After consideration, I've decided to switch back to the usual third person PoV, interspersed as necessary by first person PoVs.
Warnings : Angst, violence, swearing

Dedicated to Lux -- Whom, by requesting it, catalyzed the inspiration for the whole fic.

RESPICE FINEM
Chapter 1 - Ebony Sky

They came at once; having made up their minds, there was no reason to pause. Pausing would have meant fear, and to these youkai, crazed by bloodlust and the Minus Wave, there was no such thing as fear.

Hakkai stood his ground as they appeared, dark shapes materializing from the trees. The thunder rang through his ears, obscuring sound. Just like the night, that night that he'd reached the castle. The night when one life had ended. And the other had not yet begun.

She'd died that night, in the same cold rain as this night. Died and left nothing for him. Not killed, that was the irony; no, she had died by her own hand, by the blade he'd borne.

In a way he'd killed her, killed her as surely as the youkai who'd taken her from him. Killed her as surely as that cold steel that had wrenched life with a single, sharp thrust. He'd been unforgivably careless; he had not been there when the youkai had come. He had not protected her. And in rescuing her, he had failed again, come too late to stop the atriocities that had happened. He had failed utterly.

The rain knew; it whispered past his ears, murmuring again those dark secrets of the yesteryear that he'd locked away in his heart. It told him again of the past and its sorrows, of the grief that could not be quenched, of the wounds that could not be healed, and most of all, of the guilt that could not be forgotten.

Fighting was a reflex action, a habit, something as mechanical and thoughtless as breathing. The first youkai fell to punch to the jaw, a punch fueled by hidden youkai strength and perhaps something more. The second fell to a blade, pillaged from the corpse of his first companion. The third and fourth and fifth succumbed to balls of ki, those concentrated blasts of energy that rended a body into its component atoms.

Fighting was a reflex action, a habit, as his mind rode through other tracks and retraced the paths of memory. It was as if he was back there, returning back across three years in the blink of an eye and in the embrace of a cold thunderstorm. They said that a thousand had died by his hand that time; he could not recall. He remembered only the blood, splashing across his vision as one youkai after another fell, victim to the unfeeling steel of his blade.

And another, and another.

They had cursed him, screamed at him, but he could not hear their cries. He had been deafened, listening to the voice in his heart, blinded, seeing only the darkness and her face before him.

And another.

He felt nothing now. They had taken from him that which was the most precious, and there was nothing left. If the carnage was unjustified, he cared not. It did not matter. There was blood on his hands already. A little more was of no consequence.

But it seemed that there was a great multitude of enemies, appearing from the trees and leaping down to attack him. So many that all he saw was a blur of motion. Light glowed between his finger tips again another wave went down, but there were too many of them. They were forcing him back.

One of them slipped past his defences, and he thought, through the numbness that had engulfed him, that there might have been a tingle of pain where the claws ripped through flesh. Then there was nothing but another youkai corpse flying backwards.

Thought was going. He could no longer recall what he had been thinking about. All he saw was the blackness, the blackness of his heart and soul and the blackness that was the void, sucked dry by anguish and sorrow until all there was left was a vortex, spinning towards infinity.

He whirled, and another youkai fell. And another.

***

Hakkai was fighting like he was demented. There had to be a least a dozen youkai attacking him at any one time, and he warded them off singlehandedly. Gojyo paused for breath, hands clenched around the shaft of his shaku jou as the bloody scene unfolded in front of him.

Hakkai was a fool to think that he could handle all of them alone though. No matter how fast he was, no matter how powerful he was, there was always the chance--

--Gojyo winced as a youkai attacked from behind, claws tearing a bloody streak across Hakkai's back. Then there was a flash of light and the youkai's head dissolved into a bloody mess.

"Idiot," he whispered.

There was something so wrong with Hakkai that he could not place it. Hakkai would never, normally, have wandered out to fend off the enemy himself. He was not, for the wont of a better word, that crazy. He would have summoned assistance, even at the expense of waking the Grand High and Mighty Sanzo-sama from his sleep.

Yet he was there, attempting to eliminate a full-scale youkai assault on his own.

And it was terrifying. All of them fought, and fought well. But when Hakkai fought seriously, he rivalled even Goku in his power. He was a full youkai, after all, and the legacy of that race ran through his veins -- the strength, the speed, the power. As a human, he'd massacred a thousand youkai and half a village, alone. As a youkai, his powers enhanced, he was nothing short of horrifying in battle.

Yet, even so...

The Minus Wave lent a madness to their enemies, but with that madness came strength, where all caution was thrown to the winds and all that existed was the hunt and all that mattered was the kill. These youkai were vagabonds, accustomed to years of survival in a hostile world, strengthened by experience and now by magic. Even if he got to Hakkai's side in time, there was no saying that they would be able to hold all of them off. With the monk and the monkey, perhaps...

His steps faltered, as he glanced back towards the compound of the inn, tempted to summon Sanzo and Goku. But there was no time left. When he had roused them and returned, Hakkai would be dead. There was no choice; they would have to face this threat alone. Perhaps Sanzo or Goku would sense the enemy and come running; one could always hope for miracles.

Gojyo grimaced. When this was over, he would have a long talk with Hakkai about Saving the World Alone.

As he glanced back towards the fight, preparing to sprint the last fifty meters or so, he saw Hakkai jerk back as another youkai's claws found their mark. His breath caught, his heart stopped, as Hakkai faltered and staggered unsteadily.

Then it happened, so fast that all he saw was a flick of a wrist and a sudden glint of silver.

And Hakkai's youryoku limiters, nestling on his ear, fell away and hit the ground.

***

Pain washed across him as another youkai scored home. He was too slow, too weak. Limited. Unable to exercise his full potential. But that could be resolved. For he could not afford to die, could not afford to fail, could not afford to lose.

His hand flew to the limiters.

***

The sudden surge in youki roused him from sleep.

Sanzo was out of bed in an instant, the revolver in his hand and the click of the safety catch flicking off echoing through the room.

When no attack materialized, he realized that the emanation came from without. Somewhere, in the rain and the darkness, the enemy was attacking again. Swearing softly at yet another interrupted night, he shrugged his robes on and stalked towards the door.

He was not truly drunk -- he had not consumed enough sake to inebriate. Getting sloshed was certain death, here in the heart of youkai territory, where the only thing that stood between them and madness was a single wooden fence. Vigilance was their only friend.

He had left most of the drinking to Hakkai. Hakkai, quieter than usual and bereft of that annoyingly fake smile that he always wore, had sat in silence and consumed glass after glass of alcohol. But Hakkai's alcohol tolerance was phenomenal, so he had merely nursed his own drink and made no comment.

It was this place, this miserable village that was the last outpost, the last sanctuary before a massive stretch of youkai territory. Here they lived in the shadow of death and the talons of fear, constantly glancing over their shoulders and wondering if the next day would be the last. Their fear seeped into the walls and soaked through the ground, becoming almost palpable. It grated on his nerves, it attacked his subconscious, making him irritable and jumpy and paranoid.

And then there was the rain, which was always a trigger for bad memories and no friend of theirs. Youkai attacked under the cover of nightfall, and rain, rain that extinguished the fires of the watch beacons and the light of stars, only lent them a cloak in which to hide themselves.

He had felt it creeping up on him. Hakkai had felt it too, Hakkai--

--was not in his room.

Sanzo stared at the empty bed, brows knitted in a moment of confusion. Spinning, he glanced across the corridor--

--Gojyo's door was ajar as well.

They were gone. Perhaps they had sensed the attack and gone to confront... no, they would not have. They would have sounded the alert. It would not do to face down a mad pack of youkai with your companions blissfully asleep and unaware of the danger. There was no evidence of a struggle, so they had left of their own accord. Their reasons were beyond him and fell into the realm of postulation, and there was no time for guesswork. He could simply have to deal with the threat on his own.

Goku had better be in his room.

TBC