Highlander:
Dark Genesis
CHAPTER 3
"In the Beginning."
March 11, 2007
Chicago, IL
The young one ran.
The towering, mysterious swordsman watched his icy-eyed quarry vanish into the fog, his footsteps fading into the general din of a city that never truly slept. A wolfish smile crept across his shadowed features, and a quick flash of amber eyes flickered in the darkness as he turned, reaching out and taking hold of his sword hilt. With a nearly imperceptible grunt, the man tore his weapon loose with a scattering of broken masonry, concealing the broadsword within his billowing cloak with a single fluid motion.
It was of no consequence, really, that the young immortal had managed to escape. Rather, this would provide a much needed bit of entertainment for the one that the humans had dubbed "Headhunter." Yes, he knew of the Watchers and their secrets; knew of the dead-end case that they had hoped would reveal his existence. But, like the Spartan who had eluded him tonight, the Watchers meant nothing really.
"Headhunter," he whispered, his rough, deep voice accompanied by the slightest puff of exhalation in the cool night air.
As his mind turned to the past, he decided that he rather liked the sound of that…
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In the distant past…
The city shook.
"What have you done?!" his twin brother shouted, blood running down his right cheek from the gash inflicted by the falling rubble. He held his side, hoping to staunch the seeping wound left there by his own brother's blade. "You have brought ruin upon us all with your avarice!" Another tremor, and a brazier of hot coals was flung to the ground, causing the crimson rug that divided the temple down the middle to burst into flames.
At the far end of the holy chamber, the mountainous statue of Poseidon seemed to gaze down upon the two brothers, his expression one of the deepest shame.
"Avarice you call it?" the larger built of the twins replied, his gravelly voice seething with contempt. "I only took what was mine by right of power! If our brothers were too weak to hold the territories gifted them by our father, then that is their own failure. Had they been stronger, then perhaps they'd not have fallen beneath my blade." As if to emphasize this, the heavily-muscled warrior readied his massive broadsword, brandishing it as a lesser man may brandish a short sword.
"Ampheres, stop this madness! We are on holy ground, we are forbidden to fight here," at this the injured twin paused, gesturing wildly to the destruction around them. "Do you not see what your actions have wrought? Do you not understand what you have done? By the gods, Ampheres, you have killed all of our brothers!"
"End your sniveling, Evaemon," the one named Ampheres spat. "Ready your weapon and die like a man, as did our brothers. And fear not," a sinister grin spread across his face, lit like a demon's by the steadily growing inferno, "for soon your power will join with mine, and no one will be able to stand against me."
Evaemon swallowed hard, wiping sweat and blood from his brow on the back of his hand. He turned his head, taking his attention away from his murderous brother as a crack like thunder echoed throughout the temple. A second violent quake rocked the island then, and Evaemon looked on in horror as the head of the great Poseidon statue fell from on high, crashing against the unyielding stone floor of the holy chamber. Evaemon gasped and fell to his knees, dropping his sword as he did so.
"Father…"
He reached toward the broken countenance of Poseidon, his hand shaking as he did so. Suddenly Evaemon stopped, feeling cold steel against the back of his neck.
Ampheres chuckled as the temple continued to fall around him.
"This is the beginning of a new order, my brother. And in this new world, there is only one rule." Evaemon's arm dropped to his side as he lowered his head, giving in to the hopelessness that had been threatening to overwhelm him since the day his brother had taken up this mad crusade, weeks earlier.
"Father," he uttered again, tears streaking his face and flickering in the firelight.
"And that rule is, there can be only one!" With a single, powerful stroke, Ampheres' blade removed his younger twin's head from his shoulders. He smiled as Evaemon's head rolled across the floor toward the statue of Poseidon, as if even in death he was determined to reach it.
Then came the quickening.
A blinding flash of light accompanied a sonic boom so loud that Ampheres found himself blasted to the ground, his sword flying from his hand as waves of pain broke over him. He cried out, his voice shrill and painful to his own throbbing ears. From Evaemon's headless body a pillar of light shot upward, bursting through the temple's high ceiling and causing the entire stone structure to groan as if in agony. Ampheres tried in vain to rise to his feet, only to find himself tossed to the roiling floor of the temple once again. Tendrils of light and power arced throughout the chamber, destroying all that they touched and adding to the general chaos.
It was then, in the midst of this maelstrom, that the unthinkable happened.
From his massive throne, the beheaded statue of Poseidon seemed to stand and lurch forward. Ampheres found himself paralyzed by fear, unable to even attempt to move aside as the mountainous representation of the god continued to fall forward, its stone legs buckling beneath it, and its shadow falling ominously over the prone immortal. Ampheres screamed as Poseidon fell upon him, crushing him beneath its unmovable bulk.
An instant later, Ampheres' screams were lost as the temple, rather the entire island, was swallowed by the furious and vengeful sea…
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March 11, 2007
Chicago, IL
Dmitri slumped against the door.
He gasped for breath, one hand held firmly over his chest in a vain attempt to stop the nearly painful throbbing of his heart. Sweat drenched him, though the night—more like early morning, truly—was cool by any standard, and his body shook with chill. The last son of Sparta clenched his eyes shut, trying to calm himself before entering his home, lest Sarah be awake and he unintentionally scare her.
Dmitri had run all the way back home without stopping, or even slowing for that matter. A distance that had taken the immortal almost two hours to walk earlier in the evening had been reduced to just under one as he'd ran, often casting wary glances behind him and, of course, drawing far too much attention to himself.
He probably would have made it back even sooner had he not been forced to evade the police as well as his mysterious assailant.
Finally satisfied that he was calmed enough, Dmitri unlocked the door with shaking hands, slipping inside soundlessly. After securing the door behind him once more, the dark-haired immortal crept cautiously through his dwelling, some part of him fearing that the sword-wielding titan of a man had beaten him here, and was only waiting in the shadows to finish what he had started.
Dmitri was afraid.
It was something that he'd not felt in… well, something that he hadn't ever felt, in all of his long, long life. The sensation was alien to him, and that alone was enough to fuel this fear even more. What was it about that man that had struck such a cord with him? What was it that could make a battle-hardened, battle-trained Spartan warrior so jittery with fear within his own home that he could scarcely take a step without jumping at some imagined sound or presence?
A sound from behind caused Dmitri to spin suddenly, knocking over a rather rare and expensive statuette from the Amazon basin and causing it to smash into dozens of pieces on the hard stone floor. His eyes narrowed, scanning the darkness for any sign of an intruder as the echo from the destroyed relic reverberated throughout the expansive mansion. He was tempted to reach out and flick on the light switch, yet for some reason a fear of what he may actually see in the light outweighed his sudden and irrational fear of the all encompassing darkness.
Relax, you're making a fool out of yourself, the Spartan chided himself, clenching his eyes shut and ordering his mind and body to be calm. There is nothing, no one here!
"Dmitri?"
He actually screamed, though perhaps "scream" wasn't the right word. A strangled sound of fear and shock escaped his dry lips, and he staggered against the wall, his arm shooting out and hitting the light switch, despite his earlier reticence. Light flooded exploded around him, blinding him for a moment as his eyes adjusted.
Sarah stood before him, pale as a ghost.
"Dmitri!" she cried, seeing for the first time the stricken look upon her lover's face. The young woman rushed to him, her bed-robe billowing out behind her as she took the trembling immortal into her arms, holding him tightly against her. Sarah's warmth seemed to infuse Dmitri, for his tremors stopped and his breathing returned to normal as he clung to her, eyes clenched shut and sweat still running freely down his face.
After a moment, Dmitri pulled away from Sarah's embrace, making his way purposefully toward the living room. His fists were clenched, and his face was a stony mask as the fear that had been possessing him shifted into something else entirely: cold, calculated rage. How dare a mortal cause him to feel such fear? Were his brethren of old alive to see him now, surely they would have been laughing amongst themselves, making sport of brave Demetrius' terror. He entered the spacious living room, his boots echoing against the hardwood floor as he strode resolutely to stand before the fire place, the embers from their earlier fire still glowing dully, casting a red tint to Dmitri's fine features.
Sarah entered the room slowly, cautiously.
"Dmitri, what's going on? Did something happen?"
"Something has happened," he replied, his voice colder than she'd ever heard before. The Spartan, reached up, taking hold of the hilt of his xiphos sword and pulling it down from where it had hung unused for so long. Dust lay heavy upon the blade, and the bindings of the hilt were slowly unraveling, for it had been almost sixty years since Dmitri had even touched the weapon. To his eyes, it always seemed as if Scherez's blood was still fresh upon the blade…
"What are you doing with that?" Sarah asked, her eyes wide as she watched Dmitri caress the blade, almost lovingly. "Please, Dmitri, tell me what's going on." She moved across the room to stand at his side, her hand reaching out to him, but stopping just before contact was made. Something in the Spartan's eyes warned against such an action. "Dmitri…?"
As she whispered his name, the feral, bloodthirsty glow seemed to fade from Dmitri's eyes, and he suddenly remembered again who he was. Or, rather, who he was now, for the murderous, cruel warrior that he had been in ages past was no more. Still, though, for just a brief moment, Dmitri knew that he had almost lost control; that the fierce creature he once was had nearly come once again to the fore.
He shivered.
"I'm sorry," he said softly, resting the xiphos upon the mantel but not hanging back where it had spent so much time on the wall. He turned, gazing into Sarah's eyes and seeing there a fear that must have matched his own. But there was something else there as well, hidden behind the fear… Curiosity, perhaps? Dmitri wasn't sure.
"Come on," the emerald-eyed woman said softly, taking Dmitri by the hand and leading him toward the sofa. She sat down, patting the space next to her and beckoning your lover to sit. When he finally did so, she stared at him long and hard, saying, "Tell me what happened, Dmitri. Tell me everything."
And, though he knew he shouldn't, Dmitri began recounting the night's events, feeling some of the weight leaving his shoulders as he did so.
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March 11, 2007
Seattle, WA
Joe awoke to the pounding at his door.
The room he'd been put up in by the Watchers here in their new American headquarters was lavish: a plush king-sized bed, big screen LCD television, a fully stocked mini bar, and a pair of massive windows that afforded an amazing view of the city. Be that as it may, though, Joe knew that despite the comforts this room was little more than a cell, for the door was always locked and he knew that a pair of guards never seemed to leave the room unattended.
Still, there were a lot worse cells he could've found himself in.
"Hold your horses, I'm coming," he shouted groggily, swinging out of bed and reaching for his prosthetic legs and cane. A few moments later, the former Watcher made his way slowly to the door, clad only in a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, and still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The heavy curtains were pulled over the windows, so he had no clue what time of night—or morning—it might be.
"Hurry it up, Dawson," a voice—Herrera's to be precise—sounded from outside the room. "Something's come up." A click of the lock and a turn of the knob later, the door swung open. Herrera strode in, taking a moment to look Joe up and down before speaking.
"Get dressed, now," the young Watcher instructed, gesturing toward the pile of Joe's clothes on the floor at the end of the bed. "Mr. Webster needs to see you." The young man stopped for a moment, his intense brown eyes locked on Joe as the older man began to dress himself as quickly as possible. "He says it's urgent.
"Well," Joe replied, pulling his shirt on and buttoning it up before walking with the aid of his cane toward Herrera. "We better not keep him waiting, then." The bearded man gestured toward the door with his cane, tilting his head toward the exit as well.
"After you, pal."
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Thin dawn light filtered into Webster's office.
His currents were thrown back, revealing a dreamlike scene of the city draped in a thick layer of misty fog. As if the weather outside were somehow a mirror for his feelings, James Webster slouched in the chair behind his desk, his eyes surrounded by dark rings that most likely meant a long, sleepless night. Standing just behind him and to the left was Creed, who nodded a perfunctory greeting to Joe as he closed the door behind him.
"Dawson," Webster said, waving his hand absently toward one of the unoccupied chairs opposite his desk.
"Well, what's got you so cheerful this morning?" Joe asked, grunting heavily as he lowered himself into the proffered chair. "Don't tell me there's been another incident." Silence met this sarcastic comment, causing Joe to shift uneasily in his chair. "Wait a minute, you can't be serious. Guys, this 'Headhunter' only takes a head or two every decade; it's only been a few months since the last killing."
"We received a call about an hour ago from one of our agents in Chicago. A very old immortal was attacked last night in the city—"
"Damn it all, not another one," Joe interrupted.
"—and the attacker's M.O. matches the Headhunter. The immortal even claims that he was unable to sense his attacker's presence, which led him to believe he was being targeted by a mortal."
"Wait, wait, wait," Joe cut in once again. "This immortal survived? He managed to beat the Headhunter?"
It was Creed who answered. "Our agent tells us that the immortal ran away rather than staying to face the Headhunter. Actually, she believes the attack to have be perpetrated by a mortal as well, since only a few select members of the organization are privy to the knowledge that the Headhunter even exists."
"Well, I'll be damned," Joe replied, shaking his head in disbelief. "I guess the old saying about running away to fight another day's true after all, eh?" He sat back in his chair, his brow furrowed in deep thought. "An ancient immortal living in Chicago, huh? Let's see… That'd have to be Demetrius, right?"
If Webster was surprised by Joe's memory, he didn't show it. "He calls himself 'Dmitri' now. Took himself out of the Game half a century or so ago—"
"After he took his former teacher's head, yeah I know," Joe interrupted yet again. "They say that quickening changed him from a bloodthirsty, cold as steel warrior into… Well, like you said, he quit the Game." Joe leaned forward now, curiosity evident upon his features. "You know, the way you talked about it, you made it sound like Demetrius told his Watcher about the Headhunter attack. Which, of course, would mean that he knew about his Watcher, right? Now, I know I'm not one to talk, what with my relationship with Mac, but isn't that kind of against the rules?"
Herrera, who had moved to stand beside Creed, simply smiled. "The rules have changed, Dawson—"
Webster cut the young Watcher off with a wave of his hand. "Let's just say that we have an agent very close to Dmitri. She's very good at what she does." He stood, turning his back to Joe as he gazed out upon the enshrouded, grey city. "But we're getting off the subject. I called you here, because I want your advice Dawson. Tell me," he said, looking back at Joe over his shoulder, "what do you think we should do?"
"You're asking me?" Joe responded, more than a little surprised. "Well," he said, settling back deeper into his chair. "If it were up to me, I'd do everything I could to contact all of the oldest immortals you guys got records on." At this, both Creed and Herrera looked appalled, yet Webster merely nodded.
"And then?" the Watchers' director asked, raising his eyebrows.
"Then you gather them all together in a safe place," Joe answered with a shrug. "It's too risky to have any of the old ones running about with this maniac out there. I mean think about it, what do you think would happen if this Headhunter character got the Prize?"
"You're crazy!" Herrera blurted. "To do what you propose, we'd have to reveal ourselves to… to dozens of them, and you can damn well bet that they'll spread the word! The immortals would know about us!"
"Can it, kid," Joe retorted. "God damn it, do you really think you guys have been that secretive? Jesus, I'd wager that a lot more immortals know about you than you think."
"Sir?" Creed asked, turning his attention to Webster.
"Put out the call," the weary-looking Watcher answered with a sigh. "But Dawson," he turned to fully face Joe once more, "what are we supposed to do with them all when—if—we can convince them all to come?"
"That's a good question, boss," Joe said, shaking his head. "That's a damn good question…"
To be continued…
