Disclaimer: I do not own 'Inuyasha' or any of its characters.

A/N: I literally fought with the editor of this site but, in the end, I won so... I'm publishing the second to last chapter of this fic.

As I was writing a particular scene, a very famous Italian song came to my mind. It's about war, compassion and love and I thought it was perfect for some feelings depicted here. The song is called "La guerra di Piero" (Piero's War) by Fabrizio De André.

The translation is not mine this time and, I'm honest, for a moment I thought of putting the original text since it's quite impossible to preserve the rhyme schemes or match the English words with the melody of the song. But at that point, you wouldn't even understand the meaning without speaking Italian so it would have made little sense. If you want you can google the original text (or even its whole translation) and listen to De André while reading the chapter. I personally cry every time I listen to it so, do it at your own risk.

I tried to maintain this chapter gore-free as much as possible, it should safe to read if you don't like graphic depictions of violence.

Chapter Eight: The Final Battle

And while marching, shouldering your spirit,

you saw a man down in the valley

with the very same mood as yours,

but the uniform of a different colour.

/

Shoot him, Piero, shoot him now,

and afterwards, fire a shot at him again

until you don't see him, lifeless,

falling to the ground to cover his blood.

/

And if I shoot him in the forehead or in the heart,

he'll only have time to die.

But time will remain for me to see,

to see the eyes of a man who is dying.

/

And while you give him this consideration,

he turns, he sees you and is afraid

and, his artillery raised and aimed,

he doesn't return the same courtesy to you.

/

You fell to the ground without a cry

and were aware in an instant

that there would not be enough time for you

to ask pardon for every sin.

/

You fell to the earth without a cry

and realized in an instant

that your life was ending that day,

and there would be no return.

/

My Ninetta, dying in May

takes way too much courage.

Beautiful Ninetta, straight to hell

I would have preferred to go in winter.

/

As the first rays of the sun illuminated the entire battlefield, the one that stood in front of the border separating them from enemy territory, a huge black shadow grew closer and closer.

The smells were mostly hidden thanks to the gas masks, but the noises became clearer and clearer. Shouts and cheers filled their ears as the shadow grew nearer and sharper, revealing not a shapeless mass, but hundreds upon hundreds of human fighters, intermingled and yet distinguishable by their uniforms.

A smaller number of people, also equipped with the same masks worn by each demon, wore a leather suit reinforced by an armour made of demon bones in the weakest points, such as belly and groin, and the joints. It was the one typically worn by slayers.

Those who were the hunters, instead, wore another one. It was supposed to make them look like samurai but, in reality, had nothing similar. They were just a bad copy that lacked any value attributed to those famous fighters. Not only did it leave uncovered vital points that, though small, would have been easy to hit for a faster demon with developed eyesight, but it slowed down their movements as well. They made up the bulk of the enemy army.

Finally, the spiritualists, more or less equal in number to the slayers, had on the typical robes of monks, priests or mikos, depending on the individual's vocation and was a symbol of their spiritual powers.

Next to each of them were discernible the most disparate weapons.

Once they crossed the demonic border, it was easy to recognize the shock on most of their faces: their surprise attack had turned out to be a counterattack by the enemy. It was obvious that someone had betrayed and ratted them out. Otherwise, how could they have been so prepared and already on the border to meet them?

Yet, ignoring the major astonishment on the slayers' faces who had immediately recognized the gas masks worn by the nearest demons, the hunters wasted no time and immediately tried to enact the second part of their no more surprise attack.

It was just a second, and a huge cloud of thousands of colours swallowed most of the enemy army. It rose high and hid the fighters from the attackers' sight. No one could see how, squinting their eyes and holding their breath despite their coverage, the demons remained standing and untouched by the vapours that should have knocked them out, taking advantage of their most developed senses.

The poisons' fumes made it impossible even for the demons to see who was next to them. No one noticed the relief on the Inu-no-Taisho's face as he realized that the powders only attacked through their olfaction and did not affect the victim via eyes and skin. Apparently, convinced that the surprise attack would work and that in no way could they have foreseen their secret weapon, the men had thought that bombs of that kind would be enough.

And it was true. If Inuyasha had not furtively listened to their plans, the offensive would have caught them unprepared and for many, it would have been fatal. One good thing had come out of the half-demon's reckless act, at least.

But if there had been more skilful strategists among the humans, they would also have prepared a backup plan and used poisons capable of going past the slayers' protective masks. This partly surprised Toga; the humans he had fought over the past two years had seemed much more intelligent. Yet, the fatigue of a war that had gone on for too long had affected them as well. It had made them more thoughtless.

The cloud blinded everyone for a few minutes before it dissipated. The hunters and spiritualists stood motionless, waiting to see demon after demon collapsing to the ground. They wanted to take advantage of the moment to kill as many as they could before they regained their senses. They wanted the battle to end soon and with fewer deaths on their part. Too caught up in the excitement of the conflict and the safety of those weapons, they didn't notice how the slayers were standing there frozen and ashen. They knew that those masks, identical to theirs, would protect the demons from the poisons' worst effects. They clutched their weapons and prepared for the worst once the cloud had cleared, knowing that they would see no enemy already on the ground as the others hoped.

They tried to warn their non-slayers comrades, but those, impulsive and above all blinded by too much security, had already gone beyond their defensive line. When the demonic figures finally came back into focus, it was too late.

The counterattack that followed was devastating.

In the meantime, using the chaos generated by the fumes, a spiritualist made his way through the demonic territory. He was accompanied by five hunters, who were to act as a shield and sentinel in case any enemy became aware of their movements. He ran away from the battlefield to reach the castle where the main target of their attack resided.

Miroku.

The monk had to be retrieved and brought to safety beyond their borders as the rest of the army fought the demons. He couldn't know if this would be the final conflict, but he hoped they could take down as many as they could.

He couldn't even know, having left the field long before the cloud had dissipated, that the surprise attack had failed on all fronts and was turning second by second into carnage. The greatest losses, however, would be found in his army and not the demonic one.

As many fell to the ground struck by sharp claws, pointed fangs, and demonic swords far superior to the bland human weapons – only those reinforced and built from the demonic remains of the slayers seemed to stand up to them –, Kiyoshi and the five hunters at his side began to see the main castle's figure rising before them. As they increased their pace, they found themselves in front of it.

The guards defending those walls were fewer in number than of a usual day, precisely because most were employed in the final battle. With his eyes, the monk tried to find some opening that might lead him into the dungeons, where he was sure Miroku was.

After a round of searching that lasted even too long for his liking, they managed to find a secondary entrance defended by only one guard. A wicked smile spread across his lips as he pulled out a charged ofuda – he would continue to serve his Buddha even during the rescue operation. The one he had chosen was his own pride, capable of immobilizing the enemy and then killing him with the most excruciating suffering rather slowly. The demon would remain on the ground, rotting while he retrieved Miroku.

It was a moment, and the ofuda was thrown behind the unfortunate demon. The piece of paper hit him between the shoulder blades. The young demon stiffened and, almost as if he had become a stone statue, collapsed to the ground all in one piece. He hadn't even had a chance; the paralysis affected every organ, not even his tongue would be useful to call for help.

Kiyoshi was a ruthless, unscrupulous monk, and unfortunately for the young demon, also quite skilled. If he had caught him, Inuyasha wouldn't have had much of a chance. And the monk was still quite annoyed that he had not been able to blow off some steam on the half-demon. Thus, the scene unfolding satisfied him even more, as his eyes shone with a devilish and unhealthy light.

The six passed in front of the unfortunate one's body, and nothing was spared; kicks and punches were thrown, while the demon's eyes didn't even react, they were empty and vacant. Kazuo felt his life slipping away as, around him, the war continued undaunted. He was aware that it would have been useless to let himself go to the pain and that his body would have been found too late. And so he locked himself in a world that belonged only to him, far from everything and everyone. He died with the peace and harmony that had always distinguished him in everything he did and that had always been part of him since the day his father had chosen his name.

Unaware of what was going on in the mind of the young demon destined to die too soon, Kiyoshi and his cronies proceeded slyly and located the nearest passage leading to the dungeons. The corridors were narrow, as were the stairs they had descended, the air humid and the light scant, although the sun was high outside. They dared not light a torch, however, for fear that there were still hidden guards. Only the monk could go on more quietly as he sharpened his senses, and the hunters behind him looked left and right without the arrogance that usually oozed from all their pores.

Michi was huddled in his cell, cursing every God that came to his mind and angrily throwing small pebbles at the prison's walls.

Those bastards had left him there to rot as his ears picked up the sounds of the war, going on violent and bloody. He gritted his teeth in rage. He had waited so long for such an attack, to bite off the flesh of those shitty spiritualists, rip them to shreds and enjoy their screams and instead... there he was incapacitated and bored out of his mind. And why? All because of that half-breed bastard who was still Daddy's little boy even though he wasn't a puppy anymore. His eyes reflected the hate he felt for Inuyasha, but a glint lit them up as he remembered what had happened the day before.

He wanted to crush under his boot that useless lump of flesh higher in rank not out of strength, but only because he had been lucky enough to be born as the General's son.

The General... he let out a sound full of hatred and disapproval. Here another one that had fallen low in the last few centuries. Collaborate with humans, spare them, copulate with one of them, even sire a child with her. A chill ran through him from head to toe at the very thought. And now, he also found himself occupying a stinking cell that had always housed filthy humans. What a downfall... he even had the guts to throw him there and forget him!

Oh, Michi would have loved to satisfy his deepest desire and kill the half-demon. The old man would then drop dead during the war, and Michi would even facilitate his death. So, at least, he'd secure demonkind's future without sucking up to the humans in the aftermath of the war. With Sesshomaru as the new General, Michi was convinced they would continue to thrive for centuries and centuries and ensure the purity of their species without those impure beings that smelled human and roamed free in their lands. And who knows, maybe Michi could have used them as his personal slaves if Sesshomaru was magnanimous.

Too lost in his ramblings, while dreaming of a world full of hate and their superior race ruling over everything, Michi didn't notice the noises coming from the dungeon's right entrance. He came face to face with a pair of eyes whose hatred competed with his own and a devilish smile that surpassed even his, the day he had crushed the cause of all his troubles to the ground.

"Well, well, how lucky we are, aren't we boys?" Kiyoshi said, addressing the hunters behind him. His voice might have sounded almost melodious for how happy he was to find another victim to sacrifice at his disposal if it wasn't for the venom oozing out of every word.

They had recently arrived in the cells, and unfortunately, Kiyoshi had immediately been aware of the absence of Miroku's aura. It was definitely not a good sign. His senses suggested to him death and pain; the smell that even a human could easily smell in these narrow corridors reinforced his suspicions, and the anger easily surged in him.

Shortly thereafter, he had sensed the one aura down there, equally angry and disgusted, and his wicked smile had reappeared. He had let loose an equally wicked laugh that would have made the skin crawl to anyone in the right mind and had instead provoked hilarity in his lackeys.

When he reached the cell, he found himself in front of a bit battered but strong demon who, for some reason, hadn't been allowed to take part in the war. Well, the monk thought, better for him and the hunters.

He would have his fun, and in the meantime, extort any information about Miroku. The demon, a bull if his senses were correct, was on borrowed time. Maybe Kiyoshi would save him some pain if he gave him the answers he wanted, maybe...

The battle hadn't been going on for long, yet blood already stained much of the ground on which they rested their feet and cries of pain and anger filled their ears. Death had not been late: once again, this war was offering its 1000 souls to Izanami, but there was no Izanagi to give life to another 1500.

Soft and white dog ears continued to twitch furiously on a half-demon's head because of the despair that could be heard as their owner fought shoulder to shoulder with his faithful wolf demon friend. His claws and infallible fang had already had their part in that carnage. Hunters, hard-eyed and satanic, delusional, unsheathed their katana, believing they could win against his more developed and alert senses. More cunning and intelligent spiritualists tried to hit him with their arrows and their cursed pieces of paper in an attempt to leave his weak body at the mercy of those butchers. But they had reckoned without the ears capable of perceiving the approaching hiss.

Had Inuyasha spent more time grabbing Koga by his long ponytail to throw him to the ground to avoid a fatal spiritual blow or smearing his fangs and claws with blood?

As this doubt came to his mind, and he felt remorse for such ruthlessness, inexplicably, a katana was pointed at his throat from behind. He didn't have the chance to panic, nor to notice his friend's dilated pupils, because, in a very reckless move, he pushed his elbow backwards with more force than necessary. He felt his enemy's ribs fracture from the impact.

He had been lucky, just as it had happened in the previous encounter with Michi. The hunter, taken by surprise, could have slid the blade along his neck and caused him fatal damage. But perhaps the blind luck had not yet abandoned him; maybe, that smile he had seen was still watching for him from afar.

He turned around sharply and observed the figure in pain on the ground. His eyes widened as he noticed one of the bastards he had eavesdropped on that fateful night and one of those who had followed and almost caught him. A snarl escaped his lips, his eyes shot him a hateful look, but he had no way to end his pathetic life. Koga beat him to the punch, the Goriashi's silver blades sliced his head cleanly, blood flowed out, staining the wolf's fur and the Hinezumi's robe with an impure red.

In a few seconds, kicks and punches, blades and claws managed to kill the headless hunter's companions. Some arrows went close to the target, and some sacred staff hindered their movements. But despite everything, Koga and Inuyasha succeed.

It was easy to see who had the upper hand; the conflict was expected to be over soon enough. Inuyasha just wished he had some space to use his Tessaiga properly. With enemies and allies mixed together, it was too dangerous to launch a wind scar that would therefore annihilate many demons as well; he hoped someone would step back to leave him an opening. However, Inuyasha wasn't naive; he knew it would be impossible for those bloodthirsty demons to let him act alone and waste their toys.

Meanwhile, Toga was having a similar internal battle on the other side of the camp. For one like him, who had lived so long, fought countless battles, it was easy to recognize and distinguish the various combatants; he had his sight and nose on it. It was the eyes that firstly betrayed. Some were thirsty and full of hatred; they were the first to be eliminated, the first to be put out of action. Their expert and not at all hesitant movements were just a confirmation. In front of them, not even the General hesitated; he knew they were hopeless and searched no redemption.

Yet, in some people's eyes, it was also possible to recognize fear; it made them aim wildly and act recklessly. They tripped and showed their reticence and shame in taking part in this bloodbath. Through the eyes, those dilated pupils, the ashen faces and clumsy gestures, Toga had learned to recognize innocent souls dying under the claws of demons who had no qualms.

That's why Toga had given a precise order before the battle began. He had told to that part of his army that wasn't interested in his eldest's bloodthirsty ideas to save those souls whenever it was possible. At the end of the battle, they would deal with them.

They knocked them down as fast as possible and moved them far from thirsty eyes and, although it was impossible to save every one of them, Toga was proud of his quick thinking. He hoped that, on the morrow, they would soothe his soul's pain.

Kiyoshi was back from the castle, his ears still ringing with the screams of the demon he had expertly tortured, inch by inch, fang by fang, claw by claw. Still, he hadn't been the only one to cry: the five hunters had perished with him. Other guards, summoned by the bull's screams, had rushed into the cells and taken out the responsible. Kiyoshi had narrowly escaped. He knew that, although his fists clenched at the thought of not making these other impure souls suffer, he could never prevail alone against so many demons. Therefore, it had been an easy choice to leave those suckers to die; they had served their purpose and, taking advantage of the commotion, he had masked his aura and escaped those walls.

His blood boiled at the memory of what he had managed to wrest from that demon's lips; Miroku was dead.

Dead.

As he reappeared on the battlefield and noticed the blood and lifeless bodies scattered everywhere, he realized how much that idiot monk had cost his army.

For some obscure reason, their plan, their surprise attack, had failed. Kiyoshi would have bet everything that the damned mutt they had chased a few days ago had somehow managed to get back into his lands and spill the beans.

There was no other explanation. He was there, he had listened to everything, he had managed to return to the demon lands. He clenched his fists even tighter. Not only had he escaped him – the first, the first to get away with it –, but he had caused their well-calculated plans to go to shit. He made all those impure souls Kiyoshi was tasked with cleansing to escape him.

He would pay for it. Oh yes, those silver-haired bastards would pay for it.

At that moment, he spotted three silver heads, three – this confirmed the fact that the half-breed bastard had returned and was now helping his allies killing his people –, and a grin graced his lips as he noticed the propitious moment, an unhealthy glint completed the picture.

Wasting no time, he notched an arrow and let it run its course.

There were only a few left now.

Toga had hit a young slayer in the stomach – a child, not yet grown up, already forced to wage war – when a hunter took advantage of the moment and hit him from behind.

He attacked him as the General was straightening his body after having inflicted the punch, that nanosecond when his senses were more focused on his movements and the young man than on his surroundings.

Just a nanosecond.

The blade of the spear pierced him; Toga lowered his gaze to look at that bloody tip sticking out of his chest, left to his heart. Too bad, he thought, the hunter had to improve his aim if he was counting on hitting him in the heart.

Unfazed, as if the blow had left him indifferent, he removed the spear. He didn't even grit his teeth, and his body didn't tremble for a second.

Behind him, a Commander had already annihilated the guilty hunter.

Amateur, Toga thought while he was busy removing the blunt object. That's who they send to make war and die, amateurs.

But that second moment was enough.

He was thinking about the sadness of this war and removing a spear that could never have been deadly for one of his calibre and, thus, he was distracted.

Yet, it was enough to ignite a maniacal, evil light in the eyes of a crazed monk.

When Toga finally registered the hiss, it was too late.

When Inuyasha's head snapped in that direction, his pupils dilated, and a terrifying scream escaped his lips as his legs moved out of worry, it was too late.

The arrow had been shot.

And before he was thrown to the ground and his body ripped apart by the now poison-green claws of the eldest son, Kiyoshi had a chance to laugh loudly and maniacally at his success.

He would die, that was the end of him, but at least he could see that he – he – had been the one to shoot the arrow that had brought the Inu-no-Taisho to his knees.

A/N:

Did you find the scene I was referring to when I introduced this chapter's quotation? I hope it wasn't so subtle.

Few notes:

According to the encyclopedia I am using for Japanese names, Kazuo, the guard's name killed by Kiyoshi, is made up of the Kanji for "harmony, peace" + "man".

Izanami and Izanagi are Japanese kami. When Izanagi left his wife Izanami behind in Yomi (the land of the dead), she declared she would kill 1000 people each day, to which Izanagi replied that he would beget 1500 people. Thus, Izanagi is considered the goddess of death.

Also, when I first wrote about the mad monk, I intended to let him die by Inuyasha's hands. However, when I wrote the last scene I thought it was more likely that Inuyasha would run to his father's aid and Sesshomaru, being more focused on revenge and whatnot, would immediately slay him instead.

Thanks for reading so far and I hope you're enjoying the story.