This is just a little idea that popped into my head one day, and rather than let it go to waste, I thought I'd put it to paper (or in this case computer, but you get the idea). I had initially planned for this to be a full-length story, but when I got to what would be the end of the first chapter I liked what I had so much I didn't want to ruin it with the inevitable story line that would be forced to follow the encounter.
Ah, but things didn't go quite as planned. I had an inspiration to continue this piece. Though I still managed to forgo any real plot, I have added quite a bit of angst, character death, a bit of yaoi, and a nice happy ending, all rolled up in a song-fic in the second chapter. So I hope it is appreciated.
Disclaimer: I don't own Inuyasha. Well duh! I mean how many times can you actually read these stories and not figure out this little piece of info. The again I really don't want to get sued or anything, so I suppose its better to be safe than sorry. So I'll repeat, I DON'T OWN INUYASHA or any of the characters, or have any affiliation with the writer, animators, producers, character actors….and you get the idea. I'm just a half-crazed, terribly obsessed, fanfic writer, who happens to be the author of this particular bit of rip-off art.
I thank you for your time (though I'm sure that barely anyone read all that cause I know I sure don't) and now without further a due, I'll send you to the story.
Between Enemies and Friends
The night was unusually still, but in the darkness the restlessness of unseen creatures could be felt. The pungent aura of fear and anticipation hung heavily in the air; the sure sign that something big was coming; something that would not be ignored.
A cold wind suddenly burst though the trees stirring up dead leaves that had fallen in the wake of the poisonous miasma that had retreated through the area. The breeze pulled at long flowing tresses of silver, tossing them in a wild dance before gingerly retreating, knowing that even the formless wind could fall mercy to the wrath of the creature on which it had attempted its assault. As the wind withdrew it carried away with it the last of the foulness which he had pursued.
"Kagura"
The name slipped from his lips like a curse, each syllable dripping with venom. The wind sorceress had taken with her retreating form the last of her evil master's trail, leaving him only with the smoldering hatred of his enemy.
The demon within him burned for its release, raging at him for its liberation so that it might tear apart anything so unfortunate to cross his path, but he refused to allow himself to sink so low as to submit to the beast within. He quickly composed himself, easily sliding back into his stoic and untouchable image that he had so ingrained upon himself.
He appeared as the perfect figure of strength, grace, and beauty, with only the fierce burning in his deep amber eyes to give away his fury. He hated that he had been reduced to chasing a pathetic hanyou across the continent, but the wretched beast had dared to insult his honor by taking something of his in a foolish attempt to make him bow to another's wicked will. He was intent upon the slow and painful destruction of the foul creature, and even the thought of the tortures that he would inflict upon his enemy soothed the raging animal inside. For, he, Sesshomaru, Lord of the Western lands, would have his revenge; and nothing, and no one would take it from him.
But for the moment the despicable creature known as Naraku was beyond even his reach, and he had no choice but to wait for the next move to be made. Normally he would have indulged, and perhaps even enjoyed, a match of wits against a creature who had been foolish enough to choose him as an enemy, but he had long ago grown tired of Naraku's complete lack of honor. And the thought of the foul manner by which the demon shamelessly used trickery and deceit to fight his battles, frankly, disgusted the Lord.
While he would be the first to admit that he was not, by any measure, a saint, even among demons, there had always been a line that the Lord could not and would not cross. A line that was drawn by his own pride and by the noble blood of his father that ran through his veins: the line that spanned the distance between right and wrong.
Though he knew that he was never completely on the side of right in his actions, he also had never allowed himself to travel for long into the path of darkness, for he knew that no honor could be found on that path, and that it was a path he was only willing to take when it was absolutely necessary. For the most part, he like to settle himself into the spirals of grey that intertwined between the two worlds, not good and yet not evil. It was in this place that he could thrive, for here no single act could draw him down. He was free to do as he pleased, never having to dwell on the nagging afterthoughts that a conscience would bring were he to ever go against the side he had chosen; for he had never truly chosen a side.
In a way it gave him freedom: freedom to rule his lands with the necessary compassion for its inhabitants, and at the same time defend it with all the ferocity and merciless brutality needed to dispel any potential threats; freedom to claim what was his, and to protect it with all the power at his disposal; freedom to live as he saw fit, and to take the lives of those he deemed unworthy of possessing such a glorious gift. And Niraku was beyond unworthy, he was beneath scum, he was a scourge on his land, a vile plague upon his family, a sickening taint upon his dignity, and it would not be tolerated. Niraku would not only loose his miserable excuse for a life, but he would beg for the sweet release of death before the Western Lord had finished with him.
Sesshomaru's blood was on fire. He tried to erase the feelings of loathing and hatred that had resigned themselves within him by focusing his energy on moving swiftly across the land, but he couldn't shake the feelings. He knew that he could not return to his ward in such a state. He did not want to frighten or worry the poor child, nor did he want anyone see him so unnerved by such a pathetic creature. He needed to release some of his tension, and his yokari was demanding blood. Whether it be his own or another's, the demon inside would not be satisfied until it had been fed.
Sesshomru knew all too well the demands of the raging beast within, but he was not one to fall victim, even if it was to his own desires. The battle being waged between his mind and his inner demon was nothing new, it was a battle that he had fought his entire life, but one that would always be won by his inflexible will not to be controlled by his savage instincts. He just needed time to pull in the reins of his self-control, so he quickly changed his heading and set off to a place nearby where he could regain his composure.
The place he sought out was one of tranquility and beauty, a place where he often brought himself so that he could meditate undisturbed in the comforting blanket of nature's glory. He was beginning to calm down already as he remembered the soft rippling of the water as it lapped against the smooth surfaces of the rocks that had been steadily worn down by the long passage of time, and the soothing heat being brought up from the very heart of the earth that rose in wisps of light steam from the surface of the water. He closed his eyes remembering again the sweet music that had drifted through the rocks and trees surrounding the place as though it were singing a sweet lullaby that could only be heard by his ears, and he felt again the pad of soft grasses that would cushion him as he lay back on the ground and allowed the troubles of the world slip away from him.
He had found the small oasis many hundreds of years before, and from the moment he stepped foot into the wondrous place he knew that there he could find sanctuary from the chaos that was the world, there he would find peace even when his entire being was raging with the worst kinds of emotions. Normally, even as he approached his small patch of heaven on earth he would feel the troubles of his life slide away from his being; normally he would begin to feel an overpowering sense of contentment, but as he drew nearer on this night, all that he felt was rage.
His sharp senses told him that someone had disturbed his sanctuary. Someone had dared to cross the boundary of his secret world and taint it with their unworthy presence. Someone had awakened the wrath of the beast, and someone was going to pay dearly for their intrusion.
He drew nearer, silently stalking the prey that had dared to encroach upon his territory, but as he approached he realized that the scent of the being was familiar to him. It was the scent of a mortal; a mortal that he had encountered many times in his dealings with his half-breed brother. He knew that this particular mortal was unusually strong thanks to the many years of training to become a servant of Buddha, and a cursed hand that could not be taken lightly even by a demon as powerful as himself. His rage began to subside slightly as it was replaced by the feeling of anticipation for the ensuing battle; knowing that, though his opponent was a mere mortal, the monk had proved to be a warrior of some caliber, one that, in his unstable state of mind, he would truly enjoy bringing to his knees in submission and defeat.
Sesshomaru took great care to conceal himself as he approached, making sure that the monk would not notice his presence before he had determined the best way of dealing with the intrusion, but when he had finally come close enough to the monk to see him, all but some of the urge to lash out and strike down the offending human was lost to him.
He stopped dead in his tracks and watched with wondrous awe as the monk stepped gracefully though a well learned kata. The movements were perfect, each one possessing the firmness of strength and still maintaining the delicate fluidity of the ancient art. With every painfully slow step he could see the unfolding lotus flower. With every turn a new row of finely tuned muscles flexed beneath the salty flesh that glistened under the soft light of the moon. With every beat of the man's heart he could feel the rushing of his blood, and smell the heavy musk that resembled nothing he had ever known, and yet seemed to set fire to his senses like every joyous memory ever experienced rushing back to him at once. Every movement was beautiful and exhilarating, and the demon lord found himself so lost in the majestic motions that he forgot his anger in favor of appreciation of the dedication and determination of the young man that was performing for him the most exquisitely exotic dance he had ever seen.
Miroku kept his breathing deep and his mind locked in unwavering and unbreakable concentration as he progressed though the form. He could feel the painful cries of his muscles begging him to stop, and the burning of his eyes caused by the drops of sweat that had dripped down from his brow into them, but he refused to relent. This time was his to control.
With Naraku's disappearance he had found himself yet again at the mercy of the hourglass as the sands of his life were slowly pulled down into the hideous void of his cursed hand. With his fate looming closer than ever, he had become quite hard-pressed to continue the charade of impassive contentment that he always wore while in the presence of others.
But in this place, he felt as though the sands of time had slowed, or perhaps even stopped completely. This beauteous, peaceful place gifted him with something he had never been so bold as to hope for: freedom. Freedom from the curse of his life, freedom form the hopeless battle against time, freedom to be nothing more than a man, freedom to find peace with himself. It was for this feeling of freedom that he continued, for he knew that once he stopped, once he gave in to the demands of his body, his soul would once again be consumed by the ever descending darkness of his miserable fate.
Sesshomaru watched the monk fight an unwinable battle against the frailties of his human nature, finding a disturbing amount of satisfaction in the way the man before him seemed impervious to his own limitations and continued through stance after stance as though each were his first and his last. He had never imagined that a lesser creature such as the human before him could capture his interest so intently.
He had always dismissed mortals for their weakness, never allowing himself to see anything beyond their fragile forms and volatile emotions. But as he watched the young monk, he began to see qualities that he never believed could be associated with such a lowly form of life; qualities of power, strength, and beauty. This revelation in of itself came a quite a shock to the demon lord, and he did not like the implications of his own thoughts. He would not tolerate having any endearing emotions for the race of creatures that had robbed him of his ultimate victory when they took his father from him. He knew he needed to put and end to the unwanted effect that the strange monk was having on him, and if that meant that he must feed the beast within the blood it craved, then so be it.
With his newfound conviction, Sesshomaru once again began to stalk his prey, but once again the monk managed to surprise him. As though the mortal has sensed his impending doom, he changed his stance from the flowing grace and beauty of nature's hidden strengths to become the very incarnation of untamed power. The dragon exploded from his very soul, lashing out against invisible enemies with all the impossible speed and ferocity of the ageless beast.
Such a transformation was unimaginable even for the demon lord who himself could change his form at will. But the monk had transformed not only his outward form, but also, it seemed the very essence of his nature. Instead of placid calmness and meditative reflection, he was now fire and rage, unbridled passion and fury. Like the dragon, he was unreachable, beyond the trivialities of existence and mortal time, beyond the reaches of any that would do him harm. He was majestic and noble; a creature of such dignity and magnificence that he demanded respect. And if there was one thing that the demon lord could respect it was this; this display of strength and exemplary valor, of wisdom and ethereal knowledge, of dedication and passionate conviction.
Never had he been so moved. Never had he been so humbled. Never had he felt so compelled to do nothing but embrace the torrents of emotions encompassing his soul. He could not begin to fathom how such a seemingly simple act could make him feel as though there were nothing more beautiful in the whole of the universe; how a once so hated creature could become the most inspiring image, and the most valued treasure. If he had ever the will to take the life of someone so precious, he refused to remember. If he had ever the urge to do anything but admire the captivating man, he would not admit it.
But before he could divulge any further past the surface of his own feelings, as quickly as they had sprung forth and as strongly as they had surged, with a stiff bow of completion from the monk, they were once again pulled beneath the frozen lake of his conscious mind; leaving him only with an unbearable emptiness that, for the first time in his life, he wished was not due to the inexplicable void in his heart. He couldn't bear to see the wondrous being once again transformed into the fragile and weak creature that was its true form, so he turned away, leaving the monk behind to his own reflections as he left deep within his own.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The disappearance of the hanyou Naraku weighed heavily on the minds and hearts of all those who had fallen into his web of chaos. The passage of another day was long for those who pursued that which was not seen; another day of painful separation, another day of failed redemption, and another day to be lost to the merciless fates. When night finally descended, and the façade of jubilance and serenity brought on by the brightly burning globe of the sun faded, all that remained was apprehension, fear, desperation, and the seething hatred against the one who had been the cause of so much pain, suffering, and loss.
Miroku excused himself once again from the warm embrace of camaraderie that surrounded the small camp of his companions to venture out in search of that which he so desired, of that which he could not have. Somehow he found his way to the oasis, the place where time had miraculously stood still for him long enough to know the wonders of being a man alive in the world. He entered slowly and reverently, respecting the calm serenity and untouchable beauty. The night air held a chill to it, though not enough to make him cold, it magnified the ethereal nature of the place in which he found himself by causing the steamy mists rising from the heated waters to envelop the land, and surround him in a milky world of heavenly bliss. Miroku removed the small bundle he had been carrying, and along with his folded outer robe, set it underneath a tree. Now, dressed only in his training slacks, he began to stretch in preparation of the long battle of will he had set before himself.
Not far away, another presence was seeking refuge from the savage thoughts that came along with the darkening sky. His direction had been set, and the destination chosen, but as he approached on this night he found himself strangely aware of the apprehension gripping at his mind; an apprehension, he realized, that stemmed from a desire for the beauty of the unknown. He did not want to find peace in solitude on this night, rather he wanted for the presence of another, and not knowing whether his desires could be sated regardless of his wants, produced an unknown and unwelcome feeling. But as he neared his destination, he found the fates smiling down upon him, for the object of his fascination had already arrived.
Sesshomaru descended from the sky swiftly as to not attract any attention to himself and stole away behind the curtain of brush and fog to keep concealed. Before him, the monk had already begun his routine, only tonight he graced the Lord with an image that suited well to his savage mood: the image of a wild beast. Graceful and strong, fierce and aggressive, valiant and predatory: thus was the tiger. Were it not incapable for the vocal chords of humans to produce, the demon Lord would have expected to hear the animalistic vibrations of ferocity to come from the creature before him. Once again he became lost; once again he was mesmerized by the exquisite dance.
As the form finally ended, Sesshomaru watched the Monk disappear behind the veil of fog that surrounded the area. He was not satisfied, but yet he was content. It was strange that something so simple could intrigue him so. He should have killed the mortal when he had first seen him, he knew that now. For after he had experienced the thrill of watching the lone mortal fight against his own trappings and conquer his own weaknesses, he knew that he had found respect for a being that he swore would always be held as only vermin in his minds eye. Now he was at a loss as to what to do. If he left this place, he knew he would be drawn again the next night, but if the object of his fascination was not to appear, what would he do then? He should not care. He should never again return to see the spectacular display. But then why did he find the idea so distasteful?
So lost in his thoughts, Sesshomaru almost missed the sound of something speeding towards him. With his lightning reflexes he managed to catch the offending object, and slowly lowered his gaze in astonishment when he felt the hilt of a sword in his grasp. This was not a true sword, though it was balanced with incredible accuracy and molded to his hand perfectly, it was carved from wood. It did not take any ability of deduction to know that this was an instrument for practice, but why had it been offered to him? Apparently his attempt to remain hidden had not been successful, and in his hand lay the proof. The monk had not left the clearing as he had assumed, but rather found his way around the outer limits of the sanctuary to come up behind the demon Lord.
Miroku stood his ground defiantly, even though he knew that at any moment the demon in front of him could cut him down for even having the audacity of approaching him, but he refused to back down. If Sesshomaru wanted to take part in his nightly routine, the least he could do was partake of it with him. Miroku watched the demon Lord carefully analyze the mock weapon given to him. Miroku had obtained the sword the previous day when passing through a village on the off chance that Sesshomaru would return. He had been fairly certain that he would though because the fact that he had not revealed himself, even though his anger could be felt penetrating the small enclosure, made Miroku believe that there was another reason why he had been left to his routine instead of gutted on the spot by an enraged demon.
When Sesshomaru finally looked up from the wooden toy in his hand to the monk standing several yards away, he was particularly amused. Not only had the human detected his presence when he had sought to hide it, but he had confronted him on his intrusion with a challenge of combat while ensuring the non-lethal nature of the match, all without uttering a word. If it was possible, the respect Sesshomaru held for this mortal being increased even more with this one silent request, and he had no intention of backing down from it.
Miroku watched as a tiny smirk appeared across the usually stoic expression of the Western Lord, and prepared himself for the oncoming assault. He knew enough about the stoic yokai that when he smiled it meant trouble. In one swift movement Sesshomaru was upon him, but he graciously refrained from using his demon speed. Miroku expertly blocked the attack with his staff, which out of fairness to the practice nature of the bout, was also carved from wood. As he blocked with one end of his mock-weapon, he swung out with the other in his own attack, but the demon was prepared and spun away from the threat before righting himself to begin his attack anew.
And so it continued, under the blanket of the night, the two beings who had met only as enemies, spared as equals. Each eventually finding small weaknesses in the other's attacks and stealing slight victories before they were once again brought down without ever hitting a mark. As always though, nothing can last forever, and a victor needed be named.
Sesshomaru brought his sword down heavily upon the monk, and as it collided with the abused wooden weapon, a loud snap was heard cascading off the surrounding rocks, and Miroku was forced to the ground. Not ready to admit defeat, the monk took hold of the pieces of his broken staff, and reset his stance to accommodate the two weapons. He launched another attack, but before it could be completed, Sesshomaru managed to step inside the monk's frame, dislodging one of his weapons before his own came to rest inches in front of Miroku's throat.
They stood there for a moment, frozen in time and space, locked in a battle of minds after the long physical battle. An understanding seemed to pass between the two men in that moment; an understanding that they would take with them after they left this place behind and continued on their own respected journeys. They knew that they could never be friends, but at the same time they could no longer be enemies. So, as the competition between them came to an end, and they stepped away from each other, one giving a bow of respect, and the other giving a nod of acknowledgement, they went their separate ways content with the knowledge that they had found a place with the other somewhere between enemies and friends.