Gundam Wing: The Highlander
CHAPTER 11 - A Holy Intrusion
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Author: Ravena Kaiou
Email: KakyuuStarLt@aol.com
Genre: Sci-fi/Action
Crossovers: The Highlander/Gundam Wing
Warnings: OOC, language, violence, mention of rape, hints of 4xUne.
Disclaimer: This series is meant to be a novelization of the Highlander Movie using Gundam Wing characters. Some things have been changed a bit, others have not. Highlander belongs to Rysher Entertainment, Gundam Wing belongs to Sunrise Animation. Don't sue me! *sobs*
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Alex eyed the newscaster's heavily made-up face that flashed across the television screen, ignoring the derelicts snoring in his hotel lobby.
"Public outrage mounts this hour as New York's finest seem powerless to stop the head hunter," the woman said, her stoic journalist voice tinged with just a hint of what could be excitement.
The lobby echoed with the sound of a small bell as the elevator arrived. The ancient doors creaked open, revealing its only passenger.
The Khushrenada stepped out of the musty compartment, his oblong case tucked safely under his arm as he crossed the lobby.
Alex raised an eyebrow. The eleven o'clock news was just playing itself out, and this guy was checking out?
"Hey, Rockefeller," he called. "How did you like Lucrezia? She said you were kinda kinky."
The Khushrenada stopped dead in his tracks, staring at him with those cold, malicious eyes.
Alex swallowed hard. Something about this guy definitely wasn't right. But he wasn't about to look like a wuss in front of any of his customers, even if they were half-drunk anyway.
"Watch your ass out there, dude," he cackled. "Don't let the head hunter getcha!"
The hulking giant of a man stalked up to him, staring with his hellish eyes at the young derelict behind the counter who shrunk back just a few inches from his face.
"Don't speak to me," Khushrenada rasped.
"Dude, look, I didn't mean--"
"Don't ever speak to me. Do you understand?"
Alex nodded fearfully, watching as the man exited through the grimy glass doors. "Hope you get your head chopped off, asshole!" he yelled after him as soon as he was sure that he was out of earshot.
One of the drunks stretched out on a filthy sofa next to the counter began to laugh. "He told you, Alex!" the man snorted.
"Go to hell," Alex spat angrily.
Triton Bloom drove down 23rd street in his souped up Mustang, passing by various storefronts and prostitutes and singing along to the obscene song playing on the radio.
Wiry and dressed in fatigues, a tee shirt, forage cap and boots, one could tell this man's interests without seeing the gun magazines and assault weapons that littered his car. Headlights reflected in his unnecessary-for-night sunglasses and bounced off of the handle of the Uzi machine-pistol resting on the dash.
"Oh, she jumped in bed and she covered her head, bet I couldn't find her," Bloom warbled as he turned down 2nd and began to gather speed. "Oh, her titties were pink as a red rooster's--"
He braked suddenly, revving backwards and fishtailing to a halt as he stared back down the alley he had just passed a minute ago.
His eyes had to be playing tricks on him.
A black man and a white man were battling ferociously with swords.
Bloom leapt out of the car, taking care to grab his Uzi. He wanted a piece of this action.
Ahmad slashed at the Khushrenada with his sword once again. He could not lose this fight. He could not let this demon win.
"What the hell is going on?" Bloom shouted, thunderstruck by the scene.
The two men continued to hammer at each other, taking no notice of the intruder's words.
Triton narrowed his eyes and slammed a clip into the Uzi, then took aim. But before he could fire at anything, a final stroke of the Khushrenada's sword cleanly severed Ahmad's head from his body.
Horrified, Triton began firing. Five slugs tore into the victor's chest, flinging him against a fence. He watched in satisfaction as he fell, then disappeared down the alley.
A small crowd began to gather around the avenue. A vintage Chevy pulled up to the curb as the old couple inside made a desparate attempt to see what was going on.
Meanwhile, Triton crept down the dark alley and knelt down next to Ahmad. No pulse. This guy was a goner.
Suddenly, a huge figure lunged at him with a sword, driving the blade through Bloom's stomach. Screaming, he fell, dropping his Uzi to the ground.
The Khushrenada had better things to do than concern himself with the mortal he had just run through. He hunched over Ahmad's body, grinning wickedly.
The crowd on 2nd Avenue was in an uproar. Street lights began to dim. Windows in buildings exploded without warning as neon signs erupted and manhole covers blasted skyward.
A bullet-riddled Khushrenada staggered out of the alley, cursing and wielding his sword. The bystanders scattered in terror.
The giant looked up sharply like an animal sensing his prey as he heard the distant wail of police sirens. He had to find a ride, and fast.
That's when he spotted the Chevy, still idle at the curb.
Bellowing, he charged, swinging his sword and opening the Chevy's roof like a tin can with the deadly blade. He pried it open with his bare hands and saw the old couple staring up at what used to be the top of the car.
The next thing the two knew, they were airborne, hurled mercilessly to the sidewalk.
The Khushrenada leapt inside and took off down the avenue, tires shrieking madly, roof flapping.
Heero Yuy and Duo Maxwell walked down the hallways of the hospital, shoving reporters aside.
"Did he see the head hunter?" a thousand voices clamoured. "What's the victim's name? Come on!"
Heero rolled his eyes as he and his partner stepped into the elevator, watching relievedly as the metal doors clicked shut, separating them from the insanity that was the press.
"Heero, I saw the corpse," Duo said after a moment. "The black guy was the same dude who was with Winner. I spent the night with them, for Christ's sake!"
Heero shot him a glare. "Right, Maxwell. Drunk out of your skull."
Embarassed, Duo checked his shoes as the lieutenant got a cigar going.
"Twenty people were there and nobody saw a goddamn thing," Heero sighed, taking a moment's pause to exhale a puff of smoke. "That's New York for you. I just wonder if this guy Bloom is on drugs."
Duo shook his head. "No. Some kind of survival nut--"
"Survival nut?"
"Yeah. Into guns. Former Marine, Vietnam veteran. I checked with his ex-commanding officer. Slightly paranoid, but definitely reliable."
The two men fell silent as the elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open. They walked down the hall, their shoes clacking on the sterile white hospital tile floor.
Triton Bloom sat propped up in bed, his abdomen heavily bandaged. An intravenous antibiotic drip had been set up in his right arm.
Heero rapped his knuckles on the door frame, then motioned for his partner to follow him inside. "How're you doing, kid?" he asked.
Triton snorted. "Okay, I guess, for a guy who got three feet of steel crammed up his ass. How're you doing, old man?"
Heero ignored the sarcasm and continued with his interrogation. "Duo here tells me you got a glimpse of the guy who stabbed you."
Bloom broke into an all-out laugh, then winced at the pain that radiated through his stomach. "Are you kidding me, man?"
Duo shoved Quatre Raberba-Winner's mug shot in front of the witness's face. "Is this him?" he asked hopefully.
Triton took a glance at the picture. "Nope."
Heero was crestfallen. "Come on, Bloom. It was dark in that alley," he pleaded.
Triton's eyes flashed. "The freak was stabbing me to death! I'll never forget his face," he screeched. "He had a scar right across his throat."
He tapped the photo. "And that sure as hell ain't him."
Lieutenant Yuy sagged onto the bed.
"Depressed?" Bloom smirked.
Yuy shrugged.
"You don't know shit about depressed," Triton scorned, sitting up painfully. "I got me a .357, a trunkful of shotguns, three big-bore battle rifles and ammo out my ass. I can't protect myself. I ain't safe!" he shouted, then winced and lowered his voice again. "That weirdo with the sword, man. He got up and stabbed me after I put enough lead in him to drop a rhino."
Triton collapsed back onto the bed. "Don't talk to me about depressed."
Heero rose wearily. "Could you work with an artist and come up with a picture of the guy?" he asked.
Triton nodded. "Sure."
Heero and Duo began to head for the door.
"Hey, cop," Triton called after him.
Heero turned for a moment and looked at the witness expectantly.
"I know you think I'm nuts," he sighed. "But there's something else I gotta tell you."
Heero and Duo made their way to the exit, Triton's words still echoing in their minds.
"Just say we got an eyewitness," Heero sighed, seeing the clamouring reporters that awaited them outside the hospital. Nothing about swordfights in the twentieth century, guys glowing in the dark, or soldiers crawling around in the snow at Valley Forge looking for Washington's wooden teeth. Do I make myself clear?"
Duo nodded as the two of them walked into the uproar.
Rush-hour crowds swarmed over the poor news vendor's stand to buy a copy of the latest edition of the Post. A composite of the Khushrenada adorned the front page, with 'Have You Seen This Man?' written in bold type above it.
"Extra! Cops release head hunter's picture! Head hunter revealed!" he shouted over the noise of the crowd.
Oblivious to the chaos going on outside, Quatre dropped a few coins into the donation box next to the altar of St. Patrick's Cathedral.
Beside the altar was the very thing he had come for; a collection of candles, some burning brightly, some standing with blackened wicks, anxiously awaiting their turn to be lit.
Soaring columns and stained glass windows only added to the already-tranquil atmosphere that haunted the beautiful cathedral. Priests quietly glided down rows of pews, being careful not to interrupt the people who knelt in prayer.
Quatre smiled as he lit the first candle. "For you, my bonnie Une," he whispered. "Happy birthday."
He turned his attention to another wax pillar, wistfully gazing at the next dancing flame. "And you, Solo Ramirez," he said quietly. "Take care of her, you overdressed haggis."
Quatre moved to an empty pew and sat silently, lost in his memories of the past.
His attention soon snapped out of the past as the candles in front of him blurred. The high, arched ceiling began to spin.
He knew this feeling all too well.
And so he was not surprised when he turned and saw the Khushrenada sitting next to him in the pew. At least, not until he saw what the villain had done to his appearance.
The Khushrenada's once curly, dark hair had been shaved off, his pale complexion accentuated by punk-rock style makeup. A line of safety pins dangled menacingly from the scar across his throat as his mocking eyes roamed the church.
"Ahmad is gone," he cackled. "Kastagir is gone. Only you and I remain...chatting here together on holy ground."
Quatre's expression hardened. "You're revolting. What the hell do you think this is, Hallowe'en?" he hissed.
"I am disguised. This way, people will not recognize me," the Khushrenada gurgled.
"What do you want from me?"
The Khushrenada's cruel mouth contorted itself into a grin. "Your head."
By now, Quatre was a coiled spring. Two nuns crossed themselves and began to walk down the long, red-carpeted aisle
"And the Prize," he added. As the nuns passed by, the leapt out of the pew, making an obscene face and cackling maniacally. "Happy Hallowe'en, ladies!" he bellowed.
Scared witless, the two nuns left in a hurry.
The Khushrenada turned his attention back to Quatre. "It was destined that the board would be cleared for the real players."
"I feel something coming from you," Quatre answered quietly. "You're trying to conceal it from me. What is it?"
"I conceal nothing."
Quatre's glittering blue eyes fixed themselves onto the Khushrenada's safety-pinned throat scar.
"Ramirez's blade did not cut deeply enough. He was right about you. You're slime," the blonde man spat.
The Khushrenada's voice took on an even harsher tone. "Ramirez was an effeminate slob. He died on his knees."
Gloating, the giant remembered the scene that had unfolded so many years ago.
There he had been, clutching Une's neck, rising up from the ruins of the sixteenth-century stone house. Screaming, she struggled to break free of his iron grip, but it was hopeless.
Throwing the pretty woman down, he had ripped off her clothing, ignoring her broken cries that no one was even around to hear.
"I took his head and raped his woman before his body was even cold!" the Khushrenada screeched gleefully.
He turned, eyeballing Quatre's stricken face, understanding dawning in his lurid eyes.
"I see," Khushrenada growled. "Ramirez lied. The woman was not his. She was yours."
He leered at Quatre. "And she never told you? I wonder why. Perhaps I gave her something you never could, and secretly she yearned for my return."
Quatre leapt to his feet, shaking with fury. "You sick bastard!" he managed to spit out between his clenched teeth.
The anger became too much for him. He lunged for the sword inside his coat as the Khushrenada's hands flew up in mock horror.
"Uh-uh," Khushrenada said, waggling his finger from side to side teasingly. "Holy ground, Highlander. Remember what Ramirez taught you."
Quatre's eyes flashed. "You can't stay in here forever," he warned.
His opponent smiled. "You're weak, Highlander," he scoffed. "You will always be weaker than I."
"I'll be out front. Waiting," Quatre said, getting up and making his exit through the heavy wooden front doors.
Peals of metallic laughter rippled through the church, disturbing the worshippers' prayers.
A bald priest approached the Khushrenada. "This is the house of God. People are trying to pray," he informed the man respectfully.
The Khushrenada kissed the priest's hand noisily and dropped to his knees. "Forgive me, father," he laughed. "I am a worm."
He patted the priest's head, then headed for the back exit, hobnail boots thudding against the aisle floor, safety pins jangling at his throat.
"I have something to say," he called out. "It's better to burn out then to fade away!" With that, he leapt out into the night, the door slamming shut behind him.
The poor priest stood in shock for a moment, then crossed himself and hurried away.
CHAPTER 11 - A Holy Intrusion
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Author: Ravena Kaiou
Email: KakyuuStarLt@aol.com
Genre: Sci-fi/Action
Crossovers: The Highlander/Gundam Wing
Warnings: OOC, language, violence, mention of rape, hints of 4xUne.
Disclaimer: This series is meant to be a novelization of the Highlander Movie using Gundam Wing characters. Some things have been changed a bit, others have not. Highlander belongs to Rysher Entertainment, Gundam Wing belongs to Sunrise Animation. Don't sue me! *sobs*
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Alex eyed the newscaster's heavily made-up face that flashed across the television screen, ignoring the derelicts snoring in his hotel lobby.
"Public outrage mounts this hour as New York's finest seem powerless to stop the head hunter," the woman said, her stoic journalist voice tinged with just a hint of what could be excitement.
The lobby echoed with the sound of a small bell as the elevator arrived. The ancient doors creaked open, revealing its only passenger.
The Khushrenada stepped out of the musty compartment, his oblong case tucked safely under his arm as he crossed the lobby.
Alex raised an eyebrow. The eleven o'clock news was just playing itself out, and this guy was checking out?
"Hey, Rockefeller," he called. "How did you like Lucrezia? She said you were kinda kinky."
The Khushrenada stopped dead in his tracks, staring at him with those cold, malicious eyes.
Alex swallowed hard. Something about this guy definitely wasn't right. But he wasn't about to look like a wuss in front of any of his customers, even if they were half-drunk anyway.
"Watch your ass out there, dude," he cackled. "Don't let the head hunter getcha!"
The hulking giant of a man stalked up to him, staring with his hellish eyes at the young derelict behind the counter who shrunk back just a few inches from his face.
"Don't speak to me," Khushrenada rasped.
"Dude, look, I didn't mean--"
"Don't ever speak to me. Do you understand?"
Alex nodded fearfully, watching as the man exited through the grimy glass doors. "Hope you get your head chopped off, asshole!" he yelled after him as soon as he was sure that he was out of earshot.
One of the drunks stretched out on a filthy sofa next to the counter began to laugh. "He told you, Alex!" the man snorted.
"Go to hell," Alex spat angrily.
Triton Bloom drove down 23rd street in his souped up Mustang, passing by various storefronts and prostitutes and singing along to the obscene song playing on the radio.
Wiry and dressed in fatigues, a tee shirt, forage cap and boots, one could tell this man's interests without seeing the gun magazines and assault weapons that littered his car. Headlights reflected in his unnecessary-for-night sunglasses and bounced off of the handle of the Uzi machine-pistol resting on the dash.
"Oh, she jumped in bed and she covered her head, bet I couldn't find her," Bloom warbled as he turned down 2nd and began to gather speed. "Oh, her titties were pink as a red rooster's--"
He braked suddenly, revving backwards and fishtailing to a halt as he stared back down the alley he had just passed a minute ago.
His eyes had to be playing tricks on him.
A black man and a white man were battling ferociously with swords.
Bloom leapt out of the car, taking care to grab his Uzi. He wanted a piece of this action.
Ahmad slashed at the Khushrenada with his sword once again. He could not lose this fight. He could not let this demon win.
"What the hell is going on?" Bloom shouted, thunderstruck by the scene.
The two men continued to hammer at each other, taking no notice of the intruder's words.
Triton narrowed his eyes and slammed a clip into the Uzi, then took aim. But before he could fire at anything, a final stroke of the Khushrenada's sword cleanly severed Ahmad's head from his body.
Horrified, Triton began firing. Five slugs tore into the victor's chest, flinging him against a fence. He watched in satisfaction as he fell, then disappeared down the alley.
A small crowd began to gather around the avenue. A vintage Chevy pulled up to the curb as the old couple inside made a desparate attempt to see what was going on.
Meanwhile, Triton crept down the dark alley and knelt down next to Ahmad. No pulse. This guy was a goner.
Suddenly, a huge figure lunged at him with a sword, driving the blade through Bloom's stomach. Screaming, he fell, dropping his Uzi to the ground.
The Khushrenada had better things to do than concern himself with the mortal he had just run through. He hunched over Ahmad's body, grinning wickedly.
The crowd on 2nd Avenue was in an uproar. Street lights began to dim. Windows in buildings exploded without warning as neon signs erupted and manhole covers blasted skyward.
A bullet-riddled Khushrenada staggered out of the alley, cursing and wielding his sword. The bystanders scattered in terror.
The giant looked up sharply like an animal sensing his prey as he heard the distant wail of police sirens. He had to find a ride, and fast.
That's when he spotted the Chevy, still idle at the curb.
Bellowing, he charged, swinging his sword and opening the Chevy's roof like a tin can with the deadly blade. He pried it open with his bare hands and saw the old couple staring up at what used to be the top of the car.
The next thing the two knew, they were airborne, hurled mercilessly to the sidewalk.
The Khushrenada leapt inside and took off down the avenue, tires shrieking madly, roof flapping.
Heero Yuy and Duo Maxwell walked down the hallways of the hospital, shoving reporters aside.
"Did he see the head hunter?" a thousand voices clamoured. "What's the victim's name? Come on!"
Heero rolled his eyes as he and his partner stepped into the elevator, watching relievedly as the metal doors clicked shut, separating them from the insanity that was the press.
"Heero, I saw the corpse," Duo said after a moment. "The black guy was the same dude who was with Winner. I spent the night with them, for Christ's sake!"
Heero shot him a glare. "Right, Maxwell. Drunk out of your skull."
Embarassed, Duo checked his shoes as the lieutenant got a cigar going.
"Twenty people were there and nobody saw a goddamn thing," Heero sighed, taking a moment's pause to exhale a puff of smoke. "That's New York for you. I just wonder if this guy Bloom is on drugs."
Duo shook his head. "No. Some kind of survival nut--"
"Survival nut?"
"Yeah. Into guns. Former Marine, Vietnam veteran. I checked with his ex-commanding officer. Slightly paranoid, but definitely reliable."
The two men fell silent as the elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open. They walked down the hall, their shoes clacking on the sterile white hospital tile floor.
Triton Bloom sat propped up in bed, his abdomen heavily bandaged. An intravenous antibiotic drip had been set up in his right arm.
Heero rapped his knuckles on the door frame, then motioned for his partner to follow him inside. "How're you doing, kid?" he asked.
Triton snorted. "Okay, I guess, for a guy who got three feet of steel crammed up his ass. How're you doing, old man?"
Heero ignored the sarcasm and continued with his interrogation. "Duo here tells me you got a glimpse of the guy who stabbed you."
Bloom broke into an all-out laugh, then winced at the pain that radiated through his stomach. "Are you kidding me, man?"
Duo shoved Quatre Raberba-Winner's mug shot in front of the witness's face. "Is this him?" he asked hopefully.
Triton took a glance at the picture. "Nope."
Heero was crestfallen. "Come on, Bloom. It was dark in that alley," he pleaded.
Triton's eyes flashed. "The freak was stabbing me to death! I'll never forget his face," he screeched. "He had a scar right across his throat."
He tapped the photo. "And that sure as hell ain't him."
Lieutenant Yuy sagged onto the bed.
"Depressed?" Bloom smirked.
Yuy shrugged.
"You don't know shit about depressed," Triton scorned, sitting up painfully. "I got me a .357, a trunkful of shotguns, three big-bore battle rifles and ammo out my ass. I can't protect myself. I ain't safe!" he shouted, then winced and lowered his voice again. "That weirdo with the sword, man. He got up and stabbed me after I put enough lead in him to drop a rhino."
Triton collapsed back onto the bed. "Don't talk to me about depressed."
Heero rose wearily. "Could you work with an artist and come up with a picture of the guy?" he asked.
Triton nodded. "Sure."
Heero and Duo began to head for the door.
"Hey, cop," Triton called after him.
Heero turned for a moment and looked at the witness expectantly.
"I know you think I'm nuts," he sighed. "But there's something else I gotta tell you."
Heero and Duo made their way to the exit, Triton's words still echoing in their minds.
"Just say we got an eyewitness," Heero sighed, seeing the clamouring reporters that awaited them outside the hospital. Nothing about swordfights in the twentieth century, guys glowing in the dark, or soldiers crawling around in the snow at Valley Forge looking for Washington's wooden teeth. Do I make myself clear?"
Duo nodded as the two of them walked into the uproar.
Rush-hour crowds swarmed over the poor news vendor's stand to buy a copy of the latest edition of the Post. A composite of the Khushrenada adorned the front page, with 'Have You Seen This Man?' written in bold type above it.
"Extra! Cops release head hunter's picture! Head hunter revealed!" he shouted over the noise of the crowd.
Oblivious to the chaos going on outside, Quatre dropped a few coins into the donation box next to the altar of St. Patrick's Cathedral.
Beside the altar was the very thing he had come for; a collection of candles, some burning brightly, some standing with blackened wicks, anxiously awaiting their turn to be lit.
Soaring columns and stained glass windows only added to the already-tranquil atmosphere that haunted the beautiful cathedral. Priests quietly glided down rows of pews, being careful not to interrupt the people who knelt in prayer.
Quatre smiled as he lit the first candle. "For you, my bonnie Une," he whispered. "Happy birthday."
He turned his attention to another wax pillar, wistfully gazing at the next dancing flame. "And you, Solo Ramirez," he said quietly. "Take care of her, you overdressed haggis."
Quatre moved to an empty pew and sat silently, lost in his memories of the past.
His attention soon snapped out of the past as the candles in front of him blurred. The high, arched ceiling began to spin.
He knew this feeling all too well.
And so he was not surprised when he turned and saw the Khushrenada sitting next to him in the pew. At least, not until he saw what the villain had done to his appearance.
The Khushrenada's once curly, dark hair had been shaved off, his pale complexion accentuated by punk-rock style makeup. A line of safety pins dangled menacingly from the scar across his throat as his mocking eyes roamed the church.
"Ahmad is gone," he cackled. "Kastagir is gone. Only you and I remain...chatting here together on holy ground."
Quatre's expression hardened. "You're revolting. What the hell do you think this is, Hallowe'en?" he hissed.
"I am disguised. This way, people will not recognize me," the Khushrenada gurgled.
"What do you want from me?"
The Khushrenada's cruel mouth contorted itself into a grin. "Your head."
By now, Quatre was a coiled spring. Two nuns crossed themselves and began to walk down the long, red-carpeted aisle
"And the Prize," he added. As the nuns passed by, the leapt out of the pew, making an obscene face and cackling maniacally. "Happy Hallowe'en, ladies!" he bellowed.
Scared witless, the two nuns left in a hurry.
The Khushrenada turned his attention back to Quatre. "It was destined that the board would be cleared for the real players."
"I feel something coming from you," Quatre answered quietly. "You're trying to conceal it from me. What is it?"
"I conceal nothing."
Quatre's glittering blue eyes fixed themselves onto the Khushrenada's safety-pinned throat scar.
"Ramirez's blade did not cut deeply enough. He was right about you. You're slime," the blonde man spat.
The Khushrenada's voice took on an even harsher tone. "Ramirez was an effeminate slob. He died on his knees."
Gloating, the giant remembered the scene that had unfolded so many years ago.
There he had been, clutching Une's neck, rising up from the ruins of the sixteenth-century stone house. Screaming, she struggled to break free of his iron grip, but it was hopeless.
Throwing the pretty woman down, he had ripped off her clothing, ignoring her broken cries that no one was even around to hear.
"I took his head and raped his woman before his body was even cold!" the Khushrenada screeched gleefully.
He turned, eyeballing Quatre's stricken face, understanding dawning in his lurid eyes.
"I see," Khushrenada growled. "Ramirez lied. The woman was not his. She was yours."
He leered at Quatre. "And she never told you? I wonder why. Perhaps I gave her something you never could, and secretly she yearned for my return."
Quatre leapt to his feet, shaking with fury. "You sick bastard!" he managed to spit out between his clenched teeth.
The anger became too much for him. He lunged for the sword inside his coat as the Khushrenada's hands flew up in mock horror.
"Uh-uh," Khushrenada said, waggling his finger from side to side teasingly. "Holy ground, Highlander. Remember what Ramirez taught you."
Quatre's eyes flashed. "You can't stay in here forever," he warned.
His opponent smiled. "You're weak, Highlander," he scoffed. "You will always be weaker than I."
"I'll be out front. Waiting," Quatre said, getting up and making his exit through the heavy wooden front doors.
Peals of metallic laughter rippled through the church, disturbing the worshippers' prayers.
A bald priest approached the Khushrenada. "This is the house of God. People are trying to pray," he informed the man respectfully.
The Khushrenada kissed the priest's hand noisily and dropped to his knees. "Forgive me, father," he laughed. "I am a worm."
He patted the priest's head, then headed for the back exit, hobnail boots thudding against the aisle floor, safety pins jangling at his throat.
"I have something to say," he called out. "It's better to burn out then to fade away!" With that, he leapt out into the night, the door slamming shut behind him.
The poor priest stood in shock for a moment, then crossed himself and hurried away.