A buried Furyan vault pings his genetic signature, dragging Riddick home. Furya is scarred—stormglass dunes, bone forests, beasts that hunt by heartbeat. Trailer cuts flash: chains snap, silver eyes flare, hellhounds crest a ridge. Scarlett Johansson stalks as a cold‑iron tracker whose contract becomes a truce—until the knives come out. Necro relics stir, a warlord breeds soldiers from stolen Furyan blood, and the sky burns a second sun. Set pieces slam: zero‑light melee under thunder spores, skiff chase through falling monoliths, a cliff dive into echo‑mapped caverns. Bass drops; his growl: “I don’t run the dark—I make it run.” Stinger: the planet’s core flickers…and every Furyan eye opens at once.