'Where do we go now?' Marsac breathed as Athos stepped back from the carnage, clutching his stomach with a barely concealed wince of pain.
'He has to be here somewhere.' d'Artagnan muttered, looking around the now desolate area- all the men had seemed to have gone; he didn't know whether that was because they had exhausted their numbers, or they had been called away to protect Rochefort.
Athos breathed in heavily, trying to push down the nausea he felt with every step- 'Go back down the corridor, make sure we're not being followed.' He muttered, before walking off, quietly ducking down behind a wall.
The other two did as they were told, leaving Athos to creep forwards- he turned as he heard movement ahead of him, in yet another dank, cold corridor. God he hated dungeons.
He moved through the door, hands once again laced tightly around the hilt of his rapier- he would have preferred a sturdier blade, but this would have to do. Creeping closer to the guard, himself heavily armed, he soon found that armed combat would not be needed- as he stepped closer to him, arms raised, the man, sensing movement, suddenly turned and punched him in the face, sending him off to the side, his grip faltering. The guard lunged forwards with his fists, grunting as he tried to throw another punch to his face; Athos threw down the blade, raising his own arms to defend himself- hand to hand combat it would be, then.
He threw himself forwards towards the guard, grunting with the exertion as he punched the man in the face before using his weight to move them both backwards; twisting his body, Athos was able to throw the man over his shoulder and onto the dusty floor.
The guard landed with a pained yelp, but he was soon up again, yelling wildly as he lunged towards Athos again. Shaking his head Athos dodged to the left and grasped the man in the shoulders, throwing him back to the floor with a winded cry. Taking out the small knife in his pocket he knelt and pressed the blade to the fat of the man's neck.
'Where is he?' he asked, voice dark.
The man opened his mouth to sneer an answer out, but, as four more shadows fell over his face, he closed it again, peering up snidely as the others looked down at him, faces hard and set.
'Upstairs. The top office.' He gulped, eyes showing a flicker of fear as Athos pressed the knife tighter against his skin.
'Thank you.' Porthos muttered sardonically, before kneeling down and punching the man in the head, rendering him unconscious.
'So, what's the plan?' Aramis asked as he helped Porthos drag the man to the other side of the corridor, where he wouldn't get tripped over. 'Ankara '02?'
Athos shook his head as he stood up, trying to stop his legs from shaking as he did so. 'Roosebeke '82- d'Artagnan is with me.'
d'Artagnan looked across at him, confused. 'What happened in Roosebeke in 1582?'
'1382.' Athos allowed himself a small grin as he watched the Gascon's mouth fall open in surprise. 'You'll see- come on.'
As they started striding down the corridor, Athos motioned for Porthos and Aramis to go down a lower corridor, an understanding passing between them as if they were a well-oiled machine which, d'Artagnan had to keep reminding himself, they were.
'Wait for my signal before you go in.' Marsac called back, nodding as Aramis held up a fist to show he understood.
'Is this going to be like the last signal?' d'Artagnan muttered as he almost had to run to keep up with Marsac and Athos, who climbed their way up the steep stone steps to the upper floors of the Bastille. Athos snorted and shrugged, the noise echoing in the stairway. 'Go big or go home.' He called back, making d'Artagnan smile as he followed close behind.
Rochefort peered across the vista of Paris life from his window, swallowing down the modicum of nerves that had settled in his chest as he watched the world go by- Keane and the others had been a very long time now, and the crashes, bangs and strangles cried he had been hearing from the bowels of the building did not herald good results. His eyes flicked to the escape corridor, hidden by a false bookshelf in the corner of the room; he itched to use it, but knew he had to get the job done first.
He clasped his wine goblet close to his chest as he continued to look out of the window- it was better than pacing the floor, something he had always found weak in others. He turned as the door opened and Keane, flanked by a flurry of other men, stepped through.
He had blood on his knuckles and a bruise blooming on his cheek, but overall he was uninjured, something that Rochefort took great comfort in as he crossed the room back to his chair; that meant that the other guys came off much, much worse.
'How many did you manage to subdue and have in custody?' he asked pointedly, the beginnings of a confident smile on his lips. This died on his face as Keane looked over at him, eyes flashing.
He sighed irritably, but before he could say anything else Keane was speaking. 'We hold from here. Dig in, Sir.' He ordered, before looking to his men. 'Get into position!'
Further up the corridor, Marsac split off down another hallway, leaving Athos and d'Artagnan to make the last steep ascent to the top offices of the prison.
d'Artagnan wrinkled his nose as he saw the bodies of the slain guards piled in a corner from where they had been dragged by their comrades- as flash of silver caught his eyes.
Athos sank to his haunches as pain overtook him once more; pressing a hand to his side he withdrew it to see scarlet on his palm; his wound needed looking at properly, and soon.
'Here- put this on.' He turned as d'Artagnan handed him a chest plate, the armour glinting in the candlelight of the corridor.
Athos gave him a small, sad smile, before shaking his head and let the armour drop to the floor with a clang. 'I'm alright, lad.'
'You need to put on the armour!'
'Like Aramis said- if its my time, its my time.' Athos shrugged as he turned back to look up at the door Rochefort was currently cowering behind.
'Alright.' d'Artagnan didn't like the idea, but he couldn't force Athos wear it. 'Stay close to me, then. I'll protect you- I'll go through first.'
Athos looked back to him, shaking his head. 'I go first. I always go first.'
'Then put on the damned armour!'
Athos snorted- this kid had guts. 'Look- if this doesn't work out…next time, you go first.'
This time it was d'Artagnan's turn to snort; now out of retorts, both men looked over to the door- seconds later Marsac joined them once more, a bundle in his arms that he placed carefully at the door, working fast so they didn't miss the signal.
On the other side of the door, Keane was getting antsy waiting for the inevitable. 'What the hell are they waiting for?' he whispered- his men had their muskets primed and ready, and he himself held his revolver in front of him, ready to take the shot, but all that could be heard was silence.
Suddenly, there was a smashing of glass and the sound of gunfire from the windows next to Rochefort's desk- Porthos had smashed through the window from above, expertly rolling on the stone floor before standing up, brandishing two guns as he fired into the room as the guards struggled to adjust.
Seconds later there was another almighty bang- Keane turned, covering his face, as the door exploded outwards towards him; three shadows filled the doorway, gunshots deafening as they rang through the room.
Keane raised his gun to let off the first shot, but before he could so a large hand clasped his forearm and turned him bodily around with an angry yell; Porthos didn't give the man time to react before, using the heel of his hand, he punched him in the side of the head, sending him to the side.
Gathering himself slightly, Keane stood up and returned the blow, but Porthos was too fast- moving aside he punched him again, feeling his nose break under his knuckled as he skittered backwards, dazed.
The two parried as if they were the only men in the room- to Porthos, Keane was the only one he wanted to fight. Another punch from Keane, another dodge from Porthos, until, finally tiring, Porthos growled darkly in his throat as threw himself forwards, catching Keane around his neck and pulling him so their faces were almost touching.
'You shot Aramis.' He stated, voice full of anger as he looked Keane square in the eyes. 'You shouldn't have done that.'
Before Keane could retort Porthos used the last of his strength to twist on his heels and haul him over his shoulder, slamming him head first into the stone floor; the echoing noise of his neck breaking satiated Porthos for but a moment as he remained on the floor, breathing heavily.
On the other side of the room the others were making good headway- 'Where's Rochefort?' d'Artagnan growled as he saw off an attack by another guard.
Looking around, Athos groaned out in pain as he dispatched another man- soon the floor was littered with the dead, but Rochefort was nowhere to be seen.
'Here!' they all turned at Aramis' voice- he was pointing at a bookcase that had opened up into a escape route. 'He's going back downstairs!' he yelled, eyes wide.
'Go, go after him!' Athos ordered, voice cracking a little as he pressed a hand to his side.
'I'll stay with him,' d'Artagnan added as Porthos and Aramis looked over with concerned eyes as their leader and friend closed his eyes and hissed out a long, pained breath.
'Go!' Athos nodded, voice softer now. 'I'll be alright- go get him.'
Nodding, Porthos, Aramis and Marsac picked up more guns and raced down the corridor, hoping to catch Rochefort as he made his escape.
As silence descended in the large room, Athos finally let his gun drop to the floor as he moved to the large floor to ceiling windows, resting his head on the frame as pain overtook him again.
d'Artagnan turned to him as he picked up some more ammunition to stow in his pockets. 'You alright?' he asked, eyes narrowed with worry. 'Athos?'
'I'm fine…' Athos muttered after a while, not taking his head off the window frame as he watched Paris writhe underneath him like a great beast. 'It just hurts.'
He scoffed lightly as he finally turned back to the younger man, eyes creased. 'Actually, everything hurts.'
d'Artagnan nodded at the words, 'Well, wait until tomorrow.'
They both laughed, the noise oddly refreshing to Athos now all the yelling and screaming had stopped. 'Can't wait.' He replied, shaking his head. They stood together in silence for a while, before Athos turned to d'Artagnan once more.
'You know, I think you showed up just when I lost my immortality.' He started, voice strained with pain. 'So I could see what it was like. So I could remember.'
'Remember?'
'Remember what it…' Athos closed his eyes and sighed. 'What it felt like to feel unbreakable. Remarkable.' He knew his eyes were glassy by the way his eyes stung, but now he didn't care. Now he understood. 'You reminded me that there are people still worth fighting for.' He sighed as he brushed away the tears with the back of his hand, his hands blood-stained and shaking.
'I know how I want to spend the time I've got left.'
d'Artagnan looked over at him, aghast. 'You're going to spend it with us, Athos.'
Looking up, Athos was just about to reply when they heard a noise from behind them- 'You selfish bastard!' Rochefort cried, eyes now manic as crossed the corridor, a revolver aimed squarely at Athos- he shook his head as d'Artagnan made to move.
'I will kill him!' he warned, shaking the gun in Athos' direction. 'Think of all the good we could do!' he yelled over at Athos. 'Don't you see what we could do here?'
d'Artagnan, his gun now raised at Rochefort, looked over to Athos with scared eyes- this could be it. How could they be so stupid as not to check the room for anyone else?
'Hey, d'Artagnan.' Athos muttered, not taking his eyes from Rochefort. 'Do you think he speaks any Slavic?'
A few seconds passed as d'Artagnan, confused, tried to understand what he meant- suddenly it clicked into place. Turning on his heel he turned the gun on Athos and fired, the bullet missing him by an inch; in surprise Rochefort too fired, the bullet catching d'Artagnan in the shoulder as he ran at the Comte.
Twisting himself, Athos picked up a blade and threw it as hard as he could at Rochefort; it embedded in his neck, causing him to cry out in pain before d'Artagnan rushed at him, enveloping him in his arms before moving backwards and throwing them both out of the glass window, sending glass everywhere as they tumbled down and down through the sky.
Suddenly the ground rose to meet them and they both slammed into a wooden cart, killing them both instantly in a mess of twisted bones and splintered wood.
Athos limped to the window, peering down at the carnage in the courtyard as the dust settled. 'Play dead, bastard.' He whispered to himself, before wiping his face and moving to go downstairs.
Porthos, Aramis and Marsac rushed to the Gascon's side as fast as they could- they peered into the shattered remains of the cart, eyes wide with concern as d'Artagnan lay there, mangled and twisted on top of Rochefort.
'd'Artagnan?' Aramis called, putting a hand on his broken knee. 'Hey, wake up.'
Seconds later, relief flooded through all of them as d'Artagnan began to groan, his body snapping back into place as he lay there.
'Its alright, we'll get you out.' Aramis assured him as he and Marsac began to pull apart the splintered wood to allow d'Artagnan to move.
Porthos peered up at the broken window, high up in the building. 'Faster than the stairs.' He mused, more to himself to anyone, before they all looked as Athos burst through a door, shielding his eyes against the sun.
'We need to go.' He muttered, conscious that people had started to come out of the buildings- they couldn't be seen here. They needed to move, and fast.
'Come on, lad…' Aramis smiled kindly as he helped d'Artagnan through the wreckage and onto the road. 'You did well.' He smiled, before enveloping him in a quick embrace before they made their way out of the Bastille and into the streets of Paris.
Thank you for reading- two more chapters to go.
Please let me know what you think!