As the earth gave way and the shimmering fabric of the sea eclipsed the horizon, the Lord of the Western Lands alighted upon a cliff of volcanic rock. Sparse sea grasses waved against his boots. The scent of salt air stung his nose.

Far below, he spied the pale figure of his son and heir against a backdrop of dark, pitted stone. With fluid, deadly grace, the demon prince whirled, in time with the rhythmic crashing of the waves. Brilliant strands of youki flickered and cracked around him. A mirror-burst of droplets sizzled to steam as he intercepted them one and all.

For a while, the Western Lord looked on in a mixture of pride and regret. His heart weighed heavy as a stone. Once more, he deliberated with himself. Yet he could delay this confrontation no longer. Resolved, he dropped down from the ledge. The long tails of his fur streamed out behind him as he glided to the rocky shore.

A meandering path of stones led to the outcrop upon which his son stood. Following this path, the Western Lord paused as he met with another along the way. Against a throne-like upthrust of rock, the princely young demon reclined. His flared eyes were closed. A shou of red coral glittered at his lips. Wreathed in flowing blue silks, with his quicksilver hair and shell-white features, he appeared an extension of the sea itself.

Cerulean eyes slid open toward the Western Lord, their gleaming surface belying an inscrutable depth. As the set of pipes lowered from the prince’s mouth, the sonorous pounding of the waves subsided. In the calm thereafter, the young demon inclined his head.

“Touga-sama,” he greeted.

That he had done so belatedly, and with only a modicum of respect, was not lost on his liege lord. Holding the water demon’s unfathomable gaze—a gaze so very much like his rebel mother’s—Touga considered him. The youngest son of the Sea-King’s only daughter, a bloodline as old as Creation itself. He and Sesshoumaru had been fast friends since early youth—a companionship Touga had often found perplexing, as this demon had no talent for violence, while Sesshoumaru seemed to favor little else.

But to think the young prince powerless would be a mistake.

“Hirokin,” the Western Lord replied.

His tone was flat with dismissal. Yet Hirokin loitered on, in subtle defiance. Only as Sesshoumaru leapt down from the outcrop to land between them was it clear to Touga, at least at present, where Hirokin’s allegiance lay. At Sesshoumaru’s cold backward glance, Hirokin slipped silently from his makeshift throne, and disappeared into the surf.

Touga’s son turned toward him. “Father,” he said, without deference. “You wished to speak with me?”

“An unpleasant matter has come to my attention,” the Western Lord began gruffly, bristling a bit at his son’s cool contempt. “Concerning you.”

“Me,” Sesshoumaru repeated. The edge of disdain in his voice sharpened further.

Touga grit his fangs. He had not come here to rehash his son’s poor opinion of him—

Unfortunately.

“I know about the deaths, Sesshoumaru,” Touga said without preamble. “Since you have come of age, there have been several—of which I am aware. One, only recently.”

The Western Lord paused, waiting to gauge the effect of his words. Levelly, his son stared back. His eyes were flinty. Cold.

“And?” Sesshoumaru said at last. “What of it?”

Touga’s jaw clenched. Unprepared for such a blatant lack of remorse—of shame, of anything—he bit out, “What of it? Sesshoumaru, you are killing the females you take to bed.”

Idly, the demon prince examined his claws. “That they were too weak to survive the encounter is hardly my concern. Those bitches served their purpose, that is all that matters to this Sesshoumaru.”

At a loss in the face of such unfeeling arrogance, Touga glared. “Their purpose…the sum total of their lives amounts to nothing more than the slaking of your lust?” The Western Lord shook his head in disgust. “How can you be so callous.”

“Call it what you like,” Sesshoumaru replied. “To me, it is nothing more than the relief of an occasional irritation.”

“And when it becomes more than that?” the Inu no Taishou challenged him back. “When the urge comes upon you in full, when you slaughter your intended mate for lack of temperance, what then will you do?”

“No female worthy of me would be ‘slaughtered’.” Sesshoumaru’s smile was thin with derision. “Unlike you, Father, I have no dreams of siring half-breed weaklings.” Adjusting the fur at his shoulder, the young daiyoukai narrowed his gaze. “If there is any flaw to remark upon, it is your own foolish excess of sentiment.”

Defeated, Touga regarded his stony-faced son. Not one ounce of compassion was detectable in him. No mercy. Even should Sesshoumaru one day find a demoness who could endure him, her misery would be assured. And in her wake, how many mangled corpses would lie?

Touga’s claws twitched with the impulse to draw his sword, to cut down the monster who stood before him. Because Sesshoumaru was monstrous. Already his power rivaled Touga’s own. Soon, there would be no clear chance of stopping him. But it was the very sentiments Sesshoumaru derided which stayed the Western Lord’s hand. He could not compound Inukimi’s suffering. And in his heart, he could not accept that his son had none.

If this was his failing, then so be it.

The corner of Touga’s mouth lifted in bitter resignation. “Perhaps, my son, you are right.”

…

Soaring through the night sky, Touga could not shake the unease that clung to him following his confrontation with Sesshoumaru. As often of late, when he was feeling troubled or uncertain, the Western Lord set his sights on the castle at the northern edge of his territories. Heavily fortified though it was, it was nothing for him to slip past the array of human defenses. His power ferried him straight to Izayoi’s lofty window.

Curling a claw, he rapped his knuckle lightly against the frame. It was her maid who padded over, peering at him through the screen. With a brisk jerk of her chin, she signaled that her mistress was not to be disturbed.

“Please,” Touga rumbled, flashing her a roguish grin, “permit me to disturb her.”

The old woman’s cheeks pinked, even as she scowled and stood her ground. A few moments later, a heavier set of padding footsteps approached.

“Obaa-san, what is it?” Izayoi whispered.

Touga’s smile gentled as his eyes caught hers through the screen. A gasp of delight escaped her. Ushering her maid aside, she opened the window and let him in.

“My lord,” she greeted as he stepped into her chamber. Her dark eyes glittered up at him.

“My lady,” he said smoothly, taking her at once into his arms.

Against him she was warm and soft and utterly perfect. Utterly his. As his mouth sought hers, he pulled her closer still. The roundness of her belly beneath his palm stoked the heat of his desire for her. With a disgruntled huff, Izayoi’s maid left them to it. Touga swept his beloved up the moment the screen door closed. Crossing over to the futon, he settled her beneath him.

Grateful he’d had the foresight to stash his swords and armor, Touga divested himself and Izayoi quickly of their clothes. His lips captured hers again before continuing down her elegant throat, her full shapely breasts, the captivating swell of her stomach. Here, his mouth and hands lingered for a time. Mesmerized, he listened to his son’s beating heart, felt the tiny flutters of his movements and the vibrant glow of his youki. Touga’s lips curved against Izayoi’s silky skin. A half-breed their child might be, but he was no weakling.

The knowledge sent a fresh stab of primal feeling through him. Angling up Izayoi’s hips, he buried his face between the spread of her creamy thighs. The scent of her arousal made his mouth water in anticipation. She gasped and trembled as his tongue pressed against her, dipping briefly into her wet heat before flicking over the tender ridge of flesh above it. Bringing her to pleasure became his mounting obsession. Each stifled sound of her bliss drove him that much madder with need. Growling into her, he increased his attentions until she shattered in his hands—her sweet taste overflowing, consuming.

Breaking from her, he turned her over with care, using his fur to support her from below as he entered her from behind. Izayoi’s walls clutched around him in a shuddering embrace. His fangs clenched at the ecstasy of the sensation. As much as he loved looking into her eyes as they coupled, her growing stomach had made the position uncomfortable for her. Covering her body with his, he rocked his hips against her, penetrating her in a slow, deep circuit. Yet even at this measured pace, he could only delay for so long. As her breaths shortened and her spine stiffened, he could feel his own end fast approaching. Panting his love for her into the side of her throat, he held her to him as her tight sheath spasmed around him, her slick inner muscles milking him thoroughly of his seed.

His fangs set against her, though it was futile. A bleeding shoulder was all she would gain from it—his mating mark had long since been given to another. As his pleasure dimmed, a familiar despair set in. He could not bind her to him, truly. He could not give her his full protection, nor extend her lifespan to match his own.

But his heart—that he could give.

Withdrawing from her, he lay down and gathered her to him, kissing her until she drew back from him, breathless. The hand curled against his chest rose to trace the stripe on his cheek. The expression in her eyes was soft with concern.

“Touga,” she said, “what’s wrong?”

The Western Lord frowned. He did not wish to burden her with his troubles—he never did. But she’d seen through him, as usual.

“Sesshoumaru,” he answered wearily, kneading at the stitch in his brow. “Today, I nearly killed him.”

Izayoi sat up suddenly, her eyes wide with shock. “What?”

Touga sighed. “His behavior has become…disturbing.”

“In what way?”

“Lethally violent,” Touga hedged, “toward females.”

Izayoi blanched. As she touched anxiously to her stomach, he sat up, taking her frightened face in his hands.

“It is abnormal,” Touga said firmly. “It will not afflict our son.”

“How can you be so sure?” she asked him faintly.

Touga hesitated. “…Because it is his mother’s trait, not mine. Before me, she killed every demon who had attempted to claim her.”

In fact, it was this notorious reputation which had attracted him to Inukimi in the first place. A daiyoukai bitch of unparalleled power. Beautiful and peerless. Unconquerable. Naturally, he’d had to have her. And in the most hard-fought battle of his life, he had subdued her, mated her—and secured her eternal devotion in return. For few knew how cursed and hopeless she had felt.

Sesshoumaru was the issue of that fateful union—a demon of consummate power and madness.

In his lust and his greed, what terror had Touga unleashed upon the world?

Izayoi’s palms pressed soothingly to his chest. Her gaze was earnest and steady. “But Sesshoumaru is your son, too. He may have his mother’s traits, but he has yours as well.”

Touga studied her face. His heart ached at her loveliness. Until he had seen her, he had never known true longing. A mortal woman, yet her spirit had called to his…

As his claws sifted through her raven hair, he felt the edges of a formless fear take shape.

“Yes,” was all he managed to say.

Izayoi gave him an encouraging smile. “Then help him, my love. Teach him to be more like you.”

“He doesn’t want my help or guidance,” the demon lord said shortly. “All he wants from me is my power.”

“Then don’t give him what he wants,” Izayoi replied. The steely glint in her eye made Touga love her all the more. “Give him what he needs.”

…

Ducking beneath a row of fossilized fangs, Touga stepped across the threshold of the giant skull-turned-dwelling. At the rear of it, a roaring fire burned at intervals, casting a fierce red glow over the haphazard assortment of tools, materials, and other domestic odds-and-ends. Dozing on a bed of straw near the jawline, a three-eyed cow peered up at him, lowing in recognition. At the sound, the gout of flames sputtered to smoke. The bulging eyes of the cow’s hunched companion swiveled up to Touga as well.

“Ah, the Inu no Taishou!” Toutousai exclaimed, swiping a sleeve across his sweaty brow. “What brings you here, old friend?”

“Such a warm welcome,” Touga said. His eyes scanned over the rather uninspired set of hunting knives the swordsmith had been forging. “You must be bored.”

Propping his long-handled hammer against his chest, Toutousai stuffed his hands into his sleeves. “These commissioners have no imagination,” he groused. “Knives that can reform into spears…any idiot could make such a thing. If the pay wasn’t so good, I’d be insulted.” Catching sight of the sword sheathed at Touga’s hip, the smith beamed. “But here—let me see Tessaiga!”

Withdrawing the battered-looking weapon, Touga handed it to Toutousai. Checking the sheath for a moment, the swordsmith removed it. His clawtips and eyes ran critically over the rusted length of the blade.

“You’ve absorbed a new power,” Toutousai muttered, squinting.

“The Meidou Zangetsuha,” Touga replied. “I acquired it from a youkai named Shishinki.”

“It is too unstable,” the swordsmith said with a frown. “If you wield this power, Tessaiga will surely break.”

“I feared as much,” the Inu no Taishou admitted. “But perhaps, if there was a second blade to contain it…”

The swordsmith’s squinting eyes pivoted to him. “So, this is not a social call. Very well—I have little patience for them.” Leaning back, he stroked the soot-colored point of his beard. “Tell me, Touga, what did you have in mind?”

“A sword for my eldest son to inherit,” the Western Lord replied. “The perfect counterpoint to Tessaiga—a blade that poses no harm to the living, and can restore a hundred lives in a single swing.”

Toutousai tugged at his beard. “A sword which cannot cut,” he said lowly, “that’ll be sure to disappoint Sesshoumaru.”

“I seek to curb his violence,” Touga said, frowning. “Tessaiga must not pass to him. It will go to my younger son, when he is ready.”

Toutousai nodded. “And the Meidou Zangetsuha?”

“Seal it away. If Sesshoumaru can learn humility and restraint, then he will be able to wield it.”

“I cannot transfer all of the Meidou Zangetsuha’s power to this new blade,” Toutousai warned with a shake of his head. “It will always be an imperfect technique. Unless, of course, it is returned to Tessaiga.”

The smith’s owlish eyes fixed pointedly on Touga. There was no mistaking the significance in that look—in order to perfect the Meidou Zangetsuha, Sesshoumaru’s blade would have to be destroyed.

“I must trust to my sons’ choices,” Touga said gravely, holding the swordsmith’s eye. “And, Toutousai?”

“Hm?”

“Should I be unable to pass the swords on myself, you must see to it.”

Toutousai paled. His whiskers sagged as he scowled. “…You are going to make my hair turn grey.”

Touga mustered a grin, despite the iron weight that seemed to bear upon his shoulders. That his romance with Izayoi had caused considerable unrest could not be denied. In setting aside his daiyoukai mate for a mere mortal, even his most loyal subjects had begun to question his strength and judgment. Threats from within and without had escalated. Containing them now occupied his days.

Though Touga was still loath to consider it, the possibility of his untimely death could not be dismissed. Nor its impact on his sons.

These swords were his provision for them, against the trials to come. Touga could only hope that it would be enough.

“Anyway,” Toutousai said, wresting the demon lord from his grim reflections, “have you thought of a name? I was thinking ‘The Coffin Cheater’ myself.”

The corners of Touga’s lips twitched upward. “Tenseiga,” he said.

“’Tenseiga’, eh? Well, that’s grand enough for his highness, at least,” the swordsmith conceded with a grumble. “All right, then.”

Sweeping aside the near-finished knives, Toutousai placed Tessaiga reverently upon the anvil, before rooting around in a trunk nearby. Extracting a wicked pair of pliers, he turned toward Touga with a zealous, toothy grin.

“Now,” the smith said, “open up!”

---

Inuyasha © Rumiko Takahashi

Revised 3/7/23