Content Harry Potter Crossovers
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Author Notes:

Sorry for the delay. The next chapter will be up much quicker than this one.

The gloomy shadows that covered the front of Connor MacLeod’s Hudson Street property easily hid the almost invisible presence that skilfully climbed down the face of the building, from the roof down. The slightly darker shadow paused in its descent at the window leading into the main living area of the building, and then paused again at the very bottom of the building, at the front door.

From there, the dark figure made his way along Hudson Street, avoiding the bright pools of light created by the many street lamps by the simple expedient of climbing along the face of the buildings above the level of the lights. Finally, the dark shadow gave a heave, and leapt off the building it had been clinging to, and half-fell, half-drifted in a controlled manner, directly into the open sunroof on a massive Rolls.

The heavy car shook and bounced slightly just after the shadow entered the car from a speedy, vertical drop.

Inside, Batman set the internal music system to near the maximum. With the tinted windows preventing anyone seeing in, and the music preventing anyone hearing what was going on inside, Bruce Wayne removed his cowl and pulled off the Bat’s Mantle. Once free of the clothes that inspired terror in criminals everywhere, Bruce carefully folded and sealed the precious uniform into a secret compartment in the floor of the car. Next, He pulled one of the rear seats forward, to access the stash of cleaning products that Alfred carried with himself always.

One thing you had to hand to the butler, besides his unwavering loyalty, his devotion, his intelligence, medical skills, and acting talent, the man could clean like nobody else on earth. Of course, his skill was augmented by the fact that he always used the right chemical for the job. From concentrated Hydrochloric and Hydrofluoric acids down to distilled water with added fragrance for ironing, there was always the right chemical for whatever mess Bruce had managed to make.

Bruce spent a few moments examining each bottle and container, looking at the chemical components of each.

"She just had to be a vampire, didn’t she?" he muttered to himself, before selecting a pair of cleaning products that had certain iron-based chemicals as their active ingredient.

He carefully mixed the two in the correct ratio, thinking back on the conversation he just had.


"Ten thousand years?" Ryan blurted.

Batman slowly shifted his attention to the younger Immortal. "At least. The language he has been recorded using, a dialect of Quechua, dates back to Pre-Inca times in South America."

Ryan spun to face Connor. "But that’s twice as old as…" he hissed, before stopping suddenly.

Batman continued, making a mental note. "A pyramid dated three thousand years old was recently destroyed on the outskirts of Gotham. During bulk excavations on the site, a body was uncovered. A minute or so after discovery, it awoke, tore itself out of the remaining rock, and nearly killed three people. Security on the site shot it dead, only to have it stand again.

"By the time I was called, whoever it was had left. Examining the scene, the rock from where the body was entombed is dated the same as the pyramid. Whoever it was, they had been buried alive for over three millennia."

Batman watched silently as both Immortals and one Vampire shared glances. As skilled at reading body language as one could be, the byplay between the trio elicited a great deal of information.

"It took less than an hour before the first murder. The figure made it to the outskirts of Gotham, homed in on a local Immortal, and killed him," Batman continued, still reading the body language in front of him.

Connor frowned. "Wait. How did he find an Immortal so quickly?"

Batman gave him a humourless grin. "The year after the NML order was lifted, Gotham became a Mecca for people who wished to build a new life, with a new identity. The level of proof needed to get new legal papers issued was so low at the time that every fugitive, con-man and runaway in the country descended on the city. From the information I have compiled, there were nearly sixty Immortals who had taken advantage of the ‘free IDs’ scam in that first year.

"The situation attracted those you call ‘Hunters’. Decapitation has become a common as a method of killing. It is even separately listed as the cause of death in the statistics published by the GCPD. Since common deaths are not widely reported, Gotham is appearing like an ideal location for those with identity problems. At any rate, the Immortal who died was only sixty-three years old, had been an Immortal for less than half of that, and had, in your jargon, taken no heads. Witnesses say he simply collapsed in agony at the approach of the older Immortal, and was simply unable to defend himself."

Ryan gave Connor an intense look. "That can happen to the younger ones," he said tentatively.

Connor sighed but nodded. "Until you get used to being around Immortals, the sensation of feeling an older Immortal’s Quickening can be painful, especially if that person has evil in their heart. The more heads you take, the more power you have, and the less others affect you. Not to mention that it is harder it is to kill you."

Batman tilted his head to one side. "Is that a function of the power you receive, or simply the experience you have gained from surviving?"

Connor shrugged. "Perhaps both. Anyway, younger Immortals are easily overwhelmed by the Quickening of another Immortal. As you get older, you learn to control it, and even start to be able to read other’s auras. Once you are several hundred years old, you can even start to sense those who will become Immortal once they die for the first time."

Connor looked over at Ryan, his eyes questioning.

Ryan swallowed, but nodded.

Connor turned back to the Batman and continued. "Ryan here is an exception. He has far more control over his Quickening and aura than anyone on this side of the Atlantic. He can even hide it from other Immortals, letting them think he wasn’t around, which is an extremely useful skill. Not only that, but he can read an aura, and tell you how old an Immortal is, when they are lying, how powerful they are, and even what sort of headcount they have."

Batman swivelled to face Ryan. "Is that correct?"

Ryan nodded slowly. "Yeah. Saved my life the first time I ever fought another Immortal."

Batman nodded. "Interesting."


Bruce waited in the car until he saw Alfred escorting MacLeod’s daughter home. The pair entered the front door of the building quickly and easily, Alfred closing the door behind them.

Bruce emerged from the Rolls, smelling deeply of the chemical cleaners he had poured on himself. Alfred would be annoyed at the ruination of yet another Armani, but it couldn’t be helped. He needed to sew enough subconscious doubt into the minds of those people visiting the Highlander that the Batman and Bruce Wayne were two separate people.

He took a deep breath, wrinkling his nose at the stench of his clothes, and marched up to the front door, where he knocked sharply.


Rachel had just greeted Ryan and Jennifer when the doorbell rang once more. Wordlessly, Connor waved away Rachel’s automatic reaction to answer the door, and took the lift down to the storefront himself.

Connor opened the front door, to the unexpected sight of Bruce Wayne. Not that Bruce himself was unexpected, but the state of his clothes was. "Bruce! Welco—ugh!" Connor winced and turned to one side. "What the hell happened to you?"

Bruce shrugged. "Hi Russ. Sorry, but I sort of had an accident with some cleaning products."

Connor blinked rapidly, nodding in agreement. "I can see that. No, I can smell that," he clarified. "Come in, I think I have some towels or something somewhere. Rachel will know."

Bruce nodded. "Thanks," he said with a sigh, pulling the door closed behind him. "Sorry about stopping in like this. I tried before, but it seemed as though you weren’t home."

Connor paused momentarily. "Yeah, sorry about that. We were here, but, ah, I was administering first aid."

Bruce stopped. "Is everyone alright?"

Connor nodded. "Aye, it looked worse than it was." He ushered Bruce into the open-aired elevator and pulled the steel-latice door closed. Even in the well-ventilated lift, Connor surreptitiously put a little more distance between himself and his new guest.

"Sorry," Bruce said, giving an apologetic shrug as they reached the next floor.

Several pairs of eyes turned to face the new arrival. "Master Bruce?"

Bruce’s face split into a relieved grin. "Ah, Alfred. I’m glad you’re back." He turned to Rachel, and gave her a half bow. "Miss Ellinstein. A pleasure to meet you again."

Rachel smiled, but blanched as the chemical smell hit her. "Ugh. Mr. Wayne, what on earth happened?"

Bruce looked down at his drenched clothes. "Yes, well, it’s a bit of a long story."

Alfred braved the smell to inspect the damage done to Bruce’s Armani. "I dare say so, since I left you not ten blocks from the hotel," he said. "Sir," he added, after a pause just slightly too long.

Bruce gave his butler a rueful shrug. "Well, I followed your directions, but there was a diversion half way."

"Indeed?" Alfred asked neutrally. "I saw no diversion when I left you the car."

Bruce shifted uncomfortably as Alfred assisted him out of his dinner jacket. "Well, the diversion wasn’t there when you left," Bruce said defensively.

Alfred nodded placatingly. "And this distraction was a young lady, correct?"

Bruce frowned. "Hey, just because I don’t seem to have good luck in keeping a girlfriend, doesn’t automatically mean that I get distracted by every passing female!"

Alfred simply kept his calm, questioning gaze on his employer.

Bruce finally cracked. "All right, it was a woman."

"As I suspected. I am sure your audience is beginning to understand as well, sir," Alfred said, the amusement in his voice not at all reflected in his stoically neutral demeanor.

Bruce coughed. "Yes, well, I got out of the car to help her out, because she was sort of having a bit of trouble carrying some cleaning stuff."

"Clearly, she was carrying this ‘cleaning stuff’ without lids on the containers?"

Bruce frowned. "Of course not! There were lids on all the containers. No, it was all in a big box that looked heavy. So I took hold of the box, but she didn’t seem to want my help."

"This young lady happened to be rather attractive, wasn’t she?"

Bruce nodded enthusiastically. "Absolutely!"

Alfred just sighed theatrically. "I presumed as much. Did she, at any point, actually ask for your assistance?"

Bruce frowned. "Well. No. But it was a big box!"

Alfred sighed again. "And you decided that she needed assistance in carrying the aforementioned box," he said, phrasing it as a statement, rather than a rhetorical question.

"Um, yeah. Anyway, it took a while, but I finally managed to get the box away from her—"

"Said the six foot four gym enthusiast," Alfred mumbled.

"—but as I tried to explain that I only wanted to help, I held it out of her reach. Only, one of those courier cyclists that infest this city crashed into it, breaking the bottles and dumping it all over me," Bruce finished lamely.

Alfred surreptitiously glanced around the room at the four other occupants, each of whom was in a different state. Jennifer was openly grinning, with one hand on her mouth, her index finger covering her nose. Her husband was biting his lip so hard it was a minor miracle that he had not drawn blood. Rachel’s eyes focused elsewhere, and her shoulders were shaking, but her features were well-schooled into a classic pose of grace and calm, as she handed Alfred several towels. Connor, or Russell to Bruce and Alfred, had turned away from the scene, but was laughing under his breath.

"So I can see," Alfred finally replied. "Might I ask why you didn’t go to the hotel to clean up?"

Bruce looked up at his butler, his expression pleading. "Well, I sort of forgot which hotel we were staying at."

Connor was the first to recover. Coughing a few times to get control, he said, "Well, that is understandable. There are a lot of hotels in that part of town."

Alfred ignored him and gave Bruce a pointed look over his spectacles, raised a finger and adopted a lecturing tone. "Master Bruce, you have stayed in the penthouse suite at the same hotel at least twice a year for the past fifteen years. I would have thought it highly implausible that even you could forget the name of the hotel. Especially given the circumstances."

Rachel had also managed to get herself under control. "Circumstances, Alfred?"

Bruce scuffed his shoes like a schoolboy caught mid-prank.

Alfred turned and gave her a steady, amused smile. "He owns the hotel, my dear."


Bruce and Alfred quickly said their goodbyes, promising to visit at a later date, once things were a little less fragrant. Once in the big Rolls, Alfred tilted the rear-view mirror on a slightly different angle and asked, "I am not entirely fond of tarnishing your father’s good name. I trust that level of humiliation was called for, Master Bruce?"

Bruce sighed. "Yes. The young red-head is a vampire. She could well have recognized me by scent. She can smell the iron in hemoglobin from several metres away, and identify the person. The chemicals I soaked myself in are iron-based, and would have confused her."

Alfred blinked. "A vampire, sir?"

Bruce nodded, stripping out of his shirt. "A fitting match to an Immortal, I suppose."

"Then young Mr. Chessman is an Immortal too, sir?"

"Yes. He admitted as such earlier."

Alfred was quiet for a time. "If you don’t mind me asking, sir, why did you use such a humiliating method of disguising your scent?"

Bruce reached into a compartment in the back seat and scrabbled around inside for a few seconds. "MacLeod is clever. Clever and old. I doubt he believes in co-incidences any more than I do. Having the Batman and Bruce Wayne turn up on his doorstep seconds apart would have set some alarm bells ringing," he finished, withdrawing two small devices, one with a tiny suction pad.

Pressing a button on the device, a tinny voice could be heard. "Russell? Russ? It’s me, Bruce." Bruce pressed another button to stop the playback.

Alfred hardly looked impressed. "Forgive me, but that is a poor mimicry of yourself, Master Bruce."

Bruce shrugged. "It sounds much better when firmly attached to an eighteen by fourteen inch window five mills thick, fixed into a lead frame," he replied, then frowned. "From the inside of the building, at least."

Alfred nodded, gently swerving to avoid a double-parked cab. "I see. I presume you were in their presence when you activated this device?"

"Yes. I even told them to ignore it, that what I needed to know was more important. Now, to each of them, unconsciously at least, Bruce Wayne and the Batman are definitely different people."

Alfred gave his employer a gentle salute. "Most impressive, Master Bruce."

Bruce grimaced. "If it wasn’t for the fact that there was a vampire present, I wouldn’t have had to cover myself in this gunk."

Alfred gave him a look that could only be described as unsympathetic. "Yes. I’m sure the poor soul who has to clean your clothes will have a suitable amount of pity for you."


After Bruce and Alfred left, Rachel left to pick up some new clean towels. Connor, Ryan and Jennifer exited the Hudson St shop via the rear. Looking up, the ground-bound trio examined the faint silhouettes of the suspended trio. Connor shook his head, and gave a staccato laugh.

"Heh heh heh, how long could we leave them up there, do you think?" he said.

Jen pulled one of Connor’s borrowed sweaters around her shoulders more tightly, something that Ryan assumed had been a nervous reaction from before she had been brought across. "Can we just get on with this?"

Ryan raised an eyebrow at his wife’s snappishness. Normally more even-tempered, his wife had been waspish ever since the Batman had flash-fried her. Not even the poor bugger Wayne’s situation could cheer her up for long. Not that he could blame her. The burns the Batman had given her had been deep.

"Fine. Conner? Would you do the honours?"

The almost evil grin that the Highlander returned all but forced a grin onto the younger pair. While his cousin Duncan had an air of charisma that could charm almost anyone, Connor exuded an air of determination that made those around him unconsciously want to follow him, despite the fact that the Scot had no interest at all in leading anyone.

The Highlander raised a matt black remote control the Batman had given to him, and pressed one of the unlabelled buttons.

Instantly above, the mechanism holding three bound Immortals to the spire of a building snapped open. Three distinct shrieks of surprise echoed off the buildings for a fair distance around, as the trio plummeted towards the pavement below.

Ryan and Connor both felt the sudden arrival of three Immortals into their presence seconds before the trio hit the pavement. Each struck the ground at the same time, with bone-shattering force. Both Connor and Ryan winced at the sight of one of the trio of Hunters who had landed on the edge of a dumpster, one leg in, one out. The force of the landing had nearly split the man in two, from the groin up to his navel.

"Quickly!" hissed Jennifer, easily snatching the larger of the temporarily dead figures from the slick pavement. Effortlessly, she tossed him over her shoulder and ran lightly back towards Connor’s building.

Connor shook his head. "You are a lucky man, Ryan," he said, almost wistfully.

The younger Immortal could hardly hide a grin as he dragged one corpse over his shoulder. "I know. I tell myself that every day."

Instead of hauling the remaining dead Immortal over his shoulder like his two guests, Connor grabbed the leg hanging on the outside of the dumpster, and just dragged the body behind him. The gruesome display made Ryan’s stomach twist and turn. "You all right, Lad?"

Ryan winced, but nodded, turning away from the bloody spectacle. Quickly, he stumbled back towards Connor’s home, in an effort to put more distance between himself and the ruined corpse.

"The battlefields of war always have things worse than this," said Connor quietly behind him. "I pray that you never have a chance to get used to it."


Connor left his corpse at the doorway while he grabbed a handful of bed sheets. He inexpertly wrapped the bloody corpse in the white sheets, stemming the amount of blood. Frowning thoughtfully, he made his way to the main switchbox, and looked inside. The Highlander put his hands on his hips, lowered his head, gave it a shake and chuckled deep in his throat.

Ryan shared a glance with his wife before looking over Connor’s shoulder into the fuse box. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary, as the Scot flipped the mains to off.

"Something wrong?"

Connor simply shook his head, a tight grin on his face.

Gesturing to his guests in the near darkness, Connor led them down a set of stairs into the basement, deep beneath the building. While Ryan and Jen carried their burdens, the Highlander simply dragged his corpse down the stairs, the wrapped head making muffled thumps on the hardwood steps.

In the pitch darkness, Connor scrabbled in a pocket for a second, before pulling out a custom-made cigarette lighter. Snapping the lid open, the single flame faintly lit the musty room, filled with crates covered in dust and cobwebs.

Ignoring the contents, he dragged the wrapped body over to the other end of the room, and activated yet another secret panel, revealing a spiral staircase made of stone, leading even further down. This time, Connor pushed his burden into the staircase, and grinned at the thumping as it grew fainter. Nodding with satisfaction, he followed it down.

"Um, Connor? Where are we going?" Ryan asked.

"Someplace safe," was the cryptic response.

Ryan and Jen shared a glance, before asking in usison, "Where?"

Connor stopped, and slumped slightly. "I had it build before the building itself was put up." The Highlander seemed to struggle with himself before adding, "I used to use it for smuggling," before continuing down. Once more, Ryan and Jen shared a look, this time Ryan was grinning.

"Jen, meet Captain Carruthers, the infamous gunrunner," he said, before following along. While Jen was totally at home in dark spaces, Ryan felt more than a little nervous. Not the least because he had no room to draw his weapons, and within a couple of minutes, there would be three healed, conscious, and seriously pissed off Immortals in a confined space with him.

Finally, the stairs ended, and the pair stepped into a high-ceilinged, brick room. A single shelf ran along one wall, which contained a dozen candles. Connor was methodically lighting each.

Ryan looked around in the steadily growing light. A wooden trapdoor with a metal ring at one end was set into the floor at the opposite end of the room. A solid looking oak chest sat flush against the back wall next to the trapdoor. But what caught Ryan’s attention was the dense strands of copper wire that crisscrossed the brick walls and arched ceiling, making a lattice of metal that gleamed where it had not corroded.

With a smile, the younger Immortal looked at Connor. "A faraday cage? You’ve built a faraday cage?"

Connor frowned, giving him a questioning look, as he drew his katana from the folds of his coat. "A what cage? I built this to keep a Quickening contained," he said, then frowned. "Mostly," he added. "I turn the power off upstairs just in case."

The Immortal Jen carried over her shoulder began stirring, his shattered bones reforming quickly. With a snarl of irritation, the slight girl pulled the awakening Immortal from her shoulder, grabbed the back of his head, and smashed his skull into the wall as hard as she could.

The man’s cranium caved in like an eggshell.

Ryan dumped his own semi-conscious burden as it stirred. "Feel better, Love?"

Jen gave a sigh, but nodded and turned to Connor.

"You were a gunrunner?"

Connor frowned and looked at Ryan accusingly.

Ryan shrugged. "Duncan likes to tell stories when he’s drunk."

Connor rolled his eyes. "How very noble of him. I’ll have to have a little chat with him next time we meet." He poked the Immortal Ryan had carried down with the tip of his katana. "Do you want him?"

Ryan blinked. "I won’t kill a helpless man, Connor!"

The Highlander gave him a long stare. "I’m not suggesting that. Do you want to challenge him, or do you want me to?"

Ryan glanced down at the recumbent figure, now groaning and shifting slightly as he neared consciousness. He closed his eyes and used his own, almost unique gift; the ability to examine and read and Immortal’s aura. Though difficult to examine the aura of an Immortal who was temporarily dead, he concentrated hard on the flickering power coming from the man.

The Quickening in this Immortal was not exceptionally long, but it was quite bright. Not unexpected for a Hunter. Ryan delved further, feeling the intensity of the man’s power. "He’s nearly two hundred years old, but has quite a few less powerful heads to his credit. You said you’ve met him before?"

Connor nodded. "Slippery, but you could take him. He tends to lead with a low thrust. He did that each time we fought. Parry across your body and step inside his guard.You might have trouble with this one, though," he said, gesturing towards Jen’s luggage.

Ryan looked down at the man again. He was seconds from waking. "He doesn’t have his sword."

Wordlessly, Connor stepped over Jen’s captive and moved over to the chest. Pulling the lid up, he dipped his katana in and scooped up the blades of nearly a dozen different kinds of swords. "He can borrow one of these."

Jen’s eyes widened at the revealed weaponry. "How many times have you used this place?"

Connor just grinned at her, then turned to look at Ryan.

With a sigh, Ryan nodded. "Ok, I’ll challenge him."

Jen gave her husband a smile. "You realize that if you start losing, I’m going to butt in," she said, her hands on her slim hips in a defiant stance.

Ryan tried not to laugh. "Now, Honey, you know you’re not allowed to interfere." He pulled his wakazashi from his jacket and touched the point to the awakening Immortal’s throat.

With a gasp, the captive’s eyes snapped open, his gaze zipping around the room, getting his bearings. Tha man was obviously panicking, since there was at least four distinct Immortal signatures in the closed room. He recovered quickly though, and his eyes crossed, focusing on the sharp blade right in front of his face. "Who are you?" he demanded in a thick, British, aristocratic accent

Ryan clicked his tongue. "Tut-tut. The correct protocol in this situation is that the man with the really sharp sword at your neck gets to ask the questions. Why are you here?"

Crystal blue eyes glittered menacingly up at Ryan. "We came to talk to MacLeod."

"Talk?" Ryan asked sarcastically.

Oddly, the man nodded. "Indeed. Rather hard to believe, isn’t it, old boy? I wouldn’t hold it against you if you didn’t believe me." he said, enunciating each syllable clearly and precisely.

To Ryan’s enhanced senses, the captive’s aura remained steady, indicating the veracity of his comment. He and Connor exchanged a glance, the older Immortal nodding for the younger to continue.

"Try me," Ryan said.

The captive’s eyes again flickered to each of the three in the room, dismissing Jen quickly. "We were instructed to escort MacLeod to Gotham City."

Ryan nodded. "By?"

"I am not aware of the man’s name. He goes by the rather unoriginal moniker ‘Master’," he said with a sneer.

"Why does this ‘Master’ of yours want Connor in Gotham?"

The man’s pride seemed a little dented as he answered, "I don’t know."

Not a single flicker.

"And if MacLeod didn’t want to go to Gotham?" Ryan asked, tempting the man to lie at least once.

The man swallowed, his adam’s apple sliding up and down his throat close enough to the point of the wakazashi that it nicked the skin on his neck. "We were to take his head."

Ryan kept his face neutral, though he was impressed at how honest the blond aristocrat was. "Fine. What’s your name?"

The blue eyes narrowed. "Wentworth St. John Smith," he said, pronouncing his surname ‘Sin-gin Smythe’.

"Well, Wentworth, I am Ryan Chessman, and I challenge you."

The man sneered. "I have no blade, ruffian."

Ryan gestured towards the chest. "Take your pick."

Tentatively, the aristocratic man rose to his feet, and edged over to the chest. He glanced thoughtfully at Ryan’s wakazashi, then down into the collection of blades. With a smile, he drew out a long rapier, a weapon that would give him the advantage of reach over Ryan’s shorter blade.

Wentworth glanced at Connor. "I trust you will allow me to leave once this fight is over?"

A smile played on the Highlander’s lips. "If I don’t challenge you myself," he replied.

The Hunter swallowed, but nodded, and turned back to Ryan. "There can be only one," he said, and leapt straight at Ryan, the point of his rapier leading.

Ryan easily parried the expected thrust and stepped forward as Wentworth tried to recover. With his left fist clenched as tightly as he could, he delivered a hard left cross to the aristocrat’s jaw.

Instantly, the man’s eyes lost focus, and he staggered slightly. Ryan grinned to himself. He had felt the man’s aura flicker as he staggered, indicating he was lying with his body language. It made it easy to resist the urge to follow through, remembering Connor’s advice about his opponent being slippery. He stepped back and drew his combat knife with his left hand, assuming a defensive stance.

Unsurprisingly, Wentworth’s eyes cleared quickly, and he studied Ryan closely. "Intriguing. I had assumed you were far too young detect such a feint so easily. You may actually be a challenge." His gaze swept over Ryan’s weapons, and he realized that the advantage of his borrowed blade’s longer reach he been effectively neutralized.

Clenching his teeth together, the aristocrat launched a series of high attacks, trying to force Ryan’s defense up, leaving his stomach exposed. As a counter, Ryan gave ground while defending solely with his sword, keeping his knife low.

Wentworth gave up on the high attack tactic, and swept the rapier through the air in a large ‘X’, making the air whistle with the speed of the maneuver. Ryan winced at the unexpected noise, and shifted his knife into a different position to defend.

Using his wrist, Wentworth rolled the tip of the rapier in a circle and finished with a tight thrust, which Ryan tried to evade, rather than parry. The tip of the sword slid through his defenses and cut neatly under his left shoulder, near the armpit.

Ryan slashed out with his sword, which, because of its shorter length, wasn’t able to threaten his opponent’s body. Instead, he aimed at the wrist of the hand holding the rapier.

Both men hissed with pain as they began bleeding. Neither took their eyes off the other.

Ryan shook his head, sending sweat flying off his fringe. His breathing was coming harder, as the tension of the fight heightened.

The aristocrat took the offensive once more, though this time he lashed out at Ryan’s weapon, trying to disarm the young Immortal. Keeping Duncan’s lessons in mind, Ryan kept his grip firm, but supple, allowing his wrist and arm to absorb the harsh beatings.

Nevertheless, his wakazashi was pushed out wide to his right, and his feet were slightly out of balance when Wentworth launched a new attack, kicking Ryan in the stomach.

He let out an "Oof!" as the wind was blasted from his lungs, but kept the presence of mind to slash the attacking leg from underneath with his combat knife. The blade cut through the tough denim and deep into the calf muscle.

Wentworth aborted his follow up attack, and placed his wounded leg behind him, suddenly looking a little more concerned about the outcome of the fight.

"I give it five minutes before your wife’s friend wakes up, Ryan," Connor said calmly, looking down at the corpse of the man whose skull had been crushed against the wall.

Ryan nodded, deliberately letting his gaze flicker onto the Highlander, while keeping his true attention on his opponent.

Wentworth took the bait, and lunged low, trying to end the fight quickly. Ryan swept his knife across his body and caught the rapier on his knife’s blade, pushing it out past his right side. Then, holding the rapier steady (and more importantly, away from him), he spun left and moved forward, slashing the Japanese short sword out in a quick arc, his target now to his side.

The blade entered and exited his opponent’s neck quickly.

Ryan stood still while Wentworth’s corpse collapsed. As young as he was, surviving a life-or-death struggle was always a great relief. Slowly, he stood straight and turned to face Connor and Jen, both of whom gave him warm applause.

"You’ve improved, Ryan," Connor said approvingly. "You picked the feints from the real attacks well. But you’d better brace yourself."

Ryan’s nod corresponded with the first tendril of blue fire. Quickly, he tossed his weapons to the side as azure arcs of energy leapt and danced around the enclosed space, spitting and sizzling along the copper wires. Ryan gasped in pain as the first shock hit him, filling his arm with both pain and strength.

He howled louder as more and more jolts struck his immortal body. Surges of energy, each powerful enough to fry a man’s heart in his chest, repeatedly flooded through Ryan’s body. The Quickening, an Immortal’s birthright, was violently released and even more violently accepted.

Finally, after nearly thirty seconds of repeated shocks, Ryan fell to his knees with a low moan of agony. He could feel the unfamiliar strength coursing through is arms, but so soon after accepting a Quickening, his muscles felt leaden and heavy, as though he had just worked out for hours without stretching. With one final gulp of air, he fell backwards onto his back, his feet still trapped under his buttocks.

Petite hands encircled his shoulders, and gently aided him to sit up straight.

"Thanks. That hurt," he mumbled.

"Aye," replied Connor, getting to his feet himself. The release of a nearby Quickening had knocked the older Immortal flat. "It pains you more in here. But it’s safe."

Ryan nodded, running a shaking forearm across his forehead, pushing aside the sweat-soaked hair. "What do you do with the bodies?" he asked, panting heavily.

Gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb, Connor indicated the trapdoor in the floor. "Lime pit. It used to lead into the sewers, until it was bricked up after Captain Carruthers’ untimely death," he replied sourly.

Jen pouted, her irrepressible nature seemingly returning. "Oh, what a waste."


True to Connor’s prediction, Jen’s victim woke almost exactly at the five minute mark. This time, he awoke to the point of a katana under his chin. The interrogation elicited no new information, and ended on the issue of a challenge.

Ryan and Jen watched with fascination as the older MacLeod skillfully dismantled his opponent’s defenses one by one. Though Connor’s movements were not as crisp or subtle as his cousin’s, the sheer determination and power in his strokes spoke of great experience. Despite (in Ryan’s estimation) being over three hundred years old, the other Immortal was literally no match for the experienced, not to mention powerful, Highlander. It took only half the time of Ryan’s duel before Connor efficiently separated his opponent’s head from his neck.

Ryan’s appreciation for the containing copper wire cage lessened dramatically as the second Quickening was released. His own Quickening sang in tune with the operatic destruction going on around him. Clutching the sides of his head in an effort to stop his own power from erupting through his skull and joining the azure maelstrom surrounding MacLeod, he all but screamed in concert with the Highlander.

At the end, Ryan found himself shaking, curled up tightly in the fetal position, his hands covering his ears. Slowly, he opened his eyes and glanced around; finding Jen next to him and Connor slumped against one of the free walls.

"I forgot how much a Quickening hurts down here," the Scot muttered softly.

Ryan glared at him incredulously. "You forgot? Damn it, I’m never coming down here again!"

The sound of sheets ripping attracted the attention of all in the room.

"Forget coming down here again, youngling. You will never leave."

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