Chapter Twelve:

Bloody Mary

Madrid, Spain, 1944

The previous occupants of the home had long since departed the residence. The parlour was barren of furniture and the kitchen appliances were smothered in dirt; the wooden flooring was creaking with every step of Mary's sojourn within the old manor. She could hear nothing but the groans of the manor and her own breathing. Her axe was raised, primed around every corner to bury into a brainwashed Assassin-hunter head. It brought her back to her days as a younger woman, when she'd ruthlessly and relentlessly chased after the Assassins-turned-Templars who'd killed her parents and left her for dead. After all, she'd killed them with an axe too.

Mary poked her head from behind a corner and peered into what looked like a storage room. Urns were upturned and wheat had spilled onto the floorboards. Any animals searching for meat had come and gone years ago. There were no signs of life within there, except for the mites scurrying around the cupboards.

There was a sudden creak upstairs. Mary held her breath and listened more intently. She was soon rewarded for her patience with a loud thump from upstairs, like a body being shoved. Mary's gut tightened uncomfortably. Even if there were people above her, Mary had a very distinct dislike of derelict places, especially with cobwebs. It reminded her of the stories of spirits her mother used to tell, about the banshees whose screams deafened one's very soul and the wandering women who would drag a young lad to Hell to become the husband she'd lost. Every time Mary darted her eyes around a room on her way to the stairs she half expected to see a glowing figure huddled in a corner, weeping, and watch her spin and scream like the Devil himself possessed her. Thankfully though, they were just stories. Mary had to force herself to focus on darkly-robed killers instead of glowing, weeping women.

More footsteps above. What Mary knew of the Assassin-hunters kept Mary cautious. She imagined they were stoic and weren't victims of exhaustion, which led Mary to understand they were most likely on the precipice of death but forever dangled at death's maw by a rope. That rope was the Apple of Eden. Thinking about it made Mary's skin crawl. She couldn't forget what it had done to her in Auschwitz. The way it invaded her mind like a parasite... She knew she'd have never broken free from that cage. The best she could do was help send off the Assassin-hunters. Even if other Assassins would never understand.

As soon as Mary reached the top of the staircase, she heard a shatter from her right, in a bedroom. The poster bed had collapsed and the sheets had been nibbled on by mites. Standing near the dresser was an Assassin-hunter. Mary only narrowly managed to duck behind the wall as he fired some shots at her, and suddenly the quiet erupted into chaos. Two more Assassin-hunters appeared with swords and pistols and lunged for her. One of them came at her from the hallway in front of her. She focused on him to help centre herself. His lunge was focused with his rapier. Mary managed to work her torso out of the way of the strike and hook his shoulder with the axe, then send him flying down the stairs head-first. A shot from the Assassin-hunter in the bedroom forced Mary to move further down the hall and engage the other. He grabbed her axe and thrust a knife towards her throat, but she blocked his arm with hers and smashed her head against his nose, delivering an all-too-satisfying crunch. Very quickly Mary shoved him and ducked when a third shot sounded. The bullet was lodged in the chest of the hunter she'd most recently engaged. The one with the gun had moved from the bedroom and into the hallway, and stood directly behind Mary.

Mary heard gunshots from outside and surmised Kate was in her own fight. The Scot kicked the Assassin-hunter before her in the chest then managed to swung her axe around. She had nearly buried it in the gunfighter's neck, but his hidden blade sprang loose and glanced the blow away. Not to be deterred, Mary used the momentum to bring the axe around to the Assassin-hunter she'd just kicked and smash it into his skull. The axe pinned him to the wall and broke his skull open. Blood and brain smeared against the crumpling wallpaper and sprayed Mary's right side. Her bandages were soaked in mere seconds.

One more gunshot. Mary felt the bullet bury itself into the back of her right shoulder and staggered forward. Adrenaline rushed through her until the sudden pain had become a driving force behind Mary's kick to his hand, disarming him of the weapon. Mary grabbed the shaft of the axe and tried to wrest it from the wall but felt a pair of hands grasp her neck in an iron grip. Never once had she ever felt a living person exert so much strength. Mary could feel her airways collapsing when he shoved her towards the window at the end of the hall, but before she could be tossed out through the glass Mary jumped, placed her feet on either side of the casement and managed to flip over the Assassin-hunter. His arms twisted in the sockets, but his hands bunched and his fingers scraped at her neck. He managed to pry away some of the bandages from her neck and pull, loosening most of the rest, but Mary hand her boot on his back and yanked his arms right out of their sockets. He didn't even groan, but he did fall on his face when Mary shoved him forward, and the crest of his head slammed into the wall under the window.

The Assassin-hunter that she'd helped down the stairs rapidly tackled her into a second bedroom by smashing them together through a wall. Dust and dirt had Mary gasping and coughing. The Assassin-hunter, unaffected, grabbed Mary by her shirt and tossed her into a poster bed that had managed to stand after however long it was abandoned, but when Mary landed onto it the bed collapsed. Mary shouted when the frame toppled and the tester panel crushed her body. Her shoulder was in dire pain made even worse when she tried to push the upper panel away. The Assassin-hunter grabbed it, lifted it, then slammed it back onto her. He repeated his act until Mary managed to wriggle her legs under it and launch it into his face when he tried again.

Gasping, Mary managed to crawl away from the wreckage of the bed and drag herself to her feet, but not quickly enough; the Assassin-hunter grabbed the scruff of her shirt and threw her into the wall again. She hit the rising gunslinger Assassin-hunter and the axe, but the force of the toss wrenched the axe from the skull of the Assassin-hunter and wall, and it was flung into the ground.

Aware of the Assassin-hunter beneath her, Mary scurried to her feet and trapped herself in the corner of the first bedroom. She could see the axe laying on the floor between the doorway and the hall, but the Assassin-hunters were converging. She gauged the two. One had been barely touched, the other had his arms dislocated. Well, at least they had been. The gunslinger slammed himself against a wall, and Mary heard his arms pop back into place.

And then Mary had an idea. A lantern was resting on the dresser, alight and ready. Mary grabbed it and tossed it at the gunslinger Assassin-hunter. It immediately caught fire at his feet and ate at the dead wood like a dehydrated man guzzled water. For just a brief second the two Assassin-hunters recoiled, and Mary bounded forward to engage them. Her hidden blade was buried into the chest of the first Assassin-hunter while she managed to outmanoeuvre the second, and she leapt for the axe on the floor. One of the Assassin-hunters had grabbed her loose bandages and yanked. Mary nearly lost her balance but managed to pivot on her heel and swing the axe. The Assassin-hunter who'd grabbed her leapt back but didn't remove his grip from the bloodied bandages, so Mary cleaved through them.

With the Assassin-hunters watching her, testing her, Mary swore and yanked off the loose bandages. The ones on her arm and face. Mary rolled her shoulders and grinned at the two.

"All right, laddies. Ye want tae play with my bandages? I dare ye tae reach for 'em again."

The fire had spread throughout the room and was making its way into the hall, where Mary was. The two Assassin-hunters surged towards her. One was halted by the axe in his chest, and the other had his knee kicked hard enough that it bent backwards. Boldly, Mary brought her knee up to hit the falling Assassin-hunter in the face and then shoved the one with the axe inside of him back into the room, where Mary promptly ripped the axe away and shoved him out the window.

Regardless of his broken knee, the remaining Assassin-hunter leapt up and tackled Mary. With her in his grip he dragged her forcefully back into the hallway, avoiding the flames that consumed the top floor, and gave her a push down the stairs. Mary narrowly avoided damaging herself with the axe but felt the strain on her wounded shoulder. It took her a moment to realize, at the bottom of the steps, that her shirt had been ripped from the neck down to her right arm's bicep.

Mary helped herself up slowly while the Assassin-hunter strenuously descended the stairs. Her head rang terribly, but before she could think to clear it the Assassin-hunter had her again and tossed her into the parlour. Thankfully, Mary landed on the chesterfield and leapt back up into action, grateful for the soft landing. The Assassin-hunter was almost upon her and hopped to the side as soon as he saw Mary raising the axe but she still managed to carve into his skull. That time, Mary yanked the axe out of his cranium and brought it down onto his face, crushing it and destroying him for good.

Then Mary felt a blade in her back. Mary shouted and flailed to reach the Assassin-hunter that had snuck up behind her, but he shoved her forward and marched after her. Mary hadn't even attempted to get to her feet by the time he reached her and made to slice at the back of her neck. She felt her skin split and gasped. Blood gurgled from her mouth and onto the carpet, but thankfully it was a shallow cut and hadn't gotten to her spine. Against every cell that cried out painfully Mary rolled forward, swung her axe up and fought him. Their exchange of blows led them all over the bottom floor of the house and back into the parlour room, where the Assassin-hunter had a few new scrapes and scratches from the axe.

The Assassin-hunter shoved her towards the window at the front of the house. Mary only just managed to avoid crashing through it and ducked to the side, unfortunately into fire. Her clothes singed but a quick roll away snuffed them out. A gunshot pierced through the glass of the window and hit the Assassin-hunter, so Mary quietly thanked Katherine and swung her axe toward his legs. The axe cleaved off his lower leg through bone, and as he toppled over Mary leapt up and slammed the axe onto his neck, removing his head from his body and killing him for good.

Blood splatter from the dead covered Mary. The fire around her disturbed her sensitive, burned skin, but Mary dared not focus on it. The Assassin-hunters were dead. Every last one. She could feel it in her bones. But there was still the matter of Richard Cole, the one who started this. In spite of her hatred for him Mary felt a deadly calm wash over her, and her eyes observed the fire. She couldn't tell if she was smelling bodies burning or if it was just her memory playing tricks on her, reminding her of...

All the blood had Mary remember her first years in the Assassin Brotherhood. She'd meant what she'd said to Cole: she wasn't the person he'd known, but covered in blood with destruction all around her, Mary felt as though she'd regressed back to that time when she'd been called by a moniker, the one Cole had given her.

It was getting hard to breathe. There was so much smoke. The bedroom was licked with flame and the window was stuck shut. The door was wide open, and at it's mouth—.

Stop it, Mary, thought the Scot as she closed her eyes. Not now. Not yet.

Mary stooped to grab the severed head of the Assassin-hunter, and with the axe in her left hand she made for the front door. Mary suddenly became aware of a banging on it, and the sound of her name being called.

"Katie?" shouted Mary.

"Mary! Oh thank God! I can't get the door open!" Mary heard another thump against the door. Katherine's whole weight was committed to forcing the door down.

"Dannae worry, lassie. I've got my axe. Stand back so ye dannae get hurt."

Mary waited a few seconds for Katherine to retreat, then smashed the axe into the hinges of the door so it would loosen. In mere moments it had unstuck, and Mary gave it a hard kick to its centre to break it down completely, then with the severed head's hair bunched in her fingers she stepped out of the flaming manor. In the cool air of the night it suddenly felt as though the battle's wounds had caught up with her, and Mary slouched forward. Katherine, oddly, was seated on the ground staring at her. She looked... horrified.

"It's just a head, lassie," Mary said, and tossed it away. "We've all got one."

And then Mary tripped and fell forward onto the grass. The blood that spilled from her body had already been too much, and Mary fell unconscious.