Eyes of a Quasy-dead.


Disclaimer: I… you…wanna… perhaps…don't… Okay, boy. Try a verb… deep breath… Don't own, don't sue. Just playing… with Vin… Vinny… smiles.


Making entry, this won't take long…

She was playing outside with her brother, Bumble-catch and "Maggie's hands-on-head" and other games the two children had made up themselves. Their mom had come home early that morning from her nightshift at the 24-7 diner and needed her sleep, and their father was at work at the plant. She was eleven, her brother eight, but they were used to being alone and she was used to taking care of her brother and herself, 'cause there was no one else around to do it for her.

We've entered his neocortex…

She went into the kitchen to make her and her brother lunch, but their mother hadn't been to the store and the refrigerator was empty. So instead she grabbed her jacket from behind the screen door and told her brother to wait on the porch until she came back from shopping. The poor boy sat there and waited for hours before the necromongers came to the house and killed him.

Ah, the Riddick…

They didn't kill her, though death would have been more merciful for a child so young. But they had been looking for her, searching for others with her powers. They brought her to the Basilica, where they turned her, purified her and gave her their faith. The Necromonger faith. As an Ascetic she was deprived of virtually all nourishment. Slave bound, broken there were no other way for her. She learned to direct all power and energy directly to her mind, using her telepathy to break others. She had begged for death every second of every day of every year she had been what they made her. Nothing was as painful as being a Quasy-dead. Nothing. Not even being scanned by one…

Scanning fresh memories.

All these mortals. All of them. They all had a weakness, a soft spot. Something or someone they loved, and it was her quest to find it. They all tried to fight her at first. Then they begged her with their minds, asked her not to hurt them. Some promised gold, others power. But she had no need for gold, and she already had all the power in the world. And in the end they just begged for the same thing as she had begged for: death. But they all ended up giving her what she searched for; some freely, some still fighting. Did it matter in the end, if they gave it freely? No. People had come here to the Quasy-grotto for centuries; no one had ever escaped without giving her what she wanted. Their weakness, their vulnerabilities. The objects of their affection, be it wealth, alcohol, family… a lover.

Thoughts of someone called Jack…

Some were merchants, some priests, some plant workers like her dad had been. Or even ruthless killers like The Riddick…This man hadn't begged, hadn't promised her anything. But he had put up a fair fight. And he had reason to fight, reason why no Quasy-dead under the command of this Lord Marshall should ever enter his mind, reveal his secrets. But he had no control here in the Quasy-grotto, no jurisdiction. His only option was to bow, to surrender his very being… all that made him Riddick. His future, his present, his past…

We find energy…We find furyan energy…

Somewhere she might still find a spark of something close to concern for these mortals, but it was overshadowed by the fact that they would all soon die, and that she would never experience that pleasure… They were lucky those mortals, this Riddick, death was merciful compared to what the necromongers could do to a breeder of his strength, his power. She could already see him caged.

Kill him. Kill the Riddick…

Death could only be merciful….


Eamon: No idea where this came from. Saw CoR for the first time in a year and found disturbing pity for the Quasy-deads… damn. Oh, and saw xXx again…. H. O. T !