Red Filters Through

1258, mid-Kamakura Period, Winter

Sesshoumaru found himself more than satisfied with his hanyou's continued performance over the past three years as his sort of personal shinobi. It was quick to act on his orders, always well-prepared, and usually completed its tasks in a timely manner. In fact, he'd only had to toy with the little bead of his youki that he'd implanted twice as punishment.

It was exactly what he needed; eyes and ears in the places he could not be for the moment. As the years rolled on, so, too, did the territories change, and he was determined to miss out on as little as possible while he gallivanted through this charade of courting. He knew he was privileged in that he was being given the opportunity to choose-most pairs of his rank only first met the day they were mated after the families arranged it all-, but he still found the whole process a waste of time.

What was the point when he was going to refuse them all anyway? Perhaps, at least, he could somehow sharpen his wits so the next conversation with his mother would find him with the upper hand. He would admit, however, that he found near-endless amusement in the exaggerated genuflections and muted tremblings of his rejected prospects and their sires.

Sesshoumaru forced himself to pay attention once again as his father meandered through the linguistic dance that was the subtle placation of an offended greater lord, who had personally visited to offer his daughter. After a third refusal and the lord's persistence, Sesshoumaru had not so elegantly suggested, on good word from his hanyou, that the female in question was not fit to mate even one of the scullery boys, let alone his superior self. In the interest of peace and future relations, his father now offered a minor, but sufficient, material contrition. As the lord and his entourage left, the general shot his son an irritated glance.

"Those silks were from the continent, I'll have you know; a gift from your own mother."

Sesshoumaru was busy inspecting the courtyard through the window. "The snowfall seems heavy this year, does it not, father?"

***

1269, mid-Kamakura Period, Spring

Kuroihi's tonfa sang through the air as she easily removed the talons that grasped at her. The bird-like demon screeched in pain and reeled back, but she wasn't about to let it escape. Well aware that leader of the lesser Rat tribe for the western province was watching, she willed her youki into her metal weapons, lashing out great blades of fire that quickly entangled and consumed her prey.

A soft murmur rippled through the rest of the tribe that had gathered to watch. Kuroihi had agreed to rid them of this pest along with its nest in exchange for future consideration and goodwill, as well as permission to explore the lake within their territory that held the items she sought. Considering how devastating the demon had been to the tribe, their leader had agreed, albeit a tad begrudgingly. She was, after all, still just a half-demon.

***

1291, late-Kamakura Period, Summer

Sesshoumaru remained perfectly still, gauging the daiyoukai standing some yards from him. This was neither the first nor would it be the last time Sesshoumaru challenged his father, and as the two fell into their usual dance, he held tight to his aspirations of victory.

His claws left streaks across his father's armor.

The daiyoukai's fist left bruises in his son's chest.

Sesshoumaru ducked and whirled, barely avoiding his father's onslaught and slashed out for the next opening he saw.

It was a trap.

His father caught the claws which dripped a poison that did not seem to affect him and flung Sesshoumaru aside like little more than a rag doll.

Sesshoumaru caught himself too late, colors erupting across his vision as his skull cracked hard against the trunk of a tree, nearly felling it with the force.

"Sesshoumaru," his father called, "what is it you strive for and why?"

The young lord bared his fangs as he rose to his feet.

"Every time, you ask me the same question, father."

Sesshoumaru snarled, eyes bleeding red as he became a blur of movement. His claws crackled, glowing noxious green.

"And every time I give you the same answer!"

His father easily side-stepped the strike, grabbing hold of Sesshoumaru's fur and hurling him back into the same tree as easily as swatting a fly. This time, it crashed to the ground.

"Your ambitions are petty, my son, your sight is short, and your desires shallow. This is why you falter and fail."

Sesshoumaru shook the incoherence from his head. His fangs tingled, eyes still crimson with his rage.

His father's words cut deep, and his frustration grew because he could not understand how. How was he petty and shallow? How was he short-sighted? His demon blood boiled, clouding his mind and he felt his body lunging once more toward the god-like beast that taunted him.

He didn't even see the general move, only felt an impact against the back of his head, and his world went black.

In the middle of her own battle elsewhere, Kuroihi felt the youki in her belly flicker with weakness.

***

1302, late-Kamakura Period, Autumn

Kuroihi ran.

Blood gushed from the wounds along her calf as she pounded her feet against the hard ground. Lightning ripped across the black night sky, echoing the rage of the creature she had been hunting, and that now hunted her instead.

She'd misinterpreted its temperament this time. Usually, she would just burn them alive from the inside out when they tried to swallow her, but this dragon had other plans. It didn't want dinner, it wanted her dead.

Her heart thundered in her ears. She dove just in time to avoid being rent in two by those claws, tumbling against the razor-edged rocks here. Pain shot through her, white-hot and lethal, and she felt that special heat flush through her veins. Her eyes bled to red, the demon inside her screaming for control.

It could save her, she knew, but would she be able to recover herself afterward? The dragon was coming for her, ravenous maw agape and lined with jagged fangs.

Just this once, she decided, and only this one last time.

She released control, falling into the maelstrom of livid instinct. All she could do now was float in her own mind and wait.

***

Kuroihi crawled her way along the edge of the cove she'd found herself in when she awoke. The dragon's corpse dangled over the cliff above, completely shredded. Her whole body thrummed with the power of her demon blood, and her head ached as she forced the thing inside back down again. It was getting harder to bottle back up.

She had to stop doing this.

Her clothes were burnt and tattered, her hair singed, but at least the basic armor she'd managed to have made so far had survived. Rekkonji had been right; dragon hide and bone were perfect for what she needed.

'If I make it back,' she thought in a cloud of agony and exhaustion, 'I'll have to tell him so.'

A cave; and it was empty. Kuroihi gathered what flammables she could and lit a fire the hard way, too drained to make her own flames. The pearl of youki inside her pulsed and strained in a strange way but remained where it was and caused her no pain. She filled the fire pit with her dried stinkweeds to help cover her blood scent and settled into an uneasy sleep, chewing on one of the medicinal herbs she'd brought to aid her natural healing.

***

Sesshoumaru cast his eyes in the direction of the raging storm in the distance. He felt the youki within his half-breed like a distant echo, crackling, straining against the spell that held it in place. It was in pain, injured, and his youki was trying to heal the wounds.

Would it die, he wondered? Had he finally sent it on an errand it could not complete? Either way was fine, as far as he cared. This was all still just part of his little game, the creature merely a damaged bead on his Go board.

'One laced in lacquer and gold, though.'

He frowned, annoyed by its foolish weakness, and continued to observe from afar until he felt the bead of his energy calm itself once more.