Um, yeah, I don't own Assassin's Creed, Ubisoft does. So I make no claims, but I write this down just in case. And I don't wanna keep on writing it down on every single chapter, so this disclaimer goes for the entire story! :3


Left, left, right. Right step, duck, left step, duck, jump, dodge, and swing.

Right step, backwards three paces, left step, jump around for two paces.

Swing your sword up in this situation, not down. Never down. If it gets knocked out of place, don't give up.

Swing it again, like a batter playing baseball, or a student playing softball, but never let it swing out of hand. It's your lifeline, you need it to live, to breathe, to exist, to be.

The breath was knocked out of him as the Templar knocked him off of his balance. Onto the ground he went with a loud thud, thus resulting in the air being knocked out of his chest. He rolled to the right to avoid being sliced with by a sword and scrambled to his feet. The dust was flying crazily up in the air as the two fought each other.

When you're down, you always get back up on your feet. Never wait, because when you wait you'll find it hard to get that first foot up. Always get up immediately. Never stay down.

Altair briskly turned around. His robes were cut into terrible shreds, his body was aching with the strain forced upon it, there was blood staining his once-cleaned skin, and he was shaking horribly from the blood loss. Why oh why is this Templar stronger than the others? Why can this one remain standing, even after brutal fighting that's been lasting for an eternity, of which in reality was only ten minutes?

Jerusalem had been relatively quiet. One wrong step was Altair took, and he was thrown into a fight. A simple fight, he once thought; he had taken down dozens of Templars before. But this one must have been different, must have been stronger, must have been less cocky and haughty. Arrogance must have been replaced with stubbornness and persistence.

Those traits were a plight for the assassin, but not to the Templar. Altair was cornered in a secluded alleyway, now quite literally fighting for his life. His lungs were burning as they sucked down the much-needed air. With the thought of burning in his mind, he could no longer ignore the pain that was being inflicted on his body. His muscles were already working at their full capacity but he needed more power, and the result was him weakening and his opponent becoming stronger and stronger.

He needed an escape. He needed to flee; he couldn't win this one. He needed to evacuate and get back to the bureau and seek out help. The bleeding was bad and it needed to be stopped.

Standing firmly on the ground with his sword out in front of him, he looked at the Templar, whom was taking a break of his own, mirroring the assassin's position in case he intended to attack or try to catch him off guard in some matter. Then, to Altair's vision, The Templar started to go out of focus. His sight was beginning to blur and, much to his fright, he was feeling dizzy. He needed to end this now; if he waited any longer, then he'd be the one to find himself six feet beneath the soil of the ground.

He lunged himself at the gradually tiring Templar. He swung his sword vigorously, using whatever last bit of strength was left in him.

He gave the Templar an uppercut and swung his sword again, but the man blocked the attack with a metal bracer on his arm. He deflected again and again to save himself from the assassin's blows, and he soon found that he was being pushed back farther and farther. Part of him had become relieved that the assassin was suddenly twice as strong; it meant that he was becoming desperate and that he'd just simply burn out of energy in any second. Once he started weakening again, he would know that his enemy was dying and was only throwing out those last frantic attempts to survive.

The Templar grabbed a knife from his belt while blocking the assassin's blows. He threw his sword aside and started attacking the white-robed man and, after a few moments, felt the blade of his knife back contact with the assassin somewhere, sliding in between the flesh and hopefully an artery or vein, maybe an organ.

Altair's sword found itself flying through the Templar, but at the same time, he felt a sharp pain in his abdomen. He and the Templar were close together, and both of them could see the surprised expression on each other's faces. The Templar's eyes were wide; Altair had stabbed him through the chest. Altair's visage was just of surprise, nothing else. He had made a wrong step and allowed the Templar to stab him.

The Templar fell first to his knees, then onto his side. The corpse had blood pooling around it, and its hand had never let go of the knife that still lay clenched inside of a fist.

Altair staggered and put an arm to the wound. He leaned against a wall with a complete and total look of 'oh my god, I've been stabbed.' He leaned his back to the wall and slid down, looking at his bloody hands. His vision was still going in and out of focus, but he continued staring at his callused hands.

He was now silently distraught. Part of him wanted to yell and cry out for help, another part wanted to stand up and run back to Malik. At this point, he would no doubt fling his arms around the man, but he was so far away at the bureau. He was far too weak to even walk ten paces, never mind climb a building and sprint. He was trapped and bleeding to death and there was nothing much that he could do, so he applied pressure to the wound and tried to cease the rapid bleeding.

Not much was working. Realizing that he was going to die, he started screaming for help of any sort. There was nothing left to do, what else could have been done if he wanted to live? Sitting would've done nothing. At least he'll have a chance by killing off a few vocal cords.

A minute passed and he already couldn't yell anymore. He quit and sunk down a little bit more in his miserable state as that last hope started to dwindle away.

He heard faint voices of humans and looked in their direction. He couldn't even focus anymore, but he could see a white robe with two arms signaling others to follow in a very quick and frantic manner. He let out a sigh and closed his eyes. He was going to pass out.


He could hear voices, but he wasn't quite sure who's they were. It was a fight just to open his eyes, but when he did, he could see a sunset-filled sky through a latticework that acted as a roof. He was laying down on something soft- pillows, perhaps? -and turned his head from side to side until he saw three figures standing about twenty paces away in an archway. He finally recognized that he was in the Assassin's Bureau.

He was relieved to think that he was safe; Malik was good with medicine, one could even call him a doctor. He must have helped him. He must have saved him, else he wouldn't have awakened.

He started to see things a little more clear once his eyes focused with the lights. He was definitely dazed, but he figured that he could manage on his own for now granted no one deserted him, and thankfully no one would. Malik may hate him but he wouldn't let him die.

Malik looked at Altair. God, what mess had he gotten into? And how was he still alive? Was he really that stubborn that he would say 'no' to death and push it away, or was he really just lucky? From what Yusef- God, just a mere novice who saved an assassin -had told him, he had been screaming for help. He couldn't imagine Altair screaming for anything, never mind for help. Was he really that desperate? He must have been. It was a last resort.

But now, just looking at him made him cringe. Not out of hate, but out of sheer pity. It looked as if he had taken a bath of blood while going through a meat grinder, because his robes had been tattered and torn and he was in the sorriest shape he had ever seen anyone ever be in.

He looked back at Yusef. The novice was on a training mission with his master, but of course, sometimes plans go awry and the unexpected happen. Yusef (now a temporary hero for finding Altair) was slightly shorter than he was, but despite him having to look up a few inches to meet Malik's gaze, his gigantic brown eyes looked at the bureau leader as if expecting him to say something.

Malik glanced at Yusef's master, whom had his eyes fixed at the bloody, barely-living body laying in a makeshift bed of pillows.

Malik walked over to Altair once he saw that he was awake and leaned down next to him. All of his hate for this one person subsided and he found himself grabbing hold of Altair's hand. "I…tried to make you as comfortable as I could," Malik said without looking at Altair. He probably couldn't bare even a glance.

Somewhat to his surprise, Altair managed to muster up his voice to say quietly, "You did a good job."

Malik couldn't keep himself from looking at Altair's eyes and moved his gaze to them. The assassin had no idea that three ribs were broken and that he was currently bleeding to death. Malik had done all he could; there was nothing more. He had giving him a medicinal concoction to kill the pain that he would have been feeling. It apparently worked; Altair said nothing of pain and showed no signs of it.

However, it agonized Malik to listen to Altair's wheezing breath, but he held onto his bloody hand and moved his thumb back and forth to stroke it slightly. "Do you feel any discomfort at all, brother?" Malik asked.

"No," Altair squeaked out. "I don't know what's going on."

Malik sighed and a few moments of silenced passed between them. He looked over at Yusef and his master, whom were looking back at him. "Just know that I've done everything I can," he said.

Altair had a puzzled look on his bloody face dirty with the red substance and dirt that had accumulated from the fight. "What do you mean?"

It took him a moment to understand. All that lost energy definitely jumbled his thoughts around, but the thought of dying was very clear and present. Speaking was still difficult, but he still said, "Am I really dying?"

Malik slightly nodded his head. It had gotten quiet for a moment until Altair decided to squeak out another sentence.

"I don't want to, though."

It was strange; death had never been something that he was afraid of. If he was, then he wouldn't have been able to be an assassin. He had been trained to think that if he died, it wouldn't matter much. Death was a distraction and an obstacle and would obscure one's vision. But laying down with the blood draining out of him had changed that thought and his mind, and he decided that he would like to live a little bit longer. He rolled onto his side to place his other hand on top of Malik's and stared at the wall.

"You'll be alright, my friend," Malik said. "I won't leave any brother of ours."

Maybe that's why everything was suddenly so comfortable. It couldn't have been the pillows; it must have been the conscious fact that someone was still there beside him and wouldn't let him die on his own. Psychologically, it helped. Maybe it was also just the fact that his life was literally draining itself out of him. He couldn't even feel it, the blood pooling around him and soaking the pillows.

He realized that Malik had been correct; his heart started beating slower and slower. It wasn't a beat-beat, beat-beat, but instead a beat…beat…beat….And he couldn't help but notice it.

He wanted to hang on, to survive. But he just couldn't.

It was just too damn quiet in the room. Perhaps the gravity of the situation also pulled down everyone's voice, but Malik decided to break the silence anyways. "It'll be alright. Just close your eyes and slip away. You're allowed to do that." When Malik looked at him, he saw two tears roll down the assassin's dirty face and clean off a small, narrow trail of blood. It wrenched at his heart and he had to turn his head away. He just couldn't watch him.

Malik felt Altair's grip tighten. The assassin's shallow breathing had turned erratic in those last throws of 'I want to live.' Malik personally called them 'death spasms,' and he's seen them far too often…him being a bureau leader/doctor and everything. Altair was still fighting to live and was going to fight until he died. What a spirit.

He finally loosened and his grip on Malik's hand and went limp.

Malik looked over at Altair again and couldn't believe that Altair- ALTAIR, Masyaf's best assassin, Masyaf's most skilled man -had just died clinging to his hand. And he knew he was dead, too. He knew that look that dead people had, with their slightly open eyes staring off in one direction. And that was what Altair had been reduced to. Just that, another human being, another corpse, another ended cycle of life.

Malik closed Altair's eyes and couldn't resist the tear that flowed down his face and the whimper that escaped his lips. He brought a hand up to his forehead and pinched the bridge of his nose. His chest shook slightly and couldn't control the overwhelming urge to cry at least a little bit, but Yusef's master's hand that placed itself on his shoulder snapped himself out of it. The master whispered an 'I'm sorry' and walked away, dragging Yusef along with him into the other room to leave Malik there for a moment.

It had yet again become silent. He felt as if at any moment Altair might just take in a deep breath and blink his eyes open, but he never did. He was dead.

Dead, gone, deceased, kicked the bucket, turned over the stone, lifeless, departed, not among the living, whatever the hell one wishes to say. Truth was that he was just killed by someone. Altair wasn't someone to be killed easily. He had never allowed himself to be killed. With that thought in mind, Malik just wanted to slap him. He wanted to slap him for allowing someone to stab him, for allowing himself to make the wrong step, for engaging the wrong person in the wrong fight, for whatever had gone wrong. He just wanted to slap him right across the face and get all of those feelings out, but he simply and utterly couldn't.

A couple minutes passed and the few tears that wanted to escape had dried and Malik was under control. He dared not to look at the corpse right beside him; he may have been a strong person, but one more look at Altair's helpless form might get the tears started again.

He stood up and walked into the adjacent room where Yusef and his master were seated at a table. Upon seeing him, both of them wordlessly stood.

"I will inform Al Mualim," Malik said. "We need a new man."


Yeeeaah, so…he dies. Sort of. My sister is going to be disgruntled that I killed Altair _

BUUUUUT you'll see Altair again in the next chapter. After all, this is a series, who wants to read a series where the main character dies in the first chapter? :3

I know I wouldn't XD