Templar's Creed

Chapter 34

Giovanni's vision grew dim, the agony of his wound a dull throb that seemed to resonate with the grief in his soul. Yet, amidst the pain, there was a strange clarity. He had been a tool, a pawn in the hands of the Borgia, and he had failed. But even in defeat, he had one final card to play.

With a strength born of desperation, he reached up and gripped the sword's hilt, pulling it from his back. The world around him swam, a sea of red, but his eyes remained locked on Cesare. "You... will not... win," he rasped, his voice barely audible.

Cesare's smug expression faltered, his hand tightening on the dagger at his side. He had not anticipated such defiance from the broken man before him. "Your time has come, Giovanni," he said, his voice a chilling whisper.

In a swift, brutal movement, he pulled the sword from the Assassin's back and took a step closer. The moon cast a silver glow across the courtyard, illuminating the hatred etched in the Borgia's features as he raised the blade, ready to deliver the final blow. But before he could strike, a sudden agony pierced through Giovanni's side.

Cesare had drawn a dagger, the cruel smile on his face speaking volumes as he buried it deep into the Assassin's flesh. Giovanni's breath left him in a pained gasp, his eyes widening with shock. Yet, even in the face of such pain, his resolve remained unshaken. With a snarl of defiance, he clutched at the dagger, his blood-slicked hand wrapping around the hilt.

The two men locked eyes, a silent battle of wills playing out between them. The cold steel of the blade was a stark contrast to the heat of the hatred that surged through Giovanni's body. The world around him grew distant, the sounds of the city muffled by the thunderous pulse in his ears.

With a grunt, he yanked the dagger from his side and lunged upward, aiming for the one place that would end it all—Cesare's heart. The Templar leader was faster, though, stepping aside with a grace that seemed to mock the gravity of the situation. The dagger sliced through the air, its deadly intent thwarted by mere inches.

Giovanni felt the cold steel of the sword again, this time at his throat. The pressure increased until he could feel the blade's edge against his skin, the threat of a swift, clean death just a twitch away.

"You have lost," Cesare whispered, his eyes gleaming with victory. "Your son's life was a small price to pay for your defeat."

Giovanni's gaze never left the tyrant's eyes, his own filled with a mix of anger and resignation. "I may have lost this battle," he croaked, "but the war for justice continues."

With a swift motion, Cesare brought the sword down, slicing through the air with a sound that seemed to echo the finality of Giovanni's fate. The Assassin's body went slack, the light in his eyes dimming to darkness as the blade cleaved into his neck. The once-proud figure crumpled to the ground, lifeblood staining the cobblestones around him.

Above the carnage, the gallows stood tall, a silent witness to the horror that had unfolded. Petruccio's body swung gently in the breeze, a grim reminder of the price of Giovanni's vendetta. The moon cast an eerie pallor over the courtyard, the only sound the mournful toll of a distant bell that seemed to mourn the loss of innocence.

Francesco de' Pazzi watched the scene unfold from the shadows, his heart racing with a mix of fear and relief. He had hoped that the madness would end swiftly . As he saw Giovanni's lifeless body hit the ground, a heavy weight lifted from his shoulders. He took a shaky step forward, his eyes never leaving the crumpled form of his bitter enemy.

Before he could say a word, however, the silence was shattered by a roar of fury. "You disobeyed me!" Cesare's voice boomed through the courtyard, and the new Templars that came for backup froze, their eyes darting to their enraged leader. "You were supposed to wait until he swore fealty!"

Francesco's knees trembled as he stumbled backward, the reality of his folly crashing down upon him. He had hoped that by killing Petruccio, he would prove his loyalty and end the vendetta. Instead, he had sealed his own fate. "My apologies," he stammered, raising his hands in a futile attempt to placate the monster before him. "I thought... I thought it was for the best."

Cesare's fury was a living thing, a maelstrom that filled the courtyard and left the men cowering in its wake. His eyes burned with the fire of a thousand suns as he glared down at his underling. "You thought!" he bellowed. "You dare to think for yourself when I have given you an order?"

The rage in the Borgia's voice was terrifying, but Francesco de' Pazzi knew he had to try. He took a tentative step forward, his hands still held high in a desperate plea for mercy. "My lord, I did it for the greater good," he managed to choke out, his voice trembling. "Giovanni was too dangerous. He had to be stopped before he could harm us further."

Cesare's eyes blazed with fury, his hand tightening on the sword that still hovered at Giovanni's throat. "Your arrogance is your downfall, Pazzi," he spat. "You think you can decide what is best for the Order? For the future of this world?"

Francesco swallowed hard, his eyes darting to the lifeless form of the Assassin, then back to the enraged Borgia. "Please, my lord," he begged, his voice quavering. "I acted out of loyalty, to protect us all from his bloodlust"

Cesar's expression grew colder, his grip on the sword not loosening. "Your 'loyalty' has cost us a valuable asset," he snarled. "A pawn that could have been turned into a knight."

"Mercy," Francisco whispered, dropping to his knees. "I did this for the Templars. For you."

Cesare's eyes narrowed, the rage within him a tempest threatening to engulf the cowering man before him. "Mercy?" he repeated, the word a mockery. "You speak of mercy to me?" His voice grew colder with each syllable, the fury in his eyes unmistakable. "You dare to question my judgment?"

Francesco's throat constricted, the weight of his own actions crushing him. He had hoped that by eliminating the threat of Giovanni, he would gain favor with the Borgia. Yet, as he knelt in the crimson pool of the Assassin's blood, he realized his mistake. "My lord," he pleaded, his voice barely a whisper. "I only sought to—"

"Silence!" The word was a thunderclap, echoing through the courtyard. The blade at Giovanni's neck swung around, pointing now at the trembling Templar. "Your 'reasoning' is the reason we stand here with a dead ally and no leverage!"

Francesco felt the cold steel of fear creep up his spine. "Please, my lord," he begged, his voice cracking. "I only meant to serve the Order. To prevent further bloodshed."

Cesare's expression remained unyielding. "Your actions have brought us no closer to victory," he said, his voice a low growl. "You have defied me and cost us a valuable bargaining chip. For that, you shall pay the ultimate price."

The color drained from Francesco's face as he realized the depth of his mistake. "My lord, please," he begged, his voice shaking. "I did what I thought was best for the Order."

Cesare's eyes blazed with a fury that had been bubbling beneath the surface since the moment he had learned of Petruccio's death. "You dare to speak of 'what is best' for the Order?" he roared. "You who have disobeyed my command?"

With a swift, almost casual motion, he pulled the sword up and swung it at the trembling Templar. The blade sliced through the air, the silver arc catching the moonlight before it found its mark. Francisco de' Pazzi's pleas for mercy were silenced by the cold steel that cleaved through his throat, his eyes widening in shock as his life's essence gushed forth, painting the cobblestones a brighter crimson.

The sound of the blade cutting through flesh and bone was sickeningly wet, the finality of the act echoing through the courtyard. The men around them watched in horror, their fear of the Borgia's wrath now a tangible, palpable thing. The air grew thick with the scent of iron and blood, a grim reminder of the price of disobedience.