Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

We knew the world would not be the same.
A few people laughed, a few people cried.
Most people were silent.
I remembered the line from the Hindu scripture, the Bhagavad-Gita;
Vishnu is trying to persuade the Prince
That he should do his duty, and to impress him,
Takes on his multi-armed form and says,
‘Now I am becoming Death, the destroyer of worlds.’
I suppose we all thought that, one way or another.
J. Robert Oppenheimer

 August 9, 1945
Nagasaki, Japan

“My Lord! Urgent news!” A chubby little man hobbled towards the river. His round, balding head bobbed up and down in time with his steps. Overuse had discolored and thinned his tan uniform in spots.

Stopping several feet in front of his lord, the little man bowed. It was the same bow he used to greet his lord for many centuries. His fingertips met on the ground in the same way, the same even pressure as every time before. The chubby man had plenty of practice bowing. Centuries of practice.

His lord continued looking out over the water. A breeze blew by, lifting long silver strands of hair. Several hours ago, the sun inched into view. It was blood red over the horizon. The sky was mimicking blood today. Blood mixed with atmosphere into a red-pink glow that faded to the normal clear blue skies with time. But that time was not now, they were still doused in a hemorrhaging sky.

“What is it Jaken?” The lord was looking into the water. An ever moving makeshift mirror reflected a peaceful face. The face of acceptance. Of death incarnate. The lord knew his servant was using sorcery to appear human. His actual appearance was still little and chubby, but more green. The lord felt as if it was a tricky mirror, just like the water and his reflection. His servant was a toad demon. Demons often used sorcery to subtly, or not so subtly, alter their appearances now. At first, the chubby little man balked at sorcery designed to make him look human. His own words of not being “fond of it” even when the lord commanded him to do it were an understatement to his detest of hiding his true self. 

His lord couldn’t agree more.

Times were changing. Large industrial cities were spreading along their old routs. Roads where samurai clans once processioned to the capital were now congested beyond all hope. The coal paths long covered with more modern infrastructure. Humans had numbers on their side. Humans no longer had to run from demons, a good number of them having disappeared entirely about two decades ago during the Taisho Era. Whole worlds of magic erased into a void of gritty human reality with a war Sesshomaru wasn’t involved in. 

Maybe he should have been involved, if for no other reason than to preserve the presence of demons as a force in the world. But there was nothing to do about it. Now both Lord and Servant begrudgingly found it beneficial to use the damned sorcery. Humans now were quick to kill demons while not understanding what they were.

“I just heard that Kagura has deflected to the enemy side. She has already left Japan.” No response was forthcoming. Did his lord hear him? Jaken cleared his throat, prepared to say the news again. “Lord Sesshomaru…” The servant spoke his lord’s name with reverence. In Jaken’s eyes, his Lord Sesshomaru was nearer to the Gods.

Sesshomaru was still looking at the water. From his spot, Jaken couldn’t tell if Sesshomaru’s golden eyes held any emotion to the news he just gave. Throughout their many years together, sentient beings complained at Sesshomaru’s blankness. At the apparent lack of any expression on his face. Jaken and a few others knew that most people were blind. Expression did not always come as muscles working into smiles, frowns, and scowls. Expressions encompassed everything: the slump of the shoulders, the length of the neck, the tightness of the lips and jaw. The gleam in ones eyes, and the presence of sweat on the brow.

Given that Jaken believed his lord was very expressive.

“You can’t expect the wind to be a constant.” Sesshomaru stated as if he knew Kagura was going to deflect to the enemy’s side. He didn’t particularly seem to care, either. His posture was withdrawn, almost hunched. Jaken knew that posture well. Lord Sesshomaru took it often since he lost the precious things.

“Yes. But my Lord, that means you are the last of the true youkai in Japan!” Jaken nearly screamed. No time to worry about the past, the present is now.

“There is Ryuunosuke; the old lord of the south.”

“He is dead.”

“When?”

“Three days ago in Hiroshima.” Jaken said, wondering how his lord hadn’t heard of the news; the news of a bomb that slew everything in the city of Hiroshima. All accounts said horrific things about the bomb. Jaken had overheard a man at the post telling the fantasical story of how he’d survived it. It seemed almost too fantastical to be true… and given Jaken had seen real magic in the world, that was saying a lot. 

Sesshomaru turned around, looking away from the glittering river. A river of glittering ruby danced in front of his eyes. His movements were slow. 

“I can hear planes approaching.” Sesshomaru stated blandly. Jaken gulped seeing the stoic face his lord put on. Nothing was reflected in those golden eyes. Nothing showed on that long pale face. That nothing could not hide in the looseness of his hands. They gripped like someone tired of life. 

Sometimes Jaken wondered if his lord was underestimating the new technology that had sprung up around them. Radios, and cars; Phonographs, and bright loud bangs from cameras… these things seemed to make their abilities the very essence of who they were, obsolete. Those noises were just as bad as the piles of human feces pushed through sewers and gutters of the cities in Sesshomaru’s mind. Shying away from the advancements made by humans was debilitating. 

Jaken himself did not think of owning a radio. The only things on it were broadcasts about the war. He did not care for that dribble when he was living it. But he did carry a Nambu pistol. Allies offered weapons pistols, rifles, grenades… Demon skin was not so tough against these things. Sesshomaru would not let go of his swords, though. They still shone by his side, and any dissenter who protested his swords felt their bite.

The age of samurai was dead and gone… so far gone… Blaming his lord for these slights was unthinkable. Jaken understood in his own way. Sesshomaru was made to live for an eternity of constant.

Adapting to sudden changes was hard.

Sesshomaru looked to the sky passively. His shoulders rolled back. Long silver hair caught and curled under its own weight. The dramatic points of his ears tipped up just slightly as muscles that humans didn’t have worked in his body. He was in his alert stance. 

“Enemy planes.”

“The youkai are after you! My Lord, we must leave!” Jaken scrambled up closer to his lord’s side. He knew the pistol would be nothing against planes, but he pulled it anyway. Protection, even if inadequate, always helped calm nerves.

“No, it’s not the youkai. The human enemies are in the skies. You know this is a war among humans as well as youkai.” Sesshomaru looked board. His stance had withdrawn again. How he could tell the difference between the planes was completely unknown to Jaken, but he trusted his lord knew far more than he ever could. He puzzled over it for only a moment. Did the humans use a different fuel source to power their aircraft? Or was it a difference in the very fine, high-pitched noise of engines many miles in the sky?

“Yes,” He finally responded. “Although I don’t understand what the humans are fighting about.” Jaken rubbed his temples. While the human inventions found usefulness in Jaken’s eyes, their blabber still bored him. Sesshomaru was quiet. The demon’s eyes widened suddenly. He jerked his head to the sky, nostrils flaring and eyes wide. Whatever he was detecting was lost on the chubby man.

“Jaken, run.”

“My Lord?” Jaken questioned, wondering why his lord seemed so worried suddenly. His reaction was deemed to be too slow. Sesshomaru hoisted him up and raced in a full sprint away from the city center. The world blurred by them.

A deafening blast sounded in the ears of the two demons forcing blood, red and beautiful like the morning river, to trickle out of Sesshomaru’s pointed ears before a hot yellow light engulfed them completely.

Chapter Text

December 2, 1990
Kyoto, Japan

Cracking one golden eye open, Sesshomaru sighed, hearing the annoying sound of a telephone ringing somewhere within the crowded apartment. It was high and invariable, with the same tones repeated annoyingly. He wasn’t really sure where he had left the blasted thing, and that was bad because he knew it was plugged into the wall. It could only be in so many places, and he hated to think he was so tired that he couldn’t find something so noisy. 

It rang again, and he peeled himself from the couch to search. Digging through piles of crumpled newspapers and piles of old dirty clothing, he finally found the black plastic phone in the corner of the room. Cardboard boxes and old newspapers that he was too lazy to throw out cleverly hid the cord, even though he had shoved them into the corner months ago.

Grabbing the damned ringing object in one hand, he thought about destroying the thing. Taking it apart, ripping wires and odd ends to bits. Or… he could just unplug it and save himself from having to buy another. 

It rang again.

“What?” His voice was calm despite his irritation. Fingers felt funny around the receiver. His greeting was never kind. The only people who would call him did not need the lies of polite behavior.

“Sesshomaru, long time no see.” A feminine voice spoke on the opposite end of the phone. At least Kagura did not pretend to be polite either. She was tangibly amused with herself, as if talking on the phone was one of her favorite pastimes. Sesshomaru wouldn’t be surprised if it were true. 

Sesshomaru felt odd. Her scent was still lingering in his apartment. But he knew she was far off. 

“You were here just yesterday.” Sesshomaru growled, closing his eyes and leaning back against the wall. Something crumpled under his weight. When did she leave anyway? Sesshomaru wasn’t sure; in the night, maybe.

“Did I wake you up, Sesshomaru? You sound cranky.” Kagura’s questions were friendly and light, even though her sarcasm bled through. She just had one of those voices that made Sesshomaru shiver. Like a breeze had blown through his clothes. 

“No.” He lied quickly, even as one hand rose to rub at his heavy eyelids. He slept too often nowadays. It helped him escape what he felt was a horrific nightmare. “What did you call for?” It was not like her to call so soon after leaving him. Usually, she left him alone. Usually she let him escape because she too knew the nightmare.

“I received notice a moment ago that the higher-ups have finally agreed with me.”

“Oh?” Sesshomaru wondered where this was going.

“You are a lazy bastard.” She spoke endearingly. Sesshomaru wondered when put-downs began to sound like loving terms of endearment. She certainly made them sound that way. “They have sent you on a new mission.”

“Hm.” It was the only response he gave her. Lazy wasn’t really an accurate description of his character, Sesshomaru thought to himself. He was completely anti-lazy when he had a goal. Goals were not his to make now, hence he wasn’t entirely interested in doing much of anything.

“Oh really? What is this one? Am I going to be sent off to destroy some foolish little youkai that showed himself to humans?” Sesshomaru was becoming more unenthusiastic about this call by the second.

His guess only reflected what most of his assignments were. He was a conscripted mercenary, bound and tethered to the whims of others. 

“No.” Kagura sounded cheerful on the other end of the phone. “They gave you an interesting job this time.” 

An interesting job? He raised an eyebrow without a hint of mirth. Mercenary work was the only place for her in this world, just like him. They were so erudite in the path of destruction and death that their captors forced them to put those bloody talents to work. 

However, Sesshomaru knew that part of becoming good at killing was knowing when not to. Now they didn’t have a choice. They took lives, or theirs would be forfeited. They took life and suffered the consequences of it every moment of their lives. 

The Syndicate used a series of explicit and implicit threats to keep them in line. Bodily harm, financial harm… the sickening torture of being kept alive when they’d rather be dead.

Sesshomaru needed to go lie down on his couch and stare at the ceiling until he couldn’t feel himself anymore, until he couldn’t think, or be. 

“Hm.” Sesshomaru grunted. In the past, he would not have made a sound to her. He would have expected that with no prompt she would reveal her knowledge in an instant. Telephone calls took a lot more communication effort. A grimace crossed his face as he pulled knots out of his hair. His fingers didn’t make great combs, Sesshomaru decided before tossing his tangled locks over his shoulder.

She went on, unable to see his disinterest. Even though she probably would not have cared if she had witnessed it. “Field reporters in America have found a regenerist. I was told that they decided you will train them.”

He could barely believe his ears, and looked to the telephone wondering if someone had bewitched it as a prank… not that anyone could do that now.

“A regenerist? The demons who are born human and slowly transform on their own?” Sesshomaru questioned. “Why would they want me to train one of those? I thought they didn’t trust me.” He still didn’t believe what he was hearing.

Kagura became really quiet on the other end. It was hard to discern what her quietness meant without sight or scent.

“You know what will happen to you if you disobey orders, Sesshomaru.” Her tone was depressed and dropping. He had defied his last orders for the comfort of his couch. Sesshomaru wished to forget that messy incident. The punishment, the humiliation... branded into his soul as the Syndicate stole his youki piece by indelible piece.

“This is not the time to act as if it is beneath your station. We don’t have that life anymore.” Kagura scolded without sounding angry. He wondered if she scolded simply because she didn’t want to see him get into trouble. She had a thing about that. Her language, her scent, her body always betrayed her concern. 

He could almost taste her rotten anxiety on his tongue.

“Fine. Do you know anything more?” Sesshomaru gave in because he understood her concern. Kagura was… well, they had been through many years together, and Sesshomaru could think of a million adjectives to describe what Kagura was, and some more to describe what she was to him. He knew that in situations where she was in trouble, he would have her back. Just as she had his. 

“No, but the field reporter sent you all the information you will need to know. It should be in your mailbox by now, but I know you don’t check it often, so I called to remind you.” Kagura paused, and when she spoke again, her voice had the slightest waver to it… the most delicate string of weakness. “Sesshomaru, please don’t give them a reason to take you out.”

“You worry too much.” Sesshomaru said before hanging up the phone, but her plea rang in his ears. Crossing the line too many times would put him in danger. Their world had no problems with summary executions. It was his job, and he was replaceable. 

Pulling back his long hair, he hated the rough feel of it through his fingers. It was jet black and dry like straw now, because of Kagura’s last visit. She had held him down and forced him to let her dye his hair black. This was the monthly visit, and ultimately what ruined his once soft silver hair. Frowning, he tied it back, trying to ignore knots and split ends. 

The higher-ups were always a little aghast when he let himself go. It was all about conformity. The shocking spun silver that was his natural color was a sign of otherworldliness. Of inhumanity. And the Syndicate wanted all demons to do everything possible to appear human when in the presence of humans. 

That was the rule. He was forced to kill lesser youkai who broke that rule.

Shoving a handful of yen into his pocket, he walked out of his apartment. Locking it would be a waste of time, he decided. There was nothing in there important enough to steal. 

An old lady walked by him in the hallway, smiling. Her cane rhythmically hit the floor to help her step. Her wrinkled face lifted with a smile, her fluffy white hair almost translucent in the fluorescent hallway lights.

“Good morning.” The little old lady said softly before turning the corner to her own apartment. They had been flatmates for the past five years. And she was going to die soon. Sesshomaru could smell it. Her kidneys had failed. It was only a matter of time before toxins filled her body and entropy took over.

“Good morning.” Sesshomaru muttered back before walking towards the elevator. He looked human. According to many women, he looked like a very handsome human. Every year, he went to a Syndicate ‘doctor’, a witch or a holy person who masked his appearance with spells. Youkai had a wider variation in pigmentation than humans, but that wasn’t really what the spells were all about. It was about the other unsettling things… the fangs, the claws, the sensation humans often reported of creeping eeriness. The sixth sense that they were prey.

Sesshomaru had never been the type to eat humans, but couldn’t deny that many demons had. So maybe humans felt that sensation for good reason.

Weak instincts for a weak species.

Spells also made his normal youkai markings disappear, which was possible to do with makeup, but… but then there was that one time he’d fallen into the river and people recoiled at his savage ‘tattoos’. What a bother. 

The elevator stopped on the ground floor. Stepping out, he walked without a word to the dozens of humans in the lobby, and out the door. A few teenage girls in their school uniforms giggled, ogling him as he ignored them. He had no interest now. And it wasn’t just women; it was everything.

Considering the time of day, the streets were not too crowded. And for that, Sesshomaru let out a sigh of relief. Once or twice when he had left his apartment during the busy hours for the city streets he had passed out from the combination of scents. His sense of smell had been a boon in the days when discovering and tracking friends and foe through forests and mountains was second nature. Now it was the greatest source of migraine headaches. 

There was just too much in the air today. It made him wish he were still five hundred years in the past. Back when there wasn’t so much pollution. He longed for the days without skyscrapers or cars. But those times were gone. 

He was damned to suffer.

Half a block away was the post office for several apartment buildings along the road, including his. Almost everyone in the city lived in apartments. Space was a commodity with a high price. Sesshomaru couldn’t afford a house of his own here, so the crowded apartments had to do. Walking through the post office’s large glass doors, he went straight to the counter. An older man in a pristine white shirt greeted him. The postal worker had lines of a good life slowly finding their way onto his face. Sesshomaru wondered if he would live to see age lines on his own face.

“Good morning, Sesshomaru. Today is the mail pickup?” The older man had been working at the post office for the last two years. Every time Sesshomaru went the man tried to start a conversation. He was a pleasant old guy, and Sesshomaru conversed if for no other reason than to stop his boredom for a little. But even this was difficult. 

It reminded him of all the friends he’d lost.

“Yeah.”

“You promised me you would tell me what you do that keeps you from checking your mail like everyone else.” 

Sesshomaru smiled at the old man shaking his head. There were some things that were better off not talked about. “My job involves my traveling a lot.” That wasn’t true. Japan had the largest population of youkai in the world. Most of his assignments did not bring him outside of the city, and there was a lot of downtime between assignments. 

He was certain that it had been years since he had seen the world beyond the scope of this city. And that, Sesshomaru knew, was how the higher-ups controlled him. A tight leash for the big, dangerous dog. Be careful, or you’ll hang on your own rope.

“Ah, I see. I can see you as an entrepreneur. You must know many languages.” The old man said, handing him a small plastic crate filled with letters and packages. He checked his mail infrequently indeed. Most of them were bills that Sesshomaru neglected to pay until the last moment. He never learned how to go about paying bills or doing anything so mundane. Kagura always did it for him.

He was grateful for it, even though he never spoke of that gratitude. He was grateful because he’d been homeless in the first few months after the Syndicate assimilated him. It seemed wrong to him then, even though he had not technically had a home for centuries, because then he was weakened and needed stability and shelter. 

It was Kagura who picked him up and offered him a home… even though it wasn’t her home either. Kagura’s sister Kanna seemed indifferent to the two shamed youkai living in her upscale home outside of Fukuoka. She was never there anyway. Kanna had moved to the cold expanse of Alaska before the wars. Kanna met and married a foreign demon, a seal demon named Sedna. Sesshomaru and Kagura had gone to the wedding because Kanna and Sedna got married in northern Siberia. But in 1952, Kanna abruptly sold the estate and forced Sesshomaru to get an apartment. Kagura was in on their deal for a while, and then her assignments got more erratic, involving much more travel. She snorted and told Sesshomaru that she was sick of living with his possessive ass.

She needed freedom.

And he was too needy.

If he was so damn needy, then why did she always come back! 

“It’s an excellent skill to know English nowadays. I want to learn myself.” The postal worker was still talking jovially.

“Yes, it is. I know English, and a few other languages.” Sesshomaru confirmed lightly. No harm in confessing linguistic aptitude. 

Sifting through the mail right there, he grabbed a wastebasket, tossing letter after letter. Most were trainings that the Syndicate sent. Sesshomaru threw them out all the time, even though he knew he would be quizzed on the material as soon as his yearly evaluations were up. Eviction notices, electric bills, rent… all that was trash. He dared to laugh at the eviction notices. The landlord of his apartment was terrified of him. No one would evict him, even if he didn’t pay his rent. Kagura always went to the landlord personally and paid the rent plus some for the lateness. Once in a while he would pause and put aside a white envelope on the counter. 

Grabbing a small brown box, he glanced at the address. It appeared Kagura was telling him some truth. There was a mission waiting for him. Sometimes that witch would just call him up with fake assignments to get him out of his apartment. It was annoying and comforting that she kept checking in on him.

Sesshomaru was grateful, and maybe the next time she came over he’d buy her flowers. Maybe he’d bring her to the movies. Maybe they’d just take a walk in silence together.

Thanking the old man, he took his mail under his arm and walked out of the post office onto the street. His white dress shirt rippled in the breeze. His black business shoes made soft sounds along the pavement as he moseyed back to his apartment. It didn’t matter that his shoes were almost three years old and scuffed. They were comfortable, and he didn’t have the money to buy new ones. The scent of food from street vendors filled his nose. 

A sharp pain filled his stomach. He hadn’t eaten since Kagura had left his apartment late last night. He cursed softly, digging in his pocket for the money he had shoved in there. Another act of sorcery that was inflicted upon him was the need for food. The youkai who imprisoned him were trying their hardest to make him human, he thought. One of the side effects of the spells the Syndicate forced on him was an increased appetite. It had something to do with metabolism and youki, and the way holy magic infused with his very essence, sapping everything he had… It was tiring. It disgusted him for years. When he first tried to eat human food, he had ungracefully hacked it back up. It wasn’t so bad now that he knew what he could and could not eat. 

The street vendor was new to the area. Sesshomaru hadn’t seen him before, but that was alright. New vendors were always welcome because the older ones, who were more established on the streets, would lower their prices to compete. 

Food was too expensive as it was. The vendor’s cart overflowed with sticks that were impaled through roasted animal parts. Each end colored bright orange, red, or blue according to price. Sniffing the meat, Sesshomaru found his favorite and grabbed up five sticks between his fingers. Chicken intestines roasted with a slight bit of teriyaki sauce. It was cheap mostly because it was parts that people usually avoided unless they were low on money. He was lucky that his favorites were also the cheapest.

Paying the street vendor, Sesshomaru bit off a piece of his meal, and walked on.

Once inside his apartment, he shucked off his shoes and turned the lights on. Sitting with his feet up on the couch in the ultra-tiny space, he shoved all of his other mail across the coffee table where it landed on the floor. Quietly, he inspected the small brown package containing information on his next mission.

Ripping open the package, he found it contained several documents. On top was a pristine white letter, trash from the higher-ups, rules and regulations. All trash. He didn’t even bother to read that crap. It was the same every time after all. He reviewed the policies and expectations before. They never changed. He could practically recite it by heart.

For a moment, his hopes dropped. Maybe Kagura was mistaken? Maybe this was just another assassination.

He came upon it below the rulebook. A copy of an American birth certificate. Eyes scanned the words. It wasn’t too hard to read despite the poor-quality scan. Despite his firm control over emotions, Sesshomaru felt his heart leaping up into his throat when he looked at the picture ID just under the scanned birth certificate. The face of a smiling child with one tooth missing looked at him. 

His heart stopped dead in his chest. Lips dry, his hands suddenly felt sweaty.

Sesshomaru found importance flooding back into his being. Suddenly, Sesshomaru could no longer look away. 

He knew that face well. It was a face he could never ever forget, even though time made his memories fuzzy, and he became mad at himself for letting her fade away like an old drawing. The last time he had seen this face was so long ago that he almost didn’t recognize her.

“Rin…” Sesshomaru whispered, looking at the child’s face. She looked almost exactly like Rin. He lost her to death, and from then on traveled on the path that led him to misery. Shaking his head, Sesshomaru looked over at the name, and then in disgust threw the papers down. Whoever was playing this trick was a sick and malicious fool. There was no way he was falling for such a prank... 

Only his heart was going to vomit in the surge of memories.

Digging his teeth into his bottom lip, he anxiously snatched it back up a moment later.

“She even has the same goddamn name!” He growled. His couch was no longer comfortable, so he stood pacing the tiny space. It had been years since he had paced, and it was unsatisfying to do it now that his apartment was so small, so messy that he could get only two purposeful steps in before having to swing around and go in the other direction. 

What kind of strange fluke was this? He wondered, wanting badly to believe the papers. Yes, he had known several girls over the years with that name, but none that even remotely looked like the little girl that used to follow him around, the little girl who’d grown up to be his wife. To be the mother of two of his daughters. 

Sesshomaru muttered another profanity, pulling up more paper. The papers were only reports of several hair and blood tests. Scanning through these, he noted they were normal procedures. Someone took the hair from a hairbrush, and someone took the blood from a clinic. All this confirmed she was a regenerist.

He wondered if it was too elaborate to be a cruel joke. There were so few who knew of his Rin, so few who would know enough to create this scheme. 

Shaking his head, Sesshomaru looked back at the list of commands that were printed out clearly in bold type.

Sesshomaru Uneo,

Your instructions are: 
1. Re-locate close to the regenerist’s home in Dexter, Maine, of the USA. The company will pay for relocation expenses in full. 
2. The subject’s youkai race requires protection at all costs. You may use force to carry out this objective, and you must follow Syndicate guidelines with proper documentation. 
3. She is only to be approached when her powers awaken. 
4. At such time, you shall begin the teaching process as outlined in manual 643black. 
5. Concurrently, she will be unfit to interact with familiar humans and shall have restricted access to humans during her training period. 
6. After she satisfactorily completes the training under your guidance, she will be enrolled in either the Tokyo or Osaka school for youkai. 
7. You are to remain hidden while she remains human, even if her youkai powers do not awaken in her lifetime. 
8. You will notify the closest office if any changes occur. If the regenerist faces serious illness or injury, you must contact the closest office so that a proper doctor can treat the girl. 
9. If the regenerist dies before her powers awaken, you are not to approach her or her family. Notify the offices and wait for your next assignment.

Tilting his head to the side, Sesshomaru wondered what the reason was for such strict orders? He had no experience with other demon types at all… well… maybe some. He had been friends for a few centuries with a quite vicious fellow who’d lived his first twenty-something years as a human before being transformed into an oni.

And he’d unfortunately learned a thing or two about that sort of extinct demon. But this? In fact, he doubted if he had ever even seen a regenerist. Why would they choose him when there were some who were better qualified, and in much better standing than he? 

Searching again through the papers, he looked for a clue. Why him? First, he saw the salary paper. He raised his eyebrows. This was too much. Such an elaborate hoax… After his last transgression, there was no way they were ordering him to a job that made almost three times the amount he was making right now. And it looked like he wouldn’t have to pay rent. They were placing him in a house owned by the Syndicate. 

Rustling and digging through the box, he finally reached the bottom. At the bottom, he found a small, folded yellow paper carbon copy. More lab work, he presumed. He didn’t know how they could tell from the labs that she was a regenerist, or how they even knew to test her. But then he knew nothing about that type of demon.

On the lab slip, highlighted was the word that made the world spin. Right under the assessment of her blood, which tested positive for some protein he’d never heard of and probably wouldn’t remember, was a line for the youkai species.

“Inuyoukai.” Sesshomaru whispered, feeling the breath escape him. He sat in silence for a long time. It was drowning to do this. The slow suffocation of fate, and Sesshomaru wasn’t putting up a fight. He fell asleep on the messy floor of the tiny space that was the extent of his false territory, with the picture of a girl who lived far away clenched in his hands.