Dreamer Awakened

 

 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

 

 

            Zan Kazai approached Akumakai through the darkness.  His cold and lifeless eyes ran along the Arch Daemon’s twisted body, sliding covetously over each of the nine black mitamas that adorned Akumakai’s massive body: one in each of his four hands, four in his chest and one on his forehead.  Zan Kazai slowed his steps as he drew nearer, coming to a stop where the ground beneath his feet began to buckle, rippling outwards where the trunk of Akumakai’s body joined with earth. 

“Zan Kazai,” Akumakai regarded him reprovingly, his four eyes skimming critically over the wraith’s long white hair and skin, “we have not summoned you.  Your presence is unacceptable to us.”

“But my lord,” Zan Kazai objected smoothly, sweeping into a low bow before the Arch Daemon, “I have only come to pay my respects to you and to lend you my support, should you wish to call upon me.  It has been whispered throughout the Kingdom that Tamanasu has fallen short of his master’s expectations once again and returned without the child,” Zan Kazai murmured, keeping his smile of triumph hidden from Akumakai by his obeisant pose.

“Tamanasu is of no concern to you,” Akumakai hissed in warning.

“Yes, Lord,” Zan Kazai agreed, straightening and looking into the Arch Daemon’s face, “I never concern myself with the failure of other’s.  And I have come not to talk of Tamanasu’s defeat, but of the child and how he might be captured.  You must know that the power that I have amassed here is much greater than that of –“ Zan Kazai paused, about to say Tamanasu, but thought better and inserted, “many of your disciples, for I have walked this Road far longer than most. “  Here, Zan Kazai bent into a sweeping bow once more, saying, “for your Greatness, I humbly submit my power to you, hoping to offer you success where others have only reaped bitter defeat.” Zan Kazai paused, his body tensing with anticipation and his desire as he continued, “If you would but grant me mitamas Lord Akumakai, I could fly to the Over World and increase my power ten fold, ensuring that none could block my path to the child – not even the changeling, Kusanagi.”

Akumakai gave Zan Kazai a measuring glance, which the wraith met unflinchingly, his pale eyes never wavering from Akumakai’s face.  Then without warning, Akumakai stretched his trunk forward and down, so that his face, normally at an elevated height, was level with Zan Kazai and he opened his lips, his mouth stretching into a gaping black hole.  Zan Kazai struggled to remain impassive as a retching noise began to gurgle up from the depths of Akumakai and a thick, yellowish stream of steaming muck began oozing from his throat.  It splattered to the earth to form a glutinous, undulating, foul smelling mass.  Still choking, Akumakai stretched his jaw even further, reaching into his throat with one of his hands and pulling free two slime covered, black mitamas.

Zan Kazai’s eyes lit with greed when he saw the mitamas grasped between Akumakai’s long, skeletal fingers, and he fought to keep from bellowing in rage when, instead of bestowing them upon Zan Kazai, Akumakai placed the mitamas on the pustulent heap of refuse.  Zan Kazai watched as the black mitamas sank into its yellowish depths and couldn’t keep the loathing out of his eyes as Akumakai pulled back, assuming his elevated position in the air to gaze down with indifference at Zan Kazai.

“We have faith in Tamanasu,” Akumakai hissed, not missing the hatred that gleamed coldly in Zan Kazai’s eyes, “but we will give you a chance to prove your worthiness,” he informed the wraith and watched as the hatred was swiftly replaced with a calculating look.

“Then you will grant me the mitamas so that I might capture the child?”

“If your power is as strong as you claim, then you do not need mitamas,” Akumakai responded unconcernedly.

“But, my lord,” Zan Kazai began furiously, and then stopped, clamping down on his anger, knowing that it would not win him Akumakai’s trust and thus would not gain him what he coveted most.  Composing himself he tried again.  “It is true that I have great power, but in the Over World, even a power such as mine is useless if it cannot be harnessed – but if I had the mitamas –“

“You are a wraith, you have the ability to materialize at will.  You do not need the mitamas,” Akumakai hissed.

“But I can only materialize for a very limited time, after which I must return to the Withered Kingdom.  However, if you allow me the mitamas then I would have a renewable source –“ Zan Kazai reasoned, but Akumakai was tired of his insidious presence and he waved him away.

“If you are as powerful as you say, then you can achieve what we desire with your inherent power.  Prove to us your superiority over Tamanasu, and perhaps we will grant your request for mitamas and fulfill your desire to feed upon the souls of the Over World.  But fail, Zan Kazai, and I will make sure that you become even less than what you see of Tamanasu now,” Akumakai paused and looked at the yellowish muck that he had regurgitated; Tamanasu’s body inchoate, that, once complete, would hold the essence of his most devoted spectral servant.  “You have until the shadow of the new moon to bring us the child, before Tamanasu is once again whole.  Now go.  We are weary of your presence.”

With barely suppressed rage, Zan Kazai bowed stiffly to Akumakai before turning and stalking away.  He would find the child, he thought resentfully, and when he did, he would kill it and take the mitamas for himself.  And then he, Zan Kazai, would be even more powerful than the Arch Daemon who ruled the Withered Kingdom and he would banish the deformed, purulent Over Lord to the eleventh level of hell!

Akumakai watched in silence as the pale gleam of the wraith was enveloped into the blackness of the mournful cries of the damned beyond his chamber, and he could feel Tamanasu’s anger hovering at his shoulder, a black mist hanging invisible against the gloom.

“What think you, Tamanasu?” he murmured, and paused listening to his servant’s silent reply.  “We agree with your assessment,” Akumakai nodded, seemingly satisfied with Tamanasu’s response. “Doromashi!” Akumakai called.

Doromashi stepped from the surrounding darkness, answering the summons of his lord.  He knelt before Akumakai’s body, but not before his red-slitted eyes spotted Tamanasu’s black spirit and after a deep bow to the Arch Daemon, Doromashi also offered a slight bow to him as well.

 “We are aware of your allegiance to us and have decided to reward you.  Your master, Tamanasu, has asked us to send you to the Over World with eight others,” Akumakai intoned, watching the Tengugaki’s surprise and anticipation at his words.  “Feast upon the humans and fill your mitama.  Our only demand is that you return you us, your Lord, Akumakai, and your master, Tamanasu upon the shade of the new moon.”

“Should we bring you the child, my lord?” Doromashi asked.

“No, we do not wish you to confront those that guard him.  We only wish for you and your brethren to become stronger.  Become stronger and return to us upon Tamanasu’s rebirth, and then we will claim the child.”

“I understand, my lord,” Doromashi bowed, “it will be as you command.”

 

 

Momiji closed the door and went through the automatic motions of removing her coat and shoes, hardly aware of what she was doing as her eyes filled with tears that blurred the room in front of her.  Still clutching the tantou in her hand, she stumbled over to the sofa and collapsed onto it.  Long, gusty sobs wracked her small frame and the raw pain in her heart found no relief through the tears that coursed down her cheeks and fell onto her grey sweatshirt.  She closed her eyes against the images that haunted her, but reopened them when she couldn’t banish them from her mind.

Why?  Why did it have to be this way? Momiji silently lamented, weeping for Hikaru and Noa; for the separation of mother and child, for Kaede; whose life had intertwined with so many of those that Momiji cared about; for Momiji’s inability to protect those that she loved from the pain of losing Kaede; and for a love that she had dreamt of for so long but now felt was lost to her.

Why? Her heart cried again, still seeing Hikaru’s moonbeam hair, gleaming like the silvery tears that the young mother had cried, knowing that she had no choice but to abandon her son to a world of strangers.  One young life cut short and another that had barely begun, destined for hardship and possibly something far worse.  Momiji gripped the tantou tightly, her shaking fingers going white from the pressure, but she wasn’t even aware of it. 

Why?  she asked herself again.

Momiji didn’t want it to be this way.  She greatly feared for the tiny life that trembled on the precipice of danger, in jeopardy of being swallowed by the forces that swirled around it, helpless to defend itself.  And Momiji was terrified that she would be unable to uphold the task given to her by Susano-oh, and honor the promises she had made to Hikaru and her sister, Kaede.   

Would she be strong enough to protect him, to keep him safe from the Tengugaki, the Aragami, and possibly even Kusanagi?  She wanted to be, but she didn’t think she was.  She felt overwhelmed, the promises she had made and the duty she was to fulfill only serving to remind her of her own weaknesses, her inability to make a difference in the lives of others. 

How could she protect one so small and helpless, she asked herself wretchedly, when all she could do was stand and watch as those around her suffered, the power of the Kushinada doing nothing to aid her in protecting those that needed her and those that she loved. 

What in god’s name did you think you were trying to do?  …You are not Kaede, Momiji! Kusanagi had raged and Momiji squeezed her eyes closed as she remembered his words, desperately wishing that she were like her sister, like Kaede, the Princess Kushinada, wishing that she had just a fraction of the strength she had witnessed in her sister.

She should be here now, Momiji thought disconsolately, as a fresh spate of tears spilled down her cheeks.

Kaede was so beautiful and had such great power, Momiji reflected.  Her sister’s blue-black hair, compassionate green eyes and crystal mitama flashed through her mind and she remembered the energy that Kaede had wielded to protect them all from Tamanasu.  Perhaps if Momiji were more like her sister, then she could have saved Kaede, and thus could have protected Mr. Kunikida and Kusanagi from the pain that her death had brought.  Why?  Why did it have to be this way?

Momiji continued to cry, her green eyes red and swollen and her cheeks burning from the salt of her tears and her thoughts turned inevitably to Kusanagi and his preoccupation and anguish upon seeing Kaede.  As she remembered it, Momiji’s heart became as a stone crushed under the weight of her sorrow so that if felt heavy and cracked, and so very barren.  She loved Kusanagi more than life, and yet, if it were in her power to give Kaede back to him, she would.  He had suffered a life of solitude for so long, and punished himself for what he believed he was and Momiji didn’t want that for him.  He deserved to be loved and to love in return.  He deserved someone like Kaede, she thought fiercely.

The thought made Momiji cry even more and her tears continued until, exhausted, she fell asleep, the tantou slipping from her fingers to the floor where it landed with a thud.  Her exhaustion was so complete and her sleep so deep that when the phone began to ring, she did not stir, thoroughly caught in a web of disturbing dreams.

 

Murakumo cautiously pushed himself from the bed and stood unmoving, trying to get used to the weak feeling in his legs.  Swaying slightly, he reached up and slid his hand inside the folds of his robe, lightly touching the lowermost mitama on his chest.  Was it his imagination, or did it actually feel smoother than it had yesterday?  Not much longer, and perhaps he would be able to summon one of his servants.  Still idly fingering the mitama, he wondered if he would be able to summon one now.  The human girl had said that the solution she made restored the neural network, so perhaps –

Letting his hand drop to his side, he began to move slowly towards the closet intent on getting dressed.  He grimaced as he pulled it open and looked inside at his shirt.  How she had even managed to get it to stay hanging on a hanger was beyond him.  It was completely shredded, looking more like a kite tail than a shirt.  He reached out and with a snort, pulled it from the hanger, tossing it into the trashcan.

Thankfully his pants had fared much better.  They had several slash marks in them on the thighs and around the knees, but there were wearable.  At least until he could get some more.  Moving slowly back over to the bed he sat down and slid them on, his chest pulling painfully when he reached down to pull them up.  He straightened, his hand traveling back to the folds of his robe to feel the fractured seed one more time.  The pain wasn’t as intense as before, and Murakumo wondered again if he had the power to summon.

He looked down at the blue mitamas on the backs of his hands lost in contemplation and then, coming to a decision, he strolled slowly over to the window and opened the blinds, the morning sun striking him in the face and sending a tingling warmth over his skin.  Holding his pale hand to the window, he stared at the mitama, concentrating all his energy into it.  He could feel his power shift, circulating towards his center of focus and his chest exploded in pain, but he refused to give up as the soul in his hand began to glow. 

Murakumo broke out in a cold sweat, gritting his teeth, his hand beginning to shake from the strain of trying to maintain his concentration, and then, it was over, ending abruptly.  He leaned weakly against the window and closed his eyes. 

Dammit! 

He was still too weak.  Perhaps in another day or two, it might be possible but – Murakumo stopped in mid thought, his grey eyes snapping open, and he whipped his head around and looked at the empty doorway.  He could have sworn that he had sensed someone standing there.

Midori pulled back from the doorway before Murakumo could see her, and she closed her eyes.  Fear and dread coursed through her, and she wished that she could erase from her mind what she had just witnessed.  She didn’t know what he was trying to do, but she knew that it couldn’t be good, and she felt tears prick her eyelids as she realized that she wasn’t going to be able to protect him any longer. 

Midori pushed away from the wall and with soft, purposeful strides entered the living room.  Absently pushing the stray wisps of dark brown hair clinging to her cheek behind her ear, she reached for the phone.  She stared down at it for a long moment, before she dialed the number and put it up to her ear.  It rang once, twice, three times.

“Come on, Momiji,” Midori murmured anxiously, “pick up.”

But Momiji’s machine picked up instead and as Midori listened to the recorded voice of her friend, she lost her nerve.  She pushed the button and hung up without leaving a message, putting the phone back on its cradle and bitterly reprimanding herself for being such a coward.

“What are you doing?” a softly menacing voice asked from close behind her and Midori jumped and swung around, her soft brown eyes wide with surprise.

“M-murakumo,” she stammered guiltily, before she could regain her composure.

His grey eyes bore down into her brown ones, and she found his presence overpowering, interfering with her ability to think clearly.  She took a step back to put some distance between them and tried not to notice how tall and powerfully built he was.  Seeming to realize that his closeness put her at a disadvantage, Murakumo took a step forward and closed the gap, his steel grey eyes still unwavering on her face.

“I asked you what you were doing, Midori,” he repeated.

The menace was more evident in his voice this time and he stepped even closer, forcing Midori to retreat even further to keep from bumping into him and she felt her heel scrape against the wall.

He was trying to intimidate her again, she thought peevishly and in spite of her unease, she felt her temper begin to rise.

“If you tell me what you were doing over by the window, then maybe I’ll tell you what I was doing,” she replied tersely, her brown eyes sparkling with anger, and she added sourly, “although I would think that anyone with an average intelligence would be able to figure out that I was making a phone call - But considering the tantrums you throw, it might be a bit of a stretch for you, since you have yet to prove that you have the reasoning capability beyond that of a three year old child!”

Murakumo’s expression hardened and Midori heard the ring of steel as he drew his blade and with quick movements pressed it against her throat, his grey eyes cold with fury.

“How dare you insult me, human!” he muttered scathingly.

Midori lifted her chin defiantly at his words, trying to ignore the sharp point that pressed against her skin, pricking her uncomfortably.  Did he really think that she would believe that he would kill her?  Not hardly, she thought; at least not while he needed her to make the solution to heal his damaged mitama.  All his threats really did were irritate her and show what a beast he could be. 

“My name is Midori, you egocentric pin-head!” she hissed through gritted teeth, “not human!”

She stood glaring at him and as he stood there staring at her, Murakumo’s anger was replaced with bafflement.  There was a long scraping sound and he retracted his blade, but instead of moving away from her, her stepped even closer and wrapped his fingers around her throat, forcing her chin up with his thumb so he could look into her face.

“I don’t understand you,” he murmured, his gaze searching as it flitted over her features, moving from her soft brown eyes to her upturned nose and settling on her lips, which were parted, as she struggled to breathe evenly.  ” Why are you not frightened of me?” he demanded softly, continuing to stare down at her mouth, and that same feeling he had experienced the night before, began to filter through his veins filling him with an uncomfortable heat. 

He should have let her go then and stepped away, but he didn’t.

“I – I don’t know,” Midori replied a little breathlessly as she felt his thumb begin to stroke softly against her chin, making her stomach do flip flops, “I- I’m just not… wh – what are you doing - !?” she began, trying to shrink away from him as he moved closer to her but she had nowhere to go.

She could only watch, stunned, as he suddenly leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers.  Her eyes widened at the warm contact and she blinked several times before her eyes fluttered closed, a heaviness beginning to spread through her body, dulling her senses.

She was so damned soft, Murakumo groaned inwardly, so damned desirable, affecting his human body in ways he’d never thought possible, and he despised himself for giving in to his physical longing to touch her.  Even as the condemning thought occurred to him, he couldn’t stop himself from pressing closer to her. 

He let his hand slip away from her chin and around her head to tangle in her short, silky hair so he could pull her closer, his lips sliding demandingly over hers, willing her to open them to him.  Ever so tentatively, she gave in to his demands and immediately his tongue swept into her mouth, mingling with hers.

Midori’s heart pounded heavily in her ears and she couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.  Murakumo’s unexpected passion and her own response to him overwhelmed her and sent her body careening out of control.  Somewhere in the back of her mind was the vague thought that this was somehow wrong, but she couldn’t gather up enough strength or will to reason why.

Completely out of control now, Murakumo directed his hands back  around to the front of Midori’s shirt, and he rapidly unbuttoned it, pushing it off her shoulders.  Then his lips left her mouth and he trailed kisses down her throat and across the swell of her breasts, as his fingers brushed lightly across the thin, silky material of her bra.

“God you’re breasts are even more beautiful –“ he murmured thickly, not finishing his sentence, but he didn’t have to as his words clicked in Midori’s brain.

More beautiful than, what?  His wife?  The mother of his child?  The thought was a cold slap of reality and Midori opened her eyes.

“Stop,” she muttered numbly, still having to fight against the desire to give in to the heady emotions he was stirring within her, despite the hard impact of his words.   “Please stop,” she entreated again, a note of desperation creeping into her voice, “this isn’t right.”

Murakumo wasn’t really listening to her, but he managed to mumble, “Why isn’t it right?”

“Y-you have a –“ Midori hesitated not sure of what word to use, and so she settled upon the only one she could think of. “- You have a family.” 

“So?” he asked unconcernedly, his lips moving against her neck and his hands sliding around to Midori’s back to unfasten her bra as he continued to nuzzle her.

His callous reaction hurt and amazed her, and she stiffened.  So!?  Was that all he could say?  If having a family meant so little to him, then what he was doing with her meant even less.  Feeling suddenly sick, Midori put her hands up and pushed hard against his chest.  Her palm came into contact with his fractured mitama and he made a choking noise, abruptly pulling away from her like she had shot him.

Desire still darkened his eyes, but there was anger there too as he watched Midori put an unsteady hand up and pull her shirt together in front of her to shield her body from his eyes, a shattered look on her face.

“Why the hell did you do that?” he demanded harshly, his own hand splayed against the pain in his chest.

“Because you’re an unfeeling bastard, that’s why!” she retorted sharply.

Her chest heaved with misery and anger and she struggled to bury the hurt she felt, but couldn’t keep the stricken look out of her eyes when she saw the mockery of a smile that twisted Murakumo’s face as he laughed silkily at her.

“Feelings are for the weak,” he told her scornfully, turning away, his long dark hair, flowing past his waist, catching her eye.

How could someone so beautiful be so cold and so uncaring?  Midori refused to believe that this was all there was to him, needed to believe that what she’d sensed that drew her to him was real.

“How can you say that!?” she demanded, seeking proof that would belie this heartless indifference he assumed.  She took a step towards his back, her gaze searching as she argued,  “You have a child, and a…” 

She stopped, her mouth open, still unsure of the word to use.

“A what?” he asked with a raised eyebrow looking over his shoulder at her, laughing in cold amusement at her discomfort. “A beloved spouse?  An obedient wife? Hardly!”

“Well you must have cared for her a little if she is the mother of your child!” Midori argued hotly her face going pale in reaction to his next words.

What a pathetically naïve, little girl you are,” he snorted derisively.  “I am king of Aragami and as such, I find human emotions,” he curled his lip at the word, “not only insufferable, but disgusting as well!  Hikaru, the mother of my child, was just a means to an end for me, that’s all - a human vessel to carry my seed.” 

Murakumo turned his head away from Midori again as he finished speaking, to hide from her the shadow that flickered in his eyes.  As much as he wanted to believe that his own words were irrefutable, there was a small part of him, an almost infinitesimal part that denied what he’d said, knowing that it wasn’t completely true. Such an admission was unworthy of him, however, so he brushed it away, like an irritating grain of sand that scraped against his conscience.

Midori’s mouth snapped shut at the jeering sound of Murakumo’s voice, and she began to quickly button her shirt with shaking fingers.  She had to get away, she thought, before she broke down.  His threats were easy to deal with, but this heartlessness was too much for her right now.  Moving swiftly, she crossed  over to the front door and hastily slid her feet into her shoes, wanting desperately to get away.  Midori put her hand on the doorknob to turn it, but was stopped when Murakumo’s hand came down on top of hers

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” he asked softly, staring coldly down at her stony profile.

Midori struggled to stop the tears from pooling in her eyes as she kept her eyes trained straight in front of her. Taking a deep breath, she replied in a voice as steady as she could make it, “To buy you some clothes, your Highness.  I want you out of here, so you can go find someone else to irritate besides me!”

He moved his hand away but not before saying in an almost bored way, “If you betray me, I’ll kill you.”

Midori looked at him then, her brown eyes almost black with emotion, “Then who will fix your mitama?” she challenged softly.  “Kill me, and it will die, Murakumo.”

The truth of her words infuriated him, as did the fact that she knew he would not attempt to kill her as long as she proved useful to him.  But she had pushed Murakumo far enough today, and he wanted to make sure she knew who had the upper hand.  So he wrapped his fingers around her arm in a cruel grip and leaned forward to hiss a warning at her. 

“Don’t tempt me, Midori, or you might find out just how much I am willing to sacrifice to rid myself of one more pathetically imperfect human!”

Hating him in that moment, and without realizing what she was doing, Midori reached up and slapped him hard across the face.  Murakumo reared back, releasing her, a look of utter disbelief on his face.  But his look of amazement was outmatched by that of her own, and Midori put her fists to her mouth, immediately contrite as she watched angry, red fingerprints appear against the paleness of his cheek.

Murakumo’s expression went blank as he just stood there, staring at her, his mind refusing to comprehend what had just happened.

“Oh my god,” Midori moaned, her fingers pressed tightly against her lips  “I’m sorry!  I didn’t meant to –“

But Murakumo wasn’t listening as he grappled with his thoughts.

Why in the hell wasn’t she afraid of him? he demanded silently. 

He could snap her neck like a twig; run her through with his sword, and yet her outrageous behavior continued.  He couldn’t believe that she had dared to slap him; and even worse, he couldn’t believe he had let her get away with it.  He continued to stare down at her, his grey eyes looking straight through her as he struggled to understand.

She was nothing but a vile human, he reflected faintly, a species that he wanted only to destroy, and he was the proud leader of the Aragami.  So why in the hell didn’t he just kill her and be done with it? He clenched his fist at his side, willing himself to draw his blade and do it, but looking into her soft brown eyes, he couldn’t.

“Baagghh!” he growled in disgust gritting his teeth and turning away. 

Murakumo left her standing mutely next to the front door while he stalked back to his bedroom and slammed the door behind him.   Midori stood motionless for a few moments after he’d gone, staring blankly at his closed door, and she struggled not to think too much about what had just happened.

Slowly she turned and opened the door.  This would be the perfect opportunity to go for help, but even as the thought occurred to her, she pushed it aside.  She knew she should be more than ready to confide in someone after all that had happened this morning, but she wasn’t.  She had given Murakumo the perfect opportunity to strike out at her when she had hit him.  And yet he hadn’t touched her.  Why?  Was the reason because of what she hoped?  That there was some part of him that wasn’t cold and unemotional?  Or was it just because she had been right when she’d said that he needed her to keep supplying the solution that would heal his mitama?  She wanted to know, she needed to know, she thought desperately, remembering how she had felt when he kissed her.  And so for just a little while longer, she would keep his presence a secret.  She just prayed that she wouldn’t come to regret letting her heart make such and important decision.

 

Momiji was trapped in an endless world, dreaming of night. 

She was running through the darkness, looking over her shoulder, fear coursing through her body as she tried to stay ahead, but she could feel it closing in, narrowing the gap that separated them with every step.  Momiji turned back to look ahead and safety loomed before her in the form of the Cave of Restoration. 

She was back at the iwatto, and Tamanasu was close behind.  But how could that be?  Her mind questioned the reality around her and Momiji became disoriented.  Hadn’t she seen Tamanasu fall under Kusanagi’s blade, watched as a horrible black mist hung in the air, a thousand screams released upon his death?

But he wasn’t dead, a little voice argued, and Momiji became firmly ensnared within the woven deceptions of her subconscious, the power of her dreams bending her mind into accepting a world of phantoms as reality.  So she pushed aside her rational mind and began to accept this intangible world as the feeling of Tamanasu’s presence became overwhelming and unmistakable, as well as the presence of her sister. 

Kaede.

Momiji’s heart skipped a beat.

Her sister was still alive! 

Joy leapt within her as Momiji’s feet pounded along the path, carrying her closer and closer to entrance of the iwatto.  Perhaps this time, she could make a difference, came the eager thought, as she sprinted towards the mouth of the iwatto.  This time she would warn Kaede.

She plunged into the entrance and began almost immediately to speak.

“Kaede!” she cried, “we must hurry!  If we –“ Momiji’s voice suddenly died out and she came skidding to a halt, a funny pain in the middle of her chest at the scene before her.

Kusanagi was standing with his back to her, his arms tightly encircling Kaede and Momiji’s words echoed loudly around the walls of the cavern, but neither Kaede nor Kusanagi seemed to hear her.

“I have wanted you for so long,” she could hear Kusanagi say, his hand caressing Kaede’s hair, pushing it away from her cheek, “and you have returned to me.”

“It was fate that brought me back to you,” Kaede murmured and Momiji watched, horrified as their embrace became something more. 

Not wanting to watch, Momiji averted her eyes but she was unable to block the sounds of passion coming from the two lovers and her heart froze inside her.  She had to get away, she thought desperately and she started to slowly back away, resisting the urge to run.  She had only taken several steps when she collided with something hard and solid. 

Startled, Momiji whirled around and saw only a shadowed image of herself cast in stone, a look of infinite sadness carved into granite.  Mouth agape, she watched the lifeless statue slowly topple backwards.  Without a sound, it crashed to the ground and shattered; only the face of sorrow remained intact. 

Momiji stepped closer to it and watched as the lifeless eyes of the statue shifted in her direction.  They took on a malevolent gleam, as an evil smile twisted the stone face.  With a gasp, Momiji turned away, back towards Kaede and Kusanagi, but they were gone now, and Hikaru was there with Noa, holding her hand out to Momiji, begging for her to help her.

“Please, Momiji,” she entreated, and Momiji went down on her knees beside her.

“Hikaru,” Momiji began to speak to her, but the world around her shifted once again, and Hikaru became Kaede.

“Please, Momiji,” Kaede now begged her,  “you must save my son! Protect him from the blade!”

“The blade?” Momiji murmured, puzzled, taking the infant, “I don’t understand – “

“The blade,” Kaede gasped, her body fading away as her final words hung in the air, “Kusanagi no Tsurugi – you must – protect the child from – his father –“

Momiji gasped and looked down at the infant, his dark hair and cat-like eyes reminding her of Kusanagi.  She clambered numbly to her feet and heard a loud howling begin to rise from behind her.  It was Kusanagi.

“No!” he screamed, “Kaede! Come back!”  His head was thrown back and his hands were fisted at his side as he let the sound of his pain echo around the iwatto.  Then he suddenly opened his eyes and focused them towards Momiji, an odd heat glowing in their depths.  “You,” he said softly, his voice filled with loathing as he slowly advanced towards Momiji, “this is your fault!”

Momiji felt a chill of fright creep up her spine at the look on his face, and she backed away as Kusanagi continued to advance forward, the fervent light of hatred in his eyes growing.  “You’re the one that took my Kaede!” he growled rabidly. 

He wasn’t looking at her, Momiji realized, but at Noa. 

His eyes were pinned unwaveringly to the child and he screamed, “You took her, and now you’re going to pay!”

With a crazed look he unsheathed his blade, seemingly deaf to Momiji’s screams for him to stop.  And as he raised his arm to strike, his body shifted, and Momiji’s voice froze in her throat. His skin had become mottled, stretching tightly across his now emaciated body, and his face became skull-like.  His cat-like eyes changed to red with black slits and he became Tamanasu, his gaze shifting from the child back to Momiji and he opened his mouth to speak to her.

“Our covenant is the domination of humans and Aragami, our promise, the fulfillment of evolution through human and Aragami blood.  Through evolution we will attain perfection and finally break free from the shackles of the Under World to become immortal and invincible!”  Then Tamanasu reached for the child and Momiji was helpless to stop him.  He held the wailing infant by his head and cried triumphantly, “With the power of this child, our awakening will begin!”

Momiji watched in horror as Tamanasu’s mitama began to glow and the life was drained from the child. 

Tears streaming down her face she stumbled forward, her hand outstretched, screaming, “No! No! Stop!!” 

But with every step she took, Tamanasu seemed to move farther and farther away from her, and soon she couldn’t see him any more.  Unwilling to give up, she kept moving forward, but the iwatto began to grow dimmer and dimmer until Momiji was standing in darkness with only the sound of Tamanasu’s laughter echoing around her, taunting her.

“You have failed, Kushinada! Just as before!” came his gloating triumph from the blackness, and Momiji put her hands to her ears to block out the sound.  “You have failed and now we’re free!”

“NO!” Momiji screamed at the darkness, “I won’t let you win!  I WON”T!”

With a start, Momiji opened her green eyes; feeling disoriented, she found herself staring into Kusanagi’s cat-like eyes poised just inches from her own.