A/N: Changed the story's title from "Seeing Is Believing" to "Things Worth Dying For." The first one was just a little too cliché for my tastes, but I couldn't think of anything better at the time. Sorry if I confused anyone there.

And I know it has been WAY too long since I've updated- the Internet was being evil and not working at all. Hopefully this won't be a problem again. I feel kind of bad about it, especially since I got so many reviews on the prologue . . . darned temperamental cable modem.

Miroku's POV.



"Like You Have A Choice"



"The saying that beauty is but skin deep is but a skin-deep saying."

~ Herbert Spencer



I am exhausted.

It seems like we've been fighting nonstop for days now, but according to Kagome-sama's watch and judging by what little I can see of the sun through all the youkai and clouds in the sky, it's only been a few hours.

Kagome-sama is long since out of arrows, and Shippou too hopelessly outmatched to be of any truly significant help, which means that our strongest fighter is tied up protecting them and can't properly use his more destructive techniques for fear of them being caught in the backlash. Sango, Kirara, and I are doing our best to take out the biggest of the threats, but we are not Inu-Yasha, and three against three hundred is not the best odds- besides that, my Air Rip can only consume so much evil aura before I pass out, and that would leave the others in worse trouble having to drag my dead weight along if I'm not very careful.

As it is, we're barely managing to stay ahead of the thick of the herd, and though the damned coward Myouga seems to be concerned with exactly why such a massive rampage is going on, all that the rest of us have had time to focus on is fucking surviving, thank you very much, bloodsucker.

I've been separated from the others for a few minutes of eternity now, but I can hear lovely Sango's battle cry and Inu- Yasha almost roaring near by- if I am lucky, I'll be able to meet up with them again in a little while. It's not like it can get any worse.

Just as I finish forming this thought, irony strikes; it starts to pour and I hear a scream to my right, partially of pain but more of fury, and unthinkingly change my direction from my companions to the origin of that cry. It is human in origin, I am somehow certain. If it is someone who could be of assistance to us, I'd best save them- and I've come to learn that most people are of assistance if you save them from violent deaths.

Of course, there are exceptions to any rule, but now is not the time to take part in such negative thinking.

I slice my way through a few lesser youkai, swallow a couple of the stronger ones, and sneak past the strongest, reaching the source of the scream with relative ease despite the sudden rain. It is a clearing- not very large, and its grass almost black with blood that the downpour has not yet washed away. In the center, a small swarm of youkai no bigger than Shippou but with claws that would make Inu-Yasha green with envy surround a figure in a bloody, muddy, and shredded kimono, laughing in high, keening voices and tearing at it with their teeth and nails.

The figure screams again, this time in nothing but rage despite its many wounds, and strikes fruitlessly at the creatures. Unfortunately, they're simply too fast and dodge with ease.

"Damn you!" the figure howls, and I idly identify it as male as I rush forward, swinging my staff out ahead of me in a brutish move. It lacks finesse, but cleaves through the diminutive youkai like tissue paper, and the survivors are instantly all focused on me, abandoning their original victim to fly straight at my face.

"Get down!" I yell, and sweep the end of my staff under his feet just to make sure he gets the message as I tear the rosary knot open with my teeth. None of them even know what hit them- the man's in the mud and the youkai are gone before they even begin to realize what I'm doing. For a moment, at least, the area seems to be clear, though the rain is cutting my visibility.

I quickly rewrap my hand and look down to the man on the ground. He growls under his breath and jerks his head up out of the muck to glare at me. Distantly, I feel my eyes take leave of their sockets in a way usually reserved for women.

He is beautiful. Even covered in mud and soaking wet and with his clothes maimed beyond any form of salvation or recognition, even with tears of frustration staining his face and his own blood dripping from at least a dozen different places, this man is absolutely fucking beautiful.

"Why did you save me?" he demands in a low, harsh voice, and I am snapped back to reality, where I can think of nothing to say.

"You screamed," I reply finally. "That is generally understood to be a universal request for assistance. Thusly, I assisted." He growls again and for some odd reason or another, I am tempted to go weak in the knees.

He gets to his feet and snarls, "I need no assistance from YOU," then spins on his heel and storms back towards the forest. I feel vaguely insulted as I stare at his retreating back.

" . . . My name is Miroku," I say quietly, more to myself than him, it seems. "Who are you?"

He pauses right at the tree line and glances back at me, giving me a slightly odd look through almost golden eyes. Then, uneasily, he replies, "I am called . . . Shou."

Ridiculously pleased with this information, I beam at him and say, "Well, Shou-sama, you'd best not go that way unless you want to die. There's a rather large swarm of youkai out tonight, and you don't seem prepared to go walking straight into their midst."

Shou pales slightly and lifts a hand to one of the nastier slashes on his arm. They aren't very deep wounds, but they seem to have bled a great deal. He's lucky- those youkai were only toying with him, else he'd have been dead before he even could scream. Judging by the length of his hair and how soft and pale his skin appears (not to mention his failure to give me a family name) it seems likely that he's from a reasonably wealthy background, and not one that ever included a samurai ancestor.

"Don't worry. I'll protect you."

Eh? Who said that?

"I need no help," Shou says unconvincingly, giving me a cold look.

Oh, it was me. Damn, but I'm an idiot.

"Would you rather die than take help from a lowly monk?" I ask mockingly. No point in giving up that easily now that I've already made a damned fool of myself. I could get some decent money out of this if his family's glad enough to see him alive again, after all.

"Yes," Shou replies simply, and with perfect honesty.

Mentally, I do a double take, but my smile never wavers. "Shame, then, that I'll be helping you anyway," I remark mildly, slinging my staff over one shoulder and rocking back on my heels slightly.

He glares at me again, but before any real fuss can be put up, he finally faints from the blood loss. I'll admit, he held out much longer than I'd anticipated. Personally, I was expecting him to pass out as soon as he realized that he was actually bleeding.

I pull him to me and cast a shield around the two of us to conceal our presence. I can still faintly hear the sounds of the others' battle, and keep a careful ear in their direction. If I so much as think I hear Sango scream I'll be able to get there in less than a minute.

I just hope that a minute won't be too late.



* tbc . . . *



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