SOMETHING WICKED
Fuck pleasantries.
"You knew, didn't you?!"
Her words went as unheeded as her crash landing had. The leaves and detritus she'd kicked up fell around her, a bit too gently for her liking.
"Oi, Shio!"
The witch slowly raised her eyes, looking unamused by her outburst, yet her hands did not stop their sewing.
"And what, exactly, did I know?"
She snarled. "Don't fuck with me! You knew, about Ise, about―"
Her stalled on the tip of her tongue, suffocating. Shio closed her eyes and let out a deep sigh.
"You could say that I knew," she said slowly, "I knew you were tied to the twins, somehow. I knew that something wasn't right. Your aura was―is still―off…" Shio set the fabric she was mending down in her lap and leveled narrowed eyes at her. "Two energies, that of a youkai and that of a god… it's conflicted, the two at odds with each other, though they've calmed somewhat…"
She shut her mouth and turned her head, her jaw working as she took a steadying breath. She aimed all her enmity at the ground beside her feet, her gaze falling on a jagged stone pillar that stuck straight up from the ground, covered in moss and lichen, and the barest hint of red―
"There was nothing I could have done for you."
With a stone in her gut, She lifted her head back up to face the witch.
"What did you find?"
Shio's eyes bored into her, as black as the abyss of hell, and she suddenly felt very hollow.
"A dead woman," she said, and was gone.
…
The wind was deafening now that she could hear. Whipping her face as she raced through the sky, begging her to stop, slow down, go back, to return to them.
She couldn't sense Fuujin's influence, or that of whatever the hell Byakuya was now, though she knew that that didn't mean that they weren't listening, or that their power might still be too strong for her senses.
Liar.
The wind goddess had never been missing. Gone, functionally dead, maybe, but never missing.
Nor had she failed to bring back the wind god from hell. She'd found him, or he'd found her, because whatever bullshit had tied them together still hung there, invisible. Even now, she could sense him on the wind, the threads of his aura tickling her skin, a phantom presence hovering in the corner of her eye.
She didn't know if it would have made a difference, had Fuujin told her that first night, if she would have accepted that fate when she'd had nothing else to lose besides her own boredom, her lackadaisy excuse for freedom. Would she have given that up for whatever Byakuya dealt with now? Whatever the hell Kanna even was? Was Byakuya…
Was Byakuya even Byakuya anymore?
The embrace that had pulled her from the chaos, all those months ago, that voice that had been so soothing… had been his. Or, not Byakuya's but…
That had been Shinatsuhiko, hadn't it?
It's why he'd called her sister, familiarity in his tone and acceptance in his features when she'd punched him. Like he knew her. And that stung more than Fuujin's duplicity.
She'd trusted him. A new thing, placing that much faith in someone. Neither of them had known, if Fuujin would be true to his word and keep them safe. She'd watched him drink first, apprehension had held her limbs frozen as the water had sliced up his throat, sharp as shards of glass. And he'd been worried for her, blood still dribbling down his chin, he'd tried to calm, to soothe. He must have seen that she hadn't drank, but he still―hadn't been angry when she'd hit him.
He must know where she was, and yet he hadn't come after her, just as she'd said. A blessing or a curse, she didn't quite know.
The land below rushed by, trees and rivers blurred together. Her head ached. Foggy with her first memories, a dark and dank room deep in Hitomi Kagewaki's castle, the cloying stink of the viscera and gore that had clung to her skin, sticky in her hair and between her fingers and… she'd vomited, or tried to. Tried to rid the viscous fluid that filled her mouth and stuck to her tongue. With nothing in her stomach, she'd heaved, her belly quivering as she'd pulled herself out of that damned jar, her grip slipping on the slick rim. Words hadn't quite come to her yet, but she'd known she needed to get out, get away. And then something had touched her cheek, pulling her face up, her eyes unfocused but recognizing red eyes and a devilish grin.
"...glad to see you're awake."
The whites of his teeth had been nearly blinding in the darkness.
"I think I'll name you Ka―"
An insult. A spit in the face. An attempt to spite someone who was already dead. That's all it had ever been, that name. Her eyes stung, and the wind was quick to whip away any evidence of tears, even when she waved her hand to shake it away. She didn't need sympathy or coddling, though her chest ached, a sharp stabbing pain straight through her ribs.
If Naraku had devoured the wind goddess, had spit out those leftover parts, that didn't mean they were the same. The reflection she'd seen in the water hadn't been hers, colors and angles all wrong, any trace of the goddess stripped away and replaced by a youkai who hadn't even been able to save herself.
A goddess who'd been killed by a lowly hanyou. An incarnation who'd laid down and died because she'd been too weak to―
In the end, what was the difference?
At least she knew enough about one to content herself with it, but the other…
If the goddess had been that weak, what use was she? The incarnation had had no heart, no allies, her abilities leagues below the ones who came after her, and yet… she'd survived. Outlived her master. She'd made some semblance of a life for herself, made her own choices. She'd survived hell, literally and figuratively.
She had no use for a dead god.
And she didn't want to think about what would become of her if she did.
So then, what?
No doubt that he and Fuujin knew where she was, as fast as she flew that wouldn't make a difference if either came looking for her. Even taken by surprise Fuujin had still been able to counter her power. If he did truly want his dearest niece back, it wouldn't be a stretch for him to take drastic measures to do it.
Her sleeve flapped in the wind, heavy from the weight of her meager possessions, but something flickered in her memory. She pulled her hand into her sleeve, grasping for―there. Her fingers closed around the object, and she slipped her hand back out, brandishing it in the moonlight.
The cord Momiji had given her, a dull maroon in the dim light. They'd said they were headed for the main land. It wouldn't matter, there was no one for her here, no one to miss her except―
The wind erupted around her, yowling as it tried to pull her down. She fought against it, shielding her face as she tried to pull her feather out of the maelstrom to no avail. It overpowered her, sending her careening downwards into the dirt, she barely had enough time to brace herself to roll across cobblestone and catch herself on her feet.
She caught her breath just as she tried to catch her bearings. Stone bricks under her feet, a narrow path, and when she looked up she wanted to scream. Of course, a shrine, torches blazing before the altar, and Fuujin's name emblazoned above the shimenawa.
Meddlesome son of a bitch. She searched her senses, and found that the god was still miles away.
"You fucking coward! Scared to face me?" A taunt, she knew, but the anger thundering in her veins didn't care.
"I thought you'd prefer it," Fuujin's voice echoed around her, carried on the wind. "At least you might listen."
"What do you want?!" Her fingers itched around the guard of her fan.
"For you to come home," the wind whispered, "we need you."
"I don't have a home," she spat. "And I don't need you."
"Just come back so that we can talk―"
"You have nothing I want to hear," she spat. His voice echoing around her was disorientating, and physically present or not, she would burn his little shrine to the ground and dance in the ashes if that would prove a point.
"Just come back." Didn't he get sick of repeating himself?
"I don't need to do anything."
"You're the only one who knows what happened."
"No, I'm not. And why do you think I care?" she seethed. "Whatever did happen doesn't fucking concern me."
"Stop lying to yourself, come back and―"
"Shut the fuck up!" She didn't want to hear any more of this. Her arm swung out, a wind blade slicing through the stone pillars that made up the torii gate, and then another cut through the roof tiles and the massive hemp shimenawa that hung from the shrine's doorway. The torii toppled, stone grinding against stone as the pillars tilted and hit the ground with a thundering crash, kicking up dust in their wake. The shimenawa slipped from its bindings, the heavy ropes knocking the torches on either side from their poles and the fire quickly catching on the dry hemp.
"I'm not her!" she hissed as the flames spread, leaving ghosts of light in her eyes and smearing her vision.
"Stop being childish. You have a responsibility―"
She heard the twang of a bowstring, just as an arrow pierced the air just above her shoulder, hissing in her ear with a crackle of impotent holy power as she narrowly leaned away from it. Her arm moved before her mind, another razor thin blade peeling off the edge of her fan, vision still red with rage―
"...Kagura!"
Her eyes refocused just in time to see the miko fall.
The wind stopped and the girl crumpled like a puppet without strings; choking on air as blood spewed from the wound that had sliced her open from the crux of her neck down to her navel, severing her shoulder and splitting her ribs. Splintered white tips of bone stuck out from the rent flesh of the girl's chest, heart and lungs still quivering beneath, struggling to function despite being so severely mutilated, blood still spurting from severed arteries. She hit the ground with a dull thud, splattering blood in a wide arc around, staining the dirt with a glimmering sheen that flickered in the firelight. The light shimmered across the surface of the viscera, spots of blood blossomed like so many crimson buds across the girl's back, changing her kosode from pure white to a fiery red.
She watched as pink froth formed in the girl's mouth, spittle and more blood pouring over her cheek, mixing with the hair that already clung to her feverish and rapidly greying flesh. A final rasping, rumbling breath, and the girl went still; eyes open wide and staring up at her. Her eyes stuck on the girl's empty gaze, the open mouth and the blood that continued to spill despite the lack of a heartbeat to pump it, simply emptying into the humid air.
The wind held its breath.
If she was to be struck down now, then so be it. If the sky opened and the breath stolen from her lungs, then so be it. But the longer the corpse watched her, the seconds counted by every cotton thread stained with blood… nothing happened.
She should have been disgusted, should have recoiled from that empty gaze, should have felt the stirrings of guilt and panic; but the longer she stared, she only felt…
Nothing.
There was no horror weighing down her limbs, no tingle of terror shivering along her skin, there was no guilt churning in her gut. Her heart still beat a steady staccato behind her ribs, and her lungs still rose smoothly with every intake of air, her feet kept her firmly rooted to the ground. Her mind did not go blank with questions or curses. There was only morbid curiosity.
A warm corpse, so different from the mountains she'd stumbled through in the underworld. The girl's cheeks still held some color, the blood framing her hadn't quite hardened yet, still a vibrant crimson staining the night. Beauty in death.
That's what she'd been made for, hadn't it?
A patchwork body, stitched together pieces of discarded youkai and the ghost of a goddess, branded with the mark of a spider and set loose into the world. Meant to do nothing but sow discord, an agent of chaos serving a malicious master who'd wanted for nothing but the suffering of others. She may not have been the most dutiful daughter, but she'd certainly perfected misery.
When Naraku had returned her heart out spite, he'd severed the chain that had bound her, but it had been his death that had finally broke the shackles. She pulled out the braid Momiji had given her from her sleeve, running her thumbs over the bumps and ridges that made up the interwoven threads. Regardless of whether she'd made the most of it...
A heart she'd only just gotten. A life she'd only just begun.
"I'm not like you."
She burnt the cord.
…
One step forward, three steps back