Kronos felt nothing when he killed Duncan MacLeod.
The boy wasn't even a player as far as Kronos was concerned. Oh, he knew what the other Immortals thought about him. That he was a better man, an honorable man, a man who was destined to win the Game.
Ha!
As if there even was a Game.
Although yes, the young Immortal was quite talented at swordplay, a true protégé. It would surprise others to know that Kronos made that assessment, but just because Kronos was the better swordsman didn't mean that he couldn't recognize talent. In reality, the battle could have gone either way, and Kronos simply won because his vaster experience overcame youth and skill. It was a close battle and Kronos immensely enjoyed it. He suspected MacLeod enjoyed it less, but that was only because dull idiots like him couldn't understand the joy of bloodshed.
Pity that.
But children like MacLeod were ever-present. Ever since that idiotic idea about one Immortal being left alive took hold the boys and girls fought each other like rats devouring each other on a sinking ship.
In the end there can be only one.
A saying that once meant that only they, the Immortals, would survive. Regardless of what happened, their mortal foes would perish. It was actually once a comforting saying, one of those trite axioms meant to calm the young Immortals who saw vast empires like Egypt or Assyria and new technologies like the chariot and believed they could never win. "You will win," their teachers would reassure them. "Just give it time, in the end there can be only one."
Perverted over the millennia to mean something new.
Kronos walked around the table. He gazed at what was there and felt a wetness on his hands. Glancing down he saw he was clenching his fists so tight he actually broke the skin and blood was dripping onto the floor. He released his fists and his quickening glided over, instantly healing it.
No, MacLeod's death was but a mere drop in his life, a mere moment that he likely wouldn't think about in the coming centuries and millenniums.
Killing Methos though…
…that would be infuriatingly personal.
He didn't bother giving chase after Methos left the submarine base. What would be the point? He wouldn't catch up with him, not only did Methos have a head start, but judging by the gait of the mortal who came for his brother, he couldn't have gotten there on foot. Kronos was too exhausted after the quickening to try to get to his own car. Oh, he tried to intimidate Methos into staying, which even at the time he knew was a futile gesture. But at that moment, right after defeating MacLeod, his sword wet with blood, and body filled with the power of his foe and a bit of Silas, Kronos felt utterly unstoppable. So he cursed and he raged and he screamed. And Methos, like always, disappeared.
Once the powerful and ancient quickening of his brother vanished from his awareness, Kronos was left lying breathless on the metal grating, seething with rage. Methos had thwarted him. That-that...he chose MacLeod! Over Kronos! His sworn blood-brother of four thousand years!
Then, Kronos's emotions and energy spent, he shook off his anger and began to coldly assess the situation. No point in wasting time trying to find Methos because once the older Immortal got it into his head to hide there was nobody who would find him.
That meant that Kronos would have to make the next move, would have to do something spectacular. Something grand. Something all the world would see and marvel at. Something Methos couldn't ignore.
Kronos needed to focus on the sheer splendor of his plans rather than their end result.
For Kronos knew that once he had Methos's head ripped from his traitorous shoulders Kronos would feel more than he probably had felt in all his life. To kill a man that means nothing to him was like rolling out of bed and grabbing his sword—unconscious, little thought, little plan. To kill a man who was basically his brother in everything except birth—it required his entire being, his whole soul, everything that made Kronos who he was.
As much as it pained him to admit, killing Methos would hurt.
It would hurt as much as his first death.
And it enraged Kronos that such loathsome scum, someone who took his trust and ground it into the floor like a scorpion, could have such a connection to him, an unbreakable bond. It was obscene.
Oh, Kronos was no idiot, killing Silas clearly hurt Methos, Kronos felt that when they were linked through the double quickening, but the older Immortal did it anyhow.
Methos was not going to stop until he killed Kronos.
Kronos knew that such an act would be painful for Methos. Not that Methos would let that stop him, Death was no respecter of persons. Once Methos wouldn't have felt his kills so personally. Now Methos was soft, but that didn't make him the slightest bit less dangerous. Methos did everything in his power to get MacLeod to kill Kronos. Methos couldn't do it himself, he was avoiding it. Now he couldn't avoid it and regardless of how much it would hurt him he wouldn't hesitate to kill Kronos.
Methos was backed into a corner, and that was the most dangerous place to have his brother.
Still, Kronos would win.
You cannot avoid me, brother, I am inevitable, I am the end of time.
Kronos smirked.
He had a plan after all.
He leaned across the table and looked at the screen. While he regretted that he wouldn't be there, it didn't make sense to put himself into such a risky position.
Kronos knew that people often didn't take him seriously because he could be theatrical.
But it wasn't just Methos who could play a persona.
Kronos, even before he met Methos, knew how to put on an act. He knew how from his rather pleasant pre-immortal childhood. His adopted family was a nomadic band of entertainers, rather like a Bronze Age version of a traveling circus. Kronos learned the importance of appearances there, mainly from his adopted mother Kura.
Kura was often considered magical for her ability to breathe life into roles, becoming who she wanted people to see her as whether that was as a wicked cackling witch, a kind and compassionate matriarch, or even the town prostitute. She taught him how to present himself to achieve his goals, how to control a room through personality, how to make speeches. These arts could sway emotion and engender loyalty. After all, how could you get paid if you didn't put on a good show? People love a performer. Kura taught him quite a bit and was probably one of the few mortals in his life that he could honestly say he was fond of.
And if there was one thing he learned from Methos it was this—it was very useful when people underestimated you. Sure, he could simply present himself as the dangerous killer he actually was, but where was the fun in that? Making melodramatic speeches, grandstanding, and showboating, all were tools in his toolkit that allowed him to spread and control. Like an infection, it was best transmitted unknowingly. People saw someone who behaved over-the-top and they assumed based on that fact that he would be easily swayed by his emotions, would be overconfident, and would fall to pieces as all the great villains in fiction do.
However, Kronos wasn't a villain because life wasn't a black and white story of good guys defeating bad guys. There were just people who made choices. Right now, there were only really two players at the board, Kronos and Methos, and while Methos might try to make himself feel better by thinking he's playing white, white does not necessarily mean good. White after all is the colour of death (pale corpses, the dead flesh of leprosy), while black is the colour of rich life-giving soil.
As you wish brother, I'll play black to your white. You had the first move. You killed Silas and got Caspian killed. You choose that idiotic lumbering fool over me. Now it's my turn.
The big computer had a colour screen that was somewhat dim in low light so the room Kronos was in was lighted with long halogen tubes that cast a bluish-tinged light on everything. It made everything in the room appear sterile and artificial.
After all, Kronos was not performing for anyone so there was no need for torches, thrones, or big round tables. It was less fun but more practical. Kronos could have fun later.
He rapidly typed a few commands into the keyboard, his program starting to go into effect.
There was a certain amount of irony in using the mortals' own inventions against them. Almost a rightness, as if Kronos was fulfilling some grand destiny.
Methos would probably laugh at that and say Kronos was being overly dramatic.
But then again, Methos was a cynic. Kronos liked to think of himself as an idealist trying to shape the world into what it should be.
Empty of mortals.
But that could wait.
Revenge must be sated first.
Silas might not have liked killing from a distance.
And Kronos genuinely loved the old ways.
But sometimes the new must be embraced. We think alike, we always have. Methos denied it, but it was completely true. Kronos and Methos did think alike. After all, Kronos would do whatever was necessary to achieve his ends. And that included using unorthodox methods to reach his goals.
"Your move brother," Kronos said softly as he executed the last command and chaos broke loose.
