There weren't any other Furyans for him to ask if he was special or only the average for his kind. He had been told he was an alpha of his race. That had come from a vision from the only female Furyan Riddick had ever heard tell of much less seen. She'd been a spirit to him -a goddess maybe- when she'd 'gifted' him with the Wrath of the Furyans: all the hate, anger, and rage of an entire people shoved into one body with nothing other than his own will to stifle it. Riddick knew he was lucky to survive holding in all he did.
He didn't think it was much of a power.
"I was---given something from my people. The spirit of my people. Wrath. I can hurt and hunt and hate with the ability of a whole host of people. The rest I don't know? I might be special. I might not be. My people are all dead. Hunted to extinction. No one to ask if they can hear as well as I can. If they can see in the dark. If the light hurts them. If they're as strong, as fast, as hard to kill. I don't know."
Riddick shrugged. He looked away from John as he took stock of the rest of the people in the shop. Compared to the two of them, they all looked beyond boring. There was something too normal about the place which made Riddick want to get out and get out quick.
"You ask me? Having the ability to kill is part of having the ability to live. If you can die? You should be able to kill. That's natural. There's nothing evil or monstrous about it. The monsters are the ones who clip the wings of others to keep them caged, docile, and broken-hearted enough to think they deserve captivity in return for being allowed to live. Me? I'm not good at being kept caged. I only came in here to get the chance to talk to you. I'm feeling ready to leave now. You want to step out or you got a reason to be in here other than getting out of the alley outside?"