Of Spirit and Spice

Disclaimer: I don't own Inuyasha. That honor belongs to Takahashi-san.

Chapter 4: Escalation

--

Kagome woke to pain.

First her tired, stiff mind registered the reopening of the barely-dried wounds on her wrists. Then the dull soreness of her limbs, then the sharp needles in her scalp as someone pulled her head up by the hair.

She cracked open her eyes, too weak to do much else. Her head ached, her mouth felt gummy, her tongue like wood, and when she tried to speak, the dull ache in her throat erupted with clawing pain.

She wanted water... But she forgot that in a moment.

"Who…who're you?" she managed to croak at the faceless shadow.

It said nothing, but dimly she realized that it was holding her and setting her down on the damp floor, steadying her in case she slipped or crumpled as her legs shook.

The wheel of her mind stumbled into motion. The pain from her wrists was from the opening of her manacles. The soreness that pervaded every muscle was from all her flailing the day before. Perhaps this stranger had pulled her head up by her hair to spare aggravating her bruised and swelling chin?

She dared to ask, but still he didn't respond. What was going on…

With a shudder, she felt her miko senses awaken. That was odd…they'd never gone to sleep like that before…maybe the miasma in this place really was getting to her…

She gasped when she recognized the aura beside her. Her mind flew into activity, a chaos of questions and confused possibilities. It was a stark contrast to her shambling steps as her savior led her by the hand towards the exit of the cellar.

What is he doing here? How did he get here? How did he know—how could he have gotten so far—how did I not recognize him? Where is—why aren't they here—why isn't—did something happen…No, that's impossible! Why won't he talk—why won't he tell me what's going on? He normally—this is so odd—he's not acting like himself at all—but it is him, I'm sure of it! But what happened to his—I'm not dreaming, am I? No, my throat hurts too much for that…I guess I just have to… go with this…it'll make sense soon…right?

Of course it will. I…have to believe that it will.

Her mind resolved, the fight became entirely physical. Her body was tired and dehydrated, but her dogged determination lent her strength. Slowly but surely she crossed the chamber with her guide, and finally they reached the slit of light that signaled the exit.

With horror she realized that there was no ladder; the thin bar of light fell on tired, weeping eyes. But before she could turn to her companion to commiserate, he'd saved her again.

With a careful prod of his staff, he opened the door, and quickly hoisted her through. How he got up, she wasn't sure; the throw had caught her off guard, and she'd landed in a tangled heap that took a full minute to escape from; by the time she looked up, he was there, helping her up and closing the trapdoor behind them.

"Miroku-sama—" she couldn't contain herself now, seeing his face, the undeniable proof—that is, until he clamped a hand over her mouth, and shook his head.

She understood immediately, and nodded. They were still in danger; talk would come later.

Assured that she wouldn't endanger them again, he removed his hand and motioned for her to follow him down the hallway, down one turn, then another, then up a flight, then down another hallway…

She did so without question, grateful beyond words that she had a guide to escape this labyrinth.

She couldn't hide the relieved smile that fluttered about her face.

Naraku found it amusing.

--

Two figures, one tiny, one squat, stood together on a wooden porch, sheltered from the rain.

"Where's Myouga-jiji going?" Shippou asked, eyebrows knotted over squinting eyes as he tried to make out the flea's raven flying away through the gray downpour.

Kaede sighed, also watching the bird disappear into an inky smudge, a dot, and then nothing. Only then did she look down at the child.

"Myouga-jisan is sending a message to Inuyasha and Kagome. Byakuya has a new trick they need to know about before it's too late."

"Oh…" he responded softly, eyes large with surprise. He hadn't expected that.

"Is that why Kouga's here? To tell her?"

"Yes, that is why he came here. He is only staying until he regains his strength. Then he will leave and give Miroku the information as well. It is imperative that they all know as soon as possible."

Kaede's voice was serious and business-like, but her gesture to move inside and escape the chilly porch was warm. Shippou gladly hopped into the fire-lit room.

They did not speak for a time as they settled on the tatami mats and Kaede dished out her steaming stew.

With surprise, Shippou noticed Kouga curled up in a corner, eyes shut, face pale, asleep.

"W-when you said that Kouga was staying 'til he 'regains his strength'…you didn't mean—he didn't—nothing happened to him, did it? He just ran into a tree or something, right?" Shippou stuttered, soup forgotten, eyes large with worry.

"I am afraid that that is not the entire story, Shippou. But do not be alarmed. He will be well again in a few hours at most," Kaede attempted to reassure the kit after a cursory glance in the wolf's direction.

"Most of the problem is that he did not take shelter at night despite the weather. He managed to catch a cold from the constant damp and lack of food," she added after blowing on her soup.

"Youkai don't get sick—" Shippou spat out his spoonful, disbelieving.

"They do if their strength has been diminished enough and they don't find shelter," she cut him off firmly, sending a mildly incriminating glance at the ookami.

"However, in Kouga's case, it is a good thing he did not stop for the weather, despite the consequences," she added after a thoughtful pause and sip.

"B-but now he's sick! And now Miroku might not find out soon enough—" Shippou spluttered, incredulous all over again. How could Kaede not think of these things!

"His information was of most importance to Kagome. We think Naraku will target her first, and if he employs Byakuya's newly developed technique…"

Shippou jumped to his feet, dropping his soup so it hissed in the fire, but he didn't notice, he was even more upset than before—"But it was Miroku that Byakuya came and made that deal with! Miroku's the one with the hand that will kill him any day now! What makes you think that Naraku would go after Kagome first—I mean, he wouldn't, would he? But she's with Inuyasha! He'll protect her—"

"Shippou, calm yourself!" Kaede warned, setting her own bowl down, her face becoming stern to hide her worry.

"No!" Shippou yelled right back, stomping his little foot, angry tears sprouting like weeds.

"Kagome and Miroku are in danger! Inuyasha probably too! And Myouga-jiji might not get to them in time—and Kouga definitely won't 'cause he's sick—and if they don't find out what Naraku's up to in time—they'll die!"

"No one is going to die," the old miko intoned severely.

"Yes they are! It's hopeless, isn't it! We can't work right when we're separated or angry at each other, and Kagome and Inuyasha are off at Jinenji's and Miroku's chasing Naraku and Sango's chasing Miroku and Naraku will just pick them off one by one with his new trick—"

"Oi…can a demon get a little sleep?"

Shippou whipped his head at the corner where the tired Kouga frowned. In a flash he was upon the older demon, begging him to wake up and go save his family. Miroku, Sango, Inuyasha, Kagome! Shippou was terrified; his fear ran rampant through his every frantic word and every frenzied gesture and pleading pull at the ookami's furs.

Kaede didn't try to stop the little boy anymore. She closed her eyes, sad. She loved children, just as her older sister had... And Shippou was just a child, for all his talk.

He was frightened and desperate and vulnerable. Kouga pitied him once he understood, but he didn't have the strength to reassure him. He fell back to sleep with the little kitsune sobbing, heaving, then quietly weeping into his shoulder.

A tantrum could be ended with discipline. But truth? Frightening real possibilities?

Neither adult in the room knew quite how to deal with the child's words.

--

Kagome breathed a sigh of relief as Miroku mouthed that this was the last door.

She didn't question why he gestured for her go first. He was her friend. She trusted him.

She slid it open and stepped through, finally letting down her guard completely to close her eyes and feel the wind on her face—the miasma-stricken air was hardly fresh, but it moved in a way the air in a building never can, and the fluttering against her cheeks and teasing of her hair felt oh so wonderful, simply singing of joyous freedom; she sighed, raising her arms in relief. Incidentally leaving herself wide open.

A hard one-two blow to the ribs and head from a wooden staff knocked her down.

She barely had time to blink at her assailant and register his purple robes and blank face and feel the betrayal strike through her before she blacked out.

--

Jinenji had always liked the rain. It made his farm grow green and lush, and a pleasant pattering sound on the roof. It collected into wells and fed streams to drink from, and cleaned the air so everything seemed clearer.

Where most saw dismal gray skies, he saw the promise of new life.

His bewildered depression persisted despite all that.

A full day and two nights had gone by since he'd last seen Kagome and Inuyasha. They had left with no warning or message or trace…and it confused and concerned him.

They shouldn't be traveling in this weather…he worried, crouched on his porch, eyes reflecting his anxiety and the churning heavens all at once.

They wouldn't have left behind the medicine for their friend, unless…something happened… He couldn't hold that thought back, no matter how much he feared the possibilities it suggested.

He hefted the bag, so tiny compared to his large hand, contemplating just what could have made such staunch and loyal people forget their purpose and their friend's wellbeing.

His reverie was rudely broken by a sharp prick on his neck. A mosquito? During a cold rain?

"You must be Jinenji-san! I am Myouga-sama, retainer to Inuyasha-sama! I heard he was visiting you—but I can't seem to find him here; where did he go?"

His retainer? A hanyou has a youkai for a servant? Jinenji couldn't help but wonder at the inspiring inu hanyou, succeeding in so many ways despite his heritage.

Myouga took the moment to hop to the end of his shoulder, so that they could converse eye to eye.

"I do not know where Inuyasha-san went. He left a day ago, as did his companion, the kind Kagome," Jinenji politely replied, putting a lid on his curiosity regarding the flea.

"Did they not say where they were going? I have an urgent message for both of them!" Myouga literally jumped with vexation.

"No, they did not," the uma-hanyou answered in troubled low tones; his apprehension spurred him to offer more information: "they forgot the medicine for their cursed friend as well." He lifted the small bag as evidence.

"They did? That is very strange, very strange indeed. They must have left in a great hurry to do so…" Myouga's curiosity was piqued, calming his frantic disposition from jumping to merely jittery.

"Was there any demon activity around the time they left?" he swiftly asked.

"No…I did not notice any," Jinenji answered honestly enough.

"Any disturbances in the balance of energies of the area?" the flea shot off.

A long blink. "I am sorry, but I do not think that I know what you mean," the uma-hanyou finally responded.

"Did anything feel…wrong, but not in a clearly defined way? Like something touching you on the shoulder that's not there," Myouga quickly explained, mind whirring.

"Not yesterday…but something like that happened two nights ago." Jinenji looked distinctly uncomfortable as he admitted it, as if he should have realized the connection before.

"I slept badly that night…as if someone was…blowing in my ear," he described with difficulty.

"Blowing in your ear, did you say! Interesting, interesting…well, it is clear that something happened that they had to deal with that night," the flea mused good-naturedly.

His business-manner mien calmed the uma-hanyou's nerves greatly. The flea seemed informed, intelligent, clever. Perfectly capable of figuring things out and trustworthy in regards to Inuyasha-san. He breathed a sigh of relief.

That is, until fear clouded the flea's face darker than the sky outside or even the raven perched on a nearby tree.

"I only hope it has nothing to do with the content of my message," Myouga realized.

"I only hope I'm not too late…"

--

Miroku strode solidly along, his outward appearance calm and purposeful. Inside, he was worried.

For the past few hours he'd suffered the inexplicable but unmistakable feeling of being followed.

At first he'd disregarded it as a product of his tired and paranoid mind. Naraku didn't need to stalk him. Naraku would trap him, then try to kill him. That was how Naraku did things.

And yet…he couldn't shake the feeling. The hairs on the back of his neck would not go back down. The tickles along his spine would not cease. Something must be following him.

What, he wasn't sure. He didn't feel any youki, so it was either a very weak, if sneaky demon, or a very skilled human. What human would follow him, he didn't know.

But as the hours dragged by, it became increasingly clear that he or she or it was not going to reveal her/his/its-self soon.

He hadn't had a glimpse, nor a whiff, nor heard a sound from his 'companion'. But every now and then, he noted traces—displaced leaves, a single dark hair, birds startled from their bushy rain shelters—that reassured him that this was no trick of the imagination.

And so he waited too. He was patient; unlike Inuyasha, he did not have to rush into every battle, weapon drawn and spittle flying. He could collect information on the sly, and choose his time to attack.

It was only a matter of time…Buddha-sama! A shuriken barely missed his shoulder.

He felt the water on it flick across his neck. He whirled around, hearing a rustle—he saw a shadow, a figure moving in the brush farther down the path, coming closer, into view—

A hard, determined stare. Long, damp dark hair. A giant bone boomerang hefted easily as paper.

And just as easily flung his way.

What in the name of the blessed Buddha's teeth and lotus is happening?!

--

Byakuya's face scrunched in concentration as he deftly looped yet more details into his construct.

He tried to focus on the task, but he couldn't prevent the stray derisive thought that skittered across his mind…can't exactly blame the dog or Naraku-sama for their weakness to this creature…

An all-too-pleased chuckle snapped his thoughts back to the proper line.

"Kukukuku…Can you imagine that hanyou's expression when he finds her? A simply brilliant plan. I'll be surprised if he doesn't lose control within a few seconds. It's fraying as it is, and she's only been here for a day and a half…she is more of a weakness than even Kikyou!"

Naraku relished the scene before him: a few feet away, Kagome, bared to the skin, unconscious, vulnerable, prone on the tatami…Byakuya crouched at her side, rebellious thoughts quelled, entirely focused on his task…the large urn at his side, surface displaying his weakening enemy…yes, things were certainly going his way…

"Whe…where am I?" the girl rasped.

Naraku's smile only widened. "You do not remember? You were kidnapped, and then imprisoned, and now you are finally being used."

His phrasing caught her attention in a disturbing way. She abruptly realized she was naked. And that Byakuya was sitting only 2 feet away.

Instinctively, she tried to curl in on herself, give herself some modicum of modesty; sharp pain lanced through her at the rapid movement, and she was forced to lie still, biting her tongue to stifle her startled moan.

Could she feel any more violated and vulnerable? "Where is Miroku-sama?"

Naraku moved swiftly, sitting beside her in a rustle of silk, his gaze greedy and greasy as he gently feathered her bangs.

Apparently not.

She flinched instinctively, and mustered enough fluid to spit in his face. Her throat felt like a hot throbbing mass of scar tissue now, but it was worth it when he reeled back, almost falling over in surprise.

He stared at her a moment, rage flickering behind his crimson eyes, before he gave a short laugh.

"You still have your pride, do you? Do you know what Byakuya is doing?"

She glanced at the youkai for a moment, biting her lip, goosebumps prickling, but returned to her first question. "I don't care. What happened to Miroku-sama? Where is he? What did you do to him—"

Byakuya noted the emotional quantum-jump: embarrassed to incensed. How did that happen? I thought only Naraku-sama could flip feelings so quickly… He batted the thought away, but it came back, like a boomerang.

"You think I had control over him? That he is my slave now, as Kohaku once was? I won't lie, that thought is a tempting one…I thank you for the suggestion…but that is not the case."

She winced at his approval, but kept up her fierce front. "You don't actually expect me to believe that Miroku-sama has decided to help you, do you?"

"So you persist in your belief that I have taken over him?" She didn't like the way his teeth now showed.

"What other answer could there be?" she shot back, covering her confusion with bravado, still sure Miroku would never have intentionally hurt her.

His grin could have curdled milk. "That was no houshi. It was a construct, an illusion, a simulacrum…and Byakuya is making your effigy that much more convincing as we speak."

Her eyes wide, she flicked a look at Byakuya—and noticed, with numb horror, the way his eyes soaked in every detail of her form, and how he swiftly turned away, muttering intently over an origami crane…

"And of course, he has many more of them…he can make one of anyone…and the auras will be the same, the voices, the touch, the feel, the scent…perfect replicas. Perfect deceptions. All under my control."

She gathered herself, and spat back: "Perfect? That's impossible, and you know it!"

"You were fooled, were you not?" he pointed out with a condescending smile, as if he were speaking to some child throwing a tantrum over incontrovertible facts…well, she was, wasn't she…

"Th-that means nothing! I was in Miroku-sama's—the fake's—presence for only a short while, and he never spoke! And I'm hardly at my best currently! Inuyasha and the others will figure it out, just watch!"

She didn't know whether she screamed at her own fears or at his smug face. She didn't particularly care. She'd forgotten her aches and forgotten her abused vocal chords and naked everything—she was livid, sitting up, strong, facing him down.

He relished her reaction, but covered it with quick movement: he gripped her arm, pulling her to her feet, then to the urn.

"Your confidence in them is touching. Why don't you simply watch yourself?" he whispered in her ear, breath smooth and oily across her cheek. She shuddered, but his firm grip on her arms and his undeniable presence at her back had her leaning forward to look, heart pulsing in her throat, but why, she wasn't sure…

--

Kouga stretched a little in the dim light, contemplating the gray sodden view Kaede's porch opened to.

He took a careful sniff as he rolled his shoulders, stiff from sleeping on a wooden floor and not his den's furs. Water, water, and more water flooded his nostrils. A bit concerned, he took a deeper breath; the scent wasn't gone yet completely, was it? It had rained a lot, but still…

Nothing…nothing…there! A faint trace. To the northeast.

He dashed off into the rainy night. He wasn't sure how long this trail would hold—it was a weak, thin thing at best—but it would have to do.

What other option was there?

His thoughts were mirrored by his passenger's.

--

"First we will visit your friend the tajiya…as you can see, she isn't exactly at her best…"

Kagome's urge to snap something back was derailed as Sango's face swam into focus. The view was close enough that she could see the wrinkles that shouldn't have been there.

"Isn't it fascinating how her eyes swallow the light, like twin abysses?" Naraku intoned with the air of an unreasonably excited art critic.

Kagome's mouth was too dry to open. She couldn't tear her gaze away from her forlorn friend's.

"And the hollowness to her cheeks—she hasn't been eating enough, has she? Worry over the monk has eaten her away. You know this to be true."

Still, no words would come to her. She could only stare.

Smirking, Naraku trailed some fingers in the acid; ripples spread, distorting the image, isolating the colors, mixing, reforming, until it was finally still again.

Well, the surface was still.

--

A tumble of leaves, a screech of displaced branches, and an inu-hanyou burst from an especially dense copse, his chest heaving. He leapt on, over the stream and into the next part of the forest.

His body was complaining.

He ignored it.

Inuyasha was a few hours more than a day away from the field at his current pace; to slow down now would be disastrous. He had to be there, tomorrow, or else.

Or else what, he didn't want to know. He didn't think about it. He didn't let himself.

To think about it would lead to other unthinkable things, like him losing control and failing in his mission. Which would lead to then more unthinkable things, like Kikyou never being avenged and the slaughter of innocents to celebrate Naraku's triumph and Kagome's dea—

Unthinkable things. A vicious cycle, one leading to another to another. He could not let it start.

So he kept ignoring his growing soreness and shrinking belly. As he'd been saying for years: plenty of time to rest and eat after Naraku was dead.

He was weakening, physically. But he was used to it. He could work through it. His true strength had always been his perseverance; it would be put to good use now.

Unfortunately, he would need more than that to win the next day.

And with his rapidly diminishing faculties, his odds of winning in any case were unlikely.

But that, again, was unthinkable.

--

The room was filled with the clash of weapons and grunts and thuds of leaps and landings, but no words were spoken by the two flashing figures in the urn.

Kagome stared, confused. Who were they? She saw no youki, but they seemed too quick to be human; the only humans she knew that could fight as fast as demons were—

Kagome's mouth finally cracked open, for a gasp: "Oh…"

Naraku smiled. It was a sick thing to see.

"I see you've finally recognized the real houshi. Do you understand what is happening?"

Not paying attention, she shook her head.

Delighted, he explained. "Well, you see, Byakuya sent them that same invitation for a one-on-one fight with me. But, only the houshi accepted, and the tajiya was very angry at him for doing so. Now she is fighting him, to stop him from fighting me.

"Of course it is actually a simulacrum of her—the real tajiya is busy fighting off a fake houshi some li away, because 'he' wants her to go home and not be in danger and she's forced him to do so in that manner. Would you care to watch that fight as well? It's only just beginning; and even you must admit that lover's spats are entertaining…"

Kagome's head lowered, and her bangs covered her eyes. They still darted over the scene, noting with disgust the exhaustion and sad acceptance—the despair!—marring Miroku's face, and the desperate anger twisting Sango's. She crossed her arms over her chest, and shuddered.

Naraku mistook it for cold. It was anger.

With fury racing through her she knocked the urn away, cracking it, spilling the acid all over the floor, all the while glaring and screaming:

"You awful, disgusting, twisted…thing! What is wrong with you! Why do you enjoy making people suffer?! You're not even a real sadist! You like them suffering at their beloved's hands! I wish the Kami would smite you now—"

"Insolent woman!" Naraku backhanded her, knocking her down easily.

That urn was his best means of observing his prey. Now he would be forced to go blind or give up Byakuya's imitation-refinements—and that was not an option.

Incensed, he pulled her up by the hair and slapped her again. She glared defiantly back, once her eyes opened.

Now grabbing a hand, he let the rest of her slump to the ground. He towered over her, toying with her fingers, and snarled: "Don't tempt me to break each bone in your body one by one. It would be my pleasure. Byakuya has all the physical information he needs by now. The only reason you're still alive is because I wish it. But if you would prefer your precious Inuyasha to find the real you, broken and raped and dead and rotting in some ditch, keep talking..."

By the end, his voice was smooth again, but the threat was all the more palpable.

Byakuya watched the girl carefully, curious as to her response.

He should have expected her impudent comeback, but he did not.

"Better the real me! Better to be dead and suffer and have him mourn something real than watch my friends fight and fail against falsehoods—but I suppose you wouldn't know, as you've never had any genuine friends or loves at all? Is that why you are the way you are? Because—"

"Be quiet, bitch," he whispered, clearly but intensely—genuinely.

And her silence was just as genuine—he'd finally hit her hard enough to knock her unconscious.

Muttering unintelligibly to himself, Naraku picked her up and carried her to a different cell. He put a barrier around the walls and ceiling and floor when he left. It would suffice.

Byakuya shook his head, and returned to his crane. Best not to invite attention with his master so…unsettled.

He allowed himself one independent thought before returning to his work: The girl…she could…perhaps she has the strength…

--

Sango woke to a sharp pain in her neck.

Slapping at it without thought, she slowly took in her situation…flying about fifty feet up, more rain, Kirara's fur in her face, Myouga on her nose…

Wait. What?!

She jerked upright, eyes crossed, and nearly fell off of Kirara. Sango hastily grabbed at the slick fur, barely avoiding disaster.

"I'm sorry...did I surprise you?" Myouga said meekly, from the relative safety of her shoulder.

"Just a little..." Sango growled, shaking herself a bit. "Why are you here, anyway?"

"I am looking for Inuyasha-sama and Kagome-sama; do you know where they are?" he said, demeanor shifting subtly.

Sango was surprised at the seriousness that had dropped over him, but didn't comment.

"At Jinenji's or on their way back to Kaede's village from there."

She suppressed a pang at the thought of her friends finally arriving at Kaede's to find them gone... It felt like years had passed since she'd last seen Kagome's smile or heard Inuyasha's 'keh'.

Myouga seemed to share her melancholy. "I'm afraid they are in no such place; I've only just come from Jinenji's, and before that Kaede's."

"What?! Then where could they be?"

"I have no idea. I only spotted Kirara by chance, and hoped that you knew," he pronounced with a frail finality. After a few silent moments broken only by the drumming of the rain, Myouga seemed to collect himself, and find a spark of hope.

"However. My information is still useful to you. Maybe you can carry it along...?"

"I'm sorry, but I can't. I'm following Miroku-sama." Sango didn't realize that she'd lost sight of him until she said it.

"Yes, yes, I know. Kaede-sama told me. Trust me, you want to know this."

Sighing at his condescending manner, but not protesting, Sango listened. And gaped. And cursed. And bent down to urge Kirara to speed ahead.

That is, right before a sutra with familiar glowing scrawl struck Kirara's paw. And struck them all down, screams lost in the wind of their fall, rain slow in comparison, but pelting all the same.

--

Kagome woke slowly, groggily. As she slowly blinked, adjusting to the dimness of the room, she took stock of her body. The pain was duller now, but it just seemed to have spread over more areas, with the rare hot spot: her throat, her chin, her cheek. Come to think of it, from the shoulders down she just felt tired. She tried to feel encouraged by that, but Sango's face swam into her mind and that spark of positive emotion was forgotten.

She bit back angry tears. To think that that—that—that creature was torturing her friends for his amusement made her simply furious. Her fists clenched unconsciously.

Byakuya nearly jumped back out of the room at the sight of the pink swirls around the girl's hands, but she'd heard him enter and it was too late.

"What are you doing here?" she asked flatly. She didn't hate him, but she didn't particularly like him—and she hardly felt like company at that moment.

He let out a breath as he saw the pink recede. It appeared that she hadn't done it intentionally, or that it wasn't meant for him. Perhaps he wouldn't be killed for this?

He let out a laugh at that thought. Sure, he wouldn't be killed by her—but not by Naraku? What a joke.

She cocked her head to the side, confused at the sound of his dry, bitter laugh. But for all her confusion, the tension eased enough for him to sit down and start talking.

"I'm here to explain some of what you saw in the urn."

"Really?" she asked carefully, surprised. He didn't blame her. If Naraku wasn't off gathering information on his own, he'd never have dared do this.

"Naraku-sama's not in the mansion, so I have quite a bit more freedom. However, this won't last long, so we need to be quick."

She nodded, still unsure, but willing to listen. He knew that was the best he'd get, and started speaking in earnest: quietly, smoothly, quickly, seriously. He wouldn't get such a chance again, would he?

"Your friend the tajiya was at the point you saw her on her cat, and had been speaking with a flea youkai. I presume the flea brought her bad news; she was asleep on the cat's back before he woke her up. I don't know what he said, and I don't know what happened after that.

"As for the houshi, he seemed suspicious of the simulacrum. He evaded her attacks for some minutes before she finally forced him to confront her. From what I've gathered of his character up to now, he is intelligent and knowledgeable enough to realize that an illusion of her could be created, though it might surprise him that they would sound and act so similarly in some respects, and give off the same aura. So there is hope that he realized and undid my spell, or simply defeated her, which would do the same."

"Do you know—" she couldn't help but ask, though she well knew the answer.

"No. I already told you. I don't know what happened after what you saw; thanks to your destroying the urn, the link was completely severed."

"Oh..." she said softly, disappointed, worried that she'd done the wrong thing in her burst of temper. But immediate concerns cut those thoughts off quickly. She'd learned from Inuyasha the importance of saving thinking for when you had the time.

"Why are you telling me all of this?" She thought that was a fair start.

"Because. I have no affection for you and yours, but less for my master. My late sister

Kagura and I had this in common: Onigumo's desire to be his own master, to have strength, to do as we wished. Naraku has Onigumo's ambitions, but I just damn well want to be free. To the degree that I'd make friends with my enemies, risking my own life in the process."

"Why should I trust that this isn't yet another ploy by Naraku, some twisted way to mess with me and think I have help, before it all comes crashing down on me?" she quietly pointed out. Her instincts told her to trust him—but she also wanted to know more about him, to understand him, and the more he talked the more she did. Miroku had taught her the value of collecting all available information, no matter how irrelevant it might have seemed on the surface.

"I would be a lot nicer and more convincing if I were lying. Lies have to seem real. The truth doesn't."

She nodded. He had a point, in a twisted sort of way.

"But enough of this; I don't have much time left. There's another thing I need to tell you, about how and why the illusions are such…devious and difficult opponents."

She seemed to be listening, so he rushed on; light was fading fast, and who knew when Naraku would be back.

"Did you feel tired earlier when I was working on your illusion?"

A random question, she thought, but answered honestly. "No more than usual after staying up all night thrashing and yelling. What's your point?"

He narrowed his eyes, somewhat suspicious and surprised, but then remembered the sheer size of her aura—and muffled the hope that threatened to break from his lips in a chuckle at Naraku's naïveté.

"Well, never mind that. You're an unusual case. But the way I made the illusions so like the originals was by infusing them and tying them to the original's auras. They draw on the original's energy and aura and abilities and thoughts and memories. Their words and most actions can be controlled by another, but in mannerisms and abilities they are the same as the original because they are taking the original's. Do you understand the implications of this?"

Her voice said "No..." but her mind said Kami, no...and meant something different.

"It means that if the illusions are not destroyed quickly enough, they will destroy the originals. They'll suck the energy—and, eventually, life force—right out of the originals.

"Their mere existence will kill the originals in a few days if not stopped."

--

Sango jumped from Kirara's back at the last minute, and rolled to her feet in a splatter of mud. Her stance was taut, knees bent and hiraikotsu ready, and she watched her opponent intently.

Miroku—the fake Miroku—calmly stood up from adding an extra (unnecessary) sutra to the incapacitated Kirara's fur.

His expression was a little sad, a little hurt, a little proud, and all serious. It looked damn well like him—too much for her liking. It didn't matter how abnormal he was acting—the looks and mannerisms alone were enough to handicap her.

Gulping, she pulled up her mask. It made her feel more like a fighter and less like a human with those soft, weak, squishy things called emotions.

"Well, Sango-sama, it seems that I cannot dissuade you from your opinion with words alone."

She didn't expect him to talk; to hear his voice made her arms go weak. This was a fake...right?

Sango, get a hold of yourself! Remember what he did to Kirara! she silently yelled at herself. But if he was really desperate, like he is now...? Would he do it? a quieter part of her couldn't help but think.

"So, I do not see the point of wasting my breath with futile persuasions."

That calm, ironically wordy sentence snapped her out of her confusion. Miroku would never give up 'persuasions'. Words were breath to him; the breath would be wasted without them, not the other way around! This could not be a fake.

The clarity of that knowledge lent her strength. She silently and swiftly attacked.

He dodged the hiraikotsu, as she knew he would, but she was already rushing him just as she let go. Her speed caught him by surprise, and her katana met a weak block.

She pushed him back, taking advantage of his hastily configured (sloppy) form, aiming to trip him back over some loose rubble.

But he caught on and twisted away, nearly throwing her down on the same rocks.

She caught herself and got to her feet in time, but could do no more than block as he struck. The two weapons locked, and it became a battle of strength. Whose footing would hold? Whose would falter?

Sango gritted her teeth as he put his weight into it; she couldn't last much longer like this; she was tiring too quickly, felt too weak. It was odd, but she attributed it to his height and weight. She needed something to end the lock before she crumpled...Yes! Tricky and risky, but what else was there?

She twisted under the crossed wood and blade to put her shoulder forcibly into his gut, knocking the wind out of him and forcing him back a few feet.

Pressing her advantage, she sprung after him, putting all she had left into a flurry of blows he could only half block; she could tell he was weakening. Panting, she feinted with the katana, one-handed, then punched him in the chin. He staggered back again, and she had enough time to sheathe her sword and retrieve her hiraikotsu (it had rested cloes-by, ignored in the close-quarters fighting).

But those precious seconds nearly cost her the victory.

He spoke, and her resolve crumbled. Every word was another stone on her shoulders, another gallon of energy depleted.

He spoke of their love. Of their past. Of his hopes for their future. The children she'd so enthusiastically agreed to bear him in the past.

He spoke of his decision the way he had back in the hut—as the only option. His words were quiet, but so sincere...his face a perfect mirror of the sound.

He entreated her to see it his way—to let him go on, and turn around. To give up. To let him take care of this.

And there, his mistake was clear.

Amidst the turmoil their shriveling future and barely realized love inspired in her, she knew, oh she knew: her Miroku would never explain himself and then ask her to go back. Maybe when they first met, but now—now he knew her. He knew that if she agreed, she would fight alongside him or die getting there.

But whoever was controlling this illusion didn't know how Miroku had changed since they'd met—and Sango did.

She was swift, and did not stop to celebrate her victory.

It was enough to see the fake return to its original state: a dark purple paper crane, though her hiraikotsu had crushed it.

She promptly fainted, exhausted.

--

The wretched sound of branches ripped off of trees cut through the air.

Miroku winced. He was squatting behind a large-ish boulder, regrouping. Or, as Inuyasha would put it, figuring out what the hell was going on. Chancing a glance around his shelter, he ducked back quickly as another shuriken struck the stone where he just was. He let out a few choice not-Buddhist-monk curses, and scrambled for new shelter before the hiraikotsu followed.

He knew Sango had been very upset with him for accepting Naraku's proposition. He knew she had a temper, and could get violent. He knew she was capable of following him without him noticing.

But despite all this, he couldn't believe the logical conclusion—that she had followed him and intended to fight him rather than let him fight Naraku.

A nano-second of a whistling noise was just enough to make him dive to the dirt—now mud. The hiraikotsu whirled a few inches above his head. His pony-tail might have been cut; he wasn't sure.

As much as he didn't want to believe that his comrade and fiancé was fighting him, he'd better start before she killed him.

His face pinched at the thought; but again, his thoughts were cut off by Sango's assault.

"What is wrong with you? Fight me!" she exclaimed as the hiraikotsu returned to her, with a few dark hairs on one tip.

He shuddered at her voice; she sounded desperate, in pain. Perhaps she was. To go to these lengths...

"AAARGH! Houshi-sama, you are the most infuriating man—!" she screamed, eyes wild, racing straight for him, swinging the hiraikotsu above her head like a batter winding up his arm.

He gulped. He had to fight her now, didn't he?

CRASH.

He dodged instead, and the hiraikotsu ate boulder. Becoming firmly lodged in the stone, Miroku took his opportunity—and with only a moment's hesitation, and a quick prayer for more power, slapped a sutra to the youkai-bone-smelted boomerang that crackled and clung for a few moments, before falling, spent, a spiderweb of cracks left in its wake.

Sango, who'd been surprised enough by the sutra to leave off trying to physically haul her weapon out of its granite niche, now stood still. Taking it in. Calculating her next move.

She didn't take long.

Leaping at him, she let fly a feint punch and real kick—he dodged the second barely in time, caught off-guard. Without thought, as he'd been trained to do, he struck at her with his staff.

And hit the concealed metal blade in her forearm-guard.

They strained a moment, and then she broke to sweep her leg along the ground, to knock his feet out from under him. It worked, but he rolled away and to his feet again before she could take advantage.

Hefting herself upon a boulder, she jumped from stone to stone, to launch herself at him from above. He brought up his staff and managed, through surprise and sheer force of will, to deflect her behind him, where she somehow avoided becoming flattened to a tree and start racing at him again.

This time he let her get close, thinking that his strength, as a man, would help him.

He was wrong.

Blocking each of her punches jarred his arms, lacing his right hand with fire, and severely shaking his footing. She was about equal in strength to him, and her speed was incredible—he'd watched her fight, but never really known.

Finally, he got a lucky strike through her barrage of kicks and punches and knees and elbows, sending her down. She rolled to her feet at once, of course, and made another pass.

Now the fighting spaced out. In close combat they were clearly even, and they didn't bother with it anymore. Instead, they came at each other and immediately broke away, and then again, and again. It was something like the way eagles fight; flying near each other, then dive-bombing, grappling, then breaking and swooping about each other again, thinking of some new tactic.

It was going somewhat evenly, with Sango faring better on some instances and Miroku

on others, until the monk got cocky and let himself be backed up too close to the original boulders.

In half a second of landing, Sango shrewdly flicked two shurikens his way—and he was too slow to dodge. How frustratingly weak of him.

She'd pinned him well, indeed.

Staring in growing confusion, panting, he watched as she slowly unsheathed her katana, and approached.

He watched as the gleaming blade rose, tilted, coming into the perfect position to sever his—what?

Surprise broke his psychological paralysis. "Sango, what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Her eyes flicked to him for a moment, then back to her target. Her arm trembled as she spoke: "Ending the problem. Once and for all."

"What?!" He stared at her sword and body position. At himself. Back again.

Noo...she can't mean...

"Sango? No! It won't work!"

"Oh, yes it will. Naraku never thought of this; it's the ultimate solution! I'm saving you from a fate worse than death. I'm saving you! I'm saving us! Don't you...Don't you still want to have that family? You'll never have it otherwise! We'll never—do you want to do that to me? Really?"

She was almost hysterical by the end. It scared him.

"Sango, it's not like that, you don't understand—" he protested weakly. What was wrong with her?

"No, Miroku. It's you who doesn't understand."

The uncharacteristic condescending tone in her voice surprised him into silence.

"You see, Inuyasha and Kagome came back after you left on this suicidal mission. They'd talked with Jinenji, and he didn't know any herbal cures—but he did know one sure-fire other way to cure you—"

A rustle in the branches of a tree behind her. Without thought, and only a slight pause in conversation, she threw a shuriken.

"As I was saying, Jinenji, being the kind-hearted hanyou that he is, only thought of it by accident, and only said it out loud because he was thinking out loud—"

A dead songbird fell out of the tree, sliced into two wet halves that splatted in the mud below.

"—but Inuyasha and Kagome heard. Inuyasha was all for it, you know. He was actually somewhat annoyed he didn't think of it first."

Miroku finally wrenched his gaze away from the grisly muddy mess of blood and feathers to look back at Sango. At least, what looked like Sango.

He was having a harder and harder time believing she was Sango, though. She just...acted so wrong! So unlike her!

Her soft laughter drew his attention back to her words. It was the same laugh; a little quiet with shyness, but genuine and lovely all the same.

Maybe this is how Inuyasha felt when Kikyou started attacking him? he wondered with dread. It would explain his...confused feelings on the issue. Because she's the same and

yet she's not. And I can't help but wonder if it's just me that was wrong all along to think she wasn't like this to begin with...

"...they'll be along soon enough, and Kagome with all necessary healing equipment. Aren't you happy?"

The brightness in her gaze twisted his stomach into too many knots to count.

"No, I can't say that I am." As he spoke, he twiddled with an idea, and his robes.

"Oh, don't be that way. I elected to do it, as we weren't sure if Tessaiga would really understand, you know? But don't worry; I sharpened my katana last night, just for this. The cut will be clean, and heal quickly."

Finally, a glimmer of regret passed over her face. "I'm sorry it has to be this way; you know that, don't you?"

He raised an eyebrow, and reacting on instinct, said: "I have my reservations."

"Houshi-sama! How can you say that to me! You know me! I would never, ever—"

Her hurt seemed genuine. But still, not quite hers. Sango wouldn't...react like that. She would never melt into such a long list of hysterical entreaties, as most women would. It was yet another facet of her that he loved: the strength of her restraint. This was...not her.

So. What now?

Well, if it wasn't his companion, and it was threatening to lop off his left arm, it was his enemy. And he needed to win. This could be...practice for tomorrow.

But even as he tried to impose the shift in his head, her eyes fought against his logic. And his limbs were heavy at the thought of bruising that body and face.

"You're right; I'm sorry...go ahead..." he muttered, just to end her diatribe.

And then he really remembered...what it was she was going to do. And just what would happen if she succeeded.

"Oh, I'm so glad you saw reason. Just wait Houshi-sama, you'll look back on this day with gratitude," she assured him, smiling, raising the katana.

"No! Wait! I forgot, this won't work—" he blurted, tugging against the shuriken, eyes wild.

If she succeeded, the kazanna would take the hole left by his severed arm—but be huge, and suck her in before he could fasten the gauntlet and prayer beads. She would die!

In the moment the blade fell, Miroku forgot his doubts and suspicions of his attacker's identity.

He only thought of his love, sure to die moments later, at his hand—rather, stump...

--

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A/N: To make up for the long wait, an extra long chapter. (In fact, this is the longest 'chapter' I've ever written:25 pages, single spaced!) I thought of summarizing some of the slower scenes, but then I decided that they made for tension builders. (Theoretically). What else...this story is almost over. The climax is in the next chapter. Which will probably also be a whopper, now that I think about it...see, I could split them up, but I need the structure of one day per chapter or else I'll really overdo it with the unnecessary details. As it is I'm probably pushing the limits for a supposed action fic. Drama fic. Whatever. As you can tell, I'm not all that verbose currently...editing 25 pages all at once does that to you...and if I did miss anything, please tell me. I'll fix ASAP. So...what else? Thanks for reading.

Hope you liked it.