When Connor heard gunfire, he'd simply assumed Reginald had withdrawn a pistol and shot him. To the Assassin's shock, there was no pain; he didn't even feel the impact of the bullet. A loud ringing overwhelmed him, and if it weren't for this, he'd never even known of the gunshot that ended him, that brought his life work to ruin.
Yet... he could still feel the sting of the wounds adorning his sides, his chest... he could still feel the drops of blood running down his body. His chest rose and fell with each breath, breaths he failed to realize he was still taking. None of these things registered.
The ringing ceased moments later only to be replaced by a voice. A familiar voice that, faint at first, grew louder, more agitated, "Get the damn artifact, Connor!"
That was unmistakably Haytham's voice. If Haytham was speaking, then that proved he was dead too, right? Except when Connor finally opened his eyes, though he didn't know what to expect to see in the afterlife, he certainly hadn't expected Reginald backed up against the wall, hand covering the side of his face. Charles was beside him as well, momentarily stunned, glaring at something behind Connor.
If he were dead... then what happened to Reginald and Cha-
"Are you deaf?"
Connor whipped around to see his father, struggling to his feet. Still drenched in blood, but... alive. Reloading his pistol. Only then Connor finally realize he wasn't actually dead after all. Somehow, Haytham was alive and had been the one behind the gunfire.
The relief that swept through him almost made him tear up again. Haytham was alive. How? How was this possible? Connor wanted to shout, to interrogate the man, but there was no time.
Both Charles and Connor seemed to get over their shock in the same moment, both turning and running for the artifacts. The wounded Assassin struggled, breath still ragged but he forced himself onward. His wounds stung with every breath and movement, slowing him, and alas, he was too late. Charles reached the artifacts first, until... yet another gunshot fired. It barely missed Charles, would've taken his hands clean off if he hadn't jumped backward the very last second.
His slight distraction was long enough for Connor to lurch forward one more stride and scoop up the artifacts from the floor. Charles tried to snatch them away, but Connor, despite his growing pain, managed to fend him off.
Meanwhile, Reginald had recovered and now seething, headed right for Haytham. The entire right half of his face was covered in fresh, dark blood. The bullet had grazed his cheek, but to Haytham's frustration, nothing more.
"How the bloody hell are you alive, you filthy brat?"
Haytham sneered, "Perhaps the more important question is... why are you still alive?"
Reginald, knuckles white around the handle of his sword, made his move. So he'd have to finish Haytham himself after all.
In the same instance, mere feet away, Connor quickly slid the artifacts into place, once again completing it. It glowed once more and a subtle electric surge seem to run through his body, forcing him to shudder. In a matter of moments, he found his strength restored, and upon further examination, found all his wounds completely healed. As if they'd never existed.
That sneaky bastard! Father knew!
Connor scowled. Yet again, his father had manipulated him well. Of course, he was more relieved at this than angry, for in the expanse of mere minutes, he'd watched his father die and faced his own ultimate failure and demise... but now they had a chance again. A chance to defeat to Reginald and Charles, to stop the Templars.
The Assassin's eyes locked with Charles's.
Connor silently pocketed the artifact and with tomahawk in hand, took up a defensive stance. This time, this fight with Charles Lee... this would be the last. Charles seem to come to the same conclusion, and with face set in determined focus, lunged forward.
Now much calmer and more focused, Connor's fight with Charles alone was much easier. Like animals they fought, merciless and fearless. No words were exchanged as the battle drew on, none were needed. To each the other was nothing but a monstrous pest in need of extermination.
Even with Haytham's training, Charles found himself outwitted many a time by the Assassin. His own mentor's son. Charles miscalculated his effort in the next parry, and found his arm knocked aside. Next thing he registered was the cold of the blade as it was lodged into his throat.
Pain and the taste of blood overwhelmed him then, filling his throat and mouth. Unable to breath, he began to choke, his sword clattering against the floor as he dropped it. To his surprise, the Assassin caught him and actually lay his body on the floor, as he'd done with Haytham.
Connor watched him, mouth set in a thin line. As if waiting... for Charles to speak his regret? To admit he was wrong? He'd give the mutt no such satisfaction.
Without so much as a word, Charles Lee finally stilled.
Connor reached over, closed the man's eyes and stood. As he looked upon Charles for the last time, he found little joy in finally having killed him. Ending his life may have stopped him from enslaving thousands and furthering the rise of a tyrannical league of Templars, yet this did not ease Connor's pain. Nor did it help his inner turmoil that had haunted him since the day he watched his mother burn.
His worst enemy was dead by his hand, his lifelong wish finally fulfilled, and yet it changed nothing inside him.
The clashing of metal against metal brought Connor out of his thoughts and he turned to watch the fight still in progress. He'd not intervene. Reginald was wounded, bloody. As Charles was Connor's to take, Reginald was Haytham's.
When the second set of swords had ceased clashing, Haytham stole the briefest of glances in the other direction. Relief swept through him at the site of Connor lowering Charles's motionless body to the floor. He didn't even feel the slightest remorse in witnessing the death of whom was once his student.
"Your partner's met his demise, Reginald, and you fare no better."
Reginald scoffed, "Matters little. Remember who was your mentor, Haytham."
"My father was my mentor. You were nothing but a deceiving, lying prick!" Haytham retorted, countering Reginald's next lunge.
"Really shouldn't say such things of your superiors!"
"Perhaps you were when I was but a child. Now?"
Reginald failed to parry the next onslaught of attacks, and practically folded in on himself when his belly was torn open, blood pouring onto the floor. Haytham watched him, eyes gleaming with triumph. Now it was only a matter of minutes.
"You and your pathetic dog are nothing. Your efforts amount to nothing. Your lives amount to nothing." Reginald spat onto the floor, a thick glob of blood, and straightened himself again.
In a last desperate attempt to at least drag Haytham along with him into the throes of death, Reginald fought on, but was far too weak. Only moments later, after several easy parries, Reginald found himself impaled on Haytham's sword.
"Cowardly words, Reginald. Fitting for a man such as yourself, I suppose." Haytham said coldly before pulling the sword back. Reginald collapsed in a heap on the floor, fighting for breath.
"Your father..." The dying man began.
Haytham's brows furrowed, "What about him?"
"Edward would be... proud." Reginald choked before growing limp.
Enveloped by silence and the unforgiving stench of death, Haytham stood, staring callously down at Reginald's body. Lost in silent pondering, he didn't even hear Connor walk up beside him, but the boy instantly recognized the mask he'd put in place.
"You doubt him." Connor said eventually.
Haytham sighed and re-sheathed his sword, not even bothering to wipe away Reginald's blood, "There's little for my father to be proud of. I became a Templar serving under his murderer. Due to my actions, the Templars stole several precursor artifacts, my sister was..."
"You are not to blame for the actions of others. You avenged your family and Holden. Today we have saved thousands, if not millions of lives. And now we may unite the Templars and Assassins. Was that not what you wanted?"
"That's what you wanted."
"It is a dream we shared and one that may now be realized."
Haytham stared at him for a long moment before laughing to himself. Connor was right. They were far more similar than he'd originally realized. Now, as he looked upon the boy, he may even have seen himself from all those years ago, young and wanting nothing more than peace. Unity between the orders... oh what could be accomplished then?
Connor continued, "He would be proud of you... as I am. Although you could have told me your plan before you had me nearly killed."
Haytham sighed, "To be honest I wasn't entirely sure it would work. It was by sheer luck I came-to just in time." Without waiting for any sort of reply, he nodded toward the exit and said, "Shall we be off then? For home?"