Good Karma
And yet, 'tis a noble and heroic thing, the wind!
who ever conquered it?
In every fight it has the last and bitterest blow.
-Moby Dick, Herman Melville
Chapter 10- The Red Herring, Onigumo
There lay books, scattered, across the carpet in the living room of Kagura and Kanna's apartment, as well as the bookbag from which they had been pulled. Some of the textbooks were open, exposing their paper insides, with black letters and colorful pictures on some of their pages. One of these pages had caught the breeze from the open window just above it, and was flapping idly in the otherwise silent room. At least it was silent, until Kagura picked up one of the cushions behind her and tossed it at the wall across from her, out of sheer frustration. How much time had passed since the phone had rung? An hour? Hour and a half? The sun was setting, providing the only light coming into the room through the open curtains over the windows. The pillow landed with a soft plumping sound, and the noise of the paper resumed.
Tucking her knees up to her chin, she wrapped her arms around her legs and stared in angry annoyance at the bottle of silver nail polish and the file sitting on the coffee table in front of her, awaiting her use. She'd tried several things to calm down and relax ever since hearing Sango say the words that Naraku was alive. Pacing. Watching tv. Studying. Pacing again. She'd successfully managed to change out of her school uniform and into a pair of loose grey pants and a tank top, in which she was currently perched on the couch, bare feet tipping just over the edge and curling.
They were insane, all of them. Sango and Kouga and the two other men who had been in that antique shop that Sango had summoned her to. They were probably reincarnates as well. All of them were going to just go and throw their lives away trying to fight Naraku. Or some incarnation of his, or whatever. It was stupid; they had to be crazy. Why? Why would they even think of attempting such a thing? And why at the local jinja? What was so special about there? Heh, Naraku probably had some demented scheme in mind, as usual. Probably wanted them to go there. They'd walk straight into it. Then the trap would spring, the moment they were all inside, and he would strike. None of them had ever watched him form such plans up close, none ever had to carry them out. Who did they think they were? Didn't stand a chance as they were now.
And that left her where?
Alone, save for Kagami-oneechan. Nee-chan was really all she needed in order to get by...the nameless men, Sango...Kouga, too, the ass. She survived just fine before seeing any of them. It wasn't like they were her friends. The instant they found out, 'Oh no, it's Kagura!' what happened? Instant revulsion. She hadn't even done anything to make them think she was an enemy now; it was unfair to be judged on her past life in such a way. Not that she wanted to be all friendly with them now. Idiots.
She was frustrated, and frustrated with her frustration, which only served to make her even further upset. Standing, she began pacing, but had little success in her prowling around the room, since she had to continuously step over or around books. She began shoving them aside with her feet, until most were under the coffee table or in corners. Reaching up, she tugged at the little white feather attached to the headband in her hair, and then wished it would do some good to smack her own hand. Bad habit. Bad because she knew she did it when she was nervous. They probably could die out there. Really die. Not like in some video game or show. Her eyes strayed over to the corner of the room, where she and Kouga had stood the other day, still quite blissfully oblivious to who and what they were. Irritated, she looked away. Fat lot of good that would do for her. How pathetic she was, thinking maybe she'd found herself a boyfriend. How completely and hopelessly ridiculous. She was Kagura the evil bitch, right? Why the hell would he possibly want her?
Dropping down onto the corner of the couch, began tapping one foot against the surface of the floor. Where was nee-chan? Did she know anything about this? Hell, if Naraku was out there, were either of them even safe? Maybe they should move...move far away, to...to China, or somewhere. If Naraku was back- and since she really didn't believe Sango would be horrible enough to lie to her, she took it for granted that he was- then would he come after them? Kagami-oneechan wouldn't want to go back to him either, she was sure. Actually, it was nee-chan who was in more danger, regardless. She'd known who she was for years, and had even regained some, if not most, of her powers, somehow. She might be Kagura, but she still had all the magical powers she'd had a week ago. Which was about none. Kanna was strong, and that made her more useful.
The tapping of her foot against the floor was becoming obnoxious, even to herself, so she stood, and turned around once or twice, trying to decide where to go. Maybe she should put on some music or something while she waited. Something, anything at all, to distract herself. They were really going to go out to die at that jinja. It was insane, stupidly insane. None of them took down Naraku in the past- hell, she herself could and probably had defeated them before. She knew she'd fought Kouga at least. Now the lunatic was going to go get himself killed in this lifetime. If he couldn't even defeat her, how the hell did he think he could take on Naraku? There was no sense to it! What in the world would drive a bunch of people into going after him on their own? There had to be other ways, in this era. Personally, she wouldn't go against Naraku with anything less than a bazooka in this day and age.
In her room, she rifled through the little stack of cd's that sat on her desk, the plastic cases clattering against each other as she moved them around. What should she listen to? Something loud to fit her mood? Something gentle to calm her down? Which? What to decide on? She hated Naraku so much, and despite her hard words to Sango yesterday, they seemed so weak now. Kill him, right. There was no time to plan on her own, no way to prepare. To go out would be suicide.
"This is hopeless!" she half shouted into the cd's, tossing them back into their stack and watching as the top cases slid down and clattered loudly to the floor, one of the covers snapping off in the process. She pounded a fist onto the surface of her desk, the vibration of it sending the little fan she perched on the wall above tipping, then drifting down onto the old manga issues she had kept in a pile beneath it. The fan was so old now; the paper was growing thin from being out in the air, and from times when the sunlight came in through her window and pressed on it. Her window was closed now, but the shade was open, and only dusky, shadowy light was coming in through the glass that did not face the west.
Suddenly tired, she sat down on her desk's chair, picking up her fan carefully and setting it gently back onto its supporting tacks, arranging it so it slanted at an attractive angle in the soft gloom of its corner. It was just a cheap little fan. A cheap little fan from a fair when she was a child, something she barely remembered. Rather sad, actually, that she could remember having her heart sporadically crushed in a previous life more readily than first getting her favorite childhood toy. There was a span of time when she always told Kagami-oneechan she wanted to grow up to be a geisha. Not a doctor or a fireman or anything. Someone who danced, and danced beautifully, like her name. Either of her names. Lightly, she traced the ridge of the paper with a finger, feeling the folds of the end zigzag under her touch. Though she was careful, the fan tipped again, and floated back to the top of her desk.
The frail wooden bones of the fan were just visible beneath the paper, white with a red stripe. Deep vermillion faded, beside pure dusty white. A contrast of colors she'd always liked, reminiscent of the curve of the moon with just a little blood slipping down it.
What was Naraku like now? Probably less powerful. He couldn't be stronger than he was in the sengoku jidai, especially if he was stuck in a fully human body. It wasn't like you could summon youkai to you to be absorbed in this day and age. There may be a few reincarnated youkai like herself around, but that wouldn't do him much good. It was too bad she couldn't take this fan, this little old toy paper fan, and wave it, and send out one, just one, Fuujin no Mai. The thought brought a half smile to her face. Mai. Damn ironic, that. One would be enough. Just one. To chop the bastard's head off, so he could never reach any kind of paradise.
She'd probably be killed first, if she tried to attack him. He probably knew she was alive, and probably planned for either reaction- inaction, or aid. If he did know she was alive, though...then did he know where she lived? Did he know where Kagami-oneechan worked? There were any number of possibilities of what could happen. Either one of them could be hurt, killed, or worse...controlled or coerced. Picking up the fan, she realized how light it was, and delicate. The wooden frame would probably snap under much pressure, though its thinness probably gave it some resilience. It had lasted this long, and she knew she'd used it often as a child.
How had she died, before? Had she lived? Really lived, free of him once he was killed? Or had she gone down, betraying him? The concept of dying while fighting one of Kouga's group seemed revolting. There was no way she would have died still under his control.
If he came again, what would she do?
Where was Kanna? Where was nee-chan? She was so late today. Not even a telephone call of warning.
There was no one she knew of that was alive today that would be strong enough to fight Naraku in combat. Not if he even had half his strength from the sengoku jidai.
Kagura picked up her fan and carefully collapsed it, the bleached wood creaking in mute protest at the movement. Equally carefully, she opened it again, turning it over experimentally and waving it once. Even if she thought she could make any kind of wind blade jump out of it, her bedroom was not the best place to try. Who knew? She might blow up half the building.
That might be kind of cool on one hand, but on the other, she didn't want to even think about how to explain something like that to an insurance company. Talk about scary.
Naraku would definitely want onee-chan's regained powers. Why the other group seemed to be interested in the jinja, she didn't know, but knowing what she did of the way Naraku worked, there had to be something important there that she didn't know about yet. The others had to be aware of it then, if that's where they were meeting. It was insane. Simply insane.
She folded the fan up again and tapped the tip of it against her chin in thought. No powers. None of them probably even knew how to use weapons, unless one of them managed to procure a gun somehow. Kouga probably still could brawl, though what good that would do she didn't know. He'd go blindly charging in and get his ass kicked like usual, unless his opponent didn't plan ahead either. Which was not the case with Naraku.
What did they think they could accomplish? Any of them? Of them, she was probably the one with the most memories of the bastard, having the great misfortune of having to live in that stinking miasma filled castle of his. Did any of them even think to set up a trap of their own somewhere? A battle plan? Tactics? Probably not. None of them struck her as particularly cunning or clever. Well, okay, she hadn't met the two others that had been in the antique shop, so it was possible they had some form of strategy besides 'lets run around and do our best.' Quick way to get killed, that.
Looking down, she could see her shadow stretching out beyond her, towards the door to the living room. She could see her mess of books lying under the coffee table. Kagami would probably be annoyed seeing them like that, but stack them up neatly and not say a word, any admonishing done in silence. Kagami-oneechan would be in danger, too. More than most of them, since Naraku would want her more, due to her powers.
Could going really change anything? If she did go to this Higurashi Jinja, would her presence alter the inevitable battle? Heh. She was just Kagura. Just Mai, actually, since she was human. She snorted. In the end, humans must be damn scary creatures, really. Youkai were powerful, but it wasn't a planet full of youkai you saw walking down the street every day. Humans trampled everything in their path.
Were they fighting even now?
Now that the sun was down, and her shadow was just from the streetlights? It was nighttime.
Kagura stood. It didn't matter what they thought of her coming. Even if they lost, it was a way to spit in Naraku's face, one last time.
And who knew? Maybe the others would stop thinking she really was an enemy.
Even if this was a really stupid idea. Or if she cared what they thought.
Kagura pulled her jacket off the back of her chair and slipped it on, tucking her old paper fan into the inner pocket for luck. She was probably going to need it.
The grounds of the Higurashi Jinja were silent in the crescent moonlight, laden with the shadowy dimness that precluded the day in which a young girl would fall through a well, and into a time not her own. Lights were still shining inside the Higurashi home, and occasionally a figure could be seen moving from room to room, talking on the phone or carrying a bushel of towels, depending on which person momentarily walked by a window. These windows provided most of the yellowy light in the stone courtyard, allowing one, lone figure to meander his way without stumble.
Interested particularly in watching the window on the second floor of the house, he wore a small smile temporarily on his lips, one of anticipation, though he would, often enough, glance around to be certain he remained unseen. The best time to begin would be after everyone went to sleep, and the house was dark. The family would be easy targets, and it was likely by the time anyone discovered them the next day...well, he wouldn't have to worry about much by the time anyone found them the next day. By then, he would have the Shikon no Tama to himself, and it was unlikely anyone would be able to do much of anything then. The task was easy enough, armed as he was.
In the upper level window, a girl in pajamas appeared, tugging the curtains to a close, though light continued to press through the covering. He glanced at his watch. It was still early enough, though hopefully a family with students in it would retire early, so that he didn't have to skulk around in the darkness between buildings half the night. It was annoying, looking at the stupid shrine. He wanted to get this over with. Despite having many memories of the past, he actually hadn't ever killed anyone in this lifetime. That was about to change, but possessing the power inherent in the Shikon no Tama should be enough to soothe his poor tortured soul. A smile quirked on his lips again at the thought. And such a crime should darken its shine rather nicely. The memory of its darkness was enticing.
The lights in the second storey went out then, as did the ones in the kitchen area. Checking his watch, it was only nine o'clock, still not very late; but at least it meant he could get this over with. With the lights out within the house, the outside was plunged into nearly complete darkness, little bits of artificial light coming from streetlamps to aid the glow of the moon. He began to walk forward, past that nasty oversized tree he remembered so well. Heh. One of the first things to do: cut that thing down. Disgusting memory. In his one trip there in the daylight, several weeks ago, he'd seen the little hole that marked the entrance of an arrow, shot from the bow of a miko in the sengoku jidai. The thing was living firewood, waving its branches in the air and rustling so smugly in the breeze, as though nothing could hurt it. He'd cut it down himself and watch it burn to cinders.
He turned his attention back to the house, and touched the uneven object he was keeping in the pocket of he coat. It was such an easy way to transport things. And even should someone stop him, what would they think? A little bit of foreign voodoo done by a high school boy named Shoukon. Magic wasn't very real in this era. Which made things difficult to create or obtain, but, when in hand, ever so convenient to use.
"So, that's the form you've taken in this life."
Shoukon froze, slowly turning back around with only a few steps left to reach the front door of the Higurashi home. The sound came from both above and behind, from the large leafy branches of the Goshinboku. For a moment, the crazed thought that the thing was talking occurred to him. He remembered stranger things. But then, from up in the branches, a figure dropped down, landing within the bit of fencing and then leaping easily away. Someone was watching him. He frowned, though knew to expect such things, and was prepared for it. His hand strayed back to the lump in his coat pocket, fingers curling around it. Specially prepared, it was his best way of handling attackers.
The opponent didn't look too big, even in the darkness. Though the shape was wrong, as well as the way he moved when jumping from the tree. He had a tail. A large, long one. And as he moved cautiously forward, Shoukon was able to see him better, as well as tell that the youkai was wary of him. "And who are you?"
"Shippou. I'm a friend of Kagome's."
He frowned, edging around the other man and trying to get some kind of view of what he was holding. A weapon, very likely. Naraku would have tricks up his sleeve, and many of them. In this case, it looked like that adage was literal. He was weaker then, as he'd hoped. Probably not able to transform into anything, since he wasn't a youkai, or a hanyou like before. He smelled completely human, and that was also encouraging. There was, though, the old, familiar stink of Naraku, the smell not of many, many youkai mashed together, but of miasma, the acrid smoky smell he hadn't been exposed to in so long. If he still had some way of creating that miasma, then that was likely his way of attacking Kagome...fill the house with the poison, wait awhile, then stroll on in, easy as can be. No mess. And any authorities would probably take it for a gas leak or carbon monoxide poisoning. Nice and clean.
"A friend, huh? Then you can die with her."
Shippou snorted. Cocky bastard. He sighed. As a human, Naraku just didn't look as scary, regardless of that nasty old familiar smirk on his face. Weird what becoming a real human would do. Still, he knew who he was up against, and the memory of seeing Naraku in his former hideous glory was enough to keep him scared to the core. Appearances were not enough to make him feel any easier. The present smell of miasma alone proved that Naraku still had at least some of his old powers. Then, he might as well get started, and he kept his tone as light as he could. Prolonging this fight was not going to help him. "Not right now, at least, thanks." If he could somehow manage to stop him here, then the Higurashi's would be safe, and out of harm's way.
Beneath his feet lay one, perfectly shaped green leaf.
Shippou picked it up, then tucked it in his pocket.
And then, the jinja disappeared.
A slight frown momentarily slipped across Naraku's face, Shippou noticed, as the illusionary little world of the Higurashi Jinja melted and twisted away into the reality of an empty lot several blocks away from the destination that he believed he had been standing in for at least the last half hour. Instead of watching the Higurashi household, he had been carefully running around a particularly well crafted mirage. Now, instead, there was the space of a couple houses, the land full of tall weeds and wild grasses, surrounded by a tall wooden fence. The only opening had been roped off, but that rope now lay snaking across the ground, untied. Streetlamps at various points down the street provided dim, steady light, save for one that kept popping off an on, an insect buzzing around inside it.
"Hm. Clever."
Shippou didn't reply, but instead braced himself, then began to sprint forward, hands up. Even as the one word of acknowledgment was spoken, Naraku was pulling whatever it was he'd been holding out of his pocket as he backed away, and was throwing it to the ground between them, hard enough so that one point lodged amongst the weeds. Still, it was tall enough for Shippou to see what it was, and that gave him warning enough to swerve away just as the earth around it began to churn and bubble, rising to cover up the little wooden form of the bare kugutsu, the single hair around it gleaming silver in the streetlights.
The ground cracked from beneath the weeds and pulled back, gathering around the kugutsu core before a rush of spiked limbs shot outward from it in all directions. Above, below, writhing, swinging. It was an old method of attack, and though Shippou knew kugutsu were weak, there was something immediately strange accompanying this particular one; the anticipated anomaly in what was expected. Miasma. The putrid smell of the poison gas had expanded and strengthened with the creation and growth of the thing.
One arm of the monster came shooting straight down, and in response, Shippou leapt up, springing from one side of the thing's arm to another, sweeping up. In the creation's core would be the wooden puppet itself. It would take only a moment to destroy it, but he had a bad feeling about cutting this monstrosity. The noxious stink had accompanied and grown with it. Dodging and ducking underneath a thickening arm of the kugutsu, another length was crashing downward, an attempt to flatten him from above. To either side were more tangles of the creature, closing in to bash from all sides.
Over the last five hundred years, Shippou had the opportunity to observe a lot of fighting. Not exactly being of great offensive use as a child, he'd ended up watching a particular hanyou beat things to a pulp all the time instead. Though as a child, this did him little good, seeing that his claws were still pretty small, and he didn't really want to face youkai several times his size anyway. However, he did get the advantage of seeing varied large, raging monsters get ripped to shreds. Once he had gotten large enough to actually fight, it hadn't been too hard to learn to imitate Inuyasha's old moves.
Go straight up, claws braced. Make contact. Don't just stab...rip.
The earthen arm of the kugutsu exploded into chunks of dirt and rock, flying up and around him before being pulled back down by gravity. Still slowly moving upward, clothes flapping in the air, Shippou twisted to look at what was seething below him. The square of the empty lot was being consumed by the kugutsu, and the thing looked like it would grow and grow until it could reach him. Already the higher fingers of the thing were straining upward, waiting for him to inevitably drop back down, sharp spines starting to prickle from their surface. Figures were running along the street, three of them, less than a minute run from the battle. They had heard the fighting then. Probably everyone had. Dogs were barking, and lights were coming on in the neighborhood. It would not be long before people came out, or the police were called. This had to end, quickly. He was starting to descend.
He glanced at Naraku, standing in one corner of the lot, hands in his pockets, a smile on his face, clearly enjoying the apparent success of his oversized kugutsu. Was he really that stupid in this era? Kugutsu were just big, lumbering, mindless monsters that attacked anything set on. One good hit and it would be gone...what was the catch? Why the pleased look? Something was wrong.
A thick purple fog was clouding around the shorn stump of the place Shippou had torn through. A dense pocket of miasma that was starting to unfurl. The area already reeking of the gas, it wasn't immediately noticeable. But it was growing. Coming from inside the growing kugutsu.
Shippou caught his breath, then wished to hold it against what was coming.
Cut the kugutsu, release the miasma.
All over the neighborhood around Kagome's house.
"Oh, shit!"
He was back within range of the sharp arms of the kugutsu, and they shot forward at him as he twisted midair, grabbing one and swinging around it, using it as leverage to dodge to one side and under the next spiked point intent on impaling him. Was there a way to contain it? If he could just cut through it, this would be over right now, but doing that would release that stinking...it was already getting stronger...miasma. Foxfire? Around the thing? How the hell did the kugutsu get miasma inside it? Miroku and the others would be there any second. There was no time to go digging through his pockets to see what he might turn up. Bringing kitsune-bi into the equation might be a bad idea. The kugutsu was tall, but dark...lighting up the sky would alert more people, and who knew how miasma would react to being set on fire? It could blow. Or just release the poison anyway. Damn houses in the way! Suburbia was just not intended for magical fighting...
Several of the limbs came sweeping in from the sides and around, and though the kitsune had been leaping through and around them, he was finding himself being steadily backed into the far corner of the lot, against the fence. If he didn't charge, taking out the center, he'd be taken down. Inuyasha would be so disappointed in him, falling to a kugutsu, of all the stupid, mindless things. There had to be something to trap it...would killing Naraku, as controller, negate the effects? He spared a look through the plunging obstacle course he was running. It definitely should. The problem was getting to him around all these damn moving things.
He didn't hear the sound of feet arriving at the lot's entrance, though he did hear Miroku's alarmed shout.
It was promptly accompanied with a word he normally would have been thrilled to hear again. Normally.
"Hiraikotsu!"
"No! Don't-"
That cry rang out sharply, and Shippou's warning fell away as the boomerang impacted with a hard thwack into the nearest chunk of kugutsu, giving the three newcomers a good look at Shippou's horrified face before several arms close around him were torn to shreds by hiraikotsu's sharp end, releasing a cloud of strangely colored smoke.
He gagged, and in doing so, paused. A hacked off limb was still moving, and it crashed into him, full force, sending him flying into the fence and cracking it in half, landing in a pile of splinters and fractured wood.
The crackling smack and the scream of air sounded the return swing of hiraikotsu, and a very nervous Sango stood watching its spin, trying to watch only the shape of the boomerang, and not the forms of Miroku or Kouga, who were both moving at once, in different directions. She had to catch it. She had thrown it, thrown it the way she remembered it, with all the strength she had. It was enough, and for one moment, just as it left her hand, she thought everything was going to be okay. She remembered how to fight. She could fight. And then she heard Shippou crashing into the fence.
It was circling, circling, and Miroku was still in her sight, running towards Shippou, while Kouga made a straight line for a boy she didn't really remember looking at just now, but recognized and identified instantly from a few days prior. The boy at school in the hallway, fighting with Kagura. She called him Shoukon.
Shoukon was Naraku. Shoukon was Naraku.
And this thing he'd unleashed was raging in the middle of an empty lot, which, had it not been for Shippou's forethought, would have been Kagome-chan's house. It had already knocked down Shippou. He wasn't dead, he wasn't dead, he couldn't be dead after all this time, could he? No, no, not like that. Youkai were really strong, right? Right?
Sweep, sweep, the boomerang made its arc and swept around a final circle, and Sango had her hand in the air and she caught the moving weapon, stumbling back several steps and into the street before she could balance it again. Miroku was stuck in place, and coughing suddenly. It was strange, she thought, as she ran in, wondering if she could possibly manage another throw. Her arms already ached, and she knew that no matter how well she knew how to use it, her body was simply not trained for the weapon right now. Someone had to get to Shippou...Miroku was closest...she was the only one armed...she had to clear a path for him. Distract the huge...thing...whatever it was...away. Swinging hiraikotsu over her head like a giant axe, the first snaking arm to come close to her was crushed to the ground.
Not knowing what the hell it was that was in front of him, Kouga decided to take the most obvious course of action. Since the thing did not appear to be truly alive, that meant someone was controlling it. Since there was someone standing over in the near corner of the ground, looking far too happy to be on their side, he decided this was the most likely candidate for the person who he should beat the shit out of. Take out the controller, the rest should be easy. Especially since Sango had apparently remembered how to use her hiraikotsu, and was using it with great effectiveness in attempt to clear a path for Miroku, who was trying vainly to get to Shippou.
He ran. Fast. Pressing his luck, he hoped to tackle the bastard down before he even knew what was happening. If he was right, that monstrosity would be trash before it got a hit on Sango or Miroku. Unfortunately, the sleek smile that was watching the battle before their little corner turned smoothly to the side, almost casually, as though expecting him. The first blow was evaded.
Now with his arm overextended, Kouga jerked back and away from Naraku, just as a fist sailed through the space he was standing in. He could feel the air change as it passed by, and saw a slight opening. With one arm up, his opponent now had the same problem he was recovering from- he was off balance, unprepared, and open for a clear shot. Switching directions, he swung forward with his left fist instead, hoping to catch him in the face.
It failed, and instead he found himself caught, fist in hand, the two teenage boys struggling in a test of strength, arms locked in place as Kouga tried to force his way forward, and Naraku attempted to stop him. His arm crossed against his body, it would be difficult to attack in return. Kouga, though, held the advantage, able to turn and follow whatever way he chose to move.
His voice was sly. "Trying to stop me?"
The answer was a grunt, and increased pressure against him, forcing him to brace himself against the ground, feet digging into the churned up earth of the empty lot. What a pathetic creature. He couldn't help but smile into the strained face across from him, though his words came out haltingly, as he tried to spend energy on staying upright rather than speaking. "Do you really think, that you, as Okami Kotaishi, could kill me?" He only needed an advantage. One moment. Two moves. Yes, just two more moves, and the former wolf prince would be down. Speak, then strike. Unsettle him. Stupid, he'd listen and react. "Ready to kill me and be a murderer yourself?"
Move one. Release his hand. As expected, a reverse blow came flying up from beneath him, catching him under the chin and sending his head snapping back as he stumbled, desperately trying to stay upright. This was the hard part. He could feel blood in his mouth; he'd bitten his tongue on impact, and could, through the whirling world, see Kouga running again, face twisted furiously at the words he had just heard.
Move two.
Kouga saw the reeling figure before him duck down as though doubling over, and had brought himself around to compensate, pressing his advantage. It couldn't be this easy. It was much too easy. Something was wrong. And then it was too late to anticipate it. Naraku moved, not down, but to the side, not with a fist, but with an elbow, using the closeness of the oncoming attack to his advantage. He twisted, hands together and using the strength of both arms and the rotation of his hips to drive his blow as hard as he could up into Kouga's stomach.
Air rushed out of his mouth in an awful backwards gasp, a hollow sound accompanying it as blackness began to swim around the hem of his sight, sparkling in the darkness between the light of the streetlamps. He couldn't breathe, the wind being crushed out of his lungs at the unexpected blow. The concept he was falling barely registered as instead he tried to breathe, to get some air back into him, to do something other than collapse to the ground in a heap, unable to see anything other than the black shoes standing in front of his face, then kicking him, again in the chest, adding another bruise to his ribs and increasing the pain. The kick turned him halfway over, just able to see something sliding into Naraku's hand. Something shiny in the lamplight. A switchblade.
He groaned, and closed his eyes. Why did the air sting so badly? Smelled bad too. He only wanted to breathe...
There was noise coming from ahead, and Kagura wished, for the hundredth time that evening, that she was in better shape. Knowing she was going into a battle zone made her decide on sturdy, lace up running shoes instead of sandals, but it really didn't feel like it mattered much. She knew where Higurashi Jinja was. She'd shown up just five minutes ago, and there was nobody there. Hell of a stairclimbing workout those steps were, running up and looking around for Kouga, or Sango, or hell, anyone. Nobody. Everything looked perfectly normal at the jinja, the lights were on in the windows and there wasn't a thing that looked abnormal. Annoyed and beginning to wonder if maybe this was some horrible setup, she'd started back down the stairs...just in time to get a good look at a weird treelike thing blotting out some of the lights two streets away. Had she been lower, on the ground, she would never have had the vantage point to see it, but her mind instantly registered the name of the thing.
Kugutsu. Too big, too weird looking, but a kugutsu nonetheless.
So she ran. And ran, and arrived gasping for breath and cursing too many hours reading magazines.
The scene lay before her as a mess. In the center, Sango-sempai was hacking weakly at the remaining limbs of the kugutsu, wobbling amid a deep violet haze, little more than a dark silhouette among the swirling clouds. Miasma. She covered her nose and mouth with a sleeve, feeling her eyes water at the appearance of the old poison. It was pouring over the top of the fence, billowing around her feet even as she stood and looked at what was happening, trying to decide what to do.
There was coughing in the distance, deep throated. Male. Not Sango, then...there were more beyond the curling tendrils of miasma. Sango, in the center, almost down. Where was Kouga?
She looked through the fog, and found two figures. One lay on the ground, the other stood with his back to her, though he was looking downward. Kouga lay curled up, arms around his stomach and gagging in the miasma, as the terrifyingly familiar curve of Shoukon's face grinned maniacally down at him, a knife in his hand.
Shoukon was Naraku.
Her hand, already covering her mouth, shook.
Shoukon was Naraku.
And he was talking. Calmly. Unaffected. Knife raising in slow preparation to strike.
"Shall I cut out your heart and crush it in front of you? I'm sure that sweet Kagura would just love to find out you died just like she was always afraid of..."
Shoukon was Naraku. Shoukon was Naraku.
See you after school, Wind User.
At the moment it was said, it didn't seem like much. He'd said so many hateful things it had passed away even as it was spoken, another stab at her like any other stab. Swept away in the moment, she'd forgotten it.
She'd kill him.
She'd absolutely kill him.
The scream that came tearing out of her throat was heard only a moment too late, and instead of a set of perfectly manicured nails gouging his eyes out, they sunk into the flesh of his half turned cheek. She ripped downward, feeling his blood flow stickily beneath her fingers as he cried out in alarm and pain, swinging around and slashing out with the blade in his hand as he automatically backed away from the attack.
The knife met the soft skin of her side, tearing through the cloth of her shirt and slipping across her skin in an uneven arc. Naraku was faster in the recovery, and as Kagura placed a hand instinctively to her injury, he rushed her, plowing her down as hard as he could and sending her sprawling across the dirt, miasma rushing upward at the disturbance. Scrambling, she tried to roll aside, feeling the thin wood of her fan jab her in the ribs, just above the cut. She could see blood on her hand, now grimy with the weedy soil of the ground. Move, move, she kept trying to move, then felt a sharp kick to her side, right where she was bleeding, visible under the bottom edge of the leather jacket she wore.
"Think you're trying to be a hero? Never mind your heart, bitch, I'll just slice your goddamed throat..."
Curled on her side, blood oozing into the ground, she gagged as miasma filled her mouth and nose, but more from the fact that Naraku was bending over her and he had a knife raised and was bringing it down, leaning over her with that nasty, nasty satisfied smirk of his, the look Shoukon always got when he thought he was winning, and she'd never lost to him before so there was no way in hell she was going to die like this, never.
Her fist curled around her fan.
The knife came stabbing down.
Open, a pale half moon, with just a little blood running down it. That was what her fan looked like. A stripe of blood. Not her blood. Never hers. Paper tore as the knife impaled the fan, which shut neatly around it, capturing it within its wooden spindles. Both hands on the fan, one on each end, Kagura twisted it, and so unexpected was the appearance of the weapon and the movement, it slipped neatly out of his hands and into hers.
"You bitch!" He lunged after her as she tried to hold it far away from him, scrambling over her to reach the knife, the toy fan twisted all around it, broken and torn up. Dirt and miasma flew up around them as he tried to get both hands on the knife, hoping to pry her thin little fingers off of it and finish the job. If he stopped struggling for control of the knife to just choke her, she'd stab him, and then he'd be in a worse situation. No, he needed the knife. His beautiful switchblade. It had taken him hours of wandering around the surplus store to find one he truly liked. It was tangled up in her hand and her fan, blood being smudged onto it from her fingers.
Kagura struggled against him, trying to wriggle her way free. Her side stung, but she was still breathing. No, he hadn't done more than part the surface of her skin. It would hurt, but she wasn't out. Superficial injury. Everyone else was down...everyone. Surely they'd help her if they weren't...it was only a matter of time before she was simply overpowered. He was stronger than her, and larger than her, and damn he weighed a lot. Jerking her hand back and forth, she was keeping him from getting a good grip on the blade, but again, it would only be a few more seconds before he finally pryed it back. She was hurt, the miasma was beginning to sting, and she was weaker. If she threw away the weapon, he would overpower her in another way. She needed it.
So she did the only thing she could think of.
Sometime during his grasping attempts to get to the knife she was holding over her head, he'd straddled her, and was trying to crawl very inelegantly forward.
She took great pride in seeing his eyes roll up into his head in pain when she rammed her knee into his groin.
There was a strangling sound as he keeled over, flailing as he curled up and she rolled away, fingers tightening onto the hilt of the knife as she brought it screaming downward.
Shoukon was Naraku. She'd kill him.
Never again. Never again. He wasn't going to cut anyone's heart out. Never again.
"Kagura!"
The weight of Kouga came crashing against her, his hand smacking at her hand and sending it off course, sinking instead into the flesh of his shoulder instead of his chest.
Dead, dead, she'd kill him...
Someone was screaming in her ear. "Do you want to be a murderer?"
...she'd kill him...
Her hand was poised, up again and aimed at his throat. Wide eyes were looking at her, partly in shock, partly in fear, partly in pain. The cocky, satisfied smirk was gone, leaving a terrified teenage boy lying on the ground, his shoulder bleeding, blood soaking through his coat and pooling around him as he sunk in a small sea of his own miasma. Was this pathetic child Naraku? Fearsome to the end? The terror of her life? He was disgusting. A bully named Shoukon lying in the dirt. She hated him. Hated him in this life, and in the last life. Disgusting.
Pathetic.
Another hand was closing around hers, and pulling the knife out of it.
Suddenly aware of the pain in her hip, Kagura began to curl up, arms wrapping around her waist and feeling the wet blood on her left side.
Kouga sagged against her, the knife slipping easily out of numbed fingers. He shoved it into the ground and looked tiredly at the shivering girl he was slumped against. She was pale, pale white, eyes seeming redder than usual against the violet dark of the poison gas. Why was she even here?
At their knees, Naraku was beginning to stir, seeing that the two of them were not moving against him. Kouga turned his head to see him, trying to slither away from them somehow. Whatever he was starting to plot would end. Now.
Gathering himself together and telling himself this was the end, he pulled himself to his knees, made a fist, and found the strength to strike Naraku straight across the jaw, sending him flopping back down to the ground, unconscious.
With that, a breath of fresh night air sighed across the empty lot, and the miasma began to rise.
All fighters lay on the ground, either on their knees or their bellies, heads weakly lifting with the clearing of the toxic gas. There was a cough. Then another. Dogs barked in the distance, and in the far corner of the dirty, empty lot, the broken bit of wooden fence shifted, then lifted as it was kicked off, revealing Shippou as he struggled to his feet. He saw Miroku on all fours just a stride away from him, coughing hard, and he saw Sango, on her knees, pick up hiraikotsu and swing it one last time, straight through the center of the silent kugutsu. There was a cracking noise of the little wooden puppet inside breaking in two.
"Miroku?" Unsteadily, the kitsune stumbled over towards his friend, and tugged on his arm. "We have to get out of here...get up...keep breathing. But you have to get up..."
He looked again to Sango, who was trying to pull herself to her feet using hiraikotsu as leverage. It was far too late to give warning. Right now, they had to get out of there. This wasn't the sengoku jidai woods. People would hear. People would call the cops. And this wasn't something anyone could possibly explain. They had to run. He could tell them later where the miasma came from. He wheeled around and began to find his footing on the uneven surface.
Kouga was panting, shoulders heaving as he took in the clear air, hands on the ground but sitting upright, the still form of Naraku just before him. Kagura, though, was fumbling around the ground beside her, picking up a badly damaged bit of paper and wood. Her face contorted into a strange expression then, one of mournful loss. She tucked it quickly away into her pocket, and he determined to find out what he had not seen earlier, buried under a tangle of earthen kugutsu arms and wooden fence.
It was either Kouga or Kagura, or even both, who had stopped him. He looked at Sango. She'd been right, then, about Kagura, if nothing else. She'd come. Kouga wasn't trying to fight with her. Not an enemy. She'd come and she fought on their side, judging by the look of her. Amazing.
"We have to go..." he said more loudly, trying to get everyone's attention. Somewhere in the area were the sound of sirens, too far just yet for human ears, but he could hear them. "We can't stay here..." heads lifted and turned apathetically towards him. "Do any of you want to explain this to the cops or what?" he demanded, and a little understanding began to color their faces as they examined the area. Weariness and injury were warring with the need to escape, and fortunately, escape was winning. Miroku and Sango were battered but unhurt. Kouga had clearly been beaten down to the ground, dirt all over him. Kagura was bleeding.
Naraku was lying on the ground. His stomach turned over. He'd ask what happened later and relish the fact the man was defeated, and Kagome was safe. Right now, he knew he had the unfortunate task of having to work under this era's rules.
He had to take the bleeding, beaten Naraku to the hospital.
Ew.
Nobody else could do it. Sango and Miroku would have enough trouble getting away on their own. Kouga and Kagura would have enough trouble getting away on their own. He was healing much more rapidly than they were. His lungs still burned from breathing the toxins, but they would stop aching much sooner for him than they would for the humans. Miroku was on his feet. Sango was standing. Kouga was pushing himself upward, eyes not leaving the prone form just before him.
"We'll meet later tonight," he told them, knowing he had everyone's attention. "I'll call. Split up. Go home. Get yourselves cleaned up."
He began patting at his vest for a leaf. This was so disgusting. But there would be too many questions if the dead body of this guy came floating around somewhere in the morning. He wasn't going to hurt Kagome now. He couldn't, physically. Tomorrow morning, Kagome would go through the well, and everything would be as it was supposed to be. Naraku might wake up, and he might talk, but who would believe him? They were safe, at least for now.
An old maple leaf appeared in his hands, just as the wail of sirens began to rise into the distance, and the faces of the four humans turned towards the sound. Each blinked in surprise when they turned back to see a puff of blue green smoke lift their unconscious enemy up. As it cleared, it revealed a medical stretcher on wheels. Miroku, reaching out to Sango, couldn't help but laugh at the image. It was all so ludicrous.
"Your house is nearer...shall we?" he asked, limping around the squishy ground. He'd been struck from behind when he fell, and his back was sore already. Sango looked wearily at him, and began to use hiraikotsu as a crutch, though ended up dragging it instead. They looked at Kouga, who was now standing, looking troubled.
Kagura was trying to pull herself up, one hand out for balance, one tightly grasping her side as she stumbled forward and away from them, eyes locked on the exit.
"Kagura, you're bleeding."
She snorted, straightening herself out as best she could and then wincing, flinching almost back into a crouch. Determined, she started to walk away again. "A scratch. A scratch..." she chuckled grimly, the laugh rising almost hysterically on the last note. "Though tomorrow I will not be a grave man..." She seemed to be quoting something, which only puzzled him, though her faltering walk finally made him move.
He grabbed her free arm and put it around his neck, dragging her upright, taking some of her weight. "Come on. You live a few blocks from here. I'll take you."
"Let go! I can walk just fine-" she started, only to be jerked along by Kouga, who was now intent on getting out of there. He wasn't sure why she was there, or why she'd done what she had, but he saw the look in Naraku's eyes and knew that if she hadn't arrived screaming like a banshee when she did, he would be dead right now. "Why the hell are you doing this?"
Annoyed, he glared down at her as he increased the pace, sirens reminding him they probably had less than a minute before being seen. They could fight later. "Because it pisses you off! Stop bitching and walk, dammit!"
That earned him a stunned look, and he started walking again, this time with her too speechless to argue.
Shippou turned to look at Sango and Miroku, neither of them injured to the point of having difficulty moving, but apparently Miroku liked the idea enough to imitate Kouga, and slipped an arm around Sango's shoulders with a helpful smile. She gave him a droll look, but didn't say anything. So it was with great relief the two of them split off in the opposite direction as the two former youkai. Shippou, for his part, placed his hands on the edge of the makeshift, magical stretcher, transformed himself out of his regular appearance and into a human one, and began to run, the sound of spinning wheels clattering around him.
He ducked into the shadows across the street just as the first patrol car rounded the corner, in response to a call about a very noisy disturbance behind their house. Someone had apparently been horsing around and broke their fence.
In the shadows, Shippou kept running, breathing in the fresh night air and finding that the stink of the miasma dissipated quickly, though the queasy feeling in his stomach would last awhile longer. He wanted to get this over with.
He looked down, and upside down on the magically made stretcher, Shoukon smiled a lurid little smile, a twisted frown from where Shippou stood, leaning over him. He already felt ill from the effects of the miasma, but to see that smile was far worse. "Idiots. You're all idiots."
Shippou grimaced, wishing he could smother the bastard with the pillow his head was resting on. He'd lost, and now he was going to try mocking them? Stupid bastard. "Smart enough to take you down again."
"Yeah," he rasped, mouth gaping as he sucked in some air and made straining sounds. The smile didn't fade. "Naraku, though...is better than me."
The sound of the rattling wheels on the pavement stilled as Shippou stopped walking, a feeling of cold settling like a rock in his stomach. There was something off about this; not just what Shoukon was saying, but the feel of it. All was complete. But there was something so simple about it all. He began to run again, the wheels clattering over the sidewalk with a great racket. Another couple blocks to the hospital.
Not easy...no, the fight had not been easy...but therein lay its deception. Naraku was always clever. If he wanted to trick them, then he would need a plan as clever as Shippou remembered him using five hundred years ago. Say, a decoy. Say, a decoy who looked like him, talked like him...was him, once. Onigumo. This was not Naraku, this was Onigumo. An old trick, used by tricksters and magicians for thousands of years. Sleight of hand. Make sure the audience looks at one place while the real action is occuring in another. With limited power to make kugutsu, what was the next best option?
Naraku was a consciousness, a soul, a leech, a parasite. Who was the one he would most likely try to assimilate? He was a shapeshifter, uncaring of what form he wore. Who, then, would he try to claim as a new host? He skidded to a stop just outside of the sliding sensor-rigged glass doors to the hospital. An ambulance was parked outside; another patient had been brought in recently. Yellow light spilled through the windows, and he could see doctors inside. It was a good situation, for him. The paramedics would be heading back to their vehicle in a minute. Onigumo could last until then. When they returned, there he'd be, ready and waiting to be picked up. And what would he say to the doctors about what happened? Even if he told the truth, he'd be assumed to be crazed from the trauma. Delirious. Nobody'd believe him.
Exactly as it should be.
There was only one person Shippou could think of who could carry the soul of that monster. Leaving the stretcher before the doors, he turned and ran.
He just hoped that this time, he wasn't going to be too late.
Um, please don't kill me?
Til next time.
~Queen