Only Time Can Tell
Disclaimer: Honestly. Do you really think I would be writing this if I owned Inuyasha? Well, I don't.
QuickEdit is my enemy. I swear. It labels this as Chapter 1, but it's really only the Prologue. Does anyone know of a way to change the individual chapter titles for one story? I have had so much trouble messing around, exporting and re-exporting my chapters because the the Content/Chapters editing process doesn't want to let me change them even when I re-upload it in new format.
This idea popped into my mind about half a year ago, except that I had no idea how to make it happen. Again, it came back into my head, but with a plotline. This will be my first time writing a properly chaptered piece that didn't have rough drafts.
Chapter 1: Prologue
She is running.
The trees around her are tall. The leaves on the branches seem to cover the sky. On both sides there are shadows, whispering and echoing, suffocating her mind.
She runs faster. She wants to outrun the shadows, for they are the voices in her mind. The whispered accusations of her failure. The angry spirits of those that were murdered.
She wants to shout, to scream that she knows. She reminds herself constantly that she failed to do what was right, and now, because of her, more will suffer.
Something dark flickers behind her. It doesn't move to keep up, yet it stays within range of her hearing.
The rustle of bushes.
She doesn't bother to pull out her katana. She knows there is no use in fighting it, and acknowledging that fact makes her tremble with anger. She is all too aware that her anguished hatred could consume her. In fact, in this twisted world, it already has. She cannot prevent something that has already happened.
Nevertheless, a new emotion, such as helplessness, something she could not, cannot stand, has risen in her.
She hates herself for it.
A black mist surrounds her. It is thick enough so that she cannot see more than a few feet in front of her, yet she feels something ahead. Something akin to terror chills her heart. It is dark and cruel and full of hatred, like her. It has something she wants, and she will continue to chase it down, no matter how high the cost may be.
Even if it is her own life. She will gladly spill her own blood to save his.
A dim light starts to appear a short distance away. It is a white light, but it chills her, because she knows it is closer to her than it was before. It is not friendly. It is dark and cruel and full of hatred…
Full of hatred… like her.
Fear is starting to mix with the anger she feels, and it confuses her. But she keeps running, because she knows she has to.
Finally she bursts into the clearing. She has spent hours, even days chasing this despicable thing, but she is not tired. Not in the least. Her hatred does not allow for anything else; it clouds her heart and mind.
A man with dark hair stands in front of her, his red eyes narrowed and a humourless smile on his lips. He holds a young boy up by the neck, and his hand is poised over the place on the boy's back where a darkened piece of glass has been embedded. A trail of blood slowly seeps down the grey material of his shirt, staining it. Yet the boy shows no reaction to his situation. His expression remains blank with a hint of melancholy.
She growls at him, unsheathing her katana and popping out the hidden daggers from the sleeves on her taijiya outfit. She opens her mouth to say something, but before a sound is uttered, the man roughly shakes the boy, and she falters.
"Do you want him to die?"
The question is so simple, yet there could be no greater challenge than that which has been put, not into the question itself, but the tone of voice the man is using. It is indeed a challenge.
A challenge of death.
Her options are limited. She knows that if she is to make one wrong move during this sickening 'game', his hand will remove the shard of glass and the boy will die again. The man knows she cannot bear to watch this, so he smirks in triumph at her helplessness.
The rage takes over her mind.
"Damn you to hell for this," she hisses.
She charges at him, even though she knows that he can read her intentions. It is an intent to kill.
And she has made the wrong move.
The man, better known as a half-demon called Naraku, drops the boy - but not before taking out the shard. Blood comes out of unseen wounds all over the boy's body, and his sister watches in anguished torment. Her katana falls to the ground, the clattering echoing in the silent clearing.
Naraku smirks again as he retreats. The anger that filled the taijiya so recently has faded, instead replaced by tears of utter defeat. She runs over to him and pulls him onto his back and into her arms. She cradles him, tenderly placing kisses all over his face and repeating that she still loves him. He stares at her, his expression filling with guilt, and then his body stills and his eyes close. He has not spoken a word.
She gently lies him back on the ground and stands up. Then she picks up her katana, the blade shimmering in the dim light as she looks at her hateful reflection for the last time. A mixture of guilt and rage is all she sees. She has become what she once despised.
Not a minute later her blood splatters the ground.
The legacy of the tajiya has been broken.