167 years had passed since he had seen his brother. Time was measured differently for him, it passed quickly and without event. Most of the time. He'd had his challenges and for the most part had come out unscathed. A few scars decorated his well built frame where he had let his opponent get too close. From what he had heard his brother had become a plague upon their immortal race, but he knew the truth. His brother was an incredible fighter and an even better swordsman, and others sought him out to prove their metal. They always lost. Jessie looked around the plane and took in the people around him. Families, salesmen, business people of every walk in life, not a single one of them would live what he'd lived. Not in their own lifetimes. The things he'd seen and done would sicken some and disturb others. But now there were only two left that had a chance at the prize. Him and one other: Miguel.
Some would ask him what made him so sure that Miguel was still alive and he had an answer. "Nobody beats my brother. Nobody." He couldn't help but smile a little at some of the answers he'd gotten from some of his peers and opponents alike, the mockery, the questions, and in the end, their quickening. Jessie understood the rules like the rest. No woman could become immortal. Only two of them per fight. They could not fight on hollowed ground. And most importantly: There can be only one. Below the belly of the plane London passed silently, his final destination close by. It was the gathering. Every one of them felt it, a pull that summoned them to others of their kind to do battle on the stage of earth before God himself. Jessie had resisted the call for as long as he could, but he finally went, knowing others would be there before him. If they faced Miguel, they would lose. Oh well. Means less competition for him to take care of.
His newly sharpened sword was in the overhead compartment and it made him nervous to be talked to or questioned, but he remained cool. Soon the highlands would be under his feet again. For some reason it just felt like home. He decided to sleep the last two hours of the flight. It was dreamless, just the way he liked his rest, and he woke when the pilot announced the entire landing principalities. Jessie had been in a plane crash. He survived, of course. It didn't really matter how much you prepared, it was utter chaos. Now the plane was safe on the ground and he collected his only piece of luggage and left the airport. It was Miguel's style to pic a place so dramatic to end this all, the highlands of Scotland and the hill of the McLeouds. Now the last leg of his journey had begun as he stepped into the car he had paid to pick him up and take him to the final showdown. There was no music, no dramatic speeches, no cinematic montage to commemorate the occasion. No. This end would go unnoticed to mortal man, unknown to those outside. He smiled solemnly to himself, remembering what his master said they were all doomed to: A swing of a sword, a fall of a head, and there we end. Parts of him wanted the drive to end with his brother already dead, to avoid the fight that would inevitably happen. Another part wanted to see him. To give him the death he deserved: A warrior's death.
The dawn was barely breaking the horizon as he neared the spot of drop off, the day would be beautiful and overcast. Jessie wore his best suit, navy blue with a black shirt and tie, and a long black trench coat. It was the beginning of spring and the foliage was green, the weather was chilly and crisp. The car slowed and his ride was over. After handing the driver his fee Jessie began walking to the hill, taking in the remarkable scenery that had never failed to take his breath. And before he could finish taking it in he came upon them: The last of the immortals. They were standing in a circle, facing one another, and only turned their heads to acknowledge him as he approached. Familiar faces were there, faces he'd met over the years, and some strangers. Then he spotted him.
He sat on a rock with a cigarette between his long, pale fingers. Jessie took his spot amongst the others, taking his sword from its travel cylinder. The broadsword felt familiar and good in his grip, the weight was welcomed, and the bright steel gleamed as he drew it from its ancient leather sheath. Miguel stood and faced them for the first time. Jessie was happy to see his brother's face, but when the light passed his long hair and illuminated his features, Jessie's heart nearly stopped. It was not the face he remembered. Miguel was now ashen, pale as bleached bone, a long scar ran down the right side of his face, making his eye a cross of sorts. Another scar in the shape of a crescent moon highlighted his left cheek. And he could see another beneath the shemagh wrapped loosely around his neck, the black and gray scarf standing out in stark comparison to the skin below. Miguel stood and Jessie saw him in full. He wore a black button up shirt, black slacks, a long black trench coat, and the scarf. Under the coat Jessie spotted three sword handles slung from his belt. One standard katana, one medium broadsword, and one wooden handled katana. "Welcome, little brother. We've been waiting for you to start. You look great. I'm glad to see your healthy." He meant it, Jessie knew. Miguel's voice had become gravel, due to the scar, Jessie guessed. "Younger brother." Jessie said without thinking. Miguel smiled widely at him, as the others exchanged confused looks, before he continued.
"Somethings never change. Gentlemen. The gathering has called us here. Now it ends. The twelve of us, the last desciples, must fight until we are but one. So. Issue your challenges. And remember. Two men per fight." A few chuckled, but instantly a man to Jessie's right drew his sword. "I want you, ya blaggard." British by the accent, he leveled his blade right at Miguel. Miguel bowed a bit and opened his arms in a welcoming gesture, a taunt to the challenger, to which the man spit to the side and marched forward. He was dead, Jessie thought. Then his name was called. A smiling man greeted him and walked forward. It was a familiar face. "My old friend. It would be an honor to fight you. Would you accept my challenge?" He was an African man that Jessie had done business with a number of years ago. They had become fast friends and kept in touch, but this was the end, and friendship no longer mattered. Others around the circle issued their challenges and moved off. Jessie smiled at his own challenger, and bowed slightly. "It would be an honor to cross swords with you again." As they bowed to each other a sound Jessie was more than familiar with rang out. A sword was drawn, a body hit the soft grass, and soon after a head joined it. He didn't have to look to know the would-be tough guy fell to Miguel. The quickening was started and soon ended, not a sound came from the pale spaniard as the enormous amount of energy joined him. There was no surprise on Jessie's part, but the others marveled as his brother resumed his spot on the rock and smoked a cigarette.
Jessie's opponent muttered, "My god. How many has he killed to be able to do that?" More than Jessie cared to know. The man's attention returned and he drew his own scimitar, preparing for the duel. Swords began clashing around them and with a deep breath and a lunge Jessie joined the cacophony. One by one bodies fell and the quickening electrified the air. Jessie was on one knee, panting from the event that had just passed, sweat on his brow, muscles screaming in pain, but he felt rejuvinated at the same time. Soon after twelve became six and they resumed the circle, resting for now. This was a sacred ritual, but it looked like a macbre sideshow to Jessie, and his brother was their ringmaster. A funeral pyre was built and the six fallen were placed upon it, kind words said in respect. Noon was upon them and the remaining six faced each other once more.
The largest man there faced Miguel and issued his challenge, expecting to be turned away, but was accepted with a smile and a bow. The large man held an equally large claymore and crude armor under his long coat. A man to Jessie's left challenged him and smirked as if he knew something no one else did. Jessie accepted and ran down the various reasons he would. A hidden weapon, armor under his clothes, some trick to distract, or a gun. Yes, they were immortal, but those things still hurt. The man was of Asian decent and had loose clothes on, his blades Chinese broadswords, his style would be fancy, but not built to withstand power like Jessie's. The symphony of clashing steel began again, and soon his opponent's swords were broken, unable to stand up to a broadsword. They were tossed aside and another pair were drawn from under the loose clothing. There's the reason for the smile. A body dropped, and the quickening began to join his skinny brother off to his right somewhere. Soon his Asian opponent fell and the quickening began to join him, as well, making Jessie scream for the second time today. Six were now three. Another funeral pyre was built and the three were burned, their swords put aside to commemorate their graves.
It was high noon, no shadows cast across the green grassy field, no sun shone brightly through the thick clouds. There were three immortals left in the world. Jessie, his brother Miguel, and this third man. He was tall with short black hair slicked back, black military pants and sweater, and his blade shone bright as a thick rapier. Miguel flicked away his cigarette and regarded the man with an indifferent look. "So, my friend. We are but three. Choose your opponent." The answered with a confused look and questioned the spaniard. "Why must I choose? Why don't you two fight?" Miguel smiled and hooked his long hair behind his ears before continuing, "Because. He's my brother. And you know the code." Jessie closed his eyes and knew it was true. The code forbade brothers from battling unless there were no others. And before the two stood an opponent.
The man looked from one face to the other and laughed openly. "You mean to tell me that you two are brothers?!? A spic and a black?!? And I'm Santa Claus!" The smile fell from his brother's face and he stood quickly, a scowl of disgust engraved on his ashen features. "So you've chosen. I will be your opponent. And you've chosen poorly. Because you will suffer before you surrender your quickening to me." Jessie tried to intervine on behalf of the poor bastard. "Miguel, come on, man you don't need-" Withought looking at him Miguel drew his sword and silenced his brother. The man scoffed and advanced. His ordeal lasted hours, Miguel's cruelty knew no bounds as he slowly butchered the man, piece by piece and cut by cut he wore the man down until he begged for death. Then he cut out his tongue. Night had began to fall and was darkening the sky. It was then when it ended for the man that mocked the brothers, the last of the immortals. Jessie felt sick from the ordeal, but could not intervene if the man was still alive. Miguel dragged the body and its pieces away to the still burning pyre and tossed them in.
When he returned he lit a cigarette and sat on his rock, leaning the last of the blades against his impromptu throne. "So. What do you say, little brother? We can have ourselves a little midnight duel or we can wait til dawn and do it samurai style. Whatcha say?" Jessie was tired and collecting from others had drained him. He nodded and resigned himself, "Dawn." Miguel smiled wickedly, "I thought so. So I set up some tents for us over there. I'll see you at dawn." It was obvious he didn't want to talk or reminisce about their lives before. Jessie didn't blame him, at dawn they would cross swords and one of them would die. It broke his heart, either way, as he walked he thought about what would happen when this was done. Even if they were separated by thousands of miles they both still felt that connection, that feeling that they weren't really alone, and sometimes it was all that kept Jessie going sometimes. And knowing Miguel and his penchant for pushing people away, he would be totally alone if he won, and that was in itself a form of punishment that he wouldn't wish upon anyone. Yet if he lost he would be pushing it upon his brother. But could he murder his own brother? No. Not murder. Not kill. End. He would feel him in his soul forever through the quickening. But that wasn't his brother. No matter how it felt. He'd sleep for now and let fate decide at dawn.
He dreamt for the first time in a very long time, memories of the past, of his long life. And of his time with Miguel, long past and tragically too short. He couldn't remember why they separated from each other in the first place, but he wished they hadn't, wished that they were friends like always. Dawn broke, but it was the hot tear running down Jessie's cheek that tickled him awake to witness the purple give way to orange, then pink, and blue. Once Miguel had said that it was like watching the world be reborn. And as he watched the clouds, here in the highlands, paint themselves with a pallet of colors he couldn't help but agree. He got his clothes back in order and his shoes back on before he left the tent, feeling the chilly air as he unzipped the opening. He looked out and stepped back onto the soft grass and looked back up towards where the fighting grounds were. There sat his brother on a throne of rock, staring off into the sunrise and smoking a cigarette.
"Been a long, funny, long ride, eh brother?" Jessie stretched his muscles and nodded, "Yeah it has. Yeah it has." Another drag of the smoke and gray plume gave pause to the conversation. "Who would have thought, huh? Us two as the last of the immortal race that somehow decides the fate of mankind." He laughed a dark and bitter laugh, his gravel voice lending a menacing tone to it. "Miguel, we-" Jessie started, but was cut off. "Yeah, we do." The last of the cigarette was flicked away and Miguel stood, waiting. Jessie felt his heart sink. Slowly he assumed his position and drew his sword. One way or another this was the last time he would use it.
He took a deep breath of the clean air and let it out slowly as he brought his sword up in a salute, feeling the weight of it, the balance of the perfect steel, the red reflection of the dawn. Steel sang as Miguel drew his blade and saluted as well, his dark brown eyes mournful and yet full of fire. The world ceased to exist anymore. It was just him and his brother. Silence enveloped them. They both stepped forward and moments later steel bit flesh. Jessie lay on his side, holding the several deep cuts his brother had given him, still bleeding and hurting. The fight was so long and so painful, but it was over now. Soon the quickening would come. Jessie's eyes slid closed, bracing for the pain that he knew was coming, but knowing it would be over quickly. Then it came, sharp, quick, and sudden. His vision went white. As the quickening joined him.
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