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Blood is the New Black	By : QueenoftheDream Category: InuYasha > Het - Male/Female > Sessh?maru/Kagome > Sessh?maru/Kagome Views: 5749 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha, nor the characters from it. I made no money in writing this fiction.

Chapter List
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... With the Reaper at Your Side
July 7, 1853. Edo
"Sesshomaru-sama," a soft female voice sounded behind the thin shoji screen. Sesshomaru could see from the corner of his eye her silhouette crouched next to the door, awaiting his permission to come in.
"You may enter."
She quietly slid the shoji open and stepped inside, crouching upon the floor to set her tray upon the floor before shutting the screen. She softly padded across the tatami mats and set the tray beside the stoic man.
"I've brought you something to eat, my lord." She bowed low, her tied-back hair falling over her shoulder. Sesshomaru paid her no heed and remained seated upon the floor, gazing up at the immaculate set of samurai armor that he had inherited from his father upon his deathbed nearly eight years previously.
"Please, my lord, you must eat before you go down to meet the ships tomorrow. For the sake of your health, I beg yo-"
"Leave."
"Yes, my lord." She bowed once more before padding over to the shoji to open it. Sesshomaru's eyes followed her out of the room, watching her soft, supple form quietly retreat from his sight. As he refocused upon the armor in front of him, he heard the woman softly pad away whispering, "No, Hidenori-chan. The lord is busy right now."
He stared at the red lacquer adorning the intricately patterned armor. The color of blood… There was going to be blood spilt tomorrow, he was sure of it.
That night, he came to sit in the main room of his home. He was quickly presented with a meal of rice and pickled vegetables with steamed fish. He set to eating it promptly and was aware of the woman's eyes lingering upon him. Next to her was seated a small toddler, who was fed by one of the household's staff.
"My lord, must you go down tomorrow to the ships? I am sure that the other samurai are well-equipped to care for such a matter."
"Do you insinuate that I am incapable of doing as such?" He raised a cup of sake to his lips without meeting her eyes, knowing that her face would be the one little chip in his armor that would make it fall to pieces.
"No, of course not, my lord." He saw her bow her head with the pretense of shame, but knew that she would once again brook the subject, stubborn creature that she was. "I merely suggest that such a show of force would prompt these American sailors to suspect hostility."
He nearly snorted. "That is what we aim for, is it not? Those cursed black ships bode ill. We've had no problems in keeping trade limited to our allies; why should we change just because these new 'Americans' demand as such? It's ridiculous." He drained the sake cup and placed it firmly upon the ground, where it was promptly refilled, the soft woman's dainty, pale hands practically glowing in the lantern light as her sleeve slipped up to reveal a tantalizing glimpse at the smooth flesh of her wrist.
At that moment, the child began to fuss, and she nodded her head to a servant who whisked the child away to be put to bed.
"If you must go down to the harbor tomorrow, I insist upon accompanying you. I have a bad feeling about these black ships," she murmured as she deliberately set down the sake bottle.
His face fell into a stony scowl. "No."
"But, my lord, I can wield the naginata as well as any man-"
"NO! And that is final! You are my wife and will do as I bid you!" He was nearly shouting, and he vowed not to grace his impertinent wife with any more words as he brought his chopsticks to his mouth once more.
"I beg your forgiveness, my lord," she murmured, bowing in apology. "Is there anything my lord requires? Should I await you in the next room?"
"Hmm," he grunted in response, and dared to flit his eyes to the left to look at her. Her big, inquisitive eyes were narrowed in a smile. She bowed once more and stood.
"Enjoy your meal, my lord. I will await your presence in the other room," she murmured with a smile as she delicately padded across the tatami and out of the room. He quickly finished his meal and began undressing. A servant hurried off and returned with a sleeping yukata, which he slipped on. With unhurried steps, he strode toward the bedroom.
When he reached the shoji, he saw his wife's figure sitting seiza near the screen, silhouetted by the candlelight behind her. As soon as she saw his shadow approaching, she slid open the screen and allowed him to enter. He looked down upon her as she shut the door. She was donning a fresh yukata with her dark hair hanging free to the middle of her back.
As soon as she stood up, she turned to place her hands upon his chest ever so softly, parting the fabric as she brought her lips to ghost over the hollow of his neck. In a flurry of panting and rustling clothing, she was on her back and he was lavishing her with warm kisses as he ran his hands over the fabric covering her small breasts. His long, black hair fell to slide against her throat, making her shudder. Her shapely rose petal lips parted, and she moaned his name, spurring him on. Just as he reached a hand down to pull apart the folds of her yukata, the shoji screen slammed open with a loud clack.
"My lord," a male voice shouted. Sesshomaru contemplated pulling out his sword and smiting the bastard where he stood, but instead he turned and stared coldly at the intruding soldier.
"Many apologies, my lord, but your presence is being requested at the harbor immediately. The black ships are coming in early." With a sigh, he stood and walked through the house towards the red lacquered armor while his wife hurried away to fetch his clothes, far too dignified for a woman in such a disheveled state. The soldier bowed hastily and retreated, seemingly sensing the boiling rage and hard determination emanating from Sesshomaru.
His wife inevitably returned with a bundle of clothes in her arms, and a time later, he was completely dressed, bedecked head to toe in his father's armor. Walking through his home with his wife trailing behind, he reached the front entrance and strode out into the moonlit night, straight to where his warhorse was posted. He mounted and, looking down to the ground, saw that his wife was staring tearfully up at him, her dark eyes glistening with moisture.
"I fear you will not return." Her voice quivered and her hands trembled. He said nothing in response and spurred his horse forward, riding toward the sea.
When he reached the crest of the hill just above the shore, he could see that a group of samurai had already gathered to welcome a small rowboat from one of the black ships anchored nearby. As he approached, he saw that behind the gathering of boisterous, blond-haired "Americans," was a small, hooded figure; all that could be seen was pale, white skin and small fingers grasping the edge of the thick, black woolen cloak that was clasped together by a string of jade magatama.
One of the sailors reached forward a hand in greeting, but his face was as blank and insincere as a viper. Sesshomaru stared at the hand and crossed his arms.
The Americans' translator, a tiny balding man of squat stature, quickly hashed out the details of the impending morning's schedule when the rest of the sailors and their commander would come ashore to speak with the daimyo.
Slightly perturbed that his presence was requested for such a trivial matter, Sesshomaru remounted his horse noisily, his armor settling around him, and carefully steered his horse back up the rocky hill to the shaded road leading toward his home. The horse began whining and stamping its hooves and Sesshomaru jerked the reins, scoffing in irritation.
Shooting out of the tree-sheltered tall grasses next to the road, a shadow slammed into the horse, throwing Sesshomaru to the ground. The horse's leg was broken and jutting out at a horrid angle as it rolled on its side and screamed shrilly, tossing its head about. He could see its eyes bulging, rolling in the sockets as he deftly rolled away. The swift black shadow quickly jumped upon the animal, snapping its neck with a quick jerk of its hands. The animal's head flopped to the ground with a thump, and he could see the tip of its tongue slide out of the open mouth to dip into the dirt.
Sesshomaru quickly righted himself, bringing his katana out of its sheath. The metal slid out with a metallic ring that echoed in the still night. As he planted his feet firmly on the ground, the assassin stepped into the moonlight, and he saw that it was the strange woman accompanying the American sailors. She pulled the hood down, and he narrowed his eyes when her own clear grey ones stared piercingly into his face. Her jaw was slightly square, indicating Korean origin rather than Japanese.
"Remove your helmet," she softly commanded in lightly accented Japanese, and he strangely found himself obeying, dropping his prized sword in the dirt to reach for his helmet. It was if he had no control over his body; as if he was being manipulated, a prisoner in his own skin. His helmet thudded on the dirt road.
"And your armor," she continued, and he tugged at the fastenings until the heirloom plate armor fell and clanged against the ground. Inside, he was seething, longing to reach out and strike the small woman down for her insolence.
"Come here." A small hand appeared from between the folds of the dark cloak and beckoned him toward her. His feet involuntarily began shuffling forward, and he tried with all of his willpower to resist, tensing his muscles and gritting his teeth until beads of sweat appeared on his forehead.
The female smiled, and the moonlight shone upon her pallid cheeks, making them look dewy and pearlescent. His feet continued to drag forward despite his tense, resistant muscles. Her small hands reached up to gently cup his face, and he was struck at how cold her fingers felt upon his flesh. One hand slid down his neck to slip under his kimono collar and pull it aside. The exposed skin prickled with gooseflesh. She stepped forward and, just before her chest flattened against his, a tanto blade plunged into her abdomen, and Sesshomaru's stiff hand twisted the blade. He could feel liquid flowing over his hands, but it felt cool and thick. A smile formed upon her lips that did not reach her eyes, and one of her hands came down to grip the protruding handle, around which Sesshomaru's fingers were firmly wrapped. She squeezed the handle, and Sesshomaru ground his teeth as his fingers popped and cracked, the bones snapping under the impossible pressure. She drew out the blade and tossed aside to land near the dead horse's head. Sesshomaru's chest was heaving as he struggled to breathe calmly through his nose, powering through the pain and anticipating the creature's next move.
Quicker than he'd seen anyone move, the small woman's hands flew up to grip his shoulders and wrench his body forward. His knees buckled and she lowered to the ground, crouching in the dirt.
Thoughts of his family raced through his head, and he could imagine how disgusted his father would be if he had lived to see his eldest son brought down by a tiny foreign woman. His mind was swimming in self-loathing when her soft lips brushed his skin before sharp teeth pierced the flesh of his neck, and he was instantly transported. He felt as though he was floating in infinity, turning his shame, confusion, and his begrudging admission of fear over in his hands objectively, lost in time and space. It was nothing and everything, existing and nonexistent. He felt almost… okay.
He was abruptly yanked out of the contemplative reverie when his eyes flew open to see the moon hanging impossibly bright above his head. The sky was shimmering with stars he'd never seen before. More intriguingly, the cloaked woman was perched on a rock nearby, cradling her arm in her lap. He sat up and, simultaneously, he noticed that his vision was sharper, his hearing more acute, and the taste of blood coated the inside of his mouth. A queer heat was simmering in his innards, churning and pulling on his veins in hunger. He pushed himself to his feet, noting that the pulverized bones of his hand were somehow healed completely.
"It is nearly dawn," the woman throatily whispered. "You will feed, and then we must flee."
"Flee? This Sesshomaru does not flee." He imperiously declared, and he smelled the sharp tang of blood in the air and zeroed in on two puncture wounds in the woman's thin forearm.
Her eyes narrowed, and she rose to slip into the tall grass. Sesshomaru followed, abandoning his armor and sword, and he didn't know why.
The pair crept through the tall foliage, coming to a lit fisherman's hut perched on the edge of the cliff overlooking the roaring sea. The woman knelt down in the shadows near the doorway, and Sesshomaru mimicked her movements. A tall blond-haired sailor strode out of the hut, buttoning his shirt. Without willing his limbs to do so, Sesshomaru sprung out of the darkness and latched upon the man's warm neck, driving his teeth into the salty flesh instinctively. Blood poured forth from the jagged wounds, and his mind clouded as the hot liquid washed over his tongue and ran in rivulets down his chin to stain his chest and kimono.
Blood.
The heart was pounding, echoing in Sesshomaru's ears as it tried to pump adrenaline through the dying man's body.
Blood.
His muscles wound around the tensing body, and the heartbeat finally ground to a halt. Sesshomaru was hurled back into the present as he stared at the ground in front of the victim. There was a muddy puddle, and in the reflection of the water, he saw his own face. It was the face out of a nightmare: his hair had turned silver and shone like spun moonlight, and yellow eyes glowed in his skull like a wild panther's as he watched his elongated canine teeth slide out of the dead man's neck. His golden gaze flitted upward, and the woman hovered in his line of sight. He let the carcass drop to the dirt as she turned to walk away, and he tried not to tremble in fear at the creature, the monster that he had become.
She led him wordlessly along the cliff, leaving him to stew inwardly in confusion and unadmitted fear. "What is this, woman," Sesshomaru questioned harshly. She continued forward, and Sesshomaru could see that the sky to the east was barely beginning to lighten. A miniscule hut came into view in the darkness, and Sesshomaru was perplexed to see that the hut had no door and looked abandoned.
The cloaked female continued forward and stepped into the dark, cobwebbed home. Sesshomaru contemplated wringing her neck but for the information she possibly possessed concerning his new predicament. She crouched down to grab a nearly imperceptible strip of brown silk lying in the dust. Gently tugging the fabric up, it rose out of the dirt and revealed the other end to be tied to a small iron ring bolted to the floor. She reached forward and pulled it up, a makeshift hatch hinging open into some dimly lit secret cavity below, into which the small woman slipped. Sesshomaru followed suit, and as he landed in the low-ceilinged chamber, he heard a female voice say in greeting, "Kwan Hana." She turned as Sesshomaru got to his feet and crouched over in the cramped space, and he saw another female, a Japanese miko bowing before him. Before she could say anything, the cloaked female interjected, "This priestess is Midoriko. She will watch over our slumber during the day." The small miko bowed and climbed up the rotting wood steps before shutting the trap door, sealing the two of them in the cramped space.
Anger, curiosity, and bewilderment blanketed Sesshomaru's thoughts, but he found himself growing sleepy alarmingly quick. He shuffled groggily past the woman and sat in the corner farthest from the stairs before she snuffed out the small oil lamp with her fingers. He slept, and no dreams came to pierce the black emptiness of his mind that night.
Sesshomaru awoke the following evening to a light tingling hunger, just noticeable enough that he felt a twinge in his nerves. The cloaked woman was awake and staring at him with the little lamp in hand. He levelled a glare at her before shuffling forward to climb the short stairs and push the trap door open. The night air felt good against his skin, and he deftly leapt out, taking note of his increased dexterity and physical strength. He landed gracefully and quietly upon his feet, and made his way toward the road that would lead to his home. He didn't look back, but he knew that she was walking silently behind him still holding that tiny flame.
"Wherever it is that you go, know that you won't find what you're looking for. Only sorrow awaits your fate and everybody you touch," she whispered, and he tried to ignore her. This woman didn't know him or his life.
When he reached his home, the lanterns were all extinguished, and he could see no servants upon the grounds. Approaching the door, he heard nothing coming from the home, so he slid open the shoji of his bedroom door. A wall of putrid stench hit his nostrils, and he saw the bloated corpse of his weapons master lying at his feet. Beyond his corpse, however, Sesshomaru found the bodies of his family: his wife lay upon the futon they shared, and her blue-grey form was curled around the tiny corpse of his son and heir, Hidenori. The air was thick with the odor of disease, and he could see vomit stains soaked into the tatami surrounding the futon. They had died in agony of cholera, but at least it took them quickly.
He felt his face settling into stone as he turned on his heel and marched past the woman and out of the home. His life as he knew it was demolished, annihilated in the course of twenty four hours. His country was to be invaded by American outsiders, his family was killed by the diseases they carried, and he himself had been turned into a monster befitting the tales of the monks telling of youkai and oni.
"Come with me. Sail back to America with me," the woman murmured, coming up to stand next to him. Impudent bitch. "I can tell you what you are, teach you how to survive." He swiveled to look down at her, and her grey eyes were patient and clear, waiting for his response. Crickets chirped and cicadas buzzed, echoing in his curiously empty mind. He gave her an almost imperceptible nod.
She lifted her chin in acknowledgement and tossed the tiny lantern over her shoulder into the shoji screen, and the oil splashed over the dry rice paper before going up in bright flames. Sesshomaru instinctively stepped back, shielding his face from the roaring flames that quickly enveloped his house. He stared at the growing inferno, and he knew his preternatural yellow eyes must make him look like a fiery demon indeed. The female turned and walked quickly ahead of him as his surviving neighbors poured out of their homes to try and quench the fire before it consumed everything. He needed no instruction to know he was to follow. They drew away from the homes and toward the beach. He heard her speak in rich tones as the breeze carried the distant screams of the infirm and helpless being burned to death in their homes. The wind filtered through her long, glossy hair, blowing it free from the confines of the dark cloak. "The name you shall know me by, young neonate, is Kikyou."
I hope you enjoyed this little chappie. It's just a character background chapter, yeah, but! Plot tweeeeeeest at the end, yes? No? Maybe so? Next chapter will definitely get back to the main storyline with Kagome and other such characters. I think it's time we introduce you to a new sect. The Anarchs perhaps...?
Also, in this fic, Sesshomaru and his comrades are not youkai/demons. They're just human beings, coming from a wide variety of cultural, ethnic, and time period backgrounds.
Anybody know what major historical event this immediately precedes? A cookie for anyone who knows. ;D
This chapter was inspired by the song "Black Angel" by The Cult.
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Blood is the New Black