Previous Parts: 1 | 2
Theme: Seven Deadly Sins - Wrath
Rating: R for language
Author's Note: 500 words. I swear to god, next week I will manage to post these before the deadline.
Wrath: feelings of hatred and anger, self-righteousness, ferocity
Sanzo was fucking annoyed.
It wasn't the youkai who wanted to kill him. He was used to that, to the irritating voices repeating a demand for his sutra when it was a group of the saner ones, the incoherent, bone-deep roars and glass-cracking screams when it wasn't. That was too stupidly repetitious to get angry over: an ambush, fighting that seemed to go on and on until finally every last assassin was dead and no one was left in their way, then more cheap inns, dirt roads, deserts or forests or mountains or whatever damn country they were currently in, until it started over. Murder was muscle memory anymore; the metallic tang of gunpowder always on his hands. The only thing that ever changed was the location of their bruises and scabs. Gojyo and Goku compared fresh scars in the baths like it was a competition, like it was a fucking game they were playing for the fun of it.
It was pathetic; when had crazed demons wanting to eat him become just another part of the day? Sanzo would be bored if he wasn't constantly aware that it only took one slip-up, one lucky youkai, and they'd all be dead. He saw it whenever he closed his eyes against the flash of a gunshot: claws in skin, teeth in flesh, and everything red. A second was enough to turn a living person into an empty body, and he knew there weren't enough fucking regrets in all the world to change it back.
These days, he considered it a good night if all he dreamt about was a bunch of murderous youkai, because at least those he could kill. Not that any of them slept much; midnight attacks had eventually managed to pound caution into even Goku, and now they all jolted awake every time the floor creaked or the window shutter shifted in the wind. This journey was making something different out of them; Sanzo couldn't stand it, but there it was, every morning when his right shoulder ached from the recoil, every evening a little farther from China, every night when one of the others assumed some new closeness as though he enjoyed having them around; just more nuisances, courtesy of the gods.
The youkai murder attempts weren't even the worst of it. It was that he was getting used to the idea that they might succeed. That pissed him off. If he hadn't stopped breathing yet, despite all the stupid shit he'd had to put up with so far, it sure as hell wasn't going to be some idiot youkai who managed to kill him. Not that he liked living so much better, but the idea of losing to one of these dumb-asses made his head hurt.
Sanzo wasn't about to give up like that. If he had to kill to stay alive, break every vow and drag the title of a Sanzo through the dirt and mud and blood, so be it. He always was stubborn.