Every muscle within him ached, pain shooting up his back when Ulysses tried to sit up in his bed -
Wait, his bed? The Supreme Commander recalled that he had been down in the dungeons, he had been discussing with his old friend the Grand Master of the Templar Order and had issued the commands for his execution and -
Ulysses dropped his eyes down to his arm, where it laid by his side.
The Ring of Eden was still securely on his finger, where he had left it. Ulysses trailed his fingers down the outline of the ring, over the silvery band of the unknown metal and the shard of glass - like alloy serving as the centerpiece.
He was thankful he was laying down at this moment. Had he been standing up, he would have likely fallen over again rather ungracefully. The Supreme Commander rolled onto his back and winced involuntarily. The pain only doubled when the adrenaline faded out of his system.
"Have you recovered, Supreme Commander?"
Albinus Crassus' voice came from somewhere near the doorway of his personal chambers. There was no mistaking that, even without sitting up. Ulysses held a hand over his own two eyes as he let out a wheezing sigh. Now that the adrenaline rush from the duel had faded away, so did the relief and the amusement from putting his arch-nemesis through pain for all that he had done to him in the past.
"How long was I out...?"
Ulysses chose to ignore the pause in Albinus' voice.
"About three hours, Supreme Commander, Admiral Valenus carried you back here."
"And the Commodore Argentius Septimus?"
"Captain Caesarus had reported that they are still combing each and every inch of Valencia for both him and the swashbuckler Adrain Vries Devereaux."
The hesitation was clear in his voice, despite his quite obvious efforts to control it. And part of Ulysses could not understand why his creation would fear him so - was this fear he could hear in his voice..? It made no sense, Ulysses had done nothing but -
Stop, just stop already, must all of this insist on tormenting me so?! STOP IT, JUST STOP ALL OF THIS...!
No sound came from his lips when he buried his face within his thin hands, one flesh and one composed of steel and wires and gears, although his own screams echoed through every inch of his own being, every bit as deafening.
Yes, screams reverberated through the entirety of the darkened cell, rivers of blood spilling from the once flawless flesh, now riddled with countless wounds. Each one of the wounds spilled a steady stream of the crimson red. It was impossible to pinpoint who it was, for its appearance would change every few seconds. Sometimes it was his brother, other times it was his dead master, or it would take the shape of his poor daughter...
Several seconds had to pass by until Ulysses could muster what was left of his own dignity and strength after witnessing those horrendous sights yet another time, swinging his legs off the side of his bed until he could stand once more. Or at least attempted to do so, only to be hit with a dangerously strong wave of vertigo that had sent him swaying rather precariously until his sense of direction and balance finally returned.
He had not noticed the bands of white bandage wrapped around his torso until this point.
Ulysses shook his head once, his other hand reaching out and finally grasping the fabric of his waistcoat which had been removed and set on a chair by the side of his bed: fishing out the golden pocketwatch from its pocket.
"It's already three in the morning?"
This meant more to himself than to Albinus - the sniper had not spoken since the Supreme Commander had stepped out of his bed, staggering while he fumbled to dress himself in the uniform of the Supreme Commander: fingers slipping on the golden buttons lining his coat.
By this time the sun was rising, its rays peering through the thick green clouds often lining the sky of Valencia.
Through the HUD of his mask visors, Ulysses' crimson eyes took in every bit of sun bathed features of Valencia. He could not feel any of its warmth, and he doubted he would any time soon: infernal cold coursing through his being, biting deeper than even the cold winds of Polaris, for it was not a cold anything could ever hope to warm.
It came out of his heart, the very core of his being -
"The execution of the Templar master is due to be carried out within half an hour's time, Supreme Commander."
Albinus' pale fingers were still around the rifle in his hands even when the Supreme Commander's masked gaze locked into his. There was no visible emotion within those voids of eyes, at least, not to those who did not observe as closely as Ulysses himself did. Ulysses saw it all, he saw it all, and he felt it all.
He did not need to have given the clockwork sniper a fully functional face to know what he was thinking. So dreadfully confused he was, Ulysses knew, about all that was happening around him, so much had happened within only a short span of time. Once more, Septimus found himself wondering if him giving the power to perceive and sense emotions was a curse of some sort.
"Accompany me and lead me there."
Each one of the clockwork patrols they passed by bowed their heads in response to the presence of the Supreme Commander: a customary gesture . While most of it had been viewed through his peripherial vision, Ulysses found himself clinging on to this little bit of warmth it brought into his heart (much to his own surprise).
At least they still stand with me.
Perhaps there were a few opposers to his rule as the Supreme Commander and Lord Emperor of the Spiral, but it was a relief to know that he at least could place his trust in the soldiers under his command: trusting no other more than his clockwork brethren as well as the Assassins of the Sixteenth Cavalry Regiment -
Ulysses recalled countless times when he walked through the streets of Valencia like this, head held high and his stance proud during the missions he had carried out in the name of the Supreme Commander Kane. There was no one in Valencia that did not know the name of the elite Knight, this figure in black and gold all too similar to the (previous) Supreme Commander himself.
And they too had bowed down to him, in the same way they did now to his figure in his black with golden brocade royal garments while he walked his way to the Piazza della Signoria: the very center of the grand capital city of Cadiz.
Figures of jet black and red clad Royal Guards formed a next to impenetrable square around the area, with the Capo Comandante Octavius most prominent of them all in his gold trimmed black cloak billowing in the breeze of the early Valencian morning: halberd in one gauntleted hand, shield in his other.
While he did anticipate what was to come next, it would have been a lie on the Emperor's own part to say this did not send his heart wrenching once more in pain. The twenty - nine year old man could vividly remember the gruesome sight which had completely broken him from the inside.
The sight of the mangled frame of his poor, innocent daughter Quintia Presidos.
It would be useless, he reminded himself, to hold on to that at this time. It would be almost ungrateful of him to not enjoy what was about to transpire next, the death of the foe that he had hunted for seven years.
Watch his end, watch his end and remember you have claimed your due vengeance for this pain he has wrought upon you.
A throne had been set up for him near the southwestern corner to the execution area, in which Ulysses had claimed his seat, the folds of his royal garments falling in near perfect folds around his (he noticed with a fleeting sense of alarm) seemingly thinner than normal form.
Some internal part of him mused how this was all about to end right this moment, with Servius and Albinus flanking his throne when the Praetorian soldiers escorted the prisoner in, forced to carry the instrument of his own death upon his back, and yet somehow, miraculously, the Templar Grand Master held on to what almost resembled a sense of quiet dignity. There was no fear in those eyes, even through the crusted layer of blood coating his face, or even when the Assassin behind him cracked a whip upon his flesh to force him on.
In fact, Ulysses could have sworn that he saw a hint of a smirk on the Templar's face, his blood - caked features only making it even more eerie than it already was.
Another crack, another splatter of blood. Clockworks would never do this to their prisoners, even when one deserved the fate that was coming to them like Mercilus did - for at this point, it would be considered unnecessary. Assassins were a entirely different manner, Ulysses knew, and only reasonably so.
He would not correct them, no, this was the least he could give to his brothers and sisters in arms - to let them each take a lash against this figure they had once called brother - for the secrets and the lives lost.
"Atticus Mercilus, do you recognize your crimes against the crown of Valencia, as well as the Valencian Armada and the Order of the Assassins? Murder, treason, arousing rebellion and sedition, and attempting to assassinate multiple officers of the Grand Armada."
Octavius' tenor voice echoed through the area, commanding attention of all present without effort. No heads were unturned to his figure while the Praetorian Capo Comandante listed off his crimes against Valencia's, or more precisely, the Spiral's only two officially recognized military forces.
When Atticus' retort to those words came, the Emperor, however, found himself uncertain of whether if the man was mad or if the traitor's words actually held some truth to them.
"As how you clockworks would say - I did what was necessary, for the good of others. I have no regrets over what I have accomplished in my lifetime."
"Let those be the final words you ever utter, Templar, for your reign of terror comes to an end today."
Four Assassins - each dressed in black, executioner's robes - took it from there. Clockworks, after all, were not capable of enjoying the spilling of their enemies' blood, and the Assassins were more than willing to take it from here when it came to dealing with Templar foes.
Proven as one Assassin pinned down the Templar, while the other three went to work with the hammers and nails they had brought in.
Words would not have done justice to the sound generated as each nail was driven through the delicate joints of Atticus' wrists and his ankles (the man only allowed a threadbare, tattered robe as his death raiment). Each pound of their hammers drew a small jet of blood, dousing and turning the black fabric maroon.
Now, normally, Ulysses' mind would have acknowledged all sound in this type of situation, be it those hell - damned whispers or the murmurs from the crowd. But in this second, Ulysses Caesarion Septimus could only bathe in every twitch, every suppressed sound his arch-nemesis would make with each pound of the hammers, then the sound of ripping flesh once the wooden cross was stood upright.
So this is his end.
Scarlet eyes, through the visors of his mask, met the dark ones of Atticus Mercilus. Through the protection of his mask, Ulysses felt his lips curve up until it formed a triumphant grin: satisfaction coursing through his veins.
"Farewell."
He mouthed the word behind his mask as he rose, Servius and Albinus closely following. There was only one last matter to attend to for the Supreme Commander of the Armada, and he was in no particular rush to do so.
Upon entering Cadiz, and the Royal Guards each returning to their own individual patrols, the Emperor pivoted sharply on his heels, facing both of the snipers as well as Octavius Caesarus: the Capo Comandante stiffening when Ulysses' gaze moved over him.
"I want my flagship to be prepared for departure, inform all the other elites it is now time to claim the golden city of El Dorado."
"It shall be done immediately, Commander."
Octavius disappeared down a different hallway, Ulysses turning his attention to the twin snipers standing side by side, but only for a brief moment before resuming his steady steps toward the heavily guarded chamber containing the six map pieces leading to the golden city. By now triumph had faded into pain, doubly so because while it was true that the Templar was dead, how would this solve anything that had already happened?
Halfway there, Ulysses nearly collapsed, and he had to lean against the wall to steady himself.
Out of the sight of his soldiers under his command, even the Praetorians created by himself by the blueprints he wrote himself, pain speared into his heart with a sharpness even worse than daggers. It was enough to draw out the tears pushing at the corners of his eyes, trickling down his cheeks behind the mask he wore.
His voice choked in his throat, the lump within his chest only expanding.
"I…should have done this earlier, shouldn't I?"
Ulysses was forced to pluck away the mask to clean away the tears from its interior, as well as from his own thin face. He could not even meet the eyes of his creations, and he flinched when a thin hand laid itself upon his shoulder and squeezed gently: he did not need to look to know who it was.
"Creatore…perhaps this is not the best time, but we should prepare as well."
Servius' hand did not leave his shoulder when the Emperor pivoted around, their height permitting him to look almost directly into their "eyes."
"Very well."
It truly was fortunate for him that he had regained control of his voice, and his composure as well and continuing down the hallway until they stopped before the double doors leading into the map chamber.
Like before, it heeded to his touch and swung open.
Ulysses walked forward with a mechanical stride he only registered with half a mind. All that mattered was how the ring on his finger now seemed to glow with each step toward the map case. It pulsated in the same way the Apple of Eden would, only that the light grew brighter with each step, until it was at last almost unbearable to look at directly.
The resulting flash when he had opened the case temporarily blinded him, and he had to blink away the yellow spots in his field of vision before he could recognize the holographic image projected from the ring itself, and from the torn pieces of the El Dorado map.
"The Golden City of the Ancient Ones."
El Dorado could not have been properly described by the words known by a human, nor was it even the slightest bit like any of the other cities in the entire Spiral.
Pyramids and towers dotted the landscape, with marble hewn walkways spanning the gaps between the structures. Compared to those massive structures built of who knows what, the figures of beings scrambling either on the walkways or on the ground seemed almost insignificant.
Although it would perhaps be wrong to call them simply beings who had once inhabited the Golden City. Few would recognize it, although Ulysses himself certainly knew who they are, for there was no other race in the Spiral with the ability to have so fair an appearance that if any gods or goddesses of beauty would have hid their faces in shame. Some would have called this fair race the immortal gods, with their flowing raiments and seemingly supernatural glow around their frames.
But the Supreme Commander knew of them as the First Civilization, his gaze turning from the image to the golden artifact he did not knew when he had produced from within his coat pocket.
"Follow in the steps of the map and what is of the Golden City will be yours to take, yours to possess and use."
Ulysses blinked when the holographic image disappeared, sharply drawing in a breath he did not know he had been holding. Then it was as though he was but a spectator in his own body, his legs carrying him to the only window in the room - a small opening protected by glass at least an inch thick - and there was no mistaking what was outside, churning in a corner of the skyways of Valencia with golden energy lashing out and about it in a fashion not so different from whirlpools sometimes generated by storms in Valencia.
Everything from that point on became a blur, that is, until the Emperor of the Spiral stood on the deck of the Malevolence, Aetius Varius Septimus lingering no more than three feet behind him -
This was supposed to be his moment of greatest triumph, supposed to be - !
His head throbbed in pain, and the voices filled his hearing, drowning out all other sounds mercilessly, all other images before him. There was nothing else he could focus on save for those wretched voices:
"How is this your triumph when it's a success that had been paved with the deaths of everyone you were supposed to protect? And was it not Kane who started it all, with you yourself simply picking up from where he had left off?"
"Atticus Mercilus is dead but will this bring Quintia Presidos back? Will it undo all that has happened in the past which could have been avoided, had it not been for your own failures to keep it from happening in the first place?"
"A failure you are and a failure you will be eternally...!"
Ulysses was gasping, gasping and choking for air as if he was a drowned man, even when the voices faded the second his ship had steered its way through the portal. Perhaps the golden city was no more than just a few paces away, however -
The voices were replaced by the visions, and even the landing of the ship could not wipe it from before his eyes until it deemed it was done.
The Supreme Commander could see it all unfold before his eyes.
Blood ran along the streets of the once fair golden city, cannons fired what seemed to be bolts of fire and lightning at each other while humans battled humans, beings of the First Civilization spilling the blood of their once brothers and sisters. All of this would only continue and never stop until there was not one living being left alive in the city, the point from which he was abruptly and suddenly dropped back into the present.
It seemed though an eternity had passed, while it was but a few seconds.
Although all of this was quickly forgotten as his gaze now landed on the ruins of the golden city - the ruins of a civilization long gone.
Two more chapters until the end of this story! Anyhow, no Ulysses is not dead, he's still alive and kicking, to answer the guest review ;) what shall come next? Check back next week and you shall know.
Read and review! :D
-Hades