I'm not sure of the dates of these stories, but Chuck, Scott, Chris, and I posted different parts of the story over a few months time. We regretably never finished telling it, but I though it nice to resurrect it and post it here. It's a long read:

(Tickets may be purchased at the door...)

The street was empty except for a tall, lanky figure in a long trench coat. The clicking of his boots on the pavement was the only sound to be heard, a cold echo in a concrete canyon. He paused under a streetlight for a moment, looked up, then quickly stepped out of the circle of light and into the shadows. Shrinking back against the cold wall, his hand strayed to the hilt of the sword beneath his coat. His heart raced and the adrenaline began to flow through his body, but it was not fear that moved. It was the memory of countless battles, lives taken and friends lost.

Strangely enough, he did not feel the quickening of his soul that indicated the presence of another immortal. Yet something was out there, something very ancient and very evil--something he had encountered before. He pushed the flap of his coat aside and took the hilt of his sword, the blade whispering excitedly as it emerged for battle. A frown had twisted his face, for the night was as still as the inside of a coffin. And a coffin it may very well become for one of us, he thought grimly.

He stepped away from the wall in one fluid movement, expecting a sudden attack. None came, however, and his eyes swept the street for signs of his foe. He frowned again, becoming slightly annoyed. Whatever was out there, he had seen it before--of that at least he was sure. Yet he couldn't place the cold, sinister aura that gripped the streets with its icy hand. Not until the voice came from behind him.

"It's been quite some time, Mr. Figglesworth, hasn't it?"

The voice was saturated in evil, and Figglesworth knew immediately that Vampir, his ancient foe, was back. He slowly turned around to see a dark figure examining his manicured nails beneath the streetlight. His long, flowing hair was pulled back and his face was shadowed by a well-trimmed beard. He flicked one of his nails and looked up.

"I see the centuries have been good to you, highlander" he said.

"And to you as well," said the highlander dryly. "I'm surprised no one has driven a stake through your heart yet."

The vampire laughed. "Not that they haven't tried, my friend. I've just been a bit too quick for them."

With that, the highlander found himself staring at empty space as a breeze blew past him. Then a voice came from a few paces behind him.

"I've heard some of the things you've been saying, Figglesworth," he said, shaking his head disappointedly. Slowly he began to walk toward the highlander. "That you're going to kill me? Have you gone daft?"

The highlander pivoted, bringing his sword to the guard position. He opened his mouth as if to answer, but then suddenly leaped forward and swung his blade. It sliced through the air where the vampire had been, and was suddenly hit from behind. He flew a dozen feet through the air, but somersaulted into an upright position again, retaining his weapon. The vampire merely looked at him curiously.

"Not bad," he said, shrugging, "but unless you've learned some new tricks you're going to find yourself in a delicious amount of pain tonight."

With that he smacked his lips and flew through the air like lightning from the fist of Zeus. He raked his nails across Figglesworth's chest, knocking him to the ground. The highlander struggled to his feet, his coat torn and blood oozing from four deep gashes. The vampire slowly licked the blood from his nails, smiling.

"Ah," he sighed. "The blood of an immortal does have that extra kick, doesn't it?"

Figglesworth's eyes blazed and he swung his blade swiftly, again to find only air. Quickly he spun around, but there was no sign of the vampire. A drop of blood landed on his shoulder, and he looked up to find the vampire hanging upside down from a fire escape above him.

"Come, Figglesworth," he said, smiling, "I believe we need a change of venue."

With that he flew up the fire escape to the roof of the building. The highlander raced up behind him, breathing heavily when he reached the roof. He was immortal, but the four deep wounds to his chest did not help his condition any. The vampire was standing near the ledge with his back turned, gazing out over the city.

"It's wonderful, isn't it? All those souls out there, waiting to be fed upon. One does tire of solely Asian cuisine after a while. Nothing like some good old Italian take-out."

He continued to look out over the lights, and Figglesworth slowly walked up behind him. Suddenly he lunged, but the vampire backflipped over him and struck with his fist. The highlander dove to the side, barely escaping a blow that would have sent him over the side of the building. Not much sense in living forever if you're going to be a pancake.

"Yes, that's much better," said the vampire, laughing. "I was beginning to think this would be no fun at all."

The highlander threw down his sword in disgust and lifted his hands over his head. "I've had enough of your games, you corrupted minion of darkness. Now it's time to play my way."

He began chanting, and the smile on the vampire's face slowly faded. Suddenly the highlander thrust a hand forward and a great fist of energy shot forth at the speed of light, knocking the vampire backward and over the opposite ledge. Suddenly the night was quite again, punctuated only by the faint sounds from below. The highlander began muttering again, casting one of his limited healing spells on himself. He would be sore for quite a while, but none the worse for it.

Slowly he walked toward the opposite ledge. He listened carefully, and upon hearing no sound leaned over to look down. Suddenly the vampire shot upwards into the sky and over the highlander, landing directly behind him. Before Figglesworth could turn around, the vampire had grabbed him and thrown him over his shoulder. He landed hard on the roof of the building, but he muttered a quick spell and his hands were flaming when he got up.

The vampire was brushing off his clothing. "Now that's the Figglesworth that I remembered," he said. "But the dawn is drawing near and there is precious little time for more reminiscing."

A fist flashed between the highlander's flaming hands and caught him in the chest. Then the vampire brought a boot around with a vicious kick to the head that left the highlander sprawled out on the roof. In an instant the vampire was beside him. He picked up the highlander, raised him above his head, and slammed him down so hard that the building trembled.

The vampire paused for a moment, then thrust a hand forward and dug again into the highlander's chest with his nails. Gripping the flesh he picked the highlander up and held him dangling in the air. Waves of pain flooded Figglesworth's brain, and it was all he could do to remain conscious. The last thing he remembered seeing was the vampire's face, twisted into a cruel grin.

"There are times when it sucks to be immortal, aren't there, Mr. Figglesworth."

With a glance toward the faint glow on the eastern horizon, the vampire sighed. Then he effortlessly threw the highlander over the side of the building. Peering over the edge, he watched the figure plunge to the earth, landing in an open dumpster. He frowned slightly and then turned, and the next moment a black bat was winging its way away from the city to some unknown destination.

(I've been out of practice for while, so excuse my clunky prose. Glad to have you back from vacation, Figglesworth...)

End of First Author's Story

He woke up with a start of pain and a shocking realization that he was still alive. It never failed to amaze him: during the minutes it took his body to heal and start his heart beating again, he was not there. It was different than dreaming. When he slept he knew he was there, but just not in control of his being. During those moments that his heart stopped beating, however, he really wasn’t there. He didn’t exist as he understood existence. There was no “he” during those moments. But luckily those moments passed quickly and he took a deep breath.

That was his first mistake. Breathing really shouldn’t be that difficult. He looked down and saw the four gorges in his chest. They were knitting up slowly. He felt each skin cell grow and attach itself to a newly grown neighbor until the skin stretched across the wound. He felt the ribs in his chest and the bones in his leg reforming from the fall. A number of audible cracks were heard as his spine began to reorient itself with the normal curvature of his back. He felt his body healing, but his thoughts were still clouded -- it was difficult to go from non-existence to existence. It always took his mind a while to accept that it was there again.

His second thought was that he definitely shouldn’t have taken that breath. The air smelled faintly of manure mixed with rotten meat. After thinking about it for a moment, he realized that there must be some overcooked asparagus buried somewhere around him. Dumpsters collected the strangest odors over time.

He glanced up and saw that a small crowd had gathered around him. From the looks of them, two of them were bums, and one of them was a well-dressed man in a business suit. His mouth seemed to be moving, but no words were coming out. In a rush of sensation, he began to decipher what the man was saying.

“Are you okay, Sir? Don’t move. We’ve called an ambulance. That was a long drop you had -- a very long drop. Are you okay?”

It took a moment for his eyes to properly focus on the businessman. He slowly brought his hands together and started mumbling. The businessman’s words began slurring and his face went blank. The bums around him continued to stare, but their eyes no longer looked. He picked himself up and climbed out of the dumpster. He looked around for a moment and smiled when he spotted what he was looking for. He limped over to where the street met an alleyway and found a mangy dog gnawing at an old chicken bone.

Mr. Figglesworth began chanting softly and the dog slowly began rising up toward the roof. Within moments it was standing at the edge of where he had fallen off. With a slight twist of his hand, the dog jumped, and fell down the side of the building, crashing into the dumpster with a thud. He continued to chant and turned his attention to the bystanders. He whispered quietly into their subconscious minds. After a few moments, he was satisfied and walked toward the building to collect his sword.

As he returned through the front of the building, his katana now safely in its sheath, he heard an ambulance’s wailing getting louder and saw the red lights reflected off the dark walls of the building. He saw the two bums and the businessman shaking the dying form of the dog. He should have felt some sympathy for the canine, but it was difficult to feel sympathy after so many years. He knew it was important to be protected from discovery. He also knew that his suggestion spell was not very powerful. Sometimes sacrifices had to be made. It was either the dog or the three men. The advent of modern technology complicated things. In an hour, a video of any of his feats could be broadcast to millions of homes. He had learned to be careful and avoid that at all costs. If one of the men that found him had had a video camera…. He tried not to think of such things.

It took ten minutes to limp to his car. Once in his car he began thinking of his encounter with the vampire. It had been many years since he’d last fought one. Over a century since he’d come across this particular one. Mr. Figglesworth usually stayed clear of their kind, only dispatching them when they got too close to him, or became a serious public menace. But this Vampir was different. It had been over a century since he’d run into him. For one thing, he was more intelligent than most of the vampires he’d run across. He enjoyed playing games with his victims and seemed to have an almost insatiable hunger for Asian victims. The one thing he was sure about from his encounter was that this was not the last time he would see the vampire. Vampir enjoyed the hunt too much. He fed off the fear he imparted in his victims almost as much as the blood he took from them. He was going to have to be careful with this one.

Mr. Figglesworth drove to his loft. It was on the shore of the river and had a panoramic view that overlooked the city on one side and the river on the other. The river was crowded this evening. Many vessels, mostly pleasure boats, floated slowly down the river, like flickering stars across the black water. As soon as the elevator closed behind him, he stripped off his clothes and walked toward a small altar in the corner of the room. The Highlander kneeled and placed his katana before him. He felt the strong steel and could sense and smell the magic emanating from the blade. He placed the blade before him, and with a glance lit the three white and one black candle and the incense holder. In a moment he was deep in a meditative state. He was preparing himself to cast the wards that would allow him to fight the vampire on his own terms.

He drifted in his meditative state for a while, having trouble finding a place to anchor his thoughts and become one with himself. After shuffling through the blackened corridors of his mind for an hour, he finally came to the room he was looking for. The door was slightly ajar, and with a dark, blue light oozing from underneath it. He reached out and opened it. The full force of memory fell upon him.

***

It was a late autumn night in Binghamton, a small village about a week’s carriage ride from the harbor of New York. The hills surrounding the town were sporting their autumn best: the dazzling greens, oranges, and browns that competed with the brilliant blue of an afternoon sky. By night, however, the colors were lost and the multi-hued trees were painted with a dull blue light cast from the stars and moon. Mr. Figglesworth was lost in the musty smell of the woods as he road leisurely through its hills. He had lived in the town for almost twenty years now, and he could never get over the smells and sights of autumn.

Over the sound of the trotting of his horse he heard a scream coming from the village. He turned his horse mid-stride and kicked it into a run back toward the village. The villagers had put out a fire yesterday that had threatened to engulf the entire town. Only Mr. Figglesworth knew how lucky the town was to have the Highlander living within its boundaries. Had it not been for a fortuitous rainstorm, the village would have been lost. Mr. Figglesworth had grown to like the village, and while it took a considerable amount of energy to save it from its fiery doom, it was worth it. Starting over was always more taxing then expending magical energies.

He arrived at the village and found his neighbor, the butcher, holding his wife in his arms. He jumped off his horse and pushed his way through the crowd to see if he could help the butcher’s wife. What he saw sent a shiver down his spine. There were two puncture holes in the side of her neck. What truly made it horrible, however, was that the body was completely white. No blood spilled from the wounds. He knew at once that his weak healing arts would not help the poor woman. Her soul was lost; sucked out to fill the soulless void of a vampire. Mr. Figglesworth had fought such evil before. He turned and mounted his horse, checked his sword, and ran toward the border of town. Already, his mouth was moving and runes were forming in his mind. When he was out of view a traveling and tracking spell had already been cast. He would find this bloodsucker that threatened his quiet existence.

It only took three days to track the vampire down. It had holed itself up in a bear cave. He had little doubt that the bear no longer lived there. In fact, nothing would live there. Vampires have a way of sucking the life from everything around them, even unintentionally. The Highlander waited until the sun rose over the horizon, drew his blade from underneath his cloak, and entered the cave.

“I can smell you, blood sucker. Come out where I can see you.” Mr. Figglesworth said.

He felt a gust of wind forming at the back of the cave. When it reached him, a dust cloud began to coalesce, slowly forming the outlines of a man. Within moments the outlines became solid and a fleshy man stood before Mr. Figglesworth.

The man was of medium height and slight build. He wore light brown hair short and curly on top. His eyes were green, and his nose was slightly pointed. What one noticed first, however, was the paleness of his skin. A blue vein could clearly be seen on his forehead, branching down from his hairline to the top of his cheek. The man was smiling, and sharpened canines could clearly be seen poking out from his upper lip.

“I am Vampir. It seems you have gone to some trouble to track me down. I hope your effort was not wasted.” His voice was soft and the sounds whistled and oozed out of his mouth. Each word was articulated clearly and seemed part of a grander orchestral piece.

Mr. Figglesworth began to feel awe for the pale man. He began to stare at him in admiration. Slowly the admiration began turning to affection. With an enormous effort, the Highlander grabbed the blade of his sword with his right hand, effectively cutting the arteries leading to his fingers. The pain shocked his system and the vampire’s spell was broken. Mr. Figglesworth stepped back into a low fighting stance, his right hand held behind his back, red crimson running down his hand and onto his leather trousers.

“Such a waste of good blood. Had I known you’d be this cooperative, I would have brought a container to store your blood in. The ground does not truly appreciate blood like I do.” Vampir said.

“I am known as Mr. Figglesworth. I was born in the highlands of Scotland. Your mind tricks will not work on me, vampire. I am here because you have taken the soul of a person I respect. If you wouldn’t mind setting it free, I will have no further quarrel with you.”

Vampir laughed quietly. “Of course, Mr. Figglesworth. I’ll just set it free. Was it the traveling monk that I passed last night? No. I can’t imagine he would be missed too much. It must have been that butcher’s wife then. She was quite delightful. She was a little too American for my tastes, but still satisfying, in that not-so-finger-licking good way. I’m afraid that her soul does not want to leave, though. I, of course, gave her the option before I took her. She was more than willing to join me. Now, be on your way Highlander. You do not know what you face.”

The Highlander looked at Vampir. His sword tip fell to the earth and he began to turn away. He continued to turn until his sword whipped around toward the space between where he had stood and where the vampire was. In an instant he knew he was too late. The blade bit into nothing but air. He tried to pull back, but it was too late. He felt a sharp rip across his shoulder as the vampire’s fingernail severed the muscle to his left arm. Limply, the sword fell from his hand.

Vampir smiled and slowly approached the Highlander. He began humming softly to himself, licking his lips with his dry tongue. “Come here, Mr. Figglesworth. I have a nice spot reserved for your soul as well.”

Mr. Figglesworth began muttering beneath his breath. His eyes were wide and his words sounded like the ramblings of a man who knew that his end was near. The vampire’s smile broadened at the sound. In what seemed a moment of uncertainty, Mr. Figglesworth lifted his two arms and clasped his hands together. With a tremendous shout energy began forming over his arms. From outside the cave beams of light funneled through the Highlander’s body, increasing the glow of his clasped hands. The vampire covered his face with his forearm, no longer sure of the easy kill. He hissed and backed up further into the cave.

“There will be rest for lots of souls tonight, night crawler.” Mr. Figglesworth proclaimed. His shoulders tensed and a beam of pure white sunlight shot out from his hands and hit Vampir squarely in his chest. The vampire wheezed softly and then his form collapsed and dark ashes fell where he had stood. The Highlander walked over to where Vampir had been standing and slowly moved the ashes with his foot.

It was done. He imagined he felt the captured souls flying free from the ashes of the slain vampire. His magic did not let him bridge the gap of life and death and feel such things, though. The vampire had almost bested him this night. He had been ill prepared, and had the vampire known what Mr. Figglesworth’s true nature was, things might have gone much differently. A lesson learned. He would be more careful in the future. He would have to better research wards for his sword. He did not like relying on his magic for fighting. It was not a reliable instrument. It caused too much commotion among those who didn’t understand, and it drained him. He limped slowly out of the cave, his physical wounds slowly healing. His mental wounds caused by the raw energy, however, would take many months to fully heal.

***

The door closed slowly behind him in his mind. He floated easily through the dark corridors, remembering wards and spells that had not been cast in decades.

End of Second Author's Story

Four thousand, nine hundred and twelve years. Four thousand, nine hundred and twelve years. I wonder how many memories I have forgotten. Lost loves. Friends dead. Enemies slain. Too many nights like this one I suspect. I feel somewhat sorry for those two. Throughout all the years, neither one has found what they are looking for. Who am I to judge.

At least the battle was quick. A shame though that the Highlander was too slow to recognize his foe for what he was. Vampir has grown in power these last 2 centuries. Mental notes to myself: When documenting tonights transgression, include details on Vampir's new abilities. Oh, and note that the Highlander missed the security camera on the west corner of the Bank of America building. Personal note: I felt the pull again tonight. Stronger than in recent years. Looks like the highlander will probably call it a night. I should as well.

It is a lonely life, that of a watcher. The secret society begins to take its toll for most men. I guess that being immortal makes it that much easier for me. Although, not tonight. It was tough keeping my distance. Any closer and the Highlander would have felt my presence. For a instant I felt as if Vampir caught a glimpse. Even if he had, he would have thought nothing of the bumb on the roof two buildings away.

-------------------------------------

The cloaked figure moved from his perch atop the roof of the old brownstone. With a swift motion, he leaped through the air, over the side. The shadowy figure glided gracefully, landing on the run as his cloak settled in behind him. His hand instinctively reached for his side, his fingertips touching the cool tip of his swords hilt.

As he reached the end of the alley, he tested himself. Two rats scurrying against the right wall, three garbage cans, one on its side. Sounds of at least two more rats in the overturned tin. The walls were dripping with city sweat. The left wall had the words "Heart of Hell" scribbled carelessly about 4 feet off the ground. Kids. Not bad. Nothing slips by a watcher.

Yandros stepped from the dark onto the empty sidewalk. It was late. He probably could have finished in the morning. There were tasks to be done. With steps of certainty, the watcher crossed the trafficless street, careful not to tilt his head towards the rotating security camera. Once behind the view of the device, Yandros leaped to the 3rd floor air vent. With the stealth of a cat, he slipped inside. It took no longer than three minutes for the red blinking light on the camera to cease. A minute later, the dark shadow was again walking down a dark alley.

The plan was quite clear for this pre-dawn hour. Yandros would head east, towards the river. The sun would be up soon. It made sense to head east this morning. The battle between the Highlander and Vampir was not over. The river always provided clarity. It also helped to head east, towards the sunrise. For a watcher misses nothing. Most especially a bat circling overhead.

Mental note: Vampir's skills have improved.

End of Third Author's Story

Two men stand upon a hill at dusk amongst the grasses and reeds of Lousiana's vast plains - one, a middle-aged, moderately built black scientist and the other, a somewhat slighter man, wrapped in what looks to be from a distance, a black leather coat. The two stand posed over an indentation in the hill staring downward over a small plot of disturbed soil roughly 8 feet in length. The temperature has dipped to a slice below freezing as the last of the suns rays turn the sky into a bruised canopy above them. It is not the temperature however, that causes the scientist's voice to quiver.

"What is it?" He asks, wrapping the flaps of his dingy lab coat around his shoulders and jamming his fists into his oversized pockets.

The other man does not answer right away.

"Mr. Archon?"

The scientist does not look up into the eyes of his companion but waits impatiently for an answer. The reeds move like water around his feet. They had been standing here, almost motionless for close to an hour now - and the scientist was getting impatient and not a bit cold. He listened to the hiss of the wind through the grasses and his own accelerated heartbeat for several long moments before venturing a glance into the face of the man beside him.

He wished he hadn't.

Although still fairly bright, the other man's face was masked in shadow, his features hidden by the cloak over his head and an eerie sense that the man himself was devoid of light - the skin almost absorbing it - so that only a mere suggestion of a face could be made out IF he were to examine it more closely. A wave of sheer, instinctive terror washed over him and he snapped his head back towards the ground. In addition to the now-thudding pound of his heart, he could hear a low, guttural growl - the sort of sound his bull-terrier would make if he played at snatching away his favorite chew-toy. It was only a few moments before he realized that it was his companion's voice.

"Those, my enterprising young man, are dinosaur bones".

"I KNOW that but are they intact?". The scientist regretted his impatience almost immediately. After all, this odd man would not bring a fairly well-known paleontologist out to a remote hill to show him fakes. Would he? "They appear to be hundreds of years old - possibly pre-mesozoic. An intact complete fossil of this kind would bring thousands of dollars in revenue into the university - not to mention the notoriety of the digger....and the discoverer! If it could pre-date the earliest finds, it would be worth millions! Probably more! And this site is not owned by the university - this is PRIVATE land! If you could verify the date of these bones and get a grant from the landowner..." The scientist could barely restrain his excitement as images of fame and dollar signs marched past his eyes in a parade of sheer and utter greed - he almost forgot to breathe.

"They are complete...and they do pre-date the earlier find...and the landowner is dead. Your cousin Jamie-lee could dig here if he wanted to."

The scientist's jaw fell open. The parade was joined by beatiful naked women and every make of car he had ever pined for - nevermind the fact that this man couldn't have known he had a 16-year old cousin and even more impossible that he ventured the right name.

"But how...." He pleaded - forgetting the cold and once again looking in the other man's direction.

"Because I created them." The gravelly voice answered. The scientist could imagine a smile underneath the cowl of darkness and thought somehow, that was much worse than no answer at all.

"I created them because you scientists are doing my work for me....humanity is destroying itself. Sure, they blame Lucifer and bad luck and God's disfavor for all the unholy things that go on in this world but you scientists... you are winning the battle FOR us!"

"Whaaat?" The scientist asked incredulously, backing ever so slightly away from the hole now.

"You greedy, unthinking, blessed creatures are DOING our WORK FOR US! You are proving to the world that God does not exist! Dinosaurs ruled the planet right? Big gigantic lizards that ran around, eating each other and one day, just disappeared! Right?!!?"

"Well...it's not quite that simple..."

"It IS that simple because if dinosaurs ruled the earth ten million years ago...there is no possible WAY that Adam and Eve were here first. Man crawled out of the primordial muck, right? Prehistoric man!? You have all but refuted every single word of the Genesis Bible yourselves! Children don't grow up being taught about Cain and Babylon and Gomorrah...they grow up learning about Stegasaurus and Tyrannosaurus and DOYOUTHINK HE SAW US??!?!"

An almost gleeful cackle accompanied that last stab of humor that the scientist thought was the most awful noise he had ever heard. He backed away even further.

"With this find alone - and other, well-placed "finds", scientists around the planet will declare the Bible NULL AND VOID!!! A simple analogy for life instead of holy scripture!! It's almost childlike in its simplicity! MAN WILL REJECT GOD AND THE FALLEN WILL BE VINDICATED AT LAST!!!!"

The sound was almost too much for his ears to handle - and the sheer weight of the words, too much for his collegiate mind to embrace. The scientist could only shake his head wildly and repeat himself over and over and over again into the dying light... "No....no....no... My God..no..."

The other man spun around - whipping the cloak away from his face and letting fall what was once a black coat - two leathery, malignant wings and the horrific visage of a thousand nightmares.

"God no....please..."

A steel-like gray claw shot up through the mouth of the scientist and through the back of his skull, ending the pleas and lifting the man several inches above the ground.

"Even God himself, couldn't help you now.....".

- a small introduction to the fallen angel, Archon -

End of Fourth Author's Story

Vampir stood on a balcony, gazing out over the ink-blue ocean. Wave after wave thrust itself on the rocks below, each dying with a great shout and salty spray. It was always refreshing to come out here after a long journey and let the crashing surf soothe his mind. He would never forget the ocean--the vast, liquid soul of the earth.

After a while Vampir turned. He opened the glass doors of the balcony and walked back into his study, greeted by the blazing hearth. Vampire or no, he had the same affinity with fire that the mortals had. It could be a great friend, or one's worst enemy. He settled down into his great, velvet chair and thought about his latest encounter with the highlander. It had been too long since their last meeting, and he had been careless. The last time he had been careless he had spent a decade as a pile of ashes on a cavern floor. When he had come to his senses he looked like a half-decomposed mummy, and he was starved. He had fed on the life in the cave until he was strong enough to go out and hunt again. By that time, the highlander was gone.

He left the area and returned to his homeland, England. His first destination was a dark cave on the coast near Tintagel, a cave that many had suspected to be the cave of Merlin the wizard. Indeed the cave was home to a wizard, but not one as good or kind-hearted as Arthur's mage. So it was with not a bit of care that he entered its deepest, darkest reaches. There stood, hidden at what appeared to be the end of the cave, a stout wooden door--obviously protected from rot by various magical wards. He raised a fist and pounded loudly on the door, shouting above the surf.

"Open up, foul mage of the darkness!"

His voice was almost drowned by the waves, but he heard a stirring behind the door. The door swung open, revealing a gaping blackness, punctuated only by a shimmering light in the distance. With a slight grimace, Vampir stepped over the threshold and allowed the door to close behind him. He hesitated for a moment, wondering at how his old friend would be after all these years; he had never quite been able to sympathize with the old mage. Then again, it had always been hard for him to understand the fears of mortals.

This mage, known during his living years as El Lamach, was obsessed with a fear of death and a longing for immortality. Vampir had tried to tell him that it was not everything he might imagine, and perhaps the greatest struggle of the immortal was to find meaning in life and escape eternal boredom. El Lamach had not listened, however, and as his mortal coil grew weaker he spent almost all of his time preparing for his transformation. Vampir had been there when the mage transferred his soul to a soul jar and his mortal body died. Through a process that was unknown to Vampir, El Lamach repossessed his own corpse, transforming himself into a lich and obtaining the immortality he had longed for. Faced with the ultimate horror of what he had done, though, he flew into a despairing rage, driving Vampir from the cave.

"I see you have finally returned," whispered a voice from the darkness. "Let us have a little light."

A magical glow appeared in the small room, and Vampir faced his old friend for the first time since the day of his transformation. It had been hard on El Lamach, and only Vampir could begin to sympathize. But even he could not fully understand the hell that the mage had been through, the torture that twisted him into a shadow of his former self. Apparently the centuries had brought him at least a semblance of peace.

El Lamach gazed long at the vampire. "You look like you've seen a hard time."

Vampir cleared his throat. "I have recently been..." He paused again, then lowered his voice. "Incinerated. It didn't do much for my complexion."

At first the mage didn't say anything, but then what must have been a smile twisted his lips upward. A horrible cackling sound escaped from his throat, and it took Vampir a moment to realize that the lich was laughing.

"You," he said, coughing, "were incinerated? The mighty Vampir, brought low by a mage?"

Vampir's lips tightened. Testily, he said, "I am still here, am I not? Anyway, I have come to take you up on your offer."

El Lamach looked up. "You mean you want to learn?"

"Why not? I have plenty of time, and so do you."

The mage nodded slowly. "Very well, and I could use the company."

Thus began Vampir's initiation into the black arts, something for which he was well-suited as a vampire. It is a common misconception that vampires need blood to survive. In fact, vampires subsist on pranic energy, also known by the general term of "life force." Blood, of course, contains this energy, and is thus a quick and common way of feeding. But vampires can feed without ever tasting the blood of a victim. Through extended exposure, he can draw the life force from his victim psychically, without ever making contact. In magical terms, a vampire is a pranic energy vortex, drawing off the life force of everything around him. Until a vampire learns to control this vortex, however, he cannot realize his full potential. Vampir, however, had come to terms with his special relationship to life and energy, and had learned how to tame this vortex. He still had to have energy, but he was much more in control of the process. As a result, he had a natural aptitude for the magick arts.

There were quite a few other misconceptions that people had about vampires. The most common was that they could be killed by sunlight. While it is true that new or less powerful vampires are weakened in the sunlight, they are not killed, and a strong vampire can walk around in broad daylight without suffering any ill effects. Vampir chose to avoid this when possible, though, partly because of his sensitive eyes and partly because of his white skin. When he did go out during the day he wore a long, black coat and sunglasses.

There were also the folktales about garlic, stakes of ash wood, holy wafers, crosses, and the like. None of those things affected him. He was also not restricted by the usual inability of vampires to cross running water, but that was most probably due to his past life. He did not need to sleep in a coffin, either--he only needed to sleep in soil of his native land. The only earthly menace that could undue him was fire, and he had even developed some resistance to that. Being magically incinerated had, beside almost killing him, strengthened him in this area.

The only true menace that he faced was from Heaven itself. While he and other vampires usually had free reign on earth, he had known of vampires who had encountered angels. They had all met rather painful and most definitely final deaths. He himself had never even seen an angel, and he hoped to keep it that way.

Vampir threw another log on the fire, bringing the dying flames back to life. Although he was now proficient in magick, he had chosen not to reveal his powers to the highlander at their first encounter. Yet surely Figglesworth had noticed that the spell which had incinerated him a few centuries ago merely knocked him backward. Vampir smiled. He was glad of that ward at least. The highlander-mage would discover soon enough how powerful his ancient foe had grown.

Yet even as he smiled at the thought, other thoughts crept in to turn that smile into a frown. There had been another presence there that night. It was a presence that wished to remain hidden, but one could not hide so easily from a vampire. Vampir could not tell if the presence was hostile or not, but there were few on this earth he could count as friends. He would have to find out more about this presence, he thought, but not until after he had had some rest.

With a sigh, he stood up and walked over to a long bookcase that stretched from floor to ceiling. He carefully selected an old volume, gently brushing the dust off of the cover. Sitting back down in his chair, he opened the book and began to read--about a life long past, a soul long gone...

End of First Author's Story

Only a sliver of sun was still visible over the river as the highlander whipped his blade across his body with a whoosh. The sudden strike mirrored the final rays on the ceiling, creating a red afterimage in the highlander’s eyes. As his arm fully extended the strike, the blade froze, the tip hovering over the wooden floor of his loft. His legs were locked in a low back stance, his front foot facing forward and his back foot at a forty-five degree angle, both knees bent and unmoving, crafting a solid base for his powerful strike. The highlander held the position for a two-beat and then slowly stood up -- the tip of his blade resting soldierly on his right shoulder. He brought his feet together and bowed to the setting sun. His kata complete, he snapped his blade into its sheath and walked over to his desk.

The highlander glanced over his calendar and noticed how empty the pages were. It had been many months since he’d met with someone or scheduled an appointment. He had been spending most of his days preparing for something. Not knowing what that something is was frustrating, but as he had been taught, he did not make light of his premonitions. At first he had felt that another immortal was hunting him. It had been sometime since he’d last crossed swords with a brother immortal. But once Vampir appeared, he understood the slight uneasiness that he had with that feeling. It was not an immortal that was hunting him, but something much worse, something that dredged the pits of humanity and offered only the cruds of soot as a donation. And yet, even knowing that the vampire hunted him, he still felt uneasy; he felt as if the riddle was not yet complete.

He cleared these thoughts from his mind and glanced at his calendar. Unlike the last few months, today, the thirteenth day of April, a marking was placed in its designated box. He smiled as he read the entry: “Lecture: Omens of Magic -- A Cynic’s Labyrinth.” A local professor at the University was giving the lecture. The highlander had met this particular professor a few times and he had impressed him. What had particularly impressed him was his soul: the professor was an unknowingly immortal brother. Mr. Figglesworth chuckled at this. He will make a fitting student. It had been some time since he’d taken a student, and he considered the opportunity to teach a renowned cynic actual magic true irony.

The university was an hour’s drive from the highlander’s loft. The highlander drove smack into the busiest part of the rush hour traffic. He arrived at the university lecture hall at half past eight. He had already missed half of the good professor’s lecture. The highlander grabbed his overcoat and ran to the lecture hall. He quietly opened the door and took a chair in the back of the room. Of the fifty seats in the hall, only fifteen were occupied, and six of those seats, all in the front row, contained distinguished faculty members who were having trouble keeping their heads balanced on their necks. The professor droned on for another hour and a half. By the end of his lecture, only five people remained in the lecture hall. All six of the faculty members had escaped, one at a time, with a slot nod and an exaggerated tap of their watch.

The highlander joined in the applause after the professor’s speech. In truth, he had listened to few words that had been spoken. Instead, he had been skimming the professor’s books during the lecture. He had planned to study up on the professor’s writings before the lecture, but he had spent most of the last week meditating after his encounter with the vampire. Survival always came first for the highlander. His survival. That is why he had lasted so long.

The remaining four audience members approached the professor with questions and comments while Mr. Figglesworth went outside to prepare for his meeting with the professor. He sat on a bench that led to the parking lot, keeping an eye on the professor’s car. He could finish reading the professor’s book and then have a chance to talk to the professor alone.

For some time the highlander sat on the bench reading the professor’s book. When he finished the last page he looked up in surprise. The professor’s car was still there and it had been an hour since the lecture had ended. One of the students must have been very interesting for the professor to spend this much time with them. The highlander knew that the professor was not a patient man -- something that would have to be worked on during his training. Curiously, the highlander returned to the lecture hall. As he entered the building, he felt the unmistakable stirring in his soul. Another immortal walked these halls. The highlander unsheathed his blade and continued toward the hall.

He opened the door, holding his sword behind him, and glanced into the darkened lecture hall. Nobody was in the hall. The highlander entered the room and walked down the aisle toward the back door. The stirring in his soul continued. He heard some talking coming from behind the door. He opened the back door and entered a circular room. It was filled with outmoded audio-visual equipment and a number of free hanging light bulbs swayed from the ceiling, forming a strange shadow waltz on the walls.

“What are you talking about? Who are you? Please, for the last time, let me go! I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just want to leave. Please! Let me leave,” the professor sobbed.

As the highlander closed the door, the professor and his companion looked up from their conversation. The circular room opened into six more lecture halls. The middle of the large room had been cleared and the professor sat on a chair that was directly below a dangling light bulb. The scene reminded the highlander eerily of a World War II interrogation room.

The professor’s companion turned. It was difficult to see him in the swaying light. He appeared short and wore dark clothes. There was no mistake that this was the man that had sent the highlander’s soul stirring. The companion slowly drew a rapier from inside his jacket and held it out.

“I am Onchra. I have no issue with you. Leave me about my business and there will be no bloodshed tonight.”

“I am Mr. Figglesworth, the highlander. I’m afraid I cannot leave you to your business, friend. I have been watching the professor for some time now, and I’ve decided to make a project of him. Why are you wasting your time with him? His head will bring you nothing except the feel of my steel. You know his quickening will barely brighten this place.”

As he spoke, the highlander had moved into the room, positioning himself inside the cleared area of the room and across from both the professor and Onchra. Upon closer examination, Onchra was truly a short man. The top of his head would barely come up to the highlander’s chest. He held the rapier nonchalantly in his left hand. His black overcoat was completely buttoned up and fell down only to his knees. The highlander glanced down at the professor, noting a small puddle that had formed beneath the chair. The highlander was having second thoughts about the worth of the professor.

“I am a little unsure of your intentions, highlander. When a man unclothed his blade before me, however, there is only one way to respond.”

Before Onchra finished his remark, he had leapt over the professor and slashed low at the highlander’s waist. The strike was quick, but there was little force behind it. The highlander easily parried it and brought his own blade up, falling into a swaying fighting stance.

“My intentions, Onchra? I have not heard of you before and I have no quarrel with you. At least I have no quarrel with you yet. Are you new to this game? I would hate to have to introduce you to the hard rules of our lives.”

The highlander remained low and swaying, waiting for Onchra’s next strike. His eyes were focused on Onchra’s blade, but his mind was focused on Onchra’s body movement. Onchra’s right hand, which was held against his waist, was slowly reaching down into his belt. The highlander took note of this movement and adjusted the grip on his katana, loosening his left hand’s hold on the bottom of his blade.

Onchra’s attack came quickly. His small size allowed for a quick fighting style that the Highlander had not seen in some time. The rapier flashed up with a snap and then slashed left to right and right to left. The highlander had little time to think as his sword danced to meet each stroke with a parry. After the third strike, the highlander watched as Onchra’s right hand darted out from his belt. His body shifted and his right shoulder darted toward the highlander’s unprotected left flank. A small dagger flashed toward the highlander, released from Onchra’s grip.

As the blade flew toward the highlander, he reversed the grip of his sword, bringing the point downward and knocking the dagger from its path. The highlander continued the back swing of the sword and cut deeply into Onchra’s extended right arm. The highlander followed through this swing and slid the blade through the skin and muscle of Onchra’s right arm until the tip entered his sternum. A fountain of blood erupted from Onchra’s opened chest and the rapier fell to the floor.

The highlander kicked the rapier away from Onchra’s outstretched arms. His eyes had already glazed over and although he looked up toward the highlander, the highlander knew that those eyes saw nothing. He glanced over to where the professor sat. The professor was frozen to his chair in fear. The highlander looked away and raised his katana over his head.

“Please! Mr. Figglesworth! Don’t! He’s dead already. What are you going to do to him? What are you going to do to me?”

“A lesson for you, my dear professor.”

The highlander brought the blade down on Onchra’s unprotected neck. At the last moment, however, the highlander caught a glance at the dagger that was laid out on the floor. The symbol on the hilt reminded him of something. The highlander turned the blade so that only the flat of the blade struck Onchra’s neck. The sudden change of the strike threw the highlander off balance and he fell over Onchra’s corpse. The highlander crawled over the body and picked up the dagger, his katana forgotten. On the bottom of the brass blade was a blood red crescent moon pierced by a lightning bolt. The highlander began to laugh as he stuck the blade into the floor. The professor looked at him and began to sob uncontrollably.

***

Coincidences are the lifeblood of the mage. Mr. Figglesworth had been taught early on that there was no such thing as coincidences: all that happened occurred because it was destined to happen--the question became, however, whose whirlpool of destiny were you caught in? What luck that he had run across a vampire hunter when he had a vampire to hunt. And to think: he had almost killed the hunter! Mr. Figglesworth enjoyed irony, but this time, he imagined that even the fates were laughing.

The highlander waited patiently for Onchra to awaken. His heart had started beating hours ago, but it would take some time for his body to regenerate enough to allow consciousness to seep in. The highlander’s deathblow was not something that could be healed quickly. It takes time for arteries and veins to grow back together and blood to start flowing. The highlander had cast his limited healing spells on Onchra, but in his state, such weak magic barely made a difference. Once again the highlander swore to resume his studies of the barrier arts. He had spent twenty years attempting to negotiate the barrier between life and death, to learn how to awaken the soul to heal the body, but it was difficult for him to give enough of himself to the art to become a true craftsman. He knew his attempts were feeble, but he was unable to summon the beliefs that were necessary to overcome the barriers.

The highlander had used this time to clean up the lecture hall room. He had returned to his car and collected his cleaning supplies from the trunk; one thing he had learned after all these years: keep a low profile and tidy up. He removed all signs of blood from the floor and furniture, and had cleaned up the professor’s mess. Even the bravest warriors sometimes lost control of their bladders during their first actual combat. The stain on the professor’s clothing had long since dried, but Mr. Figglesworth feared the hit to his pride would take longer. The professor was a strong man, but even strong men could break when introduced to the game. Even so, the highlander had faith that the professor would turn out to be an apt pupil.

After another hour, Onchra began to stir. The professor had long since fallen asleep in the corner. The highlander had attempted to explain what he was and what the professor would become, but the professor was not listening. Looking back at the situation he did not believe that he had handled it well. Introducing immortality to the professor after the professor watched him seemingly slay Onchra was probably not the best tactic. The highlander walked over to the professor and shook him awake.

“Wake up, professor. There’s something I have to show you.”

The professor woke with a start. He looked up at Mr. Figglesworth and was unable to decide if the nightmare he had just had was real. After looking at the blood splashed on Mr. Figglesworth’s coat, however, the professor knew that the nightmare had spilled into his waking hours.

Mr. Figglesworth lifted the professor by the arm and dragged him to Onchra. Onchra was breathing normally and the blood had long since ceased pouring from his wound. The professor was shocked. He knelt down next to Onchra and began peeling his clothes off. He searched Onchra’s body, but no outside wound or scar could be seen.

Onchra’s eyes opened suddenly and in a swift motion, Onchra grabbed the professor beneath his shoulder and pulled a dagger out. His right arm was around the professor’s chest and his left hand held a dagger close to the professor’s neck. Mr. Figglesworth refrained from moving and watched Onchra carefully.

“It’s okay, friend. Let the professor go. I did not realize who you were, but I do now. We have much to talk about,” Mr. Figglesworth said. His voice was soothing and his words were carefully chosen and pronounced. The highlander knew that Onchra had not yet regained his facilities, and his irrationality may result in further misunderstandings.

Mr. Figglesworth could see understanding begin to blossom in Onchra’s eyes, but with all his concentration focused on Onchra he failed to see the professor. While Onchra’s attention shifted to Mr. Figglesworth during his speech, the professor had slowly moved his hands up from his side.

Onchra began to loosen his grip on the professor. As soon as the muscles in Onchra’s right arm relaxed, the professor grabbed Onchra’s left hand and reached for the knife. Mr. Figglesworth leaped forward, but before he could reach the pair, he saw the knife sticking out of the professor’s side. He held the professor by his shoulder and watched the life drain slowly from his face. He lowered the professor’s body to the floor and looked up at Onchra. Onchra had jumped back after the brief struggle for the blade.

“I did not mean to do that, highlander. He reached for the knife and I acted before I thought. It is for the best, however. Old men don’t make good immortals,” Onchra said.

The highlander looked up at Onchra suspiciously and nodded. He reached behind him and lifted Onchra’s sword. He reversed the blade, grabbing the unsharpened part under the hilt and thrusting it forward to Onchra’s grasp.

“I am honored to meet you, hunter. I was unsure what your business was with the professor when I found you two here. I owe a debt to your clan and I am a bit discomfited on how I tried to repay it,” the Highlander said.

Onchra stared at Mr. Figglesworth for a moment, and then smiled.

“Apology accepted, highlander. I must be getting out of practice. My clumsy throw almost cost me my head. How do you know of my clan? We do not often reveal ourselves to other immortals.”

“That is a long story, Onchra. One I hope to share with you after I take care of the professor. Suffice to say, your clan helped revenge a dear loss to me.”

Onchra nodded slowly and the highlander walked over to the professor. The first death was always the hardest. It took the body some time to heal itself. The highlander looked at his watch and picked up the professor. He began carrying the professor to his car. Onchra grabbed the professor’s other shoulder and the two of them placed him in the highlander’s car.

The highlander made sure the professor was seated and motioned to Onchra.

“Stay with him a moment. There is something I have to do,” said the highlander.

With an exaggerated sigh, the highlander went back to his trunk and dragged out his cleaning pail and jogged back to the lecture hall.

End of Second Author's Story

Regretably, that's where the story flagged. We'll have to damn the third author for that.