My first fic so play nice.
Here's how it is (oops, wrong show):
Spike died in NFA. Dunno about everyone else. Use your imagination. Right after the Battle of Farthen Dur in Eragon. Murtagh is in the Twin's care.
A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away....
Chris Paolini and FOX have Eragon, good ol' Joss Whedon owns Buffy.
Murtagh once again found himself grunting as the bullswhip lashed across his back. The line of icy fire drew a soft whimper from deep within his throat. That whimper was all his captors needed. A new rain of agony attacked him, rutting the slready grotesque scar that decorated his back.
"I must say," one of the Twins, he never knew which, cackled derisively, " I expected more from Morzan's brat."
At the sound of his hated father's name Murtagh bucked wildly at the coarse ropes binding his wrists to the above treebranch. It did him no good, however, instead making them dig deeper into his skin.
Rough laughter emitted from the semi-circle of Urgals around him.
They were by the Az Ragni. Hellfire did Murtagh feel like a fool for trusting the Twins. They'd been against the Varden from the start. It was brilliant, really, to establish agents so early. Galbatorix was a cunning bastard.
Kicking out rather far, Murtagh heard the Twins grunt with distaste. Almost instantly, a knife pierced his side, going so deep it pinned him to the tree. Murtagh bit back a scream.
"Poor boy," one twin hissed in his ear, "All alone-" he gave the knife a hard twist-" no Rider friend to protect you-" another twist-" completely at our mercy."
A cough-like yelp squeaked itself out of Murtagh's throat.
"Go to hell." he spat shakily.
The twin drew back, just as a rough Urgal hand yanked at his hair, grasping brown-black locks in an rion grip. With a brutal jerk, Murtagh fell to the dirt, bloody rings encircling his wrists from the now-torn ropes.
Suddenly both Twins crowded his vision, both grinning sinisterly. They had an enormus knife, already stained with blood. Murtagh's blood.
"Maybe-" one stabbed him in the abdomen-" we will manage to peel away all your skin while you're still alive. Perhaps you survive inside out. We only need some of you."
The other held a flask to the gaping wound in his stomach. Murtagh watched in horror as the deep ruby liquid slowly dribble into the flask. After what seemed to be an eternity, the dirt in his bloody welts causing them to sting, the leather container seemed full. Corking it briskly, a twin passed it to a lean Urgal with enormus quads.
"Hasten to his lordship, Galbatorix, and give him this. Your death will some swiftly should you fail."
The Urgal nodded his comprehension before taking off at a swift trot, presumeably in the direction of Uru'baen.
"What t-the hell are you d-doing?" Murtagh pante, furious at how weak he sounded.
"Why, boy, we are going to replicate you." one twin murmered in a venemous voice.
"Yes, make a mindless clone with your looks and mannerism." as the other said this he pulled at the skin around Murtagh's wounded abdomen, peeling him.
Murtagh clenched his teeth.
"It would take too long to break you." whispered the first.
"And Galbatorix is skilled at replicas." the second added.
"Is that why you're doing this? Just to copy me, make a model?" Murtagh coughed at the last bit.
"The politics of it, boy, may be to advanced for you." one twin sneered.
"The point is, we get to peel you like an apple. You are worthless now."
Murtagh tried to get up, he realyy did, but the Twins muttered symaltaneously in the ancient languag. An iron force now held him down. He could hear the sound of tearing skin, even more than feel it.
"Well then, this ain't something a bloke sees everyday."
Every head whipped around. Even Murtagh craned his neck.
He was a pale slip of a thing, really, all bones and angles. Even in the flickering of the firelight you could see the stark whiteness of his alabaster skin. the black leather breeches, dark grey-blue tunic, and black knee-length coat made his slim figure even slimmer. The stranger's hair, too, stood out. It was a platinum blond, obviously artificial with his dark brow, yet the color went straight to his roots. It was his face that was interesting, though. The cheekbones were higher than Murtagh had ever seen in a human. And his eyes.... Instantly their icy blue reminded him of Saphira. They even had the sa,e strained animalistic look behind them.
"Walk on ,traveler, if you value you and yours." One twin hissed.
"Yeah, well," the man shrugged as he plopped his heavy pack beside him, "I'd feel guilty then."
Murtagh felt a spark of hope warm his heart, which quickly went out. There were at least twenty Urgals. And the Twins.
"Leave, now." the twin spat.
Suddenly the joking facade left the stranger, quickly as he appeared.
"How 'bout you leave, mate." a low growl accompanied the suggestion.
"You are outnumbered, fool." an Urgal reminded him in gutteral tones.
Another shrug. This time the stranger's coat fell with it.
Everyone took a step back when the leathery wings ruffled and unfolded with the sound of a sword leave its sheath.
"What are you?" the Twins gasped.
The stranger looked at his tatooed left hand, smirking as a ball of flame ignited within.
"Not human, mates."
And with that he torched the Twins.
As they fell, their crispy remains sizzling, fire engulfed the Urgals so quickly they had no time to scream.
Murtagh, the beaten boy on the ground, could do no more than edge away from his savior, whispering weakly, "What are you?"
But then consciousness ran away from him like startled deer would in fright.
Ok I was mean in this chapter. But the Twins are evil. EEEVVIIIILLLL!
This is a prologue, so the story is short. Maybe be a sequel if I'm encouraged.
Review, you know you wanna.