He was not about to let what he had spent seven years chasing slip through his fingers, no!
Ulysses could hear the voices, the voices of his apprentices, of his recruits and of everyone the Templar Grand Master had taken from him: those voices whispered into his mind and dug into his flesh like a thousand blades.
Avenge us.
Blood for blood.
Stabbing pain ripped through him, and his lungs burned with each frantic breath drawn in from the efforts of his run. Yet it had felt so exhilarating, the adrenaline pumping through his body with each beat of his heart only serving to drive him on.
Avenge us.
He should have been out of breath, and yet, he was not, when he stormed into the chamber.
"Atticus Mercilus."
The Assassin turncoat was alone, but for this moment Ulysses could care less of where the God - damned swashbuckler was. This was the man who had murdered his brother:
The orchestrator.
Atticus slowly pivoted around to face Ulysses, and with this single movement, Ulysses knew what would happen - it was clear, and it drew a grin which only widened with each second underneath the elaborate mask he wore.
So this is the end of it, huh? A duel of the fates, to the death.
"Finally realized that running is no use, traitor?"
The Templar tossed his head back, letting out a laugh. It shook his entire frame, his hands spreading out by his sides but never releasing the blade as black eyes met crimson ones.
"Let us resolve this once and for all, Grandmaster."
Atticus spat out the words, shifting into his battle stance.
And I fully intend to, traitor, for I thirst to see that you suffer for what you have done to the Order, to Valencia, and to ME so long ago..!
"I will END you!"
The roar emanating from his throat was animalistic, somewhere between a angered shriek and a scream of agony when Ulysses lunged at the Templar, arm drawn back to deal a blow that would have cleaved a regular man's head in two. Atticus in turn blocked with an expertise which only made the monster within Ulysses cackle even more.
Blades interlocked, Ulysses' gaze locked upon his through the mask.
"How many nights have you spent dreaming about killing me, Octavian Superbus?"
Atticus' fist slammed into his solar plexus, knocking all air from his lungs.
Ulysses barely had time to recover before he was forced to twist his body to the side - Atticus had thrust his own weapon out and aimed for his torso, a blow which surely would have killed him if it was successful - the blade just barely slicing through his uniform and the topmost layer of skin.
"How many nights have you spent awake, fantasizing about how you would tear into my flesh and remind me of the pain which I had caused you?"
"Countless!"
The Templar's laugh at his response echoed through the chamber, long and loud and maniacal. He enjoyed watching this, Ulysses knew, he enjoyed watching Ulysses remember and suffer.
"Good, good, just as I had expected!"
Pain shot down the Supreme Commander's arm when he reacted a single second too late, allowing the former Assassin to tear a vertical gash through his left uniform sleeve. The drops of blood flying out of the wound decorated the walls like shattered jewels, little droplets each carving a path of its own down the smooth metal -
His mind blocked it out.
"As you should...! Remember the hundreds who laid their lives in your hands, only for you to end them! You've betrayed them all!"
"Ah, I do not think so - it was you who truly caused their deaths, Octavian, did you not ever realize that?"
The Templar Grand Master's swipe passed over his head when Ulysses bent his knees and dropped to the ground, rolling to the side and leaping back up, although not without sensing a jolt deep within himself. Atticus' words had struck true: if it had not been for his failure to act, those lives would not have been lost.
It took the force of Atticus' boot slamming into his chest to yank him out of his own mind, his swordpoint merely inches from his chest until he landed a square kick to Atticus' side, throwing him off balance before thrusting his blade forward until they locked at the handguards.
"Who do you fight for, Octavian?"
A gash torn into the lower half of Mercilus' torso wept out brilliant drops of crimson red, staining his tattered Templar robes.
"Is it for your dead king, or for your wife, or for your brother?"
And there they stood, pure hatred emanating from the both of them as they panted like beasts who had ran miles without stopping, lungs screaming for air and exhaustion threatening to overcome them both.
Is this exihilaration, or is this rage?
"At least I stand for something, bastardo, at least I remain loyal…!"
Those voices within his mind may have persisted, but they were not the wretched voices which had so haunted his dreams and his nights with their accursed whispers of his failure. They were the voices of all whom he had lost in the past, voices that Ulysses had nearly forgotten the sound of until now.
They drove away the fog surrounding his mind, stringing together the pieces and filling in the gaps within his psyche.
Now, he was able to think, to act more clearly and definitely than ever before.
Once more they charged at each other like lions, blades extended like claws ready to rip out the throat of the other through any means.
"Perhaps you can claim your are more loyal than me, Octavian, but can you truly say that your actions were sanctioned under justice?"
Justice, this word had driven him on -
Blood stained the black fabric of Ulysses' uniform coat maroon, following the wet slide of blade being plunged into his foe's flesh. At last the Templar Grand Master let loose an anguished bellow of pain, the smug smirk wiped from his face and replaced by an expression of pure and absolute hatred once Ulysses had yanked his sword back out.
This longing for justice had been his primary motivation since the beginning -
"Those were criminals I eradicated, threats to the Spiral - !"
The words slipped from his lips, growled so ferociously that Ulysses could not even recognize his own voice.
"Criminals?"
Atticus' blade left a bleeding gash under the left side of his ribcage, blood seeping from the wound: a gash which should have burned with pain considering how deep it was.
"There were innocents on that island, Supreme Commander."
As much as Ulysses would deny it, some part of him acknowledged the words of the former Assassin. Perhaps he had rid the Spiral of the pirate threat, but it was at the price of completely annihilating an island full of people, enough so that their bones would litter the entirety of the world forever while their blood stained the inland lakes and the sands of the beaches red.
"Do you chastise me for compromising the brotherhood when you have clearly broken all three tenets of the creed? You are no better than I, Ulysses Caesarion Septimus."
Only then did Ulysses find an edge.
Blades interlocked once more, showers of golden sparks flying off of them after one finishing effort, sending the Templar's sword skittering across the floor of the map chamber and out of his reach, and the Supreme Commander slammed him into a nearby wall with brute strength Ulysses only vaguely noticed.
Their faces were mere inches apart, Ulysses having pinned the Templar against the wall with his blade placed to his throat, his other hand clenching the collars of his robes. Atticus let out a choked laugh, bordering on maniacal while a thin streak of blood trickled down from the side of his mouth, rolling through his disheveled beard.
"How much innocent blood was spilt that night, oh Grandmaster? How many heads rolled simply because they did not see your "light" and "truth," hmm? You needn't even answer, for I am quite certain you never bothered to reexamine how many atrocities you have committed, all in his name."
Kane.
The first Supreme Commander of the Armada, whom Ulysses lurked in the shadow of, and his puppetmaster, even after termination.
"How do you know of this?"
Ulysses did not lower his blade from the Templar's throat.
"You are but a child, Octavian, a child who will lead the Spiral and your precious little puppet soldiers into doom because you cannot accept that your favorite toy is broken and gone. Your God is dead, and you refuse to see it."
Atticus laughed again, quickly dissolving into hacking coughs as more blood poured out of his mouth.
The Supreme Commander of the Armada could not prevent his growl of frustration from escaping, or from throwing his entire frame to the side, sending the Templar sprawling across the floor of the chamber.
"Go on, is not this what you desired? What you've been dreaming about? Come on, Octavian, bring your fantasies to life!"
By now the voices had faded away into nothingness, leaving Ulysses alone with the monster that resided within him, this monster which stomped and snarled within the expanses of his mind, hissing out demands for the blood of this traitor who had already cost him so much. But he could not give.
Ulysses forced himself to halt two feet away from the battered form of the Templar Grand Master.
His right arm brought up the Sword of Altaïr, rising it high in the air in preparation for a killing stroke. It would only take that much to claim the life of the man that had murdered everyone he had ever valued, to see his blood spilled across the floor like a slaughtered pig along with his gutted entrails.
Killing was that easy, and it was that easy to enjoy it as well.
However, it would not provide lasting enjoyment. A burst of sadistic amusement, yes, but nothing more - the satisfaction would only come and go within the blink of an eye.
Not now.
The Sword made no sound when it was sheathed once more at his hip.
Atticus' grin straightened, his gaze following the now concealed weapon to the still masked face of the Supreme Commander. He was surprised, surprised at what others would call a sudden show of mercy. Now if only they could see the grin spreading his lips beneath the protection of the mask he wore.
It stretched from ear to ear, threatening to make Ulysses sway rather dangerously until his mind became distracted by his own words.
"No, I won't kill you here, traitor, I will make you suffer for the pain that you have wrought upon me, I will make you feel the pain you have brought upon the hundreds and thousands of innocent souls with your venom."
Footsteps behind the Supreme Commander announced the arrival of the Royal Guards, and the soft rustling of cloak fabirc the presence of their looming leader Octavius Caesarus, followed by his own second in command Sentus Optimus, whose gaze turned from the Templar to the Lord of the Valencian Empire.
"Put that traitor back into the dungeons, I will personally take care of this one."
The Templar could not even make a single sound as Sentus Optimus took him away, escorted by the Praetorian guards.
"Your condition, Supreme Commander, is less than optimal."
Ulysses' gaze fell to his own form. Multiple gashes riddled his flesh, seven in his forearms, at least ten in his torso, and three near his legs. With the adrenaline fading out of his systems, the Supreme Commander could at last feel the dull pain from the bruises forming where Atticus had struck him with his fist.
"I am fine, Captain Caesarus - "
And then it hit him.
"Where is the pirate and Argentius Septimus...?!"
Octavius did not even flinch at his sudden outburst.
"I regret to inform you that they somehow escaped, Supreme Commander."
Behind his mask, his lips parted to let out a howl of frustration. But it did not come out, no sound was produced by his throat as though someone had severed his vocal cords leaving it only to echo endlessly within his mind.
Gone, gone, my beautiful puppet and the hand that plunged the blade into Kane's heart-!
"Impossible...!"
His voice came out a airy monotone through the vocalizer.
Ulysses felt his heart drop, drop until it shattered once more into a thousand little pieces. Was he to lose his precious puppet, his beautiful puppet to this very same bastard who had brutally slain his master before his eyes while he was locked in combat?
"Search the entirety of Cadiz, of Valencia... I want them found, and I want the Commodore to be brought back to me, functioning."
Octavius nodded in acknowledgement with a click before leaving the scene.
Now to deal with Atticus himself.
As eager as he was to head towards the dungeons, Ulysses closed the double steel doors leading into the map room behind him carefully, until he could hear it hiss shut and seal back up like it was supposed to be. Something deep within him shivered in delight at this, it was all too clear why: it was a reason to strip Argentius of his position, once he was returned. No one would know how to undo such a lock upon the chamber, save for a clockwork of the Armada who would be entrusted with this secret.
A secret upon the penalty of death, should it ever be allowed to be given to someone beyond the ranks of the Armada, particularly the enemy.
And speak of the devil.
Ulysses' boots thudded against each step as he descended into the dungeons. It was empty, so empty it was quite possible to hear the sound of the machinery maintaining the dungeon's security mechanisms away in some faraway corner.
Ever since the termination of the first Supreme Commander, the security of the prisons had been boosted with new technology, Sokolovian technology to be more precise, and doubly so in the area used to keep the prisoners of highest importance.
Passing the first few of the cells, their bars humming with the low voltage electricity channeling through it, Ulysses passed his left hand over the sensor lock, and the door swung open without any trouble (as to ensure no one aside from an authorized personnel would have access); plucking the flawless mask from his face.
Atticus had been bandaged up, he noted, from how he could see lines of stained red gauze through the crimson stained Templar robes the other man wore. A temporary barrier, one which would only prolong his life until the time comes for his execution.
The Supreme Commander of the Armada brought up a single hand, pressing the outline of his communicator clipped to his uniform collar.
"The prisoner is to be executed tomorrow at sunrise."
"Command acknowledged, Supreme Commander."
Octavius was the one to cut the connection between them, leaving a silence to hang between them, the only sound in the surrounding being the hum of the bars being put temporarily in low voltage mode while the Supreme Commander loomed before the chained figure of Atticus Mercilus.
"Seven years ago, you were the one standing where I am now."
Ulysses found himself sneering at the sight of his enemy, pathetically broken by his two hands and bleeding, chained to the wall by his wrists just like he had been at twenty one years of age. That night had been absolute hell for the master Assassin at the time, and he remembered each lash upon his bare back, the warm sensation of his own blood tricking down his flesh out of the many gashes.
"And seven years ago, you promised that if you were to ever survive this, you would make me pay for my crimes."
"A promise that I fully intend to carry out."
It had not come out as threatening as he wished, that much he noticed: all of his attention shifting to the ring the Templar wore upon his left ring finger, pulsating in a way all too similar.
Puzzle pieces fell into place with his realization.
"And I see you are in possession of something that is rightfully mine."
Atticus had held this ring of Eden this entire time, which explained how he could escape. His puppet was not at fault, he was almost certain of this, it was this hell damned Templar and the influence given to him by the artifact of the First Civilization. Ulysses was determined to make it his. After all, had the Apple not called him the "Keeper of Eden"?
He slipped the ring onto his own finger, a shuddering sigh whistling from his lips. This was no different from all those times that he had laid his hand upon the artifact: the same sensation of power coursing through his veins, as though a fire had been ignited deep within him -
Ulysses stepped back in surprise when the ring hummed in his hand, creating an image, or more exactly, a fragment of an image before him.
"La città d'oro di El Dorado."
He laughed.
He laughed and laughed, the force of it shaking his entire frame, tremors running through him. The final map piece in his hand..! The Golden City would belong to the Armada, and at last, they, he would finish what Kane had commanded him to.
"I must thank you, Atticus."
The remnants of his bout of maniacal laughter had left a seemingly permanent grin upon his pale lips, stretching his features to a point of near discomfort. However, Ulysses could not care less at this point.
"You've brought me this final piece of the El Dorado map…you've placed the Golden City on a silver platter and offered it to me."
His sight swam before him, and he wobbled dangerously on his feet.
One slender fingered hand shot out, resting on the table to his direct right. He could not breathe, gasps escaping his lips at an alarming rate.
"Although I do wonder how long you will live to enjoy your victory."
Yes, this is but a hollow shell, a shell that will most definitely collapse on itself if you don't do something about it right this second, Ulysses.
Despite how his brain screamed at him to get away, for him to patch up those dangerously bleeding wounds before dealing with his archnemesis, Ulysses ignored it. He had him in his hands, and Atticus had nearly escaped once again, he would have to be a fool to let this chance go to waste.
Snatching a dagger from the table, the Lord of the Valencian Empire then flung himself onto the Templar: deaf to the sounds coming from his own lips with each slash, only knowing he was determined to get to one thousand cuts.
Only for his human shell to give up on him at sixty - seven.
Ever since I started writing Valencian Legend, I had wanted to write this scene of final battle between Ulysses and Atticus, to be all honest... And now, things shall get even more interesting (evil grins.)
Read and review :D until next time!
-Hades