashamed.

For how could she despise what she herself now was? How could she hate a world that welcomed her home like one lost and even missed for that loss? How could she not see the vibrant beauty of such a diverse place and embrace it in wonder and awe? Yes, it was violent and dark, petty and cruel, just as nature in the living world could be harsh and cruel, just as men could be dark and petty and violent to each other. But with the worst came also the best, bringing out yin for yang, in love and kindness, compassion and forgiveness, rebirth and renewal. Surprised to find in Makai the same balance of extremes that existed in living world, she could only regret how narrow-minded and blind she’d been.

But Sango had been awakened in more ways than one here in Makai. Perhaps in ways she might not even guess yet, for she didn’t delve too deeply, ever cautious of too much emotion and the cost it could bring. But she could not take any of her formerly grim sense of righteousness in the senseless battles they now fought among demons really too weak to oppose them.It troubled her, making her restless and weary of the constant fighting, though it did not stop her from doing what she must. The battlefield was never a place for one to pause, lest it result in your death. It was only after, when the battle was over and they left the dead far behind them, when they might snatch a few hours of sleep hiding in some cave or shelter Kurama found, that such thoughts plagued her.

And those times were few and far between, for they were kept constantly on the run, skulking from one place to another to avoid any of the countless, roving patrols of Mukuro’s garrisons. A more vicious, inept band of opportunists she had never met. Those thieving cutthroats were little better than the mindless youkai they so-called policed, and Sango had to despise a king who could employ such brutes under his standard. It was as if the king did not care what went on in his lands, as long as his rule went uncontested. Such unconcern spoke of a petty despot only concerned with their own power and how far they could advance it.

Something that was all too reminiscent of a petty narcissist like Naraku…


“Kagome? There’s someone here to see you.”

Distracted from her homework by her mother’s summons, Kagome was more than willing to abandon it in favor of finding out who it was. Emerging from her room, she was unsurprised to meet Inuyasha at the top of the stairs. Cap and scowl in place, the ever-protective hanyou muttered a grouchy excuse. Warmed and exasperated by her boyfriend’s jealous paranoia, Kagome stopped to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. The gesture had the dual effect of showing her gratitude and distracting the hanyou long enough for her to get down the stairs before he leapt down to startle those below. It was often easier to explain Inuyasha’s quirks after they met her, the more normal one.

Not that Gramps was giving a good impression of their normalcy, for the old man was all but fawning over the handsome young man who stood beside the hard-to-miss redhead from her Saturday class. Eying her grandfather, who had grabbed the brown-haired man’s hand and was repeatedly bowing like some deranged Bobble-head, Kagome prayed for patience as she said too-brightly, “Hi, Kuwabara! What brings you here?”

“Hi, Kagome.” The redhead shifted uneasily, his black eyes sliding over to the silver-haired hanyou who stood behind her with his arms crossed. “Hey, there, Inuyasha.”

Inuyasha grunted, his amber eyes pinned on the brown-haired man, who had extricated himself from Gramps long enough to look up at them. There was something about him that made Kagome wary, but not in a bad way. Something naggingly familiar, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Inuyasha must have felt it too, for the hanyou stiffened.

“Who the hell are you?” The hanyou vaulted over the banister to confront the handsome man with a growl.

Leave it to Inuyasha to be rude. Kagome frowned, but wasn’t the one to thump the hanyou upside the head.

“He’s a god, young man! Show some respect!”

“Gramps!” Kagome protested even as Inuyasha scowled down at the old man, who scowled back. Poking a rigid finger into the hanyou’s chest, Gramps went off on one of those rare tirades that got him all worked up and red as in the face. He was kind of scary when he did that. Normally a mild and indulgent man, if a little eccentric, there was little that could set Gramps off except what he considered a slight to his deep faith. The little old priest was even managing to intimidate Inuyasha, who was backing up into the living room with wide amber eyes as the old man reamed him but good.

“Oh, dear.” Mama gave Kagome a worried look, hurrying after them. Silence descended on the front hall, and Kagome tried to plaster a smile on her face and salvage what she could of the situation.

“Eh, hi! My name is Kagome Higuarashi!” She thrust out her hand, and gasped when the young man took it. For a second, so much power surged up around her she all but hummed with it. Little blue and white lightnings went off around them, and she could hear some type of strange harmony playing across him, as if a dozen angels were singing. Kagome hastily let go, and the music and light died.

“What was that?” she demanded, strangely out of breath. “Just who are you? You’re not a demon, and you feel like…like…Midoriko!” She suddenly placed the familiar feeling, and poked him in the chest, only to snatch her finger back as that awesome power flared up again. “Ow.”

“Kagome!” Kuwabara looked aghast. “Are you okay?”

“Of course I am,” Kagome huffed. Narrowing her brown eyes, she wisely crossed her arms this time and demanded, “Just who are you?”

“My apologies.” The man looked rather sheepish. “I’ve never been good with introductions. Normally George handles all that for me. My name’s Koenma, and---”

“He’s the son of King Yama,” Kuwabara helpfully supplied. “Prince of the Spirit World.”

“Yama?” Kagome had to sink down on the step, her brown eyes wide. “So Gramps is right? You’re a god?”

“Demi-god.” Koenma shrugged uncomfortably. He looked rather…un-regal. Not like what she would picture a god to look like---more like an apprehensive teenager. But then, the monkey god she had once met hadn’t impressed her all that much, either. In fact, Koenma looked so discomfited that Kagome felt her sympathy rising.

“Well, it’s…uh…nice to meet you, Koenma.”


“You have something for me?” The king lounged across the ugly throne as if it were the most comfortable divan. Made of the bones and weapons of past enemies, large jewels of uncommon beauty and luster were stuck at random across its surface. Many adorned the gaping eye-sockets of various demon skulls. They glinted luridly as the commander bowed gracefully before the throne, seeming to watch his every move as he raised his helmed head and brought one fist to his chest in salute.

“I do, my lord,” Kirin said, his deep voice muffled by the chin-guard he rarely took off. Rising to his feet, he nodded slightly to the Elite Guard standing just to the left of the king’s throne. Shigure’s thin lips twisted into a proxy of a smile, his eyes narrowing on the demon-soldier that the commander waved forward.

The soldier cringed his way closer. Dropping to his knees, he bowed his ugly green head and nervously offered a small round globe nestled in the satin embrace of a red pillow with black tassels.

“A Spirit of Words?” Mukuro asked, the raspy, dual tonalities of the demon’s voice sending shivers down the soldier’s spine. The tassels that decorated the pillow grew steadily more agitated as the demon king decided this warranted enough interest for him to rise from his throne and cross over to get a better look.

“Yes, my lord,” Kirin bowed his head as the king stepped closer to examine the delicate globe. Hands bound together in front of him by white silk and powerful sutras, the shorter demon leaned forward to peer at the innocent-looking ball of light with one bulging blue eye.

The interest sharpened in the blue depths as the king observed, “It’s shielded against casual intrusion, locked into a particular youkai’s signature. It must be quite important for that upstart Yomi to have gone to so much trouble.”

“Yes, my lord,” Kirin agreed, “which is why I had the messengers tortured upon capture.”

“And did you learn anything of note, Commander?” The single eye pinned him with acidic mockery. Kirin returned the stare unwaveringly, one of only a few who could do so, for the power that radiated off of the slight youkai was daunting.

“Perhaps, my lord,” Kirin said, unashamed to admit uncertainty to his lord. It was one of the reasons the king kept him around. Steadfast in his loyalty, Kirin had never played the sycophant. He had no need to, for his abilities outweighed every other youkai in Mukuro’s realm. Except for the king’s, of course---whose power was unmatched save by his rivals, Raizen and Yomi.

Kirin gestured to the small globe, which brightened, as if it recognized that it was being discussed. It did not have any true awareness, however. It was just a capsule of sound, a recording of words from one to another. “We learned that this Spirit of Words is intended for a silver kitsune named Youko Kurama, whom you might recall is a legendary thief that disappeared some seventeen years ago.”

“Really? Do tell me more,” Mukuro drawled.

“We learned that the fox spirit hid himself in a boy born in the human world, and has just recently returned to Makai. He was somehow involved in all that commotion with Itsuki and the rogue detective who opened a tunnel to Ningenkai near the Plateau of the Beheaded.”

Shigure allowed disdain to curl his pierced lip as Mukuro shrugged, dismissing it as unimportant. “And why is Yomi interested in this boy-fox?”

“Unfortunately, my lord, that we do not know.” Kirin bowed his head, allowing disgust to roughen his mild voice. “The messengers were never told, and they died screaming their ignorance under our most inventive methods of torture.”

“Hmmm.” Mukuro drew away from the small bauble, his mind turning over the possible implications. The kneeling soldier lowered the raised pillow with a sigh of relief that made the king stiffen. Whipping around, he snapped, “Get that cringing worm out of my sight! The stench of his fear is annoying. I will not tolerate fools and cowards in my presence.”

The soldier’s complexion paled, turning his green skin a sickly shade.

“As you wish, my lord.” Kirin bowed. “How shall we kill him?”

Mukuro waved a sharp dismissal. “Death is too good for him. Send him to the swamps, where he can guard the rotting mud flats from the fecal flies.”

“My lord grows merciful,” Kirin observed as the soldier abased himself and fled, not daring to utter his gratitude lest the mercurial king change his mind. The king’s bodyguard escorted him out, muttering orders to the demon outside the door before resuming his post. The tinkle of the bell he wore on a ring sunk into his right temple was the only sound Shigure made as he re-crossed the room.

Mukuro resumed his throne, his bulging blue eye narrowing on the Commander. “There is more, isn’t there, Kirin?”

“Of course, my lord.” Kirin’s voice warmed with pride for his king’s acuity. “Our spies report that King Raizen has finally found an heir.”

“I grow impatient with your dithering, Commander,” Mukuro said in a dangerously droll voice. The blue eye glittered amid the tattered bandages and sutras that covered the demon’s head to the shoulders.

“My apologies, my lord.” Kirin bowed again, meeting the king’s gaze unflinchingly. “It is a human boy named Yusuke Urameshi. He seems to be some kind of descendant of the Toushin’s. The Mazoku gene awoke within him during the tunnel escapade, and Raizen sent his second-in-command, Hokushin, to escort him back to the King’s city.”

Mukuro snorted, his raspy voice disdainful as he said, “Raizen has always had a disgusting care for humans; I did not realize his perversion had run to taking them as lovers.”

“You underestimate their appeal, my lord,” Shigure ventured, his deep voice amused. “Humans have a certain…zest.”

“I do not care to know what sport you take with your dinner, doctor,” Mukuro said mildly. “I prefer my meat well-cooked, not raw and running.”

“Not that you partake of human flesh all that often,” Shigure replied, as few dared. But the former surgeon had chosen to serve the king for his own reasons, and his skill was such that he had quickly earned a place as one of only seventy-seven in the king’s Elite Guard. Shigure’s arrogance was total, but like the Commander, he was one of those the king allowed the liberty of voicing their opinion.

Mukuro dismissed it with an airy wave as he settled back in his seat. “You know, Commander, I find it rather interesting that both this Youko Kurama and Yusuke Urameshi were involved in that tunnel business, and that Yomi has taken an interest in one and Raizen the other. I know you have thought of that angle as well, and investigated. Tell me what you have learned.”

Kirin bowed his head in appreciation for the king’s compliment. “As you will, sire.” He detailed how the two were linked to Spirit World, adding the interesting twist that King Yama had sent an assassin after the Mazoku, but that assassin had turned coat and joined the ex-detective and spirit fox and one other demon they had not been able to catch sight or name of. The four had gone with Hokushin to Raizen’s city, where Yusuke now trained to step into the dying King’s shoes.

“And what of the other three?” Mukuro asked, intrigued by the Commander’s deliberate baiting.

“Why, my lord, they are here, just outside the fortress.” Kirin smiled behind his mask, his eyes glowing with the thought of the coming bloodshed. “There is the possibility Raizen has sent them as a decoy, to distract you from the heir he has just claimed. We have let them approach, thinking you might have fun with them. I know how you respect audacity.”

“You are ever thinking of my needs first, aren’t you, Kirin?” the king remarked dryly.

“Always, sire.” Kirin bowed, fist to his chest, with fervent loyalty. “If I may, my lord, I have noted a certain melancholy boredom in you of late. I thought these three might provide you with some amusement.”

Mukuro said nothing, only staring down at his Commander as if deciding how to address his assertion.

“Our flying camera spies have already recorded them outside the walls, my lord. They are quite good at staying hidden; it was difficult for us to track their movements. But we were able to catch this…” Kirin motioned to the flesh-covered wall, which rippled and smoothed out as a yellow glow grew along it. A reel of still images flickered past, then stopped as he waved.It was a frozen picture of a crouching redhead, face turned away, beside a slight female who was drawing her hood up to hide hers as well, but not quickly enough for the still shot. A third form was a blurred shadow behind them.

Shigure’s eyes widened upon sight of the girl’s face. The bell at his temple tinkled as he abruptly lifted his giant ring-sword over his head and put it carefully aside. “If I may, my lord?” he asked, and Mukuro nodded assent, curious as to why the bodyguard was suddenly so interested.

Going to the wall, Shigure expanded the picture, his eyes taking in the delicate features and dark brown eyes that looked so resolutely determined. He traced a finger down the right side of her cheek, and when he turned back, his black eyes glinted. “How utterly ironic, my lord. I know this girl---she was once a patient of mine. I thought her long dead. How sweet to know she’s survived.”

The iron-haired demon smiled. “There is really only one reason I can think of as to why she would come seeking you, my lord, and I think you will find it quite amusing.”

“Really.” The king’s blue eye rested on the still face. “Tell me more, doctor.”


“I don’t like how easily we penetrated the fortress’s outer defenses,” Kurama muttered as Sango crouched beside him. His green eyes rove the dark tunnel before them with suspicion as Sango drew her hood further up to better hide her features.

“We’re inside, fox,” Hiei growled. “What more do you want? An engraved invitation?”

Kurama refused to be baited. He tested the air, wrinkling his nose at the fetid smell. Mukuro’s fortress was made of the gigantic exoskeleton of some type of insect demon, and he had an uneasy feeling the spider-beetle wasn’t as dead as it appeared. The tunnel seemed long abandoned, with dust and spiders and other crawling and flying insects making homes within its dark environs. He didn’t like the ominous quiet, and Youko was strangely reticent. Only a strong sense of disquiet and foreboding came from that spark deep within him, and Kurama wasn’t certain if it was the circumstance or the lack of any real information. Youko was even more cautious than he when eliciting conclusions.

Kurama didn’t like any of this. Even the journey to get here had been too easy. True, they were forced to fight nearly every day as they crossed the thick forests of Mukuro’s rolling valleys. Keeping to the back roads and avoiding contact with the few villages and the king’s bumbling guards at all costs, they had managed to make their way to the King’s very fortress with none the wiser. Or so he hoped. He would have preferred to take more time to gather additional information, just as Hiei would have preferred they not hide in the deeper forest like a band of thieves. The short demon despised secrecy just as much as Kurama despised being openly confrontational. Hiei hated “skulking,” as he called it. It was Sango---the name still felt like a gift somehow, even after a week of casually getting used to it---who had managed to persuade them both into a compromise of staying covert but not overly so, somehow balancing the polar opposites of their opinions with her persuasive sense.

Not that there wasn’t a treacherous part of him that was all too willing to give in to the taiji-ya. He tried to justify his ready capitulation by the inane reason that it was her quest, after all, and thus her call. But it was more a softening---foolish as it was, and look where it had gotten him, ill-prepared and uneasily staring into the mouth of a tunnel at the foot of a demon king’s mysterious fortress!---of his normal caution and control giving in to her appeal. Stupid as that was, it was what it was, and he was rather certain that had been Hiei’s problem as well.

Still, they somehow worked remarkably well together, even with their differing personalities. It was the small things that brought it out. In a week of “skulking,” they had been forced to rely on each other, from taking turns keeping watch as the other two slept, to working as a team fighting the various youkai who attacked them. Not that any of the mindless brutes had caused them much trouble. Still, the incessant fighting grew tiresome, and Kurama secretly began to wonder if the traditions of Demon World---that “survival of the fittest” was the only way---were not rather outdated. Living in the human world had affected him in strange ways, and seeing the history of Japan unfold once the kakai net was in place and humans could start cooperating with each other…well, it skewed his views of the world of his birth.

But now was hardly the time for rumination, as Hiei sharply reminded him with a casual “Let’s go,” before abruptly disappearing. Hand on her hilt, Sango followed with a shrug. Kurama paused, eyes flicking over the fetid maw about to close over them, and with a fatalistic shrug of his own, readied a rose and followed them inside.


“That’s it?” Kuwabara didn’t look impressed. Koenma had to admit it wasn’t much to look at---just a rickety, box-shaped table of wood, the shuttered top pasted over with sacred sutras. The sutras weren’t that powerful. For all his deep faith, the old priest, Mr. Higurashi, only had a mediocre talent.

Descending the last step, the godling crossed the dusty floor to stand beside the dry well. Reaching out, his fingers smoothed over the paper seals. The sacred writing glowed under his touch, making Kagome gasp behind him. But there was really no need for him to strengthen the power of the shielding sutras, for the well was a dead thing. Whatever power it once had over time was gone, or hidden so deep it could not be broken from this side of the dimensional barrier.

Distastefully wiping the dust off his fingers on his lapel, Koenma shook his head. “It’s gone. Whatever power the Bone-Eater’s Well once had has fled.”

“Tell us something we don’t know,” Inuyasha growled with a roll of his eyes. Koenma’s mouth quirked. The belligerent hanyou was a lot like Yusuke, save for the claws and ears and silver hair. Though Yusuke had been pretty hairy the last time he saw him, Koenma mused. That was when the Mazoku gene had first awoken within the ex-detective and some mysterious demon ancestor had taken control of his body long enough to off Sensui.

Koenma frowned. He didn’t like being reminded of his mistakes, and Sensui had been a big one. This well was another. Sometimes there was just too much to do in Spirit World. Between the mountains of paperwork and the processing and dispensation of souls, the policing of human world and the constant administrative duties, the work never seemed to end. It was no wonder his father had been so willing to turn it over to him. Koenma had wanted so badly to help, to prove himself capable and worthy of the stern man he’d idolized---terrible pun as that was, considering Yama was a god.

He had idolized his father, though. For the King seemed so powerful and perfect to a son who often felt keenly the differences between them. King Yama would never have hired a troubled boy like Sensui, nor let the powerful artifacts stored in the castle’s Vault be stolen or misplaced not once, but three times, in the last five years. Why, the Vault’s security systems were his---or had been his, before he defected---responsibility. The dangerous artifacts were kept locked up for a reason, for any one of them could wreak untold havoc in human world if they fell into the wrong hands.

As each of them had.

Shoulders slumping, Koenma guessed that this case---the one involved in the legend of the well and a shattered Jewel that should never have been released from Spirit World, once it was brought there by the miko who’d died protecting it---might never be solved. There was no telling where the Shikon no Tama was right now. At least he now knew how the Jewel had managed to appear fifty years after Kikyo had first brought it to Reikai, but still remained in the castle’s vaults until about sixteen years ago. The paradox of having both Jewels---one safe and whole in the vaults, the other shattered into a thousand pieces across Japan in the sixteenth century, was beyond him.

Koenma had dismissed the shattered Jewel as a fake, for in those chaotic times, when he was young and new to his post, there had been many who had tried to recreate the powerful Shikon no Tama with scant success. That the shattered Jewel had been a powerful tool---well, he’d just thought it a better copy than the others, somehow infused with some powerful jyaki, since the demon who managed to gather most of it was able to use it to do some terrible things in the living world. Koenma had been busy helping to erect the kakai barrier then, though, and had had no time to waste on what he considered---at the time---a minor problem.

Those times---what the humans aptly named the Warring States Era---were so tumultuous. What was one more petty, power-hungry demon wreaking havoc across the face of human world? There were hundreds, thousands, of demons in Ningenkai then. It was so terrible, the price on the poor humans so high, that Spirit World had finally decided the best way to solve the problem was to build a barrier powerful enough to keep the demons out. Or, at least, most of them, since a few had still managed to slip through the kakai net, as evidenced by Hiei, Kurama, and even Yukina.

Koenma remembered, vividly, the day the priestess Kikyo had first brought the Shikon no Tama to him. She’d died defending it from her half-demon lover---the very hanyou who now stood rolling his eyes behind him. She’d brought it with her into the afterlife, instructing it be burned with her body so that she could do so. Aware of its terrible power, Koenma had carefully sealed the Jewel away inside the Vault himself before granting the sad-eyed miko’s request to wander the planes of Spirit World, rather than be setting on the path to Eternity that her sacrifice warranted. She’d faded from his mind and memory, though he’d thought of her when word came to him, fifty years later, that her reincarnation had appeared in Ningenkai, bearing the Jewel of Four Souls, and freeing her hanyou lover from his sleep-bound arrow to the Goshinboku.

Agitated, for he had not signed the paperwork to release the miko’s soul back to the living world, Koenma had gone and checked the Vault. Finding the Shikon there, solidly whole and serenely sitting in its secured drawer, had made him doubt the rumors brought him. He’d been concerned when the (what he thought as fake) Jewel had been shattered, and heard some demon was using the shards for his own evil ambitions. He’d dismissed it, though, as just another petty narcissist wreaking havoc on the humans. He was already doing all he could in trying to build the barrier, which took all Reikai’s time and energy, not to mention spiritual power. He’d been exhausted for years after, for it took time to replace that much expended power, even for a demi-god.

When next Koenma had heard, the “fake” Jewel had disappeared into legend, and he’d dismissed it with the legend of the well and the legend of the miko and her hanyou. They had died in some final confrontation with the evil demon, possibly going to hell, the netherworld, since he’d never processed their souls into Spirit World.

Except the reincarnated miko and her hanyou now stood with him in this dusty shack on a shrine built around the God’s Tree in the middle of modern-day Tokyo. And the “fake” Jewel that had wreaked such havoc in the Sengoku Jidai had been the real one. For Koenma was entirely too uncomfortably aware that the real Jewel had disappeared some sixteen years ago from the Vault, stolen by the very soul who had first brought it to him. Kikyo had taken it with her into reincarnation---as testified by the girl Kagome, who admitted it had been in her body, all unknowing, until she was pulled by a centipede demoness down the very well he stood beside and wound up five-hundred years in the past.

Kagome was and was not the priestess Kikyo. They shared the same soul, as well as the same love, the same power, the same strength. But Kagome was her own person, as Kikyo had been hers. Koenma did not understand why Kikyo had taken the Jewel from the Vault and set in motion all that occurred, but he at least knew what had. Although that was scant comfort for the fact that the Jewel was still missing. Its divided power could lend such immense aid to evil or good, and who knew what terrible havoc it could unleash.

Especially since the careful balance of power in Demon World was in such a precarious state right now. The ferry-girl, Botan, had managed to send Koenma some alarming news concerning the three Kings who ruled Makai. Koenma worried over Yusuke’s personal quest in the middle of all that nonsense. Knowing Yusuke, he might very well be in the middle of it---if not the cause.

His concern must have shown on his face, for Kuwabara abruptly demanded, “What’s wrong, Koenma? You look a little green.”

That was putting it mildly. Koenma was surprised when the girl---so incongruously clad in her school uniform, and yet so powerful a miko it was ridiculous she was still untrained---laid a small hand on his arm. He could feel a sense of well-being following the shock of recognition her spiritual energy, so similar to his, would always spark whenever they touched. He felt his burdens easing under her healing touch. He smiled, recognizing it for what it was, and thanked her. The worry was still there, but blunted, and so he was able to answer the hanyou’s irritated demand to know what the hell was going on with wry honesty.

“It’s the Jewel of Four Souls. I now know who took it from my father’s secured vaults, but I have no idea where it currently is. And with all the tension and unrest in Demon World---well, that little bauble can cause quite a bit of trouble if word got out that it’s missing. And my…friends…are there now, in Makai---”

“You saying Yusuke’s in trouble?” Kuwabara immediately pounced on that, his expression darkening as his chin jutted out angrily.

“Not entirely, Kuwabara.” Koenma sighed, sinking down on one of the wooden steps that led down to the well. “Just that he might be in trouble, if word got out in Makai that Midoriko’s legendary Jewel could be anywhere. There’s enough tension between the three Kings and their territories that even a rumor of it could throw the whole world into civil war. A war that would make Ningenkai’s World Wars look like bratty children fighting over toys.”

“The threat alone is really that bad?” Kagome asked in a muted voice. The girl was incredibly intelligent, for all her youthful exuberance. Perhaps it came from having an old soul, one with lots of spiritual power, for Yusuke had that same devastating insight to see straight to the heart of things, dense as he seemed at other times.

Koenma treated her query with all seriousness. “Yes. For whatever happens in Demon World will eventually bleed over into the other three worlds: Spirit, Human and Hell. Somehow, what happens in one is reflected in the others, either taking the form of a devastating war or some terrible natural disaster.”

Kagome shivered, and the silver-haired hanyou reached out a clawed hand for hers. They shared a long, measuring look and Koenma raised a brow in question. Kagome suddenly looked vulnerably indecisive, and Inuyasha gave her such a tender look of reassurance that Koenma felt intrusive. He glanced at Kuwabara, who had a fat smile on his face, reveling in the power of true love. As black and white as Kuwabara was in his simple views of the world and his place within it, the tall boy had an intrinsic sense of honor and an unwavering faith in the power of a love that could support and strengthen two into one.

Which was why it was so easy to recognize when the hanyou left some silent decision up to the miko, and then readily accepted it when she gave a slight nod. She turned without a word and darted up the steps past Koenma. He stood up in confusion as the hanyou folded his arms and scowled at them, refusing to say anything except, “She’ll be right back, god-boy.”

“But---” Koenma looked up the stairs and the hanyou rolled his eyes, clearly impatient with his impatience.

“Hey, I didn’t know Kagome was your red-pinky-string soul mate!” Kuwabara mock-punched Inuyasha in the shoulder, a foolish grin spreading across his delighted face.

“My what?” Inuyasha looked askance as Kuwabara explained with soulful intensity, to which Inuyasha said flatly, “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Why the hell would you tie a damn piece of string to your mate’s fucking finger? What kind of freaky leash is that?”

“It’s not a leash!” Kuwabara protested, his brows coming down as his voice rose. “And it’s not stupid!”

“It is, too,” Inuyasha insisted. Closing his eyes, Koenma sighed as the predictable argument ensued. Their bickering was almost to the point of going physical when the advent of Kagome’s return was punctuated by a distracted, “Sit, boy.”

Inuyasha was abruptly flat on the ground and Kuwabara was laughing his ass off. Koenma, who had felt the power of the beads around the hanyou’s neck but didn’t know what they were for, chuckled. He paused, though, when Kagome came up beside him, her hands cupping around something swathed in an absurdly neon pink washcloth.

“What the hell was that for, Kagome---” Inuyasha’s protest died when he looked up and saw what she held. They all stared, riveted, as the miko delicately folded back the washcloth to reveal the small item within.

Koenma drew in a startled breath as the miko said regretfully, “I’m sorry we didn’t tell you before…but it’s not like we can trust just anybody…”

There, nestled in the natted terrycloth, was the Jewel of Four Souls, gleaming with innocent purity across its unbroken, perfectly round and smooth surface.