Hey everyone! You probably thought I was dead or something, but no such luck! Here's the new chapter


Next to him stood the Grandmaster of Masyaf, Altair Ibn-La'Ahad.


Of course the Bleeding Effect would rear its head now. Lucy had said something about it becoming more severe with high levels of emotion and stress. Well, this would would be the perfect example for both, wouldn't it? Ashen gray robes rippled around the Master Assassin in the light breeze, so much different than the usual white. His weapons still hung in their proper places

"Go away. You're not real. You're a hallucination brought on by the Bleeding Effect." Once again, he pressed the blade down, breaking the skin and drawing blood. A sword-calloused hand grabbed his fingers, yanking his own hand away from his wrist and effectively stopping the slicing motion.

"Desmond, do not -"

"No! Let go!" He screamed, using his free hand to claw at the fingers that had an iron grip on his already severely bleeding wrist. Why must there always be something in his way? All he wanted to do was escape the endless paradox his life had shifted into. No medicine could cure the madness tainting him. Nothing could be done to rid him of the dark void. So, the only way he could see that it could be fixed: let it bleed out through his veins. But his nightmare world, his everyday life, continued to trick him, taunt him with false images of the past.

"Desmond, do not struggle." The clear Arabic the man spoke only encouraged him to struggle more, fighting the hallucination with everything he had left. "Desmond, stop." Again, again, it tried to reason with him. Lucy had told him the hallucinations were nothing but phantoms, bodiless voices manifesting through his ancestors with help of the Bleeding Effect. So, a phantom was stopping him, something his mind conjured up? Was he . . . was he so afraid he had begun waging war with himself?

"Please, let me go." The words were meant as a snarl, but came out as a pathetic whimper. His thoughts blurred into a confused mass that made his head pound. Every now and then, a random emotion spiked through him. Rage, pain, grief, and confusion all melded into one gigantic mass that threatened to suffocate him. But the one he didn't expect that hit him the hardest bombarded his senses. Fear. Why . . . why was he afraid? He had already resolved to die, so why was he afraid?!

"Please . . . " He whispered, the desperate grief now painfully obvious in his voice. "Please, just let me die . . . " The figure paused, as if contemplating his words, but the grip did not loosen in the least. Instead, he felt himself being pulled even closer to Altair."Why do you wish to end your life?" His ancestors deep, steady voice sounded close to the novice's ear, and he felt color rise to his face at their proximity. He didn't process the question until his ancestor repeated it. When he did, the images of his friends lying half-dead on the floor flashed through his mind, and his eyes widened.

"I . . . hurt my friends . . . they'll probably never . . . f-forgive me . . ." Altair - the hallucination of Altair, he kept reminding himself, the hallucination of his ancestor brought on by the Bleeding Effect - tilted his head, confusion glimmering in his usually expressionless gaze. Miniature golden stars reflected themselves in Desmond's eyes, analyzing him, staring into his heart, his mind, his very soul, seeking out the source of his pain. Such an expression . . . he'd never seen that type of expression in Altair's memories, not even with Maria. So why would the Bleeding Effect fabricate something that didn't exist? Did it assimilate the concerned expression from his own experiences?

"Desmond . . . why would they blame you? You are not the one to blame." A strange mixture of emotions poured into Desmond's heart as he heard those words. The mixture of relief and hatred bombarded his already fractured mind, drawing out confused, panicked anger. Was he honestly still trying to convince himself of his innocence, so much that his hallucinations had begun o try and reason with him?

"And how would you know that?!" He felt the choked desperation in his voice more than he heard it, a knot in his throat forming that refused to go away even when he cleared it. Even now, when he had resolved to this, he still insisted to himself he couldn't be responsible? "You weren't there! You couldn't be there because you aren't real. Every time these stupid 'fits' happen, I end up doing something that hurts someone or something! And I don't even remember why!"

His entire body trembled, tears of either frustration or self-loathing rolling down his cheeks. It was his fault. Why couldn't he just accept that? No one would forgive him . . . And even if they did, he would never forgive himself. So why was he resisting himself?

Desmond, The phantom began again, and the softness of the voice startled the younger out of his temporary stupor. Never in Altair's memories had he heard him use that tone of voice: tender, soothing, and . . . guilty. You are not the one who made those you call friend suffer . . . I did.

The sentence echoed over and over again in the silence that followed. Desmond's dark gold eyes widened as the truth of the statement sank in.

"You . . . "

'I am the cause of your 'blackouts'." It felt like someone had hit him in the stomach with a steel beam. His body went limp, from both shock and relief. So, that would mean . . . After several seconds, he found his voice, though it was weak and trembling.

"Why . . . would you - ?" There was a long pause before the response came.

"Whenever you felt threatened or overwhelmed by something, I would aid you to the best of my ability. Because of your mindset whenever I did so, I only suspected that the people around you were the ones causing you pain." Altair's image turned away in something resembling shame. "I realize now that I was mistaken."

"But . . . " Desmond cleared his throat again, trying to bring some strength back into his tone. "But how did you . . . you aren't real." The illusion frowned at him, obviously puzzled by his statement.

"You truly believe that?"

"Well, yeah!" Desmond laughed softly, something he felt he hadn't done in a long time. "If that weren't true, then I would be talking to someone who lived almost one thousand years ago." He averted his gaze from the intense stare he was receiving. He felt the eyes boring into the side of his skull. His voice faded to a whisper again.

"And I know that can't happen."

"Then how is it that I can love you?"

Before Desmond could react to the unfamiliar phrase from his ancestor, Altair leaned forward, curling his fingers into the fabric of the younger's sweatshirt, and kissed him.


Ah ha! Cliffhanger! That was probably a mistake, but I didn't know how to wrap it up.

I'm so sorry for taking so long to update! I've got finals coming up and most of the past few weeks has been projects. But I'll try to get out new chapters for all my stuff soon.

Bye bye!