While it was quite important for a human to have their rest, Ulysses found himself unable to sleep as he laid in the tiny bed within the cabin of the Malevolence.
Every time he closed his eyes, that scene would play out once more in full detail, from the gaping wound ripped into Kane's torso by the dagger of Adrian Devereaux to the very face of the pathetic excuse of a man. Every sound, every sensation he had ever felt during that dreadful day now returned to him -
How could you have allowed this atrocity to happen?
The most abominable voice of them all laughed, it taunted him, reminded him of his failure to protect his god.
You are a failure, Ulysses Septimus, an absolute and complete failure! What are you compared to Kane himself?
Both of his hands curled into trembling fists, like they always did when those damned memories returned to him.
Yes, he certainly was a failure. He could never hope to measure up to Kane's greatness and perfection, he was a weak and imperfect copy of the Supreme Commander, hiding behind a mask.
Sitting up in his bed, Ulysses found himself swinging his legs over the side of it and stepping back into his boots; rising to full height and throwing on his waistcoat and his uniform.
All this time, the voice never ceased in its taunting.
"Remember how you failed at Monteriggioni? How you failed to protect your dearest rose from the hands of the pirates and the Templars? Thrice you failed, Ulysses, thrice you could have prevented all of this from happening."
"Shut up."
Ulysses found himself breathing the words out from between clenched teeth at the abominable voice, even though his more rational half reminded him that this was not something he could stop, he could not prevent it any more than he could prevent the artifact from sending its whispers into his mind.
And nothing vexed Septimus more.
Quickly tugging on his white gloves and his weapon belt, the Supreme Commander of the Armada snatched his mask up from his desk, setting it over his face.
Turning his gaze to the single small mirror in the cabin, Ulysses found the face of the previous Supreme Commander of the Armada gazing back at him, the same face that had haunted his once peaceful dreams. In that very moment, Septimus could almost swear the thin smile plastered across the mask had moved, twitching into the very same smirk that would often graze the king's face whenever he issued an order that would ultimately end up resulting in victory for the Armada.
"My master, lord and king..."
Those words fell from his lips before Septimus had even registered they had, his sigh of adoration sounding alien even to his own hearing as it was muffled and altered by the mask.
Guide me as you have in the past, show me your light and your truth, for I am but nothing more than a weak shadow of you.
Forcefully ripping his gaze away from the mirror, Ulysses set the golden brimmed black tricorne over his still tightly done silver locks, tilting the hat so it cast a shadow over his 'face'. The Supreme Commander was not exactly certain what he meant to accomplish this late at night - but nevertheless, he opened the door of his cabin and stepped out onto the deck of the Malevolence.
The night around him felt eerily quiet, especially with how his own clockwork soldiers now stood without a single movement or sound at their posts.
Searching among his brothers on the deck, Ulysses' gaze landed upon the massive form of the titan clockwork Rooke standing near the prow, his lower lip twitching for a brief second behind his mask.
It would be a lie to say that having only Deacon (who currently loomed near the starboard side of the ship, gazing outward into the skyways while both of his thin hands rested on the walking stick he was never without) on his side did not hurt deep within his heart; while Ulysses would agree that he was naught more than a pale imitator of the previous Supreme Commander Kane, he would not doubt that he had placed his utmost effort into living up the previous Commander's reputation and expectations-!
"General Rooke."
Again, Ulysses could not have been more thankful for the miniature vocalizer attached to the mouth of his mask, for without it, his human voice would have betrayed any and all of the emotions running rampant through him.
The titan pivoted around with surprising speed.
"Supreme Commander."
As it was customary to, Rooke offered a slight bow of his head to Ulysses; while he was certainly respectful of his authority, the hint of disregard was still there within his voice. Rooke had never been one for subtlety.
"I would like to have a word with you, privately."
The Supreme Commander closed the door of the cabin once Rooke stepped inside, sweeping behind his desk with a light swish of his long coat.
I should have spoken to you of this a long time ago.
"Tell me, General, am I not doing enough to live up to the order our lord had given to me before he was terminated?"
His voice had came out in the synthesized boom of a monotone supplied by his mask, though without the usual commanding air Ulysses wielded, or so he hoped. The last thing he needed was to lose one of his elites.
"Compared to our previous commander, I do believe I am not the only one who feels this way, Comandante."
Ulysses inwardly winced. While he could not say he did not expect it, the not exactly concealed jab was still enough to hurt deep down inside (and the way that the despicable voice within him agreed to this did not make it better), especially not with the almost sarcastic tone that Rooke had spoken the last word of his sentence with.
"General, I do not realize if you know this or not, but I myself am aware that I do not have the capabilities to be on par with the previous Supreme Commander."
With these words falling from his lips, it almost felt as though a large weight had been lifted off of his chest; almost enough to prompt a smile behind his mask when he noticed the far too obvious surprise that rippled through Rooke's form at his own confession.
"But I guarantee one matter: I will not stop, nor will I rest until I see His Majesty's final command to me has been accomplished. I will see to it that Devereaux and Mercilus receive the punishment they deserve, that El Dorado belongs to the Armada, and that Valencia stands to be the supreme power of the Spiral."
Of course, how could I forget the final request, the final command His Majesty had given me upon his death's brink? It is utterly impossible to do so, not in a thousand years, not with how I had to watch him die before my very eyes!
"You have my word of honor, General."
Rooke's grip shifted on his weapon, almost as if he was attempting to decide whether to trust in Ulysses' words or not.
"Very well, Commander, I will entrust in your words."
This is not unlike when I was a Captain of the Armada, is it not? Having to prove myself worthy to all of the elites, having to show that I am worthy of my position, of their respect.
Ulysses nodded once, raising one hand to show he was dismissed.
With the resonating click of the cabin door shutting immediately following Rooke's exit, Septimus sighed. He should have done this earlier, truly.
"What a weak, useless fool you are, Ulysses."
The Supreme Commander of the Armada laughed quietly to himself, not of merriment, but more of bitterness. How weak he was, when he was the Supreme Commander of the Valencian Armada, yet he could not maintain respect of his own elites -
But the Supreme Commander Kane must have seen something in you, he would not have just reached out and chosen you without a reason behind it, would he? Every single action of his meant something.
Such was true, Ulysses realized. The former Supreme Commander of the Armada always had a reason behind every action, for each ultimately worked towards something within the final picture: the death of Emilio Barbarigo, for example, had caused a general disturbance within the forces of the Resistance, based on what some of his other spies had reported back to him recently -
Drumming his fingers along the edge of the desk, Ulysses' thoughts wondered back to the current events at hand.
There was still a good hour or two before the battle would begin, and likely five more or so before he could at last return to his homeland Valencia where he now ruled as the king. While this mantle of the Lord of the Armada felt almost suffocating at times, Septimus found it almost impossible to not long for his return. Not that he was surprised in anyway, for warfare always seemed to have this kind of effect on a human; and it never seemed to lessen, even after so many years.
And with the near complete silence within his cabin, the memories returned once again, although they were some of the more pleasant memories that Ulysses had no qualms about being lost in.
With his rhythmic, controlled breathing behind his pale mask and the sound of his heart beating within his chest being the only background noises, Septimus allowed his mind to trace back to the first battle he had actually participated in.
It was only about a year after he had first completed his training as a Assassin Master, perhaps only a few months before the disaster at Monteriggioni, he recalled, when the Assassin Grand Master Altaïr IV sent a force of Assassins to take back a fortress the Templars had taken over in the world of Polaris.
They always said that the first time could either be your best, or your worst. I do suppose that this first battle brought out my best, but was it worth it that this battle would ultimately become the progenitor of the bloodlust within me? Perhaps...
A single gloved hand slid down to the sword at his waist, sliding the blade with a small screech of metal against leather and steel that sounded much louder than usual from its scabbard. Within the darkened interior of the cabin aboard the Malevolence, the light from the Sword of Kane, the weapon once wielded by the first Supreme Commander of the Armada, was almost blinding, to say the very least.
Ulysses' gaze ran among the workmanship of the weapon. Even now he could not stop himself from marveling at this weapon made by the hand of the first Supreme Commander; simple yet elegant, the blade untouchable by tarnish, as though the blood of whichever unfortunate fools that had once painted it kept the nicks and dust that would have painted any other blade away.
Speaking of the blood of fools, it is time to begin.
Raising once more from behind his desk, Ulysses sheathed the weapon at his waist and stepped outside.
In the light of dawn, while the visors of his mask had lessened greatly its effects on him, Ulysses still found it hard to see without squinting slightly for the first few minutes.
"What are your orders, Supreme Commander?"
It was Deacon who had spoken first, being the first one to notice the Supreme Commander's presence.
"Bring out three of our guns and enough ammunition for them to Illios." This should not be too hard, or at least his calculations said they should not be. "Bombard the walls of Troy with cannon-fire until they fall, then provide backup for the Eagles as they storm the walls."
It almost seemed far too easy, that the Fates would be handing a map piece to him so fast, but Ulysses would not complain against it. Even the voices within his mind for once were in harmony with his thoughts, however scrambled some of them may be.
His clockwork soldiers had carried out his orders in an instant -
About three Armada dragoons pushed three of the Malevolence's guns along the path, while another three carried the ammunition for them (having been upgraded from using the standard formula to something much more destructive thanks to Cristobal's extensive researches); trailed by a small battalion of chosen soldiers from the crew of the Malevolence and of course the Grand Marshal Rooke himself.
By the time Ulysses' small force of soldiers arrived in the camp of the Eagles, the Commander of the Armada had to bite back a triumphant laugh at the sight of Eaglememnon's face, how his beak all but dropped into an awkward 'o' of surprise at the sight of the clockworks, particularly the Dragoons and Rooke himself (as the Titan gave a small scoff of disregard that only Ulysses had picked up due to his extensive time with the elite court).
These aren't even all of my elite warriors.
Ulysses' attention was soon directed elsewhere as he gazed upon the walls of the city of Troy.
He had seen plenty of magnificent cities (Cadiz being the most stupendous of all of them), and he would admit that Troy would be one of the very top, with its slick looking walls of white stone, each perfectly sculpted to fit like the parts of a puzzle. It loomed like some sort of silent giant over the Achaean camp, taunting it with its white walls, impregnable even to the strongest Aquilan weapons.
It was almost a shame they would soon have to raze it.
"You called for a demonstration of my powers, Eaglememnon, and now I shall give it to you."
Ulysses had spoken those words without even glancing back at the commander of the Achaean forces -
Bleh, why should you even pay attention to that insignificant worm, one of the voices sneered within his mind, he is nothing compared to your might, you who are the Supreme Commander of the Armada, the Lord of Three Crowns!
It was tempting, yes, to agree with what the voice was whispering into his ear, but he had business at hand.
"Fuoco a volontà!"
Several loud cracks snapped through the area, comparable to the sounds of thunder in itself, as the three guns of the Malevolence fired upon the white walls of Troy.
Shards of stone blew into the air, carried by the brunt force of the new Valencian alloy ammunition on its cesium based gunpowder. It did not take many shots to send an entire section of the walls to come tumbling down, its serpent defenders' hissing shrieks of pain, surprise, and anger somehow resonating through the area.
"Forward, Achaeans, make those fools pay!"
It was the voice of Odysseus that had snapped the rest of the Eagles out of their amazement at the sheer power that rested in such a small fraction of the clockwork Armada.
Ulysses drew his own sword and launched himself into the battle, the last thing he remembered seeing (before the demon within him took over his actions) being Rooke throwing himself into the fight with his usual loud, booming laugh that was like the thunder that rolled in before a thunderstorm.
He did not know how long the demon had taken over his limbs, though he did suppose he could fathom a good guess in the very least, when he finally recovered, judging by the sight of at least a dozen of serpentine forms splayed out before him in the midst of their palace, their throats slashed wide open and the sword in Ulysses' own hand thoroughly stained with their blood... As well as the form of their prince, judging by the golden crown he wore, with a throwing knife protruding from his throat, and the triumphant form of Eaglememnon looming over him.
I suppose my job is done here.
The Supreme Commander of the Armada brought a single hand up to the comm link clipped to the collar of his uniform coat.
"All forces return to the ships and await further orders."
Ulysses sheathed the now bloodied weapon back into its scabbard, able to sense the demon within him retreating into its usual slumber as he made his way out of the now ruined fortress.
"Wait, Grand Master Septimus."
Ulysses' steps only halted upon the sound of Odysseus' voice: the eagle holding out what appeared to be a worn piece of parchment to him, that the Apple of Eden within his pocket confirmed to be the piece of the map they came here searching for.
"As you aided us in ending the war, I must honor my end of the deal."
Now only two more pieces of the map remain out of the hands of the Armada, but will they get to them in time ;) come back and it shall be revealed in the future chapters. And yes, Ulysses may be the Supreme Commander, but a certain few elites still don't agree with him being the king of the Valencia, Lord of the Armada and Emperor of the Valencian Empire.
Reviews are much appreciated, my readers, and yes that includes you, guests! (points through the screen) It makes me write faster and better :D.
Until next time!
-Hades