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1. MASTER OF DEATH
THE SCENT OF DEATH peppered the night air and it brought a taste of grim feelings along with it; hate一 or perhaps it was loathing, sadness, sorrow, satisfaction. It was a strange mixture that conjured more questions than answers.
Slanted golden eyes narrowed in suspicion, nose flaring as he further scented the air, taking note of every detail.
Corpses. Lots of them, yet many of which not fresh, some decaying while others still bled, the metallic fragrance of blood vouching for his conclusion.
As he followed the trail up north, the sound of a flute playing faintly registered itself on the edges of his senses, the melody一 while fast paced and erratic一 soothing to the ears of the demon lord through the sheer precision of every note.
He was entranced. Such music, he thought, eyes closed and ears focused on that one sound that he was fastly growing to love. His feet moved instinctively, unconsciously with haste.
His inner beast purred with delight at its newfound fixation. 'We must claim the source.' it demanded, fiercely, joyously, and for the first time in a long while, he found himself giving in.
The longer he travelled up north, the scent of blood was continuously growing stronger, more prominent and bolder, but he did not turn away from his 一quote-on-quote一 "mission". It did not deter him in the slightest nor did it disgust him either.
(He was a seasoned warrior, such reactions were beneath him.)
Though, soon, his senses became increasingly aware of the cloud of death and misery that loomed over this small village. And, upon further inspection, his eyes took note of the roaming dead bodies that trampled the land.
A puppeteer of death, he beamusedly mused, slanted eyes searching for the source of the music, his feet carrying him further on the path up to the hill.
There, on the edge and surrounded by flocks of raven clad birds, a young man calmly played a flute so carefully carved and painted that it shone underneath the red glow of the moon.
The screams and pitiful shouts for help from down in the village became a second noise to the daiyoukai as he listened to the sharp notes that he orchestrated.
Yet suddenly he stopped and the demon found himself surpressing a whine of disapproval at the lack of music. He was acting like a pup that just had his favourite toy taken away. How degrading, his more logical side seemed to sneer, but he cared not at the moment for his attention was solely on the young man before him.
Inky black strands of hair fell in waves to below the young man's hips and he was clad in red and black, the outer robe engulfed him and the sword strapped to his side and as he looked up, past the hands that so skilfully played the flute mere moments ago, he found himself staring in a pair of stormy grey-blue eyes that held so much emotion it was frightening.
And they stared at one another, eyes locked and postures rigid when within the demon's mind it clicked.
"A necromancer." It wasn't a question but a statement that seemed to speak volumes to the other.
Yet, he still answered, "Yes." It was plain and simple, a confirmation of what the inuyoukai already thought.
A practitioner of such forbidden arts was always ridiculed and feared among humans. They were alchemists of darkness and masters of death, they controlled those of the afterlife with precise sorcery and held no qualms towards life.
"Don't they hate you? Your own kin?" He asked suddenly, rhetorically, for he knew a person such as him had no place to be in this tiny country village.
This was the first practitioner of necromancy that he has met in hundreds of years. The last one was an old fool with meager skills in controlling even the smallest numbers that he could count with one hand, yet... this one before him was different.
He couldn't have passed the age of twenty years and he displayed such advanced abilities. To control a hoard of great numbers akin to his was a feat in its own, but for the corpses to still follow their comands even when the weilder's magic stopped was impressive.
"Yeah," The young man answered and he found himself liking his voice more and more, "but I have no need for living things."
A dedicated one it would seem. Sesshomaru smirked; a human with no regards for human life一 how amusing. He had found something worth his while.
Stepping forward, the silver haired youkai took hold of the long red ribbon that held his hair in place, his clawed fingers fiddling with the material before it was brought to his lips. "Your name, human." He demanded in his baritone voice, eyes never leaving his.
A bit taken back by the suddenness of his words, the young man responded, albeit a tad winded out, "Eito Hyousuke, my lord."
And a smart one一 Sesshomaru's smirk broadened. Tugging his hand, the red ribbon that had previously held his hair together fell apart in one swift motion as he gathered it in his clawed hand.
"You have peaked this Sesshomaru's attention, little human." The amused lining in his voice was obvious to the shocked一 dare he say flushed一 young man. He brought the ribbon to his nose and his ego doubled at the sight of the rose coloured blush that spread across Hyousuke's face.
"Y-You... Wh... What一"
Oh, how he enjoyed the sight of this flustered little human. His beast purred with obvious contentment at the view and the fact that it echoed in his mind did not help him reign control over his senses.
He turned his back to the young Eito heir and began walking back, his mood visibly brighter. "We shall meet again soon, Hyousuke."
Said man flushed even harder at the mention of his given name without permission or honorific and grumbled under his breath, something about demons and their egos.
Sesshomaru smirked once more, placing the stolen red ribbon withing the folds of his kimono.
Oh, how he would enjoy taming the little human.
✂------------------------------------------
i'm a hoe for both sesshomaru and wei wuxian and it ain't good for my sanity to write this
