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Ezio stood for a moment, dazed and disorientated. Where was he What was this place As he slowly regained his senses, he saw his uncle Mario detach himself from the group of his fellow Assassins and approach him, taking his arm. Ezio, are you all right Th th there was a fight with the Pope, with Rodrigo Borgia. I left him for dead. Ezio trembled violently. He could not help himself. Could it be real Minutes earlier though it seemed like one hundred years ago he had been involved in a lifeanddeath struggle with the man he most hated and feared the Leader of the Templars, the vicious organization bent on the destruction of the world Ezio and his friends in the Brotherhood of the Assassins had fought so hard to protect. But he had beaten them. He had used the great powers of the mysterious artefact, the Apple, the sacred Piece of Eden vouchsafed to him by the old gods to ensure that their investment in humanity did not vanish in bloodshed and iniquity. And he had emerged triumphant. Or had he What had he said I left him for dead And indeed Rodrigo Borgia, the vile old man who had clawed his way to the head of the Church and ruled it as Pope had indeed seemed to be dying. He had taken poison. But now a hideous doubt gripped Ezio. In shog mercy, mercy which was at the core of the Assassins Creed and which should, he knew, be granted to all but those whose life would endanger the rest of mankind, had he in fact been weak If he had, he would never let his doubt show, not even to his uncle Mario, leader of the Brotherhood. He squared his shoulders. He had left the old man to die by his own hand. He had left him with time to pray. He had not stabbed him through the heart to make sure of him. A cold hand closed over his heart as a clear voice in his mind said, You should have killed him. He shook himself to get rid of his demons as a dog shakes off water after a swim. But still his thoughts dwelt on his mystifying experience in the strange vault beneath the Sistine Chapel in Romes Vatican; the building from which he had just emerged into the blinking, unfamiliar sunlight. Everything around him seemed strangely calm and normal the buildings of the Vatican stood just as they always had, resplendent in the bright light.The memory of what had just passed in the vault came back to him, great surges of recollection overwhelming his consciousness. There had been a vision, an encounter with a strange goddess for there was no other way of describing the being whom he now knew as Minerva, the Roman goddess of Wisdom. She had shown him both the distant past and the far future in such a way as to make him loathe the responsibility that the knowledge he had gained placed on his shoulders. With whom could he share it How could he explain any of it It all seemed so unreal. All he knew for sure after his experience better to call it an ordeal was that the fight was not yet over. Perhaps one day there would be a time when he could return to his home town of Florence and settle down with his books, drinking with his friends in ter and hunting with them in autumn, chasing s in spring and overseeing the harvests on his estates in summer. But this was not it. In his heart he knew that the Templars and all the evil they represented were not finished. In them he was pitted against a monster with more heads than the Hydra, and like that beast, which it had taken no less a man than Hercules to slay, all but immortal. Ezio! His uncles voice was harsh, but served to make him snap out of the reverie that held him in its clutches. He had to get a grip and think clearly. There was a fire raging in Ezios head. He said his name to himself as a kind of reassurance: I am Ezio Auditore da Firenze. Strong, a master of the traditions of the Assassin. He went over the ground again: He didnt know whether or not hed been dreaming. The teaching and the revelations of the strange goddess in the vault had shaken his beliefs and assumptions to the core. It was as if time itself had been stood on its head. Emerging from the Sistine Chapel, where he had left the evil Pope, Alexander VI apparently dying, he squinted again in the harsh sunlight. His fellow Assassins were gathered around, their faces grave and set with a grim determination. The thought pursued him still: should he have killed Rodrigo made sure of him He had elected not to and the man had seemed bent on taking his own life, having failed in his final goal. But that clear voice still rang in Ezios mind. And there was more: a baffling force seemed to be drag him back to the chapel he sensed that there was something left undone. Not Rodrigo. Not just Rodrigo. Though he would finish him now. Something else. What is it Mario asked. I must return, Ezio said, realizing afresh, and with a lurching stomach, that the game wasnt over and that the Apple should not yet pass from his hands. As the thought struck him, so he was seized by an overwhelming sense of urgency. Tearing himself free of his uncles sheltering arms, he hurried back into the gloom. Mario, bidding the others to stay where they were and keep watch, followed. Ezio quickly reached the place where hed left the dying Rodrigo Borgia but the man wasnt there! A richly decorated papal damask cope lay in a heap on the floor, flecked with gore, but its owner was gone. Once again the hand, clad in an icy steel gauntlet, closed over Ezios heart and seemed to crush it.

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