Fires of Possession
by: Guardian
guardian@phayze.com
personal rating: 10/10
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Author's Note:
WARNING: this is not a pretty, happy, flower-petals-being-thrown-everywhere sort of fic. It's a take on how the relationship between Kurama and Hiei could have gotten started, and I'm trying to be as realistic as possible. Meaning, that a fire-demon who has been outcasted from everyone all his life will not all of a sudden go dumb with the realization that he loves a certain youko-ningen. There's a lot of dark thoughts heard and/or felt in this fic, and for the most part even I get a little depressed when I go back and read it. The only thing that keeps me interested, is the fact that I know how it comes out. ^_~
Do know this, however. I am a firm believer in 1) true love, and 2) reasonably happy endings. So keep your eyes open for both those aspects. They may be a little lost in the beginning, but they'll definitely be found by the end.
Apologies have to be made in the beginning, since this fic is going to be very slow in coming out. Because of its content, and because of how good I'm trying to make sure it remains, I'm not staying with this fic like I have others. With my other stories, I try to write at least a paragraph or a page a day. With this one, if I get the urge to write on it, I sit down, write about seven to ten pages (or until my interest fades), then set it aside until I get the urge to work on it again. Sometimes this is the next day. Sometimes its a few weeks later. This way of writing may sound whacked, but trust me. There's not a part in this fic that I've written so far that I don't like. That's cool to me, so please have patience.
Last but not least: the style. I've never really set up a story like this one, and that's in short, organized triplets. There are three main sections - or books, or scrolls, or however you want to name them. The first is called Lust. The second, Lies. The third, Love. Within each section, there are three parts - two consisting of the action that creates the depth of the story, the third being a lemon. Which means that once the fic is completed, it will have three lemons within it. If this offends you, please skip over those parts. However, if you can stand it, I would advise that you wouldn't. The lemons are the most important part of the fic, because that's where you get a good eye-view on the development of Hiei and Kurama's relationship. A better explanation of my reasonings will accompany as the last part, after the completion of the fic.
And so . . . if anyone is still with me, even after all this, please - enjoy the show, and let me know what you think. It really is true that comments and criticism make the muses a bit more energetic in their work. ^_~
ja!
~ Guardian ~
ps. I know, I know! The title needs work but hey! I'm using all my creativity on the story itself, here! lol.
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I. Lust
Kurama was living - dreaming, there is no - a nightmare. It was dream - it had to be - and yet there was room for doubt, for he could feel the heat of flames against his flesh, could taste the blood gathering behind his lips. Screaming voices echoed within his ears and thrashed about violently within his skull - not only screams, but thoughts and images filled with terror and death and darkness. He shook his head violently, trying to block them out, to shake them away, yet it did no good; they followed him as he ran, nipping at his heels like hell-fire. He wanted to stop, to hold his hands over his ears and shout loud enough to drown out the screams, but he couldn't. Not - not yet - there was something - following, after, stalking . . .
He halted abruptly, thrusting the distraction to the very farthest reaches of his mind that he could as he took a sharp glance around, his eyes piercing each individual shadow or every nook and cranny nearby. He had run into a dead-end - no problems with that; easily overcome - surrounded by small hut-like villages still standing. A shriek of fury rent through the silence and he whirled, his ki whip-lashing to attention even as he drew his sword. He held the hilt with both palms and hailed the danger coming upon him with a howl of anger, running back the way he had come, leaping atop first a barrel and then a roof-top and then out into the air itself. He struck, he came down, he hit and rolled; a second later he was gone, even as huge ebony-black claws rent through the soil and dust beneath him. Again - leap, strike, down, away; leap, strike, strike, away - and again he dove forward, just narrowly managing to escape the swipe of claws or the clacking snap of teeth only inches from his flesh.
He was not entirely lucky, however; she caught up to him in a flicker-lash of thunder, her fangs sinking into the unprotected turn of his side and belly. He was plucked from the air and shaken around, roaring in pain, before at the touch his flaming hand she shrieked and he was released, thrown across the compound. Again - get up, leap, away - yet he did not strike this time. With a grimace of pain he growled thickly within his throat, his free hand flexing uneasily upon his bleeding wound - the other clenching around the hilt of his sword - as he took up the offensive, staying as clear of claws and teeth as he could with his speed depleted by half. He cursed thickly in his mind, snarling at his opponent as he flickered from one shadow to another - then abruptly stumbled, nearly tripping over a small, trembling bundle. It started and whimpered, drawing close upon itself as it tried to stifle its cry of fear as he awkwardly stepped over it as opposed to stepping on it. With a snarled curse he turned to look at what it -
It was a child. A human child.
And she was coming again. She had lost him for a moment but now that vague advantage was gone and she was coming for him, hissing as she slithered lightning-fast across the courtyard, her tail whipping behind her, felling any building that happened to stand in her way. He looked from his opponent to the child, from the - stupid ningen brat - and back again. He was going to leave the child - let it die - but one thought stopped him. One thought alone, and he cursed it - damned fox - even as he dove forward, catching up the child in his arms and speeding away as she struck again. He could not carry both the child as well as his blade; it slipped from his grasp and thunked to the ground, wobbling slightly as the blade sank into the pliant earth.
Still, he ran. Only when he found a house still standing, occupied still by other Ningens even then cowering in fear, did he stop. He kicked open the door and ran to an aging woman, dumping the child in her arms, ignoring her startled cry of fear and shock as he exited as quickly as he had come. She was after him and cornered him against the door of the cabin; he feigned left, then leapt right - she came for him, ignoring the Ningen hut completely in her irrational need to rend his flesh.
Kurama thrashed in his sleep, crying out as in his dream he paid no heed to his wound nor his pain. He was off, running again, retrieving his sword, leaping to - strike, strike, away - always fighting, always - until death - battling to survive. She was too much for him, though. Too large, too strong, too - fast; so fast. He put on a burst of speed and fled her grasp yet again. Then he drew up short, skidding to a halt and whirling to face her. A quick, snatching motion and a multitude of burn-tinged ribbon floated away, flashing with the power of ward-sight as they disappeared in the darkness. His ki leapt at the freedom; she shrieked in mindless, blind fury and came for him yet again, and he met her force for force, the Darkness ripped from him, sealing him in a few breathless moments of silence. It fought, it conquered, it devoured - and he, apart and yet of it. She was lost among a sea of shadow-scales, her shriek pitching higher in a squeal of agony as fangs, claws, wings and tails lashed against one another, the Darkness wrapping around her and taking her down, slamming her into the ground. Fangs twice as long, thrice as sharp as her own sank past her shimmering iron-soft scales and into weakened flesh, slashing through to her very heart in three quick successions. She fought still, yet each movement came slower, weaker as the Darkness feasted. The world became shadowed for her, black upon black upon crimson bloody-red and black. And death became her.
He heaved, Calling the Darkness to return; it whirled upon him, thrashing as she had, snarling and snapping, its fangs clicking shut only inches from his flesh. He stood there in silence, demanding it to stillness by his will alone before with a howl of fury it relented, falling into the nothingness it knew so well. Even so it lashed out at him, sinking bloody claws into his soul, ripping fresh wounds as fire-blazened eyes seared themselves into his mind. And then . . . completion.
He grabbed the hilt of his sword where it lay sunken once more into the ground - that bare motion alone the one thing that kept him upon his feet as a bone-searing exhaustion took a hold of him. He closed his eyes, shaking his head violently to try and toss this away as well, yet it was not so easily a thing to be free of as the screams that still - even now - created a maddening back-drop of sound to his thoughts. He had to find a place of safety - a place in which to hibernate - while his strength returned to him and his body healed. Only one place came to mind; he shook it away irritably, baring his fangs to the shadows of the night around him. He would not. To go there would mean that he depended upon that one and - I will never depend upon him - he would not give in to such a weakness. There had to be another place to go -
The air sheared in half; lightning flashed - thunder rumbled across the sky as a bellow broke it in thrice, the memory of a thousand nightmares, a thousand bloody deaths, begotten into sound. Metal scraping raw against tarnished metal, the call of a creature for its companion, its lover, its mate, threw him to his knees. The ground beneath him trembled with that howl; the trees lashed viciously in tide-waves of hot, flame-scorched air as he grimaced, his eyes daring a single glance over his shoulder as he leaned heavily upon his sunken blade.
There had been one - would there be another?
A second rippling of thunder - not thunder - answered his unspoken question. He clenched his teeth and turned back, letting his head fall forward, pressing the bandaged motion of his temple rest against the cross-hilt of his sword. He had taken one - would he survive another? Would this be - defeat? A gust of hot air blew his cloak back from him in a rush, causing his closed eyes to sting and water in response. This . . . no. This would not be a defeat. He had taken one; let another handle the other.
Lethargically he pushed himself to his feet, struggling against the exhaustion taken over his limbs. He felt as if he were drowning in a lake of blood, thick and heavy and every-constantly moving . . . he stumbled, grabbing tight to the hilt of his blade. He stopped, set his jaw, and determinedly took a step away - yet was jerked back to his stance by the resisting lay of his sword. Blearily he took it up again and heaved, ripping it from the ground and stumbled back as it came; he just barely managed to turn his head in time before it would have taken a strike at his jaw and laid him low of itself, without the other's help.
And then, with the raging howl of thunder rippling behind him and the scent of fire-scorched death just behind the reach of his shadow, he ran yet again. Across the lands, across the regions, the creature stalking his bloody trail ripped a whole through the Gate between the worlds, and still . . . he ran . . .
Abruptly Kurama started up, gasping, sucking great gulps of air as his hands clawed the bed-linens around him convulsively. His long red hair hung in ragged locks falling around his face, half-obscuring his vision as he sat trembling, sweat trickling down his back, gathering beaded upon his lip. A flash of lightning - the crashing boom of thunder - caught him off guard and he jumped again, glancing fearfully at the window. Rain was thrashing against it violently, spilling across the frame of his window, sinking into the carpet beneath in great pools, darkening the cloth . . .
A moment of calmness, of rationality, and then . . . chaos.
Complete and utter chaos.
A second flash of lightning and he was there, a shadow illuminated only by the deep, bloody-crimson flicker of his eyes. A single, breathless cry of shock - "Hiei . . ." - followed almost simultaneously by the dull, gut-wrenching sound of the Jaganshi's weapon thudding to the floor, slipping free from the grasp of weak fingers. Dark red eyes wavered, struggling to shake off the lingering effects of the Koryukka - a single word, whispered to the darkness of the night and never heard as all strength, all lasting consciousness, fled.
"Hiei!" Kurama struggled up from his bed and dove forward, just barely managing to catch the fire-demon in a grip that sent them both sprawling across the floor. Seconds later a foghorn sounded in the world outside, shaking the very ground-work of his home to its seams, shattering his window, spitting it forth in a spray of glass and splintered wood. Kurama threw himself over Hiei, shielding his unconscious friend as best he could. He bit his lip, swallowing back the pain as needle-sharp daggers dug themselves into his back and his arms.
Once the sound and violence had faded - at least for the moment - he quickly pushed himself up, running his hands over Hiei's body in an effort to access his wounds and agonizing over each and every one. His shirt was in shreds, soaked and clinging to gashes too deep and too numerous to count in the brief seconds he was given before his door was thrown open.
"Shuiichi! Are you -" A woman just barely past the turn of being middle-aged came stumbling through, dressed only within a robe hastily pulled over her sleeping gown. Her hair lay falling disordered about her shoulders, her dark eyes were wide and trembling, drowning in fear and worry quite evident in her manner as she stumbled to a halt a few feet from him, falling back a pace at the sight of the body lying sprawled beneath him. "Shu - . . . Shuiichi?"
"Kaasan . . ." His eyes lifted to her, large green eyes mirroring her own, filled with such uncertainty and fear . . . and then - it came. A heavy, cloying wave of ki - ancient and dry as dust, scorched in the lingering traces of blood flooded his senses, leaving nothing but instinct behind. He reacted without rational thought, snapping forward and grabbing her wrist to haul her down next to him. She cried out, yet the sound did not reach his ears as he frantically tugged Hiei's scarf free and shoved it into her hands. She fumbled with it awkwardly, staring down at the fire-demon in fear . . . until Kurama took a firm hold of her hands once more and pressed both them as well as the make-shift bandage to Hiei's wounds. "Kaasan -" he pleaded, choking upon the word of endearment as the terror belatedly took over his heart - the fear of losing his best friend, his almost love - and of losing his mother - briefly taking precedence over his instincts of survival. "Please."
Some vague, wavering look within her eyes solidified with fragile resolve as they took him in; he did not wait to hear her reply, but fled then. Tiny shards of glass dug into his hand and foot as he braced himself upon his window ledge and leapt - out, out into the darkness of the night - a muffled enchantment escaping his lips in a breathy rush as the fiery breath of air that met his flight caused him to cringe. Behind him a strong, warded kekkai arose about his house, shielding it from what lay beyond; before him, the world writhed in darkness, at once orderly yet now unrecognizable as something huge lay intertwined about the buildings of the city. A few buildings had been felled; dead bodies lay scattered about, fires burned, chaos itself reigned. And among the very heart of the disturbance lay a dragon, larger than any Kurama had ever seen - larger and more impressive in height and build than even could have been thought in his wildest dreams.
He landed harshly, faltering forward to his right leg as the stringing pain of the left foot - cut and bruised from the shattered glass of his window - chose to give out beneath him . . . yet his eyes were upon the dragon that had yet to see him. It had to have been at least a good six-miles wide if not twice that from whiskers to tail, its scales the deepest, darkest red, seemingly carved from the very breath of volcanic stone as it moved slithering, clawing, slashing and ripping its way through the city. It was like seeing destruction incarnate walk the face of the earth . . . and it was looking for something.
For a moment he was stunned to silence, to stillness, in shock, gaping at the creature, his mind unable to comprehend the fact that it was here, in the Ningenkai, ravaging the buildings before and around him. To see a demon in the Ningenkai was not uncommon, but never had anything so large, nor so vicious and so bent upon destruction even come close - he had never even heard of one within the demon world itself, let alone the human.
Oh, Inari . . . :: Fight him, of course. ::
She was laughing at him - she had to be - for as those fleeting words crossed his mind the dragon's reptilian head swiveled to face him, sharp almost-toned eyes narrowing to thin slits of color. His jaws hung separated by a bare few feet, revealing rows and rows of fangs each as long as his arm and twice as thick; blood and spittle dripped unheeded from his lips, hissing like acid as it spattered against the concrete and burned. One claw flexed, raping deep grooves into the ground as he turned his body in one slow, slithering movement, hypnotizing Kurama with each graceful turn of his scaled hide as his eyes paralyzed his movements. A dragon . . . Kurama had never fought a dragon, not even in his full power and prime as a youko. They were rare enough as it was in the Makai - how had one managed to find its way to the Ningenkai?
Hiei . . . where are you . . .
In your room, fox. Wounded. Dying . . .
The dragon recoiled, horn-like ears snapping back against a solid brick-black skull as it released a keening bellow of challenge. He flew across the distance between them, claws scrabbling at the roads, the ground, the buildings themselves and tossing them aside as he came. Kurama forced himself to calm and waited . . . waited . . .
And then, just before the creature of death came upon him, he flinched, turning his face away as he simultaneously threw the seed as far as he could. There was an explosion that threw him against the far wall of the roof and sent him sprawling upon the ground. Yet when he opened his eyes, painfully moving to sit up, the dragon was still there, still high and nigh in health, without so much as a scratch upon its hide. His flash of his dream came back to him - of the dragon within it, and how hard she was to strike, to kill, to avoid. Hiei . . . those had been Hiei's memories, and if he had had so much trouble with the first . . .
No . . . He scrambled to his feet and ran, just barely managing to leap from the rooftop as one shearing claw lifted and smashed it into a million broken shards of concrete and mortar. He couldn't do this - he couldn't take care of a creature this large, this powerful on his own. Hiei had barely even accomplished the task of destroying the first, which had been weaker than this - and only with the aid of his own dragon besides. Kurama didn't have a chance.
And yet still, he fought. Still, he dodged, striking when he could, falling back and fleeing, only to realize that none of his strikes had connected and those that did broached no damage. I can't do this alone . . . I can't - he stumbled, and it was a fowl he could not afford; the dragon's claws swiped down in one long arch, catching his sleeve and breathing a whisper of pain across his arm before he managed to duck away - saving his neck but not his night-shirt as it caught and shredded. He rolled away just in time - every motion, every fleeing leap, just in time - thinking only to take the danger of the dragon away from his home and his family. The fight had been heading that way - the dragon guided it back continuously, as if even unconsciously it sensed that its original prey - that which had taken the life from its mate - lay within. With each turn Kurama distracted it and pulled it farther away - as he did now. His fears may hold truth within them; he may not be able to defeat this threat alone, but he would try. He would die trying, if he had to - Hiei had believed in him enough to come to him in his need; never in a thousand years would Kurama break the binding of that trust, even past all limitations of life, and death thereafter.
To Be Continued . . .
~@~