From Hell with Love (37 page)

“Kill him!” Giovanni shouted, but Niccolo just smiled at the remaining thug, whose blade shook with nervousness.

“Do you think you
can
, big guy?” Niccolo asked, which made the thug’s lip quiver.  He gripped his sword tighter and stepped around the corpse of his friend.

“Sure.  How about you leave…  How about you leave and we forget this?” the thug offered, summoning a false bravado he did not deserve to express.  Niccolo just laughed before pointing both blades down away from him and walking forward.

“Forget?  Oh, but I’ve held onto these memories for four years.  You were there, sir.  I’m not sure I
can
forget,” Niccolo said calmly, a crooked smile on his face.

“Niccolo?” came a whimper from behind Giovanni, but the assassin did not bother to look.  He was far more concerned with the brute with the long sword.

“Kill him, now, you coward!” Giovanni yelled, which seemed to snap the bigger man out of his daze.  He brought down his blade in a violent diagonal strike from his right, trying to crush Niccolo, but he was not used to fighting such a nimble opponent.  Niccolo merely ducked to the left and avoided the blow before bringing both of his blades to the right, knocking the blade out of the thug’s hands.  The huge man, realizing he was clearly outclassed, backed up against the wall and started to cry.

“Please, he just pays me…” he pleaded, but Niccolo did not listen.  The assassin walked within striking distance and then brought both blades across in front of him, ignoring the screams of the larger man.  He turned to the sound of the man’s head and hands falling to the ground, sheathed his weapons and then wiped the blood from his cheek.  He had to resist the urge to smile as he saw Giovanni Simonetti’s face twisted in horror.

“I feel bad for them,” Niccolo said, inspecting the nails on his right hand as he walked forward.  “They were just making a living.  But, well, I guess it falls to them to pick the right employer,” he said, stopping just a few yards away from the noble.

“Look, if you want money…” Giovanni started, but with one glare from Niccolo’s good eye, the coward stopped speaking.

“Do you
really
not recognize me, Simonetti?  I’ll give you a hint.  We fought over
her
,” Niccolo said before pointing at the woman Giovanni was pushing back with his left hand.  The noble turned to face her as she stepped forward, her eyes on the assassin who had quickly dispatched Giovanni’s bodyguards.

“Nico, what happened to you?” she asked, her voice faltering as she took in the grisly sight.  Niccolo sighed before setting his hand on the handle of his long sword, the only addition to his usual attire.

“Life, my love.  A life without you,” he said, which made Giovanni finally realize who had attacked him.

“You’re that…you’re the Vespucci son!” he shouted, which Niccolo ignored.  He just continued to stare into Camilla’s face, the old emotions surging back in his heart.

“Why have you done this?” she asked, her hands clasped in front of her, reminding Niccolo of worshippers in prayer.  “Why did you have to kill them?”

“I needed a fair fight, my love.  For our duel, Giovanni must be alone,” he said before finally regarding the nervous noble.  The man’s handsome face was twisted into anger, his confidence returning with his arrogance.

“
Duel
?  With
you
?  Why should I duel a leper?  What do I have to gain?” he shouted, abandoning any pretense of protecting his wife.  They all knew Niccolo would never hurt her.

“Think about what you have to lose, Giovanni,” Niccolo said before slowly withdrawing his long sword and settling it in his right hand.  He had plenty of room to kill the man in this tiny street, everyone having abandoned it to their grudge match.  “Respect.  Pride.  The sense of entitlement that you have.  My, what would your parents think if you refused to
take
out
the
trash
, so to speak?  But really, it comes down to one thing, Simonetti.”

“What is that?” Giovanni asked as he rolled his eyes, forgetting how easily Niccolo had dispatched his men.

“You
really
don’t have a choice,” Niccolo said, spying the sheen on his blade, the green hint that meant so much more.  Giovanni would have time to think before he would be sent to Hell.

“Niccolo, don’t!  Please,” Camilla urged, stepping in between the two men in her life.  “He’s my husband!”

“Your husband?” Niccolo asked, a fury rising within him.  “A man who abuses you, treats you like cattle?  This is the kind of man that you want to live the rest of your life with?” he demanded answers, the skin around his lips quivering in anger.  “You want to be married to
him
?”

“No,” she admitted, her gaze falling to the bricks of the street, “but that’s the way our lives have worked out.  I would have given anything to live with you, Nico.  I would have given anything to raise your children and stand by your side, but that’s not what was meant for us.”

“I can give you that, Camilla, or at least part of that.  Your father, he can’t deny us now.  We could live together; I can provide for you,” he explained, but he was interrupted by the raucous laughter coming from behind the love of his life.

“You fool!” Giovanni shouted as he stepped forward, pushing Camilla aside.  “You can give her
nothing
!  You are a leper, and your disease shall end with you!” he shouted before coming at Niccolo with a wild thrust.  Niccolo almost snarled as the man proved his arrogance was undeserved, knocking away the blade with a simple parry.  Instead of recognizing his obvious weakness, the noble rushed into another strike, crossing the blade across his body in order to lop off Niccolo’s head.  The assassin merely ducked underneath and drove his hilt deep into the noble’s stomach, forcing him to fall backward.

“I can give her more than you, you spoiled bastard!  Unlike you, I
know
hardship, and though I can’t give her the
riches
,” Niccolo said as he walked forward and knocked away Giovanni’s overhead blow with a quick slash across his body, grabbing the man’s throat with his diseased hand, which he had kept uncovered just for this moment.  “At least I can give her some happiness!”

He shoved Giovanni along the street, who then tumbled over the corpse of the closest thug.  Niccolo waited for him to pick himself back up, reveling in this turn of fortune.  Giovanni's yellow clothing was covered with dark red stains as it absorbed the blood of his men, which made Niccolo smile in his fury.

“Nico, stop!” Camilla shouted, but she did not dare get closer to the men dueling for her life.  Niccolo ignored her plea, knowing she would choose him after all of this, and instead advanced on Giovanni, who had just risen to his feet.  The noble was already winded and Niccolo could see that his shirt had become un-tucked, exposing the paunch that had developed from years of laziness.  When Giovanni threw out his blade in a weak cross strike, Niccolo held his own blade in two hands and smacked it out of his grip.  Then he drove the blade forward, cutting just beneath the rib cage on the noble’s left side, deliberately avoiding any vital organs.  Niccolo would make sure the man would suffer, first from losing this duel and then from the poison now coursing through his veins.

“You lose,” he said before advancing on the fallen noble and then stepping on Giovanni’s sternum before bringing the point of his sword above his throat.  “How does that
feel
?”

“Niccolo Vespucci!” Camilla shouted, shocking the assassin from his efforts.  He turned, taking his foot off Simonetti’s chest, and found the woman looking at him with desperation.

“Camilla, we can be together,” Niccolo said softly, forgetting the man at his feet and squaring up to the woman who had traded her life for his.  He could not understand why she was crying again.  He briefly wondered if she really felt something for this monster that was now dying at his feet.

“No, we
can’t
, Nico.  That’s not our future anymore,” she explained, tears streaming down her face and ruining the layers of makeup.  “Even if Giovanni was not my husband, even though my father is gone, you’re not going to win me in some duel!”

“My love…” he started, not noticing the man stirring behind him, his hand venturing to the boot on his right leg.

“I love you, Nico, but I can’t spend my life with a leper.  I can’t spend my life with someone who can kill three people and not care!” she shouted, staring at the ground before bringing her hand to her collar, lifting a silver band from beneath her clothing, a simple ring swaying lightly as she brought it out.  Camilla grabbed the jewelry, breathed in deeply and then brought the ring above her head before offering it to him on her open palm.  “We were in love, Nico.  I will always cherish that memory.  But now you have to let me go, just like I…am letting you go.”

“Camilla,” Niccolo said, his voice wavering as he realized that his fantasy was just that.  There was no riding off into the sunset with this woman sitting on the saddle behind him.

“I cannot live with a leper,” she repeated, breaking Niccolo’s heart just another time.  He stepped backward, feeling like he had been stabbed, but then he realized that it was not just Camilla’s words.  He looked down, his gaze starting to blur, and saw something sticking out of his chest.  Niccolo looked back up to Camilla and found her face filled with horror, her eyes shaking as she took in the situation.  The assassin looked down again to find the blade had twisted in his body, showing the broad side of the dagger shining with his blood.

“
This
is what you
deserve
.  This is
your place
.  Now die like the worthless beggar you are,” he heard Giovanni whisper behind him, but then he felt the blade pull out of him, drawing his strength with it.  Niccolo fell to his knees, realizing that he was dying, and slumped to the street, his eyes staring into the severed head of that last thug.

He could still breathe, he could still feel pain, but most of it was fading now.  Niccolo Vespucci, one of the most feared assassins in Napoli, was dying in a random street in Firenze.  There was no purpose to his life, no greater meaning to the blight on his arm or the ruins of his face.  Whatever “gift” that God had given him had been thrown away in a vain pursuit for justice.  Niccolo breathed out one last time, realizing he had meant nothing.

Then he was engulfed in flames.

***

Barbas watched as the newest arrival to the Pestilence Quarter fell from the sky.  They were not always so dramatic, but the old demon knew better than to guess as to why this one was twisting through the air, writhing in pain and screaming his heart out.  Perhaps the fallen angel would know more about his new student’s predicament once he was able to form coherent sentences.

The demon walked through the training yards, the young soldiers of the Pestilence Quarter practicing their archery, but he did not think any of them would strike him.  Most of the former humans had seen what Barbas could do if he became angry; most of them held the old demon in reverence.  Most of them knew better.

However, as he walked through the training yard, a pair of arrows whipped through the air in front of him.  Barbas stopped momentarily, noticing the two arrows had landed in the bull’s-eye, and almost flew into a rage before turning to see the culprit.  A malicious smile stretched across the archer’s face, twisting his oriental features into a cruel mask of humanity.

“Careful, master.  I was in the middle of my drills,” the man said before throwing out his hip and swinging a twisted, black bow in the loose grip of his right hand.  Barbas glared at the archer, dressed in ostentatious yellow and green clothing, and swung his staff across the arrows which snapped under the strike.

“I’m not the one who should be careful.  Being the Horseman of Pestilence grants you only so many privileges, Lü Bu,” the fallen angel said before continuing on his path, not bothering to watch the archer’s arrogant reaction.  Barbas had never liked the man from China and hoped someone would come to replace him.  If the Apocalypse started with that man’s arrogant war cry, Barbas would rather fall into oblivion.

When the ground shook from the new soul falling into the ground, Barbas was suddenly very interested.  For the man to fall in such a way, bathed entirely in fire and striking Hell with such force, there was already a measurable amount of power within him.  Barbas increased his pace toward the outskirts of the training ground and saw the crater less than a hundred yards away.  He was almost running by the time he arrived at the lip of the crater.

Barbas saw what had become of the man and was filled with pity, raising his hand to his mouth in concern.  This soul was merely a boy, he could not have aged past his mid-twenties, but Barbas could tell that he had suffered more than his fair share. 

Mostly naked and covered with some new burns, the young man groaned in his pain, his teeth grinding against each other in order to deal with the sensory explosion.  Barbas watched as he writhed and the disease on his arm twisted and mutated into some hellish form.  The bones snapped and rejoined, becoming larger and tearing the muscles of his arm, healing them instantly to form larger bundles of muscle fiber.  Barbas bit into the knuckle of his index finger as the soul’s fingers extended and the nails sharpened to black points, gleaming in the firelight of Hell.

After a few torturous moments, the transformation seemed to stop, the soul’s new arm only throbbing every other second, so Barbas walked forward and slid down the lip of the crater.  The ruler of the Pestilence Quarter was filled with pity and walked to the man’s side before bringing his hand to clear the man’s face of matted hair.  Barbas almost gasped once he saw what the blight had done to the poor boy’s face, but soon he became accustomed to the sight.

The sympathetic demon put his hand beneath the man’s head and coaxed him back to consciousness.  When the human soul opened his only eye, Barbas made sure to give him the warmest smile he could give.