Date: Sat, 11 Feb 1995 16:50:27 EST Reply-To: "If 'Love is for poets, ' then let me be poetic..." Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: "If 'Love is for poets, ' then let me be poetic..." Subject: The Battle of Evermore, part 8 ************************************************************************* ************************************************************************* ******************* H I G H L A N D E R ************************ ************************************************************************* ************ T H E B A T T L E O F E V E R M O R E ************* ************************************************************************* BY BRIAN PROCOPIO, BASED UPON THE FILM OF THE SAME NAME. COPYRIGHTED 1994, KAOS PICTURES, INC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. _______________________________________________________________________ _______________________________________________________________________________ CHAPTER EIGHT _______________________________________________________________________________ _______________________________________________________________________________ "The apples of the valley hold the seeds of happiness... The ground is rich from tender care repay do not forget...." _______________________________________________________________________________ _______________________________________________________________________________ Antonio hurled the heavy wooden door shut and paused just inside it, sword in hand, his dark brown eyes quickly scanning the tiny efficiency room. He scrambled over to the window overlooking the main street below him, his callused fingers poking aside the Venetian blinds hindering his sight. After several seconds he stepped back into the room, collapsing spent on the small pale green and faded loveseat as he clicked the television set on. The familiar sounds of Alex Trebeck's voice poured out of the tinny speaker for half a minute before a picture joined it. The Italian stretched over to reach the minute econo-fridge unit and pulled out a can of some mildly intoxicating beverage, enjoying the hiss of trapped carbonation when he yanked the pop-top off of the can, discarding it in the generic pile of refuse threatening to revolt in the southern corner of the room. "The answer is... The builder of the Great Pyramid in Egypt," the host replied to the assembled contestants. Antonio swallowed another mouthful of the foamy brew, his mind uncon- ciously providing his lips with the answer. "Cheops," he stated bluntly. Somewhere in the back of his awareness something began to click... "I'll take Ancient Empires for $400 please, Alex," contestant number three, a portly university professor from Maine chimed in. "Ok, and the answer is, 'another name for the royal bowmen who helped Darius expand his empire and challenge ancient Greece.'" the tweed-suited host replied, his moustache twitching at the apparent difficulty of the question. "Who are the immortals," DeViola offered to his in-studio audience of one. He chuckled nervously at the answer, knowing it was correct but not knowing exactly... *how* he knew. *Beepbeepbeepbeep* "Um, who are the 'Immortals," Alex," the timid librarian in the polyester jumpsuit replied. "That's correct, Susan, please make the next move..." <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<< ...stated the immortal before him, his gray-blue eyes scanning the board before his weathered face. Cain watched the younger warrior, the odd situation that caught up to him every now and then, training a younger student who appeared almost twice his own age. He scanned the roughly carved figures in front of him, assessing their positions in his mind. His eyes closed as his brows furrowed, deep in thought. The Egyptian seated before him settled in for the wait, but was surprised when Cain's eyes snapped open suddenly, his hand shooting out and adjusting the position of his knight. The Egyptian's eyes stared at the pieces, formulating possible moves and countermoves. He adjusted his sword belt, moving his Katana's decade-old grip away from his ribs, letting him breathe easier. His right hand curled about his chin, settling forward onto the small table in the center of the tent, his fingers unconciously rubbing his dark moustache. After several minutes he reached forth and held his fingers over his remaining rook, but instead placed them on his king, moving it backwards a square. "Stalemate, Cain," he stated, accenting the obvious. His most recent mentor sat mezmerized by the board, saying nothing. Ramirez slowly stood, stretching out his muscles, cramped from sitting hunched over the chess board for so long, and made his way towards the front flap of the tent. "Ramirez, I do not understand," the elder immortal began quietly, "you had a possible win, but you instead chose this stalemate. Why?" The Elder's solid gaze locked on to Ramirez's. "Why push my luck? I have yet to defeat you in either spar or game, I find it better to prove myself worthy of such attempts first," the swordsman returned, his eyes deep in contemplation. "But you could have won. It is merely a hollow victory you have gained, since the war is still lost," the immortal lectured as he rose to his feet and walked with his student towards the exit. He shielded his eyes with his hand as he stepped into the blinding light of the Sahara, the late afternoon sun reflecting off of a myraid of weapons and armor arrayed before them. "But," the eager native replied as he joined in his mentor's scan of the assembled troops, "overextending yourself too far, spreading yourself to thin, can lose the war as well." Cain stared at Ramirez's compact form next to him menacingly, causing his student's eyes to widen slightly, but then grinned widely, clasping his sinewy arm around the Egyptian's shoulder. "Ahhh, Ramirez, what a team we could in fact make..." he trailed, watching his protegee's body language to judge whether or not to make the offer he had been contemplating for several weeks now. The shoulder under his grip tightened slightly as Ramirez turned his gaze out over the sands in the distance. "Perhaps," he commented non- committedly, nodding slightly in the process, "perhaps..." "Come now, Ramirez, you are, unquestioningly, the best of any of my students. As my second-in-command our might could be truely unstoppable. The combinations of these forces and our accumulated strategy..." he paused, surveying the reaction of his words. "Lord Cain, you should understand first and foremost that my months here have been very helpful, and for that I thank you." With the diplomatic niceities out of the way, Ramirez turned to the matter at hand. "But you must realize that I came here only to learn, and then only at our mutual friend Darius's urgings. While your offer does tempt... I must respectfully decline." His piece said, the older-looking of the two settled back slightly into a more comfortable position, his hands hooking slightly into his sword belt. Cain's brows met in concentration or anger, he wasn't positive which was more driving. "You dare turn down this offer from *ME*?" he stated quietly until he reached the last word. "Your training ends now, Ramirez, be prepared for the battle of, no, for... your life." With that Cain turned and strode away, his robes snapping loudly as they caught in the wind swirling around him. >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> <*Yes, the battle of your life, that's what this will be...*> Antonio shivered coldly as he regained conciousness. He attempted to stand but the intruding presence in his mind quipped forth again. <*The battle for your life, Antonio, once Cain realizes what has happened...*> "And just what the hell did happen?!?" he barked to the empty room, the snow-filled television set the only reponse form outside. <*He is you and you are he, swordsman. His experience and Quickening now resides within you, and yours, in him. *> "Then I am the most powerful immortal?" Antonio gasped incredulously, his fingers unconciously kneading the hilt of his sword. <*No. You are both equal now. Each contains the knowledge of the other in that extent...*> DeViola sat back down, his mind trying to catch up with the information at hand as well as fight off the effects of several cans of alcohol in his system. Fear gripped him, throwing him into a cold sweat as he realized what the prediction entailed. The battle of his life indeed, once Cain realized what had happened. He rose to his feet, feeling the familiar grip of his weapon in his hands, and began the forms he had... known.. for thousands of years anew... _______________________________________________________________________________ "Again," MacKenzie snapped, and the trio of swordsmen and women launched into the kata once more. Three blades whirled as one as the centuries old form took life yet again in the arms of one of its few original students. His taxed muscles quieted after urging from his will, their honed cut stretching to the maximum as he brought his katana around once more, fienting upwards before driving the blade down. As he finished the form he fanned the blade around, enjoying the feel of the rotation. He examined his blade for the thousandth time that week, inspecting the edge, the carved runes in the flat of the blade, the smoothly worn wood of the hilt, its carved dragon visage staring back at him. Laurana goosed him in passing, "Snap out of it, Mac." She grinned as she headed back towards the main building. Macleod smirked as he sheathed his blade and walked towards his startled mentor. "Snap out of it, Mac," he mocked. MacKenzie took a playful swipe at David's hair, causing his student to jump back, crouching into a defensive position. "The hair, Bri, don't ever touch the hair," he warned sinisterly, an evil grin splitting his face. "Cute, Macleod, get the hell inside, our reservations are in an hour," Brian returned as he walked over to the hotel manager standing in the archway nearby. "Nice stuff you guys were doing there," commented the manager, a tall dark-skinned Italian with a firm build. "Thanks," Brian returned breathlessly as he wiped a layer of sweat from his forehead. "Competition's in a few days and all...," he trailed off, giving just enough information to keep up with their cover, that of martial artists representing their studio in a tournament in a few days. "Yeah, we had another guy in here not two, three days before you, real asshole, but looked pretty sharp with a sword," commented the larger man. MacKenzie stiffened slightly. "Another guy?" he asked offensively, then covered himself. "Where did he say he was from? Did he say what studio he represented, I might know him..." "No, real quiet-like, little shorter than you, Italian; big, broad shoulders, big arms, kinda Neandethral-looking..." The mortal's face furrowed in thought. *Antonio* MacKenzie realized. "Hmmm, I think I might know the chap..." He snapped out of it, turning to make his way back to his room. "Well, thanks, see you around, sir." The younger man nodded and waved Brian off as MacKenzie chuckled. Barely thirty and I'm calling him 'sir.' _______________________________________________________________________________ Whipping the double-edged blade out once more, Cain reversed his strike and swung upwards at his opponent's head. The attack was blocked, and he was forced to jump backwards as his imaginary duelist riposted quickly. As he continued the kata, Cain drifted backwards, remembering the battle he was reliving within the confines of his mind... <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<< "JOIN ME!!!!!" he bellowed as his blade crashed down upon the katana, causing its wielder to step back a foot. Too embroiled within the battle to answer, afraid to expend that extra bit of energy a repsonse would entail, Ramirez rolled past Cain's defensive form, whipping his blade out and catching the ancient immortal along the side of the stomach in passing. He recovered and regained his shielded posture. The pain fueled Cain's wrath, the decision to end the life of his pupil made hours before this moment. The swordsman drove the point of his blade towards the Egyptian's throat, and Ramirez brought his blade up to counter the attack. At the last second, Cain angled his strike downwards, sending his broadsword deep into the younger one's gullet. The pain ripped through the two century old immortal and, with his final reserves, he shoved against Cain's chest, pushing himself most of the way off of the invading spear of metal. Gravity carried him the additional space, and he fell to the sifting desert sands at Cain's feet. The elder immortal recovered and pulled his two-handed weapon up, preparing to deal the final stroke of the duel. Already, Ramirez felt the power of the Quickening infusing his wound, and his strength began the slow ebb and flow back to existance. He rolled backwards, avoiding the fatal blow, and tumbled head over heels down the dune behind him. "I know about the prophecy, Cain!!!" he shouted into the wind. "Darius knows about it too," he paused long enough to backpedal away from the hulking form of his teacher. "If I don't survive this fight he will carry on the teachings, he will train the Highlander when he arrives!" He caught Cain's sword on his hilt, riposting towards his opponent's arm and hitting the expected resistance. "And if neither of us wins this fight I will make sure the Highlander can defeat you!" he shouted. Cain hammered away at his student's defenses. "You are wrong, Juan Sanchez, you will die tonight and Darius will gain an enemy in me because of your betrayal!" He blocked the feeble counterstrike and swung at Ramirez's torso yet again. Suddenly, voices erupted around him, and the swirling night sands became home to myraids of forms as bodies piled down the slope of the dune. A stumbling form caught Cain in the midsection and carried him further along with the tide of the stampede. He regained his footing and caught one of the bodies in an armhold, dragging it closer for inspection. He recognized the insignia of his own forces engraved deep into the leather breastplate. "WHAT IS HAPPENING?!" he demanded of the panicked soldier. "M'Lord," he stammered, eyes widening in shock. "The Turks, Lord, they attacked without warning..." With a clean slice, Cain severed the trooper's head from its unfortunate body and spun around, seeking signs of Ramirez. His eyes darted left and right and, not finding the immortal in question, beserked. His sword rose and fell rythmically, cleaving it's way through the en masse of warriors, hacking through members of his own armies and the attackers unquestioningly... >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> The seas of blood ran rampaging about Antonio's sweat-slicked form as he completed the merciless kata forged upon a battleground lost to time. It was, unquestioningly, his greatest and most challenging fight, robbed by unforntunate circumstances. For the greater part of a century he pursued Ramirez, but to no avail. In the end, it was his own student, the Kurgan, who settled the score. DeViola sheathed his weapon and paused, scanning the room. Nothing remained for him here. The two had become one. Tonight, he decided, the master fights himself..... _______________________________________________________________________________ _______________________________________________________________________________ Well, there goes another of "those" chapters. Now to await the merciless rampage of readers who cry out "THAT'S NOT CANON!!!!" Hey, The Powers That Be never said what happened when two fought against one, so....... *shrug* Hope you enjoyed!! Sorry this took so long to get out and away (blame it on Candice *smirk*, just kidding), hopefully the next (and probably last) will be along quicker... Brian Macleod MacKenzie Procopio _ _ KAOS PICTURES, INC. (_)__(_) ------------------------------------------------------------ |KAOS,|/ BRIAN PROCOPIO | STEVEN DIBELLO |_INC_|› --PRODUCER DIRECTOR | --TECHNICAL DIRECTOR /› MACLEOD@VM.TEMPLE.EDU | STEVEN.M.DIBELLO@CYBER. / › HIGHLNDR@ASTRO.OCIS.TEMPLE.EDU | WIDENER.EDU =========================================================================