A/N: I don't own Stargate SG-1, but I made up the language myself! YAY! *ahem*
I think it's odd, to say the least, but I like it.
FONT SIZE = 6bKushov Te Bren'taro/b/FONT
A sharp blow to the side of the face. Before blood touches the ground, a punch in the ribs.
"KNEEL!"
Choking.
"N-NEVER!" Blood on the floor.
"You will kneel before your god!"
Farmilarity.
A swift smack to the shins. From the back. Falling. Pants spotted in blood, knees on the hard cement floor. Looking up.
A smirk.
"PITRENE!!" Fool. "AMTOCHE!!" Traitor.
Defiance.
"Where are my friends, snake!"
A kick to the head. Falling again; embrace the cement.
A yelp off to the side.
"Here are your friends..."
Looking up. Gasping. Shock.
Blood. Ash. Pain.
Anguish.
Crying out to each other.
A staff blast. Then another. And another.
They fall.
Crumpled heaps of nothingness drenched in blood on the cement floor.
Two more staff blasts. One from in front, one behind.
A flash of white light.
~*~*~*~*~*~
A dark room. A bed. Persperation and hoarse speech. Cold. Very cold.
Hugging myself.
Shivering. Balling up under the mound of blankets.
Scolding myself through hot tears.
"Daniel Jackson, you're too old to be having nightmares..."
A mission.
"Kushov Te Bren'taro." Kill the Sandman.
I think it's odd, to say the least, but I like it.
FONT SIZE = 6bKushov Te Bren'taro/b/FONT
A sharp blow to the side of the face. Before blood touches the ground, a punch in the ribs.
"KNEEL!"
Choking.
"N-NEVER!" Blood on the floor.
"You will kneel before your god!"
Farmilarity.
A swift smack to the shins. From the back. Falling. Pants spotted in blood, knees on the hard cement floor. Looking up.
A smirk.
"PITRENE!!" Fool. "AMTOCHE!!" Traitor.
Defiance.
"Where are my friends, snake!"
A kick to the head. Falling again; embrace the cement.
A yelp off to the side.
"Here are your friends..."
Looking up. Gasping. Shock.
Blood. Ash. Pain.
Anguish.
Crying out to each other.
A staff blast. Then another. And another.
They fall.
Crumpled heaps of nothingness drenched in blood on the cement floor.
Two more staff blasts. One from in front, one behind.
A flash of white light.
~*~*~*~*~*~
A dark room. A bed. Persperation and hoarse speech. Cold. Very cold.
Hugging myself.
Shivering. Balling up under the mound of blankets.
Scolding myself through hot tears.
"Daniel Jackson, you're too old to be having nightmares..."
A mission.
"Kushov Te Bren'taro." Kill the Sandman.