Ulysses was not aware of how long he had worked, not until the light of morning begun to seep through the bottom of the door to the chamber he was toiling in. His energy finally giving out, the Supreme Commander collapsed to his knees once more, the shock from it traveling up his spine rather painfully.
He had never felt so weak before, and inwardly, Septimus cursed his still - human body. Had he been a clockwork, like the previous Supreme Commander of the Armada, this would not have happened.
But of course, this was nothing more than wishful thinking, as nothing could liberate him from this human shell which he was cursed to carry for at least five more decades.
While this would have usually made another human despair, Ulysses felt nothing. His scarlet gaze turned down to the skeleton form laying upon the table, the very same way Albinus had began before he was animated by the power of the Apple of Eden.
It certainly was impossible to prevent the smile from curving across his lips.
This progress is certainly good: if this rate is kept up, perhaps he can be done by the evening after the next.
The earlier Aetius was created, the better it would be. There was no telling how much longer he could hold up, as much as Ulysses detested to admit it, with the recent hallucinations and how much more persistent the voices had been getting.
Reaching into the pocket of his black pants, Ulysses' fingers closed around the chain of the pocketwatch and fished it out.
4 AM.
Thin lips pressed into a neutral line: already time for the morning meeting with his elites?
Quickly throwing the cloth over the skeleton form of Aetius Varius Septimus, Ulysses locked the door behind him upon exiting, ensuring to drop the key back into the secret pocket he made for it as he cradled the golden artifact in his other hand; threading his way back into his own chambers.
Ulysses paused before the only mirror within the chamber, a full length one that stood upon two feet shaped to resemble the claws of an eagle.
How different I appear now.
While his mind may not have been of the utmost stability, it was not difficult for Ulysses to remember his previous appearance any more than it was for him to recall some of the less pleasant memories within his mind.
The metallic fingertips of his left hand tracing over the scar marring that side of his face, Ulysses Caesarion Septimus allowed himself to remember.
His eyes weren't like this two years ago, no, they weren't bloodshot with all the little capillaries branching out of the once vibrant crimson of his irises. Nor had they appeared so sunken into his skull.
Even his skin was almost stretched across his skull, with just enough muscle underneath to show that he was a human still; making the scar on his face stand out that much more if it was possible. It was also possible to see a trace of his previous appearance in this almost cadaver-like appearance, yes, but it would take at least a good minute of examination.
Everything has changed so much in just a few years. But I do suppose this is fitting, fitting to the appearance of my own soul, if I still have it, that is.
The Supreme Commander of the Armada found himself almost laughing out loud at the thought with more or less slightly morbid humor.
Though he would not deny that it was also a good question: did he still possess a human's soul? After so much tragedy and tribulation in his twenty eight years of existence, crushed under emotional scars and memories of his own failures, and memories of him simply handing the reins over to the darkness and the demon that reigned within him, did he still possess a human's soul?
Ulysses did not entertain the question further, however, and swiftly turned to snatch up his waistcoat from where he had left it the previous evening -
White gloved fingers delicately lifted the perfectly sculpted mask from its stand. Ulysses turned once more to the mirror in his room, fitting the mask over his thin, gaunt face, drawing in a long, controlled breath as the HUD display within the visors switched on. With this on, gone was the man Ulysses Septimus, and here stood none other than the Armada Supreme Commander Kane the Second, ruler of the Valencian Empire.
Those same fingers now traced over the contours of the mask, over the golden corona around the eyes and over the black visors set into the sockets.
The Supreme Commander winced, as though he had unintentionally brushed against a cut or a bruise.
No one looks beyond this mask of mine, save perhaps my mentor. But perhaps that is for the best, considering that this is the time my soldiers need me the most.
Ulysses picked up the golden brimmed, black capello with its pin and tassel, setting it over his now combed back silver hair, tightly done in the fashion preferred by the officers; the ornaments upon his elaborately decorated coat jingling slightly.
The Commander's footsteps echoed down the metal hallways. He could not tell if it was some deeply ingrained habit he had adopted over the past year, but somehow, he had managed to keep to a steady march all the way to the throne room that now belonged to him; emerging from a side door just behind it.
Ulysses' crimson eyed gaze scanned over the rows of assembled clockwork officers, all of them snapping into a perfect Armada salute when their Commander took his seat, the folds of his uniform falling surprisingly well together.
My warriors, my family. How much longer will it take for those fools of the Resistance, or should I say what's left of them, to realize that rebellion against my hand, against our hands, is a futile effort?
Oh don't get him wrong, he tried to offer most of them mercy. He had given them a choice, shortly after he made an example of the pirates of Skull Island, to either give in and be given amnesty, or continue their useless fighting until each and every one of their men had been felled.
"Ave, Imperator Secundus Caesarus."
Septimus acknowledged with only a slight nod, appropriate of his position; turning his head slightly to his left, where Deacon the spymaster stood.
"Let the ambassadors enter."
Upon the spymaster's voice, several ambassadors, each representing a different world of the Valencian Empire stepped through the entrance of the throne room, dropping to their knees before the Supreme Commander of the Armada in the fashion they were all expected of.
"Hail to His Grand Majesty, Lord of Valencia and Commander of the Armada."
While everyone else would have simply leaned back and accepted tribute as it is, Ulysses found himself picking up a slight trace of distaste concealed in their voices. But truly, who could blame them? Particularly the world of Marleybone, they did not need to fight that battle in the very first place, had it not been for the damned Templars and pirates working together on a scheme that would place the blame of the disappearance of the governor's daughter on the Armada.
"Arise."
From behind his mask, the Supreme Commander surveyed each one of them, until his gaze landed on a figure Ulysses had never before seen among the ambassadors of the worlds; his hood drawn over to almost completely conceal his face.
"Your Majesty."
Ulysses' attention turned away, to the ambassador of Marleybone.
"Our Queen sends her best regards to you, Your Grace, as well as three hundred thousand gold pieces as our gift."
The Supreme Commander of the Armada could feel his lips twitching up into a smile behind his mask. With every day, the power of the Armada expanded over the Spiral to encompass more and more of the worlds, as did the power of the Assassin Order; bringing in more and more tribute to add to their already fattening treasuries.
"Send her my gratitude from me, in thanks for this generous gift."
The ambassador bowed again, retreating into the lines of others as the one from Mooshu came forth.
"Your Heavenly Grace, our shogun would like to thank you for your aide in putting down the rebellion. Allow us to present you with two shipments of weapons -"
The rest of the ambassador's words were drowned out by the sound of two massive booms sounding akin to cannons being fired. Almost out of instinct, Ulysses shot up from his throne, and just in time too, when the shadow clad figure he had seen earlier suddenly lunged at him with a dagger; the blade burying into one of the armrests.
Not so fast you fool, I had won the throne of the Grand Master by true prowess!
Ulysses lashed out with one leg, kicking with as much force as he could summon into the stomach of the figure.
It was enough to send the figure tumbling backward with a grunt, his back colliding hard against one of the pillars. While the Supreme Commander's attention would have remained focused on him, Ulysses was forced to tear his gaze away when a pistol shot just barely grazed the side of his face.
Scarlet eyes narrowed behind his mask, his hand flying toward the sword strapped to his waist and yanking the blade out of its scabbard, stepping off the dias in a few strides to engage the first saboteur that had rushed at him.
By that point, everything within Ulysses' mind had been muted by the autopilot which always seemed to come on whenever he went into battle:
Parrying the man's short sword with his own blade, Ulysses twisted his head to the side just long enough to stab the Hidden Blade strapped to his wrist directly into another saboteur's throat.
Merda, damn humans!
The Supreme Commander cursed inwardly when he felt a burning gash tear through his side, just underneath his ribcage, and he spun around sharply to see the few drops of blood that now clung to his first opponent's blade, the gash in his side weeping drops of scarlet red as the delicate skin underneath was torn open, as were the veins underneath.
His crimson eyes narrowing, Ulysses only barely registered his actions as his hand with the hidden blade, his left hand, the cybernetic limb that had been attached to the stump of his wrist after his almost miraculous escape from the hands of the Templar Grand Master Atticus Mercilus, clamp down on the man's throat with a strength no human should have, after sheathing the hidden blade with a twitch of his wrist.
The man gagged, both of his hands flying up to weakly pry at the long, slender fingers of the Armada Supreme Commander's vice - like grip.
"Fleshly weakling."
The words fell from Ulysses' masked lips without emotion, without remorse. And with such, the Commander of the Armada closed his grip just a little more, relishing how his prey's pulse thundered under his fingers (as the clockwork - like hand still allowed for a certain degree of sensation), before they just stopped altogether, following the sound of the man's neck being snapped.
"Commander, behind you!"
Ulysses released his hand from around the human's throat, his coat whipping in the air with its numerous decorations when he spun around at the sound of Servius' almost panicked voice.
The man, he assumed, from before, the one he had knocked into the pillar, had leapt at him again, this time with a sword he had no doubt taken from one of his fallen comrades that had been struck down by either the Grand Marshal Rooke, or one of Octavius Caesarus' Royal Guards.
Sparks showered upon both of them when the blades collided, realization suddenly striking the Supreme Commander of the Armada.
He had seen this style before. Yes, he had seen this fighting style before, for only one being in the entire Spiral that fought like this, using acrobatic jumps to power the swings and thrusts of his sword.
No one but his archnemesis Atticus Mercilus fought like this.
Yet it could not be him, could it? That fool would not be so brazen as to challenge me where I am the strongest!
The hooded man slashed at his torso, almost managing to make another cut on the Supreme Commander before Ulysses' own sword lashed out, blocking it in midair.
Sparks flew between the blades once more, from the force of both of the combatants, both unwilling to give in to the other. It almost made Ulysses reconsider who he might just be. No one else fought with this kind of determination, one that said they would give it all before they would even bend their knees to the enemy.
It was this very same quality that made Atticus a valuable Assassin within the Order, up till the point where he betrayed the Aquilan Branch to the Templar Order, and he was expelled from the Order for being a bloody traitor.
While it would have been beyond foolish for Atticus to actually travel to Valencia to challenge his might, Septimus found himself growing almost more and more certain that this was the Templar Grand Master himself. Who else could this be, really? And if such was true, then oh he would have some fun with this bastard - !
There.
He could see an obvious loophole in his enemy's defense through the HUD display of his mask's visors. Without hesitation, Septimus lashed out, launching one leg in a powerful kick that caught the hooded figure's lower abdomen, sending him tumbling across the floor of the throne room -
Stopping right at the feet of the musketeer officer Servius Decimus himself.
Ulysses turned away then, for he did not exactly need to speak this command for it to be known to his eldest creation. The sound of a body twisting and spasming against the floor of the throne room alone was enough to tell him that his unspoken command had been acknowledged.
With that out of the way, the Supreme Commander found himself surveying the carnage recently transpired; breathing a sigh of relief from behind his mask when it was clear that none of the clockworks had perished in this little skirmish. The only visible signs of damage was the few Royal Guards stained with the blood of the saboteurs they had struck down to protect their Supreme Commander.
"Commander."
Ulysses' masked face turned to the looming figure of the Royal Guard captain Octavius Caesarus. Unlike Quintia or any of the Royal Guards under his command, Octavius' armor was colored black and gold, much like the armor of the Grand Marshal Rooke, from whose protoform he was born: and like his "father", Octavius loomed over many of the clockworks present.
"What is it, Captain?"
Much like the Triumvirate, Octavius had the capability to understand emotions, though on a slightly more limited scale, enough for the captain to harness it while feeling almost none of the negative impacts that normally came with such ability.
"There are no survivors save for the one Lieutenant Commander Servius Decimus subdued, what are your orders regarding him?"
Ah, yes, that one.
"Take him down to the dungeons, I shall speak with him personally, as he could have valuable information."
That last little bit was spoken more for the Captain Commander of the Royal Guards, for it was true that Ulysses wished to speak alone with this one, but it would be regardless of if he truly held valuable information or not.
New character introduction and idiots attempting to kill the Supreme Commander! Yep, everything is just going fantastic for Ulysses lately, isn't it? (insert sarcasm here). And who is this mysterious surviving character? You shall see soon in the next update ;) I'm not giving away any secrets ehehehe.
Thanks to my awesome beta reader Severina de Strango for helping me :D grazie, maestro.
Reviews are appreciated, and until next time!
-Hades