Chapter II: The Damned
It was an arguably unproductive day in the labor fields, especially considering the bountiful season it was. The incandescence of the midday sun was relentless, beating upon the parched farmers without foreseeable mercy. Sweat drizzled like a tenacious shower down their weary bodies, the percussion of sickles and scythes sounding in harmonious rhythm. Clink clank, clink clank. It was a unified motion, performed mechanically by their bodies without an underlying consciousness. No words were spoken, no ideas exchanged, no emotions were expressed, save the stillborn droning of their rustic tools. Clink clank, clink clank.
Though it was never said, a certain unease had recently befallen the laborers, an inexplicable perturbation which they silently withheld in the most intimate recesses of their minds. It was as if a league of omnipresent eyes kept diligent watch upon them, following their every movement with meticulous intent. They had attempted upon numerous occasions in desperation to evade their unseen audience, yet only an anxiety was roused through struggle.
Then there were the voices. Initially unintelligible whispers, they were gradually formulating into words. Louder and louder they grew, and with their perpetuating volume, the language became heretical, ungodly, horrific in the greatest multitude possible. Though varying diversely from infants to the elderly, they all maintained a vulgar ferocity and profane persistence that only a taskmaster of nightmares may convey.
The men could no longer contain their dismay, and, seemingly simultaneously, a great bellow of agony engulfed the air in grievous unison, one more wretched and depraved than even the woebegone shrieks echoing eternally through the voluminous bowels of Hell. Then, as if beckoned by an unbeknown force, their eyes were directed into the east, where they beheld the approaching source of their torment.
As the specters drew nearer, their extramundane frames became evident before the awestricken onlookers. Their structure was vast, measuring several feet in diameter, enveloped in countless shimmering scales of radiant aquamarine. They hadn't in their possession any arms or legs, yet such limbs were redundant, and would burden their swift and elegant flight. Great ovoid eyes of carmine fixated themselves upon the terrified farmers, the violet pupils containing a reflection embodying the very avatar of horror.
Overwhelmed with fright, the men cast their weapons blindly into the approaching phantasms, fully knowing the futility of their efforts, yet choosing to disregard it in this moment of desperation. Now, discarded of their only defense and presented no other alternative, they fled with inhuman haste through the dirt-laden acres in a frantic endeavor to elude their pursuers, but it was already too late. The wraiths' declination had begun, advancing upon their vulnerable pray in one fell swoop. The men's hearts palpitated as swiftly as the wind generated by the pursuing ethereal beings, seemingly striving to surpass their vassals. It was not fear that was absolute; rather, it was the necessity to survive that dominated their consciousness. All other senses were stifled in the wake of the impeccable desire to live, to awaken upon another day and to be enticed by slumber upon another night. "Faster, faster, you mustn't halt!" their souls demanded their fatigued bodies. The glacial vice of death loomed overhead, drawing nearer, and nearer, and, at the climax of their flight, there arrived the most unnerving of manifestations that their fears may conceive.
Silence. Utter, perpetual silence, broken only by the writhing of hearts and trepidation of breathes. Despite the abundance of dread engulfing them, the terrified men found themselves scanning the area with an unquenchable inquisitiveness. The scene was too still to have been disturbed, too serene to had been interrupted, too pure to have been plagued by the atrocity of sin which those vile creatures had wreaked. Had they been forsaken? Had the Kami shown mercy to their helpless children?
As if in response to this unsubstantiated optimism, a brilliance of light illuminated behind them, dethroning the sun in its sheer magnificence. They cowered to the ground, drawing their trembling hands over their unwilling eyes in disbelief of their imminent doom. They quivered like insects basked within the ominous shadow of an aloft foot, weeping, fasting, striving with all their enduring will to escape the moment, to escape themselves.
The voices! They had returned in abundant succession, besieging existence itself, prodding incessantly at their most intimate fears. "Infestation. Curse. Affliction. Plague. Outbreak. Scourge. Pestilence. Disease." the infants jabbed. "Immorality. Evil. Sin. Tainted. Lie. Wicked. Rape. Villain. Deflower." the women pierced. "Damned. Hell. Vile. Atrocious. Infernal. Knave. Wanton. Blood. Crimson. Death." the men penetrated. "Agony. Woe. Remorse. Lament. Grieve. Lost. Unfelt. Alone. Longing." the elderly cleaved.
Deeper. The dirk of mortality bore itself into their essence, shredding them, hacking them, reducing them to reminiscence of a nonexistence. Closer. The men felt their breath deteriorating, the malfunction and ultimate failure of their lungs. Everything was the darkness, and the darkness was their adversary. Within. The voices emitted a horrendous uproar that could only be distinguished as laughter.
Those brief moments seemed like a time insurmountable by eternity itself, embodying callous and unrelenting agony. How they jested so! It was hell in its absolute. The mortals could no longer endure and renounced their struggle against the inconspicuous oppressors, fasting for death before the very gods that, only a few moments previous, had begged for life (How amusing the voices must had found Man's incomprehensible nature!).
Then, as they stood upon the brink of demise and the apex of existence, a rapturous voice, like the plucking of a seraphic harp, transcended the chaos and bid silence. There was an abrupt obedience. Even the men paid instantaneous submission to the requisition. So delightful a sonority, so magnificent a resonance! "O, fair Angel of Death, beguiling nightingale, lead us unto any land or soul blessed by thou eyes!" the men proclaimed in obscurity.
"To InuYasha." the seductive seraphim beckoned.
"Yes, to InuYasha!" they affirmed, knowing not of whom she spoke of, yet confiding unwaveringly within her summons.
And so it was that, in the adumbration of humanity, they marched forth, with every step becoming undistinguishable amongst the immeasurable ranks of voices.
It was an arguably unproductive day in the labor fields, especially considering the bountiful season it was. The incandescence of the midday sun was relentless, beating upon the parched farmers without foreseeable mercy. Sweat drizzled like a tenacious shower down their weary bodies, the percussion of sickles and scythes sounding in harmonious rhythm. Clink clank, clink clank. It was a unified motion, performed mechanically by their bodies without an underlying consciousness. No words were spoken, no ideas exchanged, no emotions were expressed, save the stillborn droning of their rustic tools. Clink clank, clink clank.
Though it was never said, a certain unease had recently befallen the laborers, an inexplicable perturbation which they silently withheld in the most intimate recesses of their minds. It was as if a league of omnipresent eyes kept diligent watch upon them, following their every movement with meticulous intent. They had attempted upon numerous occasions in desperation to evade their unseen audience, yet only an anxiety was roused through struggle.
Then there were the voices. Initially unintelligible whispers, they were gradually formulating into words. Louder and louder they grew, and with their perpetuating volume, the language became heretical, ungodly, horrific in the greatest multitude possible. Though varying diversely from infants to the elderly, they all maintained a vulgar ferocity and profane persistence that only a taskmaster of nightmares may convey.
The men could no longer contain their dismay, and, seemingly simultaneously, a great bellow of agony engulfed the air in grievous unison, one more wretched and depraved than even the woebegone shrieks echoing eternally through the voluminous bowels of Hell. Then, as if beckoned by an unbeknown force, their eyes were directed into the east, where they beheld the approaching source of their torment.
As the specters drew nearer, their extramundane frames became evident before the awestricken onlookers. Their structure was vast, measuring several feet in diameter, enveloped in countless shimmering scales of radiant aquamarine. They hadn't in their possession any arms or legs, yet such limbs were redundant, and would burden their swift and elegant flight. Great ovoid eyes of carmine fixated themselves upon the terrified farmers, the violet pupils containing a reflection embodying the very avatar of horror.
Overwhelmed with fright, the men cast their weapons blindly into the approaching phantasms, fully knowing the futility of their efforts, yet choosing to disregard it in this moment of desperation. Now, discarded of their only defense and presented no other alternative, they fled with inhuman haste through the dirt-laden acres in a frantic endeavor to elude their pursuers, but it was already too late. The wraiths' declination had begun, advancing upon their vulnerable pray in one fell swoop. The men's hearts palpitated as swiftly as the wind generated by the pursuing ethereal beings, seemingly striving to surpass their vassals. It was not fear that was absolute; rather, it was the necessity to survive that dominated their consciousness. All other senses were stifled in the wake of the impeccable desire to live, to awaken upon another day and to be enticed by slumber upon another night. "Faster, faster, you mustn't halt!" their souls demanded their fatigued bodies. The glacial vice of death loomed overhead, drawing nearer, and nearer, and, at the climax of their flight, there arrived the most unnerving of manifestations that their fears may conceive.
Silence. Utter, perpetual silence, broken only by the writhing of hearts and trepidation of breathes. Despite the abundance of dread engulfing them, the terrified men found themselves scanning the area with an unquenchable inquisitiveness. The scene was too still to have been disturbed, too serene to had been interrupted, too pure to have been plagued by the atrocity of sin which those vile creatures had wreaked. Had they been forsaken? Had the Kami shown mercy to their helpless children?
As if in response to this unsubstantiated optimism, a brilliance of light illuminated behind them, dethroning the sun in its sheer magnificence. They cowered to the ground, drawing their trembling hands over their unwilling eyes in disbelief of their imminent doom. They quivered like insects basked within the ominous shadow of an aloft foot, weeping, fasting, striving with all their enduring will to escape the moment, to escape themselves.
The voices! They had returned in abundant succession, besieging existence itself, prodding incessantly at their most intimate fears. "Infestation. Curse. Affliction. Plague. Outbreak. Scourge. Pestilence. Disease." the infants jabbed. "Immorality. Evil. Sin. Tainted. Lie. Wicked. Rape. Villain. Deflower." the women pierced. "Damned. Hell. Vile. Atrocious. Infernal. Knave. Wanton. Blood. Crimson. Death." the men penetrated. "Agony. Woe. Remorse. Lament. Grieve. Lost. Unfelt. Alone. Longing." the elderly cleaved.
Deeper. The dirk of mortality bore itself into their essence, shredding them, hacking them, reducing them to reminiscence of a nonexistence. Closer. The men felt their breath deteriorating, the malfunction and ultimate failure of their lungs. Everything was the darkness, and the darkness was their adversary. Within. The voices emitted a horrendous uproar that could only be distinguished as laughter.
Those brief moments seemed like a time insurmountable by eternity itself, embodying callous and unrelenting agony. How they jested so! It was hell in its absolute. The mortals could no longer endure and renounced their struggle against the inconspicuous oppressors, fasting for death before the very gods that, only a few moments previous, had begged for life (How amusing the voices must had found Man's incomprehensible nature!).
Then, as they stood upon the brink of demise and the apex of existence, a rapturous voice, like the plucking of a seraphic harp, transcended the chaos and bid silence. There was an abrupt obedience. Even the men paid instantaneous submission to the requisition. So delightful a sonority, so magnificent a resonance! "O, fair Angel of Death, beguiling nightingale, lead us unto any land or soul blessed by thou eyes!" the men proclaimed in obscurity.
"To InuYasha." the seductive seraphim beckoned.
"Yes, to InuYasha!" they affirmed, knowing not of whom she spoke of, yet confiding unwaveringly within her summons.
And so it was that, in the adumbration of humanity, they marched forth, with every step becoming undistinguishable amongst the immeasurable ranks of voices.