Part Ten

*** Bronze Age ****

Methos hurt all over, he'd fallen asleep mere hours before, his slave lying beside him.

She'd fought as usual, but in the end, he'd won, also the usual outcome. She was kept starved, low on food, getting barely enough to stay alive, though he'd never allow her to starve to death either.
It didn't fit his plans for her.

He'd taken her, over and over, enjoying the fight like he would have enjoyed taming a worthwile stallion.
Kronos had just smirked at him, wanting to borrow her, but Methos had refused.
He wasn't finished yet.

Only... why was he lying here in the mud? And why did his body hurt so much?

He touched his chest and the pain there burned like wildfire, the blood clinging to his chest, to his head. He slowly got up, checking the surroundings. He wasn't in his tent, that much was clear. Still at the campsite but not on his cot.

There were fires all around him and he stared up, seeing the slim figure of the girl standing over something.

"Kronos!"

He yelled his brother's name over the abyss, but the girl didn't listen. She brought down her sword and Methos heart froze as he saw his brother's head depart from his body. The Quickening started slowly, creeping, crawling over to him, hitting him for all he was worth.His brother's mind caressed him, holding him. It surrounded him with sweet kisses of farewell. It's tendrils warming him.

Methos cried as he fell on his knees.
Mourning the one he'd loved more than life itself, his brother in all but blood.

The girl just glared at him and laughed. He could hear her chuckle stinging him like a whip and it shred him apart. He tried to crawl up, getting to her, to stop her, but his strenght had abandonned him.

And her sword came down once again, killing Caspian, then Silas. Both of their Quickenings touching out to him. He felt himself pulled in the air, invaded by their presences. Silas simple mind hadn't even understood what had happened.
Caspian's harsh goodbey was the worst of it though. It pushed him, turned him, untill he fell down the ravine close to the campsite. He kept falling and stared at the face looking down on him. She'd killed his brothers and he'd have his revenge.

That above all he swore, his brothers' death would not be forgotten.

*** Present ***

Methos stared down on his hands, black taloned claws. Wiry arms clutched to a body with a shell harder than it ever should have been and he stared at the others. At Rose who lay at his feet, fear of him, fear for him, fighting for supremacy in her mind. He could smell it on her, her human smell, the demon inside of her. The demon inside of them all.

He better than anyone knew the truth, the horrible truth that had broken the sanity of many an immortal. They all liked to think themselves so human, but they weren't. Not even mister goody two shoes MacLeod himself.
The darkness, the evil was in all of them, yet with some it just came closer to the surface.

It was so straightlined with immortals, hardened through ages of life. Burned down through love and hate. Frozen in the disgust of what they were as people discovered them. So many fled into purity, either good or bad. Thinking of it as black and white, no shades, no shadows... But then ... the shadows were always there, one step behind. And with every second, with every emotion they creeped in further untill all that was left were the shadows and darkness fell complete.

*** Bronze Age ***

For the first days after his brothers death, Methos merely wandered from city to city, hunting the Slayer, while she hunted him. The nighttime a hiding place for them both.

He rode into a stonefilled valley, seeking a resting place to hide from the whithering sun at it's peak. Looking for a place of shade and shelter.

When he entered the cave he felt a strange force desperately trying it's best to stop him, but he wouldn't let it. He was too enraged to let it.

Filled with vengeance and hatred he found his way down into the darkness, slipping so far that even the light of the sun no longer followed him.

It was then that he found it... A dark pool of light.

He moved on and stared down on the water, kneeling down to take a sip. Something slid over him as he did so. Slowly, surely it crept up on him, pulling him down and he couldn't help but fall as it pulled him down, into the cold solace of the pool.

Strange words slipped from his lips and he felt himself surrounded by his hatred, taking wings in his urge for retribution.

He could feel his skin hardening, his eyes growing deeper, his form changing, ... but worst of all... he found himself not caring of any of it. And the words kept coming and he sat up, staring at the water and his horrifying reflection inside of it. Death frozen at it's core. His shrieks gained form and before him formed a roll of parchment, writing the words he created, granting them form.

He fell down, nearly drowning as all strenght left him, but he came out reborn. He knew the truth now. He knew what he was and that truth would set him free. He didn't come out for another year, finding himself clouded in darkness, more with each growing day. And when his work was done, what crawled out of the cave, could barely be called human.