It was well after sunrise when Inuyasha finally awoke, vaguely surprised not to find Kagome beating him with a large stick for falling asleep. She had to be back by now. He was actually vaguely worried when he noted the unnatural stillness around him. The daytime noises of the forest were absent, as if everything had been either killed or terrified into silence. One hand on the Tetsaiga's hilt, he cautiously entered the cave.
It was as if the stone walls had turned to ice, casting a spell of cold throughout the chamber. He could see his breath roll through the deathly still air. Stepping on something smooth and slimy he slipped, hitting his head on the blood-slicked rock and staring into Shippo's unseeing eyes.
The young demon's body had been mutilated, arcane symbols carved into it, though somehow little blood seemed to have been shed. The corpse was cold; he'd been dead for a while, perhaps the entire night. Telling himself that he didn't care, the increasingly worried half-demon plunged further into the cave in search of Miroku. Inuyasha was certain that he would have fled into the inner tunnels and perhaps not been found, refusing to acknowledge the fact that his comrade could hardly move.
The monk was gone, and any grief or worry the hanyou may have felt was replaced by white-hot rage at whatever had taken his injured friend.
Miroku awoke in a small clearing surrounded by deep forest, in a seat carved into the trunk of a huge tree whose myriad branches blocked any light. He could see nothing. A hissing voice wound around him, growling in his ear, "Stay." And he couldn't move. He was blind, frozen, and the all-encompassing darkness was smothering him so that he struggled to breathe. Ebon eyes slowly faded into view, seeming to illuminate the shadows with a slight silver glow, revealing white skin marred by tribal markings. Hisses and growls crept from behind pale lips and fangs, building to a roar and falling suddenly back into silence and shadow as the eyes disappeared.
A fire rose up on either side of him. He was surrounded by the creatures from before, tattooed, nude and savage. Blood dripped from the claws of some to pool on the ground; others lapped hungrily at it. At the front stood their leader. Milk chocolate hair brushed his shoulders. Deep blue eyes flecked with steel gazed coldly down at Miroku. He wore an open cloak made of some demon's pelt, held on by a tie with human eyes in the place of tassels. Elegantly curved fangs protruded from between his crimson lips. A silver mist flowed around him, weaving itself into the shape of a scorpion to match the one tattooed on his bare chest. Arms, chest, and face were decorated in handprints of fresh blood. There was a hunger in the man's eyes that terrified the monk.
There was a wicked grace in his movement as he stalked toward the tree. "We are vampires." He grinned in a way that was not quite sane as he answered the unasked question. "Beasts of the night, niether human nor demon. Bloodsuckers, fierce and wild." He wrapped one hand around Miroku's throat, nails which almost qualified as claws digging into the back of the human's neck. He leaned down and ran his tongue around the curve of the monk's ear, whispering, "You're mine now." With no further warning he sank his ivory fangs into the tender flesh of Miroku's neck.
He drank hungrily from the wound before pulling back to stare down at his victim. Terrified deep violet eyes gazed into blue orbs which were shrouded in fog, as if the beast were far away from his body. Capturing the raven-haired man's mouth suddenly in a brutal kiss, he plunged his tongue into it's depths. The monk could taste himself in that kiss, as well as the sharp, bitter tang of the vampire's blood. He'd bitten his own tongue.
Long nails ran down Miroku's front, slicing through his clothing and leaving bloody trails down his body, closely followed by his attacker's mouth. He wanted to scream, but he could barely draw breath. The creature slid down his captive's front, biting and sucking the sensitive flesh. His followers around them were becoming more agitated, as if in anticipation. Miroku could feel himself slipping. The nails were still there, clawing their way down his thighs. He still couldn't move. His thoughts were fading into confusion. Claws and fangs all over his body. Pain, the worst he'd ever felt, tearing him apart. He seemed to split into a million particles drifting through space, and attached to each one was a vampire. They swarmed over the body of the man who was not quite human anymore, now that their leader had discarded him. He allowed himself to drift away from them, sinking into the welcome relief of unconsciousness.
Inuyasha had been running all day, attempting to track Miroku's strangely elusive scent. It hadn't taken him long to find the girls. They were seated together in a small valley, holding hands, almost seeming to glare at him for disturbing them. Almost, because they had no eyes. Flowers peeked out at him from their empty sockets, and matching daisy crowns perched atop their hair. Their broken weapons sat next to them. It was a strangely peaceful scene. There was no blood. Aside from their eyes they could have been alive. But whatever had killed them had a very sick sense of humor, and the hanyou was more terrified than he'd let on of what could have happened to the monk.