Ares walks into a cell carrying a bucket of water, the Templar sitting in a wooden chair, right in the middle of the room. His feet are each tied to a chair leg, tight ropes ripping up his ankles against the splintered wood. The man sits in an uncomfortable position, his arms tied behind his back, heavy shackles forcing his shoulders and back to support him.

Ares sets the bucket down and begins to lightly slap the man. "Hey." No response.

"Hey, wake up!" Ares voice rises as he delivers a punch to the man's face, the assassin's fist leaving a mark on the templar's cold, red face.

The Templars eyes shoot open. "You think I'll just start talkin', now that I'm captured? You think I'm just some nobleman's son who will spill his guts out for anyone wielding a dagger to his neck?"

"How do you know I didn't just come down here to have some fun?"

Ares pulls out a small knife, grabbing a stool from the sidewall. He sets the stool down behind the chair, sitting himself behind his prisoner.

The man clenches his hands into a fist as Ares begins to run the dull end of the knife along the prisoner's fingers. Beads of sweat leaking off onto the knife, riding their way down to the floor.

The man lets out screams of pain as his ring finger falls clean off his hand.

"That's one," Ares says as he jabs the little finger with his blade, and holds it up to the templar's eyes.

The man winces, writhing his hands around trying to somehow escape his own pain. The man finally gains enough composure to spit blood in Ares' face. "Fuck you," the man says, red spit still dripping from his lip.

Ares rams the knife into the man's left kneecap, digging his way into the cartilage, he begins to twirl the blade around, "How fast can you limp, maybe you're competent enough to deliver a message?"

The man moans, the thought of what Hans would do to him scaring him almost as much as his current situation, "I... I."

Before he can say anything more, Ares grabs the man by the head and holds the knife up to the prisoner's dry mouth. "Does your tongue still work? Speak up!"

"Okay...Just please… Stop… I'll talk."

Ares grabs him by his rags and pushes the man backward. The chair tips over and he lands on his back, still tied down, unable to get up. Ares rips off the left sleeve of his shirt and places it over the Templars' face, who tries to shake it off, but to no avail.

Ares walks over to the bucket of water, "Oh, I know you will."

He watches as the water slowly pours down onto the man's face, the droplets leaping up and down ferociously as the man thrashes in his seat.

The bucket finally runs empty with water, and Ares throws it down onto the man's face, breaking his nose.

Ares picks the chair back up, and removes the cloth from the Templars' face, wiping his blade clean. Ares pulls his face close to his, and puts the newly cleansed knife to the man's throat, anger burning in his eyes. "I know who sent you, but I want to hear you say it. If you even try to lie to me, it will only get worse."

The templar's voice wavers with fear. "Yes... Hans sent us..."

"Why did he wait three months to send you?" Ares pulls the knife away from the man's throat, glad to finally have some cooperation from the stubborn man.

"When he got back home, he didn't go unpunished for what he did. It wasn't much of a punishment, but his brothers had him in a cell for three months. Once he was released, he sent us...after all of you."

"All of us?"

"He doesn't just want the queen and princess dead, you and your brother too, he's paranoid you'd want revenge for killing your mentor. He wanted to tie up all loose ends."

"Oh he better be fucking paranoid," Ares mumbles as he turns away from the man, the momentary peace of a civilized conversation crumbling as the chair's legs squeak harshly against the floor.

The Templar begins to beg for his life. "Please just, let me go, let me live... Please! I have a family."

Ares snaps and rams his blade through the man's throat, "So do I."

Blood splatters on Ares' face as he drives the dagger deep into the man's neck, his eyes slowly but surely losing their color. The man chokes on his own blood as it rushes down his body, and covers Ares' hands. He picks up the wet rag, cleaning his hands off as he sheathes his dagger. He walks towards the door, but turns around, looking at the chaos he'd just caused.

"And I'll do whatever it takes to protect mine."

Ares slams the door and walks out, the echoes of iron hitting iron ringing through the dark halls.