*Drags self onwards*
March 16th, 1500. Rome.
Ezio screamed. The pain was unreal. No crossbow bolt in the world to the heart could beat it. Every atom in him was ripping itself apart, and doing the same to the others. They were here – whatever was dealing him this pain – killing him slowly – it was here.
It was a quiet spot in the wouldn't be for much longer.
Ezio, somehow, scrambled off his horse, and was running towards one spot on the hillside, withdrawing his sword and holding it high. His recruits were behind him in a flash.
Ezio could hear the universe.