It was almost as though the Fates wished to remind him of everything that he had failed in before, and perhaps spit on his ill fortune. Ulysses found his sleep was again wrought with nightmares after another exhausting day of carrying out the duties of the Supreme Commander and the Lord of Valencia.
It had taken all of Ulysses' willpower to not wake up screaming.
Am I to be haunted with these damned memories for the rest of my human life?!
This dream was likely the worst of the ones that had plagued him -
In all the grisly details, Ulysses had found himself reliving his escape from the bloodbath at the Assassin fortress of Monteriggoni. He could swear that he could still hear the sound of the walls of the fortress crumbling down, the sound of bodies hitting the ground as the Templar invaders stormed the fortress, slaughtering each and every assassin they came across, not even sparing the novices, who were only barely learning to defend themselves from the hands of those murderers.
"Go, Ulysses! I will cover you!" Ezio drew his katar, already taking his stance even as large sections of the wall rained down upon both of the Assassins. "What are you waiting for? Go!"
The Supreme Commander placed his cybernetic hand upon his forehead, still struggling to still his racing heart.
Even though this was something that had occurred more than ten years ago, it was still utterly impossible to prevent himself from feeling the crushing guilt that often came with this memory. It was also impossible to keep the fear, the primal fear that had laid curled deep within him like some sort of sleeping serpent from reappearing and sending his heart rate up into the skies.
However, this part had not been the worst of his nightmares at this time.
Ulysses had found, with even more horror, himself reliving his next two failures, from the very moment when his dear rose perished, down to the very seconds of his master's very last moments.
Scarlet eyes scanned the chamber, the Supreme Commander finally calming down after several minutes of struggling to slow down his rapid breathing rate and heartbeat.
I can still see that moment, it is as though it had happened merely minutes before-!
Those same eyes cast down toward both of his hands, the cybernetic one and the one of flesh. Partially, Ulysses expected to see both of his hands doused in the blood of his master, or even his wife. It was that vivid.
Why won't these memories relent?
Septimus winced, pressing his left hand to his forehead. Damn it, his head felt as though it would split open in the next moment, like someone was using a hammer and a chisel against his flesh.
Shut the hell up dammit, shut the hell up!
Those voices! Did they even know when to shut up?!
Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, the Supreme Commander of the Armada slipped his knee high boots back on; inwardly cursing when he found his balance rather compromised upon attempting to stand, only regaining it when he had braced his cybernetic hand against the table next to his bed.
The vertigo was impossibly strong, even when Ulysses managed a half way steady standing stance.
By the time Septimus managed to stagger his way over to the single, but massive window of his chamber, most of the vertigo had thankfully subsided.
Bracing the side of the window, Ulysses drew in a sharp breath at the sight laid out before him.
It was utterly impossible, he had always believed, to not marvel at the beauty that was his homeworld of Valencia, be it at day or at night.
For once, the usually heavy storm clouds that would cover his homeworld had allowed the moon out, letting it cast its silver light over Valencia and the many Armada ships patrolling its skyways; the clockworks ever so vigilant in their defense of the people of this beautiful empire.
This beautiful empire, my empire.
It was true, he had built it from the ground up, starting with only one world, this world, before Septimus had managed to expand it to cover several worlds of the Spiral with the aide of his Assassins and the clockworks now under his command. Sometimes, it truly amazed him how he had created this empire within only a little more than a year.
The Supreme Commander of the Armada could not stop the wince from rocking his entire frame, for just remembering even the smallest fragment of memories associated with his Commander brought the whispers back into his mind.
A failure-
Remember what you've done-
You failed to protect them.
The pain that had wracked his skull returned with each of the whispers.
Descendent of the First Civilization? Keeper of Eden? Failure.
Ulysses' hands flew up to clench at the sides of his head.
Make it stop.
The pain grew stronger, as though to remind him he was nothing but a puppet to these whispers. What could he do against them? He had been able to shut them up at times, shut off their influence from his brain by pushing them into the very back of his skull, but what else could he do?
He was powerless against them, no matter how much he wanted to deny it.
Ulysses was powerless against his body lurching forward and out of his chambers, into the adjoining study. It was as though some otherworldly force had looped strings around his limbs, pulling him in the manner that a puppet-master would guide his favorite little puppet.
His legs gave out the very moment he was close enough to his desk, and to the glowing golden orb that was both the source of his knowledge to build the Ulyssean Triumvirate and the object that had infinitely cursed him with the whispers within his mind. Before, his failures, they had been nothing but a slight buzz at the very back of his head - but now, they were nothing short of the demons reminding him of those times he could not decide if he wished to let go or hang onto like a drowning man.
It was foolish, it was desperate, but Ulysses knew nothing else.
Ulysses found it impossible to tear his eyes away from the golden artifact. It felt as though the light given off by it held some sort of physical weight, petrifying each and every muscle within him to ensure that he could not turn his gaze away.
He hated the whispers, the way they brought along his memories and worsened his nightmares, but he could not deny the fact he enjoyed the power it bestowed upon him.
With a slightly trembling hand, the Supreme Commander of the Armada found himself reaching out for the golden artifact.
His entire body trembled, a moan almost spilling out of his lips in euphoric joy when he felt the oh - so - familiar power surge through his very being. Power was addicting, but even more so when physically given to him: with this in his palms, Ulysses could almost daresay he could match the powers of all of the First Civilization, those beings proclaimed as gods by the first inhabitants of the Spiral.
A smile made its way onto the pale, almost gaunt face of the Supreme Commander of the Armada, one that stretched from ear to ear and only barely felt by him. However, the power, the euphoria also brought along searing pain, pain like a thousand knives being shoved into his flesh, like the burning hot, chain - link whip that Atticus had used so long ago to tear into the flesh of his back, dousing the barely twenty two year old Ulysses in his own blood.
But the pain was muted in the face of the exihilaration brought on by the sensation of his power, just as the invisible puppet strings around his limbs were barely acknowledged by Ulysses, even when he lowered the artifact and made his way back over to the desk, pulling out a sheet of parchment and beginning to sketch.
What is this?
He knew this was not right, that he should perhaps at least partially attempt to fight against it, though frankly, Septimus didn't care. He was interested to see where this would go.
It felt like an eternity before his hands stopped drawing, the artifact finally relinquishing its hold on him.
A clockwork assassin, with my full set of weapons and my DNA memories. A fitting backup method I suppose, with how fast this shell of mine is failing.
Any country or army required a leader, and without a leader, anarchy and pandemonium was sure to reign.
Ulysses did not need to be reminded of his own mortality, that he could not last long enough to be the commander of the clockwork Armada forever, especially not in this vessel of his body that was falling apart at the seams. His weak, imperfect shell of a human body, no matter how much he could dress up to appear as though he was a clockwork.
His lips turned up into a slight smile, not one reaching from ear to ear like how he so often had, instead, it was one of genuine emotion, the happiness he had not felt for so long.
You shall be my greatest creation yet, Aetius Varius Septimus, a perfect replica of me, but without the human flaws plaguing me.
Pushing himself out of his chair, Ulysses found his steps surprisingly steady as he stepped into the chamber in which he had brought Albinus Crassus into the Spiral.
Crimson eyes scanned the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.
Everything had remained in where he had left them, almost a year ago, shortly before the invasion of Skull Island, untouched except by a thin layer of dust upon the tools and some of the material placed within the multiple chests in the chamber.
Ulysses allowed his back to connect with the door, his entire frame sliding down onto the ground in a sitting position; blueprint still held within one hand. His entire frame had seemingly went numb, unresponsive to every command issued by his brain, and even the scars on his back throbbed with ghost pain.
It felt as though the scars had been ripped open again. And some part of him felt as though a chunk of his flesh had been torn away, only to be replaced by new skin within a few mere seconds.
And another part of him screamed at him, demanding that he not ignore this sensation.
Ulysses however, paid it no attention.
Why waste one's time on this when instead, one could use their time so much more…productively?
New character introductions, yay! Yes, Ulysses' condition is just getting worse and worse and worse, there is no end to his suffering. And if any of you are wondering, Ulysses' condition, after a few hours of online research by me, is basically PTSD induced schizophrenia, hence for all the hallucinations and such. Poor guy, he's just slowly losing his mind.
Hence why he is currently building basically a backup version of himself, just in case if anything is to happen, oh and you can all be sure that Aetius will play a major role in VE, especially later ;).
Reviews are much appreciated, see you all next time!
-Hades