Most of the things they tell you about Vampires - you know: that garlic is poison to our kind, that sunlight kills us, or that a stake through the heart will stop us in our tracks - are totally false. It is funny how wrong mortals get the facts - not that I'm complaining, it just makes my job easier. After all, if mortals don't know how to kill me then they can't hurt me. I try not to kill humans as a rule, and I try to do what is considered 'right.' Without principles and standards we are nothing at all. This Mushin, my foster father, taught me. The wise old drunkard might seem as if he lives for naught - but he does have some principles - if rather, well, interesting ones.
A brief smile crept across my face as I crouched in the snow. The tracks were all too clear - blood spattered the undergrowth and turned the pristine snowfall a deep scarlet that was already drying to deep brown. I reminded myself not to be too hasty - suprise is the biggest component of victory when you're tracking a quarry larger and stronger than yourself. Of course, I have a few other methods that work just as well. I followed the bloody tracks until sunset with it's murderous gaze opened wounds in the already cloudy sky until the snow looked like the remands of a battlefield. Carefully, so as to make no noise, I drew my sword out of its sheath. The metal glinted scarlet-brown in the fading light, and I shivered with the bad omen.
A shadow slithered out of a crevice with the end of the sun - some Vampires prefer to reenact the old legends to terrify villagers and feed on their fear - and as it oriented itself to its surroundings, I struck. My sword caught its back, scarring deep but my aim had been off. The creature was not dead, merely wounded. It arched in pain and spun about. I fell back as a blow to my head sent me reeling. It turned around, and for the first time I caught a glimpse of my foe. Her hair was long and wild - blond as straw and just as wild. Deep eyes of a piercing emerald green glowed of hatred and pain. I blinked the spots away and rolled as her taloned hand scythed through to the earth on which I had lain moments before. I got in another slash, this time at her ribs, cutting through the dirty silk dress she wore. Black fluid and a trickle of blood spurted from the wound - though the blood was probably from the child she had killed earlier. Now the Vampire was truly mad. Unused to someone who could match her for strength and speed, she was also getting desperate. A deadly combination, if any there was. Luckily my sword found her neck a few moments later - that myth is true. Loosing too much blood is deadly, and nothing bleeds like a head wound - or chest wound for that matter. It's not the stake that kills us but the blood loss. She had time for one more shriek before she crumpled to the ground. I got to my feet, wincing at the blow to the head the undead had inflicted on me. Then I grabbed the head by the long flaxen hair, and threw the corpse of her latest victim over my shoulder. Time to collect my pay.
"InuYashaaaaaaaaaaaaa SIT!"
Thud.
Assorted mutterings and cursings.
"Kag-"
"SITSITSITSITSIT..."
Miroku shook his head and glanced at Sango, who was also trying to hide a smile. At least, she was until she felt the feather-light touch of a hand on her rear-end. Then Miroku found himself in much the same fate as InuYasha... except that his assailant had embedded a huge boomerang in his skull. Oh, yeah - and he had landed face-first into the hot coals of the fire.
"OWOWOWOWOWOW"
Sango just grinned.
Just another day. A perfectly normal, completely ordinary day. Which is why, of course, something completely abnormal had to happen. Nature loves irony, after all.
When Miroku finally opened his eyes to the little birdies around his head he found the bright blue eyes of the kitsune in his face.
"HE'S AWAKEEEEEEEEEE" Screamed Shippo, running out of the cave at full tilt. A minute later InuYasha poked his head through the door.
"Boy are you in trouble this time, Monk." He grinned, enjoying Miroku's discomfort.
"Huh?"
"Miroku, are you all right?" A worried Kagome brushed InuYasha aside and crouched by his pallet, skillfully avoiding his groping hand.
"Why am I in trouble this time?" Miroku inquired.
"You mentioned someone in your sleep. You know how Sango is - she won't admit that she's actually jealous.
"What was this woman? Was she beautiful?"
"How should I know? But Sango's gonna give you hell to pay. Her name was Awren? Something like that."
"Awrenia?" Miroku sat up in starlement.
"Something like that, yeah."
"I guess I'd better avoid Sango for a bit then." Miroku grimiced. Rubbing his head he stood up - and met Sango's boomerang coming down. He was out for quite some time.
In his dream he was little, only about four or five. Awrenia huddled him close, trying to shield him from the screams of his parents. Then a sharp slap rang through the little house. In the silence that followed, he could hear his Dad's drunken curses and dull thuds over his Mother's sobbing. His sister covered his ears, rocking him back and forth, her own eyes closed. A single tear dripped down her nose to land with a wet plop on his face. He could feel the coldness as it made its way down his own face. Her whispered singing lulled him to sleep in time, safe in the arms of his protectoress.
Some time later he was woken by his mother. A cut above her lip and a new collection of bruises attested to his father's strength of rage. She and Awrenia were busily stuffing clothes in bags. Then ten year-old Awrenia picked him up, and they left the house.
The woods were dark at this time of night, eerie in their still shadows. What happened next had haunted his memory for all these years.
A brief smile crept across my face as I crouched in the snow. The tracks were all too clear - blood spattered the undergrowth and turned the pristine snowfall a deep scarlet that was already drying to deep brown. I reminded myself not to be too hasty - suprise is the biggest component of victory when you're tracking a quarry larger and stronger than yourself. Of course, I have a few other methods that work just as well. I followed the bloody tracks until sunset with it's murderous gaze opened wounds in the already cloudy sky until the snow looked like the remands of a battlefield. Carefully, so as to make no noise, I drew my sword out of its sheath. The metal glinted scarlet-brown in the fading light, and I shivered with the bad omen.
A shadow slithered out of a crevice with the end of the sun - some Vampires prefer to reenact the old legends to terrify villagers and feed on their fear - and as it oriented itself to its surroundings, I struck. My sword caught its back, scarring deep but my aim had been off. The creature was not dead, merely wounded. It arched in pain and spun about. I fell back as a blow to my head sent me reeling. It turned around, and for the first time I caught a glimpse of my foe. Her hair was long and wild - blond as straw and just as wild. Deep eyes of a piercing emerald green glowed of hatred and pain. I blinked the spots away and rolled as her taloned hand scythed through to the earth on which I had lain moments before. I got in another slash, this time at her ribs, cutting through the dirty silk dress she wore. Black fluid and a trickle of blood spurted from the wound - though the blood was probably from the child she had killed earlier. Now the Vampire was truly mad. Unused to someone who could match her for strength and speed, she was also getting desperate. A deadly combination, if any there was. Luckily my sword found her neck a few moments later - that myth is true. Loosing too much blood is deadly, and nothing bleeds like a head wound - or chest wound for that matter. It's not the stake that kills us but the blood loss. She had time for one more shriek before she crumpled to the ground. I got to my feet, wincing at the blow to the head the undead had inflicted on me. Then I grabbed the head by the long flaxen hair, and threw the corpse of her latest victim over my shoulder. Time to collect my pay.
"InuYashaaaaaaaaaaaaa SIT!"
Thud.
Assorted mutterings and cursings.
"Kag-"
"SITSITSITSITSIT..."
Miroku shook his head and glanced at Sango, who was also trying to hide a smile. At least, she was until she felt the feather-light touch of a hand on her rear-end. Then Miroku found himself in much the same fate as InuYasha... except that his assailant had embedded a huge boomerang in his skull. Oh, yeah - and he had landed face-first into the hot coals of the fire.
"OWOWOWOWOWOW"
Sango just grinned.
Just another day. A perfectly normal, completely ordinary day. Which is why, of course, something completely abnormal had to happen. Nature loves irony, after all.
When Miroku finally opened his eyes to the little birdies around his head he found the bright blue eyes of the kitsune in his face.
"HE'S AWAKEEEEEEEEEE" Screamed Shippo, running out of the cave at full tilt. A minute later InuYasha poked his head through the door.
"Boy are you in trouble this time, Monk." He grinned, enjoying Miroku's discomfort.
"Huh?"
"Miroku, are you all right?" A worried Kagome brushed InuYasha aside and crouched by his pallet, skillfully avoiding his groping hand.
"Why am I in trouble this time?" Miroku inquired.
"You mentioned someone in your sleep. You know how Sango is - she won't admit that she's actually jealous.
"What was this woman? Was she beautiful?"
"How should I know? But Sango's gonna give you hell to pay. Her name was Awren? Something like that."
"Awrenia?" Miroku sat up in starlement.
"Something like that, yeah."
"I guess I'd better avoid Sango for a bit then." Miroku grimiced. Rubbing his head he stood up - and met Sango's boomerang coming down. He was out for quite some time.
In his dream he was little, only about four or five. Awrenia huddled him close, trying to shield him from the screams of his parents. Then a sharp slap rang through the little house. In the silence that followed, he could hear his Dad's drunken curses and dull thuds over his Mother's sobbing. His sister covered his ears, rocking him back and forth, her own eyes closed. A single tear dripped down her nose to land with a wet plop on his face. He could feel the coldness as it made its way down his own face. Her whispered singing lulled him to sleep in time, safe in the arms of his protectoress.
Some time later he was woken by his mother. A cut above her lip and a new collection of bruises attested to his father's strength of rage. She and Awrenia were busily stuffing clothes in bags. Then ten year-old Awrenia picked him up, and they left the house.
The woods were dark at this time of night, eerie in their still shadows. What happened next had haunted his memory for all these years.