Fade in me

This damned stench of demonic filth was driving him insane. At first, Sesshomaru thought he was imagining it. That assumption was immediately dismissed — he was not one to fail to discern the truth, even in the wildest of illusions. So, a week later, he began visiting Rin less often, venturing farther and farther from her village in an attempt to track down the creature spreading this loathsome scent across his lands. After a few more weeks, he realized he couldn't get it out of his head. The cursed demonic stench had pushed all other thoughts from his mind, stuffing his skull like cotton wool. In every shadow, Sesshomaru saw His shadow; in every glint of light,His smirk. The song of the dawn birds was His laughter, and the howl of wolves at midnight should have been His death cry. But there was only the smell, as omnipresent as it was unreal. Everything around him had lost its meaning; the days had merged into one long, unending nightmare from which there seemed no escape. “Have you completely lost your mind? Are you looking for a fight?!” a barely familiar voice sounded as if from behind a stone wall, shattering both the wall and his confidence in his own sanity. It seemed Sesshomaru had struck someone. He looked at his raised hand, slowly acknowledging the body pinned to it. His own body. The air suddenly became ordinary; it smelled of rain here — the ground was still damp, as were his clothes, for that matter. Also of some flowers, and of Inuyasha. He hadn't yet decided how he felt about the latter. Somewhere on the very edge of his consciousness, Sesshomaru determined that the stench of that carrion, assembled from a hundred minor demons, was here too. But it seemed Inuyasha couldn't smell it. Had Sesshomaru truly gone mad? “Do not stand in the way,” Sesshomaru exhaled, clenching his fingers into a fist to ground himself in his own body. “In the way of what? What 'important business' could you possibly suddenly have? Did the Panthers return? Some other calamity? What could be more important than Rin?” Inuyasha never hid his emotions, but now he spoke as if he considered his elder brother's disappearance from sight a personal insult. He had no real concern for the human girl. It was just that his miko, Kagome, had insisted he find Sesshomaru. And the hanyo himself had taken it as a good excuse to search for him, but only for his own personal reasons. 'The peaceful life you dreamed of turned out not to be so appealing after all, didn't it, Inuyasha? Even our father never stooped to what you so desperately wanted to feel beside your miko. And he, too, loved a human.' “She is no longer a child,” Sesshomaru stated, walking past Inuyasha as if wanting to put a definitive end to a meaningless conversation whose beginning his consciousness hadn't even registered. He still couldn't remember what had happened before or why he had struck Inuyasha. Served him right, the hanyo often did things that deserved punishment. But Sesshomaru had never before felt… like this. A state for which he couldn't even find a word. Perhaps 'madness' was the only fit. But it was a disgusting word, and an even more humiliating fate. “What the hell happened to you?” Inuyasha shouted, taking a few steps after him, the sword rattling in its scabbard — as if he was clinging to it like an anchor. I wish I knew myself, he thought, and I wouldn't tell you anyway. If Inuyasha couldn't smell it, then perhaps nothing was happening? At least, not in the external world. Something was clearly wrong with Sesshomaru himself. Or was it Kagura, reaching from the afterlife to torment him? For not helping. Not saving her. “Follow me, and I will kill you,” Sesshomaru warned his younger brother without turning around. And he truly would kill, though he hadn't decided who exactly. Perhaps Inuyasha. Perhaps someone else. His soul thirsted for another's blood, and not on the edge of a blade. He wanted to tear something apart with his claws, to feel hot flesh under his fingertips. To slowly sink his phalanges into meat, drowning in the softness of muscles separated from their owner's body. No, not something. Not even someone. But that specific one — the mixture of demonic filth and overweening ambition. Naraku, who was supposed to be rotting in his personal hell. The very one whose scent Sesshomaru now smelled everywhere. A few hours later, he noted that Inuyasha had not reappeared, and Sesshomaru began actively ensuring the half-demon's scent wasn't nearby either. As ironic as it was, the hanyo was now helping him stay grounded. The first one had caused him to lose himself in the hurricane; the second one helped him feel the earth under his feet again. Put miniature versions of both on Sesshomaru's shoulders, and he would hover in the air without any effort. So many half-breeds seemed to be loitering around these days. Diluted by a full-blooded demon, their ranks no longer looked so dismal. But now this very fact presented a problem, at least for Sesshomaru, who was still chasing reality on the border of the unconscious. That moment when you first sink into sleep and the world around you begins to feel slightly softer and more surreal than before. And on that very border was the scent he so despised, existing either in the dream or having arrived from reality itself. The ground swayed beneath his feet again as he walked, forcing him to seek an anchor in his surroundings. Sesshomaru raised his gaze to pristine white garments, so immaculate that this being truly belonged in dreams; had his consciousness latched onto the wrong reality? And the serpent bowed. So deeply that his greeting was saturated not with respect, but with a cloying sense of danger emanating from him. A smile of the softest appearance only fueled the anxiety. “Has the Lord come seeking an audience with the mysterious miko as well?” a soothingly calm, serpentine hiss reached his ears. “No,” Sesshomaru answered him, for reasons unknown even for himself. He truly had no notion of which miko the snake spoke or what could be mysterious about her. All the priestesses worthy of his attention had long been dead, and Sesshomaru would have been among the first to learn of any new ones. “Hmm… I was under the impression the Lord of the Western Lands would be interested in this. Could fate truly have prepared such a remarkable coincidence for me?” His polite smile hooked into Sesshomaru's skin like barbed wire, sinking deeper and deeper with each word. Summoning a hatred, he had postponed for later. First, the scent that made the world spin in chaotic disorder, and ending with the mention of a title for which Sesshomaru had never held any warmth. The serpent knew him, but he did not know the serpent. Perhaps just another demon, deluding himself into greatness among his own generation. They always knew of him, if only because ignorance led to a higher probability of dying by his sword. This time, his answer to the serpent was not mere silence, but a deliberate removal of himself from the creature's presence. As if the snake was an empty event on his path — as if that could be untrue. The scent still lingered ahead, seemingly even stronger now. Perhaps it was a consequence of the blood boiling in his veins from such brazen insolence. Maybe he should indulge his inner beast, gift it a scaly toy to sink its claws into, hoping to find some release. But not by striking first, no. Sesshomaru would not be the one to attack first just because some reptile's words had soured his mood. Not now, when the weight of his own actions had become clearer to him. But if the snake decided to strike at his back, Sesshomaru would gratefully accept such a gift from fate. To his surprise, a strike did come, but the surprise lay not in the fact, but in its location. Something had happened far from them. Something bright, loud, brimming with unrestrained energy, the surge of which he only now felt as a crashing wave. The Wind Scar. Inuyasha had a talent for disrupting his plans even from a distance; a truly remarkable skill. The serpent, too, did not ignore the bright flash, his shadow elongating and writhing as if transformed into a real snake. The demon smirked and was just about to utter another foolishness, but then squinted as he met the wave of wind carrying dust, twigs, and other debris. “A truly remarkable night, don't you think, my Lord?” The words were instantly swallowed by the void left in the place where Sesshomaru had stood a moment before. The corners of the snake's lips lifted slightly as he noted his interlocutor's disappearance. With that same weightless smile, he returned his gaze to the fading light in the distance. And Sesshomaru, though he didn't hear the last words addressed to him, almost grasped their meaning in its entirety. What had previously seemed like a trick of the imagination (as if anything still seemed that way) was becoming more real with every step. The apparition seemed to dissolve in the purifying moonlight, and the hated scent of the half-demon grew brighter. For the first time in a long while, Sesshomaru knew exactly where he needed to go, and the earth itself seemed to crawl forth to meet him. Naraku loved castles with long corridors. He considered himself worthy of such structures. Or rather, worthy of only such structures. Large, awe-inspiring, but by no means cumbersome — no. That which screamed of the owner's greatness inherently lacked the very element of greatness. At least, that's what Sesshomaru now believed, and for some reason, he attributed this very thought to Naraku. Perhaps because he was standing before a huge hole in the rock, its entrance boarded up with planks and something resembling a door. This place was saturated with the stench that had mercilessly devoured the last weeks of his life. Sesshomaru entered, quietly pushing the door open. It wasn't the cause of his irritation. And with each silent step, the smell grew closer and clearer. The smell of despair. Pain. Fear. Emotions unbefitting of Naraku. He preferred to instill them in his victims and enemies. Sometimes even in the slaves created from his own flesh, which led Sesshomaru to believe he was approaching a cornered rat that hadn't drowned with the ship. No matter. He would help. Sesshomaru could be merciful. But something cracked under his foot, treacherously loud. It cracked and immediately crumbled to dust, unable to withstand a direct confrontation with the aura of the greatest among the peerless. Along with the dust spreading across the ground, under his feet, the loathsome scent was now accompanied by a faint, almost imperceptible chattering, even to Sesshomaru's keen hearing. As if beetles were clicking their chelicerae in panic, seeing a predator so close to their hiding place. A few spiders were indeed here, hiding in crevices the moment they saw the approaching demon. Something stirred uneasily in Sesshomaru's soul: doubts crept in about the 'rat.' “Of course, it's you,” a voice said, as if reading his thoughts — the voice Sesshomaru expected to hear, yet it still surprised him. Still alive. Still a half-breed. Still Naraku. At least partially: the head, torso, and two arms. The rest of his body was carelessly sprawled across the ground — demons' tails, centipedes' legs, and something resembling severely damaged entrails. He wasn't smiling. His lips were twisted as if in pain he couldn't master. His eyes were empty, and the stench of carrion mingled with the reek of fear. But it was fine. Sesshomaru was still prepared to be merciful, even with such demonic filth. As if alive and possessing its own will, Bakusaiga gripped Sesshomaru's palm and aimed its tip directly at Naraku's chest. He flinched, but not because he wanted to deflect the sword. He was genuinely terrified. “Spare me!” The words were uttered by Naraku's voice and mouth, but they belonged to some other creature entirely. “That is my intention,” Sesshomaru parried, standing over him like a tombstone on another's grave. And both fell silent. For some reason, the demon hesitated, and even his sword hung limply in his hand, now seeming ten times heavier. And Naraku waited, perhaps noticing the doubt in Sesshomaru's eyes, or perhaps allowing the prolonged silence to consume him in his terror. In the end, he didn't want to allow it — his life was on the line, again. His second, maybe third; who could keep count. “Please, just not now.” “How did you survive?” Sesshomaru let the latest plea go in one ear and out the other. “You entrusted my killing to Inuyasha, Lord Sesshomaru,” a shadow of a smile touched his lips. One ill-timed phrase, and Bakusaiga came alive again, its tip pressing directly into Naraku's solar plexus. Burning a hole with its sheer energy, against which the half-demon stood no chance. Naraku hissed, his tails thrashing in agony against the stone walls, and the spiders panicked, scurrying from their crevices into the dark corridor from which his executioner with the almost angelic face had come. Oh, how much Naraku wanted to scratch that face with his claws, from forehead to chin, tearing out those light eyes and breaking those perfect cheekbones. And then to devour him, to become one with something truly beautiful for all eternity. “I don't know!” Naraku near-hissed, his voice hoarse, and feeling the heat of the icy blade leave his chest, he decided to continue. “First there was peace, and then…” 'This.' Whatever 'this' was. Shreds of others' lives and the darkness of a hole in the ground. Again. He had begun this life in a hole, and it seemed he would end it the same way as before. Only now, without the Shikon Jewel and his former power. And judging by the demon looming over him, the end would come quickly, perhaps even now. “You always have to finish your little brother's work for him. That must be so tedious,” resigning himself to his fate, Naraku lowered his hands, and his tails, still twitching with fear, went limp like dead weight. Bakusaiga in his hand did not tremble. It obediently returned to its sheath, as if infected by Naraku's resignation. And Sesshomaru seemed infected by something from him too, still angered by the stench of carrion he couldn't escape. It was the smell of decay, slow but thorough. He should leave, which he intended to do, unwilling to remain here a moment longer. What did he care for this near-corpse? But his hearing caught the heartbeat of a third entity, very close, almost under his own heart.Tenseiga. Sesshomaru stopped, looking down at his sword. Were the spores of madness floating in the air, infecting not only him, but both swords as well? This time, the weapon left its scabbard heavily, almost reluctantly — a lack of will from Sesshomaru himself, not from his father's fang. What was on Toga's mind was a mystery, and his swords still seemed incomprehensible to Sesshomaru. He hadn't saved Kagura, but this half-demon... he was supposed to? Or was the foolish fang unable to tell the difference between Naraku and his creation? “Have you deigned to finish me?” the half-demon sprawled across the cave asked in a mocking tone. Without another word, Sesshomaru looked at the dozen small creatures slowly consuming the decaying body-of-bodies. Tenseiga reminded him of its presence again with a short pulse, like a horse impatiently stamping its hoof; and against its will, he did not want to struggle. With a swing of his arm, Sesshomaru cut down the hellish messengers, who shrieked in their death throes, and returned the sword to its scabbard. The hated stench suddenly vanished, from his mind and from the cave. Leaving behind only Naraku, watching Sesshomaru walk away.