Riddick fanfic

Note: I do not own anyone from Pitch Black or The Chronicles Of Riddick!!


Chapter 1


Richard B. Riddick; escaped convict, murderer. This is how I used to introduce myself for many, many years. This is what I was for a long time. An escaped convict with mercs on his neck, with bounty on his fucking head. A serial killer. How had I become that? They say no-one comes into the world to be a murderer. But I can’t remember once when I would be anything else. Maybe they’re wrong. Maybe I was that in the first moments of my life, in the womb.

As a new-born child, a woman found me, with the navel-string wound round my neck. She said I cried persistently, though I was almost unconscious because of the anoxia. The greatest part of my childhood has sunk into oblivion. The only thing I can remember is the fury raging inside me from the first moment. That all-destroying, dark temper deep inside my heart. Then a few ambiguous pictures, flashing into my mind sometimes. They weren’t really pictures. Only feelings, perceptions. The scent of blood, painful squeals, the stink of rotting corpses, the smell of alcohol, human sweat and testosterone. The scent of the fear. Other people’s fear, not mine. The fright in their eyes …

And I can remember the darkness. The darkness I never knew who or what appears from. Everyone was afraid of the dark. Everyone … except me. It was my friend; it surrounded, protected and hid me in case of need … like the most faithful lover.

Butcher Bay … The place where that man brightened my eyes. Where I concluded an alliance with the gloom. I merged into it. I became a part of the darkness and served it.

I couldn’t if I wanted to count how many lives I extinguished, how many monsters, humans, men and women died by my hands. I didn’t care at all. I killed indiscriminately. Bloodlust sustained me; I was filled with a desire which nothing can satisfy but the cracking sound as the bones break. The movement as I cut through someone’s throat, the warmth of blood as it flows on my hand, the last rattle from a cut throat. Only that moment, when the adrenalin blends with my blood and diffuses inside my body, my senses become sharpened, my heart starts to beat faster and stronger. The blade of my knife glitters, the hilt fits tight to my palm; it grows together with me. The pupils of my victim’s eyes grow wider; his body becomes taut, then slackens in my grasp for ever. I get a whiff of the scent of the blood and it dopes me like a fucking drug. I had lived for this. I used to be this.

I had no one. I didn’t want anyone to be by my side. I didn’t belong to anyone and I didn’t want anyone to belong to me. I didn’t know the feeling called ‘love’. And I didn’t want anyone to love me. Not me! There’s no reason to do so.

The darkness was my only associate … and my knives. The anger raced together with my blood in my veins. Hate controlled me … kept me alive. What had I hated? Then I would answer; I had hated everything and everyone. The whole world. Now I answer; that I’d hated most of all was me, myself. Then something changed.

That bounty hunter … He was going to take me back to a slammer. We were going there on a ship. I had been transported with civilians. That planet … We crashed, of course, exactly in the 22nd year. And that captain, Fry, who at first wanted to kill all of us without hesitation, but then she would die for any of us. The woman who died for me. For me; the most worthless piece of the load. Everyone died, only two of them survived; Imam, the holy man, and the kid, Jack … or Kyra as she called herself later. And me? Well … I left the planet on that ship with them. But Richard B. Riddick, the serial killer, stayed on that planet for ever.

If I had left them there on that planet, maybe everything would have stayed the same. But I had taken them from there. And I wanted to know that the girl was in a safe place. She was just a silly kid. Why did I care for her at all? I should know. It always will come to a sticky end if you let someone too close. She will come to a sticky end. As she always hung around me … “How can I get eyes like that?” she asked. And I told her how I had got my silver eyes with which I could see perfectly well in the darkness, just like the most perfect predators. I should not tell her.

I’ve spent five years in the freeze, alone on that rotten planet, to throw off the mercs, to make them believe that I was really dead. Then something went wrong. New bounty on my head … and they had found me. New bounty from a holy man. Shit! Save someone’s fucking life and this is what you’ll get back by way of thanks. Back to civilization, back to the brightness I hated so much.

Isn’t it funny? New bounty just because they wanted to find me … and wanted to ask me to save them. ‘Cause Aereon believed that I was the one man who could stop the Lord Marshal and the Necromongers. I was their last hope. Me, a Furyan … against the legions of Necromongers.

New Mecca, Imam, then Crematoria … the Lord Marshal. And the kid now named Kyra. Who − instead of being glad of not seeing me and hoping that she wouldn’t meet me at all any more − wanted to become just like me. “Who is the better killer?” This was her favorite game. But there was a whale of a difference between us. No matter how strong and soulless she showed herself, she was easily hurt. She desired to be loved. And she loved. She loved me. I still can hear her last words even since then. “I was always with you.” It had become the ruin of her. I was the ruin of her.

The Necromonger warriors were kneeling in front of me. The Lord Marshal was dead. I killed him. “You can keep what you kill”, so I’d become their leader. And they were kneeling in front of me with their heads bowed. I can barely stifle the laugh when it comes to my mind. Though, it wasn’t funny at all then, when the girl was lying between my arms, dead.

I didn’t want to lead the Necromonger warriors to anywhere. I didn’t want to conquer the Universe. The army of Necromongers led by me hadn’t converted anyone and hadn’t attacked any planet. I wanted no more pain and death. I wanted peace and silence around me. I don’t really know if I should laugh or cry … Richard B. Riddick, the murderer … a Furyan, who desires peace …