Instinct Assassins

Seeing through the eyes of someone else, he couldn’t believe who or what he was seeing. Taken back to 1476, he had become one of his ancestors he never knew existed, Acario. Almost looking like him, this ancestor was to play a great part in history.

The sky was streaked its orange tinge, like every afternoon in Florence. Fisherman came and docked their boats after a long and tiring day. But, above all this, a meeting was held. Noble men of all ages rushed to a bridge, to see what all the commotion was about. Stepping out in front was a young man, well dressed and adrenaline pulsing in his veins.

“Silence, friends, silence, Tonight, we gather to teach the Pazzi a lesson. For too long they’ve been dragging my family’s name through the mud, but tonight, no more!”

The crowd roared when another young male stepped out, his clothes not as regal but more refined.

“These Pazzi are nothing but scum, infecting the earth with their poisonous deeds and misfortune,” he snarled, turning to his friend, “We shall teach them a lesson, eh Ezio?”

“Nothing would make me happier Acario,” he replied.

As they prepared to move out, Acario saw and incoming rock, hurled from the other end of the bridge. Dodging, it he looked up and saw another group of males, looking fierce and powerful. Lowering his head, he weaved his way back into the crowd. Watching Ezio, he only knew what this was going to lead up to. Hearing the taunts fly, something soon caught his attention. The male across the bridge knew of Acario’s presence and snarled his words.

“The Auditore has such bad taste in allies these days, mingling with commoners and mercenaries!” he yelled, getting his point across.

Glaring furiously, Acario shoved himself forward and growled back, a strong intensity behind it.

“At least we aren’t cowards! The Pazzi seem to cower at the mere mention of mercenaries! You can’t even afford proper training for your guards! They’re as weak as young children,” Acario bellowed back, forcing the Pazzi men to flinch in shame.

They youngest man, who was known as Veiri de Pazzi, seemed enraged at this act. Acario had pushed him too far and they began to throw rocks overhead. Dodging quickly, Ezio wasn’t so lucky, as one aimed to his mouth and head. Pazzi men rushed towards them, and Acario backed himself against Ezio, checking to see if the injury affected his fighting. Turning to his enemies, Acario couldn’t help but toy with them, dodging their every punch and kick until they became tired. Dispatching them as fast as possible, Acario managed to take them all out, until something silver caught his eye. Veiri clutched a dagger in his hand and threw it, with incredible accuracy, at Acario. It hit on target, narrowly missing Acario’s eyes. Recoiling backwards, Acario staggered and lifted his hand to his face, inspecting the damage. Blood oozed onto his hand and he tried to staunch the blood flow.

“Bastardo,” Acario muttered and noticed another had joined the fray.

Looking familiar, Acario tried to wipe the blood away when he saw it was Ezio’s older brother, Federico. He was enjoying dismantling the Pazzi men with ease when they turned their attention to Veiri. Suddenly dawning upon him, Veiri darted off, shoving his men into a retreat. Regaining his posture, Acario looked around and still noticed blood was clouding his vision. Ezio noticed him and rushed over, slipping a hand on his shoulder.

“Why is it when we attack Veiri, you’re the one that always gets brutally attacked?” he asked, helping him to a wall.

“I must be that loved,” he answered sarcastically.

Swiping him away, he told him to go get himself checked out, as he didn’t need that much attention. He watched as they walked away and he slid down the wall, looking up. The blood had stopped oozing down, but tried up and hurt his face.

Managing to get back to his feet, Acario made his way to a doctor, who seemed beyond shock to see him. Cleaning him up, the part of how to hide Acario encounter from his Uncle would be tough. Bandaging it would be a dead giveaway, stitching it also. The doctor convinced him to just bandage it, get whatever punishment he was facing over. Sighing with disappointment, he growled and walked out, wind hitting his face, sending a pain through it.

Walking through the streets, he admired how peaceful at night it was, the streets slightly bustling with minimal people. Few people he passed that he knew asked about his injury but he passed it off as a fray. Lights guided him through the streets until he came to his Uncle’s Palazzo. Stepping lightly, he opened the door and snuck in without a sound. Something then tapped him on the shoulder, making him freeze with fear.

“Messer Acario, it’s a pleasure to see you,” smiled the servant, who laughed at his reaction and guided him into a family room.

“Yes, it’s nice to be off the streets. Is Uncle home?” he asked, sitting down on one of the many chairs in the room.

“Your Uncle left not long ago, he’d be home in the morning. Also, Aphrodite asked for your attention but you were not here, I’d recommend you see her at daylight, before your Uncle sees your mess,” she replied, sighing at the mention of Acario bandaged wound.

Making a face, he scowled and laid his head back. Looking around the room, the fire barely lighting it, he noticed papers everywhere on his Uncle’s desk. Shadowing his eyes, he got to his feet and decided to inspect the few letters and notes. Majority of them were requests for guard training, since his Uncle was Florence’s well-known Guards Master. But he had long since retired yet the requests kept coming in. It amused him to see familiar family name among the list. The Pazzi were always trying to persuade his Uncle, but they weren’t that good at it. More offers and a few tasks that needed to be assisted with. But one such thing caught his eye. It was from Lorenzo de Medici. Resisting the urge, to look inside, he picked it up when something whacked his hand. A pole whacked his hand and he noticed a string attached to it.

“Sneaky Uncle,” he muttered and turned away from it.

Managing to find some food, and bother a few servants in the process, he staggered up the stairs, admiring the fine detailed art pieces hung on the wall. He was dreading the fact his Uncle wanted both of them to be in an artwork. Acario refused to be in some painter’s fantasy. Opening his door, he saw the moon slowly rising from above the horizon of the mountains. Sitting on his bed, he carefully slipped his clothes off, not touching the bandages on his head. Running his fingers across his chest, he looked around and sighed. Nothing was normal anymore. He wished he could go back to Naples and be with his mother and father. King and Queen of an entire country and he was Prince. But, he had cast aside the title, and become an apprentice. His Uncle wasn’t so bright on the idea, but his sister, Melena and the Queen, insisted he take up the life of a warrior. He wishes his mother wasn’t so direct.

Sleeping hadn’t been easy for him; the wound was constantly sending mini waves of pain through his head. Getting up, his hands pressing down on the bed, he saw the first glimpses of dawn and groaned. His Uncle would be home soon, and see his accident. Swinging his feet over the edge, he quickly got dressed and went to get his bandage checked and refitted. The servant couldn’t help but comment on its severity and damage.

“You get yourself into some of the strangest situations, young man,” she said, giggling softly.

“Yes and the Pazzi seem to enjoy delivering it on me,” he growled, flinching as she touched it.

“Oh, those Pazzi bastardi are a pain, don’t worry about them Acario, they’re in enough trouble already, especially Vieri’s father.”

Hearing this, something irritated his interest, like it would possibly bring some horrible event in the future. Once cleaned up, he quickly gathered a few materials and slung over his pack and left, entering into the early dawn. The cobbled stone streets were giving off a cold atmosphere and he shivered. Looking around, listening to the sounds, he darted into one of the few backstreets to visit Aphrodite.