InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Every Heart ❯ Chapter 10

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Disclaimer: The Inuyasha concept, story, and characters are copyright Rumiko Takahashi and Viz Media.

The character Ryûtatsu and the villagers of the western lands are original to this story.

The title “House of the Moon” is original to Resmiranda’s Tales from the House of the Moon. It is used here in homage to said fantastic story.

This is merely one girl’s dream of life after “The End.”



Sesshoumaru took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as he looked out over the valley. In the distance, perched atop a strategic cliff, lay his childhood home. It was buffeted on the north and west by the sea; to the south laid a valley used by the human population; and to the east was the continuation of the mountain range to which the property once belonged. Even though he was fifty miles away, he could smell the tang of the sea air. It was a scent he hadn’t encountered in a long time, one that had the power to trigger memories he’d long ago buried deep within himself. If he let his eyes glaze over, he could almost go back in time to his training days…to hear his father’s harsh commands…to feel the frustration and shame those words inspired in him.

He shook himself from the daze, honing back in on the present. Today was the day he would win back his home. Behind him stood his army of fellow inuyoukai, most of them from these southern lands. Koga and his tribe would attack from the eastern mountains, and the northern dog demon tribe had agreed to send a force to attack from that direction. The attack would be simultaneous, a literal ambush on the dragon tribe occupying the House of the Moon.

He took another deep breath, thinking through his plan one final time. He had instructed his fellow leaders to have no mercy on the enemy, but to save their leader, Ryûtatsu, for him. This was not only because he wanted the satisfaction of that death at his own blade, but because he knew how tricky it would be to defeat the dragon taiyoukai. Ryûtatsu, in his true form, had thick skin akin to steel, absolutely impenetrable. He also had access to his natural power over the elements. The dragon youkai tribe was feared and resented because of their close association with nature. Ryûtatsu could stir the sea, whip the wind, make the earth rumble and shatter when he was in his true form.

All around him, Sesshoumaru could feel the rising tide of youki as the warriors prepared for battle. The sky was beginning to darken as the strong demonic aura surged through the air. He felt the pull of it, the call for his own youki to be drawn out. He felt his claws grow against his palms and his fangs lengthen against his lips. Anger and pride boiled over as the moment approached.

“Attack!” he bellowed. The echo of his fellow leaders’ commands rang in his ears, and the group launched into the air.

He led his group with record-breaking speed. Their feet did not touch the ground as they advanced. Their destination was the mountains. This was not a time to engage the human population of the valley; this battle concerned only youkai.

He was pleased to see that his allies had a firm upper hand by the time his group arrived in the courtyard. The warriors fanned out among the crowd of surprised dragons, and the clang of metal on metal rang through the air. A large portion of Ryûtatsu’s warriors had already been cut down, but fresh waves of them were pouring out of the main building, wearing protective armor and wielding weapons.

Someone in the crowd announced Sesshoumaru’s presence, and immediately the focus of attention was on him. A surge of dragon warriors came at him, but he was able to fend them off with his poison claws. He had no compunction about engaging in hand-to-hand combat; the thrill of killing washed over him like hot water on a cold day.

He noticed that a new group had joined the fray; his father’s former vassals took up their meager weapons with renewed vigor against their oppressors. They were a ragtag group at best, but they fought with hard-earned vengeance. Black blood rained from the sky, and the courtyard of his stately childhood home was soon littered with corpses.

Sesshoumaru withdrew his bloody arm from an enemy sentinel’s stomach, the poor beast howling in agony as he went down, felled by poison. All of this had been terribly fascinating, but he was wondering one thing: where, exactly, was the dragon taiyoukai? Neither hide nor hair of Ryûtatsu could be found among the battling legions.

“Lord Sesshoumaru, watch out!”

Sesshoumaru moved swiftly to the left, leaving his would-be attacker gutting an after-image. He swiped at the dragon’s back, earning a grunt of pain and the clatter of metal as his reward. The sentinel’s armor was shattered, but he was unhurt by the attack. The dragon took another wild swing with his sword, but didn’t live to regret the decision. Sesshoumaru sent a cloud of his poison into the sentinel’s face, immediately paralyzing his muscles and collapsing his lungs. The warrior dropped like a lead weight, his face frozen in surprise and horror.

“That was a close one,” someone breathed in his ear. Sesshoumaru slapped the side of his face, withdrawing the blood-stained hand to see Myoga’s form reinflating from the hit.

“Myoga, where is Ryûtatsu?” he demanded without preamble.

“I do not know, my lord, but I can tell you that he has taken up residence in your father’s rooms. Perhaps –”

Myoga’s stumbling response was cut off by a blast of flames, which came from inside the castle. The building was soon overcome by fire, forcing the battle waging within the courtyard to move further down the side of the mountain. Sesshoumaru was momentarily blinded by the light; he thrust himself up into the air and automatically gripped the hilt of Bakusaiga. When he looked back down, he could sense a growing tide of red youki at the heart of the fire.

“Nice of you to come crawling back,” Ryûtatsu mocked, his form rising above the flames of the burning building.

Sesshoumaru glared at him, forcefully reigning in his youki’s response to Ryûtatsu’s challenge. The dragon prince was also in humanoid form. He was of a similar build to Sesshoumaru, with flaming red hair tied into a queue atop his head. His armor consisted of long metal plates across his chest and shoulders, all fired white-hot with his demon fire. He wore clothing evocative of the mainland, his ancestral country. The only feature reminiscent of his true form was his long, scaly tail, tipped with fire, which swished around him, displaying his irritation.

“I like the way you lead your forces, Ryûtatsu,” Sesshoumaru shot back. “Nothing says ‘great warrior’ like the use of a youkai shield.”

Ryûtatsu growled in response, drawing his sword. The blade was long and straight, swirling with the dragon’s considerable youki. Sesshoumaru found it not unlike his old blade, Tokijn. He smirked in response. “I’ve broken better swords than you’ll ever master.”

That was enough to entice Ryûtatsu to swing the blade; Sesshoumaru moved out of the way with time to spare, sending a poison blast in response. Ryûtatsu laughed as the poison sank into his body. “Is that all you have, you mangy mutt?”

Sesshoumaru narrowed his eyes. He knew that his best chance to slay his enemy was to keep him in this humanoid form. His plan was to weaken this form enough to kill him with one sweep of Bakusaiga. He unleashed another wave of poison.

Ryûtatsu again laughed at the strike, but his body told another story. His youki rebelled when hit; it was growing stronger as it fought to preserve his life. “You think a little poison will fell me? Your father couldn’t kill mine even in his true form, and you have that same fear, you dirty dog.” Ryûtatsu shot a blast of fire down into the fighting throngs below them, setting the courtyard ablaze.

Sesshoumaru did not let his gaze wander below, but he had finally been pushed to unsheathe his sword. He gripped it with both hands and started to swirl it around in the air. He built up enough wind energy to put out the fire on his comrades and to blow across the sea, raising angry waves. He grinned an evil grin of his own as he took control of these elements, powers locked against Ryûtatsu while in this form. His enemy’s youki struggled, and Ryûtatsu began to transform.

Sesshoumaru saw his opening; with one muscle-shrieking strike, he unleashed his ultimate attack. The youki-strengthened blast enveloped his enemy, blocking out Ryûtatsu’s natural red light with a blinding blue one. The strike was enough to send Sesshoumaru backwards, and he actually felt Tenseiga pulse against his hip.

As the explosion of power finally subsided, he was pleased to see that he was successful in stopping the dragon taiyoukai’s transformation. Ryûtatsu’s broken body floated down to the open sea, landing with little fanfare among the swirling waves. Sesshoumaru followed overhead, noting how far out he was, gauging the possibility of another attack from this angle. He was about to turn back when something made his entire being freeze.

“You have not heard the last from me,” came Ryûtatsu’s strained voice. Sesshoumaru’s eyes widened as he saw the dragon’s mouth move. He was in a semi-transformed state, with one arm completely hacked off, and one of his legs cut short just above the knee. There was a large gash across his torso, but amazingly, he was still alive. His youki was strengthening as he sank into the sea, out of sight.

Sesshoumaru remained where he was, hovering in the sky. The threat hardly seemed valid now, but he knew he had to tread carefully. Ryûtatsu is not dead, he thought. The sea will heal him. He turned back towards the mountains. I must prepare myself and my home.

He drifted down to the smoking remains of the castle’s walls, landing softly in the corner that once housed his father’s training rooms. He replaced his sword at his side and pushed his blood-soaked hair out of his face. He gazed out among the broken bodies that littered his once-beautiful home, grimly noting that Koga, Jaken, and Myoga were among the survivors. That made him happy, even if it did not show on his face.

He was surprised to see his father’s vassals rush towards him, eager to prostrate before him. “Welcome home, Lord Sesshoumaru!” they gushed, pressing themselves to the ground at his feet.

“Our enemy Ryûtatsu is gone, but not forgotten,” Sesshoumaru said as the crowd gathered around. “We must rebuild this castle, stronger than before, and defend it with vengeance previously unknown.” The vassals cheered in response, and his allies looked at him grudgingly.

The time for negotiations was coming; he had several bargains to uphold for the use of the wolf demon and regional inuyoukai tribes. But there was a new peace about him, even standing among the bloodshed and fire destruction.

I am home, he thought, his heart filling with pride.

The villagers of the western lands had long lived with the clashes of their youkai neighbors, but it had been decades since the sky had last blackened with such haste. The farmers were minding their own business, harvesting their fields as they always had, when the ominous clouds formed.

Only a few were still alive who had witnessed the last clash of youkai; they were not along those toiling outside. When the sky became dark as night, the farmers panicked for fear of a gruesome storm coming in off the sea.

What they saw was much worse.

“Is this the end of the world?” one man cried when the blackened blood began to rain from the sky. They entire village population huddled around the headman’s hut, looking for answers from the elderly among them. Women and children shrieked and cried, their panic only worsening when fire suddenly split the sky and began to burn down the mountain.

One old man looked more angry than upset. “It’s those damn youkai fighting again,” he swore. “When they do battle, we all suffer for it! That mountain will burn to the ground and then we’ll have no protection from the sea. We must do something about them!”

The headman looked at him, his eyes wild with fear. “But what can we do? They are youkai and we are merely humans!”

The old man sat up a bit straighter, feeling more important as eyes focused on him. “We must find and hire a demon-slayer!” he announced. His words were punctuated with a huge blast of wind, which swirled around the village with cyclone force. Children were plucked out of their mother’s arms and carried away, leading to even more cries and screams.

And suddenly it was quiet again; the sky was still pitch black, but the wind was calm and the sea was still. The sobs of the women of the missing children drowned out everything else for a moment, but the headman soon regained control of the crowd.

“We shouldn’t have to live like this!” a man shouted, wiping black blood from his forehead. “This is our land, not theirs! They can’t steal our children and ruin our crops!”

The din of the crowd rose with like-minded vigor, until the headman almost lost control of them. He struggled, but managed to be heard above the rest once again. “The old man is right! We will seek out the village of the demon-slayers and bring one to defend us!”

The crowd calmed down, all eyes once again focusing on the old man. “Do you know where we can find them, these demon-slayers?” the headman asked him.

The old man closed his eyes and let his head fall back. “They are buried deep in the south and east, but I think I can find them once again. They are the only ones strong enough to rid us of this demonic aura.”

“Then it’s settled. We’ll send three of our finest men with you to hire a demon-slayer,” the headman decided.

The crowd cheered, and men began to step forward to be selected for the journey.