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The Assassin's Creed: Revenants

Chapter Two: The Truth Will Set You Free

To the east of the five great kingdoms, in the southernmost parts of Bakkaya, where the desert ends and the mountains began, stood a castle nestled within the Alamut Valley. This structure, originally built in the waning days of Aenean Empire, had seen many new layers and additions over the centuries, even a small village. But those that lived within its wall had never lost sight of their mission, having never compromised from their obligation to the people.

This was Altair Castle, headquarters of the Hashashin Order.

But to Baz, it was simply home.

As he sat within his small living quarters, the newly promoted assassin looked at the bracer fastened around his left forearm. His golden eyes roamed over its black boiled leather, as well as the free-flowing pattern traced into it. His attention was soon drawn to the segmented metal plates covering the arms posterior side, which had been shaped to resemble a falcon's wings. But while the bracer had a certain artistic beauty to it, the bracer's true purpose was found hidden under the wearer's wrist.

He flicked his wrist, the mechanism ring wrapped around his little finger pulling out his hidden blade. His eyes were drawn to the polished blade like a moth to a flame. The metal blade was almost mesmerizing in its design, being small and sturdy, and perfectly concealable even without the channel that housed it. Upon the blade's ridge was the maxim of their creed, the words having been painstakingly inscribed into the metal by the castle blacksmith.

Laa shay'a waqui'n moutlaq bale kouloun moumkine.

This blade was proof of how far he moved up through the order. It showed that he was no longer some outsider who had been brought into the brotherhood, but another loyal adherent to the Hashashin's Creed. He had trained since childhood for this honor, and he had rightfully earned it.

A knocking on the metal door roused him from his thoughts. The door slid open, revealing another Hashashin standing behind it. Like him, the man was dressed in the same uniform white layered tunic all assassins wore, complete with red sash and leather harness and sheath. The man's face was concealed by his beaked hood, shadowing his eyes.

"Brother Baz, you have been summoned by Master Zahir. He has a mission for you. Don't be late." He curtly relayed to Baz, his tone bitter and resentful

Baz can tell immediately that this man was one of the many who detested him for his origins.

Even after being made a master, some minds still can be changed.

But they were still his brothers-in-arms, and he will still fight for them even when some hate him.

Baz flicked his hand again, forcing the blade to retract into its housing. He pulled up his hood, its beaked tip obscuring the upper half of his face.

"Lead the way, brother." He told the messenger.

The messenger promptly turned on his heel and walked right, with Baz following closely behind him. After walking through corridor after corridor, descending many stairs, and opening a door, the two Assassins found themselves standing the vast courtyard of Castle Altair. All around them, dozens of assassins trained in different exercises, ranging from Archery to swordsmanship, with their instructors pushing their bodies past their limit. Like him, they had endured the training that hardened them into the Hashashin they are now.

But he preferred this training to the hell that he endured as a child.

Oh, how he didn't miss those days being forced to climb the mountain with his bare hands, his feet weighed down by sacks of stones. Or the days he spent perched on a cliff, trying to stay awake in spite of his fatigue. Not to mention all the sparring matches with the other children, which often ended with him being shoved face-first into the dirt.

But it had all been worth it in the end.

He looked ahead and beheld the Mentor's study, a five story-tall stone building and the heart of the castle. He thanked his guide and politely told him that he will walk the rest of the way. His fellow assassin acknowledged his words with a nod, followed by a dismissive snort.

Without any hesitation, Baz began his approach toward the study.

When Baz came to, the first thing he felt was the sharp, searing pain in his shoulder. The second thing he felt was the cold, dry air that brushed against his shivering and exposed skin. Lastly, he felt the cold iron shackles that restrained his arms and legs. But these sensations were nothing compared to the smell.

He gagged in disgusted as his nostrils were assaulted with a scent comparable to feces boiling in heated vomit. He wouldn't be surprised if this was what hell smelled like.

In spite of this, the man focused on assessing the situation at hand. Here were the facts. He was wounded, and his injury had been left untreated. He was naked, save for his dirty grey linen breeches. He was in shackles, indicating that he was now a prisoner.

He, Baz Al-Sahra, Master Assassin, had been captured and imprisoned.

Oh, the humiliation of it all. His first mission as a Master and what had happened? He had been caught and nearly naked. This kind of thing only happened to novices who've yet to complete their training. And it was all thanks to that snake, Rashad. Though not an assassin, Rashad had been born into the order, and he had broken the most important tenet of the Creed.

And the Creed shall punish the man for his betrayal.

But he doubted the man played a part in his actual capture. The last thing he remembered, before drifting into unconsciousness, was leaping into a passing cart of hay. The young man realized that it was quite likely that the man driving the car had turned him in, possibly out of retribution for staining the man's cargo with his blood.

The circumstances behind his imprisonment were irrelevant. What mattered now was escaping this foul place.

The assassin strained against his shackles, the chains rattling as he pulled on them with his wrists. It was all for naught as his efforts caused his wound to bleed, sending a jolt of pain throughout the man's body. He groaned in frustration as his arms fell, his hands landing onto his crossed legs. With his open and untreated wound, coupled with his weakened state, escaping this dungeon was next to impossible.

Was this his fate? To rot away in a cell, forgotten by the world? How long will it be before his brothers at Altair Castle uncover Rashad's treachery and his capture? How long will it take for him to die in this wretched cesspool before he can be rescued?

Would they even want to rescue me? He wondered in despair. They never considered me one of their own anyway. Why risk the entire order for one assassin who wasn't even born into the order.

Suddenly, the door to his cell opened, rousing the assassin from his depressing thoughts. Three shadowy figures shuffled into the small room and approached the prisoner. Under the dim light of the candles, Baz could identify the three individuals. He recognized that they were men, though they differed in height and stature. However, in spite of these differences, they each wore the same uniform. Grey metal buckets for helmets, chainmail armor that had seen better days, and sheathed swords strapped to belts around their waists. Draped over their backs, cloaks colored a forest green. They were knights from the Valeyard.

But not just any knights. Over their armor, the knights wore white linen tunics stained with dirt. And upon their chests was a symbol, embroidered in bloody red stitching. This symbol was one he had hoped to never see in Mashrek. Two intersecting crosses, the sigil of the invaders that have wrought so much destruction upon his homeland.

Officially, they were known as the Poor-Fellow Soldiers of the Brother's Faith and Temple. Among the common folk, they were known as the Templars.

Understanding the implications of their presence, Baz swore. Damn it all...

The tallest and burliest of the knights approached him. The Templar knelt down and grabbed the prisoner's face, inspecting it. Baz's response to having his face manhandled was to spit upon the knight's helmet. The burly knight recoiled in disgust and roughly slammed the back of the young man's head against the wall. Rising to his feet, the knight removed his helmet, revealing his weathered, bearded face. To Baz's immense satisfaction, he saw a faint line of spittle dripping from the man's nose.

He noted in much humor that it looked like the man's nose was running.

"Little shite just spat in me eyes! I hate it when they still have some fight in 'em!" The Templar groused irritably, wiping the spit from his nose. He kicked Baz in the face, breaking the young man's nose.

"How'd ye like that, ye little feck?" Beardy asked facetiously. "You oughta learn some respect."

Despite the pain, Baz retorted defiantly through bloodstained teeth. "I'd castrate myself before giving you any respect, Templar."

The bearded Templar smirked maliciously, "Oy, now there's a novel idea."

The knight pulled out his sword, its metal blade reflecting the dim light of the candles. The man's compatriots did not react to the man's sudden action, standing still, their faces hidden behind their helmets. The Hashashin, despite his stone-faced expression, sweated upon seeing the blade, as fear began to take hold of him. Fear morphed into terror when the knight guided his blade to hang right above his groin, the tip swinging back and forth like a pendulum.

"It'd be too easy, y'know?" The knight said without a care. "It'd be an insulting death. The mighty assassin, lying dead in a puddle of his own blood and piss, his prick cut off like a neutered mutt... or better yet, we let ye live the rest of yer sordid life a feckin' eunuch. Now that'd be a laugh, am I right, lads?"

His comrades let out raucous cackles that echoed through the chambers of the dungeons. Baz, though trying to keep a defiant front, was internally panicking. It was bad enough getting captured, but for his life to end like this?

To have his fate decided by a sadistic, vulgar Templar with a castration fetish. The young man's heart raced as the sword's point edged closer.

"This isn't looking good." Culver noted with a worried frown. "His Heart rate's skyrocketing and his adrenaline levels are spiking. It's time we pull him out."

His hands shot to the terminal's keyboard, the tool that will allow him to terminate the session. But just as his fingers were about to press the first few keys, he heard his colleague say two words that stopped him.

"Not yet."

Culver's hands seized up, his fingers floating only an inch above the keys. He looked over to his partner, Dr. Brianna Bleach, and scowled.

"Brianna, we've got to get the kid out!" Culver shouted as his hands gripped the monitor, which he quickly turned to face the woman. "Do you see this? Do you see what this is doing to him? The kid's about to have a panic attack! For all we know, it might trigger memory whiplash, and you remember what happened the last time that happened."

Dr. Brianna Bleach, hearing her colleague's concerns, clasped her hands together, the index fingers tapping each other. This display was what Culver called her "Thinking pose", which she only assumed when confronted with a very serious problem. Seconds passed as he watched the woman debate with herself, her brain running through many possible outcomes, weighing the pros and cons of whatever decision she makes. When she finished, she unclasped her hands and slammed them on the table.

She voiced her decision with a stern gaze, "We keep him in. End of discussion."

Culver scowled at the woman's blasé attitude.

He had learned long ago that Brianna Bleach cared for nothing save her research. No, it wasn't just the research; she cared for what it would bring if it yielded successful results. Should this project prove fruitful, not only will Bleach have made a breakthrough in pioneering Animus technology, it will grant her influence in the company. Power was what she cared about. And she'd do just about anything to take it, no matter how many minds she had to destroy using the Animus.

And he was just as guilty, if not more.

He looked down at their latest test subject. In spite of his sedated state, the boy's body was practically shaking from fear, panicked, rapid breaths escaping his mouth as his heart raced. The boy was in physical danger, but the memory was so vivid it made him feel like that he was. Reliving an ancestor's memory, while an extraordinary experience, was also a terrifying one. When plugged into the animus, users not only experienced the lives of their ancestors, but all the pain they've had to suffer as well.

And he had seen what happened to people who couldn't endure it all.

He can only hope Whitley Schnee was one of the lucky ones.

"Hope ye weren't plannin' on havin' any little assassin's yerself." Beardy taunted, before chuckling. "Eh-heh-heh, then again, ye look like ye haven't partaken in any fine strumpets yet."

The knight knelt down, his sword still held in place, and patted Baz's face. He smiled, flashing his rotting teeth, and asked the young man, "So, out with it, ye a virgin or not?"

The man's size and crass vocabulary, coupled with his annunciation, told Baz just what kind of man he was dealing with. This knight was the strong and stupid type, always acting before thinking. This was perfect. Those types were always the easiest to manipulate. If he planned this right, he'll be walking out of here in no time.

He smirked wickedly, retorting. "I am no virgin... your mother can attest to that."

Whatever mirth the Knight felt vanished, replaced by rage. His teeth bared, the armored brute growled out, "The feck ye jus' say to me?"

"I said your mother is a whore." He clarified, not holding back with his words. "Need I go on, or must I describe her preferred positions?"

"Choose yer next words wisely, boy." The brute warned with a threatening tone.

The man's comrades looked nervously at him, wondering whether they should stop this before it got out of hand.

With a smirk, Baz reported, "And your father likes to watch."

"THAT DOES IT!" The brute sheathed his sword and cracked his knuckles, intent on beating the assassin to a bloody pulp

"You're going to beat a restrained prisoner? Not much of a man, are you?" Baz mocked, drawing an enraged scream from the knight.

"I'll show ye what a real man's like!" Beardy pulled out the keys and freed the assassin's hands from his shackles. Rubbing his sore wrists, Baz looked to the Templar who freed him and remarked, "You know, you really shouldn't have done that."

"Ye dumb fuck, what can ya do? Yer unarmed- GACK!" The Knight gasped as the assassin jabbed two fingers into his jugular. The Templar choked and clasped his neck, his companions shocked by the sudden attack.

So shocked were they that they didn't notice the prisoner take the man's sword, gripping it by the hilt with both hands. The assassin pulled on the hilt and unsheathed the sword, the metal blade reflecting the dim candle light. The brute saw this and felt his blood boil in outrage, only for everything to turn cold when he felt something pierce his chest. He looked down and saw his sword digging into his chest, blood spilling from the wound and staining his white frockcoat. The knight's body ceased all movement, his life extinguished. His killer pulled out the sword, causing the freshly dead cadaver to fall flat on its backs.

The two knights, seeing their comrade's body on the floor, pulled out their swords, intent on running them through the man's killer. With his feet still shackled to the floor, Baz held his ground and went into a defensive stance, his appropriated sword held in a way to block or parry any attacks. One of the knights lunged, their sword aimed for the assassin's head. The assassin brought his sword up and used it to deflect the blade, diverting it slightly to his right.

The knight's sword pierced the wall, cutting though the sandstone bricks!

"Shit!" The Templar cursed as the struggled to pry his sword out of the wall.

Seizing the opportunity, Baz quickly switched to a reverse grip and slammed the pommel onto the knight's helmet. The knight let out a pained groan as his hands clasped the sides of his helmet, leaving his sword stuck in the wall. Baz watched as the knight clawed at the sides of his helmet, a sign that the man's head was throbbing.

Suddenly, the third knight charged and slashed at Baz, whom parried the attacker's sword with his own. The assassin kept a tight grip on his sword, using all of his strength to keep his attacker's blade from splitting his head open. Unfortunately, the assassin was using his right arm to do so. The shoulder said arm was attached to burned, his arrow wound flaring up. Knowing it was only seconds before the pain became too unbearable, the assassin decided to use a previously used tactic.

He hacked up all the spit and phlegm in his throat and spat into the Templar's helmeted face. Like his comrade before him, the knight recoiled in disgust, foolishly dropping his sword. With his third attacker distracted, the assassin looked over to the second.

To his satisfaction, the knight decided he finally had enough of his helmet and removed it, revealing his youthful but mustachioed face. The man visibly relaxed, a sign that the pain was subsiding. He let out a relieved sigh, glad to have stopped the painful ringing in his ears.

His relief would be short-lived, for the assassin's left hand gripped the back of his head, which was promptly shoved forward. The man yelped before letting out a pained gurgle as his neck came crashing into the pommel of his wedged sword. The metal knob immediately caved the man's throat in.

The choking Templar hacked as his mouth filled up with blood, dripping from his mouth. Eventually, the choking knight let out one last pitiable gurgle before dying, his body slumping onto the wall. His killer watched as his corpse slid down the wall, his bloodied mouth leaving a trail of blood.

Two down, one to go; Baz returned his attention to the third knight, who had already removed his helmet.

The helmetless Templar wiped his face with his gloved hands. But the minute his hands retreated from his face, his eyes landed on the corpse slumped against the wall. The knight snarled in rage and glared daggers into the assassin.

"You," He spat in unrestrained hate, "... you bloody feckin' heathen!"

The knight picked up his sword and let out a bloodcurdling roar. He gripped the sword with both hands and held it in an inside left guard, aiming the tip right for the assassin's stomach. With one final battle cry, he charged his would-be victim.

With little time to spare, Baz allowed his base survival instincts to guide him. The young man dropped to his knees and held his sword. The assassin ducked and held his sword up, the tip of the blade raised high. Time seemed to slow to a crawl for both combatants. Having accepted that this may be his last moments, Baz locked his eyes on his attacker. His Hashashin training had taught him to never shield his eyes from death, even if it were his own.

As an assassin, Baz had long accepted his death was inevitable. But accepting his fate did nothing to erase all his regrets. And his biggest regret was that he'll die without killing the Sunderer. But what hurt the most was the knowledge that the death of his family will not be avenged.

Father, Mother, Amira... Forgive me.

A moment later, sharp and piercing shriek ripped through the air, followed by the clatter of a metal blade landing on a hard stone floor.

"Hurrgh...?" The Templar choked out, whatever words he were about to say dying in his throat.

Having a sword in his neck would do that. The knight stumbled, hacked up the blood filling his mouth. As his life ebbed away, he gave his killer one last withering glare. Baz knew that if the man had possessed the capacity to vocalize his final words, he'd use them to curse the assassin to the deepest recesses of hell. Baz didn't care in the slightest. This Templar wasn't the first to wish eternal damnation on him.

And he thankfully won't be the last, much to Baz's relief.

Baz released the sword from his grip, letting the knight's corpse collapse to the floor. With the Templar's dead, the assassin was now free to escape. He knelt down and reached over to the Brute's corpse. Taking hold of the dead knight's belt, he dragged the cadaver closer to him. He turned the corpse over onto its back and found the cell keys fastened onto his belt. The assassin pulled on the pair of keys and ripped them free of the belt.

He quickly unlocked the shackles around his feet, giving him the freedom to move at last.

The assassin rose to his feet, appropriated another sword from one of the fallen knights,

The wooden door creaked as it was slowly pushed forward, the assassin's body pressed behind it, a make-shift shield to use in the likely event of an attack. Peeking from behind cover, the young man's head swiveled from side to side, scanning his surroundings for potential threats. When he was sure that it was safe, he stepped out of his cell and turned to his right, stealthily moving in that direction.

Using the directions given to him by his now-deceased captor, the assassin navigated his way through the dungeon's many halls. Knowing that it wouldn't be long before the bodies were discovered, the assassin decided to use what little time he had left to search for his belongings. But with no knowledge on the lay-out of the prison, the young man was practically walking in the dark.

Navigating his way through the admittedly complex maze of corridors, he made to stay as quest as possible. As the minutes ticked by, the pain in his shoulder intensified. Fighting those knights had not done his wounds any favors. Oh, if only it had been treated before he was brought to this foul place.

But the Templars were rarely courteous to their prisoners.

He stopped as he neared a corner, having heard the sound of hardened leather footsteps approaching his position. Keeping a tight grip on his sword, the assassin stood still as he waited for the approaching threats. Seconds passed before he saw a pair of figures in the corner of his eyes. Metal helmets, white frockcoats, and chainmail armor; Templars.

The knights passed his position, unware of his presence. Baz took the advantage and snuck up behind them. In one fluid motion, he stabbed one of the knights in the back, before shoving the man's comrade to the wall with his body. The stabbed knight crumpled to the floor dead. The assassin brought his sword to his captive's neck, eliciting a panicked gasp from the armored man.

"Do as I say and you will live to see tomorrow, Templar; Nod, if you understand." Baz sternly told the man, who did as he was ordered.

"Good... You're going to lead me to my personal effect. If you try and lead me into a trap, I will gut you like a damned fish. Do you understand that?" The knight quickly nodded, his panicked moans muffled by his helmet.

"Good. Now, lead the way."

Baz shoved the captive knight forward, his sword raised to the frightened man's throat, whom led the assassin through a corridor to their left. As he followed his unwilling guide, the prisoner-turned-captor realized that this knight can tell him what he needed to know about what was happening in Mashrek.

"Templar, I need information and you are going to tell me all that I need to know." He told the knight, who nodded his head frantically, having got the message.

"How long have you been in Mashrek?" Baz inquired with a tone as steeled as the blade next to the knight's throat.

"We arrived three days ago. The moment we arrived, the city opened its gates and we passed through with no resistance. It was as though they were expecting us."

The assassin scowled at this revelation. The city had surrendered without even putting up a fight. No, to be more accurate, they had welcomed the Templars with open arms. He can't recall a time when this had happened. And he had a feeling the decimation of the city's bureau was related to the Invader's arrival.

"What have you done to my brother assassins?" He demanded as he tightened his hold on the knight's wrists.

"The Assassins were already dead before we arrived."

Baz, shocked by the knight's reply, ceased walking. He roughly shoved the knight into the wall and held the man by his neck. The Templar shook in terror when the outraged shoved the point of his sword into the knight's face.

"Explain yourself, Templar, or your last words will be a plea to your Gods!" The assassin commanded, virile hate leaking into his tone.

The knight raised his hands defensively and told his captor, "I'm telling you the truth! Your bureau had been destroyed days before our arrival! Whatever assassins we found were already dead!"

"Who killed them?"

"We don't know. But when we questioned the city guards..." The knight's voice died in his throat, and the tell-tale signs of hesitation spread across his face.

His patience wearing thin, Baz pressed his captive to spill. "What did they say?"

"They said... that the bureau's assassins... they were murdered by other assassins!"

"Whoa, didn't see that one coming." Culver admitted, genuinely shocked by the sudden revelation. He checked the Schnee's vitals and found something worrying.

He looked to his colleague and said, "Okay, let's pull him out. If we keep him in any longer, it might cause serious damage to his mind. I'm talking about the possibility of his ancestor's consciousness bleeding over into his."

With a resigned sigh, Bleach replied. "Fine, let's pull him out. Before we do, can you tell me what his synch-rate is?"

Culver looked at the monitor and reported his findings, "It's now at 61%. It's not the number we wanted, but it is a noticeable improvement."

"Okay, cancel the session." Bleach ordered.

The two doctors commenced the shutdown sequence. When it finished, a light hum was heard from the Animus, followed by the tired groan of one exhausted Whitley Schnee. The clasps restraining the Schnee retreated into their slots, freeing the boy. The boy forced his shaking body to rise, his face sweating and his breath haggard. He tried to open his eyes, but found he couldn't keep them open. His head was spinning and it felt like he hadn't seen sunlight for days.

He moved to get off the accursed contraption, only to feel a sharp pain erupt across his right shoulder.

"AAH!" He yelled as he fell from the Animus, his body crashing onto the cold, white linoleum-tiled floor.

Now on his knees, the boy hacked and coughed, and his stomach churned something fierce. It hurt so much! The pain in his shoulder! The burning feeling in his stomach!

It was real! It was ALL real!

I'm related to a murderer... I saw everything! I felt everything! The wind blasting into his face, the sand being crushed under his feet, the blood that stained my hands... no, HIS hands! Oh, Brothers above, I think... no...

Whitley Schnee vomited onto the floor.

As the Schnee lost his stomach all over their floor, Culver rushed over to check on him. Bleach, for her part, simply sat at her table and typed up their findings. While they weren't able to find what they were looking for, the Schnee was able to improve his synchronization rate. And they were able to learn many fascinating things about Mashrek and a remarkable discovery about the Assassins. She knew the Board was going to love it.

She finished typing her message and pressed send. A second later, a message appeared on her computer.

{An interesting find, indeed; while the subject's sync-rate is less than desirable, at least you were able to get results. Take the boy and place him with the others. I want to see what happens when he interacts with them. And please, be sure he gets a warm dinner, a shower, and some sleep. He is an important guest, after all.

May the Father of Understanding guide you, Dr. Bleach.

Sincerely,

Dr. Leonard Church,

Director of the Animus Initiative, Abstergo Industries}

Okay, this took a while, but I was able to finish it. Now, I'll be able to get started on the next chapter. I'm sorry that I won't be able to leave a long author's note, but I am extremely tired from staring at my computer screen for so long.

What I can tell you is that the Next chapter of the Invincible Whitley will be published next in a few weeks, so keep an eye out for it.

Also, I'm thinking of writing a more light-hearted story. It's not a crossover and set in the My Hero Academia universe. I don't want to spoil what the story will be like, but it will involve a lot secondary characters forming a study group, in a concept inspired and influenced by the sitcom, Community.

Damn, I'm trying to write four stories now. I'm on a creative roll.

Update: Current dates of releases

Assassin's Creed: Revenants chapter 3 (November 15th, 2021)

Invincible Whitley Schnee Chapter 24 (November 30th, 2021)