Stonehenge. A team of Watchers kept an eye on the gathered Immortals loitering in and around the ancient monument. Why had they migrated here? Based on all available information, the Immortals themselves didn't know. They just felt compelled to come here. There hadn't been a Quickening taken in a little over two months. And they weren't fighting. There had been discussion, arguments, and even a couple of shouting matches, but no swords had come out. That many Immortals, that much history, that many grudges, and no swords? It was just too weird.

A lot of them had been camping here, or staying in nearby Salisbury. And on this early morning, the town itself had been cleared of Immortals. All who were in England, as far as they could tell, were here. And though Immortals are a tiny part of the world's population, seeing all these gathered here was intimidating. How it was escaping the sight of ordinary mortals, the Watchers had no idea.

Graham Henton, a relatively new agent, was thrilled with being a Watcher. As much as he had been enjoying his relatively new career as an archaeologist. He would have been happy to dig up ancient pottery for the rest of his life, but living history? How could he have turned that down?

His partner, Ginger Gant, wasn't nearly so enthusiastic. As a former sergeant in the US Army's military police, what Graham saw as fascinating, she saw as trouble.

"Front row of history, Ginger. Immortal history, think about it!", Grant enthused.

"Yeah. That's what the brochure said," Ginger grumbled, flipping a blond lock out of her hair.

"How can you be worried?" Grant asked. "It's quiet. And besides, Stonehenge is Holy Ground. Even if they were inclined to fight, it wouldn't be allowed."

"Who wouldn't allow it?" Ginger asked, looking at Grant.

"Um...not sure about the answer to that one," Grant admitted, "You know, rumors, legends, unsubstantiated accounts..."

"Great. More unknowns," Ginger said, looking back through her binoculars.

"It's why we do what we do," Grant said with a smile.

"I was pulled in by the free encyclopedias, myself," Ginger said absently. "I'm just waiting for the crap to hit the fan. That rampaging whatever? Bet you it's heading this way..."

Then, her cell phone rang.

"Gant. Uh huh. Yeah. Great. Head down, gotcha."

She hung up the phone and put it away, exhaling.

"What is it?" Grant asked her.

"Bad mojo," Ginger said, "Have you studied the case of Arphael?"

"What little we have on him. He's mostly a myth. Like Methos. No one has ever seen him."

"Well, what I have read certainly is good for scaring the kids before you put them to bed," Ginger said ominously. "I mean, we know about the nastier ones. Like Xavier St Cloud, The Kurgan, Kalas, who's down there right now..."

"Kell?" Grant offered.

"Don't be ridiculous," Ginger snorted. "He's a wuss with a reverse Oedipus complex. Anyway, Arphael, if the story is to be believed, is one of the OLDEST. Rumor has it, he was there at the world's creation. He touched...God. And when mortals screwed up, Immortals shared their curse. It drove him insane. He spent the centuries seeking to weed the stain of sin out of creation, specializing in Immortals. He stalked and killed those he deemed unworthy. He is said to have vanished around the 10th century."

Grant looked at Ginger, "So...why are you mentioning him now?"

Ginger said, "He's said to be responsible for the recent spat of Immortal killings and mass murders here in England. And he may be on the way here."

A chill went thru Grant. He and Ginger exchanged glances. They watched. Very carefully.

A dark gray sky sky loomed overhead. A chill wind blew thru the hills, seeming to reach into the souls of all present....

Rome, Italy, 10th century. Methos held his cloak close to him and looked up at the dark gray sky. He looked across to Tolan. Tolan's expression read resolve. Tolan was the classic warrior poet, who looked at history as one huge story. And this was just a tragic chapter closing.

Hopefully.

He then looked over at Maria. Her dark, straight hair fluttered in the chill air. Her dark eyes were red from tears. Lover of Arphael? What was that like? How do you become the lover of a man, a thing, who doesn't even seem to know love, only condemnation? How do you love a mass murderer? Yes, Maria claimed that's not all there was to Arphael. He was supposedly a very perceptive Immortal, with a supernatural ability to read someone's soul. But, for some reason, he locked onto the dark things all people, mortal and Immortal, carried with them.

Maria claimed he was not always like that. That he had a unique ability to see beauty in all things and helped bring it about.

Was Arphael a casebook example of idealism gone tragically wrong? Was he what happened when you saw perfect beauty? Paradise? God? And had it snatched away?

That was the rumor.

Methos was one of the oldest. But here he was, with two Immortals considerably older and more powerful than he was. And Arphael? Whatever he was millennia past, he was now a monster, and he had to be dealt with. Immortal bodies stacking up like firewood, lives drained.

Yes, there was the Game, and Immortals killing Immortals was how it was played. But an insane Immortal trying to recreate Paradise by killing sin? And with the power to do it, at least the Immortal elimination part?

He had to be stopped.

So here he was, youngest among the gathered Ancients. They awaited the abomination known as Arphael.

And they had a surprise. Tolan had found it...someplace. He had never told the tale. But it appeared to be a small stone carving of Celtic make. Looping graceful knot. It would serve to accomplish what they had in mind. They hoped.

Then, they felt it. It was as if worms were crawling into every bodily orifice, then deep into their inner being, into their souls. It was the feeling of Violation made manifest. Dark Quickening at the most twisted.

Then thru one of the archways onto the Coliseum floor strode Arphael. A dark halo hung about him, and his eyes glowed white. A gleaming sword hung at an angle from one hand.

"Ah, Tolan, this is priceless. This is our stage?", he gestured about the ruined amphitheatre where so much blood had been spilt in the past. "You need to get out of the headhunting business and become a playwright, my friend."

He looked over at Methos, "Death?", he guffawed. "Pretentious title in your petty little gang of Ruffians. I will be coming for them, too. I trust you told them?"

"Kronos and I aren't on speaking terms at present," Methos said. "Besides, surprises amuse him."

"They are the spice of life, aren't they?", Arphael said, "But truthfully, why should you be surprised by death? They are the wages of sin, and you Four Horsemen are bad boys indeed."

He finally looked at Maria, "Delilah...if only your betrayal was that simple. You will find my strength is not so easily taken."

"Let's find out," Tolan said. He attacked.

Shining blades rang out, as they had in this place over the centuries. Swirls of power blazed between the two Immortals as they clashed. Tolan's face was a mask of determination, while Arphael smiled, laughing at every knick and cut he managed upon the warrior in front of him, laughing even more at the ones he received.

Hours seemed to pass as the two powerful fighters glowed, their Quickening auras fairly blazing. Tolan's shined, while Arphael's was a dark shine, seemingly eclipsing Tolan's. Except for the eyes. The eyes.

Tolan's back was to Methos. Then Arphael's sword suddenly appeared through it. He fell to the ground.

Arphael chuckled. "Your sin, your pride, has found you out, Tolan. I now cleanse you of this sin-disease. Your existence is over. You're welcome, by the way."

The sword never landed. Methos groaned under the impact, but he and his sword held. His dark eyes looked into the blazing white ones of Arphael.

"Take it from one who knows, you take too long to take advantage of opportunity, it will get taken from you," Methos said with a grimace. He disengaged and thrust at Arphael's abdomen. Arphael blocked and slashed. Incredible power, Methos could feel the Dark Quickening assaulting his being. And a voice seemed to point an accusatory finger, outraged at why he would fight so hard for life, when he clearly wasn't worthy.

No, he wasn't worthy. But you know? Methos was fine with that. He fought on. Until a slash across his lower abdomen laid him low. He lay on the tiles of the arena floor in the dust, feeling the wound already knit together. He braced himself for the expected impact. But it was intercepted by Tolan. Tolan wasn't at his best, but his warrior spirit silently charged forth. He even fought on when Arphael put his blade thru the old warrior's chest. But it would have been the end, had Methos, ever the opportunist, not come up behind Arphael and taken his head off.

From Arphael's neck came an inky blackness. It aimed itself for Methos, like hands reaching out for him. It touched him. He saw the Four Horsemen, remembered their deeds. He saw Kronos looking at him, "You've only forgotten yourself temporarily, brother. This will bring you back to yourself. And I will be waiting for you."

"NO!", shouted Maria. "His soul is not yours to claim!" Was she talking to Arphael, or himself, Methos wondered? "Arphael, for the love that was once ours, I'm joining you..."

She held the stone carving, and a glow came from her. It enveloped her, and then the glow enveloped the dark mass of force that reached for Methos.

Methos opened his eyes. Tolan sat next to him, a sadness radiating from him. Arphael's decapitated corpse laid on the arena floor in front of them. The stone carving had vanished. So had Maria...

'Poor Maria', Methos thought. "Was your sacrifice wasted?" He watched the terrain race by as the two taxis took the group back to Salisbury. Stonehenge was where Darius was returning, Rebecca was sure.

The grand finale was coming up. At least as interesting a set as the Coliseum, to be sure...