I'm taking it slow, thinking on how the plot will go. The next chapter or two won't need much heavy duty musing, since it will just be a return to Venice, but there is a rather big plot twist coming. I just want to make sure it hits home, instead of sounding silly (as past incarnations of the twist have been) This is the problem with crossovers >.< genuinely good intentioned plot twists can just seem like silly attention grabbers.
But I'm working hard on chapter 3, and there's more then a few revelations comings, I promise
It's guna be Francesca vs No Rest a while but the plot will thicken.
Chapter 3
No Rest perched on the edge of the greenhouse, the vista that was Venice stretching out in all directions, a cobbled collection of rooftops and spires and towers spreading up, broken by the occasional house of worship, standing tall above it's peers. Their religious beliefs intrigued No Rest. Why they felt the buildings had to be so big, he did not know, but he could not suppress a humoured thought. 'Compensating...'
He watched the crowd's, like liquid magma flowing through the streets, red and orange weaving through the green. He cycled a few filter's, until everything was dark and blue, as if seen through some kind of x-ray, and one bob of golden light hurried through an alleyway. Got you, No Rest thought...
Marking a man with his visor was not something that lasted. Sometimes, No Rest cursed his peoples tradition of limiting the technology they bring, but then he would think to how easily the trophies would be gained... his frustrations could be suppressed, if it meant an honourable kill.
"Ishal! Ishal, let me in, I beg you!" The gold highlighted man pounded on a door in an alleyway, looking nervously over his shoulder. He perked at the name, and knew his hunch had been right. Ishal was Benedicts local partner, and this cowardly worker of his had brought him right to him. The whole operation had locked down after Benedicts grisly murder. Ishal had right to be afraid.
"For the love of His name, open the door!" No Rest dropped almost silently into the alley, feet landing in a small puddle with a splash. The man turned like a frightened cat, and caught a glimpse of the creature. A ripple travelled up through the cloak, a second of colour that seeped away as he stepped forward.
"Oh Lord... oh, though I walk in the shadow of the Valley of the Damned..." he chanted in a shaky voice, dropping to his knee's and pulling out a crucifix on a chain, mumbling the words and holding it to his chest, eyes squeezed shut. "I shall fear no evil..."
No Rest, however, walked straight past him, and wrapped his glimmering mirage of a hand about the doors handle. Like it was nothing but match sticks, he tore it from the wall, splintering it and wrenching iron locks from the mortar. Giving the cowering man no further heed, he stepped inside, and the shouts of confused and frightened men followed.
"Ishal! We must leave!" a dark skinned man in a faded yellow robe came stumbling into the room, followed by a group of hastily armed mercenaries. Some were still buckling their armour on. No Rest, perched in the upper section of the warehouse, scanned them, one by one, noting their weapons. Three of the ever common flat blades he had seen, a long pole with a bladed end, and an axe... five men in total, flanking a hastily dressed man. This would be easy.
Ishal was pulling the travelling cloak about himself, looking about the room, as if expecting an ambush at any second. "Assassin? She's here?" "I don't think so..." A silence followed, and everyone thought of the incident at the fair. Whispers of 'Demon' had followed the event, and the thought of something more deadly then an Assassin trailing them made all of them shudder in their cloaks.
"Bring the horses" "No time, we're meeting them outside, I don't want to stay in the... what in the Lord's name?" A three pointed targeting reticle had appeared on Ishal, hovering on his chest, and then up to his brow. Frozen, the man followed beam, and saw the shimmer of light in the rafters. His legs shook, and his men turned to face No Rest.
Out of no where, a white figure descended from the roof, dropping onto two guards, hands on their necks, pinning them down on the floor. Francesca rose, hands bloody, and grabbed the nearest man's axe, pushing the end to the dirty floor and stepping inside of his reach, a leg placed between his. Her Hidden Blade came into his stomach, causing him to gasp, eyes widen, and then slumped back.
As the third man rushed her, sword held at the ready, he jabbed behind her with the backhanded axe, the end colliding with his nose and stunning him. With a fluid movementl, she spun to face him, the axe twirling over her hand so it was held in the proper fashion. Rearing it back, she brought it down, and sliced into his chest with a sickening squelch.
Putting her boot into his stomach, she pushed him back and wrenched the bloody axe from him, then swung wide and hard at the staff carrying mercenary. The heavy blade collided hard with his polearm, forcing him back a step and splintering it. The second hit came hard enough to break the weapon in two, and the ace lodged itself into the man's helmet. He grunted, took a step back, and collapsed.
Ishal stood, shaking, watching in horror as Francesca slowly turned to face him, her white hood pulled up to conceal much of her face. She took a step forward, and Ishal panicked, falling back onto his rear and trying to clamber onto his hands and knee's so he could flee.
Francesca didn't give him the chance. Grabbing him by his cloak, she yanked him so he fell onto his back, and placed her boot on his chest. "Goodnight Ishal" She hunched down, grabbing his throat, and the Hidden Blade sunk into his jugular. Ishal's eyes widened, and in a few seconds, his head fell back, and a red pool of blood started to trickle across the fall.
Slowly rising, Francesca looked around the warehouse, and her eyes met for a second with No Rest. He stayed perfectly still, but he knew he had been seen. Francesca and No Rest glared at each other for a good long moment, and then the Assassin turned to leave. "It's not very nice to take what's not yours"
Clicking curiously, he targeted her, marking her in gold. He had seen her before... the one that had danced with Benedict. His reticle went to her arm, and found a metal device, under each wrist. Playing back the recording of the last kill in his visor, he focused on the woman that had danced with his quarry, and saw a small blade popping out behind her fan.
"Not very nice to take what's not yours" He repeated, in a warped, yet still quite feminine voice. "Not... very... nice..."
