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: Kagome and Sesshōmaru escaped from Gaudia's bowel, one of the monsters roaming the underworld, also known as 'Guilty Pleasures'. Though Sesshōmaru did not regret what happened between them while they were trapped in the alternate reality, Kagome was not so certain. Her uncertainty and guilt created a rift between them.

The Way to Elysium

Chapter 11: Limos - Hunger

Southern Isles: The Kingdom by the Sea
Roughly seven hundred years ago

The wounds from the whipping were severe, so they took their time to heal. For weeks after, Sesshōmaru was unable to transform into his true form. All the yōki his young body could muster was directed towards the mending of his flesh, leaving no spare for transformation.

He would have been more than happy to remain in his bed, in his chamber, and never face anyone outside of his quarters ever again, but Chikatani — as vexing as one's caretaker could be — would not let him. Chikatani insisted that he moved about, as it was a crucial part of his healing. Something to do with minimizing scar tissues so they would not impair his movements in the future and diminish his agility as a fighter.

As if he would ever be a fighter, he thought sullenly.

Then, Chikatani told him it had also been a direct order from the king.

So, it was with a pair of heavy legs that he dragged himself outdoors for a stroll along the shores, Chikatani following close behind. Yet, it took only a few steps on the soft sand on the beach, staring at the beautiful blue shade of the ocean to lighten the weight on his chest. Soon enough, he was at peace, even if it might last only for a few moments.

It was on an ordinary day like this, on a beach stroll just like any other, that he encountered a small two-headed dragon stranded on the sand.

It was clear the dragon was rather badly injured, judging from the bloodied front legs and the few places where his seaweed-green scales had torn. It cracked one of its four eyes open, revealing its soft green gaze, when it sensed the two inuyōkai approaching him.

Sesshōmaru got there first, and he hovered over the dragon, looking at the injured foot and the scratches on its body.

"A two-headed sea dragon," Chikatani said, kneeling beside him. "And still a hatchling, too."

"He came from the ocean?"

Chikatani nodded. He stroked the little dragon on the side of one of its necks. "He was most likely attacked by a larger sea creature. The waves must have washed him ashore and separated him from his herd, poor thing."

Sesshōmaru looked at Chikatani before he fixated his eyes back on the dragon. Separated from his herd…

This dragon was almost an orphan, just like him. And wounded, just like him. Immediately, he felt a deep-rooted affinity towards this animal that belonged to nobody. He gently lifted the dragon — so small, it fit perfectly within the cusp of his hands, and placed it on his lap. Both of its heads made soft purring, cooing noises as they rubbed their cheeks against his midsection.

"Would you like to name him, Waka-sama?"

He thought about it. He wanted the dragon to have a good name, the best name, but he had no confidence his young mind could conjure one. He shook his head. "No, you name him, Chikatani."

Chikatani smiled. "Then I will think of a good name for him."

Feeding the little two-headed dragon became a routine that got him out of doors and out of his melancholy and loneliness. He spent the mornings catching fish and gathering conch shells and feeding the dragon little pieces of his catch of the day. It gobbled them up happily and afterwards, it waited patiently while Sesshōmaru checked on its wound, changed its bandage and applied more healing salve. Once he was finished, the dragon hobbled on its injured foot and they both took a leisure stroll along the beach.

Thus, together, they started a journey to recovery.

… …

As it turned out, Chikatani never had the chance to think of a good name for the dragon.

A few hundred years later, however, Rin did.

Sesshōmaru still remembered the day as though it was only yesterday. Jaken had gaped at her in wordless wonder when the imp realized Rin had bestowed a name upon the dragon, the so-called 'beast of burden' that had been nameless since the day it was born: Ah-Un. Sesshōmaru had said nothing, turning away from the rest of his pack to choke back a smile.

Inside, he thought, smiling anyway as Jaken and Rin argued behind him: Chikatani would have approved.

Somewhere in the Asphodel Meadows
Now

Sesshōmaru opened his eyes to the hated sight of Asphodel Meadows' grey sky. A dream about one's pet dragon probably would not be considered the best kind of dream, but to him, it was a preferred one. It calmed him down, and… if he dared to admit, made him happy.

He thought of Ah-Un, and Jaken, and Rin, wondering if they had been well during his absence. He hoped Jaken had enough sense to visit Rin and remain nearby to watch over her, since undoubtedly Inuyasha and the rest of the miko's comrades would be preoccupied with guarding her body until their return.

How long had it been since she died? He hoped her body had not yet started to decompose, for otherwise this would all be for naught.

A glance at a spot about a few feet away confirmed his guess that the miko was still sleeping, curled up against the tail end of his mokomoko. She had her face snuggled close to his fur, close enough for him to feel the warmth of her breath, the steady rising and falling of her chest as she slept on. She looked so peaceful, so he decided to let her rest a little more.

Sitting up, he assessed his own condition. He felt a little refreshed, but not much. The wound on his forearm made no progress in its recovery. In truth, it worsened, as it had started bleeding again while he slept. He was also hungry. Hunger — for food — was not a familiar sensation for him. As a yōkai he required minimal sustenance. As a daiyōkai, having advanced his mastery over his yōki and gained more understanding on how his body could utilize his energy more efficiently,he required even less. But here, in this realm, he felt the hunger keenly.

His beast too, hungered. It was close to the surface, just prowling restlessly, starving for the yōki his body was incapable of supplying. Food would help him rebuild his yōki reserve, but they did not have enough food. Rest could be an effective remedy, and he had tried that, but it was not doing a good job producing enough amount of yōki he so desperately needed. This realm seemed to drain his energy a little at a time, leaving him with no means to counter its adverse affect on his body.

Soon, his beast would be so hungry it would consume him whole. What would happen to the miko then, when she was trapped here with him in such a state?

Except there would be no him left. It would just be her, and the beast.

It would be a blood bath. He stifled the dark chuckle that bubbled up in his chest at the macabre vision it showed him. Pressing the heel of his palm against his eyes, he forced the vision to recede. And with it, the bloodlust.

As he slowly descended into madness, his fight to stay sane commenced.

Sesshōmaru had woken her up with an eerily calm expression on his face. She sat up almost immediately. Something in his air had alarmed her, though she could not quite put her finger on it.

"What's wrong, Sesshōmaru?" She asked. He stared at her silently for a long time, head cocked slightly to the left.

"I think it's time to eat," he finally said.

She had been so hungry, she agreed to his proposal enthusiastically. So here they were: sitting together in the meadow, sharing a slice of jerky. Half for him, and half for her.

It had been a couple of days since the incident with Gaudia. Two days, she reckoned. Or… it felt like two days, but she could not tell for sure. Sesshōmaru had retreated into his shell almost immediately after Gaudia, and she could not blame him. She had been unfair to him, and he knew it.

It took her all of those two days to get him to speak to her again beyond the one-word answers, grunts, and scoffs. She still had not managed to return him to that semi-comfortable coexistence they had before, but this was better already. Finding him more willing to converse if the topic was neutral, she strived to come up with inane subjects, all for the sake of getting him to speak to her.

"So—" She started. "You really do eat, huh?"

She still could not believe she was witnessing him eat something. Like… actually inserting food into his mouth, chewing, and swallowing. Of course, he did it as elegantly as he did anything else. It took her everything she had to not stuff her face with that half slice of meat. And he — even though it must have been days, or weeks, since he last ate, he exercised commendable restraint, and even managed to make such mundane act looked like it was an art performance.

He noticed her stare. "Hnn. Even this Sesshōmaru cannot survive on air alone."

"Is this what you like to eat? Jaken's jerky?"

The corners of his mouth twitched. The beginning of a smile — another progress.

"No."

"Then, why did you have them tucked away in your clothing?"

"The imp always put them in the folds of my sleeve for provisions just in case I have to be away for a while." He looked at her. "Like now."

Huh. Jaken was more useful and thoughtful than she had given him credit for.

"But you don't usually eat them? What do you do with them?"

"I stash them away somewhere safe."

She chewed thoughtfully. "Isn't it easier to just tell Jaken that you don't like them?"

"Hnn. It seems unnecessary to hurt his feelings over what is essentially a mild inconvenience."

She arched her brows. He cared about Jaken's feelings? The old Kagome — meaning the version of herself prior to death — would have laughed aloud at the notion. He had always been 'the great Sesshōmaru-sama'. The cold, ruthless, selfish Sesshōmaru-sama. But this Kagome… this Kagome knew better. She had been given front-row seat to appreciate the different facets of this male. They were by no means simple. He was like a work of art himself, as complex as an ever-changing kaleidoscope.

"So…" She paused to lick her fingers clean. "What do you really like to eat?"

He, of course, would not do something as base as licking his fingers to clean them. He plucked a few blades of feathery grass and used them as makeshift napkin.

"Firstly, miko, this one follows the ways of his grandfather, who observed the traditions of his forefathers. We consume flesh only once a month, on the day of the full moon. For most of the month, we eat roots and other plant matters."

"Really?" She asked, surprised to learn he was a vegetarian most days. She had not expected it at all. "Why is that?"

"It is believed that limiting the consumption of flesh to once a month keeps the beast's senses vigilant."

How intriguing. Eating root vegetables and greens could not possibly be satisfying for a yōkai of his caliber, which meant his specific diet maintained him at a constant level of hunger. She had read somewhere that animals — even humans — had built-in vigilance signals that kept them awake and alert while hungry. She supposed this made a lot of sense. It did not surprise her to discover he was so disciplined in this part of his life as well.

"So… what kind of meat?" She asked as they prepared to leave.

"Mostly game. However, it needs to be prepared in a certain way and heated to reach a precise temperature, otherwise it becomes unpalatable."

Again, how intriguing. "Would you teach me how to prepare it properly when we go back to our real world?"

A crude sound came from him – half scoff, half snort. "I doubt we will be seeing much of each other then, miko," he said.

She felt each of those words, said in his trademark nonchalant tone, like a knife to her chest. They hurt. She had not considered how it would be after they both returned to the world of the living, but now he had made it clear: he would refuse to see her again. He would stay away. And the thought of it, of not seeing him again everyday like this, blasted a big hole in her chest.

Knowing he would be able to scent her tears, she swallowed them down, willing herself not to cry. She counted from one to ten, slowly, taking a deep breath with each number that passed. He had started walking, oblivious he had left her behind.

Her heart clenched when she realized this was a preview for what was to come.

Days later…

It had been an unending circle of sleeping, rising, and walking. They moved almost like ghosts in the grey realm of the dead, shadows of what they had once been. The last slice of preserved meat had been consumed long ago, and still, they had found no sign of Inu no Taisho.

How much longer?

Sesshōmaru was not even sure if they were truly moving forward, or merely going round and round, circling the same place over and over. After a while, everything looked the same. After a while, in a world without scent, without a sense of time or direction, he felt like he started losing his grip on everything.

The beast no longer prowled inside him. It rattled against its cage. Pounding, howling, threatening to break his veneer of humanity that was thin to begin with. He could only clenched his teeth and held on, even if there was no end in sight.

As they walked, he studied the miko. She had lost all will to chatter long ago. A wraith now, she resembled a pale, hungry spirit. Silent. Everything in this realm was so silent. He had thought he wanted silence. But now, when silence was granted to him, he wished for that silence to be filled with her voice, her inane conversations. For her to call him in that aggravating, yet endearing way: "Nē, Sesshōmaru".

He had spied a small hill in the distance, so he told the miko that it was a sensible plan to go there and see if he could catch his father's scent from a higher ground. Her only response was a mute stare and a nod.

They trudged up the side of the hill. To his yōkai senses, they were moving so very slowly, yet he barely had any energy to maintain his pace, let alone hasten it. At last, when they both reached the top of the hill, they looked down at the view on the other side.

What they saw made them both gasp.

After what felt like an eternity of staring at the grey grassy fields of Asphodel Meadows, they were now feasting their eyes upon rows and rows of trees, each one of them heavy with fruits.

… …

Kagome could not help but gravitate towards the orchard. She touched the bark of the trees and the glossy green leaves, stared longingly at the branches that were drooping low because they were so ladened with round, juicy, ripe fruits.

There were peaches. There were pears. Apples. Plums. Persimmons. All kinds of citrus. Bright red cherries.

And… pomegranates.

She stared at them all, at this delicious-looking banquet of fruits. She was tired, so tired. And starved. Her stomach was eating itself, grinding against itself, just clenching around emptiness. It felt like it had been at least one week since she last ate. And even longer since the last time she had had more than a slice of meat to eat.

And now, here they were, just a hand's breadth away from food. The tree branches dropped so low, all she had to do was reach up and pluck one.

She could not even remember anymore: why shouldn't she eat them?

How good would it be to sink her teeth into any of these? How good would it taste when their juices spilled into her mouth? How good would it feel to have them fill up the stomach that had been empty and aching for so long?

Slowly, she approached a tree. A pomegranate tree. Its branch seemed to meet her hand as she reached up to pluck one fat, dangling fruit.

She turned around and held it out to him.

"Nē, Sesshōmaru…" she said. "Let's just stay here. I don't care anymore… about going back." She chuckled as though deranged. "You can be my king, and I can be your queen, and together we'll rule these empty fields."

… …

She had been pushed completely and utterly passed her threshold, she had no inkling of what she was saying. Sesshōmaru looked at the pomegranate she offered and felt his own stomach clenching painfully. The beast inside him howled, starving for the yōki that piece of fruit would help him rebuild.

But, as hungry as he was, he knew she was hungrier.

"Miko," he whispered. "Put the pomegranate down."

And then what?

She was still as a statue. It was as though she did not hear him. She stared at the pomegranate like it was her lifeline, even though a mere taste of the fruit would condemn her forever in the afterlife. He watched her, eyes vacant, as she licked her lips, starving for a taste. Just a taste.

He went to her and knocked the fruit out her hand. They both watched it rolled away from their feet. Then she looked up, staring at him, confusion clearly etched on a pale face that had endured too much and too long with no real hope to hold onto. He could not bear to see her like this anymore: a thin, pallid shell of what she had used to be. But in this realm, what else could he offer her instead?

In the end, the only thing he had to offer was himself.

He nicked the tip of his forefinger with his claw and held it to her lips as blood beaded on the surface. She took him into her mouth almost immediately, sucking hungrily. Blood rushed from his veins into her body. Her mouth, hot, pulled strongly at his finger. He felt the swipe of her slick tongue, the blunt teeth scraping his skin, the vibrations that wrecked his body as she hummed in contentment.

And suddenly, what he yearned for was no longer food.

He held out until she had her fill, trembling the whole time. When she finally released him, giving him one last lingering lick over the tip of his finger, he shook with the force of his wanting. He staggered away from her, knees nearly buckling, weak with hunger yet aroused all at once. The beast came out now, drawn by his desire, but it was also starving. His desire mingled with the beast's hunger, turning everything into an all-consuming bloodlust.

He could feel himself turning before the physical changes took place. His vision turned red. His claws, deadly to begin with, elongated and sharpened further, dripping green acid from their tips. He could feel her coming up behind him. It seemed that his blood had given her exactly what she needed: energy. She was saying something, her voice concerned.

Don't come.

Even as he fervently wished her to stay away, something dark and twisted inside him wanted to beckon her closer, so he could eat her up, starting from her cunt to her stomach entrails and then all the way up to her breasts. He would consume her entirely: liver, lungs, heart, and spleen. By the time he was finished with her there would be nothing left other than her blood on the ground that he did not slurp up fast enough.

By the time he finished devouring her, she would be an inherent part of him. She would never be able to leave him.

Oh. The beast loved that thought.

He felt the warmth of her hand reaching out in good will. He envisioned himself turning around, nuzzling his snout in the centre of her palm, inhaling her mouthwatering scent one last time before he found a vein to split open with a fang.

Don't come.

She called out his name; her voice sounded small and distant, almost like an echo of a forgotten dream. The fingers that touched his back were quivering. He could feel the vibrations, thrumming throughout his body. Something inside him snapped at the feel of her touch. He whirled around, capturing her wrist in his monstrous, clawed hand. She jumped, but it was too late. He brought his transformed face to her hand. His eyes, now fully crimson with turquoise irises, showed him everything tinted in red. His facial markings deepened in colour, turned jagged as he burrowed his face in her hand.

He licked her palm. His senses were all ablaze, he could feel her blood rushing in her veins. With the tip of his tongue he traced one prominent vessel from the middle of her hand to the side of her wrist. He mouthed that slightly protruding vessel, drawing it to the surface even more. There, he could feel her blood pounding underneath his lips, in sync with the beating of her heart. He sucked on the thin skin that protected that vein, seeking her taste, sensing it fluttering like the wings of a nervous little bird underneath the repeated swipe of his tongue.

His chest rumbled as he growled low in his throat. What had been hunger was now starvation. He lifted his lips slightly from her wrist to run his tongue around the lengthening fangs, feeling its sharpness. His mouth watered at the thought of tasting her blood, of drinking her.

"Sesshōmaru." He heard her whisper, her voice trembling. The air was thick now with the scent of her fear, and of her tears. "Please."

He was gasping. His beast threw itself against the thin veneer of his sanity, repeatedly, howling at him to feed. Feed. Feed. In the last second before his bloodlust reached its peak, he dropped her wrist. He backed away from her like she was the hunter and he was the prey. And, like a starving animal he really was, he set his mouth to his own hand.

His fangs sank deep into the softest part of his palm, growling as blood gushed into his mouth. He drank it greedily. There was no new source of energy to be found there, but the metallic taste of blood kept the beast at bay, at least for now. At one point he felt like he could drink, and drink, and continue drinking until he drank himself dry. Perhaps he would have done it, had she not stepped in and placed a hand on his arm.

"That's enough, Sesshōmaru," she said softly. And when he stubbornly latched on, she laid a gentle touch on the hand he had mauled, coaxing him to take his fangs off it. "That's quite enough now."

He glared at her, the red tint of his beast vision gradually disappearing, a sign that his eyes were turning back to amber. Slowly, he stopped sucking, and licked the wound in an attempt to seal it. Of course, it did not work. In the red haze of his hunger, he nearly bit his hand off.

Slowly, he released his mouth. Blood continued to spill from the grotesque holes he had made, but the miko was ready with her bandage and her gentle ministrations. He did not fight her. He was shaking all over, but he let her touch soothe him, calm him, slowly bring him back to a semblance of normalcy.

"I made you afraid," he said, when he trusted himself to speak again. His voice sounded hoarse, rusty, as though he had not spoken for a hundred years. "I'm sorry."

"I wasn't afraid of you." She sounded like she might break into tears at any moment. Her head gradually lowered until finally, her forehead rested against his bloodied knuckles. He felt her tears soaking the bandage around his hand. "I was afraid for you."

A/N: We started this chapter with a lovely dream about Ah-Un and ended with… Well, let's just say some stuff happened.

As they spent more and more time roaming the underworld looking for Sesshōmaru's father, they also slipped further and further into darker territories. The next chapter will be titled "Penthos — Grief", so you can imagine how dicey that could be.
Thank you so much for reading. As always, your comments are tremendously appreciated. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, as grotesque as some parts might have been.