Author's Note: I made this fan fiction years ago, and it had been posted before in this site generally with good reviews. I decided to delete it and start fresh. The story remains the same, hardly no changes whatsoever. The only changes are the chapters. I would like to apologize for the delays of the fan fiction. It isn't my intention to delay this. Thank you for all the e-mails of suggestions, reviews and feedbacks. I really appreciate it. I've been very busy lately. I didn't have time to make it into a proper format just like the previous ones, again I apologize. Working with this particular fanfic is very hard especially now. After my father has passed away, I'm beginning to think about the meaning and the whole purpose of writing about immortals. It's seems ironic from my perspective. But I put that aside, and came up with a conclusion; it is only a story. Enjoy.
I saw and behold
A pale horse and its rider name was Death
He was followed by Hades
They were given the power over a fourth of the earth
To kill with sword
And with Famine and with Pestilence
And by wild beasts of the earth
A village was burning to the ground, but the rains cooled the fires. Smoke was everywhere. The street was full of corpses and dead bodies. A boy was crying next to his mother's dead body. The image was so horrifying. The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse were there, and they had just announced their presence. A man with dark cloak walked slowly towards the boy, like an angel of death. He unsheathed his sword. After a brief pause he raised his sword high above his head, while the boy just cried and looked up to the man with the dark cloak.
Methos grinned and stabbed him.
Methos awake with a start. It was only a dream. He was sweating and wiped his face. The clock showed 4 AM, and the moonlight peeked through his curtains. He sat up slowly at the edge of his bed and sighed. "Damn nightmares…" He stood up and walked to the fridge in his kitchen and opened up a can of beer. While drinking the liquid, he walked to the window and looked outside. He was wearing nothing except a pair of boxers. He stood at the window, still drinking the beer, and thought hard.
It was only a dream.
The time was different. He was different. The street outside his apartment was not a village with people that were screaming in terror. The days had long gone since he had been one of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse. There were no longer any kinds of Horsemen. Yet, he was standing here, looking out of the window and the image of terror flashed back to his eyes. A man, who saw everything, and had done everything for 5000 years and more.
He would live longer. He knew that. Somehow he would always be the survivor. He would stay alive until the end. He would win the Game. Nothing else really mattered anymore. Only the stupid Game, the one in which he alone would stand triumphant. He knew, someday he would face his own friends. He felt very tired somehow. He felt thin and empty at the same time. His eyes then looked to the calendar. He gulped and ripped off the calendar. Dates and years were useless for him. Time stood still for him, and it would always be that way.
"Why now?" He whispered. Why the recurring nightmares? He knew he would never leave the past behind, but it was a long time ago since he had dreamt about his past as one of the Horsemen. Was it an omen? A sign? Something was drawing near; he could feel it.
Methos crushed the beer can in his bare hand.