AUTHOR'S NOTES: Written for the Inuyasha Fanfiction Challenge livejournal community, theme "Villain." Many thanks for providing the inspiration and motivation to write this.
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He was the evil that all feared.
He slid through the darkness with the utmost ease, as if he himself were a shadow and the others bent themselves to his will. The layers of his loosened kimono trailed after him, whispering with the faintest of hissing sounds over hard wood floors. Through the halls of the hidden palace cast in shadows of fallen night, he walked silently but confidently as if he owned the place, which he did.
He had, after all, killed its previous owners long, long ago.
There were rumors spreading across the land. Odd rumors told in whispered hushes as if to keep them unheard from dangerous ears.
Rumors that he, Naraku, would fall.
Ridiculous. And utterly unfounded. Still, it wouldn't do for anyone to believe such garbage, especially since all of his careful planning were finally leading up to its carefully orchestrated climax. Potential for failure was not to be tolerated and, on the slight off chance that there might be some truth to the silly rumors, every detail had to be dealt with.
He tracked down the source.
It found him in a dilapidated hut nestled in the woods and far from the nearest village. The resident was as decrepit as the building itself and turned towards the door at his entrance, revealing features of an old shriveled and dried thing with so many wrinkles and folds of skin that even eyes could not be seen, if there were any to begin with.
"I've been expecting you," the old one spoke in a creaky voice. "Naraku."
Eyes narrowed. "Then I imagine you know why I've come."
"Better than you, perhaps."
"Don't be presumptuous, old woman," he hissed. "You do not know me."
"As you say. But my fortunes told have never lied."
"I've heard what fortunes you've told. You say I will fall."
"And fall you shall. That which you desire shall lead you astray."
"How?"
"You are not happy."
It was a statement, not a question. And though it answered him not at all, the knowing in that creaking rattle of a voice rankled.
"You don't know that. I'm fine as I am."
"Then why are you ever restless, never at peace? Why do you seek to change yourself? You can't, you know. No matter how you try, you'll never fully escape that from which you run."
"Old woman," his tone dropped dangerously, "be careful how you speak. There is nothing that I run from."
"So you say."
"I do."
"Very well. But I'll say this - your happiness lies upon the path on which the blue rose grows. It's up to you to decide how it blooms...or weeps its bitter tears."
"Blue rose? There is no such thing and such nonsense is not for what I've come. Now tell me, old woman, how have you seen my fall!?"
"The answer remains unchanged - that which you desire shall lead you astray."
"That is all you have to say?"
"Yes."
"Then I have no more use for you."
It was a credit to the old woman that she made no sound as he slaughtered her. Indeed, when she was a rattling breath away from death, she smiled. The incongruence of it struck him and he paused.
"Why do you smile? Because of the words you've spoken, you die."
"It's my preference. Better now, like this, than live to see what will come."
"And that is?"
"You."
It made no more sense than others that she'd spoken. Perhaps he would have pursued the matter further – for curiosity's sake if nothing else - but, between one breath and the next, she died. He tossed the corpse aside and was out the door almost before her body thudded dully to the dirt floor, dismissing her and her nonsense from his mind.
He had all the time in the world.
After all, he owned it now. It had only taken a hundred years since his second birth.
She was the first step in the next phase.
He could have had one of his detachments perform the task, but that would not help him judge how far he had come. And it wouldn't have been as much fun as dealing with her himself.
Her bows and arrows were no more than pinpricks to him now and defeating her so easily was almost a disappointment. He watched her flesh crumble to dust as her ashes scattered around him in the wind and knew that he would always remember the pleasure, the triumph that he had finally overcome the only obsessive weakness that had constantly plagued him since his first life. Her eyes were the last to go and as he stared into the residual hate that lingered within their dying dark light and felt not a shred of regret, he smiled.
He was perfect now.
Foolish miko. She should have known better than to confront him alone.
It was all a cycle.
The weak shell of human Onigumo was cast off for the stronger hanyou Naraku. The hanyou Naraku was cast off for the ultimate form he had achieved as full taiyoukai in his own right. Everything was a step leading up to his final achievement of what he was always meant to be and was now.
A god.
The wolf was even easier to dispose of.
His brash cockiness and recklessness made him too easy to predict. Even the animals and two guards that followed him could lend little in the area of defense. And even speed lent by Shikon shards was of little use if the enemy could predict where it's opponent would move.
The outcome was inevitable.
Bodies dead on bloody soaked ground and two shards glinting in an evil hand.
The world was his to command, his to bend, his to break.
The god that was he knew what he would find were he to venture beyond his palace walls – fear, anger, despair, and hate. He fed off those negative emotions that hung so strong in the air that he could practically taste and roll on his tongue like the finest of sake. And were he to step into that broken world, all attention would turn to him and they would cower and think of evil plots that they would never dare take action on, not against him.
It pleased him, it did. It was the world he had wanted to create – everyone bowing to him. He had everything now that he'd ever wanted.
Yet, why did he still feel unsatisfied?
There they were, like placid animals milling about before a slaughter – unknowing and unwary. Even that hanyou, Inuyasha, was unable to sense him through the new barriers he had surrounded himself in, a barrier so powerful that even that false miko - who was and was not Kikyou - couldn't sense the gathering of the mostly whole Shikon no Tama that he carried so nearby.
The sky was darkening, night began to fall. But he remained still and watched, the predator hungrily observing the last antics of his unaware prey.
He saw the taijiya blushing over a bouquet of wild roses, sniffing at the small white blossoms while the cursed monk watched with a smug smile. He watched as the taijiya bent down to let the tiny firecat youkai have a sniff while the monk took the opportunity to push a loose rose in the hands of the hanyou and nudge him in the direction of the false miko playing with the little kitsune. He observed as the hanyou gave in with growls and glares before gruffly handing the pale blossom to a surprised and blushing recipient, looked upon them as she tucked the flower in her hair and smiled with such sweet and honest affection at someone of such little worth.
An abomination of it's own kind it was – a youkai, however impure, bearing feelings towards a miko, however false, and having those feelings returned and shared. Still, they appeared so satisfied with the way things were. Such a happy and wholesome picture they all made, the image of peace and contentment.
He would enjoy ripping it apart.
In the darkness, he continued to walk.
His pace neither quickened nor slowed as he came nearer and nearer to his destination. Steadily he wound his way through the shadowed halls, paying little heed to the remnants of fleshless skulls and bones that littered the way here and there. What was a little death, after all, to one who spent the majority of his existence mired in it?
Movement in the shadows caught his eyes. He paid it little heed, the bowing of the guards, for it was only his due. And there were other things of more importance.
He had arrived.
As the day died, so did they.
It was so simple, so easy to lead them to this point. He couldn't imagine why they had given him such problems before. Whatever plans they had concocted beforehand to deal with him were like dust in the wind. And all it had taken was one simple action.
He took the Shikon shard from the boy.
It was amusing to watch their reactions, especially the taijiya's, as the boy died before their eyes. So vivid were the helplessness and the rage burning in their eyes that he wished he could do it all over again.
As he had predicted, the taijiya attacked first, driven mad by her hate. It had been simple enough to aim his attack at her and, just as predictable, watch as the monk threw himself in her path as if to give her that little bit longer to live. It hadn't. He had skewered them both on the same tentacle, thinking that they should be grateful for he was sure he had granted their wish to die together.
Simultaneously, the false miko he carelessly swiped with another appendage before she could get off a shot and he was sure he heard the pleasant sound of bones snapping when her body was thrown into a tree. The kitsune and firecat youkai had been just as easy to take care of and he walked calmly past their bodies scattered across the ground for his true focus, the hanyou with that pesky sword of his for without it, he was nothing at all.
It was all over in an instant.
Sometimes, the best time to strike was when the opponent attacked, thus leaving himself open and vulnerable to attack. And it was that weakness that he aimed for, took full advantage of and left the hanyou bound to a tree in pieces of discarded flesh so strong that even his strength could not break. For a moment he stood, watching as the fly in his trap struggled vainly with foul curses pouring from fanged mouth, precious sword lying scant feet away in what might as well have been a dozen miles for all the good it would do. The futile struggling was amusing.
Still, there were things to be done and a world to be conquered. And because he could not spend the eternity of his immortality idling, he set his discarded flesh to burning. The hanyou's angry howling became tinged with pain as fleshy bindings became melting miasma that would eat the body away. He turned away, confident that his little fly wouldn't escape, and absently thought that he should at least keep the head.
It would make a lovely gift to his brother.
The guards slid the shoji screen doors open, heads bowed and eyes lowered. It was the way he liked it and spared them no more than a cursory glance as he left them behind, sure that they would close the doors behind him and stand at their posts. That was their purpose, after all, to stand guard before those doors as instructed and make no attempt to discover what secrets lay concealed within. And he was confident that they would not disobey.
Especially when tales still circulated of how their predecessors had gotten themselves killed by doing just that.
The memory caused a small smirk to curl his lips. But it was solely the fault of those previous guards too overtaken by curiosity of what secrets he kept in his warded room that had been forbidden to all but him to enter. It had been their choice to satisfy their questions over remaining true to their duties that had led to their instant incineration the moment they took one step across the threshold and activated the protective wards.
They had only themselves to blame. He had warned them beforehand, after all.
"Naraku!"
He ignored that cry along with the others that the hanyou being dissolved alive continued to spew behind him. A part of him amusedly wondered how much longer such a lowly being could keep up his pathetic verbal tirade before he died, but it was only a very small part.
The rest of him just didn't care.
Beneath the hanyou's constant bellowing, there was a fainter noise that captured his attention. It was an unexpected sound, but not wholly unpleasant. There was a familiar pattern to it, one that he'd heard many times before for had he not been the source behind most of them? Such a lovely melody it was too.
Life hovering on its last breaths.
"Kagome!"
How sweet it was, the added note of panic to the furious cries rising behind him. And that frantic frenzy only seemed to increase with every step closer he took to his intended destination. But when he finally stopped, it was the eyes that he noticed.
Such sad blue-grey eyes.
So like another pair that he had gazed into before crumbling into dust. So very much alike except…
Where was the hate?
She laid at death's door, chest crushed and breath rattling, but her eyes were clear enough that he could tell she knew who he was – the one that killed her, that killed her friends, that was killing her lover even at that moment. And yet as she stared up at him with pain-filled gaze, there was no hate though there was sadness and regret and – was that pity?
His eyes narrowed.
Pity for him? Such was not to be tolerated. He might have questioned her on it but her eyes moved, looking beyond him, dismissing him for the figure that was still cursing loudly behind, mouth unbound though the rest of him was not. Her lips moved slowly, though they could not utter a sound, but it wasn't difficult to determine what she would have whispered.
Inuyasha.
A streak of water trailed down her cheek and he thought that she cried. Then a streak trailed wetly down his and he knew she had not. The sky darkened with more than just the falling of night. It rumbled and more water began to slowly trickle from the sky.
But he, he looked at her who was looking beyond him. He watched the light fading from her eyes and suddenly saw in their glassy surface a reflection of a fallen rose. It might have been the shades of coming night and storm playing tricks, it might just have been the tint of her eyes. But within those twin reflecting pools a white rose was made blue and a raindrop fell from heaven and onto one of the blossom's petal where it collected and rolled, sliding off until it hit the earth and died its death.
A tear of a blue rose.
It was his treasure room, his carefully guarded secret.
For a moment, he admired his handiwork, an intricate construction warping dimensional space. One instant he was standing on the smooth wooden floors of his palace and the next step had footsteps walking across damp and rocky earth. No longer in halls of manmade refinement, he strode along a dark path surrounded by rocky walls courtesy of nature's design and lit only with his magic. Even above, pointed rock formations dangled down like sharp swords ready to drop and fell and enemy any given moment but he hesitated not a step.
He'd been down this path many times before.
And there it was, his destination. Rock-lined tunnel widened and gave way to equally rock-lined room. It was his special place and one of the jewels that crowned it glinted dully in his dark magic light.
Two swords, resting side by side on ebony stand.
His trophies.
How long since then? Less than a century after he'd dealt with the last troublesome brother, he had taken over the world and ruled it cruelly several more centuries after. Such nostalgic times they were those days when he had struggled to achieve his greatest desire.
But his desire was met now, had been for hundreds of years.
And yet…
He stood before a short column of stone. But it was that stone pedestal that held his interest – it was what it displayed that did. And he reached out to stroke the object of his fascination resting upon that pedestal, feeling the same softness that he had kept so carefully preserved after all these centuries.
A single white rose.
He turned to his other treasure, perhaps his truest one, which rested before the pedestal of the rose. He watched shadows flicker over the hard surface of crystallized miasma and he stared deep into it and smiled, coming so close that he could lay his cheek to rest on its smooth surface if he chose to.
He didn't. But he slid across it a long and elegant finger that stood out like a pale column of light in the surrounding darkness, feeling the cool hardness of crystal stroking across his skin, wishing it was another surface that he caressed. And he leaned in closer, peering and whispering to that which lay within the column of crystal.
"Soon, little miko. Soon you'll open your eyes and show me that blue rose again. And you will tell me its secrets…"
Shadows and dull light flickered around and over the self-proclaimed god whispering to his prize hidden in the dark away from prying eyes. Unbeknownst, a white rose on his pedestal looked on, a drop of water falling from a rocky formation above to land and roll over and down a pale petal like another tear being shed. And far, far away among the distant land of departed spirits…
The cackling of a long-dead old woman went unheard.