Without a doubt, Tessaiga was his first objective in coming here. But it was not his only one. Tōga himself was also an objective.
Tessaiga was, of course, immensely powerful, arguably the mightiest weapon in the original story. Though it was only a demon blade, it possessed the characteristic of devouring external demonic power to grow. The entirety of Inuyasha could even be called "The Growth Record of Tessaiga."
Inuyasha's own strength did not change much from beginning to end. What grew was more his maturity of heart. The thing whose combat power truly continued to strengthen, was the blade in his hand.
But Shinji would never forget, this blade, no matter how one looked at it, had originated from the Inu no Taishō, Tōga. And Tōga, as its source,could only be even stronger. If he could make contact with a daiyōkai of this level… or even obtain some degree of "guidance" or assistance from him, Shinji would benefit immensely.
As the daiyōkai who had ruled the Western Lands, Tōga was very likely also different from the Tsuchigumo, that solitary, nearly feral daiyōkai who had given Shinji no opportunity to ask questions. The Tsuchigumo clearly only knew how to fight, not how to instruct others. Tōga, however, might not be the same.
And beside, Shinji had obtained Tessaiga. Since this was a demon blade capable of devouring the demonic power of others, he had to at least try something.
Standing within the abdominal cavity of this corpse that blotted out the very sky, feeling the faint response transmitted from the far end of the Soul-Summoning threads, Shinji's thoughts began to churn at high speed. Before coming here, he had been pondering a single question. Can a daiyōkai truly die completely?
According to the system of Four Stages and Twenty-Four Transformations he had summarized over this stretch of time, Physical Transformation, Essence Transformation, Vapor Transformation, Form Transformation, each stage containing six transformations, this was the path by which demons ascended step by step from the lowest to the highest.
Daiyōkai who had reached Vapor Transformation had achieved Phenomenon. Existences of that level had already found their own Truth, their own principle. By embodying a fundamental understanding of heaven and earth, they made themselves the very source of that principle. They perfectly bore the weight of all external influence upon themselves. Just like the Tsuchigumo.
And Tōga, As the former absolute hegemon of the Western Lands, the Inu no Taishō, he was not merely a daiyōkai. He was absolutely among the very best of daiyōkai. He would not be inferior to the most top-tier daiyōkai of this era.
Even Hagoromo Gitsune, who had coiled beneath Kyōto for centuries, nearly a thousand years, might not necessarily surpass him by much. A demon this powerful, no matter what "Truth" he carried, one thing was certain. As a daiyōkai, he would not die the way a normal creature died.
Phenomenon could only wane. It could never truly be extinguished, never completely vanish. Even if its physical form disappeared, its demon soul would continue to exist, sustained by the ceaseless surging of its Phenomenon. It would not dissipate at the rapid rate of ordinary demons.
Even if it entered the underworld, such an existence would still possess the power to rule as king there. And if it wished to return to the mortal realm, that was not impossible either. One didn't even need to be a daiyōkai. Simply being close was enough. Kidōmaru, who held the pseudo-Phenomenon domain of Rashōmon, was a perfect example.
Yet Tōga was still dead. Definitively. Completely. He had vanished from the mortal world, and never once shown any sign of return. What was the reason? Shinji, in truth, had more or less a clue.
That clue had come from Tōtōsai. During those seven days of forging at the volcano, Tōtōsai had casually mentioned one thing. The Inu no Taishō's swordsmanship was completely different from that of ordinary demons. Within his blade, there was 'Will.'
Will. Sword Will. That was something Shinji had also comprehended. It was the condensation of pure conviction. The crystallization of the human heart. Pure energy. And, the external manifestation of the Human Soul. Demons did not possess Human Souls.
After all, the Human Soul was something that could only be condensed based on the core of a human soul. But Tōga had Sword Will. And he had fallen in love with a human woman. And he had died in battle, in the flames, protecting that human woman and the newborn Inuyasha.
A daiyōkai who possessed a protective heart, who could comprehend Sword Will—who loved a human—
Within his body, there very likely existed a Human Soul. At the very least, there existed the nascent signs of one. Only thus could he have died the way an ordinary mortal died, unlike a normal daiyōkai.
Only thus could his death have been a true death. And his death, was very likely precisely caused by the entanglement between the Human Soul and the Demon Soul.
Similar to Inuyasha, yet also different. And if it truly was as Shinji hypothesized… Then the "summoning" of Tōga would have a sliver of possibility. After all, the Demon Soul of a daiyōkai was something Shinji could never touch, even with the Soul-Chasing BowArm Transformation.
It was the foundation of power that had transformed into Phenomenon. It was the materialization of a fundamental understanding of heaven and earth. Even after death, it was scattered throughout this entire cleft of the underworld. That terrifyingly dense violet mist, whose depths he could not even begin to measure, was the remnant of Tōga's Demon Soul, diffused across this space after death.
That, he could not grasp. Could not summon. But the Human Soul was different. The Human Soul was light. It did not cling to the physical body. Nor to demonic energy. It clung to conviction.
As long as that conviction was not forgotten, the Human Soul would never completely dissipate. Tessaiga still existed. Tenseiga still existed. His two sons still lived. These, were all continuations of Tōga's "conviction."
Therefore his Human Soul, if it existed, could not have vanished. It was merely slumbering. In some corner of this colossal corpse's deepest depths, quietly waiting for something.
Thus at this moment. The response transmitted by the Soul-Summoning threads grew clearer and clearer. No longer that faint, barely-there fluctuation from the very beginning. Now it carried direction, from the depths of the canine skull, descending toward the center of the chest cavity.
As though the summoned soul was slowly waking, following the guidance of those threads. Of course, Soul-Summoning was merely "calling." He could summon. But whether the other party came, depended on whether they possessed such a thought.
If Tōga's Human Soul did not wish to respond, then these threads were simply toiling in vain within an empty skeleton. Shinji did not force it. He merely maintained the unfolding of Soul-Summoning. And waited. The dark crimson threads in his palm wove into a net within the gray-violet mist. He was building a passage for the other party, from slumber to awakening.
One minute. Two minutes. Time within the cleft of the underworld became blurred. There was no sun or moon. No point of reference. But Shinji's perception told him that roughly half an incense stick, a quarter of an hour, had passed.
And then, It responded. From the depths of the canine skull surged a power utterly unlike demonic energy. Transparent, silver-white motes of light, flowing slowly downward along the passage laid by the Soul-Summoning threads. Into the cervical spine. Into the chest cavity. Finally converging at the center of the abdominal cavity, in the empty air thirty meter directly before Shinji.
The silver-white motes spun and condensed there. Like a painting taking form upon a canvas. First, a blurry silhouette. A tall humanoid form. His height was roughly comparable to Shinji's, taller than ninety percent of the humans of this era. Then details. Long hair. Silver-white hair cascading down from the crown of his head, bound in a high ponytail behind him. Stray strands brushed past his shoulder armor.
The face. Sharply defined features with deep, chiseled contours. Broader and more generous than Sesshōmaru's. The line of his jaw carried the calm steadiness of maturity. Two violet-red demon markings adorned each cheek, extending from the cheekbones to the chin.
The eyes, golden. But not the cold, aloof gold of Sesshōmaru. It was a deeper gold. A molten-gold hue, carrying warmth. Like the very last light of the setting sun before it sank beneath the horizon. The armor he wore was already tattered and indistinct, the details impossible to discern.
After all, this was merely a projection of the Human Soul. It could not perfectly reproduce every detail of the physical body. Yet that aura, even as a mere remnant soul, made the entire space freeze for an instant. Silver-white motes scattered at the edges of his form, making this figure truly resemble a painting, a painting whose edges had been eroded by wind and time, clear, yet incomplete.
This was Tōga. The Inu no Taishō. The absolute hegemon of the Western Lands. The father of Inuyasha and Sesshōmaru. He had responded to Shinji's Soul-Summoning. His Human Soul, had returned. Those golden eyes slowly focused.
His gaze fell upon the young figure before him, clad in gray robes, four blades at his waist, faint bone-markings faintly visible at his temples. He paused for two seconds.
Then, Tōga's Human Soul tilted his head slightly. His lips moved. The voice emerged from a phantom throat, hoarse, deep, like an echo from a great distance. Yet every word was distinct and clear.
"So… you're the one who woke me, boy?" It seemed he wanted to say more. But it was at that very moment, at that instant. This tomb-space of a daiyōkai, located within the cleft of the underworld, shuddered once more. Another rift leading to the outside world… was torn open.
That rift split through the void. It was utterly different from the gray-blue gate of light through which Shinji had entered. This rift seemed to have been torn open by sheer force. Its edges were curled with silver-white demonic energy, like silk slashed by razor-sharp claws.
The rift expanded with terrifying speed. From a single line to a full gate, within the span of a single breath. A silver-white figure stepped out from within the rift. White haori. Silver armor. The fur upon his right shoulder unfurled within the gray-violet mist of the underworld like a drifting cloud. A crescent moon of deep purple adorned his brow. Golden, slit-pupiled eyes. Sesshōmaru.
In his hand, he gripped what appeared to be a newly crafted Black Agate Pearl. Yet it seemed he had used it far too hastily, hairline cracks had spread across its pitch-black surface.
He truly had been in a great hurry. Because of the presence he had sensed the instant he had opened the passage. Because of that familiar sense of existence he had felt the moment he obtained the new Black Pearl from Hōsenki. Though it had changed, he would never, ever mistake it!
Sesshōmaru's foot alighted upon the bone floor within Tōga's abdominal cavity. The sound was exceedingly light, yet within this sealed space, it produced a clear, distinct echo. His golden slit-pupils first swept toward Shinji.
His gaze paused for half a second upon the worn, tattered scabbard newly added at the other's waist. Tessaiga. Under normal circumstances, Sesshōmaru would have had a tremendous reaction to this, his father's relic, which he had yearned for so desperately.
Yet at this moment, His gaze swept past Shinji's shoulder and fell upon the silver-white phantom twenty meters away. Silver-white hair. High-bound ponytail. Violet-red demon markings upon the cheeks. Molten-gold pupils.
Even if it was only a projection of a remnant soul, face blurred, edges scattering, Sesshōmaru still recognized that face at a single glance.
It was a face carved into the deepest depths of his memory, into the most fundamental core of his very bloodline. His father. The Inu no Taishō. Tōga. The young Western daiyōkai's footsteps stopped.
This was a rare lapse for Sesshōmaru. His body did not stiffen. His expression did not change. His golden slit-pupils remained cold. The line of his lips remained perfectly straight. But he had stopped. For an existence of his caliber, that in itself was a lapse.
Tōga's remnant soul tilted his head. His molten-gold gaze shifted from Shinji and settled upon the white figure at the rift. The deep, resonant voice, like that of a middle-aged man, sounded once more.
"Sesshōmaru." one syllables. No surprise. No sigh of sentiment. Merely confirmation. As though, throughout his centuries of slumber, he had always known this son of his would eventually appear here.
Sesshōmaru did not reply. His golden slit-pupils stared at that phantom for three seconds, and for a daiyōkai, three seconds was an exceedingly long gaze. Then he spoke.
"You're still here. Not dead… No... it seems you are dead. But not completely." His voice was flat. His tone held no fluctuation. But the content of those words betrayed something he would never admit.
He had believed his father was completely dead. Completely gone. At least, the first time he had entered this tomb, using the very Black Pearl now in Shinji's possession, all he had felt was the residue of demonic energy. There had been no fluctuation of a soul whatsoever.
So he had judged: Tōga had departed. Completely vanished from this world. But now, his father's remnant soul stood before him. It held none of the crushing weight of demonic energy. None of the oppressive force of a daiyōkai. It was merely a thin layer of silver-white light-dust, so faint the wind could scatter it. Yet it was, unmistakably, Tōga.
"Only this much remains." Tōga looked down at his own semi-transparent palm, yet his tone was utterly casual. "Not even enough strength to hold a blade." He spread his hands, the motion carrying a certain languor that utterly mismatched his status in life.
Sesshōmaru's golden slit-pupils contracted faintly. Then, his gaze finally returned to Shinji. Or rather, to the Tessaiga at Shinji's waist.
"That blade—" he finally spoke. Within his golden slit-pupils swirled an emotion so complex even he himself loathed it. "How did you draw it?" Though he had once been rejected, Sesshōmaru still did not truly understand why.
Was it because of his father's favoritism toward Inuyasha, a barrier deliberately set so that he could never draw it? Or was it some other reason? Yet, if that were truly the case, then this demon warrior before him, this lesser yōkai, on what grounds?
Shinji faced Sesshōmaru's demand. His expression did not change. The golden ring within his crimson demon eyes shifted faintly. He had watched Sesshōmaru's sudden arrival from beginning to end, and was not the least bit surprised.
The other party had come here once before. Though he had been unable to do anything, as a daiyōkai, he would surely have placed some form of "mark" upon this place. Shinji entering could not be hidden from him. Nor had he intended to hide it. He had said as much long ago. Only, Sesshōmaru had arrived faster than he had expected. But it was no great matter.
At this moment, watching this father and son, he could not help but want to grumble: What is this? Some kind of family drama? Is this something I should be watching?
He could also feel the yōki upon Sesshōmaru fluctuating. The amplitude of that fluctuation was negligible for an ordinary demon. But for an existence of Sesshōmaru's level, it already counted as an outward leak of emotion. Anger? Not entirely. Unwillingness? A little. But what dominated....was jealousy.
Yes. The eldest son of the Western dog-demon clan. A natural-born daiyōkai. The bearer of the purest bloodline of the Inu no Taishō, Sesshōmaru, at this moment felt jealousy toward a demon warrior who had not even existed a year ago. His father's relic, he could not touch it. An outsider, had drawn it with ease.
"There's not much to say about the process of drawing it." Shinji answered honestly. "I reached out, gripped it, and pulled. It recognized me."
"So I intend to take it with me."
Sesshōmaru's silver hair stirred faintly beneath the subtle tremor of his own yōki. Beside them, Tōga's remnant soul watched his son's reaction. Within those molten-gold eyes surfaced an exceedingly subtle expression.
It was not approval. Nor was it exactly guilt. It was more like the expression of a father who had watched his son grow up, yet still saw him making the same mistakes. Wry. And wanting to laugh.
"Sesshōmaru." Tōga spoke again. Sesshōmaru did not look at him. Tōga, however, continued regardless. "It seems you came here for Tessaiga?"
Silence. Sesshōmaru's golden slit-pupils shifted from the Tessaiga at Shinji's waist back to Tōga's remnant soul. "I came once before. But it rejected me. But since you are still here—"
His voice was exceedingly faint. So faint it was as though he were speaking of something utterly inconsequential. "Then give Tessaiga to me."
Tōga did not answer. He merely smiled. That smile, like his languid posture, carried the lingering warmth of centuries past. It was also like an old hunter watching a cub that had just learned to bite.
"Give it to you?" His voice drifted from that phantom throat, deep, yet distinct. "Sesshōmaru. Can you even draw it?"
The air within the abdominal cavity turned cold. Not merely in temperature, but in atmosphere. The air itself seemed to solidify. Sesshōmaru's golden slit-pupils, after those words fell, finally showed a clear change.
The pupils contracted vertically. Within the depths of the irises surfaced an exceedingly faint crimson. The precursor to a dog-demon's fury. But he suppressed it.
"I don't need to draw it." Sesshōmaru's voice dropped half a tone. "I only need to take it away." He did not care whether Tessaiga acknowledged him. What he wanted was the blade itself. Even if it remained in the form of scrap metal in his hands. Even if its edge would never unfurl its fangs for him. He still wanted it.
Because it was his father's. Because it was what his father had not given him. And because, it was the object of his humiliation for over a century. The most thorough disregard shown to him, his eldest son, by the one he had admired and revered above all others since childhood. His father. The greatest daiyōkai of the Western Lands. The Inu no Taishō. Tōga.
And that disregard was contempt. "Power is everything." Compared to the devastating might of Tessaiga, the fact that his father had left him Tenseiga was, to Sesshōmaru, the absolute "humiliation."
Tōga's remnant soul looked at his son. The smile faded from those molten-gold eyes. What remained, was only stillness. He opened his mouth, as though to say something. But he seemed to realize that nothing he said would matter.
In the end, he said nothing. Tōga knew his son's temperament all too well. There were many things that could never be explained with words alone. He simply turned his head and looked at Shinji. Those molten-gold eyes were especially clear amidst the silver-white light-dust.
"Boy."
"Mn?"
"What is your name?"
"Nakai Shinji."
Tōga nodded, as though savoring the name. Then he spoke a sentence that instantly raised Sesshōmaru's killing intent by three full levels.
"I don't know how you got in here. But I can feel it, you're no great villain. And you carry Inuyasha's scent upon you. A very strong sense of gratitude…"
"So, forgive my presumption, Shinji, but would you mind… teaching this unworthy son of mine a lesson?"