Come, Sweet Death

Tyr ran through the fires in the station, dragging his wife behind him. He was bloodsoaked and his clothes were ripped and torn from multiple encounters with bounty hunters from his side of the Rift. They'd been relentless, driving the couple into the bowels of Deep Space Nine. It had all happened so fast! They'd just come as the war with the Dominion was ending, demanding that the Lady be handed over. Commander Sisko had refused of course, and this was the result. The Station was in ruins; there were dead bodies everywhere. Multiple decks were venting to space. Had it just been three months ago that he'd been celebrating his nuptials in this destroyed Promenade?

"Tyr. I can-"

"No," the Nietzschean said firmly. He spared a glance back at his panting bride and winced. She was exhausted but otherwise unhurt. Offering to turn herself over to the Drago-Katzov's bounty hunters wouldn't stop their bloodlust. In fact, it might make things worse. He had to get her off the Station; it was the only way to save whoever was left alive. Another team of bounty hunters approached them and her protector prepared himself for yet another fight. He smiled tiredly at his mate before turning to face the squad coming for them. The Khaleesi was being so brave, not unleashing her death powers or freezing in fear at the carnage around her. She simply ran with him, allowing him to protect her the way a Berserker was meant to. But there were so many of them! No matter how many dozens of warriors he dispatched, there were dozens more to lay siege to the couple. The fighting was relentless and starting to tire him out.

This latest group of hunters didn't bother to speak to the Berserker, choosing instead to attack the Nietzschean. Tyr responded in kind, killing two right off the bat and battling the third. He was out of words for these intruders on his peace and harmony.

Ama watched the battle in horror. This whole day had been a nightmare. So many people were dead now. So much of her home was destroyed… And the agonizing part of it was that she could fix it. Even now, she could fix it all, but that was the problem. If she started singing now, she would fix it all, including the bounty hunters. There didn't seem to be any end to them. A battlecruiser had forced its way onto the station and all of these selfish, bloodthirsty animals had poured out. They'd barely given her a chance to offer herself over in exchange for the lives of her friends before they started slaughtering people left, right, and center. She'd been in Sick Bay with Dr. Bashir when the slaughter had begun. Tyr had just grabbed her hand and they'd been running and fighting ever since. She'd even reconciled with her father in the midst of the chaos, a tearful break from running as Tyr took down yet another batch of enemies.

"You take care of my little girl," the Operations Chief told his son-in-law sternly. The Nietzschean simply nodded, saving his breath for battle. And a good thing too. They'd just passed the group of Klingons from so long ago, his shield brothers. They were all dead in the hall from the invaders. Tyr had avenged them, but it didn't change the facts of this massacre.

While her husband was fighting the bounty hunter, another of the intruders grabbed her. She screamed, distracting her husband at a critical moment. His opponent slid his strange sword into Tyr's abdomen. The Berserker fell to his knees, a look of utter disbelief on his face. Ama gasped, even as she fought against her kidnapper. Blood was pouring out of her man, the saw toothed blade having punctured several organs. All she wanted was to go to him, heal him. But the Nietzschean that had caused her to distract him was dragging her away from her man. And worse yet, the Nietzschean that had stabbed her man had his blade poised for a decapitating strike.

Ama screeched and wild magic streaked out of her, disintegrating the two enemies. The field of deadly light started to grow and the bounty hunters that had gathered to their position to challenge the Berserker dropped to their knees gasping for air. Ama didn't care at that point. If Tyr went out, she was going with him and taking these bastards with her. She ran to her man, the light trailing behind her like a banner.

"Tyr! TYR!" she cried, not noticing that her hands on his body were leaving burn marks on him even as she was healing him. Her mate had fainted around the time of her blood-curdling shriek. Before her light could consume the two of them and the entire Station, someone whistled. She looked up and saw a fist on a collision course for her face. Pain exploded in her eye and everything went dark.

The Khaleesi woke up in a luxurious room covered in throw pillows and lacy wall hangings. The lighting was dim and sensual, making her nervous. Someone had changed her bloody Starfleet uniform while she was passed out. She was in a silky shift that covered her to her ankles. She reached up and touched her hair; it was done up in two buns, the rest of her knee-length locks hanging to her waist.

"So, you're awake at last," a snide voice greeted her. Ama sat up and blinked. The light-skinned, lanky man before her might have been considered handsome to some. To her, he was ugly to the bone with that superior smirk on his face and that cocky stance. He was waiting for her to do something. Cry? Beg? Well, he'd get no such pleasure from her!

"Where is my husband?" she asked politely, knowing that caution was warranted until she had a better idea of where she was and exactly who she was dealing with. The man frowned at her and seemed surprised when she would not be cowed by his displeasure.

"It seems that that shiner I gave you has improved your temperament, little Khaleesi. I am Gregory Gordon out of Jocelyn by Frederick. And you are?"

"Where is my husband?" she asked again, not bothering to give her name. It was likely that he knew it already and she wasn't interested in playing games. She was shocked therefore when he slapped her.

"I asked you a question, Khaleesi!"

"I asked you first!" she yelled defiantly. Before he could hit her again, an arm stopped him. Another Nietzschean was standing in the doorway, and this one had an air of authority about him. Unlike Gregory, he stood tall and handsome with sandy-blond hair and celestial blue eyes. He was nothing compared to her husband, but handsome just the same. There was a cruel bent to his mouth that said he meant business though.

"You must forgive my compatriot, Lady. He never learned how to treat a Khaleesi."

"I'm used to animals that roam in the guise of men," she said cuttingly. Gregory made a move towards her, but stopped when the newcomer leveled him with a look. He turned and stalked out of the chamber altogether.

"I am Alexander Smithy out of Julia by George. Please allow me to treat your wounds," he said smoothly.

"To what end?" she asked, pulling her knees up to her chest. "He's just going to hit me again like the coward he is. I want to know where my husband is. I will not cooperate until I see him." Alexander looked impressed for some reason rather than angry.

"You are not like the other Khaleesi we've taken, Lady," the Nietzschean smiled. "You have some backbone to you. And you're in luck. Yours is the first Berserker we've managed to take alive. He's in our brig. Would you like to see him?"

"Yes, please," she nodded, standing up out of her protective crouch. There were a lot of bruises on her arms and legs from where she'd fought against her kidnapper, but none of that mattered to her as long as she could see her husband. She followed her captor through the vessel, some part of her mind that had awakened with her abduction, memorizing the complicated maze of identical-looking halls. By the time they reached the brig, she instinctively knew how to get there on her own. Her man was chained down. Tears flooded her vision as she took him in. He was kneeling on the floor with his legs apart, bent forward until his forehead was almost touching the floor. His arms were stretched painfully behind him and chained against each other so that moving at all made his boneblades cut into his arms. Thin lines of blood wound down his arms and onto his luscious body from where his arms were cut, in places to the bone.

"Oh my God, Tyr!" she shouted, running to him.

"Ah ah ah. Be careful, my sweet. There's a-" A low-level forcefield sprang up as the Khaleesi approached, made of anger and disapproval. He smiled evilly; the forcefield always stopped them in their tracks.

The girl walked straight through the forcefield, only a shiver indicating that she'd felt anything at all. Alexander watched in shock as she started kissing his arms frantically, sobbing for her man. Oh, she was a powerful one. Once the Drago-Kazov saw her and her Khaleesi strength, they would pay handsomely for her. Possibly enough to make up for their losses obtaining the two.

Tyr sat up when he felt his wife in the cell. He couldn't remember much about what happened to them back on the Station at the end there. He'd been gravely wounded, had fallen to the ground, and knew he was about to die. Then she'd screamed and his reaper had disintegrated right before his very eyes. He'd never heard of that Khaleesi ability. He was proud of his woman in those final moments before the pain forced him to unconsciousness.

"Oh Tyr, I'm so sorry for all of this! If I'd only-"

"Hush now, my love," the man said firmly but gently to his crying woman. He sat up and rubbed his face against hers gently until she quieted. He looked her over, noting the bruises on her arms. The black eye though… "Who did that to you?" His blood boiled as her eyes closed in shame.

"Gregory Gordon. He stopped me when I was about to-"

"I'll kill him," the Nietzschean growled. It wasn't a threat, wasn't even a vow. It was a fact, plain and simple. His audience shivered from the power of those three simple words.

"The Lady has to go now, Berserker," Alexander said softly. "Know that you are only alive because she wills it," he said in a stronger voice. "I will not hesitate to kill you should she prove unwieldy or troublesome."

"He's already in a cell. Why chain him so harshly?" the Khaleesi asked, looking over his newly mended arms where his boneblades were starting to cut into him again.

"Forgive me for the extra precautions, my Lady. But the Berserker has killed many of my people. He needs to be contained. Now, your final defense left a lot of my men hurt with wounds that will not heal. You will fix it, of course."

"Release his arms and I will," she bargained. The Captain looked at the stubborn set of her jaw and smiled indulgently. Whatever the woman had cursed the crew with was permanent. No amount of technology or magic could fix it. His people were dying, and if foregoing the Berserker's punishment was the price for his crew, then so be it.

"Step back, dear Lady, and I will release him." The girl immediately complied, backing out of the cell with another of those shivers. He would have to increase the strength of the shield. He'd never intended for her to be able to touch her man again. Once the woman was clear of the Berserker's cage, he entered and undid the locks on the chains around his arms. It took a while for the Nietzschean to work his way free of the chains, more deep slices to his arms evidence of that, but soon enough he was free. He chafed life back into his abused arms, all the while glaring daggers at his captor.

"Come now, Berserker, you didn't really think I would let you hold her, did you? The Lady belongs to the Drago-Kazov empire now. I wouldn't hold out hope for-"

"And are you a part of the Drago-Kazov empire?" she asked quietly.

"No, dear Lady. I belong to the fierce Jaguar Pride. We are one of the only Prides left that haven't been absorbed into the empire."

"If that's the case, then why-"

"The Drago-Kazov empire is too powerful. They are everywhere and continue to expand their borders. Appeasement has worked so far."

"Until they gain enough power to crush you," she said practically.

"They will never have that much power," he said firmly.

"You won't live to see it," she shrugged, the knowledge welling up from deep inside of her. The man paled but nodded in acceptance. His six wives and eighteen children were safe. His name would live on if he died. He didn't like the sudden indulgent smile on her ruined lips, but there was nothing he could do about it.

"Come, Lady. Let me tend to that eye before you are presented to the crew." The girl was silently communicating with her husband and he looked the calmest a Berserker can get. He was unable to reach through the shield to touch his bride, but he laid a hand on the shield just the same. She turned abruptly and walked away from her man.

"Rest assured that you will never escape."

"My Lady does not wish to escape," Tyr told the older man coldly. "She wants to meet the Drago-Kazov that destroyed our lives twice now." He ignored the Nietzschean after that, opting to do some push-ups. He wanted to be ready for whatever his clever wife had planned.

You didn't think I would just leave it at that, did you? They marry and live happily ever after; what's the fun in that? Especially considering that Tyr's been building up the Rift all this time. What a rude way to introduce Tyr's own people, eh? Well, let's see where this is going, shall we?

See ya next chapter! ^_^