Bound by Corruption by BelovedStranger

Confessions of a Fallen Man

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Word Count: 3,978

AFTER AN ETERNITY of waiting—but was probably only an hour, the onna came back with a steaming bowl in hand.

Onigumo scowled at her. “So, she returns. I could have been dead, for all you gave a care.”

The wench dared lift her chin, defiance flashing in her becoming brown eyes. “Had you fallen silent, perhaps I would have worried you had and checked on you sooner.”

“Cheeky girl.” He grinned, her show of spirit somehow alleviating his ire.

Questions blazed on his tongue. There were too many unknowns. Every moment the onna had ignored him, his unease grew, until he’d been strung so tight, he nearly vibrated with tension. Curious despite himself, he eyed the steaming bowl as she returned to her place beside him, kneeling demurely.

“What did you bring me?” His stomach rumbled, proclaiming its eagerness.

Only then did he notice she wore the garments she’d claimed was her calling, appearing the epitome of a venerated miko in red hakama and white haori. The only thing that remained the same as when he’d first laid eyes on her was the thick braid trailing down her back.

Her outward pose did not break; though, the dark circles beneath her eyes revealed a heavy weariness. “Chicken broth.”

As she helped him to a seated position, her hands gentle, he glanced hungrily into the bowl she’d set aside. Disappointment clawed at his belly even as he stifled the groan that tried to climb from his throat at the agony of his wounds. The effort to conceal his pain caused his tone to be harsher than he’d intended. “Piss water? I need real food. Bring me some meat, onna.”

She ignored him. Once he was situated comfortably, she took up the bowl and dipped the spoon into the steaming broth, before offering it to him with an expectant gaze.

He turned his head away, scowling. “Onna—”

“My name is not ‘onna’,” she interrupted him, voice tight, revealing an ire as sharp as his own. “If you wish to eat anything, open your mouth.”

Oh, he’d open his mouth alright. “Wench, I told you—”

“It’s not ‘wench’, either.”

He glared at her. She glared right back, unafraid of him. It was unheard of. For so long, everyone had feared him, the great and terrible Onigumo. Perhaps this girl had a misguided opinion of him, considering the damage her companion had wrought upon his person, before the beast had decimated his band of cutthroats.

Trying to be covert, he glanced around but did not see the imposing youkai.

At his prolonged silence, the girl returned the spoon to the bowl. “Call for me when you change your mind.” When she made to rise, Onigumo acted, grabbing onto her arm with a desperation that surprised him.

Sensing his shift in mood, the woman regarded him with open surprise. Releasing her swiftly, his tone was gruff but had lost the heat of anger. “Your name is not known to me.”

She blinked before a becoming flush spread across her cheeks, comprehending her mistake. Her reaction pulled a small smile of amusement from him. “Allow me to formally introduce myself. I am Onigumo.”

As though a truce had been struck between them, she once again picked up the steaming bowl. “Kagome.”

“’A bird in a cage’,” he murmured, before accepting the spoonful of discolored liquid. Ravenous, the broth tasted divine, and he eagerly nodded his head for another spoonful.

His response to the meaning of her name made her snort in an unbecoming fashion. “Hardly.” Dutifully, she spooned him more and fed him with apparent expertise. She’d done this before. Unsurprising, given her calling.

Onigumo was just one of many under her care, and he reminded himself that she did not aid him out of the goodness of her heart. He didn’t fool himself into believing she actually cared about him. She was duty bound.

A bird in a cage.

A wry smile curled his lips in-between spoonsful of broth. Someone had had either a dark sense of humor when naming her or woefully morose.

The silence stretched between them but it was not uncomfortable.

The bird in the cage was the first to break the silence with an unexpected offer. “When you are finished, I can shave you, if you are agreeable.”

Onigumo wrapped his hand around his chin, feeling the bristled of a few days’ growth. How long had he been unconscious? More importantly, where was he?

A shadow crossed her features, making him realized her offer had come by reflex of caring for past patients. Indignation tightened sore muscles. Helping him was distasteful, was it?

He wasn’t about to let her back out of her offer. “I find that very agreeable. Thank you, miko.”

Her gaze flickered to his, hearing the sarcasm in his tone.

They stared at each other. He knew what she was thinking. It was written across her face. Who he was, what he was, stood between them.

She didn’t like him.

And he told himself he didn’t care.

“How long will I be starved like this?” He waved away another spoonful.

“A couple days, at least,” was her clipped response. She meant to rise, to leave him. He couldn’t have that.

He grabbed her wrist. Their eyes clashed, each holding a demand. Onigumo voiced his. “Where am I?”

Condemnation stared back at him. “The town you had planned to pillage next.”

Onigumo stiffened, but he kept his tone neutral. “I’m surprised I am not locked in a cell.” Something flickered in the miko’s gaze, catching his immediate attention.

Then it came to him. “They don’t know who I am, do they?”

Surprisingly, another blush painted her cheeks, and he could hear the reluctance in her voice. “I hadn’t the opportunity to inform them. Your fever came on suddenly, as soon as we’d reached the town. For three days, I dared not leave your side, least you expire and escape the judgement awaiting you for your crimes.”

Onigumo didn’t believe her, sensing a half-truth. The miko’s face was quite revealing. “Many would have allowed the fever to consume me and carry me to hell as righteous punishment.” His tone openly mocked her.

The miko’s reaction did not disappoint.

“Had I shared such a view, I would have left you on the side of the road for wild animals or daemons to have you.”

Her tone indicated that she wished she had.

She tried to rise, but he tightened his grip. Her glare was angry, but not hateful. Interesting. 

“Let go.” Her voice was tight.

His was soft. Inquisitive. “Why?”

She sneered at him. “Isn’t it obvious? I abhor your touch!”

“No.” He shook his head, his long hair brushing over his shoulders, down his chest. “Why did you help me?” She stilled, eyeing him with mistrust, and something else. “You could have abandoned me, left with your…companion. Instead, you defied him. Why? And the towns’ people. Why haven’t you revealed my identity?”

She looked away, voice quiet. “You fell from your horse before we reached the town. I needed help getting you here, and I knew few would have provided aid had they known who you were.” She shot him a quick glare. “Helping you was the right thing to do, and I didn’t wish to see the villagers take matters into their own hands, not after all the trouble of getting you here. You fell ill the moment we arrived,” she repeated. “I was almost certain you would have died.” Her solemn look conveyed how dire his condition truly had been. “I have not left your side since.”

“Why?” A soft demand.

No one had ever shown him such dedication, not without fear as a motivation. And everyone had learned to fear him—and to obey.

What had been her incentive? Surely, this onna did not offer him aid out of the goodness of her heart. He’d seen her contempt of him reflected in her eyes. And yet, a part of him wanted, yearned—for something.

“At the very least, you could have sent a messenger to the headman,” he persisted. His grin was self-mocking. “Surely, my life is not so precious to you.”

Only when he said the words did he realize how much he wished it was true, and that realization struck a powerful chord inside him he’d never known existed. Revealing a part of himself he’d thought long dead.

The anger was back in her eyes at his taunt. He could see the truth in them before she spoke with disdain. “Don’t be ridiculous.” The disappointment he felt was fierce. Piercing. “You destroyed my village, killing everyone. My family.” The heat in her eyes left her. “Except for Kikyo, my sister. She’s all I have left, and she’s missing.”

Something about her moved him to speak. “I did not speak falsely before. I never saw her, and if any of my men had, they would have informed me. Immediately.”

He saw a flicker of desperation creep into the steady gaze she leveled on him. “Is it possible someone had seen her and…not told you? Perhaps taken her for themselves?” The last was said with such fearful hesitation, her words painting a vivid picture of a lone woman captured and abused by many.

He shook his head. “None would have dared. A miko is worth a lot of coin on the black market.” At Kagome’s sharp look, he grinned, unrepentant. “Take heart, Kagome. Your sister most likely yet lives.”

Why was he reassuring her?

He eyed her, contemplating. “You saved me on the off-chance that I may have lied?” It was a weak excuse, but her love for her sister was obvious, so perhaps that was all this was, her compassion a farce to obtain her heart’s desire.

Selfishness he understood.

The look she gave him was incredulous. “An honest criminal? Who would have thought.”

He chuckled, seeing the merit of her skepticism. His smile turned wistful as he stared at her. She must have seen the change on his face, for her own revealed uncertainty.

“It would appear my usefulness has come to an end.”

Kagome flinched, recognizing the words that had been spoken to him by the youkai. Her reaction intrigued him. He asked, “Where is he?”

She dropped her gaze, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her wide sleeve. “Gone.”

“Gone?”

She gave him another swift glare. “He left.”

Understanding dawned. “He abandoned you.”

Her answer was to look away.

“You choose me over him. Why? He was your companion.” More importantly, why had she, a miko, been travelling with a youkai? Rather than bombard her with all that was left unsaid, he waited for her response.

“I didn’t choose him over you,” she grouched. “I did what I thought was right.” When he continued to stare at her, expectant, she changed topics. “Perhaps you should rest. I’m sure you are tired.”

He was. He ignored his fatigue and her poor attempt at deflection. “A miko travelling with a youkai. You cannot blame my curiosity.”

She didn’t have to answer him. What was more, she knew it, and she had not the fear of reprisal at denying him what he wanted. “That is none of your concern.”

“When decisions are made when they involve me, they are my concern,” he refuted.

“I told you. I did what I thought was right. Anything further is my business, which is not open for discussion.”

With that, she helped him lie down, and Onigumo did not try to pry the information from her. He could see the obstinate set of her mouth, and she was right. He was exhausted. Sitting up and eating—he nearly snorted—had taken what little strength he’d possessed.

Though he loathed the weakness, he had no recourse but to rely on the miko’s goodness. So, he rested.

When next he awoke, he could see the sun still shining through the window, but not as brightly. And he was alone.

His bladder demanded immediate attention.

At his weak call, the miko entered the room within moments. It wasn’t until he saw her that he felt himself relax. Remembering the previous occasion, this time, Onigumo made his need known and acted accordingly meek. He was abominably weak, but a greater part of him wanted the miko near. Touching him. But unlike the time before, his body remined docile. A disappointment. What man wanted a beautiful woman to see him at his least virile state? But he was glad, too, for surely any male appreciation would have caused her to leave him in another huff.

Afterwards, she checked his wounds. Only his head and broken knee were wrapped. Where the daemon had struck him with his strange, burning darts, the flesh was melted around punctures that were nearly three inches deep. He wanted to ask more about the daemon but knew that line of questioning would get him nowhere. Instead, while she checked him over, he asked, voice neutral, “So, when shall I expect the authorities?”

Had she already summoned them? Where they on their way?

Why hadn’t he woken in irons? A cell?

Instead, he was in the same room he’d awoken in earlier. It was small, bare. He eyed the roof in the far corner dubiously, seeing a noticeable hole in the ceiling. Weak sunlight filtered in. Wherever they were, their lodgings were spares, the building in disrepair. 

She didn’t meet his eye when she answered, pretending to continue inspecting his injuries. “Not tonight.”

Meaning, she hadn’t revealed his identity—yet. 

She lifted her head, her stare direct. “The village monk should be returning in a few days. He can take over your care then.” A threat.

So, he had a few days reprieve.

“You’re a little spitfire, aren’t you,” he commented offhand. “You’re very unlike other miko I have come across. You’re too…outspoken, too aggressive for the shrine maiden’s docile life.”

Her eyes became like flint, sparking a fire. Making his point. Still, she refuted, “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I’d like to.” His response surprised her. And him by his sincerity. Not to use what he gleamed as leverage against her, or to manipulate her—though, that was true, too, but not the whole of it. Stranger and stranger.

Kagome shook her head. “That’s not going to happen.”

“What is the harm?” he cajoled. “Soon, I will be off your hands, as you abandon me to the tender mercies of this unknown monk.” And the authorities, he had no doubt.

“I have nothing to say to you,” she replied, curt. “Are you hungry? You should eat something.”

“Real food?” He couldn’t conceal his eagerness.

“Broth.” Before he could become too disappointed, she raised her hand and held two fingers close together. “With a little chicken.”

His stomach growled in enthusiasm, and a reluctant smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. His eyes caught it. Even small, it transformed her face. “You’re even more lovely when you smile.”

It was the absolutely wrong thing to say. Her smile disappeared as though it had never existed. She was brisque once more. “I’ll be back shortly.”

True to her word, she returned in minutes.

She helped him sit. The repositioning hurt, but he was too eager to eat to care about the agony stabbing him, his hunger demanding instant gratification. Unfortunately, the miko was cruel and made him eat slowly. Torturously. But he did not complain.

Well, maybe a little. “Is there nothing you can give me for the abhorrent pain?”

Kagome gave him mock surprise. “And take from the needy?”

He glared, but a glimmer of amusement made his lips twitch. “I am in need.” In more ways than one, his shaft slowly coming awake—from her earlier smile. His weakness had apparently addled his brain.

When she did not respond, he grumbled. “Vindictive little thing.”

His eyes widened when hers flinched. Was that…guilt? Surely not.

Silence reigned between them, but Onigumo was not docile, merely thinking, scheming as he ate. Then he spoke. “You may have nothing to say, but I do.”

“I’m not interested in anything you have to say, either,” she interrupted.

“Unless you are willing to gag me, speak I shall,” he warned, gifting her with his most charming grin.

She was not impressed. “Don’t tempt me.”

Her rejoinder made him laugh; though, he could tell she hadn’t tried to be amusing.

Between each spoonful, he told her of the places he’d travelled, regaling her with tales of things she’d never seen: large cities, magnificent castles of mighty lords, of strange wildernesses and animals, of coastal areas, and mountainous regions. Not once did he speak of the countless deaths and destruction he’d caused over the years.

This did not go unnoticed by the miko. She’d been feeding him silently, but the moment the spoon scrapped the bottom of the bowl, the woman exploded, surprising him with her intensity. “No doubt you raided and pillaged each and every place you visited, delighting in the pain and destruction you left behind. I have no desire to hear one more word of your deeds. No matter how you flower your words, your path is pathed in blood. I’ve seen it.” She hissed the last, eyes sparking with open contempt.

“Not everywhere I’d been ended up destroyed,” he replied quietly.

She made a sound of disgust. “A marvel of restraint, I’m sure.”

Her scorn bothered him not in the least, yet still, when she made to leave, he restrained her with a hand wrapped around her wrist, feeling the fragile bone. She was a delicate little thing, he inwardly mused.

She eyed his offending hand with a glare. “You have a bad habit of being grabby.”

“And you’ve a bad habit of judging what you cannot possibly conceive. Do you imagine I was always a bandit warlord?”

“I can’t imagine why you’d think I’d care.” She pulled on her arm, but his grip only tightened. “Let. Go.” A soft threat poorly veiled.

He called her bluff. “The only way you will be getting free is by hurting me. Go ahead. Cause me further injury. You’ve already crippled me.”

“I didn’t lay a hand upon you!”

“Neither did you prevent the hand that did.”

“You expect me to feel sorry? For you?”

“Don’t you?”

“No!”

“You lie.”

She scoffed, but neither did she yank herself free, which was telling. Conveying her lie louder than any accusation.

He sighed, putting all his pain and weariness into that sound. Manipulation. He let go of her, yet his words encouraged her to remain. “Just…stay. You don’t have to say anything.”

“Why should I?” But she didn’t move.

Rather than answer, he began telling her of his upbringing, his childhood. Kagome stayed, but she did not engage him in conversation. In fact, she refused even to look at him, but she was listening. He could tell, and that was all he sought. He told her when he’d been born, how he’d been raised on a small farm, miles from the nearest village. The youngest of five children, he was the only son.

Isolated from the rest of humanity, he’d go months, years, without seeing another living soul. It was like his family were the only people left in the world alive.

They were self-sufficient but dreadfully poor. The chores were grueling, the hours long. Rarely, did his father take him with the few times he needed to journey to the nearest village. Even that small cluster of huts seemed large and numerous to the young Onigumo. Until the one time his father had taken him on a long journey that took weeks, where they’d gone to the city. He’d never forget the experience. In that moment, he’d felt betrayed by his father.

It took him years to learn that his father had been a soldier, long ago. One who lost his taste for killing. Once freed from service, he’d left civilization, taking his young wife with him, forcing her, and later his family, to live a life of isolation and drudgery.

What Onigumo didn’t tell the miko was the resentment he’d harbored towards his father, the seething hatred. The inevitable murder.

Onigumo was convinced that his father had taken the one thing a person can never get back: time. His father had forced him to live a life he’d despised. Onigumo had nothing. He’d been nobody. And if his father had had his way, Onigumo would have died alone and with nothing.

One day, he took from his father what had been taken from him: time.

His father had taken his past, so Onigumo stole his father’s future, murdering the old man in cold blood. Then he’d left home, abandoning his mother and sisters to make their own way in the world. He’d cared not whether they lived or died. He’d never looked back, never returned.

But he didn’t tell the miko, only that he’d wanted more out of life after seeing the city, so he’d simply… left. A half-truth.

“When I left, I’d made a promise to myself,” he told her. “That I would do great things with my life.”

“But you didn’t do great things,” interrupted Kagome, finally speaking. “You became a murder, raping and pillaging. You’re nothing but a criminal.”

“Half-true,” he corrected lightly. “I may not have contributed for the greater good, but my deeds are known far and wide. I am a legend.” Most importantly, “Respected.”

“You mean feared,” she countered, voice hard. Then she spoke with obvious reluctance, but he saw her curiosity. “You said you wanted to be great. You could have done anything. Yet you choose a life as an outlaw. Why?”

Her curiosity pleased him. He had her.

“I travelled,” he began with a careless shrug. “Largely at random. First to the nearest village, where I learned where the next settlement was, before moving onto the next, then the next. Trying to find my place in the world. I fell in with a group of soldiers and enlisted in some lord’s military. For the experience. I needed to learn how to fight, how to survive. What I hadn’t realize at the time was that the lord I’d pledged service to was without scruples. He worked outside the law. He took what he wanted, carving his name into stone and the blood of his victims.”

Kagome eyed him with dubious interest. “So, what? You became an outlaw by accident?”

“As you can imagine, I knew nothing of the world. I was beyond naïve. I fell in with the wrong crowd, and once you enter that world, there is only one way you can leave: dead.”

The funny thing was, it wasn’t a lie.

What he didn’t say was how much he enjoyed the life, especially once he rose on top, toppling the lord he’d enlisted to serve. He’d taken everything, winning the game of who was to be lord over all.

And he was determined to remain there: on the top.

Nothing and no one were going to take from him again.

Onigumo hid a grin, covertly watching the young, naive miko’s troubled visage with a sense of victory.

She was unaware of it, but they were playing a game. The game of life. And he was determined to win and come out the victor, as he always had.

“You chose your own life over the lives of dozens. Hundreds.”

He faced Kagome’s judgement squarely. “Who wouldn’t choose life? Did you not choose your sister’s life over those of my men? Even allowing a youkai to torture me for the merest information pertaining to her whereabouts?”

He’d seen a glimpse of her guilty conscious before and didn’t hesitate to exploit it now.

His gaze impaled, staring directly into her stricken eyes. “How easy it is to judge another what we excuse in ourselves.”