Dying to Live
Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha.
With his eyes still closed, the former Lord of the West inhaled deeply through his nose. He had stayed like that for quite a while now since finishing sharpening the old battle sword. It lay in its sheath across his lap while the oil cloth wrapped lump of pine resin the slayer had given him rested on one of his knees.
He tried to focus on the breeze lifting and falling around him, as he had done in ages past when he had prepared for other battles. Nothing on this occasion was the same as those times before – his station, his enemies, his motivations, his capabilities, his damned body itself. However, he could not let those differences burden him now as he waited on the edge of battle, so he chose to focus on the one thing around him that he felt fairly sure had remained the same – the elements.
As he released a long draw of air through his nasal passages and felt the burn of leftover smoke, he felt the snarl of disappointment threatening in the pit of his stomach. His mourning over the loss of his inhuman healing factor manifested physically in the uncomfortable coiling of his intestines. The panging absence of his keen senses - which had allowed him to not only smell but even taste and intimately know his foes while they remained miles away - threatened to distract him.
No, he, Sesshomaru, would no longer allow the pain of these deprivations to cloud his judgment under circumstances like these. Likewise, the urge to underestimate these vile leeches of possessed wolves was strong. Yet poor excuses for even minor pack demons that the ex-daiyoukai knew them to be, his goals could not be compromised at the cost of his native pretentiousness. And oh yes, the son of the late Inu-no-Taisho knew of the reputation his pride and aloofness had gained him before his fall from his zenith. But Sesshomaru had made a decision that afternoon in the rickety hut at the foot of Rin's bed, and nothing would sway him from it now. He would not fail upon his last mantle of any meaning. Irony be damned! Only death would stop him now from ensuring Rin made it out of this awful little town. And if he could not help it, if he did die in the fight – well, it wouldn't be the Grand Death Sesshomaru had aimed for, but he was coming to think it was one he could accept.
His resolve was bolstered: whereas yesterday the thought of his fragile human flesh being torn apart by monstrous claws only got under his skin – tonight, perhaps it was shine of the brand new crescent moon on his face bringing back fool-hardy feelings of nostalgia for combat or the new found sense of purpose – Sesshomaru found himself actually eager at the chance to spill the blood of these plague-some creatures. Though his intelligence couldn't deny an underlying trepidation at no longer intimately knowing the limits of his personal (though he measured, severely limited) power, he fully believed he would savor eradicating these pests. He hoped they would find they had inconvenienced a very dangerous enemy tonight.
Sesshomaru did admit he had one legitimate fear that worried him though. As he inhaled another deep breath of night air, he tried to be especially mindful of the state of his lungs. The effect the stirred dust in Tsukiko's hut had on him the day before had sent very vivid, upsetting flashes of his experiences with hyperventilation before his eyes. If he got caught up suffocating himself from overexertion, the resulting distraction could be the end of him. He no longer had the reflexes to save himself in an unexpected pinch. His breath, the flow and pattern of it would be his top focus as he went out, sword slashing, no matter what happened around him.
Subliminally, he observed as things went into play around him. It was the slayer who came to talk to Sesshomaru around the supper hour. Conspicuously, the monk's physical appearance seemed to be predictably deteriorating from sickness with each passing hour, so Sesshomaru noted as Miroku did not move from fire pit's side. He suspected that the others were forced to let the man sleep. So in Miroku's place, the slayer explained the defense plan to Sesshomaru in curt, controlled words. It was obvious that he thought talking to Sesshomaru was a nuisance, an annoying chore to take care of, but all Sesshomaru needed was the facts anyway. Later on, Sesshomaru eventually noticed around sunset when the slayer and the wolf demon with the mohawk gathered beside the monk at the fire pit.
Blasted monk, Sesshomaru thought to himself. Sick as he was, he was an idiot for going out with the others into this mystery demon's den. But Sesshomaru was finding more and more that was humans for you – illogical determination paired with inevitable fragility. Apparently, it was natural; so what if he found even himself being shunted into such behaviors now? He didn't have be any more level-headed or controlled than any other man around him, he decided in a dark humor. Still, his more refined senses could not find anything admirable in such precarious tendencies...
The threesome of the slayer, the wolf demon, and the monk departed the fire pit in the direction of the village limits. Slowly, the shadows in between the buildings and cast by the villagers' movements grew long and faded away in the dimming evening light. Sesshomaru continued pushing himself to focus his energy, one long breath after another. Meanwhile, high above, the velvety night sky grew heavy with darkness and stars that crowded the hungry, slight cut of the crescent moon.
A duo of high pitched whistles rang dolefully through the night air, signals from the look-outs that had spotted the objects of their watch. Sesshomaru leaned his head back against the wall of the hut that stood at his back and listened as the village boy straddling the ridge of the building roof above shifted in his spot.
The gentle clack of stricken flint was followed moments later by the soft punctuating snap of the boy's bowstring. Sesshomaru didn't need to look. He could picture the fire pits the villagers had dug and filled with sappy, green pine branches igniting at the touch of the look-outs' burning arrows. The fires that doubled as signals and barriers against the coming attack would rage to life fed by the hot sap, heralding to the fighters in the village that the time for battle was nigh, for once again, they were here.