Figured it was about time I updated this after so long.

.

Chapter Sixteen: Souls of the Damned

"Where exactly are we going, boss?" Charles said, rubbing both his eyes. There were black rings beneath them, evident the man hadn't had a good night's sleep in a long while.

Jacob did feel a pang of sympathy for him – it was hard to get through a single day with little sleep – but they didn't have time to rest. He had awakened the Rook from his slumber to ask for his company. Charles was the first to be recruited, and Jacob figured it was about time he sat down with the man and learn a little a more about him. They had time now to sit back and relax for a few hours.

"There's a bar I want to visit. It's called the Boar Laid Bare. Have you heard of heard it?"

They were currently walking across the street in the early hours of the morning. The air was crisp and cool, and the streets virtually empty. It was a nice change of scenery even if it was only a temporary one. It dawned on him he hadn't spent much time enjoying the sights and sounds of London since the war against the Blighter threat had begun.

Charles nodded. "Of course. It used to be a well-known tavern in the backend alleyways of Central London," he explained, his brows furrowed. "When the Templars came, they shut the place down because of its… inhabitants. Is that where you are taking me?"

In other words, the tavern housed ex-criminals and those running away from the law. It was also the first bar in London to have its underground fighting arena where the poor would come and engage in fights to earn a few coins. "We're going to pay the owner a visit," Jacob answered. "I hear there's a round happening tonight."

It wasn't as fun as beating up Templars, but it would be a good way to pass some time and also allow him to get away from Evie and Henry for a few hours. They were the last two people he wanted to deal with right now. Evie's attitude was becoming tiresome and Henry always somehow managed to kill the mood.

"You're thinking of entering?"

Jacob flashed him a grin. "Why not? Never hurts to make a few extra coins."

"Well, it's just…" he finished his sentence abruptly, almost as if he regretted responding.

Jacob stopped walking. "What is it?"

Charles drew in a deep breath and said, "Don't you think you're a little too over-qualified?"

Jacob couldn't himself – he laughed. He then stopped when he noticed Charles's lips were pressed into a thin line, his dark eyes serious and full of worry. He clapped his friend on the shoulder as a sign of reassurance. "It's all for a bit of fun. We need a break don't you think? It's been a long few months of constant activity, and this could be our only time to relax before Nora makes her move."

"And you thought I would make good company?"

Removing his hand, he rolled his eyes. "Evie and Henry are busy, and the other Rooks have work to do. You're here because you look like you need a break." He turned around a corner into a dark alleyway. Rats were foraging through the rubbish on the path, and he even spotted a stray dog at the far end sniffing a dumpster. Two men in ripped clothes were smoking from their pipes. Every so often a bout of raucous laughter would fill the alleyway. Jacob caught snippets of the conversation – something about a prostitute called Anne – and snorted in disgust. Both of them had patches of fresh blood on their white shirts. An obvious sign these boys were clearly here for the fighting.

Jacob sauntered down the street towards the hanging sign which read 'Boar Laid Bare', Charles following close behind him. He managed to reach the door entrance when one of the men called out, his voice low and hoarse. "You walk through those doors and you'll come back out a changed man," he said. His companion snickered. "Or a dead man," he added, before joining his friend in laughter.

"Or I'll walk away with my pockets filled with gold coins," Jacob retorted.

Their laughter ceased. One man raised his mouth to the pipe and blew a puff of smoke into his face, then lowered it, laughing once again. "Brimming with over confidence… the Wolf will enjoy that."

"The Wolf?" Jacob repeated.

"You must be new here. How unfortunate for you."

"Let's just go inside," Charles whispered.

For once, Jacob listened. Perhaps he'd get a chance to beat them in the arena. He opened the door and walked inside then slammed it shut the moment Charles stepped through. The main floor was no different to a typical bar. There were tables spaced nicely across the floor, and a fireplace in the left corner. The counter was to the right and managed by two men, both who bore some resemblance to Tiny in terms of their stature.

The crowd was the difference. It almost felt like walking back into prison itself. A few women, dressed in some rather colourful clothing, paraded around the tavern, their eyes scanning the crowd of men, like hawks searching for prey. Prostitutes, naturally. Templar spies? Probably not, or the bar wouldn't be in business, unless things had changed in the past few years.

Raucous bouts of laughter filled the air. Men jeered, and women giggled. The place certainly had a different atmosphere than the one he had grown accustomed to at the Seven Bells. Loud, lively, and home to many colourful characters. One of the girls, a blonde woman wearing a dress too small, caught his eye and walked over, swaying her hips to the side. She moved a finger to her lower lip, running it along slowly, as if that was supposed to be enticing.

"A newcomer, excellent," she said. "And one with an attractive face. Luck is on my side tonight."

"I'm looking for a spare table. Got any?" he replied, his tone neutral.

She pointed to a table in the far eastern corner. Hanging above the table was a head of a fox. No wonder it was empty. "That one over there. Make yourself comfortable. One of our lovely ladies will attend to you shortly." Her eyes dropped then moved back up to his face again, her grin widening. She winked then walked off.

Suppressing a growl, Jacob walked over to the spare table then sat down. Charles sat opposite to him, looking as if he had just walked in on someone taking a bath. "I feel uncomfortable," he said. "Are you sure you want to be here?"

"We're here now – there's no turning back," Jacob replied. "Just relax. Have a few beers, and you'll forget you were even here." Charles muttered something he couldn't understand. For some reason, he laughed. The poor Rook was no stranger to drinking, but this environment unsettled him. "We're here for the fighting arena, remember?"

Charles remained silent. If the lights weren't so dim in here, Jacob was sure the man's cheeks would've been a slight shade of red. He was about to make another light-hearted remark when a woman arrived at their table. Red curls draped over her shoulder blades. "How can I help you?"

"Give us the strongest ale you have," Jacob answered.

She smiled. "I know just the thing." Leaning in close, she added, "It's our special homemade brew. Brings out the inner demon in ourselves."

"That sounds perfect. I'll take two."

She drew back. "Excellent. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"Rumour has it there's a fighting arena below these floorboards… does it cost anything to participate?"

"Ten pounds," she said. "We have to reward the victor with something after all."

He dug a hand into his pocket and fished around for a few pounds. "I want in," he said, withdrawing his hand, and placing the coins on the table. The woman's eyebrows raised. She hadn't been expecting that. "What do I need to know?"

She took the money and looked at him again. "It starts as soon as night falls when the Wolf arrives." The humour in her eyes had faded. He thought he caught a glimpse of fear in them upon mentioning the words, 'The Wolf'. "No weapons, fists only. You fight until your opponent surrenders or is unable to fight no longer. Accidental deaths do occur, but the guards try to intervene before a killing blow can happen. Aside from that, there are no other rules to follow. "

"The Wolf. Who is that?"

"You'll find out tonight."

She turned around and headed to the barkeeper. So, this place was more than just some tavern hosting an underground fighting arena. Templars? He turned to Charles. "You ever heard of this 'Wolf' character before?"

He shook his head. "No, but I'm guessing this person is the owner of this place. Do you think he's a Templar?"

"He could be one of the Templar commanders," Jacob answered. It would make a lot of sense. Maybe the fighting clubs of the past had been shut down to make way for new ones run by the Blighters. A few eyes and ears in the underground illegal market certainly gave them a bit more control over the city. "Make yourself comfortable, Charles – we're not leaving until this 'Wolf' fellow is dead."

.

"Evie, you need to relax," Henry said, watching Evie pace back and forth, a troubled expression on her face. Evie wasn't one to express signs of stress, but here she was acting as if the world was about to end. "At least sit down," he added, gesturing to a nearby chair.

Evie looked towards it, sighed then accepted his suggestion, planting herself down on the seat. She placed a hand on the table and drummed her fingers on the hard surface whilst she rested her chin on her other hand. "They're not listening to me," she said. "They pretend to listen, but they're not really because they don't do as I ask."

Henry sat down next to her, gazing deep into her eyes. "You're over-thinking it. The Rooks are listening to your words – you've just convinced yourself that they're not."

"They're restless, Henry. My brother has run off again, and the Rooks are expecting me to give them something to do." She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. Whoever thought being a leader could be so mentally draining? Reopening her eyes, she added, "They need to be given some sort of responsibility. Something to keep their minds busy so they won't resort to creating mischief."

Paul walked over, carrying a jug of water in his right hand, and two mugs in the other. He placed them down on the table, poured two drinks, then sat down besides Henry. "I don't mean to eavesdrop, but I heard you were looking for a way to keep the Rooks busy?"

"Please tell me you have something in mind?"

"Give them some responsibility."

Henry lifted a brow. "Cleaning dishes not enough?"

"Something more than that. They want to feel appreciated, right? I mean no offense or anything, Evie, but you and your brother aren't exactly treating them well. They may be a little simple in comparison, but they're still human. So far, they've only been involved in hitting things." He gestured towards Louis and Niall who were currently engaged in a heated thumb wrestling match. "You have to show them they have more worth."

Evie sat back in her chair, arms folded. Paul raised a good point. However she didn't think her brother would like the idea of sharing power between the people. "It's a good idea, but my brother won't agree." Especially not after yesterday's events. Jacob wanted to be in control - that much was obvious. "He's not going to want to divide the power equally between the Rooks."

A cheer burst from Louis's mouth. In the corner of her eye, she spotted the Rook rise to his feet, both fists in the air, a triumphant smile on his face. Henry rubbed his forehead. "I am thinking Jacob should've taken them out for a game of cricket instead. At least that would give us some peace and quiet in here."

"What do you propose then, Paul?"

"Well, those boroughs you've been cleaning out… Why not appoint a trusted Rook to be in charge?"

Evie frowned. "We will be no different from Templars."

Paul shrugged. "You've already started up your own gang like they did… but that doesn't mean you are like them. Think of it as working a proper job – each man and woman pulls their weight, and they'll get paid for it. Of course, you and your brother will still be in charge of the operations, but at least it'll give the Rooks something to do."

A tempting idea, but also a little risky. None of the Rooks had proven they were ready to take the next step. They seemed more pleased to be taking orders and acting on them, rather than issuing them. On the other hand, it would entertain their minds for awhile, and keep them loyal. Evie ran a hand through her hair and sighed once more. "A new Brotherhood then. All men and women are equal."

"The Rooks can't stay here forever," Paul pointed out. "When this Blighter business is over, they're going to have to leave."

Another fair point raised. Appointing trusted Rooks to lead the boroughs was going to be a difficult task however. Which man or woman could be trusted with such an important role? "I'll have a chat to my brother when this Blighter threat is dealt with. I can't bring it up with him now – it'll just distract him." Besides, he wasn't present at the moment.

"Speaking of Jacob, where did he go?"

Evie thought hard. When frustrated, Jacob sought out things to hit. It wouldn't be Templars as he didn't know which district to attack next. Most likely he was searching for an alternative form of entertainment which involved hitting people. "If you were my brother, what would you do for entertainment?" she said, shifting her eyes between Henry and Paul.

"Searching for fun," Henry replied.

"There are fighting arenas in London," Paul said slowly.

Evie raised both eyebrows. "Fighting arenas?"

"Well, they're underground. They're illegal. The Templars shut them down a few years back. I remember because a few Templars came into this bar. They thought we had an underground arena too."

Just what she needed to know. There was a high chance her brother was at one of these fight clubs right now, taking out his frustration from yesterday's argument on some poor innocent person. Well, probably not 'innocent' – if it was illegal, it probably attracted all sorts of ex-criminals, but they weren't Templars. "There's no way of knowing which one he's at, is there?"

Paul shook his head. "No, there isn't."

"It's not like your brother would've left a note behind on his bed," Henry pointed out.

"I could ask my daughter. She knows more about this sort of thing than anyone else here… Or you could ask one of your Rooks. They may know a few things or two." Paul grabbed the empty jug of water and climbed to his feet. "I have to return to work. Let me know if you need some assistance." He walked away, returning to the counter.

Henry's eyes met hers. "What now, Evie?"

As much as she wanted to find him, she figured it was better to stay back and not interfere. Let her brother have a few hours to himself and clear his mind. "Jacob needs some time to himself. Let him calm down. He'll return with renewed focus." That's what she hoped for. Some time alone would help.

.

"Have you lived in London your entire life?" Jacob said, helping himself to another sip of ale.

A few hours had passed since their arrival yet there was still no sign of this 'Wolf' fellow. He was starting to wonder if this Templar was even going to show his face. Still, he wasn't too fussed – the ale he had ordered tasted pretty damn good. It was slightly bitter, but nothing that bothered him. He was already onto his third round. Charles had stopped after two after mentioning his stomach ached.

"Yes," Charles answered, pushing his empty mug of ale to the side. "I was raised by my grandmother. My parents died of disease shortly afterwards my birth," he added.

"So you turned to gangs to survive?"

He nodded again. "I didn't have much of a choice. The Templars took control of everything, and I was unskilled an uneducated. I didn't want to slave away in a factory so I turned to other means of making coin. It was a struggle, but we managed to get by each week."

"It's a good thing I found you when I did then," Jacob remarked, placing his mug on the table. "Any later and you might've been dead." He almost laughed. Poor Charles. He could've been one of those poor beggars on the streets being fed on by rats.

"I think you've had too much to drink boss," Charles said.

"Nonsense!" he exclaimed. "I'm just getting started."

"Of course." There was silence, then, "What's your story if you don't mind me asking? You never actually explained to us why you decided to start this war against the Templars."

He took another swig before speaking. Yes, that was true. He had never actually explained to the Rooks what made them come to London in the first place. He leaned forward and gave the man a lopsided grin. "I'll tell you if you promise not tell my sister that we were here tonight. She won't be very pleased when she finds out." She might make him clean out the horse stables again. Oh how he hated that job.

"I promise."

"You're a good lad, Charles. I couldn't ask for a finer man serving me."

"Yes, boss."

Jacob threw a hand up in the air. "Don't call me that! We're here to have fun, Charles!"

"Um, ok… Mr. Frye."

"Jacob. Jacob Frye. That's my name." He wagged a finger in Charles's face. "Don't you forget it now, all right?"

"Understood, Jacob."

Poor Charles looked like he had seen a ghost. This man had taken part in killing Templars and showed no fear, yet right now he looked like he wanted to run a mile. "I was born into this life of murder and mayhem," he started. "My parents were both Assassins, you see. Mother died during childbirth and father raised us both. He wanted to make us strong so he trained us to be expert killers."

He brought a hand to his forehead, feeling a wave of nausea overcome him. It was enough to wipe off the grin he had on his face. At last, the effects of the alcohol were starting to sink in. "What happened after?" Charles continued.

"My father complained," Jacob said, eyes narrowing. "I was never strong enough in his eyes. Weak, he often called me, but he praised my sister. It was almost as if she could do no wrong." He curled his fingers around the handle of his mug. "I was a failure to him. I could do no right in his eyes. He pushed me hard. Never gave me a chance to rest. We'd train all day long until I succeeded, and even then, he was never satisfied."

"What came next?"

He tightened his fingers, so hard his hand began to hurt. "I looked elsewhere for companionship. I turned to the streets, and made my home there. These people welcomed me with open arms, and allowed me to stay with them. They didn't have much, but they believed in me, and that meant more than anything else. When I was strong enough, I looked my father in the eye and told him I was leaving and never coming back."

"That's a bit harsh, don't you think?"

"If you were in my place, you would've done the same thing," Jacob replied heatedly. "I asked him, why, why did you despise me? There was a moment's pause before he replied. He had to think what I meant to him when it should've come immediately. He said, I don't know… I just did." Hot anger poured through him. "I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to make him feel the same pain I experienced, so I left."

"And you reunited with your sister."

"Father wasn't thinking straight in his later years of life. He was sick, some sort of disease, we were told. When I learned of his illness, I decided to forgive him. He had taught me the skills to survive, after all. I reunited with Evie shortly afterwards. She said we were needed in London because there was a problem with Templars. Both my sister and I grew up in a poverty-stricken household in Crawley. When I heard the Templars were oppressing the working class, I decided something needed to be done."

"So that's why you came here. To make amends?"

"To give back to the community, I suppose you could say. The street gang that took me in were made up of working-class people. I wanted to return the favour and show them the kindness they gave me. With my skills, I knew it was a dream that could be turned into a reality." He leaned back in his seat. "And here we are."

Charles rubbed his chin, brows furrowed in deep thought. "To what end?"

"A just end. No matter what the cost may be, the Blighters must be stopped."

"What happens after the Blighter threat is over?"

He paused. He hadn't thought that far ahead. "Honestly? I don't know what happens next. One thing at a time, Charles." The moment he stopped talking was the moment he noticed the bar had gone quiet. Strange. Unsettling, even. He met Charles's gaze and saw the same uncertainty within them. "Something's wrong."

All men and women that were seated rose to their feet. Jacob did the same as to not draw any unwanted attention to himself. He couldn't blow his cover just yet – not until he knew who this 'Wolf' person was. Was he a Templar or just some person who had a little too much power in the underground market?

A man dressed in nothing but black clothes stepped through the door. He was accompanied by four guards, none of whom who wore the traditional Templar robes. The leader of the band had three claw marks running down on the side of his right cheek. Clearly, he was 'The Wolf' figure the people in this tavern referred to.

The man walked to the centre of the room and held out his hands. "It is good to see a full house tonight. I suppose you are all eager to earn yourself a few coins?"

The crowd cheered. "Yes, yes we are."

"Then let us begin at once."

.

"A Templar leader, I'm sure of it," Charles whispered into Jacob's ear, as they walked down the stairs into the underground arena. The crowd was buzzing with excitement – their excitement was contagious. He felt like cheering with them too but Charles's words reminded him this was not some typical fight.

An underground business - Templars were exploiting the poor and needy, promising to give them gold in exchange for bloody entertainment. A charge of five pounds was taken to observe, and an additional charge of ten pounds was required to partake in the actual arena. The arena itself was quite impressive.

It was large – twice as large as the room above. There were two levels – a circular arena on the lower elevation which was covered in sand, and the upper level part. Seats were absent, but it's not like they were needed. Spectators hurried towards the circle and took their positions whilst Jacob listened for instructions.

"One of the Blighter gang leaders indeed," Jacob replied sourly. "Templars probably shut down the original bars to earn favour with the police and the general public to keep them in their good graces… but they're still running them and profiting." At least it made sense now as to why such places still existed. "Not a bad way to make easy money. Lure those here with little money and promise them a great reward if they win. These people are so desperate they don't even realize they're being made fools of."

"What are you going to do?"

Jacob glanced down at his hidden blade arm. "He dies tonight."

"No weapons, boss." He drew his attention towards a couple of Templars checking participants for weapons then glanced at Jacob's hidden blade glove. "You won't be able to use that here."

"I don't need a blade to kill a man." He started removing the glove, feeling a little vulnerable without it. This would be the second time in months he had gone a few hours without wearing the glove. Once he had removed it, he handed it to Charles. "Remove this 'Wolf' character from here and we'll take control. This could be a new home for the people we've saved."

"How are you going to convince them all you can be trusted?"

"Once I kill this man, these people will have no choice but to follow my lead."

"How so?"

"They'll want to be saved, yes? I can offer them that. We'll pay them with gold we've earned and obtained, and they'll be happy to serve."

"I don't think it's quite that simple, boss."

Jacob rolled his eyes. "It'll work, believe me. Push your way through to the front – you won't want to miss this," he said with a slight smirk.

Charles didn't say anything further and tried to navigate his way through the crowd. Satisfied, Jacob made his way over towards the fighter's line. There was no one else in the queue. Suspicious.

"Hold your arms out to the side," a Templar said.

Jacob did as asked. He stretched his arms out and waited for the two Templars to check him for weapons. Fortunately, he had left his other weapons at home. One of the Templars studied his face for a few moments then nodded. "You may pass. All the best of luck to you."

Jacob moved past them down a couple of stairs that led into the sand pit arena. 'The Wolf' was already in the pit, standing in the middle, smiling as if he had already won the battle. Jacob glanced up searching for Charles. He found the man pressed in between two large men, both of them red in the face. Lucky man, he thought, half-amused. Poor Charles.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Fighting Arena of the Board Laid Bare!" 'The Wolf' announced. "Tonight is an extra special one." He pointed a finger at him, and added, "It is with great honour that I announce our special guest – an Assassin."

So the man was a Templar. How else would he know about him being an Assassin? Either Nora had informed him, or the Templar's network of spies had. Jacob scowled. That explained why he was the only fighter in line, or why the women seemed so interested him when he stepped through the doors. They knew about him.

"A great reward will be given to the man who defeats this troublemaker," 'The Wolf' continued. His words were greeted with applause. The people here had no idea they were being used – they actually believed he was trying to help them. That only made him more determined to put an end to the man's life. He raised his hands up high. "Every man who wishes to fight for glory… walk down the stairs and enter the arena. Let's see what this Assassin can do when he's cornered like an animal." More cheers erupted, as he cleared the pits, escorted by a few guards.

A fight to the death basically. That wasn't something he had been expecting. He could just hear Evie's voice lecturing him in the background about 'being a brash and reckless fool' and Henry shaking his head in shame. What have you gotten yourself into now, they would ask. The situation reminded him a little of the street fighting tournaments he had participated in his early days except the goal wasn't to kill.

Eight men entered the pit. Two he recognized as the men that had been smoking outside. Four of the five remaining men were covered in various markings and scars, dressed in simple dull clothes, whilst the last man was clearly the eldest of the group. Visible grey hairs could be seen atop his head.

"Fighters, take your positions! Ben, James, Michael and Tony," 'The Wolf' declared. The first four men walked forward then moved to one of the four corners. Those who had not been called forth remained against the far wall. Jacob took the last position to the south east. "On the count of three, you may begin! Remember what you are fighting for! Let that be your strength! Three… two… one… Fight!" Jacob waited for the other men to strike first. He needed to see what they were capable of first.

Child's play, Jacob thought. Four amateurs. It wouldn't take long to make short work of these fools. Tony, a man with a hooked nose and thick blond brows, rushed forward. He was flanked by Michael and Ben, the smoking pair. Jacob waited for them to make their move. Tony swung a fist. Jacob blocked it, slapped his arm away then rammed his head into his skull. The man staggered, recovered, and tried to counter, but Jacob grabbed his arm and pulled him in close to use as a human shield.

Tony absorbed a punch by Ben and swore. "Watch who you're fightin', you imbecile! We're on the same side!"

"Don't call me an imbecile!"

"Take down the Assassin, you fools!" 'The Wolf' snarled. "He is your enemy! Save your cat fight for later!"

Perfect chance to strike. Jacob struck Tony around the head then drilled a knee into his stomach. Before he could recover, Jacob shoved him forwards into the arms of Michael. Surprised, Michael stumbled backwards, and fell over onto his backside, overcome by the force. Jacob swung a fist which connected with the back of James's head. Amateurs, indeed. The only fights these men had experienced were the ones in the backyards.

Two more men from the sidelines joined in the fray. There were so many bodies in one small area, it was hard to know who was friend and foe anymore. Jacob used that to his advantage, by weaving in between the men, allowing them to hit each other instead. Tempers exploded. Those who were supposed to be fighting against him now turned on each other. Very amateurish indeed.

"Kill him! Take him down! What am I paying you fools for?" 'The Wolf' screamed.

"Fight! Fight! Fight!" the crowd cheered.

Someone came up from behind and swung a punch. Jacob dodged, turned around then kicked the man between the legs. He fell to the floor, knees brought up to his chest in pain. Men were dropping like flies. This was definitely one of the easier fights he had been involved then, but perhaps it only seemed so easy due to his vast experience.

The second last fighter joined. Jacob didn't allow him anytime to become settled. He lunged forward and tackled the lanky blond to the ground. Drawing back a fist, he brought it crashing down, knuckles slamming into the side of his head. His opponent gasped. He tried to free himself, but was unable to throw Jacob off. His cries for help were ignored. Jacob hit the anonymous around the head again, silencing the man's cries. To finish him off, Jacob wrapped an arm around his neck then snapped it.

"Is this the best that you have?" Jacob taunted, glancing up at 'The Wolf'.

The man narrowed his eyes. "Perhaps this last fighter will put you in your place. I wonder if you'll recognize him – he's an Assassin too. A disgraced one." The smile returned to his face as he motioned for the final fighter to come forth. It was the elderly fellow. A disgraced Assassin? Jacob arched a brow. Had this man betrayed the Brotherhood and joined with the Templars or had he committed some other crime?

"I have seen your face before," the man said.

Two men were fighting a few metres away from him, hurling fists and insults at each other. Jacob distanced himself from them, drawing in a few deep breaths. "Should I be flattered?"

"You are the one who caused chaos in the streets… the one the police and the Templars seek. The one they call 'The Midnight Assassin'."

"So you read the papers… am I supposed to be impressed? It's not going to help you win this fight."

His expression softened. "You fight for a noble cause, but it will not bring the peace you seek." The elderly Assassin stepped over an unconscious body, and continued to speak. "I've seen the horrors of war. I endured it. I once thought fighting in a war would bring us peace, but it only brought more pain and suffering. This war of yours… it will not end well for you."

Jacob glowered. "And what would you have me do? Abandon the fight and negotiate? If you are what you claim to be then you should be supportive of my plan to retake London!" he retorted, starting to circle his opponent, waiting for an opportunity to strike. The man copied his movements.

"By using the helpless to help you? Is this what has become of the Brotherhood? Are you so willing to lower yourself to their level and fight back with the same dirty tactics?" The man raised a hand and pointed a finger at him. "In war, there are no unwounded soldiers. If you keep walking this path you will die."

"Bullshit," he hissed.

"Change your methods, and save yourself before it controls you."

Nonsense. Complete utter bullshit. This man wanted him to stop a war that he was winning? Stop the fight for the freedom of all men and women? He shook his head. "And flee like a coward? I never turn my back on a fight," he almost snarled.

"Then you choose damnation."

The way he spoke almost sounded like he pitied him. That only caused his blood to boil. Assassin or not, what right did this stranger have in telling him what he could and shouldn't do? And from a coward nonetheless! One who fled from the field of battle! That itself was a crime worthy of death. "Only one of us walks away from this alive. That won't be you."

"And so it has already begun…" the man said, saddened. "I never thought I would live to see the day when the Brotherhood lowered itself to that of the Blighters. Your actions bring shame to our name. You deserve this place… a place for the damned and the lost. May you find peace and salvation in your death." He charged.

Jacob stepped to the side then spun back around, swinging a fist. Knuckles collided with skull. The Assassin stumbled then dropped to his knees. The earlier hits, combined with his age, made it more difficult for him to recover. "I will use whatever means necessary to end oppression and tyranny. Those who stand in my way will die." He punched the elderly man again. "You could've been a part of this, but you chose to flee. You're ignoring the cries of the helpless. You are the one that is damned, and for that you deserve death." He didn't waste another second in putting the man down.

Once done, he glanced up. The crowd had fallen silent, astonished. 'The Wolf' himself was stunned. "So we have an Assassin in our presence… I thought you looked familiar." He tilted his head to the side then smirked. "Thank you for removing that other filth from my bar. I was going to do it myself, but you saved me the tasks of dirtying my hands. How would you like to be rewarded?"

"With your dead body," he spat.

The man laughed. "Charming, really. What a shame it would be for this glorious city to fall under your control. With your people in charge, progress will become nothing but a dream. What is it that you fear, Assassin? Change itself? Do you fear it because you can't control it?" His smirk widened. "Did you come here to free these people? Look around – do these people look like they need saving? They made their choice to come here by their own free will. I thought you'd appreciate that."

Killing 'The Wolf' wasn't going to happen whilst he was standing here in the arena, especially not with a sea of people watching his every movement. But what of Charles? He was up there in the crowd holding the correct killing tools. Charles could kill him. A simple quick stab to the back, and no one would even notice if Jacob could keep all eyes on him.

"Your Templar Order is falling."

"Yes, you've done a fine job in weakening us, but we will never truly die."

Jacob searched the crowd again. That's when he some movement to the right. He spotted Charles's unmistakable black mop of hair. He was edging closer towards the target. The man's first assassination attempt. How fitting he would be the one though Jacob wished he was the one making the kill. Still, at least 'The Wolf' was going to die tonight.

"The events here should hopefully send Nora a message – she better enjoy her final days as best as she can," he said, walking back and forth, stepping over the fallen bodies. Killing hadn't been easy when he had started. It had been unsettling at first being the one responsible for ending someone's life. But after a few kills, he had grown accustomed to it. Charles moved closer. Jacob took the time to clamber up the side of the wall. The local people moved back and parted to make way for him.

"Nora looks forward to hearing from you again, Assassin." He climbed over the railings and jumped down. "I will bring her your head personally."

Drawing in a couple of deep breaths, Jacob paused briefly, allowing for his heart rate to settle. Nine unconscious bodies lay stretched out across the floor. Some of them wouldn't live to see the break of dawn. A few more bodies to add the growing pile of the deceased. He caught Charles's eye. So much for an assassination attempt, but it didn't change anything. 'The Wolf' was still going to die tonight.

Before Jacob could react, 'The Wolf' charged forward, barrelling into Jacob, knocking him off his feet. He fell backwards onto the sand. With a grunt, he picked himself back up, and climbed to his feet. Pain coursed throughout his body. Too many fights in a short period of time. Every muscle ached. He panted. "You set me up."

"I knew you were coming tonight. I figured the famed killer of London would soon be arriving on my doorstep. I had the ladies confirm for me," he replied. "We were supposed to hold the typical fight tonight, but you showed up instead. A chance to take down the one who has become quite the thorn in Nora's side – who could say no to that?" he added, in a drawl. He moved forward, and decked Jacob around the head, once more toppling him over.

Jacob kissed the dirt once more. He lifted himself up, spat out the grains of sand from his mouth then helped himself to his knees. 'The Wolf' grabbed a clump of his hair and yanked his head back, leaving his throat exposed. In the corner of his eye, he spotted Charles climbing over the side of the railings. Earlier jumping out of windows practice had paid off after all. He landed on the sand. All he had to do was wait. Fortunately, the crowd was consumed by bloodlust, and didn't care to warn 'The Wolf' Charles had joined the fray. All they wanted was to witness a grand battle regardless of who was fighting.

"You'll die here before the eyes of the people who had hoped to save. No one will mourn your passing. You'll be forgotten, and the world will continue to change." He slammed a fist into the side of his jaw then released his grip.

Jacob fell to the right, wincing. What tasted like copper filled his mouth. He spat at the floor. Flecks of blood sprayed out. Head pounding, and body aching, Jacob remained on the floor, drawing in deep breaths. He spotted Charles edging up closer, kukri drawn. Keep the man distracted and Charles could strike. "You won't get to be a part of this new world you speak of."

'The Wolf' towered over him, unaware of Charles's presence. "The ability and inclination to use physical strength is no indication of bravery or tenacity to life. The greatest cowards are often the greatest bullies. Nothing is cheaper and more common than physical bravery." He spat in his face. "You fought a good fight, Assassin. But all good things must come to an end."

He brought his fist down, but his knuckles failed to make contact. He froze then gasped, his other hand grasping at thin air. "You talk too much," Charles said stepping aside, as the man fell to his knees, both hands clutching his stomach.

Jacob spared a grin then clambered to his knees. "Good work, Charles." He stretched out a hand. Charles handed him the bloodied kukri. Tightening his grip around the handle, Jacob hovered the knife above 'The Wolf's' head then brought it crashing down. The blade pierced the skin. He drove it in deeper until the steel could no longer be seen and whispered into the man's ear, "I am not weak."

He withdrew the blade then climbed to his feet, assisted by Charles. "Lean on me, boss," Charles said.

Jacob shook his head. "I'll be fine. Nothing but a couple of bruises." Bruises that would be hurting for a few days, but that was nothing new to him – such was the way of a fighter. Now to address the stunned onlookers. Mouths were hanging open, eyes wide with fear and confusion. "Join the Rooks. Join with me, or continue to live a life serving those who only wish to exploit you for their own means. Find me at the Seven Bells if you're willing to serve."

.