Bound by Corruption by BelovedStranger

Jealousy's Reign

AUTHOR'S NOTE: 

Word Count: 2,623

FLY WHILE YOU can, little bird. Soon, I’ll clip your wings. Then, you’ll be all mine.

His obsession. Onigumo almost pitied the miko.

It was her face he saw before closing his eyes, her eyes that haunted his dreams, and her name on his lips when he woke.

Even when he heard her leave the hut, he imagined he could still smell her sweet fragrance, all womanly innocence. There was a pureness about the miko that called to the darkness inside himself. He needed to have it, to possess it.

“Kagome,” he whispered without being fully aware that he’d done so, lost in musings that began with her capture, and ended with her wrapped carnally in his embrace.

When he’d first awakened two days ago, his mind had been awhirl. Despite what the miko thought, he wasn’t about to answer for his crimes. At first, his schemes involved the onna falling to an unfortunate accident. But not anymore.

Now, if only he could figure a way out of this predicament, with the miko in tow—

“Touching. The warlord who fell in love with a miko.” The voice was snide, menacing.

The hairs along Onigumo’s arms rose as he stiffened, sensing the predator too late. Slowly, he turned his head to the far side wall. There was only one entrance into the small room, and that was through the doorway the miko had exited, yet somehow, the silver haired youkai from before was here. His gaze flickered to the open window, already knowing it was too small for the large beast to have entered through.

“Do not get up on my account. Rest. You appear unwell.”

Onigumo’s hand moved to his hip on reflex, but all he felt was empty air.

“Looking for this?”

The youkai held up Onigumo’s sword. He hadn’t seen the weapon since he’d woken up in this filthy hole the miko called a dwelling. He’d never asked for it, knowing he’d have been refused. His fingers flexed, mind calculating how to regain his weapon despite the laughable odds. Fueled by an indominable will, he would never rest, never surrender. Not until he won and everything was his—and his enemies were dead.

“Ah, you’ve found my possession. I’ve been wondering where it made off to.” As though he expected to be obeyed, Onigumo lifted his uninjured arm, palm up. Expectant.

Fire danced in amber orbs. Then the sword was flung towards him, a gentle flick of the youkai’s wrist. On reflex, Onigumo reached to snatch it from the air. He caught it, but the movement jarred his injured knee. Unable to bite back a hiss of pure agony, he bent forward to huddle over his leg in a protective gesture.

“How inconsiderate of me. Apologies for the pain.”

“Your sincerity moves me,” he bit out with a sidelong glare at the imposing figure who stood just outside the sunlight filtering from the window, as though one with the shadows. The corner appeared darker than it should have been at this early hour. Sinister and foreboding.

Onigumo was not immune to fear. He knew death had come for him. Not if he could stop it. He cast his eyes around, desperate. He stalled for time, hoping the miko would return, while knowing she would not, as she had only recently left. “Why are you here?”

“You have something of mine. I’ve come to reclaim it.”

Onigumo chuckled. “Kagome. I thought you were done with the girl after you abandoned her.” After you gave her to me.

No, after she choose me.

The answer struck him with shocking force. “You fancy the girl.” He chuckled, mocking the daemon in turn. “A youkai in love with a miko. Is she aware of your twisted perversion?”

The youkai did not seem to hear him. “You have outlived your usefulness, ningen.” He took a step forward, entering the light cast by the morning sun. The bright rays caught in his eyes, warming the hue to liquid amber, but the daemon’s gaze was colder than winter and hard as steel.

Onigumo stiffened, hand tightening on his sword, feeling just as helpless with it as he had without it. The daemon was stronger. Faster. And Onigumo was weak. Broken.

“I do hope you enjoyed these extra days of life. Savored them,” the daemon continued conversationally.

“Come to finish me off, have you,” Onigumo replied bravely, refusing to cower in front of this beast. “But I warn you, the miko is due back shortly—”

“Hiding behind a woman?” The daemon’s mocking laughter set Onigumo’s teeth on edge. “Unfortunately, the miko will not be returning.”

Onigumo’s thumb flicked over the wide guard, freeing an inch of steel from its scabbard. “What have you done with her?”

He cast a quick glance out the window, trying to gauge the time by the sun’s position, but he could not see it from his reclined position on the floor. How long had she been gone? Fifteen minutes? Twenty?

“Protective,” sneered the daemon rather than answer. “The villain turned hero.”

“Answer me, beast.” Angry, the fear leached out of him on a wave of animosity.

The silver head tilted to the side, inhuman eyes regarding Onigumo with an unnerving stare. “Do you truly believe the miko could ever return your regard? I sense your desire for her. Lust oozes from your pores.””

“Perhaps she already has,” he taunted with a knowing grin.

The youkai’s returning grin was pure malic. “For all your charm, not once has the miko responded in kind. Her scent reveals her lack of interest.”

He glared, unflinching under the cruelty staring back at him. “How long have you been spying on us?” On her. It was his turn to laugh mockingly. “You speak of desire. You think she wants you?” He scoffed. “She chose me over you. Or have you forgotten, daemon?” His smirk was slathered in sweet victory at reminding the arrogant figure.

“I tire of your prattle.” A sinister glimmer of delight entered his gaze, unnerving Onigumo. “Do you hear them yet?”

At Onigumo’s confusion, the youkai smirked, flashing sharp canines.

“You’re about to receive a few guests. Oh, no one special. Just a few peasants come to pay their respects to Lord Onigumo, the warlord who commands the bandit forces that have been terrorizing the countryside of late.”

It was then that Onigumo heard them, the angry shouts, the obscene threats. And they were getting closer. Ignoring the smug daemon, Onigumo cast his gaze around him, mind racing.

“You reek of fear.”

Ignoring the youkai’s ridicule, Onigumo tried to pull himself to his feet, using his sword as a crutch, but the moment he moved his shattered knee, agony shot clear up to his eyeballs. He shouted his fury against his helplessness, screaming at the pain clawing at him mercilessly.

“No need to rise and greet them. Be at ease. They won’t be staying long. Lie. Rest. It will be over quickly.” The youkai’s voice was almost kind, soothing.

Just then, a flaming arrow sailed through the open window and embedded itself in the wall near Onigumo’s injured shoulder. Acting quickly, Onigumo grabbed the shaft and yanked it free with an agonized scream that echoed equally with his defiance. He would not die here!

Dull thunks sounded against the hut from outside, and Onigumo knew that more flaming arrows were raining down on the building around him.

They meant to burn him alive, he realized in panic.

The daemon smiled at Onigumo’s desperation. “But not too quickly,” he finished, obviously enjoying himself.

Another arrow shot inside the window, too high for Onigumo to reach. Then another. Outside, he could hear the ominous crackling of the fire growing. Smoke began to collect in the room, choking him. Coughing violently, he shouted at the daemon. “You think these games will end well for you?! Sooner or later, Kagome will learn of this. Your manipulations will burn like ash! You’re a fool if you think you can win her affections through my death.”

An irrefutable truth. The miko had left the daemon to care for him. He knew it. The daemon knew it. “If you don’t save me now, you’ve already lost her!”

“REST IN PEACE, Onigumo.”

As Sesshomaru began disappearing in a cloud of black vapor, his soul laughed at the ningen’s angered howl. Within seconds, the enraged sound morphed into agonized screams, the flames quickly eating away at the dry wood of the dilapidated structure.

Immense satisfaction filled Sesshomaru upon hearing the human’s pain, acting as a balm to his wounded pride at the warlord’s audacity.

“You think she wants you? She chose me over you.”

“The miko is mine,” he growled viciously, materializing high in the sky above the burning building. All around the blaze, the town’s people raised their voices, joining their joyous malice with Onigumo’s tortured cries, unaware that a youkai watched, sharing in their delight.

All but one.

A voice of reason, of pleading, cut through the chaos. 

Kagome.

Sesshomaru watched her try to shove passed the crowd encircling the burning hut, only to fail. Someone in the throng grabbed her arm and threw her aside. The miko nearly fell but managed to stay on her feet. When she lurched forward again, the men closest to her turned on her like rabid dogs scenting fresh blood after days of starvation.

Then one pointed at her in recognition. A shout of outrage sounded amongst those gathered. More fingers pointed, more faces turning towards the miko. More ears listened, and the shouting altered, shifted. The villagers were out for blood, and Kagome had made herself a convenient target, charged with being the warlord’s accomplice. His whore.

Accusations continued to fly.

She’d abused their generosity, betrayed their trust for bringing a savage criminal into their town, for putting their families in danger. She’d harboring Onigumo, protected him.

As the burning building collapsed in a spark of flames, their hatred turned on the miko.

Bloodlust had hold of the masses. Death had visited, vengeance had been taken, but once awakened, the call for blood was hard to quench. Always, it cried out for more.

As one, the crowd converged around the miko, trapping her, preventing all escape.

Kagome’s fear permeated the air, but if Sesshomaru thought she was helpless, she proved him wrong. With a proficiency gained through years of practice, she notched her bow and spun, threatening her attackers, who stayed back. Wary. 

A lumbering ox of a man came at her from behind, but she must have sensed him, for she turned, and her arrow released. The man fell back with an angry shout, holding his wounded arm.

The miko was fast, notching another arrow before any could approach.

A grin slashed Sesshomaru’s face, anticipation singing through his blood. Soon, she would be his again, with no Onigumo to come between them.

No one ever would again.

Suddenly, someone picked up a rock and flung it at the miko, and Sesshomaru did nothing to prevent it as it impacted between her shoulder blades. He heard her cry out, but she did not falter. Another arrow released into the crowd. Her skill was apparent. Her assailant fell back, injured but alive.

Surrounded by a crowd who shouted for her death, she foolishly wounded when she should have struck fear in their hearts by killing a few. Perhaps then she could have gained her freedom. Her mercy was seen as weakness. Rather than discourage the raging mob, her clemency emboldened them.

Another picked up a rock. Then another. And another.

They were going to stone her to death.

Sesshomaru watched the drama dispassionately, doing nothing as each missile met its mark, striking the miko’s fragile flesh.

Her desperation grew. He could feel it, almost taste it. He allowed her fear to manifest, allowed the ningen to hurt her. Let this be a lesson to her, to never again question him. To never wish to leave him.

A rock struck the side of her head. He saw the blood before he smelled it. Only then did he react, his mouth pulling down into a frown.

Why should he care that she suffered?

It was by her own actions that any of this had come to pass.

Kagome stumbled, her stance faltering. Scenting weakness, the crowd became even more crazed. More rocks were taken up, but Sesshomaru had had enough. She’d suffered sufficiently for her foolishness. It was time to collect his miko.

“Sesshomaru!”

Sesshomaru froze.

She called to him. Verbally. And telepathically.

Did she sense him? Did she know that he was near, watching as she suffered? Impossible. He’d hidden his aura. Had been since she’d left his side for Onigumo. Ever since her arrival to the town, he’d been near. Watching her. Seething within. Waiting for an opportunity. But she was always by the filth’s side, never leaving him.

Until, finally, she had.

As soon as she was out of the hut, he’d acted. Not knowing how long she would be gone, he had to be swift, decisive. As a cloud of vapor, he entered a host, taking instant possession of the weak-minded villager. Then, he began spreading rumors, revealing Onigumo’s identity and location. One human, then another, and another, Sesshomaru jumped, taking possession. With each mind he infiltrated, he fueled them with feelings of hatred and animosity. Of vengeance.

Not ten minutes later, a man hunt was instigated, and Sesshomaru had stepped back, allowing nature to take its natural course.

Now, Sesshomaru descended from the sky faster than a ningen eye could track, landing behind the miko. She flinched, but not because of his presence. A rock came hurtling towards her face, but her reflexes were too slow. Sesshomaru caught the missile with ease. His grip tightened, pulverizing the stone to dust.

Kagome turned her head up towards him, his name a whispered prayer on her lips.

In reply, he wrapped an arm around her waist, while the other spun over his head in a graceful arch. His green whip emerged, striking the men on the outer ring of the crowd’s circle. They fell, dead, their bodies cut in half by the potent acid of his whip. Another circle of his arm killed more, while maiming others. The crowd fell back with shouts of pain and fear.

He felt a swell of satisfaction when the miko cuddled into him, accepting his protection. He turned her into his chest, pressing her face close as a cloud formed beneath their feet. With a flare of his youki, he took them to the skies, their clothes flapping in the sudden gush of wind. He heard her gasp, felt her press closer, and Sesshomaru grinned. Her scent enveloped him, saturating him with her essence.

Mine.

All too soon, she tried to pull away from him. His arm tightened, a fierce snarl curling his lip.

“Wait, Sesshomaru! We have to save Onigumo. The villagers! Their burning him alive!”

He cupped the back of her head, pressing her face against his chest, but he forced himself to gentle, to stroke her black hair in a soothing glide. “It is too late, Kagome,” he murmured with false tenderness.

Her cry was muffled, and rather than continue to push him away, he felt her little hands take hold of his haori and cling to him. Her bitter tears stung his nostrils.

She cried. For Onigumo.

Anger tightened his body as he brought her closer, possessively.

He did not realize that her tears came not from remorse of Onigumo’s passing, but towards a world filled with violence and death. That seemingly good people could morph so swiftly and became monsters themselves.

While she cried, he stole her away, determined to keep her for himself.