Elementals
By: Vampire-elf
Kuki
Running for an eternity... trying to flee, to hide, to fight the impending doom. But he couldn't, it knew him: who he was, where he was, his weaknesses and strengths... The curse was a part of him, and he could no more hide from it than he could from himself. It had been biding its time for years, but now its hunger, the lust for its owner's flesh and blood, was unbearable. The kazaana's appetite was large, and it took much for the abomination to be sated. It took a life.
'Not now...'
It started suddenly; the prayer beads that encircled Miroku's wrist loosened considerably, as though they were being removed by a pair of phantom hands. They chattered like teeth against each other, clinking irritably until Miroku put a silencing hand around his wrist. But even as he adjusted his grip upon his arm, the beads saw their opportunity and shattered within his grasp, loosing the horror that lay embedded within his palm.
He was met head-on by a vicious tempest, a whirlwind that, now released, would continue implacably until it had consumed its host. It started with the flesh of his right limb, ripping it forcibly from the muscles and bones beneath; a squelching, churning noise that always accompanied the tearing of skin punctuated the houishi's agonized scream. A fountain of precious lifeblood spurted forth.
"Ahh- no! I can't leave yet!" Miroku shouted to the heavens, suddenly oblivious to the hole consuming his arm. "I CAN'T LEAVE!!!!!!!!"
The winds only quickened their pace, adapting to the struggling of their victim. The vortex thickened, pressing itself against his torso and head, forcing the air inside his body to join the frenzied whirlpool.
"Sango..." Her image filled his mind's eye, chasing away the physical agony only to replace it with the anguished thought that he would never again see her face. He would leave her for oblivion, and she would...
He could see it as if it were real: Sango weeping, moaning in sorrow, lost in the throes of the powerful emotion. His name frequented her swollen lips, along with Naraku's, though the baboon's name was spat like a curse; his was sighed wistfully. Suddenly, the damned monkey was before her, smirking maliciously from beneath his snowy cloak. Before he could react, the slayer drew her katana and lunged for the malfactor, only to be beaten down as he drew his own weapon. Their blades clashed in a shower of sparks, and suddenly Sango was knocked backwards in a stealthy blow to the stomach. The next blow would be Naraku's last, as he smiled in sadistic pleasure as the smooth metal of his weapon entered the woman's stomach. Instantly, she fell to hard, cold ground, lips turning upward in a wry smile as a warm, crimson blossom bloomed across the front of her yukata.
"No, Sango...!" Yet even as Miroku began to struggle once more, he knew his efforts to be futile. He would inevitably die –as would she- and even in the hereafter, they would be separated.
Blackness consumed his heart, body, and mind, as the vortex won and sucked him into nothingness.....
"NO!!!!"
Miroku's eyes snapped open, drinking in the surrounding area. He was comforted by the sight of his friends and comrades scattered throughout the hut, fast asleep.
It had all been a dream... But it had felt so real...
A tight, stretched feeling seemed to overwhelm his chest, still churning up and down, heaving with the depth of his breath. It resembled fear, but was much more consuming, so that Miroku could do nothing but sit in place and tremble, staring at the rosary beads that at that very moment were slowing his impending death.
By the Buddha, it had felt real....
"Houishi-sama....?" Sango yawned, stirring in her futon across the room. "Did you say something?" She stretched out her body in a catlike manner, arching her back before elongating it to full length, practically purring as the kinks in her muscles disappeared. "I thought I...," she paused to yawn once more, "heard you say something."
Miroku said nothing, looking down guiltily. The image of blood soaking the front of her yukata still plagued his mind, and he paled at the "memory."
Sango noticed, and squinted at the man through the still night air. The ashen tint to his skin worried her, as did his downcast eyes and quivering form. This morbid countenance only graced his visage when the kazaana was involved, usually when he was bedridden from having acted foolhardy and sucked more into the hell hole than he should have. This seeming panic attack did not sit well with her. "Houishi-sama......?"
"Sango, I..." Miroku froze. What could he say- that he'd had a nightmare? The explanation seemed somewhat insufficient, considering the number of bad dreams he'd heard Sango endure night after night... Unlike he, who had yet to feel death's cold hands pull you to the other side, Sango had underwent the separation of herself and life. Many sleepless nights served to remind her of this; this, and the bloodied corpses of her friends and family, the endless row of the graves of her slain kin. He had no right to complain. "I... it's nothing."
Both unfinished sentences hung loose in the air, blowing about their heads with the slight breeze that fluttered through the doorway. The bamboo screen flapped noisily against the door's frame, its hypnotic rhythm drawing both sets of eyes. It beckoned them outside, to the spring night and the full moon. Miroku flinched as the draft touched his skin.
"I'm going outside."
Miroku stood slowly, walking dazedly towards the moonlit opening. As his feet touched the first soft blades of grass outside, he froze again. The clearing in front of him –the empty space in between the village and the forest- was familiar, as though he'd seen it before, seen the way the moon cast dim shadows against the knee-high bushes. Déjà vu... He'd seen this exact play of light and shadows previous to this moment- right before his rosary had shattered in his hands...
Instantly, she fell to hard, cold ground, lips turning upward in a wry smile as a warm, crimson blossom bloomed across the front of her yukata.
Miroku's eyes snapped open –though he couldn't remember closing them to begin with- as a hand laid itself atop his shoulder. He spun quickly, as though facing attack, only to find himself face to face with Sango. She gasped but held firm to his yukata, moving with him as he backed away from the hut, slipping into the shadows cast by the moon.
"What's inside your head?" she murmured soothingly. "What is it that plagues your mind so?"
Miroku slowed his pace slightly as her words met his ears. She knew. How could he be so stupid to think she hadn't realized it, having known the feel of nightmares herself? She knew- but not the entirety of the horror.
"I... You died," he said forlornly, "because I did."
Sango nodded, seemingly understanding the confused thoughts running through his head. "The kazaana?" she asked in a whisper, absently running a finger along the smooth surface of the beads containing it. "Or was it in battle?"
Miroku closed his fingers around Sango's small hand; it seemed so delicate when enclosed by his. How could something so beautiful cause so much destruction? How could she rip apart the foundations of his very being and somehow implant herself within him? How could she demolish any ounce of self-control, of cool reserve he possessed and hid behind, and force him to act in a manner unbecoming? How could she, just by holding his hand, make him feel so foolish, while at the same time making him believe they were the only two beings in the world, a pair of lovers under a star-spangled sky?
He inhaled deeply; Sango would be his undoing, though he knew he couldn't bear to live without her. She was what kept him alive, the air he breathed.
"Forgive me for acting in such a foolish manner," he breathed, "I'm no better than a young child afraid a monster is lurking around the corner just because his dreams told him so."
Sango lifted his hand up to her field of view, peeling back the sleeve of his yukata so his entire appendage was visible. "Now you're being foolish," she chided, "the monster is always with you."
Miroku snorted, "So that excuses my behavior?"
Sango shrugged in response, casting her gaze up to the heavens. Tears threatened to spill forth from her darkened eyes, and already they were glistening like the stars they gazed upon. After collecting herself enough, she turned once more to face Miroku, beautiful and tragic in the moonlight. "Every time I see his death, it's like the first time. I have to remember I'm in another place, another reality. For my sake, I have to forget him."
Miroku pulled Sango closer, still only clinging to her petite hand, not making further advances. "But I can't forget what torments me- that would mean losing you." He gently squeezed her hand, running a finger along the back of it, from the rigid hills and valleys of her knuckles to the graceful curve at the beginnings of her wrist. "I just don't want to remember..."
A/N: Cliché, weird, interesting, etc. So many words that can be used to describe this part of the one-shot series. (BTW, I decided to combine them all into this collection called Elementals, since I thought it would be easier.) But I did include fluff, so I hope you liked it, Aamalie. As a note, Kuki means air or atmosphere, which could represent the kazaana –though I could've just used Kaze for that. I had the element-chapter connection be with that nice, sappy metaphor where Sango is the air Miroku breathes. XD. Look for the next installment soon!!
By: Vampire-elf
Kuki
Running for an eternity... trying to flee, to hide, to fight the impending doom. But he couldn't, it knew him: who he was, where he was, his weaknesses and strengths... The curse was a part of him, and he could no more hide from it than he could from himself. It had been biding its time for years, but now its hunger, the lust for its owner's flesh and blood, was unbearable. The kazaana's appetite was large, and it took much for the abomination to be sated. It took a life.
'Not now...'
It started suddenly; the prayer beads that encircled Miroku's wrist loosened considerably, as though they were being removed by a pair of phantom hands. They chattered like teeth against each other, clinking irritably until Miroku put a silencing hand around his wrist. But even as he adjusted his grip upon his arm, the beads saw their opportunity and shattered within his grasp, loosing the horror that lay embedded within his palm.
He was met head-on by a vicious tempest, a whirlwind that, now released, would continue implacably until it had consumed its host. It started with the flesh of his right limb, ripping it forcibly from the muscles and bones beneath; a squelching, churning noise that always accompanied the tearing of skin punctuated the houishi's agonized scream. A fountain of precious lifeblood spurted forth.
"Ahh- no! I can't leave yet!" Miroku shouted to the heavens, suddenly oblivious to the hole consuming his arm. "I CAN'T LEAVE!!!!!!!!"
The winds only quickened their pace, adapting to the struggling of their victim. The vortex thickened, pressing itself against his torso and head, forcing the air inside his body to join the frenzied whirlpool.
"Sango..." Her image filled his mind's eye, chasing away the physical agony only to replace it with the anguished thought that he would never again see her face. He would leave her for oblivion, and she would...
He could see it as if it were real: Sango weeping, moaning in sorrow, lost in the throes of the powerful emotion. His name frequented her swollen lips, along with Naraku's, though the baboon's name was spat like a curse; his was sighed wistfully. Suddenly, the damned monkey was before her, smirking maliciously from beneath his snowy cloak. Before he could react, the slayer drew her katana and lunged for the malfactor, only to be beaten down as he drew his own weapon. Their blades clashed in a shower of sparks, and suddenly Sango was knocked backwards in a stealthy blow to the stomach. The next blow would be Naraku's last, as he smiled in sadistic pleasure as the smooth metal of his weapon entered the woman's stomach. Instantly, she fell to hard, cold ground, lips turning upward in a wry smile as a warm, crimson blossom bloomed across the front of her yukata.
"No, Sango...!" Yet even as Miroku began to struggle once more, he knew his efforts to be futile. He would inevitably die –as would she- and even in the hereafter, they would be separated.
Blackness consumed his heart, body, and mind, as the vortex won and sucked him into nothingness.....
"NO!!!!"
Miroku's eyes snapped open, drinking in the surrounding area. He was comforted by the sight of his friends and comrades scattered throughout the hut, fast asleep.
It had all been a dream... But it had felt so real...
A tight, stretched feeling seemed to overwhelm his chest, still churning up and down, heaving with the depth of his breath. It resembled fear, but was much more consuming, so that Miroku could do nothing but sit in place and tremble, staring at the rosary beads that at that very moment were slowing his impending death.
By the Buddha, it had felt real....
"Houishi-sama....?" Sango yawned, stirring in her futon across the room. "Did you say something?" She stretched out her body in a catlike manner, arching her back before elongating it to full length, practically purring as the kinks in her muscles disappeared. "I thought I...," she paused to yawn once more, "heard you say something."
Miroku said nothing, looking down guiltily. The image of blood soaking the front of her yukata still plagued his mind, and he paled at the "memory."
Sango noticed, and squinted at the man through the still night air. The ashen tint to his skin worried her, as did his downcast eyes and quivering form. This morbid countenance only graced his visage when the kazaana was involved, usually when he was bedridden from having acted foolhardy and sucked more into the hell hole than he should have. This seeming panic attack did not sit well with her. "Houishi-sama......?"
"Sango, I..." Miroku froze. What could he say- that he'd had a nightmare? The explanation seemed somewhat insufficient, considering the number of bad dreams he'd heard Sango endure night after night... Unlike he, who had yet to feel death's cold hands pull you to the other side, Sango had underwent the separation of herself and life. Many sleepless nights served to remind her of this; this, and the bloodied corpses of her friends and family, the endless row of the graves of her slain kin. He had no right to complain. "I... it's nothing."
Both unfinished sentences hung loose in the air, blowing about their heads with the slight breeze that fluttered through the doorway. The bamboo screen flapped noisily against the door's frame, its hypnotic rhythm drawing both sets of eyes. It beckoned them outside, to the spring night and the full moon. Miroku flinched as the draft touched his skin.
"I'm going outside."
Miroku stood slowly, walking dazedly towards the moonlit opening. As his feet touched the first soft blades of grass outside, he froze again. The clearing in front of him –the empty space in between the village and the forest- was familiar, as though he'd seen it before, seen the way the moon cast dim shadows against the knee-high bushes. Déjà vu... He'd seen this exact play of light and shadows previous to this moment- right before his rosary had shattered in his hands...
Instantly, she fell to hard, cold ground, lips turning upward in a wry smile as a warm, crimson blossom bloomed across the front of her yukata.
Miroku's eyes snapped open –though he couldn't remember closing them to begin with- as a hand laid itself atop his shoulder. He spun quickly, as though facing attack, only to find himself face to face with Sango. She gasped but held firm to his yukata, moving with him as he backed away from the hut, slipping into the shadows cast by the moon.
"What's inside your head?" she murmured soothingly. "What is it that plagues your mind so?"
Miroku slowed his pace slightly as her words met his ears. She knew. How could he be so stupid to think she hadn't realized it, having known the feel of nightmares herself? She knew- but not the entirety of the horror.
"I... You died," he said forlornly, "because I did."
Sango nodded, seemingly understanding the confused thoughts running through his head. "The kazaana?" she asked in a whisper, absently running a finger along the smooth surface of the beads containing it. "Or was it in battle?"
Miroku closed his fingers around Sango's small hand; it seemed so delicate when enclosed by his. How could something so beautiful cause so much destruction? How could she rip apart the foundations of his very being and somehow implant herself within him? How could she demolish any ounce of self-control, of cool reserve he possessed and hid behind, and force him to act in a manner unbecoming? How could she, just by holding his hand, make him feel so foolish, while at the same time making him believe they were the only two beings in the world, a pair of lovers under a star-spangled sky?
He inhaled deeply; Sango would be his undoing, though he knew he couldn't bear to live without her. She was what kept him alive, the air he breathed.
"Forgive me for acting in such a foolish manner," he breathed, "I'm no better than a young child afraid a monster is lurking around the corner just because his dreams told him so."
Sango lifted his hand up to her field of view, peeling back the sleeve of his yukata so his entire appendage was visible. "Now you're being foolish," she chided, "the monster is always with you."
Miroku snorted, "So that excuses my behavior?"
Sango shrugged in response, casting her gaze up to the heavens. Tears threatened to spill forth from her darkened eyes, and already they were glistening like the stars they gazed upon. After collecting herself enough, she turned once more to face Miroku, beautiful and tragic in the moonlight. "Every time I see his death, it's like the first time. I have to remember I'm in another place, another reality. For my sake, I have to forget him."
Miroku pulled Sango closer, still only clinging to her petite hand, not making further advances. "But I can't forget what torments me- that would mean losing you." He gently squeezed her hand, running a finger along the back of it, from the rigid hills and valleys of her knuckles to the graceful curve at the beginnings of her wrist. "I just don't want to remember..."
A/N: Cliché, weird, interesting, etc. So many words that can be used to describe this part of the one-shot series. (BTW, I decided to combine them all into this collection called Elementals, since I thought it would be easier.) But I did include fluff, so I hope you liked it, Aamalie. As a note, Kuki means air or atmosphere, which could represent the kazaana –though I could've just used Kaze for that. I had the element-chapter connection be with that nice, sappy metaphor where Sango is the air Miroku breathes. XD. Look for the next installment soon!!