Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters in this fan fiction are the property of Rumiko Takahashi. The original characters and plot are the property of Chiaztolite, who is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary of Previous Chapter: A snippet into Sesshōmaru's childhood. Kagome & Sesshōmaru reached Elysium.
The Way to Elysium
Chapter 7: Grandfather
"To be close to you… the most tender and terrifying place I know."
– butterflies rising –
The brilliant sapphire blue of the Southern Isles sea was unlike any other. Sesshōmaru was mesmerized. The sight, smell, and feel of the ocean transported him to the days of his childhood spent on long strolls along the beach with Chikatani following not far behind.
The faint scent of mandarin peels brought him back to the present. The miko had sidled up to stand beside him.
"Do you recognize this place?" She asked, her large fawn eyes were fixated on the ocean, as though she was as mesmerized as he had been.
He nodded, mouth dry. "This is where I spent my childhood."
Sesshōmaru's childhood home was beautiful. Kagome had only seen the beach, but who needed more when they had this? She would set up camp on the sand so she could wake up to this sight every morning.
The light turquoise of shallow water stretched for miles towards the horizon before gradually transitioning into the rich azure of the deep ocean. Small waves gently lapped the sun-baked white sands that cushioned her feet. In the distance, large rock formations towered, reaching up to the sky.
She turned to Sesshōmaru to comment on the beauty of the ocean when she saw, over the yōkai lord's shoulders, a lone figure in the distance. Sesshōmaru must have sensed the approach or seen the surprise in her face, for he turned around and stiffened as soon as he sighted the figure.
The figure was undoubtedly the king, Sesshōmaru's grandfather. He wore a magnificent battle armour: spiked golden spaulders, black and golden breastplate, tassets and cuisses — the layered skirt of golden scales that protected his lower body, though the most magnificent piece was perhaps the golden head of a dog that decorated each of his shoulders. Jaws open, fangs gleaming, the dogs — each positioned facing away from the king's head — looked poised to attack their foes.
His pelt was worn like a four-tailed cloak; it enveloped the wide breadth of shoulders before falling away to cover his back and all the way to the ground. Billowing in the wind, the effect was no less than magnificent.
He was now close enough for her to see that, though he looked older, his resemblance to Sesshōmaru was uncanny. Like his grandson, he too wore his hair loose, mostly. The rest was arranged in a top knot secured with an elaborate metal headpiece.
Stopping a good distance away from them, the king observed them in silence with a pair of eyes that were clear and bright golden, not at all cloudy or rheumy due to old age. If he had been surprised to see them, his impassive face showed no indication. The amount of yōki that he emitted —without even trying— was massive. The weight of his gaze alone made Kagome want to fall to her knees in supplication.
Standing before his grandfather and all of the king's glory, Sesshōmaru too felt weak in the knees. His mind drowned in the thousands of things he wanted to say to his grandfather, and it scampered to find just one, and in the end he came up with none.
The king, however, had no such trouble.
"I waited for you on my deathbed," the king said slowly, gravely. "Yet, you did not come."
Sesshōmaru felt those words like an arrow-shaft straight to the chest, but he maintained his expressionless mien. "I suppose I had nothing to say to an old yōkai with one foot in the grave."
The king watched him with a pair of eyes that seemed to see too much, know too much. "I see," he said, the corners of his mouth twitched vaguely. "Then, why have you come now?"
"I want to know how this woman and I can both escape this realm."
His grandfather's eyes flicked to the miko for a split second, though he did not comment. "And you chose to come to me instead of to your father? Why?"
Narrowing his eyes, Sesshōmaru replied: "You know why."
The king smiled. "Perhaps, rather than focusing on how to escape this realm, you should concentrate on why you are both here."
During the centuries the king had spent in Elysium, he seemed to have acquired a fondness for speaking cryptically, Sesshōmaru thought with annoyance.
"And why are we both here in this realm?" He asked.
The king did not answer for a long time. "If it had not been revealed yet, then I cannot tell you. But soon, you will discover the truth."
The king's answer — which was not at all an answer — agitated him further. He supposed his suspicion had been quite correct: someone had brought him and the miko here. Though for what purpose, he could not yet understand.
Meanwhile, the king observed him from head to toe in silence. "You've grown up," the king said, his gaze softening a little as his eyes resting briefly on the purple crescent moon insignia on Sesshōmaru's forehead.
"Do you expect me to be the same as I had been? I am no longer a helpless pup," Sesshōmaru said, carefully maintaining his impassive tone.
"Is that so?" the king said, matching his grandson's calm composure, though the corners of his mouth quirked up slightly. Then, his voice dropped a couple of octaves to a dangerous interval. "Show me."
The king did not wait for Sesshōmaru to react before he lunged, one hand already on the hilt of the sword tied to his waist. The scrape of metal joined the sounds of crashing waves and seagull as the king unsheathed his sword.
The gleaming edge of his grandfather's sword nearly blinded him. The wind slicing at his neck forced him to leap back. The king, swinging the formidable blade in a broad arc, had narrowly missed his throat by a hair's breadth.
Sesshōmaru drew Bakusaiga out of its sheath. At the sight of the blade, the king paused.
"I see now it is true," he said. "You have succeeded at creating a sword out of your own powers."
When Sesshōmaru's only response was a mute glare, the king smirked. "Very well. Surely you wouldn't mind giving this old yōkai a taste of its power."
Without warning, the king launched another attack. Bakusaiga met the king's blade readily; the sounds of metal clashing drowned out those of the ocean's. Golden and aqua lights enveloped them both as their swords continued to meet in relentless series of thrusts and parry.
The king, though over four-thousand years old, was blindingly fast and in possession of tremendous strength, Sesshōmaru thought as he blocked an overhead attack with Bakusaiga. He clenched his teeth and dug his feet deeper into the sand as he felt himself being pushed back incrementally. Their combined forces made the sand swirl around them.
"Sesshōmaru," the king said, staring at him beyond the edge of his blade. "Though I commend you for creating this sword, it is impossible for a sword with no ōgi to defeat me."
Sesshōmaru gasped. 'Ōgi' : the ultimate fighting technique of a sword that could only be attained when the swordsman had gained complete mastery and was in complete sync with his weapon.
He thought back to the swords he had wielded. For him, mastering Tōkijin had been easy enough, it being created from the fangs of a middle-class demon. It had Sōryūha as its ōgi. Tenseiga would have had Meidō Zangetsuha if he had not returned it to Tessaiga. But as his grandfather had pointed out, Bakusaiga had yet to attain its ultimate technique. It had one attack; that was it.
Which meant his Bakusaiga was incomplete.
"Even though it has no ōgi," Sesshōmaru gritted through clenched teeth. "I will not be defeated."
The kings's gaze flickered with an unnamed emotion. He leapt back, breaking the contact of the swords, and stood with his back facing the ocean. He held his sword before him, the blade was coated in translucent swirls or aqua and golden. "Ōgi."
So, Sesshōmaru thought, the king intended to show his signature move. Already, the ocean obeyed the king's command. The sky darkened; the soft breeze became a tempest. The calm sea had gradually became rough and choppy and now, a tsunami reaching up to unbelievable height and eclipsing the sun, had built up behind the king. As it raced towards the shore, it transformed into a colossal eight-headed dragon.
"Orochi."
All eight heads of the dragon Orochi let out a deafening roar at the king's call; all eight heads plummeting down — jaws wide open and fangs bared, ready to swallow Sesshōmaru whole. The air was thick with vapour and electricity. There was the smell of blood in the air; the gale had sliced into his face, arms, and legs, drawing blood. It was like being in the eye of the storm; nowhere to run and nowhere to hide.
Fighting the tornado, he rushed to stand in front of the miko and erected a barrier that enveloped them both. Behind him, just as the heads of Orochi plunged to swallow them between their jaws, he heard the miko screamed.
Kagome instinctively shielded her head with crossed arms. Her last thoughts were: why was the king slaying his own grandson and why was she involved in this too? The sounds of the wind was deafening, swallowing her scream as the avalanche of storm and energy engulfed them both and…
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing happened.
When she reopened her eyes, she saw that everything was as serene as it had been. The sky was the cloudless blue and the ocean was calm. The king had both his hands clasped behind his back, staring at them solemnly. He did not seem like he had drawn his sword at all, or exerted even an ounce of strength, for that matter.
She fell to onto her knees, sinking into the sand, debilitated.
Sesshōmaru too, looked affected. He was on one bended knee on the sand, panting with exertion. She could have sworn the gale had cut into his flesh and made him bleed, but he appeared as unblemished as he had been before, only spent. Even his clothing and fur remained pristine.
"Hnn. You have much to learn," the king commented, smiling wryly. He flicked a swift glance at her. "Sesshōmaru, stay here awhile with your companion," he said. "You and I have much to discuss."
Without further words, he turned and strode away, the silver hair and the four-tailed fur cloak blowing in the wind.
In the king's realm, unlike out there in Asphodel Meadows, day turned into night. The dazzling, cloudless blue sky had progressed into the bright orange and fuchsia of dusk, and settled into the deep indigo of night. Thousands of stars peppered the dark sky, twinkling and glittering far above them.
The king did not return, but when the last vestiges of the sun died in the horizon, bonfires magically appeared along the shorelines, chasing away the darkness around them with their blazing fire.
Kagome turned her head away from the stars to look at Sesshōmaru, sitting in front of one of the bonfires and brooding. He had been extremely quiet since the king left. She supposed it was understandable. The king's display of power had been ferocious, even as an illusion. If she had to guess, the younger yōkai lord was now thinking of a way he could surpass his fearsome grandfather.
She joined Sesshōmaru in front of the fire, sitting not too far from him. "Nē, Sesshōmaru, your grandfather was really incredible. Is he as great as you remembered?"
He scoffed and turned his head away. "One could hardly expect any less from a four-thousand year old daiyōkai."
Kagome smiled. Although Sesshōmaru's words and tone were slightly mocking, she could hear something else in his voice. Something that sounded suspiciously like a young boy's pride of his hero.
"You take after him a lot," she continued. "I guess that's how you're going to look when you've reached his age."
He did not respond. She let the silence fill the space between them before she asked: "Nē, Sesshōmaru, what happened to the kingdom of the Southern Isles now? Is there a king, still?"
"My mother's elder brother ascended when grandfather died. He is now king of the inuyōkai."
It still boggled her mind that Sesshōmaru was the son of a princess, the grandson of a king. Although, she supposed it should not be that much of a surprise, considering how majestic he was in appearance and how he had always carried himself in such aristocratic manner.
"So… you're not just a run-of-the-mill 'yōkai lord' Sesshōmaru, huh?" She said, her voice lightly teasing. "You're an inuyōkai prince. A proper ōji-sama."
She watched his mouth twisted into a sardonic smile.
"My uncle," he said. "The former crown prince, was titled 'Kōtaishi', and his two sons: the princes – my cousins – were titled 'Kōshaku'. But I am not a prince of the blood, thus forbidden from carrying any formal titles. The only title I ever received was the one my caretaker used to call me: young master." He leaned back on his elbows and looked up at the starry night sky.
"So you see," he continued. "I am not a prince, or a lord. I am nothing."
His uncle and cousins had taunted him many times about how he would not amount to anything, that he would never be king of the inuyōkai. Forever he would only be a half-blood. The Mongrel Prince of the Southern Isles.
His uncle – the former crown prince, now king – Zetsubōmaru, had been revered and feared in equal measure. Revered because of the purity of his blood; no one with more blue-blood existed in the inuyōkai court. He was as much royalty as anyone could hope to be.
And feared because…
Jaws clenched, Sesshōmaru tightened his fingers into fists. Zetsubōmaru was the reason his goal had always been to battle the strongest being alive. Even after years, memories of their taunting still filled Sesshōmaru with rage. They had zoned in on the one thing he could not change: his lineage.
All his life he had strived hard to make up for the lack of pure noble blood in his veins. He had trained hard to ensure—
All of a sudden, he felt a shove and fell onto the ground. It took him a few seconds to realize, as he lay there on the sand, that the miko had pushed him. If he had not been so lost in thoughts, such puny strength would not have felled him. Immediately, indignance suffused his chest. The vexing woman dared to push him?
"Why did you push me, miko?" He asked, his voice was deceptively soft.
She did not answer, though he sensed her shifting to hover above him.
"I will have you know—" He said to her as her face appeared in his line of vision, acid dripping in each syllable. "—many have died by my hand for much less."
"Well, I'm already dead," she said, shrugging carelessly. She inched her face closer to his in a display of defiance. "So what do I care?"
They were so close to each other; the scent of mandarins, much stronger now, tickled his nose.
He felt… a stirring deep in the pit of his stomach.
"We've already established you might still perish even when you're already dead, miko," he said, smirking.
"Oh? Are you going to slay me yourself?"
He sighed. "Contrary to your belief, I do not go around slaying anything and everything that infuriates me."
"I know that," she said. "Although right now, I almost wish that you would, just to prove you're still the same Sesshōmaru that I —"
His eyes slightly widened. For a moment, he forgot to breathe as he curiously waited for her to continue.
Fear? Dislike?
Hate?
"—respect," she finished in a small voice.
'Respect?' He repeated inwardly in bemusement. He stared at the starry sky above him. He knew there were worse sentiment, so why was he feeling… disappointed? Why should he care what his brother's woman think of him? He did not care.
Yet, when she spoke again, he shifted his full attention onto her.
"You know what, Sesshōmaru?" She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. He followed the journey of those fingers from her temple to her ear and down to the slope of her neck. The curve of her smile brought his attention back to her face.
"Lord or prince or just plain Sesshōmaru-sama," she said. "I think you are magnificent the way you are."
His eyes flew open wide. Hunger — unlike anything he had ever felt before — surged inside him unbidden. His beast roused, growling softly. Stretching as it came up onto four legs, interested.
No, he told himself, taking a deep, shuddering breath, forcing his beast down. She was a human. His brother's human. He had no business hungering for her. He lifted his back off the sand, shifting to seated position. She scooted back to give him space, curiosity and alarm mingling together in her scent and facial expression.
He left her to claim a spot for himself on the opposite side of the fire. He made a project out of arranging his mokomoko on the sand, creating a soft bed and lying down upon it.
"Sleep, miko," he sighed. "It has been a long day. For us both."
He felt out of sorts, have not felt like himself ever since he rescued her from the damn river Styx.
It's just fatigue, he thought as he pressed the back of his hand against his forehead and closed his eyes.
Yes, that must be it.
But that thought did nothing to stop him from extending his pelt to her side to keep her warm.
She accepted the fur gratefully, for the night had taken a chill turn even when the bonfire was lit ablaze. Lying curled up against the soft cushion, she thought: What was all that about?
He had looked so beautiful. The fire had rendered his eyes burnished gold, and the shadows had played lovingly across the planes of his perfect face, his masculine features. Even when she held the high ground, being above him, she could feel the barely-leashed power inside the body beneath her.
He could have struck her. Maimed her. Tore her chest into shreds with his dokkasō.
But he did not. He just laid there, staring up at her face, and at one point, she thought she saw something that looked a lot like hunger passing over his face. What surprised her the most was that she felt no fear. If she wanted to be honest with herself, she rather… revelled in it.
She wiped her face. This is wrong, she thought. So wrong. In so many levels. She was going back to Inuyasha. It was Inuyasha she should be thinking about. A life and a future with Inuyasha, not his brother.
His brother, the demon lord extraordinaire. The hater of her kind.
Yet, even as she conjured the ever-so-familiar image of Inuyasha's face, her mind kept straying back to Sesshōmaru's as she had him on his back.
When he said he was nothing, he had looked so pained. Raw and exposed. And for some reasons, she could not bear seeing him like that. She sought to comfort him, but she knew he would not take comfort when it was offered. So she shoved him, putting her own well-being in peril, and it seemed to have done its job of shifting his mind from whatever was plaguing him.
How strange it was that she felt… protective of this prickly, mysterious yōkai. Powerful, yet vulnerable. Distant, yet kind. And he had been kind, hadn't he? A virtue she had doubted he ever possessed during the last few years of knowing him. Considerate too, in his own surly way. He had even protected her when they both thought the king was attacking them. That memory made her feel… strangely warm.
She hardly recognized this Sesshōmaru. The Sesshōmaru she knew had always been indifferent, cold, haughty, self-assured, full of disdain for humans and other creatures beneath his notice.
Could it be that perhaps she was… wrong?
She nuzzled her face into the fur; her eyes starting to drift close. The fur smelled like him: crushed pine needles and smoke. A comforting scent.
Instinctively, she squeezed the soft pelt beneath her fingers.
And, just before she drifted to slumber, she thought she felt the fur twitching in response.
A/N: Thank you for everyone reading. I hope you've enjoyed the story so far. I'd love to know what you think. Please let me know if you have a chance :)
See you in the next chapter!