1: The Cloaked Warrior
The monthly meeting was on the verge of wrapping up. For 50 years, he had been meeting his most trusted advisors - of which there were two - once a month, here in Osaka. He did not like this metropolis with its acrid scents and its head-pounding noises. He did not like his human guise. He did not like meeting with these old fools, because nothing was ever said that could not have been discussed in the boardroom at the local branch of his business, Daikin* Industries. He did not like that he actually did like meeting with these old fools, who were his only remaining links with a glorious past that he should have moved on from long ago.
He sat casually cross-legged on a cushion with his knees under the kotatsu, even though it was summer and the voluminous cloth of the table had been long stored away. His apartment, though moderately large and occupying a modern building, was decorated with a simplicity that married traditional elements with newer Western items. There were two main rooms: a traditional one in which he entertained guests (namely Jaken and Myouga) and another which was considered the 'living' room, with a television and comfortable seating and a coffee table decorated (if you could call it that) with a few magazines. If you looked closely, the magazines were all at least ten years old. It had been a fit of melancholy that had moved him to add furniture and belongings to the room. An attempt to make it look lived in, like he belonged there. He did not often spend time in the living room, moving instead between his study and his bedroom.
"Sesshoumaru-sama, did you hear that new rumor?" his retainer, Jaken, began after a comfortable silence. They kept their talk to simple business and rumor, and never turned the conversation to the past, which they could not redo and could not revisit. He sipped his green tea (the imp would drink no other), and absorbed the irritated stare of his lord and employer.
"No," he said, "But I will hear it."
"There is talk of a fierce warrior that is terrorizing the city," Jaken quickly continued. He didn't wish to be cut in half again. "He seems to be killing the more…unsavory elements of the city, my Lord. By night. Humans and youkai alike."
"Master Sesshoumaru, shall I go later and see what I can find out?" Myouga asked, eager to be on assignment. They did not talk of the past, but Myouga thought of it all the time, the glory days when he had roamed Japan gathering rumors of shards for InuYasha and Kagome, that powerful couple, who fought for right and good and cleansed Japan of evil.
"Hn," Sesshoumaru said, and the ancient flea youkai, who should have taken his last sip of blood and drifted away on the wind many years hence, took this as consent. Their lord rose and left the room, knowing that Jaken and Myouga could figure out where the door was, as it was the same door they had exited from for the last fifty years.
By the time he got out of a shower, his two old retainers were gone and the sun had set. The shadows draped across the furniture in the living room when he peeked in, but Sesshoumaru's amber eyes easily dissected them. The single-curve chaise lounge with its single pillow for comfort. The matching sofa allowed two cushions. A kotatsu. Tall shelving that was empty except for a few books. The shoji screens that covered the windows. It was a peaceful room in neutral tones, light and airy and uncluttered except for those few old magazines.
It felt empty.
Sesshoumaru dressed and slipped on his shoes. He was going to do what he always did on the nights he knew sleep would not come to him. He did not notice that those nights tended to coincide with the days he met with Jaken and Myouga. The two faithful retainers carefully avoided remember-whens and the honorable Sesshoumaru pretended to forget that they had ever been.
He walked the streets of Osaka, not bothering to look up at the skyscrapers and other modern buildings that were now more numerous than the trees of the past, crowding the city. He kept his gaze steadily ahead and did not stop for traffic lights.
The next week, Myouga reported that he had been unable to see the warrior in action (the other two silently chalked it up to cowardice), but had gathered information. The warrior was almost seven feet tall, it was said. He fought with twin blades to devastating effect. He wore a heavy cloak and looked like Death himself. He deliberately hunted down the evil in the city and executed it. The yakuza were in a terror. Evil low-level youkai without concealment spells were retreating from the city in droves. The seething underground was in turmoil.
After they were gone, Sesshoumaru showered and began to roam. He thought about this cloaked warrior as he walked the streets. He had seen a ninja movie or two, decades ago before the ennui had buried him, and the image of the cloaked warrior amused him, though not enough to lift his lips in a smirk. The youkai that were fleeing the city would surely take up residence in some other city with access to the worthless humans of the night now. They had emigrated to Osaka from Tokyo, fleeing the bright consuming light that had flared there almost twenty-five years ago, incinerating all the rabble youkai within a half-mile radius of ground zero.
Sesshoumaru had not bothered to investigate. At one time, when he still had a title, when he still had a kingdom, or even when he still had self-respect, he most definitely would have, as something so dangerous to youkai should not be allowed to continue. But he had not, and it wasn't long before the light had vanished from the world.
It was later, when the night sky began to long for dawn, that the scent of youkai blood split the air, calling to him. And when at last he came upon the battle, the cloaked warrior was not wearing a cloak, and was closer to five feet than to seven, and was not in fact male at all.