A/N: Thank you once again for the review, Elena! During all the time writing this, the battle is what I dreaded writing. I can't put it off any longer, so hopefully I can do it justice. Today's my last day of work. (Did I tell you how much I love working at a school? Summer Vacation!) Now I can focus more time on my CSI addiction. I've got a couple more stories bouncing around in this empty head of mine and a couple of videos I need to work on.

Well, I'm off, so here's chapter 25!

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Warrick knew Morgan was somewhere close. He could feel the familiar buzz of another Immortal. He just needed to see him before the man attacked. "Hello, Brown!" An eerie voice called out, echoing through the darkness so there was no way of pinpointing its origin. "I'm so glad you accepted my invitation!"

Warrick scanned the surrounding area, unable to find the source of the voice. "You call that an invitation? I call this the work of a coward!" He scoffed angrily. "Sneaking around in the shadows, attacking innocent bystanders; that's all the work of a COWARD!"

"Trying to provoke me, Brown?" The voice mocked him from wherever it originated from. "It won't work! I know your game. You dare to call me a coward? That's a laugh! When was the last head you took? You are pathetic! You're hiding from the Game! Pretending we don't exist just proves that you are weak and scared! You deserve to die!"

"Then, come out and fight me! I am ready! Let's see how weak I am! Let's see who loses his head!" Warrick screamed his challenge.

"You think you're brave? You think bringing all your friends will help you?" The taunting voice continued to echo through the cavernous room. Warrick scanned the darkness, but could see nothing. His night vision was excellent, but this was bordering on ridiculous.

"I don't need any help in killing you. But, since you've abducted an innocent woman, my friends are here to get her out of here. This sword is all I need to defeat you!"

"She is not innocent! She interrupted my work! Your weak friend was supposed to die but she disturbed my work!" Suddenly the room was lit up like the Fourth of July. Warrick flinched at the unexpected brightness stung his eyes.

Warrick spun, raising his sword just in time to ward off the attack from behind. The strength of the attack jarred his arms, but he held tight, effectively stopping the oncoming sword. The resounding clang of the swords crashing together echoed through the near-empty warehouse.

As his eyes adjusted to the new light, Warrick found himself face to face with his enemy. Coy Morgan was not what he had expected. The man was nearly as tall as he was, and Warrick had pictured him as a small and scrawny man. He was thin and wiry, but he was strong.

It was his eyes that surprised Warrick the most. The blue orbs were cold, as if made of pure evil. They stared at Warrick with pure hatred.

"Time to die, Brown." The freak hissed while grinning at Warrick.

"Okay. Stretch out your neck and I'll accommodate you." Warrick offered as he circled around the man, sword raised and ready.

"No, it'll be you that loses your head. It's time! It should have happened long ago."

"Why?" Warrick swung his sword forward, pushing the other man back with very little effort. "You come after me for what reason?"

"Because you don't honor the Game!" Morgan growled as lunged forward. Warrick easily deflected the attack with a lithe movement to the left. He wasn't ready to actually fight, he wanted answers. The CSI in him wanted answers. He mentally cursed Gil Grissom for installing that desire in him. He couldn't just attack and kill this monster, he wanted to know why.

"I don't honor the Game? What the hell does that mean?" Warrick questioned as he spun away from the next lunge.

"You're a coward! You hide from the Game! Our job is to kill other Immortals until there are no others! Scum like you……training the weaklings, befriending instead of destroying!"

"So you want to kill me because I play the Game differently?" Warrick grunted as he blocked another attack. It wasn't much of a reason, but how much could you ask of a psychopath? Warrick was willing to accept that as his reasoning. Now that he had the answer, the battle could begin in earnest. He wouldn't just be blocking, he was about to start fighting for real.

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Nick scanned the area surrounding Catherine. He knew that something was up. Someone was there in the shadows, waiting for him to step out into the open. There was a darkened area to the left of Catherine's motionless form. Nick guessed that was where his assailant was hiding in wait. He nudged Sara and pointed out the area.

"You stay here. I'm going to try to circle around to that dark spot along the wall. If I'm not back in ten minutes or if you hear or see anything weird, empty your gun into that darkened area. Once your gun is empty, go back to Richie."

"Nick, I'd rather go with you." Sara argued in a hushed tone. "I have to agree with what Warrick said, for us to stay together."

"It will be easier for just me to sneak around. I need you to cover me." Nick explained the best way he could. He turned on the whine in his voice, pleading with her in a tone he knew she couldn't refuse. "Please. Watch my back, Sara."

"Just so you know, I'm not going to go running back to that guy." Sara motioned in the direction they had come from. "I'll watch your back but I'll also come running if there's any trouble. I won't go running away, Nick, we're a team."

Nick studied his fellow CSI. He knew better than to argue with her. She was too stubborn to listen to him. He thought about it from her point of view. Had their places been reversed, he wouldn't run for high ground. He would be in the thick of it all, no matter what others told him to do. No, he could expect nothing less than that from Sara. He suddenly understood Warrick a little better. The desire to protect others had doubled now that he accepted that he was not at risk.

When this was over and done with, he would apologize to Warrick for all the grief he had given him over the years. Heck, he owed the man a beer. This Immortality thing brought out the protectiveness in a person. Now that he understood it, he felt guilty for all the times Warrick had wanted to protect him and he'd caused a fight. Perhaps he owed Warrick more than just one beer.

"Okay. Just stay here." Nick agreed before he slid into the shadows to make his way around the trap. Soon he could no longer see Sara when he looked back. Good, if he couldn't see her, when he knew where she was, then she would be safe from whoever was after them.

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"No! I'm not leaving!" Greg growled. "My friends are still in there. I'm not leaving until they are safe!"

"Greg, your friend Sara just saw you die. You are now dead. You cannot be seen by anyone you know now!" Richie insisted.

"We'll just have to make sure that no one sees me. I cannot leave them all here. I can help." Greg pushed past Richie, heading in the direction Nick had gone. "I'm not disappearing until after everyone is safe."

"Alright, we'll do it your way. We'll simply shadow your friends, make sure they stay safe." Richie relented, knowing how it was to be worried about mortal friends.

"So? What happens to me now?" Greg whispered as they trailed after the CSI's

"Well, Warrick will train you or send you to someone to be trained. You'll be assigned your own personal Watcher. You'll train and you'll start a new life somewhere where your old friends cant' run into you." Richie explained carefully as they got closer to the others.

"And I'll get a sword? Where? How?"

"Warrick will get you one. He'll teach you how to make it a part of yourself. How to survive, how to go from one life to the next. That type of stuff." Richie whispered. They both came to a stop as they spotted Nick and Sara huddled together a few yards ahead of them. They couldn't see what the CSI's were looking at. Nor could they hear what was being discussed, but Nick was pointing to some far off spot and Sara was getting angry about it.

"Did Duncan teach you or did he have someone else do it?" Greg hunkered down low, so not to draw attention to himself.

"Mac trained me, but no one had seen my death." Richie pushed the memory of his death out of his head. It was too painful to dwell on right now. "I didn't have to leave town. I didn't have to hide."

"So, if Sara hadn't have seen me die, I could stay here?" Greg sighed quietly, once again saddened by the thought of leaving his friends and life here in Las Vegas. For the first time in his life, he had seemed to be getting somewhere. Now he had to leave it all and start over. It did not seem fair.

"Looks like they're up to something." Richie drew his attention back to his friends. Nick was leaving Sara, slipping into the shadows, intent on something up ahead. Greg felt frustrated that he couldn't help. He didn't want to stand back and be a bystander. Catherine was his friend too, he wanted to help.

Richie must have seen what he was thinking in his face for he reached over and thumped him. "If you can stay in the shadows, circle around to the right; see if you can see what Nick is after. Just make sure to stay out of sight. I don't think your friend will believe that she saw a ghost."

Eager to be doing something, Greg scrambled to do as he was told. The way around the room to the right was harder to travel, but at least he was doing something.

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Nick blinked. Nick squinted. No matter what he did, he still could not believe his eyes. No matter how he looked at it, he still saw a kid holding a rifle. This couldn't be right. There could not be a little kid sitting there, waiting to blow a hole in one of his friends. This kid, perched in the darkness, looked to be no older than seven. He had to be hallucinating! There was no way this kid was the one lying in wait for them.

Nick stood there, having this internal argument with himself while the kid peered into the darkness, looking for someone to stick his head out. Sara must have moved, because the kid suddenly tensed. Raising his gun, the kid took aim at something. Nick had no more time to convince himself if the kid was real or not, he had to move. He hurtled forward, reaching over the kids head; he yanked the rifle out of his grasp.

The kid let out an outraged squeal and jumped to his feet. "Give me that back! You Asshole!" He demanded as he charged Nick. Although he was small, the kid was strong. Nick found himself struggling to hold onto the rifle. Suddenly, without any warning, the kid rammed his head into Nick's ribcage.

Nick cried out in pain as his stitches tore. His vision went black from the intensity of the pain. His grip on the rifle went lax and the kid won the battle over the gun. Nick moaned, falling to his knees. A first grader was taking him down? Could he be anymore pathetic? The kid ripped the gun out of his hands and turned the barrel towards Nick.