How Cesare Should Have Died
"Ezio Auditore, how pleasant to see you."
Great. Half a dozen guards. My luck.
"Enough of your talk, Borgia."
"Such an attitude from a little boy like you! But no matter," Cesare bellowed. Gesturing to his troops, he then bellowed, "Kill the Assassino!"
Closing in around me, spears and swords glistening in the sun, they formed a circle, waving their weapons and yelling curses.
Something caught my eye: a white feather, drifting from the sky. Petruccio, I recalled mentally. It increased my fury a hundredfold.
A battle cry emerged from between my lips, deep and ominous, causing my opponents to take a few steps back. Running at them madly, I swung my sword with one arm, poison blade attached to the other. I put the first between one pair of eyes and severed a jugular with the other. Two swipes, two corpses.
Stabbing furiously, I massacred without mercy, Creed be damned.
Cesare was alone now, and he weakly pulled a dagger.
"No mortal man may kill me!" he said, but his voice betrayed his arrogance.
Running, dodging his weapon, I drove the poison blade deep into his skull, right between his two eyes that rolled back into his head in moments.
"Requiescat en pace," I muttered as I sheathed my sword.
The sun rose that morning on the sight of eight men. Only one survived the day.