Disclaimer: Does this even make sense? I think there should be a universal disclaimer for all of I mean, we're writing on a fanfiction site, do you think we own this stuff? Of course not. I don't own Inuyasha. In face the only thing I own that's of any real value (besides personal value) is by computer and even this is a sorry piece of crap.

Author's Note: Wow.

I think I went through 8 drafts of this chapter. And this draft that I'm actually posting took me about 20 minutes to write and another 5 to type. Why do all these ridiculous things happen to me? Well, I REALLY didn't want this to take as long as it turned out to be, honest. I tried time and again to get a decent issue of this chapter on my computer, but until now I've been unsuccessful. So, please forgive me. If I were to be pulling this story out of butt, you'd have much faster results, but the quality of those results would most definitely leave something to be desired.

So, patience is always appreciated, as are reviews. Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me thus far.

And, I'm making my conformation on Saturday! YAY! - Thought I'd share that with you guys, in case anyone cares, 'cause I sure do.

Well, story time now!

Chapter 16, Killing Fear

Miroku did not sleep that night. He lay awake on his futon and stared at the ceiling, vainly attempting to collect and organize his thoughts. Inside, he was a jumble of emotions that writhed in silent anguish, each fighting with the other. Yet the greatest among them was one that Miroku shied from like a peasant from the plague. It dug into his wounds and ripped them open with its steely claws. I hissed and spat and drew the darkness and silence in around Miroku. It was fear; voiceless, bodiless, yet bearing so many faces that flickered endlessly behind Miroku's eyelids.

Somewhere in the black stillness of his impossibly small world, Jou moaned and rolled over. It was a deafening infringement on the silence. Miroku shuddered and then let a heavy sigh collapse his chest. He grabbed Kyoden's sword from were it lay beside his bed and rose, securing the scabbard to his plain white kimono. His eyes swept over the room and then he entered into the night.

(-)

The river gurgled in cheerful opposition of Miroku's feelings. He sat beside it, cradled by the trunk of a spreading willow. Kyoden's sword was settled on the grass before him, unsheathed and gleaming in the fickle moonlight. His head was settled on his chest, which rose and fell with his gathered breaths. His eyes were closed; he was within himself.

With slow and painful precision, Miroku assembled his fears before him. Sweat formed a fine layer on his forehead. Then, he was ready. He rose, bringing Kyoden's sword up with a violent thrust. The image of his father shimmered brightly and shattered. He continued, cutting down his fears singularly and in clusters.

All at once, he drew up short. Sweat pooled and slid down his back and chest, soaking his kimono. His breathing was heavy, and his face was lowered to the ground. He did not have to raise it to know the fear that stood before him; it was his Kazaana, sealed away by the prayer beads. Miroku braced himself, preparing for the instant that his personified fear would unleash its mysterious power.

Time passed, and nothing happened.

Miroku looked up, confused. His Kazaana still inhabited the air in front of him, but the hand, an image of his own, was black. Miroku's eyes widened as the blackness spread, forming the rest of his image.

The image completed. Miroku gaped, frozen to the spot by awe, his stomach twisting treacherously. He was staring at an image of himself, only he had changed. He was as black as the night that rested around Miroku, poisoned by evil. His eyes were black and soulless. Bloodlust and maliciousness poured off the image in waves. He was a monster that knew nothing by death and destruction, Miroku realized in horror. And then, as if to emphasize Miroku's thoughts, the dark image of him raised his hands and, with a single touch, shattered the string of prayer beads that sealed away his Kazaana.

"No" Miroku whispered. His voice sounded harsh in his ears.

The image of him smiled wickedly, turning the cursed wind tunnel toward Miroku.

"No," Miroku said, with more strength. And then, a strange sort of power welled up with him, as though a fountain had just been brought to life. Miroku embraced the power, and pulled it toward him like a lover, recognizing the purity of the power. He couldn't understand its source, and as it grew around him, his entire world faded to white. "NO! I will never become that monster!" Miroku closed his eyes, and lost all sense of himself.

(-)

Scarlet's icy eyes snapped open. Something was wrong. She slipped silently from her futon. Yu, Jou's sister, was already awake. She sat up in her futon across the room from Scarlet, her dark eyes alert. She met Scarlet's gaze and nodded. "Go," she mouthed. Scarlet didn't need to be told twice. She was on her feet and out the door in moments.

Almost immediately, she ran into Sango. The princess was standing in the main doorway, strapping a dangerous-looking blade to her wrist. She looked up as Scarlet drew near, and a mirthless smile spread across her face. "So, you noticed it too," she whispered.

Scarlet nodded. "Where's Miroku-sama?" she asked softly.

Sango shook her head. "He's gone."

Scarlet frowned. "Let's go," she beckoned, moving past Sango to the world beyond. She moved with absolute silence through the foliage, ignoring the twigs that snapped at her limbs and face, opening small wounds. Sango followed behind, just as silent if only a bit more choosy in her path taking. They maneuvered and stalked like sister panthers through the night, relying on their keen sixth sense to guide them to where they had to go.

Suddenly, Sango raised her hand to bring them to a halt. Scarlet stopped immediately, turning to the princess. Her eyes were darting through the trees, predator-like in the moonlight. "There's something out there," she said in a hushed voice.

"We don't have time," Scarlet scoffed. "We have to find whatever's causing this disturbance." Turning away, she prepared to move forward once again.

Sango hand snapped out and grabbed her arm, turning her back around. "No," Sango whispered. "This is what we're looking for."

Scarlet frowned to express her doubts, but there was a strange sort of resolve on Sango's face. There was resolve, determination, and, Scarlet sensed, a bit of fear. The older woman nodded briskly. "Lead the way."

(-)

When he regained a sense of what he was about, the world reeled back to the riverbank. Miroku was lying down, his head resting on something soft. He could hear the stream as it bubbled through the rocks.

There was a soft touch on his cheek and a feminine voice whispered, "Houshi-sama?"

Miroku let his eyes flutter open and met Sango's mahogany gaze.

Sango sighed in relief, the smile that followed lighting up Miroku's world as no ray of sunlight ever could. "You're alright, " she said softly. "Thank kami-sama."

Miroku nodded and looked around. Kyoden's sword was a comfortable weight in his palm. It did not seem much later than it had been when he had been confronted with the evil image of himself. The evil image was gone. "When did you find me?" Miroku asked.

"I followed you," Sango admitted, a slight blush springing up on her cheeks. Miroku frowned in response, it could be that he was slipping, but he hadn't heard the princess's pursuit.

Sango reached up and fiddled with a strand of her long mahogany hair, momentarily distracting him from his thoughts. She seemed timid and coy this night. "I wanted to talk to you."

"What about?" Miroku asked. He wasn't quite ready to lift his head from Sango's lap, as he was still disoriented, but her fragrance was overpowering and was causing Miroku to feel bolder than he should, so he sat up. She met his gaze, and he flashed her one of his best lady-killer smiles.

"Houshi-sama" Sango began, but then she stopped herself. When she started again, there was renewed confidence in her voice. "Miroku-" Here, Miroku allowed his eyes to widen. What had she just called him? "-how do you feel about me?"

Miroku's heart leapt into his throat. "W-What?" he stuttered, disoriented by the suddenness of her question.

Sango leaned in closer. Her fragrance assaulted Miroku's senses, making his feeling lightheaded and increasingly more befuddled. Their proximity was intoxicating, and Miroku would have given the world to have her for his right then and there. "I asked, how do you feel about me?"

Wait, Miroku said to himself, catching up on his last thought. He would give the world to have Sango? His home, his mother, his soul?

That frightened him.

A sudden burst of laughter brought his eyes back to her face. "Mute tonight?" she teased. "Well, maybe it will help if I answer first." She leaned in close, closer, closest. Her body was pressed against his and her arms slipped around his ribcage to accommodate her weight. With a blush on her cheeks, she raised her eyes to his. Their gaze met, and for a dangerous moment, Miroku almost kissed her. But the unexpected happened, stopping him.

Their lips locked in a hard kiss as Sango pushed her mouth against his. There was an instant of stunned euphoria, and then realization flooded Miroku like a bitter medicine. His heart constricted within his chest. He closed his eyes against his emotions and then gripped Kyoden's sword. He pulled away from Sango then, recoiling as though he had been burnt.

The blade of Kyoden's sword protruded from Sango's chest.

Ichimu

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