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New Reality: 31 August 1525, Rome
The first thing Raphael did once the missions were assigned was to return to his fling and untie her. He had forgotten about the woman. She slapped him and yelled, but he ignored her justified ire and left, after getting the notification about the secondary objective being met. It was not nice to leave without a word, but he had bigger fish to fry.
Pulling the mini-map on the screen of his phone, he activated the tracker app and started running. The map showed also the fastest path to enter the Castel Sant'Angelo. There was a secret tunnel opening in a church, as Clement had claimed. Once there, entered it and a couple hundred yards later, he met a Māori guard in front of a heavy gate. With a nod, the man opened the access.
Inside, four more Māoris, but also two Engineers, their purpose obvious. Should the enemy find the tunnel, they were to blow it up. He proceeded onward. Five minutes later he was on the castle's top floor, entering Clement's quarters. The pope was singing.
"Look at me, it's Tosca, oh, Scarpiaaaa… You're choking on the blood of those you tortured. Die, and go to heeeeell…. Oh, hi Raph, dear. Just a moment. Let's do 'E lucevan le stelle' again," Clement said.
"But your holiness, my fingers are hurting, I've been playing for hours!" the lutenist accompanying him complained.
"What the fuck are you doing, Clemy?" Raphael facepalmed.
"Trying to enjoy the moment, what else? We're doomed," Clement stopped and went to a table, pouring himself a glass of wine. "I have only fifty Classed Māori and fifty riflemen."
"Where are the Swiss guards?" Raphael yelled.
"They quit. Because you put them to wear those stupid black pajamas and insisted on training them to throw ninja stars," Clement screamed back.
"B-but… they're keeping coming at my training sessions," Rafael stuttered.
Clement collapsed on a chair, shaking his head. "I paid beggars to pretend they're the Swiss. You never check their faces as long as they wear those masks."
"W-why?"
"Because you're my friend and I wanted to spare your feelings… E lucevan le stelle…" Clement jumped up and screamed, opening his arms wide."
"Fucking bloody idiot!" Raphael cursed, rushing outside. He went to the ramparts, where the riflemen were already in position. He took a look down. A circle of crocodiles and jaguars surrounded the fortress, standing still for now. "Oy!" he yelled. "Riflemen! You're under my direct command now, capisce? The crocodiles have a weak spot, just behind the rider's spine, where it joins the main body. They're some sort of centaurs. Remember that. Do we have cannons?" There was no answer, but looking around, he counted about ten old cannons, with no one to man them. "Fuck! Anyone a gunner here?"
Five, then six riflemen raised their hands.
"You're on the cannons, make sure they work and there's ammunition and gunpowder. Charge them all."
The men nodded and then spread around, checking the available resources. One of them rushed downstairs, probably to check the storage. "We have only grapeshot," a sarge said, returning with a gunpowder barrel. "It's all but useless, that's for—"
"Doesn't matter, we use what we have!" Raphael yelled. "Ready the cannons!"
His heart beating like mad under the stress, he ran around the ramparts, checking things, and double checking, as he forgot his findings often. Ten minutes later, the enemy launched the attack. The crocodiles walked forward, in rows of three, banging their heads on the main gate, then retreated, letting the next in line repeat the same movement. Living Rams, trying to open the access.
"Hold your fire, idiots!" Raphael screamed. "I mean the cannons, you won't hurt those monsters with grapeshot. Rifles, shoot at will!"
A deluge of fire poured downward, but the angle was weird and uncomfortable. Only three crocodiles fell in the next five minutes, and the gate started to show signs of weakness. At that moment, the jaguars' riders erupted in flight.
"Fuck! Cannons, fire at my signal, aim straight in front of you… NOW!"
Six of the cannons shot at his call, the rest later, but the effect of the grapeshot was noticeable, many flyers fell, maimed, or killed. The swarm of remaining monsters landed on the upper rampart. The riflemen started to shoot blindly, most missing their target.
Raphael activated his Lightstep, jumping on the sides, and cutting at the flying monsters with his ninja sword. The swarm darted up and flew around, attacking from the rear, the monsters bashing into the troops, fangs and claws grabbing at throats and arms.
"Bayonettes!" he shouted, giving the example, grabbing a rifle and mounting the blade on it. "Group together!" The troops had taken heavy damage, but now, with the improvised spears, they managed to keep the monsters at bay.
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Arriving at the rescue, half of the Māoris erupted on the platform. The difference between classed and unclassed was obvious. Dancing between the flyers, they were killing a few with each stroke of their wooden cudgels. Soon, the monsters retreated, with their numbers halved.
Down in front of the castles, more Māoris had taken the initiative and mounted a sortie, attacking the crocodiles. Divided into smaller groups of five, some taunting, some distracting, and some running up the giant lizards' backs, armed with spears.
"Shoot at the cats!" Raphael yelled. Some pikemen took on their fallen comrades' rifles and started shooting as well. Meowls and hisses answered, and while no monsters fell dead, they were surely hurt. Slapping his forehead again, the Ninja screamed: "Recharge the cannons!" The worst thing now was a new aerial assault.
All of a sudden, the assault broke. Bellow, the cats were retreating, limping and hissing in anger, the flying pests darting south, while the crocodiles jumped over the bridge, into the waters of the Tibrus.
"Why are they running?" Raphael frowned, staring at the running monsters. "Never mind… You!" he screamed at the riflemen's sergeant. "Send a few men to town, there are patrols of noblemen running around. Bring them here. We need spears and halberds."
The fight had held about half an hour, but Raphael felt more exhausted than after working for a whole year at some fresco. He let himself down, resting his back on the ramparts.
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"What's the plan?" Elisa asked Martin with a thin, strangled voice. She felt intimidated by the hulking giant, and more so because she was scrutinizing her at every other step.
"I don't know, ladybug," Martin shrugged. "Not my turf… This is strange… Why would they attack with so few monsters?"
Elisa shrugged, turning up her palms. He was right, a normal army numbered in the tens of thousands.
Leaving the questions aside, they strolled on the almost empty streets, for about half an hour. They met no opposition, and the few passersby ran away as soon as they saw them. Martin's size and appearance, plus the giant axe in his hands, was something to avoid. The only problem they had was to find the enemy leader or leaders.
"Maybe if we climb up and look from the heights?" Elisa suggested, looking at a set of stairs that went up another hill. There were plenty of those in Rome.
"Aha!" Martin exclaimed, inhaling deeply. "Wait here." With a speed one would not have expected from him, he darted forward and disappeared behind the corner of the next street. A muffled scream and a minute later, the priest reappeared carrying two dead bodies. "Turks," he said, spitting on the ground, after throwing the men down on the cobblestones.
"H-how can you tell?" Elisa stuttered. There was no sign of the dead men being anything else than Italians, their clothes were as European as they get.
"Their mustaches were grown in the Turkish manner," Martin said, "but they switched to European style recently," he showed her a blue sign of shaved facial hair. "The main giveaway was the smell. Turks don’t eat pork, their skin smells different."
Elisa repressed a bitter commentary and congratulated herself for not being a bitch after Martin found two curved daggers inside the dead men's clothes. Those were clearly Turkish weapons, and the priest had been right all along.
"They were guarding a house," Martin continued. "We better check. Let's disguise ourselves, maybe we have a chance to pass unnoticed."
This time, the woman couldn't help herself and released a snort. The giant bandit was anything but unnoticeable.
Martin guessed her thoughts. "Don't worry, there are plenty of large-sized janissaries, and I speak a bit of Turkish, enough to reply if asked questions. As for you… may I touch your face?"
"Sorry?"
"I'll draw you a mustache," he explained, extracting a small jar from his coat. "Soot mixed with a bit of wax. We paint our faces when raiding, so the light doesn't shine on our skin."
After nodding, Elisa felt Martin's index gently touching her upper lip. The gesture, as well as his previous words, asking for permission to touch her, were… strange. She clenched her teeth, hoping the giant didn't have a crush on her, which could have explained his awkward chivalry.
"Here, take this. Keep it visible, it'll add to the disguise." After handing her one of the curved blades, Martin threw the bodies into a back alley and then headed back toward the next street. He stopped in front of a building, which was a storehouse, and opened the door gingerly. There was nobody inside, at first sight, but at the farther end, the wooden floor had been pulled out on a patch of ten by ten feet, with a small wooden ladder going down into a tunnel.
"Err…" Can you fit into that? Elisa was going to ask, but Martin jumped down without bothering with the ladder.
"Come, it's just ten feet deep," Martin said.
"Moment," I'm sending a text about our whereabouts to our friends, just in case," Elisa replied.
Ten feet was enough to twist an ankle or worse, so she used the ladder and stepped down carefully. The tunnel continued straight. Martin went ahead, squeezing himself at times, or walking on all fours, to fit in. Soon, they met an old broken wall, and the tunnel transformed into a passage carved in stone, with niches filled with bones on the sides. They had entered the catacombs.
They continued as fast as they could, their enhanced sight being able to see even in darkness. From time to time, Martin cursed in a low voice, crushing some tibia or other bones under his steps. After what seemed like forever later, the tunnel opened into a cavern, and Martin gestured to her to step ahead and take a peek because she could hide more easily.
Elisa hid herself behind the pillar supporting the antique door frame on the left and stretched her neck, trying to control her fear. The cavern was about thirty meters in width, a round chamber, with a dome as a roof. A hole had been carved in the ceiling, letting the sunlight enter. The light bathed a round shield made of gold lying on the floor, an object engraved with countless strange symbols.
Next to the shield were two men. The first was a Spaniard, dressed in what was the height of fashion mere months before, and now a subject of derision: Renaissance clothes, a ruff around his neck. The second was a magician and a powerful one. Mana danced wildly around him, and there was no doubt if he was good or evil, as ten giant skeletons guarded him, sword in hand. A necromancer.
"How much longer?" the Spaniard asked.
"It's ready to be activated." The Necromancer lighted an incenser and circled around the shield, speaking, shouting, and dancing. The golden artifact started to glow.
It was clear that whatever spell the man was doing wasn’t going to be a nice one, but Elisa felt unprepared. She was level ten now, gaining two levels from fighting the monster, on the hill, and the rest from writing fashion articles. Which was not a lot of fighting experience.
"We have to stop him before he finishes," Martin whispered. The next second, he Dashed ahead, raising the axe above his head. "I'll fuck your mother in the ass!"
The glowing intensified, and at the same time, Martin's axe hit the disk. A flash of bright light blinded Elisa before she was engulfed by darkness.