If there was anything Ulysses learned during the early stages of his time as the Grand Master General of the Assassin Order, that would be power came at a great price.

With the ascension of one into power, comes the ones who wish to ride upon this glory and this raising, many simply for their own gains and interests. Then there will also be the ones wishing to remove him from power, for now his position threatens them even more.

When he first rose to the position of Grand Master, he recalled vividly, so many had tried to approach him, proclaiming they would be his loyal allies, friends to call on whenever he is in need of aide. Tch, thank His Majesty he had the foresight to turn them down, otherwise Ulysses could not even imagine how it would be like if there really comes a day when he needed their aide.

The Armada Admiral and elite laid the quill pen in his hand down onto his massive desk, raising into a standing position. Ever since his promotion was announced to Valencia and the other elites, his god and king had seen fit to assign him a much more spacious suit to him, one as large as the other elites', despite the fact his manor had been rebuilt more than a month ago.

A month ago...

Ulysses' eyebrows furrowed. He remembered that day only in that moment, that day he would never forget.

(flashback)

"Edward James Teach."

The Armada Admiral, dressed in his usual uniform with its golden epaulettes and aiguillettes, stopped before the disgraced privateer's cell.

You still have one chance to turn back, if you so wish, speak up and I can put in a few good words with the Supreme Commander himself. He will no doubt forgive you for what you have done, with what you have done for Valencia during the war.

"Your execution is due to happen in the next hour, at the gallows as how you requested. Any last wishes or last words?"

Grey eyes locked into his, Ulysses would not lie, he sincerely felt a jolt of sympathy within his chest, where the barely repaired thing called his heart lies.

"I have none, aside from that I be given time to clean up this bloody mess that is myself. I wish to die like an honorable gentleman."

"Permission granted."

And just like when he had slain the man Emilio, Ulysses found himself marching back out of the dungeon with a sort of mechanical stiffness inhibiting his stance, as if he truly was a clockwork elite of the Armada. An elite capable of feeling the full scope of the human spectrum, yet also able to shut out any and all emotions to ensure maximum ability.

It was here in this very moment Ulysses was more than simply tempted to laugh at himself, out of more or less bitterness.

How he wished he was a clockwork, so he may at last shut away those pesky emotions lingering in the back of his mind: there was no way for him to be able to even go for a single hour without the demon within him rattle at the bars of its prison, or even for his emotions to keep his mind off of thinking about his master and commander with every living breath he took.

One gloved hand reached up, adjusting his feathered tricorne as Ulysses arrived at the gallows, just twenty minutes before the due end of the Marleybonean privateer.

By the time Teach had arrived, a crowd had already gathered, a surprisingly silent crowd as they looked upon the well dressed form of the former aristocrat when he arrived into view, accompanied by two Armada marines. Teach seemed to command an air of silent dignity, even with his resignation before the noose that would claim his life within a few moments.

"Edward Teach." Ulysses' lips quivered, almost unable to force out those words without a tremble becoming obvious in his speech. "You are convicted of smuggling, privacy, and treason against the Valencian crown. For this, you shall now be executed via the gallows, as per your request: do you accept the charges?"

"I do, and I acknowledge the fact I have aided in causing anarchy with the pirate faction."

Then you have past the point of no return, that was your last chance to step out.

Grey eyes locked onto his, Edward removing the blindfold and taking a step forward until he stood directly over the trapdoor that would open and seal his fate.

"I do thank you for being so merciful with me, Admiral, it would only be a momentary pang."

Much to Ulysses' own surprise, the man reached out, looping the noose around his own throat.

"I pray you to bear me witness that I met my fate like a brave man."

Your bravery and dignity is commendable, Edward Teach, if it wasn't for the fact we were doomed to be on different sides of this chessboard, we could have achieved great heights together.

The Armada Admiral nodded, and made a gesture with his right hand toward the marine standing near the lever.

Click.

And he hung there, suspended and expired within only a few seconds after the trapdoor opened up underneath him. It indeed was only a momentary pain for him.

(Flashback ends)

The privateer was given a civilian's burial, he recalled, placed in an ordinary coffin and in the uniform of a Royal Navy officer and buried within one of Valencia's cemeteries.

Ulysses normally wasn't the sort of man who would respect or honor anyone associated with piracy, but Teach was a different case to say the least. He was unlike those others of Skull Island, unlike those who had joined the pirates.

Crimson eyes turned toward the saber that hung on the wall on the far end of his office. The privateer's weapon was given to him as a war trophy of sorts after his death, even now he could not help himself but wonder if things could have turned out differently.

Of course, when those questions were called to mind, it was impossible to not remember the face of the wretched worm responsible for all of the events that had transpired over the course of the last year.

Adrian Devereaux.

White gloved fingers tightened around the edge of his desk.

How he loathed him, the pathetic excuse of a man! Ulysses had thought it was impossible for him to hate any other more than the Templar Grand Master Atticus Mercilus, but it would seem he was wrong.

"They will both pay."

He spoke to no one in particular, as it was addressed more toward himself than anything else. And he would see to the fact they did, both of his archenemies, for each and every crime they had ever committed within this Spiral with punishment worthy of being called a living hell.

But just exactly where those two bastards are hiding, he did not know. Recently, Kane had kept him busy enough with other matters within Valencia, too busy to pay attention to seeking out the map pieces or even to contact his Assassins across the Spiral, while his foes, as though they knew any action of theirs would attract his attention onto them, kept themselves down and under the radar of the Armada.

Ulysses opened one of the smaller cabinets within his office, pouring himself a glass of Valencian wine he twirled delicately in between the fingers of his left hand, only taking a small sip as he gazed out the large window of his office. He craved for revenge, for justice against those who had wronged him, yes, he wanted to see them perish in the most horrendous ways possible for what they had done to him, when they had mercilessly beaten him down and into the ground, snatching all that was dear to him out of his hands, he had to wait -

After all, His Majesty's commands come before anything and everything, isn't it? This was your promise to him, when he granted you this position, and an Assassin always have to carry out their promise.

Draining his glass, the Admiral and elite chuckled to himself.

Funny how he still called himself an Assassin (and he still remains the Grand Master of the Assassin Order, that is true) when he all but completely shattered some of the tenets of the Creed all Assassins are bound to follow: he had taken up his sword against those who are innocent, and simply defending their homeland, and don't even get him started on being discreet in their work. Anyone, even thinking with a toe, could realize that it was an Assassin who had been working for the Supreme Commander and disposing of his enemies.

No blundering pirate would have been able to perform a kill with the kind of finesse, though Septimus chose to ignore this fact. Provided the Resistance still takes the blame for the death of one of their own.

Lowering the glass onto the desk, whatever little effect the alcohol had on Ulysses disappeared in the next second. It was, without a doubt, the sound of a cannonball firing.

"Che cazzo?!"

Ulysses' hands instantly flew to the swords at his hip, sprinting over to the window.

The sight before him was both surprising and alarming, for ships, at least thirty or fourty ships in the very least, a mix of ships bearing the Jolly Roger flag of the pirates, and ships with the scarlet cross of the Knights Templar.

How is this possible?! All stormgates into Valencia are blocked by blockades and guarded by Assassins!

His heart was thundering within his chest, he was certain of it, and hard enough he was almost afraid it would burst out of his torso. Ulysses threw open the doors of his chambers, not even caring to lock it behind him when he burst into the halls of the Armada headquarters.

There was only one reason why they would be here, one reason, and that would be the Supreme Commander-!

It was as though his legs were on autopilot, tracing the way through the headquarters and toward the throne room.

Ulysses only vaguely acknowledged the blood of the enemies, pirates and Templars alike, dousing his uniform and his mask and hands, how he trampled their remains underfoot without a care. His only concern was his master, his lord and his king:

What has happened before cannot happen again!

His lips twisted into a dangerous snarl at the four men before him - one Templar and three pirates - those insolent fools! Anyone standing between him and his king deserves nothing short of death!

Sparks flew when Ulysses deflected the Templar soldier's flachion blade with his Sword of Altaïr, the Armada Admiral launching a powerful kick into his gut that sent the man flying across the floor, through the blood and innards of pirates slain by the clockworks. How they made it into the headquarters was beyond Septimus', a thought that was pushed into the very back of Ulysses' brain in the next two seconds.

Coldly, emotionlessly, he rammed his sword into the gut of one of the pirates, ripping outward with a brutal strength he always knew he possessed if needed.

Blood, and steaming coils of intestines fell out of his ripped open torso like a roll of fat snakes, the pirate did not even have time to scream in pain when he died, blood tricking from his mouth and pooling underneath his corpse in a scarlet puddle with his torn out insides.

The Armada Admiral did not even pay attention to the body on the ground, his attention zeroing onto his next target, the second pirate: shoving his sword with enough strength into the soft flesh between his jaw and throat, the blade showed through the top of his head.

He could not even utter a gasp of pain, for he was all but impaled upon Ulysses' blade, and his impaled body was soon flung aside by a singular swing of the elite's arm, hitting the wall with a dull thud and joining his companion's corpse on the ground, white brain matter and fluid trickling out of the massive wound tore into his head.

Who is next? Who shall challenge my skill now? Come at me, you insolent fools, they did not name me as one of the three greatest swordsmen of the Assassin Order without a reason!

Ulysses laughed, he laughed merrily, as though this was nothing but a game, when the third pirate charged at him - a buccaneer by the looks of his armor and his weapon - swinging his larger than normal sword at the Armada elite's head.

Oh woe to those fools, they never seem to know how with a weapon as large and clumbersome as this buccaneer's sword, the trajectory of his weapon becomes all too clear to anyone with an eye sharpened enough from battle experience, and Ulysses had plenty of those dealing with Templars from long ago.

Easily dodging his first swings, Septimus drove the Sword of Altaïr deep into the man's side, all the way up to the very hilt of his weapon.

The pirate buccaneer gasped, his sword slipping from his grip and clattering onto the floor of the hallway, both of his hands flying up to yank Ulysses' weapon from where it was lodged within his body: his strength swiftly fading into something akin to the feeble struggle of a newborn child at the bosom of their mother, with his life's blood spurting out of the wound in a fashion reminding Ulysses quite a lot of fountains.

He swiftly jerked his blade, with a wet sliding noise, out of his freshly deceased opponent. Now there is only one small obstacle between him and his master, nothing but a small pebble in the road he treaded on.

Ulysses did not even acknowledge the Templar's feeble pleas for his life, instead, seized him and yanked his head back with his own helmet, laying bare his throat and smoothly sliding his bloodstained sword across it.

Scarlet eyes watched with a sort of sick interest, at how his sword - the weapon itself thoroughly stained by much more blood than he had anticipated - sliced oh so smoothly through the man's skin, easily splitting wide open his esophagus and sending yet another fountain of ruby red into the air.

His fingers finally loosened its hold on his enemy's quickly cooling corpse, his body resuming its autopilot and running down the hallway that would lead to the throne room of the Supreme Commander.

Ulysses' heart dropped, in the very next minute, into his stomach.

Even from his place, at least fourty feet or so away from the double doors leading into the throne room chamber of his god, he could pick up the sound of fighting from the inside, the sound of multiple opponents against one.

"Merda!"

He had only felt this kind of adrenaline rush through him once, and that was when his brother Ezio offered to keep the Templars off his tail during his narrow escape from the doomed headquarters of the Aquilan Assassins.

This same kind of rush fueled Septimus now, dulling all sense of exhaustion and the stabbing pain in his side as he burst through the doors.

"Commander!"

To say this scene before him was scary was a understatement, a pure and complete understatement to say the very least. It horrified Ulysses down to his core, nearly nailing his legs down to where he stood -

Kane fought against four different opponents at once, like Septimus himself had shortly before he burst into the chamber, only with a single difference.

Ulysses recognized two of them.

Adrian Deveraux and his archnemsis, Atticus Mercilus.

Without another second of hesitation, the Armada Admiral flung himself into the battle. He had already seen two of those he valued beyond all there is in the Spiral ripped from him, and damn it all, he would much rather die himself now than to bear witness to this once more!

Driving his rapier into the heart of one of the two unidentified pirates, Ulysses flung his Sword of Altaïr like a massive throwing knife, the pirate only able to utter a single groan when the sword impaled itself through his chest.

But the worst wasn't this part, no.

Some part of Ulysses had shattered, when he turned around... Just in time to see Atticus relinquish his grip on Kane's form, and Adrian to yank his bloodstained dagger from the clockwork's chest.

"No!"

Dear Lord, NO! This could not happen again! This isn't real! This ISN'T REAL!

He rushed forward at a speed a normal human man could never have achieved, completely ignoring the painful jolt that ran up his back when his knees struck the floor of the throne room chamber, in his haste to catch his commander's body.

"My Lord...!"

So many words he wished to say, yet his throat refused to cooperate.

"I can get you help...!"

"No..."

One blood stained, pale hand clenched around his elbow, preventing him from any more action. His heart nearly stopped beating, right there and then.

"Too late..." Kane's powerful, commanding voice had faded to nothing more than a painful whisper that seemed to cost him every bit of his remaining energy to force out. "There is nothing you can do, Septimus, the damage is... done."

Horror, unspeakable horror, raced through Ulysses' veins, even more so than when he had returned to find the corpse of his brother slumped at the entrance of the blood bathed fortress of Monteriggioni, as every mental wall he had worked so hard to put up crumbled into nothing, a castle of sand in an onslaught of waves.

Septimus could feel tears stinging at the corners of his eyes behind his mask - no DON'T YOU EVEN DARE!

He could not even bring himself to look upon the wound ripped into his commander's chest, the hole ripped through his flawless uniform, or even the blood that trickled from between Kane's gold painted lips, dark blood that stained both of his hands as he cradled his master's body within his arms.

"Please, master, Your Majesty, speak not like this! Bishop can reverse it!"

Ulysses could hear his own voice crack, threatening to burst into weak sobs at the undeniable reality before him. Must-must the fates be so cruel to him, and tear away his savior in this cold and cruel Spiral? Must they rob another hero from the Spiral, one who could actually save Valencia and protect her people?

"Too late..."

Kane, with some difficulty, focused on Ulysses, the human man freezing in his place as though his gaze held a physical weight upon him.

"Septimus... Ulysses, I have... one last command for you."

"I am here at your command, master."

Tears spilled freely down his face, and it took every bit of Ulysses' strength to keep himself from actually sobbing out loud, from falling apart like he did before the body of Ezio.

You saved me before, and now I am to fail you! My lord, forgive me! Forgive me please, for this failure that I am!

"It is in your... hands now... Supreme Commander."

The clockwork king's sword slipped from his hand, clattering onto the floor of the throne room. His body stilled, and life fled from those once powerful hands that had protected, defended all of Valencia, the whole Spiral from the tyranny of the mad Napoleguin.

It was only then Ulysses allowed himself to sob.

Tears flowed freely down his cheeks, coating his own mask and the front of Kane's uniform, and his body shook with his muffled cries of pain.

Broken dreams so grand, sing of his final stand... Long live the Lord Kane.

"I won't fail you, master."

His lord had given him a command, and as long as he lived, he will see to the fact it was done-

Something had woken inside of him, Ulysses could feel it, something more than the crippling grief he felt now.

So Devereaux and Mercilus thought they could trample him into the ground without consequences, huh? They will learn, they will learn what it means to rob him of all that he had ever held dear! And oh he will have fun with those fools!

"Skull Island, you will pay... with the blood of your sons, your daughters!"

To Alex: Yes you are correct ;)

All the feels in this chapter... Perhaps the longest, and the most emotional of all the ones I have written in VL so far (and enough that I actually cried while writing this chapter). And yes, this is the very last straw to push Ulysses off the cliff that Servius had so feared of him falling off of. We shall see how that goes in the next chapter ;).

Reviews are much appreciated, and until next time my dear readers :D.

-Hades