Heart Shaped Box

He couldn't tell anymore what hurt the most, his body in pure agony and still, Altair was fighting as he would never surrender. His sword cut through a soldier, blood spilling from his blade and staining his white robes. He ducked, avoiding an arrow which was meant to hit his shoulder. He whirled around in one smooth motion; his body one with his sword, cutting, hitting, killing. It all became a blur, his breath shallow and erratic, his vision red. He lost his balance, one hit to his shoulder, his arm not strong enough anymore to hold the weight of his blade. He fell down onto one knee, the men surrounding him. A sword's blade was pressed against his chin, forcing his head upwards. Altair starred into the eyes of the Templar, taking one deep breath before he grinned. An evil, emotionless grin, showing all his cruelty and he pushed himself off the ground, his hidden blade cutting through the man's throat. He wouldn't surrender. Never.