FIC: For Eternity [Highlander/Resident Evil]
Title: For Eternity
Author: Feygan
Fandom: Highlander/Resident Evil
Pairing: none
Warning: ambiguous character death(?)
Disclaimer: I do not own Highlander, or Resident Evil.
LiveJournal: http://feygan.livejournal.com
Home: http://www.darkgesture.com/fanfiction.htm
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"Stupid scientists, always screwing around with things they can't control," he muttered, his arm aching from the swing-swing-swing of lopping off heads and his shoulder still stinging from the dog bite. That bastard had taken a big chunk of flesh and bone out of him and it was still healing, but at least he had used his last bullet to punch a hole through its skull into its brain. It wasn't getting back up again, and the vindictive glee of taking it out was still with him. He had never been much of a dog person, and now it looked as though he was never going to be one.
He'd been running for three days now, ducking and hiding when he could, fighting when he had no other choice. All he wanted was to get out of the city, but the blockade and armed guards allowed no escape. The only thing he could do was stay alive and hope that when the quarantine lifted he would be in one piece.
"A-arrrarrhahgah!"
Methos cursed under his breath, then forced himself to concentrate on the seemingly hundreds of shambling dead people heading toward him, their teeth gnashing hungrily. They didn't care that he was Immortal and that he wouldn't die unless they ripped his head off. All they knew was the need to feed, and he was walking meat for them to gnaw on.
He really didn't want to be torn to bits. It didn't seem like much fun.
"All right, you fuckers," he said, bringing his Ivanhoe to the ready position, waiting for the first to come in close enough. He knew that this was no time for anything fancy because even though he could be exhausted, they could not. Long after he collapsed, they would still keep coming.
Sweat and blood stained, hungry and thirsty and wanting nothing more than to lay down and sleep, he was determined to survive. Five thousand years of life was not going to be ended here on this dirty nighttime street with just the moon for a witness and no other Immortal to accept his Quickening. And if he did die, he wasn't going to go down easy.
Reaching down deep into the depths of his psyche, he drew out the Beast he had locked away thousands of years ago when he had given up his angry adolescence. Sudden fire burned in his eyes and his lips drew back from his teeth in a feral snarl.
Death waited as the circle of walking dead closed around him. A long forgotten bloodlust surged in his veins and the last shreds of his modern self fell away, leaving the predator exposed. He had been a psychopath and a berserker long before there were words to describe the things that he did. And now he was out to play.
"Come on then," he growled.
And they came, wave upon wave. And Death laughed at the freedom of it all.
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=THE END=
Author: Feygan
Fandom: Highlander/Resident Evil
Pairing: none
Warning: ambiguous character death(?)
Disclaimer: I do not own Highlander, or Resident Evil.
LiveJournal: http://feygan.livejournal.com
Home: http://www.darkgesture.com/fanfiction.htm
.
.
"Stupid scientists, always screwing around with things they can't control," he muttered, his arm aching from the swing-swing-swing of lopping off heads and his shoulder still stinging from the dog bite. That bastard had taken a big chunk of flesh and bone out of him and it was still healing, but at least he had used his last bullet to punch a hole through its skull into its brain. It wasn't getting back up again, and the vindictive glee of taking it out was still with him. He had never been much of a dog person, and now it looked as though he was never going to be one.
He'd been running for three days now, ducking and hiding when he could, fighting when he had no other choice. All he wanted was to get out of the city, but the blockade and armed guards allowed no escape. The only thing he could do was stay alive and hope that when the quarantine lifted he would be in one piece.
"A-arrrarrhahgah!"
Methos cursed under his breath, then forced himself to concentrate on the seemingly hundreds of shambling dead people heading toward him, their teeth gnashing hungrily. They didn't care that he was Immortal and that he wouldn't die unless they ripped his head off. All they knew was the need to feed, and he was walking meat for them to gnaw on.
He really didn't want to be torn to bits. It didn't seem like much fun.
"All right, you fuckers," he said, bringing his Ivanhoe to the ready position, waiting for the first to come in close enough. He knew that this was no time for anything fancy because even though he could be exhausted, they could not. Long after he collapsed, they would still keep coming.
Sweat and blood stained, hungry and thirsty and wanting nothing more than to lay down and sleep, he was determined to survive. Five thousand years of life was not going to be ended here on this dirty nighttime street with just the moon for a witness and no other Immortal to accept his Quickening. And if he did die, he wasn't going to go down easy.
Reaching down deep into the depths of his psyche, he drew out the Beast he had locked away thousands of years ago when he had given up his angry adolescence. Sudden fire burned in his eyes and his lips drew back from his teeth in a feral snarl.
Death waited as the circle of walking dead closed around him. A long forgotten bloodlust surged in his veins and the last shreds of his modern self fell away, leaving the predator exposed. He had been a psychopath and a berserker long before there were words to describe the things that he did. And now he was out to play.
"Come on then," he growled.
And they came, wave upon wave. And Death laughed at the freedom of it all.
.
=THE END=