Leopold bolted from the main Tenshu, greeted by the open chaos. He knew Takamori had likely alerted the soldiers. He raced through the Inner Bailey, the castle's heart, the towering keep looming above him. His mind, clear despite the frantic escape attempt, strategized his next move. He aimed for the nearest exit, fueled by the desperate hope of outrunning his pursuers.
Outside, pandemonium reigned. Suika, a jolly giant of an oni with incredible strength, dominated the battlefield. Despite her childlike demeanor, she wielded immense power, effortlessly dispatching any opposition with playful brutality. The air crackled with energy, and the ground trembled beneath her every step.
"Booyah! Time to play some whack-a-soldier!" Suika boomed, her voice a playful counterpoint to the surrounding chaos.
Panicked Imperial shouts added to the tumult. The rapid crack of rifles intermingled with the desperate cries of soldiers, creating a chaotic symphony of fear and confusion.
Engrossed in battle, the Omnyojis didn't notice Leopold seizing the opportunity. He weaved through the chaos, using the skirmish as cover, his heart pounding in sync with the battle's rhythm.
Suika, catching sight of Leopold fleeing, turned towards him, a mixture of surprise and playful cheer on her face. Despite her apparent lightheartedness, her immense power simmered just beneath the surface.
"Hey there, sleepyhead! Need a hand?" she called out, her voice booming but laced with concern.
Several guards spotted the Assassin and opened fire. Leopold darted between cover, bullets raining around him. Sensing his plight, Suika manipulated density, creating a thick fog that obscured Leopold, allowing him to escape. Charging forward with surprising agility for her size, she diverted the guards' attention with playful taunts, her booming voice echoing through the chaos.
"Come on, shorties! Can't hit a moving target? Is that all you got?" she bellowed, her laughter echoing through the mist.
Leopold swiftly activated his hidden blades and took down the first surprised soldier. He didn't hesitate, moving towards the wall and scaling it with agility that belied his bulky frame. He rolled upon reaching the ground, evading another soldier's swing.
He knew his task was to outrun the pain and not stop. At all. Despite his exhaustion, adrenaline fueled his movements.
Two more Imperials appeared. One thrust an oil lamp at his face. Leopold dodged, knocked the torch out of his enemy's hand, and caught it with lightning reflexes honed by years of training. He used it to blind one enemy and swiftly dispatched the other. Tossing the burning torch at the remaining pursuers, he continued down the tunnel, his mind calculating his next move.
He spotted a yagura, a small tower-like structure. With practiced ease, he manipulated density to quickly disable the mechanisms controlling its opening and closing, his power manifesting as a subtle shift in the surrounding air. The yagura began to lower, forming a makeshift bridge. Leopold dashed up the incline of the yagura, treating it like a ramp, and then leaped off onto the narrow stone bridge beyond.
Swift as the wind, Suika, leaving a trail of incapacitated enemies in her wake, raced after him, her immense strength allowing her to move with surprising speed. Leopold, seeing Suika covering his retreat, pressed forward, weaving through the chaos.
He reached the bridge, where dozens of armed soldiers awaited him. More were positioned on the ramparts. He heard his pursuers approaching. Above, Omnyojis surrounded him, ready to blast him on the spot.
Standing in the center, staring intently down at his enemy, was Saigo Takamori, his robes stained with blood, his expression grim.
Leopold scanned his surroundings, his breath ragged as he sought any possible escape route. But there was none to be found. Templars stood ready to obey their leader behind, before, and above him, leaving him trapped with no way out.
Three hundred feet below, the unyielding waters of the Sumida River flowed through Edo city, showing no concern for the plight of those above it. Leopold realized he was completely trapped, and Takamori was well aware of it.
"It's over, Assassin!" Takamori cried out, his voice rising above the roar of the river, reaching Leopold's ears.
He glanced at Suika who was beside him, then shifted his gaze to the Apple cradled in his hand. He contemplated using the artifact again. Suika, however, surprised him.
With a playful glint in her eyes and a mischievous grin, Suika grabbed Leopold by the arm and, with surprising strength for her size, hoisted him over the edge of the bridge.
"So long, sleepyhead!" Suika's booming laughter echoed through the battlefield, tinged with a playful challenge that resonated amidst the clash of steel and roar of gunfire.
But instead of the expected reply, Leopold's scream, a mix of shock and disbelief, ripped through the thick fog. "SUUUUUUUUUIIKAAAAAAAAA!" it pierced the smoky air, his voice trailing him as he tumbled through the air like a discarded ragdoll.
He flailed his limbs desperately, searching for something, anything, to break his fall. Below, the churning green-blue water, flecked with debris and bodies, rushed towards him with a monstrous hunger. Panic clawed at his throat, and in a split-second decision fueled by sheer survival instinct, he flung his dagger with all his remaining strength. The blade sliced through the air, humming with a deathly melody, and plunged into the water, creating a small splash that was swallowed by the vastness of the Sumida River.
Twisting his body mid-air, Leopold contorted his limbs into a desperate attempt to break the fall. His mind raced, calculating the impossible feat of landing on the unforgiving surface with minimal injury. Time seemed to slow down, the sounds of battle fading into a distant hum as he focused on the approaching water. Just as the surface rushed towards him, he managed to position himself for a feet-first strike. With a breathtaking display of acrobatic prowess honed by years of training, he landed with a resounding splash, the water churning and hissing around him.
However, the unexpected maneuver proved too much for the Animus arm. A disturbing whirring sound, like the metallic groans of a dying beast, filled the air. Then, with a sickening crack, something inside the arm snapped. It released its grip on Cal with a sickening thud, now a useless appendage hanging limply at his side.
"Arm disabled!" Alex yelled, his voice laced with panic amidst the sudden quiet. "Actuator rupturing!"
Cal remained frozen, kneeling on one knee as if sculpted from stone. His right hand rested on the ground, supporting his weight, while his left arm hung mid-air, seemingly suspended in time itself. Sofia, seemingly oblivious to the dire news about the malfunctioning Animus arm, stepped forward, her movements slow and deliberate, almost trance-like.
"A Leap of Faith," she whispered, her voice barely a murmur as her gaze met Cal's unmoving form. Her eyes, filled with a strange mix of sadness and determination, held a hidden story, one that seemed to unfold within the depths of her own mind.
Moussa sat in his room, awaiting the guard's arrival to escort him to the common area. The delay indicated to him that the attempt on Lynch had failed. While they had all agreed at the poker table, Moussa had opted not to participate, at least not yet. If they all had been involved in the initial attack and it went awry, they would lose any chance for a second attempt.
His intuition proved correct, as the initial attack had indeed failed. Now, something—perhaps Baptiste—was suggesting to him that eliminating this intense, blond man who preferred steak to chicken might not actually be the right course of action. Moussa always trusted his instincts. He would reunite with his companions soon and discuss what they had witnessed.
Suddenly, a chill ran down his spine, causing goosebumps to erupt on his skin. In Moussa's upbringing, his grandfather had warned him that goosebumps meant someone was walking on his grave.
"Somebody's walking on somebody's grave," Moussa murmured, instantly on high alert.
Lin had spent some time in solitary confinement for her involvement in the attack on Lynch, but the guards informed her they were releasing her for an hour under observation in the common room, as long as she behaved.
"My ribbons," she had said forlornly. "May I dance with my ribbons still?"
The Abstergo Foundation, she and the others had learned early on, encouraged constructive activities and artistic expression. That meant when Lin displayed a fondness for dancing with ribbons, they allowed her to continue. Just as they encouraged Emir to tend his garden.
Yes, she was told, she was free to dance with her ribbons, and Lin smiled, appearing content and vacant.
She was the first they had released, though Emir and Moussa soon joined her. They did not inquire about Nathan; Duncan Walpole's descendant had come close to killing Lynch. Their common room time would, of course, be withheld. But they had a plan for that.
Shao Jun was always just a whisper away in Lin's mind, but Lin always felt the strongest connection to her ancestor when she danced. Dr. Rikkin had explained to her the concept of neuro-muscular facilitation—muscle memory—and Lin had found it to be a useful thing.
Now, Lin's fingers grasped the thick red ribbons she had been forced to fasten to cardboard paper towel tubes; they were the only objects deemed "safe." It didn't matter. She had no jian and no means to recreate Jun's unique weapon, the hidden footblade. And, of course, after the earlier incident, they would not permit her to access anything that could be crafted into throwing darts.
But she had her body. And that would be enough.
She walked out to an open area in the common room and began to dance. Strong, fit, and lithe to begin with, she had learned the movements of the Ribbon Dance from Jun, who was a master at it.
As she posed and swirled, bending and kicking, the red ribbons flowing like animated streams of blood in breathtaking circles and undulations about her frame, Lin was accomplishing two things. One: connecting with her ancestor. And two... providing a distraction.
Unlike Baptiste and Walpole, Jun had no stain upon her name. She had lived a long, full life, achieving the role of Mentor among the Assassins. She had never turned to the Templars for money, greed, or fear.
Jun—and Lin—hated Templars. But all was well.
Soon, the Assassins would go tiger hunting.
"What's happening?" Sofia demanded, her eyes locked on Cal. A parade of horrible scenarios crowded into her imagination, and she forced them away. Fear wouldn't serve her. Facts would.
"He's gone dark," Samia replied, her voice higher than normal. She, too, was struggling against unhelpful fear.
"Why have we lost him?" Sofia asked, her voice tense. "Is Leopold dead?"
The Animus had shown her the famous Assassin Leap of Faith before. Their genetics were extraordinary, and Sofia knew that. But she also knew that the bridge off which Aguilar had leaped was taller by about fifty feet than San Francisco's Golden Gate Bridge. And Leopold had been so badly injured, for so long…
What would being in Leopold's memories at the time of his death have done to Cal? Had they come all this way for nothing? Had Aguilar, in the end, failed? Had she, Sofia, failed—both the Templar Order and Callum Lynch?
She could not decide which fate would be worse.
"No," Alex said after checking Cal's brain wave pattern. "He's alive. Synchronization resuming."
Sofia had not taken her eyes off Cal, who was still kneeling on the floor, and at the news, she felt both relieved and confused. This shouldn't be happening.
Her father's voice floated down from his office, saying the words that couldn't be true… but were.
"He's controlling it."
Sofia's eyes widened. This wasn't possible. No one had ever been able to wrest control of a simulation from her. But now, at last, Cal moved, slowly lifting his head to stare directly ahead.
And Sofia knew her father was right.
"Status?" she inquired, keeping her voice calm and steady.
"Back in," Alex assured her, pleased and relieved. Cal rose and stood in a relaxed but ready posture. The simulation began to take shape around him; she could now make out the silhouettes of ships and sails.
"Where are we?"
"It looks like a workshop," Alex observed. "The layout and structures bear a resemblance to the workshops used during the construction of the Statue of Liberty in the workshops of Bartholdi, the sculptor, in Paris."
A suspicion began to take root in Sofia's mind as she observed the workshop materializing around them within the Animus. Like the intricate machinery and tools coming into focus, her thoughts assembled into a theory, though still fuzzy and incomplete. Sofia quelled her speculation, adhering to her scientific discipline, yet the notion remained, promising profound insights into their current situation.
"What year is this?" Sofia inquired, her voice echoing slightly.
"1885," Alex answered, his voice steady despite the gravity of the situation. "Paris, France."
Cal was no longer present. Through Leopold's eyes, he looked up, and Sofia caught sight of the spectral image of a holographic bird soaring overhead.