Outcast Dog (Inuyasha FF)(Boyxboy)

Chapter 13

When he arrived at the battlefield, now empty with grave silence, the rain had washed away much of the blood. It still ran red beneath and around his boots, as he walked calmly forward. A white body here, on the outcropping, another down the mountain side with a smear of blood upon the rocky face. Both thin, their bodies disintegrating even as the rain washes red from their bright bodies. Their skeletons collapse in shudders, disfiguring their majesty as their bodies are eaten away.

He spares them but a brief glance. As he rounds a corner, his eyes land on the thin dark shadow against the cold rock. He approaches calmly, stopping next to the last body. They travel the wounds, the ebony fur, the emaciated appearance of a creature that he felt should be more... proud. Closer to what it's blood told, and not what it had been deemed so. He reached out a hand, placing it against the shoulder of the shadow. Cold to the touch.

He already knew the quiet daiyokai had left the world of the living. What bothered him was how he could still feel blood pulsing beneath the muscle against his hand. As if his very blood itself burned with life, even in death. He pushed the though aside, pulling his hand away to reach for a sword at his side.

Though the dark one had been dead long enough to grow cold and rigid, the minions of the underworld would still be lingering. Such was the case with Rin, and later Jaken.

But now, there was no trace of them. The corpse of a powerful daiyokai would act as a magnet, its soul a fine prize to return with. Yet not a single minion lurked. He turned his attention to the other corpses. No minions. He sheathes his sword, quietly looking back towards the being once known as Hotaru.

Sesshōmaru was no fool. He knew exactly who Hotaru was, ever since he'd first smelled him on the shore of the large lake. Such blood was too pure to not be of the line of the White Demon of the North. He knew the smell of such blood, having met that very being before. This wandering dog, with a coat blacker than the depths of night, was no different that any other. The blood pulsing even in his death was inherited. He'd seen the White Demon fight in the same way as this one. Uncaring towards personal injuries, with a quiet rage that rarely reached the surface. They had the same violent blood.

He watches the corpse longer than he intends to. It is only after some deliberation of that fact that he understands. He scoffs at his foolish behavior of watching for a breath that the body would never take. The souls that had battle so fiercely upon the mountain's plateau had not been taken by the underworld. He checks the air, indeed noting the slight fragrance of an unknown demon female. Sesshōmaru's lips curve into a smile, though it is hardly one of happiness. Merely cold amusement, lined with poisonous intent. He was angered now.

After all, these were his lands. This body of a daiyokai, and the daiyokai whom it belonged to had been directly under his gaze. And yet one had the audacity to take it. To take even the smallest item from him was an insult. To take a source of entertainment and curiosity... he dared them to attempt to take another. He would strike them down, and take back what he was due in full.

If that was the return of the soul of Hotaru, so be it. If it was merely the eradication of the female and acceptance of his death, that too was a pleasant outcome.

Sesshōmaru hates that which blocks his way. The female would not be allowed to live.

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To say he knew where he was would be an interesting scrabble of a lie. A strange lie, for it would also be a truth. He knew what he was, or at least, what he had been reduced to. Why it was so or where that lingering form was being taken was the unknown. He knew he was in the realm of the living still, for he certainly felt no peace. Only burning anger, though he cannot say what towards.

Her words flare his anger, prompting it to stew and fester. Sometimes he feels the urge to lash out, even if just to feel something, but he never does. He's aware that this frustrates her, that she is the one who imprisoned him here, within the strange mirror. On occasion he would see her form. Nut brown hair kept down but pinned away from the face, a voluptuous body dressed in a loose, revealing kimono with sickly floral patterns. Her eyes were black, and she would smile at him, though he knew that smile hid an evil heart.

He found her revolting.

Especially so when she revealed to him a cold truth. It was not only his soul she kept, for she was a collector of specific beings. He began to feel them then, the gentle presences that bumped up against his own soul when he began to feel anger. Soothing existences he knows too well. Sorrow fills what's left, and he retreats his mind away from her. In the stillness, the quiet ones surround him, shielding him from her gaze.

His watchful father, gentle in peace and violent in anger.

His prideful brother, mighty in mind and body.

He could not remember any sense of either of their souls being taken. But now, as he began to let his thoughts roll over the circumstances of their deaths, he found them odd. He turned a new, wary eye towards her presence, all too aware of the other two brushing against him.

His anger returned, simmering deep within as he began to formulate his escape.