'You selfish piece of shit!' Aramis turned his head to glare at Porthos as he spat the words out, eyes wide and sparkling with anger.
'Porthos, leave it!' Aramis called, yet it was no use- he could feel the anger radiating from his lover, coming past him in waves and heading straight for Marsac, who stared back, eyes glassy.
He turned to Athos, who had yet to utter a single word- his white face was like a mask as he stared upwards into the ceiling, mouth set in a creased line as Pierre finished his handiwork and stepped away into the shadows behind them.
'What do you know about the weight of all these years alone?' Marsac's words hung heavy in the air, until Porthos shattered the silence with a loud scoff, shaking his head tersely.
'You're a very pathetic man, Marsac!' he retorted, lips curled into a snarl.
'Porthos, stop.' Aramis's voice was softer now. 'Please.'
Now it was Marsac's turn to scoff- 'You and Aramis always had each other, right?' he spoke into the silence, voice wavering with emotion that none of them could understand. 'All we had…' he motioned to Athos, who made no sound or offered any understanding he had even heard the words. 'Was our grief.'
'Well, now you're going to have even more!' Porthos hissed, unable to help himself- he had been forced to watch Aramis be killed in the most inhuman ways, over and over again, and Marsac talked of grief?
Suddenly all four of them looked towards the door as they heard a cacophony of gun-shots, followed a few seconds later by three more rapid shots. Moments later the door opened and d'Artagnan all but fell through it, breathing heavily, as his wounds continued to heal.
'd'Artagnan?' Marsac frowned, eyes creased as they watched the younger man venture into the room, looking around the gloomy space with wide, pained eyes.
'Behind you!' Aramis called- he winced as d'Artagnan took another shot to the shoulder from behind; he grunted, pivoted on his heels, and returned the shot all in one fluid movement, before closing the heavy door behind him and scrabbling for the key to buy them some more time.
'Look out!' Porthos suddenly yelled- d'Artagnan, dropping the key, now barely had time to move out of the way as Pierre came darting out from the shadows, a dagger in his hands; he stepped backwards and punched the man as hard as he could in the temple; the bigger man went down without even a whimper, slumping to the dirty floor at his feet.
Seconds later and he was at Athos' side- he looked over the man, at the bloodied rags littering the floor, at the clumsy stitching of the wound, and finally at Athos' pained face, now he was finally looking at him.
d'Artagnan swallowed hard, yet kept his panic down as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the gun, pressing it into Athos' hand. He frowned as the man let his hand fall limp, unwilling to take the gun. 'Athos, take it.' He nodded, the panic now rising as Athos looked back up the ceiling with a slow shake of his head. He was beaten, broken, d'Artagnan realised with a jolt.
Becoming mortal had changed him- how could it not? He steeled himself, taking a deep breath in, before firmly pushing the gun into Athos' palm and closing his hand around the other man's, forcing him to hold it. 'We can't do this without you.' A few weighted seconds passed- seconds d'Artagnan knew they could not waste. The other guards would know what happened by now; they would be surrounding them any second.
'Immortal or not- you made a promise.' He muttered, voice now hard as Athos looked at him. 'Whatever it takes.'
This seemed to awaken something in the older man; his eyes widened with some dawning comprehension, and colour seemed to return to his cheeks. d'Artagnan allowed himself a small smile as he worked to undo the thick leather straps tethering Athos to the table.
As soon as one arm was free, however, there was a loud bang at the door; seconds later Athos, now wielding the gun he had been given, expertly saw off the attack by three guards who had run down and burst through the door. d'Artagnan winced at the noise by his ear, but worked quickly to untie the rest of the Athos' binds, before the older man heaved himself off the table and into a standing position. 'You came back.' He turned to d'Artagnan, breathing heavily.
'Of course I did.' d'Artagnan replied with a nod. 'We're family now.' He added, before turning to Marsac, who shook his head.
'No, just leave me here.' He muttered, turning away. d'Artagnan shook his head at his words, even though he was quite tempted to do so. 'No man left behind.' He said instead as he worked to undo the binds.
Behind them, as Athos worked to undo the straps on Aramis' arms, Porthos scoffed once more, his anger still not abating. 'Well there's always a first time! He's nothing but a traitor and a murderer, he-'
'Stop-' Athos growled, voice hard and brisk as he came to Porthos' side to undo his straps. Porthos fell silent immediately, yet looked up reproachfully as Athos softened his tone. 'This is not the time for it.'
The two men looked at each other before Athos moved off, stooping down to collect the weapons from the dead guards. He turned to Marsac, who, despite now being free, still lay on the wooden table, unmoving.
'We don't get a say in when it ends, we never have.' He muttered as he handed out the guns to the others. 'But we can control how we live.' He stepped closer to Marsac now, gun in hand. 'And to be honest, Marsac- you and I? We've been doing a bad job of it.' He now held out the gun, eyes narrowed as the two men stared at each other.
'Now get up.'
Marsac sighed, but seconds later he pulled himself up and grasped the gun- Athos nodded and turned away, now all of them ready for what was to come.
'Athos?' Aramis' voice permeated the sudden silence as they waited for the inevitable. They both looked down at the bloodied mess that was Athos' shirt; Athos pulled it up, hissing in pain, to peer at the puckered wound underneath. He was grateful that he could not feel a lot of pain and could still move about almost as normal; perhaps he still had a modicum of immortality still flowing through his veins?
'Are you sure?' The question was heavily weighted.
'This changes nothing.' Athos answered resolutely. 'We walk out of here like always. Together.'
He took a deep breath as four pairs of eyes met his own. 'Now lets go and get Rochefort.'
Rochefort had been unable to practise his normal duties since learning of the immortals, so had taken to lounging in the upper rooms of the bastille, in the office of keeper of the prison, whom he had banished to a lower floor. From his vantage point he could see most of the city laid out beneath him, now tantalisingly ripe for the taking.
He was loathe to allow guards in his rooms when he occupied them- he preferred them to wait outside, unseen and unheard of. However, he had taken to having a few select guards in his rooms the last day or two, on account of the 'guests' far below him. He eyed up the biggest of them, a chap with cropped dark hair who didn't speak much, yet he could tell from his demeanour that he was more than handy with his fists and any weapon that he could lay his hands to- Keane, he vaguely remembered from the recesses of his mind. He had come to him with generous recommendations-he was a formidable fighter, and came with a rather terrifying reputation.
He was just about to pour himself a large goblet of wine when there was a loud scurrying noise as someone scampered up the stone steps in a panic and flew through the door.
'They've escaped!' a young guard cried, eyes wide and breathing heavily as he pointed back down the steps from where he had come. 'Another one came and rescued them!'
Rochefort sat back, anger coursing through him- he looked up to his guards, and at Keane in particular. 'Go and bring them back.' He ordered, sighing deeply as Keane nodded and ushered the other guards out. He would stay here for now, hoping they didn't think to come up here to look for him.
They were on them almost as soon as they opened the door- Athos was at the back of the group, heavily flanked on both sides by d'Artagnan and Marsac. Porthos and Aramis led from the front, expertly wielding their guns as they dropped the men coming into the narrow corridor.
Aramis grunted as a bullet slammed into his shoulder, flinging his arm back before he wrenched himself forwards and dropped down to one knee, allowing Porthos to aim and fire above his head, sending the man backwards with a guttural cry.
'To your left!' Marsac called as they reached the end of the corridor and into a wider hallway- Athos nodded and turned, sending off a shot; seconds later d'Artagnan moved in front of him, grunting in pain as a bullet hit his shoulder instead of Athos' chest. They looked at each other in the few seconds it took for the wound to heal, an unspoken thanks passing between them, before they moved off, tight together, guns drawn once more.
Porthos didn't know how so many men could fit in the comparatively small space- as he dispatched another man he was almost glad when the room widened, giving them all more space to manoeuvre. They all looked as Athos let out a sharp whistle, letting them know they should turn right, into another room that held the stairs to up another level.
'Ready?' Marsac breathed- he looked down to where Athos was kneeling, his eyes shut and his face lined with pain as he held his wound tightly, breathing heavily.
'Athos?'
'I'm ready. Lets go.' Athos replied- seconds later, however, they all looked behind them as a grenade, spitting and crackling, rolled into view. As it exploded they all threw themselves backwards, but it was too late- Aramis and Porthos took the full blast, sending them backwards in a plume of white dust.
Groaning, Marsac pulled Athos forwards, followed closely by d'Artagnan- they had to get out of here, to get Rochefort before he escaped. 'Porthos, Aramis, we're moving out!' he called, to no response. They would be behind them soon, he reasoned, as the three of them moved off up the stairs.
Keane stepped into the room, eyes narrowed as he searched the room for bodies- 'there.' He called to another guard, before they all looked up as they heard footfalls going up the steps. 'Get them- I'll deal with these two.' He ordered, before crossing the room, avoiding the brickwork that had been blasted around, towards Aramis and Porthos.
Aramis awoke first, coughing painfully into the dust of the room as life hurtled back into his system as he moved to kneeling on all fours- Keane stepped forwards, kicking Aramis hard in the face, sending him onto his back, groaning. He moved back up again, willing himself forwards to get to Porthos- he groaned again as Keane kicked him once more, now hard in the stomach and ribs.
Coughing hard Aramis now drew himself up as Keane went to kick him again. Throwing himself to the side he grasped Keane around them middle and used his body weight to throw him to the floor, landing a punch on his jaw as he did so. The two men grappled for a few seconds, before Keane sat up and, as Aramis brought his fist down once more, caught the hand in his grasp and moved Aramis upwards, before kicking him hard in the stomach, sending him careering upwards and then down onto the floor, winded.
Porthos sat up groggily as he heard Aramis moan in pain; growling in anger he moved forwards, landing a punch to Keane's head, slamming it to the floor with a dull thud- Keane seemed to be ready for this, however; he sat up with ease and, eyes glinting, punched Porthos in the face before following it up with a jab in his throat. Porthos' eyes widened as he clutched his throat, retching and gurgling for breath.
Aramis pulled himself forward and grasped Keane's fist and threw him backwards, but it seemed like the man was as super-human as they were; twisting around Keane punched Aramis in the chest before swivelling him onto his back. Pinioning his body beneath his, he punched Aramis one last time in the stomach- as Aramis' mouth opened to yelp out in pain Keane reached onto the floor to grasp a pistol-
'No!' Porthos yelled, but it was too late- Keane placed the barrel in Aramis' open mouth and fired, the noise deafening as all fighting ceased.
'No, Aramis!' Porthos cried- Keane stepped backwards as Porthos crawled to Aramis' side, before turning and running up the stairs after the other three.
'Where are Aramis and Porthos?' d'Artagnan yelled as he avoided yet another musket ball, which instead imbedded itself in the wall beside him.
'They'll be here in a minute,' Marsac assured him, moving in front of Athos as another man joined the fray; he groaned as two bullets slammed into his back, before pushing Athos forward and into another room. Slamming the door behind them he took in a pained breath as the musket balls dropped out.
'We're surrounded.' He gasped, shaking his head as he and d'Artagnan moved to re-load their own pistols. They would soon run out of ammunition, Marsac knew.
Athos, meanwhile, was looking around the room, an idea dawning. 'Lad, give me your rapier.' He muttered to d'Artagnan, who frowned but passed him the sword all the same.
'It's too close quarters, you'll never be able to-' his words died in his throat as Athos ignored him and stepped forwards, towards the door.
'He knows what he's doing,' Marsac said in way of explanation as Athos took in a steadying breath and slowly opened the door a crack. Men were filing down the corridor, obviously under the impression that they had moved into another room.
Soon, he was ready- opening the door fully, Athos balanced the handle of the rapier expertly in his hands, like welcoming back an old friend. None of the men saw the attack coming.
Blood sprayed onto Athos' face as he sliced into the men; they dropped like flies at his feet- he strengthened his grip as he surged forwards, not giving any of them the time to load their guns or even raise their arms too far upwards.
As the last man in the corridor fell Athos took in a deep breath as plain bloomed in his side- with a shaky hand he drew the flat of his blade along the back of one of the slain men, cleaning the steel as Marsac and d'Artagnan moved to join him.
Eyed wide, Porthos cradled Aramis' head, mouth agape as he looked down at the utter depravity of Keane's act. Blood and brain matter littered the ground between them, and for a few seconds all Porthos could do was stare down at his lover, willing him to wake up. Images of Aramis not waking up, of being left in this world alone, forced their way into his brain. It had happened to Athos, why not Aramis?
Seconds later, as always, life returned to him; Aramis' hands immediately curled around Porthos' forearms as his body worked to mend the damage to his brain and skull. Porthos closed his eyes in relief as the warm hands around his arms clutched at him tighter as he moved to caress a shaky hand down Aramis' face. Moments later and Aramis twisted, back to business- 'Let's go. Athos.' He nodded to Porthos, who returned the nod as they both stood, readying themselves as they made their way up the stairs to find Rochefort.