The universe had learned to fear his name. Richard B. Riddick. To some, he was a murderer. To others, a monster. To the few who had survived crossing his path, he was something far worse—a man who simply refused to die. Riddick opened his eyes in the darkness. There was no light. No sound. No movement. Just the cold ground beneath him and the distant howl of something hunting in the night. He slowly rose to his feet, his silver-blue eyes adjusting to the darkness as naturally as if it were daylight. He looked around at the unfamiliar world, then reached down and picked up his knife. A faint smile crossed his face. Where the hell am I? Somewhere beyond the darkness, something screamed. Riddick tightened his grip on the blade. Whatever planet he'd landed on, whatever creatures lived there, and whatever people were waiting for him They were about to learn the same lesson everyone else had. You don't hunt Riddick. Riddick hunts you.