Disclaimer: I unfortunately don't own any of what I'm messing with. If I did the movies and books would have come out totally different.

A/N: I really hope that you enjoy. I must warn you, however, I am a college student, and while I will try to continue this as much as I can I will be slow in posting. I also enjoy feedback as much as possible, so please don't be afraid to comment, good or bad I want it all. Finally one more note before we get to the story, I am unsure of who's POV I will be sticking with, I have most of the next chapter written out in Harry's so idk... Anyways... enjoy.

Riddick

The sound of my blade breaking off in the 'Half-Dead' man's skull was one of the most satisfying noises that I've been blessed with in a while. The look of betrayal and sudden realization that he was dying will help me to sleep for months to come, if I live that long, I think ruefully as I take in the sheer number of the Legion Vast, as they call it, currently surrounding me. I look on with an open expression of sick joy as he slowly fell, the thick armor making a reverberating noise around the abnormally quiet room as the artificial gravity pulled him down, revealing the surprise and fearful look on Vaako's face while his body remained frozen in the would-be killing blow. "NOO!" the traitor's wife wails from the balcony as the man before me finally stills in death.

Jack! The thought alone shocks my body into moving, leaving their Lord Marshal's body to stain the floor with his cooling blood, I quickly make my way to reach her side, just this once, please, I silently plead with my most hated deity. Gently reaching out to cradle her in my arms, her head resting in the crook of my elbow and the rest of her was shielded by my crouched form, fear lanced my chest as I manipulated her body too easily. My fear darkened into something that I couldn't describe as I noticed that her eyes were darkening and the feel, and smell, of her warm blood pooling in my hands and dripping onto my pants from her wounds, she was already dead her brain had yet to catch up to that fact.

I held the small pain filled noises escaping from my throat with an iron will as I could feel her slowly slipping away from life, away from me. "Are you with me J..Kyra?" I ground out as I forced her to look at me. I barely catch my slip up in time in my grief, careless, I reprimand as I listen to her heart beat slower and slower.

"I'm. With you." Her choked words bring more blood to her mouth. Tears being to gather in her hazel eyes as her calloused hand comes up and caresses my cheek, and if I moved just so that she didn't miss, she'll never know. "I've always. Been. With you." She whispers.

It feels as if time has slowed down making every moment, every detail, permanently etched into my memory. Her smell changing from spice and spirit and freedom, to cold and a scent only death cloaks us in. Helplessness grips me as I held her and did nothing; nothing but holding her blind gaze with mine until the last moment, till her eyes dark with death closed for the last time. I hold in my own pain so that she can pass with as much peace as I can make for her in this hellish place with its tortured statues. It's the least I can do, when I was the one that walked away, "Just when she needed you the most," Imam's words ring in my mind. The single tear that escapes from beneath her lids almost breaks my stoic silence as I watch it slowly carve a path across her face to her hairline.

Levering myself onto the nearest flat surface I allow a moment to grieve for the little girl that I couldn't save, holding my head between my hands covered in her blood I struggle with the unfamiliar urge to cry. I can feel bodies pressing on me, closing the space between them and I, for the moment I don't care, let one stupid motherfucker come at me right now, the familiar bloodlust mixes with my grief causing my limbs to tingle with adrenaline and the animalistic need to rend flesh from bone. The boy kneeling next to my seat almost surprises me into attacking, until a moment before he moved I had not noticed him, interesting.

He slowly stands, back straight as if he senses my tension, and just as delicately walks in front of me, descending a few stairs down so that I alone was on the top tier of the raised dais. A strange black metal collar around his neck, like the ones that I had seen earlier on my first visit, is a stark contrast to the pale color of his skin. Slave? His simple clothing, made of the same scale material but less adornments than those around him, stimulating the idea that he was a servant of the now dead dick cooling on the floor just a few meters from us.

Keeping his eyes downcast in a clear show of submission, the effect of this not lost on me as I can feel my hackles beginning to smooth back out, he begins to kneel before me. He slowly bends one knee after the other keeping his back straight, the feeling of wrongness in the situation makes me raise a bloody eyebrow. The boy had power, I could taste it on him, but here he was kneeling before me, who are you? I ponder with interest. Distracting me from my musings as the chain reaction of the room slowly kneeling before me comes as a bit of a surprise. Even Vaako reluctantly kneels. Even Dame Vaako, who must have come down from the balcony while I was distracted, is forced to lower herself as well when it's obvious that everyone gathered is following the lead of this servant, very interesting.

"You keep what you kill," the boy's soft tenor voice rings throughout the hall as if he had shouted. He finally glances up at me allowing, briefly, glittering emerald green eyes to lock with swirling luminescent mercury.