His heart had soared at the sight before him. Ulysses Septimus could swear he had never before felt such euphoria, save for perhaps when he had laid the first obtained map piece before the Supreme Commander Kane. Both of his enemies, who were very much responsible for nearly every one of his losses, had now fallen into his hands.
Ulysses now turned to face the other figure in the room - Sentus Optimus - who had all but dropped to his knees before the Supreme Commander.
"Forgive me, Commander... I have failed you."
By the end of the sentence, his voice had nearly threatened to break. Ulysses' fingers tightened around the arms of his throne. It would be a lie to say he did not feel his heart wrench, and for a moment, even the voices within the Supreme Commander's mind went silent.
"Rise, Captain Optimus."
How he had managed to keep his voice so calm was beyond him.
"None of this was your fault, those matters were out of your control."
Shakily, the marine stood, bowing his head and retreating until he was among the rows of clockwork soldiers within the throne room. At this, Ulysses returned his gaze to the two prisoners who had been forced to their knees.
"Atticus Mercilus, we meet again."
Ulysses had to fight the urge within him, the urge which thirsted for the blood of the traitor. The Supreme Commander of the Armada tightened his grip on the armrests of his throne; his mask hiding the snarl which would have betrayed just how weak he truly was on the inside, how he was still an instrument of those very human emotions within him.
Dark eyes met scarlet ones.
"Supreme Commander."
Atticus snorted, unfazed and unmoved by the sight before him which would have unnerved anyone else in the very least. Ulysses could swear he caught sight of a smirk lingering on the side of Mercilus' face. Had it been up to him, Mercilus would never have knelt before the one man he had sworn to completely destroy.
"Enjoying your little pedestal, Emperor?"
Octavius Caesarus' halberd immediately pointed toward the Templar's throat, turning his gaze to the Supreme Commander of the Armada, and Ulysses would admit, it was tempting, extremely tempting, to simply let Octavius end the traitor right here and right now.
But he did not - after all, he had been captured now, and he would face justice soon enough.
"Unlike you, traitorous snake, I built my empire from ground up and earned it through my own ability. Never would I betray any of my comrades...!"
The Templar's head tilted to the side, arching an eyebrow.
"Wasn't that what you screamed in my dungeons?"
And that brought back an entirely new wave of memories, memories of the time when he was trapped in the dark cell within Atticus' dungeon. Vividly, Ulysses recalled the burning pain which shot through him when his flesh was nearly cleaved from his bones; the scourge befalling his body blow after blow, until the vertebrae of his spine had nearly been uncovered.
It was not until Atticus spoke again that Ulysses realized he had been nearly hyperventilating, resisting the urge to place his hand upon his heart.
"Look at you now, Ulysses Septimus, perched atop of Kane's throne as if you had never failed him."
"Enough."
Aetius Varius Septimus stepped forwards, his left hand resting upon the hilt of the schiavona sword at his hip. Perhaps Aetius could hide it from the eyes of the other clockworks, both the lesser soldiers and the elites, Ulysses was certain, he had seen a brief flash of what seemed to be rage on the face of the clockwork assassin.
"Your reign ends today, Templar."
Aetius snapped his fingers. Two marines immediately stepped from the surrounding ranks of clockworks, seizing Atticus' arms and dragging him off to the dungeons of Cadiz.
Ulysses drew in a sharp breath. It had felt so surreal, so dream - like.
After so long, my enemies have finally been brought to justice -
GIVE THEM PAIN. SHOW THEM. SHOW THEM WHAT IT MEANS TO CROSS YOU.
The voices only grew louder with each passing minute, clashing until it was impossible to differentiate them -
Dio, STOP!
A steadying hand on his shoulder finally quieted them, and Ulysses found himself gazing into the void - like eyes of his youngest and newest creation - Aetius Varius Septimus. Then and only then did he turn his attention to the figure before him now.
Adrian Devereaux.
The memories retreated, yes, they had fled away from him in the blink of an eye. Triumph had swelled once more within Ulysses' chest - perhaps it was the joy of revenge, perhaps it was the fear within Devereaux's eyes or maybe even a combination of both, he concluded.
Here is the man who brought down the Lord Kane, the scum who will at last face his punishment for what he has done... Oh Lavinia, my love, my rose, I will avenge you finally...
"We meet again, Devereaux."
His slender fingers pinched the last surviving pirate's chin, forcing him to look into the visors of his masked face. Septimus drew in a sharp breath, and the smile under his mask only grew wider.
"I-impossible, you aren't supposed to be alive!"
Adrian stuttered, very nearly hyperventilating as he tried to shrink away from the Supreme Commander of the Armada.
It had taken Ulysses a second to realize that Adrian believed him to be Kane himself.
This was even better, oh yes, let him remember all of his previous crimes, the sins which he had committed.
"Ah, but I am, as you can see."
With the mask altering his voice into a smooth monotone, Ulysses was certain he was a perfect replica.
Abruptly releasing the pirate swashbuckler, Ulysses took a step back. After so long, masquerading as Kane had become second nature to him, as sad as it seemed to be: forever condemned to be only a shadow of the first Supreme Commander of the Armada, a man in a costume and a mask.
"Adrian Devereaux, are you aware of the sins and the crimes you have committed?"
As he watched, realization crashed down on the pirate swashbuckler, his eyes widening abruptly, and he struggled against the holds of the marines restraining him.
He is afraid.
Fear me, fear me you disgusting worm of a man! Remember the monster you have created with your own two hands...!
Ulysses' hand clamped down around his throat; it was tempting to strangle Devereaux right then and there. He could feel his pulse beneath his fingertips, frantic and racing with the fear that Ulysses could sense coursing through him.
"Are you aware of the crimes that you have committed against the Armada, against the Spiral? Piracy, assassination of a Armada officer, conspiring for rebellion and sedition."
Adrian's lips parted as though to protest against those charges, even though he had no breath to do so with.
The pirate gasped for air when the Supreme Commander's hold upon his throat finally loosened, still not daring to actually look up and meet his piercing gaze.
"You have nothing else to say for yourself? Very well then, take him down into the dungeons, block C. He will die tomorrow at high noon with the Templar traitor."
Sitting back in his throne as Devereaux was dragged away, he looked upon the pirate's face once more - and he remembered.
This man whose face had haunted his nightmares almost as much as that of the Templar traitor, this man who had caused him so much pain and snatched his master and Commander from him. He had once been so arrogant, and his pedestal was now toppled, leaving him with nothing left.
Indeed, Ulysses was quite satisfied.
The double doors of the throne room slammed shut.
The Supreme Commander now directed his attention to the elites and clockwork soldiers around him. To many others, the void - like gaze of the clockworks was extremely unnerving, as if one was gazing into the pits of hell itself - yet Ulysses found it impossible, in all honesty, to look away at times -
"Come forth, Aetius, Secundus, Grand Marshal Rooke."
The three clockworks bowed before the Supreme Commander, each averting their gaze out of respect for the lord of the Valencian Empire.
"A job well done to each of you, bringing both of my enemies to justice."
"It is a honor to serve you, Supreme Commander."
A collective salute from the three, even though Rooke still appeared to only do so out of forced protocol.
Secundus returned to the side of the spymaster, his rifle still slung over his shoulder; Aetius took his position by Septimus himself and Rooke returned, where Ulysses' throne sat.
"You are dismissed."
While the elites and soldiers dispersed to their posts and personal quarters, Ulysses found himself rising mechanically from his throne, boots landing somewhat heavily on each of the steps down the dias. None of the Royal Guards questioned him when he passed by, even though Septimus could feel their gaze on his back -
Is it not ironic, Ulysses? You forged these Royal Guard clockworks to be the bodyguards of the Supreme Commander, made them to be his perfect protectors. They are your creations, and creators should be above those that they create. And now look at you! You, who made these Royal Guards, yet you still failed to protect him!
He halted before the door to the dungeon.
Scarlet eyes closed behind his mask. Try as he might, Ulysses found himself unable to force back the tears welling within the corners of his eyes. Meeting his enemies once more had brought back the memory of the one dreaded day which had haunted his nightmares relentlessly.
All of this was almost far too surreal for him.
Kane, the Supreme Commander of the Armada, the most perfect being of the Spiral, was gone.
Another death, another failure upon his never-ending list.
"Please, just stop already…"
Is this truly you, Ulysses? You sound so weak and so pathetic - FAILURE, pathetic!
Those voices in his head grew louder and louder. Words blended into each other, mixed with the hissing cackles of who knows what. However, there was one voice that rang out much more prominently than all the rest -
Failure, failure, failure, failure, failure...
Ulysses had to lean against the wall for support, for his legs no longer seemed capable of supporting his weight.
Were these voices not correct in their accusations? Was he not the cause of so many undeserved deaths? Ezio, Lavinia, Kane... All of their deaths could have been prevented, had he been a little quicker, a little less weak -!
He growled deep in his throat, a guttural sound which surprised even Ulysses himself : there was after all a reason why Kane had chosen him , he would not have picked him if he was not up to the clockwork king's standards -
But why would a god choose an imperfect man?
It was no matter, he decided - he had an empire to run, and the Armada depended upon him for guidance and his loyal subjects looked to him as their leader.
And he had a promise to fulfill, a promise of revenge.
Ulysses' gaze turned toward the black steel door leading into the dungeons where his soldiers had confined the Templar Grand Master and Adrian Devereaux.
The door swung open to his presence, revealing a place many would have believed to be filled with prisoners of the Armada condemned to die.
While it was partially true, it was not exactly accurate at this point. Tonight, there would only be two prisoners within the dungeon, two temporary guests.
The Supreme Commander did not know what had came over him - taking the mask off as he made his way into the dungeon, as though he could name what he was feeling.
Both of the prisoners were chained to the wall within their cells, the length of the chains dramatically reduced and the bars electrified to prevent any attempts of escape. When it came to security within their prisons, few could best the clockworks, Ulysses firmly believed.
Tempting as it was to laugh at how absolutely terrified Adrian Devereaux was, how he was staring at him, mouth agape in disbelief at the sight before him - at the man behind the mask.
Oh, sweet irony. They brand me a monster when they are the cause of it.
Ulysses reached over, tapping on the grey circuitry box of chromium steel until the compartment door opened: it was an old system for this kind of high technology security, but a useful one nevertheless -
Once the bars were deactivated, the Supreme Commander had to once more fight his urges to dash into the cell and rip the traitor apart - how he was able to accomplish a steady walk into the cell was beyond Ulysses' perception.
Atticus' dark eyed gaze never left his, showing no fear nor any other sort of emotion other than pure, undiluted hatred.
"You must have truly enjoyed making a monster out of me, huh?"
Ulysses spat the words out through gritted teeth. This was the man, the cause for the bloodbath at Monteriggioni, the one who had very nearly brought the entire Assassin Order down with the information he had given up to the Templar Order. He was the cause of Ezio's death, and then Lavinia's and Kane's when Ulysses had thought he would be spared of any more of the Templars' cruelty.
"It certainly was interesting to watch the oh so noble Altaïr fall, I will admit."
Atticus chuckled, despite the manacles around his wrists rendering him unable to move an inch.
"You call yourself the Protector of Innocents, the Bane of Evildoers and of tyrants, and yet, you stoop so low as to send your toy soldiers in to slaughter my men just so you may capture me. How low you've gone, Octavian Superbus."
This time, Ulysses did flinch at the mention of his true, given name. For so long, he had chosen to call himself Ulysses Caesarion Septimus, to follow in his brother Ezio's footsteps and cut his ties with the man who was supposed to be his father. Not to mention there were also far too many memories attached to that name, and mentioning it had brought them back with the ferocity of a rampaging bull.
"That name means nothing to me, Mercilus, just as much as the Assassin Order means nothing to you."
This time, he could not stop himself from stepping forward and clamping a hand down on the Templar's throat, steel fingers tightening until he was certain he could see Atticus' eyes bulging out.
"Is this not what you have wanted for seven years? For me to be at your mercy like you once were at mine?"
Atticus chuckled, not even a hint of fear showing in his eyes.
Ulysses almost had to pry his own fingers from around the throat of his archnemesis -
Only to harshly backhand the Templar, strong enough to send his head slamming backwards against the cold steel wall of the cell.
"And only rightfully so, isn't it, Templar traitor?"
Ulysses spat out the words with contempt. There was no other man in the Spiral, save for perhaps Adrian Devereaux, whom Ulysses detested more than Atticus Mercilus. How the Order had trusted him, he recalled, calling him a brother, a comrade in arms, and Mercilus had betrayed them in return.
"We trusted you, called you our brother and gave you the secrets of our trade and of our brotherhood for you to guard. More than one hundred lives extinguished all because of your greed, what do you have to say for yourself, serpent?!"
"The Templars are but tools in my agenda, oh Grand Master."
Finally did the facade slip from the current Grandmaster of the Templar Order as he hissed the words at Ulysses in a way that made the contemptuous name of serpent fitting. No longer did Mercilus respond with a facade of feigned calmness; all of his hatred and anger against Ulysses now very palpable.
"You are the fool here to not have seen through it, and you are the fool to think that you can hold on to the throne of the Grand Master without repercussions after you blatantly stole it from me - !"
The punch Ulysses delivered into Mercilus' stomach cut him short, silencing any other words that he would have spat towards the Supreme Commander.
"Vaffanculo, figlio di puttana!"
He could not control himself at this point, and Ulysses could only watch from a corner in his conscious mind as he battered the Templar with his fists and his hands, his body acting on its own accord. He was shouting something, something along the lines of "If it was not for you, my brother would have still been alive," Peppered with occasional curse in the native language of Valencia which could still not have embodied the absolute hatred he felt, the disgust and rage burning within his chest as the voices screeched for him to tear him apart.
Speckles of blood doused his hands and parts of his uniform, turning a few areas of the black fabric maroon.
Ulysses did not know how long it had been when he stopped beating the Templar.
He was gasping, his gaze fleeting from his bloodstained gloves to the bruised and beaten Templar.
Blood was dripped from the corner of his mouth, his nose bent at an awkward angle - most definitely broken. He had certainly sensed one of Mercilus' ribs crack underneath his fists; bruises in the shape of fingers around the fifty five year old man's throat.
"Oh come on, Octavian, you can do much better than that. Where is the strength of yours from the tournament? Or perhaps I am, mistaken, and you truly are a weakling!"
Ulysses growled incomprehensibly, his left arm twitching once and forcing the Hidden Blade out of the gauntlet within his sleeve. He brought the blade up against the side of Atticus' throat, the point just barely dancing over the pulse in his throat. One quick stroke of his blade would end it all, one quick motion that would cut his throat wide open and spill his blood upon the stones of the dungeon floor.
But even then, even if he had, Ulysses knew that even that would not have satisfied him.
Things are starting to near the end, but this certainly does not mean it is going to get any less exciting (evil grins). Check back next chapter!
Reviews are much appreciated :D until next time!
-Hades