: Perfect World :
Gensomaden Saiyuki
Disclaimer: I don't own Gensomaden Saiyuki, which rightfully belongs to Minekura Kazuya.
Rating: R
Pairings: slight Homura/Goku, hinted Gojyo/Hakkai and Sanzo/Goku
Warnings: AU-ish, angst, strong language, violence, some gore, character death
Notes: My most sincere apologies for missing the deadline last week. There was no excuse for that; I simply forgot. I hope this chapter at least makes up for that absence.
Constructive criticism and feedback is appreciated.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Even with the floor made of hard rock, vivid scuff marks and scratches adorned the room. Pillars cracked with web-like lines from where bodies had made crushing impact. It was a miracle the room was even intact.
More of a miracle was the fact nobody in the room had died. Yet. Sanzo was never one to overlook that sort of grim possibility. Pessimistic, maybe, but he also knew it was a realistic expectation—especially with that creature tearing into the legendary demon prince.
Nor was he the type to miss the presence of others. He shot a sharp glance at Homura, but only saw the back of his cape. Brilliant flames stitched in striking contrast to the violet material beneath it. Less striking yet somehow more noticeable was the unnatural crimson stain in the god's torn shoulder. It seemed the bleeding had slowed, but the stain still grew bit by bit.
Damned gods. They didn't even need a tourniquet.
It wasn't until the man took a step forward that Sanzo realized he should have been paying attention to what was beyond Homura's body. What had been shapeless and writhing had somehow formed a door. And Sanzo hadn't been distracted for more than a few minutes.
"Not the type to clean up your own mess, are you?" he asked scathingly. Unthinkingly.
Homura stopped, but didn't look back. Even if he had, Sanzo had the feeling his expression would have been perfectly neutral; even smug. He could sense the would-be look in the god's tones—though, oddly enough, it sounded forced.
"As much as I would love to watch, I have more important matters to attend to," Homura said matter-of-factly; as though the fight behind him had suddenly been deemed unimportant. "I am sure you are more than capable of handling the situation."
So that was it. He planned to leave the crazed demon in Sanzo's hands; forcing over responsibility in a manner Sanzo knew he would have a difficult time ignoring. He glared.
As though sensing it, Homura turned and smirked. "In fact, I am certain of your abilities. Please do not disappoint me, Konzen."
Sanzo hated him. He would have told him so, had he not been forced to change his plans a split second later.
Even as he heard the sickening crack, Sanzo didn't manage to catch what had happened until the object flew past him and crashed into one of the supporting pillars. The building trembled, but remained intact. Even the pillar bore only numerous severe cracks; yet nothing terrible enough to make it collapse beneath the weight.
Then the priest realized the object lying in the rubble wasn't really an object at all, but a body. Kougaiji remained unmoving, a thin trickle of blood trailing down the side of a dark cheek. His brows were furrowed, but not with conscious effort.
Shit, thought Sanzo.
He didn't dare a glance toward Homura, not even from the corner of his eye. But the man was well within his peripheral vision, and even from that unreliable view, Sanzo could have sworn the god looked pained.
Yet he must have been wrong, because Homura merely sounded smug as he said, "Do take care of him for me."
"Bastard," Sanzo muttered beneath his breath. In the silence that followed, he managed to pick up a sound he hadn't noticed before—or that, perhaps, he had been unable to pick up.
Growling.
The demon before him was snarling, low rumbles that seemed to make every fiber in the air shake. Even from his distance, Sanzo could sense the sheer fury in the creature's tones; inhuman, yet humanly recognizable. Anger, hurt, betrayal—and the bloodlust for revenge.
Sanzo chanced a quick glance to his right. He didn't look for more than an instant; just long enough to discern that Homura was no longer there.
Yet it was that instant that cost him. Even before he had the chance to register movement, the demon tackled him head-on.
------
Gojyo couldn't believe how many times he had to remind himself that they were up against a god. One would have thought the concept would have made its way through his skull by then. Instead, he found himself reflexively tensing in anger as he saw Shien use his weapons to effortlessly throw Yaone a good few yards back. The woman hit the ground with a cry, skidding across the cracked linoleum. Had the pillar not been as close as it was, maybe she would have had time to brace herself, or even move out of the way.
Instead, she crashed into it. There was a sickening sound; nothing that came from her mouth. She was limp and unresponsive.
Damn it. Enemy or not, Gojyo had a problem with men to handled women roughly. Especially women who were on his side, regardless of the temporary circumstances. His eyes narrowed in disgust.
This fight completely sucked. There was no other way to put it. His clothes were torn, bruises adorned his body, and – what he believed to be almost worst of all – the burn marks left from the rapid cracking of Shien's whips hurt like hell.
The absolute worst was that his brother (no, Dokugakuji) was lying in a manner that made Gojyo wonder if he was already a corpse. Then, to his horror, the large body twitched, convulsed, and the demon was heaving blood into the ground. The dull gleam of dozens of bullets riddling his body was enough to make Gojyo see a whole new kind of red.
Ignoring the throbbing in his wounds, Gojyo ground out through his teeth, "I don't suppose anyone's ever told you your hospitality is worth shit."
To his surprise, Shien cracked his eyes open. At least, that was what it seemed like—only the barest sliver of sharp green flared out from between thin lashes. The man gave him a quietly disdainful look; as though Gojyo didn't deserve to lecture him on hospitality.
Coolly, Shien replied, "No. But then, our guests have never taken it upon themselves to act so foolishly before us."
"Forgive me," Hakkai said, startling Gojyo. His surprise came not from his voice, but from the shortness in his breath. He was clearly exerting himself too much. Before Gojyo could get a word in edgewise, Hakkai continued in a grave tone, "But we're not exactly used to gods behaving so foolishly around us, either."
Like a teacher subtly rebuking his student. The analogy almost made Gojyo snort; he settled for a thin smile instead. He had to give Hakkai credit for keeping his head on straight in such a crazy and desperate situation.
Shien was no longer paying undivided attention to Gojyo. He seemed more concerned in scrutinizing the blind man; the one torn and tattered and bloody from previous battle, but still standing on his own two feet, with his ear cocked in the direction Shien's voice came from. It didn't matter that Hakkai wasn't exactly steady; he swayed just a tad too obviously, and Gojyo had to resist the urge to wrap an arm under his shoulders to hold him up.
Hakkai would have hated that, anyway. At the moment, he appeared fully aware that the upcoming battle was about to rest fully on him. And, though Gojyo hated to admit it, that was the way it should be.
He was admittedly hoping for it so he could check on Dokugakuji anyway.
"You have more courage than I previously credited you for," Shien finally acknowledged.
Hakkai's chuckle was short and strained. "I'd rather not delude myself. Courage is far from what's keeping me here."
"Loyalty, then," Shien surmised. But before Hakkai could deny it, he corrected himself. "Or perhaps not. We are less alike than I believed at first."
Hakkai gave a curt nod. "Thank you."
Gojyo tried not to bolt. He had the nasty feeling that sudden movement would bring his own demise upon him before either he or Hakkai could do a thing about it. Yet he couldn't help his eyes from darting to the side, noting that a certain demon's breath seemed far too shallow to be healthy.
"My only regret," Shien said mildly, his wrists tensing in a move Gojyo was beginning to recognize. "Is that we have not had the chance to properly converse."
Hakkai remained quiet for a few moments, as though considering the words. Then he replied in a strangely soft voice. "I normally don't have room for regrets. But I suppose I can understand that one."
A dry smile tugged the corners of Shien's lips. Then, just as Gojyo took a step back, he began his assault with nothing more than a flick of the wrist.
------
Pain erupted in Sanzo's right eye. He choked on a curse, and then on his tongue as he nearly bit down. Somehow – he wasn't entirely sure how – he had ended up flat on his back, his chest heaving as he struggled to suck air into his lungs.
The fucking brat had more in him than he'd ever wanted to acknowledge.
He couldn't remain stationary. Sanzo had already tried it, but it seemed the demon only lost interest when his prey was either dead or unconscious. And, the priest noted bitterly, there was no one else to distract his opponent.
He hated it when he had to deal with someone else's burdens. Sanzo hated it even more when that burden was in the midst of a bloodthirsty rage and had no sense other than to kill. Whatever had gone in between Homura and Goku, it had to have run deep in the smaller of the two. How else could he hope to explain the blind fury with which the enraged demon lashed out with?
Sanzo used his arm to propel himself, shoving away from the ground to make himself less of a target. That didn't seem to matter, because though the demon's fist met the floor with a bone-crunching crack, he still had use of his feet. One boot met heavily with Sanzo's spine. The force knocked the wind out of him, causing him to roll with painful thumps across the ground.
He must have blacked out, because Sanzo couldn't remember landing. All he knew was that when he opened his eyes again; slit pupils were mere centimeters from his face. Hot breath dampened his face. Sanzo couldn't help but recoil in disgust.
As though angered by his repulsion, the demon snarled and jerkily rose to all fours. Like an animal ready to pounce; one clawed hand was even poised in the air, threatening to slash out at him and add on to the numerous injuries he had already forced the man to endure.
Quite honestly, Sanzo was getting sick of this game.
Even as he wracked his brain for ideas, the demon was on the move again. He lunged, which Sanzo narrowly managed to avoid with the bare scrape of claws on his face. They burned, but were nothing compared to the gashes on the back of his right hand. Those hurt like a bitch. And he intended to make Goku pay for each throb of pain that coursed up his arm.
He couldn't duck and dodge forever. But at the moment, he had no other choice, and each moment that ticked by was a moment he drew nearer to death. If he didn't have a plan—
Sanzo had it.
The simplicity of it struck him dumb for a split second too long. Sharp claws dug into his shoulder as the heel of the demon's hand slammed into him. The force knocked him back, causing his head to jerk and crack against the linoleum. A sharp gasp ripped from his throat. The demon was atop him, straddling him in the most unappealing way Sanzo could imagine (possibly because his imminent death was to follow) and snarling down at him. Wild eyes glared, accusing him of crimes he had never committed.
Sanzo had lost his gun long ago. Hence the torn flesh in his left hand.
But Sanzo was also ambidextrous. He used that to his advantage and slammed the other hand hard against the demon's forehead, satisfied to hear teeth clack and to see the naked shock on Goku's face.
------
He had never been able to escape the stench of blood. Thick, metallic, and coppery; it made his stomach churn just thinking about it. It seemed he was always bathed in it, or that he drenched someone nearby in their own magnetic fluids.
What really made him feel sick, however, had nothing to do with the smell. It was the fact he had rudely probed deep into his adversary's psyche, intruding without permission, just to find a weak spot and apply pressure. The attempt had been a success—but that didn't make him feel any less guilty.
Wet wheezing sounded before him. Weary, old, and resigned; as though the god before him had already taken a few precious moments to accept his fate.
"An admirable battle," Shien managed to say without a stammer.
Hakkai clenched his fists. What could he say to that? He wanted to deny it, but knew Shien would somehow twist their battle to make it seem as though Hakkai had fought with honor and integrity. And those were two words he didn't deserve to hear, much less have applied to himself. So he remained silent.
Shien seemed to know anyway. "You disagree?" Finally, a slight tremor, as Death began to grip the man in a hold so tight, it forced the composure of this god to become rattled.
"Yes," Hakkai said.
"Good," Shien rasped. A dull thud sounded; when the man spoke again, his voice sounded lower and more distant. "I truly regret not speaking with you properly, Tenpou."
Purge the regret, was what Hakkai wanted to say. Instead, he stated evenly, "My name is Cho Hakkai."
A respectful murmur of acknowledgement followed. Then another thud, slick with the sound of liquid. For once, Hakkai was relieved to be sightless—the sight of an adversary he hadn't truly hated lying in a puddle of his own blood might have been enough to unravel him.
It was then he realized that he had completely forgotten about Gojyo. When he paused to feel the man's aura out, he was both surprised and not to find him near the weakening life force of one of their temporary allies.
As he stumbled their way, he wondered how the outcome of this battle would change their alliance.
------
Why the chant of the lotus flower came to him, Sanzo had no idea. He wasn't even sure if it was the right one. How could he be? He'd never dealt with a creature like this before—completely and totally out of his sane state of mind (if Goku's mentality could be considered 'sane;' Sanzo personally believed the word shouldn't have ever existed).
But if it was the right one, then the demon was reacting as though it were. He let out short, panicked shrieks, raking his sharp nails down Sanzo's arm. Then, when the man refused to relinquish his hold – and how he even kept it with the demon's strength was a wonder he would ponder over later – Goku attempted to claw at the man's face.
His voice clipped, Sanzo finished the mantra in a shout.
The Maten scripture, previously lying lifeless on the tiled floor, erupted with life as though Sanzo's words had woken it from the dead. Coils of sutras lashed out, gripping the demon's arms and legs. Sanzo wasn't sure exactly how it worked, but he did know Goku wasn't exactly lightweight. He tried nudging the scriptures, imagining a push...
To his relief, the coils tightened and yanked the demon off him. Goku thrashed wildly, smoke rising beneath the paper as though its powers seared through him; burning. Howls filled the air, reverberating and making Sanzo half-weary of bringing the whole structure down upon them. While he wanted to kill the boy, he wasn't about to end his own life in the process.
He forced himself to stand on his feet, unsteadily making his way to the furious demon. As Goku's head lashed back and force, Sanzo zeroed in on the problem—his bare forehead.
Goku's howls grew less furious, becoming emptier yet louder in volume. His shrieks died, replaced by strange choking sounds that were strangely... human.
Sanzo only cared that he wasn't thrashing as much. Before Goku could change his mind, he silently urged the scriptures to lower the brat to eye level. With his aching left hand, he pressed his palm to Goku's forehead, pressing his thumb and middle finger into the boy's temples as he wearily muttered the chant a second time. He had to envision the golden coronet—and again, he wasn't entirely sure it would work. He had no book to go by.
Bronze – not gold – shimmered around the boy's forehead, where the diadem had been last Sanzo had seen him sane. He closed his eyes, screwing them shut to focus on his rapid mumbling.
Before he could finish the chant, he realized his hand was wet with something other than his own blood. Startled, he tensed, but dared not to leave the chant incomplete. He gritted the last words through his teeth, trusting himself to open his eyes only when the coronet was whole in his mind.
He withdrew his hand to find Goku's jaw slack, his eyes wide to the point they must have hurt. His pupils were contracted, the irises seeming inhumanly large in contrast.
What attracted Sanzo's attention the most, however, were the smudged tearstains tracking down the boy's face. It seemed bizarre; out of place.
And Sanzo didn't know why he did what he chose to do next. It was not empathy or sympathy; far from them, really. Agonizing seconds passed before he made his decision. By then, he had managed to convince himself of a reason he knew was half-assed.
He still had to bring Goku west. He had orders. And he knew the excuse was bullshit.
Nevertheless, he felt his hold over the scriptures loosen. The coils gripping the boy went lax, before promptly dropping him to the floor. Sanzo followed suit, if with a bit more grace, as he sank to his knees and mustered the last of his strength to roll the Maten sutra back up.
Part of him had the urge to pull Goku into his lap and let the boy rest his head against something more comfortable. Instead, Sanzo stared blankly at his prone form, blissfully wiping his mind clean of any unnecessary thought until all that was left was the silent demand that Goku wake up as soon as possible. Because Sanzo wanted to hit him harder than he had ever struck Gojyo in his entire life.
------
"You're sure?"
Gojyo let his breath escape in an explosive hiss. Honestly, sometimes he could admit that he cared about Hakkai, but the nagging could get on his nerves like nothing else. His voice impatient, he said, "She said she'd take care of him, didn't she?"
"She did," Hakkai agreed. His voice was light, as though it wasn't all he could do to help his friend stand even while leaning against Gojyo's shoulder. "And Yaone-san seems competent in what she does."
Gojyo almost made a sarcastic remark, but bit his tongue. It wasn't as though Hakkai lacked a point; the manner in which Yaone had immediately gone about applying first aid had been remarkable. Even though had she looked about ready to collapse, and her face had been strained and pinched with worry, her primary concern had been Dokugakuji.
Even so, Gojyo had a sinking feeling in his gut. He tried to shrug it off, but the best he could do was numb it by occupying his mind with other thoughts. Such as, how were he and Hakkai supposed to make it up a damnable flight of stairs in time to be of any use?
Of course, in their condition, both would probably prove to be more of a burden than a help. Sanzo had damn well better not have expected them to save his ass.
Hakkai hesitated as they drew nearer to the steps. "Gojyo..."
Understanding his tone, he said heavily, "Yeah. Long-ass trek ahead of us."
From the corner of his eye, he perceived a humorless smile. "Shall we attempt it anyway?"
Gojyo thought about what must be going on above their heads. He recalled how completely dangerous Homura had always been; how, with that brat of a kid at his side, their team had seemed invincible.
And yet half of them had been cut down. One fourth didn't even seem certain of his loyalty anymore, from what Gojyo had discerned.
His voice dull with that of a man on a mission he wanted to be rid of, Gojyo said, "Aw, hell. Might as well."
