As dawn broke, Sesshoumaru alighted once more on the brimstone surface of Toutousai’s volcanic refuge. So, too, did his returning vassal. Catching sight of his lord as he landed, Jakken slipped quickly down from Ah-Un’s far side, concealing himself behind the dragon’s massive foreleg as he pretended to busy himself with tending to the beast.

“Jakken,” Sesshoumaru commanded, impressing even himself at how perfectly he managed to contain his blistering rage.

Sheepishly, the imp peeked around the dragon’s front. Appearing as innocent as a newborn pup, he stepped out and peered up at the daiyoukai.

“Yes, milord?”

Silence stretched between them as Sesshoumaru stared back. Lava gurgled in the surrounding pits, a hot sulfurous breeze rustling through the silk of their clothes. At Jakken’s temple, an oily drop of sweat beaded and fell.

Lightly, Sesshoumaru plucked the nintoujou from Jakken’s hands, the imp blinking up at him once in confusion before the headless end of the staff slammed down between his bulging eyes. Exhaling through locked fangs, Sesshoumaru ground his prostrate vassal into the ashen earth.

“No. More. Females,” the daiyoukai growled, driving Jakken’s face that much deeper into the dirt with each seething word. “I do not require your assistance. This Sesshoumaru is more than capable of securing the woman he desires–as you well know.”

Yellow eyes swimming, the imp spluttered out a mouthful of soot as the pressure at his brow relented at last. Casting the nintoujou aside with a clatter, Sesshoumaru strode toward the gaping skull.

“Th-that miko…that human,” the imp choked out behind him on a cry, “she is not worthy of you!”

Sesshoumaru paused, glancing coldly back. “Her worth is for me to decide.”

The imp’s sullied features crumpled in despair. “Even amongst daiyoukai, you, Sesshoumaru-sama, are peerless. There is no demoness beyond your reach. Why, then, would you lower yourself for a mere mortal? Death is all their kind can bring–think of your great father, and how that woman Izayoi brought him to ruin–”

“Do not,” Sesshoumaru said lowly, hauling his distraught retainer up by the collar, “presume to lecture me, Jakken.”

The imp sagged defeatedly in his hold. “Please, milord…I speak only out of concern and devotion to you.”

Regardless of his vassal’s idiocy, Sesshoumaru knew this to be true. His gaze remained hard as he released his grip, his retainer bouncing to the ground.

“Your devotion is credited, Jakken, but your concern is misplaced.” Sweeping, the end of his tail over his shoulder, Sesshoumaru resumed his course. “I am well aware of my father’s mistakes–and I have no intention of repeating them.”

Briskly, Sesshoumaru advanced through the sharp-edged maw of Toutousai’s dwelling. At his entrance, the sound of hammering belatedly recommenced, bulbous white eyes looking anywhere but at the daiyoukai–upon whom they had unquestionably been spying.

“Hard at work, as you can see,” the old smith grumbled defensively as he made a show of sparks against the unfinished chestplate. “You said two days, so two days it shall be–and not a minute less!”

“Good.”

Closing his eyes briefly, Sesshoumaru settled back against the curved wall of the skull. For a while, he simply rested, allowing his mind to clear and his temper to ease.

By tonight, he would be reunited with Kagome. It seemed far longer than two days since he had left her, and so for her, it must have seemed an eternity. Waiting did not sit well with her. The corner of his mouth lifted as he pictured her whiling away the hours without him in sulky impatience–pacing and huffing and attempting to divert herself with her menial human chores and companions.

With nothing better to do himself, he unsheathed Tessaiga and studied its various forms. In his mind’s eye, they were clear to him–the brilliant gold of its primary transformation; the blazing red of its second; the electric blue, vitriolic green, roiling purple, scintillating orange, and shades more in the spectrum of its subsequent forms. There was only one which remained indistinct–dark and disembodied, a mere shadow of a shape. His brow furrowed as he held the sword before him, attempting to draw it out.

“It’s no good, that.”

Sesshoumaru looked aside in question. Sitting cross-legged before his forge, with the completed armor at his hip, Toutousai frowned toward Tessaiga.

“Your father wrested the powers of many a defeated foe,” the swordsmith explained, tugging at the wisps of his beard. “Yet there was one which he deemed too unstable to reside within Tessaiga. This was why Tenseiga was created–to contain the power of the Meidou Zangetsuha.”

Sheathing Tessaiga, Sesshoumaru withdrew the fang of his inheritance instead. Thin and brilliant, the mirrored surface of Tenseiga’s blade gleamed mockingly in his hands.

“A sword which cannot cut–a mere vessel for an imperfect technique,” he spoke, a brittle smile framing his lips. “This cast off piece is what my father left to me.”

And yet, Sesshoumaru asked himself, why should I have ever expected more? 

His father had made his sentiments clear. Inuyasha was the heir of his choosing. To Sesshoumaru went only the bitter leavings of Touga’s regard.

And his legacy.

“If you believe that,” Toutousai bit out sternly, “then you are a hopeless fool.”

Sesshoumaru moved toward him with a forbidding glare. “Insult me again, Toutousai, and even your usefulness will not be enough to spare you.”

Snatching up the armor, the daiyoukai left the skull. Without even a word of command, Jakken readied Ah-Un in shaky haste, and together, under the dark cloud of Sesshoumaru’s resurrected fury, they departed for Edo village.

---

Inuyasha © Rumiko Takahashi

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