#well‚ the kryterius is implied

[thatwildwolfart]

drawing memes of my own fics again

this is their dynamic in reflections

[bluerose5]

A Night Out

Word Count: 3,807

Note: Started this after finding out about @hanarinhightown 's birthday, totally didn't take advantage of the occasion to write Kryterius, so consider this a late birthday gift now that I've actually finished it! Sorry it's so long! It got out of hand. 😅 Also, inspired by my hc posts from the other day, along with @yellingaboutmasseffect 's amazing additions. ❤

If there was one thing that Saren loathed above all else, it was social gatherings.

For some reason, that still seemed to surprise others to this day, despite the fact that he had always been more of a loner. He kept to himself, operated on his own, and got results. That worked best for him. Having a squad —having a team— rely on him was never in the plan.

While most turians found solace in a cohesive unit, Saren was an oddity in that regard.

Until Nihlus, that is.

It was strange. Saren never thought that he would wind up mentoring a future Spectre, let alone grow fond of that very same person.

Whatever Nihlus decided, Saren was certain that he would make an exceptional agent, regardless of whether or not they'll be working together.

He might even surpass Saren himself.

Not that Saren would tell him that. Nihlus' ego was large enough without adding any fuel to the fire.

Still, Saren had to admit that it's been nice having a partner to fight side-by-side with, and a competent one at that.

"What are you staring at?"

Well, speak of the devil...

Saren turned to Nihlus with a sharp gaze, taking in the sight of him from head to toe. Unlike Saren's black ensemble, he was clad in a purple suit, complete with a silver and gold trim. He had small, decorative chains draped over his fringe, interlaced with various shades of purple gems.

Breathtaking, or so Saren thought.

It wasn’t often that he got the chance to see Nihlus all dressed up.

"Now that you're here?" Saren infused his voice with a warm trill of appreciation. "It's not too hard to guess."

"Hmm..." Nihlus hummed low, slowly scoping out the place for any immediate threats. "Who knew that the infamous Saren Arterius could be such a flatterer?" His eyes soon trailed back to his companion for the evening, lingering on his frame, which was shrouded in snug robes of black. "You clean up well, fidus."

Saren cast him a skeptical glance.

Fidus. A trustworthy companion. Which, among turians, implied a certain degree of intimacy all on its own.

Saren never thought himself to be "trustworthy" in any capacity, but he didn't argue.

Before he could respond, a voice called out from nearby.

"Saren!"

A hand came down upon his shoulder, causing him to instantly brace for an attack. Luckily for the owner of said hand, he just so happened to be Saren's boss, so he got to keep the appendage this time.

Nodding amicably, Saren greeted him, "Councilor Sparatus."

Nihlus reached out then and smoothly dislodged the Counilor's hand in order to take it in his own.

"Good to see you, Councilor!" Nihlus announced, his pupils thinned into slits. "Thank you again for inviting us. What a pleasant evening."

Yes, because these C-Sec "charity events" were always the highlight of Saren's day. There was nothing quite like being among the galaxy's most illustrious elite.

Along with their most dangerous, but that was mostly behind closed doors.

Sparatus kept their handshake brief before it ventured into the realm of uncomfortable, his smile now strained.

"Well, you know me, Nihlus," Sparatus said, spreading his arms out in a grand gesture. "Always happy to have my top agents around."

"Yeah," Nihlus deadpanned, "because it wouldn't be a real party without the Council taking the chance to show off their toy soldiers."

Saren shot him a warning glance, but Sparatus simply laughed it off.

"Touché." He raised his glass of champagne to them. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go mingle with the other guests. Do try and enjoy yourselves, gentlemen."

With that, he departed just as quickly as he arrived, all charming smiles and witty remarks.

A completely different man compared to when the Council was in session.

Then again, there was no telling how much he already had to drink.

Once he was out of earshot, Saren turned on Nihlus.

"Why did I let you talk me into this?" he sighed. "We could have gone down to our usual spot in the wards, but no... We have to make nice with the rich and powerful."

Nihlus' mandibles clamped down tight.

"I wanted to try a change of pace," he said, uncharacteristically hesitant. "I mean, we're in between missions, we were already in the neighborhood, and—" He paused to stop a waiter that was passing by, scooping up their dextro-designated tray. "Free food!"

They both took a single look at the array of foods, only to grimace at the meager selection.

"Is that supposed to look appetizing?" Saren asked, remembering perfectly well why he stopped going to these types of events.

On the tray were tiny, cubed portions of meat. Some of the other species called them "finger foods."

Saren called them what they were.

Scraps.

They weren't even cut right, the meat's lines jagged and uneven. It was sloppy work, done by somebody who didn't even care that they were practically serving trash to their guests.

It wasn't just the food, though. It was everything.

Sparatus might be willing to settle for mediocrity for the sake of fostering better relations with the aliens, but that didn't mean that Saren had to.

Or Nihlus, for that matter.

Saren never understood the urge to change who they are to accommodate others, to make strangers more comfortable at the expense of altering turian customs.

Suddenly, the rise and fall of noise was too much for Saren. The crowd grated at his nerves, wearing them down to the core.

Sensing his growing tension, Nihlus passed the tray off onto another waiter, exchanging it for a couple of drinks instead. Handing one to Saren, they clinked their glasses together before downing them in one go.

At least the liquor wasn't half-bad.

With a shake of his head, Nihlus grunted, managing an apologetic smile.

"Supernova?"

Saren nodded, beyond grateful to finally leave.

"Supernova."

Weaving their way through the crowd, they made their great escape, brushing off all greetings with a fake smile and a half-assed excuse.

Taking a cab down into the wards, they strolled through a strip of storefronts together. The occasional restaurant or two broke up the endless monotony, but Saren let Nihlus drag him along for a little bit of window shopping.

Dressed up the way they were, they attracted more than their own fair share of attention. Of course, in their line of work, more attention was usually a bad thing, but Saren ignored his discomfort for now in favor of spending time with Nihlus.

"You know," Nihlus said, browsing the wares at a cybernetics store, "I hope that I didn't completely ruin your evening."

Saren huffed at him.

"Stop being ridiculous," he said. "You didn't ruin anything."

"You sure? Because I thought a party like that would be more your speed."

"I'm uncertain whether or not I should take offense to that."

"Oh, come on," Nihlus chided, elbowing him playfully in the side. "You have to admit, you're kind of snobbish."

"Seriously?" Was that what he thought of him? "I'm snobbish?"

"In a sense, I guess."

"If this is an attempt at impressing me, then you're doing a wonderful job, by the way."

His mandibles briefly flared in amusement, fluttering before they settled back down.

Nihlus shifted closer to his side as they walked.

"Maybe I just don't know you as well as I think I do," he said.

"Perhaps," Saren replied, cryptic as ever. "But consider this, if I truly am 'snobbish,' then I'm not the type of snob that would be caught dead with the likes of that crowd. I actually have standards."

"Right. How silly of me to group you in with the galaxy's rich and famous."

"You're forgiven." Saren wrinkled his nose. "All they do is put on airs for each other and kiss each other’s asses. I don't have the time nor the patience for it. Plus, there's C-Sec." He gave an exaggerated shudder. "I was tempted to stay, only to make sure the Council wasn't assassinated on their watch. Events like those are prime hunting grounds for assassins."

"Hopefully their guards are competent enough to keep the Councilors alive for one night."

"You have more faith than I do." But there was something that Saren couldn't get out of his mind. "Speaking of Councilors..."

"Uh-oh, am I in trouble?"

"For mouthing off to Sparatus? No." Saren shrugged. "I'm just wondering why you did it in the first place."

"As if the reason wasn't obvious enough."

Saren stopped mid-stride, Nihlus skidding to a halt beside him.

"So this was because he touched me."

Not a question but a statement.

Nihlus averted his eyes.

For a moment, there was silence, then it all came spilling out.

"We're not humans or asari," Nihlus said, his voice low yet heated. Like a simmering pot threatening to boil over. "We don't go around, eating each other’s faces off in public. He touched you, and he might as well have shouted out in the middle of the Presidium that you've fucked."

"But we have," Saren said, stuck in this strange grey area between amusement and disbelief. It had been a one night stand and nothing more, nothing serious. It was back when they were both newcomers to the Citadel, always butting heads. Back before Sparatus was even appointed Councilor. Before he entered a politically-driven marriage and started parading around with his mistress. "I've told you that before, though."

"I know, I know." Nihlus clenched his jaw, crossing his arms over his chest. "Sorry, I'm being ridiculous, aren’t I?"

"Spirits, Nihlus, and you call me dramatic. You're jealous," Saren stated. "Not that big of an offense, all things considered. Kind of flattering, actually."

Nihlus scoffed. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, just don't go overboard with it. There's a fine line between being jealous and being a possessive asshole."

"Noted."

"Now, come on." Saren offered him his hand, taking him by surprise. "You promised me a night to remember, Kryik, and I intend on seeing it through."

"Tsk." Nihlus rolled his eyes. "You're always so damn bossy."

Yet he still took Saren's hand in his, so being bossed around by the older turian must not have bothered him too much.

Together, they walked hand-in-hand into Supernova. The cozy lounge offered food, drinks, music, and dancing. They catered to all races, but it was mostly populated by turians, owned by a retired general and her wife.

Which is exactly why it didn't really come as a surprise when they received more than a few questioning glances, some lingering more than others.

"They're staring pretty hard," Nihlus said, leading Saren off to an empty table. "And to think, we've actually been on our best behavior tonight."

"Some of us, anyways," Saren replied. "The real question is, are they staring because we're overdressed for a place like this, or are they staring because we're making a pretty loud statement here?"

He brought their interlocked hands up between them for emphasis.

Nihlus' bright green eyes flashed mischievously.

"I could always wrap my arm around your waist while we're snuggled up in the booth together. Bet that would really get people talking then."

Saren could already hear it now.

Shaking his head at his partner's antics, Saren slid into the booth, releasing his hand for a brief moment. Nihlus slid in on the side opposite of him, hooking their legs together underneath the table the instant he settled in.

Very subtle.

"Don't push your luck," Saren warned, unable to keep the playful edge out of his voice. Ignoring the knowing grin Nihlus sent his way, Saren took the designated datapads off the table, scrolling through their menu options. He nearly groaned in delight, his mouth already watering at the vast selection. "See? Now, this is real food."

Even Nihlus gave an impressed whistle. Unlike most other places, Supernova's dextro-friendly menu was one of the most extensive on the Citadel, if not the most extensive. They served turian classics from all over, whether it be recipes from Palaven, their colonies, or the Citadel itself.

Just not the "finger food" kind of recipes. Authentic meals, which were filling all on their own.

"I feel like every time we visit this place, they have more and more to choose from," Nihlus said, selecting the options for his food and drink. "I wonder how they managed to secure such a steady supply chain. Some of these recipes are even more high-end than the 'turian-inspired' food you can find on the Presidium."

As soon as he mentioned supply chains, Saren turned his gaze elsewhere, unable to meet his eyes as Nihlus rambled on. He reached out to the middle of the table, where several neatly-folded napkins were stacked up near a bowl.

Nihlus narrowed his eyes at Saren when he didn't immediately respond. He tried to duck his head to catch Saren's eye, but Saren was intensely focused on the task at hand.

"Say, Saren, you wouldn't happen to know anything about their supply chains, would you?" Nihlus asked.

"Why would I know about something like that?" Saren huffed.

Inside the bowl, warm water constantly circulated, mixed in with a popular hand cleanser used before turian meals. Taking one of the napkins in hand, Saren dipped it into the water's currents, then set to work on cleaning his hands and talons.

Shrugging in response to his question, Nihlus watched the meticulous, almost ritualistic way in which Saren prepared for his meal.

Soon enough, he joined in.

"Call it a hunch," Nihlus chuckled.

He started cleaning his palms first, scrubbing around in slow, even circles. Saren watched him closely, oddly transfixed by the sight.

Clearing his throat, he grumbled, "I might have an arrangement set up with the owners."

"Really?"

Nihlus cleaned carefully between each finger. Once he was satisfied with the results, he moved on to his wrists.

Saren's mind drifted back to Nihlus' earlier comment, wondering what it would be like to have those hands upon his waist in any capacity, strong and sure.

He felt the hide around his neck heating up, undoubtedly warm to the touch.

"I pull some strings every now and then to secure them their requested supplies, and well..." He gestured vaguely with a wave of his hand. "They offer me free food and drinks."

"Using your 'Spectre Authority' as a meal ticket, Arterius?"

"It might as well be put to some good use," Saren snorted. "I'd die of starvation waiting for the Council to actually pay me a decent salary."

"The cost of working in the shadows, am I right?"

Setting their first napkins aside, they both reached forward at the same time. Their fingers brushed, but neither commented on it.

Instead, Nihlus retracted his hand a little, enough so that Saren was free to take a second napkin, meant specifically for one's talons. Once he had his, Nihlus grabbed one for himself, dipping it into the water before cleaning.

"Sorry if I'm a little sloppy with this," Nihlus said, wiping off his talons with a pointed flair. "You didn't give me enough time to sharpen my talons."

A complaint that Saren often made when Nihlus would show up to his place uninvited, beer and takeout containers in hand.

"Yet yours look great enough to rival mine," Saren complimented.

"Really?"

"No," Saren answered, his tone dry. "Not even close, but they still look amazing, all thanks to my help, of course."

"Cocky bastard," Nihlus laughed, right as their meal arrived. They thanked the waiter, Nihlus taking a swig of his drink before wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. Saren wrinkled his nose in disdain, which only earned another laugh from his companion. "Oh, don't give me that look."

"Have some class, Nihlus," Saren taunted, feigning a nasally high-pitched voice that made them both wince.

"Oh, please." Nihlus lowered his voice to the point where it was more ridiculous than enticing. "You like it when I get dirty."

Saren nearly choked on his drink in an attempt to maintain his composure. Bits of laughter somehow slipped through, saturating his dual tones with an undeniable tremor.

"You're impossible," Saren snorted, but he didn't deny the claim, silly as it was. There was something refreshing about Nihlus' carefree attitude, something about the contrast between the two that kept drawing Saren back in. "I can only hope that the next time you're at my place, you won't make me hold you down just to buff your fringe."

"Where would be the fun in that?"

Shaking his head at him, Saren delicately took a piece of fish between the claws of one hand. With a flash of a talon, he sliced through the flaky flesh with ease. The first cut, he reached out to place onto Nihlus' plate. The second, he took for himself, letting the smooth, salty flavor linger on his tongue before he tipped his head back.

He let gravity do its job, swallowing deeply before he washed it down with a sip of his drink.

He eyed the second, much smaller bowl that was set up on the table, filled to the brim with a colorful assortment of rocks. They were sharp and gritty, probably covered in flavoring to make them easier on the palate.

Figuring that he might as well get it over with, Saren took a small handful and tossed them back.

Nihlus chuckled at his pinched-up expression.

"Better than getting indigestion because you didn't chew up your food," Nihlus reminded him.

He rushed through carving out his own chunk of meat. Saren clamped his mandibles down into place, narrowing his eyes at the jagged, uneven edges.

"Now you're just being a little shit," Saren grumbled.

Nihlus flared his mandibles out into a smile.

When he reached out to place the portion of his food onto Saren's plate, Saren's hand darted out, wrapping firmly around his wrist.

At first, Saren was going to scold him, to tell him to take that piece for himself.

Instead, what ended up happening surprised them both.

Saren leaned in without a second thought and took the slice of meat between his mouth plates. Nihlus' eyes grew comically wide, and Saren bolted upright at the same time that Nihlus snatched his hand back across the table.

Not once did he look away from Saren, though.

Tipping his head back, Saren swallowed with a sharp snap of his teeth, clearing his throat in embarrassment.

"Sorry," he mumbled, sighing at his own stupidity.

It wasn't as if Nihlus hadn't tried to feed him in the past. Nihlus was more casual like that, willing to feed anyone and everyone around him.

For Saren, the action of feeding and being fed was a bit more intimate. Nihlus never questioned it. He never forced the issue. They simply exchanged bits and pieces of their own food, and that was their way of sharing, of both providing for one another and being provided for.

Saren hadn't actually been fed by anyone since Desolas, and that certainly had a different dynamic than whatever the hell he had going on with Nihlus.

Thankfully, Nihlus didn't seem upset by this turn of events, just confused.

Frankly, Saren was too.

The next slice Nihlus made was a perfectly clean cut, which he promptly stuffed his face with.

They continued to eat in silence, eventually finding their flow again as they eased back into their usual conversations.

Once they were finished, Nihlus paid through the table's virtual interface, tipping the waiter for all their help.

"Ready to go?" Nihlus asked, reaching out to take Saren's hand in his own. "Or do you feel like going out on the dance floor for a bit?"

"Do I look like the dancing type?" Saren asked.

He allowed Nihlus to clean his hands, quickly returning the favor once he was done.

Only, Saren didn't let go after he finished. Even more surprising, he realized that he didn't want to let go.

Nihlus didn't move a muscle.

"With the right partner, perhaps."

Saren voiced what they were both thinking. "That partner being you?"

Nihlus regarded him with a hesitant look.

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to."

When Nihlus said nothing further, Saren got to his feet, hoping that he didn't regret this.

"Come on," he said, offering his hand out to Nihlus.

Nihlus blinked owlishly in response, eyeing his hand like it was a snake poised to strike.

"You're serious?"

"I am."

It took him a moment to think it over, but he eventually reached out and accepted the offer, standing up from the table as well.

"Might as well take advantage of the opportunity while I have you all dressed up," Nihlus whispered.

"Smart man."

They turned to make their way to the dance floor, only to bump into another couple.

"Excuse us." One of the turians jolted at the sound of Saren's voice, causing the latter to squint at him questioningly. "Wait, Councilor?" The turian in question quickly shushed him, clad in a ridiculous disguise, complete with a hooded outfit and cheesy sunglasses. "What are you wearing?"

"I believe that is what the humans call a 'wardrobe malfunction.'"

Nihlus snapped a picture on his omni-tool, earning a glare from their boss.

Before things could escalate any further, Saren shoved Nihlus in the opposite direction.

"Anyways," Saren said, "nice seeing you around. Enjoy your evening." He nodded at the woman at his side, who looked bewildered —and chagrined— beyond all reason. Must be his mistress then. "You too, miss."

Dragging Nihlus away, the younger Spectre was busy tapping away on his omni-tool.

"As much as you hate humans, we have to give them credit for one thing," Nihlus stated. "They sure did spearhead the social media movement on the extranet when they arrived on the scene."

"What are you doi—"

"Anonymous account," Nihlus explained. "Fake alias. Uploading that picture of our favorite Councilor, slumming it down in the wards with the likes of us. Can't blame him really. This place is amazing."

"You're a menace," Saren snickered. "If I get fired, I know who to blame."

Nihlus raised his voice in pitch as he typed out his post.

"'Spirits! Is that the turian Councilor at Supernova? I wonder if he's a regular...' Shocked face. Heart emoji. Heart emoji. Send."

"Such an ass." Yet Saren said it so affectionately. He gave Nihlus a playful nudge in the side. "Hey."

"Yeah?"

"After we get that dance in, want to head back to my place?"

"That depends."

"On...?" Saren trailed off, hoping that he would fill in the blanks.

"Can we stream the latest Blasto movie?"

"I'll do you one better, and we'll pirate it."

A man after Nihlus' heart.

"In that case—" Nihlus wrapped his arm around him, pulling him in close to his side. "There's no place that I'd rather be."

[spxctrixmru]

Vigilante!Nihlus AU — ME2 // Pre-Arrivals / Post-Suicide Mission // Location: Virmire

“Hope” - A Drabble, involves some Spirit visiting from Saren and some h/c on how Spirits work in the ME universe, Nihlus still loves Saren even beyond death.and I think that’s emotionally RAW as fuck. - Words - 1,748 - Implied Kryterius (Nihlus Kryik x Saren Arterius)       (or at least Nihlus pining Saren at the time of their death) - Light Angst with a Hopeful Outlook (First Town of This Journey - Camellia) used as inspiration writing this piece.

After hearing about Shepard’s safe passage to and from the Collector’s Base and its destruction, Nihlus, still undercover given his status, had flown all the way back out to Virmire. He knew he had place on Shepard’s squad, thanks to the deeds he’d done to save Garrus’ own squad back on Omega. He was a trusted Spectre, even if they took his wish of staying incognito seriously, they just couldn’t really bring himself to join them. There was just so much research and time he needed, couldn’t be doing the missions Shepard was going about on. Sure—all information was sent to them first above all else, they were the only ones that were at the forefront of the Reapers. They all believed them to be real, and even if the Council didn’t, they’ll make them believe it. He’ll make SURE of it. With the ZVR Scimitar landing at the old, now abandoned base of operations for a long dead Sovereign..

Nihlus can’t stop himself from coming here once a year, he’s already buried most of the remnants of Saren Arterius,  and had taken some.. important bits and pieces of their armor to keep for memory’s sake. But here he was, in his new armor, his new personality—a new life. He knew if he revealed himself, he would’ve been put right onto other Spectre missions, it would’ve hindered his research and intel searching for the Reapers. They wouldn’t be as prepared for the Reapers! Hell, Thanks to some.. recent discoveries,  the turian had found out about some important Research team about the early arrivals of the Reapers at a Batarian colony— and they just had to forward all he knew at Shepard—who, probably knew already, since it was already read, but no response as of a few days later.

There didn’t really need to be a response, Nihlus didn’t care all too much about the lack of responses, just send the intel and send them on their marry way. Once more, he walks through the quiet lands of Virmire, a tropical world, just the simple ambience of water flowing—despite his fear of water, it’s all too calming, he knows why he’s here. To visit Saren again. He truly hopes their spirit is free, watching him, guiding him through the universe, the stars above. A chuckle, racking his digits against the waistline of his armor. Taking off such a helmet and revealing the turian’s face upon the skies of Virmire, rubbing his eyes to get used to the sunlight, its.. welcoming, as it usually is. Making one’s way inside the abandoned facility, Nihlus notes how it was the same since the last times he’s come here, no changes have been made that weren’t his own. Having made a pendant out from a piece of Saren’s armor, they wear it with pride, even if it’s mostly hidden by the fact he’s wearing armor.

They sit down in the sand, where he’d buried Saren right outside of the facility—well, what was left of him before that… thing ran off. He still didn’t realize what it was until Shepard had snapped some more in-detailed imagery before it had, itself, melted into ash and dust. Setting his helmet down, he stares at the sky, he’s—running out of things to tell Saren, he truly is, but—they’re hopeful of the future, despite the arrival of Reapers coming soon, Nihlus is there until the very end—if they win—if they fail. He doesn’t care, they’re here to try their hardest against bleak odds. Chance, fate—all entwined in a war against those who are called Reapers for a reason. The Protheans had failed—they had ran out of time, they will not fail—they know so much already. Nihlus looks at his tired, aching hands.

“Hey, Saren. Long time no see. Reapers are nearing their invasion, but--I’m ready. We’re ready. The council still doesn’t believe us, but, we’re still pooling in all of our resources for the effort. I must’ve scanned about half a million platinum already, and I know the Normandy Crew have a sizable amount themselves..”

Not to mention all the eezo that he’s sent way to the Normandy Crew, and some palladium. The ship’s hull can carry all that platinum, thankfully. It’s strong enough for that, but—for sake of lightening the hull? He’ll deposit it someplace safe, like here—Virmire. No one’s touched this place in years, there’s no one here, Nihlus just needs to.. put it somewhere no one will find it. Even so, when the Reapers do invade, he’ll have to get here in secret, who knows if they’ll come here or not. Nihlus chuckles softly, his sub-vocals pouring out sobs, there’s no trills, but it’s evident that the turian is still mourning Saren’s death all this time.

“I’m losing hope, but I’ll keep going. I promise you I’ll keep going, no matter what.”

An optimistic outlook of a bleak, death filled future, Nihlus has been doing his best without a mentor, a guide—he’s been doing this all alone, with his Spectre resources and his own skills, it’s been a wild ride, a ride he’ll never forget, even if he dies in the process. Damnit. There’s no time for these feelings—even if they’re only here for an hour max, Nihlus can’t sit here and mourn. He’s already mourned enough of his mentor’s death. Saren wouldn’t want him here, wouldn’t want him at their makeshift grave any longer than they should. It’s… funny. Through all this time he’s been running about, researching the Reapers, helping out where-ever they possibly can. He’s saved so many lives and yet it feels all for nothing if they can’t defeat the Reapers.

“It’s… hard. It truly is without you around, but—it was fate that you were going to die. That..thing was inside you, there wasn’t a way to save you unless.. I took the time to seek you out, before you even had the chance to become indoctrinated..”

They sit up against a rock, staring up to the skies, blue and purple, turning to red and yellow—warming yellows as the light in the skies began to fade out, Nihlus was going to watch this sunset with Saren, they’re here in spirit, he can feel it, it’s.. odd. Nihlus before Saren’s death—they weren’t too into the thoughts of Spirits, but now? Now that Saren was dead? He believed more than ever that they were watching him from beyond the grave. Vaguely guiding him towards victory, giving him hope—courage, strength to keep on going. Nihlus chuckled, this was nearing the end. The time for the Reapers has come, and, even though he’s losing hope, losing that spark—Saren is there in spirit, cheering him on every step of the way, to win against unbeatable foes.

A shiver down his spine as he places his hand against the shard of armor on his pendant, its titanium chain chilling his body underneath the armor, a shaky sigh; a slight gasp in shock. There’s no wind, there’s no breeze, it’s warm, not too humid, but.. His arm feels cold, his face feels cold. Not a single explanation as to why his face feels cold all of a sudden, Nihlus’ breath lets out a hitch, and the shivering continues, but—as time passes, and the cold touch on his face ends, they come to a realization, it isn’t a realization he’s come to before, having not been too far into the religious aspects of their society—Saren was there, comforting him, this was the cold hitting his body—it HAD to be.

“S-Saren—at least make your presence more obvious, jeez. Can’t get me all cold! I don’t want to get sick, not before all this happens. “

Nihlus laughs, holding out one of his hands, and—in shock, the cold feeling joins him, it’s Saren, all-right. Now that he’s figured that out, their body relaxes, there’s no more tensity in his muscles, and they’re finally at ease. One is to wonder why they’ve decided to make themselves known here of all places, of all times. Maybe it’s just to remind Nihlus who he’s fighting for—what he’s fighting for. Who’s he’s proving wrong with fighting the Reapers. His grip softens, running his thumb digit against the cold air. Spirits—he’d look insane in the head if anyone saw Nihlus dong this! Sure, it WAS Saren, but, damn, to any outsiders or those who didn’t truly understand how Spirits work for Turians, well, it would be awkward. Nihlus looks around frantically for a moment, until the mass of cold surrounds his entire body, two specific spots on his back, and over the majority of his abdomen.

And yet? They ease into the embrace, taking it all in while they have the time for this.  Don’t quite know how this is possible, but, given everything? They don’t care. He’s still with Saren, even in death—they’re cheering him on. That alone drives the Turian Spectre to keep on going, even if his mental state is slowly draining, and the amount of enemies he’s gotten since becoming a part-time Vigilante. It’s all weighing down on Nihlus, but with Saren, here? On Vimire? Everything feels at ease, and even though it won’t stay that way for long? He rather savor all of it while he has time. Soon enough, the cold air dissipates, and Nihlus can’t help but instinctively yearn for more, but—they’re silent, his sub-vocals are doing all the yearning for him. Nihlus, please stop, let go. They’ll be back the next time you visit.

“I’ll… see you soon, yes? I’ll keep going, for you. I’ll protect the Citadel like you wanted to do, I’ll—either see you here again after the Reapers have been defeated, or I’ll join you in the afterlife, Goodbye, Saren Arterius.”

With that? Nihlus takes a stand, and waves them a goodbye as they head back towards their ship. Nihlus can’t help but lament over not being with Saren more in their time before the indoctrination, more time training, more time going on missions together. But—whatever. He’ll prove Sovereign wrong, he’ll prove the Citadel and the Council wrong, they can do this. And even they truly fail in the end? Nihlus can die knowing that they fought fang and claw to the bitter end, they aren’t going down without a fight, and thanks to Saren’s spiritual visit? Nihlus feels…invigorated, ready to challenge the universe once more, renewed to take on the Reapers once more. Sovereign is just the beginning, the Reapers are coming. That’s for certain, and he needs to be ready when they start attacking.

[spxctrixmru]

Anon Asked: You don’t have to do this but could you write a small drabble with this prompt? “It’s a long way down.” This can be in any manner, but I’d prefer the angsty ones (still don’t have to do it)

- “It’s A Long Way Down” - cw // Suicide / Death / Suicidal Thoughts / Survivor’s Guilt  / Trauma / Attempted Cybernetics / Body Horror - Taken slight inspiration from OMORI’s bad ending. - Takes place in the Vigilante!Nihlus AU, post ME3 / Location: Palaven’s National Hospital. - Implied Kryterius // 1,368 Words

VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED // NOT FOR THE ILL-HEARTED // Also I spent the majority of the time writing this actually sobbing my eyes out but it’s so worth it in the end.

————— They’re gone. The Reapers have been vanquished. They all helped—the people of all races, they all came together, and fought, they fought tooth and claw, fang and nail—to the very end. And they came out on top. He’d love to see the look on Sovereign’s dumb face right now, but they’re so long gone. Nihlus’ quest to help against the Reapers was over. With a death that should’ve ended his very life in the final push on Menae? It’s been three months since the day the Reapers fell, and well, Nihlus knew his time had to come. Knowledge of his status of alive, well—it was so few and far in-between. This is what he promised himself and Saren Arterius on Virmire. Once this was all over—success or failure, Nihlus would join Saren in the afterlife. As much as it pained to leave such a bright future behind—they knew deep down he’d not be able to live out the rest of his days without the one he loved the most. Hell, he had the entire Normandy Crew, Garrus’ squad—hell, even some of the higher-ups in the Turian hierarchy. But? It didn’t matter. 
 Nihlus doesn’t break promises. Late at night—he had brought himself out to the balcony to stare at the hazy, ash-filled skies of Palaven. They still haven’t cleared up, but one day? They shall look as beautiful as they did before the Reapers attacked. Talons tap in rhythm against the railing. They’re on the top floor, a large balcony it was. No one was there but him. For weeks during his pained, wracked, hellish recovery phase, Nihlus had come here for solace. The pain caused by all the cybernetics they’d attached to his carapace, neck, and shoulders. Well, it wasn’t biding too well on his body—mentally and physically. Felt as if his heart was going to explode most days. Well, it’s already exploded, but hiding one’s status of living for three years is also quite the feat. But now? They could quell the rumors—and actually, show himself as dead. Contemplation over whether they should write any sort of goodbye note, they sigh. If they’re going to do this, then Nihlus should at least put the rest of his credits into helping others. 
 It hurts them greatly, but this has to be done. This was his promise, and the Spectre never breaks his promises. Even if they end in death—even if they end in the suffering and mourning of others. It’s selfish, and they know that. But Nihlus was never meant to be alive. He’s not only cheated death once—not twice, but thrice. He can’t keep cheating death. Cheating fate isn’t something they wish to challenge once more. Him being alive this long? Feels like it was never supposed to happen. Soft laughter. Nihlus remembers Virmire. Remembers the fact he couldn’t even leave Virmire without trying to end his own life. How cracked he was back then. Well—who wouldn’t, having to mercy kill their teacher—mentor… maybe, if they weren’t indoctrinated… Something More.

Now’s not the time to be lamenting over the past. This was the present, and Nihlus had a couple of objectives left over. They’d send a partial amount of his credits to this very hospital, and then to the Citadel replacement project—and then all other credits to the entirety of the Normandy crew, split down the middle evenly for all members to spend on the relief. That was it. Nihlus’ credits were all gone, and, well, in his hospital gown, the wind blowing through it, they approach the edge, a pit slams against their heart. This hurts. It hurts so much, but—a promise is a promise. No matter what happens. This is how fate was going to consume the Spectre and Vigilante. Perun was no more, Nihlus Kryik, Citadel’s most decorated and valiant Turian Spectre. Gone into the wind.

“It’s a long way down… No armor to break your fall this time, Nihlus.”

With subvocals nothing short of sorrowful, solemn, but—accepting of fate itself. Nihlus looks around, and looks down. He can barely sight the bottom, the ground, it’s all so blurry to him. Close your eyes. Think about being with Saren—think about going to that bar in the afterlife, finally confessing your love for the man who loved and trained you the most. You can do this Nihlus—just.. take one step forward, and it’ll all be over. Another minute passes, when Nihlus finally puts himself on the other side of the railing. Does he….really want to do this? Does he… really wish to leave all of this behind for a shitty pact? Does he…? No. He doesn’t want to leave this all behind but they don’t DESERVE IT. All the times Nihlus should’ve died in mist of challenging and cheating fate itself. They deserved this, there’s so many opportunities where he should’ve had in front of someone who sacrificed themselves for him, but Nihlus? That guilt, it hasn’t left him. It never will.

It’s a Long Way Down. It’s a Long Way Down. But you know what you must do.

Do you want to jump? Nihlus turns himself around, holding the railings as he stares at the door back into the hospital. A hospital of all places he’s decided to commit suicide. He’s crying. Pain is an awful thing—they… can’t do it. Guilt is slowly building. A foot slips. Nihlus grips tighter onto the railing to regain his footing. They’re moments away from ending it all. Spirits damnit! Why couldn’t he just had a gun, why couldn’t he have been left to die on Menae?! This wasn’t fucking fair to the hundreds of thousand of lives they could’ve saved with what’s currently going to waste. Damnit.. Damn it all.. Nihlus sobs. They stare at the flowerbed that is a meter away from him, he knows what some of them symbolize, but their vision is too blurry to make out any of them. Nihlus swears he can see the Normandy Crew in the window to the Hospital. With a few blinks, he’s just hallucinating, there’s no one there. No one to witness this death, no one to witness him splatter at the entrance of the hospital.

Stifling a Sob, Nihlus—climbs back over the railing to safety, bawling his eyes out as he stares at his omni-tool. They should at least say goodbye. They should at least tell everyone to expect the worst. They should at least.. tell everyone he’s going to accept his fate—accept death. That he… wasn’t coming back. So Nihlus did. Oh, how the mighty and the valiant had fallen over the past couple of years. Without Saren? Nihlus Cracked. Nihlus broke down and shattered. Without the only one that really truly cared for him was gone? For years he tried to fit in with even new groups. Omega—the Normandy Crew, Archangel’s Crew… Anyone. He didn’t fit. He didn’t belong. His very existence wasn’t.. supposed to be here. He wasn’t supposed to live past Eden Prime. He wasn’t supposed to live past Virmire. The decorated Turian Spectre is.. putting an end to ‘wasn’t supposed to’. This is where he falls. Once the Spectre is done sending the message out to all contacts, they take off their omni-tool, not yet realizing the Messages had all failed to send, climbing back over the railing.

It’s a Long Way Down… Nihlus closes his eyes, turns around and.. falls over. The wind carrying his body as his eyes were forced shut. He opens them to watch the windows pass him by in the flash, he closes his eyes once more. And.. after a couple of moments? There’s nothing. No pain. Nothing. Nothing. It’s over. Nihlus’ body is.. broken in ways one would never expect it, limbs in positions one would never seem to ever be possible. But the pain never came for Nihlus Kryik. He dived and it all faded to void for him. No one even bats an eye to the Turian’s demise even as he’s passing by several flights of windows on the way down. It’s.. horrific, but it’s over. Nihlus is at peace. This is what he’s wanted ever since Virmire. He feels.. at peace. At ease. It’s over. It’s all over. Maybe the Drop wasn’t that long, anyway.