Chapter Seven: Chains and Shackles
A few hours had passed after the attack on the underground slam in Crematoria. Logan and Nick had found themselves helping out the ten injured with the few medical supplies they had. Hassan was usually the 'slam doctor', but since he was lost it was up to whoever was available. What they had wasn't much, but at least they could stop the infections, or at least keep the bacteria from growing too out of control. Kyra had medical knowledge, yet she hasn't even stood back up since the talk with Toombs and the others. She just didn't have the strength, nor the will power. The wounds from the necro beating were still a bit tender and there was no reason for her to make them worse. Not that it was stopping her from fighting all she could, but it seemed to have stopped her from getting up to see to the other prisoners.
Toombs and a few of the other men in the slam had moved the ten dead toward the center of the complex. It wasn't pleasant since they knew what was to happen next to their fallen comrades. But, that's just the way they had to do it in the slam. People looked them over and mumbled their respects. Not much was said to or about one specific individual. No one tried to keep connections with one another in the under ground prison. Too many people die, and they have gone through enough pain. They did not need to make a connection to a person who may be a rotting corpse the next day. After everyone has had their respects and tid bits said, they threw the bodies into one of the many fire pits on the outskirts of the main structures.
Riddick stood at the window of the main, meeting structure, looking over the few people passing over the dead. He saw their mouths mumble small mentions, but nothing too much. There was no grieving widow over the body of her husband or child. There were no tears of sorrow. There were no funerals, just little mentions and a toss into a hole of fire. He saw Hassan's body at the end of the line, closest to the building. His arms crossed over his chest, he couldn't understand why they couldn't give them all a decent burial. This may have been a slam, but even in slam the dead were buried. He should know, he had killed a few of those that were buried back at Butcher Bay... and at others. Toombs looked at the window and sneered at Riddick, and then looked back down at Hassan quickly. He still blamed the 'cold killer' for the murders. And he probably always will.
Kyra still traced over the table cracks, lost in her own thoughts and delusions. She wanted so much to be back in New Mecca with Imam. Sitting by their fire in the modest living room, a book sitting in front of each of their faces. They would talk a little about Imam's philosophy and his eager attempt to teach her the ways of his faith. Her name would still be Jack and would have been warm and safe, the only adventures she would find would be in the book she had her nose buried in. Then there would be a knock at the door and Hassan would come in and join their small circle at the fire. They would have been happy to see one another again. Imam and Hassan. They had so much more than faith in common. Some of the little things that made her like the two of them so well, they seemed to share in their personalities. All three of them would laugh and talk about the day's events. If it weren't for that one day it may have come true. The day her world crumbled. The day Jack died-
"Kyra," Riddick called from the window, again pulling her from the warm comfortable fire and back into the burning flames of reality.
"Hm?" she turned her head slowly, blinking a few times. Her mind still halfway in a present reality she would never have.
"Aren't you going to say goodbye?" he asked nodding out the window and kept his eyes glued on Hassan. He knew that she wanted to, and more than likely needed to. He was close to her and vise-versa. They had a connection, a short lived one, but a mutual one none the less. He saw it and everyone else did too. It was a huge shock that she wasn't out there all ready.
"What am I going to say to him?" she took a deep breath, "I'm sorry I couldn't save you. I had to save my own ass. Yeah right, Riddick."
Riddick shifted his eyes toward her, "He would have understood. He was the one who told us to run."
"You don't know what the fuck he would understand, Riddick!" she stood up, pushing the chair backwards, tipping it over to the ground, "You didn't even know him. Don't you even dare... don't even say that you did... You never understood him like I did. You never would. He was civilized, remember?"
His face was still turned away from her. Out the window, finally sweeping over the other bodies. He didn't even flinch from her harsh comment, at least not from the outside. She stood stiff, her knuckles clenched at her sides, and her teeth even more so. She breathed deep and hard, trying to gain his full attention. He started the flood gate about Hassan, he was going to damn well close it.
'Look at me, dammit!' she thought to herself, 'Look at me! Face me! Give me the wisdom of your age, Riddick. Tell me you do understand. You understand everyone in death. Civilized or not.'
"Go see him, kid," Riddick pushed himself from the window sill and walked past her, never once glancing at her face, "You need to. Believe me."
"Coward," she muttered under her breath.
He heard it, but didn't say anything or responded to it. He just walked back toward the room, hoping to clean up any and all blood that was left behind from Hassan's death from the floor and material. The last thing that she needed to do was to fall asleep next to her friend's died blood.
Kyra took another deep breath and finally just collapsed back in her chair. Her hand went to her forehead once again in frustration. She felt like she was going to cry at any moment, but that would be showing emotion. And she hid her emotion. Just like her pain. Pain shows a weakness, and at any sign of weakness, the enemy grabs at it. She has to hold it in, if she didn't people would know she was crumbling. Buckling. And she couldn't let the others see it. Not with everyone depending on her.
Suddenly she felt her mouth open without her bidding. An animalistic cry raged forth from her mouth in anguish. Her arms and fists rammed themselves into the table in front of her, possibly giving it more small cracks in the finish. She willed herself not to shed tears, but she needed to do something, or the pain inside would just take over. She clenched her eyes shut and pulled her body foward over her legs, letting the remainder of the raw emotion flee from within her. Her legs began to cramp at the stretch, as well as her back.
True, the physical evidence of the beating was growing faint, but she was still sore beyond recognition. When she fought the necromongers quite a few hours ago, she wanted to collapse in a heap and let some one else take over the fight. But that was something she never allowed herself to do. She fought her own fights. She depended on herself, and no one else. No one else ever understood. She thought a few times that someone had, when she let her guard down. But each one of those times were nothing but another one of her delusions of her 'perfect present.' The present where she and Imam were in New Mecca, reading the paper and never once thought of a place like this even existed. The reality that will never be.
Hassan was dead, killed by necros who found their way in from inside help. He wasn't coming back, and she knew it. No matter what, he was going to be sent into one of the pits with a few more of her allies. Turned into ash by the planets scorching nature. But she could still find the son of a bitch who let him die. The one who led them down here. No one would get away for this. No one. If she had to question and beat every one in the whole slam she would to find his killer.
She finally pushed herself painfully from the table and looked out the window which Riddick had viewed the now so common 'burial' from. She saw Logan and Nick at the end of the line looking down at Hassan's body which hadn't been moved toward the crater yet. She nodded her head and turned to walk back down the hall. Logan took a deep breath and nodded to Nick who helped her heave their friend up and walk him to the crater. Kyra wasn't going to see him off. It seemed as if no one would.
The halls of the many buildings were broken and in shambles. People hurried about, trying to get their somewhat lives back to the way it was. It may have been miserable, but it was the only thing they knew. Kyra kept her head down as she heard the bodies hit one another at the distant edge of the slam. Their weight echoing in the halls around her. She took a deep breath and focused on her door ahead. Or at least her room. There isn't much to focus on if there is only air. Her door was blasted in by a strong pulse gun. Hassan connected to it.
As she neared the doorway she found Riddick picking up the last of the shredded blankets and clothes that littered the floor. After he tossed the material to the side he leaned against the side wall. He pinched the crook of his nose and pushed his goggles to rest on his forehead. People didn't trust him worth anything, and yet she had enough faith to know when he was telling the truth and when he was lying. She sighed and stood in the doorway, overlooking a small puddle of what had to be some dried blood. It looked like he hadn't had the chance to get to it yet. Riddick turned toward her and allowed his silver eyes to bore into her own.
She knew then and she knew now.
"You didn't do it, Riddick. So stop looking at me like that," she stared at him, directly in the eyes, "I don't and wouldn't believe that you would kill someone like that unprovoked. Besides, the shiv is your pride and joy, I doubt that you would just use a pulse gun for the hell of it."
"Then who did?" he asked as he slid into one of the chairs at the side of the room. He was still staring at her, trying to figure her out. No one wanted to believe in him. No one, except her.
"That's what we got to figure out, huh?" she looked down at the floor and scraped at the blood stain with her foot.
He noticed the impulsive act of her foot going over the now dried blood, "We?"
"Yes, we," she nodded and looked up, "You're stuck down here, and I doubt that you took the offer they gave to you."
"What makes you so sure they made an offer at all?"
"They always do. And since you're now down here among the likes of me and the others, it seems that you didn't take it. Otherwise I would be dead," again her boot scrapped the floor.
"You didn't go, did you?" He growled and put his feet up on a nearby rock.
"Let's not get into it again," she mumbled.
"Well, you did call me coward because of it."
"Only because you wouldn't face me."
"Why would I need to?"
"You thought that you knew about him and what he wanted, but you didn't and don't know anything. You knew him for a whole few days."
"Maybe, but at least I knew how much you two cared about each other."
"Forget it, okay," she sighed and saw him taking another breath, "He's dead, Riddick. Not much is going to come from looking back at old times, okay? Just drop it."
"Fine," he let it slip and leaned back. 'She's regretting it all ready.'
The Lord Marshal sat on the edge of his overly plush throne and rolled a troubling thought over and over in his mind. There was much talk about the strange human that was lead into Necropolis only a night or two ago. He was a very strange human, as he had sneaked a peek at the man coming through the doors, led by Lady Vakko. He was sure it was just another convert from the underground vermin running below their own feet. He was wrong, as was Lady Vakko. He didn't accept the offer. He was the first. Hopefully the last.
Many necromongers have started or spread much of the talk about this interesting human. One that had been born not thirty years prior on the small planet of New Earth. There was talk about the man not being a man at all, but another form of an alien. Some kind of super species not yet discovered by the many races of man. Although, it was the younger generations of necromongers who had propose such a laughable thought, the Lord Marshal could not help but think if there was not more to this man.
The small amount of troops that have gone down to find and destroy the young woman that led the uprising came back with a tale of a man that fought like twenty. A man that seemed built, but still cleaned out more than half of the small troop that was sent of the seek and kill mission. It seemed as if it was the same man that declined their offer. He was going to be a problem. Just like she is.
'Maybe this man is more than man...'
He sighed and rubbed his fingers together in a thoughtful pose. He looked to his side where a few of his commanders where talking about the next attack on the small underground community of up risers, "Vakko?"
A younger looking man stepped from the group and quickly took off his helmet and knelt by the feet of the Lord Marshal, "Yes, Lord Marshal?"
"What is the word on our next plan of action?" he still kept his thoughtful gaze on the far wall.
"Sir," he nodded and stood straight up, "The double amount of troops that you ordered for the next conquest of the compound are ready for your word. They will succeed this time in killing the woman and bringing back her head to your feet."
"Change of plans, Vakko," Lord Marshal sat straighter and looked at his top in command, "I am growing quite tired of sending men down there only to lose up to half of them without success. I believe this time we need to draw her up to our level."
"Sir?"
"Capture as many of the underworlders as you can and bring them back up for immediate conversion. This will, in my mind, not fail to draw her up. To where we can easy capture her and make her our own."
"But my wife has stated that she is one of the most difficult to lure. She did not even come up for one we had once thought that she had held a great feeling for. What makes you think she will come up for these that we capture?"
"She will not come for one or even two, but if we take all that she has, she will have to follow. Feelings or not," he smiled and watched as Vakko bowed about ready to leave from his presence, "Vakko?"
"Yes?"
"What do you know of this human that fights like twenty?"
"According to my wife and the soldiers that had survived, I find an interest in him. If he does indeed fight as they say, he would be a great opponent. Not know of his background or of his life other than his birth on New Earth."
"And what about his race?"
"Human?"
"No... never trust the outer appearance, Vakko. I believe he is something more."
"Yeah, and that something is called a killer," a voice came from the side of the room. The person was concealed in the dark looking at the Lord Marshal and Vakko.
"And what news do you have to bring us?" Marshal looked at the darkened figure.
"The woman, Kyra, is weakened. There was one that was lost that was dear to her," the figure took a breath, "But she has now renewed a bond with the man named Riddick. I know of him well. He is a very skilled killer and possible assassin. He sure did make short work of most of your troops down there."
"It seems as if we have to find a soft spot of these two thorns in our sides," Vakko announced.
"You just heard it," the voice said, "They are each other's soft spots. They had a bond long before this. I don't really know what it was, but I can try to find all I can in time."
"Your time is out," Lord Marshal stood and walked off his throne, not looking at the figure, "We will set to capture the underworlders. If this Riddick does not come to this side-"
"He won't. Not without her."
"Try," the Lord Marshal turned to the shadowed figure and soon found the voice and the body at the side of the room gone. Vakko stood in front of him, "Prepare them, Vakko."
"As you wish," Vakko bowed once again and left to brief his troops.
Lord Marshal began to step toward his drafting room with a couple of female converts following him closely.
A/N: Hey all. A mircle, huh? Another chapter for you. Hopefully I am in a typing mood tonight. 'Cause I got a lot of ideas, and not for just this fiction either.