Author's Notes: This was written for a LiveJournal Community. It's one of the first serious attempts I've made at writing in this 'verse, so please be gentle in the critiquing.
"Well, well. A Stowaway." Lord Vaako's words were harsh, yet amused.
"Fuck you," Kyra spat, struggling against the Necromongers that held her arms. "You bastards killed him...you killed him!"
"Oh, well isn't that interesting," Vaako sneered. "Riddick had a woman. And on that forsaken planet, no less."
"Fuck you," she said with a growl.
The sound of palm on flesh resounded throughout the chamber as Vaako slapped her. "I hardly think that you're in a position to be giving orders, my dear. You will soon learn your place."
Kyra watched Vaako's retreating form. She slumped to the ground of her prison in utter defeat, as the guards holding her closed the door, leaving her solitary darkness. Nothing mattered anymore. Riddick was dead, and it was her fault. She indulged in her sorrows for a moment until she hardened herself and wiped the tears away. Her time would come, and when it did, she'd be waiting.
-----
"My Lady, how nice of you to join us," the Lord Marshal's tone was cordial, but Kyra wasn't buying it.
The girl had been escorted off of Vaako's ship and was now standing in the Basilica before the throne. She was trying not to let her gaze wander anywhere other than the Lord Marshal's face.
The man continued speaking, "Normally we would give guests such as yourselves the opportunity to join us willingly, but considering your recent history, we will dispense with the niceties. Take her away."
Struggling against her captors, Kyra raged as they dragged her off. She managed to break free and make a run for it, dropping several guards before one finally caught her around the waist. It was a rookie mistake on her part, really, but once he got a hold of her, she felt a sting on her leg and was claimed by oblivion soon after.
-----
She's distinctly aware of the pain in her neck. The acuity with which she feels it renders the rest of the pains in her body dead. In fact, she isn't even sure she has a body anymore. The only things she is aware of are the surface thoughts of her mind and the two blossoming waves of white-hot pain just below. The ripples emanating from those two points made everything else redundant; it rendered everything else secondary to the one beacon of clarity that stood before her.
Obedience without question, loyalty 'til UnderVerse come.
And the opalescent gates of the ultimate utopia are there, just beyond her reach. The tears she sheds at the beauty are unnoticed by an unfeeling corpse, the brain sensing only warmth connecting the surface thoughts with the points of pain. She desperately wants to be in this place, where simplicity is the order of everything and pain no longer touches you. As her mind slows and these things are digested, she is unaware of when the pain lessens and she is finally released from the bonds that have held her.
The bonds of those being purified for the Cause, the bonds of living. They fall away like shackles as the locks are opened, and she falls into the embrace of a faith that was never hers to begin with; to serve a Lord she had never wanted to kneel before; to die a death she had never imagined possible.
Obedience without question.
...Fuck the UnderVerse. No one dictated her life.