Who's The Better Killer?

Oh....fuck.

Wed, 24 Jan 2007 01:52:59 GMT

The sharp, sudden pain in her swollen abdomen doubled her over. Lajjun was at her side in an instant, arm around her shoulder and ushering her to the bedroom. Kyra barely heard the words as the elder woman patiently explained that her wateer had broken and that it was time. This child was coming and nothing in the 'verse was going to stop it.

Propped up on the bed, she swore fluently with each spasm of pain, cursing everything in existence and gripping the bed-sheets so hard she was cutting her palms through the fabric. Hell, shoot her, stab her, for the love of God beat her brains out...she didn't care, just make...this...pain...stop...

SS: An Empire's Fall

Mon, 23 Oct 2006 20:33:04 GMT

He was an Empire-builder, and had the armada of millions to prove it. Countless worlds had fallen to him and his military genius, and this one would be no different.

No, scratch that. It would have been no different, if it weren't for a prophecy which seemed to nearly come to fulfillment right under his very nose. But the Riddick had escaped, and with that escape had come Kyra's reemergence into the galaxy. If either he or she had known that the events set in motion by Imam and Aereon would lead to her death, Kyra was certain that Riddick would have said to hell with the 'verse and humanity as they knew it. But the pawns of fate always work in ignorance, and so, this Emperor of the half-dead plague that swept through life, had become her future.

He had taken hold of a young girl who had been abandoned far too many times and turned her into something that didn't feel any more pain. On the other side of the veil, she saw with distinct clarity how things would unfold, and with that in mind, she fought to free herself from the confines of the Necromonger way. She owed Riddick that much, at least, for assuming him dead and giving up on the one man she knew deep down one should never give up on.

Grief makes you do crazy things, and running into the heart of the enemy is one of them. It's only fair that she help the only person who ever believed in her to take out the regime that took away everything she had ever loved.

The Emperor would fall, and with it the Empire he so faithfully served and created would slowly collapse in upon itself, freeing the galaxy from the shadow of death once and for all.

-----
Character: Kyra
Fandom: Chronicles of Riddick
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 305

x-posted to splinters_say

Secrets (for killwhatyouhunt)

Sat, 02 Sep 2006 02:16:05 GMT

She's finally returned from the Cafe.

She still looks a little ill, but only those that know her really, really well can notice. Which means she has things under control for the most part. She wouldn't have come back if she thought for one instant that she didn't. She couldn't chance it.

Which is why she also leaves a cryptic note for Riddick, asking him to meet her at Imam's house.

It's the only safe place she can think of that no prying eyes or ears will bother them...

Lajjun lets Kyra in very quickly once she sees the state the young woman is in. She knows what pregnant and distraught looks like. She sends Ziza upstairs and tells Kyra to make herself at home before following her daughter.

So this is where Riddick will find her, pacing Lajjun's livingroom.

Afraid of the Dark (LFW - #22)

Fri, 18 Aug 2006 22:16:25 GMT

Prompt: #22- Click
Word Count: 400
Rating: R for language

The following fic contains a major spoiler for the movie Pitch Black. Please do not read it if you haven't seen the movie or have not read the book and plan on doing so.
----------

Click, click, click.

He twitches, as the sound encroaches on him. He can't see past the circle of light, nor does he want to. But he knows they're out there watching, waiting.

Click, click, click.

They're waiting for someone to mess up, for someone to step out of the safety of the ambient glow from the torches they carry, as they slog through the barren wasteland towards their salvation.

Click, click, click.

They have only the guidance of a convicted killer to get them away from the predators that stalk them and no one trusted him. No one except Jack. Jack watches the broad shoulders of his hero bobbing ahead of the group, the dim light leading them to the skiff they found before the eclipse left them in total darkness. And all around them, the chattering of the creatures as they pine for the flesh they cannot have, turning on each other when the hunger gets too great.

Click, click, click.

Jack tries not to stare off to the side, into the black void that envelops them. He tries really hard, because what lurks beyond scares him and boys don't get scared. Boys can't get scared. His hero, Riddick, isn't scared, which means that Jack isn't. Yeah, that's right. He isn't scared...is he?

Click, click, click.

And, suddenly they've stopped. Jack missed the first part of the conversation, but he walks up to hear Riddick answer someone's question.

"Canyon up ahead. I circled to buy us time."

"Why the fuck did you waste the time to circle around?" Fry demands, anger bubbling under the surface.

Imam attempts to diffuse the situation with a calm, "We need to keep moving forward."

Riddick gives Imam a bemused look. "That canyon ahead? Is Death Row," the gruff voice explains patiently. "Especially with the girl bleedin'."

This was not good. Not good at all. No one notices as Jack begins to fidget, tries to be less conspicuous.

Fry sputters. "But I'm not..."

Johns takes the opportunity to jump in. "She isn't cut, Riddick. We checked before we left the crash site. What the fuck are you playin' at?"

Jack swallows thickly as Riddick's expression turns truly amused. His head tilts to one side. "Not her." That blue, penetrating gaze bores into Jack's as their eyes meet. "Her."

Everyone turns to stare, slack-jawed, at Jack.

Click, click, click...time to die, little girl...

Boredom Has Interesting Consequences... (for killwhatyouhunt)

Tue, 15 Aug 2006 00:42:01 GMT

Kyra's unceremoniously draped on the throne again, watching the Necros go about their tasks as she absently sharpens her dagger.

She's seriously pondering killing one of the weak ones. She thinks the term is 'culling the herd'.

Either way, she's super bored.

...Sigh. Life has gotten so slow ever since she was rescued from these bastards and Riddick took over.

Letting Go... (for killwhatyouhunt)

Wed, 02 Aug 2006 02:20:41 GMT

It's a very emotionally tired Kyra that makes her way through Necropolis to the room that belongs to the Lord Marshal. She passes Dame Vaako on the way, and the two share a look of open hatred before one turns a corner and the other heads up a flight of stairs.

Once in the room, Kyra strips off her clothing and takes a look in a full-length mirror. The bruise on her abdomen is fading, the slash still bandaged. She washes the stab wound on her right hip and changes the dressings before crawling into the bed, relishing the feel of the sheets over her bare skin.

She lays staring at the ceiling, sheets covering her breast and tucked under her arms, arms resting lightly on her chest. She rolls onto her side, tucking an arm under her pillow. With a sigh, she closes her eyes, hoping that maybe she can sleep a bit, and clear her head.

SS: Sometimes the corporation trembles...

Mon, 31 Jul 2006 17:52:17 GMT

"If I owned this place and Hell? I'd rent this place out and live in Hell." -- Toombs, Chronicles of Riddick

Such was the reputation of Crematoria. For a Triple-Max joint, it was one of the more diabolical ones. It was a fucking terrifying place, sometimes, especially for a newcomer who didn't know the ropes. For a young girl who had lived through more than her share of hell and had survived, it was just a rest stop on the journey.

Both guards and prisoners had a healthy respect for their home, if not for each other. The temperature differential, the thermal front, the buffer zone and the fate of anyone foolish enough to be caught on the surface are rumours substantiated by the guarded talk of the staff, and the fact that no one has ever returned after being caught aboveground.

Every 52 hours, the convicts are treated to nature's only confirmation that life outside is a joke, as the howling winds of the thermal front reverberate down though the bowels of the half-frozen, half-molten orb that hangs in the Igneon System. The super-heated air is the death-knell to anything on the surface unfortunate enough to feel it, for after only a few more moments, the deadliest sunrise one could ever bear witness to turns everything in its path to slag.

Every 52 hours the hellhounds were loosed and the cowed citizens of Crematoria were treated to a swap of air before being slowly poisoned with sulfur gasses once more. It was the hallmark of a new day on the God-forsaken planet, the reverberations taking the place of an alarm clock.

Today was a new day indeed, for the repercussions that would follow the new arrival would truly shake the foundations of the penal system.

Kyra watched from the shadows, the length of chain waiting by her side, as the one man she loathed, yet loved unconditionally, descended into her life once more. The question was, would this man rock the universe and become her saviour once more, or would he cut and run like he always did?

Kyra didn't know, but she would make sure she stayed alive long enough to find out.

-----
Character: Kyra
Fandom: Chronicles of Riddick
Rating: R for brief language.
Word Count: 344

x-posted to splinters_say

Dolefully Desired (for killwhatyouhunt)

Sun, 30 Jul 2006 20:42:27 GMT

Her most recent talk with her otherself had brought up an interesting tidbit of information that had been reinforced by her subsequent conversation with not-their-Vaako in Lunatic Cafe.

Being the truly psychotic person she was, it was no real surprise. Nor was it a surprise in light of their shared past.

Kyra loved Riddick. She thought the convict loved her, too, but really, it was always hard to tell what he thought or felt. He was too private a person. While she and her other-self agreed that Riddick desperately wanted to love and to be loved while at the same time being scared stupid by it, these were mere speculations about a man who one really couldn't speculate about.

So she had decided the time had come to try and crack the nut that he was and find out for sure what her other-self had witnessed in that crazed other-verse she lived in. Kyra also knew that you couldn't just walk up to him and ask. It would be like trying to fend off a Necro invasion with a stick.

Which is why Kyra was hiding, ready to drop on top of Riddick when he walked by, blade ready for the fight...

Obedience Without Question (LFW-#27)

Fri, 28 Jul 2006 21:05:13 GMT

Prompt: #27 - Stop
Word Count: 562
Rating: R for language.

-------

"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.

Pissed Off and Wounded...(for killwhatyouhunt)

Tue, 25 Jul 2006 16:26:59 GMT

After leaving Vaako tied up outside, Kyra had stormed back into the Cafe. As soon as she had entered, she had turned to go right back out and finish what she had started by gutting the bastard but, as her mind was on Necromongers and the Basilica, she finds herself stepping back into the that large, vaulted area.

Not only is she covered in dirt, she has a nasty cut on her arm, a nifty slash across her stomach, along with a wonderfully blossoming bruise from where Vaako's foot connected with her abdomen. It hurt like a bitch.

Her knife blade is coated in blood, and her lips still sport the smeared blood from Vaako's finger.

She shudders violently at the thought of that vulgar caress as she limps farther into the room, walking up to the throne only to turn and fall into it unceremoniously.

Home Again... (for killwhatyouhunt)

Fri, 21 Jul 2006 02:35:23 GMT

[after this]

She looks around. Yeah, she didn't really miss this place. She was almost happy when she fell to the ground, almost dead. Of course, no one mentioned the ledge nearby, and she had fallen through.

So, she's tucked under Riddick's arm, and she's no longer got a gaping wound in her chest. She isn't sure if she's happy about that, but she'll take it.

Windows of the Soul (LFW-#23)

Fri, 21 Jul 2006 00:07:50 GMT

Prompt: #23 - Eyes
Word Count: 354
Rating: PG-13

x-posted to libraryofwinds
----------

She had never seen eyes quite like that before. To a young, impressionable teen, the luminescent orbs held a certain fascination for the macabre spirit that she held within her. Besides, it wasn't like Fry had actually told her to go away after she had asked the chained convict where one could pick up a set of eyes like his. Nope, Fry didn't, and Riddick had been only too pleased to oblige the child.

She imagined that first day she saw him and their eyes locked, she could see into his soul. She thought she could see some semblance of humanity, but it was too deep beneath the surface to touch. She admired that detachment and craved it. After all, how good could life be if you had to pretend to be a boy in order to be treated like you wouldn't break? She also saw a deep-rooted instinct for survival; saw the calculating mind as it worked to analyze the body's current predicament and the most probable means of escape. She could see him working out who was expendable and when their time would invariably come.

Kyra saw her own death in there, and it had spurred her on to emulating the man who would ultimately kill her, in a bid to find her own skills of survival. No one else was going to protect the youth, so she had to take care of herself.

Come to think of it, not one person on that voyage really took responsibility for the one they knew as Jack. Maybe the Holy Man, but other than that, no one gave a rat's ass about some scrawny fourteen-year-old. No one except a sociopath with eyes that could see in the dark. Those eyes had haunted her every day after Riddick had left her on Helion Prime; had haunted her so badly that she had run away from the only home she had to track down the only family she ever wanted.

Maybe if she worked towards her own surgically altered vision she could find him and they could strike terror into the heart of the universe together?

Time

Thu, 20 Jul 2006 16:38:04 GMT

Word Count: 437
Rating: PG-13

----------

Time was a fickle thing. It wasn't to be trusted.

Time had carried a misguided youth onto a transport bound for a new life, yet the cost for the privilege was death. Time took the lives of others, as it alternately slowed and sped by. Ravaging heat and icy darkness claimed the payment for safe travel and salvation was found in the unlikeliest of places. For a fourteen-year-old girl who was lost and confused, the solid anchor of direction pulled its strength from the haunted gaze of a man who cared about no one, save himself. And in that direction, the brightest of dawns had spread before her, and life resumed its normal speed.

Time found it fit to shatter lives without remorse. It threw life into turmoil, ripping the soul from the body. The knife-wound of abandonment ran deep and the search for a remedy began in earnest. As surely as one can, she redefined her character, drawing on the inspiration she had discovered in the depths of one man's soul. She hunted him not only in emulation, but corporeally, racing through the stars to catch a glimpse of him. And in the blink of an eye, time landed her in its sticky morass, shutting her off from reality and humanity. Its only benevolence was turning the hunter into the hunted, bringing that which she had sought for so long into her grasp.

Time would have healed all things, had it not had a sense of wickedness about it. She only had a handful of hours to reconnect with her past, to reestablish her sense of direction. And in a few short moments, time had ripped it from her breast once more, this time claiming the life of her saviour. It took her beyond the realm of the waking world and into darkness wholly unknown. As the chill fingers of fate caught her up, she was given one last look at the life she had so desperately wanted. And in those final moments, she came to the realization that she could no longer go back, even though she wanted to, so very much. Time had transformed her once again, and this time against her will. She had fought it to the end, but she was now trapped inside a reality she had no desire living in.

Time had a funny way of clarifying things. It had a way of making poignant observations and truths, which stung as much as any betrayal. The first and final truth it imparted upon both the living and the dead was merely this:

Time was a lie.

And so was she.