XXV – Finale.

"Methos..."

Duncan shook his head. He focused on Nicholas Wolfe, Ahriman. He lunged himself at him, delivering enraged and violent blows, all of which were promptly diverted. He paused as the other smiled.

"Duncan... you still fight. How brave of you."

Wolfe struck. Duncan deflected off his attacks, yet suddenly felt a searing pain in his side. When had he been slashed there?

"Methos! Stand up!"

But Methos was on his knees, shaking his head, having grasped the true notion of what he had truly done. He was the one to blame. He had been unable to get over Alexa... and had fulfilled the prophecy completely by getting her pregnant.

Her? That thing was not Alexa. Alexa was human. The replica which Ahriman had given him was something else, an entity of some other realm. He had been too fool to believe in Ahriman...

"Baby, say hi to your daddy!"

Nicholas' mockery was joined by the girl's approaching. He felt her by him but dared not eye at her. He felt her tiny hands embracing him. He clenched his fists in rage till they bled. Tears left his eyes, tears of hopelessness.

Duncan lashed out at Ahriman, who arched his arm up to contain the cut with the sleeve of his shirt, which was one size bigger. He countered with some hard blows which Duncan diverted as he could. Suddenly, the younger Highlander felt his stomach on fire. He retreated and eyed. There was blood on his belly, and it was concomitant with a lethal numbness.

Duncan used his sword to remain stood. He felt his strength leaving him, as did the blood from his body. He felt light-headed, too damn light-headed. Suddenly he felt another buzz. Was he hallucinating?

NO. It wasn't. Ahriman had felt it too. So had Methos, who had risen his head. Duncan forced out a grin. He knew that buzz.

At the door, an immortal appeared. He was bald and his face presented hideous burns and wounds. He barely wore a loose white tee shirt and a pair of khakis. In his left hand, a rapier. In the right, a katana glimmered with supernatural intensity.

"Ahriman!" he bellowed.

The girl tried to stand in his way but he slapped her away ruthlessly. He helped Methos up. The older immortal grinned and nodded, hope reborn in him. He scowled at Ahriman. Duncan felt fear upon seeing that scowl.

"You! Who are you?" Ahriman grunted.

"I'm Connor MacLeod of the clan MacLeod."

"You?!?" The humanity in Nicholas Wolfe leaked out a face similar to the one of a fearful man.

"Me."

Connor lunged forward. Ahriman diverted his blows easily, till suddenly he realised of something. Connor had only used the rapier to attack. Where was the katan--?

He felt something pierce him and at the same time impaled Connor against his sword. He glanced down and saw Connor's tigerhead katana stuck in his chest. He guffawed.

"You think you will defeat me like this, Highlander?"

"Nah." Connor grinned under the burned mask of a face he bore. "I'll even the score."

Then his body began to glow and flicker. So did the katana. Suddenly a yell came from Ahriman. Not from Ahriman, but from Nicholas Wolfe. His body shone with a red intermittence, and that strange red lifted up, leaving the human carcass he occupied. Connor's body began to disintegrate, just like Talthos had.

"Connor!!!!!" Duncan shrieked, stepping backward, joining Methos, who contemplated everything with stiffness and detachment.

"Farewell, Highlander." Methos chanted. "Connor's balanced the struggle." Now he bellowed to Duncan, while ahead of them only Nicholas Wolfe remained. "Pay no heed whatsoever to Ahriman. Focus on the man ahead of you and nothing else."

"What was all that for?" Nicholas Wolfe queried, standing up and removing the sword off his body.

"He's out of you, don't you feel it?" Methos spat back.

"He will return!" Nicholas cried.

"Not for the next minute at least..." Duncan wielded up his katana. "You'll be dead by then."

Duncan stormed ahead, lashing out unstoppable attacks at Nicholas. Now a simple immortal, Nicholas found it impossible to do anything against those attacks. A minute later, he was down on his knees.

"Ahrimaaaan!!!" Nicholas cried.

"He's gone... and so are you."

Duncan sliced off his head. The Quickening was huge and very powerful, and the very foundations of the building shook. Duncan felt the frustration of Wolfe upon life. He learned the truth about his once beloved, now dead. Tears leaked from his eyes.

"Duncan..."

The voice belonged to Ahriman. As he knew it. The voice belonging to the immortal hunter James Horton, a man he had killed, and whose resemblance Ahriman had used to appear as. He blocked his senses not to hear anything.

"Richie killer... Richie killer..."

Richie. How long had it been since he had killed him? He would understand, and if he ever met him on the afterlife, forgive him.

"Hear me... HEAR ME!!!"

The voice became tinier and tinier. Then nothing but a whisper. Then it went away as the Quickening did. Duncan fell to the ground, his body still and stiff after having received such a huge amount of power.

He saw a hand extended. It was Methos, who helped him to stand. He saw a smile in his face.

"Where is...?"

"Gone... with Him."

"Did we win, Methos?"

Methos nodded silently and motioned to leave...

EPILOGUE

The Highlands of Scotland.

Duncan and Methos stood by the hilt of a large claymore. They had been around the world over the last month, taking care of important things.

Duncan had visited Richie's grave. It had a simple epitaph: "RICHIE RYAN. FRIEND." Methos said it had been Joe's idea. Duncan found it simple and very adequate.

They had moved from there to bury each and every of the fallen immortals in their birthplaces. They had taken part of the victory, and deserved such homage.

Methos had buried Cassandra in the forest where she had dwelt in Scotland. There, Duncan had seen him cry as never before. He didn't, and wouldn't, ever comment it with Methos or anyone.

And here they were. They had buried Connor by his bonny Heather and now stood in silent tribute at the hilt of the claymore of the banished member of the clan MacLeod.

"We've done well, Methos."

"We did, MacLeod."

The comments were brief and detached.

"What about now?"

"You are the only Champion left. You shall have to survive until you find the next one."

"Will He return?"

"Of course he will." Methos' voice hardened. "And I hope we are there to face him again."

"But the burden won't be ours." Duncan grinned staring at his friend.

"It won't... but we will help."

"What if the Game ends before...?" Methos put on a pair of sunglasses, gave one last smile at Connor's grave and turned. "Methos... you didn't reply... what if...?"

Methos left in silence. Duncan grinned. He knew what would happen. But he wouldn't tell. Just like he wouldn't explain how Connor had survived Talthos and torn Ahriman and Wolfe apart. How many things he had kept to himself? Methos was like that, and now that the chaos was over, a century of rebirth lay ahead.

He eyed ahead at the setting sun. Would mankind return to its path in a century? Would it take two, three or four? Would life be the same as it was in a millennium? How would the next encounter against Ahriman be?

"Too many questions..." he said aloud. "You always said I asked too many questions, Connor. And I still do."

Duncan MacLeod began to stroll away, knowing that to have all those questions answered, he would have to remain alive through the millennium. But he wouldn't bury in holy ground. He would live in this new era, and face whatever it brought, including immortals.

And if the End of the Game came before the millennium, then he would have to struggle through the Gathering and be that last one... or die in the intent. ---