He should have known that that chance at becoming a Spectre was too good to be true. It always went this way. In the end, whatever he did, and however well he did it, he fell short of expectation. In a way, this was even worse than in the several units he'd been assigned to before. There, it had always only been his attitude that had gotten him into trouble, that, and the fact of his less than distinguished origins. He'd never made any friends there. His upbringing on a merc outpost far outside what was considered civilised space had irrevocably formed him, and he was simply too different. He always had been a survivor, a ruthless fighter, and his respect and loyalty weren't automatically given but had to be earned. He also always had been a better fighter and much better tactician than his so-called peers.
Of course he hadn't fit in there.
Now, he was stuck with a stone-cold demanding bastard of a Spectre who seemed to consider him a complete idiot, refused to listen to any suggestion he made and never deigned to explain any of his actions.
They had gotten into firefights several times now, and Saren's behaviour had made it clear to him that he didn't really care whether Nihlus survived or not. Even worse, he deliberately seemed to manoeuvre Nihlus into difficult situations, just to see how Nihlus was going to get himself out of them.
It had to be some sort of test of his abilities, and Nihlus understood that, but being set up into life-threatening situations was taking it too far, in his not-so-humble opinion.
It wasn't even that he had no respect for Saren. In fact, quite the opposite was the case. From what he'd read of the Spectre's personnel file and service record, he was one of the best, and Nihlus understood that. He knew he should be grateful for this chance that he was given here.
In a way he was, even if he knew very well that Saren didn't want him here, and he'd have to prove himself somehow to the Spectre to change that.
Nevertheless, he'd never been a good turian who ducked his head and bared his throat to any who claimed to be his superior. And he didn't take well to being treated with contempt or being dismissed simply because his lower rank gave less weight to his suggestions. That was against his nature, even if it landed him in trouble again and again.
It had gotten so bad that he had to really try and keep himself from doing anything worse than reply with a certain lack of respect when he even heard the Spectre's voice. It grated on his ears, flat and cold with a permanent disdainful twinge, and no subtones at all. It was impossible to tell anything about what Saren was thinking or feeling from just his voice. Granted, that might be just a side-effect of his job, but it was very unpleasant nevertheless. And Saren seemed to go out of his way to increase his discomfort.
He looked up as he heard the footsteps of the other turian come closer. Saren was leaning against the door, regarding him with a rather appraising look that, of course, raised his hackles. He managed not to snarl, but it took effort. He also didn't fool himself into believing that Saren couldn't precisely tell his mood. Well, that was just too bad for Saren, then.
"How good are you at hand-to-hand combat?"
The question surprised him, but Nihlus snorted. "My instructors at the academy didn't complain too much. Why, do you want to see for yourself?"
His words were deliberately insolent, his tone even more so, and his undertones would have landed him in a world of trouble even with someone of equal military rank. For that alone, Saren would be quite justified do apply whatever disciplinary measure he deemed appropriate. Nihlus didn't care, not anymore.
If any of this angered the Spectre, he didn't show any sign of it. "Yes."
Nihlus was rather certain he didn't hide his surprise well enough, but resolved not to care. Instead, he gave the Spectre an appraising look of his own. Saren had shed his armour, and the black underarmour he wore was tight enough to show that he wasn't as heavy-built as one would have assumed, given his appearance in armour. They were about the same height, but Saren was actually more lean than muscular and probably weighted less than him.
Nihlus didn't make the mistake of thinking that an automatic disadvantage, however. It just meant that the Spectre probably relied on speed and skill more than raw strength.
That could be interesting. And of course, the chance to get in a good strike or three at the infuriating pale bastard was a quite appealing prospect.
He nodded, rising to his feet.
He was good at hand-to-hand. He'd had needed to learn, in order to survive his childhood.
"What rules?" he asked, starting to strip out of his armour, too. If his estimation of the Spectre's style held true, he'd need speed more than protection.
Saren snorted dismissively. "This isn't a duel, and we're not at the academy. No rules. Just try to take me down if you can."
Now that was irregular. Nihlus shrugged. "Fine with me, but I hope you aren't going to blame me if you get hurt."
The Spectre laughed, a sound devoid of any real humour. "Hardly. If you manage to injure me I probably deserve it."
Well, if Saren wanted to play it that way, Nihlus was more than happy to oblige. He pointedly dropped his gloves on his discarded armour and kicked off the thin boots that were part of his undersuit. He half expected either a reprimand at that or at least Saren to likewise bare his hands and feet to be able to bring his own claws into play, but the Spectre just cocked his head to one side in a thoughtful manner, and remained silent, waiting.
Arrogant bastard.
Nihlus internally shrugged, then his stance changed as he warily stepped closer. Saren made no move at all, just watching him, so he snorted and lashed out, trying a tentative hit on the other's torso.
He found himself blocked immediately, struck with the other hand, was blocked again and leaped back.
Saren didn't follow up, but went into some defensive position again.
Interesting. Nihlus darted in again, testing the Spectre's defense and speed again, jumped back after another quick series of move and counter-move.
He wasn't stupid enough to commit himself before he had a good idea what his opponent was capable of.
He tried a faster hit at the Spectre's collar, found his arm swatted aside almost casually and then had to duck another almost casual swipe.
Saren gave a contemptuous snort. "Not very promising so far." he stated in a bored voice.
Nihlus suppressed a grin. If that was supposed to goad him into becoming reckless, it wasn't working. "So sorry to disappoint" he quipped, trying another rather obvious feint that was blocked regardless. It told him enough. Saren, for all his impression of boredom, wasn't taking any chances.
Time to take this up a notch, then.
He went at Saren again, almost full speed now, tried to grapple, was slapped back as expected and turned that move into a vicious kick at the Spectre's knee joint.
It was only a grazing hit, the Spectre's reactions being as fast as he had calculated, but it made Saren twist aside, and lose his bored expression.
Nihlus gave him a fierce grin, and then it became a proper fight.
Their moves seemed to blur, as both of them abandoned the pretence of this being a polite sparring match.
They traded blows in lightning-quick exchanges, then broke apart again, circling each other.
He'd been right, the Spectre was fast and quite agile, and when Nihlus switched to the not very reputable but quite effective fighting style he'd used back home on a daily basis, he found that Saren knew these tricks, too.
Of course, Nihlus thought with a touch of smugness, that didn't mean he was immune to any of it. A sweep with a leg spur hooked the Spectre's foot, not enough to down him, but enough to throw him off balance. Nihlus took a hard blow to the right mandible for that, shrugged it off and drove his knee into the Spectre's midsection. That blow connected just fine, and with his full weight behind it, it was more than enough to at least knock the breath from Saren's lungs.
The temptation to close in and do some real damage was almost overwhelming, but he was too experienced to give in to that. Saren was too capable a fighter to be treated with less than caution and patience, and he wouldn't let his own temper get the better of him and thus give the damned Spectre another advantage.
Instead he kept his distance, following up with a turning kick at the Spectre's side. The talons on his foot tore through Saren's undersuit, scraping against the plates underneath. If Saren had twisted aside, as would have been the normal and instinctive response, his talons would have snagged the edge of one of the long plates on his side and torn it loose, probably tearing his side open in the process.
It wasn't an immediately lethal move, but something that wasn't used in sparring, ever. Saren's response was, instead, just angling back, turning the vicious attack into a glancing blow. He recovered his balance in a heartbeat, but didn't even strike for Nihlus' leg as he half would have expected.
For a moment they stood, measuring each other.
Nihlus hadn't expected that trick to work completely, but that hadn't been the point. It had been to let the Spectre know that Nihlus was very willing to treat this as a real fight if prompted, that Saren's higher status wouldn't keep him from getting hurt unless he redefined this exercise, and, mostly of all, that Nihlus had had it for now. He wasn't a raw recruit that Saren could play his games with.
I'll follow your orders, but don't blame me if that isn't quite what you expected.
He stood, waiting, his expression closed but challenging. There was nothing in the Spectre's expression that he could read, nothing in his stance but a very slight imbalance that might mean that Saren was favouring his recently-struck side. Nihlus didn't quite snort with contempt. He wasn't going to fall for that, either. He knew he had scored a hit, but not enough to warrant even that vague reaction. He waited, wondering whether Saren would call any rules to this after all, and then Saren just gave him a nod, straightened up and attacked.
He snarled as the Spectre was suddenly too close, putting him on the defense, and the smart move would have been to retreat, but this was getting too strange, and he took the risk and stood his ground.
He'd been right about another thing, too: Saren relied on skill and speed, not strength, because he didn't try any single potential takedown move, but a series of precise, fast strikes at different vulnerable points, meant to incapacitate.
Saren was fast, but quite within Nihlus' abilities to evade or block, and he knew those tricks too, and proved it by blocking the seriously meant ones, then he took one that was simply meant as a distraction, which hurt, but not too badly, and immediately aimed a straight blow at the Spectre's throat, forcing him to retreat and breaking his pattern.
Another nod, and the Spectre closed in again.
He ducked away under a swipe that was now meant seriously and caught the follow-up strike, his claws closing around the Spectre's left wrist, registering the feel of his claws sliding past plate and piercing skin at the back of his mind. He was done playing.
With a sharp yank, he pulled him in, intent on finishing this, but something was wrong, because there was no resistance at all when there should have been the Spectre's weight behind it, and he was off-balance for a moment.
Too long.
A sharp clash of spurs, a not even so hard kick against a his ankle, and he was meeting the ground, hard, managing to twist onto his side as Saren tore free of his grip.
Nihlus didn't waste any time trying to figure out how the hell the Spectre had done that, but accepted the fact that he had, and reacted accordingly.
Instinct as well as training told him the imperative was to get back on his feet as fast as possible, and he turned sitting up into a forward lunge at Saren, even as he tried to get his feet under himself. His claws struck true, but Saren twisted somehow, using his own momentum against him, and he went flying and landed flat on his back, the Spectre over him, his face still without any expression.
Nihlus snarled, and slammed his forehead into the other's face, drawing some visceral satisfaction from the resulting sound, and almost managed to toss his opponent off, then a precise blow to the side of his head stunned him for a second or two.
In a fight with someone like this Spectre, that was all that was needed.
The next thing he knew, he was down, upper body twisted to force his right side flat to the floor, his arm pinned by the Spectre's hand in an uncomfortable angle to keep his shoulder to the ground, his left leg kept immobile down by a foot on his thigh. Then Saren unhurriedly leaned his knee into Nihlus' side, right onto that gap between plates that appeared when his torso was twisted that far, and Nihlus winced despite himself. Right now, that only hurt, and made breathing more difficult. More pressure, and he'd lose consciousness.
Despite that, his first impulse was still to try and toss Saren off, because giving up was something he never seemed to have gotten the hang of, but the Spectre very deliberately drew off his right glove and set curved, long black claws against his neck in an almost casual threat, and that made him reconsider that course of action.
No sensible turian kept the claws on their fingers long like that. That was what battle gauntlets were for, anyway. The risk for injury to anyone else was too great, otherwise. Despite all of their military discipline, even Hierarchy turians still sometimes settled disputes with personal duels, however strictly refereed, and when a turian's blood was up with fighting, they tended to forget any restraint. Hence that restriction. Nihlus' own claws were, of course, clipped to civilised standards, and while they did have points and could in a pinch double as weapons against species with a softer hide than turians, they couldn't do any immediately lethal damage against another turian. He could kill with his bare hands, of course, but that required technique. He certainly couldn't pierce another turian's plates with his bare hands. Saren apparently could do that without needing any gauntlets.
No turian who was still sane and not a complete loner would keep claws like that. He lifted his head to stare at the Spectre and share this observation, because keeping silent was another thing he'd never quite learned.
Then he met Saren's strangely calm expression, and something in him went still and scared at what he found in the other's eyes. There was no anger, no triumph or satisfaction, no emotion at all from the fight, just a clear, calculating emptiness that measured him and didn't miss anything.
There were traces of blue on his face where Nihlus hat scored hits on him, probably with his claws at his last lunge, and every normal turian would have reacted in some way to that. Saren didn't even seem to notice, much less care.
There was nothing at all in his expression that Nihlus could relate to. It was like being faced with a completely alien creature that only by chance looked like a turian, but whose motivations and thoughts were too strange to understand.
He hadn't been afraid of Saren before this.
His instinct told him to submit, offer his throat in that primitive gesture that would settle this fight, probably damage his pride and social standing in a bad way but hold off any further attack in a normal turian, but he fought it. Nihlus knew with a perfect, frightening certainty that nothing he could do now would have any impact on Saren's actions. He was certain that Saren would just ignore any surrender if he chose to, simply because there was no corresponding instinctive response in him that would make him turn away. No, this one wasn't sane.
He wasn't ashamed of being scared, because insanity was something to be rightfully afraid of. It wouldn't change his actions, though.
He wasn't going to beg, and if that pale-faced madman was going to injure or kill him for that, then so be it.
It went against anything that his instincts told him, but he wouldn't acknowledge defeat like this, so he gritted his teeth, ignored the black, sharp claws on his neck and gave Saren his best defiant snarl.
Nothing in Saren's expression changed in the least as brushed those claws over his neck in a careless, light touch that was deceptively gentle. Nihlus' eyes widened, and his breath hitched. It was an ambiguous touch, the meaning very much dependant on context. In a confrontation, it was a serious but subtle threat. In another context, it would have been almost seductive, a request for him to submit in another way altogether.
Neither was appropriate, chances were that neither was meant seriously, and Saren was playing some damned mind-game here for his own reasons. This was intended to scare and confuse him further, nothing else. In another turian, it probably would have worked. With Nihlus, all it did accomplish was to really piss him off, enough that there was simply no room left for any fear. He never had taken well to being toyed with.
"Go to hell," he snarled, the tips of Saren's claws still quite prominent at his neck. He ignored them, staring up at Saren, holding that eerie pale gaze with the strength his anger gave him.
To his surprise, there suddenly was amusement and a hint of satisfaction in the Spectre's strange eyes, familiar if distant emotion displacing that blankness, and Saren withdrew his hand and took his weight off Nihlus' chest.
He came to his feet far too lightly for Nihlus' taste, and stepped back, giving him space, but Nihlus already was up in a crouch again, having rolled away and to his feet immediately as soon as Saren had relaxed his grip on him.
He was still breathing hard, but he now was more certain than ever that he couldn't trust the Spectre as far as he could throw him, and he wasn't going to turn his back on him just yet. This had been some sort of test, he realised, although of what, precisely, he couldn't tell. And he couldn't even tell if that blank insanity in the Spectre's eyes had been feigned or not, whether the emptiness or the amusement were real.
The Spectre seemed quite calm, apparently not even noticing his left wrist, where Nihlus had left puncture wounds in the seams between plates. That had to hurt, and he should have at least less mobility in that hand because there had to be some nerve trauma, at least, but he showed no sign of even any discomfort. His stance was perfectly relaxed.
Saren gave him a vaguely puzzled look, as if he had no idea why he was reacting that way, then stated in a calm voice "We're done for now." He turned as if to go.
Nihlus stared at him, incredulous. "That's it?"
The Spectre turned back, his head cocked to one side inquiringly. "What do you mean?"
"What was the point of this? Apart, of course, from proving to me that you're stronger and meaner and the better fighter?"
"There's no need in proving anything we both know to be true." Saren replied, carelessly.
"So what else was the point? And what would you have done if I had surrendered?"
Saren snorted. "You have a perfectly serviceable mind of your own. Learn to use it. Figure it out."
Nihlus ground his teeth in frustration. "That's not an answer."
"No, it's not. It's a task I just set you." He seemed to consider for a moment, then added "Take as long as you want with it. If you're sure about your answer, tell me. If it's the correct one, I'll teach you the move just I used to take you down."
Nihlus considered. "And if it's not?" He'd at least learned some caution.
Saren shrugged. "Then the only thing you'll learn from me is that there are no second chances." He turned again and left without any further word.
Nihlus shook his head and started swearing, low but heart-felt.
His so-called mentor was, without any doubt, definitely insane.