When the adrenaline hit his system it sent him soaring into the stratosphere and delayed his reflexes. He was a tad too slow to avoid the second backhand to his face that snapped his head and nearly unhinged his jaw. Somehow he remained on his feet; perhaps his brain hadn't signaled for his body to fall down yet. He ducked the fist that followed and he swung his heavy cane at Voulsh's face, the Hunter dodging it easily. Using the stick as a weapon backfired, leaving him precariously off balance. A quick punch to the gut knocked all the air out of him and Sheppard's legs gave way.

His knees slammed to the ground and he began to sway, his body tingling with millions of invisible ants that swarmed all over his skin. Voulsh bent down, balling up his fist for another knock around the park, when Sheppard headed butted the assassin in the face, surprising them both. Despite the fireworks in his skull and the array of pretty colors that danced like flashbulbs in his vision, it cleared up his head.

Sheppard grabbed his 9 mil, raising it to place a bullet in Voulsh's skull when he realized that he couldn't keep the gun still enough to aim. The weapon bobbled and lurched badly in his trembling hand, and, by the time he reached out with his second one to steady it, the Hunter swatted it out of the way. His stampeding heart tried to burst out of his chest but the panic sensation was negated by a fist smashing into the left side of his face, making his teeth smash together.

Voulsh grabbed him by the scruff of his neck to keep him still. A POP later and his world went in and out of focus as a trickle of blood drizzled from a cut above his eye. He hated to tell the assassin that trying to turn his face into hamburger wasn't going to work, because it wasn't feeling a damn thing.

"Ever... Swallowed… Novocaine?"

Voulsh stared at him and Sheppard smiled despite the swelling of his face.

The Hunter returned the grin. "I will watch your eyes pop out of their sockets."

Sheppard didn't like the sound of that, but a retort was cut short as fingers wrapped around his throat. His hands went up immediately to pry away the ones cutting off his air, but he couldn't get any leverage and was left gasping for breath. Voulsh dug his thumbs painfully into his windpipe, preventing any other attempts to suck in more oxygen.

He tried to break the hold, chopping at the Hunter's wrists exerting the pressure so tightly. He imagined the band of black and blue bruising to his flesh and was surprised that his larynx hadn't been crushed. A sharp pain began to build in his chest and the odd yellow halos in his vision burned whiter with gray closing around the edges.

Sheppard thrashed about, but the assassin's grip was unrelenting. Both hands squeezed harder, and his mind screamed as the gray edges turned black.

His struggles weakened, all pigment draining from his face except for a flushing red that grew darker and it really did feel like his eyes were bulging out of his head. He reached for his knife, tingling fingers brushing over the hilt, but his starving brain urged his search towards his vest pocket.

"You've been a worthy adversary; this is a privilege."

The guttural voice sounded so very far away—like he was deep under tons of unforgiving ocean. Voulsh jerked his head up until their faces were inches from each other and Sheppard could see the tiniest smile form at a job almost complete. Sheppard could feel his body grow heavy and boneless, his hand wrapping around the object in his dying grasp.

His heart, his head, every molecule struggled against the suffocation. With one final desperate jolt of energy, he pulled out the morphine injector and stabbed it into the Hunter's exposed neck, pushing the contents of the heavy narcotic into the man's system.

It was hard to tell with dark spots floating in front of him, but the glimpse of shock on the assassin's face was priceless and the glint in Voulsh's eyes grew fuzzy. The Hunter wavered, slipping to his knees, losing his fight to stay standing against the powerful drug. The stranglehold around Sheppard's throat loosened while the assassin struggled to keep up the pressure, his hands finally falling away as both men collapsed to the ground.

The head rush was off the chart; every atom of oxygen he could gulp and suck down wasn't enough to relief the spasms in his lungs. Sheppard rubbed at his painful throat while trying not to pass out or hyperventilate.

There wasn't time to relish being saved from the brink of oblivion, even if all four chambers of his heart tried to pump at the same time, making it feel like the muscle would implode on itself. He crawled on all fours, using the nitroglycerin scorching through his body to climb on top of the assassin and grab part of the Hunter's leather collar.

"The shoe's ... on the other foot... now..." he panted.

Sheppard didn't wait for a response and slammed his fist into the face below. The impact of bone and flesh didn't faze him and he pulled back to smash the face again... and again... and AGAIN.

The Hunter's nose was bent the wrong way and blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth, standing out against a canvas of gray skin. Voulsh struggled to get up, but Sheppard pinned him down with his right knee, breathing harshly through his mouth and nose.

"Doesn't feel so hot, does it?"

Sheppard glanced up to check on Ronon. Seeing the Satedan so lifeless and the images of the bombing still fresh in his head ---- he didn't even realize that he was still pummeling away at the flesh below him.

Even when his fingers crunched and cracked, he wasn't able to control his fury.

The world buzzed and shuddered, and his soaked hair dripped down his forehead, doing little to cool down his roasting skin. The very air he breathed was electric and it felt like he wasn't getting enough despite swallowing every bit. Sheppard peered down at the bloody mess beneath him trying to recall what the hell was happening.

The moment of confusion was enough. Voulsh used his knee and, with incredible strength, flipped him over, sending Sheppard through the air. He landed roughly on the ground and needed a moment to orient himself.

He began to pick himself back up when his legs were kicked out from under him, sending him back down. Before he could roll away, a boot connected with his ribs. The second blow was uncoordinated and, once again, Sheppard was thanking the morphine for the Hunter's clumsiness.

The assassin's legs wobbled next to him and he unsheathed his knife, thrusting it into the side of Voulsh's calf. The alien howled in pain and wrenched the blade out, blood seeping from the wound.

"We're still.. .not even," Sheppard panted as he tried to scramble away.

The fight had unleashed a flood from his adrenal glands, mixing with the pharmaceutical cocktail in his blood. The ground spun dizzyingly in front of him; although the kicks to his ribs hadn't bothered him, they churned his already queasy insides. Throwing up right now wouldn't be a good idea even if doing it all over Voulsh's boots would make his day. He needed to lure him towards his C-4 surprise.

His cane was nowhere in sight, but he forced himself to his feet, ignoring his body's outcry at being stooped over and trying to stumble about. Voulsh was just as unsteady on his feet as he tried to chase him down. His muscles were too slow to listen to his commands and he couldn't recall which pocket held the detonator.

With his brain swimming in molasses and the Hunter right behind him, Sheppard thought he recognized the patch of rock where his little bomb was hidden. They neared the right spot just as he was jerked down from the back of his vest and once again met the soil with a thud. He felt something dig and scrape over his back, the bulletproof lining saving him from being ripped open.

Sheppard tried to lash out with his leg, but it wouldn't cooperate and Voulsh was too stoned to realize why his knife didn't had an effect even as it slashed between his shoulder blades. He needed to get the asshole off of him before Voulsh figured out the whole Kevlar vest thing and tried for an unprotected area. There was a good sized rock near his elbow and he attempted to latch onto the thing, rolling over to bash it into his opponent's face but bobbled it at the sight of glinting of metal.

The knife came plunging into his chest, tearing the fabric and only enraging Voulsh further when it didn't inflict any injury. Sheppard knocked the weapon out of the Hunter's hand. All the calm, meticulous aspects of the assassin were gone, replaced with anger and rage. A reckless swing caught Sheppard in the side of his jaw as the assassin wrestled on top of him, Voulsh's knees bearing all their weight on top of his legs to keep him still. Another fist clobbered the side of his head and he knew at this point, Voulsh would be content at beating him to death.

Sheppard fumbled for the rock again. Shaky hands clutched it and, with all his energy, sent it careening into Voulsh's head with a sickening crack. The alien slumped over as Sheppard did everything in his power to scramble out from under him.

He clawed at the soil, falling, dragging and pushing his body beyond every limit. He had nothing left— all the ephedrine in the world couldn't make him move any further. Sheppard crumpled, praying that he could just think straight long enough to find the damn trigger.

His chest felt strange, like a giant weight was pressing down on it and his stupid fingers were a useless collection of pinpricks. The sounds of movement raised the panic level even higher and he pulled out the device, almost dropping it before he pressed the button.

Voulsh got to his feet and took one step before part of the mountain side exploded, sending thousands of pieces of granite shrapnel into him; large chunks of boulders tumbled on top soon after.

Sheppard covered his face with his arms while it rained down debris, his lungs filling with choking dust.

His ears rang with the loud clanging of large church bells.

He clutched his aching head, peeling his eyelids open to blink back the sprinkle of silt that settled all over him.

Was it over?

He couldn't rest until it was certain, no matter the protests by every joint in his body and the 'gone fishing' sign posted by his increasingly rebellious stomach. The ground stopped moving long enough for him to lurch along.

Sheppard didn't know how long it took to drag himself over to unmoving form of his foe. He didn't have his knife anymore, and both guns were lost somewhere during the whole showdown. He crawled over to the body of his enemy and could smell the blood that hung in the air.

The debris from the explosion covered the Hunter's midsection, one boulder the size of a safe pinning an arm to the ground with the rest of its mass resting over a good section of the man's chest. Voulsh's face was streaked with crimson from numerous lacerations, and rivulets dripped to the ground from a bad looking gash on his forehead. More blood ran down one side of the assassin's mouth, staining his teeth and mingling with more redness from the shards of rock caught in the Hunter's throat.

Sheppard's lips twisted in a grimace; he'd witnessed the results of blasts on the human body- no matter the enemy, it was a devastating way to die. Voulsh stared at him, the silence between them broken by a cough, the alien splattering more blood over his chin.

The assassin craned his neck and when he spoke, his voice was wet and ragged. "My... journey … is over now."

Sheppard didn't know how to respond, his thoughts stuck in a kaleidoscope of shifting emotions and thoughts.

Voulsh weakly moved his free hand, fingers seeking a black cord around his neck, and, with difficulty, he tugged on it, breaking it free. "Take... them."

Sheppard's own trembling fingers grabbed the memento. It took him a few seconds to realize that they were his dog tags and he glanced at the Hunter in confusion.

The assassin's chest stopped rising and he breathed his last words in a harsh rasp. "This is... a... glorious... death."

Sheppard felt his anger swell for an unknown reason and he shook Voulsh's shoulders to no avail. The hunter's face had twisted in a contented smile.

"That's all you have to say?" Sheppard yelled.

Not trusting the sneaky bastard, he felt for a pulse. Finding nothing under his fingertips, he closed Voulsh's eyelids, not wanting the eyes to stare at him anymore.

Sheppard didn't have time to deal with the fallout crashing all around him. Ronon was still out of his reach with God knew what type of injuries. He liked things that went over 200mph but having his pulse go at that speed couldn't be good for him. The roller coaster ride towards his friend was unpredictable; the ground lurched, shook and bounced all around, and if he looked straight ahead, things blurred into a vortex of spinning colors.

He panted too fast, almost gagging on his own saliva, but he was by his friend's side by sheer force of will.

"...Ronon?"

He reached for a pulse in his friend's carotid and relief washed over him like cold water when it beat strong and steady. Sheppard flopped to the ground next to his teammate, closing his eyes for a moment's rest.

"Sheppard?"

"Ronon!"

"You're alive."

"Yeah."

Sheppard lay on the forest floor, the trees a nice bit of shade from the blistering sun over head.

"Voulsh dead?"

"As a doornail." Sheppard turned his head. "Are you injured?"

He heard the scraping of clothes and an angry growl. "Can't move..."

"Pins and... needles?"

Ronon painstakingly shifted his head so he was staring at him. "Yeah... I can only feel my fingers and toes."

"Anything...else?"

"Broken arm."

Bones would mend, sensation from a stunner would return and Sheppard felt an odd tickling sensation of his own.

Ronon looked at him, studying his sprawled form. "You're hurt."

Was he? "Don't...know...we beat the crap out of each other."

"You look bad."

There was a hint of worry in the runner's voice and Sheppard thought to put the man at ease with a quick run down for anything he might have overlooked. He was sore... he thought. His body still hummed and twitched, and the flip flopping of his guts still threatened to expel whatever he had eaten last. Feeling lightheaded and slow, he looked for any wounds that he could have missed. The straining made him feel like a bobblehead.

"Sheppard."

Ronon's tone was more insistent and Sheppard looked at him, following his alarmed eyes towards his leg.

His BDUs were soaked with blood, streaks dripping down the sides and staining his boots.

"Crap."

During his fight to the death and subsequent abuse of pushing past his limits, he'd ripped open the wound. It was ironic really... they'd come full circle from the first time he'd encountered Voulsh and the assassin still might have completed his mission… even from beyond the grave.

Update on Wednesday. Thank you guys for everything!!! It means a lot.