Unwanted Immortality, or Battosai Eternal

By Dracul

***
Author's Notes:

        I don't own Highlander: the Series, or Ruroni Kenshin. The
rights to both series are left in the hands of the correct copyright
holders, and the author makes no claim to them.

This is a slight divergence in both continuities, with only the happy
ending missing from the Kenshin stories. Reviews are welcome, and the
author is a cold and uncaring bastard, so don't spare the constructive
criticism.

Prologue:

  A chance encounter, one of many, of no great importance, except to the
participant who doesn't walk away.
***

        Kenshin walked down the asphalt streets alone. He paid no more
heed to the rain than he did his tattered clothes. He had stopped caring
about such things long ago, in a land far away from the miserable
metropolis he wandered in now. To his mind the katana hidden beneath the
rags was too light even after so long. It burned against his soul with
each beat of his heart.

        He felt the newcomer even before the headache started. He had
encountered a staggering variety of skilled swordsmen in his many years
of wandering. Some were more skilled at hiding their presence than
others, and some simply didn't bother trying. The miasma of evil that
wafted in on the breeze indicated the latter.

        He turned down an alley at the first opportunity. It wasn't long
before the other swordsman followed him in. The smell of blood was
strong, almost enough to hide the slimy feeling that wafted in the air.
Meetings like this always made him think of the old wolf. He briefly
wondered what Saito did these days, but the pervasive despair stifled it
quickly.

        The challenger was huge. Bulging muscled restrained rather than
hidden beneath black leather and polished buckles. A face of black
stubble and spiky hair only added menace instead of mockery as it would
have upon a smaller man. A huge broadsword slung openly over one
shoulder completed the ensemble.

        They stared at each other, and attempted to draw each other's
measure. Kenshin knew he was not a worthy opponent the moment the black
clad figure reacted to his filthy rags and short stature with disdain.
Part of him was disappointed when his opponent betrayed himself by
dropping his guard.

        It was the part of him that had looked forward to a challenge,
the dark part of his soul that enjoyed the battle, and the killing. He
had a name for it, the Battosai. After all these years and so much pain,
the part of him called Kenshin was a pale shadow in comparison. The
Beast could not love, but it could be angry.

        "I am Willichar, of Thuringia,"
        The voice was mocking. The anger raged in him, that this stupid
gaijin thought he *wasn.t dangerous*. He came to his own decisions about
his opponents strengths and skills. He took in the huge frame, the bulky
muscles and the awkward sword and the short quarters.

        *Slow* he had fought and killed stronger men than this one, and
better. The imposing clothing restricted his movement, and the massive
muscles had been developed using weights instead of battle or real
training. Even if he was a hundred times faster than he had any right to
be, he was still *too damned slow* to challenge him.

        "I have no need to give my name to the dead." Battoasai spoke.
Then he let his aura loose, blasting discarded refuse away in all
directions. Even with that warning, the stupid barbarian still couldn't
get his guard up in time.

        "There can be only one!"

        He hated the words as they came from his lips, as they had so
many times before. Then he let the storm obliterate his thoughts, and
left behind his own torturous memories as the lightning crashed through
his soul.



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