Silver Demons
by SkyFire

Warnings: Eventual Sess/Seph (shonen-ai or yaoi, I haven't decided. We'll see when we get there. ^_^)
Disclaimer: I don't own FFVII or InuYasha and no money is being made.

Note: Hugs and virtual cookies and lots of Latin poetry to Basia Orci! Thank you for your reviews, I really appreciate it! ^_^

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Chapter 4

He wasn't entirely wrong; what bandits lingered in the wood chose to haunt an area where the road ran closer to the edge, with less open space around it, and any regular villagers stayed well away. The day passed by restfully enough. The road was traveled only a little; once by a small group of women like the one from that morning, passing first one way, then returning, then by another group, this one of men bearing pitchforks and other farming implements. Those took the time to poke around the area, apparently looking for him, but stayed well away from the edge of the forest in which he lay concealed. After that there were no travelers and he could only guess that either it was only a lesser road, little traveled, or that people had another reason not to be out on it. Whichever it was, for the time being he was safe enough and the wood around him was quiet save for the rustle of leaves in the wind and the sound of the occasional bird. The day passed, warm and quiet, and it was easy to relax against the tree at his back and focus his energy on healing.

But the forest was by no means uninhabited and the scent of blood on the evening breeze drew its denizens toward his resting place from miles away.

Sephiroth didn't sleep that night. He wouldn't have anyway, not when he had no idea where he was or how he had gotten there or... anything else, really. But even if he'd had answers to all those questions, he wouldn't have allowed himself sleep that night. Every basic survival instinct he had, every ingrained sense of danger, kept sending bursts of adrenaline surging through his body at irregular intervals even as his hand twitched in want of his sword. The third time he unconsciously Called the Masamune to him, he decided not to send it back. Clearly it was just going to keep showing up and he saw no point in using up his reserves arguing with it. The fact that he was somewhat calmer and reassured with it in hand was entirely beside the point. By then, too, he had a feeling that the forest wasn't quite as empty as he'd first thought, nor as safe as he'd hoped.

He cursed himself for not realizing sooner that the scent of the blood that covered him would draw in predators like a corpse draws flies. He knew he could fight them off even in his wounded state, but doubtless the movement would tear the healing wound again, adding more fresh-blood scent to the air and drawing even more predators in turn.

Not for the last time, he wished that his Materia hadn't inexplicably died. A nice Fire or Bolt could easily taken care of any wolf or bear - or would ii be tigers there? - that dared approach without his even having to move. For that matter, a small campfire would have ensured that they never came that close in the first place. Ah, hindsight!

But he had no campfire, and his Materia were dead. All he had was himself and the Masamune. At least his chosen resting place was defensible enough with the massive tree trunk at his back - he was amazed that it was allowed to get that big, even in what could be Wutai - and its equally-massive, gnarled collection of roots guarded his flanks. Granted, it meant that if there were too many foes he would be trapped, but he was Sephiroth and had yet to meet a group of enemies that he couldn't handle. Even wounded and magicless, he was confident of his ability to defend himself from whatever lurked.

Still, as the night slowly crept on towards dawn, every new rustle as predators crept up to get a glimpse of him had him wishing that he'd had the foresight to gather material for a fire, that he had the means to light it instead of the useless bauble his Fire had become.

There was more moving out there than he would have thought, and something told him that a lot of it was a lot more dangerous than a few stray animals or bandits. After growing up in the labs under Hojo's 'care', he could always tell when he was being observed. The conflict in Wutai had trained his ability to know when those watching him wanted nothing more than to tear him apart.

Whatever was out there, lurking in the darkness just beyond the point his night-vision started to dim, was of the latter group and much more calculating than he was comfortable with, and far more than any wild beast he'd ever encountered. He knew it couldn't be normal humans by the simple fact that the moon was the barest sliver in the sky, hidden behind a thick, leafy canopy. Under the trees, the night would be absolutely black to them. Then again, if this was Wutai, they could always be ninjas. He'd learned well not to underestimate their abilities during the War.

But the creatures that stepped out of concealment, eyes gleaming, claws and fangs bared in anticipation, in the deepest dark just between moonset and dawn, were no ninjas he'd ever heard of, nor any beast he was familiar with. More like something from one of Hojo's labs, some looked almost human while the only resemblance for others was the fact that they stood upright.

He rose to his feet, not so slowly as to give them undue chance to attack, but not so quickly to tear his recently-closed wound back open. He could feel the itching inside that meant that his insides were still knitting together even if the outside skin and muscle had already done so. The bonds still fragile, he knew that while the newly-healed flesh could probably stand up to a bout of normal sparring, anything more than that and he was risking rupturing it once more.

Unfortunately for him, the creatures that charged at him then didn't seem inclined to take care.

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TBC...

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