A/N: Okay, here's my second AC story. This one's not AltMal, but it still has potential. The OC in this story is a girl, and both of their names start with A, so I'll just tell you which is which. Enjoy ^-^!

AmaiPOV

I ran through the bustling streets of Damascus, had frozen to the hilt of my sword. A civilian had been assassinated in the souk and a city alert had been issued. It was our job as Templars to stop him.

I had heard of the Angel of Death, so he was called. Of what I knew, he was a relatively tall man clad in head-to-toe white. He was obviously less discreet than most assassins. So why was he so hard to find?

A group of guards was huddled around a doorway, so I assumed they had him cornered. I forced my way to the front of the group, and there he was. The Angel of Death. He looked at us with cold, calculating grey eyes. Then those eyes turned blue. What kind of sorcery…?

Almost as soon as he saw me he grabbed me and put me in a headlock. A blade slid out of his wrist, aimed at my neck. "I'll kill her," he warned without a hint of bluff in his voice. I couldn't help but let out a whimper.

Slowly he backed out of the door and the Templars watched helplessly, not wanting to have one of their own killed. Thank God for that.

The man dragged me up a ladder and dashed across roofs. I didn't know what I could do… wait, what was I doing?! I kicked him in the shin and jammed my free elbow into his face.

But it was like he hadn't felt it. He swung me around by my captured arm and held me in a headlock once more. "All done?" he purred viciously into my ear. The metal in his wrist poked at my neck. "I was going to take you to al-Mualim, but I could always just kill you myself."

I nodded minutely, so as to avoid being stabbed by his wrist blade.

"Good," he said and looked around. He pulled me to the left and ran across more houses, then dove off of a roof. I was certain we would end up a pile of flesh and bones on the street when we landed in something soft that smelled like horse. Upon opening my eyes I realized that we were in a cart. That was moving.

After what felt like hours of sitting in the horse hay I asked, "So will this al-Mualim have me killed?"

"I doubt it," he said, then poked his head out of the cart to check our location.

"Then why bring me to him?"

He sat back down. "Honestly, I just needed someone to help me get out of Damascus. Besides, do you really think I would let you go after being so close to me?"

I suppose not. "So what will happen to me?"

"You might be taken prisoner," he shrugged. "Otherwise, I'm not sure."

I sighed sadly,

"What now?" He sounded annoyed with me.

"I didn't even want this," I sighed. "I never wanted to be a Templar. I was born into it, and now I'm going to die in a cell."

He looked away. "Hmm," was all he said, but his voice held a hint of 'I'll see what I can do.'