These Violent Delights

Chapter 53: An Honorable Man

With a thunderous force, Vicrul's boots echoed off the walls as he ran after M421.

As he sensed, she was waiting for him at the end of the hallway. He grunted as he got on his knees to slide out of the corridor, dodging the heavy bag she tried to smash in his face. The momentum of her swing sent her tumbling back into the hall, and Vicrul swooped in from behind. Grabbing her wrists, he threw her against the wall, her back connecting with his stomach. She struggled against him, but he remained solid, pushing into her as hard as possible as he spoke lowly in her ear. "Give up, Miss Ren."

"That's not my name, asshole," she spat, thrashing wildly against him.

Vicrul laughed—a wickedly pleased sound. "And asshole isn't mine."

She groaned when she couldn't move. "You said you wouldn't use the Force!"

"I'm not, and I won't," he mused, unbothered. "I'm simply stronger than you."

As she spewed profanities at him, Vicrul maneuvered her around so that she was facing him. He still had her pinned against the wall, their chests touching each time they inhaled, the warmth emanating off her body and sinking into his. Her scent, her energy...it was intoxicating. And it punched him in the fucking gut. He swallowed hard.

Her eyes flickered down to his throat, and a sardonic smile found her lips. "Ah. So that's why you have me in this position."

"To subdue you and take you home?" Vicrul spoke through a clenched jaw. "Yes."

"Nah. You want to subdue me so you can fuck me right here and now, up against this wall." She tilted her head at him and licked her lips. "Because you're tired of just watching. Isn't that right, Vicrul?" He didn't say anything, nor did he move. He wasn't sure if he could even breathe. "Come on," she cooed, thrusting her hips forward and pressing into his crotch. "Let go of my hands, and show me what you wanna do to me."

Vicrul's chest swelled with a tight inhale. "Don't tempt me."

"Oh?" she purred, rocking against him harder. "Why not?"

A gruff groan tore through his lips, his heart stuttering in his chest as his hands tightened around her wrists. She was so close, and she was rubbing against his groin, inviting him to take her. He wanted nothing more than to give in, to pound her against this wall and then proceed to suck her clit on every tabletop in this massive bloody mansion. He wanted to make her beg, make her moan his name as she came all over his face, mewling pretty noises all night long. But Vicrul knew he had to remove himself from those thoughts. Because even though he wanted to take the bait, he knew it was just that—bait. He looked her dead in the eye. "A man that values his life would never betray his Master."

She looked up at him with those sweet, pretty eyes and batted her lashes. She kept her voice velvety smooth, seductive. "But your Master isn't here, is he? It's just you and me like you said."

A slight smile found his lips. "No, but he'd kill me if I touched you."

She got on her tippy toes and brought her face to his, her lips almost brushing against his mouth. She spoke to him with the softest, most menacing voice he's ever heard. "Not if I kill you first."

With a war cry, Kitten threw her forehead at his and headbutted him, resulting in a blinding pain that forced him to release her. But as she tried to push past him, Vicrul outstretched his leg and tripped her, making her tumble to the ground. But it didn't curb her efforts for long. She used the momentum of the fall to push herself up, then backflipped to kick him in the face.

Unfortunately for him, that was only the beginning of their power struggle. The remainder of their violent back-and-forth happened in one quick, unpleasant blur. Not one surface in the entire living area was untouched as they threw each other around, wrestling and finding ways to outmatch one another. Where Vicrul had strength, M421 would make up for it with flexibility. While she had cunning maneuvers, he could almost always anticipate her next move.

And the damage? It was truly endless. Mugs and plates and food items littered the ground in the kitchen, while the cushions on the sofa found new homes all across the floor. The tauntaun chairs were nearly impossible to destroy, but the glass table between them was not as lucky. The holoscreen fell victim to the sharp blade of Lucy, though that was a mistake on his part. And after thirty minutes of constant fighting, even Vicrul's datapad didn't make it out unscathed. With both of them panting from across each other, dripping sweat, he started to lose patience.

"Let's end this before we burn their house down, Miss Ren. Come on. Come home."

She only grunted, thrusting her knife at him to continue their deadly dance. He responded with anger, aggressively catching her blow with his scythe. Moving fast, he hooked his arm around hers and locked it upward, rendering the grip on her knife completely useless. She tried to push against him, but he wouldn't budge. He had her arm locked with his, and all he had to do now was pluck the knife out of her hands.

"It's over," he rasped, voice thick with emotion. "Stop fighting. Come home. Accept your destiny."

With one last attempt to thrust away from him, she stilled. "Destiny?" she repeated, breathing heavily. She closed her eyes and the creases on her forehead relaxed. He stared at her intently, but she couldn't see him. Positioned with her side connected with his torso, Vicrul could only see the profile of her face. For the briefest of moments, he felt a sense of calm settle above them. But then it happened.

He hunched over, dropping Lucy with a shrill clatter. He let go of Kitten's arm, and she pulled it away, keeping the other hand on the knife lodged deep inside his stomach. He looked down and saw red—literally—and realized it was over. He had failed. She had outsmarted him. Moments before, she had dropped her knife with one hand, then bent down and caught it with the other. Before he could stop it, she had shoved the blade into his abdomen. When she withdrew it, it sent a gush of blood spilling from him like somebody pulling the plug from a drain.

Vicrul groaned. His eyes widened, and his mouth popped open. "You got me." He vaguely heard her step away from him. He blew a deep breath through his lips and collapsed backward, his spine connecting with the wall as he tried to put pressure on his wound.

"Why did you make me do this?" she whispered, voice breaking. "I didn't want to hurt you. I don't want to hurt anybody anymore."

Vicrul met her gaze with effort, wincing at the excruciating pain exuding from his side as he fought to keep himself on two feet. "I'm...sorry," he said pathetically.

"You're sorry?" she cried, dropping the knife to the floor. She kicked it down the corridor. "If you're so fucking sorry, why couldn't you just let me go? Why couldn't either of you just let me go? "

He took a moment to breathe through his nostrils. "Because he loves you."

"But you?" she whispered, bottom lip trembling. "What's your excuse, Vicrul? Why didn't you tell the others you were here?"

"You know why," he said with effort, locking his jaw as waves of pain crashed into him. "He trusted me to bring you back. It's my job."

"That's not an explanation."

Vicrul grunted as he leaned all his weight into the wall behind him. He looked up at her, his hair falling into his eyes. "It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does," she flared, stepping closer to him. "It matters to me."

"Fine." Vicrul pressed his lips into a hard line. "I was afraid of what would happen if Ren came here tonight. In his current state of mind, I didn't know what he would have done. You or the Korras could have gotten hurt."

She scoffed. "You know exactly what he would have done. He would have waved a hand over my face, and three hours later, I'd be back in his quarters," she said, shaking her head. "So tell me the whole truth, Vicrul."

He remained silent, watching her as he held onto his side, blood seeping from the wound she gave him.

"Well?" came her hoarse whisper as she looked at him with wide, pleading eyes. "And whatever it is, don't tell me it doesn't matter."

He let a slow half-smile touch his lips. "You stab me, and you're being this stubborn? You will simply be the death of me."

"For the love of Naboo, just tell me!"

Before she could finish her outburst, Vicrul pushed himself off the wall. "I don't bloody know, okay? You think I have any idea why I can suddenly feel again after meeting you?" he asked fiercely, biting back the wave of pain that hit him. "All I know is that I fucking hate it. I fucking hate that you matter so much to me."

"Oh," is all she said. The tense silence that followed was so thick between them, it was palpable. Vicrul felt his cheeks burn as she gave him an emotional, strangled chuckle. "I hate that you matter to me, too," she muttered, blinking away tears. "But you know...you know how I feel about Kylo."

He just stared at her in disbelief. He didn't ever intend on saying those words aloud, but now it was too late. They spilled from his lips and coated her and the white walls of this house in a dark blue truth that couldn't be unsaid. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he leaned back against the wall, trying to compose himself. "I know."

"But that doesn't mean I wanted to kill you."

Vicrul flashed her a weak, unconvincing smile. "I'm not dead yet, Miss Ren."

She gently pointed to his wound. "But the gash. It's...deep."

"Eh, it's not so bad," he said, looking down with a light shrug. "Just a little foreplay, is all. Nothing to worry about."

She sniffled. "Not funny."

"Sorry," he mumbled. Vicrul let out a deep sigh and looked at her tired, tear-stained face. "You're still here. Shouldn't you be out and about, celebrating your freedom?"

She sucked her bottom lip. "I—"

As a wave of delirium hit him, Vicrul lost his footing. He groaned as he slid down the wall and crashed against the floor, purging blood, and fast. "Ahh, fucking hells."

He struggled to prop himself up, but Kitten bent down and took hold of his shoulders, gently pushing him upright. She pulled away once he was in the sitting position, his back against the wall. The sound of shuffling filled the room, and he looked up at her. "What, what are you doing?"

"Saving your life," she said as she dug in her bag. "I'll be damned if a Knight of Ren's fate is to be taken out by a goddamn kitchen knife."

"Fate," Vicrul repeated, the word tasting familiar on his tongue. Then it hit him. "Wait, wait. Listen to me. This Force signature...it's real. I know you didn't want to hear it, but it's true. It's been there all along. It—ahhhh," he moaned, biting back a wave of nausea.

"Shhhh, shhh," she hushed, bending down beside him. "It's okay."

Weak hands grabbed her shoulders. "I need you to tell me you believe me. Tell me that you will seek out guidance."

She considered him for what felt like a lifetime. Eventually, she gave him a small nod. "Okay, Vic. Okay. Now sit back."

"You need training. Tell me—" Blood invaded his throat, making him choke and cough uncontrollably.

"Shhh, sit back," she soothed, easing his hands from her shoulders. "And take this," she said, taking his hand and putting an oblong item in his palm. Vicrul looked down, head woozy, to see a vial of bacta. "This will heal you. It's just enough. Use it and get help, okay? I'm leaving, but I need you to promise me you will use this."

He blinked. She just stabbed him, but now she was insisting on saving him. Him. The asshole that wouldn't let her go. The asshole that didn't deserve her mercy. She was still speaking, but all he could hear were words that made him ache. I hate that you matter to me, too. Vicrul smiled. He wrapped his hand around hers, holding it tightly. "Miss Ren."

"I'm sure you've used it before, but all you do is unlatch the top and sink it into your wound, or—"

"Miss Ren."

"What?" she hissed, her brows knitting adorably as her eyes searched his. "What could you possibly have to say right now that is more important than administrating this bacta to save your fucking—"

Vicrul grabbed her face and brought his lips to hers. They were soft and warm and tasted better than he could have ever imagined as his rough hands cradled her face, keeping her in place as his tongue explored her bottom lip. He envisioned deepening the kiss, pulling her even closer so that she was sitting on his lap, crashing their bodies against each other as he gripped the back of her neck, keeping her mouth tightly against his. Gently sucking and biting her lower lip until she trembled against him, vibrating with—

Kitten pulled away and slapped him across the face.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" she squealed, pushing herself off the floor to stand over him. "What the kriff was that?"

He lowered his head, his vision blurring as he started to chuckle.

She kicked his boot. "Well? Mr-I-would-never-betray-my-Master, what do you have to say for yourself?"

With an agonizing effort, Vicrul lifted his head and locked eyes with hers. A smug, satisfied smile played on his lips. "I am a dying man, Miss Ren. Not an honorable one."

After a short lifetime of glaring at him, M421 let out a deep breath. She almost sounded amused. "For star's sake, Vic," she muttered. She bent down again, this time keeping an adequate distance between them, and handed him the bacta. "Use this."

With double vision, he looked down at the vial in his palm and nodded. "As you wish, Miss Ren."

"Good," she breathed, pushing herself up. She shuffled around him for a few more minutes, but he couldn't focus. He heard footsteps and some rustling before he sensed her above him again. "Oh, and Vicrul?"

"Mmmm?"

"Don't come looking for me again." She started to walk away. But stopped when he said one word: her name. She was slow to turn around, eyes wide and full of surprise. "You said it."

"Ha. I did."

"Why? Why now?"

He gave her a half-shrug. He slurred his words, just a bit. "Issa pretty name."

"Vicrul, please."

He licked at his bloody lips. "Run," he said, adding her name again, loving the way it felt in his mouth. "Run as far as you can, and only look back when you're ready."

Her face crumpled in pain, tears bleeding down her face as they shared a weighted gaze. After a few more moments of silence, she gave him a curt nod. With a sense of sad resolve radiating from her, Kitten swung her bag over her shoulder and walked down the corridor. She didn't look back as she slipped through the front door.

Vicrul let out a deep, exhausted exhale. With his head propped up against the wall and his hand clutching his side, he listened to the sound of her footsteps fade away. After he heard his motorcycle start, she revved and took off, and that was that. She was gone. The blaring quietness of the night settled in the house, forcing him to acknowledge the piercing pain in his abdomen.

He sloppily tilted his chin down to assess the damage. His legs were sprawled out in front of him, and the blood oozing from his wound had formed a large, viscous puddle beside him. With shaking hands, Vicrul grasped at the bacta syringe, rolling the slick vial between his fingers. He could easily administer it, potentially heal himself long enough to send out a transmission for help...

Or, Vicrul could let it go and let it drop to the ground. He could watch it roll away from him instead. He could finally get some rest. That sounded quite nice, actually. Vicrul was tired. Physically and mentally. Of living just to serve. He would always be grateful for Master Ren and all he had done for him, but every night, he found himself wide awake in his bed, listening to the sound of his loneliness gnaw away at his insides. And sometimes, the seduction of silence was the biggest temptress of all.

Vicrul's fingers twitched around the bacta, shallow breaths fighting to expand his chest. He didn't know what to do. And to be honest, he didn't really care either way. He didn't have anything to live for, or anyone for that matter. Master Ren was the only family he had, and Vicrul failed him. Not only did M421 get away, but he kissed her, too. And if the gash in his torso didn't kill him, the wrath of Ren would. A noise of amusement escaped him at the absurdity of that thought, sending a shooting pain straight to his side. He winced and closed his eyes, only to find that he could still see her face.

He smiled ever so slightly. He couldn't remember the last time he felt anything when he kissed someone. And seeing Ren fall so chaotically and authentically for her...Vicrul would be lying if he said he wasn't envious of their connection. He had been pulled to Kitten's energy this whole time, but he had thought it was lust. He had assumed it was just sexual frustration. But he was wrong. It was more than that. She mattered to him. But in the end, that didn't matter. Nothing did.

With unsteady hands, Vicrul brought the vial up to his line of sight. He twirled it in his fingers, watching the brilliantly blue substance gleam through a coat of his blood. He thought that maybe if he looked hard enough, he would find a sign to carry on. A sign that would offer some clarity on what to do. But then, without warning, the glass slipped out of his grip and shattered to the floor. Stunned, he looked down at the bacta as it fizzed and bubbled in the puddle of his blood. He watched, eyes wide, as it dissipated within seconds.

Well, fuck, he thought to himself, his words processing slowly in his mind. I guess that's the sign I deserve. Vicrul started to laugh. Quietly at first, the kind of laughter that shakes your body as your mouth hangs open. But then it escalated into the kind that bubbles up from your gut and wrings your stomach out with each violent gasp for air. A part of him knew that nothing was funny about this moment. That it was just a side effect of his mind descending into delirium and his impending death.

Vicrul could sense it, recognize it. He had seen a man die before in every way imaginable. Quick, bloodless deaths. Drawn out, torturous deaths. Deaths where they begged for their lives, while others begged to be put out of their misery. He had seen it all; he had done it all. And now it was his turn. He was relieved, in a sense. There was no more pain—his body was past that point. He just felt tired and dizzy. Memories echoed in his mind, mixing with his present reality. One moment he could hear the sound of children playing at the Coruscant orphanage, and the next, he could hear the battle cries of the knights as they fought beside Ren. He could smell blood, he could smell flowers. He could feel everything and nothing at the same time.

His head spun at the sound of light footsteps. Through half-closed eyes, Vicrul saw a blurry outline of a figure walking toward him. She was dressed in a white, flowy gown, and it looked like she was floating down the corridor. He blinked rapidly and said her name, the name that felt so right to say, but was met with silence. An icy cold fist squeezed his heart. He didn't know why he thought Kitten come back for him. She loved Master Ren, and she wouldn't even go back to him. Why would Vicrul ever deserve to see her again? To be around her light?

The figure still hovered above him. He couldn't see her face. A bloody hand reached up toward her, quaking, but she moved out of his grasp. "Please," Vicrul gasped. To whom he was asking for help, he didn't know.

A voice from his childhood washed over him. "My poor, poor boy."

His heart stopped. He was seven years old when he last heard that voice, but he recognized it immediately. "Mama?" Vicrul croaked, tears welling in his eyes. He smiled through bloodied teeth and struggled to sit up. "Ma-mama, is that you?"

The image of her flickered above him in slow, blurry movements. "Shhh, shhh. Don't move, child. I have sent for help."

"You came back. You ca-came back for me," Vicrul stammered, overcome with emotion. "After all this time...you, you came back for me."

"I never left you, son," came her breathy voice, swirling around him and giving him chills. She started to dissipate right before his bleary, bloodshot eyes. "I've been here the whole time..."

"Wait! No!" Vicrul yelled, and in his panic, he found enough strength to sit up. Head spinning, body swaying, he tried to grab onto her vanishing figure. "Please, Mama, stay with me...stay...with..."

He collapsed against the wall. Behind his eyelids, he saw his mother's face, crying as she left him at the orphanage all those years ago. An image that was forever seared into his brain, no matter what he did to forget it.

But this time, Vicrul could forget.

He just had to let go.

He just...had to...

Let.

Go.

He closed his eyes. He tried to let go. But somebody wouldn't let him.

Soft words, even softer hands. "Hang on, Vicrul. Stay with me."

Vicrul moved his lips, but nothing came out. Let go.

"Can...hear...me?" someone said. "Myla...need...operation."

Vicrul tried to say, "Let go," but in reality, he only mumbled incoherently.

"Help...to table. He's dying."

M421's words floated through his mind. "I'll be damned if a Knight of Ren's fate is to be taken out by a goddamn kitchen knife."

Vicrul started to laugh again.

There was faint rustling around him, echoing in his loopy, tired mind. "Ixxie, quick. Bacta."

He felt himself start to slip away, further and further away from their soft touches. They were close, but he was far. His body was still there, in that room under that roof that reeked of credits and class, but the rest of him? The part that threaded through every fiber of his being to bring meaning and purpose to these tired, battered bones? His soul, his spirit, the part of him that mattered?

Ah, that was gone. It was floating. It left his hard, calloused shell of a body to seek the lightness and warmth of a more gentle place to cradle what remained. He was outside, lying in a dark field. Basking in the moonlight in a bed of flowers. Crickets chirped all around him. Small insects buzzed in his ears. No one was around. He was free to lie here. To enjoy the cool tickle of the breeze, nipping at his face like a lover's kiss. It was painless. It was euphoric. It was unlike anything he's ever experienced. He hummed a deep, throaty sound that reverberated in his chest.

"He's awake! Vicrul? Vicrul, can you hear me? Can you..."

Vicrul resisted, digging himself deeper into that bed of flowers. He stubbornly sunk his heels into the soil and planted his hands through the tall grass. He slammed his eyes shut and basked in the tender embrace of the moonlight. It felt safe here. This was his happy place. He didn't want to go back to that cold, hard floor. He didn't want to see his heartbroken mother again. My poor, poor boy. He felt his bottom lip tremble. The serenity of his happy place began to shatter, mixing with his current reality. He felt hands grip his arms and legs.

"Okay, on one, two, and th—"

The ground moved below him. He felt weightless, like he was floating, and the laughter boiled from his lips again. It drowned out the echoing voices all around him. But the soft touches persisted. Something wet was placed on his forehead. He felt a needle sink into his skin, eliciting a zap of unwelcome pain.

"We're losing him," he heard someone say with an eerie calmness. "Ixxie, I need visibility."

Fuck. It was so bright. The luminescence started small but amplified until he couldn't see anything but the glow. He couldn't feel anything other than the light. It entered and expanded inside his entire body. Like a balloon being filled. His stomach, his chest, his head. All exploding with light until there was nothing left inside of him but this feeling. It was too much. He didn't want this. He closed his eyes. Her face flashed behind his eyelids—not his mother's, but hers. Kitten. He felt hot tears roll down his cheeks. But not out of sorrow. Out of happiness.

"Say my name," she said, but this time, she was lying down next to him in that bed of flowers in his happy place, their hands intertwined. They were nude, and the moonlight poured down over her smooth, supple body like warm honey rolling over glass. "Say it," she cooed, her lips curving upward into a silky smile. "I want to hear you say it."

He smiled back at her, cupping her face and tracing her cheek with his thumb. Her lashes fluttered closed, and he whispered her name one last time. He started to sob. It tasted so sweet, sweeter than he deserved.

Vicrul plunged into darkness.