Crash of swords

By Carlotta

Chapter one: a suitable sword for a worthy Cavalier

Everything was ready now; the horses, the provisions, for that human female, of course, he could perfectly look after his own welfare, even the necessities to camp for the night. Although the long and venturous deed hadn't begun yet, the nuisances due to that woman were conspicuous almost as much as they were useless, why in the world didn't she want to remain at the castle by her Lord's side? She would have avoided so many preparations and wouldn't have relented, as she was surely going to do, the travel with her futile presence.

But, in the end, why did he care? The Lord had assigned him a mission, all he had to do was obey and surround himself of glory, by any means. If she wished to come, more than being an annoyance, she couldn't have done. She couldn't in any way be an obstacle to him, only he had to…protect her.

As if it was easy.

He hated her. That was perhaps the stronger feeling he had ever felt for a human.

But he hated himself too, exactly because of his own hatred toward her, that insect didn't deserve his hate, didn't deserve to share even the least of spaces in his mind.

He knew he should have remained indifferent, but found out he couldn't. And to say this irked him was imprecise…

Still, the paradox remained; he, the Prince, the right heir of the Lord; he, the most skilled combatant within miles; he, the descendant of one of the purest bloodline of youkai; he had to…protect a human female. The woman who had deviated his father from what a Demon Lord should be.

The wretched woman who had given birth to a creature allowed in a race of beings lower than a worthless hanyou. A half-breed, half-caste.

Someone living because of dirty blood, someone weakened by a human's feelings.

Someone without a definite place in the world and in time, destined to dye, but not to age, too. Could ever exist a malediction worse than this?

When he had been informed of the imminent birth of such a creature, he had showed an emotion at which he looked now as a hopeless act of pity, he had proposed to kill him while he was in his mother's womb. He had said it, innocently, he was still a child at that time and that seemed to him the most reasonable thing to do.

And that time his father had silenced him, a slight blush on the cheeks.

A blush of shame, in the eyes of his son, his father had denied his own principles to get the love of…

Stop it. That was enough.

He had a mission, now. He had an order.

A clawed hand tightened the knot of the obi, before securing the armor to the opposite junctions on the shoulders, grazing the carmine red ribbon at the edge of his chest strap. He felt the cold armor, the iron which can't pardon, watching thoughtful the scruff silver glare the daylight drew on its lucid façade. He was ready now.

"Jaken!"

A little monster with big brilliant yellow eyes, similar to two big spheres on his relatively small face and his even more little body, entered the shadowed room, his haggard clothes groveling to the floor as he neared flatteringly prostrated his powerful master. His green mug rendered even more murky by the darkness, quivering he approached the knight.

"Here at your orders, Master."

The Prince scoffed sarcastically at the toad's usual behavior, while he remained curved in an almost impossible bow. He had no time for him, now. He had no more time.

"Go taking that woman. We're leaving."

The toad mumbled rambling assents before rousing to leave, but he was stopped when the most melodious voice he had ever heard filled the gloomy room of serene vibrations.

"Why are you in such a hurry, Knight?"

The amazed servant remained dumb before such beauty, gaping astonished and in whole dedication to the celestial woman appeared from nowhere and now standing so closer to the entrance of the Prince's bedchamber. Her flowing raven hair, so lucid and intensely dark; her eyes like two almonds; her fine visage, a mix of snow and pomegranate…Now he nearly understood the Lord , for choosing such a goddess to be his spouse, although he couldn't say it aloud, especially in his master's presence.

But He didn't turn to her and simply stated:

"The trip is long. We're leaving."

She smiled amiably to her step-son, fully aware of his malevolence toward herself, still uncaring about that right now. Now she had to try to get along better with him, but there was something which came before this, too. She slightly leered at him, savoring the words on her tongue and slowly bringing them to her velvety lips.

"Don't you need a sword before the departure?"

He frowned; she was right and he knew that manifestly, but his father…

"Your father", she continued, appearing capable of reading his mind, unlike her dear husband, "has prepared a formidable weapon for you."

He vaguely sneered, unseen, behind his bushy shining cascade of silky yarns. And so she knew where he could have found the sword with whom his father had invested him.

"Ridicule".

"Go outside the castle, toward the swampy side of the pond; you'll find it there, Prince."

And with this, she left the room, as silently and as mysteriously as she had come.

The son of the Lord watched her until she was only a remote shadow, a hint of incredulousness hardly winked in his immobile look.

"…Jaken."

"Hai, Master?"

"…Prepare my personal horse."

A white thunderbolt was hurling out of the castle, a unique scope, a unique goal.

As she saw him, the Queen announced the event to the Lord, ruminative, standing in a corner of the darkened library.

"Your son is going to take what is his."

She turned toward him and took a few steps, headed for the obscures spot. Inutaisho lifted his gaze to meet her own and went to her in all his majesty. But then, suddenly, an unhidden worriment revealed itself through his divine countenance, always so peaceful, so composed, so rejoicing in his happiness with his family. A clawed hand moved to raise the beatific face of the woman, barely grazing her delicate chin.

"Are you sure you want to go? With him?"

Her eyes brightened in an expression of such a sweet beauty that the great demon found hard not to lean down and kiss her, to chain her to him, to have her not leaving him to face such a terrifying mission. But he knew he had to let her go.

She scrutinized deeply in his soul and slowly nodded, the allusion to a weak smile on her heavenly face. She radiated tranquility, quietness; the man swore she could have placated a lion with a single smile.

"Then Sesshoumaru will protect you."

She reached his cheeks and caressed them, holding his visage in her hands, her streamlined fingers tracing lovingly the line of his eyebrows, a look of infinite dulcetness in her honeyed eyes.

He closed his eyes intent in capturing that feather-like touch; how he would have missed it, how he would have missed her…

She knew what was going through his melancholy heart, but she had to keep her promise, a promise given to someone too important to be ignored, too superior to be compelled to care about fruitless things such as nostalgia.

"Don't ask me to remain…"

Her tortured voice tore his spirit apart. He opened once again his profound eyes to impress in his memory her unforgettable expression in that sad moment. Sad, but warm too.

He tried to say something, but his voice was husky, gruff as if in pain.

"You know I'll…"

"I'll miss you too", she ended for him.

Forming tears were visible, still she was firm in her intention and fought not to let them escape. But when he gently took her hand to place a soft kiss on her palm, she couldn't refrain from searching comfort on his carved chest, from searching his secure embrace.

He wrapped his free arm around her frightened frame.

"I'll be strong, my dear. I'll be strong, she murmured against him."

He patted her head.

"Keep this", he whispered in her ear imprisoning his kiss in her hand, "as a remembrance of me."

She tightened the hand on her chest and leaned once again in his reassuring presence, abandoning all the commotion.

"Izayoi?"

"Nani?"

"Aishiteiru."

He almost couldn't believe he was actually paying attention to that woman's words, still perhaps his father had prepared all this to make them…well…get along…

How foolish of him; how low to use such comedies to have his son cooperating with a worthless human. Well, not so worthless to his father…

Nonetheless, although accepting advices from her was dishonorable, worse than a defeat, he had to get that sword, no matter what.

He felt the poor beast he rode gasping for air, blown by the celerity his master coerced him to keep constant. At the umpteenth wheeze he decided it was better not to tire that good mount just before the departure, and because of an irrational lust for power no less, which was the only impulse he barely kept under control. As the flashes of light and colors around him took abruptly a definite form, he descended from the back of the magnificent white thoroughbred, freeing it from the harnesses and throwing them uncaringly on the dewy grass.

He abandoned the horse in the clearing he had came across and proceeded toward the stream, already hearing the placid pouring of the water, calm, timeless: it almost seemed its destiny was to watch passively as anonyms concentric circles formed and then vanished on its surface, for eternity.

"Nothing lasts forever in this world, nothing is immortal. Humans are emblem of lapsing". As he reflected about this, he realized a little better why humans live in this world. Yet it all seemed deeply illogic to him: humans born, lived cruelly and stupidly; then humans died, as silently as they had come, without possibility to avoid it. In the end, they were just miserable.

It would have been better if they didn't exist at all.

As he neared the indicated place, a strange feeling made its way in his firm spirit, a voice began to insinuate in his mind, whispering things he didn't hear, but which sounded like…promises…

Odd.

And then, he perceived it, as shivers pressed to be liberated through his body: a demonic aura. But it wasn't a common one, he had never felt such virulent and at the same time…seducing, it was the only way he was able to describe it, force before. It wasn't assimilable to the Lord's aura, for this unknown one had of course a localizable centre, but no real i heart /i , no i mind /i : it had no identity, it appeared to be i pure power /i , without some sort of individuality. In other words, it was no one's property, for it was emanated from no living being.

And, he licked his lower lip at the thought, if things were this way, whoever could claim it as his own. Needless to say, this was his intention.

And it was so strong the influence that energy made upon him, that he totally forgot about the very reason he had come there for: the sword.

But, as he stepped closer, the situation revealed itself to be not as easy as expected. The strong aura was almost palpable in the morning air and, as he went toward the source of the one which seemed to be unlimited power, he felt the voice in his head grow more insistent, until the ones which initially were promises, became slowly almost menaces, insults toward him for his excessive prudence, for his hesitancy in claiming what he desired so badly. He narrowed his eyes, a low growl escaped from his locked lips.

He didn't like to be teased. And he didn't like to be commanded, especially by something without even a conscience of itself.

But what he laid eyes upon next instantly silenced him, letting him no way to retort. In that very moment he felt such a shame…it was from unmemorable time that he didn't feel that way: ashamed. And… "Weak".

Right there, just a few steps away from him, there was, jabbed into a sort of smutty trench, a certain new sword, hard-designed and simple, almost modest, so essential in the line to scare. At a more attentive look it resulted to be not an iron blade, but some sort of fang instead. The fang: that was the source of that incredible amount of demonic power.

"Oni", he understood, considering the rawness of that force. "Such brutality…I'll submit it".

He stepped firmly toward the sword, apparently as peaceful as it would be an old man walking in the garden; but inside, he was fighting turmoil with much effort. This time, too, as many before, his confidence in his own spiritic power allowed him to reach the spot at the centre of the trench. His pure white clothes were dirtied by that fetid mud, his refined tabi(1) soiled. Yet, at the moment, he didn't care at all, his thoughts were all concentrated in dominating the pulsing energy, the dripping, exuding strength, the spilling demonic aura.

He sank into the sludge to the knees, the hilt now standing right in front of him. With an extreme endeavor he roused a clawed hand, ready to grasp the object of his wants, ready to claim for himself what his father had appropriately prepared for his first son. He only then noticed the terrible fetor that wet earth emanated and, more important, the red-purple cloud, which enfolded not only himself, but all the surrounding area, too. If his senses didn't fail him, the dense aura that sword outpoured, like an inexhaustible fountain, extended until the limit of the forest.

He was every second more surprised that he hadn't detected it before.

As his fingers grasped the cold iron of the hilt, he felt a sensation he could have portrayed as the sturdiest he had ever felt, for several moments he himself felt bewildered, before regaining consciousness and a grip on himself. But this, too, didn't last much time, as an inconceivable, absurdly enormous current, of that same pure power he had perceived while being in proximity of the sword, engulfed his entire being, flowing inside him like incessant, colossal waterfalls, sending him in a dimension which overcame the bliss, the overabundance…it was the closest thing to omnipotence existing in this world.

His pupils dilated and his breath was by now more similar to a hoarse pant, as he let that appalling experience push him on the confine between self-destruction and almightiness. He didn't distinguish his own arm anymore, it had become one thing with the sword, or maybe the sword had become part of his body: he felt to i belong /i to the weapon, in a way, as well as the weapon belonged to him. It was the weirdest of bonds, its force had become his force, and his force had found a mean to be free, to express itself in the sword, the artificial connection between the spiritic power and his visible manifestation.

Still breathing heavily, he let his lids fall on his gaze, now normally aware of the surroundings, abandoning himself to the pleasure of feeling the removed, vivid energy flowing inside him. No, it was not vivid, it was i alive /i … because now his own life was the sword's, and the sword's force was his own…

He let out a blow, enjoying the moment…

"Sesshoumaru-sama!", a sudden, masculine voice shouted in that glorious flash; and its tone was rather threatening, too.

The Prince's eyes slid open, with grace but a hint of astonishment, too. Damn, for the second time that day, he had not noticed! He had not noticed something so evident and essential, vital, too! What was happening to his perceptions, his finely sharpened perceptions?

They were humans, judging from the peculiar smell of perspiration and the hidden fear.

Those…those insolent insects would have paid for this…

Now he had to calculate how many there were, but of course he couldn't use the olfaction; the commotion due to the imposing aura born from the union with the sword made impractical whatever attempt in catching their scent. And the cloud of energy made his vision fuzzy. He focused his attention on his sensitive hearing, his elfic ears tensed to the minimum rustle. Here they were.

Whispers of the stream's breeze while gracing iron, a lot of it; behind him, the hard infantry, halberds, sickles, axes. Creaks of armors; in front of him; the cavalry, descended from the horses. Rustles like cane fields; at both sides: the light infantry, spears, lances.

It appeared to be a complete, miniaturized army.

"And so you took the sword. We need nothing more. Soldiers! KILL HIM!"

The demon's eyes widened in rage, fury; how dare they…? They were going to face his wrath. Those…those… i humans /i and this was all that needed to be said, reputed themselves able to…even threaten him…? He didn't know if they were too confident, too positive, or too impudent. Or maybe ingenuous, or in despair…

Balderdash!

They were just foolish, as the ones of their kind.

But…he wanted to test his sword, didn't he?

"Hmpf", he muttered, "It's wasted".

Her raven long, flyaway locks fluttered like a crow's flock, undistinguishable from her horse's dark mane, as she recklessly rode her black steed through that tricky grove of spiny bushes. It was the most difficult way to reach her target, but it was the shorter, too. Courageously pushing through the arid fronds, ignoring the scratches on her, she never let a sigh, a mourn, looking straight in front of her, without rethinking, only in deep anguish about what was going to happen and wasn't avoidable if she didn't arrive in time.

"Please let me be in time!", she pleaded tightening the reins so much that her delicate fingers ached and her knuckles turned white.

The regular rhythm of the paws and the slogs on her back were the only audible sounds.

"Ready? ATTACK!"

A rain of arrows precipitated from nowhere, or better from everywhere; right, the archers! He had not thought about those. "Possible that this amount of power has this effect on me". He realized he had to dominate the aura soon, or even those mortals could have given him problems, in his actual state of semi-trance. But, as long as those were arrows, there was no risk: they couldn't have reached him even if they were tripled: the barrier around him was, for the moment, impenetrable.

And they seemed to understand that, when they saw he was unharmed, for they stopped every operation and waited.

He took advantage from this and expelled from his body such an amount of force that he could have made the entire forest explode; but as he thought he was finally free from that pseudo-slumber, blessed by wonderful sensation of might, he saw a blinding radiance up to devour him. Just in time, the comprehension that was his own, immeasurable power, which had been contained by the barrier, made him react resolved. He extracted the sword from the smutty earth and impugned it vigorously; as he sliced the air, saturated of that uncontainable energy, he felt that amount of spiritic power spout in any direction, as the mud sketched into the sky. He gave off more and more power, feeling to have become an unlimited source of that same energy which had dared to try to submit him to its mindless scopes. The incomparable force was continually expelled from a bottomless well, as the Prince realized he was no longer a vase fitted for imprisoning his own power, but a font of that power instead.

He grinned, his eyes flamed. Whoever saw him in that exact moment wouldn't have probably identified him.

The red-purple cloud dissipated, absorbed by its true origin; the vision enlightened and the sky was so clear and sunny that it seemed spring had come with more than a month of advance. The only thing that betrayed that heavenly scenery was the air: freezing; and bitter. It remembered that was just a wintry morning.

But what he saw next left him speechless: those were his father's soldiers. His father's better soldiers.

There were only two possibilities; the first: they had gone crazy, hoping to defeat him, exactly knowing it would have been hopeless; the second: the Lord had sent them there to prove him. Which would have been hopeless as well: they were humans, by any means, what did his father think, that he would have been troubled by them? Or –his eyes slightly widened in realization- he wanted him to…spare them…

"Absurd. We're fighting".

However the answer came after a while, as the soldiers comprehended they could combat, now.

"You weren't thinking that sword is a gift, were you?", the same voice as before continued. "Your father, our Lord, wants to be…sure you deserve it.." his almost playful tone irritated the demon and, although his mask remained impassive, his blood boiled.

"You must defeat us, my Prince!"

As the shout filled the air, instantly, as if it had been activated a chain reaction, he found himself attacked from every single spot around him. Arrows assaulted him, lances stuck mere inches from where he was; the horses thrilled, more similar to bulls, scarcely tamable by their cavaliers; the foots sharpened their weapons, impatient to give in. Youths didn't give him peace, throwing at him a storm of javelins; the first line of archers aimed straight at him, while the second and third line obscured the sunlight with an unceasing rain of shots.

He knew he could have got rid of them in the blink of an eye, but he had by long understood he had to use the sword. Only the sword.

Locking his grip on the hulking hilt, he raised an eyebrow, cracking his clawed fingers. Ready to attack.

Still he reflected on the reason why his father had organized such a thing; to test his son was the most reasonable answer. Yes, it had to be some sort of…attitude test.

"Kill him!", the one who appeared to be the boss yelled again.

Whatever it was, it was enough. How dare they…?...!

"I'll close your mouths".

If someone could have read his mind, would have remained more than terrified by his cold determination: he had overcome the phase of rage, he had gone beyond fury. He didn't desire blood either.

Now he wanted to fight.

He collected quite an amount of strength, surely sufficient to kill them all. This buffoonery was arriving at its end.

He roused the blade, the beginning of what seemed blue thunders forming on its line and wrapping the fang and the hilt…

She had arrived, finally; she should have felt lighter, yet an unpleasant bitterness in her throat, now parched, did nothing but increase her anguish. What if she hadn't been in time, what if it was too late?

"No!", she screamed in her mind, "I can't believe…I can't believe he does not know mercy!"

She flattened even more on the pawing horse's back, insisting in enhancing the already amazing velocity. Here she was, just a few more yards…

"Oh, no!"

…Her step-son…about to attack his own father's soldiers!

"Don't kill them, SESSHOUMARU!"

Crack. Something in the back of his mind reacted. It was, it was…

"No, impossible".

"Did you hear me? Spare their lives!"

"It's her".

How had she dared to call him with his first name? And, how had she got here…?

In any case, this didn't matter now: the soldiers were battling, even if from a distance.

And he had to…protect her.

"Stay back, woman! You have no use for this!"

But it seemed she had not only no intention of withdrawing, but she knew quite well what was happening there, too.

"You don't have to kill them, Sesshoumaru!"

Again. She was really stubborn.

"Mind your own business."

Instead, she resumed to yell, more in anguish than ever, the reins tightened in her gentle hands, her fingers interlaced in a feverish tremor.

"I warn you, Sesshoumaru! You don't have to kill them! Be careful!"

His control was fading once again: but how the hell dare she? "I warn you!", "Be careful!". How, how…

"Impudent woman".

"This is the only rule", she continued, by now really terrified by what could have been his reaction. "If you kill them you won't have the mission anymore!"

He remained silent. Ready to attack. Yet temporizing.

"It's your father who has decided it" she persisted, in an almost pleading voice. "Believe me, beat them and claim that sword as yours. But, please, listen to me, you must not slay them!"

If things were this way…well, he had to waste more time than envisaged. She was almost crying.

As the soldiers darted to assail, he only grasped the sword with both hands, just to thrust it once again in the terrain. And then, something prodigious took place.

Izayoi let out a yell, so shrill that she herself could not hear it.

Her horse jumped, making her hurl to the dirty ground, before running at a breakneck speed into the forest.

All the brave birds, that had remained until then, flew away in an instant, coloring the sky of multiple shadings.

A second later, the Queen saw a sun so gigantic that she thought she was going to be eaten by that incalculably vast sphere of…light, power…

She fainted.

"Are you fine, my Queen?"

She slowly opened her almond eyes to the world around her: the sky was clear, the sun was high; it had to be almost midday, judging from the warmth which surrounded her. That voice…

"Prince…"

She turned to him, just to find herself on his knees. "He occurred to me?"

"What happened?" she demanded. "I can't remember, I'm so confused…"

"Nothing of your worriment."

She relaxed, letting her head rest on his arm and leaving ajar her eyes, inexplicably tired.

"I'm exhausted" she whispered in a breath.

"We're returning to the castle to take what we need. Then we will leave."

She let out a moan to accomplish; her raven hairs fell disorderly on her shoulders. That was the oddest of situations and she wasn't able to find an explanation for his strange behavior; even so, she was so jaded she could not even think.

She perceived her body, laying on him; she felt her hands, one resting on her womb, another fallen to the ground. It was as if her weight was multiplied a hundredfold; she was not even able to ask her limb not to oppress her. She just wished to sleep.

But then, slowly, she distinguished something like a spine on her ankle.

"Right, my ankle…I was hurled from the horse's back…"

"Where are the horses?"

"Back to the castle."

She felt reassured.

"You brought them there?"

"…They know the way home."

She slightly, almost imperceptibly nodded, knowing he would have seen anyway.

"Prince…"

He glanced at her.

"I think I twisted my ankle."

He scrutinized the cloudless layers of the sky. After all, he felt something near gratitude for her, for what she had done. Now the Toukijin rested in its proper folder, which she had brought him; it was tied to his waist with a silky strip of her dress, which she had provided it.

"Just sleep."

But she had noted something which shocked her deeply: after all her effort…

"What horror…In the end, you've killed them."

She was so fatigued that her voice was merely audible, still he caught her tone, horrified and deluded, and a little accusing too.

Corpses laid all over the border of the trench, weapons were cast helter-skelter on the muddy field. It was atrocious, she felt vomiting.

Yet, not a singe drop of blood was visible, it appeared as if they had been murdered by an assassin wind, by a tempest.

"They're fainted" he assured her. "Now sleep."

Searching confirmation in his beautiful eyes, she beheld the flare of truth. She smiled weakly; "I see", she said to herself, not aware if she was talking or thinking, just before losing conscience again.

He roused her and brought her back to the palace.

The stalls were one of the places he hated the most in the castle: the fetor of excreta drove him insane. Those rooms seemed always decrepit, the beams were constantly rotten, the doors grated and there was such a strong smell of mildew to resemble some sort of corpse in decomposition.

After he had arrived to the castle with the woman, she had been cured by an old enchantress who lived in a dependence of the citadel and had reacquainted her health and vital strength in a short time. They had not had lunch and she was now in the stall, too, surely preparing her black horse for the first day of march.

He found his servant in his private stall, attending to the same candid horse he had ridden some hours ago.

"Is it ready?" he demanded.

"Almost, Master!", the toad answered joyfully. "We'll be ready to leave within half an hour."

He peered at his little servant.

"You are not coming with me."

"Of course, Master…W…Wait! What have you just said?"

He was about to leave the putrid place. But the little toad couldn't believe to what he had just heard from him.

"B-But Master! Why can't I come too?"

The Knight came back and took the reins of that fabulous animal, then proceeded toward the smashed door.

"I have enough burdens." the handsome demon responded, making sure i she /i could hear him from the contiguous stall.

The little toad lowered his disproportioned head, disconsolate, disheartened. His idol, his reason to live, his god was leaving him…without sharing with his loyal, faithful, devoted servant his future kudos! What an unfair, cruel thing to do; how unkind, brutal, spiteful, vicious, evil, insensible, pitiless, ruthless, unfeeling, heartless, insensitive, merciless, hardhearted, wicked, nasty…

But when he lastly finished to give vent to his resentment, they were already far away.

End Chapter

NOTE:

(1)TABI Sesshoumaru's boots, even though they're "particular" tabi