The First Life: Brother's End

Welcome friends and strangers alike to the final chapter of the First Life Arc. If you've taken the time to read the title, read the last chapter, and play the game, you'll know that Faris is under Al Mualim's control, Altaїr returns to Masyaf to do battle with the Mentor, and the title is foreshadowing at its finest.

I'm a little disappointed, in you, dear readers. None of you said anything on the subject of who Baron von Wolff was, nor was anyone broken up over the death of Roach the Horse. Von Wolff is a character from the WWII anime First Squad, and Roach comes from The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt. You know, the same horse Geralt rides everywhere.

But anyway, let's get to the tragedy and the plot twist!

Disclaimer: I don't have ownership over AC or PJO

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September 5, 1191

Two days after Al Mualim enslaved Faris Ibn-La'Ahad

Altaїr returned to Masyaf, his heart heavy, his resolve strong, his conviction like iron, his blades primed, and his sense of betrayal sharp. His home showed visible signs of taint in the form of the silence, the cold, the sky, and the sun.

Or lack thereof.

Upon entering the gates, Altaїr was accosted by a citizen. In a naïve hope, the Assassin asked if the Templars had been behind this, but the citizen began to spout hypnotized nonsense of Al Mualim. Ending conversation with the man, Altaїr made his way up the slopes to the castle.

Along his way, he met far fewer citizens than what there should have been, and every single one of them loudly proclaimed the praises of Al Mualim, and every single one of them followed Altaїr to the castle. Upon reaching the final bit before the final incline to the gates, the one with the guard tower standing alone next to a few empty vendors, the Master Assassin encountered eight of his brothers.

Using the Sense, or Eagle Vision, as Altaїr liked to call it, he saw that these men bore him nothing more than ill-intent.

True to his conclusion, as he approached a line of four, all of them drew their blades, proclaiming Altaїr to be a heretic, infidel, traitor, and enemy, and shout their loyalty for 'the Master.' Altaїr drew his own sword in return, and, as he cut his own brothers down one by one, his heart repeatedly took each blow for itself.

Once upon a time, the Son of None would've done nothing more than scoff and move on from what he would've considered to be a great burden, and an even greater nuisance. Why did he have to waste his time with these weak-minded fools? Why could these idiots not be of stronger will, so that they might break this spell? Why did he have to spend the energy required to deal with this?

But these were the thoughts of a man that had long since been killed with wisdom, knowledge, and understanding.

As Altaїr finished off the last man, his heart constricted as a flood of Assassins came bearing down on him from in front and from behind. So many brothers, so many innocent lives, and so much senseless death. Still, Altaїr raised his blade in defense, parrying, blocking, strafing, grab-breaking, striking, kicking…and killing. Many days later, Altaїr would lock himself away in a secluded room, and weep for the family that he ended with his own hand.

Perhaps it was fate, but Altaїr did not have the horror of having to kill so many of his brothers, because a hail of throwing knives came from above, taking down three of the warped Assassins, causing the rest to flee. Malik and his had arrived to offer aid.

After a brief meeting with his one-armed brother, Altaїr continued to confront the Mentor, while Malik and his subordinates made haste for the village so that they might contain the thrall threat, hopefully without further bloodshed.

Altaїr entered the fortress, and his actions bore further witness to his metamorphosis from the arrogant ass he was months ago, to the wise man he was now. Standing en masse before the castle entrance was what was most likely the rest of Masyaf's civilian populace. Instead of condemning the people and cutting his way through them, as he would've done months before, Altaїr resolved himself to keep any from befalling any harm, and took great care to gently push his way through the crowd.

Instead of heading up stairs to the Mentor's study, Altaїr recalled how all of the people he had passed on his way up to this nightmare had loudly proclaimed something about 'paradise.' In the Assassin Brotherhood, 'paradise' was what they called the garden at the back of the fortress, so that's where the Eagle headed to first.

And he struck gold.

Altaїr's body seized up, taking a shape that he did not intend to happen. He found that his limbs would not respond to his commands, and that he glowed a dull bronze. Above him, Al Mualim stood on the balcony, the Apple of Eden in his hand. Madness was written on the Mentor's face, and his actions only served to prove that his mind had shattered beyond reasoning. Words were exchanged between student and teacher, before a battle ensued.

As Altaїr dispatched the phantoms that were his previous targets, men who had taught him much, shown him much, and had revealed much, he felt despair worm his way into his body as, in a flash of light, each phantom was revealed to be an Assassin. However, after Altaїr dispatched the last phantom, he found himself restrained once more, and all the bodies gone.

Whether they had truly been real or not did not matter to the Son of None. Whether that had been blood or not did not matter. Whether much time had passed, and the bodies had simply vanished, or where never there at all did not matter. What did matter to Altaїr was the whereabouts of his younger brother, and whether or not Faris had been ensnared by the illusions of Al Mualim.

During this second seizure, more words were exchanged, and Altaїr began to get a grasp on the motives of his former teacher. In a flash of light, Al Mualim was down on the ground, meeting Altaїr's challenge. Once more, the traitor invoked the power of the Apple, creating eight phantoms of himself. Altaїr once more drew his blade, and engaged in battle.

It was the hardest he had fought. The Mentor was strong, wise, and powerful in the gifts of man, and Altaїr was on the receiving end of many, many blows. Still, he defeated Al Mualim, all nine phantoms of the man. One by one they began to fall, and one by one the bodies vanished in little blips of light. Finally, only one more stood, and Altaїr struck him down with great prejudice.

Only to be seized up once more by the power of the Apple.

Many more words were exchanged by the two, and any love Altaїr had for the man before him, any respect he had for the man before him, and hope of redemption he had for the man before him…evaporated. Al Mualim was a traitor. He had betrayed the Creed. Spat on its tenants. And proven himself a hypocrite to everything he had condemned Altaїr for so many weeks ago.

And we would die.

"I will miss you, Altaїr," the Mentor lamented, "you were my very best student."

"What of Faris?" the Eagle snarled. "Was he not better than I? Where is he!?"

Al Mualim smirked. "Ah, yes. Faris. He arrived from his mission two days before you did. I can't help but wonder how differently things would be now if you had returned first, and it was Faris that stood before me now. Alas, since you are so eager to see your brother, allow me to accommodate you, my child."

Just then, a figure came leaping down from above. The figure landed heavily, causing a loud sound upon impact. At best, for any other man, their legs would've been broken. At worst, for any other man, they would've died. But this man, for this man was like Altaїr. They could run for many days, and not be tired. They could fight for the same time, and not become short of breath. They could climb any building, and falter. They could take meetings with many blades, and not fall. They could leap from great heights, and not die.

"Faris…" Altaїr said quietly.

The Horseman moved to stand next to Al Mualim, who smirked slyly. "Yes, your brother. I admit, I was most nervous when I showed him the Piece of Eden. I feared he too would see through the illusion, just as you did, which is why I invoked much power in bringing him to my side."

"Release him!" Altaïr roared. "NOW!"

"Release him?" Al Mualim laughed. "Now that would even more unwise than releasing you. You are strong, Altaïr, stronger than I thought. You've managed to defeat so many men in such a short amount of time, and yet you show no signs of tiring. No, I will not be releasing Faris from my power any time soon. Instead, I have a far better idea…"

The treasure flashed with golden light. Al Mualim had disappeared, Altaïr was no longer restricted, and Faris was bearing down on his brother with sword drawn. The Eagle's blade slide from its sheath, and the weapons of the Assassins met with a mighty ring, and a flash of sparks. Faris drew back, and slashed again, and Altaïr blocked again, and again did sparks fly.

This pattern repeated several times, each meeting resulting in a sonorous of steel. Altaïr's teeth grinded from the force of each blow, and his heart pounded against his chest at what was happening before him. This was a betrayal beyond anything that the Eagle could've imagined.

His own brother, twisted by the evil will of a madman, forced to fight against his will in a battle to the death.

Faris slashed downward, and Altaïr jumped back, causing his little brother to lose balance and over-extend. Altaïr capitalized on this mistake by backhanding Faris across the face, sending the younger man sprawling to the ground. The Eagle was quick to pin him there.

"Stop this, Faris! Can you not feel Al Mualim's taint? Can you not feel his evil influence on you? Please, brother, come back to me!"

Faris' response was a guttural roar, and an amazing display of human strength. He threw Altaïr off of him with a mighty heave, causing the Eagle to roll across the ground before using his momentum to stand. Faris was up just as fast, and was charging, leaving his sword in the dirt. Seeing this, Altaïr discarded his own saber.

Above them, the clouds began to darken with rain, and the first drops began to fall.

When Faris got close enough, he leapt as high as he could go, his body adopting the technique and posture of one committing to a high-profile assassination. With a flex of his hand, Death sprung forth. However, Altaïr was a master of this technique as well, and knew how best to counter its lethality.

His arm snapped up, intercepting his little brother's, while his other arm gripped the bandolier across Faris' chest. Using the airborne Assassin's momentum against him, Altaïr flung the man off behind him, making him crash into the stone wall of Masyaf.

Knowing just how dangerous Faris was, Altaïr bull-rushed his stunned brother, slamming his shoulder into the Horseman's chest, further stunning him, before unleashing a rapid torrent of light jabs to the ribcage. Faris suddenly drew energy, and intercepted Altaïr's arms with his own, catching the lightning fast limbs in his armpits.

Rain fell with a moderate pace now, drenching the brothers, weighing them down with wet clothes.

Faris reared his head back, headbutting his brother in the face twice, before kicking him away. Altaïr stumbled, but was hardly injured. Instead he raised his arm, blocking Faris' attack, then brought that arm down to counter the kick, then used his other arm to block the other punch, then the first arm to block a different punch, then both to block a kick, then one after the other, to defend against a series of quick strikes, before whipping about with his own arms, turning the tide against Faris.

Altaïr engaged in a brutal battle of the fist, using years of hand-to-hand training in a way he never thought he would. Lashing out with his fists, he pushed Faris to the edge, lulling the man into what could almost be called a rhythm, before disrupting the beat with a sudden pivot about the ball of the foot, smacking Faris across the jaw with the heel of his boot.

The force behind the kick sent the Horseman tumbling over the stone railing to the lower part of Masyaf's paradise garden. Altaïr was quick to leap over the stone. He landed with barely a twitch, but the few scant seconds it took to get down here was enough for Faris to disappear.

Altaïr immediately drew his short sword, and adopted a defensive stance. The only sound was that of the falling rain slamming down upon the land. The sheet of grey was enough to limit Altaïr's visibility, enough to the point where he activated his Eagle Vision, and everything changed. Now the rain became a nonfactor as Altaïr could see quite easily now, even with the bluish-grey tint to the world.

Perhaps the most painful part of this battle was that, in his heart, Altaïr knew that he couldn't save Faris from what was done to him. The other Assassins had been proof of that. Their mindless actions, their drone-like mentality, their singular movements and linear fighting patterns…they had been too far gone to try and reason with, just like Faris was now.

In this time of great emotion, Altaïr found himself doing being human, as in he was blaming everyone he could think of beside himself to blame for this travesty. And there was one person that Altaïr blamed more than anyone else. Contrary to popular belief, the Son of None was not a simple atheist, he just hated God with a burning passion. It was God that had taken his mother; it was God that had taken his father; and it was fucking God that had allowed his little brother to become a slave whose only hope of salvation was through death.

'How dare you!' Altaïr seethed in his prayer. 'How dare you stand by and let all of this happen. What kind of god are you that you stand idly by while the world destroys itself, while man slaughters each other, and while madmen conduct their schemes!? Who are you, to claim to have absolute power, only to not use it when it's needed most? Who are you to let this happen to my brother!?'

Lightning flashed above, and its brief illumination provided Altaïr with the knowledge that there was shadow above him, prepared to leap from on high. He instantly went into a roll, and Faris landed harmlessly on the ground. Altaïr heard the sound of breaking metal, just as the thunder clapped, and looked down to see that his brother had just broken his right Hidden Blade on the hard stone.

Seemingly undeterred by this loss, Faris was sprinting full speed at Altaïr with almost reckless abandon, and the Eagle was put on the defensive. Rapidly backpedaling to counter the rapid advance, Altaïr also contended with the onslaught from Faris' arms as he struck out with his fist and his remaining Hidden Blade. Altaïr alternated between his arms as he defended against his brother, using his short sword to counter the Hidden Blade and the occasional punch, while using his free hand to block the fist and the occasional stroke of the Hidden Blade.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Altaïr couldn't help the flashback that tore through his mind.

It was years ago now, just a few weeks after he and Faris broke down their barrier and started acting like brothers. It was during a warm, sunny day, with a light breeze and a few birds. Altaïr and his brother were in this very garden, sparring with wooden staves, practicing their advanced skills with a blade. Woman and older girls watched with interest and amusement. Altaïr had forgotten whether he and his little sibling had been there to show off, relish the attention, or enjoy the fresh air, but he remembered having fun, and enjoying the time he was spending with Faris.

Now, however, in the present, the sky was dark, the wind was cold, the pouring rain even colder, and no birds sang, but the rapid clashing of steel created a melody louder than any creature of flight would ever produce.

Altaïr had made out the pattern in his brother's assault, and was going to initiate a counter attack this very move, but Faris was expecting this. In the next stroke of his Hidden Blade, a stroke that was almost parried, he altered his wrist, therefore altering his trajectory, and the two blade became locked. Faris was quick to bring his free hand to Altaïr's wrist, and Altaïr was just as swift in bringing his own free hand to tightly grasp that of his brother's.

The two held that deadlocked position for several moments, glaring at each other from the confines of their beaked hoods. Then Faris' leg snapped out, causing Altaïr to grunt as his wind was knocked from him, and the Faris' whipped his upper body around, and viciously headbutted his brother, dazing him and sending him tumbling backward. Woozy as he now was, Altaïr was grudgingly helpless as his brother approached him for an attack.

Faris' face was set in a hard snarl as he got within two feet of his big brother. He could've killed him; easily. A stroke of the Hidden Blade, a slash of the short sword, a toss of a throwing knife, a shot from the crossbow, even the more brutal fashion of neck-snapping. Instead, Faris raised his arms above his head, and snapped them down in tandem with a Sparta kick that had such force behind it that he kicked Altaïr through the stone wall of Masyaf, and into the chamber beyond.

Granted, the aforementioned wall was old and crumbling, and was slated to be repaired by masons soon, but still. Through the wall.

Altaïr coughed blood onto himself from his spot on the ground. His breaths came out in short wheezes, and each intake caused searing pain to blossom in his chest. He had broken several ribs, that was for sure, he had internal bleeding, and his back wasn't feeling to hot either. Wait, no. His back was on fire, so he probably had several torn muscles, and/or spinal damage. Being kicked through a wall was not an easy task for the body to endure.

Altaïr cracked his eyes open, and he groaned at what he saw. He knew this room well, nor from personal interest, but because this was where Faris spent almost all of his free time. A small chamber, with a few rows of pews, a podium-which Altaïr had been kicked into-and an altar behind said podium. Sitting upon this altar were several candles, but there was only one that burned, and sitting above this candle, a safe distance from the small flame, was a wooden crucifix complete with a carving of Jesus himself. Next to the candle, an old Bible sat resolute and strong.

Altaïr hated this room more than anything in the world. Still, despite his growing fury at being in here, so many memories exploded through his head. Memories of finding Faris in here, so much younger, on his knees before the crucifix, hands clasped. Memories of Faris sitting on a pew, reading the Bible. Memories of Faris talking to an older member of the Older, gaining wisdom and knowledge. Memories of Faris talking to members of the Order just a few years his junior or senior, instructing them and guiding them in the ways of the Word.

"What are you doing?" Altaïr asked snidely as he watched his little brother, about twelve now, kneel before the altar.

"Praying, obviously," came the clipped response.

Altaïr snorted. "You seriously believe that there's anyone listening?"

"Yes. God."

"When will you stop believing in fairy tales and bedtime stories, idiot brother of mine?"

Faris just smiled from his spot in front of the cross. "You may not believe in Him, Altaïr, but He believes in you."

The Assassin-in-training just scoffed, and left without a further vocalization.

With much pain and even greater effort, Altaïr reached above him, grabbed the altar's edge, and began to haul himself up. His ribs screamed in protest, causing his vision to fade in and out, but through sheer force of will, the Eagle stood. He managed to turn around, bracing himself against the altar, and he coughed. Blood splattered upon the Bible, and the candle flickered.

Raising his head, Altaïr glared at the wooden carving of Christ.

"Listen to me, and listen well you bastard," spoke the Assassin through grit, crimson teeth. "I do not care what happens to me, or to my soul, but you better be damned sure that I will destroy you if you do not listen to this prayer.

"I have no faith in you, but Faris does. Every day he tortures himself trying to live like you, while leading this life. Now his mind has been taken by the traitor, and the only way to get it back is to…is to…you know what must be done. I'm talking to this wooden thing for one purpose: I want you to save my little brother. He's given everything he has to you already, it's time you started giving something back."

The crucifix did not respond, but the way the candle light flickered across its wooden features almost made the carving seem to have an expression.

Lightning flashed outside, causing a shadow to flicker across the chamber's walls. Altaïr painstakingly turned around to see Faris standing there, wreathed in rain. With his hood up, his entire face wa shrouded in darkness. With a SNIKT, the Horseman's Hidden Blade extended in all its anonymous glory.

Altaïr's soul winced in pain. "Please, Faris. Don't make me do this…"

Faris did not respond verbally, but by running at his brother.

Altaïr gripped the candle behind him, and flung it at Faris. It was a pitiful distraction, but it was one that worked all the same. Faris responded to the projectile with sheer reflex, reflex born from years of training, and sliced the candle out of the air. Altaïr stabbed his brother with his Hidden Blade, right through the heart.

Everything became still.

Faris' hood fell down, exposing his face. He was wide-eyed and shocked. A small trickle of blood leaked from the corner of his mouth. "Al…ta…їr…?"

The Eagle trembled. "F-Faris."

The world became blue, little symbols of white flickering about.

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The elder sibling held his younger in his arms, the same way he had held so many others.

"We were betrayed, big brother," Faris said softly, a large and growing stain of red upon his robes.

"Yes, we were," Altaïr said, audibly trying to keep himself together.

"Don't hate him brother, he's only a man, and all men do bad things. Just make sure you don't make him suffer."

"No, no, no, no, no. Come on, do not speak with such a tone. You're going to be fine, Faris. A few moments of rest and you'll be healed. Then we will deal with Al Mualim. Together."

Faris smiled, a weak sight that made Altaïr's heart buckle and crumble. A few abominable tears hit Faris' pale cheek. "No, I…I don't think it's going to happen like that, big brother."

Altaïr tried to managed a reassuring smile. "Of course it will. You just have to have a little faith is all. Just take a few moments to pray, and God will heal you."

"Oh, so now you believe."

"Y-Yes, I believe," Altaïr's voice cracked, "I believe that if you shut up and pray to God, you'll be ready to help me fight Al Mualim."

"You telling me to pray I such a strange thing to hear, but since you're so insistent…Lord, thank you for all that I have in life. Thank you for my brother, thank you for my Order, and thank you for the opportunity to learn of Your son, and to live like him."

Altaïr's tears fell more frequently as his lower lip trembled dangerously.

"I think you're calling me home now, which means a lot of things. Please help my brothers continue to obey the Creed, and guide them down the right path. Be with the Crusaders and Saracens during this dark time, and show them that they are both in the wrong. Be with all mankind as they struggle and fall, tumble and rise through life, and help them to see You for who You are. And please, be with Altaïr as he brings justice to Al Mualim, and be there for him when I cannot anymore. Amen."

Despite his fading life, Faris never once stuttered or fumbled with his prayer, and each word came as strong as the one before it. Altaïr was becoming an emotional wreck as his brother prayed his last in his own arms. Whose fault was it that this was happening? His own.

"It's okay, Altaïr, it's okay. I'm going to see Mother and Father now." Any second now, Altaïr's splintering barriers would be swept away in a flood of grief, anguish, fury, rage, and sorrow.

"Hey, Big Brother?"

"Y-Y-Yes, F-Faris?"

The younger sibling smiled broadly, smiling so wide his eyes closed, grinning so extravagantly all of his vermillion-stained teeth were showing, beaming with such happiness that he seemed to glow. "I'll wait for you, 'kay?"

Then Faris went very still.

Altaïr went numb for a moment, his eyes going wide, his jaw falling slack, and his heart stagnating on a beat. The rain outside seemed to stop falling, the candle seemed to stop flickering, and all the world seemed to stop turning. Altaïr found himself standing before Al Mualim, bound once more by the Apple of Eden.

In his fracturing state, the Eagle felt a surge of relief at realizing that the battle had just been another phantom, another falsity, just another illusion…but there was much evidence to the contrary. His and Faris' sabers were over there, the broken Hidden Blade was over there, the wall to the prayer chamber was broken, and Faris laid still just a few feet away, his body still in a pool of blood.

Altaïr's hand was wet and warm with a life fluid that was not his.

"My goodness," Al Mualim gasped. "I did not think you would actually-"

Altaïr's mind fractured. "RRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"

His howl of anguish and rage, sorrow and anger, despair and fury, shook the whole of the land. Masyaf castle trembled, the village shook, the mountains vibrated, the heavens roiled, and all that could hear stopped and listened as a great Beast emerged from a deep slumber, and found all that it held dear destroyed.

Altaïr screamed again, and Al Mualim increased the power of the Apple, power that was not enough to contain the emotion of the Son of None. Altaïr violently thrashed about, fighting the power of the Apple with such an intensity that the Mentor found his control waning. In a harsh gust of wind, Altaïr's hood came down, and his face was revealed.

Due to the Apple's hold on him, his body was wreathed in a golden glow. Due to the Apple's hold on him, Altaïr's eyes glowed with golden light.

Altaïr's great fury fueled him…and he stepped forward. Light pulsed around the Assassin as his body moved, and his foot came down upon the earth with such wrath that it splintered beneath him. Al Mualim paled. More light pulsed around Altaïr as he took another step closer, the ground once more yielding to his anger.

High winds began to pick up, and beams of bright light began to emit from Altaïr's form, light that whipped and snarled at everything that it could, and yet not a thing was damaged. Light pulsed from Altaïr once more as he gained and cracked more ground.

He seethed and snarled and raged and grunted and growled like an animal, bearing down on the stunned and shocked with all the vengeance and fury of a god. In addition to the screeching wind and the beams of light, lightning began to dance and twist about the skies above. Altaïr stepped again with another pulse of angry luminance, and another abrasion upon the land.

Al Mualim's sword dropped from his grip, his eyes twitching and dilating within their sockets. His hand, the one holding the Apple, was burning and smoking as the artifact glowed brighter and heated up, melting the bones together, but the Mentor was not aware of such things. For one, the nerves were dead, so there weren't any signals being sent to his brain, and for two, he was far too concerned with more pressing matters.

Altaïr took one more step, the ground cratering beneath him in a pulse of light. The shrieking winds reached a crescendo, their power ripping up a tree and sending it hurling into the valley. The lightning bolts roiled and trembled, their sister the thunder furiously banging upon the earth. The light surrounding Altaïr began to bend and take a shape, a shape like the wings of a holy angel.

Al Mualim's irises perfectly reflected the divine image before him.

And then there was a blade in his throat.

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Faris recognized this place. This big, blue, beautiful place with the warmth and the soft glow beyond. He remembered that simple gate, and the robed man that stood before it. Faris approached.

"Is it my time now?"

The robed man smiled, and it was that same sad smile from months before. "No, not yet. You have done well, child, but the Lord still has so much for you to do."

"Then…I am to return to my brother?" Faris asked, the hope in his voice thinly shrouded.

The man's smile managed to turn even sadder. "You are a special soul, Faris Ibn-La'Ahad. No, you will not be returning to the side of Altaïr. Instead, a part of you will be sent far away, while the rest of you journeys onward into the future."

"A part of me…the rest of me…the future…wha?" Faris floundered and chopped his words, unable to form a coherent sentence, but a string of thought prompted full cohesion. "But I promised Altaïr I would…that I would…"

"I know," spoke the robed man calmly, "but the Lord has work for you, Faris Ibn-La'Ahad. Once it is done, you will be allowed into these gates, but until that time comes…"

Faris was human in that he could harbor hatred for anything, or for anyone, and that included God. He bore sin within him, just as all man did, and just like a child that was told he could not do something, Faris felt a spark of ire at the robed told him, ire aimed at the Lord.

However, just as soon as these thoughts came, so did were they banished. Who was he to question the motives of God? Who was he to question the Creator? Who was he to call out the Lord? He was a mere disciple, one that was strong in faith, understanding, and love. If He said that Faris would be allowed into Heaven when his work was completed, then he would be allowed, simple as that. But until that time came, the Horseman would serve his Lord dutifully, faithfully, with unshakable resolve, and with unquestionable faith.

For that was the Creed of Faris Ibn-La'Ahad.

"What does the Lord require of me?"

The robed man smiled serenely. "Go forth, child, and remember that the LORD your God is always with you, no matter whom you are birthed to."

Faris had to time to ponder on this, before he knew no more of this life.

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August, 2005

New York

"PERCY JACKSON!"

Said boy startled awake with a violent shudder, one that borderlined a convulsion. He cracked his eyes open, vision blurred and senses dulled. All sound came to him muffled, as if under water. His body was sore, as if it was the day after an intense workout, and he was racked with phantom pain. Namely, as if he had been stabbed in the heart.

Had that been a dream? Just the phantasms brought forth by an overactive imagination? Faris… Altaïr…Assassins…Templars…Percy didn't know what to make of this, but it was all far too vivid, far too clear, far too real to be dismissed as simple fantasy.

Then, as someone pulled a blindfold away, Percy's senses and awareness snapped back into reality, and he remembered what was going on. He was in history class of the twelfth day of school of his sixth year, the teacher was an ass of an old man named Mr. Bennet who seemed to have personal issues with Percy, Percy's only friend (a loosely used term, for sure) was an acne-riddled cripple named Grover Underwood, who gravitated toward Percy like the two were a couple of protons and electrons. The year was two-thousand-and-four, the month August, the day the thirtieth.

So much and more came back to Percy's mind, and while the massive pile was chaotic and confusing, it was like the amalgamation of memories and events was content to stay condensed in a small corner of his mind until he was alone and could begin to process and understand that amazingly life-like dream.

Then Percy realized that the old man was talking to him.

"Since you so transparently have such a potent conception on the intrinsic idiosyncrasies that revolve so delicately around the subject of the Third Crusade, perhaps you could grace us all with your superior repertoire of particulars regarding the Nizari Ismailis."

Percy stared at the man, wondering if he even knew what he had just said, because clearly everyone else didn't. However, strangely enough to Percy, who was notoriously slow in academics due to his ADHD and dyslexia, he followed the man well enough, and gleaned that Bennet wanted him to tell the class about the Nizari Ismailis.

To tell the class about the Assassins of the Third Crusade.

The grin on Percy's face sent shivers down Mr. Bennet's back.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

So concludes the First Life arc with a finale that I personally thought rocked ten kinds of balls, although I do believe there will be others who disagree.

If you're confused on what happened, I'll explain. Percy's full, real soul, is in the past. It was all contained within the body of Faris. Now that Faris had passed, the memories, experiences, and other stuffs of his have gone to the future, to meld and merge with the fake soul occupying the present-day body of Percy Jackson. Just think of it as time moves in parallels, and move on.

Now, in regards to the Second Life arc, I have a plan. The plan is to spend time in the present, write as present-day Percy adjusts to this influx of memories, and attempts to discover himself, because waking up in the middle of class after dreaming of two decades and remembering all of it is a very disorienting experience. Then we're going to get to canon, which is going to be ten different kinds of fun, and Percy coming into contact with last chapter's Sword of Eden will trigger the Second Life arc.

So think of the coming chapters as crucial filler.

Fav, Follow, and let's get to 100 reviews with this chapter!