Lines of Grey - chapter 7

Nyla wasn’t sure if her scream got out fully before the man was on her:  she had never seen anyone move that fast before.  Before she knew it, he had her pinned to the ground and was going for her neck.  Just as his fangs touched her flesh though, he recoiled in shock.  Nyla wasn’t sure if it was the smell of another vakar, or something else, but she was grateful Dakar’s precaution bite worked.  Still, this vakar was clearly not happy by the sudden change in events.

“Who!?” he demanded, his tone threatening and angry.

He got his answer when a dark grey form collided into him.  Nyla watched as Dakar and the rogue tumbled across the floor a bit, growls and snarls and the flashing of long fangs as each tried to bite the other.  It eventually dawned on her that she really should get out of the way, so she scrambled toward the kitchen.  Only once she was there did she turn to look to see how the fight was progressing.

She looked just in time to see Dakar get knocked away, though he rolled back up onto his feet with such grace that she couldn’t help but admire him even more.  A flicker of concern flowed through her when she saw Dakar was wounded:  there was a bite mark on his upper right arm, the wound leaking a small amount of blood.  Dakar though, didn’t seem fazed by it as he and the rogue squared off.

“Kagnis,” the rogue growled as he finally recognized him.  “Why aren’t you dead?”

“That…is not important,” Dakar said with a low growl.  “What is important is that I am not going to let you kill another innocent.”

“Innocent?” the man spat.  “If you were the one that bit her, you would know what she had done!”  He pointed right at her, making her flinch.  “She killed a man in cold blood!  Tossed him off bridge!”

“But did you even bother looking at the context?  The intent?”

“It does not fucking matter what the goddamn context is!  She took a life and so she must pay with her life!”

“If all that matters is whether or not someone took a life,” Nyla suddenly interjected.  “Then you best follow what you preach and take your own damn life!  Otherwise you are a damn hypocrite!”

The man faltered, her words striking a cord, perhaps calling to the part of him that was still somewhat sane.  Nyla wondered why Dakar didn’t take the opportunity to strike, but the look on his face suggested that he was hoping the man would realize the errors of his ways.  Reform was always preferred over death in turian society when came to crime and punishment, and it seemed vakar shared the same view when it came to their own.  However, his hopes would turn out to be for naught, as the man’s face hardened and glared at Dakar with malicious intent.

“So be it,” he growled.  “Since you robbed me of my meal, Kagnis…I shall make a meal out of you!”

--

Krido charged him, fangs bared and aiming for his throat.  Dakar, remembering how much damage this guy did to him with even light blows, wasn’t about to let him touch him, let alone bite, if he could help it.  He also remembered how fast Krido was, though his speed was definitely muted a bit due to his condition.  So Dakar knew now when to twist out of the way and not give the crazed vakar a chance to alter his course.

As Krido passed him, Dakar threw a punch at his lower back with the intent to send him to the floor.  However, Krido was already twisting around to face him again, so at best his punch grazed him.  Krido was too close now, however, so when the rogue vakar lunged for him again, Dakar couldn’t evade.  Instinctively, Dakar brought up an arm, but angled it so that Krido’s fangs hit the thicker carapace side of his arm.  Before Krido could free his fangs from his arm, Dakar punched him in the gut with his free arm.

Krido staggered back, releasing his arm and Dakar pressed the advantage, hitting him a few more times.  Just as Dakar thought he was off center enough for him to go for the throat himself, Krido suddenly sprung forward, tackling him and sending them both toward the coffee table.  The coffee table broke into several pieces from their weight, causing a shriek of rage from Nyla.

“Ahh!  You assholes! I got that from my mother!” Nyla screeched.  “Take it outside before you smash anymore of my furniture!”

Of all things to be worried about, Dakar thought with a grunt as he managed to kick Krido off.  Still, she had a point:  taking the fight outside not only give him more room to maneuver, but there would more suitable shadows he could use to flank his opponent.  Getting Krido to comply though was a problem, as the rogue vakar obviously didn’t care how much personal property he destroyed while trying to kill him.

For the next few minutes, Dakar tried to position Krido so he could knock or otherwise throw Krido out the living room window.  It was proving difficult, however, due to Krido’s chaotic movements and the fact he was trying not to cause any more damage to Nyla’s home.  His consideration for Nyla’s property ended up nearly being his downfall, for at one point he ended up tripping on something: a bump in the carpet, or perhaps a piece of the broken coffee table.  Regardless of what it was, he lost his balance, and before he could regain it, Krido pounced on him.

Fuck! Dakar thought, cursing himself as Krido pinned both his arms.  This time there was no shadows for him to use to get out from under him and worse, his legs were not in a good position to try to kick him off.  On top of that, he couldn’t use his shadowfire due to there being so much light in the room:  even if there wasn’t, he would be reluctant to use it for fear of burning more of Nyla’s property. All he could do was tuck in his chin to protect this vulnerable throat, and move his head to block Krido’s attempts to bite the sides of his neck, all while desperately trying to free one his arms, or get proper leverage with a foot.

Klang!

The weight on him lifted somewhat as Krido suddenly cried out in pain.  Above him, Dakar saw Nyla armed with a frying pan and she was getting ready to swing it again.  At that moment, Krido twisted about, meaning snap at her.  What happened next, made Dakar wince, almost in sympathy for the man.

When it came to a fight between two vakar, there was a universal unspoken rule, more of a courtesy really:  don’t hit the fangs.  A vakar without his or her fangs cannot feed properly until they grow back, which takes a least a week, provided they get a steady supply of blood.  Without help, or a bit of cleverness such as putting blood in a bowl like Dakar had last night, a fangless vakar ran the risk of starvation.  Plus it hurt like a son of a bitch.  

However, Nyla wasn’t a vakar, so she wasn’t bound by such a rule.

Nyla’s next swing hit Krido right in the mouth, knocking out one fang and severely damaging the other.  Krido screamed in agony, both hands flying to his face.  Dakar, his arms now free, took the chance to first knock him off himself, then grab him, and finally throw him out of the window.

“Thanks for the assist,” Dakar called back to Nyla as he prepared to follow him.  “I’d suggest you stay inside:  you don’t want to what happens next.”

“Seriously?” Nyla protested.  “I want to see that bastard pay for making me ruin my frying pan.”

Dakar rolled his eyes, but was chuckling as well.  “Trust me, you don’t,” he said as he leaped out the window.

It was indeed, a good thing she lived on the ground floor, at least in his case.  Still, he rolled as he landed, to help avoid any glass that may have fallen on the outside.  Once back up on his feet, he looked around the alley for Krido.

The rogue vakar hadn’t gone far and from his whimpering it was obvious he was still reeling from the hit to the fangs.  Knowing he had no better opportunity, Dakar charged, shadowwalking mid-way so that he appeared right in front of him.  Unable to respond in time due to pain and surprise, Krido ended up in the same position he had Dakar in moments before.  Dakar wasted no time going for this throat, sinking his fangs into the soft flesh before Krido got his wits about him.

Dakar wasn’t hungry, but he drank anyway.  He wanted to know why Krido ended up on this path and how may innocents he had killed.  What he discovered, however, shocked him.

Krido had a brother whom was killed after breaking into a house while drunk, whether he mistook the house for his own or intended to rob it wasn’t clear.  Regardless, Krido wanted the homeowner who killed him arrested and tried for murder, but the police refused, saying there wasn’t any evidence of criminal intent on the homeowner’s part.  Krido was warned not to take matters into his own hands.

Furious, Krido stewed in bitterness at the justice system, believing it was wrong for the homeowner to take matters into his own hands.  He felt no one had the right to take another life aside for the police or military.  With that in mind, he tried to join the justice system, but after only a few months he was fired, due to accusations of police brutality.

It was soon after that, he was approached by a vakar and offered a chance to be given the power needed to do what the justice system would not.  However, that vakar….

Tenisia, Dakar thought with a growl.  She had been a rogue vakar herself, one that felt their kind should rule over the turians, saw the whole lot of them as nothing but food.  Tenisia herself had been slain about a hundred years ago, her codename blocked from the memory by every honorable vakar that knew of her.  Such a situation was one of the few times a vakar would willingly forget information.  Between her, the lack of a proper sect, and the fact Krido was unsuitable to become a vakar in the first place, it was no wonder Krido turned out the way he did.

Dakar pulled away, having seen enough.  Beneath him, Krido was still alive, but too weak now to even move, his eyes showing fear for what was probably the first time in decades.  Dakar himself felt bloated, having drank so much blood:  he wanted nothing more than to curl up in a bed and sleep until the next night.  However, there was still some unfinished business.  One of which he was about to take care of right now.  He stood up and looked down upon Krido, his eyes full of contempt.

“Krido Musven,” Dakar began, a faint growl in his voice.  “Your lack of ability, or unwillingness, to see the whole context and intent of our target’s actions is what has brought you to this point tonight.  Generations ago, vakar like you caused a rift between us and the turians, nearly driving us to extinction back then.  Your own actions carried the risk of all vakar being hunted down and exterminated by the hanators, because you could not, would not, see why we limit our feeding targets as we do.”  At this, Dakar reached a hand out toward him, his shadowfire flicking to life around his fingers, hungry to burn something.  “For that reason and to avenge the innocent lives you wrongfully taken, you must die, your codename forgotten. I, Dakar Kagnis, subsidiary to Elder Meda Miroris, will execute the judgment now!”

Krido opened his mouth, likely to protest, but it seemed he was too weak to even do that, that or Dakar’s fangs damaged his voice box.  It didn’t matter anyway, for Dakar’s shadowfire shot out at that moment, enveloping him with its black flames.  Krido soundlessly screamed as the shadowfire ate away at his flesh, writhing in agony with what strength he had left.  It wasn’t long before there was nothing but ash left and Dakar bid the fire to extinguish itself so it did not start to burn things it shouldn’t.

Dakar sighed with relief:  it was over.  No more will Krido roam the streets, killing those that didn’t deserve it.  He really needed to go back home, to report in and let his elder know that he had succeeded in his task. However there were a couple more loose ends to deal with and both involved Nyla.

And for one of those, he really didn’t want to break her heart….

--

You don’t want to see it, he says, Nyla thought as she paced the room.  Did he forget where I worked?  I’m quite certain I’ve seen as bad, if not worse than whatever he was going to do to that bastard.  

Yet, despite her thoughts, she couldn’t bring herself to look out the window to see what was going on. Was it out of respect of Dakar’s wishes, or fear of what she’ll see?  She didn’t know and that was driving her nearly as crazy as not knowing what was going on outside.  Granted, by now the sun had fully set, so she likely wouldn’t see much anyway.

She jumped when she heard something climb back in, clutching her dented frying pan close in case Dakar lost the fight.  Fortunately, it was Dakar that was coming back in and from the looks of his fangs and belly, he had a very good feed.  “Is it over?” she asked, her voice tingling with anticipation.

“It is over,” Dakar confirmed with a nod.  “No longer will he feed on the innocent, for now he is nothing but ash.”

Nyla wondered how the heck he was able to start a fire without her, or anyone else, noticing, but she sighed with relief anyway.  “Thank the spirits,” she said softly.  “Are you hurt?”

“Nothing that won’t heal up fully in a few more minutes.”

“I see…guess all that’s left is the call the police…if the neighbor’s haven’t already:  not sure how to explain all this though.”

“Easy:  a man broke into your home, you freaked out and hit him with the frying pan.  He fell onto your coffee table, breaking it, in a mad dash to get away from you.”

Nyla blinked at him.  “You had to do this before, hadn’t you?”

“Once or twice….”

“Uh huh…at least it’s not too far from the truth,” Nyla grumbled.  “I’d feel like a bad turian if I had to flat out lie.”

“That reminds me…,” Dakar said, sounding serious.  “About Kromus….”

Nyla stiffed at that name, a name she hadn’t wanted to hear ever again.  How did he…? she started to ask herself but then realized the answer: he did bite her and so had to have read her memories.  “What about him?” she asked, meekly.

At that, Dakar stepped right up to her, and cupped her chin with one hand.  While the move was sudden, it wasn’t entirely unwanted, so the worse she did in response was drop the frying pan.  “Do not blame yourself so heavily for his death,” Dakar said softly, looking into her eyes.  “For at least part, if not most, of the blame lies on him.”

“But...,” Nyla started to protest but Dakar put a finger from his other hand on her mouth to silence her.

“What I saw in your memories was a man that risked going down a bad road due to his own pride and selfishness.  I saw a man that was only seeking conquest in the bed and may have resorted to extremes to succeed in that conquest later on.  If he had truly been an honorable, honest, turian, he would have let you go the first time you asked him too.  What happened afterward when he refused to do so, he brought onto himself.”

“But…even knowing that…,” Nyla said softly, looking down after he removed his finger from her lips.  “Did he really deserve to die?”

“It doesn’t matter now, for what’s done is done,” Dakar countered.  “You did not face retribution from the justice system for his death and you won’t face it from true vakar either.  Stop letting his death drag you down…and live your own life.”

Nyla sighed deeply, feeling a weight off her shoulders:  he was right.  In fact, deep inside, she had known what Dakar had said to be true all along but had buried it under denial and regret.  She needed to move on, to leave the specter that was Kromus behind.  At least she didn’t have to look for the right man anymore, since…

She blinked, and realized Dakar was gone.  In the brief time she had been reflecting, Dakar had disappeared.  Frantic, she started looking for him, quickly finding him in the bedroom, where he was finally putting his shirt on.  “I prefer you without your shirt on,” she said with a flirty tone.

“Can’t walk back home without a shirt on,” Dakar said calmly.  “It would be indecent.”

Nyla’s heart sank.  “Wa-wait…you’re leaving!?”

“I am.”  His expression was unreadable.  “I did what I came here to do and it would be wrong of me to continue to interfere in your life.”

“You can interfere as much as you want as far as I am concerned!”  Nyla said.  “I want to see you again.…”

“I’m afraid you won’t,” Dakar said flatly as he walked past her and took his trenchcoat off the coat rack.  “Not very likely anyway.”

“Why!?  Don’t you care about me!?”

At this Dakar faltered.  She could see the pain and regret in his eyes, like he really didn’t want to do this to her.  “I do…,” he confessed finally, his voice only barely above a whisper.  “But I know it will not work out in the end.”

“Why not?” She could already think of several reasons why that could be so, but she wanted to hear his reasons.  Dakar seemed to realize this, as it took him a moment to think of an answer.  What he did say though, was a big one.

“I won’t be able to give you the children you want so badly, Nyla.”

Of course he would get ‘that’ from my mind too…, she thought.  If Nyla’s heart could sink any lower it would be in the planet’s core.  “You’re…sterile?”  she asked.

“All vakar are from the moment we are turned,” Dakar explained, regretfully.  “It is a consequence of being given immortality, a fact all candidates for turning must accept beforehand.”

Well, that just screwed over any hope she had of getting with him…while preserving her own dreams of having a family.  Sure there was adoption, but that just didn’t feel right in her opinion:  she wanted kids of her own blood.  “I-I see…,” she said softly, sighing with resignation.  “I guess this is really goodbye then.”

“Nyla….”  Dakar put his hand on the side of her face.  “I’m am certain you will find the right man, one that will give you the respect and love you deserve.  If things were different…perhaps….”  He stopped himself and shook his head. “I better go….”

“Yes, before I tie you up and keep you for myself,” Nyla said, half out of bitterness, half out of longing.

Dakar chuckled softly, giving her a sad smile as he went for the door.  She watched as he opened the front door and stepped outside.  Nyla started to follow him, to perhaps say one last goodbye, or to drag him back inside, she wasn’t sure which herself at this point, but he had disappeared into thin air….