Views of the Abyss: Ba'al

Author: BadgerGater

Season: 6

Series: Views of the Abyss Series

Category: Missing scenes/prequel/sequel; drama

Spoilers: Abyss

Summary: Abyss missing scene/sequel from another point of view

Pairing: None

Rating: PG

Warnings: None

Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of SciFiChannel, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, Gekko Productions; all the powers that be, not me; This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement intended. The story is the property of the author and may not be posted without the author's consent

Author's Notes: There's just so much fic fodder in Abyss, so much left unsaid, implied and left totally to the imagination

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Stubborn, even for a human.

He stands before me, defiant, strong. There is no fear in his eyes, no trembling. The words roll glibly off his tongue.

He thinks he can play with me.

I will change that.

O'Neill, with two Ls, will be whatever I wish him to be when I am done with him.

Let him boast now, while he can; let his mouth run on with brave, brash words, because soon there will only be only pleas for mercy.

He will beg for his death, before I grant it to him, after he has told me all he knows, and more than he thinks he knows.

I study him at my leisure, as he squirms, pinned against the wall.

The physical body is unremarkable. He is no longer young, the gray hair betraying his age. He is tall, and strong limbed, broad shouldered. But the eyes betray who he is, the eyes of a warrior.

This one, he is different. He has never known slavery or subjugation yet he is not innocent of the universe or its horrors. His eyes are hooded, concealing, evading, yet the dark depths betray the soul which lies beneath, a soul that is scarred and marked by the harsh realities of life. He is proud. He revels in his own strength even as he concedes his human frailty. He is confident in his ability to survive.

He challenges me.

I shall enjoy destroying him.

Not too quickly, but slowly, surely, leisurely, and completely.

I must know what he knows, discover all his secrets. He knows many, I am sure. To get to them, I shall strip away the layers of his soul, one by one, until there’s nothing left of the core, until all that he is, is mine. A pity that I cannot devote to him all the time such a rare creature deserves, really, because I shall enjoy defeating him, but with the Tok'ra growing bolder day by day, alas, I cannot toy with him too long.

He weakens, but he does not concede. He is too stubborn to admit defeat.

He tries to hide his defiance, but his eyes remain hooded and dark.

He says that he has no love for the Tok'ra, and I can see truth in his eyes when he says those words. Yet he also claims to remember nothing of the Tok'ra he hosted. Is he telling the truth? Does he truly not know? How could he not? He *was* blended. Even if the symbiote was within him for only a few days, indeed, only a few hours, his mind should contain all that the Tok'ra knew.

“Kanan.”

At last, he reveals the Tok’ra’s name.

It is a name I do not know, but soon, I shall know all. I shall burrow into this host's mind, and ferret out those secrets he hides.

He may think he does not know more, but the truth is inside him.

This O'Neill is strong.

Such a shame, he would have made a formidable host for a true Goa'uld.

He dies well.

And never easily, fighting for every breath, though he knows it is futile. Resisting, but never conceding or pleading.

I step closer, watching his painfilled eyes, studying him as death comes upon him. Only in the final moments do his eyes flare briefly with panic, and then acceptance, and yes, triumph.

He seeks the release of death, he knows that therein lies his only freedom.

I will deny him such succor.

Humans. Pitiful things. Inferior. Weak. Hopeless. Fragile. Foolish. Doomed.

His body weakens, and fails, and yet, he struggles.

Even as his flesh flinches from the pain, even as the agony of death engulfs him, he thinks he can play games with me. With me! With a God! I shall teach him to fear me! To respect me! He *will* grovel before me, beg and plead and cower at my feet.

He thinks he knows pain.

His pain has only begun.

"Why are you here? What is your mission?"

"I… don't… know," the words are uttered tonelessly. The sarcasm is gone, the defiance, and yet, he refuses to reveal what he knows.

How dare he continue to defy me!

My anger flares, rages, burns hot, burns like the acid that eats through his flesh. And still, he refuses to tell me.

This time, as he remains pinned to the wall, I step forward. My long fingers wrap around his throat and viciously crush the life from him.

His eyes bore into mine. Even as he dies, as the light fades from them, he simply stares.

My shout of anger does not alleviate my frustration.

I *will* break him.

I *will*.

I am Ba’al, and all who know me fear me.

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