But first! A quick answering session of some stuff I intended to put in but never did because it didn't fit.

Hoshimura Kaida wants the sutra because she's got a mild thing for Kougaiji and knows he wants it. Thus all the references to 'our employer' are references to Kou. The reason the Sanzo-ikkou go free, then, is because Kougaiji wants 'em for himself. Plus that, I had to get them out of there somehow ^.^ Jiro and Matsu are lovers. Yes, I said it. They have mangy youkai sex. Deal! I killed Keiji because there was no way for him, in the youkai hierarchy, to survive much longer. A hanyou leader - no way are the majority going to stand by and let that happen for very long. Thus, he was a giant target, even if I did love him. And finally, it ends here because the rest of the youkai aren't worth their time. And it'd be a stupid conquest. You'll get what I mean when you finish reading this.

That being said, this chapter was one of the hardest I've had to write on this fic. I apologize in advance that I suck at actiony scenes and crap, but hopefully the finale isn't -too- bad.

Thanks to everybody who reviewed - you give me a major case of the happies and make this worthwhile.

***

Raucous laughter tainted the air, smelling of old meat. Two heads and two heads only stayed bowed and silent. Wine skins were raised over gaping, dirty mouths and the contents spilled over, splashing into nose and eyes but the laughter did not slow. Two heads and two heads only hovered together, turned on the celebration.

"Aw, my boys, I'll give ya posts, posts you'll get, boys! The bastard wan'n even worf a good fuck for the meat, now drink sommin."

"No, thank you, Kozue-dono," Jiro responded softly, tightening his hand around Ren's arm in warning. "Please excuse Ren-san and myself."

Their only response was a loud belch. Jiro turned away, wiping wine and saliva from his face. He pulled Ren with him, ensuring that the characteristic Higurawa subtlety wouldn't get a word in. Ren could have easily held his ground, but he followed Jiro because he was the last person he wanted to fight with. They walked out of the tent, heading toward the perimeter on autopilot. It was easy, falling into pace with Jiro, because Jiro's pace was your own.

"You should be used to it," Jiro admonished softly, crossing his arms over his chest. The scars on his breast rubbed against his arms as he moved, catching and scratching the flesh. The scars were a reassurance of his rank, just another mark like the piercings, the burns, but the scars were more avidly earned. Jiro once had a birthmark, a simple triangle, but it had been torn away in one of the first brawls of his youth. As a result, that particular scar filled in as dark as the birthmark had been, crossing brightly over his heart. Ren by far had more marks upon him, but Jiro's scars were each much deeper.

Ren shook his head. "Yeah, well."

"Good guy," Jiro murmured, glancing down to Ren with a small, sad smile.

"Good guy." Ren reached up and fingered the gold ring in his right ear, mimicking the nervous tic he'd always seen on his supposed superior. "Yeah, they killed him, but they're talking and he can't fight back. Getting drunk at midday when they could be doing something -useful-."

Jiro nodded. "Cowardly, but effective." They turned around a tree, nodding silently as the youkai that saw them swept into quick bows. Just enough so that their shoulders dropped below their hearts, and then they returned to whatever they happened to be doing. Jiro smiled inwardly at Ren's uncharacteristic tirade. "Oi, Ren-kun."

"Aa, Jii-chan?" Ren responded, grinning ingratiatingly at the nicknames.

"You wanted to fuck the living daylights out of him, didn't you?" Jiro's answer came in the form of a swift elbow to the stomach. He laughed as Ren continued to walk, and rubbed his gut as he caught up. "Too bad they burned the corpse, ne?"

Ren stared in shock at Jiro. This further insult on his integrity struck hard, but he knew the tone of Jiro's voice and laughed as well. Only Jii-chan. Only Jii-chan could treat Keiji's death so lightly in spirit without misrepresenting his real regret. Yes, they were desensitized to slaughter on a daily basis. Yes, this was not the first time Kozue had pulled a stunt like that, and it wasn't the first time for -anyone- either. Yes, Jiro or Ren might try it themselves one day. But some part of both of them had gotten attached to Keiji in a strangely righteous manner. He was so anomalous, a slave put into power, that the underdog in both of them cheered him on. Ren in particular felt a twinge of guilt at not seeing it coming.

That was the thing about Keiji. It was impossible to picture life without him, because he asserted himself in a manner unforgettable. His red hair had only been one part of it.

Ren started when Jiro grabbed a man about the neck. The redhead struggled violently for a moment, then tumbled to the ground as Jiro dropped him.

"I know you. What the hell are you doing back here?" Jiro snarled down at the hanyou. Before the redhead regained his breath enough to answer, Jiro found himself tackled to the ground by a very heavy, very bony, very strong young man.

"Goku, get off," the hanyou said, coughing around his words. The golden-eyed boy didn't move from Jiro's chest, but glanced back. "Do it!" the hanyou cried. Casting a confused look back down to Jiro, Goku got up.

"We told you not to come back. You have three seconds to pray."

"He's dead, isn't he?"

Jiro stopped. Ren hadn't even prepared to attack. Goku stared up at the hanyou, then back to Jiro. "What would you know about it?" Jiro asked softly.

"We saw the little campfire. Was it you?" The hanyou grinned as the question left his mouth. "'Cause you see, I'd -really- like to kill you." He rubbed the bandages over his arms, patting them almost affectionately. "But I'd also like to see this little guy right here do it." He patted the boy Goku's shoulder, and Jiro saw the gold eyes trained upon him flicker for just a second. They focused on his face and flitted to his scar, the bright scrape over his heart. Like a predator.

"Stupid fuck, you think it was us?" Ren cried, incredulous and angry. "We don't even know exactly -who- it was and you come barging in accusing -us-?"

"You're of no use, then," a soft voice said. It was oddly familiar, ultimately damning. Ren was dead before he hit the ground. Jiro turned in time to see a beautiful, hellish visage leveling a silver gun at the bright streak over his racing heart.

"Save 'em, bouzu," the hanyou said, and Jiro landed heavy on the ground. His vision swam and his mouth filled with blood as he suddenly had no muscles with which to gasp for air. Dimly, he heard his body hit the ground an instant after he did, unable to even realize he wasn't attached.

Gojyo retracted the chain of the shaku-jou and shook his head. "Poor idiots, huh?"

Hakkai climbed out of the bushes, pulling a leaf from his sleeve. "While I admit hiding in the bushes wasn't the best of accommodations, it did seem to work pretty well."

"Work? We're still at square one!" Gojyo cried, rubbing at his arms. They had been itching horribly ever since he laid eyes upon Fearless' burning remains and the sensation intensified when he heard the voices of his lackeys.

Sanzo shoved his gun into the waist of his robe. "So we keep going."

*

"What's this thing do, anyhow?" someone asked, pointing waveringly at the scroll jammed down the front of Kozue's pants. The wine-stained fabric jutted obscenely, bobbing as he laughed.

"No fuckin' idea." He snorted, taking it out and unrolling it. He squinted drunkenly at the symbols, and they danced before his eyes. "Hos'mura wansit 'cause ispreddy," Kozue replied finally, to the great amusement of his companions. "She gon' wear it to fuck ningens in!"

The laughter stopped suddenly, and Kozue realized he'd crossed a line. His muzzy mind scrambled ineffectually for something to fix what he'd just said and came up empty-handed. The moment of silence stretched on until a sick, wet thump sounded in the afternoon. The canvas of the tent was thrown back and the youkai stared into the visage of an angel. Lucifer stared them down, each and every one, and did not flinch as his pets went to work.

The shaku-jou cut through three at a time, each with a leisurely swing. Goku dove into the middle of the youkai, snapping the bones of the drunken idiots in near-boredom. Out of fifteen, one was left. Kozue dropped the scroll in his hands, preparing to battle. With the ever-present confidence of the intensely drunk, he was assured of his own victory. Before the youkai stood a fearsome sight. Two blood-soaked figures that glinted in the bright sunlight, dripping on the ground and bearing a look best described as 'ravenous.' And their angel, an incomparable beauty with violent, inviolate, violet eyes that confirmed the deep dark suspicions of worthlessness that pervade the psyche.

And the angel sang to him. "That...is -mine-." The gun leveled itself at his head, and Kozue knew nothing but the warning click of the trigger.

*

"Sanzo, I hate to tell you this..." Hakkai brought his head back inside the tent with a smile so false it twitched. "But it's kind of obvious we've been heard."

Sanzo snorted derisively, pulling the sutra from the bloodstained ground and shaking as he righted himself. "I don't care. Get Hakuryuu. Saru, kappa, take the tent down."

Gojyo stared incredulously at Sanzo, but Hakkai and Goku quickly followed orders. Only when the blonde began muttering under his breath, replacing the sutra around his bare shoulders, did Gojyo understand. He threw the canvas back as hard as he could, helping Goku clear the way.

The wave of youkai both curious and belligerent rushed inexorably toward the four, snarling in typical fashion of attack first, ask questions later. Gojyo, Goku, and Hakkai were already in Jiipu as Sanzo threw his head back and screamed the last words into the faces of the oncoming mob. The dirty, stained sutra pulsed to life, shooting in brilliant, serpentine strands toward the attack, obliterating the darkness that met it. The youkai were by no means annihilated, but the powerful offensive stunned the survivors enough to let Jiipu wheel by so Goku could grab Sanzo. The wheels left tracks of burning rubber in the dirt with a high-pitched squeal.

*

Sanzo passed out in Goku's grasp, fragile and utterly spent. Hakkai glanced back only once, then kept his eyes steadfastly on the terrain before them. Behind Jiipu, the surviving youkai rushed on, screaming vengeance and bloodlust. Gojyo helped haul Sanzo into Jiipu, then stood over Goku and Sanzo, sending out the chain of the shaku-jou to maim the fastest runners. Only once did he miss. That fortunate youkai grabbed the chain, yanking hard enough to unbalance Gojyo. Goku growled at the disturbance and pulled hard enough on the chain of the shaku-jou that the youkai found himself without hands. As the blade arced back toward them, Gojyo whipped it hard to get it under his control again.

Goku glared up at him, hating having to let Gojyo handle the situation and promising that, should he screw up, death would be slow and arduous. He held Sanzo to him, protectively and viciously, propping the blonde's forehead against his neck. Blood from Goku's hands marred Sanzo's skin in brown fingerprints.

Hakkai drove on, gritting his teeth against the pain in his arm but keeping his foot firmly planted on the accelerator. He mentally urged Hakuryuu on, though he knew the dragon was sore from having a good layer of his tires burned away and not in top form after the adrenaline-powered getaway of a few days before. The stress was wearing upon all of them. Gojyo collapsed into the passenger seat after a few moments.

"Got them all."

"Are you sure?" Hakkai asked, glancing back. The blood and bodies that littered the forest floor rapidly receded, and no new wave of attackers came. Hakkai eased up on the gas.

"Sanzo?"

"Out." Gojyo wiped his hands on his shirt, trying to massage life back into the stiff digits. Before long, they pulled again into sunlight and an ever-beautiful day. The afternoon was wearing on, and the sun was slowly dropping at their backs. And so desensitized was he that Hakkai began busying himself with how to convince Sanzo to drive around the woods the next morning, despite the extra time it might take. And so desensitized was he that Gojyo thought only of a good bath and perhaps a good woman. And so desensitized was he that Goku curled over Sanzo's body, feeling his pulse and hearing him breathe and breathing the scent of life that was so reassuring.

To fortify oneself with the little things is a basic trait of survival. Without the beautiful days, the errands, the luxuries, it is easy to crumble. To leave this fortress is an ordeal indeed, but upon the return home it is the most natural thing in the world to add another layer to the walls. Hide the weak spot, for if the cornerstone crumbles, your castle will sink into sand.