Pericoloso (Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood Fanfiction)

Prologue

Ezio stands on a rooftop, overlooking the busy streets of Venice. The sun shines upon the cobblestone pavement and warms it, the happy Venetians strolling by as they go about their day. A few birds soar around in the great expanse of blue sky, only dotted with a few puffs of beautiful white cloud. Any other day, he would've enjoyed the view.

The assassin pulls his hand away from his waist, the white cloak reddened with blood. He grimaces and covers the wound again.

"Those bastardi..." he grumbles, wincing slightly as an jolt of pain rockets through his middle.

He moves swiftly over the rooftops, seeing an empty alleyway. He climbs down, slower than he would've liked.

He knows he has to get help, and soon. He isn't going to last very long if he doesn't. He stumbles as a sharp breath leaves him, feeling dizzy. He keeps moving towards the end of the alleyway, looking out at the street. There's too many people, he can't go. Not right now.

Another arc of pain shoots through him and he grunts, dropping to his knees. He takes some deep breaths, gritting his teeth in a futile attempt to ignore the agony. Even the strongest man can become weak when it comes to an injury such as the one inflicted upon him.

He crawls away from the edge of the alley, looking around for anything he could use to help him in his predicament. To his dismay, there is nothing. As he pushes himself up against the wall, his hand uncovers the spot again. The blood keeps coming and he has no way to stop it.

His vision starts to swim, and he pinches himself, trying to stay awake.

Soft footsteps echo from the roof above him. He tenses up, but knows that he's too weak to try and escape. The sound gets closer and a hooded figure appears in his peripheral vision. He tries to speak, but the pain he's experiencing only makes the noises come out as a few weak groans.

The stranger says nothing. They move closer to him, and he tries to get a good look at them. Are they friend or foe? However, his sight has become so blurry he can't make out anything more than a faint silhouette.

He feels delicate fingers grasp his left hand, spreading out the fingers and stopping on the ring finger, where his mark of an assassin is placed.

His eyes start to close, and the figure looms over him as he falls into darkness.

Bastardi: Bastards