OoOoOoOoOoO
A crack of lightning flashed the night aglow.
Speeding through the torrential downpour, a black SUV crossed the open gated threshold leading into a Victorian style estate. The vehicle roared down the bumpy, unpaved path, ricocheting gravel, taxing its suspension bearings to their engineered limit and all but tossing the warring inhabitants out the back window.
Inside, smeared and spread out onto the leather, was blood and ongoing chaos. Sesshomaru's chest heaved and hitched as he struggled against the claws of his parents who worked in tandem to restrain him. Inu no Taisho commanded the most dangerous end while Inukimi held fast to his powerful legs. If they were anything less than Daiyoukai an undertaking such as that wouldn't have been possible.
"Fight!" Toga pled to his son. "You must fight it!"
"What's wrong with his f—"
An abrupt stop violently hurled three inuyoukai from the back seat to the carpeted floor. Had the driver's and passenger's seat not interfered, all save for the strapped in chauffeur would've launched through the windshield and out onto the hood.
"Toga!"
Wedged between the center console and the base of the three seater, Toga was burdened by the full weight of his family. His position precarious, Inukimi pulling and screaming, he took his palm to Sesshomaru's forehead to prevent him from taking a bite out of his face.
Beady eyes rounded the driver's seat.
"My apologies, milord. I—"
"Jaken," Toga grit looking up fearsome hardware, "the door!"
"At once!" The imp threw the driver's door open and jumped into the pouring rain.
The cabin rocked and swayed, the chassis creaked and groaned—the fight continuing the instant the stout demon made landing. Inukimi's shrieks superseded the furor of rising riot and the eerie drone of queer snarls.
It nearly granted Jaken with the gift of flight.
Gangly claws reached for the handle and withdrew when a brown loafer smashed through the window. The retainer lurched, shielding his face with the sleeve of his custom-made suit jacket. Upon opening them, the two-ton vehicle idled ten yards from where it was left neutral, its high beams shining brightly on the sanctuary's reinforced doors.
The heavens opened wide, and the storm raged.
"Ja-ken, t-he do-or!" Inukimi bleat, batting down on her touched son. Her nascent hysterics were on the fringe of emergence now that claws tore through her mate's Armani suit. Flesh wounds were the least of his worries, not with snapping jaws a sobering hairbreadth away. Not to mention leverage had been poorly paid to Inukimi, placing too awkward and confined to reel Sesshomaru off his father.
She tried anyway. Unsure if her claws caught on flesh or cashmere in the process.
His arms trembling, Toga frantically scanned the vehicle for something strong enough to defy the fangs of an Inuyoukai. What could prove useful barely clung to his son.
Outside, a soaked little youkai recovered from his glass shower. He blurred to rejoin his task of opening the door, rushing to the quaking SUV, his ugly hand on the cusp of grabbing the handle.
"The fur—take it between his teeth!"
The car door detonated the instant Jaken touched it, and a writhing triad of dogs spilled onto the wet gravel. The force was so mighty it blew the door off its hinge and sent him and the hunk of metal flying across the yard. The imp was unconscious before his skull bounced off the ground.
Sesshomaru didn't take kindly to be muzzled.
Her back had padded their fall, and now it was Inukimi's turn to fight from the bottom. Through her butchered shrieking, Sesshomaru's smothered and demented growls, she gave every bit of her absolute all. Her hold was weary, yet ironclad, notwithstanding her son's crazed lunging and outstretched claws keen for his father. She held on for his sake. Toga had been shrugged from the fray and lay upended sprawled out next to her. Swift to his feet, he threw himself back into the brawl.
There was more space to fight with, more room for grappling. The wet pelt draped lifelessly around he who was disturbed, abandoned in favor of his hair—at which Toga snatched and yanked.
Soaked to the bone in her torn designer dress, Inukimi converged onto his legs again. Claws full, someone or some imp had another door to open.
"Jaken!" Rain pummeled Toga's face. The downpour was so heavy he swore it came from underneath. "JAKEN!" That's when he saw Jaken outspread and trapped under the warped door in a state of utter uselessness.
As Sesshomaru's effort grew monstrous, the struggle pitched. Rolling and wrestling, and with gravel wedged in crevices it had no business being, Toga straddled the back of what now bucked like an unbroken stallion. Silver sloshed, blurring in every direction, catching behind knees and twisting necks into sick contortions. Control lessened with every manic wrench, grips loosened, claws slipped, then, a yelp as a liberated leg cocked and blitzkrieged Inukimi into the vehicle's side panel.
"Inukimi!"
Her injuries were minor, but the same couldn't be said about her emotional state. She peeled herself from the car and crawled back to her son. Before him, she lowered onto her haunches and gazed defeatedly into an empty hollow that once favored her shade of amber.
His was a stranger's face.
"Sesshomaru," she pined. How she ached. Her chest was tight and on the verge of imploding. The universe wanted her to accept the severity of his delirium when all she saw was her beloved son.
She wanted him to speak, wanted to hear his cool baritone—
His response was a snarl that bordered amid neurotic and cadaverous, as if emulated through a vector. Unnatural, spine-chilling—heartbreaking. It claimed the lump in his mother's throat, and after taking in a series of shuddered breaths, she started to sob.
His body swaying against madness, solemnly, Toga took in the horror around him.
He had no other choice.
"Asylum!" He roared into the night.
OoOoOoOoOoO
The bright, fluorescent lighting lent the barren hallway a sterile appearance—much like the long scrub dress Kikyo wore. Walking to the central office, she fussed her hair into a loose ponytail. Between her teeth was a comb clip, her most favorite. It was a sacred heirloom that had belonged to a senior priestess who had a hand in her training. When the old miko retired she gifted it to Kikyo; an ivory comb adorned with a cherry blossom that encased a sparkling pink jewel in its petals. Satisfied with her grooming, she stuffed it in her breast pocket and headed eastward.
White reeboks thudded across freshly waxed tiles as she rounded one corner, then another, past the recreation room's locked doors whose mounted 19" Panasonic cast the dim space in a weak glow, and through steel double doors that led into a corridor dubbed the "promised land" by the personnel.
The promised land is a hall no youkai can venture through without approved passage—an immunity sutra found on the back of employee I.D. cards. Most demon employees have one, but most avoid the area.
The hall was incorporated into the floorplan by design after the original building was destroyed in a terrible war, by a country that needs no mention. A panic route of sorts, also the front line of the resident staff dormitories, if conditions dired employees could escape into the hallway from any of the four crossroading wings.
The North Wing houses the general brunt of demons afflicted by heck. Moderately aggressive, treatment there is gradual lest the purification power of monk and miko kill the cursed along with the troubling spirit. Most are moved to the South Wing within a year or two.
The South Wing harbors the most docile of patients. Heavily medicated and non-violent, the youkai residing there are either free from perturbing spirits or are well on their way. Occasionally, demons suffering from mental disorders are transferred to Yokai Manor when beds are unavailable elsewhere. The youkai in this strip seldom keep a room for more than a year.
The East Wing is a massive corridor that the residents from the North—behavior depending—and South congregate. The common area of the estate, and where most of the personnel roam at any given moment, the rec, cafeteria, bathing facilities, and visitor's lounge are located there. It's also where most patients queue up for medication.
The West Wing, unaffectionately nicknamed The Wild West, holds the smallest but most dangerous population of demons. Rehabilitation there is a crawl. What ravages these patients beckons for higher power at steady, continuous doses. Under no circumstances are they allowed into the common areas. Only monk and miko embark there alone. All others require a holy escort.
Kikyo opened the door to find Miroku sitting behind an exquisitely handcrafted desk, elbow deep in paperwork. His black garb was similar to hers but masculine in style, the length of his robe stopping at his knees.
Gold bands jangled from under his sleeves as he brought one weary hand to his temple. "Thank you for coming in on a Saturday night, Kikyo. I tried all of Tsubaki's contact numbers, but she hasn't got back to me."
"Mm-hmm," she acknowledged knowingly, punching her timecard. There wasn't a chance in hell Tsubaki would be caught dead at work on the weekend. "I take it Master Mushin left early for a drunken day on the course?"
"Early?" He blew through his lips. "He never came in. I've been sitting here for hours authorizing release forms, paying vendors—and the meat vendor didn't deliver yesterday. Can you believe that?" He sighed. "And weekends are supposed to be easy around here."
"I imagine the resident members of Carnivora aren't too pleased with an extra ration of starch."
"No, they are not," Miroku said, chuckling.
"Shall we make our rounds then?"
"Of course. Your pick."
"I want to get the South out of the way."
The sanctified made quick work of the South Wing. No outspoken souls ghouled worrying the patients in their respective rooms; the sutras attached to their doors enchanting at full power.
Sutras offered a number of services. The charms held youkai to their rooms and subdued most demon abilities. To what degree depended upon the individual. This suppression reverberated throughout the entire building, and like the blessings on the door, the facility itself required the collective Reiki of all who were divine to cleanse all.
The pair was leaving the South when a raccoon dog drew up his privacy shade. His taps on the glass got their attention. Distressed, he issued a formal complaint about his neighbor's racket, and how his moaning kept him up at night. Miroku investigated the problem, but no sooner did he open the offender's door did he slam it shut, blowing back his hair.
That patient, a macaque, was not possessed, merely a schizophrenic who also suffered from chronic masturbation.
"God be holy water for my eyes."
"And for those sheets," Kikyo giggled. "I feel like the West. Ready?"
"The prospect of being told to go screw myself is just what I need right now."
Out of the South and into the heart of the interjecting wings, they traveled down the hall that would lead to the West Wing.
Suddenly, Kikyo stopped, and Miroku looked at her questioningly.
"What is it?"
Arched brows drew together. "Do you hear that?"
He strained to hear, but only silence stretched down the Pine-Sol scented corridor. "Nope."
"Exactly."
"Hunh. Now that you mention it—"
"Asylum!"
Miroku spun around. "Okay, that I did hear."
OoOoOoOoO
Double doors unceremoniously swung open.
Kikyo and Miroku, blinded by headlamps, shielded their eyes as they stepped out of the beams and into dual darkness. What they saw stunned them, but what they felt, the other dark, explained why the building had stilled. Unfathomable malevolency, a spirit in crisis. Its heinous aura hushed what resided inside, as if evil sought salvation from it.
There was no time for 'who are you's' or other questions like 'Visa or Mastercard.' Only action. For through the anguished cries and growls this task would require advanced techniques and tools. Together, sanctity combined.
"I'm going to need your help with this one."
Kikyo was locked to what waged ahead. "Say the word."
The monk engaged first.
He pulled a sutra from his robe, his voice booming, "Step aside from he who is cursed!" And before it was thrown at the embodiment of Hell, he extended it to Kikyo. "Hit me!"
The will of the Kamigami sparked from her hand, her power transferring to the enchantment and igniting once black and bold kanji ablaze with pink. Then, running, and just as Toga sprang out of dodge, Miroku launched the sutra at Sesshomaru before he had the opportunity to stand. The charm bound to the demon's forehead, out from under his robe came a small scepter, shining brilliantly as it morphed into a full sized staff. He called to a spiritual force, which came forth surging white as he cracked the dog upside the head and knocked him stiff on his back.
Sighing, Miroku transformed his holy weapon to its idle form and knelt over what was smote. The sutra was stretched across the length of the demon's face.
Time for questions.
Blinking the rain from his eyes, the monk focused on the dripping youkai. What a state they were in. The male, physically, was a shredded wreck, the female, a blubbering one. He could hardly see their faces; silver covered their features.
"Greetings, good demons," he started carefully as Kikyo migrated to his side. "I'm sorry you had to witness that..." He paused when the larger of the two embraced the other. "Please, if you can, tell me what led to this."
Both spoke at once. Something about a Ningen child and a distorted face, but that couldn't have been so. No pestering spirit was so wicked that it coerced its host to attack humans, and indeed not children. Kikyo's and Miroku's trade was a dying one. Old as religion itself; the vilest of spirits already vanquished.
"Please, slow down. I don't understand." Exorcisms aside, dealing with family was the hardest element of his work, but he handled these with utmost tact. His holymanship was complaint free.
Nagged by something, Kikyo studied the parents and stiffened. "Excuse me, I can't begin to imagine the pain you are going through, but it is imperative for me to ask this of you. If I were to refer to you as a great dog demon, would that be appropriate?"
Dejected, Toga said, "... we are Daiyoukai."
The holy snapped to each other as if they both heard tamming from the same gong. This was a first. Daiyoukai at their gates.
Letting out a heavy breath, Kikyo took to the burden of explaining. "You see—"
"What is he doing?!" Shrieked Inukimi.
Sesshomaru jerked so sharply that his head was slow to keep up. He swayed limp-like, his movements favoring a marionette's as he ate the charm off his face.
Kikyo and Miroku were born for this work, chosen by the Kamigami and intended to complement one another. There was one more trick they had up their sleeves to hold Sesshomaru without out right purifying him.
"Kikyo." Miroku's tone hinted at a sentiment she had already considered. They faced each other in perfect sync, their hands spelling out "bind" in Kanji. A radiant bangle, pure, unadulterated divinity, materialized from nothing, thereto they each reached inside and brought with them chains so stunningly prismatic it dared to shine brighter than vehicle's headlights.
The chains throbbed with Reiki as it sought out what needed binding. Feet were tied first, then legs, until Sesshomaru was immobile from the chest down, his dangerous claws securely pinned to his body.
He, or rather it, was nothing shy of incensed, if the long-drawn, banshee wail was any indication. A most hair-raising sound, it paired terribly with where his eyes should have been, for even chain's bright light couldn't penetrate the darkness in them.
Miroku froze. Sesshomaru's stare was an omen of great peril; all-consuming, and gaping into them conspired to induce insanity. There was a curl under his skin, and the Monk tore away when the urge to drag his face along the gravel buckled his knees.
"I didn't get your names," Miroku managed to say.
"My name is Inu no Taisho, and this is my mate, Inu—" Inukimi collapsed onto her knees. "Please, my love, stand up."
"I have no reason to stand."
"Inukimi…"
"I can't," she said brokenly. Toga put a tender hand on her shoulder.
"Inu no Taisho?" Kikyo wondered, her voice soft. "From Taisho Inc?"
"Yes, but do keep quiet about this..."
It was then Inukimi fell away from the world. If she listened, whatever slim chance at this all being a nightmare would be lost. She stared longingly at Sesshomaru. He lay a few yards away, the chains holding strong. He didn't move much, and it almost made him appear like himself.
"... confidentiality," said Kikyo. "But what happened?"
"He savaged her..."
While Kikyo and Miroku couldn't believe what they were hearing, Inukimi went unnoticed.
Something had changed.
Corruption dissipated from wild eyes, and amber gleamed and looked at her with undeniable clarity. He was there, conscious, his expression pitiful and afraid. Her heart split from the sight of him, from the Reiki constricting him, the rain beating against his pale skin.
"I'll fetch the muscle," Kikyo stated as she walked towards the building. That too was dismissed by Inukimi as she crept, but not by Sesshomaru.
The misery in his eyes said more than the words he could not speak. Gold trembled with a desperate plea. It fought him for his mind's eye, had seized and commanded his musings, and he worried if air hit his cords it would be a voice not his own.
On her hands and knees, painstakingly, Inukimi trudged towards him. There was only her son; the world faded away, the rain suspended in the air. There he was, her magnificent heir, tethered like an animal and not moving freely like the celestial he was. It destroyed her when she realized. If just for a moment, he was liberated from the rage within.
"We'll call you first thing in the morning." Miroku shook Toga's hand and gave him a sympathetic pat on the back. His expression softened. It was the hardest part of his job again. "You might want to hold her back."
Inukimi needed to touch him, needed to stroke his marked cheeks. That would help. She was sure of it. It was what he needed most while laying on his back with his world upside down, and she was bound to stroke his face when the clamor of the chains resumed the rain and yanked him under her fingertips. She lunged, but her husband's claws caught her. All she managed to grab was his waterlogged pelt. Tears burned as she watched two bears donned in scrubs hauling him away; his once glorious mane dragged through the dirt all the way to the double doors where Monk and Miko stood.
"Wait! His eyes—he's okay!"
"Inukimi—"
"No, they were gold… gold," she wailed. "At least give him his—oh please." Miroku and Kikyo took the door's handle, and an angry hurt exploded: "He's a dog, goddammit! He has to have it!"
The doors slammed shut.
"Oh, Toga." She turned to cry on his shoulder. Her shuddering worsened, and he squeezed her tighter. "Whoever heard of a dog without his fur?"
A/N: REVISED 1/27/19