...we clear out our own beginning...
When the haze in her eyes cleared, Kagome felt something hot leave cold trails down her face. Tears swam; her fingers touched thick droplets and her vision confirmed blood.
"Kagome," came a harsh whisper.
"Sesshomaru?" Kagome called, swiveling and flinching as crimson beads flung from her every move.
"Here," he said, one red soaked knee against bloody bones, Bakusaiga's blade dug into his father's carcass.
Kagome stuttered to a halt before a glaring pool of blood, her own reflection speckled with drops of the liquid on her arms, her face, her neck, her chest, her lips, searing her skin with another's life and draining her own. Not her blood. Sesshomaru's blood, flowing, pouring, draining with an intensity far stronger when he'd slashed himself to setup their first lone encounter.
Then she had felt utter helplessness and fear, of him and of herself. Yet now she felt an unsettling calm, a sort of apprehensive acceptance. The sooth before the storm, the pulse before battle, smiles before the beheading station beneath a troop of blades; blades sharpened with demonic desire to swallow blood that flowed down their well-worn hilts and stained hands red.
"Come," he said, his voice hollow and his eyes different, their intensifying golden light unfitting with his blood-covered bloodless pale visage.
It drew out something within her, pulling her closer and closer to hypnotic gold as her feet sloshed through warm blood and red splashed and splattered on her face. She smiled with a meaning she knew not of. She moved with apprehensiveness but source-lacking fearlessness, smiling as if marching towards her own execution, the storm of blades below approaching.
"Trust me. Let go," he soothed as bloody claws reached out to her.
She fell into the storm of blades and they consumed her.
One pool of blood became a cleansing flood for the old Dog General's final remains.
Author Note: Review!