Riddick was fast.

He had outrun mercs, slaughtered creatures in the dark, and survived when the universe wanted him dead. His body was built for the hunt—strong, lethal, and relentless.

But Harry—Harry was something else entirely.

The moment the challenge left Harry's lips, he was gone, moving with an unnatural grace that blurred the line between magic and sheer speed. Shadows clung to him, bending, warping, as if they obeyed his will, making him a ghost in the ruins.

Riddick smirked.

A lesser man would hesitate. A lesser man would call it impossible.

But Riddick?

He ran.

He chased.

The ruined cityscape around them blurred as he moved, his body a coiled weapon unleashed. His vision, sharpened by the night, tracked the faintest disturbances—the slight flicker of a cloak, the whisper of movement against stone. He followed the scent of magic, dark and electric, tinged with something old, something dangerous.

Predator and prey.

Only, Riddick wasn't sure which of them was which.

A flicker—above.

Instinct screamed at him. He twisted just in time, blades flashing as Harry dropped from the shadows above, his green eyes glowing with amusement.

Riddick barely dodged.

Harry's dagger—a wicked, curved thing made of something blacker than night—slashed through the space where Riddick's throat had been a second earlier.

Instead of pulling back, Riddick lunged.

He caught Harry mid-motion, slamming him against the ruined stone, pinning him with sheer force. The impact sent dust flying, cracks spider-webbing beneath them.

But Harry only laughed.

Low. Dark.

"Better," Harry murmured, his lips curling. "I was starting to think you were all talk."

Riddick smirked. "Didn't say I'd make it easy for you, beautiful."

Then, impossibly, Harry twisted.

Shadows burst around them like living tendrils, and Riddick found himself flipped—his back now against the wall, Harry's dagger at his throat, his body pressed against Riddick's in a way that was more intimate than threatening.

Harry leaned in, his breath cool against Riddick's ear. "You're not bad, Furyan. But you will have to do better than that."

Something in Riddick snapped.

Instinct roared to the surface.

His body coiled like a spring, and this time, he didn't hold back.

With raw strength, he shoved forward, using the weight of his body to knock Harry off balance. The movement sent them both tumbling—rolling across the ground in a violent clash of muscle, steel, and power.

Riddick landed on top, pinning Harry down, his forearm pressing against that delicate throat. "Better?"

Harry's lips curled again. Not in fear. Not in submission.

But in delight.

Emerald eyes burned into him, glowing with something hungry. "Now we're getting somewhere."

Riddick exhaled, his pulse thrumming like a drum. This was different. Every fight he'd ever had was about survival. Killing. Dominance.

But this?

This was a dance.

A game.

And Harry was enjoying it just as much as he was.

Riddick's grip tightened for a fraction of a second before he finally released him.

Harry didn't move right away. He simply stared, as if reading something deep in Riddick's soul.

Then he smirked. "You don't fear me."

Riddick tilted his head. "Should I?"

Harry chuckled. "No. But most would."

Riddick's gaze darkened. "I don't fear things I want."

Silence.

Something in the air shifted.

Harry arched a perfect brow. "And what is it you want, Riddick?"

The answer was simple.

Riddick leaned in, his voice a rough whisper.

"You."