New Beginnings
folder
InuYasha › Het - Male/Female › Sesshōmaru/Rin
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
9
Views:
4,779
Reviews:
39
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
InuYasha › Het - Male/Female › Sesshōmaru/Rin
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
9
Views:
4,779
Reviews:
39
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own InuYasha, nor make money from this story.
Chapter 9
© Salome Wilde, 2008
Author’s Note: My apologies for being so long away from this story. This chapter makes plain this will be a novel unto itself, despite my promise that I will never write an inunovel! Darn it. Couldn't resist this direction since knowing how the manga ends. My Kikyou lives, my SessRin are mates, and my MirSan goes awry...but not forever! Despite this turn in the road, I promise the SessRin romance will be at the heart of it all, and, as I’ve told those who've asked, there will be no murder or other death in this fic!! I try not to go too fluffy, but happy ending for sure. In other words, fear not, but the angst will be hot n heavy always.
Chapter 9
Once he returned from relieving himself—reappearing from the bushes with an enormous satisfied yawn and stretch that Sesshomaru found grotesquely unnecessary—Miroku sat back down on his meditation cushion at the door of his hut and set himself to the task of comprehending the nature of the sword’s possession. The monk already knew the tales of the relic and that it had long been under powerful ward. He knew no more than Sesshomaru as to who had broken it and why, and he marveled that the spirit that possessed it could still be active despite the damage and separation of the pieces. The blade section he lifted and turned delicately in his fingertips—his coarseness somehow had not stolen his dexterity, Sesshomaru noted—was decorated with ornate, ancient script that glowed with a pale blue light.
Suddenly, Miroku’s violet eyes glowed blue, too, and he began to read from the sword in a hoarse voice that was not his own: “Forever entwined as it has been decreed, Daikano, the Black Bull of Tamba, will have his evil turned to good within this weapon. His crimes are herein named so that all who…” His voice faltered and his head dropped, then snapped up again. The glow was faint but still in his eyes. Miroku blinked in obvious confusion. “I have got to stop drinking the dregs of the barrel,” he muttered.
Jaken’s eyes bulged and he stuttered, “M-m-my Lord Sesshomaru! H-h-how did he—?”
Sesshomaru raised a finger to silence his chattering vassal and reflected. Like Souunga, the sword was possessed of a powerful demon; unlike that ensouled weapon, this one continued to possess even though broken. And its powers were not only that of the legendary Black Bull, but also somehow those of the monks who forged it and now used Miroku to speak.
Sesshomaru had heard of Daikano, of course, but he did not know this sword held his spirit. The ancient yokai was said to have slaughtered thousands in an instant, becoming stronger with each kill. He attacked with his huge, removable horns that he would fling at enemies, releasing a deadly sandlike spray from within them. Contact with only one granule was enough to kill, reducing the victim instantly to sandlike crystals himself, only to be sucked back up into the horn as it boomeranged back into Daikano’s mighty fist. None could get close enough to destroy the demon, until an order of monks convinced Daikano that they worshiped him and could fashion a sword from some of the “sand” to further magnify his power. The vain creature acquiesced and, so the legend said, was absorbed himself and sealed into the weapon. Its power was as legendary as the bull yokai himself; however, Sesshomaru had not known the broken weapon he took in his father’s name was the Daikano Sword. That damned bull had turned him into the beast that had raped Rin, might even have killed her had he not fled. He fumed, itching to bring the monster back to life that he might truly destroy him rather than trust frail wards to keep Daikano bound.
“Monk,” Sesshomaru said, without emotion, “are you aware of what you just uttered?”
“Yeah,” replied Miroku. “That I need to stop drinking the—”
“No,” snapped Sesshomaru. “The sword: you spoke its tale without awareness. This is the blade that holds the soul of Daikano, the Black Bull. Reach inside yourself—I believe you are now possessed by the monks who crafted it.”
Miroku looked down at his hands, then gently placed the sword piece onto the ground before him. He felt something stirring within him, something powerful but not malevolent. As for the sword, he knew well the name and the infamous tales of slaughter that went with it.
“Monk, my request of you has altered. I no longer wish the sword sealed. I want you to help me to release Daikano.”
Jaken sputtered his hysterical disagreement with Sesshomaru’s change of course but was quickly silenced with a look.
Miroku, by contrast, liked the change in demand. It had been long since he had had opportunity to defeat a foe as powerful as Daikano was said to be. And there was that growing hum in his mind—reflected in the blue shadowy glow in his eyes—that urged him on. Yes, it came from the sword, clearly, but it was not Daikano. It felt almost like the inspirational boost he got from the first drink of the morning. The defeat of Naraku came immediately to mind as he contemplated Sesshomaru’s request. That was a decade ago yet still somehow fresh and easy to bring forward in his thoughts. Life was very different then.
He remembered the way his Sango looked in her slayer garments…flying behind her on Kirara’s strong back…his hand on her ass before she’d strike him. He missed those days almost as much as more recent times, when they’d shared home and bed together…before he’d lost her. He pushed the pain away and let his mind remain in the past, where Inuyasha would leap into melee without planning or forethought, where Kagome’s optimism reigned and her arrows flew so true… He rubbed his hand, now no longer cursed. That was the beginning of the end for them all, even where the endings were happy. Lifting his gaze again to the golden-eyed yokai’s, Miroku smiled. “All right, Sesshomaru, I’m your monk. What’s the plan?”
Jaken looked as if he were about to speak again, but stopped himself before he bothered.
Sesshomaru would have smiled at the monk’s eagerness and Jaken’s silence, if he ever did smile. Instead, he formulated the path ahead as he spoke: “First, you devise wards so that when I allow myself to be again possessed, I do not harm you…or anyone else. Then, I let the sword take me, and we find that missing third piece. Once we have them all, we bring Daikano out, and I destroy him, once and for all.”
“I agree, with a few stipulations.”
Sesshoumaru nodded once, willing to hear but perhaps not to agree to the terms the monk might set.
“First, we test whether you truly can stay in control once Daikano possesses you. I suggest we leave you alone with Jaken in my hut awhile,” he smirked, pointing at the huffy little toad.
“My Lord,” Jaken began, but his sentence was interrupted by Sesshomaru’s fist.
“Once we are certain you won’t simply kill him, me, and anyone else you can reach, we go. And when we find the sword and I reunite its pieces and, if I can, release Daikano, you agree not to fight him alone.”
“What nonsense is this, monk?” Sesshomaru growled.
“I help you fight it and, if they agree to the risks—as I know they will—we get Inuyasha, Kagome,…and Sango to battle Daikano together.”
“Foolish sentimentalist,” Sesshomaru scoffed. “Bring back the ‘good old days,’ hmm? When you were not such a pitiful excuse for a pitiful human, when my brother was more than a mate for that puerile miko, and when you had your fertile little slayer by your side…”
“Yes,” snapped Miroku, eyes flashing. He would not deny it. He hefted his girth from his seat and rose before Sesshomaru. “Do you agree, yokai?”
Sesshomaru rose too, as lofty and elegant as he had ever been. “We shall see, monk. For now, create your ofuda so we may see whether you and Jaken remain alive until the morning.”
Jaken swallowed audibly and whined, “As my Lord Sesshomaru commands.”
Author’s Note: My apologies for being so long away from this story. This chapter makes plain this will be a novel unto itself, despite my promise that I will never write an inunovel! Darn it. Couldn't resist this direction since knowing how the manga ends. My Kikyou lives, my SessRin are mates, and my MirSan goes awry...but not forever! Despite this turn in the road, I promise the SessRin romance will be at the heart of it all, and, as I’ve told those who've asked, there will be no murder or other death in this fic!! I try not to go too fluffy, but happy ending for sure. In other words, fear not, but the angst will be hot n heavy always.
Once he returned from relieving himself—reappearing from the bushes with an enormous satisfied yawn and stretch that Sesshomaru found grotesquely unnecessary—Miroku sat back down on his meditation cushion at the door of his hut and set himself to the task of comprehending the nature of the sword’s possession. The monk already knew the tales of the relic and that it had long been under powerful ward. He knew no more than Sesshomaru as to who had broken it and why, and he marveled that the spirit that possessed it could still be active despite the damage and separation of the pieces. The blade section he lifted and turned delicately in his fingertips—his coarseness somehow had not stolen his dexterity, Sesshomaru noted—was decorated with ornate, ancient script that glowed with a pale blue light.
Suddenly, Miroku’s violet eyes glowed blue, too, and he began to read from the sword in a hoarse voice that was not his own: “Forever entwined as it has been decreed, Daikano, the Black Bull of Tamba, will have his evil turned to good within this weapon. His crimes are herein named so that all who…” His voice faltered and his head dropped, then snapped up again. The glow was faint but still in his eyes. Miroku blinked in obvious confusion. “I have got to stop drinking the dregs of the barrel,” he muttered.
Jaken’s eyes bulged and he stuttered, “M-m-my Lord Sesshomaru! H-h-how did he—?”
Sesshomaru raised a finger to silence his chattering vassal and reflected. Like Souunga, the sword was possessed of a powerful demon; unlike that ensouled weapon, this one continued to possess even though broken. And its powers were not only that of the legendary Black Bull, but also somehow those of the monks who forged it and now used Miroku to speak.
Sesshomaru had heard of Daikano, of course, but he did not know this sword held his spirit. The ancient yokai was said to have slaughtered thousands in an instant, becoming stronger with each kill. He attacked with his huge, removable horns that he would fling at enemies, releasing a deadly sandlike spray from within them. Contact with only one granule was enough to kill, reducing the victim instantly to sandlike crystals himself, only to be sucked back up into the horn as it boomeranged back into Daikano’s mighty fist. None could get close enough to destroy the demon, until an order of monks convinced Daikano that they worshiped him and could fashion a sword from some of the “sand” to further magnify his power. The vain creature acquiesced and, so the legend said, was absorbed himself and sealed into the weapon. Its power was as legendary as the bull yokai himself; however, Sesshomaru had not known the broken weapon he took in his father’s name was the Daikano Sword. That damned bull had turned him into the beast that had raped Rin, might even have killed her had he not fled. He fumed, itching to bring the monster back to life that he might truly destroy him rather than trust frail wards to keep Daikano bound.
“Monk,” Sesshomaru said, without emotion, “are you aware of what you just uttered?”
“Yeah,” replied Miroku. “That I need to stop drinking the—”
“No,” snapped Sesshomaru. “The sword: you spoke its tale without awareness. This is the blade that holds the soul of Daikano, the Black Bull. Reach inside yourself—I believe you are now possessed by the monks who crafted it.”
Miroku looked down at his hands, then gently placed the sword piece onto the ground before him. He felt something stirring within him, something powerful but not malevolent. As for the sword, he knew well the name and the infamous tales of slaughter that went with it.
“Monk, my request of you has altered. I no longer wish the sword sealed. I want you to help me to release Daikano.”
Jaken sputtered his hysterical disagreement with Sesshomaru’s change of course but was quickly silenced with a look.
Miroku, by contrast, liked the change in demand. It had been long since he had had opportunity to defeat a foe as powerful as Daikano was said to be. And there was that growing hum in his mind—reflected in the blue shadowy glow in his eyes—that urged him on. Yes, it came from the sword, clearly, but it was not Daikano. It felt almost like the inspirational boost he got from the first drink of the morning. The defeat of Naraku came immediately to mind as he contemplated Sesshomaru’s request. That was a decade ago yet still somehow fresh and easy to bring forward in his thoughts. Life was very different then.
He remembered the way his Sango looked in her slayer garments…flying behind her on Kirara’s strong back…his hand on her ass before she’d strike him. He missed those days almost as much as more recent times, when they’d shared home and bed together…before he’d lost her. He pushed the pain away and let his mind remain in the past, where Inuyasha would leap into melee without planning or forethought, where Kagome’s optimism reigned and her arrows flew so true… He rubbed his hand, now no longer cursed. That was the beginning of the end for them all, even where the endings were happy. Lifting his gaze again to the golden-eyed yokai’s, Miroku smiled. “All right, Sesshomaru, I’m your monk. What’s the plan?”
Jaken looked as if he were about to speak again, but stopped himself before he bothered.
Sesshomaru would have smiled at the monk’s eagerness and Jaken’s silence, if he ever did smile. Instead, he formulated the path ahead as he spoke: “First, you devise wards so that when I allow myself to be again possessed, I do not harm you…or anyone else. Then, I let the sword take me, and we find that missing third piece. Once we have them all, we bring Daikano out, and I destroy him, once and for all.”
“I agree, with a few stipulations.”
Sesshoumaru nodded once, willing to hear but perhaps not to agree to the terms the monk might set.
“First, we test whether you truly can stay in control once Daikano possesses you. I suggest we leave you alone with Jaken in my hut awhile,” he smirked, pointing at the huffy little toad.
“My Lord,” Jaken began, but his sentence was interrupted by Sesshomaru’s fist.
“Once we are certain you won’t simply kill him, me, and anyone else you can reach, we go. And when we find the sword and I reunite its pieces and, if I can, release Daikano, you agree not to fight him alone.”
“What nonsense is this, monk?” Sesshomaru growled.
“I help you fight it and, if they agree to the risks—as I know they will—we get Inuyasha, Kagome,…and Sango to battle Daikano together.”
“Foolish sentimentalist,” Sesshomaru scoffed. “Bring back the ‘good old days,’ hmm? When you were not such a pitiful excuse for a pitiful human, when my brother was more than a mate for that puerile miko, and when you had your fertile little slayer by your side…”
“Yes,” snapped Miroku, eyes flashing. He would not deny it. He hefted his girth from his seat and rose before Sesshomaru. “Do you agree, yokai?”
Sesshomaru rose too, as lofty and elegant as he had ever been. “We shall see, monk. For now, create your ofuda so we may see whether you and Jaken remain alive until the morning.”
Jaken swallowed audibly and whined, “As my Lord Sesshomaru commands.”