'Bloodlust'
Written by Diablo Omega
Summary: A bored Sesshomaru has some fun with a passing army.
Warnings: Only violence ranging from mild to graphic.
Disclaimer: I own some stuff, but especially not the incredible show 'Inu-Yasha' or the
characters therein.
Soft footfalls echoed through marble halls, reverberating around pillars of the
jade-colored stone. It was not yet dawn, but nearing it, as the tall, shadow-cloaked person
reached a curling staircase. The being adjusted a long, fleecy mantle that was draped over
it's shoulder, before continuing on his upward advance. Sesshomaru hummed gently, a
song once sung to him by his father, looking out one of the ornate windows down to his
courtyard hundreds of feet below as he climbed ever higher. A large, polished wooden
door guarded the entrance onto his palace's roof. The youkai lord stepped out onto the
tiles, closing the door silently behind him, before finding his usual perch atop a
wolf-shaped rain spout. He sat, his legs folded beneath him, looking out onto all the lands
he controlled, such was his principality as Lord of the Western Lands. Holding his chin in
one had, Sesshomaru glanced idly at his long, deadly fingernails. It had been quite a
while since he had sated his bloodlust. Even though mortal shogun were warring with
each other, he rarely ran into an army. Fondling the hilt of the Toukijin at his waist, he
thought about the sword, and its great, long-deprived power. He froze, hand on the hilt's
wrapping, as he heard the distant beat of a drum and the marching of soldiers. The youkai
smiled wolfishly and, standing up, leaped from the ornate drain as only a demon can. He
landed just outside the tree-line, the sound of the approaching army growing louder.
Sesshomaru ran through the trees, a blur of mottled colors. Taking advantage of his
momentum, he bounded into the highest branches of a tall, dead pine. There he stood,
taller than the top of the tree, standing on the highest branch possible. Yes, it was an
invading army. Rather small, perhaps forty men. 'Most likely reinforcements,' thought
the demon. They passed underneath him, and as the last one did so, he pounced. Drawing
Toukijin in midair, Sesshomaru cleaved the soldier in two, deftly going after the next. He
rebounded himself off of a tree-trunk, using the motion to behead the last rank of some
five soldiers, their headless bodies slumping forward on their still-walking horses.
One man screamed before he was impaled on the demon's blade, being thrown
off his mount and into the woods that ran along either side of the dirt path. All the other
soldiers wheeled their horses around, looking at the youkai prince, who now stood
framed against the crimson sun, standing on a dead soldier's horse. One particularly
brave ("Or foolish," thought Sesshomaru) warrior threw himself at the demon.
"Dokkasou," murmured the prince, fingers glowing a sickly green as they closed
around the man's face.
A pained shriek rang out as the soldier's head melted away in Sesshomaru's hand,
like the soft, powdery first snow once it hits a warm surface. A small smile grew at the
corners of the demon's pallid lips, an amazing amount of malice and sadistic glee
contained in such a minute expression. He leapt from the horse's back, snapping another
fighter's neck with a deft kick, and shoving the Toukijin through another's chest as he
stood on the impaled man's horse, removing his sword from the ribcage, which was
bleeding violently.
"Stop, demon!" cried an archer, training an arrow on Sesshomaru.
The princely youkai easily dodged the arrow and appeared behind the offender.
Plucking a shaft from the quiver, he forced the bolt through the soldier's windpipe. Three
other archers fired, but Sesshomaru moved again with speed only possessed by youkai.
He disemboweled them with swift, practiced cuts, moving on to a group of spear-carriers,
numbering roughly six.
He moved throughout their group, bringing death with blade or poisoned fingers,
wherever he went. Soon they had fallen into a mound of splintered lances and bloodied
corpses, crimson beginning to stain the grass.
Once again he began to behead samurai left and right, but stopped on about his
tenth. This one had dodged, or tried to, and had lost an arm. Still, the trained warrior
came at the demon, fighting with his katana. A skirmishing movement was all
Sesshomaru needed to send the mortal blade flying into a tree, disarming his opponent.
With a simple flick of his wrist, the prince sent the arm into the foliage as well. Gore
came now in torrents from the damaged shoulders, soaking the garments of the samurai.
He shaved off the man's legs as well, leaving him to die a horrible, red death in the
empty forest.
With only ten sword-fodder left, the youkai dispatched them with as many
wounds as he could inflict, relishing every scream, every cry of pain that reached his ears.
It did not take long for a powerful lord like Sesshomaru to work his way through
nine warriors. All that remained of forty soldiers was the commanding officer. He was
older, gray hair flecking the once black mane. He drew his sword with versed ease,
preparing to fight the demon prince.
Sesshomaru, on the hand, had other plans. He slipped behind the officer in a split
second and then, with eternal calm, whispered in the warrior's ear, "Dokkasou." Before
the aging samurai could even turn his head, a green-glowing hand exploded through his
chest. He liquefied before the demon prince's amber eyes, into a steaming puddle of what
was once flesh, clothing and armor. Sesshomaru smiled once, flicked the blood from the
Toukijin's blade, sheathed it and bounded back toward his manor. His own garments
were splattered with the mortal's blood, and once he reached his bath, shrugged out of
them. He slipped slowly into the steaming water and ignored the servant youkai who
scurried in, bowed and retrieved his clothes, while another replaced them with a freshly
folded set. The youkai noble ran an elegant hand along the metal rim of the massive pool,
which was set in white quartz. His digits found what he was looking for, and closed
around the flask of sake. He poured some into the saucer lying next to the carafe and
lifted it to his lips. Resting empty saucer back beside the rice wine, settling further into
the tepid water. He felt some much better now.
A/N - Okay, that wasn't my best story, but noe of them ever are... -_-''
Written by Diablo Omega
Summary: A bored Sesshomaru has some fun with a passing army.
Warnings: Only violence ranging from mild to graphic.
Disclaimer: I own some stuff, but especially not the incredible show 'Inu-Yasha' or the
characters therein.
Soft footfalls echoed through marble halls, reverberating around pillars of the
jade-colored stone. It was not yet dawn, but nearing it, as the tall, shadow-cloaked person
reached a curling staircase. The being adjusted a long, fleecy mantle that was draped over
it's shoulder, before continuing on his upward advance. Sesshomaru hummed gently, a
song once sung to him by his father, looking out one of the ornate windows down to his
courtyard hundreds of feet below as he climbed ever higher. A large, polished wooden
door guarded the entrance onto his palace's roof. The youkai lord stepped out onto the
tiles, closing the door silently behind him, before finding his usual perch atop a
wolf-shaped rain spout. He sat, his legs folded beneath him, looking out onto all the lands
he controlled, such was his principality as Lord of the Western Lands. Holding his chin in
one had, Sesshomaru glanced idly at his long, deadly fingernails. It had been quite a
while since he had sated his bloodlust. Even though mortal shogun were warring with
each other, he rarely ran into an army. Fondling the hilt of the Toukijin at his waist, he
thought about the sword, and its great, long-deprived power. He froze, hand on the hilt's
wrapping, as he heard the distant beat of a drum and the marching of soldiers. The youkai
smiled wolfishly and, standing up, leaped from the ornate drain as only a demon can. He
landed just outside the tree-line, the sound of the approaching army growing louder.
Sesshomaru ran through the trees, a blur of mottled colors. Taking advantage of his
momentum, he bounded into the highest branches of a tall, dead pine. There he stood,
taller than the top of the tree, standing on the highest branch possible. Yes, it was an
invading army. Rather small, perhaps forty men. 'Most likely reinforcements,' thought
the demon. They passed underneath him, and as the last one did so, he pounced. Drawing
Toukijin in midair, Sesshomaru cleaved the soldier in two, deftly going after the next. He
rebounded himself off of a tree-trunk, using the motion to behead the last rank of some
five soldiers, their headless bodies slumping forward on their still-walking horses.
One man screamed before he was impaled on the demon's blade, being thrown
off his mount and into the woods that ran along either side of the dirt path. All the other
soldiers wheeled their horses around, looking at the youkai prince, who now stood
framed against the crimson sun, standing on a dead soldier's horse. One particularly
brave ("Or foolish," thought Sesshomaru) warrior threw himself at the demon.
"Dokkasou," murmured the prince, fingers glowing a sickly green as they closed
around the man's face.
A pained shriek rang out as the soldier's head melted away in Sesshomaru's hand,
like the soft, powdery first snow once it hits a warm surface. A small smile grew at the
corners of the demon's pallid lips, an amazing amount of malice and sadistic glee
contained in such a minute expression. He leapt from the horse's back, snapping another
fighter's neck with a deft kick, and shoving the Toukijin through another's chest as he
stood on the impaled man's horse, removing his sword from the ribcage, which was
bleeding violently.
"Stop, demon!" cried an archer, training an arrow on Sesshomaru.
The princely youkai easily dodged the arrow and appeared behind the offender.
Plucking a shaft from the quiver, he forced the bolt through the soldier's windpipe. Three
other archers fired, but Sesshomaru moved again with speed only possessed by youkai.
He disemboweled them with swift, practiced cuts, moving on to a group of spear-carriers,
numbering roughly six.
He moved throughout their group, bringing death with blade or poisoned fingers,
wherever he went. Soon they had fallen into a mound of splintered lances and bloodied
corpses, crimson beginning to stain the grass.
Once again he began to behead samurai left and right, but stopped on about his
tenth. This one had dodged, or tried to, and had lost an arm. Still, the trained warrior
came at the demon, fighting with his katana. A skirmishing movement was all
Sesshomaru needed to send the mortal blade flying into a tree, disarming his opponent.
With a simple flick of his wrist, the prince sent the arm into the foliage as well. Gore
came now in torrents from the damaged shoulders, soaking the garments of the samurai.
He shaved off the man's legs as well, leaving him to die a horrible, red death in the
empty forest.
With only ten sword-fodder left, the youkai dispatched them with as many
wounds as he could inflict, relishing every scream, every cry of pain that reached his ears.
It did not take long for a powerful lord like Sesshomaru to work his way through
nine warriors. All that remained of forty soldiers was the commanding officer. He was
older, gray hair flecking the once black mane. He drew his sword with versed ease,
preparing to fight the demon prince.
Sesshomaru, on the hand, had other plans. He slipped behind the officer in a split
second and then, with eternal calm, whispered in the warrior's ear, "Dokkasou." Before
the aging samurai could even turn his head, a green-glowing hand exploded through his
chest. He liquefied before the demon prince's amber eyes, into a steaming puddle of what
was once flesh, clothing and armor. Sesshomaru smiled once, flicked the blood from the
Toukijin's blade, sheathed it and bounded back toward his manor. His own garments
were splattered with the mortal's blood, and once he reached his bath, shrugged out of
them. He slipped slowly into the steaming water and ignored the servant youkai who
scurried in, bowed and retrieved his clothes, while another replaced them with a freshly
folded set. The youkai noble ran an elegant hand along the metal rim of the massive pool,
which was set in white quartz. His digits found what he was looking for, and closed
around the flask of sake. He poured some into the saucer lying next to the carafe and
lifted it to his lips. Resting empty saucer back beside the rice wine, settling further into
the tepid water. He felt some much better now.
A/N - Okay, that wasn't my best story, but noe of them ever are... -_-''