Casperia Prime

2279 A.D.

Flint had been sitting alone, looking out at the distant mountain range and sipping his glass of Arcturan brandy on this, one of the most popular vacation worlds in the whole United Federation of Planets, when he went rigid he suddenly felt something he had not felt in over a century: The electric tingling that signified the close proximity of another Immortal like himself. He warily examined the faces of the tourists seated around him, all enjoying themselves in their brief and uncomplicated lives. One of the reasons he had withdrawn into seclusion on Holberg-917G was to avoid having to participate in that tiresome, bloodthirsty Game he had been born a part of so long ago.

And then he saw her, and he allowed himself to relax slightly. She had seen him too, and in a moment the blond-haired woman had approached him. "Akharin," she said.

"Kyra," he replied. "It has been long. It is good to see you still alive."

Kyra smiled. "Likewise. I was under the impression you were determined to shun contact with everyone, be they mortal or Immortal. What brings you here?" Flint thought about her question, and thought of Rayna, the perfect android he had created to share his company, whose love for both himself and the starship captain James Kirk had ultimately been the cause of her demise. That had been ten years ago now, more like ten days to one such as he, but it still ached as much as the loss of anyone he had ever cared for across the centuries. When he did not reply, Kyra said "Do you want to be alone now?"

"No," he said suddenly, surprising himself somewhat. He gestured to the chair opposite him. "Sit down. Please." Kyra smiled then and followed his instructions. "How have you been?" he asked her.

"As well as can be expected," she told him. "I just spent six years as a bodyguard to a monarch of Rigel VII. I almost married him, but...well...he wanted children." She looked slightly pained then. Evidently, even in this age, their kind's problem of sterility had not been conquered. "What about you, Flint?" she asked then. "Has anything of interest come your way recently?" Flint was again silent a moment as he considered, but he realised something: He did need to talk to someone, about Rayna. And so he did begin telling Kyra. As he did, other memories were dredged up from within him, of how all this had started for him so very, very long ago back on far away Earth. In the days when he had called himself Akharin...

OOOOOOOOOOOO

Earth

The region that will one day be called Mesopotamia

The 39th century B.C.

"Forward! Wipe them out for General Katana!" With the rest of the several hundred warriors, Akharin advanced across the desert sands that day to meet the rebel horde that surged out from the nearby ruins to battle them beneath the blue sky. Both armies were led by Immortals: that of which Akharin was a member by General Katana, the ruler of this land of Zeist, the other by Ramirez and Macleod. They defied the law, and so had to be dealt with.

And deal with their followers Akharin gleefully did, stabbing and slashing with his sword at the upstart rabble, like the good soldier he was. Little by little, the forces of the revolutionaries were giving way; they would soon be utterly shattered, Akharin was certain of this. He was so certain of victory that he let his guard down just enough for one lone adversary to dart quickly in, penetrate his skin with a knife, and pierce his heart. His cry became a pathetic gurgle as he toppled to the sand, blood erupting from his wound and mouth in his death throes...

When his eyes opened, he saw General Katana looking down at him. Akharin was in some shadowy chamber, lying on a slab of some kind...and still alive. His hands probed the spot where he had been stabbed; there was barely a scar. "I knew what you were," Katana said. "Now so do you...immortal, like me. Your old existence is no more. You can sit at my side now, Akharin, and rule the weakling mortals with me. Do you accept my offer?" The warlord extended a hand which, after only a moment's hesitation, Akharin took.

OOOOOOOOOOOO

The insurrection was put down, as Akharin had expected it would be. Now enjoying a higher position as one of Katana's Immortal elite, he accompanied the General to the great temple for the sentencing of Macleod and Ramirez. He was surprised when Katana demanded the heads of the two rebel leaders - the only way to kill an Immortal - only to be denied this by the high priest of Zeist and his acolytes, who stood solemn guard over the ceremony. Akharin was puzzled as it was decreed that the two criminals would instead be banished, not merely from this land of Zeist, but from this era...hurled through time itself to some distant future epoch.

No Immortal could slay another here and now, it was clear. Should they begin killing one another off to the point only one remained...then that one would win the Prize...and there could be only one. For whatever reason, it must be delayed, hence Ramirez and Macleod's bizarre 'punishment.' Akharin watched in fascination as the two insurrectionists were enveloped in the glowing, crackling energy the high priest commanded and vanished out of all existence. His features dark with frustration, Katana turned and stalked away, Akharin dutifully following, though he kept thinking: The Prize...

Something burned in him after that. A yearning, a hunger...a lust. It grew uncontrollable, almost bestial in its intensity. It reached fever pitch one night when, walking through the streets of the citadel, he spotted another Immortal he knew to be named Methos a short distance away. Akharin's hand went to the hilt of his sword, his breath came faster. Though a tiny voice told him he was acting foolishly, he buried it and followed the other man into an alley. Mmethos stopped, turned in time to see Akharin drawing his sword as he approached, and barked "What are you doing?"

"What our kind should do," Akharin responded, just before lashing out with his blade. His opponent ducked in time to avoid being decapitated, and deflected another slash by drawing his own sword.

"You fool, Akharin!" Methos exclaimed. "You must stop this madness now!"

"Never!" Akharin spat as their steel clashed together. "We both know...there can only be one!" The fight went on, sparks flying from their swords. As they battled, Akharin thought he saw the same murderous lust in Methos' eyes to take that one step closer to power greater than any Zeist could offer them. When Methos knocked the sword from Akharin's hands, Akharin braced himself for Methos' blade slicing through his neck...only to instead feel the pommel of the other Immortal's weapon smash down on his temple, at which point he knew only unconsciousness.

OOOOOOOOOOOO

"You have violated the way of Zeist," the high priest was saying, "and so, like all such violators, you must be cast upon time's winds." Standing alone in the very spot where Macleod and Ramirez had stood before, Akharin listened and looked at the impassive faces of General Katana and Methos, stood nearby. He winced in sudden agony as crackling blue fire washed over him, burning every nerve in his body...

...And suddenly he was submerged in water, the liquid flowing through his mouth into his lungs as his limbs jerked and thrashed. Kicking upward, Akharin's head broke the surface and he saw he was in a lake surrounded by green woodland, beneath the night sky. He had shortly clambered, coughing up water, onto the muddy shore. Where was he? When was he? Where there people nearby? Other Immortals? Fear touched him, but then he reminded himself that as long as his head and neck didn't part, death couldn't claim him. Already Zeist was starting to feel like some insane dream...