Templar's Creed

Chapter 10

"You have killed our brothers," he continued, the accusation hanging heavy in the air, "and we forgave you. We gave you the chance to walk away, to renounce your ways. Yet, your thirst for blood remained unquenched." His hand tightened around the knife, pressing it closer to Malik's throat, the latter's eyes filled with a silent plea that tore at my heart.

Altaïr took in the scene before him, the Templar forces a sea of steel and anger. Though their numbers were smaller than those of the Assassins within Masyaf's walls, they were battle-hardened and driven by a fanatical belief in their cause. The weight of the situation settled in his stomach like a lead stone, each breath a struggle against the tightening noose of fear. Yet, amidst the chaos, a sense of clarity washed over him. This was not just a battle for an artifact; it was a battle for the very soul of the Order, for the truth that lay shrouded in the shadows of history.

"Release Malik," Al Mualim roared, his voice booming across the courtyard. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword, the very symbol of the power and wrath that the Assassins could unleash. "Or feel the full might of our Order descend upon you and your heretics!"

Sibrand's smile grew, a twisted parody of amusement. "You think to threaten me with death?" he scoffed, his eyes flicking over the gathered Assassins. "The Templars do not fear death, for we fight for something greater than mere life. We fight for order, for the divine will!"

His knife pressed harder against Malik's throat, the crimson line it drew a stark contrast against the white of his skin. "Your assassins mean nothing," he spat. "Your threats are the whispers of a dying breed."

Al Mualim's eyes narrowed, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword. "You dare speak of divine will while committing such atrocities?" he retorted. "Your god is a lie, Sibrand, a convenient justification for your greed and lust for power!"

The tension in the air was a living thing, a beast ready to pounce. The clank of armor and the shuffle of booted feet grew louder, a prelude to the storm that was about to break. The Templars outside the gates shifted, their eyes gleaming with anticipation of the bloodshed to come.

And then, it was as if a dam had broken. With a roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of the earth, Al Mualim snapped his fingers, and the fortress of Masyaf sprang to life. Assassins poured into the courtyard, their swords and knives glinting in the fading light. The air was filled with the thunderous sound of steel meeting steel as the two sides clashed, the battle cries of the Templars mingling with the silent fury of the Assassins.

Sibrand's grin widened as he watched the chaos unfold, the gleam in his eye that of a madman reveling in the destruction he had wrought. But as the first of the Templars fell, the smile slipped from his face, replaced by a snarl of anger. He knew that this was no ordinary skirmish, that the fate of their holy war hung in the balance.

With a roar of fury, Sibrand slammed his fist into his own armor, the force of his anger causing the very earth to tremble. And then, before any of us could react, he slit Malik's throat in a swift, brutal motion. The only sound I could hear was the gurgle of blood and Malik's final, choking breath.

The world around me slowed to a crawl as I watched my friend and mentor fall, life draining from his eyes. The grief and rage coiled in my chest like a serpent ready to strike. The Templar's grin washed away in the tide of crimson that pooled around him, replaced by a snarl of defiance as he jumped into the fray, his sword a blur of steel and fury.

The battle raged on, the courtyard a whirlwind of steel and fury. Despite our superior numbers, the Templars' discipline and skill were evident. They moved with the precision of a well-oiled machine, each blow calculated, each step deliberate. The Assassins, though numerous, were not as seasoned in the art of warfare. They fought with passion and courage, but their lack of formal training began to show as the Templars pushed us back, step by agonizing step.

As the enemy breached our gates, the cries of victory from Sibrand's men grew louder, a cacophony that pierced the night. Al Mualim's eyes blazed with fury, his usually calm demeanor shattered like glass. His voice, usually a soothing balm, now a thunderous roar that seemed to shake the very stones of Masyaf. "Hold the line!" he bellowed, his words a battle cry that resonated through the hearts of every Assassin present. "Do not let them desecrate our home!"

The fight grew more desperate as the Templars pushed deeper into the fortress. Their swords and shields painted a crimson tapestry on the cold stone floor, a stark contrast to the pristine white of our robes. Each Assassin fell with a silent dignity, their eyes reflecting the grim acceptance of the end that comes to all who walk our path. I could feel the ground tremble beneath my feet as the weight of their sacrifice grew heavier, each loss a blow to our dwindling hope.

Looking down on the battlefield from an elevated position, the sight was one of macabre beauty. The moon cast long shadows across the sea of bodies, the silver light dancing off the pools of blood that grew larger with each passing moment. The cries of the wounded and dying melded with the roars of the living, creating a symphony of agony that filled the night air.

As the battle raged on, it was clear that Sibrand had not anticipated the ferocity of our defense. Yet, he remained, a bastion of arrogance amidst the chaos. His eyes locked onto mine from across the melee, a smug grin playing on his blood-spattered face. He raised his sword high, the blade catching the moonlight in a mocking salute. "Altaïr, Ibn-La'Ahad!" he bellowed, his voice carrying over the din of combat. "I challenge you to a duel! Let us end this here and now, for the honor of our respective causes!"

The world around me grew quiet, the cacophony of battle fading into the background. My gaze never left his as I sheathed my sword and stepped forward, my heart pounding in my chest. The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood, the cries of the dying, a somber melody beneath the gravity of Sibrand's challenge. The other Assassins parted, creating a path for us, their eyes filled with hope and determination.