Marvel.
Such was what he could feel, gazing upon the now completed form of the clockwork Assassin Aetius Varius Septimus, the first of his kind. Everything about him had come out out the way Septimus had intended, in every way resembling Ulysses himself, save for the scar crossing over the side of his face, just underneath his left eye: like all other clockworks, Varius' face had a mask - like appearance, the 'mask' resembling Ulysses' silver battlemask, though black with silver designs.
A perfect clone of me, made to be able to do everything I can, to proccess everything in a near perfect replica of my own thought process.
Ulysses' lips curled slightly in the corners into a smile.
I've done it at last!
Septimus placed one hand on the golden artifact sitting within one of the pockets of his coat. Even out of his peripheral vision, the Supreme Commander of the Armada could see the light pulsating off of the artifact in a similar fashion to a human's heart -
"Arise, Aetius Varius Septimus, arise and serve your creator!"
With each pulse of golden light sent out by the artifact came a slight twitch from the frame of the clockwork, until a shuddering breath kicked his respiratory system into gear.
All of the golden light immediately dissipated.
Varius pushed himself up with his right hand - the very same one bearing a gauntlet that ran from his elbow down to his fingertips - and climbed off of the table he laid on simply moments before he was animated.
"Per la gloria dell'Armata, creatore."
Perfect, truly perfect.
The clockwork assassin dropped down into a slight bow, one Ulysses himself had often adopted when he was before the presence of the previous Supreme Commander. Though it did make sense, if he thought about it, considering he had given Varius a portion of his own memories by bestowing him with his DNA through the means of Ulysses' own blood.
Words could not have done justice for the exhilaration he felt coursing through his veins.
I have created my own perfection, completed what was once impossible in the minds of those others.
"Aetius Varius Septimus, what is your objective, my son?"
"To fight for your glory, for the glory of the Valencian Empire and her Armada, to wipe the existence of Templars and resistance against your rule from the face of the Spiral, Supreme Commander."
Ulysses' heart soared within his chest. This meant nothing more than that he had succeeded in transferring his DNA memory through the blood transfusion: every memory of the pain and of the blood and destruction brought on by the factions of the pirates and the Templars, including the memories of Ulysses' suffering at the hands of Atticus Mercilus -
"Very precisely, mio figlio, now rise."
Ulysses paused, crimson eyes meeting the gaze of the clockwork Assassin.
"But also keep this in mind, Aetius, you are the one to take after me, if anything is to happen to me. You will become the Supreme Commander of the Valencian Armada."
The Assassin nodded in mute understanding, each of his steps synchronizing with the Supreme Commander's out of the chamber.
Ulysses closed the door of his workshop behind him.
"Come with me, Aetius."
Aetius Varius followed him in the way any obedient any child would, and even without looking back, Ulysses sensed how he internally took in everything around him, figuring out the workings of the fortress without even creating a single sound. Such was not exactly different from how Septimus once was himself, he did recall.
I was like this before, when I was nothing but a young assassin still training to fight for what was right in the Spiral.
The Supreme Commander closed the door behind him, his chair creaking when his body settled within it.
Once more, Aetius' void - like eyes underneath the shadow of his hood met his scarlet eyed gaze.
"What are your orders, Commander?"
As any soldier should, as how any of my creations should be...
"Do not allow the others to know who you are until I say so, Aetius, the Templars must not know that you exist yet, for you are to be our greatest asset against them. Practice the skills you have and know while you are at it, I will be giving you a mission as soon as one comes up."
Varius simply nodded: out of the door, his robes swishing with each of his steps.
The silence was deafening.
Ulysses realized, right then and there, just how empty everything felt now he had completed constructing his final and absolutely perfect creation.
It's in your hands now... Supreme Commander.
Slender fingers, both flesh and mechanical, curled into fists, digging into his palms, his fingernails carving cresents and nearly drawing drops of blood. His Lord was yet to be avenged truly, for while he did indeed ensure the entirety of Skull Island spilled their blood as retribution for the strike they had struck against the Valencian Armada, his true killer still ran amok in the Spiral.
Adrian Devereaux.
Devereaux... Mercilus... Pray that I don't find you before you die, or else hell will seem welcome with what I have planned for you both. No one walks out of the hands of the Interrogator without wounds in their flesh and in their mind, no one survives, and neither will you…!
The sounds spilling from his throat had only registered within his mind much later after they had occurred: slightly high, airy laughter that could only belong to a madman.
Cybernetic fingers traced along his desk's edge, following the elongated shadows of the objects sitting across it in a manner that could only be described as precise.
Perfect stacks of parchment, a flawless quill pen in the inkwell, his mask sitting on its stand not far away from his hand. A lamp stood silent sentinel at one of its corners, casting a long shadow -
Click.
Perhaps it was just him, though Ulysses was rather certain that he had heard the click of his pocketwatch going off in the lapel of his waistcoat.
He quickly fished it out.
0445 AM.
"Why time, you cruel immortal, passing by so fast when it would have been much more preferable if you were a little slower."
He dropped the watch into the pocket from which he had taken it, pushing himself up next. Only fifteen minutes were required to pass before his usual meeting with his elites, fifteen minutes to dress himself up within the royal regalia of the Emperor of the Valencian Empire and the Supreme Commander of the Armada with his mask.
Ulysses tugged his white gloves tight over his slender hands, his uniform coat's familiar weight on his shoulders almost providing a sense of comfort. It was his shell, a heavy shell that was choking him and weighing down on him and crushing his lungs, even though it was all that was shielding him from the scrutinizing eyes of his own soldiers.
What would they think about me if they knew of the fact that I am like... This? My soldiers, my warriors, and my family, they need me at this very moment, I cannot afford to slip at this moment, no matter how tempting it is.
It would be quite an understatement to say such was tempting. Nearly everyday, Ulysses found himself fighting this urge to simply let it all go -
Ulysses shook it off.
Wrapping his sash tightly around his waist and tying the knot, the Supreme Commander of the Armada drew in a sharp breath at the sensation of first his sword belt and then his belt of throwing knives around his waist: gloved fingers running over his own now slightly more prominent hipbones.
Was I like this in the past?
It tired him, exhausted him to look up into the mirror he was positioned in front of.
Ulysses' eyes met with scarlet, half sunken ones.
The figure inside the mirror wore his clothing, his face, or what he thought was his face. Ulysses Septimus never recalled him appearing so gaunt in appearance, the flesh stretching over his skull like the skeleton structure his body contained was about to jump out of the skin it was supposed to support. His lips were slightly parted, just ever so slightly and drawing in controlled gulps of air which was vital to keep his easily broken, human frame going.
Ulysses traced a single fingertip along the scar marring the left side of his face.
It felt as though he was looking into the face of a stranger.
But this is indeed you, this is you and no one else.
The scar on the side of his face rippled, when Ulysses opened his mouth. What he would say, what he desired to accomplish, it all flew out of the Supreme Commander's reach, just like everything else in his life, and several seconds later, he simply closed his mouth in the fashion of a mute.
His blood - red eyes fluttered closed.
How fast did everything change. Only over a course of not even more than a decade: Ezio's death, Lavinia's death, and - !
Ulysses' left hand flew up to his head. No, please, no, not at this moment when he needed what was left of his crumbling facade...!
He gave up fighting those images, those voices. What else could he do when they would not relent, no matter how much he inwardly screamed, inwardly begged for those images of madness to leave him alone, they would just not leave?
But everything be damned if he would allow himself to slip before the ultimate goal was accomplished.
Shaking his head like it would shut out those images, clear them out of his head, Ulysses spun briskly on his heels and snatched the mask up. It would not be prudent to keep his soldiers, his elites waiting when they needed him in all of this, not when he had an Empire to run.
An entire empire built upon the complete and total annihilation of an entire island of people, many who could possibly be innocent and did not deserve the fate you had brought down upon them. Ulysses, what happened to adhering to the creed you had sworn to protect with everything you had? What happened to all the teachings that Ezio had taught you -
Ulysses shut the thought out of his head, locked it in a prison at the back of his skull with all of his other pesky human thoughts and threw the key into the pit within himself.
"Ave, Secundus Caesarus."
The traditional greeting from his elites reverberated through the war chamber upon Ulysses' entrance, each and every one of them snapping into the Armada salute and their gazes focused upon him. Him, their leader, their commander appointed.
What a joke that I am, a poor fool and a coward that could only hide behind a mask and a costume, standing in Kane's shadow and leading soldiers that was rightfully his.
Those thoughts rattled through his skull when he sat down, clashing against each other like the stones within the rain maker instrument. The sound was overwhelming, deafening even, taking over his thought process in a way that left Ulysses' lips twitching behind the mask, silent tears rolling down his cheeks even when his voice was even and monotone. After listening to those thoughts for so long, it was impossible to not start actually believing in them.
Septimus could not even predict the worst was yet to come.
His fingers tightened around the armrests of his throne.
What's happening to me?!
The voices of his elites blurred into one, and his vision was darkening, even though nothing was obstructing his vision. There was no differentiating between the words at this point, more so with what felt like a gigantic boulder was pressing down upon his chest, threatening to crush him absolutely and completely this time.
Ulysses wanted to scream.
Much as he despised himself for being such an imperfect weakling, for being a human with those pesky emotions that often came in the way of his service to the Grand Armada as its leader and Commander, as well as the Emperor of the Valencian Empire, it was virtually impossible to deny the fact he still had a human's self preservation and fear -
Darkness all around him, crushing him within its inky embrace. He could see nothing beyond three feet of himself, and all he could hear was that horrendous scream in the distance, the drops of crimson red...
Septimus snapped back into reality, his vision kicking right back on.
"Commander? Are you of optimal condition?"
It was Deacon that had spoken, his voice betraying the slightest hint of - did he hear that correctly ? - concern for him.
"I assure you, I am, spymaster, there is no need to worry for me."
Is that not the same words you had essentially spoken to Servius before, Septimus? You may be able to force him to not speak of any of this, but this is not Servius. Deacon could probably see through this weak little facade you have up without even trying.
"If you say so, Commander."
Ulysses winced, fingers tightening around the armrests of his throne. Deacon clearly held no credibility to his words, simply permitting such lies to be spoken for the sake of him keeping what was left of his dignity in front of his soldiers: his gaze turned toward the other elites.
Rooke's gaze was scrutinizing, not even bothering in the least to turn away even when the Supreme Commander met his, unwavering and harsh just as he had been when he had first met him.
Bishop was not even paying attention, simply tinkering with his staff.
Cristobal's eyes were downcast, his lips a neutral line teering on a frown. The elder assassin's fingers twitched, slipping on the drafting compass within it and nearly dropping it all together.
"As I was saying, I want a retrieval team ready by tomorrow. We have waited for far too long, and who knows what the Templars could have done to them during this span of time - "
Two weeks, two whole weeks had passed without anything coming up, nothing known about the whereabouts of his two most precious officers. Ulysses could not wait any longer.
"Do anything needed to find them and bring them back is crucial of this moment."
The Supreme Commander could only hope that this was enough to distract his mind from the image he had seen when he blacked out.
And Aetius Varius Septimus officially is activated! What awaits our clockwork assassin...? Only time could tell.
Read and review :D
Later!
-Hades