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 were tempted by Limos (Hunger) to eat fruits that came from the underworld, but managed to hold back by the skin of their teeth. Sesshōmaru offered his blood as sustenance, which Kagome took, and in turn aroused his beast that threatened to take control of him. At the last second, to stop himself from devouring Kagome, he consumed his own blood.

A/N (PLEASE READ BEFORE PROCEEDING):

Please be forewarned that this chapter contains references to child sexual abuse, which may be disturbing to some readers. Note that there are no graphic depictions.

Before we dive into this chapter, I want to outline the ages of some of our characters for clarity, and I will give the "human years" rather than the actual number of years: In the flashbacks, Sesshōmaru is roughly five years old, while Chikatani is somewhere between ten and twelve years old.

Without further ado, let's dive into Grief.

The Way to Elysium

Chapter 12: Penthos (Grief) - Part One

Kagome pressed on the wound on Sesshōmaru's hand. He was bleeding copiously; the bandages were soaked red within seconds.

Please stop, she pleaded inwardly, pressing harder in a futile attempt to stave the bleeding. Please, please stop. He could not afford to lose so much blood right now. He had fed her, and then himself. He needed every drop he can retain.

His yōki did nothing to help, or perhaps he had depleted it completely. It seemed his blood would never stop flowing. Steadily it dripped onto the ground, staining the grass at their feet. A bright crimson puddle in a sea of grey. She enveloped his hand in hers and brought it to her chest, not caring if his blood marked her clothing. She had not tried to use her inner power since she died. It had not felt like it was possible. But now…

Now, he needed her.

She tried, tried, and tried. When nothing was summoned, she tried again. Though her healing power was for spiritual and purification, she was determined to defy the limitations of her own abilities and heal his physical injuries, somehow.

Her heart leaped at the answering warmth in her chest, blossoming, until a bubble of rosy, lavender glow emanated from her and enveloped the injured hand clasped against her breasts.

She watched in fascination as blood stopped dripping and the jagged puncture wounds hardened around the edges, closing up just slightly. She surprised even herself. Could it be that his yōkai blood had given her the ability to heal physical injuries? And if it had, would it be temporary while his blood circulated in her system? Though not healed completely, now that he had stopped bleeding, she could wrap it up with bandages.

She thought about what happened with a bit of detached point of view. Should she have felt shock knowing she had drank blood? Anyone's blood would be shock enough already, but his blood, of all creatures? But truthfully, at this point, she was past shock. The extreme situations they were in – and most likely would face again – did not afford them the luxury of choices and such feeble reactions. It helped that his blood – past the initial metallic tang, tasted like… pure sustenance. Like liquid power coursing through her veins.

Now she knew: his blood was energy. A lot of energy. She had felt immensely better the moment one drop hit her tongue. And after a few pulls, she had felt his strength permeate her entire body, as though a bolt of turquoise lightning had decided to reside within her, turning her body into a host for this foreign power that settled in alongside her own strength.

"It is best that you stay away for the time being, miko," Sesshōmaru said in a quiet voice as she tied the loose ends of the bandage.

Her fingers faltered for a second before they resumed. "What would happen if I don't?" She asked him, calmly.

"The beast would drive me to madness. I would kill you," he said. The stony look he gave her left no doubt in her mind that he really believed it. "And eat you. All of you."

He turned around and started walking. "Let's go," he said, not looking at her.

She watched him went. There was a little stagger in his saunter. Hardly discernible, hidden within a near perfect stride. But she had stared at him for so long and so many times these days, she knew his gait by heart.

Even after everything they had been through together, he still strived to show her perfection. He had such severe, exacting expectations of himself. As harsh as he was with everyone else, he was the harshest with his own performance.

'I would kill you,' he had said.

She closed her eyes and lowered her head slightly, lips curling into a sad smile. She wished she could tell him and make him believe.

No. No, you wouldn't.

Sesshōmaru returned to the hill near the orchard. Standing at its zenith, he scanned his surroundings. As though by magic, the fruit trees had vanished, leaving only the feathery grey grass in their wake. His eyes narrowed slightly as he spied the place where the miko had offered him the pomegranate, now empty. Perhaps this meant they had defeated Limos, or perhaps they would be further tested by Hunger elsewhere, in the near future.

He concentrated on his nose, seeking for a thread of scent that belonged to his father. Soft breeze blew. He closed his eyes and gave his face to the wind, inhaling deeply. His eyes shot open.

There.

It was extremely faint, but there was no mistake: the scent was his father's.

The miko waved from afar, seeking his attention. He pointed towards the direction of the wind. North, south, east, or west, he did not know anymore. But once he latched onto the scent, he would not let go.

Relief washed over him. Now that they had established a sense of direction, hope was once again renewed.

They set out for Inu no Taisho.

Trudging onwards, he realized how much weaker they both were compared to the start of their journey. He no longer felt denial that he was weakened. Perhaps the weakest he had ever been: blood level low, yōki compromised, his beast — still starving — threatening to take control at any moment.

He fed her a couple more times, when her strength waned and she looked like she was about to keel over from exhaustion and starvation. Afterwards, when he felt the beast was too close to the surface, he sank his teeth into his palm again, a few times, making new wounds and opening old ones. Just for that taste of blood to keep his beast reigned in. Once he finished, she used her powers on him and staved the bleeding so he would not lose any more than necessary, putting him back together again.

They had been walking for a long, long time when his father's scent suddenly vanished. He searched around, ignoring the uncertainty that started to creep in. When he could not find the thread they had been following all along, the uncertainty morphed into something very close to dread, and he suppressed it as ruthlessly as he would an enemy. He turned to inform the miko of this latest hindrance, and he found her a few paces behind him, gazing around at their surrounding.

"Nē, Sesshōmaru," she said, an uneasy frown on her forehead. "Does it not look a little misty to you?"

It was as she pointed out. Tendrils of mist were moving in, swirling around them. He clenched his teeth. What was happening now? Had his faculties diminished so much that this change in the weather escaped his notice? The Asphodel Meadows they knew were always murky, but it was never foggy. But now, they were surrounded by mist so thick they could not even see past one foot in front of them.

"Can you scent anything, Sesshōmaru?" He heard the miko's voice somewhere close behind him.

He attempted the air again, seeking for a trace of his father's scent. It was nowhere to be found, but he did detect something else.

This scent…

It made the hair on his nape rise to attention. It was a vaguely familiar scent, something from his past. A part of a memory that was long buried yet not forgotten. What little blood he had turned to ice in his veins. As a yōkai he knew how important a scent was. A scent gave sense of directions, gave clues to emotions, a sense of belonging to someone, or some place.

And a scent could also unlock memory. And this one had been submerged so deep it hurt him physically to have to pull it out from the abyss.

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

The king, who had been at peak physical conditions for nearly four-thousand years, had suddenly fallen gravely ill. The unexpected news launched the kingdom into uproar. Chikatani was in the palace kitchen, preparing a tray for young master Sesshōmaru, when the news reached him. He would have dropped the dishes had he not grabbed onto the tray so hard his knuckles turned white. The king? Gravely ill?

He did not dare ask the question aloud, for fear of tempting fate: What would happen to young master Sesshōmaru should the king passed? He knew, without a shadow of doubt, that as soon as the king passed away, the young master would have no protector other than himself, a mere servant with no battle skills. They would both be at the mercy of the crown prince Zetsubōmaru.

And it was not a fate he would wish on anybody.

Later that day, they went to the beach again. Waka-sama was feeding his two-headed dragon pet while he stood near the water's edge, staring vacantly at the horizon, wondering what else could be done to ensure the young master's safety.

"Chikatani," the young master called him. One hand was clutching the dragon to his chest, the other tugging gently at Chikatani's sleeve. "They said grandfather is ill? He is not getting better?"

Chikatani looked at the young pup, at the concern swimming in those golden orbs. Once again, he was reminded of the day the young master was born. The memory that emerged, even when in the midst of such uncertainty, nearly made him smile.

Little did the young master know, Chikatani had been present in Princess Yōhime's birthing chamber. As the youngest and lowest-ranked servant in the palace, he had one very simple job, which was to wipe the perspiration from the Princess' forehead during her labour. He had been kneeling behind Princess Yōhime when the midwife lay the newly born pup in her arms. When the pup cooed and opened his eyes for the first time, revealing the brightest shade of amber, Chikatani had been leaning over so slightly, just enough to catch one bead of sweat on the Princess' temple. It was then, in that very short moment, that their eyes met.

For him to claim they had formed a bond would be presumptuous. He would be overstepping his boundaries as a servant and committing a gross insolence. But days later, when the king — who could have chosen from a bevy of skilled servants and guards — handpicked him to be the young master's personal servant, he did make an oath to himself that he would protect the pup to the utmost of his power, as insignificant as it was.

And so… Chikatani tried his best to put on a confident smile and placed a hand on the young master's head. "I am certain the palace physician will heal him in no time."

Those same eyes looked back at him, slightly narrowed. Young master Sesshōmaru was too clever and too intuitive to be convinced by such paltry lie, but they both knew it was the best they could hope for, so neither of them said more on that matter.

A week later, the king was still ill — or at least, that was what everyone was told. He took Sesshōmaru-sama, who was clearly missing the only parent figure he had ever known, to visit the king in his chambers. The armed guards posted at the doors barred them from entering, citing the king's contagious illness as an excuse. They had no choice but to turn back.

Chikatani knew the king had sent several messages to Inu no Taisho and Princess Yōhime over the years, though no response came. After so many years had passed without communications, one could only surmise the couple had no interest in raising their child, which unfortunately, was not a rare phenomenon amongst yōkai.

But… a few months before he fell ill, the king had also sent a soldier to cross the ocean to deliver a message to the western lands. Was it not strange that the messenger also did not return? Chikatani had to consider the possibility that the Kōtaishi Zetsubōmaru had managed to intercept these messages over the years somehow and eliminated them before they had any chance of reaching their destination.

Which meant… He lowered his head and closed his eyes, blunt nails coming together to form a fist.

No help was coming.

… …

His grandfather had been ill for three months now, with no news of any improvement. Sesshōmaru went to the king's doors daily, only to be told repeatedly by the guards that no one was permitted to enter the king's chambers for their own safety. The king's illness was of the highly contagious kind, and only the royal physician, his assistants, and very few select individuals were permitted to cross the threshold.

He returned to his room, disappointed and alone. Upon opening his door, he saw someone had placed a small jar on a table that was otherwise empty. Chikatani must have done it, he thought, as no one else other than Chikatani — not even his grandfather — ever entered his quarters.

Curious, he sat on his haunches and lifted the lid of the jar, only to find a black, sticky tar-like substance that smelled a little odd. Sweet and cloying, it repulsed him. He backed away, covering his nose with the sleeve of his hankimono.

Then, something very strange happened. He rose to his feet and, without thought, went to the quarters of the Kōtaishi, his uncle: Zetsubōmaru. Even as he trod along the lengthy corridors that separated their chambers, a small voice inside wondered: What am I doing? He had never gone to his uncle's domain, would never even entertain the thought of it. And yet, his legs moved towards the prince's rooms, almost as though they had a mind of their own.

The crown prince's quarters were heavily fortified by armed guards, not to mention multitudes of servants, yet not one stopped him. They let him pass without questions. As if they were expecting him.

The rooms in this wing of the palace were much larger and more lavish than his own. And there, in the centre of the beautifully furnished room, Zetsubōmaru stood waiting. When Sesshōmaru stepped into the room, his uncle's cold amber gaze lingered on the crescent moon insignia on his forehead before sweeping him from head to toe.

"Such a tiny, insignificant thing," Zetsubōmaru murmured softly, lips twisting into a moue of distaste. "I suppose I cannot blame you. After all, what could be expected from the spawn of a thief and a whore who lifts her tail for a common-born?"

He opened his hand and gestured for Sesshōmaru to come closer. "You never had a chance to begin with." He tilted his head slightly to the left and continued to stare with those chilling amber eyes. "And you never will."

As if walking in his sleep, Sesshōmaru stepped forward and lowered himself onto his knees before the crown prince, like a supplicant before a god. The prince's clawed hand cupped his left cheek, touching the corner of his lip with the pad of a thumb in a gesture that was eerily tender. That same hand curved itself around the top of his head, while the other shifted south to loosen the tie of the sash around the prince's armour.

Sesshōmaru started to tremble, sensing something terrible was about to take place, and he would be helpless to stop it. He tried to move, but he could not. Something invisible and undetectable, yet undeniably real, was keeping him on his knees, prone to the crown prince's every wish and desire.

Without announcement, the elaborate lattice screen doors that enclosed the room slid open in one smooth motion. Sesshōmaru could not even move his head, partly because his uncle's claws were holding him in place, and partly because his body, somehow, was no longer under his own command. He could only strain a look from the corner of his peripheral vision.

Chikatani was there, down on his knees. The servant executed one perfect, formal bow: arms stretched out before him with hands touching, forehead to the floor.

"My Prince," Chikatani said as he raised his head slightly. "Let me be the one to serve you tonight. Young master Sesshōmaru does not have the training. He will not be able to please you."

For a moment, there was no movement. Then, his uncle's claws tightened infinitesimally on his scalp. Sesshōmaru shook from head to toe. Then, suddenly, the pressure was no more.

"You are released, nephew," Zetsubōmaru said, moving away to sit on a carved lacquered chair.

That one word: 'release' had a profound effect on Sesshōmaru. Locked limbs loosened. He fell onto the floor in a quivering heap, feeling the aftermath of whatever had had a hold on him, body and soul.

"Now, go. Before I change my mind."

Sesshōmaru forced his weakened limbs to move and prop him up as he clambered to his feet. Unsteadily, he moved away from the Kōtaishi. He wanted to run into Chikatani's arms for some comfort and reassurance, but something in Chikatani's eyes told him not to. Something in Chikatani's eyes urged him to leave, quickly.

Chikatani still smiled, though the smile was resigned, as serene as it might seem. "Wait for me on the beach, Waka-sama," he said as Sesshōmaru paused hesitantly beside him on the way out. "I will be with you as soon as I can."

… …

It was nearly dusk. On the beach, as the bright blue sky gave way to the golden and fuchsia of sunset, Sesshōmaru sat on the golden sands with the two-headed dragon curled up on his lap, scared and confused and not fully understanding of what had just happened.

When Chikatani returned to the beach an hour later, he carried with him the scent of blood. He went to the shore, rinsed his mouth with the sea water, and spat it out. Afterwards, he sat next to Sesshōmaru, head lowered, knees drawn to the chest.

The smell of blood mingled with salt, though the salt was not from the ocean. Chikatani cried silently, the shame radiating from him in waves.

Sesshōmaru's own chin quivered.

They did not speak for the rest of the night.

Somewhere in Asphodel Meadows
Now

It was not until Sesshōmaru had matured a little more that he understood the meaning of what took place that night, and the full weight of Chikatani's sacrifice. Of course, by then, it had been too late to repay Chikatani for everything he had done.

During the time spent living in the palace in Southern Isles, he had heard rumours of Zetsubōmaru's most feared weapon: a substance he had concocted that allowed him to have control over his victim's mind and actions.

A subjugation potion.

Zetsubōmaru's subjugation potion had a subtle, yet very specific scent. The sickly sweet scent of decay. When Sesshōmaru had first lifted the miko's corpse into his arms and transported them to his mother's residence amongst the clouds, he had not been able to detect this scent so clearly, as the miko's own scent of blood and death had masked it. However, he did note, somewhere in the back of his mind, that there was a familiar smell, something he could not quite put his finger on.

Now he realized: it was the scent of the same subjugation potion.

"Miko," He called her, his palm dampening with cold sweat. He felt his world turning upside-down, and his stomach churned along with it. "Listen to my questions. Think very carefully and answer them."

He felt her turning, all senses attuned to his words. "The yōkai that killed you… was it strong?"

"Well… it killed me, so I think it is…?" The tail end of her voice lilting up in uncertainty.

"Think, miko. You and your comrades have fought many yōkai, and defeated them, not to mention Naraku. Putting my animosity towards Inuyasha aside, I know he is not weak. He had sworn to protect you, and yet he failed. You all failed. Was it because the foe was powerful?"

Kagome thought for a moment, then shook her head. "Not really… even as I was dying I thought… how ironic it was that after the epic battle with Naraku, I was going to die because of some errant yōkai attacking the village. When he attacked me, I really thought I had him. I had my arrow pointed straight at him, and yet… somehow I—" She paused as understanding dawned. "Somehow… I just… couldn't move."

Couldn't move. Someone must have dipped the yōkai's claws into the potion and set the events in motion.

Who?

That meant everything that had happened thus far, as he had told himself many times since he arrived, had been a part of someone's plan: the loss of battle against the unknown yōkai, the miko's death, Inuyasha's call for aid, his response to that call, and ultimately… him chasing after her to the underworld.

None of it was an accident. None of it was free will. They were merely puppets on strings, acting on someone else's will.

He felt sick to the core of his very being. What did this mean? Did his uncle Zetsubōmaru really bring them here to the underworld? For what purpose?

At this moment, Sesshōmaru felt a sensation he very rarely felt: panic. It took control rapidly, like ink spreading on paper. Like poison, spreading through each blood vessels in his body. There in the thick of the mist, where not even his keen yōkai sight could penetrate further than an arm's length away, he found himself at the mercy of the elements. His yōki and his senses were so greatly impaired, and he was holding onto the last string of his sanity as it was. The beast was once again so close to the surface, clamouring to take over completely.

His eyes darted left and right as he waited for Zetsubōmaru to appear through the mist to claw his neck, or stab a sword through his chest, killing him. He clenched his teeth, feeling like he was going mad with apprehension.

Did Yami say one of the monsters roaming the underworld was Fear? Paranoia?

The scent of the subjugation potion thickened, enveloping him, assailing him with waves of it, so pungent that he could taste it. He recoiled at the scent, at the despised memory that it evoked. Refusing to breathe through his nose, he opened his mouth, only to have a lump clogging his throat, choking him. No escape, like before.

He threw his body against something hard in an attempt to shake himself off – a tree, a rock, he did not care anymore. Something inside him cracked and punctured. Had he really broken bones? If there was physical pain, he did not feel it. All his senses were focused on pain of a different kind, the worse kind. And the questions that fuelled it, repeating themselves in his head for years and years after the events:

That day, if he had just taken it lying down, would Zetsubōmaru have been satisfied in his quest for domination?

Gasping, he resisted the compulsion to claw his own face.

Would it have altered the course of Chikatani's fate?

His whole body, wrecked with the full tremors of his guilt, buckled. As he clawed the ground instead, destroying the earth beneath him, he felt the miko presence beside him, the pressure of her slight hands on his shoulders as she attempted to prop him up. Her voice calling his name pierced the thick fog that shrouded his mind, keeping him grounded, somewhat.

Foolish woman. Did he not tell her to stay away?

The ground thrummed underneath them with the vibrations of a thousand legs racing towards their direction. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her behind him. Amber eyes alternated with crimson, pulsing, glowering at the curtain of mist.

"We are not alone," Sesshōmaru gritted through clattering teeth.

A/N: And so the plot thickens. Grief is not a pleasant place to be, so I will endeavour to finish it in the next chapter. Chikatani's fate seems set, though what effect would it have on Sesshōmaru? Both severely weakened, how would he and Kagome survive the next danger that was coming for them?

As always, many thanks for reading. If you do have an opportunity, please drop me a line. I would love to hear from you. Till next time!