Chapter 1:

The streets of London were soaked in a persistent shower, the kind of cold rain that slipped beneath collars and chilled bones. The city seemed quieter than usual tonight, as though it were holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. Duncan MacLeod moved through the damp fog, his senses alive with the faint hum of another Immortal nearby. The presence flickered like a flame just out of reach—elusive, but undeniable.

He had tracked this one for weeks now, following a trail of bodies left in alleys and dark corners of the city. The police were baffled, labelling the deaths as the work of a sadistic serial killer. But Duncan knew the truth. He could feel it in his bones. This was no ordinary murderer. This was one of their kind.

"You're sure he's here?" - Duncan asked, his voice low as he glanced back at his companion.

Methos followed a few paces behind, hands buried deep in his coat pockets, his expression unreadable. The older Immortal was uncharacteristically quiet tonight, his usual sharp wit replaced by a guarded wariness that Duncan had come to recognize over the centuries.

"He's close." - Methos replied, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes scanned the narrow streets, his posture tense despite his outwardly calm demeanour. - "Whoever this is, he's careful."

That gave Duncan pause. Methos was the oldest Immortal Duncan knew, the one who had lived through millennia of conflict and war. Duncan's grip tightened on the hilt of his katana hidden beneath his coat. The sensation of the other Immortal grew stronger, a pressure building in his chest as they approached an abandoned warehouse district. It was an area of the city that had long since been forgotten by most, a perfect place for an ambush—or a final duel.

"Stay alert." - Duncan muttered, more to himself than to Methos, as they moved deeper into the darkened streets.

They passed under a flickering streetlamp, the light casting long, ghostly shadows on the wet pavement. Duncan's breath came out in visible clouds of mist as they neared the heart of the district, a large, dilapidated warehouse looming ahead. The building's broken windows and rusted exterior gave it an air of desolation, a place where no one would care to venture—except, perhaps, for someone who had nowhere else to go.

The presence was stronger now, almost overwhelming. Duncan could feel it pulsing through him like an electric current, setting his nerves on edge. He exchanged a glance with Methos, who gave a subtle nod. They were close.

"You go left, I'll take the right." - Duncan whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of the rain pattering against the concrete. Methos didn't argue, slipping away into the shadows as Duncan approached the main entrance of the warehouse. The large metal doors hung slightly ajar, creaking ominously in the wind. Duncan pushed one open carefully, the groan of the rusted hinges echoing through the empty space beyond.

The inside of the warehouse was dark and hollow, the air thick with the scent of mildew and decay. Duncan's eyes adjusted to the gloom as he stepped inside, his footsteps nearly silent on the wet floor. The sensation of the Immortal presence was almost suffocating now, pressing down on him from all sides. Somewhere in the shadows, the other Immortal was waiting.

He moved deeper into the building, his senses sharp and alert. Every nerve in his body was primed for combat, ready to spring into action at the slightest provocation. And then—he heard it.

A soft scrape of metal on stone.

Duncan whirled around just in time to see a shadowy figure emerge from the darkness, a sword gleaming in the dim light. The attack came fast—too fast. Duncan barely had time to react, his katana flashing out to block the strike. Steel met steel with a sharp clang that reverberated through the empty warehouse.

The force of the blow sent Duncan stumbling back, but he quickly regained his footing, parrying the next attack with practiced precision. His opponent was relentless, each strike coming faster and harder than the last. Whoever this was, skill was abundant, dangerous, efficient and utterly without mercy.

Duncan fought back with everything he had, his katana a blur of motion as he deflected the rapid blows. But the other Immortal was relentless, pushing him back step by step. Duncan could feel the strength behind each strike, the sheer power of someone who had lived and fought for centuries, maybe even millennia.

For a moment, Duncan thought he had an opening. He lunged forward, aiming for his opponent's midsection, but the other Immortal sidestepped with a speed that left Duncan off-balance. Before he could recover, his opponent's sword came down hard, knocking Duncan's katana from his grip and sending it skittering across the floor.

Duncan fell to one knee, gasping for breath as the other Immortal loomed over him, sword raised for the final blow.

"Well fought." - The stranger said, his voice deep and cold, echoing through the empty warehouse. - "But not well enough."

The sword hovered inches above Duncan's neck, ready to strike. Duncan closed his eyes, bracing himself for the end.

"Stop!" - Methos' voice rang out, cutting through the tension like a knife.

The other Immortal froze, the blade still poised above Duncan's throat. Slowly, the stranger turned his head to look at Methos, who had stepped into the open, his hands raised in a gesture of peace.

"Methos…" - the stranger said, somewhat surprised. The tension in the room shifted, the air between them suddenly charged with a different kind of energy. - "It's been a long time."

Methos stepped closer, his eyes locked on the stranger's face. - "Far too long." - he said quietly. There was something strange in Methos' voice, something Duncan couldn't quite place. It wasn't fear, but something close to it.

The stranger lowered his sword and took a few steps back, allowing Duncan to scramble to his feet. Methos moved to stand beside Duncan, his eyes never leaving the other Immortal.

"You know him?" - Duncan asked, breathing heavily, his hand gripping the hilt of his katana that he had retrieved from the floor.

Methos nodded slowly, his gaze still fixed on the man before them. - "I do." - he said, his voice barely above a whisper. - "He's the one who found me, millennia ago. The one who trained me."

Duncan frowned, wiping the rain from his brow. - "But you said you were the oldest."

Methos shook his head, his expression grim. - "I thought I was." - he said. - "But I was wrong."

The stranger's eyes flickered with a hint of recognition as he regarded Duncan. - "He's with you, Methos?" - the man asked, his voice softer now, though still laced with an edge of danger.

Methos nodded, his voice steady. - "He is. Let him be."

The stranger took a deep breath, his gaze lingering on Duncan for a moment longer before he finally stepped back, sheathing his sword. - "Very well…" - he said. - "But this isn't over." - With that, the stranger turned and disappeared into the shadows, his footsteps fading into the distance as he vanished into the night.

Duncan exhaled deeply, the adrenaline slowly draining from his system. He turned to Methos, his expression a mix of confusion and frustration. - "What the hell just happened?"

Methos glanced at Duncan, his face pale but composed. "That my friend…" - he said slowly, "That was Jon Snow."

To be continued…