The Game 31
Edited by Karen Leigh
After the paramedics passed, Ricky had an uneventful trip back to Skip's. He noticed that security had doubled however and for some reason they made him look in a mirror and hold a cross before he could pass. They did the same thing to Denise and even to Skinner, who was only semiconscious.
Patting Denise again, Ricky said, "You'll be safe here. There's a doctor who looks a lot like you..." (Only Eugene doesn't wear woman's clothing, Ricky reflected...at least as far as he knew.)
For once, no one seemed to be hanging around on the lawn; Ricky went in and yelled, "Hey, I need help! I have two injured people here and I need a doctor!"
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This must be what it's like inside Sybil's head... With only a few exceptions, everyone he could see was a virtual copy of himself. Almost all of them were talking animatedly in pairs or small groups, and although the food was quite good, a great many seemed to have selected their entire meal from the buffet's unusually large dessert cart. Well, whatever. So long as they don't start handing out the Nikes and applesauce...
Philip tried to dispel the stiffness and tension that had been building up since he'd stepped off the plane, rolling his head and shoulders as unobtrusively as possible, but it had little effect. Gradually, luxuriating in a more expansive stretch, he realized it wasn't merely the long hours of travel he was feeling. The strong, generalized sense of arousal, held in opposition to the lassitude of post coital drift...such a familiar mingling of pleasure and torment, yet not quite the same... And there was another note, something he'd first experienced, dimly, when he'd concentrated his attention on the van. More intense now, a life force stronger than any he'd ever felt. Wary once again, he observed his surroundings more closely.
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Cory walked willingly along with Dustin towards the appetizing smell coming from the kitchen. He was starved. And, it was far past time for he and Dustin to have a chat. "Sounds like a plan to me, Dustin. Let's get something to eat, sit down together and talk. So much has been going on, we really haven't had a chance to get to know each other very well - this seems as good a time as any to figure out what's going on between us - before we end up in a room together."
Dustin laughed a little. "Good deal." He started walking towards the food, and grabbed a plate from the stack. "I think I'd like to get to know you." He began electing food. All of it delicious... he'd have to complement the chef. Maybe no post-Oscar meal, but close enough.
Stopping, Cory met Dustin's eyes defensively. "I need to know what you want, Dustin - before I get too fond of you, I mean. If you don't want us to be together, you need to tell me now - before things go any further."
Dustin sighed. "Cory, I... it's not you, it's me. I've had a lot of shit go down in my life just lately, and I'm not... I'm not sure a relationship is... such a good thing for me to contemplate right now."
He had reached the end of the table, and grabbed a cup of coffee.
He paused. "My girl... my ex... yeah, I slept with her and we started dating right off. But maybe that was part of the problem, you know? I think... I just think maybe I ought to take things a little slower this time."
At the look in the other's eyes, Dustin added quickly, "Savor things a bit. Why rush, anyway?"
He took his plate and coffee over to a table, and sat down. Looking across at Cory, he said, "Besides, we hardly know each other. How do you know if you like me enough to be with me or not?" If he knew what you did... Dustin shook the thought aside. Fuck that. I just don't want to burn any bridges, and I don't want to hurt anyone.
He looked at Cory. "Maybe it would help if you were inside my world a little bit. See, once upon a time there was a guy named Dustin. He lived in Hollywood. Dustin was a movie producer, and television, too. He loved nothing better than a night on the town with his best friend, Jarred, picking up girls while his girlfriend thought he was at work on a late deadline..."
He looked away, swallowing.
"One day Dustin and Jarred went to a wedding, and afterwards to several clubs. They had a limo. Dustin had picked up a girl, and had had several drinks. He and his girl hot out on the beach..."
He looked at Cory, and proceeded to tell him the story of waking up on the beach with a guy named Minnow over him, and an apparent dead girl beside him.
"After that... after that," Dustin said, "a lot of things happened, and they... only now... they kinda... I'm being forced to look at my life again. Before that happened..."
He swallowed again.
"Before what... happened, happened, I would never have talked to you like this. I would have cheerfully taken your affections, and if you got hurt, I'd have said it was your own fault for getting hurt."
Dustin added, "But it wouldn't be true. I know that now."
Cory sipped his drink and thought for a moment. Whatever had happened to Dustin had obviously shaken him up pretty thoroughly. Cory could understand that. He could sympathize with it, even. He didn't, however, relish the thought of hanging around, waiting for Dustin to decide it might be safe to try a relationship. He was tired of being alone. More importantly, he was tired of being lonely. Sighing, he looked up into Dustin's watchful eyes. "Whatever happened to you sounds like it must have been really bad. I understand what you're saying," he shrugged, "I've been around the block a time or two - had some disastrous relationships, had some great ones. You'll see, they balance out in the end."
After taking a deep breath, he continued, "But, Dustin, I've been alone for a very long time now, and I'm ready to find a relationship. Now, I don't want you to take this the wrong way - and I haven't any plans to rush out and put an add in the local personals column, but, if someone comes along that I'm interested in - who returns that interest... Well, I will pursue it."
Cory grinned. Hell, if Dustin wanted to be friends, he could do that. And, friends were honest with each other, right?
"Well, Dustin, I was born in England, actually. In 1461. The first time I died I was 27 years old - got caught poaching, if you can believe that. Once I found out that I couldn't die - well, I can die, I just recover better than most people do - I spent about ... oh, the next 600 years having fun. I live by robbery - 'course, I'm not very expensive to maintain, so I don't have to work very hard."
Dustin looked at Cory. He dropped his fork, which struck his plate with a ker-chink and then came to rest on the table. His expression was priceless. For a few minutes he just sat there, wide-eyed, mouth agape. Or at least, for several seconds. It was awhile, anyway. Then he began to laugh. "Oh, that's a good one. You... you had me going, you know?" He stopped at a look from the other man. "Come on." Chuckle. "You weren't seriously born in 1461."
He took a sip of his coffee, grinning. The grin quickly faded. "And... everyone can die." He looked at Cory again. His eyes were twinkling. "You're just full of the devil, aren't you?" This man didn't expect him to believe that was his real birth date, did he? He was having him on. Sure he was.
Cory's smile widened. Ever so casually, he moved the fork he was holding until it hovered above his left hand. Keeping his eyes fixed firmly on Dustin's, Cory raked the fork across the back of his hand, dropped it, then lifted his hand so that Dustin could not avoid the sight.
"Ouch!" Dustin exclaimed. "Why did you want to do that?" He suddenly had a knot in his stomach. Maybe this guy is crazy. Delusional and all that. You know, schizophrenic, or something... what was it called...
"Watch," he said simply.
Dustin really couldn't help but do just that. Blood had started to flow from the wound, and rather freely, but presently it just seemed to... stop. What the...
Already, the furrows were starting to close. The energy of his quickening sparkled across them in tiny blue electrical sparks.
Dustin stared, agape again. The man's skin was closing, right before his eyes. Not possible. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, and then opened them again, quickly.
Sparks arced across Cory's hand as the skin finally closed completely.
Dustin stared at the hand, and then raised his eyes to Cory's. "How did you do... what the hell... was that?"
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There. A pair of duplicates at a table a few yards away. They seemed innocuous enough, a pair of lovers engaged in relaxed conversation, but a certain tension underlay the postures of both men. One of them -- slim, well groomed and expensively dressed -- was leaning forward to make a point. He was laughing, and as bizarre as it seemed on the surface, Philip found himself wishing he were the one sitting across the table, instead of... The visceral jolt he received as the other man held up a hand for his companion's inspection left him blinking rapidly, his breathing ragged.
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Dustin continued to stare at Cory's hand. He held out his, to inspect it. There was not a scratch on it. Dustin turned it over in his hand. Nothing. He looked at Cory, hoping for an explanation. He said nothing. If he had, it wouldn't have been very coherent.
Leaning forward, Cory met Dustin's confused stare with a slight smile. "I was quite serious, about when I was born, Dustin. And, I've died more times than I can count in these 600 years. But," he shrugged, "I always come back. If the injury is really nasty, it might take a while, but I always come back to life."
He sat back, still grinning. "I'm not the only one - there are a fair number of us. It's a long complicated story - but the important fact is that I'm exactly what I tell you I am - an Immortal."
Cory looked up, startled when he heard Ricky's yell. He frowned at Dustin and climbed to his feet. "We'll have to continue this later, Dustin. It sounds like someone needs help."
Dustin frowned. He was rather hungry... but he wanted to see what was going on, maybe learn something. He caught the eye of a tired looking clone at the next table and recognized the interested look for what it was and felt like preening but there was no time. He had to follow Cory. Also, he wasn't just going to let the Immortal thing drop. How could he, after what he'd seen?
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It was like being shaken and dropped by some huge, formless animal. What the fuck now? Who -- what -- was this guy...?!
The sensation ebbed as the man hurried from the hall, and Philip found himself exchanging a stunned, uncomprehending look with the man's partner, who still stood, hesitating, at their table. The duplicate's expression, his poised yet indecisive stance, went straight to Philip's groin. A flicker of a smile answered his, intensifying the hot rush...
However, before he could speak, Philip's field of vision was suddenly filled by the extremely well proportioned strike zone of another man, standing across the table from him. Gaze traveling slowly up the black-clad figure, he at last met the shrewd, amused eyes of yet another duplicate.
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Heading up the corridor with Anson at his side, Methos wondered what the heck this place was. Seemed to him like a private city all on its' own. He was searching for someone who would give him answers, and if he didn't get them soon he was going to start getting angry.
Stopping a Mac who was rushing down the corridor, intent on getting somewhere in a hurry, Methos waited until he had the android's attention.
"Excuse me. My friend and I are tired. We'd really like to catch a couple of hours sleep. Can you give us any idea where to go?"
Mac Smith, who had been racing to get to Skip, eyed them with interest.
"Sure thing. The sleeping quarters are through the gate there and across the yard. All you do is try the doors. Sooner or later you'll find an empty room. Enjoy. Excuse me." and with that, he ran off.
Methos and Anson exchanged glances. Anson was looking a little pinched. It was quite obvious that he didn't feel comfortable. Pulling him in to hug him, Methos whispered, "We're gonna get out of here as soon as we can, but let's go find a room. You look totally wiped out."
His arm still around Anson, Methos headed for the gate that had been indicated, and out across the courtyard to the building beyond. Silently, Anson walked at Methos' side, grateful for that long arm wrapped around his shoulders. He didn't like this place. It gave him a serious case of the heebie-jeebies.
All these clones.
All these androids.
Men with guns all over the fucking place.
And - that Skip person. What the hell was up with him?
Nope, Anson did not like this place at all.
They moved down the corridor, opening far too many doors, in Anson's opinion, before they located an empty room. One couple had even invited them to join in.
Anson liked the place even less.
Once the door was safely shut behind them, Anson grabbed Methos, pulling him into a tight hug. "I don't like it here, Methos. I don't like it at all."
"Peace, Anson love. We won't stay any longer than we have to." Methos put one hand under Anson's chin and turned his face up for a lingering kiss. "Now we're here, we have to find out what's going on. There's a danger to you, and I don't like that. We can't fight what we don't know about. Come on, kid, get those clothes off and let's go to bed.
So saying, Methos turned to survey the room. It was palatial, and the bed looked incredibly inviting. Shucking his clothing, he pulled back the covers and climbed in.
Anson quickly stripped and joined Methos on the bed, plastering himself against the older man's lean body. All this stress and tension were zinging through his nerve endings and he needed the stability of Methos' attention right now.
"Methos," he whispered. "Just how tired are you?"
"Now that," whispered Methos, "is a question that I think requires a little investigation." His hands began to skim Anson's smooth skin, and he rolled to face him, pressing forward to kiss him along his jaw line.
"Let's go for a little experimentation here... just see if I'm exhausted, or merely a wee bit sleepy." He grinned, and crushed Anson beneath him as he began to devour him with kisses.
Clutching at Methos desperately, Anson writhed under him. God, he needed this man. Needed him as he'd never needed before.
Dimly, he noted that Methos had suddenly stiffened and lifted his head as if listening. He moaned in protest and tried to pull his lover back down into another kiss.
Then he heard it, pounding at the door, Cory's voice.
"Oh fuck!" he groaned. "Why now?"
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Cory hurried out towards the entrance and greeted Ricky - damn, it was hard to keep all of them straight in his head. Following him out to the car, he bent in and drew in a sharp breath when he saw Denise's huddled form.
"Denise?" he asked gently.
Wearily, Bryson turned to look up at him. "Which one are you?" she mumbled.
"I'm Cory - we met at Mulder's."
"You were with Methos." Her eyes opened more fully and she looked up at him pleadingly. "Is he here? I trust him - he was kind to me before."
"Ah, yeah," Cory nodded. "He's here. Tell you what, you let Ricky get you into the infirmary, I'll hunt Methos down and bring him to you."
Running back inside the building, Cory grabbed a passing clone - or Mac - or whatever he was. "Listen, I need some help. There are some injured people in a car out front - they could use some help getting to the infirmary. And, I need to find my friend - he went in search of a room to sleep in - where would he be?"
Somewhat taken aback, the Mac stared at him for a second, then efficiently gave him directions to the sleeping quarters and headed out to see who or what was in this car.
Rushing through the labyrinth of corridors, Cory reached the area in question, then walked down the corridor, waiting for the buzz of Methos' quickening to hit him. Ah, there it was. He moved from door to door until finally, the buzz became clear.
Stopping, he pounded on the door. "Methos! Get up, Ricky's just brought Denise Bryson in and she's hurt - badly. Asking for you."
Methos was just getting into it. Anson was so responsive, it was turning out that the immortal wasn't tired at all. He was lost in a dream of slippery tissues and soft, moist caresses, his lover was currently working his way down Methos' torso, and Methos was feeling good, despite the fact that Anson was holding him still, preventing the hip movements that he was desperate to make.
Anson had just taken the head of his cock into a hot, wet mouth, and begun the teasing, lapping movements that would result in total meltdown, when the door was assaulted by a determined fist, and Cory's voice went on the air.
"No! Oh, fuck, no!"
Reluctantly pushing Anson away, Methos climbed grimly out of bed and went to the door, erection bobbing angrily, a demented bowsprit for a vessel in full sail. Cracking the door, he fixed Cory with a jaundiced eye.
"Dammit, Raines, don't you have any human decency in you?" .
"I'm sorry Old Man, really, I am - but Bryson is in a bad way. Looks like someone really worked her over. She asked for you specifically." Cory grimaced in sympathy, realizing that Methos and Anson had been ... well, hell. The two fucked like bunnies, anyway - they could stand a little abstinence.
Dustin had followed Cory through the entrance, noting the flighty transvestite from Mulder's and several other people. He followed as Cory requested help and went off to Methos' room. He leaned against the doorjamb, smirking slightly at Methos' annoyed expression. He wondered if the man ever did anything besides have sex. Then he wondered if it was the pot calling the kettle black. Nah... he was never like this. Was he?
Methos swore, but permitted himself to be hurried, pulling on clothing as he went, to the room where the injured party were. Ricky was flapping a little as he attempted to arouse Skinner, who appeared to have sustained a nasty head injury. With an exclamation, Methos rushed to Skinner's side and began to check optic reflexes.
"What the hell happened?" Methos tossed the question over his shoulder to Ricky, who was attempting to pacify the moaning Denise, who appeared currently to be clad only in a bloodstained fur coat, and who was herself streaked with blood.
Finding the room empty and the window gaping, Eugene had a feeling he was going to pay for that overly protective impulse. Rodney was usually the one who seemed to take action, using his street background to steer Eugene out of the way of the more dangerous crazies at the shelter where they had been working. Wincing, Eugene realized that time was eating away at the semester break for Rodney and he might be in danger too if they didn't cover for him at the shelter. His service there was part of the deal that would fully restore his license to practice when his case next came up in front of the medical review board. It was just a damn good thing that he no longer had to take weekly random Uas
Not finding Rodney in any nearby room, Eugene thought that Rodney might have moved downstairs. He was looking when he saw the commotion and realized that the hook nosed cute laboring over an amazingly built balding man had one patient too many.
"Oh, shit, another one of me?" Eugene gasped as he took in more fully what he was seeing.
His own face, make up streaking with tears, one earring on and the post of another dangling from the other ear, stared back at him. His double was naked and the gaping fur coat created a bizarrely pornographic tone to the picture. Looking for the source of the blood he saw on the legs, Eugene saw deep human bite marks. Some meshuga had really done a number on his poor double.
Kneeling, Eugene bent over his moaning double and asked, "Hey, I'm a doctor. Don't freak out now. There's a good explanation for how we look..." (Yeah, there was, Eugene thought, something about having fallen down a rabbit hole.) Aloud, Eugene added, "You need help. Can I treat you?"
His double's eyes took in their twin-hood and he looked even more disturbed. Checking out the other man who did seem to know what he was doing, Eugene asked, "Why don't we switch patients? Head injuries were one of my specialties and my double here is having a hard time about the way we look."
Checking out the other man who did seem to know what he was doing, Eugene asked, "Why don't we switch patients? Head injuries were one of my specialties and my double here is having a hard time about the way we look."
Scully entered the room, took in the sight with a slight gasp and then stepped forward. "Here, let me help you." She went to the double with the fur coat and addressed Eugene; "She might feel safer with a woman. I'll treat her bite wounds."
"I've got to point out to you that this is no lady. It isn't my wife either, but it's certainly not female." Methos was smiling, but he winced, as he looked at the poor...whateverthehellhewas' injuries. He really had been worked over. That looked very painful indeed.
Scully tried to stifle a sudden grin. "Yes, obviously. Then again, if the clothes fit..." She shrugged and turned back to Denise.
With a reassuring smile, she said to Denise, "Hi, I'm Dana Scully. I'm a friend of Mulder - and Walter Skinner, here. Why don't we get these seen to? They look painful. We should make sure they haven't become infected. Have you had a tetanus shot recently?"
At the sound of Walter Skinner's name, Denise screamed.
"No, no! Don't let him near me. Don't let him touch me." She shrank away from Methos and Scully. "Ricky? Where's Ricky? I need him." She burst into tears, sobbing bitterly.
Torn between concern for Walter, for whom he really did have deep feelings despite the accusations of never taking love seriously, and worry about Denise, who seemed so helpless and even a bit mad, Ricky finally felt that Denise needed him more. He followed the doctors into the infirmary and when they had settled Denise, he held her hand until she slept.
Frowning, he studied the handsome features which, makeup only a memory now, were a mirror to Mulder's. "Is there a Denis in there too?" he wondered.
Even when he was jealous of the agent, he had found her strangely attractive in his female clothing. He'd never slept with someone so ambiguous and the very notion of gender confusion turned him on for some reason. But then a lot of things turned Ricky on, he had to admit...
"It's all right, you're safe now," Scully hastily said to her, trying to calm her down. "We won't let you get hurt.
She looked up at the other man (Methos, was it?) and asked, "Do we have any bandages and hydrogen peroxide around here, or shall we get these two to the infirmary?"
"She's going to need a sedative, I think, and stitches. We need to put her under or it's going to be agony. She looks as though she..he... whoever... was assaulted sexually too. She'll need counseling, I think. We should get them to sickbay." Methos wondered how to get a 165lb man to the infirmary without a gurney, and finally appealed to the Mac 27s closest. "Can you carry her without causing her any further pain?"
The Mac27s exchanged a look and then nodded, coming forward. Scully had whipped out a mild sedative from the kit that had the barest essentials that lay open beside them. It really wasn't good enough for what they needed. She slipped the needle surreptitiously into the poor, sobbing creature and then nodded to the Mac 27s to go ahead and carefully pick her up. She turned to Methos...
"We'll get her to the infirmary immediately, and then I'll send these two back with a gurney for Skinner, okay?"
As they made their way towards the infirmary, Scully found herself wondering what had happened to her - the bite wounds looked human in origin and it was obvious that she was terrified....of Skinner. Scully frowned, and wondered what had occurred between those two. The fact that she'd seen them both walking off together earlier in the day, seemingly voluntarily, made no sense with Denise's hysterical reaction.
And of course, they would be, Scully thought wryly to herself as they arrived in the infirmary and the lights were turned on, revealing Hobbes and Alex asleep in each other's arms on the bed. Indicating for the Macs to put Denise on another spare bed, she went to Hobbes and shook his arm.
"Listen, I know you two are tired, but we have patients who need immediately medical attention. Could you and Krycek go find another room? And how are your stitches?" She took a quick look, peering to examine them, briefly. "They look like they'll be okay - if you don't pick at them," she added, admonishingly.
Quickly turning to the two Macs, Scully asked, "Could you two please take this back to the other doctors, for Skinner, and help them bring him back here? We need to move fast."
She was gratified and impressed with how helpful and speedy they were. Denise was no longer screaming and Scully turned to her.
"Shh, you're okay now. You're safe. No one's going to hurt you. I've given you something that's going to make you a little sleepy, okay?"
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In his sleep, Krycek snuffled softly and moved closer to Hobbes, pillowing his head on the other's shoulder. He was beginning to dream when Scully entered the room and somewhat brusquely told them to seek alternative accommodation. Stumbling up out of bed, Krycek felt for his jacket, and slipped it on again, feeling stronger with it about his shoulders.
"Tom? Coming?" He reached for the other man's hand, tugged on it once, and then began to walk to the door, weaving as though he were intoxicated. "Need sleep so bad."
Hobbes followed, holding the hand tightly, still half asleep. He gave a slight smile to Scully before exiting with Alex. He blinked a few times to wake himself and caught up to the long legged man, grabbing him to support him and to keep him from weaving.
"I know you're tired, you work to much, worry to much, just like Mike." he said absently as he saw an empty room and pulled the man inside. He closed the door and locked it behind him, making sure no one could get in. He then guided Alex to the soft bed, sat him down and pulled his jacket off.
He then reached down and pulled the shoes off as well. He then pushed him back, covering him with a blanket. He did the same to himself, except he pulled the oversized shirt off before he got lost in it. He lay down next to Alex and curled up to the warm tired body, stroking his hair, "Sleep Alex."
Alex did. It had been close to two days since he'd had the chance, and his body had given out. Not even for a chocolate covered cherry could he have stayed alert for one more minute. He slept, feeling safe with this man he didn't know. It was hours later when he stirred, found himself pressed up close to a warm, pliant body, and a pair of arms encircling him.
For a minute, he didn't remember where he was. This was not Fox, and that he knew. This man had no metal piecing his flesh. It wasn't Mulder either - the man was shorter than Mulder, and it was a man. He could feel evidence of that hard against his thigh.
He put up his hand to trace the face of this stranger, and then it came to him. Hobbes.
"Tom," he breathed, and moved to kiss the sleeping lips.
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Cory backed out of the way as the Macs picked up Denise. Once in the hall, he looked up and saw Dustin - apparently waiting for him.
Dustin waved and smiled. "Hey, why so... non-exuberant all of a sudden? Aside from the obvious, I mean..."
"Hey, Dustin." He smiled warily at the other man. "I suppose you have more questions for me... "
Dustin rolled his eyes. "Ah, you think I'm going to interrogate you, do you? Well, I figure you can tell me what you want me to know, and I won't ask too many questions... or I'll try not to. I must confess to a certain curiosity... I mean, what you showed me... it doesn't happen every day, to say the least."
When the other man didn't respond, Dustin said, "And remember, Cory, you were the one to decide to show me. So... if you didn't want questions..."
Shrugging, he headed down the hall, opening doors at random, searching for a place they could continue without an audience. Finally, he found what looked like a lounge area and stepped in, hitting the light switch.
Dustin smiled. Maybe in here he could sit down, at least...
"C'mon in here," he said, stepping back so that Dustin could precede him into the room.
"Thanks," Dustin said. "You have no idea how badly I need to sit down..."
He followed Dustin in and collapsed onto a sofa. "So - ask away, Dustin. What do you want to know
Dustin sat diagonally across from Cory, looking into his eyes. "I only want to hear your story. But... the way you want to tell it. If I have questions, I'll ask them later. Just... tell me what an immortal is, and then we'll take it from there..."
Knowing the feeling of being harassed, Dustin did not want to subject Cory to that feeling.
Cory sighed. "Tell you what an immortal is... well, we're all foundlings, so we have no idea where we actually come from. We live a normal life - age just like anyone else, get sick, get hurt, all that good stuff - until our first death. We die, we come back to life shortly afterwards, and we stay alive. Like I said, I've been around for about 600 years. Methos is much older than I am. Um... We don't get sick, if we get hurt, we heal very quickly... Well, you saw that."
He paused, not sure how much more to tell. After a brief internal debate, he shrugged and continued. "We um ... we all have what's called the quickening. It's our life force; I guess you'd call it. And, we can sense each other's presence through the quickenings. I have no idea when the first immortal came into being - I know we've been around for at least 5000 years. And - well, there is one way to kill an immortal - by taking his head. From that, we don't recover. When one of us takes another's head, we also absorb his or her quickening - which increases the receivers strength. Some immortals spend all of their time hunting for heads - others spend all their time hiding on holy ground - that's the one place we cannot fight. When we do fight, it's called a challenge, must be a one on one situation and we fight with blades. Legend has it that in the end, there will be only one immortal standing. The last one will gain some sort of prize - though, no one has any idea what said prize might be."
Tossing a sly grin in Dustin's direction, Cory raised his brows. "So there you have it - Immortals 101."
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