Aetius Varius Septimus stood unmoving on the deck of the ship the Spector, wind rippling through the folds of his blue and gold Assassin's robes.
His fingers were wrapped tightly around the hilt of the schiavona sword strapped to his wide belt, which also bore the insignia of the Valencian Assassin Order lined by sheathes of throwing knives. Like what one would expect of any other Maestro Assassino, Aetius wore a suit of Seusenhofer armor over the robes: plate armor with black outlining.
From beneath his hood, the first of the clockwork assassins felt his lips twitch into a line.
He estimated it was likely not more than a few more hours before they would reach the ruins that was once the haven of the pirate faction.
Boots clanked with each of his steps over to the side of the ship, leaning his upper half against the railings of the ship. Had he been a human, Aetius' eyes would have closed in thought.
Ever since he was brought into this Spiral, Aetius Varius Septimus found himself very quickly thrust into a harsh world that required the absolute attention of one, or the tides of the events will swiftly sweep the balance from underneath your feet. Then there was those memories, those emotions which coursed through him.
Hatred flowed through his veins whenever Aetius remembered the name of the Grand Master Templar Atticus Mercilus, of how he had so brutally tortured the man he had came to known as his father and creator. It burned deep within the clockwork Assassin, it made him conjur up images within his mind of what he would do to the Templar, should his hand ever be upon the traitor who had abandoned his comrades for such a selfish cause.
Worry plagued his mind, much like it was now, upon thoughts he had of his own creator. Ulysses Septimus was the Emperor of the Valencian Armada, and the leader of the Valencian Order, one of the most powerful man in the Spiral, if not the most powerful of the inhabitants of the Spiral. It made him wonder with fear what his creator would do if a thought went too far, or if he would do something foolish -
Aetius only briefly allowed himself to linger on that thought.
A mission is a mission, let not your thinking process wonder off too far when all of your intelligence and processing power is required.
The Assassin straightened himself, shifting the white cape over his left shoulder.
His gaze surveyed the clockworks upon the deck of the Spector. Clockwork marines, musketeers, and battle angels were about their stations around the ship, tending to either the cannons or the navigation. One hundred forty clockworks in total, more than enough to face off the Templar forces occupying the island.
That is, if they were deployed correctly of course.
Aetius leaned his back against the main mast of the ship. One gauntleted hand reached to his belt pouch, producing the sheet of parchment he had drawn up in the early hours of the trip when they first left from Valencia.
At first glance it would appear to be a normal map of the ruins of Skull Island, though in the margines were scribbled meticulous notes in the organized writing of a clockwork.
The clockwork assassin ran his finger down the notes, running them over in his mind thrice more -
Landing on the island, with as little sound as possible, march in with the aide of the Armada spy Secundus and bombard the Templar shelter with smoke bombs. Once they are driven out, close in for the kill, leave Adrian and Atticus alive to be captured and dragged back into Valencia for the justice they had so deserved.
Folding away the parchment once more, Aetius rested his hand on his sword.
So we are now in the nest of the serpent.
"Prepare for combat!"
Rooke's thunderous voice boomed across the deck, almost as though it was what shook the ship when it finally docked at the once bloodstained beach. Vividly, Aetius found himself recalling the memories of when this so called haven of the Resistance was annihilated by the might of the Armada in that one bloody night, swept away by the wrath of his creator and Commander Ulysses Septimus.
"Do not remain in formation if situation calls, and capture their leaders Devereaux and Mercilus alive, do not, under any circumstance, terminate them."
Aetius drew his schiavona blade from its sheath at his side, sand crunching underneath his boots. Nothing could compare to the thunderous footsteps of the Armada Grand Marshal Rooke, though.
The clockwork assassin tuned the rest of the situation out after this; on a sort of autopilot while trailing the uniform clad form of Secundus, who had accompanied all of them silently.
Only absentmindedly did he notice how much white bones littered the sands, bones weathered by the ages, marked with weapon marks that sang of the bloodbath which transpired here without words. Aetius could feel the gaze of those empty skulls on his back as he followed Secundus toward the Templar hideout, gazes of pure hatred against him and anyone else of the Valencian Imperial Armada.
His thought process was abruptly interrupted at this point, when Secundus held out an arm and stopped him.
"We are here."
Aetius would have arched an eyebrow at the sight, had he not possessed a mask for a face, for what appeared before him appeared in noway to be in condition to serve as a base to an entire faction. There was no fortifications of any sort, no guards posted on patrols, simply a wooden door with a chain draped around it.
"Musketeers, prepare incindiary shots."
A collective click sounded as all of the musketeers held their muskets into firing position.
"Dragoons, marines, prepare your weapons for direct combat. Leave no survivors but ensure to capture Atticus Mercilus and his companion Adrian Devereaux."
The sound produced by fifty muskets going off was deafening, filling the air with smoke as the newly developed incendiary bullets were launched directly into the so called Templar base Secundus had pointed out.
Varius waved his sword once, and though he did not look back to see if his clockwork soldiers followed him, the thunderous sound of footsteps was enough.
The first Templar to charge him met his fate on the other end of Varius' schiavona sword: the assassin reaching out and grabbing his shoulder, yanking him right onto the blade until it protruded out of the man's back and coated in the life blood that had once been pumped through his weak frame of flesh.
Weak, pathetic pawns to the traitor and serpent of a man who had betrayed his brothers, all for the most selfish reason in the Spiral-!
A dull thud sounded upon the impact of the unnamed Templar's corpse hitting the ground, after being pushed off of Varius' weapon by the clockwork Assassin. His attention turned away from the corpse, to the battle din which now enveloped the air around his entirety, the din of muskets and dragoon autocannons firing and of metal clashing back and forth, halberds and swords trading blows left and right -
Varius threw out his sword arm, a shower of sparks flying between interlocked blades. Had he possessed human eyes, they would have narrowed as he looked upon the face of the man who had been so bold as to attempt something such as this.
Metal screeched obnoxiously, wailed as the clockwork Assassin yanked his sword back; a flick of his wrist to send the gears turning, forcing the hidden blade within the steel bracer out in a matter of seconds.
By the time the Templar's body joined the other still cooling corpses of the others attempting to defend the base, Aetius had already found himself briskly walking away from it and continuing down the halls, navigating by pure memory of the map Secundus had drawn in order to plan for the attack.
Left, right, left left.
He did not hear the sound of the dagger flying through the air just as he rounded the corner, and Aetius found himself staggering back several steps until he could yank the dagger out of where it was lodged in his side.
Alert! Damage level 11%!
Aetius yanked the dagger out of his side, wincing sharply at the burning pain of it racing through his frame and dropping it onto the ground; his head snapping up sharply only mere seconds before the dagger from the hands of Adrian Devereaux buried into his neck. There was no other face Varius would remember more vividly than this man - no, worm, who had caused his creator and commander so much pain.
His left hand shot out, wrapping around Devereaux's wrist and twisting it away. It would be a lie if Varius said such did not give him a sense of thrill, how the gravity seemed to drop away from underneath him for a split second when the swashbuckler's face contorted into an expression of pain, hazel eyes meeting the voids in his mask - face.
Devereaux, you may have been able to escape Valencian law for the crimes you have committed, now you have nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, prepare to face your fate.
The fear in the swashbuckler's eyes was almost palpable, and this was all Varius needed for time.
Aetius brought up one leg, a dull thud resounding through the battle din of the hallway as Adrian Devereaux was launched through the air like a rag doll from the force of his kick; rolling several feet until a pillar in the tunnel stopped him, dust coating the former pirate's Templar armor.
The clockwork Assassin turned his blade over in his hand, drawing his hidden blade's poison blade attachment with the sleep dart attachment. A part of him wished to savor this moment, of killing this disgusting worm of a criminal. After all, was not this not one of the two who had participated in the assassination of the first Supreme Commander Kane - ?
One prick of the blade was enough to knock Devereaux out, all movement ceasing save for the swashbuckler's weak breathing.
Varius turned his gaze to the battle raging around him, having slung the swashbuckler's form over his left shoulder -
Rooke left a trail of destruction in his wake, his halberd an arc of pure and complete destruction against anything which dared to stand in his way. No one could reach within more than five feet of the titan general without being evisicerated, or, should they be at the just right distance, their torsos would be cut open enough to keep them barely alive; a slow, painful end that would have them bleed out in a slow, agonizing death -
Leaving the body of the swashbuckler in the care of the dragoon Admiral Valenus, relief flowed through Aetius, even though it was but a fleeting sensation when he was forced back into combat against the Templars.
He would have to give them some credit here, though, with how persistent they are against the face of the overwhelming clockwork forces.
It was not until several more minutes passed before the battle ended.
Sheathing his schiavona sword, the clockwork Assassin's gaze turned to the two prisoners they had captured during the course of the battle. While he had been able to keep his appearance a emotionless and proper as what was expected of a clockwork, Aetius' gauntled hand tightened harshly around the hilt of his sword.
"Templar Grand Master Atticus Mercilus, traitor to the Assassin Order and perpetrator of the bloodbath at Monteriggioni."
There was no possible chance for the "son" of the Supreme Commander to hold back the hatred, the anger from permeating his voice upon looking on the face of the man who had contributed to all of this and of the pain Ulysses had felt, even though Ulysses himself may not have shown others how much it tore him apart inside.
"Another one of Ulysses' spawns, eh...?"
Those eyes that met the voids in his mask could only be described as cold, and even Aetius could not prevent the slight shiver those eyes sent down his back. This was someone who clearly bore no sympathy, no care for anyone else in this world, perhaps not even his own soldiers should time call out for it. He did not care about the amount of blood he would spill in the process -
"Your Creator have made you well, that much I shall admit. However, how much more this could change, I will not guarantee so."
Aetius, at this point, was more confused than he was angry.
"Explain this, Templar."
"Make me, Assassin."
Atticus held his head high, a ghost of a smirk on the corners of his lips. While the chains around him was wrapped tight enough to prevent him from moving even a single muscle, the Templar Grand Master did not even appear fazed in any way, for some unknown reason.
"Enough, take the prisoner back to the ship and prepare to return to Valencia."
Rooke's impatient voice boomed through the tunnels - which had turned into a scene of slaughter and carnage after the clockwork soldiers had all but decimated the Templars, the few survivors not even worthy of hunting down - impatience clear in his voice, from the undertone that threatened anyone who dared to question him.
The lesser clockworks complied, however, dragging the Templar Grand Master along by the chains, along the once bloodied sands to the Spector.
"Lord Septimus, look."
Aetius' attention was turned toward the direction of the Skull Mountain, where a dark shape could be seen staggering toward them. While some part of him screamed at him to prepare for a battle, the logical part of him, which held much, much more control over his processor, made Aetius stop and watch as the shape came closer.
"Captain Optimus!?"
Secundus was the first to step out, wrapping an arm around the battered looking marine's shoulders, supporting him with his own strength:
What was once pristine, polished armor, was dented and dirtied, as was the flawless white mask he wore on his face. He could just barely support his own weight, and perhaps only rightfully so from his dangerously thin frame; surely would have fallen if it wasn't for the cyborg spy.
Lieutenant of the Supreme Commander, Sentus Optimus.
Aetius' crystal heart felt as though it had suddenly dropped into the pit of his torso. The memories Ulysses had given him was more than enough to show him the importance of this particular cyborg, of how he was the first to stand next to the former human elite, once simply a captain of the Armada.
"Bring the Captain back to the ship as well, we cannot afford to stall any longer."
Secundus and the rest of the soldiers acknowledged his command with their silence: moving quickly back to the Spector, with the spy supporting Optimus' weight.
The clockwork Assassin turned his attention toward the soldiers escorting the prisoners down into the dungeons, and immediately the sense pure hatred which coursed through him from before, returned almost twice as strong. Aetius was quite certain, at this point, if he was a human, his face would have twisted into a dangerous expression of rage.
He threw the cloak he had worn over one shoulder, waving aside the other soldiers as he made his way across the deck. Every step he took, Aetius felt the hatred within him grow stronger, burning his being with images of what he must do to this man for what atrocities he had comitted in the past.
By the time Aetius stopped before the cell in which the Templar Master was confined, the hatred had grown into a burning fire within him. It had taken all of his willpower to keep himself from wanting to simply open the cell door, draw his Hidden Blades and end him right there and then on the spot. And even then it would be nothing when compared to the pain he had inflicted upon his creator in the past -
"Atticus Mercilus, dishonorable traitor who had betrayed his brothers."
Aetius' gauntleted hand had curled in on to a trembling fist, words all but hissed out. Now there was no one else around to see this, he could afford to let his emotionless facade drop for a moment, to let out those emotions bubbling deep inside of him. What the clockwork Assassin would not admit, even internally, however, was the fact that he was confused, so utterly confused at this utter onslaught of information from his processor: the emotions, the memories rushing through his vision field.
"Son of Ulysses Septimus."
The chained Templar Master's dark eyes focused on his once more, cold and unwavering.
"So young and naïve, just like your creator was. What he failed to realize is the grand picture, of the ultimate outcome that would result from this battle between the Templars and the Assassins, the battles that had shaped the outline of this Spiral's destiny. The Assassins are a doomed cause, and why remain in the doomed cause, fighting so foolishly for so called justice when the Templar Order will be the victor?"
"This is not an excuse for you to become a traitor to the comrades who had so trusted you!"
Disgusting traitor, spineless coward! It truly is no surprise he had lost the tournament for the throne of the Grand Master, an unworthy coglione!
Aetius crossed the cell in two strides, his rough backhand strong enough to toss the Templar's head back against the wall and creating a dull sound. This sound alone was enough to bring him satisfaction, this sensation of fullfilment at even this minor pain he had managed to cause to the traitor of the Assassins.
"I may not have the authority to end you, Mercilus, but you will feel the pain of those whom you have so cowardly betrayed before the doors of Monteriggioni-!"
Longest chapter ever in this whole story, si? And yes, we finally see the true fate of Sentus Optimus and watch as Aetius successfully return from his first ever mission assigned by the Supreme Commander. I am also quite curious, my dear readers, what are you guys' opinions on the Templar Grand Master Atticus Mercilus? Clockwork Assassin Aetius Varius?
Bonus points if anyone figured out what the DNA memory thing comes from.
Until next time! :D
-Hades