Chapter Thirty-Nine: To Be Worthy

Even as the earthiness of broken concrete and raw iron suffocated the air, it was the pungent stink of radiator fluid and gasoline that roused Sesshoumaru from unconsciousness. As he breathed it in, he tasted it on his tongue, bitter and toxic. Elements of the natural world adulterated by the industry of man. And as the fog that weighed him down began to lift, the familiarity of their corruption returned to him, becoming mundane and leaving him to vaguely wonder why he tasted them but didn't smell them.

Unsticking his eyelids, he slowly blinked. All around him was an indefinite darkness. Like a viscous film, bleariness clouded his vision. But as he attempted to raise his hand to rub it away, the dull ache that hovered in the background of his mind reared up and stabbed him in the wrist.

He breathed out a hiss.

The pain burned away the last vestiges of his stupor and the literal gravity of his situation came into sharp focus. The oyabun. Kagome and Tora. And the collapsing parking garage. The ground giving way beneath him as the upper floors came crushing down had bought him enough time for a chance. The chance to make a leap towards one of the undamaged pillars on the lower level. Wedging himself at its lee had spared him an instant death and gave him perhaps another chance, this time to escape. Though, for now, he needed to take stock.

His right wrist throbbed with pain and he let his hand ghost over it. The skin was tight and itchy from swelling and deep within, he could feel the fractured bones lodged at unnatural angles. Considering his fighting condition and that his opponent had been a kirin, he could hardly complain.

He frowned.

Fluttering under his fingertips, he could feel his youki churning around the injury. The flow felt choppy, reminding him of moths bouncing clumsily against a lantern. He sighed softly in consternation and then another realization struck him. He was only breathing through his mouth.

Reaching up, he touched his face and an unexpected numbness met him, as if the battered flesh he gently prodded belonged to someone else. Again, he felt disrupted youki and when his fingers glided over his nose, its odd shape let him know why. It was dislocated. Pinching the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb, he gave it a twist. A spike of pain punctured through his skull, driving a grunt from his throat through gritted teeth. It continued to pulse, aching his brain, but the cartilage and bone were in the right shape now and his youki flowed naturally.

His bite felt off, and he worked his jaw, opening and closing it. Two hard objects tumbled about in his mouth and he spit them out into his hand. They were his top canines. He tongued the gaps where they should have been and discovered his youki swirling productively. At the gumline, he could feel the tiny points of new teeth growing, leaving him with no reason to press them back in. Instead, he slipped them into his pocket.

Noting the conditions under which his face was healing, his attention returned to his wrist. The nature of the fractures was disrupting his youki. For the bones to heal, he needed to set them, and even then, a splint was necessary until they had mended well enough to stay in place. With the front panel of his tunic, he knew that he had enough cloth, but he needed to find something rigid to brace his wrist. He leaned forward, ready to rise to his feet.

And in a world of darkness, his vision flashed red.

Excruciating pain erupted from his left leg and a gasp sputtered from him. His hand groped for the source and he discovered a chunk of rebar protruding from his thigh. Tenderly, he traced the thick rod of iron to a wound sticky with blood. From the angle through which the rebar had pierced him, it had missed his femur but that didn't mean that the many vessels in his inner thigh were unscathed. Feeling his pantleg soaked in blood only further cemented his decision to leave it in place.

He hummed thoughtfully. While the situation wasn't ideal, at least he had found a solution for one of his problems.

Grasping the exposed rebar close to the wound, he pinched it until it snapped off. Nearly two-thirds of a meter in length, he pinched it in half and set the two rods aside. Next, he tore off a piece of his tunic to make a ragged bandage. Now that he had what he needed for his splint, he returned to his wrist.

Closing his eyes, he concentrated on breathing. And with every rhythmic inhale and exhale, he took the pain aching his body and pushed it down. Slowly, it receded into the recesses of his mind, and there, bit by bit, he locked it away. So, that when he opened his eyes, all that lingered was mild discomfort.

He took his wrist, feeling the misalignment of his bones and imagining how they should be. Then he pulled.

Bright red burned at the edges of his vision, and with a snarl, he tamped the fresh pain down.

With gentle manipulation, he forced the bones back into position. And when they settled into place, he let the tension go. A shuddering sigh escaped him. He hadn't realized that he'd been holding his breath.

He picked up the pieces of rebar and held them against either side of his wrist. Then he pinned the bandage against his abdomen and started to wrap his injured forearm. With careful effort, he bound it tightly, expecting the bandage to loosen as his youki reduced the swelling. When he was done, he secured the end with a simple knot, pleased that he still retained the dexterity that he'd gained when he'd lost his arm to Inuyasha.

With his injures tended to, he attempted to rise to his feet again. His left leg throbbed but he found his footing.

The darkness that surrounded him persisted. Overhead, the crushing tons of parking structure obliterated all light, even to his exceptional eyes. Sound fared better, and somewhere in the black behind him, he heard muffled sirens and crackling megaphones. The cacophony that accompanied the human response to an emergency. Unsteadily, he turned to face the muted din. It lent him a bearing, and as he felt along the concrete rubble in its direction, he realized, to his surprise, that it also lent hope. Had his pride become so resilient that he no longer felt shame about being rescued, let alone by humanity?

A cool scent seeped through his nose as he breathed in and his quest to find a gap in the rubble stopped. Clotted blood still clogged his nose and he paused to clear it before inhaling again. Through the choking dust and spilled automotive fluids, he smelled fresh air. He followed it upward until his questing hand discovered a crack made by a pair of tented slabs. From there the air beckoned, delicate against his fingertips and a surer guide for escape.

Cautiously, he pushed up on the slabs, his ears sharp for shifting concrete. Dust and pebbles spilled through the crack, pelting his face and shoulders, but beyond that, there was no groaning or grinding. Satisfied, he used his back to brace against one slab as he pushed the other away. The bottom half of it slid down into the gap that he'd sheltered in and he leapt into the space its absence had created. The slab at his back slammed down with a bang that reverberated throughout the structure.

Again, he inhaled, searching for the fresh air. It wafted down through another crack, and as he tested the slabs that surrounded it, one of them groaned. Warily, he traced the slab and the adjacent rubble, imagining them in his mind. And as the reliable din of humanity kept him oriented, he slowly unraveled the slabs, like knotted yarn, until the crack was big enough for him to crawl through.

So, went his progress with infinite patience in the omnipresent darkness of his would-be tomb.

And as he squeezed through another gap, a sigh escaped him.

Silvery in color, the first streams of moonlight peeked through a crack above him, illuminating the rubble with definition and depth. With his boots crunching on pebbly debris, he approached the crack and spied through it.

Tinted orange by the haze of city light, the night sky met him.

A smirk hinted at the corner of his mouth and he followed the edges of the slabs that outlined the crack. Using his good arm, he tested each one, feeling how they shifted and deducing what order they should be moved. His attention settled on the largest slab. By shifting its angle to the side, the crack would broaden just enough for him to slip through to safety. As he crouched underneath the slab, he braced his back against it and then pushed. It slid to the side and the crack widened, letting in more of the night.

A groan rumbled through the structure.

His eyes widened as the sound of tumbling concrete filled his ears. Hastily, he tried to put the slab back as it was, but it was too late.

A grunt exploded from him as several tons of rubble toppled onto the slab. Grimacing, he bore the weight unsteadily, his boots sliding beneath him. Up above, the crack was gone and the limitless black returned.

Blood seeped down his left thigh, its coppery scent filling his nostrils.

A bout of lightheadedness washed over him, swaying his resolve. Through clenched teeth, he blinked it back. He had to free himself before blood loss weakened him further. Gathering his strength with a roar, he pushed against the burdened slab, hoping that he could shift it enough to leap away. Instead it pressed down on him, as inescapable as gravity.

He sputtered, his vision flashing red as his thigh erupted with agony. His leg trembled, and he leaned to the right, desperate to relieve the pain.

And the slab crushed him further, bowing him on bent knees towards the ground.

Stinging sweat trickled down his lowered head to drip from his nose and chin. Then saliva mixed in as ragged breaths tore at his throat.

This was it.

The end.

He, the last youkai, would now join his kind in oblivion.

"…And no matter how you may feel right now, you are a great lord to me. I have no regrets but one, and that's not being able to follow you and be a part of what heroic deeds await you."

He scoffed. The lord who had done the least to preserve his people had become their lone survivor. He, the least deserving of mercy, had seen a future that they would never share. And now he would be free of that shame. The shame of living when so many others had become dust. He would be free of his loss.

"Overcoming your failures is never easy and neither is becoming the person you were meant to be."

The regret that knotted in his chest only tightened as his inevitable death pulsed from him with every heartbeat, bleeding out onto the concrete. Then his eyes widened in realization. It wasn't for his past that he grieved. It was for the future his people had sacrificed to give him. The chance to atone. To redeem himself and carry on for them. To become the youkai lord that they believed him to be. That they needed him to be.

"Whether you realize it or not, you are a part of our family. You have someplace you belong. And I can see it in your nature that you have an overwhelming need to protect that place. But remember that you are not alone. We are here for you whatever your new purpose in life becomes."

But the dead weren't the only ones who needed him. His kind might be gone but something new had taken their place. An old man and his endless devotion. A mother and her gentle acceptance. A social worker and his simple wisdom. A young boy and his tender bravery. And a young woman and her spirited resolve. He might be the last youkai, but he wasn't alone. Even as he bowed under a mountain of concrete, they were waiting for him to come home. Tears welled in his eyes.

"…What makes you family is that you belong to us. And we belong to you. We're your people and you're not our vengeance but our hope."

And the city itself, still needed him. Not as a destructive spirit of vengeance but as an avatar of hope. For those who had been used up and left behind, he would be the foundation on which they could build and grow. For them, he wanted to be the protector that he had failed to be in the past. In their salvation was his redemption. His heroism. His purpose. His people.

"I believe in you, and through redemption, you'll become the lord you were meant to be. The Demon of Namidabashi."

A warmth brewed in his chest, dissolving the knot. His regret and shame melted away as the sensation swelled like a tide, filling him. It was brightness in the darkness that surrounded him. It was the city when he saved a life or fixed a water heater. It was Jaken when he gifted him the two-headed staff. It was Rin when he saved her from the underworld. It was his new family when he said that he would stay. It was…

"Are you happy?"

Lifting his head, he gazed into the black, tears spilling down his cheeks. "Yes… I'm happy."

A golden glow filled the space, warming the broken concrete and when he blinked, it flickered. His irises were burning. And on the ground as bent as he was, he spotted his old crowbar. A gentle smile came to him. He was happy. At the brink of death, he'd finally known happiness. Closing his eyes, he gave into it, surrendering to the last sensation he would ever feel.

Pebbles rattled.

A gust of wind swirled.

A lightness eased his muscles and bones and it soothed away his pain. And as he inhaled, it filled his lungs. His eyes fluttered open as he breathed it in again, its scent akin to ozone. It was youki. His youki.

The torrent whipped around him as if he were the eye of a hurricane. Small chunks of concrete flew, swept up by the currents that then dashed them into powder. The blood that flowed from his thigh staunched and the injury itself became nothing more than forgettable pressure.

He slid his feet back into position and with a grunt, he pressed up against the slab that bowed him. Concrete groaned but did not give. His grunt grew into a growl and crumbling debris spun off into the orbit of his youki.

The slab wavered.

His gasping breath heaved his chest and with his last exhale, he let out an unearthly roar as he poured out all his power and lifted.

With a grinding shudder, the slab shifted. Braced against it, he pushed it up until he found his feet. And as he stood, his youki carried the faintest whispers of fresh air. Tracing it back, he spotted a crack in a deep shadow. And as the whirl of his youki faltered, he knew that this was his last chance.

Summoning every ounce of his remaining power, he pumped it into his arms and legs. His hands dug into the slab, cracking its surface. And when his youki all but evaporated, he burst forward, springing from the slab towards the crack. The concrete shattered as he shot through it, and close behind him, the rumbling of an avalanche pursued.

Uplit in brilliant white, an unscathed corner of the parking structure still stood, and he sprang across the uneven rubble towards it. Then using his momentum, he made his leap, catching an exposed tangle of rebar just before the toppling concrete overtook him.

His heartbeat raced in his ears and he peered down at the settling rubble. Even in his prime, that much weight would have troubled him. He frowned. Perhaps more than troubled.

The glint of metal caught his eye, and his attention fell to his right hand and the crowbar it held. Despite being warped beyond use, it still felt good. And as he considered it, the memory of a two-headed staff came to mind. He snorted. Jaken would never believe how sentimental his old lord had become.

"Sir, we need you to hold on," a voice boomed over a megaphone. "Rescue is on its way."

Their uniforms reflecting bright green under the floodlights, he noticed the hurried scramble of emergency services making their way towards him. Past them, a busy maze of vehicles filled the street, their red lights flashing. And beyond that, the galaxy of lights of his city waited. His people. His home.

Reaching behind him, he secured the crowbar into his sash and gave his would-be rescuers a cordial nod. Then he swung onto the remnants of a half wall and disappeared into the night.