Yukaeshi had trained herself to sleep lightly, when she slept at all. As a lone assassin she had had to constantly be her own guard, a part of her mind always alert to the potential threat of desperate cutthroats paid to take her life before she ended that of their employer, or survivors bent on avenging someone she had killed because she had been paid to do so, not because she personally bore them ill will. It was her job, nothing more. But that was a lie. Tattooed on her body were marks that attested to her lifelong aim of controlling pain. Death was never painless, and she'd become an assassin, killed time and again, as though she had the right to dole out pain. Carving signs and symbols on her body, she matched the scars inflicted in her heart, as though they were badges of honor, having survived the pain of loss, the death of most of her family, the betrayal of the clan she'd substituted. She'd abandoned both; she thought she'd severed her ties by leaving each circle, but the threads remained.
Now, her sleeplessness was that of habit, and of protectiveness, and yes, partly because of a stirred conscience. It was ironic that she now guarded life, she who had taken countless others…Sana and Rui were nestled in her womb, an extension of a family who had shattered and scattered so many times as to numb the heart, but as Yukaeshi had discovered recently, not enough in her case…Hinata, a sister regained, was now a few feet away from where Yukaeshi lay, and the priest she loved occupied her mind and usually crept into her dreams…
* if there is some ache before sleep comes / it is the broken love which even now remains in pieces / they are not so distant that they be mistaken for the deep night / the memories I do not want to be adorned just with sighs *
She wished she did not remember so much, or have the power to reach out for a glimpse of the man she had deliberately distanced herself from…it was a constant torment for her to stop herself from opening her mind to him, to see what he saw, feel what he felt to a certain extent…
Where are you now, Sanzo?
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In a dirty shack in the middle of yet another dinky town, the priest Sanzo stirs from a fitful sleep and gives up the dream of a contrary woman he wished to high heaven he had never met, onto wakefulness. He needed a shave, but that could wait, he wanted coffee, but the corner kitchenette was likely equipped with the makings of a cupful that tasted like crap and smelled of piss, and so he deferred in favor of the ever reliable, guaranteed mood-improving stick of Marlboro.
The drag made him feel a little more human. This, however, was countermanded by the unhappy recall of vestiges of the dream. Damn that woman, why couldn't she just stay in the corner of his mind, out of the way? Puffing like a gasoline-generating dragon that had gotten a bad case of smog down his throat, Sanzo decided, what the hell, he may as well get it out of his system…plenty of time to brood anyway. He wouldn't be a man if he didn't wake up with an inconvenient erection, curse nature.
A drunken snore raised a pitch higher than the others, momentarily catching Sanzo's attention. Red-hair. He'd come close to dumping black dye over the kappa's head because he sported the same shade as Kaeshi. Sanzo had refrained from acting on impulse, although he'd gotten a number of uneasy looks from the river demon, whose puzzled head Sanzo had nearly bitten off that one time Gojyo asked what the hell the priest, glaring a split-second and a shade more heatedly than usual, had against him. Come to think of it, now would be a good time to plunk some of Hakkai's prized shoe polish on those crimson locks…ack. Disgusted with himself, Sanzo turned away. He felt the beginnings of a major migraine.
* outside the window the night passes too quickly / for time cannot be returned / like a pale dream / the gap between today and tomorrow troubles me *
When will this all end? As though there weren't enough problems, the mere thought of that woman kept driving him to fits of temporary insanity. The mission was far from over, and for a while now they'd had not only Kougaiji's gang at their backs but also that Taishi who seemed to be spoiling for a fight. The weird thing was, Hakkai and Goku were acting laggardly, as though they actually wanted a confrontation. Sanzo had a suspicion that his two comrades would more exuberantly "welcome with fists" the latter opponent, rather than the former, for personal reasons of their own. Another thought that was designed to exacerbate his headache. He needed air, or at the least, some space, before he woke the others by cracking their hard heads together. The shalley (what he deemed a shanty nestled in an alley) was too cramped for the four of them anyway, and so he sat up, put on his robes, and not minding whose ass he kicked on the way out the door, stepped into the grayness of not-quite morning.
* something is not enough / somewhere I had made a mistake / no matter how much I bluff / I cannot yet see the exit / in the center of a maze *
Perhaps he didn't want it to end. Perhaps he'd gotten so used to the game of fighting, at times dodging, ever moving farther from a home that was no longer home without his master, that he had forgotten what they were playing for. The stakes were still the same, good vs. evil and all that crap, but the goal? The reward? Wasn't he just the errand boy of those blasted gods? And now, to his unending consternation and however reluctantly (for both persons concerned), he'd added the new complication of jumping into an involvement with Yukaeshi, an impossible dream of having someone and someplace he could belong to. Ha! That girl would kick him out of his idyllic daydream into the reality of the nightmare he'd gotten used to, she'd already cut herself off from him as fast as she could manage it. A smile tugged at the corners of Sanzo's mouth as he contemplated what method she would use to burst his rare bubble, and decided in advance that for the hell of it, he'd infuriate her by openly enjoying her barbs instead of being pricked by them.
Master, I will fulfill the task you gave me, but I cannot say that I do it with a conciliated heart and will…not anymore. After years of wanting nothing for myself, content with the celibate life of a simple monk, now it seems I do want something, more than I would have suspected myself capable of, and sooner than I'd counted on…
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Crapshoot. Nights were longer nowadays, and his powers didn't include seeing in the dark. Not that there was anything to see, the band of four having slipped past him yet again. He'd lost their trail in that last skirmish with Kougaiji's scouts. Stupid buggers were a pain in his side, and he'd sent the sole survivor, blind, limping, and one-armed, to warn off Kougaiji from interfering with him again. They may be after the same thing, but they needn't tangle each other up in the process. No contest really, he was a stronger adversary than Gyokunmen's puppet, and would have had the sutra by now if not for those bungling idiots Kougaiji persisted on using as pawns. With eyes narrowed in annoyance, Homura estimated that he'd lost the two days he'd gained on the westbound travelers. The fire, built upon demon carcasses, crackled as though commiserating with his frustrated anger, but died down as though cowering from the scowl he directed towards its mullioned flames.
There had been a time when he had had no need of fire to keep him warm at night…nowadays even the sun had difficulty heating the frost that was a barrier between him and normal sensory perception. Acidic demon blood could fall by the gallon upon his skin, but had no effect. He couldn't even smell the dead bodies. He felt nothing outside of this…dissatisfaction in his soul; he would call it by no other name. He'd come to think of the state as more advantageous than not, because now he'd recovered his focus, recouped his defenses, single-minded in his ambition of stealing the sutra.
* this floating heart has become scary / it seems that it will cease to see itself / to those days that look as they were in flames / I say farewell and turn my back *
He had no need of memories, and would not dwell on them, may they burn into ashes and leave no imprint in his mind. Nor would he worry unnecessarily over that minute chink in his heart that resisted being sealed up, reminding him he had one lying about unused, as though waiting for something or someone to stomp on it again. Eventually it would close off, and he'd be rid of that weakness. Having disposed of that potential target, nothing and no one would be able to harm him. He'd get used to this cold as well, and fire could be dispensed with in time. He might as well start now, and douse the dratted flames. His mistake would cease to affect him, die a long overdue death. His words, spoken to the only one given the opportunity to desert him, would no longer haunt him. He knew better than to repeat any of that.
* now rather than hiding my frailty / head on I take it all in / the thing not enough / the place where I had erred / they teach a little pain / when the day breaks / I walk on to search for a new self *
"Why did you have to kill so many to vent such anger and still be unappeased?"
Swearing, Homura cursed the wind and the imagination that brought her voice to him, mocking his bid for an invincible self, for an impregnable heart.
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"The End of the Day" translated from the RK OST by Shinobi Chirlind-Byouko
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Stupid. Stupid. Hinata abruptly woke herself from the trance. Being worn-out was no excuse for manifesting herself to Homura, though he couldn't possibly have heard her, much less seen her. Hinata cradled her aching head in her hands. It was that moron's fault anyway. If he hadn't killed that band of demons, almost simultaneously, she wouldn't have been drawn near him. Kuso. She shuddered in reaction. He had actually enjoyed killing them. It was chilling to have seen him through the demons' eyes, to feel such fear upon hearing that single bloodcurdling war cry that was the only warning for his swift attack. The last thing they'd seen was his slightly derisive feral smile…it had been an easy kill for him, as though they'd been no more than pesky flies he'd swatted because they'd irritated him and he had nothing better to do at the time. He'd actually piled the remains, lit them, and then sat indifferently next to the resulting blaze. Hysterically, Hinata wondered if he'd killed the demons because they would conveniently serve as alternative firewood.
Why was he so changed? His eyes had been so cold. He'd looked tougher, meaner, more uncaring of his appearance, unflinching even as his clothes were bloodied, where once he'd have restrained his strokes to keep himself immaculate.
May the gods help her, she'd been hurt every time he'd delivered the death stroke, it felt as though he were killing her, but she should've been used to that by now…not from him though. Somehow she had felt it so much more this time. Something was driving him to kill so casually, so recklessly, and she feared that some of those feelings were directed at her if not caused by her. The father of her son, the one she loved, was deliberately and unrepentantly turning himself into a cold-blooded killer, trying to snuff out the humanity he may have considered a taint before, but had tolerated, and was learning to appreciate before she'd left…What had happened to him in the intervening months? It hasn't been that long…
A hand touched Hinata's shoulder, startling her.
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Yukaeshi didn't know if she'd reached out to call Hinata's attention or because she'd needed to balance herself. The vision had caught her unaware, she had been busy NOT thinking of Sanzo, but even that may have triggered her precognitive abilities…avoiding seeing him in the present, her mind had veered into the future instead.
Homura and Sanzo fought in a blurry of spiraling movement. Sand flew as bodies were flung to and fro…this was no mere altercation, both of them strained to inflict the most hurt…Sanzo's Smith and Wesson whipped out in an arc, pointed with deadly accuracy at Homura…Homura's blazing sword deflected, attacked…
Hinata saw such sorrow in her sister's eyes she became alarmed. "What is it? Are you all right? Nothing has happened to Sana? Rui?"
Yukaeshi shook her head. Determinedly, she straightened, braced both of them, as she concentrated on seeing more and failing that, she opened herself to receive feelings. Homura…She could feel nothing from Homura. But Sanzo's fatigue would have made her crumple to the floor if not for Hinata's supportive arm. Sanzo was hurt in so many places, the bitter taste of defeat laced his determination to keep fighting, no matter what…Yukaeshi drew blood as she bit her lip to keep herself from crying out at the pain of a crushing blow that blindsided Sanzo…she was losing the thread of impression, Sanzo was blacking out…
Yukaeshi gasped for breath, opened her eyes, slowly focused on Hinata's pale face, and fought to keep conscious…"I'm okay, I just need to sit down…" She used Hinata's arm to lever herself into a sitting position on Hinata's makeshift bed.
Hinata still hadn't recovered from the shock of seeing her sister's dismay at what could only be one of her visions; it had so weakened Yukaeshi. Although her nee-san shivered in reaction, the color was returning to her face, and her grasp became firmer…but Yukaeshi's eyes were still dulled with horror. "Tell me what happened…tell me what you saw."
"Homura and Sanzo fought…will fight in earnest." Hinata's heart stopped at the words. Yukaeshi appeared calm, her voice cool, only her eyes betrayed her distress, as they stared resolutely into Hinata's.
"I don't know when exactly, maybe tomorrow, maybe two days from now, but this fight cannot be prevented. Sanzo will get hurt." Yukaeshi let go of her sister's arm. The withdrawal was like a slap in the face.
"I'm sorry." The words were automatic. Hinata felt compelled to say them, knowing it was useless and inadequate.
"So am I." Yukaeshi was apologizing for the involuntary withdrawal, and for what she was about to say. "I felt Sanzo get badly beaten but Homura…I felt nothing from him, Hinata…"
"That must mean he wasn't hurt…" The explanation was offered to offset the dread in Hinata's heart.
"No…it was a premonition. I believe…no, I am positive, that Homura will die as a result of that fight…maybe not during it, maybe not by Sanzo, but soon after and because he had attacked Sanzo. I'm sorry, Hina-chan." Yukaeshi embraced her sister, trying to make up for her words, trying to absorb the hurt she'd inflicted, trying to sympathize with her sister if not with the god who will be responsible for hurting two people she cared for.
"No, Kaeshi…no, I will not accept that." Hinata held tight. Her eyes remained dry, her voice stayed level despite the violence of her feelings. "Was it Hakkai? Gojyo? Tell me…you have to find out…we have to stop them…"
"I tried. I couldn't find out anything else, I received that premonition; I was not looking for it." Yukaeshi tried to soothe her sister, even while despairing at her ineffectuality.
"Then we will find them and physically keep them from fighting. Sanzo will not get hurt. Homura will not be killed." The light of battle entered Hinata's eyes. "I cannot…I will not let him die."
Yukaeshi desisted from saying what was uppermost in both their minds: Hinata, as Goddess of Death, may have no choice when the time came for Homura to die.
"Kaeshi, nee-san, you have to help me stop them. Please, for Rui, for me, say you'll come…"
"I'll go with you." Yukaeshi will support her sister's hopeless cause. I'll grieve with you…
"Thank you. We will stop this madness…" It was the only bearable option for Hinata. How can I experience your death without dying too? Homura…
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Someone snickered, if such an elegant puff of sound could be given the term, certainly borne of irreverence anyhow. Kusanagi jumped a foot into the air, forty-years old and still living on nerves, cigarettes, and the occasional freelance writing job. Homes and Gardens hadn't suited his taste for the scandalous, his hunger for the disreputable, and so he had quit that job and many more after, in search of that one story that contained all the elements he wanted: danger, betrayal, murder, revenge, disillusionment. He thrived on the last, and would have avoided the first, but every now and then, he was threatened with the ones in between, the very things he wanted to document on paper, but cowered from in reality…he was meant to be behind the scenes, not staring at the face of death, into the unusual pair of mismatched eyes of a charming young man with a halo of fire who had mysteriously materialized. It seemed as though one eye were mockingly trained on Kusanagi, and the other on the young girl who sat unconcernedly warming herself next to the campfire. Briefly, Kusanagi entertained the nasty thought that something might happen between the two youngsters, who looked about the same age and matched each other in beauty, but he withered beneath the full stare that the young man turned on him, as though the latter had read Kusanagi's mind…
"Oh stop glowering, Rui, you'll give Kusanagi a heart attack, sneaking into my camp…" the young lady spoke matter-of-factly, almost dismissively, when it looked to Kusanagi that she had no defense…but wait, she knew the intruder, she'd spoken a name…somehow the thought did not calm him, even though the face of the man named Rui had softened in humor, all of it directed at her.
"Now, coz, I wouldn't exactly call it sneaking…" Rui sat down cross-legged next to the girl, and grinned in response to her raised eyebrow. He noticed that the dirty old geezer—wherever did Sana find him—was taking the first cautiously relieved breath the sod could manage after his arrival. Rui decided to keep an unobtrusive watch on the old man even as he continued teasing his cousin. "More like disengaging a few bombs and deflecting some of your booby traps, before casually but decorously walking into your camp. Break my heart and say you haven't missed me, Sana-chan." Knowing the action would irritate his cousin, Rui tugged at a silky lock of blonde hair that had escaped from Sana's long ponytail.
"I haven't missed you." Annoyed, her violet eyes snapping with temper, Sana slapped his hand away. The oaf insisted on treating her as though she were still ten years old. She was sixteen for cripes' sake, practically a lady, and here he walks in after three years without word or stray telepathic thought, taller than her, damn it, with more battle experiences probably, damn him, and he expects to be welcomed with open arms. A kick in the shin is what he needed, more like. She gave in to the desire and drank in his pained oath. She felt better already.
"Damn it, Sana, that's no way to treat your 'twin'." He would've laughed out loud at her affronted reaction to his words, but Rui didn't want to risk another limb. He'd known Sana forever, knew her better than anybody, and he really wouldn't want her to mangle him and then regret it later after her temper cooled down. "I have every right to be here, and you know it. I heard you talking…" Rui's striking face had turned serious, his concentrated stare back on Kusanagi, questioning the reporter's presence with his cousin.
Kusanagi swallowed. Where had he seen that stare before? "I-I'm a reporter…" The saliva dried in his mouth and he couldn't get anything past his choked throat. The boy was looking at him with considerable interest, and for some reason, that was more terrifying than the near-negligent stare Kusanagi had been subject to before.
"Kusanagi Osamu was that reporter daddy and the uncles met before." Sana felt no other explanation was necessary. "He wants to continue his story, learn more about mom and Aunt Hinata. I've been briefing him."
"Yes…" Rui's voice had added a new element that the avidly listening Kusanagi couldn't put his finger on. He decided it was safer not to try. "I remember him now. But Sana, I heard your romantic version of the story, and I must say, okaasan was not so…female as to worry about experiencing Homura's death…"
Sana bit back the retort that sprang to her lips when Rui had said the word "female" so scathingly. Mention of his father always put Rui in an uncertain mood…fouler than Sanzo's, and more dangerous than Kaeshi's, and that was saying a lot since her parents were the champion temperamentals…certainly as scary as her Aunt Hinata could become, considering what mother and son were capable of in a snit…
"Mother would not have hesitated to kill Homura herself, as you well know…"
When Rui smiled like that, when his eyes got that expression in their hidden depths, Sana was intensely reminded of the impressions she'd gotten of Homura, whom she vaguely recalled from her pre-natal connection with her mother. It awed her. She hated the feeling and hid it from her cousin, knowing also that he was farthest from her when he thought of his parents. His attention was on Kusanagi now, all of his genki playfulness gone…
"If you want to know about my parents, Mr. Reporter, you'd have to get it from me. I doubt you'd be prepared for what you'll hear…"
