Templar's Creed

Chapter 23

As they approached the coast, the outskirts of Mario's village came into view. The sight of it brought a fresh wave of pain. Memories of happier times flooded back, the sting of recent events making the simple houses and cobbled streets seem like a mirage of a lost world. The ship docked, and Giovanni leapt onto the shore, his boots sinking into the sand as he sprinted towards the village.

His heart hammered in his chest as he heard the distant sound of clanging steel and raised voices. He knew what he would find, yet hoped against hope it was not too late. His legs burned with every step, driven by the unshakable need to save his remaining family.

Giovanni's eyes fell upon the sight that would be etched into his memory for an eternity.

Ezio, dangling lifelessly from the balcony of Mario's burned-out mansion, the rope biting into his neck. The world around him seemed to still, the air thick with the scent of burnt wood and ash. Time itself held its breath, a silent witness to the tragedy unfolding before it.

Francesco de' Pazzi, the man responsible for this carnage, was dressed in the crimson robes of the Templars, his eyes gleaming with the satisfaction of a sadist watching his work come to fruition. He was surrounded by his men, their swords drawn and ready to pounce should the Assassin make any move.

Giovanni's rage boiled over at the sight of Ezio's limp form. "This is your doing," he snarled, his eyes locked on the monster before him.

Francesco smirked, a twisted mirror of his son's smile. "This," he spat, gesturing to the carnage that had once been their home, "is but a taste of the suffering you have brought upon me."

Giovanni's fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles white with the effort of restraining his rage. "Vieri was a monster," he ground out, his voice like the rumble of an approaching thunderstorm. "He deserved no less than what I gave him."

Francesco's laughter was like the crack of a whip. "You dare to speak of monsters?" he sneered. "Look around you! Your son's body hangs from the very home you sought to protect!" He gestured to the surrounding destruction, a twisted tableau of charred timbers and lifeless bodies.

Giovanni's gaze was unwavering, his eyes like chips of flint. "Your son was a butcher," he replied, his voice cold and steady. "He brought this upon himself."

The air grew thick with tension, the silence between them a living, breathing entity that seemed to pulse with the beat of their hearts. Then, with a roar that could have woken the dead, Giovanni charged. The Templars moved to intercept, but he was a whirlwind of fury, his blade cutting through them like a hot knife through butter. His movements were a dance of death, each step a silent oath to make them pay for their sins.

Giovanni reached the base of the building and looked up at his lifeless son. With a surge of desperation and anger, he scaled the charred walls with the grace of a mountain lion, his eyes never leaving the monster who had taken everything from him. The rope holding Ezio's body grew taut as he climbed, a grim reminder of the noose that the Templars had placed around his family's neck.

Reaching the balcony, he found it occupied by two of the Francesco's most skilled guards. They were caught off guard by his sudden appearance and met their ends swiftly, their screams cut short by his precise blade. The last guard standing was none other than Francesco de' Pazzi himself, the man who had killed his son.

The two men faced each other, the air between them crackling with malice. "You dare to show your face?" Francesco sneered, his sword trembling in anticipation. "You are nothing but a curse upon this city, a plague that must be eradicated."

Giovanni's eyes burned with a cold fire. "You have made this personal," he said, his voice a low growl. "Now you will face the consequences."

The two men clashed, their swords ringing out a symphony of hatred and despair. The balcony creaked under their weight, the very structure seeming to tremble with the force of their blows. Each strike was a declaration of war, a silent shout of anger that echoed through the night.

Giovanni's blade was a silver streak of fury, a living testament to the pain that burned within him. Francesco parried and countered with a skill that spoke of years of practice, but it was clear that he was no match for the Assassin's grief-strengthened resolve. The balcony groaned and splintered, the wood giving way beneath their furious dance of death.

With a roar that seemed to echo through the very fabric of the night, the balcony collapsed, sending both men hurtling into the abyss below. The world spun around Giovanni as he fell, the flaming embers of his former home a fiery backdrop to his descent. He felt the cold, hard ground rushing up to meet him, a stark reminder of the harsh reality that awaited.

Landing with a bone-crushing thud, Giovanni rolled to his feet, his body a symphony of pain. He could feel his injuries, but they were a distant concern, a mere annoyance compared to the rage that surged through his veins. Francisco had managed to land in a crouch, his smug smile unmarred by their fall.

The flaming embers of their destroyed home illuminated the scene like a hellish spotlight. The village lay in ruins, the screams of the innocent a cacophony that filled the night air. The Templars had fled, their cowardice leaving their leader to face the wrath of the Assassin alone.

Giovanni stumbled, his body a canvas of bruises and cuts, each one a testament to the battle he had waged. Yet, the pain was nothing compared to the gaping hole in his heart, a void where his children had once been. His eyes bore into Francesco, who stood tall and unyielding amidst the destruction, surrounded by the carnage of his own making.

"You think you've won?" Giovanni snarled, his voice a mix of grief and fury. "You've killed everyone I love, destroyed everything I hold dear."

Francesco's smile grew wider, the flames casting a macabre light across his face. "Ah, but it's not just your family that has suffered," he said, his voice oily with satisfaction. "You see, your little band of whores didn't escape my wrath either. Every last one of them," he paused for dramatic effect, "dead. They paid for their treachery with their lives. They had the audacity to help you, to stand against the might of the Templars."