The First Life: Pagan Gods

Welcome back ladies and gentlemen and kind patrons!

Did you know that you can chop down bamboo trees using a rusty pickaxe? I sure didn't until Tuesday, the 14th. The trick is to use the shaft just below the axe part, using pure blunt force to shatter the tree's base. After that, just yell timber, and have some AC/DC playing in the background. God, I am so sore.

Good feedback on chapters so far, but I want to address a crucial detail in regards to this chapter. Today's installment sees Faris, a Christian, meeting the Greeks, Pagans, which is going to be fun. Now, I've received multiple reviews regarding that Templars are not Christian, Altaїr is atheist, and that Jesus' powers stemmed from the Shroud of Eden.

Per the AC Wiki, you are correct. Per my fanfic, you are wrong. Like I've said before, I'm a Christian myself, therefore Jesus is Jesus and God is God. Simple as that. Now, with that being said, this chapter will explain the intrinsic relationship between the pantheons, and explain what being a Christian means when fighting a Pagan.

Please don't flame me for fiction.

Disclaimer: I don't own AC or PJO

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Zoё Nightshade was not having a good day. Granted, whenever she was forced to reside within Camp Half-Blood, surrounded by ignorant and lost maidens and dimwitted, smelly, perverted little boys, good days were nonexistent. Still, today was just overkill.

Two days it had been since Artemis left with Apollo to engage in some sibling bonding time, and the Huntress was ready to shoot herself in the face with her own bow. Hades, not even sex with one of her fellow maidens was enough to bring some peace to Zoё's restless mind. Then, as if the Fates had answered her prayers, the conch shells began blaring in alarm, alerting the entire camp of children, teens, and young adults to an incoming attack…from something.

Most assumed it was just some monsters wishing to test their mettle against the children of the gods, and Zoё would not be lying when she said she was looking forward to shooting something with a penis, and not get in trouble for it. However, upon seeing what was coming for the camp, the Huntress' good mood instantly went down to the bottom of the ocean.

Christians.

There was a reason Camp Half-Blood was situated in the middle of Crete, isolated away from all civilization. It was to avoid these guys. Zoё did not know just where the Christian God stood in the divine food chain, but she did know that Zeus himself did not want to tangle with Him, and so he decreed—with the full support of the council, too—that future demigods would trained as far away from religious sects as possible.

Zoё could understand that wariness all too well. Being almost 4,000 years old, the Huntress had seen many things, and done many things. Killed boys, hunted monsters, laid with girls—and a goddess, to boot—and bear witness to the power and wrath of the Christian God. Now, it was truly no different than what any Greek could pull off. Plagues, curses, feats of impossible phenomena…but there was just something…different…about all of it.

Perhaps it had something to do with the pale visage of Artemis every time the Hunt was present to witness the next act of God, like the Moon Goddess was scared that He would soon visit her next. Regardless of the motive, if it made a deity apprehensive, then it was cause enough for any and every lower-tier being to stock up on underwear.

Although, perhaps the greatest proof of the Christian's power was going on right in front of Zoё Nightshade, at this very moment. An army Templar Knights, all of them bearing a bold red cross upon their chests, swarmed Camp Half-Blood. Normally, this wouldn't be a problem. Mortals had tried before to attack the camp, and all failed for the simple reason that your average demigod could through your average human around like a ragdoll. Being half-god as they were, they were all stronger, faster, and better than their human counterparts, with their natural instincts and battle reflexes making them more than a match for any adult.

Zoё had seen a child no more than eight cave a grown man's skull in before.

But this was not the case today. The enemy might have been Christian soldiers on what was most likely some Crusade to destroy the Pagan children—which begged the question of how these men found Camp Half-Blood in the first place—but they were still mortal, which meant that no amount of Celestial Bronze was going to do a lick of damage to any of them. Still though, they were demigods, half mortal, half god. Even using basic farming equipment should've made them more than capable of slaughtering these invaders.

The Crusaders cleaved through wood, flesh, and bone like it was parchment. 23 teens went down in a flash before everyone realized that something was very wrong here. Zoё suspected it had to do with their religion. In ancient times, the Olympians were at their most powerful—and by extension, their children—because 90% of the known world worshipped them; now they were regarded as fun bedtime stories for children, which caused their power to greatly diminish. Today, with Christianity sweeping the world, it made sense the He and his followers would have some ability as well.

Whether or not Zoё's theory about religious superiority was correct, there was one thing that was painfully obvious: the Greeks were outmatched. The Crusaders were faster than the children of Hermes, more accurate than the children of Apollo and the Huntress', much to their collective ire, they were stronger than the children of Ares—even in the middle of this intense battle—and they cut through any greenery that the children of Demeter grew with ease. Not even the daughter of Zeus could stand up to the Crusader leader; his strange sword countered her lightning strikes with brutal efficiency.

As if the slaughter wasn't chaos enough, everything was also on fire, and there was a priest that continued to bellow scripture like his life depended on it. More than once, Zoё took a shot at the man, and every time her arrows bounced off of some invisible barrier.

It was annoying.

But not as annoying as not knowing where any of her sisters were at, not knowing where any of the campers were at, not knowing where Chiron was at, not knowing where Artemis was at, and not knowing why she was having her ass handed to her by mere mortal men.

Zoё let out a shuddering gasp as the Crusader's sword met her knives. The power behind the blow sent the Huntress sprawling to the dirt, her arms numb and stinging. He blades had been broken. Zoё growled as she looked at her adversaries. Three men, all armed, and all of them were built like oxen and tall as a horse. They were in the front, and a burning structure was to Zoё's rear.

The thing the Huntress hated most about the Crusaders in front of her was their faces. They were set, resolute, stern, and focused. Their dark eyes held nothing but contempt and loathing and seriousness as they bored into Zoё own dark orbs. What Zoё hated was that she could only hate these men for besting her in combat, and not for being sleazy, lustful degenerates that wanted to tear her skirt off and rape her.

Points for honor and chivalry.

It seemed, at least, that her death would be a quick one.

The Crusaders bore down on Zoё hard, their sword raised for a triple blow. Nightshade closed her eyes tight, bracing for her inevitable meeting with Hades. But instead of hearing the whistling of blades cleaving through the air, she heard…stabbing?

Three different times?

Zoё finally worked up the courage to open her eyes, and she gasped. The Knights all had holes in their chests, all three openings leaking crimson life, turning their tunics and red as the cross they bore. Their eyes were lifeless, and trails of blood came from the corners of their mouths. Finally, their bodies caught up with them, and their swords clattered to ground just as lifeless as their wielders.

Zoё saw who stood behind the Crusaders, and she felt fear. "T-Thanatos?"

The man whose white hood shrouded his face merely cocked his head to the side, his visible mouth set in a thin line. Blood dripped from his left hand, and blood stained the white of robe's sleeve. The burning structure behind Zoё gave out, causing the girl to flinch and close her eyes in nothing but pure reflex. When she opened them again, the man in the white robe was gone.

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Upon closer inspection, Faris discovered that the Templars were not, in fact, destroying a farm and killing farmers. Oh no, they were doing something much worse than that. They were killing children. Already, Faris had come across no less than five bodies that couldn't have been any older than ten years, and many more than couldn't have been any older than seventeen years. Not even the females were spared from this brutal onslaught.

But why? Faris thought. What could prompt Templars to attack a village of children? Was there an Assassin here that Al Mualim neglected to tell him about, and the Templars were going to every length to kill him/her? Were these children hiding a treasure like that in Solomon's Temple? What sword was the leader wielding? Who was the girl that called lightning? Why weren't there any adults around here?

All these questions and more popped up inside Faris' head, and as he pondered on them, he moved through the burning village, hidden within the chaos and the panic. Like a predator on the hunt, Faris stalked group after group after group of Templars, dispatching them with dizzying speed and lethal efficiency. On autopilot, the Master Assassin never once drew his swords, only using his crossbow, throwing knives, and Hidden Blades.

While doing this, he came across the glowing children, and he noticed similarities. Those that glowed purple had purple eyes and curly black hair; those that glowed grey had similar grey eyes and straw-colored hair; those that glowed green had green eyes and smooth black hair, like rich soil; those that glowed red had no similar eye or hair color, but they did all share the same rough, rugged features. Those that were like the sun all had sky-blue eyes and straw hair that was different shade than those with grey eyes; the ones that glowed like fire had no similar eye or hair color, but they all shared the same physiques, like ones that spent days in the forges, even the females; those that glowed pink also had no similar features, beyond all of them being exceptionally beautiful, even the boys. The ones that were light blue typically had eyes that were the same shade as their aura, and a mixed hair color, and mischievous looks. Then there were the ones glowed silver…they had no similarities at all.

In fact, most of the silver ones had more in common with the other children than with themselves. Now that Faris thought about it, the only ones that glowed silver were girls; he had yet to see any boys that shared the strange silver glow. Factoring in the all-girls thing, and the phenomena that they all had similar features to other children, Faris felt that he could safely assume that the silver group were some sort of special unit of females only, and that they were chosen from the other color groups.

After the Horseman was done here, Lord willing he would find answers to these questions.

But first, he had to deal with the Templar.

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Faris did not know what to make of what he was seeing. There had to have been something in the air here, something that was causing him to hallucinate. First off, he had found the girl that could call lightning. She wielded a spear made of a strange bronze-looking metal, a spear that…created its own lightning. Second off, Faris saw a man with the lower half of a horse; he knew what this creature was since he had read about them in some of the texts at Masyaf, but that still did not explain why a centaur was running around here. Third off, Faris found the Templar.

Even on his horse, the man looked massive. He was dressed head to toe in a suit of black chain mail, a black tunic with a red across on the front, metal pads on his knees, a white cape with a crimson interior, complete with a red cross on the shoulder, and a helmet that completely covered his head. The helmet's left eyehole had a scratch going through the middle of it, and had gold strips inlaid within. One down the middle, one down each side, and one going down the back, with a band enveloping the eyeholes. These bands of precious metal all lead to the helmet's crown, where a figurehead of a small eagle with wings outstretched had been placed.

Then there was the Templar's sword. The hilt was gold, the pommel had a sharpened emerald, the cross guard was perfectly straight, a ruby was encrusted just before the blade made its way up, while the blade itself was long, double-edged, and had several strange symbols carved into the flat. The entire weapon was elegant, beautiful, sleek, lethal…and glowing.

Why was the sword glowing?

A question to be answered later, seeing as how the Templar upon the horse had been successfully dueling both the girl and the centaur with what appeared to be ease, but was now knocking aside the girl's spear, kicking her in the chest, blocking the centaur's blade which caused an explosion of light that left the Templar standing and the others sprawling in the dirt.

It was night now, with a full moon glowing overhead, though hard to see it was, due to the amount of smoke rising from seemingly everywhere, and the orange glow of the fire provided more illumination than the celestial body. Faris put faith in the belief that the orange-clad children he had rescued from death were either making their escape or trying to put out the fires. The Master Assassin did not worry about Templar interference, seeing as how all Templars besides this one were dead.

Even the old priest quoting scripture had been eternally silenced.

Faris watched the Templar, debating on a course of action to take. Slink back into the smoke and fire, and strike from behind? Use throwing knives and crossbow bolts from a safe distance, using the burning structure as cover? Head on attack and pray for the best? And what to do about the girl and the centaur? Rescue them, or leave them to die?

Well, he had gone through the trouble of saving the rest of the orange-clad children, what was two more?

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Chiron the Centaur never thought he would see this day. The day in which he and his children were bested by mortals. Whoever this man was, whatever sword that he wielded, he was powerful, he was formidable, he was strong, and he could not be beat. This battle was proof of that.

With that strange sword of his, this Crusader had completely nullified all of Clio's lightning attacks, bested her in combat, and bested him in combat. Now, Chiron was not an arrogant centaur, and he recognized the fact that he had limits, but being defeated by a human man was absolutely disgraceful, especially when he had the most powerful demigod of this age fighting right beside him.

Now, on the ground in full horse form, getting up was not easy, and Chiron desperately needed to get up in order to save the daughter of Zeus from this mortal menace. Chiron struggled and kicked mightily, throwing his weight around to try and gain some momentum to stand, but he could not gain any. He always avoided getting into this position for a reason: he needed help to get back up.

Then there was someone at his flank.

Chiron looked, and gasped at what he beheld: a white wraith covered in an armor of ash and blood. The wraith was male, based on the physique, and any of his face was hidden behind the beaked hood. Chiron was too stunned to speak, but the wraith spoke just fine.

"I do not know how your existence in possible, centaur, and so I expect answers to my questions after I deal with the Templar. For now, take the girl and seek refuge. The rest of the army had been dealt with.

Chiron's eyes popped out of his head. The rest of the army, as in the 300 men, had all been wiped out by a single man? The same army that had pushed half-bloods over the edge and into the arms of Hades? This couldn't be a mortal man—no mortal could kill that many trained and armed soldiers. But then again, was the hooded figure truly a man?

The supposed man grunted and heaved, and further surprised the old centaur by single-handedly lifting him onto his hooves. That was a feat that many children of Ares could accomplish, and yet here was a single man doing it all by himself.

Chiron brushed off his shock at this absurd situation in favor of galloping forward as fast as he could go, and seeing as how he was the centaur, that was pretty damn fast. Still, the Templar proved once more that he was more than normal when he swung his glowing blade and almost cleaved the full-speed Chiron's head off. The son of Kronos bent backwards, avoiding the edge, and then scooped Clio off the ground and raced into the distance.

Chiron was immensely relieved to find none of his children's bodies among the camp grounds, yet slightly disturbed at the massive amounts of Crusader corpses that littered the ground. A single man had done this?

As Chiron raced away, heading towards the massive gathering of divine essence that he could sense up ahead, he resolved himself to converse with this wraith.

He, too, had questions that he wanted answered.

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The Templar turned around on his horse, and Faris heard him take a sharp intake of breath. "Assassin," he said, his voice warped and deepened by his helmet. "I was warned by Robert that one of your kind would be after me, if only to get your greedy hands on the Sword. I know of you, Faris Ibn-La'Ahad, Assassin with Eight Fingers, and I know of your faith. I am curious: would you be so eager to take my life if you knew the truth of this place?"

Interest piqued yet ignored, Faris drew his curved saber, and prepared for combat with a prayer.

The Templar seemed to smirk under his helmet. "So you wish to die as ignorant as you have arrived. Very well then, Assassin. Allow me to show you the true power of God!"

From atop his steed, the Templar's sword glowed, blade tip pointed at Faris. A bolt of energy was discharged, but the Assassin rolled out of the way. The ground steamed and burned as if on fire. The Templar continued to fire blasts of energy, and Faris continued to roll out of the way with no signs of fatigue.

Eventually, the Assassin rolled out of sight and into a cloud of smoke. The Templar growled, fully aware of just how dangerous his foe had just become. Out of view like this, Faris could come from any direction, and he was not limited to the ground. This wouldn't be much of problem if the Templar knew more about the artifact in his hand.

He knew that it gave him the strength to fight the pagans, gave him the ability to absorb pagan magic, and gave him the ability to draw strength from, and give strength to, his underlings so that they would be able to fight this pagan menace themselves.Beyond that, the Templar did not know the full limits of the divine weapon he wielded.

The Templar heard shuffling feet behind him, so he whirled around, firing a blast of God's power. Whether Faris had actually been there or not would remain a mystery, but the fate of the burning building was no such puzzle. It was completely destroyed. Then the Templar had a lightbulb moment.

Jerking his reign about, the Templar fired blast after blast at his surroundings, blowing up structures left and right. The idea was a simple one: remove all places in which the Assassin could hide.

Shuffling feet were heard, and the Templar was quick to spin around and discharge another blast. Feet were heard again, and so another building was blown up. The underling of Robert de Sable suddenly found himself plagued by footsteps on all sides, and so he was just as quick to fire in all directions.

At this point, the only thing left of the pagan hideout was ash, smoke, and char wood.

And the occasional dead body strewn about the place.

Looking around, spinning his horse in a circle, the Templar realized he had a very big problem on his hands: smoke. Lots and lots of smoke. So much smoke in fact, that he couldn't see. And not being able to see an Assassin was a very serious problem, especially one as skilled as the Son of None.

Realizing that he was out in the open, the Templar calmly pulled back on the reigns, and his horse walked into the smoke. His strategy was simple: in this visibly-limited environment, he could not see Faris, but Faris could not see him, either. So, in this game of cat and mouse, why could there not be two cats, both hunting the other?

Unfortunately, in this archaic time, death by smoke inhalation was still possible, and helmets of this time did give one the ability to breath in a fire. This was something the Templar discovered within seconds of entering the smoke cloud, and he was quick to exit before he choked to death.

And that was when the Horseman struck.

The Templar did not know what happened. One second, he was galloping full-speed in direction ThatWay, the next his horse was whinnying sharply as if struck by something and stumbling to the ground as if it were dead. Luckily, the Templar was not crushed by his horse, but he did lose the Sword, and he could not feel his right leg.

Probably had something to do with the dead horse laying on top of it.

Wait, why was the horse dead?

Craning his neck as much as he could in his current position, the Templar growled at seeing the small arrow embedded in his horse's neck, right where the artery was. Due to his helmet, his growl sounded terrifyingly like that of an animal, and the grunts that ensued, as the Templar began freeing himself of his equine companion, were just as bestial.

With a final push, the Templar managed to gain enough leverage to lift his steed, and roll away. Now freed, the man faced another problem: walking. Just by looking at his chain mail-covered limb, the Templar could see that he wasn't going to be putting any weight on it for a long time. If the horse had just fallen on him, his leg would probably just be a little throbby, but no. His horse had slammed down upon his leg, which appeared to have shattered the bone.

The Templar chocked his lack of agony up to how strong of a man he was, when in reality it was a massive flood of endorphins and adrenaline. Current day science wasn't advanced enough to identify such chemicals.

Then the Templar felt a presence right next to him suddenly, and looked up to see none other than the white-robed Angel of Death…standing just out of reach to strike at. With an effort, the Templar managed to haul himself over to a standing beam, cool enough to where it could be leaned against, and propped himself up. With a breath, he removed his helmet.

The Templar was a man in his early thirties at least, with a tough face, a scar over his left eye, which was pale and colorless, long brown hair, a brown goatee, and blue eyes. "I've showed you my face…can you do the same?"

Faris said nothing, but he did lower his hood, revealing a face and hair style almost identical to that of his older brother's. "You know my name, but I do not know yours."

"Baron von Wolff," the Templar answered clearly. His leg was broken, but that was all. He was not fatally wounded or dying of exhaustion, so there was no reason to sound beaten, despite the circumstances.

"You know what I'm going to do now, yes?"

"I do."

"Will you try to stop me?"

"No. I have accepted my fate, and I will meet it with dignity and honor."

Faris nodded once, before he was at the Templar's side with a few strides, and his blade glided into von Wolff's neck with painless ease.

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The Son of None knew not how he entered this strange world of blue and flickering symbols of white, but he knew that it was here that he could hear the last words and confessions of the men he killed, and could know them better as the men that they were. It was also here that he could ask his questions, and not worry about lies.

Faris liked to think this was his own personal Purgatory, gifted to him by God so that he may know his fellow man on a level not many are privy to.

"Your confidence in that weapon betrayed you, Templar. I knew that you would use it to attack me from a distance in order to keep me at bay, so I ran from building, and let you create your own trap. You smoked yourself out, and it was easy to take down your horse."

"How did you know where I was, and what direction I would exit from?" von Wolff asked with a cough of blood, his neck painted crimson.

"I have the ability to see things, even through barriers like smoke and buildings. I could see you then as easily as I do now. As for knowing your exit direction, that was the will of the Lord."

Wolff nodded. "I see. So He was against me from the beginning, despite my purpose here."

"It would appear so," Faris nodded. "You mentioned your purpose earlier. What were you doing here, Templar?"

Von Wolff smirked. "Pagan gods, Assassin. Our Lord is not the only god that lives, but He is still supreme above all. I was sent here by Robert to wipe these abominations out, these offspring of false idols."

Faris cocked his head to the side, filing the pagan gods bit away for later. "I thought de Sable did not believe."

Von Wolff chuckled. "Your thoughts are correct. We unearthed the Sword mere days ago, and we could not transfer it to the Grand Master in time for his Jerusalem expedition. However, upon learning of this gathering of pagan trash, we saw the perfect opportunity to test the power of the Sword.

"Robert my not believe in the Word, but I do. I did not see this as an experiment, but a crusade, the only righteous one taking place on this earth as we speak. Richard and his armies slaughter the Muslims for no other reason than that the god they worship has a different name than his. That is not how Jesus lived, nor is it how he taught. I came here to eradicate these pagans for the blight they caused on the land of God."

Faris listened to Baron von Wolff's story, and he understood now why he was victorious, and not the Templar.

"The children here, the ones in orange…I do not doubt that they are the children of pagan gods…but they are still children of God, as are you, me, and all that walk this earth. It was His will that I struck you down today, as your actions were sin. You slaughtered children, innocents, for no other reason than they were born not from man. You may think your cause noble and righteous, but you are still no different than Richard and Salāḥ ad-Dīn. All three have wrought death for no other reason than you are different than your opponents."

"And what of you, Assassin? You claim I have sinned for my actions here in killing abominations, and that I am no better than the false leaders of this retched war, and yet here you are, bathed in my blood, the blood of my men, and the blood of so many others. Are not a hypocrite then, for your beliefs in us and in yourself?"

"Hypocrite? No, I do not think so. I take the lives of others; that is still sin, and I pray every day for forgiveness. I do not pretend that my work is good, and brings about a lighter tomorrow for mankind, but I know that through my blade, there's a little less darkness in the world."

"A little less darkness? Do you not know of how many on this earth believe you to be the greatest darkness of all, Assassin?"

"I am aware. I know of how many children I've rendered orphans, I know of how much heartbreak I have caused parents, and wives, and husbands. I know of how many sisters and brothers have cursed my existence. I know of the evil that I bring with me wherever I go."

"Then why do you persist, Faris Ibn-La'Ahad? Why continue to fight the Templars? Why do you continue to resist Robert de Sable and his will? Why do you continue to fight for a doomed race of sinners?"

Quoth the Assassin, "Because no one else will."

Baron von Wolff stared at the man that held him from the dirt. He studied the Son of None intently, assessing him, weighing him, judging him. Finally, "Your conviction is strong Faris. I can see why He chose you over me."

The Templar coughed shook as he coughed blood. He looked at Faris again, this time with scared eyes that brimmed with tears that refused to fall. "Do you think I will be accepted, with all that I've done?"

The Son of None gripped the man's hand tightly in reassurance. "Yes," he said firmly, "I believe you will."

Two glistening trails rolled down the Templar's face. "Thank you, Faris."

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The Assassin rose to his feet after closing the eyes of Baron von Wolff.

"I did not meet you before this, but I feel as if I have known you a lifetime. I do not know what it is that your truly sought on this plain, but I hope you have found peace in the afterlife, brother. Rest now, and be free of your worldly pains. Al'ub, wataqbal alaibn alddal bik bi'adhrae mmaftuhatin. Amin."

Faris let his gaze linger a while longer on the fallen Templar, before he moved on. Locating the Sword, he examined the weapon intently for a moment, before he pulled it out of the earth. He put his finger to his lips and let out a shrill whistle. Seconds later, Roach came galloping to a stop next to him.

Faris mounted his white stallion, and activated his Gift. He did not know how to explain this sight of his, this strange blue-tinted vision that revealed the motives and paths of all those around him, but he thanked God every day for His gift. Finding what he was looking for, Faris charged forward, ignoring the bodies of Templars and children alike.

Pagans though they may be, they were still children of the Lord.

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The Greeks had found refuge on the hill outside of their camp. The younger ones freely cried into the elder siblings' chests, while said siblings had red eyes, haunted faces, and stiff postures. Those who had lost their lovers in the Christian attack found solace in those that were willing to offer it. The impact of the sudden assault had been so devastating, so heart-wrenching, so-so-so…so tragic, that Chiron saw Hunters of Artemis allowing boys to cry into their shoulders.

Even Zoё Nightshade was consoling a boy.

Granted, said boy was a child of not-quite-eleven.

Then the sound of steadily approaching hooves became loud and clear. Demigods rose to their feet, tightly gripping their weapons. Weapons being a loose term seeing as how there wasn't anything more advanced than gardening equipment. Rakes, shovels, hoes, and one young man had managed to find a farming scythe. Bodies went tense as the horse became closer.

Then the animal crested the hill, and there was a small flood of relief.

Sitting upon the white stallion was the man in the white hood, the one that had been there to kill Crusader after Crusader. His bracers and gloves were soaked with red, his hood was drawn, shadowing the top half of his face, a strange wooden thing peeked over his right shoulder, and he was carrying the glowing sword that the Crusader Knight had used to wreak havoc across the Greek camp.

Tension returned full force as questions over what it was that this one wanted. Sensing danger, the younger children all hid behind the orange robes of their elder siblings. Although, the approaching man did not radiate any hostility. Instead, he seemed more like a man entering a library intent on reading every book he could get his hands on.

The man stopped in front of Chiron. "I would like to speak with you alone, centaur. If you are comfortable with that, of course."

The ancient teacher nodded. This was exactly what he wanted, actually. Some private time with the mysterious man in the white robe. Chiron turned around, and began to walk away to where he knew a secluded grove was, and he heard the man's horse begin to follow, but then the suspicious voice of Clio, daughter of Zeus broke in.

"Who are you?"

The man's answer was simple, "A humble stranger searching for answers."

Chiron hushed the girl before she could ask anything else, and directed his attention back to the hooded figure. "Apologies, sir. She has not yet learned the art of tact."

The man waved away the apology. "There is no need for such things, centaur. She has a right to be suspicious of me."

The two men made their way from the children, took a short walk through some trees, and eventually arrived at a small grove, streaks of moonlight coming in from a wide space in the canopy which provided a comfortable amount of illumination for the coming conversation.

Chiron walked forward and turned around to where he could face the man. "What is your name, if I may inquire."

"Umar Sofian."

The corners of Chiron's mouth twitched up. When you've lived as long as he had, seen as much as he had, and done as much as he had done, it became easy to tell when someone was lying. Just like now. Still, Chiron would not fault this stranger for being secretive; clearly, he was a mortal with Clear Sight, which explained why he could see Chiron's horse form, and he also had some very sharpened skills since he could do what an entire camp of demigods couldn't.

"Greetings, Umar Sofian. My name is Chiron."

He could feel the man's raised brow. "As in the teacher of so many Grecian heroes?"

"The very same."

"…I see."

Chiron smiled. He had questions that he wanted answered, but he also had the courtesy to answer 'Umar's' first, seeing that the man had just saved hundreds of lives. "I believe you would like an explanation as to how I exist, and what this place is?"

"The Templar said that this was a gathering place for the children of pagan gods."

"He is not wrong. Tell me, what do you know of the Ancient Greek myths?"

"Much. I used to read about them all the time in my youth."

"What if I told you that they were more than myths?"

"I would ask you to explain further."

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Faris looked up. "Am I to assume that the goddess Artemis is looking down upon us now?"

"Most likely," answered Chiron.

"I see…" the Assassin trailed off.

While Faris did consider himself open-minded, he was still digesting this information. The gods from the old Greek legends were alive and real, it seemed. Information like that was not something that could be faked, not even by the most skilled liars, and throughout Chiron's explanation, Faris had his Gift constantly active. The centaur remained constantly blue.

"I trust you have questions for me, then?"

"If you would be willing to answer, yes."

"Ask then, and if I your questions can be answered, I will do so."

Faris watched as Chiron's mind worked on trying to decipher that response. After a moment, it seemed the teacher either came to a conclusion, or decided to give up and move the conversation forward. "Where do you hail from, Umar?"

"The Holy Land."

Faris made sure his tone conveyed the message 'that is all I have to say on this matter.' He was still and Assassin, and the tenants of the Creed still played a factor in his life. In all honesty, he had broken the second tenant: hide in plain sight. He had revealed himself to these Greeks, now he had to make sure he would not go on to compromise the Brotherhood, lest he be forced to break the first tenant, and take the lives of innocents.

Chiron nodded, seemingly undeterred by the short answer. "Judging by your robes, the weapons you carry, and your obvious skill, I would say that you are a high-ranking member of a secret order of a kind. Am I correct?"

"Yes."

"I take it you will not tell me the name of this order."

"I will not. It is secret for a reason."

"I understand. I'm curious, what happened to your ring fingers?"

Faris weighed the question, and deemed it appropriate to answer, with details here and there omitted. "Upon initiation into my order, a sacrifice is required to show your commitment. The sacrifice in question is typically the left ring finger; I took it a step further."

Chiron hummed, and adopted a contemplative look as he pondered his next question. Faris waited patiently, and while the centaur had an internal debate over his question, the Assassin had an internal debate over what to do with this sword. He was not about to take this thing to Masyaf, where one enterprising individual would get stupid, or it would get stolen, or time would wear on, the castle would become ruins, and a thief looking for some treasure would get lucky.

He also thought about dropping it in the sea, but the sea was a long trip in any direction, and a lot could happen between Point Here and Point There, and while confident in his abilities, Faris possessed the humility to say that he was not infallible, and things could happen. Besides, with his newfound knowledge over the existence of the pagan gods, Faris was not entirely sure that there wasn't going to be some ancient creature or entity along the depths just waiting for some powerful, mystical artifact to come falling right down in front of them.

Honestly, Faris wasn't exactly certain that Poseidon wouldn't use the sword to wage a war either against man, or against God.

"Umar…are you a religious man?"

Faris cocked his head to the side, already seeing where this was leading. "My mother was a Christian, and my father a Muslim," Chiron's eyes widened—not a typical combination, to be sure, "but she died giving birth to me. My father raised me with a Bible in his hand, so yes, I do believe in the Lord."

"Then…why are you not following in the Crusader's footsteps? We are pagans, false gods and deities. Should you not be striking us down for being heretics and infidels?"

"Why on earth would I do such a thing?"

"Uh…excuse me?"

"It was the same with the Templar," Faris sighed exasperatedly. "Whether you choose to believe it or not, you, me, the children, these pagan deities, and every creature on this planet is a child of God, and he loves us all in equal measure. Do you think that, if God was affronted by the existence of the Greeks gods, he would allow them to continue to live as they do now? As He has seen fit to allow their continued existence, so too shall I. I have no quarrel with you or your people."

Chiron visibly and audibly relaxed. "That is very good to hear, my friend."

The conversation died then, the two men reaching an understanding with one another. They were not enemies, and they had no reason to be. Faris did not see these pagan children as affronts to his God, quite the opposite in fact. Instead, he saw them as examples and proof of his God's love for all living beings. In a religion that condemned the worship of false idols, how great was it, in Faris' mind, to serve a God that allowed these false idols to thrive? To love children that did not ask to be born to these pagans?

In Faris' mind, this was the ultimate proof of his God's unending love.

The Assassin approached the wise teacher, and held out the Sword, the hilt pointed away from him. "Take this. See it as a symbol of peace and a token of trust between a Christian and a Pagan. Keep it safe from the world, and prevent it from falling into the hands of those who would bear ill will towards their fellow man."

Chiron's eyes widened, but he reverently took the sword from Faris anyway. The blade thrummed and glowed in the centaur's hands, and a multitude of strange symbols rapidly fluttered and danced through the air around them, but they quickly faded away, the Sword's glow dying out until it appeared to be just another blade.

The two men, took this to be a good sign.

Faris turned to leave, but a thought stopped him, and he turned his head to look back at teacher, his hood still obscuring his features. "Chiron?"

"Yes, Umar?"

"In my order, we follow a creed which states thus: laa shay'a waqui'n moutlaq bale kouloun moumkine."

"Nothing is true, everything is permitted? That sounds rather cynical," Chiron observed.

"Perhaps, if it were doctrine, but it is merely an observation of the nature of reality. To say that nothing is true, is to realize that the foundations of society are fragile, and that we must be the shepherds of our own civilization. To say that everything is permitted, is to understand that we are the architects of our actions, and that we must live with their consequences, whether glorious or tragic."

Chiron gasped, almost inaudibly, but Faris' hearing, tuned to where he could eavesdrop upon an entire conversation in the middle of a crowded market, still heard it. Perhaps the centaur was deeply shocked by the knowledge and wisdom displayed by a mortal man of 23?

"Please, in the coming hardships, and in future generations, teach these children the merits of these words, but do let them go astray. The Creed does not command one to be free as many will think…the Creed commands them to be wise."

Sword in hand, Chiron nodded his head. "You have my word, Umar Sofian."

Before the Assassin departed these lands, he said to the centaur, "My name is Faris Ibn-La'Ahad."

He disappeared into the trees.

Chiron stared at the place he just watched the man vanish. Son of None, huh? The centaur could not place this strange feeling that overcame him. A Christian that accepted the existence of the Greek gods, and did not proclaim them to be enemies and affronts to his God, and did not raise the sword but instead extended it in an offering of peace? Truly, there had never been a stranger man…nor one as wise.

In all his years, Chiron had yet to meet a mortal with such great wisdom.

Sighing to himself, realizing this was probably the first and last time he would ever interact with Faris Ibn-La'Ahad, Chiron briefly reflected on how such a short meeting had imparted such great wisdom, and how it had yielded much faith. The centaur did not know what to make of the Christian pantheon, with their angels and demons, their Jesus and their Devil, and their God, but he knew that if all followers of that religion were as Faris was, the world might've been a better place.

Then again, was the previous wielder of this strange sword not a prime example of the dark side of faith?

Sighing and cursing himself for his cynical views, Chiron returned to what was left of Camp Half-Blood.

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September 3, 1191

Masyaf

It took Faris many days and many nights to return to his home. His trip back across Crete had been without issue, luckily, and his trip across the sea to Cyprus was much the same. During his voyages across the water, he half-expected a pagan sea deity to rise and try to either smite him, fight him, or talk to him, in which Faris would stand silently and let the Lord fight such a battle for him, but such there was luckily no such engagement.

The journey across Cyprus to its opposite coast had been much like the one in Crete, easy and without trouble. Procuring a means of travel had not been difficult, but the crew had been less than savory, something Faris found out about three days at sea when he was rudely awakened and almost murdered by the seamen. The battle had been short and sweet, and the sharks were fed well that day.

Unfortunately, now without a crew, Faris had to navigate himself to the Holy Land, pilot an entire ship himself, make sure he didn't starve. Upon making it to land, Faris quickly asked about where he was, and made an even quicker project of determining a route Masyaf from the port. In more unfortunate news, in a sneak attack carried out by a band of Templars, Roach the Horse met his end.

Faris slaughtered the false followers of God, and made his way back to Masyaf on foot.

Upon reaching the village gates, the Assassin immediately noticed many things wrong. One, the massive wooden structures were barely open. Two, the village guards were not present. Three, the air was dank and tainted with a darkness. Four, the sky was a dreary overcast, the sun a barely visible dot behind the clouds. Five, there was disturbing lack of people for this time of day. And finally, all of Faris' instincts screamed danger.

The Assassin carefully made his way through the village. His eyes darted around, scanning rooftops and dark corners for threats and possible ambushes. During his walk, anyone he passed decided it would be a good idea to silently follow him from a safe distance. By the time, Faris reached the fortress gates, he attracted quite the quiet following…and it put him on edge.

Upon entering the fortress, the gates came closing behind him with a bang, which did nothing to soothe Faris' nerves. Furthering his unease was the absence of any Assassins in the courtyard. At this time of day, short of a gale-force storm, there should be sword training being carried out right now. Instead it was empty.

Still ready for an attack, Faris made his way up the slope to the fortress' entrance. Glancing up, he saw the Mentor staring down at him from his study window. Which was really creepy. Ascending the stairs to the Mentor's library, Faris found the black-robed man sitting at his desk, a spherical piece of silver clutched tightly in his hand.

"Ah, Faris. Welcome back, my child. Was your mission a success? Were the Templars dealt with?"

"Yes, Master…what is that in your hand?"

"Oh, this?" Al Mualim toyed with the object, twisting his wrist back and forth. "This is the treasure Malik recovered from Solomon's Temple so many months ago."

Faris hummed, not yet soothed from his uneasiness. "How is my brother?"

"Altaїr? He is fine. In fact, he has changed so much from the last time you have seen him, I doubt you will recognize him!" Al Mualim chuckled. "While I sent you to handle the Templars abroad, I sent your brother to handle the Templars here. He has learned much, my child, and has gained much wisdom, but like it is written: 'He who increaseth knowledge, also increaseth sorrow.'"

"Master?" asked Faris confused.

"Look at this, my child." Al Mualim raised the piece of silver higher. "This is the object with which true knowledge can be gained."

Faris cocked his head to the side. "I do not see anything, Master."

"Yes, I suppose you would not, either. Both of your minds are strong, very strong, but it is of no consequence." Al Mualim raised the Apple of Eden once more after staring into its depths for the duration of his response. "Look at it once more, my child, but this time look…harder."

Faris did so. He stared intently at the silver sphere, and saw nothing-wait. No, there was something. There, in the middle of that carved line. A small golden light, like the one the Sword produced-

Faris' consciousness left him in a flash of golden light.

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Well I'm happy.

Personally, I think the fight between Faris and the Templar was pretty spot-on for an Assassin's Creed boss battle involving a Piece of Eden.

Now, the Templar is not an OC. Points to anyone who can figure just who exactly Baron von Wolff is. Anyway, his Sword of Eden gave him the power to bolster and increase the strength of his soldiers, which is why the Crusaders were able to crush the demigods.

Speaking of, I think the interaction between Faris and Chiron was damned awesome, and I hope y'all like how Faris practices his faith, because it's going to be important later on.

So, a quick recap: Faris saved the Greeks from total destruction, killed a Templar, had a run-in with a Sword of Eden, learned of the pagan gods, imparted great wisdom to Chiron, left the Sword of Eden to Chiron (which is going to be fun later), made it back to the Holy Land in one piece, Roach the Horse died, and now Faris is under the spell of Al Mualim.

I had fun writing this chapter, and I hope y'all had fun reading it.

Be sure to Fav, Follow, and Review!