Part 1

You find yourself in a legal grey area when the crimes you've committed are very real, all too real for the public, without laying bare a solid case for your extrajudicial activities. Certainly you know your motivation, who wronged you and how, but you can't quite explain to even the most savvy mortal that your spirit-bonded wife was meant to be reborn to a sow in the near woods but was carried away in utero and fed upon by a vampire. Her power, passing to him, making him wife/vampire. That sort of thing you assume people will understand, but after you start turning public figures into lumpen flesh socks, as part of your personal sorting process, with only a passing explanation, they show you a different face. A face you don't recognize, or like.
It's only when you're rounding a corner to the inner courtyard and you're met with the unwashed mob that you realize you don't care. With a wave you send them all scattering up into the mountain air to land with dull thuds, splitting open rooftops, or landing chest first, face first, into stone walls and sliding down into thatched awnings, making the place beautiful with shimmering straw.
It's not personal. None of this is personal. It's a simple rendering of accounts. The twenty some-odd souls you just evacuated from this existence and the extended families you just brought into the circle of vengeance is easy for you to accommodate into the widening whirlpool of shifting enmities that animate the waters of knowable actors in the cosmos. You can accommodate that anger, and it might actually strengthen your arm in spheres of magic that benefit from that sort of thing.
You might think I'm overthinking things, but this is the nature of vampires. They operate by rules, and those rules used to be simple. You kick open the door on their coffin and slam a stake through their heart or just hire someone with a lifting belt to heft the whole thing out an open window and watch it drop forty floors to break open and sizzle and spark like a salamander on hot pavement. Then the rules got more complicated, like breaking up pieces of their everlasting soul and hiding them. When you add time travel and dimensional shifts to that, things start to get pretty difficult. In fact, every time you defeat a vampire you train the vampire on its own rules for their next big baby's day out. This one, being partly my wife, now knows everything about me. Or it's supposed to. But we know that's not true. But we're not supposed to. The truth is I keep a lot of myself from my wife. Which means when I act outside the borders of what she knows about me, which likely i will in order to trick the vampire who absorbed her essence, it will not only likely be an attack on the vessel she is currently inhabiting but will also be a personal betrayal. I don't care to hurt her, but she is now a vampire. And I can't quite agree with her being a vampire.
I should have looked after her while she was gestating in the sow, but I wanted her to be fed free-range, and it would have been really distracting and tedious to supervise. The sow was also turned onto me, and didn't like me very much. At the least I could have hired a baby-sitter, but it's hard to get good help these days. You know how it is out there for a single Dad trying to raise his wife. That sounds wrong and I don't like the company it puts me in, but you have to take these falls of grace in stride. It only reflects poorly on you in the eyes of others: you know what you're doing.
But now you're outside the bronze gate pumping yourself up for the confrontation by doing sixty pushups to look big while running a a deep interior roleplay on confronting that one teacher. But that happened nearly twenty years ago and you should probably let it go by now. She might be a good person. She doesn't have a good ratemyprofessor score but you don't write in to complain about the washing machine if you don't have a problem with it.
And you're wondering how far you should take this matter. Should you stop at biting the hand of God, or is that just the sort of attitude to make a formula for success. You decide to wing it and blow open the doors to the throne room where you assume you two will have a confrontation, but all that's within that dark hall is a sprawling army of mongoloid-looking raiders and their horses, all tangled in confusion at having been blasted into the far corners and showered in rock dust.