DMAW Chapter 103: Oh Mother (Patreon)

Even as her storm churned above, blanketing the shattered world in rain and thunder, even as she stood towering in the full scaled regalia of Royalty amongst Wyrmkind, even as she basked in the savage pleasure of having decimated her rival and successfully marked her territory… Tiamat stilled so perfectly that even her breath froze.

Her eyes remained fixed on the small, demure figure seated upon a flat rock.

Briefly, they flickered above her, to the paper umbrella that rested against one slender shoulder, its delicate frame untouched by winds that raged about and crushed mountains to pebbles.

But her gaze was quickly drawn back beneath its shade, where haunting emerald eyes narrowed into serpentine slits as the woman tilted her head, spilling long locks of ebony over silk-clad shoulders. And the light around those small shoulders dimmed, pulled into the blackness of her hair.

Red-painted lips curved into an amused smile, and Tiamat shuddered.

“What’s the matter, dear?” The dark, sensuous words slithered through the torrential rain, reaching her as clearly as if they had been whispered against her ear. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

Her left claw unconsciously twitched, and the stone beneath her talons broke with a sharp crack. But despite the sudden noise, Tiamat still kept her gaze steady. And then, slowly, she lowered her head until her chin was parallel to the ground and folded her wings against her flanks.

She was old, older than old, even. She was already ancient before Humanity had even conceived of letters and writing. She had walked the breadth of the Earth before pantheons formed, when magic still ran wild in the world and Time was a more malleable thing. She was, unquestionably, the Undying Storm – the mightiest of the Dragon Kings.

And yet…

“It has indeed been a long time… Ophis.”

She spoke slowly, each syllable carrying a hint of care and caution she never bothered with when addressing any other entity in her life. Not even those louts Sirzechs and Ajuka, who had grown into horrors beyond even her wildest dreams.

Those emerald eyes then sparkled, and the Divine Dragon’s smile became almost indulgent, yet faintly chiding.

“It’s Kikyo now, my dear.”

Tiamat hesitated for a moment, tasting the name in her mind. Yes, she recalled now; her beloved had told her of his previous encounters with the Infinite Ouroboros in this visage. “My apologies.”

“A different name for a different face,” Kikyo replied with that same indulgent smile, even as she turned the umbrella lightly between her fingers. “Speaking of faces, are you going to keep that one? As lovely as it is, it will make this conversation a slight bit tedious.”

She hesitated for a moment, but then gave a slight nod, agreeing with the elder dragon.

Electric blue light spread along her scales as she drew upon her core power, keeping her wings folded while her colossal form began to diminish. The ruined landscape rose around her, and within moments she stood upon the blackened stone in her human shape, the rain falling cold against her bare shoulders.

Her white hair quickly grew heavy with it, wet strands clinging to her neck and back, but she welcomed the familiar sensation. The storm upon her skin had always been a comfort, and she found herself attending to each cool drop as she steadied her breathing.

Anything to stay steady in the moment.

Kikyo then rose from the rock and approached through the downpour, carrying the umbrella that obscured her eyes but left the curve of her red lips all too visible.

As she walked, the wood of her sandals clicking against the wet rock, the rain parted around her. And the wind quieted as it bent away, the elements wholly avoiding the majesty of the Divine Dragon – like blades of grass lying flat beneath the weight of a heavy python twisting forward.

Small, dainty steps carried the immeasurable weight of the Void slowly across the broken ground, and soon enough, they were but an arm’s reach apart.

Tiamat was still the taller of the two, even in human form, but that small distinction offered little reassurance when her Primordial awareness reached beyond the silk and skin and painted lips before her. She could feel the infinite, twisting coils towering over her and even the firmament itself.

Slowly, the umbrella tilted, revealing the soft and haunting face as eyes nearly identical to her own peered up. Kikyo then reached up, and Tiamat closed her eyes as a pale hand cupped her cheek.

Warmth spread beneath the touch, drying her hair against her back. The chill of the rain left her skin, and yet she shuddered still as the cold left her spine. When she opened her eyes, the smile before her softened as the Void’s thumb brushed slowly across her cheek.

Tiamat took in a sudden breath, and a shiver ran across her arms as her skin prickled with something deeply… instinctual.

Her Primordial aspects shook, and for one uneasy moment she braced herself against the sensation – and she knew what it was immediately. The embracing cold of the Empty from which all Laws and Precepts were birthed. Ophis – the cosmic womb from which possibility was sundered into reality.

Tiamat’s lips parted in a quiet breath as that primeval sense of belonging settled through her with absolute certainty.

Those serpentine eyes wandered over her face with a certain wistfulness, yet neither of the two moved. Tiamat stood there perfectly still, caught in the mesmerizing gaze of those emerald eyes that seemed to drink in her face, as if committing every line and contour to memory.

“Truly a crown jewel amongst my children,” Kikyo murmured.

Several long moments passed as she stood beneath the touch of the Infinite Ouroboros, and she soon realized that the storm had changed.

Tiamat glanced upward. The rain had reversed its course, rising toward the sky in countless clear drops – but they found no purchase in the waiting clouds. Nay, instead, an ocean that was clear yet also partly grey hung in the sky, blanketing the world in a cocoon of heavy water.

Tiamat then drew a slow breath through her nose, allowing it to fill her lungs before she lowered her gaze and finally asked, “Why are you here… mother?”

Kikyo’s eyes lifted to meet hers, and a low purr of amusement escaped those red lips.

“An odd word to hear from your tongue, Primordial of Motherhood.”

“But no less true,” Tiamat replied after a moment. “All possibility arises from within the Empty Void.”

Kikyo regarded her quietly, offering neither words nor even a semblance of emotion, and Tiamat found herself waiting with a level of patience she so very rarely afforded to others. But the hand upon her cheek merely lifted, brushing a heavy lock of white hair away from her brow, and amusement returned to the pale face before her.

“All this time, and you still disdain adorning yourself with garments. You truly are a stubborn creature.”

Tiamat frowned, briefly glancing down at herself before returning her gaze to Kikyo. “There is no point; there never has been. Whether it be skin or scales, I bare both proudly and without shame.”

Kikyo tilted her head, giving her a knowing look that did little to improve Tiamat’s expression.

“But what then of enhancing what is already there? Of sunlight dappling the ocean to make it shine all the more?”

A flicker of annoyance cut through her mind; Divine Dragon or not, she had never taken kindly to anyone who dared suggest that her beauty needed something… more. Instinctively, she lifted her chin as she opened her mouth to explain precisely why.

A pale finger settled lightly against her lips.

“Yes, yes, I know,” Kikyo said, her eyes bright with fondness. “Your majesty is complete.”

Tiamat’s brows drew together, but before she could decide whether the remark deserved an answer, laughter sounded from somewhere far beyond the small figure before her. It rolled through the black coils behind the stars, dark and intimate, and she felt its passage through the world even as the red lips curved warmly.

“So stubborn and vain, as are all my children.”

Kikyo’s gaze then wandered down her form, and Tiamat felt the sudden brush of silk against her shoulders. She glanced down with a frown, finding herself clothed in a dark blue kimono embroidered with silver, its sleeves falling loosely about her wrists while the finest silk she had ever touched settled against her skin.

Her lips parted, an objection already forming, but she paused as a gentle warmth spread beneath the fabric. It fitted her comfortably, accommodating her curves without binding them, and when she shifted her shoulders, the silk moved so easily with her that she could hardly find fault with it.

Nonetheless, she had not agreed to be dressed.

Tiamat looked up, intending to make that distinction clear, only to find that Kikyo had already turned her attention toward the horizon. Beyond them, the shattered mountains lay beneath the suspended ocean, their broken slopes disappearing into vast stretches of blackened earth. Tiamat followed her gaze across the devastation, recognizing the long trench where she had dragged the witch through its own failing sorcery.

“Quite the mess you made.”

She wrinkled her nose, drawing one sleeve back from her hand as she regarded the ruined landscape. “It was necessary to put the little witch in her place.”

Kikyo laughed demurely, lifting her sleeve to cover her lips, though the amusement remained plain in those emerald eyes.

“Yes, a Demon of Old as a court mage. He really does have a most adventurous taste in women.”

Tiamat’s gaze immediately returned to her.

Her beloved had spoken of his encounters with the Infinite Ouroboros, but there was something about the easy familiarity of that remark that drew her brows together. How closely had Ophis been watching him? And how much did she know of what passed within his home?

Almost instinctively, Tiamat reached through their bond, seeking the familiar warmth of his presence. She would have welcomed even a distracted acknowledgment, some small touch of his amusement as he attended to whatever work still occupied him.

But she found only darkness.

Her fingers curled within the soft folds of her sleeve as she reached again, following the connection that should have carried her toward his soul. The bond remained; she could feel it, could trace its familiar course, but the farther she followed it, the deeper that endless blackness became. There was no answering warmth, no glimpse of his thoughts, and her mouth tightened as she turned a pointed glare upon the figure beside her.

Kikyo met it with an indulgent look.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” she chided. “Some things are best left between women.”

A sharp objection rose within Tiamat, and for a moment she held the other’s gaze, allowing her displeasure to show. Whatever the Infinite Ouroboros wished to discuss, she did not appreciate being denied her beloved’s presence – particularly when she had only reached for him after Kikyo herself had brought him into their conversation.

But the pale figure merely stepped closer, slipping an arm through hers and linking them at the elbow with an ease that left Tiamat standing stiffly beside her. Silk brushed against silk, and a slender hand settled upon her forearm with a close familiarity.

“Come,” Kikyo said, smiling up at her. “We are long overdue for a conversation.”

=======

Gremory’s shriek tore through her Inner Sanctum, sending the blood beneath her surging against the mountain of corpses as she ripped them apart between her hands.

“Mercy!?”

The word left her in a strangled hiss, and her fingers closed through flesh and bone while she stared into the darkness before her. She could still see those sapphire eyes, still hear the hideous amusement in that ancient beast’s voice as it looked down upon her.

Remember the mercy of this Tiamat.

Her lips peeled back, stretching beyond the limits of her face as she hurled the broken remains away. Mercy? The ancient harlot dared speak to her of mercy? It dared pin her down, tear through her flesh, and stand there so very pleased with itself, as though Gremory should have thanked it for allowing her to crawl away?

She would tear those eyes from its skull! She would force them into its mouth and seal its jaws until –

The memory of an enormous claw descending broke through the thought, and Gremory screamed again.

Crimson sorcery erupted beneath her feet, throwing thousands of corpses into the blackness overhead, but her hands were already buried in the mound beside her. She wrenched bones loose from withered flesh and tore at them, her fingers lengthening as the flesh of her arms split beneath the pressure of her own power.

That beast had held her down, had mocked her, had derided her.

And her sorcery had –

“No!”

The darkness shook around her, and she drove both hands into the dead beneath her while her hair writhed in a scarlet tangle about her face. She was Gremory! The Crimson Scourge! Entire civilizations had begged beneath her shadow, kings had offered their children to appease her, and that witless animal thought it could put its claws upon her and –

And their master had watched it happen.

Gremory’s head jerked up, her eyes widening as she remembered his smile. That cheeky wave, that easy amusement as the dragon carried her away, as though she were some – some child to occupy his precious consort for an afternoon.

She had preserved his battlefield. She had lent him her sorcery, had answered when he called, had taken his enemies into her keeping and given him a realm in which to destroy them. He had chosen her, had placed his own piece within her existence, and then he had sat there and waved!

Her fingers tore free of the mound, dragging a corpse upward before she hurled it into another. The impact scattered bodies across the blood, and Gremory followed it with a blast of power that reduced the falling remains to drifting ash.

Let him laugh with the ancient beast! Let him hold it, kiss it, tell it how splendidly it had entertained him! She would find something that made that beautiful face twist, something that stripped the arrogance from those eyes and left the beast choking upon its own misery.

There were curses it had never encountered, workings that required more than the few moments its incessant attacks had afforded her. Given time, given the proper preparation, she would so readily see that beautiful visage reduced to the most hideous of faces!

And then! And then would her master look at it? Would he spare a single glance at the vile wretch then? That – that awful, arrogant, conceited failure of a mother! Both of Gremory’s hands went to the sides of her head, her fingers twisting in her hair as she let out a scream that shook the dimension.

The Primordial of Motherhood! Hah! Tiamat’s legends were rife with dead children, with treachery and deceit by her own brood! What right had she to speak of being some majestic mother when, even now, the Great King schemed in the dark – a cowardly beast no better than his mother!

She was a true mother! Her line! Her blood! The House of Gremory had seen to the demise of the Old Lords and the reconstruction of the Empire. It was her Sirzechs who had done so. It was her Sirzechs who had brought the Lord of Wrath into the fold of the Underworld, lifted him from the wretches of Humanity into a true Demon King!

Her master was intrinsically tied to her House!

She let out another bloodcurdling scream as her hands pulled at her own hair and she remembered the lightning burning through her magic; blood rose in towering columns around her.

She would not give that animal another opportunity!

No more claws! No more being dragged through the dirt while the creature laughed with its damnably arrogant gaze! She would reach it where its strength meant nothing, would make it suffer without ever allowing those enormous jaws to –

Its children.

Gremory went rigid, her breath rasping between teeth that had grown crooked within her mouth. Some of them must still live. Somewhere, hidden amongst the worlds, there had to be something that despicable creature loved.

She would find it. She would find them. She would hunt down every last blood descendant outside of her own House, and the harlot could then gather their remains from the doorstep of their master’s fortress. Let it discover how little its majesty mattered when there was nothing left to protect, let it –

Something cold gripped the back of her neck… painfully.

Her breath hitched sharply, and the madness in her eyes receded just a touch as she felt the leash in her soul tug. She stood with her arms hanging at her sides while the blood she had raised crashed down around her. For one furious instant, she resisted the summons, her thoughts still fixed upon sapphire scales and the flesh she would leave scattered beneath them.

But the command pulled her away, and she gathered herself into a proper shape as her Sanctum vanished.

And she found her master was drinking coffee.

Gremory stood within the office with his call still pulling at her existence, her hands clenched beneath the folds of her sleeves, and watched him turn a page. He sat comfortably upon a sofa, one arm resting against its side while he held a mug in his other hand, and nothing in his expression suggested that her arrival warranted the slightest interruption.

Briefly, her gaze went to the opposite wall, the same one that the she-dragon had torn asunder only hours ago.

Gremory crossed the room, her skirts whispering over the floor as she approached the side of the sofa. Her eyes briefly lingered upon the papers before she lowered herself to her knees, arranging the fabric of her dress with careful courtesy, even as her rage still simmered beneath the surface.

“Did you summon me, my master?”

But he did not deign to answer; instead, he turned another page of whatever folder he was reading.

Her teeth pressed together, and her fury erupted at the forefront of her mind. Was he playing games with her? Was he willfully being so dismissive and trying her patience? Had she not endured enough because of his thunderous fossil? After everything she had done for him… was he truly set on putting her through this paltry game for lesser nobles?

Her lips parted, but despite her anger, she closed them before any words could escape.

For all her murderous rage, she was still well aware of what sat before her. Familiarity had afforded her certain indulgences, and she had enjoyed discovering how far those indulgences might extend, but that did not change the fact that this was a Demon Lord in full. She could not afford to tempt his ire as she had the Primordial’s.

With an immense exercise of will and focus, Gremory pushed down her vexation and lowered her gaze to the floor.

Minutes passed, measured by the rustle of paper and the occasional quiet sound of her master drinking. Once, he set the mug upon the nearby table, and she lifted her eyes in anticipation, only to watch him reach for another document.

Her fingers tightened within her lap.

Again, the humiliation and indignation burned fiercely, and she could feel all of her Demonic instincts threatening to scream. And it was only the much greater fear she held of him that kept her silent. So she stared at the floor until its polished surface blurred beneath the darkness gathering in her eyes.

But suddenly, the Dark Lord broke the quiet.

“Did you enjoy the hurt I arranged for you?”

Gremory’s eyes went wide as a sudden cold passed through her.

Her mouth opened, but all that came out was a small, choking sound, barely audible. She swallowed and tried again, only to find herself caught upon the question.

If she agreed, if she said yes… would he arrange for her to be made the plaything of the Dragon King once more?

And again, the memory of sapphire eyes laughing in contempt sharply ripped through her mind and summoned a fresh bout of resentment fueled by humiliation. But… if she refused – if she told him truthfully what she thought about his “beloved” Tiamat – what would prevent him from doing something far worse? The memory of Hell’s gates and the threat he had made against that Leviathan wench were still fresh in her mind.

She, better than most, knew there were some fates far, far worse than death. And, immortal though she was, she was not tempted to see what horrors the Warden of Hell himself might dredge up if he decided to truly hurt her.

Gremory’s eyes shifted toward the hand resting beside the papers.

Her voice was still caught, the very fear of his presence pressing against her throat like a black blade, ready to cut her apart at a moment’s notice.

Bitterness churned black inside her.

“I…” She paused, carefully drawing breath before continuing. “I have been nothing but loyal.”

The papers ceased to move, and suddenly something dark filled the room – an overwhelming, crushing power that threatened to consume her and all that she was.

Gremory kept her gaze lowered as she swallowed thickly, but the weight of his presence settled upon her shoulders.

Her knees pressed harder against the floor, so much so that she felt as if they would burst under the sheer weight of his Demonic pressure. She clenched her teeth, trying to hold herself upright while the mythical gravity spread through her body and reached into the darkness beyond it, bearing down upon the greater portion of her existence within her Sanctum.

And then a hand entered her vision.

His long fingers closed around her chin, lifting her face with a firmness that allowed no hesitation, and Gremory found herself looking into crimson eyes.

The expression she knew was gone. There was no easy smile to encourage her, no familiar irritation that she might have turned into an invitation for salacious flirtations. The Dark Lord regarded her with a fury so cold and assured that it completely stole her breath away.

“I don’t want your loyalty,” Satan said darkly. “I want your submission.”

A lance of fear pierced her heart, and all the anger and hatred she had carried ebbed away… into him.

The hatred, the humiliation, every vicious thought she had directed toward the dragon and every bitter accusation she had swallowed before her master – all of it flowed into the black hole of rage that was her master. As cold dread settled into her, she realized that every ounce of rage and humiliation that Tiamat had planted was being harvested by the Sin of Wrath – he was gorging himself on her ire and suffering.

Had they planned this?

Had the fell beast known that it was provoking her, filling her with so much hate and fire so that she could be served to their master’s dark appetite?

She tried to search his expression for some indication, but the crimson gaze remained fixed upon her, and she could no longer bear to wonder what else he might take from the thoughts passing through her mind.

“I – I…”

Her voice failed, and she lowered her eyes as far as his grip permitted.

Consumed by terror, she could scarcely form thoughts under his dark gaze, even as his power wound around her essence and tightened the chains of her slavery. She knew this feeling… it was like the Satan of Old, the previous master of Infernity.

But this was worse… so much worse.

Back then, there had been no Bishop piece anchored within her demonic essence, pulling at her from all angles. She had known from the beginning what her choice meant, but she had never imagined she would be so utterly at his mercy.

Mercy: there was that damnable word again. She hated that word more than most. What mercy had the dragon shown her? What mercy was there in being made to kneel and thank another for staying their hand? There was no such thing as mercy… just the whims and wants of those more powerful.

“I am your Bishop,” she managed, her voice briefly faltering. “I have a rightful place by your side… my lord.”

Satan’s thumb then traced the line of her chin and slowly moved toward her mouth, brushing her lips.

“Place?” he asked, his voice filled with velvet danger. “And what place is that?”

Gremory froze, even as the beating of her heart nearly failed.

She had wanted to be wanted. To be consulted, indulged, permitted closer while others watched and understood what his favor meant. His power, his nigh-limitless oceans of Demonic power – she wanted to bathe in it, to be immersed in it. She wanted to be immersed in him, to revel in his splendor and know the touch of a–

What place did she have? What did it mean to be his Bishop? A servant? A slave? A disposable tool? Did she not warrant any consideration in his thoughts?

Then, rather forcefully, his thumb pushed past her lips and invaded her mouth. Gremory let out a small cry as her eyes widened, but in the next moment, she shuddered and almost habitually began sucking. But his thumb pressed down on the soft flesh beneath her tongue, and she let out a pained cry; clearly, he wanted no ministrations from her.

Nonetheless, her eyes fell half-lidded, and under the weight of his power and the threat of his ire, she felt the heat of arousal spread through her.

“Your place is whatever I decide. Do you understand?”

“Yes… my lord.” She nearly groaned around his thumb.

His eyes held hers for another moment, and he pulled firmly, his thumb still hooked in her mouth. Gremory was forced forward until she fell against the side of the sofa, her face but inches from his own shadowed visage.

He pushed down on her tongue, holding it in place, and she felt another flood of arousal deep within herself. Lucifer… he was forcefully owning her.

“You will not retaliate against Tiamat. You will not so much as glare in her direction. You are my Bishop, and I will never allow you to be anything else. If I want you happy, you will be happy. If I want you hurt, you will be hurt. Understood?”

She shivered in delight, the cruelty in his tone forcing a haze through her mind. And all she could think was that she was his, she was his, she was his, the words repeating until she could hold no other thought.

“Yes, my Lord Satan,” she said fervently.

For a moment, he left her beneath the full weight of his attention. Then he pulled his thumb out of her mouth, and Gremory’s tongue briefly followed as she attempted to keep the contact a microsecond longer. But his hand settled upon the crown of her head, and Gremory held perfectly still as his fingers passed once over her hair.

“Good girl.”

“Thank you,” she murmured.

The pressure eased, and she remained kneeling beside the sofa while her master reached for his papers.

That was right… how could she forget? This was what it meant to have a master. These were not the games of old… these were not the Sins of the first generation, paranoid amid the endless, byzantine complexities of Demonic schemes. These new Sins were firmly entrenched in power that surpassed their predecessors’, and they had no reservations about wielding it with impunity against all those who dared stand in their way. If she wanted to fulfill her ambitions, she had to do so entirely under Satan’s shadow.

Yes… that was her place, under Satan.

Gremory’s lips curved in dangerous desire.

=======

Yasaka stopped midway up the mountain, her gaze fixed upon the small cave before her. Its entrance stood scarcely higher than her head, but the Yin chakra spilling from within was powerful enough to make the fur along her tails bristle, and as she lowered her eyes, she watched shadows coil across the surrounding rocks like smoke.

The entire mountain reeked of lunar energy.

Her fingers tightened, the nails biting into her palms as she looked back toward the far distant glow of Kyoto. Somewhere beyond those ridges lay her palace, her soldiers, the wards she had spent centuries reinforcing… and the bedroom where she had found a letter floating in the air.

She had scarcely returned from banishing Akihiko’s illusions before she discovered it.

The words remained fixed in her mind, accompanied by the awful stillness that had settled through her when her supernatural senses desperately searched her palace and city for her daughter. Kunou was gone. And unless Yasaka came alone, before sunrise, without alerting anyone, she would never see her daughter again.

Yasaka drew a sharp breath and turned back toward the cave, her jaw tightening until it hurt.

Damn Akihiko! Damn him to the deepest pits of Hell! He had stood before her claiming that he wished to protect them, had dared speak of old friendships while her daughter…

Fury welled up inside of her and Yasaka vowed that she would skin his worthless hide and lay it in the busiest part of the city, so that every person in the city could walk all over what was left of him! She would have his bones fashioned into a public latrine!

But first, she had to find Kunou. She had to rescue her daughter.

With a furious, unsteady breath, Yasaka stepped beneath the low stone ceiling.

Darkness closed around her, only to quickly retreat as a soft golden radiance rose from her skin. Strange moss covered the walls, its pale tendrils hanging between clusters of swollen fungi, and poisonous millipedes scattered across the damp stone as her light reached them. She watched them disappear into narrow fissures before continuing, her ears straining for anything beyond the sound of her own footsteps.

Her stomach tightened as, again, her thoughts drifted toward her baby girl and what terror she was probably feeling in the moment. But she quickly steeled herself; she had to focus on the moment, focus on getting her back and keeping her safe.

The ambient energy changed as she passed deeper beneath the mountain, and her nose wrinkled as she sensed something dark and foul.

Death Qi.

Yasaka’s expression became troubled as she felt the unmistakable stench of the dead permeating the ambient energies of the cave. A small shiver passed through her; where on Earth was Akihiko bringing her? What had he brought her daughter into?

She sent a small prayer to Amaterasu-sama, but she wondered if her Lady could even hear her at the moment, consumed as she was with the Immortal War raging beyond the confines of Time.

She also felt a pang for Ichigo.

The desire was so fierce that she nearly found herself reaching for her phone. He would come; she knew with absolute certainty that he would come without hesitation, and yet she could not risk Akihiko discovering the call before Ichigo reached them. If he fled with Kunou, if he carried her somewhere beyond the reach of either of them, or worse… if he hurt her…

A bitter, humorless breath escaped her. All her power, all her titles, and she could not keep her own daughter safe within her own home. The self-loathing and sense of failure came in waves.

The passage of the cave then widened as she stepped through into pale light, opening into a grotto illuminated by the firmament of the Night and the stroke of a near-full Moon. And then her eyes went to the opposite end of the grotto, where the light of the Night fell upon a small pond with perfectly still, dark water. And at the pond’s center stood a small, worn-down, broken shrine. Her eyes then followed the flat stones that formed a path across the water, and they widened almost hysterically as they landed upon the broken doors of the shrine.

And right in front of those doors, curled upon the cold ground with her golden tails lying motionless behind her, was her daughter.

“Kunou!”

Yasaka lunged forward, already reaching for the small rise and fall of her daughter’s chest with her senses; but suddenly, a dark haze lashed across the path.

She threw herself back as it struck the stone where she had been flying. The surface blackened beneath the impact, and Yasaka’s hand rose instinctively, golden fire gathering between her fingers as something enormous stepped from behind the shrine.

And white robes fluttered as a disgustingly familiar face came into view.

Ibaraki-dōji gave her a nasty smile.

“You!” Her voice rang through the grotto as she stared at the ancient Oni. “Impossible! I killed you!”

“Not well enough, I’m afraid.” His laughter rolled through the grotto, echoing as it bounced off of the stone. “I have more than a trick or two up my sleeves when it comes to cheating death. How else would I have lived this long?”

Yasaka’s lips curled back as Tenkō Hōgai appeared in her hand, its blade burning bright enough to cast his shadow against the cavern wall.

“A mistake I shall rectify at once!”

She shifted her stance, placing the line of her strike clear of Kunou, but before she could move, a familiar voice called from beside the shrine.

“Hime.”

Her sword stopped, and Akihiko materialized sitting beside her daughter, half concealed beneath the wooden structure’s shadow. As Yasaka turned toward him, he placed one hand upon Kunou’s head.

“Please stop.”

Every muscle in her body tightened and she felt a searing outrage burn inside of her as that worm dared to touch her daughter.

“You filth!” The words tore from her, and she saw him flinch. “You dare use my own daughter’s life to threaten me?”

“No!” His hand remained upon Kunou’s hair as he shook his head emphatically. “I’m not threatening you! I’m doing my best to bring you and our daughter away from this war! Away from all this madness!”

“By kidnapping her? By holding her hostage and blackmailing me?”

“That’s not–!” His face twisted with frustration. “I’m trying to help! But you can’t see that because the damn Sun and her Hellspawn pet have you under their spell!”

Yasaka’s power surged, and the stone beneath her feet softened, glowing beneath the hem of her robes. She forced the heat to remain around her, keeping the golden radiance from reaching the small body lying beyond the pond.

She could see Kunou’s breathing, could follow each shallow movement of her daughter’s chest, but the child did not stir even as their voices echoed through the cavern.

“I will bring my daughter home with me,” Yasaka said, her voice trembling with unbridled rage. “And I will send you to the afterlife myself, you traitorous cur!”

“Ironic choice of words, pampered little fox.”

She cast Ibaraki-dōji a baleful glance, but movement beside Kunou immediately drew her attention back.

Akihiko chose then to rise and step into her light, and for a moment, Yasaka could only stare.

His face was gaunt, the cheeks drawn tightly against the bones beneath them, and the pale skin held none of the warmth she remembered. His eyes lay sunken within their sockets, while the hair falling around his face had lost its golden sheen. Even his six tails looked faded, their fur dulled almost to grey.

He had not looked like this in her garden… but that had been an illusion.

Yasaka drew chakra into her eyes, and the sight beneath his flesh made her grip tighten upon her sword.

Like twisting knots, Death Qi ran through him.

It filled the places where living energy should have moved, flooding the limbs upon which he stood and threading through a body that seemed scarcely capable of supporting itself. And deeper still, woven through his very existence, she sensed something that made her very soul recoil.

Something vast and dark, horribly ill-suited to the creature attempting to contain it.

“You…” she whispered in shock and horror. “What on Earth have you done to yourself?”

“I-it’s nothing, Hime.” Akihiko glanced down at himself before looking back at her, his mouth struggling toward a reassuring smile. “Just a temporary setback. A small price to pay for protecting you and Kunou.”

“A small price, he says!” Ibaraki-dōji threw back his head and laughed. “How lovely! Come, tell the woman you claim to love the truth. Show her the reality you wish to force upon her.”

“Shut up!” Akihiko’s face twisted as he turned toward the Oni. “Don’t interfere in our family matters!”

Yasaka looked at her once-upon-a-time friend in disgust – he looked like an abomination. A mockery of something that belonged to neither the living nor the dead. She followed the corruption moving through him, observing the dreadful effort with which his body struggled to stay alive.

How long had he been like this? And, more importantly, how long had Kunou been lying within reach of this aberration?

“A lesser Yōkai, one of little ability,” Ibaraki-dōji then said as he turned a nasty smile in her direction, “and he dared take upon himself the power of one of the Divine Pair. His bones creak! His sinews tear! The Void Rot has taken hold of him.”

“I said shut up!”

Akihiko looked back at her, mortification plain upon his face, but Yasaka had already begun putting things together as her gaze flitted to the rear of the grotto. The still water rooted with decay, the darkness gathered behind the shrine, so dense that even her light seemed to lose its way within it…

“You can see it, can you not, Kyūbi?” the Oni asked. “How his flesh is dying, filled with Death Qi? Why else do you think he has hidden himself here? Surely you recognize this decadent place?”

Yasaka’s lips pressed into a thin line, even as a snarl built in her chest. “A shrine of Izanami…”

Then her eyes returned to her unconscious child lying at the foot of the shrine, and the dread became something so fierce that the light around her flared.

“You brought Kunou to one of the old gates of Yomi?”

Akihiko recoiled, his hands lifting as though he might somehow quiet her with the gesture, while Ibaraki-dōji’s amusement deepened.

“Only by drawing upon the power of the dead can he keep his body moving. Only here can he keep the Void Rot from consuming him!”

“No!” Akihiko shouted. “I can fix this! It is temporary! Once Tsukiyomi – once Takamagahara has fallen, Ophis has promised that it will cure me!”

And at the mere mention of the Void’s name, the pond and its darkness rippled.

The moon and stars briefly flickered out of existence and a high-pitched whine briefly entered her ears. The very earth and stone seemed to shudder, and even Ibaraki-dōji’s smile fell away as he turned a hard, disapproving stare upon the lesser fox. But Akihiko stood breathing heavily, his hands still raised.

Yasaka could only look upon him with utter disgust.

“You have gone mad,” she whispered with contempt. “You have gone completely mad.”

“I haven’t!” His voice broke as he stepped toward the pond. “I’m doing this for you! We’ll be safe! Our family will be safe, from everyone, from everything! Then we can live our lives for the rest of forever in peace!”

He swallowed, his gaze moving desperately between her face and Kunou.

“We – we can even have another child. A sibling for Kunou. W-wouldn’t that be nice?”

Revulsion rose within her so sharply that she felt it like bile in her throat.

Yasaka raised Tenkō Hōgai, pointing its burning tip directly at his chest. “Ichigo is my husband, and I will only ever bear his children in the future. And as far as I am concerned, Kunou is his daughter.”

Akihiko’s expression collapsed and he looked as if he had been stricken.

“No, no, no.” He shook his head, first slowly, then with a frantic insistence that sent his dull hair falling across his eyes. “That’s the Demon’s magic talking. I’ll free you, Hime!”

“This is your last warning, Akihiko. Let Kunou go, and I will ensure you a painless death.” Her fingers tightened around the hilt. “Otherwise, I shall have my husband personally throw you into Hell.”

He licked his lips, looking at her with an expression of such wounded sorrow that she wanted to strike it from his face.

“I’m sorry, Yasaka,” he said softly. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you. But I promise you, I’ll free you and give you the best life possible.”

She searched his face once more, looking for some remaining trace of the friend she had known, the boy who had played beside her long before either of them truly understood the responsibilities awaiting her... well, not that he ever did understand. But whatever he saw when he looked at her, it was no longer the person standing before him.

No, Yasaka had come to accept that her old friend was dead – replaced by this thing warped by the powers of the Moon and the Void.

Yasaka raised her chin imperiously. “Then you have chosen death.”

Her holy power rose, gathering along the length of her sword as she fixed her senses upon Kunou’s position. She would sever the path between Akihiko and the child, drive the Oni away from the shrine, and take her daughter into her arms before either could reach her again.

Golden radiance flooded the cavern.

Above the opening, the night brightened into blue, and the air around Yasaka shimmered as she drew more of her strength into the blade. She shaped it carefully, every burning current held clear of the small body beside the shrine, and stepped forward –

Suddenly, her power ceased to answer, and the light vanished from her sword.

Yasaka stumbled, the sudden loss of the strength gathered around her leaving her breath caught within her chest. She immediately reached for her power again, but found the immense oceans of chakra and Holy Power inert… as if they had been locked away.

“W-what?” Her sword remained in her hand, but its fire was gone. The golden glow had left her skin, and the cavern stood cold and pale beneath the returning moonlight. She turned a furious gaze upon the two figures across the pond. “What have you done?”

“Itthiratana.”

A third voice came from behind the shrine.

Yasaka’s ears turned toward it, catching a soft, dragging sound beneath the echo of that single word. Something moved within the blackness, like rough scales brushing against stone, and a small light appeared where her own radiance had failed to penetrate.

A Holy Light.

She stared, her thoughts arrested by the shock because the holy energies within the waiting dark far, far exceeded her own. And she knew with complete certainty that she was utterly outclassed.

And then, before she could react, black clouds struck her from the side.

They wrapped around her arms before she could raise her sword, tightened across her waist, and wound through her tails in thick, constricting coils. Yasaka twisted against them, but the darkness dragged her limbs apart and held them fast as Tenkō Hōgai slipped from her fingers and dissolved back into her soul.

“Unhand me, you brute!”

Ibaraki-dōji merely huffed, one immense hand raised toward her. Then, across the pond, Akihiko stepped onto the water.

Yasaka strained against the bindings, reaching inward again and again while he approached. But her chakra remained there, vast and utterly still, refusing to answer even as she forced her Will against it.

“Akihiko.”

Her voice came out differently this time, and she hated how it sounded to her own ears. His expression softened as he reached into his robes, drawing forth a small stone that shone with silvery light.

“Don’t worry, Hime,” he said. “You’ll be free from their corruption soon. You’ll be back to the Yasaka you used to be.”

“Akihiko, stop!”

She pulled harder, feeling the clouds tighten around her wrists, and tried to bring her tails together beneath their bonds. Nothing yielded. The stone’s light spread across his gaunt face as he came to a halt before her, and the tenderness in his eyes looked so horribly misplaced that her stomach turned in revulsion.

“Akihiko! Don’t you dare!”

“Shh. Everything will be all right now.”

He lifted the moonstone and brought it close to her face.

Yasaka turned her head away instantly, but the dark coils rose around her shoulders and held her still. She could see Kunou beyond him, one small hand lying open beside her face, and she fixed her gaze upon it as she made one last, desperate effort to summon her power.

But the stone then touched her brow.

Silver light filled her vision, and the cavern disappeared beneath it. She fought to hold the image of her daughter, to desperately call upon the divine link between her and Amaterasu – but no matter what, all of her prodigious power refused to answer.

And as the darkness closed around her, one last thought broke through.

Ichigo!

=======

Tiamat walked silently beside Kikyo, keeping her attention upon the cool surface beneath her feet and the quiet echo of each step. Ripples spread from her soles, widening across water so perfectly still that she could follow their passage far beyond the point where any ordinary gaze would have lost them.

The shattered world from her battle with the little witch was gone.

In its place stretched an endless sea-green ocean that was perfectly flat, and far above was a static grey sky without even a hint of a breeze. Somewhere in the distance, the two met, but even her supernatural senses could discover nothing beyond that narrow joining of green and grey.

Her foot touched the water again, and another soft sound accompanied the spreading circles. Beside her, Kikyo’s sandals did not even register an echo... nor was there any reflection of her cast by the glass-like water below.

Tiamat glanced upward, following the strange expanse beyond the places where mountains once stood. There was no trace of the ruined continents nor the witch’s foul dark magic, and none of the storm she had called into being could even be sensed. She could not even find the distant curve of the world.

And she wondered then, had the Void merely reshaped the planet, or had the entire cosmos of this dimension been reshaped to fit the fancy of a Dragon Divine?

The pale arm linked through hers offered no answer, and Tiamat kept the question to herself.

“Of all my children,” Kikyo then said, “you are the one who perhaps best understands me.”

Tiamat looked toward her, but Kikyo continued gazing ahead, her expression composed beneath the shade of the umbrella. She waited, allowing the elder dragon to finish the thought.

“No one else quite embodies my duality as you have. Birth and destruction, chaos and maternity.” Those red lips curved faintly. “But then, such is the way of things. It is rare for someone to ever be a single thing, and only that thing, ever and after.”

Tiamat lowered her gaze, her thoughts carrying forward like the ripples at her feet.

“Is it a duality, though?” she asked quietly.

Kikyo turned an amused look upon her, and Tiamat considered her own question a moment longer before lifting her eyes toward the horizon.

“In my life, I have found little order in motherhood. It is a terrifying thing, to hold a child in one’s arms and know that small breath is so utterly reliant upon you.” Her fingers shifted against the silk of her sleeve. “It does not even know its own name, yet so easily, so happily, a child reaches for you and makes you its entire world.”

How many children had she birthed over the eons? How many newborns had come from her flesh, suckled at her breasts? Some memories remained terribly clear, no matter how many ages passed over them.

“There are so many things that may go wrong,” Tiamat continued, “and so many things that do go wrong. It is a mess of things, never a perfect series of fitting patterns that can be easily predicted.”

“Then what do you make of it?” Kikyo asked softly.

Tiamat took another step, watching the water yield beneath her foot without allowing her to sink.

No matter which millennium it was, whenever she gave birth, it was always the same dread. Always the fear of ‘Will I be enough?’

With every child, there had always been something new. Some delight she had never anticipated, some grief she had never imagined possible. But that was the crux of it, wasn’t it? With motherhood, there was always something new.

“Reality,” Tiamat answered. “It is simply reality. A multifaceted, ever-changing reality. Like a painting whose colors and shapes are ever shifting, never still.”

Kikyo’s attention settled more fully upon her. “But if everything is moving, if everything is shifting, then would that not make it all ephemeral? Can it even be said to be real?”

Tiamat met the piercing emerald gaze with a heavy look of her own.

“As real as any moment, even if it be an Illusion… or a Dream.”

The corners of Kikyo’s lips lifted, and she looked away toward the mirrored sky.

For several moments, neither spoke. Tiamat continued walking beside her, listening to her own footsteps while she watched the green and grey of the sea and sky press together into one impossibly thin line. There was something deliberate in the silence, but she could not decide whether Kikyo expected another answer or merely wished her to consider the one she had already given.

But, at last, she turned her head.

“Why are you here, mother?”

Kikyo smiled and lifted her chin, a hint of mischief coloring her eyes. “He is also quite the duality, is he not? Satan: the expelled Serpent, the Adversary. Yet now he walks the Steps of the Stormcrown, seeking the very Throne his Mantle was made in opposition to.”

And just like that, Tiamat stopped.

Their arms slipped apart as Kikyo continued forward, and she stood watching the dark hair falling down the Divine Dragon’s back. The light around those ebony strands dimmed as though drawn into them, leaving Tiamat painfully aware of the familiar warmth she still could not reach through her bond.

“Did you plan this?”

Kikyo turned, one finely shaped eyebrow rising.

“I? No. This is not my game. I am but an observer this time.”

Tiamat’s brows drew together.

This time.

There was little comfort to be found in those words, and less still in the easy manner with which they had been offered. But she doubted that pressing the question would earn her anything Kikyo had not already decided to say. If there was one thing she absolutely understood about the Divine Pair, they never offered a straight answer.

She then crossed the small distance between them, her footsteps echoing across the water, and the Void slipped an arm through hers once more.

“Besides,” Kikyo continued as they resumed their walk, “it is not the first time this motif has repeated itself. Is it not the same with your old love, the Red Destroyer?”

Tiamat’s expression softened despite herself.

She remembered Set as he had once been; she remembered the bitterness and resentment that had so readily answered any mention of his familial grievances. There had been so much anger in him, so much rage that he carried from one encounter into the next… it had been wonderful then. Because it was a simple thing to answer his hate with her own. To call to his pain with her own.

But that was then – and then was gone; it had become now.

“Yes,” she said. “But he is not that anymore. He has changed. He has… healed.”

Kikyo hummed quietly.

“And what of you, my dear? When will it be your turn to heal?”

Tiamat opened her mouth, only to close it again as the question settled softly within her own heart with a chime.

The water continued to ripple beneath her steps, and she fixed her gaze upon it while the old wounds stirred. They were always so ready to answer, always waiting beneath whatever happiness she had managed to gather around herself.

Sorrow was the most loyal friend, after all.

“In time,” she answered softly.

Kikyo gave a small chuckle. “By his hand, no doubt. But then, he has always been good at that; fixing others’ hurt even as he ignores his own.”

Tiamat’s lips pressed into a thin line and she turned toward Kikyo, studying the faint smile upon her face and the affection with which those words had been spoken.

“You speak as if you know him.”

“I know everything,” Kikyo replied lightly.

“No.”

The word left Tiamat more firmly than she intended, and a fine, ebony eyebrow rose in question. Briefly she chided herself; no matter how affable her mien was, this was still the Void Come and she needed to be cautious with her words. Dragons of every rank demanded the respect they were owed.

“Your words… they carry a weight of familiarity. A heart-borne familiarity. Not one that comes from holding Eternity in the pupil of your eye.” Her gaze remained fixed upon the pale face beside her. “You know him.”

Kikyo’s lips twitched and, for a moment, she regarded Tiamat from the corner of her eye, and there was something in that look which made her want to repeat the question more directly.

“A story for someone else,” the Divine Dragon then said, turning away in such a fashion that Tiamat knew that the matter was closed now.

And yet… another answer that told her almost nothing. She remained no closer to understanding why the Infinite Ouroboros had chosen this moment to appear before her.

She, better than any, knew the temperaments of the Divine Pair. Their whimsical and impossible natures defied things like logic and reason. Rarely did they ever do anything out of want or need - indeed, they superseded and antiquated such concepts.

All of Eternity - everything that could and would happen, everything that has and has not, and everything that is and is not - all of it was theirs to do with as they pleased. And there was nothing anyone could do about it. Ophis was everywhere and nowhere which...

Her eyes widened.

“Mother… why am I here?”

Kikyo then laughed.

The sound was beautiful, rich and sonorous, and as it carried across the water, the sea brightened beneath Tiamat’s feet. Green gave way to a blue so vivid that she thought for a moment she was looking at a reflection of her own eyes, while overhead the pale clouds parted to reveal a brilliant azure expanse.

“Understands me best, indeed,” the Eldest answered.

Kikyo then withdrew her arm and turned to face her.

Before Tiamat could press the question, both of her hands were taken into a warm, gentle grasp. The Divine Dragon looked up at her with such tender affection that she felt an unexpected flutter within her chest, followed by an impulse she had not anticipated at all.

She wanted to hold those hands more tightly. She wanted, for one brief moment, to let the presence before her offer the reassurance she had so rarely received herself in her ancient life.

“You are very much correct,” Kikyo said. “Motherhood is a mess. A delightful, at times painful, mess.”

Her thumbs moved slowly over the backs of Tiamat’s hands.

“I once asked him his opinion on happiness, and in his own brash wisdom, he answered that happiness is what we make of it.”

Tiamat blinked, and a small smile touched her lips as a familiar warmth bloomed through her heart despite the occluded connection to his mind. Yes, that sounded very much like her beloved. She could almost hear the words in his voice, accompanied by that casual shrug with which he so often dismissed philosophical quagmires others spent centuries struggling to answer.

Kikyo tilted her head, ever so slightly, and asked, “And what do you make of happiness, my dear Tiamat?”

“I…”

She thought of his hands upon her back, of the warmth of his body when she curled against him and the teasing complaints that never quite concealed how pleased he was to have her there. She thought of the delicacies he brought home for her, the easy compliments he paid and the care he provided at all hours of the day.

And then she thought of little Millicas. Of the innocence he had brought back into her life, of the questions and small concerns that had stirred the maternal embers within her which had long gone cold. Even that lout Sirzechs came to mind, along with the years she had spent pouring wisdom into his ears when he was still young and yet enthroned.

Her fingers closed gently around Kikyo’s.

“I have happiness.”

“Indeed you do.” The smile before her remained warm. “And I would caution you to hold it fast to your heart and guard it zealously. Lest you find it snatched away.”

And Tiamat’s smile instantly vanished.

For a moment, she could only look at Kikyo as a cold, dreadfully familiar weight settled within her stomach.

Abzu: she could not, would not, endure that again. Not with Ichigo – after twenty thousand years she had finally, truly fallen in love again. If she lost… it would destroy her, she would not survive it.

“I will not let anyone take him from me,” she growled.

Kikyo released her hands and raised both palms to her cheeks.

“Then grow.”

Tiamat stilled beneath her touch.

“If the colors are ever shifting,” the Divine Dragon said, “then so too must yours. You have your tribulations ahead, even as he has his.”

Grow? After all this time, after the ages she had endured and the power she had gathered, what was there left to grow into?

Her own words returned to her before the objection could form. A painting whose colors and shapes were ever shifting, never still.

Then Kikyo’s face flickered.

And for one instant, Tiamat beheld the black coils behind it, turning through a vastness her senses could never encompass. Across each scale moved the possibilities of entire worlds, and she could no longer distinguish the sea beneath her from the immeasurable presence of the Void that held it all.

“I have said my fill,” Kikyo said softly. “Go now – you will have much to do in these coming days as he makes his name true.”

And before Tiamat could say another word, the Serpent fell upon her.

=======

Ichigo’s hand stilled over the papers as a deep ache settled behind his breastbone, spreading until he drew a slow breath and pressed his palm against his chest.

Something was wrong.

He looked toward the windows, his brows drawing together as an unsettling apprehension colored his thoughts. There had been no alarm, no sudden disturbance in Infernity, but Zangetsu stirred within his soul, and even his Sin shifted restlessly alongside it.

“What is it?” he murmured to himself.

Neither offered him anything concrete, and his unease only sharpened as he reached beyond the room with his senses, conjuring the infinite branches of Time in his mind’s eye. But try as he might, he could see nothing past the clouding of the Infinite Ouroboros.

Ichigo then pushed back his chair, his jaw tightening.

The ache was getting worse.

He looked at his hand and was shocked to see a slight tremor in his fingers. Shaking his head, Ichigo, almost reflexively, reached for his phone and called the last number he had dialed… he waited.

It rang.

It rang again.

And then again and again and again. Finally, on the sixth ring, he heard a click followed by a soft breath.

“Hello?”

Immediately he felt a rush of relief at the sound of her voice.

“Hey there, Princess,” Ichigo said with a soft smile. “Sorry for the abrupt call. I just suddenly had a bad feeling and wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“Yes, I’m okay,” Yasaka replied. “Everything is perfectly okay.”

“Thank goodness,” he said with a sigh. “I don’t know what suddenly came over me but–”

“I’m sorry, but I’m preoccupied at the moment.”

Ichigo frowned, but then he realized the hour and the fact that Yasaka was in the middle of a civil war.

“Right, sorry,” he said, rubbing the back of his head bashfully. “I’ll call you later. Love you, princess. Bye.”

“Good-bye.”

He stared at the phone for a second, a small frown crossing his lips. She did sound in a hurry, but – again – Ichigo rationalized that she was quite consumed with state and military matters at the moment.

And yet… that disturbing sensation still slithered in his chest.

What could it be?

=======

Under the moonlight, Yasaka stood with a neutral and flat expression as she slowly closed her phone and put it away into her sleeves. Akihiko stood beside her, smiling easily, his eyes shining with pride and hope.

“You did good, Hime. With this, we can finally be a family again.”

Yasaka’s lips slowly turned up in a soft smile.

“Yes, dear.”

=======

A/N: I am verry sorry for the delay in this chapter. I've just been very ill these last several days and it adversely affected my work-life balance.

Motherhood and its tribulations was a pretty big theme in this chapter. Juxtaposed of course, with delusions. Anyways, a lot of violence to come. A lot a lot. Berserk Zangetsu levels of violence.

Cheers, hope you had a better weekend than I did.