50. Death Descends

The tiger stalked its prey by scent, by the tiny sign left by fleeing feet, by the few ruby droplets of blood shed by the victim as the prey carried the corpse to her lair. The tiger was patient. He conserved his energy. There was nothing left to save but the ghosts in his memories. No hurry now. Death walked softly.

They were….dead….gone…

No hurry at all.

The strides were impossibly long. Not a concern, but a curiosity. That part of his mind never shut down. He needed only to redirect it from those things he had control over to those things that might save his life later. She was stronger than any human he'd ever dealt with. Her oddly stretched body afforded her more reach, greater stride, and her mechanics gave her greater strength than her body should seemingly possess. Those were the curiosities he filed away. These were the challenges he let himself focus on. Zemma called it the Now.

He shut off any thoughts of that name. That bit of inquisitiveness would do him no good. The prison wasn't a supermax: more like a work detention center. The institution was a mere front for the mining company, to make use of even cheaper labor force and get paid for it. She was smart and strong. She would survive better there than out here with Her. All this flashed through his mind in the half second before he shut down any other concern about Zemma's condition. He was good at that.

Now. Now, he needed to deal with the cyborg before it killed again, before it somehow got her hands on Jack.

Another door slammed shut in his mind. Jack: her whereabouts, her situation, everything that made her a human apparition in his mind had to be closed behind locked doors. She was reduced to being only a grail in his head; the prize to be won for successfully dealing with the problem before him. His anger at her… His love for her… His illusions about her… all those things were only distractions from the calculations running through his head as he followed footprint to impossibly distant footprint. How could he destroy it?

Animalistic sense brought him to a stop before conscious thought registered why. Eyes dilated, lenses dropped almost automatically now. A new set of unfamiliar footprints: a large beast. Soft lowing in the bear distance told him of the heard hidden somewhere in the rocky landscape, gorging on whatever fibrous plants clung to life there. The scent nearest him was strong, acrid, and a clear warning to predators that there was a bull nearby with no fear of marking his territory. Perhaps there was no large predators here… before now. But neither the cyborg not Riddick had any interest in the beasts other than to avoid them. Interesting that the cyborg altered her path as well, it meant there were things big enough to deter her.

Riddick's mind worked the problem with a new variable. Could he use the beasts somehow? No serious train of thought followed, he was simply adding every variable to the grand equation. Everything was added in. Could that slip be used, if he lured her this way, to make her loose her footing and tumble down the rocky slope? Would that rock formation function as an ambush point? His mind never stopped entering information into the formula.

Riddick's Now was very, very busy.

Don's Now was focused with laser like precision on only one point: the break in his arm. His teeth were nearly melded together from the strain of not making any noise for the amusement of the sadistic creature that perched on his chest like some great carrion bird just waiting for him to die.

She twisted the arm again, her face close to his, listening with her sadistic grin looming into his narrow field of vision. She'd done this many times now but he couldn't calculate the time he'd been here. Minutes, or days? She squeezed the arm, the bones ground together and crumbled a bit, until he escaped unwittingly into the damned blackness.

He was fading on her. She was losing interest in her new toy as shock and threatening death muted his cries of pain. He wasn't even angry anymore. Hypatia snapped another chunk of bone off the protruding bit of his upper arm and he barely twitched. His eyes only rolled up into his head and he was gone from her grasp again.

The pool of blood under him was reaching that critical surface area she knew so well. He would die shortly and probably before he woke up enough to play with again. She ground her hips against his cooling body, feeling the air push out of him in a soft sigh. She didn't think he would give her enough now to take her over the top to the one pleasure center that was left wired into her constructed brain. Death could take her to orgasm. She'd tried sex and it amused her but only gave her release when the subject of her attentions died by her hands when she was ready. This one was trying to escape her and die of its own accord. That she was ultimately the cause was not enough. She wasn't ready for him to die yet and here he was, slipping through her fingers like so much sand. Her hands clenched as if trying to hold the last few imagined grains.

She decided on a whim just then that she would not allow him out of her control just yet. There was no great plan, no plotting his use against either Jack or Riddick. She just wasn't done with him yet. It had been too long since she had taken the time to amuse herself like this. Resplendent on fresh chemicals from the brain of the dead man, she wanted more.

Along one thigh a small leather pouch strapped against synthetic muscle was snapped open with a flick of her fingers along the flap, yielding a syringe of very special fluid. She kept it for emergencies, for Jack, her precious one, but every few years she deigned to spend it on another. This time she didn't need information from a dying brain, she needed the body… she needed the release. She could snap off its head later, when she was ready, when it would give her the most pleasure.

There was time.

Beneath her a heart slowed fractionally. Had he been conscious and privy to her thoughts, Don would have begged the universe for just a few more moments of her indecision so that the nanos would have nothing left to heal and he would be free. Had he known the nanos could do much more to a dead body than simply degenerate along with the decomposing matter he might have prayed for life, no matter how horrible living might be in Hypatia's hands. The matter was moot. She flicked the lid from the syringe and plunged the long needle into his heart before his dying breath. She was in a frenzy of lustful need now – she needed to torture him to death in her own sweet time just to clear her head before taking Jack back. Riddick was no longer a consideration. The Family was a distant thought. Her focus was on the body between her thighs and how she needed it to make her feel before she tore it to shreds.

Nanos surged through the body on a stream of highly charged synthetic adrenaline. It forced life back into already cooling limbs. Hypatia ripped the broken arm off the body and tossed it aside. She had done too much damage for the nanos to fix that even if she had cared to; it was simply in the way now. The nanos were closing the wound she had nearly pinched shut already.

Don's eyes flew open. His lungs pulled greedily at the air without his consent. His heart raced in his chest against his implicit order to just stop and set him free of the madwoman. His vision swam as the nanos invaded his brain and set it on fire as they multiplied and attached themselves to every nerve and conduit. His body shook and a scream was pulled from him that sent Hypatia purring, rubbing herself against his flailing body. Fingernails dug into him whenever his screams died down to mere whimpers. She tore off his clothing in pieces before raping his out of control body. She was so looking forward to ripping his head off, when her screams of bliss would replace his of agony.

Riddick had been trotting since the strides of the tracks he followed had begun to shorten. It meant they were close, approaching the place she thought was safe… the lair of the dragon. She had circled it once to be sure it was still secure, Riddick could see the cave that was his destination. He hoped she was still in there and that he could catch her unawares.

The screams of anguish sent him running. It would cover the sound of his approach and meant she would be distracted. His tightly focused brain filed away the voice, the face, that the scream must belong to. At this point it didn't matter. Dead, or gone. The goal was at hand. He had the advantage. Nothing so distracting as commiseration was allowed into the process. Dead or gone, the dragon must be slain, the grail saved. The objective was his only concern. With machine like precision each foot fell in front of the other on whatever flat, smooth surface was available to propel him forward. Eyes cast constantly back and forth looking not just for the next step but any attack, any escape, any advantage. Powerful arms pumped not just to increase his speed but also balanced his low, surging run and his heart spread needed adrenaline through his system. By the time he hit his target his body would be on full overdrive, efficient and deadly a weapon as every was created.

Those that had once been masters of the universe had perfected this body, and those like it, to function with absolute precision for one reason: to kill. That he was a perfect clone took nothing away from the original blueprint. He was as much an Alpha Furyan as those few still surviving members of the original race of supermen. Even those that had met his biological originator would not, at this moment, have been able to tell them apart.

Death descended like a shadow from the past.

As he entered the dark cave his lenses shifted into place as if they had always done so without his conscious thought. Now smells assailed him, but were only added into the formula and zeroed out. Dead body, no concern. Don, armless, pooled in his own blood and screaming as he spasmed under a distracted Hypatia. No help.

Hypatia. The cyborg. The goal. Looking up at him too late in his charge to escape him. A blade appearing as if by magic in each hand. The shock of impact. Their bodies coming together like to great beasts. Shrieking rage. Blood and sweat and white fluids thrown off in all directions as the two tumbled across the hard ground and crashed into the rock wall of the cave.

Eyes of the prey growing wide in surprise, then narrowing in anger as the two traded blows. He felt none of hers yet, he wouldn't until later. He felt every bite of the knife into her skin though, and that raised a kind of elation in him that was entirely too short lived.

Without weapons in hand she could only batter him, but the wounds to her nearly naked body seemed not to affect her. To his disgust they seemed to close before his eyes, time slowed down for him and her moves sped up beyond normal vision. But one false and entirely too self confident a move put one of Riddick's blades deep into her flesh-and-synthetic body. A moment's hesitation, a look of confusion, and the she was gone, leaping over him nearly as high as the ceiling and scrambling over Don, before fleeing out into the sun beyond human speed.

Riddick turned on one foot, his eyes falling to the struggling Don…

Dead… Gone…

He didn't have time to help the mortally wounded man now, the bitch was running. That small piece of human being that Carolyn had fished out of his soul wanted to stop but the hesitation was barely noticeable to the untrained eye. Don was lying in a pool of his own blood, one arm missing, convulsing… he was dead. Gone. There was nothing to be done now but track down the bitch and make her pay.

Don's voice floated out of the cave after him… "Help…me…get…up…"

Riddick's brain filed it away as one of those curiosities that zeroed out of the equation. Don hadn't said 'help me die' or 'kill me' which might have stayed Riddick's drive forward to perform one last service to his friend. Don was delirious, completely unaware that he was dying and did not need Riddick to see him to the other side of the veil now. He might not even know Riddick was there.

"Damn… you…" Floated weakly from the dark hole in the hill as Riddick's boots pounded out the staccato of death for the cyborg.

She was standing on the top of the next bluff, throwing some small object to the ground, her fury nearly tearing her apart without his help. "What did you do to my SHIP!" She screamed as she charged at him, the hole he'd made in her spilled out the white silicon sand that she'd pressed into her body. Her face was like a comedic mask of anger: her eyes too big, her mouth too wide, her teeth too white to be a real being. Riddick waited for her charge.

He didn't step aside but helped her to fly by him, a solid move used against larger opponents who were foolish enough to try to use their mass against a smarter, stronger foe. But she was lightning fast, her hands grasping his arm, nearly tearing it out of its socket as she pulled him off his feet and into her tumble past him. Neither stopped moving against the other. Her strength and speed reminded him of the Necromonger king but unlike him she fought almost insanely, with no readable or predictable moves. Riddick found himself on the defensive trying to avoid fingers like steel trying to force holes in him as his blade had punched into her.

When he was finally able to kick her away and they squared off again, the hole he'd made in her body was sealing, no longer leaking white fluid. He'd need a way to open her up so that she couldn't staunch the flow of synthetic life from her artificial body. Another variable, maybe a more important factor.

She shrieked, nearly gibbered, as she stalked him in a circle. He followed, looking for an opening in the insanity she wore like armor. She was leaving herself blatantly open, but he didn't fall into the trap. She wasn't stupid, she was just as dangerous as something rabid. Riddick was fatiguing. She might not ever get tired. He mind ran through every possibility no matter how outlandish and came up with nothing more than another clash and a lucky blade to something a little more vital.

Exhaustion began to crawl up his legs. He'd put out a huge amount of energy into a single attack and this walking in a circle was draining him of the adrenaline he needed to fight at optimum. Did she know that? Was he telegraphing it?

She smiled, and it was as evil a smile as any he'd ever seen or given. By not keeping up the attack she was draining him. He bit his tongue. The coppery, metallic taste flooded his mouth and his memories bringing up old angers and old fights. He nearly forced the next shot of adrenaline through his body by will alone. He flexed his muscles and forced them loose again. Her face got cold as she watched him.

She charged, and she was insanely fast. Her hand snatched at his, trying to disarm him. He stepped into her, where his mass and strength stole away the advantage of her reach and speed. She twisted as she fell past him, fingers dug into muscle, and her inertia caused them to tumble together into the rocky wall. Again they traded blows with elbows and knees, locked too closely together to properly punch with fists. She was entirely too solid. Riddick was powering through wholly on adrenaline now. Pain would be for later.

She gained her feet before he did. Her body warped impossibly, flexing against natural physiology: like a whip she lashed out and part of Riddick's mind almost expected the cracking sound of the sound barrier being broken. Her hand locked on his forearm, no longer reaching for the weapon. She bent and twisted. Bones and joints that should have cracked or dislocated did neither, as she threw him across the escarpment. The move, while impressive, even impossible, was no less a mistake, freeing Riddick's knife hand as he landed on his feet facing her. He could not over-power her but she was fleshy enough to be cut. Another blade, previously hidden in his boot, appeared in his free hand. Amped up on natural pain killers and stimulants, he zeroed in on his prey.

She stepped sideways, starting to circle him again, her face either a smile or a grimace, but not showing any fear. They paced out their arena. She didn't bother with any feints and Riddick couldn't afford to spend the energy. Like a tiger, he conserved his energy the moment was right to pounce. But the lack of momentum was a detriment to him and an advantage to her. She was healing before his eyes, and he was losing the edge of adrenaline. Without action, his body did not keep producing it. Between each frenzied clash he was starting to fatigue.

Then something odd happened. The world opened up behind the cyborg admitting his dream woman, and he gritting his teeth in annoyance. Now was not the time for this kind of spectacle. Time slowed. Hypatia seemed to freeze in place. There was a rushing in his ears.

Another shadow followed the first, then a third. Who were these people? He only recognized his dream woman. The face of the second woman was new to him. The third never seemed to come out of the shadow of the dream light. Three sets of hands reached for him as Hypatia seemed to restart in slow motion, having decided to act now. Three female voices spoke in unison.

"Who?"

"You?"

"Now!"

The warm glow from their hands pierced him, lightning sprang through his limbs and filled his head with painful radiance. He didn't see Hypatia's charge or the resulting flash that threw her painfully across the dunes. He fell to his knees, trying to hold onto consciousness. He fought to raise his head.

The dream woman stood to his left, one hand flat and reaching towards him, the other palm out towards where Hypatia had been. To his right stood another, her face un-obscured but unfamiliar to him, her long dark hair and light eyes reminding him of Zemma for a moment. She stood as the first, reaching to him and also out towards the empty sands. The third had stepped behind him as the radiance had blinded him. That voice had known him but he did not see her face. Tiny lines of electricity seemed to arc out from the trio through his body, rattling his brain with each strike.

Hypatia, back on her feet, stood just outside the range of the blue white tendrils of power. She paced like a cat. She could not seem to make sense of what she was seeing anymore than Riddick could. Riddick tried to rise to his feet, staggered back to his knees and kept a watchful eye on the cyborg. How much longer would the dream woman hold off the relic of the Family, and to what point if he was too weak to deal with her when they ran out of power.

"There must be a forth for this," said the new woman to his right. "Where is the forth? How are we doing this?" She whispered, not even looking at Riddick but his dream woman. She didn't answer, only looking to Riddick with the same sad, expectant eyes.

"You will save her."

Was it a prophecy or an order? Did she mean Jack, or Zemma? Riddick had his suspicions about the dream woman and her link to Zemma.

Ahead of him the finger lightning continued too sting Hypatia until she growled in frustration and turned. She would head back to her ship and the surprises he left her there. He should follow but the energy pouring through him was also draining him. He held his head up, clung to consciousness, tried to force his body to stand.

It was some minutes of quiet before the dream left him and the sands came back into clear, sunlit focus. Had the world seemed dark when the women had appeared? Had Hypatia seen it that way too? Had she seen anything at all but the lightning that tore at her silicon body?

Riddick, nearly to his feet again, dropped to his knees and pounded the sand to stay awake. He crawled forward away from where the women had appeared. He headed to the cave and the soothing darkness. He would take care of the body of his friend.

Then he would go on the hunt again.

Zemma slept fitfully, new nightmares tore at her inner world. She watched her father speaking to Riddick. She watched him step outside and into the fire. She watched him die and her own screams could not wake her up. She thrashed in the hospital bed until the on duty orderly forced a needle into her bound arm. She never woke. She never remembered why her throat was so sore and her body so wracked with pain.