Author's Note: This chapter (and to a significantly lesser degree, the entire story) owes a great deal to the amazing Wheezambu. Her story Brittle was a massive inspiration; I'm just following up on the premise she set.

To say that Miroku was regretting his words that morning was grossly oversimplifying the matter. He hated hurting Sango, loathed himself for making her so distraught; but something was not right with Kohaku, and it was his duty to expose it.

He owed it to the both of them.

She hated deceit – she would want the truth, regardless of how much it hurt.

It had to be done.

But then again, was the truth, at the expense of Sango's happiness really worth it?

Part of him wanted to find Sango, to apologize, to do anything he could to stop the tears from falling. Once upon a not-so-distant time, all it had took to calm her were his reassurances; how he longed for that simplicity now.

It seemed that none of them were able to sever their fate with Naraku, not even after his death. The monk fervently hoped this was the last time the evil hanyou would blight their lives.

Their lives, the happy-ever-afters Miroku had not expected to live to see – not even to experience.

With the years that had been added with the dissipation of Naraku's curse, he was free to follow the winding road to the old age that awaited him at its end. There had been so much he wanted to do at first – the multitudes of possible lives he could lead.

Miroku now knew for sure he wanted to spend the years at Sango's side, because that was where true happiness was.

Did he really want to admit it to himself – Kohaku and his odd behaviour was destroying his personal happiness? It was so coldly selfish, it scared him.

Miroku may have lied for his own benefit, swindled wealthy men out of their money, seduced many a village girl with honeyed words, but he was not an evil man.

I hope.

"Ane-ue, the sun is setting."

She lifted her head; orange streaks painted the sky in broad strokes. "Yes... we should be getting back." He stood up and offered her his hand. Sango accepted it gratefully.

"What about Houshi-sama?"

Her face closed off instantly. Kohaku took the silence as his response.

"Ane-ue, you should go back and rest. I'll find Houshi-sama."

Before she could say anything, he touched her cheek and strode off into the darkening forest. She took a moment to stare after him, wondering when the shy boy had been replaced with the strong young man.

Kohaku knew precisely where the monk was; his houriki was easy enough to track. Even without the strong spiritual aura, he knew the curling tendrils of despair and suffering well enough.

"Houshi-sama."

The monk was seated against the base of a tree, his eyes closed. "Kohaku."

"Ane-ue sent me to fetch you home; even though she won't admit it, she's worried about you," commented the young taijiya, squatting down in front of the older man.

Miroku opened his eyes and smiled ruefully. "I'm always hurting her, aren't I?" His face was gaunt, aging him more than his twenty-odd years.

"You're too hard on yourself, Miroku-sama."

He got to his feet slowly and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Drop the act, Kohaku," Miroku said sharply, not looking at him. "Sango isn't around to watch."

"I could say the same for you." The full transformation was terrifying, now that the monk was faced with it. Gone was the hesitant, shy voice; this Kohaku held himself with a confident swagger, his voice cold and emotionless.

"Who are you?" demanded Miroku.

He raised an eyebrow. "Me? I'm Kohaku, my future brother-in-law," the words were delivered with just a touch of acid, "who else could I be?"

"You're not Kohaku. The real Kohaku isn't the monster you are."

"Of course I am, Miroku," breathed the taijiya in a low, dangerous voice. The dropped honorific was not lost on the monk. "Who else would I be?"

"You remind me of Naraku," spat the monk, his fingers slipping into his robe, searching for the ofuda he kept there.

Kohaku folded his arms over his chest. "Naraku? Like what the other two insisted? That's a little far fetched for you – obsessed with the bastard after all those years of hunting him? ... And don't bother looking for your ofuda, they won't affect me."

Miroku froze.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," continued the taijiya in that same silky tone of voice. "Being jealous of a sister's love for her only brother. You want to get rid of me, don't you?" Kohaku folded his arms, leaning casually against a tree. "Once the annoying little brother is out of the picture, you won't have to share your woman with anyone else, ne?"

"For the last time, you are not Kohaku!" Quick as lightning, an ofuda shot out of the monk's hand and plastered itself to the boy's forehead. Blue fire danced around the paper as he emitted a sound of surprise –

– then it burned out, the paper sliding to the grass. Kohaku watched it fall with a bored expression.

"Honestly. You should know ofuda doesn't work on humans."

The monk's eyes widened. "What?"

He smiled lazily, fingering the blade of the kusari-gama that hung on his obi. "Spiritual power only works on youkai and spirits."

The muscles in Miroku's jaw worked. "But – Inuyasha smelt Naraku – Kagome sensed his youki – "

"Let's just say I learned a few tricks while in Naraku's service – though not his penchant for complicated, elaborate plots." He reached into his kimono and drew out a small jar. When he uncapped it a fraction, Miroku felt the familiar oppression of miasma... Kohaku snapped the lid shut. "A little bit of corrupted flesh, just enough to send a paranoid hanyou into convulsions and to make a foolish monk show his hand."

"Ingenious."

The taijiya pulled out his weapon, spinning it lazily. "I could kill you now, in a heartbeat, Miroku; or I could maim you for life, add another hole to that hand of yours – tell Ane-ue a youkai attacked us." His voice turned sibilant. "You were blinded by rage, regret... you didn't see that youkai coming until it wounded you. But I, arriving in the nick of time, managed to slay it."

His weapon spun from hand to hand, twirling expertly."You can say all you want, say your version of events. But who do you think Ane-ue would believe?"

The monk's face contorted with anger. "Bastard."

"She will believe anything I say, naturally," continued Kohaku as though Miroku had not spoken. "She loves me." He ran his tongue over the edge of the kusari-gama. "And I love her."

Miroku lost it. He threw a punch; the taijiya dodged. He was fast – the monk, experienced as he was, could barely kIeep up.

"Tell me, Miroku, how much do you know?" He sidestepped through the flurry of attacks the older man was unleashing without a trace of exertion. "If you're lucky, I won't be killing you now."

"Shut up!" grunted the monk.

Kohaku dodged both easily and darted backward. "Not bad, monk," he remarked as his opponent sank into a stance. "Looks like you've picked up a few tricks from Ane-ue."

"Enough to stop you before you hurt Sango any more," growled Miroku. "I won't let this continue."

"Oh?" The taijiya stepped back blocking the flurry of punches thrown at him. "What are you going to do, kill me?"

Miroku swore as another high kick was easily caught. Kohaku – or the mockery of him – was right. If he let the boy live, he would continue hurting them all, drawing Sango deeper into sin. But if he were to die by his hand there and then...

Everything he believed in, the principles he held dear... gone. Beyond that – Sango would be devastated because she did not know the truth. Actually, she would be devastated regardless; she loved this semblance of her brother.

The monk was disgusted with himself for even thinking that she would be broken. His Sango was strong, stronger than he could ever hope to be. She had survived tragedies and trials that would have broken lesser humans and came out as fiery as ever – they had only served to temper her spirit. Sango would survive his death; both of their deaths.

Mind made up, Miroku's fists tightened. "I swear I will kill you now. I don't care if Sango blames me; I would rather she hate me for the rest of her life than know the truth about you. I won't let you continue deceiving her in this way."

"Sounds like a challenge." Kohaku brandished his kusari-gama, an eager smile on his lips. "What will you tell her about my death, then? Another one of your pretty lies?"

The monk charged. His first blow was thwarted by a swipe of the deadly scythe; Miroku pivoted and used his momentum to shoulder-charge the taijiya's unprotected arm. His opponent moved too slow – the force threw him off- balance and he sacrificed the moment of Miroku's exposed flank to regain his footing.

"Not bad," smirked the boy as he avoided another strike. "Improvisation, distraction, pressing the advantage relentlessly – classic taijiya tactics. "

"Sango is an excellent teacher."

The fight continued, neither combatant letting up; Miroku risked his arm by penetrating a gap in Kohaku's defences and grasping the boy's wrist. He twisted it hard, hoping to make him drop his kusari-gama –

– the taijiya grinned. "Did you think my skills were that poor?"

Another flash of metal and Miroku fell back, blood trickling from a shallow cut on his cheek. A small dagger had appeared in Kohaku's free hand.

"Taijiya are never caught off-guard and we fight to kill. Remember that."

Miroku wiped the blood away and got to his feet again; sinking into a cat stance, he pushed the burgeoning despair to the back of his mind and focused on his adversary.

Kohaku struck first; the kusari-gama flew in a high arc, almost taking off the skin of Miroku's neck had he not jerked his head backwards. His hand flew into his robes, searching the pockets for anything he could use as a weapon –

– the young man dove in for the kill –

– a flash of steel had him falling back –

– Kohaku touched the side of his cheek disbelievingly; the small carving knife in Miroku's hand had scored a nasty gash there.

"Didn't think you had it in you," he remarked, dabbing the sluggish flow with the back of his hand. "At this point, I would have wagered you be on your back, begging for your life." The taijiya stared at his bloodied fingers and licked them. "I'll let you in on a little secret."

"Humour me," muttered Miroku.

"The boy, Kohaku? The cringing coward you all risked your lives to save? He's still alive."

The monk's eyes flashed; he tried to school his features into impassivity. "He's dead. You killed him."

"No, he isn't."

Miroku scrutinized him carefully; the spark of insanity which lit up his eyes earlier had gone, leaving Kohaku's eyes sober and serious. Just like he remembered, except now with the light of intelligence.

"Where is he?" he asked at last.

The taijiya flattened a hand over his own chest. "Here." The other arm spread out. "You could cut me open and save him right this minute, if you wanted."

The monk narrowed his eyes, directing his houriki; if Kohaku's soul was somehow imprisoned inside his body, surely there was a way to detect it and save him...

"Confused?' enquired the younger man. "I am Kohaku – and at the same time, I'm not. Naraku did this to me; he changed me, did things that would drive you mad, deprive you of sleep."

"I could still think – I clung on to my memories of my life before to keep me going. But after a while, you tend to forget... the pain makes you want to give up, to find some corner of blissful oblivion in which to conceal yourself. You would give up anything – everything for that."

"The memory of Ane-ue was the only thing that kept me going. Through the torture, I maintained my sanity with thoughts of her, how I loved my Ane-ue. Naraku didn't destroy my memory the day he died; it was a bluff. He was too selfish to spare that power. It didn't matter anyway, I already lost them a long time ago."

Cold ice gripped Miroku's heart.

"To answer your question, Miroku; I am Kohaku. I'm alive – the Shikon jewel shard would do no less. I will die when it's removed, but I know Sango won't let the others do that to her precious brother."

The young man's face twisted; his handsome features distorted. "Free me, damn you! Release my soul; take out the jewel shard!"

Kohaku's face stilled as a sudden thought struck him. "Of course you won't kill me. It goes against everything you believe in, eh, Miroku? All that religious Buddhist shit of yours." He began to laugh. "You're damned if you do, damned if you don't!"

The monk's continued silence seemed to please him.

"Decisions, decisions. No doubt you've faced many major decisions in your life, Miroku-sama, though I wager none as heavy as these. Debating over which winsome young village girl to bed for the night, perhaps."

"Your lies don't work on me," shot back Miroku testily. He received a cocked head in reply.

"True. You've told so many, you probably don't even know the difference between lies and truth any more." The taijiya pushed back his fringe. "So what will you do now, monk?"

Miroku squared his shoulders. There was only one thing he could do, and he began moving without hesitation.

Forgive me, Sango...

Miroku cried out as his left arm was slashed open; he fought to keep himself moving past the pain. Kohaku was so much faster, stronger and more skilled than he remembered. He might have been able to hold out with his shakujou, but unarmed...

Kohaku lazily swung the bloodied kusari-gama in a wide arc. "Just a short while, and you're already wounded. You're the man who spent his life in pursuit of Naraku? Heh. You're just a weak, pathetic excuse for a monk."

He bent over, seized the front of Miroku's robes and hauled him upright effortlessly. "Womanizer and lecher, that's all you are."

The monk grunted as he was flung into a tree, tearing his wounds open wider. The taijiya followed after, flipping him over onto his back with his foot.

"I don't know how Ane-ue fell in love with scum like you. Your pretty lies, no doubt. You think I didn't see, those months back when I was supposedly under Naraku's control?"

The bare foot ground into Miroku's chest. "You're lower than scum. You could – and I think you did – have any woman you wanted, but you went for the one woman who couldn't afford to fall in love... a broken, scarred woman inside and out. You seduced her with your frivolous words and ambiguous actions, showed her what true pain really was. You preyed on her, Miroku. And to everyone else, you were the saint looking out for the pitiful girl fighting to save her brother when all you really are is the weak, pathetic monk with nothing but the love of a woman too good for you."

Every cold statement was delivered with a cut; Miroku grimaced and struggled to stay alert. He aimed a weak blow to his opponent's leg which was easily deflected.

"I saw everything when Naraku sent me to scout, spy on your group, to lay traps for you. I watched you flirt with village girls while Ane-ue covered up her broken heart with anger and jealousy – because she could not bring herself to hate you, no matter what you did. I saw when you groped her – deceiving everyone, including yourself, that you were being noble and not wanting to make her suffer along with your cursed lineage by seeing you as anything but a comrade-in-arms. You were cowardly, never openly returning the affection she so blatantly showed you because "you didn't want to hurt her."." Kohaku's voice was a pitch-perfect imitation of Miroku's.

"No... you're wrong," snarled Miroku, seizing the taijiya's calf and hurling him away; he flipped and landed neatly on his feet.

"You treated her like your personal sex toy. Groping, spying; she was a body to you because you daren't look at Kagome for fear of being castrated by the halfbreed. Always available, and you could coax your way back into her good graces because she needed the comfort and support 'Houshi-sama' provided. Any other woman would have left for good – not Ane-ue, because she had nowhere else to go. And you took advantage of that, Miroku."

"Doesn't it feel good to be loved unconditionally for the first time in your pathetically short life? Taking her all for yourself, stringing her along to make sure she'd stay at your beck and call? Trying to replace me in her heart?"

"But I had to regain my memories. I can see it in your eyes; you were hoping I'd die so Sango could finally accept my death and move on to begin a happy family with you."

"I know a lot more than you think; I know she told that Takeda she needed to finish that one thing to move on in life. The one obstacle in both your ways."

Miroku turned away, face ashen. None of this is true, he kept telling himself over and over again. Kohaku is just trying to break my spirit with his lies. I did nothing wrong.

But still the tears kept falling from his eyes; it mingled with his blood in rivulets on his skin.

Kohaku's jaw hardened. "And yet she still loves you. Despite everything you've done, damn you to hell, she loves you." His grip on his weapon turned white-knuckled. "I can't let this farce of a romance go on – you understand, don't you, Miroku?" The tajiya fingered the crusted blood on the blade. "I can be and already am a better man for her than you could ever hope to be."

The monk turned cold eyes on him. "You're her little brother, damn you..."

He was rewarded with an unholy smile. "All the better – it makes us two so much closer than a normal couple ever could be..."

Miroku forced himself upright through sheer force of will; he darted forward, driving his leg at Kohaku's midsection –

– the young man 'oof'ed as the wind was knocked out of him.

The monk pressed the offensive; anger drove him in wild kicks, punches and chops to every exposed part he could reach. Kohaku defended himself the best he could with his kusari-gama but Miroku seemed not to feel every new cut opened up –

– then it was over. The taijiya lay on his back, panting; Miroku stood over him, the bloodied scythe in his hand.

Kohaku smirked. "Go on, Miroku-sama," he grinned through his split lip. "Kill me. End your suffering."

The monk did not respond; his violet eyes were black.

"With my death, you'll have Ane-ue all to yourself. You'll spare her the knowledge of the twisted, disturbed madman her gentle little brother really was. You can be happy – she could still smile, knowing I was a puppet in Naraku's clutches, couldn't she?"

"Shut up!" roared the older man; his fingers were trembling.

The taijiya touched his forehead. "Right here. Drive that blade here, between my eyes, and end this." Defiant eyes stared up from his bruised face.

As though sleepwalking, Miroku raised the kusari-gama overhead. The young man stared fearlessly back, following the motion with his eyes.

The monk hurled the weapon away; it bit into a tree trunk with a thud.

Kohaku frowned. "Weakling." He was on his feet in an instant, his hands whipping the small dagger out of his belt and driving it into Miroku's stomach.

The monk made a choking sound as he stumbled back; he backhanded Kohaku, knocking him away. Miroku dropped to one knee as he pulled the dagger out.

The taijiya leered. "So this is how it ends. You were always a weakling, Miroku. You'll regret not killing me when you had the chance– that is, if you survive."

He ignored the mocking words, suddenly aware of all the cuts and gashes he had sustained; his tattered robes were slick with his blood and he had not noticed. Miroku slumped to the ground.

"I would stay to watch you die, but I have urgent business to attend to." Kohaku spat a bloody gob out. "Ane-ue is lonely."

"Damn you..." Miroku's vision was mostly gone, but he tried anyway; his hand reached out, struggling to pull himself up. Kohaku responded by impaling it with his dagger.

"Here's the new hole in the hand I promised," he breathed into the dying man's ear. "Goodbye, Miroku."

The last thing he heard was the gentle crunch of footsteps receding into the distance.