"Creator, are you sure you are of optimal condition?"

Ulysses found that he did not even recognize the ache in his back from him working in one position, on his newest project, until Decimus' voice jerked him out of his near trance - like state.

"Yes, of course."

That felt more like him talking to himself, than to the black - uniformed musketeer officer that was currently standing near the door of the same cabin where Decimus himself was constructed.

Has it truly been a month already?

It still felt as though it was only yesterday that he had to watch her perish in his arms.

Immediately, Ulysses chastised himself inwardly for reminding himself of that memory again, for any time he dared to allow his mind back to that horrendous memory, it would appear once more before his eyes, vivid as the nightmares he suffered from when he first found his brother's corpse at the gate of Monteriggioni.

"Has Secundus reported back, where the pirates are headed for next?"

Strange, he didn't recall his voice being so empty.

"Negative, Creator, though he did mention he will be attempting his best to keep the information updated."

"Bene." His heart wrenched within the confines of his chest, unable to stop his fingers from running over the (for now) skeletal slender form laying before him upon the table: this would not be the same as what would have been, but perhaps it will help to alleviate some of the pain.

"Further orders?"

"Speak with our little friend in the dungeon... Minimal maiming."

Would it not be that much better if you just... released all of your so - called 'honor' and slaughter them all, like the criminals they are, Ulysses? Much more satisfying, much quicker than what you are doing right now. You want blood, don't you not...?

Long fingers curled into a fist. Ulysses will admit, such was a very, very tempting offer, however, it would oppose Kane's Grand Design.

"He saved me." Who was he addressing?

"Hence, his wish comes first."

Kill for him, die for him, your god... your king, your savior, and master. It is only right isn't it?

Ulysses did not even register the low, almost demented giggle his own throat let out. Oh yes, the thought of spilling blood in his lord's name, what could be better than that? What could be better than to know the blood coating his blade was what his lord wished for? Nothing, absolutely nothing at all-

Stay your blade from the flesh of the innocent.

It was as though he had just awaken from a dream, Ulysses jolted. He was an Assassino, a protector, a guardian of justice, how could he entertain the thought of spilling innocent blood, the way a Templar soldier would? It was improper, wrong in all ways, not just in the words of the Creed which all Assassins are bound to follow. Such was the mindset of a Templar, something a man like Atticus Mercilus would play around with within his mind.

I had swore to myself I would never be like that turncoat, I would not be like him, or any of his followers. Never will I betray my family, my lord and king.

Ulysses' gaze turned once more toward the form before him (for it certainly would not be good for his own mind, or what little fragments of it, to dwell on even more unpleasant memories), the distinctly feminine figure before him, just waiting to be completed the way he had completed her brother before her. He really should quicken his pace, now that he has given the thought a few extra seconds of contemplation, for it had already been a month since he had the blueprints of the Royal Guards completed and sent to Bishop for mass production, since he had begun to create her.

"Quintia Presidos, my daughter... my perfect creation."

Much like her brother before her, she would be perfect, he would make sure of so.

She would be a perfect creation who would abide the commands of the Supreme Commander, his god and king, a perfect being freed of human flesh and everything that plagued it, a being who will show those fools of the Resistance just how wrong it was to depend on the pirates for so - called 'salvation'.

He could not have stopped the smile from spreading across his face, even if he wished to.

(Servius Decimus POV)

Oh dear, this... did not go as expected.

He had lost control of himself, again.

Decimus found that he could only stare down at his bloodied hands, his white gloves now red from the blood, then back toward the severely mutilated corpse of the Templar they had captured, literally torn open at the stomach by several lacerations: to think, all of this had been inflicted by his hands, and his hands alone.

Minimal maiming, his Commander and creator had said... But he had at least pried the information his Commander wanted out of him, right? That was all that mattered. Plus, what other use could those scum serve after all of this?

How could I have lost control, again?

Retrieving his sniper rifle from where he had left it, Decimus gave the mutilated corpse of the Templar one last look over the shoulder of his brocaded coat; turning his gaze back onto the stairs leading up to the second deck of the Interceptor, where his Creator most likely was still.

He could not deny that the sight of the scarlet life fluid trickling out of the twitching form of their enemies was a sight that always sent his processor into overloading, which so often than not, was nothing short of a complete nuisance when carrying out the orders of his Commander and Creator, despite the, ah, how did the humans refer to that again? The utter euphoria it often brought on:

Rapping on the door a few times with one hand, Decimus nearly flinched when the piercing eyes of the Armada Commodore locked onto him: no doubt already able to tell what had transpired even without him speaking up first, considering that he was virtually drenched in the blood of the Templar. Such was the times when he cursed his ability to read and understand human emotion, truly.

"Commander." Ever since that incident, Servius could not help himself but feel as though the Commodore's eyes were reading his deepest processing, searching through every bit of his being every time they locked gazes with each other (though in a way, his Commander truly could, for he was the one who had created him after all). "My... sincere apologies, the prisoner had not survived."

"Did he speak?" Three short words, delivered in a clipped and hollow tone that certainly would have been fitting if Ulysses was a true clockwork. Yet he was not, and such, Decimus will not deny, was rather unnerving, just as the appearance of his creator now was-

His face was thinner, more gaunt than he had remembered when he first woke to function in this same cabin, the cheek bones that much more prominent than before, enough that he could see it work as Ulysses spoke. And there was his eyes, those scarlet orbs that was already intimidating enough even before everything begun to undo themselves: now they were even more piercing, barely even hiding the glint of madness that currently constantly threatened to overtake his creator... if he was pushed any further.

"Affirmative." Internally, Decimus could only hope that since his Commander had not made it obvious that he was displeased in any way, it meant he was letting this second slip up of his pass by him. "The Templars plan to kidnap the daughter of the governor of Port Regal, and leave a ransom note in the name of the Supreme Commander-"

"What...?!" The scar twitched dangerously, as did the rest of Ulysses' face, his thin lips pulling back in a dangerous snarl that was enough to send Decimus himself subconsciously take a few steps back. "They plan to frame His Majesty...? Unforgivable."

"And with the tensions already high," Decimus recalled how the spymaster had mentioned before of how only one more element would be needed to push both of the powers into an all out war. "It would mean war, Commander."

"Do you think I do not know?!" This time, the elite sniper could not stop himself from flinching, at the sound of his creator's voice snapping out, angrier than he had ever heard from him. "Maledetto bastardi."

Though the silence that followed his Creator's words were only temporary, it almost felt like an eternity before the Armada Commodore spoke again.

"Contact Secundus, tell him to alert the governor of their plans."

"As how you command."

For not the first time, Decimus was glad to be away from his creator.

(Ulysses POV)

Those bastards! Wasn't the Supreme Commander's name already tarnished enough by those Resistance fools?! This was unforgivable, a direct challenge to the power and might of the Armada, to himself as the Grand Master General of the Assasin Order.

But again... The prospect of a war, though it would no doubt cost them soldiers and a significent amount of wealth, was appealing in its own way, as if they won the war, the Armada would be able to enlist another world under their name.

One step closer to completing the Grand Design.

And now we get even closer to the Marleybone storyline, along with the little bonus of peeking inside the mind of Servius Decimus ;) yes, there certainly is something wrong with Ulysses ever since that incident, but just how much it affects him, well check back later to see, ehehehe.

As always, reviews are appreciated :D yes that includes you guests.

Until next time my dear readers!

-Hades