Somewhere in the Southern Lands, a young miko was coming of age. She was particularly strong, sent to travel and study at the most prominent of temples throughout Japan, and even a few outside of their small borders. At only fourteen, she had already vanquished thousands of demons and her power was yet still growing. Her powers were whispered of among demon kind, some out of fright, some anger—but all agreed she would, or mayhap already was, a threat worth ending.
She was born in a tiny village at the southernmost tip of Japan to two parents who wanted a son to do their bidding and help in the paddies. When a girl was born, there was first contempt and contemplation of leaving her for the wild animals, or drowning her in the very paddies they wanted a son to work. But they took too long to decide what to do and in that time, grew attached. Maybe there weren't as loving as they would have been had they been borne a son, but there was care in small actions. They named her Mei.
Mei was primed to grow with discontent. She had a beautiful face, so she could get away with a great deal the homelier children couldn't—like stealing a sweet bun, or begging for a pretty ribbon from a passing trader. Her outer beauty was not matched on the inside. Though she knew her parents cared for her, she knew too there wasn't actual love; if anything happened to her, they'd simply try to carry another child. It was the same with her friends—they were only friends because of the things Mei could get them, or the things Mei could get from them.
To be fair, Mei didn't know how to love either. She didn't like her parents, or even hate them, but there wasn't an inkling of anything warmer than 'like' inside of her—not just for her parents, but for anyone.
When the sea demons came, great massive sea dragons and smaller shark and whale oni, they lay waste to her village. Everyone was slaughtered. Everyone but Mei who, out of sheer fear and a base instinct to survive, summoned a barrier of reki and hid under the rubble of her destroyed home. Even now, she isn't sure how long she lay in the decimated ruins of her home. All she remembers is the festering hate that grew within her for the demons who destroyed her village—not because she loved anyone that was lost, but because she feared what they had done.
When the sounds of screaming died away and the acrid scent of burning flesh turned to ash in her nose, she finally passed out under her barrier and the rubble—and was eventually discovered by a group of taijiya who had been hunting those demons in particular. One of them, a monk by nature and demon hunter by trade, recognized her for what she was and convinced his group to dump her at the nearest temple for training rather than leaving her to rot.
And thus, Mei began her life as a miko. As an initiate, she was offered the chance to choose a new name for herself. Thusly renamed, she trained with every ounce of her soul and when her skill far surpassed the training of the High Priestess she trained under, she was sent to another temple. And another. And another.
She spent the next six years festering in her hate for all of demon-kind, eradicating even the humblest, most harmless, of youkai that dared cross her path. There was no differentiating between good and bad, those who helped and those who harmed—as far as she was concerned, every demon was evil and deserved to be erased from their awful, homely, existence.
Rumors of her power spread far and wide until they reached the elegant ears of a certain Crane Daiyoukai, the son of the very leaders of the homelands she had abandoned and only returned to on tales of marauding demons. He was a powerful demon by birthright and bloodline, curious by nature, and beautiful by design. He wanted to know of this miko—to know why she hunted his kind with such fervor and no restraint. And so, he hunted her and though his kind might not have been the most skilled at hunting, his eyes could see farther than even the most powerful of Inu and his ears could hear endlessly for hundreds of kilometers—and his wings, with his wings he could soar and soar and soar for months, years even, and never tire.
And so, when he hunted, he soared. His eyes rove across the rolling acres of hills and forest and paddies and rivers and islands and mountains, searching for the miko.
He found her, bleeding out from a fatal wound dealt by a desert dragon youkai—one almost as powerful as himself. Smirking, he landed behind the dragon and helped dispatch it with ease, in part thanks to her own purity having done most of the work even as she shot another blue tinged arrow into its sandy scales and blew the thing apart into ash.
The miko studied him through the ashes and wind, another arrow already leveled at him.
"This one's name is Masashi," he called, and dipped a courtly bow to her with all the elegance implied in his very name—and nearly beat into him by his Lady mother.
One beautifully sculpted brow rose. "Think you I might not kill you just because I know your name?" she demanded, not moving that bow even an inch.
"No, of course not my Lady." And he grinned, rakishly. He was a handsome male, well sought-after by the ladies in his court even though he was never going to rule it. He'd taken his fair share of those ladies too and shown them just what he knew about their perfect little bodies. Even a fair share of males. Pleasure and affection were pleasure and affection, after all, when willingly given. "This one wonders though if you can maintain your aim with the poison coursing through you."
This time, the miko paused. She spared a glance to the wound in her belly. "The blood loss will kill me before the poison does," she commented, turning her attention back up to him.
"It will." He grinned at her, took a step closer when she let the bow fall slack just a degree. "If you can stand the touch of this one's hands, there is a healer who can treat you not far from here." He paused, then grinned wider. "Well, you must also be amendable to flying."
"I've killed youkai more powerful than you before." She studied him, unfazed by his charm or suave manner, despite how young he made her feel—she'd just turned fourteen, after all, and he had to be at least six or seven centuries old. "I would think you'd rather kill me than help me."
"You wound this one, my Lady." He took another step and then let his yōki shine out about him in all its might, baring for all to see not an ounce of ill intent for the miko. If she'd been a regular human, she'd have been bowled over by the force of his power. "This one is a very curious being, much like the neko that crawl about our country, scrapping at thrones. This one's honorable father often bemoans his fate of a lackadaisical son such as this one. It would take more effort to kill you than it would to help you, my Lady."
Hard brown eyes narrowed, but she finally let the bow fall. If he tried to kill her, she could simply purify him with a touch and disintegrate his annoyingly handsome body into ash. No sooner had she lowered and put her weapon away than he was standing in front of her. He was surprisingly short for a Daiyoukai; they were almost eye to eye; he couldn't have been but five and nine feet tall, she thought, and sighed. "Take me to this healer," she demanded.
"As you will it, my Lady," he murmured, and scooped her up into his arms to hold her close against his broad chest. "Would you do this one the honor of sharing your name, my Lady?"
The Miko closed her eyes so she didn't have to see the ground rushing away below them and instead focused on the bright yōki still shining out about him. She'd never met a youkai with such light inside him. "My name is Midoriko," she said finally, and debated when the best time to kill him would be.
o.O.o
Word Count - 1452