(no subject)
Title: One Art
Author: Shifty
Rating: PG13
Summary: Methos is forced to confront his actions as Sergeant Lyman and the X-men face a new threat. HL/X-Men. WIP.
The previous chapters can be found here or here.
Chapter 13
He was unsure as to when exactly he had been returned to his cell, but he had regained consciousness some hours earlier. Suddenly the stark white room had not seemed so bad. Of course, the fact that he had woken only to discover that he was firmly strapped down was most displeasing. There was also still a lingering ache from the process of grafting Adamantium to his skeleton that never quite left him, but so far his manipulations were holding for the most part. As his Quickening recovered more fully he had had to divert more and more of his energy to suppressing and redirecting it.
Much like his Quickening, his hatred of Ballard had been growing steadily. Ballard would die. He did not care how, he knew only that he would not rest until the general was dead.
Ballard was well into his plan now. He had his weapon and he had the means to use it. The oldest Immortal was both anxious and reluctant to find out what Ballard planned next. The next step would require Ballard finishing the Game, which meant that he would have to initiate the Gathering. Assuming, of course, that the seer had told Ballard just how many Immortals there were and what it would take for him to be the last.
When he had first learned of the Game this was certainly not how he had imagined it ending. He and his brothers had intended to destroy all those who opposed them and take up the mantle of rulers for themselves. Of course that would never happen now. He had spent too many years playing the role of upstanding, but insignificant, citizen that he had fallen for his own lies. Thus he had been seduced by the belief that someone like that inept boyscout could be the One.
He had even orchestrated his brothers’ downfall. The thought made him sick. It was one thing to abandon them when they no longer proved useful. It was quite another to destroy them altogether because of some misguided sentiment.
Despite all of this, he still did not want to be the one who won the Prize. If he won, it would mean that he had no opposition, which would be fortunate. It would also mean, however, that the only beings to which he could relate were the fool mortals he planned to subjugate. There was absolutely no fun in that. There was no challenge in confronting those ultimately weaker than you. Hence he would have to find some way to stop Ballard before he found out enough to somehow initiate the Gathering.
The door to his cell slid open and his stomach clenched in anticipation. Ballard entered, wearing his superior smirk. The general came unaccompanied. He turned his head, the only movement he could really make, to look at Ballard.
“I see that you have recovered quite well,” Ballard said. He could hear the smug ‘I told you so’ lingering beneath the words. He bared his teeth in a parody of a smile.
“Yes.”
“Excellent. Now we can move on to the next phase of the plan. I have organised a duel for you. I understand that this is the way it works between your kind,” Ballard told him, waiting for confirmation. He nodded his head briefly. He wondered whether Ballard was setting up a duel because the seer had not told him of any other way or because of some warped sense of honour.
“You expect me to win the Game by challenging every Immortal, one by one?” He glared as Ballard smiled condescendingly. The mortal’s smiles were really beginning to annoy him.
“Initially, yes. From what I understand the stronger you are the more Immortals will be drawn to seek you out. Once the Gathering has begun most of them will destroy each other, until eventually you are the last.” The oldest Immortal raised an eyebrow. That probably would have been true, had he not been able to control the strength of his Quickening.
“And if I am not strong enough to beat them?” he wondered, purely out of curiosity.
“That is where the Adamantium comes into play. They will be unable to kill you.” Of course, that would only work if his Quickening did not divest him of the Adamantium first. But it was clear that Ballard would hear no arguments. He firmly believed that his plan would succeed. The Horseman suppressed the smirk that threatened to emerge. If his long years had taught him anything it was that the universe had a perverse sense of humour. Ballard would definitely get what was coming to him before the end.
For the moment he had some contingency plans to come up with. He had no desire to die and if he was to participate in the Challenges that Ballard had organised then he would have to be prepared. Regardless of what the bungling boyscout thought, his skills were fine-tuned and despite Ballard he was still in reasonably good condition. His only problem would be in handling the swift succession of Immortals, and their Quickenings, that Ballard would undoubtedly have for him. But he would survive, and he would excel, such was the only option. He might even win the Game. He might be the last of his kind. Ballard looked smug and the oldest Immortal focussed once more on the general.
“There are rules that must be followed,” he informed Ballard.
“Of course, that is only to be expected.”
“So when am I supposed to fight this other Immortal?” Ballard watched him for a moment, as though weighing him up, then smirked. He stepped forward and unbuckled the straps. The Horseman contented himself with simply glaring at the general. Killing Ballard at this point would do nothing except satisfy his anger. He would still be trapped in a largely underground base without the relevant access codes or weapons to escape.
He eased himself off the bed and stretched briefly to relieve muscles sore from inaction. Ballard watched him with an indulgent smile before leading the way out of the room. He followed after a long enough moment to indicate that chose to accept such unspoken orders before falling into step beside Ballard. He refused to act like a diligent child that trailed obediently after its parent.
Outside another room was a soldier holding something with which he was entirely familiar. His sword. Despite himself he grinned. The soldier waited for Ballard’s nod before handing it to him. It was clear that it had recently been sharpened and polished. While he did not like the thought of his blade in someone else’s hands he was glad that it had been taken care of. He lovingly ran his hand across it before testing the sharpness of the blade.
Ballard punched in the code to the room and the door slid open. The oldest Immortal absently memorised the code as he practiced a few moves, getting a feel for his blade once again. It had been quite some time since he had actually used it. Ballard indicated for him to enter and he did so, his blood already pumping in anticipation of the coming fight.
He noticed the small camera in the corner before dismissing it entirely. Of course Ballard would want to watch the fight. He turned then and saw a man, young in both appearance and true age. But then everyone was young to him. The other could barely handle the sword he had shakily drawn. He wondered why Ballard had chosen such measly pickings for his first challenge. Although without the help of something akin to the Watchers network he would have to rely on the scant knowledge he had amassed. He hoped that the boy had been questioned about the location of other, stronger, Immortals first.
“We don’t have to fight. If we work together we might be able to get out of here,” the boy suggested softly.
“Is that so?” he asked as he stalked forward. He needed no allies and the boy annoyed him. The boy was unskilled, entirely without fortitude and it was doubtful that he would have lived for long anyway. He would be out of there soon enough, but there was no reason why he could not enjoy himself in the mean time.
“I don’t want to die,” the boy whispered, holding his sword in front of him.
Death smirked malevolently.
“You’ve chosen the wrong company then,” he said as he lunged. The boy parried clumsily and ducked out of the way. He breathed in deeply and straightened out, staring Death in the eye. His chin jutted out stubbornly and he held his sword steady. Death bared his teeth in a smile. He liked it when his prey fought back. It was always more fun to see them finally realise that they could never win.
The boy lunged at him, his attack far more coordinated that his parry had been. Death easily blocked his strike and soon had him on defensive. No matter how good this boy managed to get in his short years he had had over 5000 years more experience. Death laughed and the boy faltered at the chilling sound.
“Who are you?” he asked desperately as Death knocked his sword out of his hand.
“The end of all things,” he replied, adapting his brother’s line. Without another thought Death swung his sword, decapitating the young Immortal. It was a pity that the fight had ended so soon, but perhaps the next opponent would be more of a challenge.
The Quickening rose from the body and he had only enough time sense a thrill of apprehension run down his spine before it hit. The Quickening ran like fire through him, attacking the Adamantium with more resilience than he had thought possible. Slowly the oldest Immortal felt his hard-won control over the Adamantium slipping. He exerted as much effort as he could muster in a futile attempt to reign in the Quickening that flooded through him.
His control shattered and he screamed hoarsely as the Quickening continued to strike him repeatedly, unerringly seeking out the Adamantium and trying to rid him of it. Memories that were not his own flooded through his mind and he had no choice but to accept them and the Quickening they came with.
As the power began to ebb he felt someone probe his mind. He collapsed to all fours, his breath coming in harsh gasps. Benjamin, a voice called. He frowned, unable to focus on anything but the pain. The only coherent thought he managed was outrage that someone had dared to invade his mind. He brushed the intruder away, intending to deal with them later. Right now he had other, more pressing, matters to draw his attention.
There was some noise outside but then the door slid open to reveal several soldiers. Two rushed in to position themselves on either side of the door. One still held a crowbar in his hands. The Horseman reined his Quickening in, forcing it to bend to his will once more. It had done some damage to the Adamantium, but had by no means rid him entirely of it. He climbed slowly to his feet, determined not to show any weakness. Ballard walked in, pleasure and irritation warring on his features.
“I could have told you that a Quickening indoors was a bad idea,” Death said, forcing a smirk. Ballard flashed him an annoyed look.
“You will not keep things from me in future.” Death narrowed his eyes and shifted the sword in his hands slightly. The threat was clear. He was not in the mood to deal with this at the moment.
“You would do well to remember who I am,” he warned. Ballard’s annoyed look turned to anger.
“And you would do well to remember that I still have the serum.” Ballard looked significantly at the soldiers who held weapons that appeared more like tranquiliser guns than real guns. Methos snarled, lowering his sword.
“This one was weak. I wish for better prey in the future,” he commanded even as he wondered how he would manage another Quickening. Ballard smiled once more, taking his sword from him.
“That can be arranged.” Death nodded as he walked regally from the room. Now was not the time to act, much as he would have loved to. Soon, but not yet.
He managed to make it all the way to his cell before he threw up in the basin. He knelt for a long time, breathing deeply as he tried to regain his equilibrium. Finally he managed to stumble over to bed, beside which was a glass of water. He rinsed his mouth of the lingering metallic taste before he collapsed on the bed, unconscious.
***
Xavier was on his way to dinner when he sensed the equivalent of a mental spike. That in itself was not unusual, he had been sensing them regularly since he had first come into his power, and so tended to ignore them, but there was a familiarity to this one. He extended his mind and found the recognizable mind of Benjamin Hughes. Surprisingly his mental shields were almost non-existent and Xavier slipped easily into his mind.
A rush of memories that he was sure did not belong to Benjamin flashed behind his eyelids. They went by too quickly for him to make too much sense of them. He wondered if perhaps he was in the wrong mind, but then, faintly, he felt what he identified as Ben’s mind. As the foreign memories slowed to a trickle then finally stopped Benjamin’s mind became stronger and stronger.
Benjamin, he called mentally. There was no recognition. He sensed a presence that was incredibly old, older even than Logan, and infinitely darker. Sensing that this was Benjamin, only more, banished all thoughts that this presence was somehow an intruder. He reached for the presence only to be forcibly shoved from Ben’s mind as his shields reasserted themselves. He was left with an impression of blood, warm on his skin as the desert sun, the stench of death and the dust of ages.
Xavier gasped in air. It had been some time since a venture into another’s mind had left him feeling like this. He saw Scott kneeling before him, looking worriedly up at him.
“Professor?” Xavier shook his head.
“I’m fine. Just had a bit of a shock,” he said. Scott frowned.
“What happened?”
“I found Benjamin. He lowered his shields, though I think something happened that forced him to. I was able to pinpoint his location,” Xavier told him, then added apprehensively, “I’m worried about him.”
“Where is he?” Scott asked, his tone anxious.
“Eagle Lake, Maine.”
***
MacLeod picked up the phone as it rang. He had been staying for the last few days in a hotel in New York, hoping to find something that he had missed. So far he had had no luck.
“MacLeod,” he answered.
“Duncan, I have some news.”
“What is it, Amy?” MacLeod asked, hearing the obvious apprehension in her voice.
“I’m not sure how relevant it is. Either way, you might want to know it.”
“Go ahead.”
“An Immortal was kidnapped two days ago. His Watcher reported that the men who kidnapped him appeared to be military. Just yesterday there was an electrical surge at a nearby army base. MacLeod, I don’t need to tell you what it would mean if the army knew about Immortals.”
“A world of trouble, I know. Do you think this is connected to Adam?”
“I can’t say. All I know is that it’s suspicious that they both disappeared, but it’s unlikely to be the same people. Especially given the length of time between occurrences, and the distances involved.”
“Even if it isn’t him, I need to check it out. We can’t let the military find out about Immortals.”
“The base is in Maine, outside some town called Eagle Lake,” Amy said, giving him the specifics.
“Let’s hope Adam can hold out a little longer,” MacLeod murmured with a sigh.
“Be careful.” MacLeod just laughed deprecatingly as he hung up the phone. Now all he had to do was book another flight.
TBC
Shifty
Author: Shifty
Rating: PG13
Summary: Methos is forced to confront his actions as Sergeant Lyman and the X-men face a new threat. HL/X-Men. WIP.
The previous chapters can be found here or here.
Chapter 13
He was unsure as to when exactly he had been returned to his cell, but he had regained consciousness some hours earlier. Suddenly the stark white room had not seemed so bad. Of course, the fact that he had woken only to discover that he was firmly strapped down was most displeasing. There was also still a lingering ache from the process of grafting Adamantium to his skeleton that never quite left him, but so far his manipulations were holding for the most part. As his Quickening recovered more fully he had had to divert more and more of his energy to suppressing and redirecting it.
Much like his Quickening, his hatred of Ballard had been growing steadily. Ballard would die. He did not care how, he knew only that he would not rest until the general was dead.
Ballard was well into his plan now. He had his weapon and he had the means to use it. The oldest Immortal was both anxious and reluctant to find out what Ballard planned next. The next step would require Ballard finishing the Game, which meant that he would have to initiate the Gathering. Assuming, of course, that the seer had told Ballard just how many Immortals there were and what it would take for him to be the last.
When he had first learned of the Game this was certainly not how he had imagined it ending. He and his brothers had intended to destroy all those who opposed them and take up the mantle of rulers for themselves. Of course that would never happen now. He had spent too many years playing the role of upstanding, but insignificant, citizen that he had fallen for his own lies. Thus he had been seduced by the belief that someone like that inept boyscout could be the One.
He had even orchestrated his brothers’ downfall. The thought made him sick. It was one thing to abandon them when they no longer proved useful. It was quite another to destroy them altogether because of some misguided sentiment.
Despite all of this, he still did not want to be the one who won the Prize. If he won, it would mean that he had no opposition, which would be fortunate. It would also mean, however, that the only beings to which he could relate were the fool mortals he planned to subjugate. There was absolutely no fun in that. There was no challenge in confronting those ultimately weaker than you. Hence he would have to find some way to stop Ballard before he found out enough to somehow initiate the Gathering.
The door to his cell slid open and his stomach clenched in anticipation. Ballard entered, wearing his superior smirk. The general came unaccompanied. He turned his head, the only movement he could really make, to look at Ballard.
“I see that you have recovered quite well,” Ballard said. He could hear the smug ‘I told you so’ lingering beneath the words. He bared his teeth in a parody of a smile.
“Yes.”
“Excellent. Now we can move on to the next phase of the plan. I have organised a duel for you. I understand that this is the way it works between your kind,” Ballard told him, waiting for confirmation. He nodded his head briefly. He wondered whether Ballard was setting up a duel because the seer had not told him of any other way or because of some warped sense of honour.
“You expect me to win the Game by challenging every Immortal, one by one?” He glared as Ballard smiled condescendingly. The mortal’s smiles were really beginning to annoy him.
“Initially, yes. From what I understand the stronger you are the more Immortals will be drawn to seek you out. Once the Gathering has begun most of them will destroy each other, until eventually you are the last.” The oldest Immortal raised an eyebrow. That probably would have been true, had he not been able to control the strength of his Quickening.
“And if I am not strong enough to beat them?” he wondered, purely out of curiosity.
“That is where the Adamantium comes into play. They will be unable to kill you.” Of course, that would only work if his Quickening did not divest him of the Adamantium first. But it was clear that Ballard would hear no arguments. He firmly believed that his plan would succeed. The Horseman suppressed the smirk that threatened to emerge. If his long years had taught him anything it was that the universe had a perverse sense of humour. Ballard would definitely get what was coming to him before the end.
For the moment he had some contingency plans to come up with. He had no desire to die and if he was to participate in the Challenges that Ballard had organised then he would have to be prepared. Regardless of what the bungling boyscout thought, his skills were fine-tuned and despite Ballard he was still in reasonably good condition. His only problem would be in handling the swift succession of Immortals, and their Quickenings, that Ballard would undoubtedly have for him. But he would survive, and he would excel, such was the only option. He might even win the Game. He might be the last of his kind. Ballard looked smug and the oldest Immortal focussed once more on the general.
“There are rules that must be followed,” he informed Ballard.
“Of course, that is only to be expected.”
“So when am I supposed to fight this other Immortal?” Ballard watched him for a moment, as though weighing him up, then smirked. He stepped forward and unbuckled the straps. The Horseman contented himself with simply glaring at the general. Killing Ballard at this point would do nothing except satisfy his anger. He would still be trapped in a largely underground base without the relevant access codes or weapons to escape.
He eased himself off the bed and stretched briefly to relieve muscles sore from inaction. Ballard watched him with an indulgent smile before leading the way out of the room. He followed after a long enough moment to indicate that chose to accept such unspoken orders before falling into step beside Ballard. He refused to act like a diligent child that trailed obediently after its parent.
Outside another room was a soldier holding something with which he was entirely familiar. His sword. Despite himself he grinned. The soldier waited for Ballard’s nod before handing it to him. It was clear that it had recently been sharpened and polished. While he did not like the thought of his blade in someone else’s hands he was glad that it had been taken care of. He lovingly ran his hand across it before testing the sharpness of the blade.
Ballard punched in the code to the room and the door slid open. The oldest Immortal absently memorised the code as he practiced a few moves, getting a feel for his blade once again. It had been quite some time since he had actually used it. Ballard indicated for him to enter and he did so, his blood already pumping in anticipation of the coming fight.
He noticed the small camera in the corner before dismissing it entirely. Of course Ballard would want to watch the fight. He turned then and saw a man, young in both appearance and true age. But then everyone was young to him. The other could barely handle the sword he had shakily drawn. He wondered why Ballard had chosen such measly pickings for his first challenge. Although without the help of something akin to the Watchers network he would have to rely on the scant knowledge he had amassed. He hoped that the boy had been questioned about the location of other, stronger, Immortals first.
“We don’t have to fight. If we work together we might be able to get out of here,” the boy suggested softly.
“Is that so?” he asked as he stalked forward. He needed no allies and the boy annoyed him. The boy was unskilled, entirely without fortitude and it was doubtful that he would have lived for long anyway. He would be out of there soon enough, but there was no reason why he could not enjoy himself in the mean time.
“I don’t want to die,” the boy whispered, holding his sword in front of him.
Death smirked malevolently.
“You’ve chosen the wrong company then,” he said as he lunged. The boy parried clumsily and ducked out of the way. He breathed in deeply and straightened out, staring Death in the eye. His chin jutted out stubbornly and he held his sword steady. Death bared his teeth in a smile. He liked it when his prey fought back. It was always more fun to see them finally realise that they could never win.
The boy lunged at him, his attack far more coordinated that his parry had been. Death easily blocked his strike and soon had him on defensive. No matter how good this boy managed to get in his short years he had had over 5000 years more experience. Death laughed and the boy faltered at the chilling sound.
“Who are you?” he asked desperately as Death knocked his sword out of his hand.
“The end of all things,” he replied, adapting his brother’s line. Without another thought Death swung his sword, decapitating the young Immortal. It was a pity that the fight had ended so soon, but perhaps the next opponent would be more of a challenge.
The Quickening rose from the body and he had only enough time sense a thrill of apprehension run down his spine before it hit. The Quickening ran like fire through him, attacking the Adamantium with more resilience than he had thought possible. Slowly the oldest Immortal felt his hard-won control over the Adamantium slipping. He exerted as much effort as he could muster in a futile attempt to reign in the Quickening that flooded through him.
His control shattered and he screamed hoarsely as the Quickening continued to strike him repeatedly, unerringly seeking out the Adamantium and trying to rid him of it. Memories that were not his own flooded through his mind and he had no choice but to accept them and the Quickening they came with.
As the power began to ebb he felt someone probe his mind. He collapsed to all fours, his breath coming in harsh gasps. Benjamin, a voice called. He frowned, unable to focus on anything but the pain. The only coherent thought he managed was outrage that someone had dared to invade his mind. He brushed the intruder away, intending to deal with them later. Right now he had other, more pressing, matters to draw his attention.
There was some noise outside but then the door slid open to reveal several soldiers. Two rushed in to position themselves on either side of the door. One still held a crowbar in his hands. The Horseman reined his Quickening in, forcing it to bend to his will once more. It had done some damage to the Adamantium, but had by no means rid him entirely of it. He climbed slowly to his feet, determined not to show any weakness. Ballard walked in, pleasure and irritation warring on his features.
“I could have told you that a Quickening indoors was a bad idea,” Death said, forcing a smirk. Ballard flashed him an annoyed look.
“You will not keep things from me in future.” Death narrowed his eyes and shifted the sword in his hands slightly. The threat was clear. He was not in the mood to deal with this at the moment.
“You would do well to remember who I am,” he warned. Ballard’s annoyed look turned to anger.
“And you would do well to remember that I still have the serum.” Ballard looked significantly at the soldiers who held weapons that appeared more like tranquiliser guns than real guns. Methos snarled, lowering his sword.
“This one was weak. I wish for better prey in the future,” he commanded even as he wondered how he would manage another Quickening. Ballard smiled once more, taking his sword from him.
“That can be arranged.” Death nodded as he walked regally from the room. Now was not the time to act, much as he would have loved to. Soon, but not yet.
He managed to make it all the way to his cell before he threw up in the basin. He knelt for a long time, breathing deeply as he tried to regain his equilibrium. Finally he managed to stumble over to bed, beside which was a glass of water. He rinsed his mouth of the lingering metallic taste before he collapsed on the bed, unconscious.
***
Xavier was on his way to dinner when he sensed the equivalent of a mental spike. That in itself was not unusual, he had been sensing them regularly since he had first come into his power, and so tended to ignore them, but there was a familiarity to this one. He extended his mind and found the recognizable mind of Benjamin Hughes. Surprisingly his mental shields were almost non-existent and Xavier slipped easily into his mind.
A rush of memories that he was sure did not belong to Benjamin flashed behind his eyelids. They went by too quickly for him to make too much sense of them. He wondered if perhaps he was in the wrong mind, but then, faintly, he felt what he identified as Ben’s mind. As the foreign memories slowed to a trickle then finally stopped Benjamin’s mind became stronger and stronger.
Benjamin, he called mentally. There was no recognition. He sensed a presence that was incredibly old, older even than Logan, and infinitely darker. Sensing that this was Benjamin, only more, banished all thoughts that this presence was somehow an intruder. He reached for the presence only to be forcibly shoved from Ben’s mind as his shields reasserted themselves. He was left with an impression of blood, warm on his skin as the desert sun, the stench of death and the dust of ages.
Xavier gasped in air. It had been some time since a venture into another’s mind had left him feeling like this. He saw Scott kneeling before him, looking worriedly up at him.
“Professor?” Xavier shook his head.
“I’m fine. Just had a bit of a shock,” he said. Scott frowned.
“What happened?”
“I found Benjamin. He lowered his shields, though I think something happened that forced him to. I was able to pinpoint his location,” Xavier told him, then added apprehensively, “I’m worried about him.”
“Where is he?” Scott asked, his tone anxious.
“Eagle Lake, Maine.”
***
MacLeod picked up the phone as it rang. He had been staying for the last few days in a hotel in New York, hoping to find something that he had missed. So far he had had no luck.
“MacLeod,” he answered.
“Duncan, I have some news.”
“What is it, Amy?” MacLeod asked, hearing the obvious apprehension in her voice.
“I’m not sure how relevant it is. Either way, you might want to know it.”
“Go ahead.”
“An Immortal was kidnapped two days ago. His Watcher reported that the men who kidnapped him appeared to be military. Just yesterday there was an electrical surge at a nearby army base. MacLeod, I don’t need to tell you what it would mean if the army knew about Immortals.”
“A world of trouble, I know. Do you think this is connected to Adam?”
“I can’t say. All I know is that it’s suspicious that they both disappeared, but it’s unlikely to be the same people. Especially given the length of time between occurrences, and the distances involved.”
“Even if it isn’t him, I need to check it out. We can’t let the military find out about Immortals.”
“The base is in Maine, outside some town called Eagle Lake,” Amy said, giving him the specifics.
“Let’s hope Adam can hold out a little longer,” MacLeod murmured with a sigh.
“Be careful.” MacLeod just laughed deprecatingly as he hung up the phone. Now all he had to do was book another flight.
TBC
Shifty