The Eagle
Revelations
You often experienced painful headaches that would never desist, and they were rather inconsistent aswell, which often make you perturbed, as it made you gather all of your focus and strength when leaping across buildings not to fall down in such a moment. The sting was painfully deep, and your eyes could hardly handle the pressure compelled upon them. Right now, it was unfortunate, it was not called upon, and finding yourself in the situation with one of the most skilled, and most clever assassin that was known, you felt yourself tensing up all throughout your body. As your vision now descended to the ground, your sight became clouded, and you were arduously struggling to erase the black dots that refused to ebb away, instead, the more you tried, the more it fought back. You were trying to steady your breathing, but your heart was beating in a galloppe, trying to burst out of your chest, dropping your sword to the ground as your form sulked.
But you forgot one thing: a blade was pressed against your chest, inbetween your pectolars, just below your clavicle- it had taken a threatening position that made yours imminent, only now you could hope the opponent would see sense, as this seemed more than inane for some, perhaps even believed it was deceit for a surprise attack. Truculent? Perhaps. But this was no act, this was your entire body feeling like it was forcing itself to implode on the spot. The man before you, now having validated his identity, looked as stern, his countenance revealing little amusement in the display he was visualizing. However, the tip of the sword, sharp and cutting edge as it was, slowly retracted as you sank down, the sound of your own sword falling made the master assassin's eyes narrow in suspicion. Being naive could cause such, couldn't it?
The light of the nightsky only shone upon Altaïr, but even he now approached closer, sheathing his sword once again as he found you harmless when you were wurming your way on the ground in a mental battle. Not only the pain consumed your mind and body- but mentally, mentally you were battling memories that surfaced, bits and pieces, however, they were memories you didn't remember, none of them were significant to the events of the past, nor could you explain why they came to you, as you believed they were not yours. Both of your hands elevated to your temples, digits running under your black hood, pressing against your scalp, though in light notice, you made sure the other assassin could not lay his amber eyes on you, not allowing him to peruse your features and memorize them, for you were sure he would never forgot them. Slowly breathing in through your nose, the headache started to fade, gradually so, which you were thankful for.
A voice rang once again, even more demanding, making your ears twitch in acknowledgement. Innately, you slowly lifted yourself up by placing your hands flat against the wall behind you, panting lowly, though being able to breathe without grunting, your eyes landed upon Altaïr's. If you didn't know better, you thought a glare was set on you, and if it could kill, deadly and intimidating as it was seen, you surely would've had the last ounce of life drained from you. Now you were unarmed, as the other presumed, he grabbed the front of your robes and fisted his hand in it, keeping a more firm, secured grip, but you turned your head aside, breathing shallowly. ''Play no games with me, for I will make sure you lose, and that certainly with not be a pleasurable end. Death will dawn upon you''. Altaïr spat these words with acid, yet confidence, with overwhelming arrogance that entirely overcame his entity. No single smile was seen, not even a smug grin, nothing, only words came from the master assassin.
Somehow, in someway, you were intimidated, but behind his words, you found it ambiguously amusing, even in the oddest of moment, you were one to try and shape words in positive thoughts, or merely defending yourself by using humor, which never was a bad thing, perhaps it was helpful in situations. You were not haughty as Altaïr was, but you were similary confident in your skills, but never had you thought you had to match them with one of such a high rank. You had to speak now, or you were were in risk of dying, and that hardly sounded appealing, did it? At long last, your lips parted, a voice slowly forming: ''I have been tailing this target for many months- keeping check of his dealings, but I never thought it was more than contraband, untill this was revealed, and now, I am all the more satened that he lies dead''. You spoke without doubt, your words were genuine and most of all, they were candid. You were a vigilante, that is what you had thought yourself to be all these years, and the more thieves and abominations you killed, the more you felt needed to protect your hometown: Masyaf.
Altaïr seemed thoughtful for once, considering your words cautiously, and trying to decipher them even more by figuring out your facial expression, however, once again, you refused him this. Instead, your right knee shot forth in attempt to impact his stomach, which it did, and you breathed in relief as his grip weakened and you moved both hands above you before launching them down on the limb of the other, it succeeding once again as he no longer had a grip upon you, although as you picked up your blade, hastily, an sought to sprint past the man, he already had tackled you down onto your stomach, his wristblade now ejaculated and pressing against your throat that lay somewhat exposed, but your robes even covered those vulnerable parts. You made a move that was not appreciated, infact, it angered the master assassin, you did the exact thing nobody dared to do on him. You coughed lowly at the impact, but you slowly breathed through your nose, in and out, such training, you weren't sure how, but it kicked in, it was maybe innate? You couldn't find any other explanation, not a valid one, atleast, so you only assumed.
Never had you seen it from this close, a wristblade, it was magnificently made, sharp, long, and deadly, able to strike as deep as possible, cutting vital arteries and the like. You saw the lack of finger where the wristblade came from, making you curious to its mechanism, and if it was tradition, or a neccesity to use it. ''How foolish are you to run from me? Are you craving to die by my blade? Is that your wish?''. Altaïr's words were emanating anger, authority, and most would do well to be frightened, but you weren't, not completely. As you pressed your lips together, trying to think of what you could say without infuriating the other further, Altaïr's crotch rubbed against your rear, it was odd- and you couldn't lay your finger on the lurid sensation, it made you feel things, things you have never felt before. Eventually, you considered your best bet was to speak. ''No'', you simply retorted, and you felt Altaïr's chest pressing lightly against your back, leaning in further with his head to yours, his breathing ghostly, barely heard, as if he was not breathing at all. The older man was questioning you, but your lack of answer gave him little to go by. You forced his hand. A light painful cut was beared upon your throat, made through the fabric of your robe as the older male elicited reaction, demanding one. The warm blood streamed down your throat, in a thin line, acknowledging it, you eventually smiled. ''That will mess up my robe. Can you desist ruining it?''. Altaïr's eyes widened in surprise before another glare cloaked his features, amber eyes burning in agitation. Now you've completely tested him.
