Part Sixteen: Death of a Madman

The entrance to the catacombs that Leonardo had mentioned was under one of the largest hills of Roma, just south of Trinita dei Monti, a recently built church made by the French for their victory over Napoli, buried in a cliffside behind ancient rubble columns and fallen buildings. He weaved through the shelves of bones and remains. There was only one truly traversable path after centuries of decay and collapses. Though Ezio could spy several ways he might take with his unique abilities, Leonardo would never be able to do so. And Leonardo wouldn't be so excited unless he'd found something down here.

It took an hour, holding his lantern up and cautiously stepping over ancient coffins and rotted corpses, but eventually, in the distance, he heard echoes of conversation. Ezio immediately doused his light and switched to his Eagle, looking to the golden trail and using that as his guide in the darkness.

"Leonardo," a low tenor echoed, "I still cannot comprehend why you have turned against the ideals we always held dear!"

"Trust is a terrible thing, Ercole," Leonardo barked back.

Ercole Massimo. The Hermeticist Leonardo had spoken of.

"Yes. And you are betraying mine!" And the meaty strike of a fist to a face that Ezio was all too familiar with.

Ezio hurried forward.

"Tell me where the entrance is."

"How naïve of me," Leonardo groaned in response. "To have thought you sought knowledge as I did."

There was a growl of frustration. "Why seek knowledge without putting it to use? We have the chance to fashion a better world," Ercole countered. "One in which we have the freedom to shape our own destiny. No almighty Church deciding what is right and wrong, just people. No nobles or wealthy merchants deciding who's better and who's not. Why not use this to fix that?"

"And what if we choose not to be a part of your vision?" Leonardo replied quietly.

Ezio kept hurrying, but this path was winding and he had to keep checking his footing.

"How can you not? That is foolish. Do you not see?" Ercole countered. "We can banish ignorance. Free people from their social classes and kingdoms, from their animal emotions. Everyone will have the truth at their grasp."

Frowning, Ezio couldn't help but shake his head. Those were lofty ideals, ones that clearly not adhered to by these Hermeticists.

"Beating me down here in the dark enlightens the people of Italia?" Leonardo offered his own counter. "Because it takes great intelligence to strike me down and kick me."

Ercole was getting annoyed. "The Pythagorean unifier is in that temple. We both know it," he growled back. "That number is coupled to all nature, all things. It is what connects people with people, people with objects, objects with objects, the cosmos with the cosmos. It strings us all together. It is the source. With it, we can open the minds and souls of men. No more of the stupidity that we drown in. We can fill them with knowledge."

Leonardo gave a wet chuckle. "As above, so below." From the Hermetic bible, the Veras.

"Yes," Ercole responded, and Ezio could practically hear him nodding as he climbed through broken down steps. "That is the Hermetic vow. Together, we will make mankind into Gods. Now, show me the entrance."

"Why?" Leonardo replied coyly. "Do you not know where it is? "

"How could I?" Ercole growled.

Ezio could just imagine Leonardo's whimsical shrug. "You know mankind's wants and needs. I assumed discovering the location of a simple hidden entrance would be an easy feat."

"You... Where is it?!"

"Guess."

"I am finished with your obstinacy!"

The sound of hitting returned. As Ezio clambered over a boulder. He could see the light of the torches and lanterns around the corner.

"My mind," Leonardo grunted, "will remain unharmed."

Ezio raced the last stretch of tunnel and turned the corner. Above, on a raised ledge were a group of Hermeticists, Ercole before them and at his feet was Leonardo, an eye swollen shut and blood trickling from his mouth.

"Stop," Ezio demanded, growl evident in his voice.

"Ezio Auditore!" Ercole was both surprised and pleased. "You, who arrested Cesare Borgia, who stopped the spread of Roman ignorance. We welcome a fellow believer." He offered a flourishing bow. "Please, convince our mutual friend Leonardo to open the temple and usher in the golden age of mankind."

Ezio's anger exploded. "Oh, should I persuade 'our friend' by kicking him? Or would you rather I used my blade?"

"On the contrary," the Hermeticist replied pleasantly. "There is nothing I would like more than an amiable solution. Help Leonardo see reason. With the Pythagorean unifier, we will remake humanity together."

Ezio shook his head. That wasn't free choice. That was forcing a truth down people's throats. "Not under my creed," he growled back.

"Then the revolution will begin without you," Ercole said with finality. "Kill him!"

Ezio shook his head.

As with Duccio's sailors, these were not trained fighters. Indeed, they were scholars by choice, who studied and read and wrote. The sailors at least had strength. These Hermeticists did not. Ezio barely had to strike someone, before they went down in pain, crying out and screaming over the lightest of bruisings. Once they were all down, Ezio coldly used his hidden blade to pierce all of their hearts, so that no other might find this temple. It was far too dangerous.

Ezio swiftly climbed up to the upper level, where Ercole was cowering, eyes wide as he realized just how dangerous and deadly Ezio truly was. He trembled and cried and pleaded. "Stay away from me, Assassino."

"No."

"We are all the same underneath, yet these people persist in their witch hunts!" Ercole begged. "You would kill us? Banish us back to our primitive origins? Firenze against Venezia, Venezia against Roma. Ignorant group against ignorant group, forever, is that what you want?"

Ezio didn't even dignify that with a response. He just plunged his blade into Ercole's lung.

"You... an Assassin," the Hermeticist gasped. "The enemy of knowledge?"

Ezio shook his head. "One must choose to search for the truth. Forcing it on others accomplishes little. And those who have stopped their ears and closed their eyes will resist to the end. Nothing will truly be gained."

"These lost people," Ercole sobbed, and gasped his last breaths. "Warring kingdoms... I would have ended their suffering."

"May you know the truth in death," Ezio replied, closing the Hermeticist's eyes. "Requiescat in pace."

"Come," Ezio said, untying Leonardo. "Let us leave this place."

Despite the clear injuries he was suffering, Leonardo's eye was bright with curiosity and his body trembled with energy. "We cannot, Ezio! Not without reaching the final room of the temple!"

Ezio looked at his friend, and frowned disapprovingly.

Leonardo winced, whether from his look or injuries, Ezio wasn't sure.

"You are hurt."

"I will be fine," Leonardo brushed it aside.

Ezio continued to frown disapprovingly.

Leonardo squirmed, before using logic. "If that number is left intact, we risk another madman discovering it."

With a heavy sigh, Ezio loosened his shoulders. Leonardo seemed to take that as acquiescence and pushed at a particular, innocuous stone that slid back. There was an almost inaudible click, and an entire wall of stones fell apart, cracking and tumbling to look like a natural collapse.

Leonardo grabbed a torch and was already hopping over the debris. "Coming?" he smiled, glancing back.

"I will lead the way," Ezio replied firmly.

Leonardo gave a soft chuckle. "Thank goodness I sent Massimo after my paintings. It delayed them and bought me time."

"And me as well," Ezio replied, "to find you alive."

They arrived in some sort of antechamber, and Leonardo was already excitedly prattling on about the Pythagoreans, and how the soul moved through cracks in the earth like beams of light, how light ignites fire symbolizing knowledge.

Looking around, there was no door, only a huge statue in the center, with some sort of prism atop it. Ezio swiftly climbed the statue, then used a small mirror on the prism to reflect light around the room to get a bitter idea on where to go. There was an opening in the wall, easily ten feet in the air. Ezio, with his abilities as an Assassin, would have no trouble getting there. Leonardo, however...

Ezio climbed back down and took both his cloak and Leonardo's to tie a length of rope he could use to pull up his injured friend.

"Thank you," Leonardo grunted. "I think I'm getting a little old for this."

Ezio held back a chuckle at how he himself had started to think as such recently.

The passage was dark and narrow as they walked through.

"I suppose Salai is out having fun spending my hard-earned, non-existent florins?"

Ezio chuckled, thinking of how despondent the young assistant was the last he saw him. "He is safe at home."

Leonardo let out a breath. "I am relieved," he said. "... About the florins of course."

"You do not need to lie to me," Ezio smiled in the torchlight. "Salai fits you. Though he is an acquired taste, I approve."

"I... em..." Leonardo gaped.

Ezio laughed. "Leonardo da Vinci at a loss for words? That is a first."

Leonardo quickly sought to change subjects. "The Pythagoreans believed all forces of nature could be whittled down to numbers. Mathematica can then act on nature, allowing man to harness nature's power."

Ezio allowed the change of subject. The next room was circular as well, and the next path was once again much higher up. Ezio's eyes traveled the walls, searching for any sort of path, and saw a decent block that would serve as a stepping stone. Given how it was warbling on the side of ledge, it wouldn't be that difficult to move. But... how to get up there...

Leonardo was still discussing mathematics with himself, watching animatedly as Ezio started up his planned route of dilapidated structures. He had to check and double check his footing and grips as loose rocks had no problems falling away and loose grit made it hard to get a proper grasp.

After he almost fell, he finally made it to a beam that he could leap from.

"You are almost there!" Leonardo called up.

Ezio brushed the dust and dirt off his hands again and checked his footing. "Easy for you to say," he grumbled.

The next path took them down a set of stairs, half buried in rubble.

The third room was a large chamber like before, and the way up was even higher.

Really, it was like whoever designed these rooms were planning for only Assassins to get around.

"How unexpected!" Leonardo was once again looking eagerly around. "Delightful! Harmony was achieved when multiplicity became unity. When many thoughts combine to form one original idea."

"Inspiration after learning," Ezio replied.

"Ooh, I hadn't thought of it that way. Fascinating..."

Ezio let Leonardo chatter as he once again started the long climbing route that the room seemed to need in order to get to another stone that would be a good support to reach that last doorway. Ezio's arms were burning by the time he had pulled Leonardo up, and he was hoping there wouldn't be any more challenges ahead.

The next chamber was far smaller and more modest, with a single pedestal in the center of the room. From the pedestal was a faint glow along certain lines, forming symbols...

Ezio leaned down and looked closer and gave a small laugh. "Recognize these symbols?"

"No," Leonardo said, before suddenly grasping Ezio's arm. "Wait! These are symbols that were shown to me by the Apple of Eden! But... how do you know them, Ezio? I studied the Apple, but you have not."

Ezio thought back to Minerva, the goddess hidden under St. Peter's, and the strange temple that lit itself with unknown power and showed the heavens in ways he couldn't even dream of understanding. "I may have come across them once or twice."

Leonardo nodded and turned back to the pedestal. "But these are in the wrong order..."

Together, they heaved and pushed the heavy stone into place, connecting what was supposed to be together.

A massively giant door slid up, to Ezio's surprise, giving them access to another room. They entered, and Ezio couldn't quite prevent the chill that ran down his spine. He knew this architecture. It was just like the room under the Vatican, like the symbols had been. This was a room of the gods of the ancients. Minerva had born a message for the spirit Desmond. This room was likely for the spirit as well. That was why the previous rooms had been designed for Assassins. They'd know that a Prophet would come.

Ezio shuddered.

In the center of the room was a more sleek pedestal, and Ezio stepped forward. If this was all for the spirits, he needed to do his part.

"Ezio?"

He held his hand over the pedestal, and something reached into his blood and bones, much as the Apple had done, and lights started to appear all around the vault. Symbols of some kind flashed around, in a pattern Ezio felt he should know but couldn't place.

Leonardo stepped forward, his eye alight with wonder. "Those are not Pythagorean symbols," he said. "43, 39, 19, N. 75, 27, 42, W. Nothing. Random numbers and two letters. The Cult of Hermes is wrong. This number is meaningless." The painter tilted his head. "Unless there is some meaning. I wonder. N and W. The letters must stand for something. I wonder..."

Ezio turned and walked away.

Leonardo turned with surprise. "You are leaving?"

"No mere number can repair the world," Ezio said softly. "No matter how complex the number or equation, humanity is even more convoluted." He gave a warm smile. "Come, my friend, help me charter that ship to Navarre. I must finish with Cesare Borgia." Ezio glanced back at the number that was starting to fade. "This was not intended for us." Desmond, I hope, wherever you are, you understand this.

Leonardo's eye was once more alight with curiosity. "What are you not telling me?"

Ezio took his turn to divert conversation. "Tell me, what else have you been working on?"

Ever eager to discuss his research, Leonardo eagerly answered. "Well, I have begun several dissection studies. Then King Louis XII seems interested in hiring me as an engineer. Oh yes, I am thinking of repainting the St. John lost in the Villa fire. Salaì would model for it again, of course. Then, perhaps I will study a woman with child to see how her body changes..." Together they walked away from spirits and ancient lights.

"Interesting. Tell me more."

Climbing back through the temple proved strenuous. Leonardo's injuries became more obvious as he couldn't lift his arms over his head without difficulty, and did not have the strength to hold his own weight, leaving Ezio to use their cloaks to tie around Leonardo and lower him down, pulling at his already overused muscles after an entire day of climbing about rooms designed specifically for Assassins – specifically for him so that the mysterious Desmond could see those odd numbers for reasons beyond the grandmaster's understanding. It was becoming increasingly difficult to reconcile the life he had with the life the old gods seemed to expect him to lead, and he distracted himself with helping his oldest friend back to his workshop to avoid thinking about it.

If he really were the prophet, was there something else he was supposed to be doing? To help this phantom Desmond? Or was he merely a puppet pulled by a series of complicated strings? Did any of it have to do with his work on the Brotherhood? Did any of it even matter?

Salai finding his master proved to be an excellent distraction, the boy was beside himself, shouting and swearing and then out and out kissing Leonardo full on the lips in spite of his master's many injuries. Ezio pursed his own lips, quietly disappearing outside. He found a pair of thieves on the rooftops and, with an offering of coin, sent them off to Rosa in Fiore with word to send a doctor there and for Claudia to come at once.

His sister arrived two hours later, slightly frazzled, with her daughter in tow and a doctor by her side. Ezio put the man to work on Leonardo and subsequently wished him good luck as Salai continued to fuss and otherwise get in the way.

Claudia and Federica he pulled out to one of the upper rooms. "Now that Leonardo is back, I'll be leaving immediately."

"Cesare's escape?" Claudia asked shrewdly. "The Spanish Assassins haven't had word, only that he's holed up in Navarre with his brother-in-law. They haven't been able to sneak anybody into the court, and work like that takes time at any rate."

Ezio nodded. "I know, but it won't be long before he's put in charge of Navarre's armies, and then it will be a repeat of Italia: he will conquer any and everything in sight, convinced it is his destiny. I can't let him have even a foothold of power, or it will all happen again."

"Agreed," Claudia said.

"What about Roma?" eighteen year old Federica asked. Her teen emotions were (mostly) behind her, and she was proving to be a competent pickpocket and fighter. She was still too vocal of her own opinions, however, and it showed now. "You'll miss Mother's birthday."

Ezio offered a faint, Florentine smirk, before turning to his sister. "It's a little early," he said, "But I already knew the gift. Claudia: I don't know how long I'll be gone, but until I return, you are in charge of the Brotherhood."

Both girls were poleaxed, but Claudia recovered quickly and offered her own smirk. "It's about time," she said coyly.

"Past time, really," Ezio replied, smiling. Then he got down to business. "There is a temple here in Roma; Leonardo knows where it is. Hermeticists tried to breach it but were unsuccessful. Leonardo and I were; it has served its purpose and no one should ever access it again. Use gunpowder if you have to, but make sure the entrance is completely blocked. Also, rotations are coming up, and Vittoria's group is going to need a lot of work on politics. Vecellio should be back from his mission soon, and keep an eye on little Giovanni; that boy is too bright for an eight year old, and he asks awkward questions. Etienne should be ready for his next order soon, and Arianna needs to be visited with some frequency to keep her out of her depression. Salvatore was supposed to be getting new horses this month, but the island isn't big enough for his new stock and-"

"Ezio," Claudia said, smirking, "We'll be fine."

And Ezio knew they would be.

January first found him sailing to Spain, and two weeks later the Spanish assassins welcomed him with open arms. It was good to see familiar faces and new faces, share stories and exploits and the pains of running a multi-national Order. It was good to see Raphael Sanchez again, and hear firsthand how Queen Isabella had died just over two years ago from the men responsible – though everyone thanked the grandmaster for the apprentices he had sent over to help out, learning little details his apprentices had not thought to report on. The Inquisition was still in full swing after the queen's death, proving the monstrosity she had started would not go away soon – even after the death of her and Torquemada. The good news, per se, was that assassins were no longer on the list, and everyone was doing what they could to help those who were listed of being arrested as they learned of it.

Soon, though, Ezio was making his way deep into Spanish country, armed with what little they were able to gather in terms of intelligence: However Cesare had escaped, he had been injured, most of his time in Navarre had been spend recuperating. Most assassins thought Cesare's private butcher Micheletto was behind the escape, but Ezio had the unfortunate task of telling them otherwise. Micheletto was imprisoned by the pope, della Rovere determined to learn more of Borgia debauchery and bestow his anger at a more local target. Niccolo had arranged for his freedom in '05 – much to Raphael's and other's surprise – until Ezio explained that his dear friend had placed Micheletto in charge of Firenze's bargello, the "chief of police," and, most especially, the man in charge of Firenze's prison. Micheletto daily watched hangings and executions and chased after the rare escaped convict, all while knowing that if he did even one thing wrong the assassins would see him "accidentally" killed.

Little else was known; Navarre was a kingdom unto itself, and John III was notoriously well guarded and slow to warm to people. Ezio took the information in stride, and began the slow ride north.

It took him over a month to get there, the winter was unusually harsh and many of the mountain passes were closed from snow, and Spain seemed to have no shortage of mountains.

It was the middle of February when he finally arrived and took up residence in a seedy inn. By the first of March he had a sense of the city's politics and was able to sneak his way into one of the lower courts, where everyone was talking about the disgraced Cesare Borgia and whether or not he could repeat his string of successes in Spain. It was there that Ezio learned of Navarre's plans to expand his borders, targeting an Earldom of Lerin and giving a sweeping opening salvo on the city of Viana.

Ezio was off riding again, cursing those damned mountains and following the obvious trail of roughly 10,000 men bursting for a fight.

Would men ever be content with what they had?

Ezio sighed, wondering when it would ever end; if such a cycle kept repeating itself, was that the role of Desmond? To end the cycle? That meant Ezio would accomplish nothing in his lifetime, and such a thought was utterly depressing. He thought about Mario's pragmatism, tried to remind himself that his beloved uncle had told him not to worry of such things, but instead Ezio saw Mario's death, over and over, in both his mind's eye and his dreams. Monteriggioni on fire, riding through collapsing buildings, the screams for help, the battlements, the siege towers, the bitter fighting in the streets. War was coming to Viana the same way it was coming to Monteriggioni; good men like Mario were going to die here as well, all under Cesare's hand, and all because he was diluted with a sense of immortality.

"Chains will not hold me! I will not die by the hand of man!"

Such madness would lead to ruin, and Ezio refused to have the men and women of Viana suffer the same tragedy as Monteriggioni.

But would the fighting ever stop...?

It was March 12 when he finally arrived at the battle, well underway and being fought bitterly on both sides. The sky was blood red, casting everything in orange light, the air filled with smoke and ash and fire. Bodies were everywhere, cannons were firing on both sides, regardless of killing their own fighters, and burnt meat assaulted Ezio's nostrils, making him cough at the taste of it. Eyes burning, he asked his eagle for help to search through the fighting, the ants coming at each other with everything they had. It was difficult, things kept moving, but the grandmaster finally saw the flicker of gold. He rode his horse down the hill at a gallop, eyes locked on his target until the fighting became too thick for him to ride through. The animal was eventually knocked down but Ezio paid it no heed as he was already leaping off the beast and ducking through the fighting and explosions and to that bastardo.

Cannon fire was everywhere, concussive round knocking waves of people off their feet, sending dirt and body parts flying. Everything was a mishmash of noise: shouts, fire, screams, explosions, clanking of weapons, grunts and death throws, one sound indistinguishable from the next. A chicken, free of its home, skittered through the fight cawing and shrieking as it tried to get away, only to be lost in a cannon shell landing some twenty feet from Ezio as he ran through the fight.

Had Mario faced this when he met Cesare's troops? It was hell on earth, nothing but fire and brimstone, and place abandoned by God, abandoned by Minerva and her mysterious prophecy, abandoned by all but the ugliness of man.

Several men recognized the man in the white hood, and some even tried to stop him, but Ezio paid them no heed, maiming when he could, killing when he had to, a forty-seven year old devil in his own right that made blood fly about him. The people he killed had families somewhere, and Ezio mourned their losses, hated himself and the death he always seemed to reap, wondering when it would be enough, when it would at last end. This was another slaughter he was committing, added to a frighteningly long list, and it made him angry as well as sad; and so he blew through the bodies, leaping up and stabbing and gutting and killing everything that stood in his way.

Eyes locked as he ran full tilt at the bastardo and he watched eyes grow wide in surprise.

Cesare's hand grabbed his wrist to prevent the lethal strike and they fought for footing and he growled out, "How did you find me?"

The question was stupid after everything the grandmaster had went through, what he had fought with, and what he had been forced to commit, and he answered with: "The Apple you stole from Mario Auditore led me here." It was a lie, but Cesare needed to understand, at least on some level, that he was not special, that the gods did not have some divine plan for him. Indeed, Ezio knew full well how little the gods actually interfered, and that made the world a much sadder place. Even in his anger, in his savagery, Ezio needed to try and teach Cesare, to get his enemy to see, even a little, and try to change his ways.

Niccolo would balk at him if he ever knew, but Ezio could not live with himself if he did not try.

They struggled for dominance, pushing, straining, muscles sore and tight and determined, his blade inching closer and closer and closer until Cesare managed to angle the strike; Ezio's hidden blade only grazing his neck before whistling away. The former Captain General gasped at how close that was, and backed up immediately.

"Kill him!" he shouted, ordering his troops. "Kill the Assassin! Tear the maledetto bastardo to pieces!"

A dozen men surrounded Ezio as Cesare made his escape. "Don't be foolish," he shouted, drawing his ancient unbreakable sword and taking a defensive stance. "I want to avoid killing you!"

"¿Qué?" one of them asked.

Merda. Ezio tried to switch to Spanish but it was too late, the men already advancing, and the grandmaster ducked under a massive swing, stabbing his sword up and grabbing the soldier's face, firing his hidden gun. The sudden, visceral death did not phase trained soldiers, however, and Ezio was soon blocking another strike, twisting it away and slashing at an exposed back before leaping up and stabbing into the shoulder of another and ducking and dodging and slashing and stabbing and circling and firing and shouting and-

The earth exploded under his feet. Ezio went flying, and he wondered if he had failed.

Again.

"Hey. ¿Está vivo?"

He groaned.

"Alguien está vivo aquí!"

Moaning, he tried to roll over, but his head erupted in fire and he gasped, clutching his head. He tried weakly to kick the weight off of him but found he did not have the strength. Ezio looked up blearily to see a soot-covered peasant looking at him; his lips were moving but Ezio could only faintly make out the sounds over the ringing, and his head throbbed with each attempt to figure out the Spanish.

"¿Puedes oírme?"

"Si," Ezio said, his own voice sounding very far away. "I can hear you."

"¿Italiano?"

Ezio moaned again, rocking onto his side and away from the sunlight. Only then did he realize blood was trailing down his temple, and he realized he might actually be hurt. He also noticed belatedly that the weight was actually a corpse, one of the Navarre soldiers. Slowly he pulled his legs free from the mangled mass of meat and rolled away. The peasant, grabbed at the grandmaster's wrists, pulling him a stretch further, and Ezio grunted at the movement as his body scraped against swords and daggers and other mutilated weaponry, to say nothing of the body parts and corpses.

Ears still ringing, Ezio slowly assessed himself. His body was full of cuts and abrasions, but nothing serious enough to warrant immediate attention. His ears were ringing, and his head was splitting, his vision blurry and sensitive to light. Rolling onto his knees, he knew a world of sores and pains, but again, nothing serious. Coughing, he got one foot under him, and then another, and he staggered upright. His ankle hurt, swollen and tight in his boot, but he could feel no breaks anywhere. Tentatively, he put a hand to his temple. There was a gash there, and his hand came away smeared with blood. He swayed slightly, vision darkening, before he pulled himself together. "Water," he said hoarsely, before coughing and remembering his Spanish. "Agua."

A waterskin was brought, and he drank of it deeply – slowly, but very deeply. He reached stiffly into his pouch and pulled out some dried meat, chewing on it numbly to regain his strength. A glance at the sky through his bleary vision nearly blinded him, but he could tell that it was still morning. He had not been out for long. Sighing, that meant Borgia was likely nearby, and if Cesare had any modicum of success then he would send his army out after Ezio.

No rest for the weary, it seemed.

Sighing, he thanked the peasant and joined the soot-covered man with a dozen others who were looting the dismembered bodies littering the field. Ezio restocked his ammunition, found his precious sword made by Altair, and grabbed several waterskins for his own use. His stomach was still empty, even after the tiny bit he ate, but the stench of the field made it hard for him to eat, and instead he grabbed one of the free-roaming horses, coaxing it close before climbing laboriously onto the saddle. Dizziness swept over him at the sudden change of elevation, and he almost fainted again, but he was able to fight it off. He kicked the horse into a simple trot and guided the animal down the hill.

Cannonfire still erupted everywhere, trees were on fire and more bodies and horses littered the road. Ezio rode past is, keeping his focus inside and trusting his horse. He tried to nibble again, to fill his stomach and give him strength, but mostly he looked inside and asked his eagle for help, begging that his head clear enough to get through this day.

After several hours of riding his head did clear, slightly. His vision was less blurry but still sensitive to light, and the throbbing was constant enough that he stopped noticing it. Mostly.

Looking up, he saw his mount approaching a ruined bridge, and with a kick he pushed into the gallop necessary to clear it. The shelling was more consistent here, he could see olive fields had become nothing but waves of fire, filling the air with scented smoke and ash. Shortly after another shell erupted, the horse bucking and rearing to its hind legs. Ezio pulled on the reins to calm the animal, but another shell exploded and the beast overbalanced, throwing Ezio. The grandmaster managed to roll off before the horse was exploded by another concussive shell, and the master assassin stayed very still, waiting for the volley to end.

Forced to walk, Ezio trudged uphill to the utter ruins of the olive field. Buildings were nothing but heaps of rubble, walls upright as testament to dwellings that used to exist, exposed wood and stone and thatch everywhere. Tree branches were burning, or snapped, or just dead, and Ezio could hear the ordered footsteps (his hearing was returning, thank goodness) of soldiers.

Ducking behind a ruined wall, he waited. It was noon, now, and he slowly crept his way around the guards and soldiers, protecting Cesare's rear.

"I heard Cesare Borgia commands the Navarrese."

"Who?"

"He once ruled all of Roma."

"Really? What happened?"

"I heard the Assassin killed his supporters. Great rulers rise and fall like leaves in the wind."

"I will give you wind."

The soldiers laughed, and Ezio moved past the worst of the damaged buildings, still weary, still begging the eagle in his mind for help. The ground became more stepped, Ezio climbing small retaining walls to higher and higher levels of the settlement before reaching the city proper. Hiding in the ruined outline of what appeared to be a church, Ezio's sharp eyes saw the flagrant red of Cesare Borgia, bright even in the sea of red that was Viana. Hell's presumed master was marching up a hill with his private guards, and a village woman ran towards him.

"¡Ayúdeme! ¡Dañan a mi hijo!"

Cesare's response was to have his soldiers shove her aside and then stab her in the belly, her shrieks of surprise and pain quickly silenced with a second slash to the throat. One of the soldiers spit over her corpse.

Still cruel. He was not learning...

It was the same throughout the city. Ezio could travel more freely simply because the soldiers were content to rape and pillage.

"¡Déjame en paz! Leave me alone!"

"I will not hurt you..."

Ezio threw knives when he could, but was in no shape to draw blatant attention to himself, and quickly moved to the roof, the ornate Byzantine architecture leaving no shortage of handholds. His swollen ankle did not like the work, and he was favoring it by the time he reached the steps leading to Viana proper. A priest was there, preaching to the devastation that was everywhere.

"You brought this upon yourselves through sin. This is how the Lord punishes you. Ours is a just God, and this is justice. Praise the Lord! Thank you God for teaching us to be humble. To see our punishment for what it is, a call to spirituality. The Lord he giveth and the Lord he taketh away. So the truth is written. Amen! "

Ezio was disgusted. War brought out the worst of people, brutes and savages and animals, but to have a man call this the hand of God was ludicrous, to have him preach the people to be grateful for such an act was even worse. The bloodthirsty, they made sense at least; they loved killing. Men like that preacher were lost to Ezio, he could not understand how they could feel powerful by taking an act of man and manipulating the people into believing it was an act of God.

The upper levels of the city were on fire, the fighting was much more pitched here, and it was obvious to Ezio where Cesare was concentrating his forces. His whites were barely noticed, covered in soot and his own blood as he was, and he blended into the crowds of troops before looking up at the city walls. Siege towers...!

His mind flooded with memory, watching them assault Monteriggioni, feeling the walls explode around him, and Ezio fell to his knees at the lightheaded feelings he suffered. Coughing up what little he'd eaten, he needed several moments to recuperate from the shock of that memory. More blood dripped down his temple, and he nearly retreated into himself, away from that day six years ago, Claudia's birthday, the blood, his uncle, his life. Ulderico... Mario...

He... He could not just let it happen again.

That thought made him stand up again, to look at the fire and destruction and smoke and ash and shouts. He would stop this. He would stop this by killing Cesare.

Head throbbing but reinvigorated for the short term, Ezio limped towards the nearest siege tower, injured but still upright, and began to climb. He was halfway up its protected interior when he realized the smell of smoke was getting stronger, and looking down he saw that the tower itself was on fire.

Merda. Merda!

Taking a deep, cough-inducing breath, he raced against the fire feeding greedily on the dry tinder. Hell nipping at his feet, Ezio made it to the top of the siege tower and leapt to the city wall just as the column of fire collapsed under him.

Fighting was everywhere, Viana troops fighting just as bitterly as Monteriggioni had, while the Navarre men were fraught with whatever divine purpose Cesare's charm had given them. It was another echo of the attack on Monteriggioni, but Ezio was resolved now, and his eagle pointed him right, and so he ran along the ramparts, ducking under duels and fights and slaughters, intent to kill the source of all this pain: Cesare Borgia himself.

The Spaniard was beyond one of the battlements, killing the last of his adversaries with some skill, as Ezio approached, closing and locking the doors behind him.

"Cesare!" he shouted, hoarse from the smoke and ash and other particles in the air. He drew his sword. "The walls surround you. There is nowhere to run."

The Borgia was again surprised to see the grandmaster, but his surprise melted to fury, and he spread his arms wide.

"Come then, Ezio!" he shouted back, voice echoing over the fighting. "I cannot die. Fortune will not fail me, for I am the best fighter who ever lived! Defeat will never taint me!"

Ezio took a deep breath. Pride goeth before the fall, right...?

Though Ezio was injured, that did not mean he was at a distinct disadvantage. Cesare had been fighting literally all day, and his exhaustion showed in his slow swings. Ezio's own reaction time was off, his head was still trying to kill him before his time and he had to work not to favor his swollen ankle. His hearing was still off, but Cesare's was too as they both showed signs of missing different auditory cues. That did not mean, however, that either was unskilled. Thirty-two, still in his prime, Cesare was a skilled combatant and had a technical proficiency that Ezio grudgingly admired. He was strong and fast, energetic even through his exhaustion. He truly believed that he was unbeatable.

"Take that! An Auditore will never best me so give up; you are no match for me."

But Ezio had thirty-two years of combat experience, training, lessons, and wisdom. He had learned patience, tolerance, and cunning, and so he allowed Cesare to dominate the duel, use overpowered strikes that shook the grandmaster's very body. Cesare pressed and pressed, and Ezio gladly gave the ground, letting the younger man think himself the better fighter. Ezio kept his motions economical, defensive, only reacting and never acting. Sweat beaded down his face, his head throbbed with concentration, but still he gave more ground, refusing to fall for Cesare's taunts or threats, not reacting to any particularly good move made by the former Captain Generale. He simply waited.

"Roma, Italia, España. They will all be mine," Cesare sneered, his face bright and ugly with impending victory. "No matter what you do I will conquer all."

And, at last, Ezio saw the opportunity, saw the ego overtake the skill. And he goaded him.

"You will not live to see the end of the day," he promised.

And Cesare's face turned even uglier, twisting into rage and indignation and darkness. "Diiiiiee!" he shouted, lifting his sword up for a childishly obvious overhead strike, leaving his body wide open.

Ezio darted in and with three strikes completely disrobed Cesare of his armor.

The Borgia was beside himself, staring at his vulnerable torso in utter shock, and Ezio used that brief moment of distraction to stab him in his stomach, low for a slow and painful death, and twisted the blade and watching Cesare's eyes twist in pain and surprise and denial all at once.

"The throne was mine!" he said, almost whined, like a child.

Ezio shook his head. "Wanting something does not make it your right."

"What do you know?" Cesare spat.

"That a true leader empowers the people he rules," Ezio said, "he inspires them to be better than what they are, encourages them to do what is right, he leads by example. What example have you provided? People hate you everywhere you go, you are hunted by more than the likes of me, your desire for power has turned you and those around you mad, and everyone is dead as a result. Is that what you wanted?"

"You think I care about people?" Cesare scoffed. "I will lead mankind into a new world! A world where all will bow before me, where Father will love me, where I am adored by all!"

"May no one remember your name," Ezio said, offering last rites. "Requiescat in pace."

Cesare grunted as the hidden blade was yanked out of his body. Ezio stood, taking a deep breath, but the Borgia twisted away, slowly rising to his feet. "You cannot kill me!" he growled. "No man can murder me!"

Ezio growled, fed up. "Then I leave you in the hands of Fate!" he said, grabbing the scrambling man and pulling at his collar. Still shouting, unable to believe anything different, Ezio shoved the insane man over the edge of the rampart, watching Cesare's face blossom from incredulity to confusion to fear to terror as he plummeted into gravity's deathly embrace, twisting and turning and flailing and flapping, until he bounced off the side of a siege tower and then spun, landing headfirst three hundred feet below on the stone roadway around the fortress. His body bounced up, and Ezio could hear the sickening crack of the impact before landing again. Cesare's body splayed at odd angles, bones popping through skin in multiple places, and the siege tower itself collapsed, burying the body in timber.

And dizziness at last overtook Ezio, and he only barely had enough presence of mind to angle his fall back onto the rampart. He looked up to the sky to see the redness had faded. It was a bright, crystal blue, even through all the smoke. Had hell died with Cesare?

He hoped so...

He awoke on a cot amid a sea of cots, injured men moaning and groaning all around him. Ezio himself was not in the best of shape, and so he drifted off again.

This happened several times, he couldn't tell the passage of time, but eventually he looked up to see Raphael Sanchez, and felt the uneven rhythm of a wagon, and he knew then he was safe, and so he drifted off again. His headache lasted for days later, his concentration only ever lasting for what seemed like moments, and his mind was overcome with the events he had just participated in. He had now witnessed the sacking of two cities: Viana and Monteriggioni, and it left a bitter taste in his mouth as he slowly became aware that these fights were constant throughout the entire continent. Europe, it seemed, could not exist without killing each other over land and inheritance and "destiny." He looked at his own Italia, the city-states and how Zio Mario explained that "They are allies one day, fighting the next. I cannot keep track, and so I don't bother with it." However forward thinking they might be with their city councils, Ezio wondered if his beloved home was any better than the rest of the world.

He wondered how many of these fights were the result of the Apple, the Pieces of Eden that so possessed minds like Cesare's as to make one think himself invincible. ...Was that why Italia was invaded? To gather Pieces of Eden? Did the cycle ever stop...?

The Templars, unlike Cesare, would not die by the hands of man. Altair had made it so clear, and now Ezio at last understood on an internal level, that the Templars would always exists. Even with the Borgia defeated, there were other branches out there, other people hoping to fill in the gap that Rodrigo Borgia and now Cesare had created. Even if the Assassins won, and killed every man who wanted to rule over the world, the idea was too tempting to kill off, and the Templars would rise again. A different name perhaps, a different face, a different cult, but still the same goal.

That meant the fight would never end, and around then Ezio's concentration would slip away again, and he would sleep, troubled, to wake and start thinking all over again.

The Spanish assassins fretted over him, and in the end, all Ezio could say was: "I want to go home."

He wanted to see his sister, and Federica; watch his niece train, watch young Giovanni play with his older brother Vecellio; drink with Gilberto and debate with Niccolo and duel with Bartolomeo. He wanted to see all the young, eager faces of his Brotherhood, listen to their beliefs in a bright future.

Maybe that would help him.

It was his birthday when he finally arrived, and he was flooded with people upon his return. The positive feelings were overwhelming, but he was not well enough to greet so many people, and he quickly disappeared to bed.

A week later he called a meeting with his closest advisors and told them everything that had happened, hoping to hear... he wasn't sure what he wanted, but he knew he wanted something.

"The world of God is not meant for Assassins," Niccolo said. "We deal with the world of men. The Apple is too powerful for men. We should hide it and forget about it."

Gilberto, stooping even further as he aged, agreed and suggested a drinking contest to make Ezio forget the bad memories, which Bartolomeo happily agreed. Claudia watched Ezio with more care, and the next morning shared her thoughts while their friends slept off their escapades.

"What's really bothering you?" she asked.

Ezio struggled to find the right words. "I... wonder what this all leads to," he said, hoping that was the right thing to say. "Assassins kill Templars, Templars kill Assassins, Pieces of Eden become trophies or weapons or... something else entirely. I cannot see how this will end."

Claudia nodded. "Those are not easy questions to answer, brother, and I doubt anyone even has that answer."

Massaging his head to dispel another headache, he looked to his sister. "Altair may have." There had been so much in his Codex, stories, observations, insights, and even then what Ezio had was an incomplete copy. More than anything, he wanted to sift through those pages, to listen to that ancient voice, and glean advice from it. But it was gone, now, lost to the fires or confiscated by the Borgia and sold to who knew. Dear god, he didn't even have the dead words of Altair, let alone his uncle or his mother or his father. He was so tired...

"Think about what you can do," Claudia said after a long silence.

Ezio looked up.

"You worry about being a prophet, or Minerva, or what you're supposed to do with that Apple. So perhaps you should ask yourself: what can you do with it?"

"Not use it," Ezio said automatically.

"I agree, it was terrifying to see when you used it against Cesare's army. Altair studied it, you said. Can you?"

Ezio shook his head. "I do not trust it. Besides, it took Altair years to learn the secrets of the Apple, and I have the Brotherhood, you and Federica, Vecellio, Vittoria, all the others..."

Claudia nodded. "So then hide it?"

… Yes. Yes. Having the Apple brought nothing but temptation, it wrought misery to everyone who possessed it. It was past time Ezio did away with it, and even as he thought about it he knew exactly where to put it.

A week later he had the novices and apprentices under Il Colosseo, doing their rounds, and Claudia viciously correcting anything she saw wrong, letting the grandmaster slip away and to the short hallway, the relief that served no purpose, the Apple in his hand.

Work is done time to sleep wait for Desmond wait for the next...

Ezio ignored the voices, studying the relief. Whispers told him what to do, but before doing so he moved his hands over the wall. He would leave symbol, a clue for the "next." Or perhaps the spirit of Desmond, if the ghost was lost, a signpost. He did what was necessary, and watched as the relief slowly clicked, and he pushed at one side, feeling the wall slowly rotate. Beyond was a path only an Assassin could travel, and he marked his trail, tracing his hands deliberately into certain stones and faces, hoping whoever would come in the future would understand what he was trying to do, trying to leave behind. He or she had to know, had to understand, the gravity of walking this path, the dangers, the demands. Ezio had not chosen this path, but the burden was great, and he tried to impress that to the very stone as he dug his fingers into them, cutting his fingers and leaving faint curves of blood.

Through another rotating door he climbed up, and beyond he was in a church. He followed more tests, this was not the first "tomb" he had gone through, and made his way to the end, to a room he silently hoped he would never see again.

The surreal lights filled the cavernous space, symbols and hints of voices that he sensed were not for him. He reached the pedestal, and he placed the Apple.

"I hope you never see the light of day again," he said in a low voice, "And spend the rest of your days 'sleeping'."

He turned his back and hoped he would never be cursed to deal with the Apple again.

And he went back to his life.

"We've got it. The Colosseum."

He was confused where was he again he didn't understand this wasn't the old temple, he had put the Apple to sleep unless this was a vision of Desmond...?

"Let's go," Lucy said, shutting down her computer. "We can be there before dawn."

"Wait," Rebecca said, "There was something about that door. I don't think I saw a handle. Let me run an analysis. I didn't get a good take on it at first. Desmond may have to go back in and relive it for more details."

"Great," said Shaun. "No handle? So we need some kind of futuristic key?"

"... It seems to open with a verbally triggered mechanism. I've never seen anything like it."

Lucy looked up from zipping up her coat. "You mean it needs a password?"

"Try humming Beethoven's Fifth," Shaun muttered.

Desmond sat up slowly, confused, trying to remember what was going on. Ezio... he had just... God he would never get used to someone from the past muttering his name. And his feelings as he laid the Apple to rest... Desmond held his head, trying to sift through it all.

That was when the power cut out.

"Damn European power grid," Rebecca cursed. "Now we can't scan Ezio's memories to find the password."

Lucy pressed her lips together. "We have to find that password."

"Ezio knows the answer. Problem is, he's dead. We have to relive the memory."

Desmond watched the three of them pickle over what to do next, disjointed and uncertain how he fit into all of this. Without power there wasn't exactly much he could do, so he got up and started to limber up. Maybe he could do his usual routine? He pushed himself into a handstand and immediately ducked into a roll as his head stared swimming. Right, no routine then. He sighed, sitting on his ass and wondering what he was supposed to do. Rebecca and Lucy were germinating ideas on finding a more stable power base, and Shaun was annoying the both of them. Not wanting to earn the Brit's ire more than he had to, he moved away from the Animus and up the stairs. He couldn't exactly go above ground, but he worked his way up the stairs to at least look at Mario's ruined study. He wasn't sure what he could get out of it, maybe relive some of Ezio's younger memories.

Except he wasn't in the Animus anymore. What was he thinking...? Desmond shook his head and turned away.

The equilateral triangle stared at him, and his eagle showed him the weird numbers. He couldn't sense Ezio's ghost here, but... what if...

"Hey. Maybe it has something to do with this," he called down.

The others came up, crowding around the triangle, wondering what Desmond was getting at. Hell Desmond wondered what he was getting at.

Rebecca blinked, stiffening. "The symbol matches the one on the door to the Vault," she said. "I saw it on the door. This really could be a clue!"

Desmond however was studying the numbers underneath. 14 19, 14 20, 14 21. There was a curious space between them. What if... "What if they aren't dates?" he asked.

Shaun had his hand pressed on his chin, mumbling to himself as he puzzled through the numbers, bits of words and phrases and pieces of history jumbling out until, "Oh my God," he said, eyes wide.

"What?"

"God!" Shaun repeated.

"Tell us already!" Rebecca hissed.

"I am, I am," he said defensively, gesturing to the triangle. "The Tetragrammaton. The seventy-two names of God. You see? They're all contained within three verses. Exodus Nineteen through Twenty-One. And get this, you'll like this, if you arrange the four Hebrew letters in God's name within an equilateral triangle, their numeric values add up to the same number: seventy-two."

… Seriously? A number? A fucking random number opened the door to the temple Ezio hid the Apple to? Desmond frowned, trying to remember Ezio's memories. He had been so reflective while traversing the Assassin path to the temple, locked in his own head. It was hard to pick out the details... But he did speak at one point... what had he said? All he could remember were Ezio's thoughts, his deep desire for whoever came after him understand the gravity of walking this path. Desmond snorted at the thought, he already knew the gravity, but like Ezio he didn't have a fucking choice.

Rebecca was just as dubious. "Are you absolutely sure about this?"

Shaun of course scoffed. "That's kind of why I'm saying it out Rebecca, yeah. But, I haven't got to the kicker yet. Construction on the Colosseum began in the year seventy-two."

...

"I think we have our password," Rebecca said. "They can't all be coincidences. Not after everything we've learned."

Lucy nodded. "Shaun, go get the van."

Whispers told him what to do move his hands over the wall leave a symbol perhaps the spirit of Desmond a path only an Assassin could travel mark his trail had to know the gravity of walking the path the dangers the demands burden was great and he tried to impress that to the very stone faint curves of blood a room he would never see again symbols and hints of voices not for him I hope you never see the light of day again turn back never be cursed to deal with the Apple again went back to his life what is my life where does he end and I begin and what of the other and the others and the many so many others Ezio Sef Sofia Altair Giovanni Maria Maria Flavia all spilling over so many souls all living in my head only is it my head or one of their's who came first them or me and am I really me or is this a dream within a dream no way out get out get out GET OUT.

He started, looking around, uncertain what...

Where was he? Soft chair, a blond next to him, hands on an odd mechanical wheel, shifting gears in the truck when did he get in the truck why was he in the truck? Desmond pinched his brow, looking at Lucy as she shifted gears, eyes and focus on the road. ...That was probably for the best. She wouldn't want to know he was having another episode where his mind tried to be too many people at once. He was Ezio the most of course, but he could name several others: Altair, his son Sef, Maria, Giovanni and Maria, some girl name Flavia. And... he could feel others. The Bleeding Effect... it really was taking its toll.

He tried to focus on other things: the highway, the overhead lights, the obvious signs of the twenty-first century. Cars driving by, damn few stars in the sky, light and noise pollution, cranes and scaffolding. But then he would see an old apartment building, innocuous and nondescript, but Ezio had climbed the face of that building when his shoulder was healing, or he would see the outline of a building that his apprentices moved to, or something else. When he, they, got to the Colosseum, Desmond was afraid he wouldn't be himself much longer.

Ezmond looked up at the massive circular structure, the floodlights and cranes, construction and renovation. Ghosts were everywhere.

"Déjà vu..." he whispered.

"I bet," Rebecca replied, looking out over the massive vista.

"Let's go," Lucy said, turning to look at Desmond. "You two can wait in the van."

Said parties both blinked. "What about us?" Shaun demanded, incredulous. "You might actually need a historian down there."

"Shaun's right," Rebecca said. "That tunnel should lead under Capitoline Hill. We'll need your help to find another entrance."

The logic was irrefutable, though Desmond could see Lucy hesitating. "Go ahead," he whispered in her ear, touching her arm. "I'll be fine."

She gave him a look that clearly told him she thought the opposite. Worry creased every feature of her face, and she crossed her arms even tighter. "... Be careful, Desmond."

He nodded, smiling to reassure her, and watched the three of them move back to the van.

"I'll drive."

"Ah, nice try, Rebecca. I've seen your car."

"Asshole. Oh, before I forget, here." Rebecca turned around, shrugging off her headphones and pulling something out of her pocket. It went to her ear and another was tossed to Desmond. He caught it with a swift snatch, looking at the odd earpiece. "So we can stay in touch," the rocker said by way of explanation. "Catch you on the flip side!"

The three of them disappeared, and Desmond hopped down. He could see Ezio at the center of the Colosseum, saving Lucrezia's lover with his entire team of assassins, he could see the race up to the highest peaks that Ezio won with minutes to spare – making Bartolomeo a rich man – he could see Ezio watching a play from one of the higher seats, taking an evening off to be with his sister. None of these ghosts were helpful to him, however. He wanted the ones below, the time he spent chasing a man in a bauta mask underground to find the connection between the Borgia and the Followers of Romulus. That had been when Ezio had first seen that odd hallway.

Taking a deep breath, he started hopping across ancient beams and through crumbled gaps. The first thing he needed to do was orient himself, and so he began a slow progress through the lower levels, jumping and climbing and feeling so invigorated as he looked for old ghosts. He tapped his ear. "Lucy, I'm making my way toward the entrance."

"Okay. Good."

Shaun's acerbic voice also filtered across the radio. "If you see any gladiators, my advice would be: leg it!"

"... I'll keep that in mind," Desmond said. He quietly resolved that he would freak the hell out if he really did see gladiators. He saw enough ghosts as it was.

Leaping from beam to beam, he combed his way through the lower levels of the Colosseum, but found no traces of what he was looking for. He scrambled up the edge of a wall to a higher location to find a different vantage point. Looking down, he could see Ezio fighting off the Followers of Romulus on that man's order more coming but none a match to his skill. Desmond could feel his muscles twitching with the memory, the chase, the Eagle Vision leaving dozens of traces to follow. Synchronizing would be so easy even without the Animus all he had to do was let it happen but he pulled back just in time, gasping as he realized he was tipping dangerously over the edge of the arch he was crouched on. Christ that was dangerous. He shook his head, feeling a headache coming on, and decided to switch topics.

"I can't believe I'm actually going to hold the Apple."

"It's been a long time coming," Lucy's voice said in his ears. "You've earned it."

Now that he was oriented, he looked out. He couldn't follow Ezio's original memory, so he moved to a different corridor, seeing a path he could follow that led him in the right direction.

"I wonder if it will change things," he muttered to himself, gauging his next jump. "Whether it can tip the scales in our favor."

Shaun's voice answered, "I'm sure it will. It has to."

Desmond moved his way over the arches, coming across a crumbling wall secured with yellow and black striped steel beams, a sign of the reconstruction. He moved up the easy handholds and, once he was a high as he could go, looked behind to see a beam. With a deep breath, he leapt backwards into the open air, hands automatically flying out, and he caught it; he hoisted himself up to a higher arch, looking around. No sign of Ezio's ghost yet. That was... exhilarating. His breath came out in a shaky gasp, and he couldn't stop the smile on his face. He looked around, orienting himself, but found he could go no further. Sighing, he pulled himself up the edge of a wall, slowly following it back the way he had come, climbing higher and higher from the ground, until he found some beams he could swing from. This was further out of his way than he liked, and he hoped he could find his way across to another of the lower hallways again and resume his forward trek.

He was able to make his way down again, his arms starting to burn slightly from the workout as he squeezed through a tiny crevice to another hallway. Excellent. Working his way long the wall, he found an arch and let go, perching on it after a brief battle for balance and rested his arms.

"What do you think we'll find?" he asked, looking out over the arches he had yet to traverse, slowly plotting his route under the starless sky.

"Hopefully, a map to the Temples," Lucy said. "That's what we need most."

"Oh, the Apple's just going to give it to us, yeah?" Shaun countered. "Or is that Elvis over there?"

That thought was disturbing. The Apple certainly did many things, but one thing it never did was give its user what it wanted. Ezio never wanted to massacre all those people in Cesare's army, Altair certainly hadn't want to... wanted to... wait, what memory was that? Desmond closed his eyes, reaching back. Killing a brother? The dog Swami? Who was that? What had he done? Why had the Apple forced Altair to do that? ...And why did Altair feel so old? No, better not to think about that, not outside the Animus. The last thing he needed was a complete breakdown of his faculties. That had already happened once – no, twice – and it would only increase with frequency. Better to not instigate one now when he was crouched on an arch somewhere in the Colosseum a dozen feet "below ground" and who knew how many feet stretched out underneath him to terra firma. A fall from this height could kill him... Better not to rush things.

Besides, in time he'd probably find out anyway, going crazy as he was.

… Not helping.

Desmond took a deep breath, unsure how long he had been perched on the arch, and began to move forward. Which way was he supposed to go again?

… Damn it.

"There's so much construction," he said, hopping from arch to arch. "This place is like a maze."

Shaun offered some words of wisdom: "The hypogeum housed the cages of the gladiators and the machines which raised them to the surface. The whole area you're in right now was originally covered by the arena."

"Good to know," Desmond replied, even though his many trips here riding on Ezio's shoulder had already told him that. If he was still technically below ground, then... He pulled himself up to a massive crossbeam, looking around and finding an upper level arch that had solid flooring underneath it. Nodding, he leapt over to it, heedless of the height and moving his way deeper into the hall, landing on hard floor and coming up in a tight roll. A portable generator was there, off for the time being, and beyond it Ezio could see another gap to climb through. He hoisted himself up more steel support beams, ejecting himself backwards and to another set, shimmying to the side before leaping again, reaching the opening. His fingers were getting sore, but the workout was marvelous, and he found himself grinning, fears about sanity again slipping away. If he could do this for all eternity...

He rode through the underground tunnels chasing that damn man stubbornly, wanting to end it before his target found more Followers of Romulus.

More ghosts. Desmond swayed on his feet for a moment, watching the horses dash away, feeling Ezio's emotions, thoughts, being pulled into the memory...

"Something's bothering me. Today's date is October 10th."

God bless Lucy. Desmond shook his head, taking a moment to process what she was saying. "So?" he asked.

"Guess how many days there are until the Templar satellite launch?"

… Oh. "I have a feeling I know the answer: Seventy-two."

"Why is today so important? We're just picking up the Apple and leaving."

Leaping onto a series of poles, Desmond made his way down the hallway. He could see the wall, the dramatic leap from his horse, landing on his target and shoving his hidden blade into the man's back, yanking off the animal before grabbing the reins and skidding to a halt. Desmond gasped, shaking his head.

"It's the door code," Rebecca offered. "Someone wants to make sure we get it right."

"... Yeah, I guess."

He crawled along some enormously thick wooden beams, following Ezio as he kept his boots and steps silent. There were Followers of Romulus below and he had no patience for starting another fight. Desmond crept forward; his body was starting to shake a little, his instincts were telling him to synchronize, and resisting it was taking a toll on his body along with the physical exertion he was performing. He saw doves nesting on a beam and he knew what that meant and leapt off, feeling the air breeze through him and wondering if the eagle he was named after ever felt like this. Desmond gasped, surprised to find a bale of hay this deep into the Colosseum. He got out and saw the short hallway that served no purpose; he looked at it with his bottle of wine and wondered why it was there...

"Okay," Deszio said. "I'm back on familiar ground."

Desmond asked his eagle for help and he saw the assassin's symbol, the stylized compass, bits of Ezio's blood that he wished to preserve for the "next" to understand the path he was walking. His ghost was there, pushing at columns and tracing his path, face older than Deszio had ever seen it, tired and worn down, hoping he was doing the right thing. Shaking again, Desmond followed Ezio, mimicking his movement. He heard an ancient click, the strain of a pulley, and he pushed the bust, the end of the pointless hall, and felt it give to his force. The hidden hallway opened up before him. There were no lights here, Desmond turned on his glowstick, stepping forward slightly to examine the architecture.

Light burst into existence, startling Desmond, and he saw the form of a woman take shape, words echoing in the narrow space.

"We commit to this space the epilogue of our ending. Let it be found by he who is deemed worthy." Desmond reached up, waving his hand through her. A hologram? More futuristic technology? "Let it guide him. Let it shape his path forward. Let it save the world we leave behind." The light began to fade.

"... Who are you?" he asked, wondering if the ghost could hear him.

"What's going on, Desmond?" Lucy asked.

… They didn't hear her? The phantom woman? Then... was it all in his head? Was he synchronizing with someone else? Who? The thought terrified him, and he fought to get his breath under control, to remind himself that he was still sane.

Relatively.

"Desmond?"

"Nothing," he said, forcing his heartbeat to slow down. "It's nothing."

He followed the hallway perhaps a dozen feet before it came to another dead end, but Desmond could see the ghost of Ezio moving through an open arch above, marveling that this was a path only an assassin could follow. He followed, finding a series of beams so ancient and yet so sturdy that it was almost as if they were meant to withstand the test of time. More climbing ensued, Desmond and Ezio tracing the path with years of skill between them before landing on solid ground again. Down the hall was more light.

"In the beginning, we set our truths to parchment. To stone. To the memory of men. These proved impermanent things. Cleansed by fire. Cleansed by famine. Cleansed by flood. All the world is innocent once more. Innocent and ignorant."

Desmond stumbled, surprised to hear contempt in the ghost's voice. Who was she? Why wasn't Desmond synchronizing with her like a memory? She sounded like a prerecorded message, an answering machine for assassins who came here, but Ezio never met her... right? He heard echoes of messages for those who came after, but he did not see the messages himself. He was shaking again, confused, and he didn't know why, why, whywhywhywhywhywh-

"We've traced your position," Lucy said through his earpiece. "I think I've found an entrance."

"Okay."

God, he loved that woman. Just hearing her voice made him feel better, safer, stronger, saner, if such a word existed. Taking a deep breath, he looked around seeing Ezio mark the path again, pushing at the columns and activating the ancient magic that Minerva and her ilk had left behind. Desmond followed suit, and shoved open the unlocked wall, pushing it open on its center of rotation and ending up at an atrium. He looked up, seeing an octagonal shaft of light, and he slowly began the climb up.

Beyond was a church. Marble floors, stained glass windows that glowed with colors shafts of light, intricate columns and a geometric ceiling that was almost impossible to follow. It was beautiful, and he knew that this would be like the Duomo, he would have to work his way higher and higher to reach the Tomb he needed to see. Pounding was heard to his right, and for a moment he thought that, too, was all in his head, but with a start he realized it was real, and Ezio... Desmond moved across the floor, his sneakers almost silent on the massive marble floor to the double doors, unlocking them.

"Took you long enough," Shaun said, sour.

Desmond ignored the barb. "What is this place?"

"Santa Maria Aracoeli," Shaun said, immediately diving into historian mode. "See those columns along the aisles? They're lifted from Roman ruins. Now, supposedly, this church was built on top of the ancient Temple of Juno. Jack Weatherford postulated that Juno acquired the surname Juno Moneta, from Latin monere , which means to warn, presumably against the Gauls. The French always were greedy bastards, even back in the days of Rome. Now, Juno herself was the patroness of, among other things, the issuing of money. Supposedly the word monere is the basis of words like mint, and money, I guess she'd make a good Templar, given what Sixteen's been telling us about their work for the last hundred years or so. The outside isn't much to look at, but, as you can see, the inside is a different story all together. Relics of Saint Helena are kept here, as are the remains of Saint Juniper, Pope Honorius IV, and Queen Catherine of Bosnia. Now, if you look at-"

"I like the ceiling," Rebecca said, cutting off the Brit.

"You like the ceiling. Oh well, you are a fascinating traveling companion," Shaun retorted under his breath.

The four spread out slightly, looking around, uncertain what was next.

Desmond closed his eyes and thought about Ezio, hoping the damn Apple would sleep until the end of time, tired of its whispers and tired of the seemingly endless battle of men to own it, and he saw his ancestor leaping up the altar. "There's something up there," he said, his body moving of its own accord as he followed suit, climbing first the altar and then the immaculate Latin cross, the starburst giving no shortage of handholds and leaping to what Desmond could only describe as a ledge. An ancient, wooden lever was there, and he pulled at it expecting something to activate, turning and listening to a series of pulleys and levers where he couldn't see them, to watch as a panel of the floor parted, a pedestal jutting up from seemingly nowhere. The other three, standing near at the time, startled, looking at it curiously.

Desmond saw the woman made of light again standing next to him and scaring the shit out of him.

"We did not build them to be wise," she said. "And now they are our final, faulted hope. You are they. You possess the potential for understanding. But you broke our tools. Or turned them against one another. We have destroyed what we could. Sealed away what we could not. Most. Not all. And it does not take many to unwind the world. Here is a safe place. Eternal. To store objects. Words. Wisdom. But not life. Almost did we have the means. But time... time erodes us. We can distract him. We can see past him. Feint left when he strikes right. But his reach is so very long. His stamina unending. We cannot evade his grasp. Not forever."

"So, you lost the battle against time," he whispered. "But what do you mean by 'we are they'? You... built us? Why?" He didn't understand all of it. Broke tools? What tools? … The Apple? And almost the means? Means to... store life? What did that mean?

"Desmond, get down here!"

… "On my way." Desmond easily made his way down, looking at his friends who studied the pedestal, watching the ghost of Ezio reach out and touch it, calling on his blood to activate the etching that he had seen twice before. Would he commune with a god again? Minerva? Or would he see an odd series of numbers, a puzzle for future generations? Would there be something else entirely beyond this point? And what was the meaning of it, the purpose? What good could come of it? What would it bring him? Nothing, save peace of mind. And perhaps not even that...

"Whatever this is," Shaun said. "It doesn't go anywhere. It's a dead end."

But the lights glowed, the brilliant cerulean blue Ezmond had come to associate with Those Who Came Before, happy to feel his blood and instead of the clicking of ancient pulleys and levers, there was a more futuristic hiss, heavier sounds of gears and wheels, and suddenly the ground was shaking.

"What's going on?!"

They went down, down, down, down into the ground, Shaun scrambling comically for balance while Rebecca looked around in wide eyed awe and Lucy kept spinning around trying to take in everything she could. Deszio had seen this architecture before, the Lair of Romulus was near here.

"... Yeah, if you want to kill us mate, you're going have to try a little harder than that," Shaun said, voice cracking slightly as he physically struggled to get his heart rate under control.

Desmond smirked, if only slightly, feeling the weight of Ezio's weariness and wondering how this was going to end. "Now, for that password. If Shaun's right, that is."

Shaun scoffed. "I'm always right."

"About that dead end...?"

"... That never happened. I was misquoted."

Sure.

Desmond went down, looking to the door Ezio had pushed open to find the Lair of Romulus, trying it himself but it was locked or barred or otherwise proof that that was not the way to go. Walking up the back stairs he found a different door, blank of handle or facade, empty of hint or indication, a wall by any other name, and yet it was the door the Apple whispered of, and Ezio knew what he had to do.

"... Do you think it speaks English?"

"Just say it."

"Okay... seventy-two."

Old lines burst with blue light, spreading to form an equilateral triangle hide it well back at home where he will find it ignore the whispers and the door lifted.

Dezio led the way down the hall, wondrous of the candle-less light as it emanated from the halls, familiar with the outlines and symbols of the old world, would this be the end of his journey with the Apple? Would he at last rest or was there more for him to do as a Prophet? An enormous room yawned before him, dark and deep, the surreal lights filled the cavernous space, symbols and hints of voices that he sensed were not for him. He reached the pedestal, and he placed the Apple. "I hope you never see the light of day again," he said in a low voice, "And spend the rest of your days 'sleeping'." He turned his back and hoped he would never be cursed to deal with the Apple again.

"This is amazing."

Desmond started, looking to see Lucy and the others as they spread out, a visceral reminder of when he was.

"Wow..." Rebecca breathed, eyes looking everywhere.

"I'm actually impressed," Shaun said, trying and failing to show his excitement.

"The Apple seems to be in the center," Lucy said pointing. Desmond saw Ezio's ghost again, reaching the pedestal and placing the Apple I hope you never see the light of day again and spend the rest of your days sleeping. He gulped, feeling the memories wash over him, hoping he could stay with it just a little bit longer. He turned to Lucy, catching her eye. He stared at her, pushing her face into his mind, willing himself to remain in the present.

… Assuming this was the present.

No. Focus.

"Time to find out where those Temples are," he said, putting on a faint grin and getting a reassuring nod from the blond. He took another deep breath, reaching for the feeling of being grounded, and finally found it. Okay. Okay. Time to go. He walked out onto the narrow isle from their platform to the center where the Apple was stored.

"A hundred years I might speak and still you would not know us."

Desmond gasped, head snapping to the side, where the woman of light floated over nothing, looking down on him. Down on them. "You with five senses. Us with six. The one we kept from you. To be safe. Now, you can never know. Only try. Grasp. You can see. Smell. Taste. Touch. Hear. Knowledge has been locked away." He stopped, staring, as she continued her monologue. "After, when the world became undone, we tried to pass it through the blood. Tried to join you with us. You see the blue shimmer. You hear the words. But you do not know. We should have left you as you were." Her voice was filled with spite, contempt. Lucy turned back, curious why Desmond had stopped. "It is hard to stay contained. Knowing as we do. We wait for you, Desmond." He gasped, stepping back. "You will come here. You will activate it. You will know only when it is too late."

A hand touched his arm and Desmond jerked away from it, confused and frightened and uncertain what was happening. "Did you hear any of that?" he asked.

Her pink lips pinched into a frown. "Any of what, Desmond? Are you alright? Do you need to rest?"

He shook his head, holding it, taking deep breaths. His body was shaking again I hope you never see the light of day again and spend the rest of your days sleeping. Who was that woman? If nobody else was seeing her then she must be an ancestor, but if that was true then why wasn't he synching with her, and how did she know his name, and what was the meaning of her message, saying that we tried to pass it through the blood tried to join you with us what sixth sense what did it mean and where did it leave him in the end...?

"I'm fine..." he said slowly, watching Lucy reminding himself where he was, who he was with, why he was here, what he was doing, what year he was in.

The blond seemed to sense his hesitation, and she offered a cautious smile, gesturing to the pedestal. "I can't believe we're finally here," she said, offering a change of topic.

They arrived at the center of the room, the Apple sitting on its pedestal, looking almost harmless, a shaft of light above it, docile and complacent. Rebecca was still drinking everything in with her eyes, and Shaun looked at the Apple with healthy skepticism. "So where are the temples?" he asked.

"You want me to ask it?" Desmond asked.

"Or think it or something," Lucy said, uncertain how communing with the thing worked.

Desmond approached, and before he even reached out it burst in light, projecting symbols about the room, scattered and random and blinking and utterly unintelligible. He gave a curious look to Lucy, and she gave one right back to him.

"You sure you asked the right thing?" she asked.

"I know this," Shaun muttered, pointing. "I know this symbol. That's a Phrygian cap. It stands for freedom... and that, that's a Masonic eye. Now those two come together in only one place-"

But Desmond wasn't listening, he was looking at the Apple, hearing its whispers, the voices that Ezio could hear, drawing him closer, as if proximity could make it clearer, it lingers in my mind like an image from an old dream, his hands were reaching out, if he could just touch it...

And everything froze.

… What's happening? I can't move!

The ghost's voice came again. "Your DNA communes with the Apple. You have activated it."

Let me go!

"On the seventy-second day before the moment of awakening. You, birthed from our loins and the loins of our enemies. The end and the beginning, who we abhor and honor. The final journey commences. There is one who would accompany you through the gate. She lies not within our sight. The cross darkens the horizon."

What does that mean? What gate? What are you doing?

His body turned, his hidden blade extended, his feet shifted his weight, all of it against his own will, like when the Apple bound Altair gasping felt his body twist against his will, spinning around and yanking his arms out and away from his weapons lifted until his toes only tickled the mosaic square below him felt something pressing against his mind underneath his skull shook his head force the sensations away this wasn't right it wasn't right itwasn'tright why was this happening why was his blade extended why was he...

"The Path must be opened. You cannot escape your part in this. The scales shall be balanced."

Lucy...

Lucy...

Lucy...!

Her eyes darted around, confused as me and saw the hidden blade and there was a pulse from the Apple and a foot moved forward against his will and another pulse brought him a step close no no no nononononononono stop please... not this not her not here not now not ever no no nonononononono!

"You know very little. We must guide you. Cease your struggle."

No! Not Lucy! Not my anchor she keeps me sane keeps me grounded keeps me safe owe her everything can't let this happen have to stop have to resist have to struggle have to stop stop stop stop I don't want to do this not to her I don't understand it doesn't make sense why her it's not fair she done nothing wrong she's innocent there's no reason to kill her make it stop make it stop make it stop!

And there was another pulse from the Apple, and his vision was swept with images, voices, prophecy truth trust broken he who increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow growing everywhere it can't be true it can't be true but it is said the Apple this will happen unless you do this task and now you have to decide which is more important.

He looked into her eyes face blank of expression frozen in time lost to what was happening but her eyes looked at him in him through him she saw what was happening she understood what was to come and a tear ran down her eye and he couldn't do this he couldn't do this and the Apple pulsed again the choice is yours her or not and... and... and...

He stabbed her.

…

Oh god. Oh god oh god what did I just do what did I just do what did-

"It is done. The way lies all before you. Only she remains to be found. Awaken the sixth. Go. Alone!"

I killed her I killed her I killed her my anchor is gone there's nothing left I'm going to float away go insane go away lost in memories lost in time lost in mind there's no hope knowledge increaseth sorrow there was nothing but sorrow what was he looking for looking through memories looking in time it wasn't found yet he couldn't take any more and he was just going to disappear because he fucking killed her he couldn't take any more and so he let himself disappear...

"Shit! He's gone into shock."

"Put him back in the machine. It's the only way to fix this."

"But the Animus did this to him!"

"Am I the expert or not? Do it!"

No...

Author's Notes: ... Whew. Just... whew.

Okay, Ezio first. He mostly writes himself by this point, but note that's he's becoming a little tired of his lot in life. We had to set up Revelations somehow, and it's true that at his age he's going to start feeling tired. He's old enough to see history repeat itself and his history is a dark time indeed. Note he doesn't just bounce back, anymore, either, his age is catching up with him. But, then fighting Cesare through a concussion is still totally badass.

But that's enough about Ezio, we've been expounding on him for two fics, you want to hear about Desmond. Except, what is there to really say about Desmond that isn't already written above? We have the Bleeding Effect and Desmond's mental boundaries so thinned that's he's synching with lots of people and reliving Ezio's last memory over and over as he approaches the Apple, we have Juno and Desmond wondering if she isn't an ancestor as well signaling his degradation of sanity, we have the Apple, and we have the complete break from reality in the truck in the game actually make sense, and and and and, er, well, just read it? This fic is the third installment not only for the game franchise but also for us, and we've since learned that certain half formed ideas - like switching italics in the middle of words to show synchronization- to be gifts that just keep on giving, ranging from a dream of Altair, to a conversation with Minerva, to, well, THIS. Desmond is just as confused as the gamer is over what's happening to him. While AC3 explains what the Apple showed Desmond, that doesn't necessarily mean it makes sense to him, and while it is - technically - his choice, that doesn't always mean like it feels like a choice. Like life. We tried to mimic that insomuch as we could.

... Is it egotistical to say we kind of love this chapter? If we knew how to bottle this chapter and make all the novelizations look this good we'd be set. There's just too much here comment on line for line or bit by bit, not without the author's notes becoming as long as the chapter itself. Just... just read it.

Next up, Revelations. See you next summer!