Do I look like Takahashi Rumiko-sensei? I don't? Didn't think so. Naraku's not mine, either. For Ren, just because I could.
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The girl lay quietly upon the stone slab, pale and lovely, her dark hair fanned out around her head like a black corona, her face slack, her eyes closed. The occasional shudder ran under her skin, trembling as though from fright or arousal, or perhaps simply the dank atmosphere of the chamber in which she dwelt. The air was cool, almost frigid, and slightly moist. A misty sheen adorned her tresses and clung wetly to her skin. The air was filled with the susurration of unseen things, yet the girl remained quiescent and undisturbed.
Procuring the girl had been the easy task. Training her to mimic the gestures and mannerisms of his beloved miko had proven impossible. Perhaps it was for the best; had he succeeded, he was sure he would have felt the uncontrollable urge to destroy his creation. One pallid imitation of his Kikyo had been nearly more than the fragile thread of what he thought of as his sanity could bear; another would have broken him beyond repair.
Shunting aside these unwanted thoughts, Naraku approached the still figure that lay before him. "Kikyo," he breathed softly. The girl stirred briefly at the sound of his voice, then stilled once more, awaiting his command. He clambered onto the slab, parting the young woman's thighs and kneeling between them. He gently opened her frayed silk yukata, tenderly stroking the waxen flesh now bared to his touch. "Kikyo, come to me," he whispered passionately as he bent over the girl.
White arms wrapped themselves loosely around his waist. Slender fingers clumsily caressed the arachnoid burn scar adorning his back. Pale legs tightened about his thighs, drawing him closer to her core. Sweeping the ragged cloth aside, he thrust sharply into her, plunging violently into her intimate recesses. Her back bowed, her mouth falling open in a silent 'O', and a chitinous chittering briefly filled the air surrounding the lovers. "Shh, my love," he soothed, smothering her soundless protests with his lips as he plundered her helpless body, taking her ever more violently, grasping her shoulders with vicious claws as he thrust into her, carelessly tearing at her tender labia, using her hard and crying, "Kikyo, oh, Kikyo!" until at last he spent himself, shuddering and sobbing in heartbroken frustration.
The girl lay back on the slab, tremulous but silent, the skin of her abdomen undulating slightly in the aftermath of their joining. Naraku sighed. This travesty of lovemaking would never satisfy the longing in his heart, but it would have to do. "All right, my lovelies, you may be dismissed," he murmured. The girl's lips spread wide, letting forth a hideous rustling and the stench of decay. Naraku watched dispassionately as thousands upon thousands of brown and black bodies disgorged themselves from the corpse's various orifices. The girl's body slowly deflated, a putrid, shriveling husk, as the myriad roaches scuttled for cover in the chinks between the dungeon's stones. He thought briefly of scooping up a handful of the vermin and snacking upon them, but stayed his hand. It had taken months of training, breeding, and conditioning to teach the insects to reanimate a corpse in a lifelike manner, and he couldn't afford to waste yet more precious time for the sake of a whim of hunger.
Yes, procuring the girl had been easy. Young girls with long black hair, with poor families eager to barter them off to the charming, handsome gentleman who came calling, were always in abundance. But trained roaches? Ah, now those were rare jewels, indeed.