Total chaos ensues, and just like that, Eva realizes she doesn't want to die. Instead, she sees her opportunity - she lurches into the arms of her would-be killers and uses her own forward motion in combination with her tugging to pull herself away from the distracted guard. She rolls into them, thrashing her legs until she finds herself on hands and knees. She feels one man rip a hunk of her hair out and finds herself nearly blinded in her good eye by blood streaming from her scalp. Another woman stomps on her hand, leaving it numbed and paralyzed.
But she has to push forward. She won't get another chance. And she can't allow herself to dissociate herself to avoid the pain; that would let her lose focus. She can't. She shoves another woman roughly off her and grabs a knife a felled slave has dropped. It comes up and rips through a third woman's throat, and then another man's eyes. Numbers may make the difference in a brawl, but only if the numbers are concentrated against you - and while the slaves certainly want to kill Eva very much, they're partially distracted by the guards trying to subdue them.
Eva has no compunctions about using their confusion as an opportunity to go in for the kill. She slashes at faces, necks, fingers, the backs of knees, and when her stabbing arm is restrained she whips around and bites a man's ear off. There is no beauty to her style of combat - there never has been, and even if she once believed in grace on the battlefield, it would be misplaced in this awful frenzy, with red foam dripping from her mouth and blood gushing from the wound on her neck. She fights like a caged beast to get away from the center of the struggle and towards her prize.
The Jaffa holding Ammit doubles over as a slave stabbed him through the gut with a shank. Eva lunges forward and rips the Goa'uld from his hand before he gets a chance to catch his bearings. She grips Ammit in her hand and stares down at the thing like a thief holding a beloved jewel, a predatory cat with a mouse, a miser with their coins. The creature that appeared a python before is nothing but a worm in her hands.
She shrieks when she realizes someone's put a blade through her lower back, somewhere in the vicinity of her kidneys. She doesn't have time to think, only to act. And there are probably more dignified ways to go about killing your foe, but she can't think of any at the moment.
She shoves Ammit's head into her mouth and bites down as another worshipper grabs her by the ear and slams her head against the ground. In the ensuing dizziness she can only focus on one goal: swallow. She doesn't even know if she manages it before she's beaten down again, but she doesn't have time to think any more. She relinquishes herself to instinct and curls up into a fetal position as the battle about her body continues.
Re: EVA
But she has to push forward. She won't get another chance. And she can't allow herself to dissociate herself to avoid the pain; that would let her lose focus. She can't. She shoves another woman roughly off her and grabs a knife a felled slave has dropped. It comes up and rips through a third woman's throat, and then another man's eyes. Numbers may make the difference in a brawl, but only if the numbers are concentrated against you - and while the slaves certainly want to kill Eva very much, they're partially distracted by the guards trying to subdue them.
Eva has no compunctions about using their confusion as an opportunity to go in for the kill. She slashes at faces, necks, fingers, the backs of knees, and when her stabbing arm is restrained she whips around and bites a man's ear off. There is no beauty to her style of combat - there never has been, and even if she once believed in grace on the battlefield, it would be misplaced in this awful frenzy, with red foam dripping from her mouth and blood gushing from the wound on her neck. She fights like a caged beast to get away from the center of the struggle and towards her prize.
The Jaffa holding Ammit doubles over as a slave stabbed him through the gut with a shank. Eva lunges forward and rips the Goa'uld from his hand before he gets a chance to catch his bearings. She grips Ammit in her hand and stares down at the thing like a thief holding a beloved jewel, a predatory cat with a mouse, a miser with their coins. The creature that appeared a python before is nothing but a worm in her hands.
She shrieks when she realizes someone's put a blade through her lower back, somewhere in the vicinity of her kidneys. She doesn't have time to think, only to act. And there are probably more dignified ways to go about killing your foe, but she can't think of any at the moment.
She shoves Ammit's head into her mouth and bites down as another worshipper grabs her by the ear and slams her head against the ground. In the ensuing dizziness she can only focus on one goal: swallow. She doesn't even know if she manages it before she's beaten down again, but she doesn't have time to think any more. She relinquishes herself to instinct and curls up into a fetal position as the battle about her body continues.