V – Sacrifice.
"John!"
Connor called to his son, whom he had seen run into a large park. It was dark and he liked the night. It was warm. Unlike the body of that useless bimbo, good for nothing except a fk. Her corpse was probably cold by now, but it would still do, if a little stiff. For a while, till it started to rot.
The kid had run away. When he had been done with the bimbo, he had gone after him. But the boy had proven elusive. Worthless punk, he had gone through a lot of trouble to save him from Kane... he should have let the sorcerer slice him in pieces and serve him as chop suey.
He halted, feeling the dangling bells of immortality call. John was still too young to give off such a signal. When he grew older, it would become stronger, and even more when he perished. Connor let out a grin remembering when he had found him in the orphanage. His own immortal boy to raise and bring up... and when he was ripe enough, to kill and behead upon rebirth.
So there was another immortal in this place. Who would it be? Connor had a few acquaintances in Britain. Thackeray? Nah, he was dead. Fitzcairne? Too scary a chicken to walk alone at night. It had to be someone else.
"Connor..." a familiar female voice called.
The Highlander turned. Two immortals were in front of him. He recognised both. One of them wore a white suit and long coat, and Connor smirked at John Crane, who stiffed his mouth in response. His eyes posed on the other. A shorthaired woman with jet-black hair and eyes scowled at her, wearing loose trousers and a grey shirt which opaqued her petite body. His tongue slipped out and it stroked his lower lip.
His eyes went further, spotting behind them a third party: the nagging Scarlet Lambert, who stood fearfully at safe distance from the image. John saw his eyes on her and glowered.
"She's irrelevant, Connor. Focus on us." He said simply.
"OK!" he said genially, an attitude mocking the others. "Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we have two very special hosts." He extended his arms, playing for an imaginary audience. "The shepherd of the Christian God, that before denied the existence of Jesus Christ, and before believed in predestination." His voice notched down a bit. "Let's omit the fact that he was a sadistic pirate... please greet John "The Revelator" Crane".
He began to clap and wave at the invisible crowd.
"This is pathetic!" the woman commented.
"And next, straight from the lands of Beowulf, a Nordic beauty who is as hot as hell... and is the best slut one will ever find." Connor grabbed his crotch impolitely. "She's come for more, ladies and gents. Please greet Erja Soderlung." Again, he made the farce of the clapping.
"Cut the joy, Connor." Crane ordered.
"What do you want!" His deafening shriek echoed in the dead of night.
"We're here to help you, Connor." Erja replied. "You've absorbed too much darkness. The Kurgan, Kane, that pig Muriaz..."
"You've also beheaded Charles Owen, haven't you?" John spat out.
"Owen? That drunkard good for nothing I found in Holland? Yes."
"Owen was not a fine man, but he was still a fellow. We shared many ships a long time ago. His death was hard for me... but your situation saddens me more."
"Oh, how touching!" Connor mocked. Crane opened his coat and drew out a cutlass. "Look at the priest, so willing to fight."
"John..." Erja drew out a neat grey Japanese katana. "I'll handle this." She approached, raising the sword at her face's height, putting her palm at the end of the hilt, as the blade aimed at Connor.
"Oh, the pussy has claws." MacLeod taunted, producing his own katana. "I wonder how much your fighting has improved over the years."
"Not much, I fear." She replied as she began to draw circles slowly around him, measuring up her opponent. "I spent a century on holy ground. I've devoted myself to God."
"A nun?" Connor feigned a lunge in order to test whether she would be ready. Upon seeing her shiver, he knew she wouldn't. "They're great bimbos."
"I wouldn't know." She stopped. "John... find the boy and take him away."
"Erja... what are you...?" Crane queried worriedly.
"Just do it!" she cried, tears welling up in her eyes.
Crane didn't reply. He just moved away. Connor saw Scarlet went behind him.
"What are you going to do, Erja? Try to kill me?" He teased her, testing her mental endurance. "You know I've defeated the strongest, and you stand no true chance against me."
"Really?" she feigned carelessness, though her insides were on fearful fire.
"I think you're scared to death. Like a soldier prone to battle... like a virgin on her first night..." his tone acquired a peculiar tone.
"Shut up!" she cried, drops rolling down her cheeks.
They had met in London, in the mid 1850's. Erja had been an orphan born in Scandinavia, purchased by a pimp and brought to London to work. She was barely fifteen and still undefiled. Connor MacLeod had been her first man. She had been scared to death, but he had been gentle and kind. He had taken her without violence, and she had almost liked it.
He would return every once in a while, and she had secretly yearned for him over the years. One of the savage beasts she had as a client had a thing with knives. He had made a few cuts on her but the knife went too deep and she was mortally wounded. She died and woke up alone, dirty and panicked buried underground. She dug herself out and found a helpful hand that dragged her out: John Crane...
After a few years under both men's wing, she went on her own and when she took only less than a dozen heads, she withdrew to holy ground. John would visit her occasionally, but she would never see Connor again... until now.
She owed a lot to both. Now that she was feeling John and the kid were no longer around, it was time to pay her dues.
"Do you recognise this sword, Connor? It belonged to Ella." She said nostalgically, the face of a mutual friend flashing in her head. Poor Ella, she had been stripped of all she cared of by Slan Quince till she didn't want to live anymore, and Connor had stormed after him in vengeful rage. But at least she didn't see him in this state.
"Ella belongs to the dust. And soon will you." Connor groaned, arching his body forward to strike. Erja did likewise, gathering all her strength to move. As their bodies approached at a frantic pace, both weapons lunging toward the other's neck, she beamed one last time at him and let her weapon go, herself still going against him.
"May this save you, Connor MacLeod!" she cried before the Highlander's sword took her head. Connor grinned, seeing her corpse fall as she wondered what she could have had in mind to put up that stupid farce. She would have surrendered her head without it.
The Quickening began. White light engulfed him, and he welcomed her little power. Erja's feelings gripped him and he evoked the happy days together. Grief and guilt seized him yet again and he let out a meaningful shriek of pain, as tears began to roll down his cheeks...
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Erja Soderlung is another of these non-canon characters. The character Ella is supposed to be the friend of Connor killed by Slan Quince, her death being the reason for Connor to be after Quince, according to what the producers once said.