You Keep What You Kill
James Tiberius Kirk had always had something special, something different. Even after his conversion, he had been oddly... alive. Electricity seemed to move him, a double-spark of life that kept his eyes bluer then any a Necromonger had ever had. Though hidden behind a mask both literal and figurative among the troops, he burned with a sharp mind and sharper wit, a spirit unbridled by the somber nature of Necromonger culture. Nobody had such a thorough look at the truth of James' spirit except for the Commander- Vaako. He'd known Jim intimately, in all ways.
That had come to a slow, dragging end with the intrusion of the dark-skinned Necromonger dame. She had been an earth elemental, rumors said, before her conversion. As Vaako's attention slowly turned from him, as the man began slipping into her arms at night instead of sharing his bed, Jim wondered if, dead, she would become dirt and ash or, as with all things, her corpse would simply rot, dripping and bloated.
Soon enough he was alone with only memories and the fantasies of her blood on his blade. The barracks seemed cooler then he remembered. He faded away in the shower sometimes, rocking forward on the ball of his feet, eyes blank as he listened to the sound of water slapping against the floor. In his mind the hot water was a river of burning blood. His lips parted on a sigh. He would inhale without a sound, turning his head up to the spray.
Dispite his turned affections, Vaako still trusted him, loved him still Jim imagined, if only as a brother. Never shut him out of his rooms, not really, allowing the man he had unknowingly spurned free passage into his sanctuary. Jim had never been the most silent of Necromongers, but the jealousy and anger, the loss, had curled up tightly in him until it quenched the light and the sound from him.
That night he slipped into the man's room while Lord and Dame slept entwined. He slid the knife he had taken on Vaako's homeworld across her throat first and between her breasts second. He sliced a seam down the length of her inner thighs and along her arms, knowing where it would bleed most. He leaned his head to the side, pink tongue slithering out to wet a cracked lip as her blood slowly drained from her dark body, a gleam in the dark grey of the barely-lit room, and soaked into their marriage bed. And as he stood over them, waiting for Vaako to wake, waiting to stake him claim, he watched with eyes dull and grey, half unseeing.
lordmarshalvaako
