@arrachnes replied to your post “Inuyasha has appeared! What to do? None of these...”:
Come now, Inuyasha. Provided you have even the slightest capability for imagination, the wording is delightfully vague. I Propose that you allow me to take the Shikon Jewel.
As simple as that.
"So it wasn't mind fuckery? That's what the confession was about?! You were just after jewelry the whole time, you never gave a fuck about me, did ya?"
No, he hasn't forgotten, and if he's going to be bullshitted, he's going to dish out the same.
As long as humankind could remember, the wild lands of Japan had always been inhabited with Yōkai. Some large, some small, some dangerous, some inoffensive. Some evil, some benevolent.
The Dog, the Cat and the Boar cared little for such labels. They could not remember how long they had known each other. Their differences only cemented their bond, one's qualities complimenting the others' flaws. They were a team.
They were a family.
The Dog, the Cat and the Boar roamed the lands together. They were all the ruler of their own domain, and they would sometimes part to attend personal matters – but at the end of each quest, they would always meet up for a celebratory banquet.
Together, they were unbeatable. There was no enemy fearsome enough, no army large enough to take them down when they combined their strength.
Their downfall could only come from inside.
The humans and the yōkai were always bound by a precarious balance, begging to be shattered. It only took one spark, one death too many, to light the fire.
The Dog believed that humans were fundamentally good, and worth protecting against those that evil had irremediably tainted. The Cat believed that humans were the root of all problems, and that a peaceful coexistence was nothing but a pipe dream.
The Boar could not pick a side. He watched helplessly as his comrades grew further and further from each other, too set in their own ideals to see what they were losing.
Decades worth of memories. Of shared meals, shared laughter, shared smiles. Three similar trinkets, carved out of their own fangs. How odd for the Cat to be the most sentimental of them all – the Dog and the Boar had laughed, as they happily donned their friend's gift.
The Boar fled the bloodshed. He refused to let his memories be tainted by what had become of his comrades. He departed to the lands he had long left behind, to the mountain that had been the command center of his turf.
He was never to part from it again.
The years passed. Leaves grew anew on the trees, only to turn yellow, orange, red, lying a thick carpet across the lower slopes. Snow covered the mountains and melted away, turning lazy brooks into mighty rivers. The Boar listened to the wind, to the distant news its howls carried all the way to his mountain.
When he learnt of his old friends' untimely demise, he was not surprised. A single tear rolled down his cheek, before he brought his axe down the large log at his feet. Timber for the winter to come.
A simple life. Away from the rest of the world, away from the wars, the famines, the plagues. The Boar stopped listening to the wind's cries.
Until the old world came crashing into his old cabin, in the shape of a disheveled woman.
She was but skin and bones. Her face deformed from being bashed in, clothes torn over her bruised body. Tears had frozen over her mangled visage, her feet and hands turned blue from hypothermia.
The Boar ought to have chased her off. Had she not felt the demonic aura that surrounded his mountain, warding off any creature that bore even the slightest hint of ill intent?
The barrier only let the animals through. Only their hearts were pure enough to cross the sheer manifestation of the Boar's will.
As the Boar opened the door, and the woman collapsed into his arms, he was struck with a realization. This one's heart was not tainted. He had never seen such a pristine soul, gleaming with such force despite the abuse she must have endured.
The swelling of her face subdued with intense care. Her traits angelic, one eye gone blind from the repeated hits. Eyes that shared the same vibrant green as the young leaves of early spring.
The Boar's favorite color.
The weeks turned into months. The months turned into years. The woman's pursuers never came looking for her. The Boar's heart opened again, day after day, letting the radiance of the woman's soul seep into his old wounds. Cure aches that had festered for decades on end.
The Boar thought he couldn't be happier.
He was soon proven wrong.
The little one had his mother's eyes, and his father's ears. Every time he laid eyes upon that small form, allowed those minuscule fingers to wrap around his thumb, the Boar could feel his heart grow another size.
What a fleeting, fragile little life that was. There was nothing he wouldn't give in order to protect it from harm.
Dark clouds gathered above the mountain. They announced a storm unlike any other, one mighty enough to rip the trees apart and turn the rivers into devastating streams. The Boar led his family away from the cabin, into the deeper, higher caves, where they would be safe from the landslides and the floods.
Lightning parted the skies. The Boar felt the barrier, or rather, what remained of it, shatter all around him. For every wound that healed inside his heart, the barrier had grown weaker.
The Spider had not missed that chance. He knew all about the Boar, about his former comrades, about the past that the Boar had for so long tried to run away from. Like an old nightmare resurfacing, fate had caught up with him.
How ironic, for the Boar to finally take a side. A spit in the face of his dead comrades, was it not?
Rage festered inside the Boar's chest. The Spider needed nothing more to seep inside his soul, and seize a heart that had lost all its defenses.
When the Boar opened his eyes again, the scent of blood mixed with petrichor assaulted his senses. A terrible chill ran across his spine, from the warmth that coated his fingers to the rain that soaked his clothes. As his eyes fell to the ground, he felt the remnants of his soul shatter to pieces.
The woman lay sprawled across the ground, her arms outstretched towards the cliff upon which they stood. There was no light surrounding her. No pure glow, not even the smallest spark.
Her soul was gone.
The Boar collapsed to his knees. He brought her body to rest on its back, hands crossed above her chest. A final kiss placed on her forehead.
Before the Boar plunged his own claws into his chest.
The Spider would return to reap the rewards of his plot. As low as the mighty Boar might have fallen, the body of a Daiyōkai was always worth devouring.
The little one was washed away by the streams, until his wails caught the attention of a sorrowful boar mother. The sow brought the child over to her burrow, and nursed him to good health.
The Hanyō never worried about the past, neither did he think about the future. He survived day after day, discovering his own strength as he fought off the many demons that crawled over the mountain, looking for a master that had long departed these lands. The Hanyō's existence in itself was nothing but a rumor for the humans to fear.
Perhaps, someday, he would depart on a quest. Perhaps he would seek more power, better status, and a way to show the world just how strong he really was.
And perhaps, someday, he would figure out the meaning behind the odd little trinket that never left his wrist.
❝ no matter how much you try to rid yourself of it, ❞ his language is as a living relic as he. long had this yokai seen the rise and fall of mortal and daemon kingdom. yet, this demon did not get this world worn by hastily drawing his blade or ability to any that dared to turn their nose at him, no. kratos had learned through the years by watching, by observing that most strife could attempted be settled with matter of word over prowess. ❝ you'll always smell of humanity--why not embrace it? ❞ after all, he had a hanyou child himself. how could either race hope to progress if even those caught in the middle rejected themselves?
