Ch. 1

We caught you plotting murder
And now the tide is turning
We'll light our souls, heal our bones
Upon your empire burning

"Spy Hunter", Project 86

It took the better part of a year and enough blood to paint the throne room red ten times over before Riddick had the Necromongers where he wanted them. In that time, the majority of the command ranks were replaced, replaced, and replaced again. He didn't see it as losing 'his' people. That would mean claiming responsibility for them, something he'd never asked for.

Instead, he chose to look at it as culling. Those stupid enough to challenge him, thinking that he wasn't fit to rule them because he didn't have the fucking scars on his neck? Those were the first to die. They thought that he wouldn't have been able to kill Zhylaw if Vaako hadn't made his play. Which in turn made them think that they had a chance at the throne.

Their mistake.

He didn't care what they thought. He cut down every challenger who came forward and walked over their bodies as he went about the business of taking control. The business of digging his way into the pit, right towards the bear trap at the bottom. He wasn't fooled. The Necromongers were just a new sort of prison, just a bit fancier than the ones he usually landed in.

He'd get out, eventually.

But first…

He made his final point just before he ordered the departure of the Armada from the known sectors of the Arm. Preparations had been underway for a while now, and he worked on shedding dependents left and right. Aereon didn't complain when he stuffed her in a scavenged ship and set the autopilot for Quinetessa.

Imam's woman and her daughter were packed off in a scout vessel with a contingent of guards and a pile of valuables; to start them off in a new life on the closest bit of true civilization he could manage. The guards would drop her off safely on threat of death before their due time, then catch up with the Armada.

The three of them were the last living ties left to cut before he took his dead and those who wished to be dead and dropped them off the edge of the known Universe. Preferably without him, because there was no way in Hell he'd walk quietly to whatever kind of death it was that let something like his predecessor come back.

No. Way. In. Hell.

So, he was satisfied that things were going according to his rough plan. Then, one night as he headed for his quarters and the comfort of their darkness, when someone slithered up behind him and tried to put a shiv in his ribs. It wasn't really a shiv. Too finely crafted for that. High on adrenaline, he didn't care enough to call it a knife. The way it was being used made it a shiv anyway.

He didn't pay conscious attention to who was around him. His mistake. He saw his attacker nearly every day, smelled her everywhere. She'd even tried to go through his quarters, as if he had anything he cared about in there. So far she'd kept her active plotting limited to manipulating her husband, trying to stage a coup. Something must have driven her over the edge this time. If this crazy bitch even knew where the edge was to begin with. He wondered sometimes if she hadn't thrown herself at the Necros when they arrived on her world.

At the moment, none of that mattered. None of it even occurred to him. He did what he always did. Let the animal take over, keep him from getting more than a scrape along the ribs as he twisted and backhanded her all in one motion. He caught her as she spun, wrapped one arm around her torso and the other hand around her jaw, and gave a sharp twist. The crack of her neck was satisfying as hell.

Then his thinking mind kicked in, and he realized who exactly had just tried to fuck with him. Snarling, he grabbed the body by the hair and dragged it to her quarters, well aware of the fact that every Necro in eyesight was watching. Blood trickled down his side, but he was wearing black. The stuff was more likely to pool in his boot than leave traces on the floor.

Vaako was in his quarters, and Riddick didn't really give a damn what he was doing. What mattered was what happened next. He dropped his burden in the center of the first room, leathery dress puddling around her and the hair splayed over the floor in a wild tangle of undone braids. And then he waited, watching the expressions chase themselves over his last remaining Commander's face as he inhaled the corresponding scents. Shock, anger, and finally resignation each had their turn.

After a long moment, the man straightened, fist hitting his chest and barked, "Loyalty to Underverse come," in a semi-strangled voice.

Riddick nodded and left. Now that he had the absolute loyalty of the one man who could've posed a real threat, his sketchy plan for escape crystalized a little further. It was always easier when it he was on his own in slam. Funny how he almost missed those days.

Now here he was, drifting in space and still not free. Vaako saddled him with a pack of Necromonger dogs with as a condition of taking the rest of the Armada to the Threshold.

Kyra's body in lay in a cryo box in one of the storage compartments. So far he hadn't found the right planet, the right place, to set her down. This part of the Arm was full of planets that used to sustain life. Until the Necros came through. Now they were mainly wastelands. A few planets had had water and breathable air. They'd stopped, if only to refresh the oxygen scrubbers and supplies. Necro ships, even the smaller Destroyers like the one he'd been saddled with, could travel through space nearly indefinitely so long as they could keep water and 02 losses to an absolute minimum, but restocking was always wise.

He didn't intend to stop for good until he'd done two things. First, find a place to set Kyra down, a place where the planet itself didn't try to kill anything that set foot on it. He had no idea who she'd been or where she'd come from before boarding the Hunter-Gatzner all those years ago, but he knew twelve-year-old girls didn't travel alone and disguised as boys just for the hell of it. She may not even deserve peace, but he wasn't leaving her body with the Necros and he wasn't just going to dump her again.

Second, he needed to get rid of these fucking guards. Guards. For him! It was insulting and funny as hell all at the same time. He wasn't sure if Vaako what told them. Drag him back if he tried to skip out? Or maybe man was actually worried that Riddick'd land on some other planet full of monsters and need the cannon fodder to cover his ass.

Either way, that was the first time the Commander disagreed with the Lord Marshal since Riddick dropped Dame Vaako's body in the middle of their quarters. He'd almost killed the man, but someone needed to keep the Armada in check as they traveled; keep them from destroying any more planets on their way through occupied space.

Since Vaako had sworn absolute loyalty, and proved it in the bargain, Riddick couldn't find a way to justify offing the prick. So, growling, Riddick had accepted the Destroyer and its crew along with the company of guards. Maybe he'd just blow the thing up once he found a place for Kyra. He hadn't figured that part out yet.

A hissing crackle at his elbow warned him to hit the volume on the comm just before the navigator's scratchy voice deafened him in the echoing room. "Lord Marshall Sir, there's something you should see."

Riddick growled and thumbed the toggle. "Coming." Giving the fair skin and dark hair under the glass one last look, the big man turned and left the hold, lowering his goggles as he went. These Necros might keep things dim in the halls and personal spaces, but the bridge was always lit up like Helion and it was too dangerous to have them lower the lights just so he could see. Plus, the goggles made them nervous.

He was still smirking to himself when he entered the bridge and leaned over the navigator's shoulder. The man's scent bloomed in his nose, apprehension and worry like someone dripping a citrus fruit into his nasal cavities. He lifted a lip in a silent snarl before backing off, just a bit. Oddly, the scent didn't change like it usually did after he'd made his dominance play. Frowning, he leaned forward again. The navigator shifted just enough to give a clearer view of the screen.

"What's that?" Riddick asked, reaching forward and homing in on the floating dot in the center. It wasn't an asteroid, or meteors. For a moment his mind flashed to a ship shaking and rattling as bits of comet debris punched through the hull and into the cryo boxes around him. He dismissed it immediately. No comets around. No planets nearby to land and get eaten on.

He tried to zoom again, but the visual sensors were at their limits. Switching over, he ran signals, heat, and finally infrared scanners. Their range varied, but it was the external comms that finally netted results. Three long staticky beeps, three short, and three long. A burst of some unintelligible language, and the beeps again. Frowning, he leaned back to study the screen. The distress code meant a ship which meant humans of some sort or another. A year's travel past the known occupied areas of space and they'd found a ship in distress. What were the odds?

Curiosity always got him in more trouble than he could keep track of. He had a feeling that would to be his downfall, eventually; but he'd never been one to overlook opportunities to escape, and half the time it was his curiosity that had helped him find those openings and weaknesses in the walls around him. Right now, he had the feeling that he was looking at his way out and away from these necrophiliac freaks. Growling to himself in satisfaction, he clapped a hand on the navigator's shoulder. The man rocked, his fear scent bloomed again, and then steadied. "Let's go check it out," the Lord Marshall rumbled.

Necromongers were not above hijacking converts straight out of space flight. The Destroyer class ships in particular were built for such. Not for the first time he wondered at Vaako's choice of ship for this little walkabout. It couldn't take other vessels on board, unless they were about the size of the planet hoppers mercs favored.

It did have an adaptive seal that could lock on to pretty much anything from a trade frigate to a large military cruiser. Guns mounted in a double line forward to aft ensured the cooperation of enemy vessels, knocking them off course and their passengers out of cryo. Nine times out of ten the passengers were so spooked hat the tactic all but guaranteed fresh converts willing to throw themselves on Necromonger mercy. Anything to escape their stranded vessels.

At the time of departure, Riddick had appreciated the guns, scorned the need for the seals, and completely trashed the Conversion chambers. He wasn't on a recruitment hunt, a point he'd made abundantly clear to the one cleric who managed to bluster his way on board. The cleric had pushed back. Riddick left the man a planet with little soil, much salt water, and freakishly erratic tides. If he stayed alive, it was only by heading as far inland as he could manage and praying for fresh water somewhere. It was more than Riddick had given others in the past.

Now the big man found himself grateful for the seals, as the ship they were approaching looked nothing like any he'd ever seen. Shaped a bit deep sea flyer fish, with sleek lines and flaring wings. The airlock at the aft end was the point of entry. It didn't take long for the Destroyer to adapt itself, plates of dark metal sliding and grinding before the rubberized sheath slipped out and molded itself to the framework provided.

Standing there, twenty Necros at his back, Riddick realized there might be a problem. The keypad set into the hull next to the airlock was covered in numbers he recognized and characters he didn't. Patterns of sharp lines mocked him as he growled under his breath and tried to think. The large button next to a tiny blinking light seemed as good a risk as any and he stabbed at it with one finger, already bracing himself for an explosion.

Instead something beeped. A feminine voice spoke to him in that strange language, and the doors of the unknown vessel hissed open, leaving Riddick and his men staring into a small cargo bay turned to hell.

The rusty tang of dried blood and the stink of burst entrails. He didn't take off his goggles; the bright emergency lights that flashed around the edges of the bay made the dark-to-light ratio too erratic for his unshielded vision. Pools and splashes of darker color painted the room in erratic loops and squiggles.

In the center of the floor was a larger puddle. He looked up to see the origin. Face a rictus of pain around the spear protruding from her mouth, pale skin hanging in patches and flaps around her abdomen and splayed legs, the woman hung. She was supported by not only the spear that had been rammed through her from nethers to nose, but by the chains through her ankles as well. Two men dangled, one on each side, like some obscene sort of jewelry. One skewered through the stomach and the other gaffed in the ass.

Dried blood coated them all. Only extreme self-control kept Riddick from holding his nose at the stench. He'd smelled worse, but that was usually in the slam, and not along with a formerly living version of some of the statues that decorated Necropolis. Behind him he the Necros shifted. He dredged up a smirk. They might have bad taste in art, but when it came to actual fighting they killed and moved on, not leaving even their enemies to linger long at Death's door. They wanted as many left alive and intact as they could manage, but had no use for those dead or dying. A line drifted through his head, from some long ago book in the long ago Ranger training. Something about Davy Jones and a ship crewed by the dead. It fit the Necros to a T.

Figuring he'd let the men stew long enough, Riddick growled and turned. "Search the ship. Supplies, signs of life." He snagged the mousy navigator by the elbow as the warriors moved around him. "Origin. Where did it come from?"

The man nodded and stepped around him, jaw set and determinedly not looking at the gruesome chandelier. Riddick followed more slowly, examining as he went. A weight bench in one corner and stacks of shipping crates in another. A locker full of weapons, mainly unfamiliar guns. A small box in the corner of the locker held clear bullets full of translucent liquid.

Frowning, he kept one of bullets and put the box back. Then he sorted through the guns, hunting for the one that looked like it would take the ammo. An empty rack answered his question, but before he could go any further, the comm on his wrist beeped.

"Lord Marshall Sir." The navigator. "I believe I have found some answers. The bridge is directly forward of the cargo bay, Sir." Something in the man's voice quivered and Riddick snarled silently to himself. More fear smell on top of old blood and ruptured bowels. Just what he needed.

The bridge was tiny; barely room enough for one, and no copilot chair in sight. The parts of the wall that weren't windows were covered in panels and banks of dimly lit screens. Over those was a man, staked by hands and feet, with dried intestines hanging out of his abdomen.

Riddick stepped around the mess on the floor and slipped in next to the pilot's seat, where the navigator worked furiously. "Well?" he rumbled, crossing his arms.

The navigator looked up and then keyed the screen. "Sir, it appears that the vessel is human in origin. Most likely from the first people of the Exodus from Earth." His lip lifted in silent scorn for a people who fled their home rather than taking their rightful deaths, but in the next moment his face was smooth again. "I am unclear as to the second language, but the first appears to be a form of-"

"Common," Riddick interrupted, and leaned over for a closer look. Sure enough, mixed in among the sharp lines and squared off characters were a few familiar words. Frowning, he looked at the navigator. "Hound?"

"It appears to be the name of the ship, my lord. From what I can tell," a few more buttons and a dial turned. "This was a mercenary vessel carrying cargo. The captain's log cuts off abruptly. I cannot read the rest of it, but the last word is in Common." The man turned to look at his leader. "Reavers."

Riddick frowned and sat back, eyeing the corpse crucified to the wall and ceiling. That explained the guns. And probably the strange bullet, too. Tranq guns. The missing space in the gun locker was about big enough for something long range. So why was it missing? There wasn't enough space on this boat to turn around properly, much less fire a long-range gun. What could they be carrying that they thought they still needed to keep it under, even in cryo?

That brought another realization. A quick glance around the cabin confirmed it. No cuffs. No tubes. No vials of cryo drugs. Frowning, he turned to the Necro in the pilot's chair. "Have they found the cryo equipment yet?"

That startled the man. He jerked around to look. Riddick curled a lip. Necros. Fools. They didn't travel in cryo. Their vessels were too slow. The grav drives on them didn't play the same havoc on the body that supra light travel did. Even if it did, they'd probably enjoy it. Either way, the rest of the known universe did use cryo for space travel. Why not this ship?

Growling, Riddick pushed past the man and started his own search, poking his nose in hatches and down the short halls. The boat smelled lived in. There was a galley, bunks, even a head that proved the crew was up and around enough to want and take showers, short as they may be with the limited water possible on this thing. All the smells were old, stale, and covered over with the continuous stench of dried blood,. Still no sign of cryo during travel.

It was a whiff of antiseptic that proved him wrong. His men missed the spot, searching for the obvious and not thinking to look for cubby holes and hiding places. He'd just wandered out of the tiny infirmary and back into the equally tiny cargo bay when the floor thunked hollowly under him and the movement of the grate stirred the air enough for him to smell it. And hear it.

Old sweat, the antiseptic, drugs of some sort. And a faint heartbeat. He turned, just to make sure it wasn't the infirmary fooling his senses, but the room was just as stale and foul as the rest of the boat. A few steps got him off the section of decking and he crouched for closer inspection.

He growled when his men came up behind him. Metal boots on metal decking were not a good combination for quiet. Waving them to a stop, he bent over and sniffed. The scent was stronger down here. There were tiny divots along the edge of the metal plate.

His fingers were too big, so he unsheathed one of his curved shivs from his belt and went to work. One of the more enterprising of his men caught on and knelt to work on the opposing side of the plate with his own blade. Between the two of them they got it loosened enough to slip their fingers in under.

Riddick met the man's eyes with his goggles and nodded. They lifted as one. The plate caught on some something and brought them up short. The Necro stumbled, but Riddick snarled and gave a wrench, snapping whatever'd hooked into the plate. The solder lurched forward but caught his end, and together they set the plate aside.

The smell hit Riddick's nose like a slap in the face. He wondered briefly if there'd been some sort of hermetic seal on the hidden compartment, damaged during the struggle with whatever had attacked this ship. Frowning, he stared down into the hole, peeling back his goggles for a better look.

It was a box. Or a coffin. It could have been either. But the blinking lights on one corner of its surface and the heartbeat inside argued against the coffin theory. Was this their cryo then? It was probably their cargo, considering the care they'd taken to hide it from a casual observer. Were they mercs or were they smugglers? Slavers? Riddick snorted to himself and shrugged. It didn't really matter one way or the other. Now he had someone to answer his questions. Provided they could wake them up. Stepping back, he gestured at his men. "Get it out," he growled. "And be careful."

"Sir?" asked the Necro who'd helped him get the decking up. Riddick snarled at him as he pulled his goggles down and moved out of the way, further into the cargo bay. The man didn't argue further. A fist to his chest in salute and he turned back to the hole and its contents as the warriors tried to figure out how to get the box out.

Riddick snorted and went back to the weapons locker, leaving half his attention on his men as he looked for hidden catches and levers. Had to be something else hidden in here if the guns were so easy to get to.

He'd emptied the thing of guns and lifted the racks by the time the men got the box out. He was in the middle of pulling the back panel from the locker, revealing an impressive set of shivs and was that a sword, when the thud and scrape of metal on the floor behind him caught his attention.

Frowning, he drifted back over to the box. Something about the scent had changed, but between the smell of the bay and the Necros it was hard to pin down. Growling an order, he got the men to stand still while he listened. Sure enough, the heartbeat was louder. Still slow, but rising steadily. He cocked his head and leaned over the box, resting his hands on either side of the display readout as he tried to pin down the scent. It wasn't acrid or acid like fear or burning like anger. Like cool water, it threaded through the drugs, antiseptic, mint, and sweat. If he had to take a guess, he'd almost say it was anticipation, but without a baseline read on whoever it was, he couldn't say for sure. One way to find out.

Stepping back, he nodded at his men. "Open it."

Four of them stepped forward, ceremonial blades ready to dig into the seams and pry, but before they could complete the action, the navigator stepped out of the hall. "My Lord, if I may?"

Riddick turned and raised an eyebrow. "What?"

The slim man held up what looked to be a data pad in one hand, shining with words both familiar and unfamiliar. "I believe this may work better." That said, he glanced at the pad, centered it over the display on the box, and slid it into place with a soft click. In his other hand he held…a hand. Riddick snorted as the navigator pressed the hand of the dead man who must have captained the ship to the data pad. It beeped, blinked, and a tinny voice said, "Palm print accepted. Cryo disengaging in three…two…"

With a click and a hiss, the seal let loose and the top half of the box lifted a few millimeters. The navigator stepped back to let the warriors closer. They had the lid off in short order. Riddick shoved his way into the mass of armored men. They didn't notice him at first, attention focused on the open cryo box. Riddick growled. That shocked the Necros into remembering he was there. They parted before him. Still rumbling, he stepped up to the box, inhaling deeply as he tried to figure out the meaning of the scent of cool water.

He didn't have long to wait. Its occupant's eyes popped open just as he reached the foot of the box. Huge and dark in a pale face, surrounded by straggling dark hair, the girl took less than half a second to scan the armored bodies around her before she moved.

Two men died, eye sockets bleeding, before any of the Necros registered her attack. Two more fell, throats bubbling, before the rest could reach for the weapons. If it hadn't been for the fact that these men had put themselves under his protection, made him alpha of their screwed up little pack, Riddick would have just sat back and watched as the girl danced her way through the pile.

Eight down by the time he bulled his way into the center of the fight. Another two as he kicked one end of the cryo box out of his way. She had a blade strapped to her wrist. She drove it back over her shoulder, into the eye socket of the soldier behind her. Grabbing the man's gun hand, she used the weapon on another. The first went down with a gurgling cry, the second crumpled more quietly.

Then Riddick was there, fist swinging. Straight through empty air. She ducked, rolled under his arm, and popped up behind him. He turned, trying to catch her, and she jumped again, rolling backwards over his shoulder. Her feet struck another of his men. She followed him down, knees wrapped around his neck as she rolled to one side. The man's neck snapped just before she released her hold and tumbled backwards into a crouch.

But she cornered herself with that last move. She'd landed in the passageway leading to the bridge. Riddick could tell from the lack of glowing light in that direction that the Navigator had closed the hatch on the room before coming down to the cargo bay. Behind him, the soldiers cursed and pulled various weapons. Growling, he waved at them. Last thing they needed was guns in a tight space.

The girl inched away, hands at the ready. For every step he took forward, she took one back. The emergency lights flashed and spun overhead, making it harder to judge distance, but his nose worked just fine. The scent of cool water remained, overlaid with something like sour fruit and a bit of charcoal to leaven the mix. The drugs burning out of her system, maybe. He thought briefly of the missing tranq gun, wishing he'd found it so he didn't have to risk a shiv in the gut just to get close to this girl. He'd thought Kyra was wild. This girl gave a whole new meaning to the phrase 'trapped animal'.

"She will not sleep again!" the girl shrieked as she threw herself forward, shiv in hand and the last lingering bits of sanity completely gone from her eyes. Her attack carried none of the grace she'd displayed not two minutes past. The sour fruit smell hit him like a hammer, along with the citrus of pure terror, but he managed to reach out and catch her wrist. A twist and a yank and he had the other one as well.

The girl shrieked again, something in that unknown language, and bit at his hand. Feet flailed. Glad that he'd remembered to put on his armor, he growled. She was slipperier than an eel, but he got one of her legs pinned between his knee and the wall. She snarled and shrieked again. His ears rang with the noise.

With one final effort, he brought his fist around to her temple. A last gurgling cry and she was, finally, silent.

Author's Note: Hello! It's back. This story is being edited a chapter at a time and reposted as I get to it. As always, the characters and settings aren't mine.