Author's Note: Hey I'm back! :) Sorry for yet another hiatus! But just to let y'all know, I've roughly planned out the entire story and I think you people are gonna love it. Have re-read the earlier chapters and am not happy with the first few. M gonna redo them once this story is complete. Hope y'all like this chapter as much as the others and thank you so much for the kind reviews, follows and faves. If you have any suggestions feel free to PM me or review. Love y'all!

Now, ON WITH THE STORY! :D

Written in Blood
Chapter 9: Dummies

Desmond's POV:
Desmond stared at the plastic card, hand gripping it so tightly its edges crinkled at the force. His arm shook as the rage coursed through his veins.
"Abstergo Industries" it proudly proclaimed on the front. On the flipside written neatly in English was one simple sentence: Thanks, Seventeen.

just above the 'Finnick Rathmore' that was printed neatly in the middle, bright red.
He should have known. Any mess and misfortune that ever happened to him always somehow led back to the Templar organization. Crushing the card in a vain attempt to quell his seething, Desmond shifted the floorboard back to its original position.
The gun was gone.
He had returned to the armoury after leaving the main hall. Dante however was nowhere to be found. The American simply assumed the curious blond went to investigate the commotion like everybody else. He arrived a few minutes later of course but said nothing about the incident instead choosing to continue their punishment in stony silence. Not that the ex bartender was complaining. The silence gave him time to think. Who could have done it? More importantly, was it his gun that was the cause of that assassin's death?
As soon as the punishment was over, Desmond dashed off towards his room.
Which led back to the present. The gun was gone, in its place an Abstergo business card. And a name.
Finnick.
There was an agent in the Renaissance. One that was already amongst the brotherhood. The big question was, what for?

Ezio's POV:
"Yet another brother dies in this blood feud. Will such violence ever end? Or will all the sacrifices be in vain?" Ezio Auditore mused as he stalked through the corridors within Isola Tiberina.
The anger. The bitterness. The pain in his chest. And of course who could forget, the cruel guilt that came with failure. It happened so often nowadays he was actually getting used to it. He had failed so many people in his life.
He had failed his father. He should have been faster.
He had failed his brothers. It should have been him at the gallows.
He had failed his mother. She shouldn't have had to go through all the sorrow.
He had failed Claudia. He was supposed to protect her.
He had failed Mario. He should have been the one with the bullet in his head.
And now he had failed that fallen assassin. Micheatto. Barely a week into becoming a full assassin before having his life ended so suddenly.
Guilt. It was the bitterest poison life could possibly offer. Even death provided rest. Guilt would never be so merciful.
The anger. It was always there now. Seething, boiling, just below the surface of his confident facade. The cool calculating expression of someone in control. He had to keep his mask up. He was the leader after all. He had to be in control... Even if he was not. He had to make others feel that it was going to be okay. Such was the job of a leader of course.
Sighing, the Mentore ran a hand through his hair. He pulled his hood up, sinking into the comforting shadow of anonymity. He smirked mirthlessly at his surroundings. He had somehow arrived in the training courtyard. It was strewn with straw dummies. He smirked to himself. It seemed that while his mind knew not how to release his pent up rage and aggression, his feet did. Unsheathing his sword with a sharp rasp, the Master Assassin moved, letting out his anger with each blow to the faceless dummy, slicing through one after another with more strength than needed. Well his mother did say that he needed an outlet. For now, this seemed to be the only viable option.

Desmond's POV:
He couldn't sleep. Again. Although for once, nightmares was not the cause. Not that he liked the replacement any better.
Guilt.
He was the cause of that assassin's death. The death of someone he didn't even know. In a way, he had compromised the brotherhood. Dammit. He tossed and turned in the bunk, frustrated.
Growling in annoyance, he sat up. It was at most two hours to dawn. He might as well give up his courageous endeavour to enter dreamland and actually do something productive.
Pulling on his boots and weapons, the animus subject left the room, closing the door gently so as not to wake the rooms three other occupants whom were sleeping soundly. Lucky bastards.
He strolled through the empty hallways, the cool night air pleasant on his warm skin. Many were asleep, except a few assassins whom were on guard duty. They eyed him curiously as he passed but did not move to stop him.
Walking briskly towards the courtyard, he was surprised when he heard the dull thud of metal slicing through straw. Someone was up training already? That's a first.
He turned the corner and froze, his instincts already telling him to turn and run. Run away from danger.
It was Ezio. Or, at least the side of Ezio he did not exactly want to meet.
He watched from the sidelines as the master assassin butchered yet another straw dummy. It flopped to the floor, joining its MANY fallen comrades.
The Italian was panting. Sweat was dripping from his face and onto the stone floor looking worse for wear. Yet, that did not seem to quell the unadulterated rage that blazed behind the assassin's gaze. For a moment, Desmond was convinced that it was not Ezio but Altair that stood before him. The ferocity of the attacks was just so unlike the Florentine it scared him. He knew about this side of his ancestor but that did not mean he couldn't be scared shitless by it. (Not that he would ever admit it.)
This was the side of Ezio that no one knew. This was the side of Ezio that was broken beyond repair. This was the side of Ezio that even Ezio himself feared. And obviously the death of that assassin today did wonders to the poor man's soul.
He broke out of his musing only to realize that the sounds of training had stopped and the burning hazel gaze had shifted from the dummies to him.
"Desi?" his ancestor ask, friendly, confident mask slipping back on in an instant.

"Idiot. You knew I saw everything. Why even bother to hide?" Desmond admonished his ancestor mentally as he stepped out of the shadows of the pillars. He felt guilty. Ezio should not be blaming himself for that assassin's death. If anyone was to be feeling guilty, it was him. No, this could not go on further. A leader with a weakened mind would lead to a weakened order. And he was not going to let this brotherhood go down because his mistake made Ezio go nuts. Two screwed up minds in the bloodline is enough thanks.
" What's the use of attacking dummies? They are easy targets, they don't hit back. If you want to really vent then spar with me." he said slowly making his way towards the white hooded figure. Desmond seriously hoped he wasn't going to regret this. A livid Ezio could be just as deadly as Altair ever was. He would have to tread carefully. But first he would have to get rid of that mask. In other words, piss him off. "Shouldn't be too hard." he thought to himself grimly.
"I don't think that's such a good idea Desi. I don't want to-"
Desmond cut him off. The rasp of metal was Ezio's only warning before Desmond's sword came down on his, hard. The Mentore pushed him off jerking out of the way hurriedly to dodge yet another blow, shocked at the ferocity and speed of the attacks.
Desmond made use of his hesitance. Landing blow after blow, pushing the Italian backwards.
"Come now Mentore, surely the display I saw earlier was not all an act now was it? Or is the old man tired already?" a cruel jab he knew. But he needed Ezio to go all out.
The Florentine's mask slipped.
He smirked as Ezio's sword crashed against his. His arm shook at the strength behind the blow.
"Perhaps this might be good for the both of us." Desmond mused as he deftly dodged a deadly kiss of Ezio's blade barely parrying the next attack.

Ezio's POV:
He didn't know why Desi was doing this. He had to admit, he was hesitant to attack him at first. Afraid that he would harm his new friend if he let go of his control. And also, afraid to show him what he truly was. But as if in a silent answer, the not-really-novice attacked him. His already weary arms shook visibly at the hard blow. The message was clear.

"I can handle it. Just let go."

He barely parried the next and hesitated on the third. He caught a glimpse of the brilliant blue eyes beneath the grey hood. Shining like twin jewels. Challenging.
" Come now Mentore, surely the display I saw earlier was not all an act now was it? Or is the old man tired already?"
He bristled at the jab. He was NOT old! He could feel his control slip. The jab as childish as it was had relit his fury. He slammed down hard on Desi's sword, nearly knocking it out of his hand. His opponent smirked. Was that...guilt in his eyes? What the hell was he even guilty about?!
They fought.
The stars above were fading slowly as the first streaks of sunlight raced across the sky. But still they fought.
Desi was right. A dummy that strikes back was a better punching bag.
Desi the Dummy.
Ezio laughed at his own inside joke as he blocked Desi's jab, earning a curious gaze from his friend. Actually, the Florentine felt much better. Better than he had been in months.
Which meant it was time to face the problem at hand.
"Desi," he asked between blows. "the wound that killed the assassin. Do you know anything about it?"
The younger male faltered, blue eyes widening in surprise. Pausing for a little too long and Ezio's swipe managed to hit him, slicing across his left arm.
Desi let out a yelp of surprise, leaping backwards. He gripped the injured arm gingerly. Red was already soaking through the grey sleeve, dripping onto the straw strewn floor.
Ezio dropped his sword immediately, moving over to inspect the wound, mentally berating himself. He should have waited till later to ask. Silently, he led the wounded male to the storage room, pulling out the medical supplies. After wiping away an obscene amount of blood, the wound was thankfully not as serious as it looked. It didn't even need stitches.
" Y-you know?" the blue eyed male finally managed to gasp out.

I…Know? Know about what? Confused yet curious Ezio played along, choosing to remain silent. It worked.
" I...the gun...it…it was mine, but someone stole it. I should have hidden it better. I'm sorry! I should have known something from the-" the younger male babbled on, flustered before cutting himself off mid-sentence.
" From the?" Ezio prompted totally curious now.
He watched as the male looked away, collecting himself. He knew he was busted. They were silent for a few minutes as Ezio meticulously bandaged the wound. The lookalike glanced back at him with a serious expression that did not suit his young face.
" Ezio," he started, voice low." I cannot tell you everything, not yet at least. But I can tell you that whoever killed that assassin is a of great danger, possibly even greater than Cesare himself. And he will not stop until he has accomplished whatever he was sent here to do. He has knowledge and weapons than none of you have heard of, much less used."
"But you have?"
A pause.
"Yes. And I will stop him. Somehow..."he pitied the man. He looked just as lost as any of them.
" I am incapable of stopping him?"
" Yes...I...I need you to trust me on this Ezio. Leave him to me. Please."
A long pause.
" Va bene, I trust you."

Too fast? Too slow? Don't know?

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