Author's Note: I do not own Riddick, more's the pity. I did not create Slam, merely this interpretation of it. I did not have any hand in the creation of Pitch Black. I did however create Spook, and the other characters not seen in Pitch Black.
Riddick laced his fingers through the guard's hair, lifting the weakening man to eye level. The cigarette hung limp from the whitening lip, the tip barely glowing with the fading breath. The green eyes were having trouble focusing, or else he just didn't care to look at the dusky, blooded face and cruel, cold eyes.
"How do we get through this door?" Riddick didn't speak; he rumbled, he thundered, with the low roar of storm-driven tides against a sheer face of dark rock. Those cold, impassive eyes watched the guard with a snide curiosity.
The only response was the shivering of the guard and the seeping heat from over the shiv where the damp scarlet life pumped, flowed, in ever slowing beats over the gore-encrusted hand wrapped lovingly around the handle of the blade sunk so deeply into the flesh. Muscles in the dying man's jaw worked; he was trying to muster, trying to get his body to respond to his wishes.
Light flared in the vicious pits of Riddick's eye, his nostrils flaring as he drew another raging breath. His fingers tried to tighten more, knuckles already a strained white amid the strands of lanky, oil-scented hair. Quicksilver eyes blazed, wrath fueling vicious balefire deep inside the leviathan body of the killer.
A strange numbness settled into the guard, along with that creeping cold. His limbs felt dead, leaden. He was vaguely aware of the weight of his legs, of the whole of his body. The ragged pain from being suspended from the monstrous grip began to fade. His tongue felt thick and tasted of copper, like his mouth had been stuffed with old rags that had been soaked in blood.
As he dangled from Riddick's hand, the jaw worked once more; he spat into the crimson-streaked face.
He was flung against the wall with a casual shake of the massive arm, and the harsh impact was punctuated by the feeling of the curved shiv slicing, ripping, out of his back, through his side, as he was tossed so unceremoniously away. A snarl ripped through the air, the scarlet painted form turning on the small girl, towering over her unflinching form.
She stood still before the tide of his wordless wrath, simply gazing up into that contorted face with those sad silver eyes, then shook her head, turning pointedly to the crumpled rag of a man that lay at the base of the wall, discarded by the careless hand of Riddick.
She seemed to flicker and glow before the clouding eyes, as if there was something inside her that he was slowly becoming aware of, something that the hell-spawned beast at her side could not see. Infinite sadness, boundless compassion, wordless understanding ebbed from her. Bare, silent feet carried her to his side, seeming to be untouched by the blood that puddle around him, as if she stood on the surface of it. He stared at those milk-white feet, into the viscera around them, and indeed, she was on top of it. And in it was reflected something he could not quite understand.
Not the frail looking girl, with the cruel smear of the monster's touch on her, but a strange glowing shape, only vaguely human. The guard blinked and looked up to the colorless face with the dark, distressed eyes.
He found the softest smile, laced
through with mourning, and compassion in the unlikely eyes, soft pools of
storm-kissed silver. She reached out her hands to take his, then bent to
brush her lips against his cheek.
:I am so sorry, but this is as it has to be.:
Shock shuddered through the guard. The voice, whispering, melodious, tender, had brushed across his mind, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake.
"What are you?" He could barely
form the words, letting them fall slurred from his numb lips.
:You know what I am. And You
know I can make this all end.: She touched the cold cheek, looking
so deep into his dulling green eyes. Around her the fetid stink of cigarettes
and rancid oil that perhaps once had scented of vanilla. Beneath her hand
the guard rallied again, light touching the eyes, a hint of color to the
bloodstained lip. He moved, a valiant attempt to shake his head.
:Nothing is as it seems. You know that now. You can feel that in your bones.: The glow around her grew brighter. The cold in his body was slowly being replaced by a warmth that spread from the light, tingling touch of her fingers on his face. :Let me take you away. Let me end this all, take you away from the cold, the hurting. I will take you someplace where nothing will ever hurt you again. All you need to do is tell me. Tell me what I need to know.:
And oh, that whisper was so kind, so inviting. It slipped through him, teasing, elusive, seductive. It brought tears to his eyes with the grace and beauty of it. It played through his thoughts, prancing like a newborn filly through a field, dancing like a youth leading a lover to a secret rendezvous.
The light was getting brighter.
His jaw hung loose and slack, his eyes wide, staring at the pale girl.
He felt that soft touch on her cheek sink deeper, gently touching deeper
into his mind.
Yes.
He closed his eyes, sighing out his last breath. His head tilted back, striking the wall softly with a dull ring. The shoulders fell limp.
And Spook straightened. Riddick was close behind her, still growling, but now with that coarse, cruel croon, and he gathered the slender form into his arms, touching his forehead to hers.
"What did you find, little rabbit. Can you get me through here?"
Teeth flashed, a bright smile so close to his face. She wriggled to free a hand from his muscled embrace, reaching to the keypad beside the door, arching back over the massive forearms gripping around her back. Fingers danced on the pad to the chorus of soft tones, with a soft click and a brushing of her lips against his as finale.
"You had doubts?"