Date: Thu, 29 Sep 1994 02:50:01 EDT Reply-To: Highlander TV show stories Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Hobert@AOL.COM Subject: CHOICES, Part 18 of 20 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Excaliber gleamed as Mordred raised it to the light. Satisfied, he returned to the whet stone, sharpening the blade. The work wasn't needed, just as Morgana didn't need to tell him his father approached. Something had already told him, something much more personal than the annoying buzz Duncan MacLeod gave off from the upper level. He calmly waited, sitting in the recreated throne, knowing each of them had things to do before this final fight. He was happy at the picture he portrayed, the confidant prince in his castle. A small part hoped his father would be proud of him, the other part laughing that Arthur cared for a mortal boy instead. One who would be appropriately dealt with after Arthur was dead. He had made a long list of people to be dealt with over the years, his appetite for power yearning for the Prize. He was a better king than Arthur ever was. His kingdom wouldn't crumble around him. The door creaked open, the grating sound a pleasing noise to him. Richard MacLeod approached, one piece of his father's convoluted puzzle. "He's upstairs," the prince yelled, enjoying the echoing voice. He laughed, savoring the irony of forcing his father to kill his most recent mentor. Twisting the knife always felt so damn good. "Why?" came the voice, the voice sounding so much like the man he hated. The man he despised. Yes, Richard was very much like his damnable father. He had nothing against the young Immortal born in the wrong body. Casualties of war and all that. In fact, he wondered if his father had been as handsome when he was younger. "I want to defeat my father," he replied. "I was cheated of my victory until now. You need his Quickening to challenge me, and with that, Arthur is reborn." Reveling in the culmination of plans, he felt magnanimous. "Take your time, Richard. I know you'll have to adjust. I have another surprise to show you when you come down." The joy of planning Arthur's defeat, the delight in seeing him suffer, and suffer, it was music to his soul. His laughter rang to the vaulted ceiling. His father's steps faded as they climbed the stairs, Excaliber still glinting in the light, as he returned to sharpening the sword. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Duncan knelt on a pedestal, about waist high, Richie noticed as he entered the master bedroom. The Immortal was nude, his long black hair covering his face. He was scrunched up, knees forced in his chest, a metal collar fastened to the pedestal by only two lengths. As Richie approached, the arms were revealed, ending in two metal caps where hands use to be. The caps were linked together behind his back by another short chain, useless. Duncan's head jerked around, trying to find the Immortal in the room, frantic. Richie got an arm length away, carefully brushing the loose hair from the face, exposing the eyeless sockets of Duncan's unseeing face. The Highlander croaked, his voice gone. "No more... no..." Despair washed over Richie, sorrow at ever thinking this man could betray him, could think of wanting his head. He ran his hand over Duncan's scruffy, unshaved face, the Immortal cringing away, unable to move in the rigid imprisonment. "It's... Richie," he softly said, the sudden noise causing another shudder. It took a moment for the words to sink in, Duncan finally calming, trying to turn his horrible face to the noise. "You've... come for my head, then." The aura of defeat was everywhere, the finality of a shattered man laid out before him. "Mac, I can't..." "You must." The voice was stronger, the tone of a teacher. The steel had only been bent, not broken. "I promised myself I'd never hurt you..." The redhead was having trouble reconciling the wasted mass of flesh before him with the warrior he knew and loved. "Richie..." The one word carried all the emotions Duncan had ever felt toward his student. "You need my power if you hope to defeat him." "I can't kill you to save myself." "What am I gonna do, stop him myself?" He gasped at the pain as he spoke, his agony not entirely normal. "What did Greg call us, 'Princes of the Universe'? We were. But you were a king." Richie backed away. "I am not Arthur..." "The mind may forget, but the body always remembers. You would use the Prize wisely, like you've done with Freedom, and everything else. You haven't forgotten what it is to be mortal." "I'm not going to listen to..." "You must..." A groan escaped his lips, the pain peaking again. "You have only two choices... live, or die. If you can't live for yourself, live for Jeremiah. Live for me and keep the memories of our friends alive forever. Die, and you doom your son to hell." "Damn it, Mac. I *hate* it when you're right." Duncan's voice grew softer, the exertion taking its toll. "Do it quickly. And... don't remember me like this." Richie came close, wiping the tear that fell on Duncan's cheek. "I'll remember you like I always do. The first night I saw you. Strong, proud, fierce. The Highlander warrior you are. And always will be. I wanted to be just like you. You know that." "I remember. Swinging my sword around the barge. You became more than I ever was... We did good, didn't we?" "We did, Mac. We most certainly did." - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Morgana appeared next to Joe Dawson on the observation level of the New Empire Tower. He turned to her, their clothes whipped by the wind. "This is not our fight," he said. The crone, sometimes old, sometimes young, agreed. "Lead on, old man," she ordered, her wild hair dancing in the air. Dawson held out his free hand to her, turning into the wind. And then they were gone, New York again empty. Except for Immortals. And ghosts. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Richie slowly walked into the throne room, watching Mordred hunched over in a side alcove. He smiled when the other cursed, knowing the cause. "Damn. Why the hell doesn't it work? That bastard held out on me." Mordred was so intent, he didn't notice Richie's presence until the redhead cleared his throat. Mordred whirled, angry. "So... you're a fool after all." "Not as much as you, it seems. It helps to have the keystone," Richie informed him, pulling a crystal from his around his neck. "I've had this since... well, as long as I can remember." He smiled, a victory of sorts for Arthur's side. Mordred, however, looked like beheading was too good for the redhead. Richie shrugged, throwing the necklace across the room to him. "Go ahead, try it out." The glee in Mordred's face was indescribable, the Immortal plunging the last crystal into the mass. With a burst of light, energy sped along the walls, the stones themselves glowing in a smooth white radiance. The temperature rose to a comfortable level, the whole castle glistening with light. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - "Oh, shit!" Lucas exclaimed, covering his eyes as the translucent model of Central Park exploded with brilliance, the display momentarily shorting out, worried shouts echoing in the Command Center. When his sight returned, there, by the lake, an architectural wonder stood. Camelot, in all its majestic glory. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - "It's a geothermal power converter," Richie explained before Mordred could bust a gut. "It *does* help an Immortal, providing heat and light, but, sorry, man, it don't do a thing for your backswing." In a rage, Mordred attacked, drawing Excaliber as he charged. Richie waited him out, parrying and side stepping at the same time. With the clash of swords, the battle was joined. Richie had to admit, Mordred was good. Spectacular, in fact. They both traded blows, giving as good as they got. The area was open, perfect for fighting. Sparks flew each time the weapons came in contact with each other. Blood pounding, breaths ragged, the two fought. Right, then left Mordred sliced, Richie parrying neatly. The redhead knocked the swords to the side, pivoting and raising an elbow, aiming for Mordred's face. The other ducked under, taking advantage of Richie's open front to ram a knee into his stomach. Richie went down, gasping. Mordred, holding Excaliber's hilt with both hands, rammed the metal into Richie's back, driving him to the floor. Richie rolled, barely missed by Mordred's downward swing. Excaliber rang on the stones. Richie tried a combination, ending up in Mordred's face. The redhead swung his leg around, catching the back of Mordred's, unbalancing him, sending him sprawling backwards. The Immortal continued the fall, neatly tumbling over, ending on his hand and knees, sword up. Richie dodged as he approached, hitting it aside with his katana. Mordred extended his tumble, laying on his back, catching Richie in the stomach with his feet, lifting the redhead over him, sending him flying. Richie groaned as he landed, already clutching his punished gut. The two stood, the movement slower, but the battle was far from over. "Give it up, father!" Mordred yelled, his hair loose in his face. "I'm BETTER!" Richie answered with a side swipe, sparks flying as Mordred blocked. The redhead found himself on the defensive more and more, anger fueling Mordred's stamina. A step near the throne caught him by surprise, tripping him. With a shout, Mordred stabbed, catching him neatly in the side, grazing the skin. Blood poured out, dripping to the floor, Mordred backing up with satisfaction. "First blood, Richard." - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - The Watcher led the way, entering a rocky opening in the cliff, a familiar place to Morgana. "I though you would shun your prison, Master," she said, envisioning a repeat of their last visit to this place. The Watcher was silent as the continued on, the light fading as they turned a corner. Deeper into the bowels of the earth they went, Joe lighting the way with a magical flame. They entered the cavern, called 'Soul of the Earth' in ancient tongues, the mystical heart of the planet, where their powers were at a peak. Morgana was confidant until she saw the stone pillar in the center, the faint outlines of the wizard's body still evident in the rock. She turned, smiling at Dawson. "Merlin was the only man who had the power to defeat me, and here he remains, where I left him, centuries ago. Who are you, mortal?" she asked, not even bothering to put defenses into place. Joe smiled, the sound of faint humming growing louder. It stopped as he breathed, answering her. "That which you could not contain, my pupil." She realized her mistake, looking right and left, frightened, as time slowed. Motes of glitter fell on her from above, the tinkling of crystal weaving in and out of Joe's wordless song. She had been so confidant they would fight to the death, his death, that all other outcomes escaped her. In moments, she was trapped like the man in stone, frozen for eternity. Joe collapsed as the flame faded, plunging the cavern into darkness, lying helpless on the floor, feeling the last of the power drain from his exhausted body, reinforcing the spell of imprisonment. "It is done..." - - - - - - - - - - - - Richie rotated his sword as the two circled, staring each other down. Mordred charged, an overhand chop, blocked by the katana. Mordred didn't stop charging, barreling over Richie until they both were on the floor. Rolling away, LaFaye punched at Richie's healing wound, opening it again. The redhead cried out in pain, rolling in the other direction, slowly standing. Attack, block, thrust, parry. Over and over, each trying to slip something past the other, a disarming move, a crippling slice. Mordred had Excaliber's length advantage, as well as longer reach. Richie had his wits and cunning. "I must admit, Richard, the first time I saw you, I really thought you'd be a sucker. Short, stupid, immature. But watching you, learning about you, there was a strength, a... spark. A bit of Arthur in such a young body. I admire you a little." Right, left, Excaliber kept getting closer and closer, Richie's parries weaker. A nick on his cheek brought a savage smile to Mordred's lips, the flash of terror in Richie's eyes a moment of pleasure. As the fight continued, more of Mordred's attacks got through, Richie unable to even land one. Blood fell from numerous cuts along Richie's arms, soaking his shirt. Sweat made the fabric cling to his body, grunts escaping each time he managed to block a swing. He was slowing down, more thrusts hitting the mark, more agony from uncountable places on him. Mordred seemed to enjoy hurting the redhead, avoiding killing blows to torment with cruel slices. "If things had been different, I think we would have been good friends, Richard." At some point, the black haired Immortal stopped using Excaliber, instead hitting and kicking the senseless Richie, katana useless at his side. A powerful kick to the head, and the redhead hit the floor, reduced to crawling as Mordred continued to pummel him. A small part of Richie kept hold of the sword, dragging it along as he tried to escape the punishment. Each gasp drew a laugh from Mordred's lips. Finally Richie stopped, too tired to crawl any farther. He groveled there, on hands and knees, katana lying on the stone. Whimpering. Hearing Mordred walk up behind him. "If my father wasn't an issue, I would kill you standing. You fought well, even though you lost. But in you my father lives, and for that, I'll kill you like the dog he was. Rot in hell, Arthur Pendragon." Mordred screamed, announcing the beheading stroke. Richie blocked it, holding the katana down his back, hilt by his right ear, deflecting the stroke. Moving the sword parallel across his back, ducking under his own arms, the momentum slid Excaliber to Mordred's weak side. Continuing the motion, he swung the katana in front of him, horizontal, pivoting his body, adding power to the attack. He rotated on his knees, facing Mordred, as the blade continued its smooth arc, effortless sliced through the neck, neatly severing the unprotected head. A look of shock was frozen on the Immortal's face as it flew across the room, the body falling limply to the floor. He knelt there, spent, not seeing the small forks of lightning playing over Mordred's body. The katana fell to the stone floor, unnoticed. The wind picked up in the cavernous throne room, Richie's muscles involuntarily contracting, throwing his arms wide. As the first burst of pain coursed along his body, he howled, the sound inhuman. Energy picked him up like a rag doll, buffeting him around the room. Lighting coursed around him, forming ghostly visions. Demons wailed as the world shook, unearthly terrors battering his soul. His body trembled in agony, blood vessels bursting along his skin. The crystals in the alcove shattered, send shards into his body, unfelt in the torment, ripping his clothes to shreds. It overwhelmed him, his mind unable to find sanctuary in unconsciousness. After forever, it ended, the long fall adding a final stab of agony. Then all was dark and quite, except for the moaning and sobbing of a young man, begging for the one thing denied him for eternity. Peace. =========================================================================