That was Desmond's first thought as he ducked into the shadows and made his way across the area above, quickly counting numbers and adding them up in his head. The total was quickly nearing four-score -- and intimidating number considering there was only one of him. He recalled Shaun's refusal to let him go, and thought for a brief moment that perhaps he should have listened.
/Shoulda, coulda, woulda. Are we going to do something or just sit here and wait for them to find us?/
Point made. Desmond climbed down, carefully sticking to the shadows and giving the adversaries a wide berth. If he could get to the back of them all, he'd start sweeping them from the back and hopefully get to the front before they could get inside and track down Lucy, Rebecca and Shaun. He still wasn't sure how they hadn't smelled him yet, but he wasn't going to look a gifthorse in the mouth.
He managed to find a little niche in the corner of an alleyway and stayed there as the numbers went by. Even when it seemed like the last of them had gone, he stayed a bit longer, in case they had set up a group further back for a plan like his. The Templars were an aggravating bunch after all - he would give them that they were intelligent, but that was all he'd give them.
After a moment or two of waiting, he tentatively ducked out from his hiding spot and began to sneak up on the first in the back row, waiting until he fell a step behind the others before reaching out, covering his mouth and slicing his jugular. He dropped the body and continued onward, keeping pace with the others and praying that they wouldn't turn around.
Luck was with him, at least until he finished the sixth man in the group. Then luck abandoned him. He wasn't sure what he did, or if it was even him, but one of them glanced behind him - and that was that.
"Assassin!"
"It's the target!"
"Get him!"
There must have been some apprentices in the group, because only novices rushed into battle like that. Desmond briefly considered how much he had just sounded like Malik before ducking under a knife swing and planting his blade firmly between the guy's ribs. There were only three of them, but it was enough of an annoyance. Especially considering they had guns, and instead they'd chosen to use knives - not that Desmond was complaining, but it was just a thought.
When the third guy was down, four more advanced, much slower than the first group. And then suddenly, they just stopped. Desmond couldn't figure out why--
--right up until they started smelling the air. /Fuck my life./
"'ey Sarge? This 'un, he's in heat," one of the men called over his shoulder. The 'sarge' stepped forward, tilting his head slightly. After a minute, he grinned.
"So he is. Well boy, unfortunately for you, Vidic wants you back. And he's ordered us not to hurt you, so you can count your blessings, however short they may be. But..."
"But?" Desmond snapped. He was feeling on-edge now, the sensation of so many hungry gazes making his instincts scream. Suddenly he was more than ready to fight and cut these guys to pieces. It was just like with Shaun, except Shaun hadn't been an enemy or made his skin crawl out of itself like his was trying to do.
"But Vidic never said we couldn't have a bit of fun before we returned you. And after all, we're going out of our way to collect you're deranged ass and all. It only makes sense, right boys?" He chuckled, and then jerked his head towards Desmond. "Secure our treasure."
Desmond's mind seemed to fall away then, some part of him stepping out of his body and watching as he was apprehended, arms held while he was forced on his knees. /No.../
They surrounded him, a solid wall of black and silver metal mixed with dark vibrations. It was like being sucked into a void of tar, slowly pulling him down and drowning him. He could smell them, feel their desire. Some part of him craved it, wanted what they were offering. The rest of him, the part that wasn't driven by the heat, was disgusted and terrified and and and--
/Kill them./
"Now then boy, why don't you open your mouth like a good pet? And don't you dare bite down."
/Let me go. Let me go let me go letmegoletmegoLETMEGOLETMEGO--/
"LET ME GO!"
And suddenly that part of him that had been sucked out was back inside, and his vision was covered by a veil of red flame. His mind went blank, and the last thing he remembered was Shaun rounding the corner right before his blade severed the head of the man in front of him.
---------
It was like watching a horror movie. Shaun could think of no other way to describe Desmond at that moment. A mere second ago he had been intent on saving the other man, seeing him pinned and surrounded. But now? Now Shaun knew Desmond didn't need any help. No, Desmond was... well, for lack of a better word, he was berserk.
It was a slaughter, simply put. He was razing the men to the ground with the blade, screaming like a wild animal, eyes unfocused as he struck down Templar after Templar, blood hitting the ground and him in copious amounts. It was enough to make Shaun sick, especially once Desmond seemed to get bored of severing head and moved on to stomachs, the contents emptying along with the intestines, the bodies dropping to the ground without putting up a single fight.
What felt like hours took only seconds. Then only Shaun and Desmond were left standing, one with a gun in his hand and the other with a blade. Shaun began backing up, trying to quietly get back inside and let Desmond cool down, the reminder of the volatile first heat suddenly striking him. He was doing well, right up until his foot hit a rock, causing it to skitter aside. In the silence, Shaun could hear his heartbeat.
Desmond turned to look at Shaun, and grinned, no sign of his sanity anywhere to be found. Shaun said the only thing he could think of.
FILL: The Best Sort of Death 8/?
That was Desmond's first thought as he ducked into the shadows and made his way across the area above, quickly counting numbers and adding them up in his head. The total was quickly nearing four-score -- and intimidating number considering there was only one of him. He recalled Shaun's refusal to let him go, and thought for a brief moment that perhaps he should have listened.
/Shoulda, coulda, woulda. Are we going to do something or just sit here and wait for them to find us?/
Point made. Desmond climbed down, carefully sticking to the shadows and giving the adversaries a wide berth. If he could get to the back of them all, he'd start sweeping them from the back and hopefully get to the front before they could get inside and track down Lucy, Rebecca and Shaun. He still wasn't sure how they hadn't smelled him yet, but he wasn't going to look a gifthorse in the mouth.
He managed to find a little niche in the corner of an alleyway and stayed there as the numbers went by. Even when it seemed like the last of them had gone, he stayed a bit longer, in case they had set up a group further back for a plan like his. The Templars were an aggravating bunch after all - he would give them that they were intelligent, but that was all he'd give them.
After a moment or two of waiting, he tentatively ducked out from his hiding spot and began to sneak up on the first in the back row, waiting until he fell a step behind the others before reaching out, covering his mouth and slicing his jugular. He dropped the body and continued onward, keeping pace with the others and praying that they wouldn't turn around.
Luck was with him, at least until he finished the sixth man in the group. Then luck abandoned him. He wasn't sure what he did, or if it was even him, but one of them glanced behind him - and that was that.
"Assassin!"
"It's the target!"
"Get him!"
There must have been some apprentices in the group, because only novices rushed into battle like that. Desmond briefly considered how much he had just sounded like Malik before ducking under a knife swing and planting his blade firmly between the guy's ribs. There were only three of them, but it was enough of an annoyance. Especially considering they had guns, and instead they'd chosen to use knives - not that Desmond was complaining, but it was just a thought.
When the third guy was down, four more advanced, much slower than the first group. And then suddenly, they just stopped. Desmond couldn't figure out why--
--right up until they started smelling the air. /Fuck my life./
"'ey Sarge? This 'un, he's in heat," one of the men called over his shoulder. The 'sarge' stepped forward, tilting his head slightly. After a minute, he grinned.
"So he is. Well boy, unfortunately for you, Vidic wants you back. And he's ordered us not to hurt you, so you can count your blessings, however short they may be. But..."
"But?" Desmond snapped. He was feeling on-edge now, the sensation of so many hungry gazes making his instincts scream. Suddenly he was more than ready to fight and cut these guys to pieces. It was just like with Shaun, except Shaun hadn't been an enemy or made his skin crawl out of itself like his was trying to do.
"But Vidic never said we couldn't have a bit of fun before we returned you. And after all, we're going out of our way to collect you're deranged ass and all. It only makes sense, right boys?" He chuckled, and then jerked his head towards Desmond. "Secure our treasure."
Desmond's mind seemed to fall away then, some part of him stepping out of his body and watching as he was apprehended, arms held while he was forced on his knees. /No.../
They surrounded him, a solid wall of black and silver metal mixed with dark vibrations. It was like being sucked into a void of tar, slowly pulling him down and drowning him. He could smell them, feel their desire. Some part of him craved it, wanted what they were offering. The rest of him, the part that wasn't driven by the heat, was disgusted and terrified and and and--
/Kill them./
"Now then boy, why don't you open your mouth like a good pet? And don't you dare bite down."
/Let me go. Let me go let me go letmegoletmegoLETMEGOLETMEGO--/
"LET ME GO!"
And suddenly that part of him that had been sucked out was back inside, and his vision was covered by a veil of red flame. His mind went blank, and the last thing he remembered was Shaun rounding the corner right before his blade severed the head of the man in front of him.
---------
It was like watching a horror movie. Shaun could think of no other way to describe Desmond at that moment. A mere second ago he had been intent on saving the other man, seeing him pinned and surrounded. But now? Now Shaun knew Desmond didn't need any help. No, Desmond was... well, for lack of a better word, he was berserk.
It was a slaughter, simply put. He was razing the men to the ground with the blade, screaming like a wild animal, eyes unfocused as he struck down Templar after Templar, blood hitting the ground and him in copious amounts. It was enough to make Shaun sick, especially once Desmond seemed to get bored of severing head and moved on to stomachs, the contents emptying along with the intestines, the bodies dropping to the ground without putting up a single fight.
What felt like hours took only seconds. Then only Shaun and Desmond were left standing, one with a gun in his hand and the other with a blade. Shaun began backing up, trying to quietly get back inside and let Desmond cool down, the reminder of the volatile first heat suddenly striking him. He was doing well, right up until his foot hit a rock, causing it to skitter aside. In the silence, Shaun could hear his heartbeat.
Desmond turned to look at Shaun, and grinned, no sign of his sanity anywhere to be found. Shaun said the only thing he could think of.
"Oh bugger."