Adult-FanFiction.org : Inuyasha / Yashahime

Battlefield 1542
By : Dunkelgelb
Category: InuYasha > General
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Disclaimer: I do not own InuYasha, nor make money from this story.
Chapter List
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Battlefield 1542
Chapter IV: Enemies from Within

To Shippo, the staircase of spiraled iron seemed to stretch on and on to furthest limits of leg-wearying infinity, appearing to bore clean through the stadium's basement and miles beneath the surface of the Dust Bowl. The fordbodingly-militaristic, titanium-reinforced concrete armor of the stadium's outer surface and upper superstructure had long since disappeared, replaced by far more aesthetically pleasing surfaces. The walls had become plaster panes of swirled color, red and white fusing in an artistic, wood-framed maelstrom, and the glassless concrete gun ports, whose edges had been refurbished time and time again from the eroding, centuries-long hail of sandstorm and occasional enemy attack, had been removed in favor of wall-inlaid display cases, each housing the marble countenance of a past Youkai Budokai champion. Since Shippo and Rouyakan were situated deep inside the stadium's defensive perimeter, such liberties could be taken with the decoration without expense to overall security.

Eventually, the lengthy and increasingly ornate staircase ran out of steps. Shippo and Rouyakan had arrived at the second level of the Budokai stadium; the lowest floor the service stairs could take them to. At that moment, the kitsune found himself, along with his ookami escort, standing in a short, hard oakwood floored hallway, face-to-face with a pair of scowling figures standing on opposite sides of a set of double, steel doors, each wearing a black business suit with the obvious bulge of a submachine gun holstered underneath their arm of preference. The one on the left was rather short and lanky for a male youkai, his hair short, and purely jade-green, tied behind him in a small tail. The one on the right was the almost the exact opposite, tall and muscular, his hair short and jet black, held back by a leather tie. Each bore a symbol on their forehead between their bangs: three red fangs crossed by a single , white crescent moon.

That mark was the Inu no Taisho's official seal.

The big one tilted his head slightly and dipped his semi-transparent shades lower on his nose with one, neatly-clipped talon, looking Rouyakan and Shippo over with close, laser-like scrutiny. His eyes, both pools of pure, ink black, locked onto Shippo, then Rouyakan, then back to Shippo, making uncomfortably-direct eye contact with him. The kitsune, though an adult, felt like a little kit in front of this demon, for it was like staring five-hundred years into the past through his younger self's eyes at the stoic, passively threatening visage of a Sesshoumaru about to strike with a blood-soaked Tokijin.

He squeaked lightly, for he wished he still had his FAL with him.

The demon only smirked and nodded torward his green-haired, green-eyed counterpart, both stepping back and pushing the door nearest them open for the soldier wolf and acting holy envoy. Instantly, all four met a shocking rush of sudden noise, the sound of untold thousands of demons cheering on their favored contender. The youkai guards waved Rouyakan and Shippo onward and shut the steel doors as soon as they passed through.

Shippo felt as if he had stepped not through a door, but through the Bone Eater's Well, winding up dead-center in the Sengoku Jidai. The exterior of the stadium had indeed been something of a fortress, but the interior was an exact replica of a feudal daimyou's home castle, save that each castle floor was essentially a circular hallway sandwiched between two arrays of spectator bleachers, stacked concentrically several times over to give the stadium its immense height. No cement walls or gun ports lay in sight; polished hardwood flooring, white plaster, wooden-beam-reinforced walls, and sliding doors of rice paper and wooden lattice dominated the indoor area. Quickly, the kitsune glanced over his shoulder at the steel door he had just passed through and smiled amusedly. The stadium's architect had even gone so far as to paint the doors' steel surfaces over and blend them almost unnoticeably into the archaic structure that surrounded them.

As he and Rouyakan walked along the anachronistically-styled hallway, Shippo gazed out over the arena's diameter, noting how much of a following the tournament had garnered. Even though the bleachers themselves could seat dozens of thousands, they were jam-packed, and the halls had nearly flooded over with youkai trying to get a good view of the action. Hundreds of demons were jockeying for a position at the hallway's polished brass handrail, which gave a wide, spacious view of the fighting ring's white ceramic tile, its surrounding artificial grass, and the curved stadium bleachers just below.

A duel raged on that tournament ring. The two warriors that occupied it were busy trying to beat each other senseless, leaping around the elevated, equilateral platform with practiced ease, and Rouyakan noted the identity of one of them with a disgusted frown.

It was the dog-demon lord Shyushu.

Shyushu's lengthy silvery hair, tied back in a high ponytail, and the edges of his dark-red robes lilted behind him as he shuffled from side-to-side and dodged his opponent's well-aimed punches, a river of ivory and crimson that followed him like the throng of terrified servants that he had belittled and abused during his reign as Eastern Lord in Japan's ancient Sengoku Jidai. Thin slits of ink-black adorned his brow, framing his bored, half-lidded, and dusty yellow eyes like the borders of the lands he had once threatened to overpower and subjugate. The dog-demon's deathly-black lips curled upward into a dark, fang-filled smile, for his opponent would soon become his prey.

This was the one part of the Youkai Budokai that Rouyakan possessed absolutely no taste for. Whereas the vast majority of the tournament's regulars brought an air of entertainment and sportish factionalism along with them, the only thing Shyushu brought to the Budokai was pure, wrenching fear. Many of the demons that participated in the competition were still living, having been alive when they made the move to the Dust Bowl, and whenever one came up against Shyushu during the course of the elimination bracket, they feared for their lives, each with good reason. Shyushu's methods were devastatingly schizophrenic; he waltzed gracefully on his feet and avoided confrontation as a mockery of his enemy, then in a heartbeat, transformed into a merciless creature of war, pounding his victim rapidly and brutally with nothing more than his bare hands, often leaving his opponent badly-beaten and completely unconscious, laden with a painful array of broken bones and internal bleeding. Shyushu had never killed any of his quarry in his five-hundred-year-long existence in the Dust Bowl, but he had come damned close, and all knew of the extent to which his wrath could reach.

All, except one, that is, and that one, poor soul had the misfortune of fighting the malevolent demon lord on his debut bout.

Shyushu's opponent, a fresh-faced ryu-youkai, a newcomer to the tournament and seeking to build a reputation, became fed up with the dog-demon's playful antics, and lunged forth with his right, clenched fist in an attempt to wipe the amused grin off his antagonist's face. Unfortunately, Shyushu had also grown tired of playing games.

The dog-demon stepped to one side and caught his dragon enemy's scaled arm underneath his own, left arm, clamping down on it with concrete force. The dragon growled in anger and attempted to catch Shyushu's jaw with a surprise left hook, only to have that fist intercepted as well, entrenched deeply in his target's right palm. Completely restrained, the dragon warrior jerked in every direction, trying to break free of Shyushu's iron grip, but the dog-demon only smiled and cackled in his deep, soft, yet somehow sinister and almost snake-like voice.

"You're new at this, aren't you?"

The dragon-demon only snarled out in frustration.

"I'll go easy on you, then."

Shyushu began to squeeze the dragon's right arm between his solid torso and muscular left bicep with incredible power, and that arm's owner grunted in pain, the pain amplified further as the dog's sharp claws began pressing into the backside of his balled fist. The inu-youkai cackled, his laugh coming out as a chuckling hiss as he added more and more pressure to his victim's arm, the sounds of the dragon's pain filling the stadium. Gradually, the crowd's cheering roar died down to an awkward hush, the sight before them far from entertaining.

Grinning toothily, Shyushu slowly inched his left forearm up the red cloth that covered his chest until it rested perpendicularly against the dragon's own forearm. The ryu-youkai's obsidian-black eyes widened in horror, and he forgot entirely about the blood that had begun to ooze from the wounds caused by the talons digging into his hand, for the bones in his forearm had begun contorting and cracking in the opening stages of a complete fracture. At that point, the dragon did the only thing he could think of: he begged for mercy.

"All right, all right! You win! I give up! Please, don't break my arm!" the warrior pleaded.

At that moment, the tournament announcer, a certain raccoon-dog by the name of Hachi, stepped up to the edge of the fighting ring, decked out in his blue dress kimono with his wireless microphone in hand. The dragon's concession of defeat signaled the end of the match, and it was his task to halt the fighting.

"Ladies and gentlemen! China's dragon-demon Hasarin has conceded defeat! Shyushu is the wi-"

Shyushu cut Hachi off with one short phrase, delivering it as a harsh growl as he gave the soft-spoken raccoon-dog a quick, burning glance with his sickly-yellow eyes.

"Shut up."

Abruptly, Hachi jolted at the command, and his voice trailed off into nothingness as he backed away in fear, his brown, furred ears flattening against his head. However, he did not protest the demon lord. He wasn't stupid, and he knew that given the chance, the inu-youkai would bludgeon even his slightest critics into bloody pulp. Besides, the raccoon-dog knew that it wasn't his job to deal with those that broke the Dust Bowl's law. That task fell to the Taisho himself.

Satisfied that the raccoon-demon would not intervene, Shyushu returned his attention to his turqoise-skinned prey, cocking his head and grinning darkly as he peered into Hasarin's ink-black eyes. No confidence or haughtinence remained in those dark pools; only terror remained, and the dog-demon reveled in it.

An ornate observers' balcony constructed of dark, hand-carved oak and red velvet carpeting, situated between the top and bottom spectator decks, split the middle deck into two giant arcs, an elaborate structure that provided the best view in the entire stadium to a certain, all-powerful inu-youkai and his human mate. That dog-demon stood tall and brooding underneath the shade of the balcony's red canvas overhang, his right hand gripping the brass balcony rail with the ever-increasing force of his rage. Slowly, that metal tube began to cave in.

Fury, brought on Shyushu's blatant disregard for the rules of the Youkai Budokai, had ensnared the Inu no Taisho.

Five-hundred years of governing the Dust Bowl had not changed the Taisho's appearance; it had only changed his perceptions. His amber eyes still glimmered with tolerant wit, his long, ponytailed hair still shone as a pure, silver of river flowing down his back, and he even wore the same white robes and black, spiked armor that he had worn the night of his fiery death inside the castle of Setsuna no Takemaru, but his responsibility, the responsibility of making sure his subjects enjoyed peace and prosperity behind the border of the Soul Divide, had made him stern and pre-emptive when it came to dealing with those that broke the law.

To the Taisho, weakness and half-heartedness in any endeavor invited disaster. Takemaru's treachery had taught him that long ago. Thus, the great demon's anger stemmed from his own display of such weakness, for he could not find it in his heart to punish Shyushu for his misdeeds.

After all, how could he act against his own brother?

Shyushu grinned down at Hasarin, then lifted his head to glance at the Taisho's observational balcony at the opposite end of the tournament ring. The sadistic dog-demon laughed; anger was practically oozing from his sibling, and rage burned inside his eyes. However, to Shyushu, the best part of the whole situation was the fact that his dear brother wasn't going to try to punish him. All the great Inu no Taisho could stomach giving to him was an angry glare and maybe a few days suspension from the tournament.

Family loyalty had always been one of the Taisho's few weaknesses.

Shyushu snapped out of his malicious reverie when Hasarin made a deft attempt to break out of his opponent's hold, wriggling and twisting his right arm wildly, trying to capitalize on the dog-demon's momentary distraction.

The dragon failed, and all he gained from trying to break out was Shyushu's rock-solid forehead, thrust down and slammed into his own in a vicious headbutt. Hasarin gurgled in pain, his head ringing and mind disoriented from the force of the blow. He fell limp, practically hanging from Shyushu's arms as his legs buckled underneath him. The dog smirked and hefted his arms up, raising Hasarin to his feet while flexing his left bicep, beginning to crush the scaled forearm he had trapped underneath it.

Shyushu laughed right in Hasarin's face.

"It is a shame your debut had to end like this, my friend, but you'll not be leaving empty-handed. Take home this lesson to your friends: I own this tournament now, and no one is going to stop me," the inu said.

The dog-demon then turned his palm away from him, twiddling his clawed fingers mockingly in the dragon's face as he tensed his bicep and ever-so-slightly twitched his left forearm outward.

The dragon-demon screamed in agony as both bones in his forearm snapped cleanly in two with a sickening crack.

Laughing in delight, Shyushu released his prey and the ryu stumbled backward, crumpling hard to his knees as he cradled his right arm gently in his left, everything past the midpoint of his right forearm bent inward at a horrific angle. So severe was the damage, in fact, the dragon couldn't even twitch his fingers, his carpal tendons writhing impotently inside him.

Two more dragon-demons, friends of Hasarin who had attended the bout as his supporters, scrambled from the sideline hallway, pushing their way through a throng of other fighters to get at the tournament arena. They ran up to the ring's side, screaming at their friend in their native Chinese, telling him to cut and run.

Shyushu chuckled; no language escaped his comprehension. He had never let any of his victims get away, and Hasarin would be no different. The dog-demon intended to savor his prey's pain.

"Do you hear that, Hasarin?" Shyushu growled, striding over to to crumpled dragon-demon, fisting his right hand in his ink-black hair and turning his head harshly to one side, aiming his gaze at his friends, "They want you to run away, to them, presumably. Well, we can't let them down, can we?"

Shyushu tossed Hasarin's limp form up into the air, wrapping his right hand around the ankle of the dragon's left boot, pulling down and slamming him back down to the hard tile floor like an animal-tamer would crack a whip. Hasarin's kin roared in protest, for what had started out as an entertaining sport had turned into a massacre. Their friend stood an excellent chance of getting himself killed, at that point.

The inu-youkai saw the two dragons' concern and grinned as he began to swing Hasarin's body from side-to-side, picking up momentum with each passing second. Suddenly, he whipped himself around in a complete circle, cackling out as he launched Hasarin's body forward, releasing his grip and sending the dragon into all-out, level flight.

Hasarin's allies grimaced and braced their bodies for oncoming impact, for Shyushu had sent their friend sailing directly for them. One stepped back and braced his counterpart's shoulder with his hands, while the other opened his arms wide in an attempt to catch Hasarin.

The barely-conscious ryu-youkai barreled back-first into his friends at high speed, all three of them skittering back on the grass for a few feet before keeling over altogether. One dragon-demon, who went by the name of Yun, sat up quickly and checked Hasarin over for injury.

He found a great deal of it.

Hasarin's right forearm had been broken clean, and due to being slammed down into the dense material of the fighting ring's tile floor, he sported a heavy concussion. His eyes were open, but they were unfocused, roaming around his field of view lazily and blindly.

Yun jerked his head away from his injured companion as Shyushu stepped down from the tile platform, striding cockily over to where they sat. All he could do was curse.

"You stupid son-of-a-bitch! Hasarin surrendered to you!" Yun screamed, "He gave up, and you nearly fucking killed him, anyway!"

"Ah, so he's alive?" Shyushu asked, craning his head to look at the bloodied aftermath of his handiwork, "That's really a shame."

"You'll pay, you bastard! We'll go straight to the Taisho for this!"

Shyushu laughed heartily.

"Idiot. The Taisho is my brother!. Go find someone who cares."

With that, Shyushu walked off into the sideline hallway, the dense crowd of tournament contenders that had filled it parting neatly and rapidly to make room for the inu-youkai as he passed through.

Right after Shyushu left, a pair of white-haired, female bat-demons, dressed in long, dark orange kimonos with a red cross sewn onto their shoulders, exited the hallway and made their way across the fighting ring's surrounding grass to where Hasarin and his companions had fallen, both with one hand gripping an end of a evacuation stretcher. Immediately, they began to analyze Hasarin's condition.

"Will he live?" Yun asked, making room for the two nurses.

"I believe so," one bat-demon said, looking over Hasarin's body while she looked into his eyes carefully, "Your friend here is in remarkably good shape, actually, considering that Shyushu was involved. He's really quite lucky to have gotten away with just a broken arm and a concussion."

"That's right," the other nurse added, "Give him a week or so of rest and he should be just fine."

Yun sighed.

"Thank you," the dragon said, standing up and looking down to his two counterparts, "Shin, stay with Hasarin. I'm going to go see if there's anything I can do about that silver-haired asshole Shyushu."

Up on the second-level promenade, Rouyakan grunted angrily and slammed his fist down on the metal railing as two medics carried the infirmed Hasarin out of the central arena. Shyushu was a menace to all inside the Dust Bowl. Shippo frowned at the entire event, and turned to Rouyakan in his confusion.

"Rouyakan, what's going on?"

"Shyushu is going on," Rouyakan growled, "He's been going on for six-hundred years."

"What do you mean?" Shippo pressed.

"Shyushu's a tyrant, an overgrown bully," Rouyakan said, pushing off from the handrail and walking down the highly-populated hall, Shippo doing the same, "He abuses everything and everyone he gets close to. He came to the Dust Bowl along with the rest of us in the sixteenth-century, way back when the Kaioshins moved all youkai into the spirit realm. All he's done since then is cause trouble, and now that he's decided to fight in the Budokai, he can beat the living Hell out of anyone through the guise of a controlled competition."

"Well, if he's such a problem, why not just kick him out? I'm sure the Taisho can take care of him," Shippo suggested.

Rouyakan chuckled bitterly.

"Things really aren't that simple."

"Why not?"

"Shyushu is Taisho-sama's brother."

Shippo froze, stunned by Rouyakan's statement. The kit admitted to himself that he didn't know the Inu no Taisho personally, having seen him only once, immediately after Sesshoumaru and InuYasha banished the sentient katana Sou'unga to Purgatory, but he simply couldn't believe that an individual as vicious as Shyushu could be at all related to anyone so seemingly benign and tolerant as the Inu no Taisho.

Rouyakan smiled at Shippo's dumbfounded expression.

"Heh, I know. Family ties can warp in any direction, and anyone can be related to another."

Rouyakan and Shippo resumed their journey for the Taisho's den, and the kitsune rubbed the back of his neck in disconcertion.

"Why is Shyushu doing all of this, then? Why would he cause so much trouble in his own brother's domain?"

"I would blame simple jealousy for that." Rouyakan said.

"Jealousy?"

"Yes. The title Inu no Taisho is just that: a title. It is a rank of leadership given by a council of dog-demons to the one dog-demon best fit to lead the entire contingent. Taisho-sama and Shyushu were once candidates for that title, and I believe Shyushu has held a grudge against his brother ever since, because he was not chosen to lead. Personally, I don't think he ever had any real chance of getting elected, anyway; the council's vote was rather heavily-stacked against him, in the end."

"So, Shyushu makes trouble because he thinks he should be ruling the Dust Bowl and Taisho-sama won't get rid of him because he doesn't want to turn against his brother?"

"In a nutshell, that is exactly it, and it only gets worse as time goes on, because while we try to cope with Shyushu, we also have to fight off Naraku."

~~~~~~~~~~

The Inu no Taisho's right fist clenched hard in his anger, crushing the handrail beneath his palm into a lump of twisted brass. His amber eyes bled over and flared blood red at Shyushu's sheer arrogance and disregard toward his fellow citizens. Worst of all, Hasarin had come to unnecessary harm, and not only was Shyushu to blame for administering it, the Taisho began to hate himself for letting his brother's transgressions go unchecked for so long. He was about to roar out in his frustration when two slender, feminine arms snaked around his waist and a warm, soft body embraced him from behind, the woman's tender cheek pressing into the white fluff of his thrice-split fur pelt.

"Kyushu-kun...why are you so upset?" Izayoi asked, taking in the haughtiness of her mate's virile scent.

Kyushu's right fist trembled for a few moments, then relaxed slowly and peeled off of the crushed metal, his hand slinking away to cover one of his mate's, twining his long, taloned fingers with her own.

"Koishii...I seem to have lost my way in this Dust Bowl. I do not seem to know what I am doing, anymore." Kyushu said, his voice deep and soft, but unlike Shyushu's, devoid of venom and disdain.

Izayoi squeezed Kyushu's hand in reassurance.

"You haven't lost me, though, and I know you're loving me, at least" she said.

Kyushu smiled, the blue, jagged stripes on each of his cheeks curling upward a bit.

"That I am, but...Shyushu...I have to punish him. I want to punish him, but each time, I just cannot make myself do it. InuYasha grew up hating Sesshoumaru, and Sesshoumaru hated InuYasha right back. I do not want such bitterness between me and my brother, but he pushes me every single day, anyway. Izayoi, what can I do?"

"Well, all I know is that any less of a brother would have kicked him out long ago, but it looks like Shyushu violated the rules of the Budokai by not ending the match when Hasarin conceded. If nothing else, you can catch him on a legality."

Kyushu chuckled and turned around in his mate's arms, pressing a chaste kiss to her forehead, right between her straight, raven-black bangs.

"You are wise, and that is only one of the many things I love about you." Kyushu said, murmuring against Izayoi's soft skin.

The Taisho gently pulled away his Lady's embrace, then stepped off of the observation balcony, descending a small wooden staircase and entering a large hall. Most of the hall's flooring was made of red-and-white marble tile, but a large, rectangular section of polished hardwood flooring lay in the center; it was a waltz floor. Tall pillars, made of marble similar to that of the floor, connected the flooring to the high-mounted, arched ceiling, long tapestries showcasing the insignia of a past Budokai champion mounted on each.

Eventually, the Taisho reached the end of the spacious dance hall, coming to a set of heavy, rosewood doors, his official symbol painted carefully over the seam where the doors separated. Reaching to a polished metal handle, he pulled one of the doors open and instantly laid eyes on the object of his search: his guard commander.

His name was Daisuke, a deer-demon who had served under the Taisho on Earth as a captain in his army, right up until the day of the Taisho's death in battle. He could almost pass for a dog-demon, as his waist-length, ghostly-white, and tightly-tied hair shone like that of Sesshoumaru or InuYasha, but his eyes, the left one lilac violet, the right one honey gold, and the tapered, bony tips on his forehead that marked the position of his transformed-state's antlers, were not that of a typical dog-demon.

He sat on a leather couch atop the upper landing of an elegant wooden staircase, which split off into two directions and led down to the second-level promenade. He wore pure black: tall combat boots, cargo-pocketed trousers, a turtle-necked shirt, and a shin-length trenchcoat. A series of bulging canvas pouches sewn into a belt covered his chest, each containing a thirty-round box magazine designed for the Kalashnikov rifle that leaned up against the upholstered seat to his left. He sat with his left ankle resting on his right knee, a clipboard clasped in his left hand as he went through his regular, systematic security check, contacting each stadium guard post through the radio mounted on the inside of his coat.

"Kansuke, Shosuke, it's me. What's your status?"

"Everything is fine over here, Dai," a crackled, electronically-distorted voice replied, "Rouyakan just passed through with someone a little while ago, but they came from the service stairs, so Touran and the rest checked them out before."

"Got it," Daisuke said, switching a dial on his radio, "Touran, Daisuke here. How is everything up there? Kansuke said Rouyakan brought in a new demon."

"Yeah, he was kind of an old friend of ours," Touran said, "Problem is, Rouyakan said he got attacked by a saimyousho way out on the western Divide border. We're hitting that whole sector with a thermal scan right now. Rouyakan thinks Naraku might attack today."

"Oh, isn't that wonderful?," Daisuke sighed, "I'll make sure Taisho-sama knows about that. Daisuke out."

"Copy."

Daisuke shut off his radio, crossed out a few boxes on his checklist with a red marker, then suddenly, sniffed the air lightly. He detected the Taisho's scent. He tensed and looked up quickly, finding the focus of that scent standing just in front of the hall door. The great inu-youkai smiled.

"Am I interrupting you?" the Taisho asked.

Daisuke held his breath for a moment, then exhaled heavily and stood up slowly from the couch.

"No, sir. You just startled me. What can I do for you?"

"Call Hachi and send him up here. I need to speak with him, immediately."

"Oh, what about?" Daisuke asked, adjusting the frequency of his radio to match that of Hachi's.

"I will be evicting Shyushu from the Budokai."

Daisuke stilled, then raised his head to glance at the Taisho. No uncertainty existed in the great inu's amber eyes; he was entirely serious, and this time, he would follow through on Shyushu. The deer-demon's lips curled into a deft smirk and his dual-colored eyes filled with dark enthusiasm. He could feel the golden halo that hovered above his head twitching in the delight, energized by the prospect of even the slightest amount of revenge.

No one hated Shyushu more than that single deer-demon, for Shyushu had been Daisuke's executioner. The twisted inu-youkai had eaten him alive.

"I can tell that you mean it, this time, Taisho-sama," Daisuke said while activating his radio, venomous glee filling his normally quiet voice, "Hachi, this is Daisuke. Taisho-sama wishes to speak with you."

"Oh, dear," Hachi groaned, resignant to what he thought would be a punishment, "Hai, I'm on my way."

Daisuke returned his attention to his leader, grinning darkly.

"I can only speculate at what it was that drove you to this decision, Taisho-sama. Tell me, was it a tremendous weight that changed your mind, or was it the proverbial straw on the camel's back?"

The Inu no Taisho closed his eyes and sighed.

"This is a difficult choice that I have made, Daisuke. I must ask you to save your gloating for later."

Daisuke's smirk disappeared, and he lowered his head a bit, sobering himself rapidly. He was not ignorant of how much the Taisho valued his family; he could see the conflict burning within him, and his remarks would only fuel it. Besides, the deer-demon knew that simply evicting Shyushu from the tournament was nowhere near what he really wanted.

Daisuke wanted Shyushu crushed like an rancid cockroach. Only then could the shika truly enjoy revenge.

"Hai. Gomen nasai." the deer-demon apologized.

"However," the Taisho added, smiling lightly, "Shyushu may not want to go willingly. Fetch your brothers as assistance, just in case."

The shika-youkai chuckled.

"I will retrieve them, personally." he said, bowing curtly, "Oh, and before I forget, Touran just told me that Rouyakan encountered a saimyousho on the western fringe. I advise that we deploy the upper rooftop armor, in case Naraku decides to attack."

"Very well. Go and give Touran the order."

"Hai, Taisho-sama."

Daisuke bowed again and turned to pick up his rifle by its laminated, wooden foregrip, slinging it over his right shoulder and heading down the stairs. The Taisho, in turn, disappeared through the heavy doors behind him, closing them gently as he passed through. Izayoi stood in wait for him.

"Kyushu-kun? I heard you talking about the armor shell. Is Naraku going to attack?"

"I am unsure," Kyushu said, "You are not afraid, are you?"

Izayoi laughed and kicked Kyushu lightly in the shin with the edge of her right sandal.

"Afraid? Me? With you around, why ever should I be frightened? I was only concerned that Juunanagou and Kouga might not get to fight each other if the rest of the Budokai gets cancelled."

Kyushu grinned.

"I would not cancel their magnificent Blue-Eyed Murder for one misplaced, misguided spider-demon," the inu said.

"I'm glad to hear that. Those two have become quite popular with the crowd. There'd be a riot."

Just then, the paw of a raccoon-dog knocked on one of the hall's heavy wooden door.

"Come," the Taisho called, walking toward the origin on the knock.

The right-hand door squeaked open a few inches and Hachi poked his mottled, grey-furred head through, his ears flattened against his head in shame.

"You called, milord?" Hachi said unenthusiastically, stepping through the doors' archway.

"Yes. I need to know something about Shyushu's match with Hasarin."

"Ah, yes," Hachi sighed, "I apologize for not standing up to Shyushu when he defied my call to end the match."

The Taisho shook his head.

"There is no need to apologize, Hachi; it is my job to enforce the law," he said, patting Hachi on one shoulder, "Now, if I am not mistaken, refusing an opponent's concession of defeat is grounds for disqualification, correct?"

"Ah, hai, milord." Hachi confirmed, his spirits rising again.

"Good. Tell the bracket organizers to eject Shyushu from the competition, then."

"Oh, dear. I don't think he's going to like that."

The inu-youkai's golden eyes narrowed slightly.

"That is exactly the point. At any rate, more pleasant things await, do they not? After you speak with the bracket runners, tell the staff to deploy the Nightshade, and prepare for Blue-Eyed Murder. I believe that the demons in attendance today desire a good show!"

"But, Taisho-sama! We're only halfway through the regular elimination; Blue-Eyed Murder isn't scheduled for another four hours!"

"I am aware of that, but Naraku may try something soon. If it comes down to a fight, I do not want Naraku cheating us out of what may be the this Youkai Budokai's most entertaining act."

"Very well, then, Taisho-sama. I'll get right on it."

Hachi turned and scampered out of the hall, pushing through its large doors and nearly running head-first into Shippo and Rouyakan as they climbed the staircase.

"Oh! Pardon me!" Hachi said as he hopped up on one side of the stairway and slid down the curved, brass banister.

As Shippo and Rouyakan arrived upon the staircase's top landing, the kitsune caught a glimpse of a tail of silvery-white hair as the door closed its last, and he realized the the Inu no Taisho, InuYasha's father and perhaps the strongest demon to have ever lived, stood just scant feet beyond the small obstacle of two rosewood doors.

"Are you ready? This is the Inu no Taisho that you're about to meet," Rouyakan asked, grasping one door's handle, smiling at Shippo's apprehension.

Shippo steeled himself.

"Let's do this," he said.

Rouyakan nodded and pulled the door wide open, holding it open for Shippo as he stepped through. At first, the kitsune found himself gawking at the sheer size of the cavernous, marble-floored hall, but that hall's two occupants soon became the object of his captivation.

Shippo stood frozen in place as he gazed upon the Inu no Taisho and his Lady mate, the pieces of a centuries-old, perpetually-incomplete puzzle falling into place at long last. The kit was totally enveloped, captured by their presence, InuYasha's image differentiating and interweaving into the surrealistic coexistence of each of his two halves. He could see both sides of his old friend at once, each one separate and independent of the other, the hanyou's humanity embodied by the attractive, raven-haired woman before him and his demon nature incarnated into the tall, ghost-haired inu-youkai at her side.

The Taisho beamed amusement at Shippo's amazement, then walked over to the speechless kit and bowed respectfully in front of him.

"Shippo, I presume," the Taisho said.

"H-hai," Shippo squeaked, struggling to form even the simplest of his words.

"What is the matter?" the inu asked with a smile, "Does a cat have your tongue?"

Shippo smiled, composing both himself and a witty comeback.

"No, Taisho-sama, just my gun."

"You are a quick one," the Taisho approved, "I appreciate that. Now, what is it you came all the way out to the Dust Bowl to see me for? I spoke with King Yamma earlier, but he was rather dodgy in making his point. I am rather in the dark in this matter."

"Well, that is a long story." Shippo replied.

The Inu no Taisho folded his arms across his chest and cocked his head.

"Enlighten me, then."

- To be continued-
- 4
- 5
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Battlefield 1542	By : Dunkelgelb Category: InuYasha > General Views: 1935 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own InuYasha, nor make money from this story.

Battlefield 1542