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The Asylum by Daniella

Prologue: Death of the West.

A/N: Alright, a brief word about this fic. First off it is rated M/A for a VERY good reason.  No one, and I repeat, NO ONE under the age of 18 should be reading this.  If you are turn away now!  Second this first chapter is going to be extremely graphic and emotional, there will be graphic descriptions of the death of children and though I promise it is the only chapter that will be like this you must be forewarned.  Please do not be offended as I will not tollerate flames.  This is a necessary to set the stage of the story.  So please, no angry reviews or pm's because I warned you ahead of time.  Understand that it will be better after this.

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Prologue: Death of the West

                He knew.  Even as he sped through the sky with all the power he could summon he knew it was too late.  He felt it in his body, mind, heart and soul.  They were gone.  And yet; despite the fact that he knew all of this, he refused to accept it.  His mate was strong enough to defend their home and if by chance she was not capable his sons, though young, would have taken up the task with honor.  All he could do was hope the feeling in the pit of his stomach was wrong and the beings he cared most for in the world were safe.

The scent of blood and death assaulted his nose as he descended from the sky on the outermost edge of his home.  The mutilated bodies of his soldiers littered the ground like sheets of paper as he carefully made his way closer to the main court yard.  As he moved he kept careful watch for even the slightest sign of movement from anyone but the grounds were eerily silent; even the birds had stopped singing.  He rounded the corner and nearly came to his knees with what he saw.  Hanging by the neck of an ancient cherry tree was his first born son and heir.  His blood ran cold as he took in the sight before him.  It wasn’t enough that the boy had been hanged; the vile bastards who committed the act had split him open from the center of his chest down to his groin.  The organs that once supported his life were strewn across the ground with the exception of his intestines.  They had been used as the noose that would display his son for the world to see. 

With the greatest care possible he removed the boy from the twisted display that was obviously meant to rattle him to the point where he wouldn’t go forward.  For a moment it almost succeeded.  He pulled what remained of his eldest son closer to him not caring about the blood staining his clothes.  He wanted to shed tears but they would not come.  He gently laid the boy upon the ground and spared him one final glance before continuing on the path of death and destruction in search of his mate and remaining children.

It didn’t take him long to pick up the scent of the ones he was looking for.  His steps quickened as he entered the vast courtyard that had once been his mate’s favorite spot.  Images of her among the flowers and trees playing with their children came streaming into his mind as he stepped further into the area.  What was once a beautiful, flourishing courtyard was now nothing more than a blood soaked battlefield.  His keen eyes came to rest on three beings lying close together at the edge of the clearing and he found that his steps faltered.  He wanted to rush forward and see if they were safe.  He wanted to hold them in his arms and tell them that it was alright.  He wished to promise them that nothing would hurt them.  But through his wants and desires he knew that there was no point, they would not hear him now.

Step by ever painful step he made his way to the very spot he did not want to go.  As he drew closer he realized that they too had suffered the same dishonor that his eldest had.  He trained his eyes on the closest form to him; his second son.  So alike his mother the boy was and yet so different.  Had he not already known the scent of his blood he would not have recognized him in at all.  Gone were his tiny hands and feet and nothing more than bloody stumps were left in their place.  His once sparkling violet eyes that shone with love and respect had been removed and left to rest inside his mouth.

He couldn’t look anymore.  He turned away quickly and focused on the next form lying upon the ground.  His youngest son.  No more than 3 winters old and yet in this moment he seemed so much smaller.  His body was curled and twisted into the fetal position; an involuntary reaction to the flames that had charred his body.  It was a painful death and for the first time he allowed a single tear to escape his eye as he thought about the suffering of his children before their deaths.  They did not deserve this.  Even when fighting the most dangerous of enemies he never went after children.  His hatred for another would never be so strong as to cause the suffering that was now being inflicted on him.  It was true; he had many enemies who would stop at nothing to gain what he had but he never believed any of them capable of this horror.

A slight movement in the corner of his eye drew his attention to the third and final body lying upon the ground.  His mate.  His resolve finally crumbled when he saw her form and he couldn’t stop the tears from flowing.  Her long, golden hair was drenched in blood as it fanned out upon the ground.  Her face was marred by several deep slashes and the three tiny stars that once adorned her forehead, a symbol of her great heritage, had been removed.  His eyes travelled down to see that both of her breasts had been removed and tossed away like trash.  He could not help the vicious snarl that escaped his mouth as he took in the sight of her swollen belly; confirmation that he had, indeed pupped her again before he left for war.  The pup was long dead, he was sure and that knowledge finally brought him to his knees beside his mate.  The stench of several other males lay heavy on her body and his fury grew tenfold.  She had been defiled before they killed her and he wondered in horror if his children had been forced to watch.  He gave a silent prayer hoping they had at least been spared that indignity. 

With shaking fingers he reached out to gently stroke the cold, bloodied skin of his mate’s cheek.  He did not want to remember any of them like this.  The last memory he had was of their smiling faces and wishes for a swift return and a successful journey.  He remembered the love that was present in his mate’s eyes as she pulled him to her and bestowed what was quite possibly the most passion filled kiss she had ever given him.  In that moment he had almost decided to stay but his honor and duty reminded him that he had to go.  After assuring her that he would return to them safe and sound he turned and left and it was those final images that kept him going during the long months of war.  Now, all he would remember was the sight of their bodies lying dead upon the ground.

With the softness of one who was picking a delicate flower in a field, he leaned over and pulled his mates’ body from the ground and cradled her to him.  He felt her head come to rest against his chest and he gently laid his cheek on the top of her head.  How long he sat there and cried he did not know, nor did he care.  He cried for his mate, for his children, he even cried for his soldiers who had given their lives to defend his home.  He cried for himself knowing that he should be lying here with them waiting to meet them on the other side.  He was shamed.  He had failed them all.  They counted on him to protect them and he failed.  He contemplated taking his life in that moment but knew he would never see them again if he did.  Suicide was dishonorable and heaven had no place for cowards.  He would have to wait for death to come to him.  Be it by time or battle he would live to die and see his family again.

He composed what little was left of his sanity and slowly began to pull away from his mate.  He gazed down into her face one last time before gasping in shock at the pair of now dull, green eyes that were looking into his golden ones.

It was not possible…?

“Chiyoko…” he breathed out; his voice barely a whisper on the wind.

The pair of eyes blinked slowly.  She was alive…barely.  He set her back on the ground and gazed hopefully at her face; knowing he had only moments.  He watched as she drew in a painful breath and parted her dry lips in an attempt to speak.

“Do not…you must save your energy.” He told her softly and she looked at him with eyes filled with confusion and fear.

Her eyes left his and came to rest on her stomach.  Silent tears came streaming down her face as she looked to him for assurances she knew she would not get.  All he could do was shake his head in response to her silent question and watch as the tears poured harder down from her eyes.  He swept his thumb across her cheek in an effort to offer some sort of comfort; it only made her cry more.

“Forgive me…” he begged of her “Forgive me for failing you all…”

A shaking, blood covered hand settled itself on his lips in an attempt to silence him.  He took the hand into is and held onto it as though it would fall apart should he let it go.  He watched as she took what was most likely going to be one of her final breaths and offered him the only amount of comfort to his aching heart that she could.  She smiled.

“I love you…” she whispered and she watched his eyes cloud with unshed tears.

“And I you.” Was the only reply he could muster.

She smiled again before closing her eyes a final time.  The hand that he had been holding grew limp and her head tilted to the side as her last breath was expelled from her lungs.

The roar that tore from his throat echoed through the land with a force never before seen.  It was filled with pain, agony and defeat and all those who heard it bowed their heads in silent prayer for the grieving soul.

In that moment the once proud Lord lost all sense of himself as his mind finally snapped into despair.  With one last glance at his mate and children the broken and defeated Western Lord rose to his feet and headed towards the mountains.   He would swiftly become nothing more than a faded memory lost to time though none would forget the day that the most feared demon in all of Japan lost everything that had mattered most to him.  No one would dare forget the day the Western realm fell from grace.  Tales would be told from generation to generation of the great and terrible Lord Sesshoumaru and his descent into madness.

 

INUYASHA © Rumiko Takahashi/Shogakukan • Yomiuri TV • Sunrise 2000
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