1250, mid-Kamakura Period
The warm, summer wind tumbled its way around and through Inu no Taishou’s castle-like base stationed in the Western Province. On it danced the scent of the coming rains and the tang of fire and death.
The general and his son Sesshoumaru, who was an adolescent in his own right by now, were drenched with the stench of battle and splattered with dirt and blood when they arrived home. Rekkonji met them as they passed through the gates, barking at the few attendants on hand to take the ruined armor and weapons from the two greater demons. Freed of the burdens, they made their way inside, Rekkonji falling into step beside the general.
“My lord?“ Rekkonji asked, and the general understood he was querying about the recent battle.
“As much a victory as we could hope for,” the Inu no Taishou said simply. “The Panther demons have been forced back into their territory to the west, their master is slain, and we have much work ahead of us to repair the damage they’ve done to these lands.”
Rekkonji nodded. “The scouts are ready to leave at your command to examine the remaining damage.”
“Good. Send them now.”
Rekkonji bowed respectfully before leaving to comply.
Sesshoumaru and his father paused long enough outside the entrance of the castle for their attendants to remove their filth-covered boots. Inside, they each went their separate ways to bathe and change into fresh silks.
They convened in his father’s study, settling comfortably across from each other on zabuton cushions. Retainers served them tea as they reviewed the recent battle, and a quick glance would have been enough for anyone to gain a decent perspective to each demon’s nature.
The general lounged in his usual white summer kimono, which had his signature striped designs along the shoulder and sleeves in cobalt blue, while his servants donned bright yellow with floral patterns. The haughty young Sesshoumaru, too, was in white, but his geometric designs were a deep purple, and his servants wore plain slate-grey clothing. The general’s attendants seemed relaxed even as they knelt demurely near their master and his son, while Sesshoumaru’s flinched with each delicate breath the young daiyoukai took. Truly, there was something debased about his very presence.
Animalistic depravity glinted in Sesshoumaru’s honey-gold eyes as he followed the trail of his father’s claws across the map laid out between them. The general was saying something about minding the terrain, but the younger demon could only hear the echoed memory of his victim’s death cries. How many had he slain on that battlefield? How much blood had stained his claws? He could still taste their despair and terror on the air, could still feel the heat of their blood splattered across his elegant features, and every facet of their agony brought him pleasure.
Another violent memory played in his mind’s eye, and Sesshoumaru visibly shuddered from the joy of it. Sensing his son’s distraction, the general paused, frowning slightly.
"Tell me, Sesshoumaru: what is it you are thinking that makes the very air about you quiver? You have yet to be calm since the battle ended," he prodded.
Sesshoumaru brought himself back to present and spared his father an agreeable expression to show he had his attention again. He took a moment to process the general’s words, and a moment more to formulate a response.
“Thinking? I am merely reviewing the confrontation with the Panther demons, chichi-ue, as you have requested.”
“Perhaps, though not in the manner I desire. There is more on your mind than the felines,” the general said, resting his hands on his knees as he awaited a response.
And, as was his tendency, Sesshoumaru tried his father’s patience by delaying.
The young demon chuckled to himself. “As usual, you are correct, father. I am also considering power, you see, and the nature of superiority. In this world, the powerful rule. The sovereign claim who and where they please. By your blood, I am born to such a birthright. I am destined for predominance, and also to walk the same path as your honorable self.”
“The path I walk…?”
“The path of conquest, father; to become the exalted master of all.”
The general was quiet for a moment, considering his words carefully.
“My son,” he began, “I urge you to be cautious with such thoughts. It is clear that you have chosen an objective, and for one so young that is admirable. But consider also ‘why’ you have chosen this path when so many others lie before you.”
Sesshoumaru blinked, dispassionate, as his father continued.
“Believe me when I say I am familiar with the sensations you are experiencing. The ambition, the bloodlust; these are natural for those such as ourselves, but they must be held in check. I encourage you to turn your attention elsewhere for a time. Experience and understand the significance of each element of the panorama of life.”
The general paused as he recognized the slightly glazed hue to Sesshoumaru’s honey-gold eyes. His son had already moved on to other, more attractive thoughts. Knowing the younger demon was beyond his reach now, the Inu no Taishou gave him a dismissive wave.
“We will speak more on this at another time. Go; summer is thick on the land, and the joy of victory is fleeting. Relish it while it lasts.”
Sesshoumaru was more than happy to bow respectfully and leave his father to his soft predilections.
------------
The visions and echoes of the battle with the Panther tribe still sang through Sesshoumaru, tingling in his claws and across his fangs as he meandered through the grove just beyond the walls of the base.
He would have been satisfied to spend the rest of the day with such recollections, but his father’s voice wormed its way into his mind. After a moment of struggling to reclaim the autonomy of his own thoughts, the general’s son finally relented to his father’s desire and began to reflect on something more ‘constructive’.
Sesshoumaru had chosen the path of a conqueror as his destiny, but why? The answer was simple enough; because it was his right. He had been born to the mightiest of demons, a god-like being of unrivaled power and strength, and one day Sesshoumaru would take his place. It was the natural order of things, after all. That was all the answer he had for his father’s question, and all the answer that was needed. Sesshoumaru was not one to question the way things were done; at least, not yet. When he was a power unto himself, he could challenge the common law as he pleased. For now, it served him well.
The rest of the afternoon he spent in quiet reflection, meditating on his performance on the battlefield. There were few errors for him to review-for Sesshoumaru rarely made a mistake-and plenty of savage victories for him to savor. Such memories brought a malicious curl to his lips, and he was satisfied to pass the afternoon this way.
As the sun began to set, he withdrew to the inner courtyard of the castle-base, pausing at one of the small gardens to appreciate its perfection. The rocks were smooth and arranged in a manner that was both aesthetically pleasing and invoked a sense of balance and calm; the few plants here were painstakingly preened and poised; the water was cool and clear, its surface smooth as glass. He took a moment to examine his reflection in it.
He was tall for his age, though had not yet achieved the stature of his glorious father. Where the general had a single set of cobalt stripes, Sesshoumaru had a pair of fuchsia striking contrast across his alabaster cheeks. The amaranthine crescent that graced his forehead was a trait from his mother, but the long trailing white fur he kept wrapped around his left shoulder closer resembled the twin-tailed mokomoko cloak his father wore. His thick, silvery locks of hair fell to just above his elbows, let free to dance on the warm evening breeze.
Truly, he was the epitome of grace and beauty.
Satisfied, he pulled himself away from the pool and continued his leisurely stroll through the grounds. The moon had risen full and bright in the sun’s absence, bringing to life a theatre of dancing shadows as the servants completed their evening tasks and retreated inside. It was quiet here now, and the stillness brought Sesshoumaru a sense of peace. This place in the rear of the base was especially calming, disconnected from the hustle and bustle in the front. Here, he could be alone with his musings.
At least, for a moment.
There was movement in the darkness here. Sesshoumaru’s ears honed in on the sounds: the soft crunch of bare feet over loose dirt, the hollow clink of wood splits falling against each other, the crackle of a fire, and the barest rustle of cotton.
He shifted silently around the corner, raising a delicate brow as he found the source.
This area was considered the servant’s area. Consequently, the fire pits that heated the baths were located here, and it was before one of these that a creature knelt. The fire it fed was still small, but it cast enough light for Sesshoumaru to make out pertinent details.
Its hair, twisted into a tight and frayed bun, sat just below a pair of tufted black-tipped ears atop its head. Judging by the ratty and stained attire, this servant had been neglected for some time. A quick examination of its scent told Sesshoumaru that such treatment was just; the thing was only a half-demon, and a female to boot.
This must be the pitiful thing father and the Warmaster brought home some decades ago, he thought to himself, This Sesshoumaru has never seen it before, meaning Fuyutoka has done his job well. What a regrettable little louse; it has not even noticed it is being watched. Perhaps a lesson on remaining alert will do it a bit of good.
In truth, Sesshoumaru had no intention of bettering anything about this creature; it was for his own entertainment and sport that he began stalking it. He could already feel it squirm helplessly as he crushed its throat, could hear it choke and whimper and drivel. His fingertips itched with anticipation, but then he paused.
As he watched, the hanyou pulled its sleeve back and reached into the heart of the infant fire. Did it mean to injure itself as a way to shirk its duties? Such a strategy was only fitting for such a creature. It showed no sign of pain, however, and his heightened senses allowed him to observe the flow of feeble youki from the creature into those flames. The fire turned black. The half-breed continued to feed its energy to the pit, and the flames grew higher and stronger until they engulfed every flammable thing within reach. Seeming satisfied, the hanyou withdrew its hand, and the fire returned to its natural red.
A half-demon…with power? How absurd! And yet… This Sesshoumaru has seen it with his own eyes.
The creature flicked a few clinging licks of fire from its hand as it rose from the roaring pit, and only now did it seem to take notice that it was no longer alone. Startled, its movements were quick and inelegant as those tufted ears stiffened and twisted to locate the stalker. It found him quickly enough, snapping its head about to fix him with a thoroughly terrified pair of glinting yellow eyes. Every frantic heartbeat made Sesshoumaru’s fangs tingle with predatory glee.
His honey-gold eyes met its plain yellow, and for a moment the world seemed to suspend.
It was the tension before a great release: the strained readiness to pounce, the half breath before the hunt. Silently, he begged the creature to flee from him, to incite the chase he so longed for. And it did, but instead of turning to duck around the corner of the castle where he could have his way with it, the hanyou angled for the doorway just beyond the darkness only feet away. If it made it inside, it would escape.
It was not allowed to escape.
“Stay,” he said sharply, his dulcet tones heavy with authority.
The creature nearly tripped over itself as it hunched in the dirt, tufted ears pressed flat into its hair.
Sesshoumaru ambled closer, savoring every symptom of terror the creature displayed. He halted with less than a foot between its prostrated form and his geta. Malice curled at his finely shaped lips, a counterfeit sweetness oozing into his voice.
“Why, good evening, little hanyou…”