Her steps quickened from their usual graceful, sensual stride. All poise fled her as panic swelled in her breast. Anxiety bubbled inside of her and she could feel her chest tighten. The black cloth tresses of her dress rustled tirelessly around her ankles as her speed increased. Dame Vaako slithered frantically through the dead, watching eyes of her fellow Necromonger court. Her throat ached as a regrettable gasp threatened to part her lips. The echo of the scream she had relinquished moments ago pounded in her ears. The image of Vaako's defeat branded itself in her mind with unrelenting cruelty. The memory branded itself in the forefront of her mind at every conscious fleeting thought. His unredeemable shame carried from him to her through their accursed maternal union. And she felt it weigh heavy on her breast. Dame Vaako struggled to contain the rising anguish within her, yet the sorrow and embarrassment threatened to reveal itself. Her teeth clamped down on her lip, each tooth digging into her flesh. She tasted the familiar coppery warmth of blood but the sharp sensation did not stop her from gnawing further into the flesh of her lip. She was a Necromonger. Suddenly the title felt all but proud and powerful, and Dame Vaako plunged herself deeper into the crowd, penetrating herself through the uncertain converts. Few stood, while many kneeled in the direction she had fled. Though above him now on the balcony, Dame Vaako could feel the unmistakable chill of his eyes caressing her figure: The Lord Marshall Riddick.