Dedication: I am dedicating this to all the energetic feed back I got on my first dark fic; thanks ever so much! I'm glad that you liked the prologue! I just hope I can manage to write this—you're right, it is a bit of a challenge. ; But I'm going to try really hard, because I'm really enjoying writing this! 6.6 Please don't analyze that too much; people at school are already looking at me strange when I keep muttering things like: "That doesn't sound dark enough, it doesn't fit the mood" and the ever famous "Now let's get to the killing!" . My friends are the ones that heard me muttering about how I couldn't kill a person to happy tunes. (I had been listening to my Discman, and apparently I like to talk to myself when I do this. . Who would've known?) I'm not a psychopath, I swear.
Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own the show! . But I have this super secret plan where I might one day....I just need is a soda, a book, and for Superman to run around the world so fast that he reverses time—while I drink and read a book of course—and then I make the show! Muhahahaha! ....Now I just need to find a way to bring Superman to life....and if I could figure that out, I'd much rather have Spiderman come to life. Peter Parker rocks!
The Hate That Reins Within
He let the hot shower water beat down hard upon him, working out the kinks in his tired muscles. Closing his eyes, he leaned into the water, and braced his head on the wall beneath the shower nozzle. He took a deep breath, and slowly opened his eyes, staring down at the shower drain.
Pale red water made its way down the pipes.
He closed his eyes once more, and grabbed a bottle of shampoo. He quickly worked it into his hair; the foam from the shampoo was a pale pink. He grabbed a hand towel and a bar of soap, and quickly scrubbed himself from head to toe—sending another cascade of red tinged water down the drain.
There wasn't a single open gash on his muscle toned body, nor a solitary scar.
Once he was satisfied with the clarity of the water, he turned the knobs of the shower off, and climbed out of the tub. Wrapping himself in a dark towel, he made his way to his bedroom.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
He paused in front of his bedroom door, and then slowly made his way to the front entrance of his apartment. He stared at the heavy wood door that served as his front door. Many deadbolts had been installed down the side of the soundproof door. His dark, smoky eyes watched as one-by-one that locks clicked open. There were thirteen deadbolts, and slowly twelve of them slid open, the last one stayed clasped.
His lips tipped up into a slight smile for a moment, before his face melted back into its stoic expression.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
He walked up to the door, and unhurriedly unlocked the last deadbolt, and slowly opened the door. A pair of icy blue eyes met his.
"You added a new lock."
He nodded, staring emotionless at the raven-haired man on the other side of his door. The man grunted, and handed him a black envelope. Then turned, and began to walk away. "It won't be long until he has a key to that one as well." He called over his shoulder, before disappearing down another hall.
After a moment, he closed the door and stared at the black envelope. He knew what it meant.
Blood would be shed that night.
Without hesitation, he ripped open the envelope, and slid out the piece of paper. It simply read: The taijiya line. He tossed the thick cream colored piece of paper onto his couch, and then noticed another piece of paper within the envelope. He unfolded it quickly, and read what was written elegantly across: Capture the girl called Sango Hogosha.
He too dropped the note onto his couch, and headed into his bedroom. He opened his armoire and tugged on a pair of boxers and a pair of black trousers. He then pulled on a black shirt, and began buttoning it. Once he finished, he strapped on a sheath to his left calf, and slid a small sword into it. He doubted he would need it, but he'd learned long ago to always be prepared for the worst.
He then walked over to his bedroom wall, and grabbed his double-edged sword off its display case. All along the wall of his apartment, swords were mounted. A few of his swords dated back to the Sengoku Jidai era, while others had been made more recently. Each one was carefully tended after, but they all looked as though they had been in use.
Recently.
He slid the sword through a loop on his belt, and grabbed a heavy coat; one that carefully hid his weapon from sight.
Miroku Houshi, the deadliest man in all of Japan was ready. Once again that night, he was prepared to kill.
Hopefully Japan was ready for the blood shed.
Sango jerked awake when the bus hit a pot hole, and then rolled to a stop. Yawning, she glanced out her window and cursed. She'd slept though her stop again. Jumping to her feet, she made her way to the front of the bus, and nodded at the drivers as she got off. He ignored her, and sped away the second her feet hit the ground.
She sighed, and shifted her duffle bag from one shoulder to the other. She glanced around, and sighed once more, then began the long trek home. She knew if she was quick about it she'd be able to make it home in a little less than half and hour.
Yawning, she glanced at her watch, and gave a start. She had invited her father and brother over for dinner, and it was already going on nine o'clock at night. Her mind was already playing a million different scenarios of what would happen if she walked in though her house doors late. And all of them included her father yelling at her once again about how irresponsible she was.
Somehow, he always managed to forget that she was the one that raised Kohaku. That she was the one that had to take over as both mother and wife when her mother died. And those hadn't been the only things she had had to take over as....
She shook her head, refusing to let her thoughts travel down that path. All that mattered was that she always met her responsibilities head on, every last one of them. He had never done that in his life, and that thought alone could keep her going on the days that she felt like giving up. On days that her legs just didn't want to move and her heart was too heavy with grief, the thought that she was nothing like her father kept her going. She was better than him, and she would make sure Kohaku was too.
Her feet slapped against the pavement, and her duffle bag beat steadily against her hip. She flinched each time it smacked against her latest bruises. Glancing down at her watch, she picked up her pace, and flew down the street, making it to her home in a record time. Breathing hard, she made her way up the steps to her rickety old house.
She sighed when she noticed that her front door was open. Her brother and father must be inside, waiting. She hated to keep them waiting almost as much as she hated when they forgot to shut the front door. Her father was a proud man, and even though he couldn't keep up with the life of the taijiya, he refused to believe that there wasn't an enemy that he couldn't defeat. He didn't understand that the streets of Japan were dangerous, especially her street.
She walked into her home, locking the door behind her, and dumped her duffle bag onto the floor. Kicking off her shoes, she headed straight for the kitchen. "Sorry, class didn't end until eight-thirty, and our dinner plans slipped my mind." She called over her shoulder, getting the ingredients for curry and rice together. Her shoulders tensed, preparing for the onslaught of words from her father.
It was silent.
She turned around, and looked out the kitchen door. "Hello?" She called, and then the sound of the TV booting up made her feel like screaming. It was just like her father to try and drown her out, to ignore her, as he had been doing for many years. She wasn't stupid; she knew that he had rather had two strong and brave sons, instead of a useless daughter and a kind-hearted son.
Her eyes began to water, and she picked up a steak knife, and glanced down at her wrists. Many days she wanted to just end it all, she knew with two clean strokes, she could finally be free of it all. Two diagonal cuts, and she could watch it all drain from within her; the pain, the responsibility, and the disappointment....
She sighed, and began to cut the vegetables for the curry, her hand moving deftly with the knife. All was silent, except for the constant drone of the television set in the next room. Once she set the rice on the stove and had all the vegetables ready for the curry, she set down her knife, and decided to face her father's wrath. It would be easier if she got it over with before dinner; so that the three of them may actually have a conversation over the dinner table for once.
She made her way down the hallway leading towards her living room, already bracing herself for the verbal attack. She closed her eyes, and began to walk into the room, when there was a creak on the floorboards behind her. She quickly turned around to investigate the noise. She had been expecting to see Kohaku or perhaps her father, having decided that he wanted to talk to her.
No one was there.
Shaking her head, she sighed and walked in through the arched doorway into the room. The television lit the dark room in a dim and dreary light, illuminating the fire-winged chair station in front of the screen. She could see the back of her father's head, and rolled her eyes at the fact that he didn't turn around to greet her. Somehow he always managed to make her feel like a guest in her own house, and if he didn't approve of her, she felt worse than dirt.
At that moment, she felt worse than dirt.
"Dad, I'm sorry, but it couldn't be helped—my class didn't let out until eight-thirty. I would have been here earlier, but...." She had stopped a foot away from where he was sitting, but when he refused to answer her, she walked up towards the front of it. Planning on standing in front of the television, so that he would at least have to acknowledge her presence, "Dad..." She started again, and then stopped.
She felt as though her feet were made out of cement and not a part of her body as she took in her father. Her throat constricted and her eyes began to water, "Daddy?" She whispered, tears beginning to steam down her face.
Her father sat in the chair; at first glance he seemed fine. His face was in the direction of the television, a bit of a frown across it, and his long dark hair was neatly combed back into a low ponytail. He looked as neat and orderly as he usually did, except for one small detail: the front of his light shirt was stained in crimson. In the gap between his collar bone and his neck was a pool of blood, and just above that pool was....
Sango began to scream as she took in the sight of the deep and precise gash across her father throat. Her screams drown out the sound of the game show host and the cheesy music that he spoke over. She screamed until her lungs began to burn, and then her heaving sobs filled the room.
She turned away from the body, bringing her hands up to her eyes, trying to shield them from the scene that had been burned into her mind. The force of her sobs made her shoulders shake, and her breathing hoarse. There was another creak of a floorboard, and she whirled around, her tears suddenly forgotten as she realized that she wasn't in her house alone.
Kohaku!
Her eyes widened, and she quickly searched the room. "Kohaku?" She whispered, fear, hope, and guilt filling her at once—if he was still alive, how long had he been suffering? How long had she kept him waiting?
She quickly ducked into the shadows, and began to silently make her way out of the room. She knew she had an advantage on whoever was within her house; whereas they had no idea which floorboards gave away their position, she knew how to get from place to place silently.
Her heart racing, she slipped out of the living room and into her bedroom. Quietly, she pressed herself up against her wall, and tilted her head to the side, so that she could gaze unnoticed into her hallway.
She held her breath, her heart racing, and watched the hall for what felt like an hour. Then a shadow passed through it and into the living room. She bit back a gasp and squeezed her eyes shut. She had known before that someone must've been in her house, but her assumption being proved right was truly freighting.
Her eyes still squeezed shut, her mind began to race. She knew that she needed to do something quick, or she was going to die. Tears silently streamed down her face, her grief and her fear keeping her from rational thought. Pull yourself together Sango! She screamed to herself, and clenched her fist, her eyes shooting open.
The kitchen!
She turned, and gazed once more out at the hallway, seeing that no one was there, she decided to chance it. Quickly and silently, she raced into the kitchen, and curse when she realized that her shadow could be seen from anywhere in the house. She shook the thought away, and raced towards the counter. The steak knife was resting on the cutting board; quickly she dashed towards it, and snatched it up in her hand. Weapon in hand, she turned around, and bit back a bloodcurdling scream.
A man clothed in black stood in her kitchen, a sword dripping with blood clutched in his right hand, while blood ran off him, forming a pool around his feet. His dark calculating eyes took in her, and then his grip tightened on his blade.
And with a start, he raced towards her.
Author's Note: Sorry that this took so long to update, it was kind of a hard chapter for me to write. Seeing as I haven't really written anything like this since eighth grade—back then, these were the only kind of stories I did write. .
Anyways, I had trouble for awhile, but then I apparently stopped having trouble, given that this is probably one of the longer chapters that I've written for a story on this site. (I'm going to work on that by the way. .) Did you like the chapter? Because being who I am, I'm kind of thinking it's a little dull or something....6.6 No self-confidence over here...I hope you liked the chapter, and I'm pretty sure that I'll have another chapter out a bit quicker. ;
Anyways, now I need to go update my other stories, and quite possible post some more. (I know, I know, another one.) Yeah, I thought up three new stories....and two of them aren't Miroku and Sango stories....Gomen nasai...I just wanted to test my skills, and see if I could write one from Sesshomaru's point of view, and the other plot wouldn't work if I wrote it with anyone but Inuyasha and Kagome. (Okay, it probably would've, but it's another "morning after" and I didn't want to be redundant. . Ps. Monika-chan, you think this is too much like Broken Pieces? I started that story, but then I stopped....do you recommend it with flying colors? If so I'll definitely finish! . I hope I can keep the plot lines separate.)
Whelp, got to go; Gilmore Girls is coming on! . See ya in a different story note! (-.-I'm not crazy...I'm just a little unwell. I love that song!)