He had awoken to the dry itchy feeling of healing skin. Black stars danced before his eyes as he reached up and found Tokijin lodged securely in his chest. His memory flooded back to him and he whipped around to look at the girl. She hadn't moved. Cursing her silently, he grabbed the hilt of his sword and pulled roughly. He maintained his mask perfectly, but his hand clenched as the wound was reopened.
He let the sword drop to his side, and leaned back slowly against the nearest tree. It took all his effort to not simply collapse against it as blood poured down his shirt. He absently noted it was daylight, and the woman had knocked him unconscious for several hours, something he would never admit. Ever.
There was no trace of any other demons for a few hundred meters but there was a tingling dread that had lodged itself deep in the wound in his chest. He felt heavy and dirty, his thoughts jumbled and unclear.
He took a deep breath, and allowed himself to relax. He sat a distance away from the immobile human, minding any changes in her aura, which had become less directly violent, and more of a drowning swirl of despair.
After a moment, his wound began to feel itchy again as the muscle and bone began to knead themselves together correctly now that the barrier of the sword was removed.
The woman's aura shifted violently, and the blank, almost peaceful expression on her face became a pained, confused wince. Her eyes began moving rapidly beneath her eyelids and he released a low warning growl. There was no response.
He thought back to Rin and how occasionally she thrashed around in her sleep, but had no memory of it the next morning when Jaken scolded her for it. He tested her again, snarling a little louder, but still eliciting no reaction. He decided to let the wretch be and observe.
Her face began flashing through emotions like a movie screen, projecting her hatred and her fear like a neon sign. He noted, unconscious, the bitch was rather interesting. When she came to he would probably kill her again, but for now he would get to know his enemy.
He remembered there was a word Rin used to describe the stories told during sleep. Hardly ever needing sleep himself, the human word eluded him. The darkness of demon unconsciousness differed greatly from the colorful worlds of human sleep. It hardly seemed restful, to be moving and twitching as such.
'These sleep stories are probably the reason humans spend so much wasted time unaware.' He mused.
The smell of salt brought his eyes to her face. A single tear trailed down her cheek, leaving a streak of white skin silhouetted by dirt and blood.
He absentmindedly wondered what had caused the extreme mood swing. Now she seemed almost calm.
The word finally came to him. Humans dream.
A small breeze danced around the clearing playfully, carrying a familiar scent. His eyes tracked the wind by the disturbance of the leaves around it. It drifted by Kagome, playing with her hair. Then the dirt smeared on her face as if someone had brushed away her tear.
In an instant, he was on his feet welding Tokijin. The breeze came to greet him and swirled around his body playfully.
'Sesshomaru-sama. You have been given a great many choices.'
The voice pulled at his memory as much as her scent did, but he didn't understand how she connected to Inuyasha's wretch. Tenseiga pulsed at his hip. He glanced down at the sword before sheathing Tokijin and placing his hand on Tenseiga's hilt.
'You can condemn her, or you can save her. Find the strength your father knew you had and choose wisely, for you may only choose once.'
Sesshomaru let out a rumbling growl at the mention of his father. He heard her musical laughter, and felt a hand press lightly over the wound in his chest. When it pulled away, Sesshomaru watched with horror as tendrils of sickly black energy was drawn out of his chest. His head cleared and his body felt lighter as the last of the wretch's power was drawn out of his wound.
'Choose wisely, Sesshomaru-dono,' she repeated before the breeze died, and her scent faded.
'Why must she always be so cryptic?' He thought, irritated.
The girl's aura churned and hissed menacingly, becoming more and more agitated with the absence of the spirit. Then he noticed the smell of her blood had almost disappeared. He cursed himself as he approached her for not noticing earlier. His eyes grew wide when he saw her wounds were just very prominent raised scars.
She made a pathetic mewing sound, and squeezed her eyes shut.
Her aura suddenly returned to the violent, agonized evil it had been the night before and he felt her power well up.
She was silent for only a second before he heard a sickening crack. Her bright chocolate eyes opened wide and she let out an ear piercing shriek of agony as he watched the malice and the hatred return to her eyes. They grew darker and darker until the iris almost glowed a sick red. Her hands dug into the ground and her back arched.
He watched with mild interest, wondering if her body had metabolized his poison yet or if this was the result of his acid running through her veins.
When her lungs ran out of air, she panted between broken, hysterical sobs.
It began making sense to him. The night before she had lost so much blood she couldn't feel the wounds he inflicted on her. Now, she could feel everything.
'Father, the blade that can give life as well as send enemies directly to hell, was it given to me for this decision? For my half brothers whore?'
He watched her for a moment more before returning to his tree.
'Hn, I'd only believe something that asinine if…what did she say?...if pigs could fly?' He snickered.
'I have not seen one yet, wretch, but I have watched a dead girl dream.'