Thanks guys for the reviews! It means so, so much for me! The ending of this might be a surprise (a heat of the moment thing from my side - couldn't help it) so don't put too much into it - it's just randomness to show the effects of this fight thing that's going on, how it effects normal people and not just those involved. :)

Holy water cannot help you now
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
And no rivers and no lakes, can put the fire out
I'm gonna raise the stakes; I'm gonna smoke you out

- Florence and The Machine

Chapter 9
June 13th 1497

Della Rovere's slim figure, clad in the dark cloths of a monk, maneuvered swiftly through the thick crow of Florentines, every single one wearing a mask of worry and fear turned towards the large building that was the church of their city. From inside the large, tree doors the enraged and loud voice of a preacher that, throughout the past year, had gained much success.

The excommunicated cardinal now entered through the heavy doors and mingled with the even thicker crowd inside. The church was filled to the brim, mostly with the peasants but also with a few fearsome novelties. The preacher was standing above them, looking down at them. Della Rovere made his way towards the man, pushing his way through the crowd until he was right beneath the preacher. Now all he had to do was wait.

The waiting wasn't long; within the first five minutes that the cardinal stood there, Savonarola's eyes wandered over the crowd and past the face of the man. For a moment he froze, his face growing pale and his speech stopping mid-sentence. Then he regained his control, nodded at Della Rovere, either as an acceptance of fate or as an acknowledgement of his presence, before finishing his preaching.

When the flow of his words came to an end, the crowd thinned and people left for their respective homes. Only two were left in the end, and that was Della Rovere and Savonarola, two men of the church, both working against the Head of the Church.

Savonarola made his way down the stairs to the preaching chair, nodded to Della Rovere and said, "Am I right to assume that you are the excommunicated Cardinal Della Rovere?" He nodded his head. "Then you are a saint to me – tell me, how did you survive the witch hunt that the Pope started?"

"It takes nothing more than contacts, my friend, and containing his fear for you. If he fears you, he has a weakness." He hesitated before he spoke again. "And if you are, as I suspect, Brother Savonarola, then I suspect that this is an advice you will soon need."

"If it is God's wish, then I will die at the false Pope's stakes. But not until God tells me to." Della Rovere looked at Savonarola admiringly. It took no genius to know that not even God would have his life without a fight.

"But if you would listen to my proposal, perhaps no more people will have to be killed by him."

Savonarola walked over to a table and poured himself a cup of water. "I am listening."

"If the said Pope's attention was to be – diverted – by the Fires of the Purgatory, he would surely have no time to kill innocents."

Savonarola choked on his water. "If what you imply is what I think you are implying, then this proposal is unthinkable!"

"Is it? Is the death of the Pope of Rome so unthinkable?" Della Rovere's voice was innocent and surprised.

"No, but the murder of the Pope of Rome! I think you should be the one to fear the Purgatory's flames, if this is what you plan!" Savonarola's voice sounded slightly like it had done during his speech. "He was chosen by God, and by that he has the holiest of rights to remain where he is seated."

"He was chosen by the College of Cardinals, not to be mistaken by God." Della Rovere snickered. "And do not try to tell me that you have never wished the man dead."

"To dream is far from act."

"But not more right." Della Rovere lifted his eyebrows pointedly.

"You would have the Pope of Rome dead – and, I suppose, you instated in his place."

"I would do much better, would I not?"

"True, but your method of achieving it would be so sinister, so much worse than even Borgia's way of achieving it – how can you even in the darkest of times wish for such a thing?"

"I wish for the glory and riches of the Holy Mother Church."

"And I, my dear cardinal, do not. I have no interest in the Papacy. All we have in common is a hate towards the Pope, and now, apparently, we are separated by your love for yourself and my contempt for the same person."

"As you wish, preacher. But know that these strong words will be words that you one day will regret."

And with that, he left.

July 20th 1497

A group of young boys were hazarding the streets, screaming profanities and the words of Savonarola. Della Rovere had left the city for a few weeks to see to his contacts in the other states and had expected it to have changed as result of the preacher, but this was insanity.

His astonishment was only to grow, though, when he crossed the corner and saw the young boys, not men but boys, collect fine furniture and paintings in a large pile in the middle of a street, lighting it with fire when they were done. As the flames grew stronger in the ancient items that were the bonfire, they threw books and papers into the inferno, all the while chanting about vanity and the punishment of God.

The cardinal hurried through the hordes, all but running, while contemplating how to proceed. It was clear that Florence was a battle between two magnificent forces; Savonarola and the ones who still had faith in the Holy Mother Church, and it was obvious that this was not a place peaceful enough to plan out his own rise to power.

July 28th 1497

"I am honored to do business with you, Cardinal."

Della Rovere looked at the dark haired man with interest. Mario was known for his less than honorable businesses and Rovere wasn't as honored as Mario was to do this business – but he needed what Mario had to offer. "How quick can you get it?"

Mario rummaged around in his pockets before pulling out a small bag. He opened it and revealed a good amount of powder. "Will this do?" he asked.

Della Rovere took the bag from his hand and weighed it with his own. "For now."

"It will be forty florins for that dose."

"Forty?" He was obviously not pleased.

"Please, your eminency, this is very hard and dangerous to get. It has a prize." Della Rovere looked at the man for a moment, knowing that he needed this.

"Yes."

He found his pouch and drew out his coins. "Here you are; forty florins." He handed the money to Mario. "How long before I can have another dose?"

"Two weeks at the most." Mario sounded very certain.

"I will meet you the same place as always?"

"Yes. How much do you wish?"

"The same as this one." Della Rovere looked into the bag again. "After that, I will not need your services any longer."

Mario nodded his head and turned to leave. Della Rovere was happy that he wouldn't need to consort with this man anymore; he was slow and intolerable, but he was the most precise one. You got what you asked for and you got it at the time you had agreed on. He was honest and, most importantly, not afraid of lying.

June 29th 1497

Della Rover looked around the courtyard of the monastery. A larger group of monks had collected themselves in a circle around him and had, for the last 45 minutes or so, listened to his speech on the Pope and his deeds. They had clapped and roared and Della Rovere knew that he had them where he wanted them to be.

"All we need is someone who free-willingly will go ahead; one with the courage of a lion and the sensibility of a hawk. A chosen one of God. We need someone to become the Pope's taster. He who stands forward now will forever be honored for his bravery, as he is essential to this plan."

Not one stepped forward. He hadn't expected anyone to do so – after all, this was a suicide mission. The plant went on killing the taster of the Pope and then tricking the Pope into choosing one of the monks of this monastery as his new taster. This person would be trained beforehand to be able to conceal the effects of the chosen poison long enough for the Pope not to realize. But he would die, no doubts.

"No one? Not one who wishes to stand up and become the savior?"

Still no one rose.

"I will give you time to think of this. It is much to ask, I know, but I hope God will enter one of your hearts and give you the bravery needed."

Finally, someone stood. But not to volunteer.

"Why don't you do it yourself?" Whispers could be heard, making the man stand stronger in the eyes of Della Rovere.

"The Pope would recognize me." Della Rovere's eyes wandered over the group once. "You must remember that I know the Pope from my time in the Vatican, and that is why I wish this to happen. I know his evil, I have seen it with my own eyes, and it is real. But we can rid the world of this evil, we can remove him and live in God's glory and delight for the rest of our days! All we need is one of you willing to sacrifice yourself to become a part of Heaven! And I can promise you, there is no Purgatory for a man willing to give his own life for this cause!"

They roared in agreement, but still no one stood until finally, a trembling, pale and frail young boy stood up. He looked not much older than twelve but Della Rovere knew him to be sixteen of age and his name to be Amadeo.

"I will do it." The entire audience gasped and looked at him. Suddenly, his shivers were gone and Della Rovere saw a determination in his eyes when he repeated his word. "I will do it. I will kill the Pope of Rome."

September 4th 1497

Alonso walked through the dark halls of the monastery just outside Florence. A young boy, Amadeo, had been transferred here a week before with a very special friend with him. His friend, an excommunicated cardinal, had left now and Alonso was to make sure that Amadeo got his medicines.

It was a strange medicine. Alonso had never seen one with those reactions; after taking them, Amadeo would go into spasms and throw up blood and spit before passing out. Alonso had tried taking his pulse, only there was none. For almost a minute, Amadeo would be dead. And then he'd wake up, looking in awe and talking about how amazing he felt, how alive, before passing out – this time just sleeping.

Amadeo was kneeling in front of a cross like always when Alonso arrived, a few candles burning but the room wasn't much lighter than the hall. "Are you ready?" he asked.

Amadeo finished his prayer and rose from his position and went to sit on his bed. "Yes."

Alonso walked over to the table in the corner and took out the powder, poured the instructed dose – a gram extra every day – into a cup which he filled with water before walking to the bed and giving the cup to Amadeo. Amadeo never seemed happy about taking his medicine until afterwards, but every day it got easier for him to bring the cup to his lips and drinking it.

This night he took almost no time. He tilted the cup and quickly drank the liquid inside it before lying down and simply waiting.

It took no time for the sweat to start crawling over his skin and before long, his fingers started twitching, his muscles making strange things. Alonso kneeled on the bed beside him, ready to assist if necessary. Amadeo rolled over and threw up once, the vomit a dangerous mix of brown and red, before turning to his back, his entire body now cramping. He moaned and panted before suddenly, within a second, lying completely still, his eyes disappearing off into distance and he breathed his final breath.

Alonso waited in dreadful silence for the boy to return. The eyes fell close and his lips quivered a bit, announcing that he was about to wake up. Perhaps if Alonso knew what happened next, he wouldn't have prayed so much for Amadeo's survival. Perhaps he would. Perhaps he was such a good monk. But no one would ever know, because in the next instance the before so blue eyes of the boy had changed into a dangerous color of red and his lips opened to reveal new teeth.

And just a hundredth of a second later, those new teeth were latched onto Alonso's neck, sucking out the deer life of the poor man until nothing was left but a pale, empty shell.

And that was exactly what sister Catarina found the next day; instead of the young boy, she found the drained, dead body of her true love.