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gococogo · 9 months

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In the White Roses | Shaytham

Synopsis : Shay has been missing for the last couple of days. He is normally by night fall but when he doesn't return, Gist alarms Haytham is his disappearance. While searching, Haytham seems a bit more worried than he should be.

Word Count : 3.7K

Genre : Angst / Hurt

Pairing : Shay Cormac / Haytham Kenway

[Warnings] : Blood, Gore, injured!Shay

The thing is, Haytham had gone to the Morrigan and Fort Arsenal looking for the Hunter. He even went to the Greenwich Tavern in case the man had stopped by there. But the bar keep had not seen Shay since he was in here with the Grandmaster last. Which was a week ago.

Gist had seen him two days ago before Shay had gone off on his own. The Hunter’s disappearances were common enough that no one thought anything of them because the man always came back within night fall to look over his ship. Haytham would say he loved that thing more than anything else in his life sometimes.

When he had not come back the first night, Gist thought it strange. When he hadn’t returned by morning is when he reported it to Haytham. It took the entire day of asking around New York to get a location on where Shay could have gone. It very quickly seemed to Haytham that Shay was good at what he does. Hiding in plain sight.

But as the day dragged on into the second night, Haytham’s worry had grown strong. Gist had gone back to the Morrigan to rally up some of the crew to help search instead of just the two looking around Greenwich. But Haytham’s search took him further out than Greenwich.

It takes him to Lower Manhattan towards the known Assassin Den. This Den has yet to rid of and there have been plans to do so. Shay was going to lead with some other men. But maybe… Haytham hopes not.

But his suspicion grows stronger as he looks upon the Den from the outside. There’s usually some movement, yet all that comes from the Den is silence. The feeling that rises and closes Haytham’s throat is something he hasn’t felt in a long time. Fear? No. That is something he has pushed down with sheer force in his years and he has mastered to control. But it seems every time a situation comes about with Shay, all those years of control of his emotions come undone.

Haytham scales up the side of a two storey building to get a better view of the den. He nearly slips halfway up, his mind somewhere else. He looks over the den and watches for any lanterns or any movement at all. There is still nothing. It’s dead.

A rope from the building travels over to one of the rooves of the den and seems like a better way than climbing all the way down. Haytham seems to stare at it for a second before running across it before he hesitates too long. He isn’t the best at free running as Shay and will most likely never be since the man was trained in the way of the Assassin much longer than Haytham. Running the rope was a gamble and he nearly looses his balance three quarters way across. The rope wasn’t as tight and firm as it looked when he started. His heart his beating wildly in his chest by the time he gets across.

Haytham investigates the den carefully after he settles himself. What he finds is what he suspected.

Bodies line the court of the den and inside of each building. The first smell of decay is strong and mostly all of the bodies are starting to bloat. Haytham stops in front of one and has to cover his mouth and nose with his cape. The body lies face up with half of his face beaten and bloody. There are multiple slashes across his chest and stomach. The blood is dried and almost black in the darkness, the whites of his eyes stark.

As caring and gentle as Shay can be, seeing this truly puts him in another light. This blood bath shows the anger and his true frustration inside of him towards the Creed. That what he has gone through still holds on with its teeth and claws, reminding Shay of what he’s done. What the Creed caused. They created their own worst enemy that has the right amount of motivation to be their undoing. It’s almost ironic. But also brings a curiosity to Haytham on who Shay was before the incident. He knows about Lisbon but he doesn’t know if Shay knows that.

Haytham moves on.

The rest of the den is the same. It’s been cleared out entirely. But then where is Shay? If he cleared it out then he should have returned after wards. Haytham uses his vision and looks around to see if he missed anything. Nothing glows brightly to him, not even the bodies that are a slumbering grey against the blue world.

Until a shimmer of red catches his attention to his left. Split reaction at the colour, he flicks his blade out fully expecting an Assassin to jump out from behind the building. The small streak of red doesn’t move but it flickers and ebbs in Haytham’s vision. He moves closer towards it, the streak of red becoming noticeable as a handprint on the side of the building wall. A smeared handprint that leads to a trail of blood on the brick floor. A heavy trail.

Haytham’s eyes strain from the vision and he has to blink away, rubbing his face. He picks up a nearby lantern and uses it to light his way. Who ever is at the end of this blood trail is still alive, there’s no other reason for it to be attracting his vision like that. He just hopes it’s the man he’s been looking for tonight.

The fat drops of blood on the ground are easy to follow. They lead out of the den and onto the side street that runs along the back of the Den. Haytham flickers in and out of his vision when he loses it, not wanting to take a turn down the wrong way. The red trail leads down an ally way drastically at one point. Haytham follows, noticing another bloody hand print on the building as he passes. Whoever this is, is badly injured.

The trail stops behind a small court behind some resident buildings. There’s clothes lines in the middle of the area and white rose bushes lining the back of the buildings. It’s hard to see in the dark but the roses seem to glow in the moon light. Even the petals of the ones that are speckled with red. His heart beats dramatically in his chest at the sight of it. Slowly, Haytham moves towards those ones, bringing his lantern in front of him. His body is tense as he stands in front of the bush. Slowly, and gently, he pushes aside one of the broken branches and looks inside. If Haytham wasn’t trained by his father when he was young, he would be dead right now. If he was a little slower, his neck would be open and turning these roses fully red below him. But the hidden blade misses his skin by an inch as it slashes out at him in defense.

In the rose bush, lies Shay Cormac.

In the yellow light of the lantern the slick of blood can be seen over his black coat. Like the dead man Haytham saw, half of Shay’s face is covered in blood, bleeding from a head wound that is obviously causing his delirium. He now breathes heavily, the movement twisting his body in a way that must hurt to whatever injury he has.

“Shay,” Haytham speaks firmly and loudly. All so that the man below him knows who is speaking to him. Hoping that his voice breaks through the haze.

And it seems to. Shay’s one good eye peers up at him but it is as if he is not seeing. His body seems to relax a bit though, knowing he isn’t in danger anymore.

Haytham bites back an edge in his chest he doesn’t recognize. He pushes it down as he holds his hand out to Shay, wondering if the man will take it. Shay looks at it and goes to take it. But as if exhaustion and blood lost have finally taken a toll, his eye roll into the back of his head and he passes out.

With a curse, Haytham drops the lantern next to him and breaks away at the bush so that he can get to Shay. He picks Shay up with a huff and a loud grunt, swinging the entire dead weight of a six-foot-tall man over his shoulder. He heaves and strains, but he stands firmly. Haytham begins the slow and long walk back to Fort Arsenal with the warm feeling of blood soaking through his clothing.

It is late in the night by the time Haytham gets back to Fort Arsenal. Gist is already rushing out of the manor before Haytham crosses the front gate.

“What happened!?” The first mate calls out.

Gist helps Shay off of the Grandmaster’s shoulders and they both heave the man inside, holding onto an arm each. Shay tries to catch his feet under him but he trips and staggers, making the trip a little difficult.

“Were I followed?” Shay mumbles out, his accent blurring his words together.

Haytham only just catches the words said.

“No. You weren’t Shay. You did good,” he responds, hoping to lesson the man’s worries.

The answer satisfies Shay as he seems to pass out again, causing both men to nearly fall inwards at the sudden extra weight. Under all his gear must be just muscle and stone because there is no way one man his size can be this heavy.

They get Shay inside where Gist calls out for the maids of the manor. They come running, instructing them both to lie him down on his bed. Gist worries about the blood but the maids do not care at this given moment. A groan escapes Shay’s mouth as he’s laid down.

“I’ll go fetch the doctor,” the youngest maid inquires before leaving the room.

The other one, an elderly woman in her late fifties by Haytham’s guess, begins taking off Shay’s clothes. There are too many straps and too many layers for her liking to get to what is making Shay lose so much blood. She ends up cutting off most of the straps and cutting into his shirt with a pocket knife she pulled from god knows where.

“Mr Gist, can you get me a bucket of water with a cloth,” the maid calls back without taking her attention off of Shay.

Gist is gone before Haytham can blink. Shay had only become a Templar in the past month but has been working with them for the on going year. In such a small amount of time he has full loyalty from his crew and his house maids. It’s not a common thing to see in such a place a New York. Something that Haytham never grew up with. The maids and the hands served him because he’s a Kenway. The Templars look up to him because he is a Grandmaster and from where he comes from. All because of status, not for who he is.

Shay. Shay came from the enemy and the street. One should sneer and spit when they learn of his past. Yet, everyone around him respects him for the stuff he had done. Even Haytham must admit that before he met Shay at the ceremony he had heard of stories from Monro and Gist about the former assassin. He had expected a man that would give some sort of sympathy towards the assassins and want the best way possible to make them see their wrongs.

But the man he met was not that. He met a hunter. A man with a cause for revenge. One that hides his true anger and intentions but will not lie when asked. Lies is what caused him to see the wrongs within the assassins which made a truthful man. A stronger man.

Hence why, Haytham realizes, that Shay hid away instead of coming straight back to Fort Arsenal. All because he thought that someone would follow the trail of blood like Haytham did. To protect the Templars and the others inside.

Gist comes back with the bucket of water and plants it down next to the bed. The maid opens up Shay’s bloody shirt to show the black blood slicked skin. Haytham doesn’t know what he’s looking at. He doesn’t know when the injury starts of ends. The maid tries to clean away the blood but only more welts up and spills over. Haytham realizes he doesn’t know what he’s looking at. He doesn’t know where its just blood or its flesh.

Haytham stands frozen as he watches the maid try to cover the wound back up to stop the bleeding. All until the doctor gets here. Gist even snaps into action, helping the maid and getting his hands dirty. Haytham on the other hand, he has seen plenty of guts and gore his entire life. Killed men. Cut them up from hip to throat and then slit their jugular for good measure. Yet the thought of that being Shay stirs something in his gut.

He’s broken from his thoughts as Shay hisses loudly. He tries to pry Gist off of him, but Haytham quickly comes forward and grabs the man’s hands away. Shay wrenches one of his hands free from Haytham but doesn’t proceed to reach out. His brows are furrowed and his nose scrunches. The smell of blood is off putting it must be getting to Shay as well.

Shay’s free, shaky hand comes up to his face and he tries to wipe away the blood from his eye. But he doesn’t succeed, all he does is smear it over his face. At the struggle, Haytham brings out his napkin from the inside of his coat. He hits Shay’s hand away before wiping away the blood from his eye. When Haytham is satisfied, brown eyes stare up at him calmly.

Before anything else stupid happens, Haytham is pushed roughly away by the doctor. He slams his briefcase at the side of the bed and begins ordering the maids around, even Gist. Shay’s first mate is sent off to grab another pale of water and the maids are to stay and help hold the injured down if needed. The doctor looks to Haytham with a furrowed expression.

“Come and help hold him down,” he orders.

In any other circumstance, Haytham would have snapped. But he moves forward again to hold onto Shay’s shoulders. Gist comes back with the pale of clean water and slams it down next to the bed. The doctor begins cleaning Shay’s wound and Haytham watches the hunter go from dazed to conscious within a second.

The doctor works quick but carefully to clean away all the old blood and to see what truly is underneath all the gore. Things start become clear and Haytham is able to depict what is what. There’s a gun shot wound in Shay’s right side that weeps red and a slash from a sword across his chest that seems to have healed badly over the past couple of days. A wave of nausea sweeps over Haytham that he has to quickly get under control.

Haytham doesn’t know much but he does know in his experience that the sword wound is going to have to be reopened and cleaned. But the doctor isn’t worried about it right now. The gunshot wound is the main priority. The doctor moves Shay over so he can look at the man’s back.

There’s no exit wound. The bullet is still inside of him. Shay lets out a breathy chuckle as if the situation is funny. But before Haytham can snap at him, his brown eyes become hazy again.

“I can’t put him under,” the doctor suddenly says. “There’s a risk he won’t wake up if we do.”

Haytham understands. “Gist, help the ladies hold his legs down. I’ll hold his shoulders dow-“

“I’ve seen men throw men like yourself off, sir,” the doctor cuts him off. “I suggest you wrangle him to hold his arms in place.”

Haytham hesitates, but moves when Shay lets out a ragged groan as he’s let back down on the bed by the doctor. He takes off his coat and hat, setting it off to the side before he sits on the edge of the bed and moves Shay into his lap. Haytham wraps one arm around Shay’s chest, being careful of the wound, while the other hand is holding onto one of his arms.

“I’m going to work quickly, but this is going to be painful,” the doctor instructs. “There’s healed tissue I’m going to have to cut open to get to the bullet.”

“Get on with it,” Haytham snaps through gritted teeth.

The doctor washes his hands in the second pale of water before putting on gloves. He rummages around his case and comes out with a thick piece of leather. For a split second, Haytham is confused until the leather is placed roughly into Shay’s mouth. It just rests in his mouth right now but soon, he’s going to be biting down on that thing hard enough that one could lose a finger or two.

The doctor goes back into his case and bring out a pair of surgical scissors and tongs. With a cloth in his other hand, he wipes away the fresh blood from gun shot before getting to work. He digs the tongs in to open the wound and Shay instantly reacts, biting down into the leather.

His body tenses and his brown eyes become black with how big his pupils dilate. But it’s when the doctor starts cutting away at healed tissue that Shay flails and shouts past the gag. Gist and the two maids manage to hold his legs from kicking about but Haytham’s hold nearly slips.

The one arm that can’t be held down comes around and grabs onto the arm that’s across his chest. He tries to pry Haytham off of him and he nearly succeeds. He guesses having to hold and steer a ship nearly every week along with climbing buildings and scaffolding does render this type of strength. But Haytham holds tight, almost choking the man.

If Shay had come home straight away and not let his wounds heal, this would go ten times smoother. But he had chosen to stay hidden away in case any one had followed him. Stupid, but smart.

Shay’s body arches off the bed but he can’t go anywhere further since four people are holding him down. A choked cry escapes his throat as the doctor digs in deeper. It’s a sound that Haytham wishes he could cover his ears for. But as the doctor cuts more away and burrows for the bullet, the more Shay bites down on the gag and his body shakes from the pain that has a grip on his body and mind.

“It’s nearly done,” Haytham says, trying to get the man under him to calm down some.

In truth, Haytham has no clue if the doc has found the bullet. Or is anywhere near done. He just needs Shay to calm down so that this can be over quicker. But it’s Shay Cormac he’s currently talking about. And he will go down fighting.

As if on que as well, all Gist is able to get out before Shay frees a foot and kicks him square in the jaw is a small plea. Gist falls to the ground heavily like a sack of potatoes. The doctor has to take the tongs out of Shay as he thrashes about again. The maids gasp but are on it quickly afterwards, the eldest grabbing onto the free leg and holding it down. A groan from the first mate is all Haytham gets to say that he’s okay.

“Hold him still,” the doc snaps.

“They’re trying their best,” Haytham seethes.

He will not have some man snap at Shay’s employees. The doc doesn’t pay him any mind though as he starts fishing for the bullet once more. Shay’s entire body goes stiff once more as the whole process begins again. Tears now flow down his face as he squeezes his eyes shut.

“Gotcha,” is all the doctor says as he carefully picks the bullet from Shay.

He drops the bullet on the bed and a calm comes over Shay almost. The worst of it has past, but there is still pain to endure. Haytham pats Shay’s arm, trying to assure the man. But the doctor doesn’t finish his work until an hour later. Having to stitch up and also wait out Shay fighting them in his daze.

Unfortunately, the man did not pass out at any given time due to the pain. Shay had stayed awake the entire way through. Haytham had hoped he would pass out halfway through. But for some reason he wanted to stay conscious.

The doctor pats his hand son his thighs before standing up. Without a word, he begins cleaning up and shoving stuff into his briefcase.

Shay’s waist and chest are fully bandaged, and he’s been put back together. Haytham has let go of him, but his head still lays in his lap. He should move. He should be leaving now knowing that Shay will be alright. His maids will look after him.

“I’ll be back in the morning to check up on him,” the doctor gruffly.

Gist, who is now conscious and has been looked over already, grunts and shows the doctor out. He’s a little off on his feet, having been a little concussed by the kick he received. But the doc said he’ll be fine. The maids leave as well, following them out with the pales of water in hand.

That leaves Haytham alone in the room with Shay in his lap. A hand comes and rests itself onto Shay’s hot forehead. Finally, those brown eyes close shut. It finally feels like Haytham can rest as well. His own body aches from having to hold Shay for so long and he doesn't realize how tired he had become until now.

“You stubborn fool,” Haytham mumbles.

The smallest smile comes to Shay’s lips. But it’s only now that he can rest, knowing he is safe and sound. And yet Haytham doesn’t move, finding himself not wanting to go in case something happens for the rest of the night. With that thought, Haytham stays up for the rest of the night, listening to Shay breathe hoarsely but strongly. That’s all Haytham needs to know that everything is alright.

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mass-convergence · 9 months

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Assassin's Creed Valhalla Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Soma (Assassin's Creed), Eivor (Assassin's Creed), Galinn (Assassin's Creed), Birna (Assassin's Creed), Lif (Assassin's Creed) Additional Tags: Five Stages of Grief, Betrayal, Introspection, Hurt, Angst, No comfort just pure hurt, short fic, One Shot Summary:

Soma has to make the hardest decision of her life. Aka: Soma going through all five stages of grief in about a two minute period.

Notes: Based off of this drawing I did of her.

“Galinn betrayed you.”

The words were cold and piercing - like a sword to the heart.

“Are you certain?” the words left Soma’s lips almost before Eivor had stopped speaking. Her heart thundered in her chest and she could barely hear the sounds of the longhouse around her.

Denial.

She didn’t want to believe it, she wanted to say Eivor was wrong - she had to be mistaken. Maybe one of her other men found out about the tunnel by chance, Birna could have let something slip. Or Lif. Or Galinn.

Eivor, thankfully silent, just gave Soma a single nod. Soma felt Eivor’s sharp gaze on her, a quiet question in her eyes:

What are you going to do?

The cold, rational voice in her mind whispered, ‘You trusted Eivor for a reason.’

Eivor was an outside voice, a mind not clouded by sentiment, and a heart not torn by the love Soma had for her closest advisors. Birna, Lif, and Galinn were the only people who knew about the tunnel. Birna never would let anything slip; she was a smart woman, a careful woman. She knew better, no matter how much ale passed her lips. Lif barely ever talked.

Galinn …

She glanced over at the table where her advisors sat. Birna was half reclined on the bench and leaning her back against the table. Lif sat next to her leaning forward and engaged in whatever Galinn was saying as he stood with his arms folded.

Anger.

No. It was more like white hot rage that roiled in her gut. She stayed calm, keeping up appearances as a good leader should even though she wanted to clear every damn thing off the table in front of her.

How could he do this to her? After all she did for him? After she found him half dead and delirious in the fen and nursed him back to health. After he swore his allegiance to her. He made an oath.

She left the table and walked towards the trio, Eivor mercifully kept quiet as she followed close behind. That was good. Soma wasn’t sure she could talk quite yet as her mind went to the next step:

Bargaining.

Galinn could be reasoned with. She could offer him redemption, a way out of the mess he made. If Wigmund had offered him riches - Grantebridge was thriving and she could offer more to him than that pig ever could. Perhaps she could still use him to get to Wigmund? He need not die for this transgression. It would be a second chance. Her family could stay together and not be wrenched apart by this-

No.

He had betrayed her and broken his oath to her the second he decided to side with Wigmund. For whatever reason: money, fate, or a motive that only made sense in his complicated mind. He broke the oath and she’d never be able to fully trust him again. If she gave him a second chance: he’d betray her again; for that she was certain. What would it say to the rest of her clan if she let this one slide?

All the men and women who were injured during the frantic escape from Grantebridge. The drengr who had lost their kin to Saxon swords. All the people who had put their trust in her to lead. They’d never trust her again if she forgave Galinn for an offense that was unforgivable.

She quietly accepted the decision she had to make. The hardest in her life, somehow it was harder than leaving home to join Guthrum. She stopped short of the table and Eivor stood by her side, the question still hanging in the air:

What are you going to do?

“This will be the hardest thing I have ever done. Stay close by me Eivor. I will need you.”

Eivor crossed her arms and finally spoke the unanswered question, “How are you going to deal with this?”

“As a leader must.”

She got Galinn’s attention, barely able to look at him as she waved him and the rest of her inner circle over. The three stood in front of her and Eivor, solemn and questioning. Galinn, the snake, had the gall to look slightly confused. Pretending he was innocent after stabbing her in the back like this.

She closed her eyes, calming herself down before she spoke, “My family, my inner circle. Today we make sure what has happened will never happen again. We end Wigmund’s life.”

Lif smirked and cracked his knuckles, Galinn slapped Birna on the back. Again the snake acting as if he wasn’t the reason they were all in this mess. She turned her back on her family as she steeled her resolve for what she was about to do. She leaned heavily on the table, staring at the map. There was still a quiet voice in her head that said she could still redeem Galinn. That this could be avoided.

She had to deal with this.

As a leader must.

#soma #soma jarlskona #soma assassin's creed #assassin's creed valhalla #AC fic

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aareyna · 2 years

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Above the Stars - Eivor/Kassandra/Randvi

Chapter 1 of 3 Explicit

"Was Valka right, by the way?” The seers curious gaze pinned Eivor. “Did you part ways with that girl, Randvi, as she foresaw?”

Eivor shook her head. “No… Randvi was never on the Isle of Skye.”

Kassandra turned around and locked eyes with Eivor for what felt like the last time. A goodbye… the parting of ways with no sure way if they’d ever see each other again.

Despite their rough beginning, Eivor couldn’t let Kassandra go when the time for silent farewells arrived. Not now, not like this.

In which Eivor convinces Kassandra to come with her to Ravensthorpe.

Read the first chapter on AO3!

#randivor #eivor x randvi #kassivor #eivor x kassandra #kassandra x randvi #kassandra x eivor x randvi #Eivor Varinsdóttir #kassandra #randvi #assassin's creed kassandra #kassandra of sparta #eivor wolfkissed #eivor wolfsmal #ac fic

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redhairedmuses · 1 year

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my first ever Assassin’s Creed one-shot.

can ya’ll believe I haven’t jumped on this fandom sooner? JK. I blame @tkwritesdumbassassins for this one.

#assassin's creed #ac: valhalla #ac: valhalla fic #ac fic #assassin's creed fanfic #eivor x vili #sorry but not sorry for the angst #this is what happens when i am left unsupervised

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emperor-palpaminty · 1 year

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Assassin’s Creed Syndicate but make it ✨ slightly spooky ✨ interpret that how you will! 😉 👻

Look this is the second AC syndicate request i have gotten and I've been replaying it so I HAVE TO-

Also Rye's art is v pretty! If you like traditional watercolor go check her out!

Also this is more than slightly spooky. Hope you like, uhhhhh yikes

The night was dark, but assassins thrived in the dark. Evie, ever the believer in all things ghosts and things that went bump in the night, rested, perched, atop the roof of the chapel. The modest cemetery was restless, with a constant flocking of birds and mice and creatures, wandering about the usually quiet area.

But on Hallow's Eve...

"Psst."

Evie jumped slightly and whipped around, dagger dropping into her hand. Her brother raised his hands, springing back. "Okay! Okay. Evie. It's me. Jacob."

"I'll kill you for real if you do that again!" She spun the knife and dropped it back into the sheath.

Jacob held up his hands, a small grin emerging on his face. "Aw. Is Ickle Evie-kins frightened of ghosties?"

Evie glowered and turned to the graveyard again, which had fallen oddly silent. The grey hues were getting darker with the clouds masking the moon, and even the owls had hushed themselves. "Mister Green mentioned that bodies are walking." She managed. The words bit her throat and she felt her brother squat next to her. "Graves- fresh ones- empty within the night."

"Oh. Walking corpses." Jacob plunked down, a leg dangling off the roof. "My favorite."

Evie inhaled heavily and stared over the graveyard. Under the dirt was rows of corpses, all sleeping firever- waiting for judgement day or whatever afterlife met them at the end. "Not walking, just... Leaving. Gone. Unearthed."

Her brother's laugh was taunting as he spoke. "Ooh. Ya know, I think you've been reading one two many books-"

"Jacob."

Her brother raised his hands in a fake surrender, chuckling. Evie turned back to the graveyard, eyes skimming the scene again. The trees groaned with the wind- Evie thought of the dead raising. Climbing from their graves in their finest garments, dust and the stench of death still clinging to them as they stumbled from their eternal beds, lumbering towards the gate, groaning and trying to churn out words as if their tongues had not decayed long ago.

Evie shuddered. Perhaps she had been reading too many books.

Her brother exhaled into his hands, rubbing his gloved fingers together. "Logically, I understand it does not make sense. But you must admit, it is rather strange that everything suggests that the graves are being dug up."

"Lots of reasons for that." Jacob said.

Silence hung from the moon and starkly between them, and Evie slowly looked at her brother. "Why would you dig up a grave."

"Donno. Seems fun."

"Fun?"

Jacob shrugged again, the grin only vaugely visible due to Evie's sharp vision. "Yes, seems fun. Should I ever consider a change in profession, I shall have to consider grave robbing."

Evie rolled her eyes and crouched down again, pausing as she heard a creaking. "Jacob." She whispered.

Her brother understood. His remarks hushed and he crouched down atop the little chapel, watching as flames flickered on the torches entering the graveyard. Evie swallowed her relief as the resurrection men paused at each grave, a shovel thrown over each shoulder, examining the grass growth, finding graves that were fresh.

"It seems we have our answer, dear sister." Jacob whispered, smiling. "No dead raising, after all."

Evie nodded, watching the men shove the dirt aside. "Just stealing corpses."

"Freddy said." Jacob replied, and only shrugged as the men struggled, raising the body from the grave, pressing it into their wheelbarrow. He nudged Evie, arms crossed, the grin alight on his face as Evie snorted. "Dead men tell no tales, and the dead don't walk in Londo-"

Two arms reached up from the cart, arms that should have been very still, and yanked the now screaming graverobber down, a gargling emerging as the corpse bit into very living and very warm flesh.

#ac syndicate #syndicate #frye twins #evie frye #Jacob frye #assassians creed syndicate #assassian's creed: syndicate #ac fic #assassians creed

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