: Perfect World :

Gensomaden Saiyuki

Disclaimer: I don't own Gensomaden Saiyuki, which rightfully belongs to Minekura Kazuya.

Rating: R

Pairings: Homura/Goku

Warnings: AU-ish, angst, language, violence, character death

Notes: Massive angst alert. One more chapter to go.

Much thanks to everyone who's reviewed thus far--and especially Ditch Gospel. Glad you've caught up!

Constructive criticism and feedback is appreciated.


Chapter Thirty-Six

He felt before hearing the sharp intake of breath. Hakkai's ribs suddenly became sharp and defined, even through the torn layers of clothing. Alarmed, Gojyo glanced down at him. The moment his companion spoke, he realized he was looking in the wrong direction.

"Incredible," Hakkai whispered. His voice was thin and ragged from their previous battles—and the injuries he had sustained. Gojyo wanted nothing more than to ream him for acting so recklessly. Only two things stopped him; the fact his friend was in no condition to deserve it, and knowing he would have done the same thing if the idea had occurred to him first.

Then, understanding Hakkai expected him to see what he found so amazing, Gojyo turned his gaze. And exhaled explosively.

"Damn."

He knew what he saw most likely was only a hint of what Hakkai felt. Something swarmed above a mountain in the distance, tinged blue with electric white lines that seemed to silently crackle. Energy. Pure, raw life was flowing into the rock, as though the dull pinnacle was a point of focus.

And Sanzo, looking more battered than he, even nearly as much as Hakkai, was standing stonily near it.

"What the hell's going on?"

The priest didn't even glance at them. His attention seemed focused elsewhere; soon Gojyo found where. Hakkai seemed to sense it, as Gojyo could sense his companion's suppressed curiosity.

The boy from before was fighting the man he was allied with. Or, from the looks of things, that he used to be allied with.

Abruptly, in answer to his question, Sanzo said, "I don't know." The admittance was short and brusque, as though he hated to admit his lack of understanding. More than likely, that was the case. "But it's his fight, now."

Gojyo wonderingly stared at the sight before him. The three of them, observing as though they were outsiders, while two former adversaries fought for blood. "No shit?" he said, voice soft. Only Hakkai voiced what he believed they were all thinking.

"It almost feels as though things should be this way... doesn't it?"

------

He was burning. Not physically, and not on the outside, but inside, where his stomach and heart and lungs were. All were aflame with a fire that made him feel ill. His movements were slower than they should have been—especially now that he had removed the chains. He felt sluggish.

Yet Son Goku still had a difficult time keeping up with him. Homura was no longer fighting with his sword; he had ceased to find any good use for it. But Goku continued to clutch his staff. It was all he had to adequately block most of Homura's attacks.

Yet he continued to burn. Each movement only sparked a new flame in his lungs. Each flame threatened to spread and increase, growing only hotter and hotter until it was angrily feeding off him, off his pain, like a white-hot, angry sun of retribution.

Perhaps this was retribution; his payment for all he had done. What better way to hurt him than with a concept turned physical by one he found admirable? Goku could not live without his Sun. He claimed living without Homura would be a venture he was unwilling to stand, as though it would be of the utmost torture to him.

But Homura knew better. Son Goku's allegiance had always stood with Konzen. A slight change in circumstances – him rescuing the boy from the cave, when Konzen would have come eventually – had not changed matters at the core.

He knew the boy was confused. Goku had been torn between his Sun and his lover since the moment he had laid eyes on Konzen in all his brilliance. Though he felt resentment for that, Homura understood; after all, Konzen had been the one to truly give Son Goku a purpose. Homura had offered freedom and nothing more; with time came a relationship he regretted when the guilt often caught up with him. But Konzen had offered a world with brilliant warm light, the utmost freedom—with no strings attached.

Homura was not capable of that.

He didn't realize he was so distracted until the boy landed a hit. Stunned, Homura took a severe punch to the jaw. The force sent him tumbling to his back, where he lay for a few precious seconds. Dazed. Somewhat confused.

Yet enlightened in ways he never had been before.

Yes, he thought, lifting a hand to touch the soreness beneath his cheekbone. The flesh was tender; would likely bruise if he lived through this. Yes, that is how. That is why.

Perhaps, all this time, he had never truly known better.

He had no time to let the guilt get to him. With a wry smirk twisting his aching face, Homura pushed himself to sit up. Goku was watching him, his expression torn between anger and hurt. He was pulling his punches, Homura knew. The attack should have killed him, as distracted as he had been. And it would have... had Goku not been holding back. Despite his anger over Homura's holding back, patronizing him, the boy had continued to do the very same thing.

He had made many mistakes. But there was one small way to atone for some of them, to alleviate so much agony he had caused. Only one way to apologize.

"Very good," he said. He was slightly breathless, but able to speak mockingly, to act as though he were looking down upon the creature he so deeply admired. Part of him loathed his choice, performing in such a manner that degraded possibly the most glorious and powerful being he had ever had the privilege to lay eyes upon. But up until this point, he had been taking that for granted. There was no reason to stop now, not when there was no turning back.

Homura would have continued, even opened his mouth to do so, but sudden explosive agony gripped him. A gasp was ripped from him, tearing at the walls of his throat. He doubled over, his head tucked between his knees and fingers clawing at his chest. It was so much more severe than before, hurt so much...

But he couldn't let it end like that. He would not die such an undignified death.

"Homura?"

Goku's voice reached his ears over the deafening roar in his head. Tentative, worried, even scared... such emotion that came from simply caring. It made Homura feel sick. He had done nothing to deserve his name spoken in such a manner.

The pain subsided without completely fading. But Homura stayed as he was, keeping his breathing short and ragged. His eyes were on a pair of boots, barely visible through stands of dark hair. Almost, closer, just a single step more...

Goku took another step forward, before dropping to one knee. He still held his staff in hand, using it to prop himself against the ground. Dark brows stitched together. "Homura... you're—"

He didn't wait to see what Goku intended to say. Homura snapped his head up, forcing a feral smile on his face. The boy had time for his eyes to widen in disbelief, and then Homura brought his elbow up sharply. Goku's teeth clacked audibly as the blow to his jaw landed squarely. This time he was he who tumbled back.

Mercy, Homura knew, was not an option. And he intended to prove that.

------

Pain erupted in a dazzling array of sparks, from the bottom of his jaw up the back of his eyes. Despite how much it hurt, Goku was vaguely reminded of the one miracle he had seen in his prison, long before his release—a shower of falling stars, lighting up an otherwise dead night. The sight had mesmerized him. For some reason, until now, he hadn't thought of it.

Or perhaps there was a good reason: that the light of all those stars still had not – could not – compare to the brilliance of the sun. There was never any comparison to make.

Does that mean Homura can't compare to the Sun?

The thought was wild, coming out of nowhere. Goku knew this. And yet, dimly, fear swelled until it was enormous, hot, providing no room for him to escape. He couldn't breathe.

No.

He fumbled for his staff before realizing it had fallen out of reach. Moving hurt now; as he sat up, Goku felt flashes of white-hot agony seize his muscles. Still, he gritted his teeth and managed to clench his fingers around the cool metal. A movement from the corner of his eye barely warned him in time.

It's the Sun who can't compare to Homura.

All he could do was defend himself. That was a mistake from the start. He had allowed himself to fall into this position, had let Homura move on the offensive. Battle with hands, he realized now, was very similar to battle using words. If he didn't go on the offensive, provide good reason to what he was doing rather than hide behind shields that weren't guaranteed to last, then Goku was going to lose. And at the rate the fight was going, he was going to die. Homura's intent was clear, and that sickened him more than anything else.

But no matter what Homura tried to do, even if he wanted for Goku to die, he wasn't about to lie down and let him do it.

Goku liked living.

The look in his lover's eyes frightened him. Absolute lack of mercy was clear, though for some odd reason, there was not even a glint of sadism. Goku couldn't feel convinced that Homura wanted to kill him—even when he took advantage of his hesitation and gripped his staff; his strong hands on either side of Goku's. The boy couldn't help but look down, briefly mesmerized – as he always was – by the stark contrast in their hands; pale to tan, small to large, but both very powerful and lined with similar muscles and sharp knuckles.

Then, with a sound that Goku recognized as censure, Homura drove his knee into the brunette's stomach.

------

Something was inexplicably wrong with this fight. Sanzo knew the feeling, and could place to what it "felt like," though he couldn't hope to explain just how it felt wrong. It was merely similar to how killing Shuuei – Rikudo – so quickly and easily, without any hope of redemption, felt out of place. It was like when he, Gojyo, and Hakkai had fought three-on-one with Goku, when it seemed as though they should have been anything but enemies.

His uneasiness had little to do with Homura. Sanzo felt nothing for the man; no pity, no empathy, nothing but cold indifference.

But Goku felt something for Homura, and it was slowly becoming clear that the god had, at some point and in some way, returned those emotions. Perhaps that was why this fight seemed so off.

Yet that wasn't entirely it, either. Sanzo could only watch the two, criticizing each and every movement. In the end, he could only decide that it was Homura who was acting strange. He continued to beat Goku mercilessly, at one point actually driving the smaller youth into the ground with his punches. Goku fought valiantly to defend himself, even screaming in anger a few times—but it was still strange; still off.

Almost as though Homura wasn't merely fighting. This wasn't revenge; it wasn't hatred. It was something far more selfish than that; something that went in even deeper and seemed to cut this man to the bone.

As if, Sanzo slowly realized, Homura were goading Goku on purpose. As though he didn't think the boy was fighting back hard enough.

Even though, from what Sanzo could see, Goku was struggling against him as hard as he could—without doing any serious damage to the man. He was in defensive position, and one that would get him killed if he didn't start taking his opponent seriously.

Only one could come out alive.

It seemed so strange that just as he thought that, the fight ended—and swiftly. The two were moving fast, to the point Sanzo had trouble following them at times. Yet what he did see was gruesome.

For he did see Goku switch his grip on his staff. He saw the frustration and anger drawing lines on the boy's face, making him look older than he was. He saw Goku clutch his weapon like a club, and swing it as one.

He also saw Homura failing to dodge; almost purposefully, for his eyes held a strange glimmer and his body went rigid. And Goku's eyes widened, as he tried to avert the attack only a moment too late. Rather than collide with his skull, the blunt end of Goku's staff drove into Homura's throat.

Sanzo had seen much worse in his life. Hell, far more dire fates had befallen those he had actually given a damn for. Yet at the sight of the crushed windpipe, blood spurting from the god's nose and mouth, and hearing the thin, ragged gasps, Sanzo couldn't help but close his eyes in attempt not to flinch. Silence reigned the air—and then shock washed over him in an explosion, sick and dismaying and utterly horrified.

Goku's weapon slipped from his suddenly slack fingers.

Sanzo forced his eyes open. The scene was unbearable, though he didn't want to admit it took all his strength to step closer to the two. Homura was already on his knees, clutching his throat as his face contorted with pain. He was suffocating to death, slowly... and Goku seemed to be of no use except to shake.

Ignoring the rapid, almost hyperventilating breath of the boy, Sanzo stepped closer to Homura. It seemed so strange; almost morbid to observe the strange expression on the man's face. At first he didn't seem to notice Sanzo. He could only stare at Goku, his features drawn in such a way that there was no mistaking the fact he had something he wished to say—and that, in some way, that something was akin to an apology.

An intrusive, almost inaudible whisper sounded in the back of Sanzo's head. I could not be what you wanted—and for that, I am sorry.

Sanzo hated being so susceptible to others' thoughts and emotions.

Despite the fact he hated to be touched, he didn't object in any way when Homura seemed to find the strength to grasp his wrist of the hand Sanzo had forgotten was still clutching his Smith & Wesson. Though blue already tinted his face, the god still had a tight grip. The muzzle of his gun pressed into his forehead, dead on his chakra. And though he had never been in a situation remotely like this, Sanzo still had the strangest prickling sense of déjà vu.

Sanzo didn't need a voice to tell him what to do. Remaining cold and impassive to the man at his feet, he tightened his finger on the trigger.

The resulting shot was deafening. The resounding silence was even worse.

Sanzo turned in time to be met with a furious gaze. Goku seemed speechless at first, his chest heaving in a manner that should have alarmed him. Yet it didn't; all Sanzo did was quietly slip his gun back under his robes without taking his eyes off the boy. He knew, with a strange calm, that this turn of events had caused Goku to come under his care—for he was going to carry out his orders, and take the boy westward.

He flinched when Goku screamed, even when the boy's fists flailed at him; his wounds still ached, and Goku's attacks only reopened some. The brunette couldn't seem to stop shaking, which only made each strike weaker. But his voice was stronger than ever.

"You bastard! I hate you! What the hell did you do that for? I hate you! I hate you!"

Sanzo could only take so much. Scowling, he reached beneath Goku's wild movements, using his arm to roughly shove him back. The boy stumbled and tripped, tumbling to his back. Gasping, he still shouted hatred, his eyes shimmering with tears that, incredibly, still did not fall. And when they finally did, it was as though a dam had broken—torrents flowed, streaking his face and forcing his cries to dissolve into hysterical hiccups.

Dispassionately, he turned to Hakkai and Gojyo. "Let's go."

Just as coldly, he forced Goku to his feet. The boy didn't fight him; even worse, he allowed his body to sag, making Sanzo's job even more difficult. Once standing, Goku swayed dangerously, until Sanzo pushed him again. The boy stumbled, but only fell to his hands and knees. He continued to hiccup.

"Get up," said Sanzo fiercely. "Or I'll leave you with his damn corpse."

His words had the desired effect, and more. He had wanted Goku to stand on his own, which he did. What he had not expected, however, was for the boy to shut up. His hiccups were muffled; and though his eyes still looked wet, he didn't cry anymore.

"Now move."

Goku obliged. His legs continued to tremble, but he did not fall. He did not need support as Hakkai did; Sanzo noticed when they exited the new world. And for that, he was grateful—he was not about to drag the brat's carcass all the way out of the tower.

Kougaiji still lay unconscious. Though from the sound of distant footsteps in the corridor, that wouldn't last long. Sanzo trusted his companions enough to have confidence in the fact that if anyone had been left alive, he or she was not a god in any way.

"Sanzo?"

Without looking at Hakkai – nor Goku or Gojyo – he strode to the bloodied pentagram in the center of the room. He had his scripture back—and the other scripture, the Maten, was there for the taking. But before he could do so, Sanzo had a job to do, even if he was reluctant to perform. Without a word, he ignored his burning wounds and set about unweaving the spell of the new world.