Donec Iterum Occurremus by Stella Mira

Until We Meet Again

Disclaimer: I do not own InuYasha. All credit belongs to Takahashi, Rumiko.

Raving flames and molten ashes and crimson pain – for as far or as close as he can see – everywhere. A battlefield of insanity and rapture, bodies painted a dark ruby shade matted with the touch of death. The sinful sight never fails to stir the animal blood within his veins, awakening the throbbing lust beneath his skin. He revels in his trophy kills, claims his victory. Supreme ruler of the West they call him and bow at his blood stained glory – Sesshōmaru.

Hordes of females – yōkai, hanyō, ningen – crawl at his feet, seeking tongues licking at his leather boots as he sits on his ironstone throne. Bodies bare of silk and eyes afire with want – willing slaves of his untamed desire – they beg for the merest touch of a fingertip. Yet he grants no favors nor satiates their cravings. He only gives pleasure when he wishes, never when they ask. A cruel smirk forms on perfect lips at their perpetual pleading, fangs gleam with the promise of aching ecstasy, claws lash out to mark chosen prey; one, two, none, all.

There is but one amongst them who does not yield. She accepts neither his sovereign nor his touch – a single miko of unparalleled beauty and valor. She is the reason why he wages war time and again; why no conquest or female can sate his insatiable lust. One would mistake her delicate hand that wields the sword as weak, but not he – never he. His ancient blood has tasted the sharp metal of her blade once. The transient wound has healed since then but not the phantom ache. Today, she has come to challenge him once more, this woman who causes him such unrest, his one true worthy adversary – Kagome.

They meet in a swirling clash of sapphire fire and scarlet ambition – as always. Brilliant sparks spill forth where their swords mate, igniting the underlying want – to bleed, slash, impale. She will not allow him to exist in the same plane as her, yet he knows not how to exist without her. For he can only truly live through the azure luster of her power on the battlefield. Poisonous gold becomes entrapped in an ocean of blue; and his hands still on the sword that pierces her form. He does not feel the biting pain of her own sword as it cuts through his armor and flesh like ice-water; he only sees the pale sorrow in her eyes.

White hands press upon his cold cheeks, blunt nails grazing against the maroon shade of his markings. It is the first time he has felt the touch of her skin on his body, branding. Scarring. She takes a small step closer and he grunts in mortal pain as their swords slide deeper, trapped between their bodies. It does not matter, he will accept any suffering for the fatal kiss of her lips – just once. This woman who does not yield; she can only show cruel affection at this moment, he knows. His crimson lips part to swallow the final breath she breathes into his lungs – takes as her own.

May we meet again in another time when we are not demon and priestess.