It had been merely a few hours after the incident within the dungeons, and already it felt as though an eternity had passed.

Ulysses Septimus shifted in the golden throne that belonged to him at the head of the table in the war council chamber, his mask sitting on the table no less than a few inches away from his right hand. All of the other elites had left the chamber minutes before, leaving the Emperor of the Spiral sitting in his throne in this almost suffocating silence.

Being left with his own mind meant being left with the memories.

But perhaps this was one time where the Supreme Commander did not mind drowning in those memories. Anything to distract himself from remembering that he was the one responsible for his daughter's death on that Templar infested island.

Ulysses traced his slender fingertips across the wooden surface of the table, which usually would have had some kind of map placed upon it. But for now, it was empty.

As empty as the chair to his direct right, the one where the Grand Admiral would have sat.

Usually, this chair would have been occupied by the clockwork Assassin Aetius Varius Septimus, the current Grand Admiral of the Valencian Armada.

Scarlet eyes closed, a breath of air escaping from Ulysses' pale lips. Never had he felt so old before, so tired and exhausted since he had taken the throne of Valencia from the dying first Supreme Commander of the Armada. And only seven years had passed since he stormed out of the gates of the Monquistan Assassin headquarters, teary eyed and rage pounding through every inch of him, swearing to dip his blade in the blood of the nine who were responsible for the bloodbath at Monteriggioni.

"Supreme Commander."

It had taken Ulysses a few seconds to locate the speaker of these words.

"Deacon."

The Royal Spymaster stepped from the shadows in his usual quiet manner. His cloak swirled around his form, rippling in the very slight breeze which always seemed to run through Cadiz from at least one of the open windows: and as per expected of an officer, all folds of his garments were neatly arranged and placed, not one crease anywhere to be seen.

"Supreme Commander, if I may be permitted to remark..."

Deacon's walking stick tapped lightly against the metallic flooring with each step he took, and he halted no more than three feet away from Ulysses' throne.

"There is quite a difference between you and the young baron that I had first offered the commission letter to."

Deacon settled into his respective chair with a slight creak, and Ulysses could feel his gaze. He could not bring himself to look into the gaze of the spymaster, not with how it almost felt as though the clockwork's eyes were piercing right through him.

"It was only four years, wasn't it? Four years since I had taken up the pen and signed the letter from... Supreme Commander Kane."

Ulysses hated it, he absolutely hated it, how weak his voice sounded at the mere mention of the name of his savior and his angel in this dark and cruel Spiral. No one had understood his pain more than Kane himself did, not even some of the other elites, if one had to be frank.

"More like three years bordering on four, Commander."

Silence.

"And already I have fallen so far."

The twenty eight year old human man laughed softly, bitterly as memories buried deeper began to resurface into his mind's eye, memories of himself wearing the white robe so often associated with the noble soaring eagle Altaïr, memories of the times he had spent with his brother walking in the streets of Valencia and laughing.

Only seven years since all of this had transpired.

"I assure you, Commander, you have not failed as much as you thought."

it was a simple statement.

"You have led the Armada onward to glory, you have built an Empire upon the basis which the Lord Kane himself had begun. Perhaps, Your Majesty, you have not failed the Armada nor the former Supreme Commander."

Despite all of my failures? Of the times when I was so weak and pathetic until the Supreme Commander came down and saved me from myself?

"Although it is certainly true that you are not of the optimal condition in terms of your mental stability, Commander."

Ulysses visibly flinched at this. He had already done so much to hide the fact he was merely a crumbling shell, and Deacon had seen through all of it as though his disguise was only paper - thin.

"Are not my enemies to blame?"

Those words flew from his mouth in a bitter tone which betrayed the hatred churning underneath the surface of his own usually composed appearance. It was impossible to not, even at this point in time, imagine how his life would have been like had those two not stepped in.

"Atticus Mercilus had robbed me of my family, my commander and King by the means of his little puppet Adrian…he killed my brother before the gates of Monteriggioni and hundreds of other innocent Assassins taken in a single assault from the Templar forces... A bloodshed that I could have stopped if I had taken action a second faster."

Tears stung his vision, threatening to spill at the memories released from the floodgates of their mental prison.

So weak and pathetic, it is no wonder that so many have tried to dethrone me. Just one little memory can do so much damage.

"Supreme Commander, it would be optimal if you attempt to focus upon the fact that both of your enemies are now confined within the dungeons of Cadiz, awaiting their inevitable end tomorrow at high noon."

When scarlet eyes opened once more, Ulysses turned his gaze toward the spymaster. Deacon's words held true in a way that felt as though it pierced through the shroud of darkness which had enveloped him, even if it was for merely a few seconds before this shround would take him once more into its grasp.

"Your words do hold true, Royal Spymaster, but alas, I am a human - "Ulysses spat out the word. It was only because he was a being of flesh and not steel cogs and intricate wires and synthetic flesh that he failed his lord so in the past. "-Unlike clockworks, immortal, perfection, so much more so than this shell."

And there I go again…more of these rants, more of these words which I must have uttered countless times. I am quite surprised none of them have grown tired of hearing these very same tirades each day and night.

"You may be a being of flesh, Commander, but the Lord Kane would not have chosen you beyond the reason he believes you to have what it takes to lead the Armada onward and to glory."

Ulysses had to bite back the next words pushing at his lips.

"I advise you to put those thoughts at the back of your mind, as how humans would put it - "

The sound of alarms was sudden and deafening, ringing through the halls of Cadiz as the footsteps of countless Royal Guards could be heard running -

Which only could mean the prisoners had somehow escaped.

Out of what was likely pure instinct, Ulysses' hand darted out, snatching up the mask and placing it over his face again. The folds of his coat billowed around him with each wide stride out of the chamber, and into the halls where numerous clockworks rushed toward the location of the prisoners.

No, no, no, NO, he waited so long for a day to claim his vengeance, and he would not have this happening at this time of all!

"Royal Guards, surround and incapacitate the prisoners. Do not kill unless forced to."

His gloved hand lowered to the sword at his side shortly after, pale fingers wrapping around the hilt of the Sword of Altaïr. The blade had not faced battle since he had became the Emperor of the Valencian Empire, but it was not in any way dull. And Ulysses could sense the long sleeping thing inside of him stir again, the sensation of bloodlust deep within the pits of his stomach which he had not felt for so long.

He would not permit them to dance through his fingers, not this time.

And now this is when things will start to get much, much bloodier (evil grins) and that much more interesting.

Until next time :D and reviews are much appreciated!

-Hades