AN: Twenty chapters later, I STILL do not own Inuyasha, or anything in the Inuyasha universe, like Takahashi does. More upsettingly, I don't own Bankotsu. But I do own the first 3 DVDs in the Band of Seven arc now! (displays them proudly!)
12/17/05--song lyrics removed.
Wayward Ransom, chapter 20.
The red nodachi tassel, suspended around Bankotsu's neck by the chain he had taken from the wakazashi, gently brushed against the skin on his chest. The tassel hid beneath the shreds of what was left of his shirt, and was slowly getting damp from sweat as its wearer forced himself forward on the side of the road, occasionally stopping to catch his breath.
As Bankotsu stood still, panting, the tassel hung indecisively, seemingly unsure as to whether it wanted to stay close to him, resting safely on his sternum, or try to get loose from the chain and fall to the ground at his feet, where dirt could ruin its brilliant red color and horses could trample it to shreds. Needless to say, for now, it was forced to stay as close to him as possible. When the young warrior commenced moving forward again, the tassel mirrored the motions of his walking, coming close to escaping the few times Bankotsu stumbled to one knee out of exhaustion. He had been mercilessly trained to equal the physical offense of a full demon, but when it came to taking damage, he was still nothing but a very strong human. He knew that his wounds would not heal nearly as quickly or as efficiently as even that half-demon's. This often frustrated him in his first life, and he was beginning to feel the same frustration with his own limits now, also.
I am equal in strength to that half-demon...and he defeated me. How? How did he do it? What was his secret? he thought.
Damnit. I wanted to tear his head off over and over in payback for getting my men killed, and here I am, practically envious of him. WIth his eyes closed, jaw set tightly, he shook his head as he added, I can't honor my men this way.
One of his hands now excused from clutching the tassel, he now had the freedom to hold both katanas in his right hand, and clutch his right shoulder with his left hand. His almost knee-length hair blew in the dusty, dry wind, leaving long trails of blood-soaked blackness behind him.
The wind had helped his tears dry quickly, and though they were not the most cleansing thing he had ever experienced, they were still so very necessary. It was in his nature, and not even his training could eliminate that.
He recalled that he almost broke down once right in front of Jakotsu, after the cross-dresser proved himself to be someone who could be wholeheartedly trusted, at least with jewel shards. Perhaps the knowledge that his men, including Jakotsu, were peacefully waiting for him on the other shore of the Sanzu gave him the impetus to break down completely, the permission to mourn so freely.
He had always been like that when alone. It would have been inexcusable in the military, as they had always attempted to train him to be a thoughtless killing machine, easily rivaling a demon's physical power. However, when he had been pushed to the edge by the military officials at age fifteen, his humanity preferred cleaving its opponents in half rather than giving up any shreds of moral dignity he had left by that time.
He had done a lot of thinking at the grave, now having the time to do so. Where would he go now? He seemed to be alive this time, not by the power of a strange jewel or demonic posession, but by the sheer power of his own will.
And...what am I now? Living? Undead? Somewhere inbetween, just...like that half-demon?
With his eyes downcast, he wilfully continued placing one foot in front of the other, straining to move forward. He sarcastically laughed to himself through the pain racing through his body.
Ahh...it doesn't matter what I am. However, I truly have become too strong, he thought. I know I said that to the half-demon in jest...but...I see now that it's true. Even hell can't contain me.
The only thing stronger than myself now...is that half-demon.
Acutely aware of his own directionlessness, he had to begin somewhere. He restorted to asking himself what he would have done had he defeated the half-demon and his comrades.
He grinned, as the answer was very simple: do everything he didn't have time to do before he stepped foot in the sacred mountain for the last time. Resurrect his men again with seven of the shards he had, resurrect Akiko with the eighth...and resurrect that daimyo with the ninth...just so he and his men may have the pleasure of killing him all over again.
And he'd never have to worry about bringing a favored girl into the Seven's base. All he'd have to tell his men was that he'd rip their hands off if he found one hair on her head out of place, one complaint from her about anything...even if they themselves didn't do it. That would solve the problem.
Bankotsu grinned more broadly. Akiko would have been more than welcome to keep those men in line right along with him. Maybe even take a shot at killing the resurrected daimyo, also. However, in their first lives, he had asked her to go to the Seven's base with him, and sample some of the best wine money could buy.
And she refused to accompany him back to their base. He sadly sighed thinking about it.
He never asked again. Once he heard the "no" from her, the issue was settled. However, he couldn't blame her, either. He grinned, knowing her fears of the resulting gossip weren't unjustified. It was hard enough for her to allow him into her house for language lessons.
Bankotsu smiled, thinking about the kiss he almost stole from her. It would have been his first kiss, and he blew it. But at least he got some satisfaction in trying. And that daimyo...killing her...
A twinge of pain quickly made him grunt, holding his shoulder more tightly.
Looking up, he saw walking toward him a fashionable middle-aged woman with salt-and pepper-colored hair holding the hand of her little child. Upon nearing him, the woman silently grabbed her son's hand, brought him around to the opposite side of her, and held him tightly next to herself in apprehension as she eyed the bloodied, wild-looking young man with two unsheathed swords trailing behind him. Bankotsu flicked his eyes up first at the frightened woman, then at the curious, vapid-eyed child, for only a moment, then turned them downward to the dirt at his feet again. Upon passing Bankotsu, the woman stopped holding her breath, picked up her child and nearly sprinted as she disappeared into the horizon.
His brow furrowed deeply as seeing the two of them made him think about his own childhood. He wondered what his parents' motives were for forcing him into the military lifestyle at such a young age. Surely they didn't want him to become what circumstance had made him; it was the military's responsibility for that. He wondered if they were still alive. He wondered if they had changed, or his mother was still the disciplinarian she had always been, and his father the easy-going, wife-doting husband he remembered. The desire to see his home village again burned within him for a brief moment. During his years in the military and even afterwards, he had been so wrapped up in preserving his own life, he had forgotten about any ties to the village in which he grew up.
It made no difference to Bankotsu what they thought of him, however. The only thing he knew how to do well now was kill, and he'd continue right where he left off the last time. Bankotsu was an adrenaline addict; he knew the tendency he had to get a rush from the life-and-death situation of battling a powerful opponent, particularily when he had his men in mind, would never be erased from his personality. He briefly considered that the military had done him a favor in trying to push him too far...at least in leaving the military and becoming a mercenary, he had full control of who to choose as an opponent.
Just like that beautiful undead miko, who he had orders to kill...which he flat-out refused to do. Not only because she wouldn't have been much of a challenge, but also because of the very fact that she was a woman.
Not attacking women, unless backed into a corner by them, was something seemingly ingrained in his personality from birth. They were for other things..like serving wine. Or rubbing oil into strained muscles. Or plaiting his hair when it needed to be done, usually after a long, hot, relaxing bath in a spring. And even though he loathed anyone touching his hair for any reason, he would certainly allow a pretty girl do whatever she wanted with it.
And in time, she could probably do anything she wanted with the rest of him, too. The thought made him release a quick sigh inbetween his gritted teeth. Bankotsu knew one of his weaknesses was that he so often found himself too-easily wrapped around someone else's little finger. In spite of some of the most ruthless actions of his men, Bankotsu considered himself in the palm of their hands. He'd easily die for any of them. He loved being motivated by having something, someone, to die for.
Now that he could dwell on things a bit, he knew he longed for it again. Maybe that was part of the motivation for seeing Akiko so often in his former life...
No, it wasn't. He simply needed to learn how to write.
He knew full well, however, that using prostitutes, like Mukotsu, was simply not his style. Bankotsu had tried that, and developed a terribly strong distaste for it, even though they loved serving him. In particular, the very new ones found in him a welcome relief from more hardened men. In private, his flushed, child-like, inexperienced cluelessness usually endeared him to them. Even the older ones, some twice his age, loved him also.
He snickered. If only his men knew; as close as they were to him, there were a lot of things he was glad they didn't know. But isn't any close family or comeraderie like that?
He wouldn't exactly call the girls mistakes...they were more like stepping stones. Others would probably not have treated them so well, but if he could treat some of the worst criminals in Japan with respect, he could do so with the prostitutes. Hell, he figured, since anyone could end up dead tomorrow, he might as well have made things enjoyable for all parties.
And the older he became, there was no doubt women were easily attracted to him. However, it frustrated him that he always so felt uncomfortable actually having to have to speak to them. The "talkers" among his men, namely, Jakotsu and Renkotsu, managed to loosen him up a bit, breaking through that stony silence with which he had isolated himself so well under his training. And Suikotsu, the doctor, drew him out further by being one of the few people that ever bothered to attempt to help him with his wounds, refusing to allow him to walk around unaided. It was something he never expected when the seemingly one-sided, bloodthirsty child-murderer joined his ranks. Still, in spite of all his men had done for him, he preferred acting twice and speaking once, especially when it came ot women.
In fact, as he continued walking along the road, wrapped in thought, no sooner was he down on one knee again when he had two pretty young girls carrying burderns of rice were bending over him, asking him if he was alright. They pitied him, shifting the poles on their shoulders as they got back up. Bankotsu lied, making up a story about getting attacked by a particularily strong demon, and being on his way to the town to get help from a friend, assuring them he'd be fine. As they walked away, he considered that he would have loved flirting a little more had he not been so injured and exhausted.
What made it so easy to talk to Akiko? It was most likely because their meetings were strictly task-oriented. So used to living with having nothing to his name but his weapon, he rarely asked for or wanted anything in his life, but ever since Renkotsu had joined his ranks, he desperately felt the need to become literate. And since she was literate, he took himself to the task of learning to read and write, and Akiko reluctantly accepted the burden of trying to teach him.
Stupid Japanese characters...as soon as I learn a new one, I forget what it looks like...they all look alike to me...
He stumbled along the road, and soon enough, he had to lie again to a pair of soldiers who passed by on his left. The soldiers, traveling on horseback, were concerned with his rough apprearance, but Bankotsu told them the same attacked-by-demons story. He assured them he would not need any aid, and again said he was on his way to a friend's place to get patched up. The soldiers carelessly left him be, blieviung his story. One even said to the other that the young man seemed too weakened to be much of a threat to anyone.
Bankotsu seemed more than capable of lying, it seemed clear.
After all, he lied to that miko about not having orders to kill her. But that was his prerogative as a mercenary.
But he considered that maybe he lied to her about everything else she interrogated him about, too.
Very smart girl, he thought as he grinned. It only added to her beauty.
Forced down on one knee again with a heavy grunt, he dropped one of his katanas. He tried to get back up by stabbing a blade into the ground and leaning heavily on it, grunting frustratedly.
...damned weak human body...
I've been given another chance to get stronger. Stronger then...that half-demon...
However, his self-resurrected body would not allow him to rise this time, and with an exasperated moan, he collapsed to the ground in a heap.
Minutes later, five shadows slid along the same side of the road. Suddenly, they stopped, looming over the bloody body they had found. A wrinkled, gnarled hand reached down to brush matted hair away from a darkly tanned face.
"Oh, my. What's this? How terrible!" said the concerned matron, her four daughters encircling her as they watched their mother her tenderly stroke the young warrior's dirt-encrusted cheek and neck.
"Attacked by a demon, maybe?" She looked over to her youngest daughter, the comliest out of all of them. "Ima! Go back to the temple and get Masakisho to help us!"
The girl nodded silently, and quickly began running back in the direction from which she came, leaving her mother and sisters to tend to the unconscious figure on the road.