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Cleveland, Ohio, United States of America - July 13, 1997 - 10:48 p.m.
An apartment

Tollinger kept his promise. He had come to Methos. Sort of. Earlier in the day, after making sure Methos had managed to dodge the authorities the night before and make it away safely, he located him and sent him a message via a homeless guy on the street who needed some cash. Methos knew where to be.

Tollinger, however, was still hurting. Not physically. Wounds mend, scars heal. No. It was mentally. Tollinger was not used to being beaten, let alone getting his ass slammed in a pile of garbage. Methos was a man possessed. He wanted vengeance. If it wasn't for Steven, Tollinger just might be....unable to party. This was not good.

Tollinger knew it was time to pull out the big guns. It was time to show Methos who the best truly was. Tollinger looked at his watch. It was time to go.

On top of a building somewhere downtown - 11:30 p.m.

Methos stood there waiting. Patiently, he scanned the shadows. Nothing except the cold rain coming down hard from the sky. Methos didn't know why he even bothered. His immortal sense would alert him as soon as Tollinger showed up.

Methos barely got the thought out before that same sense went off.

Blade in hand, he tossed off his trenchcoat. It was only going to be dead weight, especially in this rain. Now he had to find Tollinger.

That wasn't hard, as a laugh came from one corner of the roof. Methos turned and felt this incredible pain in his left arm. The shaft of an arrow protruded outward.

Tollinger came walking out, tossing down a bow and carrying a large battle axe. Methos had no idea what the hell was going on. Tollinger had become Conan the Barbarian, and right now Conan was raising the weapon in both hands. Methos dodged to the left and the axe came smashing down. Methos shot his foot out and hit Tollinger in the gut. Tollinger regrouped, pulled his arms back around his side, and let loose with a deadly swoop. Methos dodged back. He broke the shaft in his arm so it wouldn't get in the way, or move the arrowhead around.

Sword at hand, Methos took the offensive. A downward slice from right to left was easily thwarted by a lifting of the axe, so Methos let the sword clang and roll off. He then did a swipe across Tollinger's lower body, but all that did was slice part of Tollinger's clothes.

Tollinger lunged at Methos. The two men fell back and Tollinger rolled away. Methos was fazed, not expecting any of what was going on. He quickly moved, however, when 60 pounds of sharp steel came flying down onto the rooftop. Methos ran in the opposite direction of Tollinger.

Tollinger ran after Methos as he dashed behind a heating vent. Tollinger swung his axe, and Methos ducked easily to the right. He didn't expect the quick reflexes of Tollinger, and nearly lost his right arm. Methos jumped onto the heating vent and shot his arm out, nailing Tollinger in the face with a rain soaked fist. Tollinger didn't expect that, and tumbled back. However, he didn't release his hold on the axe, something Methos was hoping for. Tollinger came forward and brought the axe down from over his head. Methos leaped away, tucked and tumbled, and came up standing.

The rain was coming down steady. It was cold, wet and dark. Methos cracked a smile.

They ran towards each other, each extending their own weapons to meet in a loud clang. Two men, forged in the struggles of time and the battle of survival, moved across the roof fighting with an intensity and power not seen since the fields of war millennia ago. Both had refined their artform over the years, perfecting each technique and mastering their age old skills.

Cold metal cut through warm flesh, and blood mixed with the cold rain dripping down the body. A mouth opened and painfully growled words rang out. It was Tollinger's words, and his abdomen was red with blood.

With a yell from deep within his lungs, Tollinger lunged at Methos and swung his axe with a swift, deadly blow. Methos' chest bore a neat, red cut along his lower chest, which soon grew larger. Blood dripped in large puddles.

Methos clutched his chest with one hand and held his sword out with the other. Tollinger swung his axe around in a continuous loop, driving Methos back. Blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth as he stumbled back. Tollinger let out a demented, wicked laugh.

Methos quickly jerked his wrist and cut Tollinger's forearm. He in turn responded by barely missing Methos' head with the bloodied axe. Methos stuck his blade between Tollinger's ribs.

Tollinger swung his arm back, and with a massive amount of force nailed Methos in the chest. Methos dropped his sword, and as the axe was torn out, he dropped to his knees and splashed in rainwater and blood.

As he tried to regain himself, he felt a large amount of pain in his back. Tollinger grinned as his axe rested in Methos' spinal chord. He removed it, lifted it high above his head, and brought it slamming down into his back again.

Methos was in an excruciating amount of pain. His energy was fading. He wasn't sure if he was going to make it.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw something. It spurned an idea in his head. He reached his arm out, grabbed hold of his trenchcoat. He flung it into Tollinger's face.

Tollinger stumbled back, trying to remove the drenched coat from his face. Methos managed to get up. Tollinger still held his axe, so Methos decided to remedy that. He picked up his sword, and with a swift motion of his arm swung his sword. Methos heard a muffled yell and watched Tollinger's right arm fall to the ground, axe still within his grip. Tollinger clutched his bloody stump with his remaining hand.

Methos took his coat off Tollinger, and stared him in the eyes. Methos pulled back, and with one swoop, brought his sword back and took Tollinger's head.

Cleveland - Later that evening

Methos sat on the rooftop, covered from the rain. He was remembering his deceased friend Percy, and all the long struggles he's endured, and would still endure. He stared at the city lights, then brought his eyes to a book. On the cover was a stylized letter "T." Methos felt empty inside. Vengeance was his, but his friend was still dead. He looked back towards the city lights and remembered of times long past.

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