Kagura was awoken from her exhausted slumber a by a premonition of danger.
She snapped upright suddenly, her every muscle tense with adrenaline as she
reacted instinctively to the fear that coursed through her. She had no idea
what was wrong-- what could go wrong within the miasmic confines of this
forest. But plainly, something had.
She forced herself to calm down, breath, take stock of the situation. During her brief nap, nestled up against this rough barked-tree, her major wounds had scabbed over, leaving her stiff and sore, but mobile, nevertheless. She was tired, and weak. She needed food, and soon. But she could stand, and she could fight.
So what were her options? Kagura paused, mentally checking off the possibilities. She could return to the fortress, to face Naraku and his wrath. . . She didn't doubt but that he would have a great deal more pain in store for her for this afternoon's debacle. She could try and find Kikyo once more, in an attempt to recoup some of her injured pride, and. . . to be honest about it, to curry points with Naraku. If, that is, she managed to inflict any damage on the undead priestess. . . And in her current weakened state, that seemed like an unlikely proposition at best. And, finally, her third option; investigate the unknown disturbance that even now caused her heart to beat erratically with dread. It felt like a part of her was in danger, was dying, a great clawing ache in the pit of her stomach, telling her to run now before she too suffered the same fate.
But Kagura would not run from her fear. Could not run. It was not in her nature. Naraku hadn't seen fit to endow her with such unnecessary self- preservation instincts. She was created as a tool, and she could not die until He discarded her. The fear signals her body sent her, were thus completely and utterly irrelevant.
That was it then, Kagura realized. Patrolling these woods was her duty. If she returned to the castle without checking out a new threat, especially one strong enough for her to sense in her very bones -- and hence, probably strong enough for Naraku to get a whiff of on his own. . . well, what might happen then, just wasn't worth thinking about. (Memories of pain, and chains, and blood, and shame.) Resolutely, Kagura leapt down from her branch, landing lightly on the leaf-mould of the forest floor with a wince as her half-healed injuries absorbed the shock. She was far too tired to call up her feather and fly. Besides, such a threat as she currently felt, merited stealth, not speed. And so, cursing mentally as each step weakened and tore at her fresh scabs, she ran.
Running through the dark forest towards danger, feeling like a gust of wind, as her light feet hit soft loam and pushed off again, as the branches whipped by her face and tangled in her hair. If it weren't for the pain, the weariness, and the sense of dread, it might almost have been fun. Kagura grinned, a fierce baring of tooth and fang. Running as if she were free, and not a slave, letting her mind go blank as she lost herself in the mindless rush of adrenaline and pulsing blood.
But it was over far too soon. Kagura slowed her silent race, stopped, listened, went forward cautiously, as if directed by some inner magnet to a pole she never knew existed. The trees thinned suddenly, and Kagura found herself on the edge of a small clearing. The dread grew stronger. Kagura was suddenly unwilling to step out of the safety of the trees, to investigate that which pulled her here. But again, she had no choice. . .for, with her keen eyes, she had no trouble at all discerning the crumpled shape at the far edge, the white robes and white hair and white skin of her sister Kanna. Unmistakable, even lying broken and bloodstained and still on the cold forest floor. Beside her, Kanna's mirror lay broken, cracked in two, still reflecting Kanna's final plea for help. Unable to hold still, Kagura crossed the clearing, heedless of traps or the possibility of attack. She had to see for herself. . .
Her sister, cold and vacant-eyed in life, seemed no more so in death. Almost as if she was merely asleep. Her blank face couldn't even show pain, and Kagura's lip curled in a silent snarl of contempt. Without emotion, without desires -- you were nothing. Worse than nothing! So yes, she despised her colorless sibling, despised her for her passionless existence, content to live, and die, a slave. But still, Kanna had called her here, her dying energies directed in one direction, her small, delicate hand outstretched on one-half of her cracked mirror, clutching desperately at the image that still pulsed murkily in its depths-- a beating heart. Her -- Kagura's-- Beating heart.
No wonder she had awoken feeling chilled by death's icy fingers!
Fiercely, Kagura kicked Kanna's hand aside, feeling little but vast sense of relief as the image in the mirror blurred, dimmed and, finally faded from existence, leaving her free to breathe again, without that gnawing sense of cold dread tickling at her core.
Still, she was alert for danger. Something had killed Kanna. And just what that something was, was hardly any mystery at all. Kagura recognized the feathered shaft protruding from Kanna's throat. . . she'd had one just like it in her own lung mere hours before.
Kikyo.
A tingling in her spine, a whisper of wind in the short hairs at the back of her neck. Kagura spun on her heel, dropping into a defensive stance, brandishing her fans as if they could defend her from such power as Kikyo could wield.
"So. You live." Kikyo stood, cool and dispassionate as ever, a short distance away.
"If you can call it living." Kagura retorted sharply, acutely aware -- and somehow ashamed of, her disheveled state -- her torn clothes, the twigs and moss and leaves in her blood-matted hair, her own sticky and crusted blood covering the rags she had left. . . Compare that to Kikyo's calm perfection, her unflappable cool, her immaculate attire, seemingly untouched -- untouchable -- by any form of earthly grime, and anyone would feel inadequate.
"Indeed." Kikyo paused, and regarded Kagura steadily, as if trying to determine what threat this battered demoness could possibly pose to her now.
"Save your arrows for Naraku." Kagura growled unexpectedly at her hated enemy, recognizing the look in Kikyo's eyes. "Haven't you done enough tonight?"
"It will never be enough." Kikyo said quietly, her unnatural stillness making her look like a statue carved from ice, her stony calm implying the same cool implacability of a glacier, "Until Naraku -- And All his spawn, are dead." Her marble eyes bored directly into Kagura's as she spoke, making no secret of just whom she was referring to.
"Fine by me." Kagura shrugged in irritation, suddenly tired of all these games. Hatred could only do so much. She could hate this corrupted undead priestess, she could despise her for her failures, for her weaknesses. . . but it wouldn't change a damned thing. Kikyo could hurt her -- had hurt her-- but Kagura knew, unlike Kanna, she couldn't be killed until Naraku allowed her to -- or until he, himself, was dead. So fine, let Kikyo spout her fine words, let her pretend to be the purifying force she was supposed to have been at the start. Kagura just didn't care any more.
And now, while Kagura wanted to feel the same fiery rage towards the corpse that she'd felt earlier that day, now she could only feel a sort of numbed antipathy, as if some of Kanna's cool had transferred to her, on that other's demise.
Kikyo watched, her stillness masking surprise at the unexpected move, as Kagura sank to the ground by Kanna's side.
"I may not have a heart, but she was still my sister." Kagura murmured absently, as if that explained anything. Gently, almost tenderly, (before now, she hadn't known she was even capable of tenderness,) Kagura gathered up Kanna's limp body in her arms. The small corpse seemed almost weightless in her strong arms, as she stood and faced Kikyo once more. Somehow she wanted to explain, to make the priestess understand all that she was responsible for. . . . The bonds that held this twisted family together: the hatred; the kinship; the same blood that filled all of their veins; the same innate patterning of all of their brains; the intense hatred/ love/ longing/ repulsion/ NEED -- all associated with images, memories of Kikyo. And All of it inherited from their predecessor, their father from whom they'd sprung, fully formed, fully aware, and fully functional. It united them, this mutant heritage. And so, while she despised Kanna, at the same time, she loved her too. She rejoiced in her passing for the blow it dealt Naraku. She mourned her death as the loss of a sister.
She wanted to explain it, felt that Kikyo should know, should understand the complexity oft the situation She had wrought. . . But to do so would expose Kagura's own ambivalence towards her co-creator-- and that was a form of weakness. A weakness that could be exploited against her in future battles.
No, it would not do.
Thus, Kagura turned, tight lipped and grim, giving Kikyo a clear shot at her back, if the priestess had so desired to take one, and stalked with wounded grace, back into the miasmic heart of Naraku's domain, carrying her sad burden with her.
Behind her, alone in the empty clearing, Kikyo let her bow fall silently to the ground. No sense of victory, nor any of defeat, for what battle had been fought here?
If she had had a heart of her own, she might've been tempted to weep for the prideful, lonely, enslaved demoness. But she didn't. Her clay body couldn't produce tears anyway if she had wanted to. But she could relate.
And, standing there, alone, in the wan light of the moon, Kikyo swore an oath. She would kill Naraku, not only for herself, but for her daughter -- the kindred spirit who so despised her. It couldn't atone for her pain, for the evil Naraku's existence had unleashed upon the world, but it would be a start.
Suddenly, Kikyo smiled as a strange sensation crept through her chill limbs. Suddenly, hatred and duty weren't her only motivations. Suddenly, she knew . . . Even the dead could change. For now, she knew once more what sympathy felt like. What it was to care for another's pain. . . . And the war with Naraku would never be the same again.
To be continued.
~~~Wow. That chapter got really incoherent somewhere along the way. huh. Oh well. Ask me if I care enough to fix it. . . I'd also apologize again for slow updates, but as ever, my other 3 fics take precedence. ~~~
She forced herself to calm down, breath, take stock of the situation. During her brief nap, nestled up against this rough barked-tree, her major wounds had scabbed over, leaving her stiff and sore, but mobile, nevertheless. She was tired, and weak. She needed food, and soon. But she could stand, and she could fight.
So what were her options? Kagura paused, mentally checking off the possibilities. She could return to the fortress, to face Naraku and his wrath. . . She didn't doubt but that he would have a great deal more pain in store for her for this afternoon's debacle. She could try and find Kikyo once more, in an attempt to recoup some of her injured pride, and. . . to be honest about it, to curry points with Naraku. If, that is, she managed to inflict any damage on the undead priestess. . . And in her current weakened state, that seemed like an unlikely proposition at best. And, finally, her third option; investigate the unknown disturbance that even now caused her heart to beat erratically with dread. It felt like a part of her was in danger, was dying, a great clawing ache in the pit of her stomach, telling her to run now before she too suffered the same fate.
But Kagura would not run from her fear. Could not run. It was not in her nature. Naraku hadn't seen fit to endow her with such unnecessary self- preservation instincts. She was created as a tool, and she could not die until He discarded her. The fear signals her body sent her, were thus completely and utterly irrelevant.
That was it then, Kagura realized. Patrolling these woods was her duty. If she returned to the castle without checking out a new threat, especially one strong enough for her to sense in her very bones -- and hence, probably strong enough for Naraku to get a whiff of on his own. . . well, what might happen then, just wasn't worth thinking about. (Memories of pain, and chains, and blood, and shame.) Resolutely, Kagura leapt down from her branch, landing lightly on the leaf-mould of the forest floor with a wince as her half-healed injuries absorbed the shock. She was far too tired to call up her feather and fly. Besides, such a threat as she currently felt, merited stealth, not speed. And so, cursing mentally as each step weakened and tore at her fresh scabs, she ran.
Running through the dark forest towards danger, feeling like a gust of wind, as her light feet hit soft loam and pushed off again, as the branches whipped by her face and tangled in her hair. If it weren't for the pain, the weariness, and the sense of dread, it might almost have been fun. Kagura grinned, a fierce baring of tooth and fang. Running as if she were free, and not a slave, letting her mind go blank as she lost herself in the mindless rush of adrenaline and pulsing blood.
But it was over far too soon. Kagura slowed her silent race, stopped, listened, went forward cautiously, as if directed by some inner magnet to a pole she never knew existed. The trees thinned suddenly, and Kagura found herself on the edge of a small clearing. The dread grew stronger. Kagura was suddenly unwilling to step out of the safety of the trees, to investigate that which pulled her here. But again, she had no choice. . .for, with her keen eyes, she had no trouble at all discerning the crumpled shape at the far edge, the white robes and white hair and white skin of her sister Kanna. Unmistakable, even lying broken and bloodstained and still on the cold forest floor. Beside her, Kanna's mirror lay broken, cracked in two, still reflecting Kanna's final plea for help. Unable to hold still, Kagura crossed the clearing, heedless of traps or the possibility of attack. She had to see for herself. . .
Her sister, cold and vacant-eyed in life, seemed no more so in death. Almost as if she was merely asleep. Her blank face couldn't even show pain, and Kagura's lip curled in a silent snarl of contempt. Without emotion, without desires -- you were nothing. Worse than nothing! So yes, she despised her colorless sibling, despised her for her passionless existence, content to live, and die, a slave. But still, Kanna had called her here, her dying energies directed in one direction, her small, delicate hand outstretched on one-half of her cracked mirror, clutching desperately at the image that still pulsed murkily in its depths-- a beating heart. Her -- Kagura's-- Beating heart.
No wonder she had awoken feeling chilled by death's icy fingers!
Fiercely, Kagura kicked Kanna's hand aside, feeling little but vast sense of relief as the image in the mirror blurred, dimmed and, finally faded from existence, leaving her free to breathe again, without that gnawing sense of cold dread tickling at her core.
Still, she was alert for danger. Something had killed Kanna. And just what that something was, was hardly any mystery at all. Kagura recognized the feathered shaft protruding from Kanna's throat. . . she'd had one just like it in her own lung mere hours before.
Kikyo.
A tingling in her spine, a whisper of wind in the short hairs at the back of her neck. Kagura spun on her heel, dropping into a defensive stance, brandishing her fans as if they could defend her from such power as Kikyo could wield.
"So. You live." Kikyo stood, cool and dispassionate as ever, a short distance away.
"If you can call it living." Kagura retorted sharply, acutely aware -- and somehow ashamed of, her disheveled state -- her torn clothes, the twigs and moss and leaves in her blood-matted hair, her own sticky and crusted blood covering the rags she had left. . . Compare that to Kikyo's calm perfection, her unflappable cool, her immaculate attire, seemingly untouched -- untouchable -- by any form of earthly grime, and anyone would feel inadequate.
"Indeed." Kikyo paused, and regarded Kagura steadily, as if trying to determine what threat this battered demoness could possibly pose to her now.
"Save your arrows for Naraku." Kagura growled unexpectedly at her hated enemy, recognizing the look in Kikyo's eyes. "Haven't you done enough tonight?"
"It will never be enough." Kikyo said quietly, her unnatural stillness making her look like a statue carved from ice, her stony calm implying the same cool implacability of a glacier, "Until Naraku -- And All his spawn, are dead." Her marble eyes bored directly into Kagura's as she spoke, making no secret of just whom she was referring to.
"Fine by me." Kagura shrugged in irritation, suddenly tired of all these games. Hatred could only do so much. She could hate this corrupted undead priestess, she could despise her for her failures, for her weaknesses. . . but it wouldn't change a damned thing. Kikyo could hurt her -- had hurt her-- but Kagura knew, unlike Kanna, she couldn't be killed until Naraku allowed her to -- or until he, himself, was dead. So fine, let Kikyo spout her fine words, let her pretend to be the purifying force she was supposed to have been at the start. Kagura just didn't care any more.
And now, while Kagura wanted to feel the same fiery rage towards the corpse that she'd felt earlier that day, now she could only feel a sort of numbed antipathy, as if some of Kanna's cool had transferred to her, on that other's demise.
Kikyo watched, her stillness masking surprise at the unexpected move, as Kagura sank to the ground by Kanna's side.
"I may not have a heart, but she was still my sister." Kagura murmured absently, as if that explained anything. Gently, almost tenderly, (before now, she hadn't known she was even capable of tenderness,) Kagura gathered up Kanna's limp body in her arms. The small corpse seemed almost weightless in her strong arms, as she stood and faced Kikyo once more. Somehow she wanted to explain, to make the priestess understand all that she was responsible for. . . . The bonds that held this twisted family together: the hatred; the kinship; the same blood that filled all of their veins; the same innate patterning of all of their brains; the intense hatred/ love/ longing/ repulsion/ NEED -- all associated with images, memories of Kikyo. And All of it inherited from their predecessor, their father from whom they'd sprung, fully formed, fully aware, and fully functional. It united them, this mutant heritage. And so, while she despised Kanna, at the same time, she loved her too. She rejoiced in her passing for the blow it dealt Naraku. She mourned her death as the loss of a sister.
She wanted to explain it, felt that Kikyo should know, should understand the complexity oft the situation She had wrought. . . But to do so would expose Kagura's own ambivalence towards her co-creator-- and that was a form of weakness. A weakness that could be exploited against her in future battles.
No, it would not do.
Thus, Kagura turned, tight lipped and grim, giving Kikyo a clear shot at her back, if the priestess had so desired to take one, and stalked with wounded grace, back into the miasmic heart of Naraku's domain, carrying her sad burden with her.
Behind her, alone in the empty clearing, Kikyo let her bow fall silently to the ground. No sense of victory, nor any of defeat, for what battle had been fought here?
If she had had a heart of her own, she might've been tempted to weep for the prideful, lonely, enslaved demoness. But she didn't. Her clay body couldn't produce tears anyway if she had wanted to. But she could relate.
And, standing there, alone, in the wan light of the moon, Kikyo swore an oath. She would kill Naraku, not only for herself, but for her daughter -- the kindred spirit who so despised her. It couldn't atone for her pain, for the evil Naraku's existence had unleashed upon the world, but it would be a start.
Suddenly, Kikyo smiled as a strange sensation crept through her chill limbs. Suddenly, hatred and duty weren't her only motivations. Suddenly, she knew . . . Even the dead could change. For now, she knew once more what sympathy felt like. What it was to care for another's pain. . . . And the war with Naraku would never be the same again.
To be continued.
~~~Wow. That chapter got really incoherent somewhere along the way. huh. Oh well. Ask me if I care enough to fix it. . . I'd also apologize again for slow updates, but as ever, my other 3 fics take precedence. ~~~