Treacherous

Disclaimer: I don't own Riddick, but I think he owns me.

Note: I hate this story. I've never wanted something so much yet been unable to do it to my satisfaction. It has to FEEL right, and I've rewritten chapters of this repeatedly. Dunno if this is good or retarded, but it's written.

Let me hear your thoughts. Feedback makes my head swell, and that CAN'T be a bad thing!

Thanks for reading.


http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v111/chriscent/5505-Likeness.jpg

An echo, not of words, but of pure emotion made Riddick shake his head as if to clear it.

He had to refocus on the form before him and shook his head again, this time in disgust. Fucking Necros. What’d a guy have to do to uphold a reputation? Made a fool of their defenses, killed their leader, imprisoned dozens of them, forced them to make amends, and what did they do? Build a statue in his likeness.

Riddick nearly rolled his eyes, wishing for a shiv sharp enough to defile the bronze creation. Didn’t even fucking look like him.

Aereon stood at the back of the deserted Basilica, pretending to hide, but shining like some beacon. She had that smirk on her face. The ‘I told you so’ one. Made him want to cut her a new smile, about three inches lower.

“What are you so fucking pleased for?”

“You are Furyan. Your reasons are your own, the result is the same. Your actions fulfill a prophecy now more than three decades old.”

Riddick ground his teeth as he moved towards the wisp of a woman. He knew the image he presented. He’d made grown men shit themselves by stalking at them in the same way. Aereon stood unaffected, unflinching, and it moved him to violence. Was he losing his touch?

Her figure wavered out of existence the moment his blade would’ve touched flesh. He growled, hating her power, hating being played even more. His eyes searched her out. She was impossible to detect.

“You waste your anger.”

He turned to see her fully solid form standing more than an arm’s length away. “Witch, this was never my fight. I don’t care about prophecies. I don’t care about any of this shit.” He looked around and then gestured with the blade at the vast Necropolis to make sure she understood.

Still that fucking smile. Now she was looking at him like he was some retarded child that she had to make understand. Why couldn’t she understand? He wanted no part of this.

She moved toward him, floated, and then past him. He stepped back, and still no flinch as she passed close enough to brush him, the tendrils of her… stuff rubbing over his arm.

“Riddick, you hold more significance than you know.” She continued to wisp forward as she spoke and he had no choice but to follow her. “It was foretold that the previous Lord Marshall would be brought down by a male Furyan. If more was predicted has not been said. Your path lies before your feet. You cannot alter it, despite your unwillingness.”

He felt like smacking her upside the head. Didn’t she hear what she was saying? “Your people can do this. Take the armada. I don’t want any of this.” His last words came out growled. He felt like he was repeating himself endlessly, and obviously he was talking to a wall.

Aereon had led the way up a curved flight of stairs above the entry to the Necropolis. A deep table sat centered in the alcove. The surface looked grainy and muted, the metal not reflecting the light properly. She moved to the opposite end and turned, putting the table between them.

“Elementals are not warriors. We deal in chance, in equilibrium, not in combat. Now close your eyes.”

What the fuck? He looked around, his eyes seeing more than the ornate decorations. Metal. Cold and unflinching. If it didn’t come with the chains of responsibility he could really like the place. No way anyone could hide from him here. “Why?”

“I wish to test a theory.” Her expression mocked the patience of her tone.

“Whatever.” He did what she told him.

Like always, like in sleep or in darkness, with his eyes closed he could still see his surroundings. Before he’d always thought of it as a memory, a way for him to easily identify new sounds or scents, by placing them in his perfectly detailed imaginary map. Slams, ships, planets, it was always best to know your surroundings. But now, with his eyes closed he could feel the Necropolis around him. He didn’t guess that what he saw was accurate. It was real. It was like he was tuned in to the old ship itself.

He opened his eyes to look at the elemental. As if she understood what he’d felt, she nodded and closed her eyes. He waited another second and then closed his again.

“What you feel and see is no longer part of your imagination. Living in darkness, you adapted, inadvertently developing powers known to Furyans. Succeeding to Lord Marshal has enhanced what you started. You not only know every part of this ship, but now it speaks to you. As a Necromonger the Basilica is a part of you. As a Furyan you feel the connection even more.”

“Why?” He felt that what she said was true, but he could argue the title ‘Necro forever. All the way from the engine’s monotone suction-like hissing to the highest point of the hull, it was all there, like whispers in his mind and if he concentrated on each it was as if he was there physically. From this perspective the Basilica didn’t appear as a ship, but a living creature, and its perfect workings felt like devotion.

“Many generations ago Furyans were created. Essentially human, they were enhanced, given characteristics of many of Earths original wildlife, as many as could be harnessed.

“They were a new race. So close to humans, yet not. Like the wolves of old, your genes are nearly identical to any other man’s, but have just two hundredths of a percent different. It’s enough. They were made to be powerful and resilient, skillful and intelligent. An unplanned consequence was their honor, and their pride. They refused to be subservient and eventually fled. Furya was the home they chose. It was a wild planet, harsh and unexplored. Many believe that their powers became stronger there. Higher oxygen levels, alien plant life, an undiscovered mineral. No one ever determined the why. Furyans had never been wholly human, but generations on an alien planet changed them even more.

“They were a new race.”

The pride Riddick felt was foreign to him. The handprint on his chest burned like new as he thought of a world and a people that were supposedly his, but he knew nothing of. So smart, so strong, yet they’d been destroyed. How smart was that?

“They were wiped out,” he told her flatly, his contempt obvious.

Aereon smiled. “You see their deaths as weakness. They knew nothing of the plot against them. The force brought against their entire planet couldn’t be prepared for. The few survivors have shown their strength by adapting. They learned a hard lesson. Their skills have become the tools of warriors.”

“Is this your attempt to convince me to be some champion?” He was smiling, waiting for her to say yes so he could laugh in her face.

He heard her take a deep breath, and could even see her with his mind’s eye.

“Hold out your hand.”

He did, palm down, his mind’s visual seeing it as from above.

“The table before you is a tool. It holds knowledge that you do not. But only you can control it. Concentrate on Furya, on your image of it, command the table to represent it.”

Riddick frowned. From what he’d seen of the table it was ordinary, but its position of importance, centered alone in the alcove, suggested otherwise. The only impression he had of Furya was from visions that he’d dismissed as hallucinations and a madwoman’s description. So instead of concentrating on the little he knew, he concentrated on the planet itself, as a whole. The Furyan System, the only habitable planet. Near to the size of Earth’s moon. His knowledge of the universe’s systems was broad, learned from both experience and from navigating.

“Now open your eyes.”

Before him the surface of the table had liquefied, mercury had risen up to form his vision of the planet Furya. The model was rough, but it was accurate. The small planet even spun on its two axis.

He tilted his head as he studied it and the shape wavered, losing some of its definition. Focusing, he found he was able to move the small likeness just by concentrating on it. From end to end, it glided along on its pencil-thin pedestal. After a minute he was able to drop his hand and hold the image with just his thoughts.

Aereon looked like she might start clapping.

Riddick hated the witch’s satisfaction. He let the planet drop into the sluggishly rippling pool. Focusing, he stared at the liquid, feeling it with his thoughts, then looked up at the woman opposite him as a shape arose from the table.

She held his gaze, surprised by his easy ability, which just made him smile. She looked down and gasped, taking an involuntary step back. Poised as if to jump on her was the likeness of a slamdog. He’d added a few touches of his own. It’s teeth weren’t nearly that long, and it was bit bulkier than he remembered them being. But as just a second attempt it was impressive.

“You mastered that easily enough,” she said disapprovingly, recovering from her surprise.

He let the animal melt, the pool instantly resuming its solid surface. The talent wasn’t asked for, but had its uses. And it was kind of cool.