My first attempt at an Inuyasha fic (besides the crossover that Seacarda Fox Shadow and I are working on), so... -crosses fingers-
Disclaimer: I own InuYasha just as much as I own Doctor Who. Which, for those of you who haven't read my Doctor Who stuff (shame on you), is basically nil.
He bounded across the landscape, a flash of red and white incongruous against the stark black rocks, slippery with the fluid that had spurted out of the creature he had just slain. Kagome's cry of anguish still reverberated in his sensitive ears, the stench of her wounds heady in the air around him, and it fuelled him. He needed to get to her, make sure she was okay.
When he found her, it felt suspiciously like a large part of his chest was suddenly not there any more— and he knew that feeling all too well. It wasn't usually metaphorical, though.
Her broken form was lying, limp as a rag doll, on the sharp edges of the shattered rocks. She was nearly torn in half; her fragile body had been no match for their enemy's cruel talons. Her crimson lifeblood ran out on the unfeeling ground; she weakly clutched the Shikon shard she had sacrificed herself to retrieve and for a terrifying moment Inuyasha feared he was too late even to say good-bye.
"Kagome," he whispered, scooping her into his arms and studying her face, praying for any sign of life, anything that would say she would make it through this. She had to make it. She couldn't die.
Her eyelids fluttered open. "Inuyasha," she croaked. "You're crying."
"Am not," he said testily, instinctively arguing even though he knew she was right. He could feel the tears coursing down his cheeks, burning him.
She smiled a bit at that. He could feel warm, viscous liquid soaking through his clothes to drench his skin; she didn't have much time left.
"Don't," he interrupted sharply. "No speeches. You are not dying on me, you hear me?"
She chuckled. It turned into a cough, and blood stained her lips. He could feel her heart fluttering against his right palm from where it rested on her back— slower, slower, the pulse throbbed.
And then... it stopped.
He waited for what felt like an eternity for her heart to beat again, but it remained sedentary in her chest. Anguish tore through him, more intense than he had ever known, and he held her dead body close. The bitterly metallic stench of her blood filled his nostrils, dancing across his tongue.
He tightened his hold on her, his claws digging into her rapidly cooling flesh. This couldn't be happening. He'd wake up in a minute, he knew he would. He just had to wait.
He waited, and nothing happened.
So this was a particularly persistent dream, then. He reached up with his hands to claw at his face, tearing gaping rends in his own skin so that his dark blood streaked down his pale flesh, mingling with the bitter tears he shed for the dead Kagome. He felt the pain, felt the warmth of his own blood pouring down, and knew that this wasn't his imagination.
For a moment all he knew was agony, but then...
His eyes narrowed, his hold on her tightening again as flames licked across his vision. He felt his fangs and claws lengthen, his eyesight intensify, painted in shades of blood.
With a growl he dropped the girl, pulling himself up to his full height. The wind whipped at him, flinging dust into his self-inflicted wounds as he threw back his head and screamed.
Good? Bad? Ugly?