"There can be only one."--Tak Ne, also called Juan Sanchez Villa-Lobos Ramirez


Four Immortals stood in the vast room, swords drawn. Connor Macleod of the clan Macleod, swathed in a ragged and bloody trenchcoat, katana in his hands, steel glistening in the light of the full-length windows that spanned the entire surface of the west wall. By him was "Dirty" Harry Callaghan, visage streaked with gore, saber in one hand, dirk in the other, stood like death on a pale horse by the stairwell on the room's southern end. Before these two were Chang, centuries-old Tong warrior and narcotics kingpin, a bizzare but deadly-seeming battle-sword in his hands, and Elijah, his chief lieutenant, who lounged against a huge mahogany desk, heavy cutlass in his hand. All was still.
"We came all the way up here for a fight, Chang," Harry growled. "You going to just stand there?"
"Very well, young Callaghan. Let us begin." Chang smiled as he shifted into motion, a glittering-edged blur as he headed towards his quarry. Elijah went into motion as well, sweeping his sword at the Scottish warrior, his blade clashing against Connor's samurai blade.
Chang's office was huge, its decoration ornate but sparse. Between the stairwell on the south end of the room and the desk on the northern wall was a large open area free of obstructions. Behind the desk ran a wall, presumably separating the office from Chang's apartment. It was in the open ground before the desk that the four swordsmen ranged in their lethal dance.
Chang used his sword like a foreshortened inaginata/i,slashing and jabbing with the broad blade in an effort to keep Harry off balance and out of striking range. The drug dealer lunged in suddenly, chopping downward, and recovering from the parry by striking with the heavy leaden pommel that capped the two-foot hilt. Harry took the blow on his left temple, and turned his fall into an iukemi/i roll, coming up in a defensive crouch. Chang moved in for another attack, but this time he was met his a counterstrike. Harry parried with his saber and thrust with his dirk for his enemy's belly. Chang recoiled away from the Highland steel, and launched a kick that fell short.
On the other side of the room, Connor Macleod was moving rapidly against his foe, cutting time and time again, seeking the weak points in the dark warrior's guard. Elijah, on the other hand, was focused on making his stance impregnable, aided by the bell-guard that protected his entire hand. Connor made a ikote/i strike at Elijah's wrist, but the ancient steel skidded uselessly off of the handguard. Elijah lunged, nicking Connor's left shoulder, but in the process he overextended, leaving himself vulnerable to the Highlander's fierce kidney strike. Elijah gasped, and writhed out of Connor's grasp, rolling across the thick carpeting to safety.
Chang was faring better than his henchman, but not greatly. The policeman he had tried to murder scant months earlier had fulfilled his worst fears, becoming a strong and savage warrior. Harry cut at Chang's legs with his saber, a blow that came too close for comfort, and followed up with a dirk thrust that almost slipped through Chang's guard. Chang managed a clumsy block, and threw a kick at Harry's sternum. The kick landed, and Harry was driven back.
Connor closed the distance between himself and his prey, lunging with his katana in a one-handed grip, aiming the point for Elijah's torso. The assassin side-stepped, and punched with his metal-wrapped right fist, striking Connor's jaw. The Highlander remained unsteadily on his feet, bringing his sword up in a ichudan no kamae/i stance, pommel held a fist's space out from his navel, left hand at the bottom of the grip, right hand just below the guard. Elijah sidestepped again, lunging. Connor parried, and riposted with a strike that peeled some flesh from Elijah's left arm. The wounded man screamed out his agony, and dived behind the massive desk, smearing the hand-carved wood with his crimson blood. The Highlander was right behind him.
Harry engaged Chang's massive head-taker with the dirk, and dealt the gangster a vicious slash across the face and torso. Blood seeped over his visage as Chang pulled back, bellowing in rage and pain. Harry came at him again, dirk extended before him, saber haeld over his head like the coiled tail of a scorpion. Chang swung his sword in huge scything motions, blows utterly devoid of finesse, blows that left him dangerously open. Harry timed his rush for the beat of time just before the backswing began, thrust his long dagger into Chang's right bicep, and dragged the saberblade across his foe's chest. Chang responded with a savage left-hand punch to Harry's shortribs, shaking himself loose from Harry's lethal embrace. Shifting his heavy sword from his right hand to his left, he swung with a feral abandon, beating Harry's clumsy parry aside and biting savagely into the cop's left shoulder. Harry's arm went numb, and the dirk fell from his deadened fingers as the blood drenched his left side.
Connor stood on the blood-slick desk, the Samurai in his hands. Before him, crouched behind a revolving chair, the clearly outmatched Elijah was huddling in on himself, doing his level best to hide behind the cutlass blade.
"When you get down to it," Connor was saying, "you're nothing but a coward."
"Damn you, Highlander!"
"You were willing to challenge Harry when you thought he didn't know how to fight, and you were pretty brave with your boss beside you. But once you strip away all your attitude and your unfair advantages, you're nothing but a pathetic little shit who pisses his pants when things get dangerous. Come on, you gutless worm. Come out from your hiding place and fight."
Elijah threw the chair at Connor, dislodging him from the blood-covered furniture on which he stood, then leapt for him with cutlass held high. Connor rolled over and parried, engaged blades with Elijah, and performed a disarming twist. The cutlass was launched across the room, and Elijah was left unarmed, clutching his injured wrist with his left hand. Connor rose to his feet, sword ready for blood. Elijah did the only thing he could: He ran like hell for the nearest exit.
Harry was now fighting a losing battle. His left arm still useless, in spite of his Quickened healing abilities, he was doing his level best to fend off the berserk Chang, who was fighting like a man possessed, striking high and low, left and right, blade and pommel. Harry had no respite, and he was nearing his breaking point. Chang launched a furious lunge, and Harry pushed the blade aside, only to be bowled over by the force of Chang's impact. The detective went flying, barely maintaining his grip on the saberhilt as he skidded across the carpeted floor. Chang was right on top of him as he rolled to the side and got his feet under him. Things were looking grim.
Connor threw himself after his fleeing prey, the Samurai sweeping a deadly series of shining arcs as the ancient blade sought after the blood of the unrighteous. Elijah reached the door to Chang's apartment and began fumbling with the knob. His hands were slick with blood, and the polished brass was slipppery. Connor was upon him, screaming a gaelic battle-cry, katana coming down towards Elijah's head. The fleeing man dodged, running from the hungry steel. Connor thrust at him but missed, the sword piercing the wall and sticking. Elijah threw a punch at the Highlander's head. Connor caught the fist as it neared him, and threw his own blow. Elijah was thrown back by the impact, staggering across the room. Connor rushed at him unarmed, and struck him a mighty blow. Elijah retreated until he stood with his back to the full-length window. Connor launched a final kick. The glass shattered. Elijah was gone.
Harry was feeling better now, though he still couldn't move his left arm much, and he was keeping Chang more or less at bay. He found himself giving ground in his efforts to stay alive, until he found himself backed up against the desk. Chang struck. Harry parried. The Confederate saber was wrenched from his grasp, sailing overhead to strike the ground behind the desk. Chang grinned.
"There can be only one, Callaghan." The massive battle-sword came up for the killing blow.
Harry dove to the side as the desk splintered from the impact of Chang's savage blow. Showered by splinters, Harry rolled to the side. His saber was on the other side of Chang, and he cast about for something, anything, which he could use to defend himself. His eyes fell on the fallen cutlass, a few feet way from his hand. Chang pried his lethal steel from his ruined desk, and moved towards his fallen prey.
Connor peered out through the shattered glass. On the sidewalk below, Elijah the prophet was a bloody mess. He hadn't recovered his life yet, and from the looks of him, it would be a while. To all intents and purposes, the man was out of the battle. Connor turned to the other battle going on, the fight he'd forgotten about during his own struggle.
Chang came down hard with his deadly blade, and came near to laying Harry's guts open, but the downed fighter rolled aside at the last minute, taking the dropped cutlass into his grasp, rolling back over as he brought the heavy curved blade out in a vicious cutting arc. Chang's face spurted blood from a brutal cut laid just above his eyes. Harry kicked up, knocking Chang to the floor, and stood. His shoulder was healed now, and he launched a two-handed blow at his prostrated, semi-blind enemy. The cut fell true and accurate, but Chang shifted position, not much, but enough that the brunt of the blow struck his shoulder rather than his neck. He howled. Harry left the cutlass where it was, stuck in the bone, kicked Chang's custom-forged killing tool aside, and scooped up his own sword. Chang moaned as Harry stood over him, poised to deliver the blow that would free Chang's soul of its fleshly bonds.
"Shut up, you piece of shit. I don't want to hear your whining."
Chang looked up from the blood-stained carpet, hatred in his eyes. "Will you kill me, Inspector Callaghan? Commit cold-blooded murder? How does that suit you, officer of the law?"
The sweep of the blade passed easily between the vertebrae, slid cleanly through the soft flesh of the neck, and left a deep cut in the expensive carpet.
"Suits me just fine, prick." Harry snarled at the dripping head as it rolled over to rest at his feet. The eyes were still unclouded, the brain still functioning. Chang blinked once, then did nothing. Harry kicked the grisly relic out of the broken window, then toppled to the ground as the Quickening began.
As the blue soul-fire engulfed his student, Connor smiled, a sad, grim smile. Dirty Harry was a warrior born, and by his hand he had felled a powerful enemy. Now to the victor went the spoils. He was fierce, ruthless, and merciless, a killer to his core, but Connor had seen the fire in Harry's eyes when they had entered the drug storerooms, the anger as the man had talked about the killers he had spent his life hunting as they sat by the campfire at dinner. Harry was a man on fire for justice. He hated evil, and pulled no punches in dealing with it. Connor had chosen well. iCongratulations, Ramirez, you Spanish, Egyptian, whatever kind of fool you were. I'm following in your damned footsteps. Hope you're happy./i
iOf course, Highlander,/i the answer came back to him. iDo what you can, while you can, with what you have. You have kept faith with the charge entrusted you. No man can do more./i