Crimmy Comments: Ahhhh, sorry about the late post tonight! I thought that I'd have time to put this online during work today, but alas, I was too busy. But here you go! It's a short chapter.
Terms of use have been submitted. Verifying. Verifying. Terms accepted.
The Not-Haytham smiled broadly at Charles. The Templar was stricken, as if he immediately regretted his decision.
"Don't worry, Charles," the thing kept using Haytham's voice as it spoke almost soothingly. "Copying a host's initial data is an uncomfortable process, but since you are an incompatible host, it will not be as strenuous for you. Please enjoy your stay, and if you have any questions, I will trade information as required."
Charles opened his mouth to ask how, but he felt something inside his mind. It was as if he was trying to remember something, but could only just barely think of the word. It was on the tip of his tongue and his mind was racing and reeling, trying to catch up and bring it to light. He clenched his eyes tightly and covered his ears against the invasion. The amulet was in his head. It was doing things to his brain and he could only vaguely understand because he felt himself thinking things he otherwise wouldn't have in such a situation.
The amulet looked at his past, at his present, and formulated a future. It glanced through his favorite foods, the sort of colors he liked to wear, the softness of Spado's fur under his calloused palm, and the sensation of warm and wet puppy kisses on his cheek. It sifted through the last time he had been wounded and listed possible future wounds he would suffer—namely a bullet to his side courtesy of the Assassin. It rekindled the agony of losing Haytham at Fort George. It recalled the feeling of Haytham's skin under his lips and the tight heat constricting around his cock. He suddenly remembered Haytham sprawled beneath him, hair fanned against the pillow and hands clenching at the sheets, his eyes squeezed shut as the name of another man fell silently from the Grandmaster's lips. The amulet revived the sorrow of unrequited love.
Charles gasped and stumbled. He didn't want to see that! He didn't want to see any of that! A sob choked in his throat as he clenched his temples.
"Stop! STOP!" he screamed, both mentally and verbally.
The Not-Haytham cocked his head to the side. "Data processing cannot be halted. However, for your comfort, I will slow the program. You humans are fragile."
Charles snarled. He didn't understand this talk of programs and data processing. He didn't know what the thing meant!
But as if reading his wishes, data slowly streamed into his mind to answer his questions.
"WHAT ARE YOU!?" he mentally screamed.
The amulet answered him in images and instant knowledge. Those Who Came Before created it as a reference. It was an auto-cataloguing device that was meant to collect as much information on the world and its people as possible. It was a mobile, miniature library that required no attendant because it was self-sufficient.
But why was it approaching Charles? Why would it bother to make such a deal with a human, when it was programmed to regard humanity as nothing more than large, lumbering monkeys?
The thing answered him again. The amulet was designed to survive in order to continue passing information on through the ages.
Numbers appeared in Charles' eyesight. It was a string of foreign characters, and then some sort of code with zeros and ones. The numbers shifted and as he peered at them closer, he saw images. This was the probability manager. It couldn't tell the future like a psychic, but it could show possibilities of the future based upon numerical calculations.
The image in the numbers sharpened. A man was in some sort of Temple. He was blond square-shouldered. His teeth were too white as he bore them in a malicious grin. Harold Smith found one of the most powerful Pieces of Eden—the amulet told him that it controlled time. Harold Smith would undo existence itself in order to rule the world, but in doing so, he would also negate the amulet's existence. Thus, the amulet was helping Charles, not only out of curiosity and glitched programming, but because it was trying to save itself from Harold Smith.
But what if Smith wasn't the one who got to the relic first?
The scene flickered, and then it was Haytham undoing time and ruining the world.
It changed again, and Connor was destroying reality.
No matter the individual, the outcome was the same; the timeline crumbled upon the relic's use and the world collapsed around it. The amulet knew that if this happened, then it would cease to exist.
"Why does that concern me!?" Charles spittled.
"You strive for peace through control, do you not?" the Not-Haytham inquired. "At least, that's what your doctrine states. That's what you WANT to believe. If you do not act, not only will the world spiral out of existence, thus eliminating all chance of 'peace', but Haytham will die. You care about him, even now. Humans are irrational with their love; now that you know he's alive, you will do what you can to save him, even if the world were still to crumble at your feet. Humans are so selfish."
"You used me…" Charles growled.
"Yes, as you will use me," the Not-Haytham smiled pleasantly. "He'll die otherwise."
Charles was torn between attempting to break whatever contract he made and charging forward. This was a bad idea. Haytham had barely been able to escape this thing's devilish hold, so what chance did Charles have to resist? He didn't have anyone to save him from himself.
The amulet began showing Charles more possibilities. It showed him Haytham dead in a barn with a piece of sword sticking out of his chest. It showed him Haytham strangled to death in the midst of a burning town, by one of Harold Smith's favorite lackeys. It showed Haytham being captured by that monster, and violated again and again and again by various Templars. Charles blinked away the tears forming in his eyes with a savage snarl.
Could he save Haytham?
Another possibility arose; if Charles interfered, then the amulet would fall back into Haytham's hands. Harold Smith would use the relic to track Haytham, capture him, and violate him endlessly. Charles attempted to think of different approaches, but the end result was the same. Even though Haytham hadn't died in those possibilities, he had wished that he had. Haytham would've rather had death than suffer at the hands of that monster again.
That was unacceptable! Completely and utterly unacceptable! If he did nothing, then Haytham would die. If he did something, then Haytham would wish for death.
"How…how do I…how do I stop it?" he gasped.
The thing smiled wider.
It showed him two more possibilities.
Harold Smith was leaning over the wounded Charles, his breath rank and his sword buried in Charles' chest.
"You sorry dog. That's you, isn't it Charles? Just a dog, not the master. Never the best, always second place…" Harold rasped as the light faded in Lee's eyes.
The scene shifted again, and this time, it was Connor to plunge his hidden blade into Charles' heart. But the violence wasn't born from sickening possession and evil. It was gifted by mercy. It was out of understanding.
Was there any other way? Charles didn't want to die! He wanted to see Haytham again! He needed to save him!
A cold, surprisingly calm understanding washed over Charles like a chilly breeze in September. He knew what he had to do, even if the thought made his heart constrict and his knees buckle.
There wasn't another possibility if it meant saving Haytham. Charles needed to die. He HAD to die in order for the timeline to progress. And with the amulet, he was given the opportunity to choose his death.
He had so many preparations to make.
The Not-Haytham frowned at him. "Don't get any ideas now…" it warned.
Charles wheezed, blinking back the tremors of fear and frustration. He knew that he would die. But this way…this way, he could have a purpose. He could do more than run like a dog with his tail between his legs. He could save the world.
"You…you said that my data couldn't be properly assimilated into your memory banks…" Charles told the relic. He felt it cringe. This had not been a probability. Charles was acting outside of what COULD have been and was creating a new thread—a new world of possibility.
Everything went white.
Connor reeled and stumbled back again. They were still inside the amulet. The images on the White Plane spotted in front of his eyes and faded away. He was still standing next to Haytham, both of them still oddly incorporeal and not at the same time. The show was over. Charles wasn't going to continue.
Instead, the image of Charles reappeared in front of them, his face grim. Connor felt the sadness again, but there was something more behind it: determination.
"Because I wasn't properly integrated with the rest of the amulet's programming, I was able to act outside of it. I took information from the relic as it took information from us. Think of this as…as a virus," Charles grinned bitterly. "If I don't do this, then it won't matter what you do. The amulet will call the other relics and they will corrupt you. The amulet is an awful device and it needs to be destroyed. I can't break it, but I can do something that will at least keep it from connecting to the other relics for a while. It should buy you some time to track down Harold Smith without being detected."
A word, foreign and sad, echoed in Connor's and Haytham's minds. They both blinked and shook their heads.
"Assassin—Connor," Charles started. "If Haytham is dead and I've failed, then you know the word. Otherwise, please refrain from saying it. I'd rather hear it from Haytham's lips, even if I'm not really there anymore, even if I'm reduced to nothing but a specter."
Connor frowned, but nodded hesitantly, uncertain just what that meant. But he could feel it—the NEED for Haytham to be the one to speak.
Charles turned to where Haytham was standing. He lifted his hands, hoping to meet skin instead of air. "I'm only a program now. I can't feel you or touch you or speak to you in real time. I can only offer this. Consider it something of a last will."
"Charl—" Haytham was cut off by Charles' finger on his lips.
"Say the word. You need to save the world."
Haytham hesitated, and then nodded. How could he refuse his friend's final wish?
"Restinctio."
Charles smiled.
Connor felt like his heart was breaking and soaring at the same time.
Program initiated. Error. Error. Error. Data corrupted. Recalculating. Error.
"Thank you," Charles leaned forward, his moustache close enough to tickle Haytham's ear, and although Connor saw his lips move, he couldn't hear the words.
Error. Rebooting program. Error. Data corruption. Initiating system reformat. Reformatting.
Connor flinched as the edges of the White Plane began to darken. The splintered and crumbled like a mirror, like an old log, like paper writhing in fire.
Reformatting system. Data loss imminent. Unable to restore back-up files. Reformatting.
The White Plane was falling apart all around them. The data was erasing itself and Charles was shattering along with it. The edges of his coat frayed and broke apart like glass and he began disappearing from the legs up. Haytham's eyes were wide with fear and wonder and an intense regret. But despite that, there was something like victory in Charles' eyes as he wrapped his arms around the space where Haytham was standing.
Haytham nodded, his lips thinned and bloodless.
Charles smiled and disappeared.
The White Plane was no more. The world was replaced with darkness.
System restarting.
Charles had input a program failsafe to erase the amulet's memory. Connor understood what that meant. They could now use the amulet to track Harold Smith, but still remain undetected by his own relics. The tracking programs had been rebooted and started over from scratch. But in the process, Charles' data had also been erased.
That last shred of the Templar was gone.
Connor awoke to soft footsteps. He groaned and blinked blearily.
He was back in the cabin, lying on the floor. Molly gazed at him worriedly from a distance and Saro was determined to keep her concern to herself.
He wanted to tell them how Charles had sacrificed himself. He wanted to blurt it out and try to digest it. But he couldn't. He opened his mouth to speak, but words wouldn't pass his lips. They wouldn't understand. They hadn't seen Charles' memories or the programs. They hadn't felt the sadness and regret (and fondness and love).
"Hey, you two alright?" Molly asked, still unwilling to get too close lest she spook the men. She knew fighters when she saw them, and she definitely knew better than to poke sleeping bears.
Connor nodded dumbly and glanced to Haytham.
The elder man was slumped over the table haphazardly, but he stirred with a quiet grunt. Then, after a moment of sharp, short breath, Haytham refused to meet Connr's eyes. He took his hat off slowly, and rubbed his temples.
"You've received your message, then?" Saro asked Connor. The Assassin nodded and answered with a mushy mouth. She grunted curtly. "Good. Then I have fulfilled my husband's last request. We're leaving now."
Molly protested, but Connor wasn't paying attention.
Charles had decided to save Haytham by sacrificing his own life. He had planned it. He had plotted. He had been running from Connor and Harold Smith at the same time, and still managed to plant the journal where no one thought to look. Charles had known that Connor would find the amulet. He had known that Saro would make good on her word and she'd deliver the journal to Connor. Charles had planned it all out years in advance, and Connor had been none the wiser.
Haytham stood shakily. He was abnormally pale and his knuckles were white.
"I'm going for a walk," Haytham grunted quietly.
Connor didn't argue. He understood. Even though jealousy had burned at his heart when he saw what Haytham and Charles once had, he understood.
Haytham had lost Charles for the second time.