Chapter 6

Disclaimer: As much as I wish, I do not own Stargate: SG1, Highlander the Series, or any recognizable characters. Any character that you do not recognize are mine to use and abuse as I see fit. Everyone else will eventually be returned, but they might be a bit scuffed.

Through the double doors at the far end of the gymnasium, came a familiar and frightening figure: Death. It wasn't Adam Pierson or even Methos. This was Death, one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

His hair, medium in length, looked scraggly, as if it hasn't been washed in weeks. The clothes he was wearing looked dull and unremarkable: brown loose pants and a tan tunic belted at the waist. A white cloak was draped across his shoulders and on his feet were boots made from some sort of animal skin. Chest armor, with matching forearm braces, made of leather and metal discs, protecting his heart and lungs from harm, but were lightweight enough to not restrict his movements. Everything looked functional, like they were easy to do battle in.

Death's face, Methos' angular and thin face, was half painted with blue pigment, covering his entire right half from forehead to chin. His eyes were dark and narrow, while a sneer twisted his mouth, showing contempt for all around him. In his hand was a long-forgotten sword, not his beloved Ivanhoe, but a straight double-edged weapon with a wooden hilt and pommel.

Death had come to do battle.

Daniel gasped in shock, feeling slightly nauseous at the sight of his old friend in his Death get-up. He looked like he had just come back with his brothers from a raid on an innocent and unsuspecting village, raping, killing, and plundering their way through the mortals' homes.

"What's the matter Danil? You seem surprised to see me," Death hissed, his evil gaze holding the other Immortal frozen in place. "You shouldn't be. You knew I was only waiting for a chance to make another appearance."

Daniel finally found his voice. "This isn't possible. You aren't Death anymore. You made your choice and turned away from that madness, the same as I have. Those days are long in the past."

Death laughed at his friend's shock. "You know that is not true; who we are, what we are, is never gone. You can't erase all of that blood, all of the terror we spread, with a wish to be a good person. Death and Hades have never gone away, they are just waiting for the opportunity to be unleashed and I am never one to pass up a good opportunity. It doesn't matter what you want others to think about you. I know the truth. I know what you really are. You fooled everyone, even Oma DeSala, into thinking you are some peaceful explorer, wanting to help others and learn about them. You can't fool Death though. I will always see through you."

"So, you're wanting to get the band back together again? In case you've forgotten, you killed Silas and MacLeod killed Caspian and Kronos," Daniel spit, looking at his friend with horror, feeling the familiar weight of his sword in his hand. It wasn't his normal sword any longer, but his first, the double-edged straight sword he had the local blacksmith forge for him in the shadows of the pyramids in ancient Egypt.

"No," Death leered, "we're already back together. I took MacLeod's head and now I have my brothers' power in me. The only one missing now is Hades and I will have your Quickening."

"This isn't possible," Daniel stammered, backing away from his former comrade-in-arms. He looked down and saw his prison uniform had changed from dull tan scrubs to a tunic and loose pants, the same as what Methos was wearing. A leather belt looped around his hips and a rough grey cloak and cowl fell from his shoulders to his calves. He couldn't see his face, but he felt the familiar white and black paste that he had used once upon a time to change his appearance, to make others think he truly was Hades from the Underworld, coming to drag people back with him.

Death just laughed and advanced, never in a hurry, but each motion was deliberate and purposeful. He stalked the room, never looking away from Daniel, smiling evilly at his brother-warrior. "Come on Danil. You know this has been in the making for five thousand years. We are the last ones left. Silar is dead, Scott, your young student, is dead. Amanda died. Felicia Martin is gone. Connor MacLeod was killed. Father Liam was dragged out of his church by mortals and killed. Dilijian is even gone. I killed him myself finally. Methos was a fool to promise his wife that he wouldn't kill him."

Daniel felt his blood run cold. "Methos, we don't have to do this," Daniel insisted, his eyes fixed firmly on his old friend.

Death laughed. "Yes, we do. We are the last Immortals left. You know the rules the same as I do: In the end, there can be only one."

"And what happens when you kill me? They," Daniel said, jerking his head back at the scientists in the room, "will just kill you and channel your power, your Quickening into their machines to power their ZMPs. There will be no prize. You will be dead and no one will remember you." He was still Daniel, but he felt that his old companion was on the brink of making a full return.

Death laughed again. "You have such little faith in me. I've got this," he said and attacked.

Methos launched a series of blows, coming fast and furious, his rage fueling his desire to be The One, to rule over all. He twirled his sword, moving like a dancer, swift and steady on his feet. He shuffled his feet across the ground, weaving a path of violence, wrapping Daniel up in his quest to be The One.

Daniel, feeling nothing but loathing for those who betrayed him, those whom he thought were friends, instinctively brought his sword up, blocking Death's attempt to decapitate him. While he was devastated that everyone, those that were dear to his heart, had betrayed him or was dead, he could not help but to fight back, to push against all odds, refusing to accept defeat. He was Daniel Jackson, archeologist-extraordinaire, the opener of the Stargate on Earth to the universe, and the Immortal once known as Hades and he was not one to go quietly. He fought for what he believed in and for his life for over five thousand years. He wasn't going to stop now.

With that thought, Danil came roaring back, shoving Daniel aside. His darker side, the side that reveled in the fight, that didn't flinch from violence or blood, took over. The gentle archeologist no longer existed. The mass murderer that rode across three continents, that fought with Alexander the Great, that was a mercenary for warlords was all that was left. The man that killed NID agents and nearly beat three men to death in South Dakota, that executed five rogue members of the NID outside of Colorado Springs, sprung forth from a black hole in his subconscious.

He was angry, his blood boiling in reaction to all of the betrayals and pain he had to endure. Despite everything he had ever done for Earth and countless other worlds, meant nothing to the government, and more importantly, to his friends, people whom he considered his best friends. They were people he would have gladly laid down his life for and now they were behind using him as a scientific experiment and set him up for a fight against the one person he had always sworn he would never raise his sword against.

Their betrayal was his greatest nightmare. Sam and Jack turning against him, treating him as a thing. Cameron, Vala, and Teal'c's casual indifference to his suffering hurt in ways he could have never fathomed. However, he reasoned, once this was over, they would get to experience his wrath. He would make South Dakota and Wyoming look like a mild temper tantrum.

He was Danil. An Immortal, a Horseman. He persevered no matter what. He didn't give up. He didn't give in and he could dish out violent retribution like a champ.

Pushing any lingering thoughts or doubts away, Danil fully emerged, joining Death in a complicated dance of violence. Swords clashed, metal screeching upon metal. Sparks flew as they met, the battle for survival was on. The Immortals swung at each other, both under control, neither one overextending themselves, not allowing their opponent to gain an advantage.

Methos fought with one hand on his sword, his other hand extended out to his side. Danil kept both hands on his sword, feeling comfortable with the grip that allowed him to absorb the shock of the hits.

Together, they fought back and forth, never giving up, never giving the other the advantage.

At one point they crossed swords again, and Death circled both blades, trapping Danil with his sword on top of Danil's. A lesser swordsman would have panicked and try to push his opponent back around, trying to outmuscle the other. Danil was not a lesser swordsman. He stepped back, creating distance and drove his foot into Death's knee, causing the other man to buckle slightly, giving Danil a chance to get out of Death's trap.

Danil then went on the attack, slashing at his former friend, determined to win. However, Death is vicious foe and does not go away willingly. Death met his attacks, countering his moves with his own.

They battled back and forth, their swords ringing out as they clashed. All over the room they fought, causing tables to be up turned, instruments to go flying. The scientists screamed in fright and scrambled to get out of the way of the two Immortals.

Danil didn't care if Sam was in danger. He didn't care about her or her safety anymore. When she betrayed him, treated him as an experiment, she became a stranger to him. He cared about her as much as he cared about trash along a highway.

Blood was everywhere. Some of it was his, some of it belonged to Death. Some of the blood might even have belonged to a scientist that got too close to the fight. The Immortals, during any fight, could and did get hurt. This was no different. Wounds were inflicted on and by both sides of the fight. Blood was splashed on the floor, on the walls, on their bodies, making them look even more ghoulish.

Soon, Death, tired of waiting, pulled out a secreted bronze colored knife, old by the looks of it and rammed it into Danil's midsection and twisted, causing Danil to freeze and gasp.

Surprise was clearly splashed across Danil's face. The jolt and anguish of the knife finding a new home in his guts came as a surprise. It was an old move of Methos', so it shouldn't have been a shock to Danil that his old friend would pull a move like that. Hell, the Old Man taught him that move and it was a lesson well learned and remembered, but he still fell victim to it.

Instinctively, he grabbed at the knife's handle and tried to pull it out one handed, but his blood was everywhere and it made things slippery. Danil staggered backwards, his defenses down.

Death smiled a familiar and cruel smile. "There can be only one," he pronounced and swung his sword with precision and grace.

Danil only had time to scream, "No!"

A/N: Well, what do you think? Hit the shiny review button and let me know. I always appreciate constructive criticism. It helps me improve my writing and storytelling.

I am glad I was finally able to get this chapter posted and that chapter 5 finally appeared after all of the trouble that had had lately. Things were pretty heated over on Twitter. I just hope it is past us. Thank you to everyone for sticking with me through this story and all of the others within this series.