A/N: The beginnings of a multi-chapter piece I am (as of late) now obligated to write. This is just the beginning, and just so you know, my first fic for AC. I'll have the next bit up soon. Hopefully. Oh and this is... well you'll figure it out.

Concrit? Advice? I'll take it. (Like a boss!) Come on, if you read it (its really short!) please, please, please leave a review.

D/C: I never have and never will own Ubisoft or AC, and as far as I'm concerned, the Borgia belonged to themselves.


There was a click of a lock, then a creaky swing, and then the thud of a heavy iron grate hitting the old, gray stonewalls that enclosed the tiny cell. The dim red light of a torch outside illuminated two figures, outlining their silhouettes and casting dark, eerie shadows along the floor and walls.

Had anyone else been there, they'd have wondered why on earth a man was bound at the wrists and ankles by chains, the skin there bleeding and red and raw from irritation; why the man had a leather choke-collar and a large cut and bruise on his face, or why he had been stripped to only his bloodied undershirt and torn breeches. Or why he was there at all in the first place.

But no one else was there. And Ezio Auditore knew exactly what he was doing.

He was going to make Cesare Borgia pay.

"Tsk, tsk," said Ezio Auditore, striding confidently towards the chained figure of Cesare Borgia. Even in the darkness, his sinister smirk gleamed. "Ah, you do not miss me, I assume?"

Cesare snarled. "What do you want from me, Ezio Auditore?" he spat, lacing each word with as much venom as he could muster. He stood up on shaky legs; the bindings at his ankles were especially painful, but he moved slowly towards the other. "Power? Land? Arms? What is it Ezio Auditore, that you could possibly want from me, that would require you to physically take me and chain me and leave me here this way? What is it, Auditore?" the General had moved to a distance a foot away from the Assassin, the bindings at his wrists pulling his arms and shoulders back. Defenses down. Vulnerable. But Cesare could care less at this moment, as he stared down the man before him. He had on a look of absolute hate and rage; his insides roiled at the sight of the cocky Assassin. Especially now, since he had something to be cocky about.

The assassin shook his head. "I want none of those things," he said, an air of confidence simply radiating off of him, that absolutely asphyxiated the Templar.

"Then what is it that you want from me!" shouted an increasingly enraged Cesare.

"What I want is simple," said the assassin smoothly. He unveiled his stoically emotionless face as he lowered his hood as he said, "I want revenge."

"Ha, well then, do so! You already have me set up, don't you?" said Cesare, moving back and attempting to lift and spread his arms as a gesture of welcome. "Kill me now, while you have the chance!"

The assassin shook his head. "I do not want your life," said Ezio. Cesare faltered. "Death would be too easy… too much of a simple escape for you."

"Then release me. You've kept me here a week, subjected me to every torture possible…" said Cesare, faltering as he remembered the hunger of the first few days, when he'd been starved; he remembered beatings he'd taken, and hot blood pulsed at the sites of the open wounds on his back from where daggers had sliced through skin—they weren't deep, but they were damn well enough to cause pain. "You have had your revenge."

Ezio shook his head again. "I've subjected you to almost every kind of torture," he corrected, moving forward lightly, raising his wrists. He flicked upward and two gleaming, razor sharp silver blades protruded from his hands. "None have been nearly as torturous as what I'm going to do, Cesare," said Ezio, looking straight into Cesare's eyes as he filled the last word with as much venom as he could.

Before, he might have thought himself crazy just to think that Cesare would ever shrink back in fear, but when the weakened Cesare's hands trembled and shoulders drooped… he knew.

Cesare was afraid.

"Do it now, Auditore," he growled low, softly, his voice rasping at the sudden dryness that had overcome his throat.

"Very well, then," he said, as he inched forward, thrusting his arms forward.

Cesare flinched. His eyes pinched shut and for a split second he wondered if he had died instantly, painlessly, because he felt nothing. He saw nothing.

Then he heard the metallic clang of blade's edge on stone.

His eyes opened by their own volition, as wide as saucers as he realized that the assassin had stayed true to his word, and his life would be spared. His sight drifted to the vambraces and blades he had thrown to opposite corners of the cell—far from either of them, damn him—and the body of the man before him.

He had no weapons or armour, save for the blades and vambraces. And they wouldn't be of much use now. Confusion was written all over Cesare's face, more definitely expressed amongst feelings of anger and fatigue and hunger and fear.

Ezio craned his neck, steeled his features, and suppressed the urge to taunt. "Do you know what I am going to do to you, Cesare?"

The formerly undaunted General averted his eyes, and kept the fact that his knees and legs and entire body had grown weak in the past few moments, shaking his head. I don't want to know, he appeared to be saying. I don't want to know.

Ezio roughly grabbed Cesare by the jaw to make Cesare face him, pushing him down with his free hand. Hard. To his knees.

"I am going to make you beg."