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Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Summary:

The Pieces of Eden, powerful objects that can hold sway against the masses of this world, seemingly turning them against one cause or another. Long recorded in history, seemingly each major event in history and its actions have been attributed to a Piece of Eden. What are these objects left by Those That Came Before? Templars long sought control over them and the Assassins opposed them. But what if the line between the two wasn’t so black and white? What if the grey in between held an even more frightful truth?

Story:

Chapter 1 – Sanctuary

The glow of the Animus 2.0 slowly faded away from Desmond’s eyes as he slowly blinked them and his vision returned to normal. He let out a quiet breath as he sat quietly in the backseat of the minivan they used to escape the warehouse a couple of days ago. If someone told Desmond Miles two weeks ago that he was going to be reliving the memories of his ancestors, he would have called them crazy and checked the glass that they had been served for any mind altering drugs.

But now, that possibility had been blown into the water and here he was, just out of another session in the Animus. A quick look to the front windshield of the car told him that it was just after dusk, the bright red-orange streaks across the sky slowly fading away as another sunset dipped below the horizon.

“Desmond?” Lucy’s concerned voice made him look from the windshield to her face, where she was sitting in the front passenger seat, a map in her hands. Shaun was driving now, he realized, having switched with Rebecca somewhere this morning before he went into the Animus to poke around Ezio Auditore’s memories and life.

“I’m fine,” he shook his head a bit, trying to clear the fuzz in his head that he always seemed to get after every Animus session. It was like waking up to a clouded dream, the teetering edge between reality and the Animus world. Lately, due to the Bleeding Effect, he had been having a tougher time clearing the fuzz away. It worried him, especially since his collapse at the warehouse just a few days ago, reliving Altaїr’s memories without the help of the Animus.

But it was the only way they were able to train him to become an assassin in such a short time so he did not dwell too much on the memories, hoping that he would not turn into a psychotic like poor Subject Sixteen. He rubbed his eyes, stretching his unused muscles and felt a few pull in hurtful protest from sitting so long with the visor over his head.

Yawning he took the headpiece off and gave it to Rebecca who was now monitoring his progress in the Animus. “Did you get the data about the Bonfire of the Vanities?”

“Yeah,” she replied absently, taking the headpiece and putting it in a secure foam box before continuing to type on her laptop. “That’s some serious shit going on right there, you know.”

“Yeah,” Desmond had to agree with Ezio’s thinking that no one should die by fire and had actually sympathized with Savonarola’s rationale while his ancestor was killing all of his lieutenants. He wondered if his own sympathies had influenced Ezio during the hunt as he could feel the compassion from his ancestor pouring out to the ones he had slain.

Stretching once more, rotating his neck a bit, he kicked out his feet as much as he could, curling his toes a bit before grinning at Lucy, feeling a little more refreshed, “So, where are we?”

“Almost to the base,” Lucy replied, “we’ve just passed Denver.”

“Wow, good timing if I may say so,” Desmond replied a bit cheekily before he saw Lucy roll her eyes and Shaun shake his head, “what?”

“Two days of non stop driving and all you can say is good timing?” Shaun shot back a bit acerbically, “well I’m sorry I didn’t drive any faster because you were having too much fun mucking about the memories back there sleeping beauty.”

“Hey! I wasn’t sleeping-“

“Boys, please!” Rebecca cut them both off, “you would figure at least one of you can be an adult?”

“No, mother,” Desmond smiled crookedly before looking at Lucy again, “so where is this base?”

“Well it’s still in use by the United States armed forces, but our allies control it so we have a base in there. In recent years we’ve managed to clear out the Templar installation in the base by having it moved to Vandenberg Air Force Base,” Lucy replied and Desmond frowned.

“Wait a minute…” he trailed off as his brain caught up and he realized what base she had been talking about, “are you serious?! Cheyenne Mountain?! NORAD?!”

“Yes,” Lucy smiled slightly, “and no there are no stargates, no super computers ready to launch nuclear missiles all over the world. No war games, nothing there.”

“Hah, hah,” Desmond said sarcastically shaking his head in wonderment, “there’s no terminator there, right?”

“What?”

“You know, T3? The god-awful Terminator movie?”

“I thought that was T4, the one they called Salvation.”

“That one was bad too, but T3 had Cheyenne Mountain in it,” Desmond replied.

“No, I’m pretty sure that there are no terminators in there,” Rebecca answered for Lucy, grinning at him.

“Good,” Desmond barely suppressed the smile on his face, “that means I don’t have to declare myself John Connor. Wait, I thought the base was military…the Assassins have contacts in the military?”

“Desmond,” Lucy shook her head, “we are everywhere, just like the Templars. We have our own corporations too, but we’re a bit more unobtrusive about it unlike the Templars with NASA and other government operations. Think about it, in Ezio’s time there were Assassins from different walks of life. Surely there would be more now?”

He pursed his lips for a second before nodding, “Good point. I just…don’t really believe it thought. Kind of hard to…”

“Yeah,” Rebecca typed a few more things on her keyboard, “but most of the Assassins are average Joes like you and me. We took Altaїr’s Codex to heart and disappeared into the walks of life. If you really want a twisted view, just think of the Templars as being the more visible one this day and age. An inverse of Altaїr’s time.”

“That’s scary and creepy too,” he shuddered slightly, “and it seems wrong.”

“Not a popular theory, and Rebecca will disagree with me about it, but I believe that we should have abandoned the pretense of hiding and sneaking around when the Industrial Revolution happened. That’s when the Templars made their move to seize control of various industries and place their top men in charge,” Shaun spoke up.

“If we did that then we’d be no better than the Templars,” Rebecca shot back.

“The Templars wouldn’t have as much resources as they do now, hunting us down,” Shaun replied and silence filled the minivan.

Desmond saw that Lucy had looked away, her expression neutral, but he saw the hurt in her eyes and wondered if she too believed Shaun’s words. A quick glance at Rebecca showed him that she had a pinched and angry expression. He barely remembered his time at the compound that he had grown up in, having closed himself off to the past, but he did remember vague images of two adults, probably his parents, arguing with each other about some kind of seizure of power or something of that nature.

“We’re here,” Shaun muttered after a few more minutes of silence and Desmond peered through the window to see that indeed they were at Cheyenne Mountain, the words clearly etched above a semi-circle entrance way guarded by gates and several armed soldiers.

He watched as the British man pulled up to the checkpoint gate and hold out an ID of sorts to the guard on duty.

“Reason for visit?” the guard asked, looking at the ID while his partner, a woman with short dark hair and a hawkish gaze looked at all of them with a critical eye.

Desmond felt a whisper of something within him as the woman’s sharp gaze focused on him and he involuntarily swallowed. That was one scary look the woman possessed as he focused his gaze somewhere else. He noticed that the woman’s nametag on her BDUs said [ALLEN] and the guard that was checking Shaun’s ID said [LAMDRID]. He did not know any military rankings that well, but Desmond suddenly wanted to all but avoid the scary Ms. Allen at all cost.

“Civilian contractors for the Operational Intelligence Watch division. Dr. Stillman here has some critical information that was obtained in the past week,” Shaun replied smoothly.

“May I see you ID ma’am?” Lamdrid asked and Desmond watched as Lucy handed her ID. He briefly saw the flash of the Abstergo logo and wondered what she was doing showing an ID like that to an Assassin base…when he suddenly got the idea to use his Eagle Vision.

It took a brief moment of concentration, like dragging something out of the depths of his mind, but just as suddenly he saw the world around him grow muted and the bright blues of his companions in the minivan stood out in stark relief to the grey-muted background. Turning his gaze to the two guards, he saw that the one named Lamdrid was bright blue while oddly; the scary Ms. Allen was colored yellow. A target? Information? He could not quite tell as he released his hold on his Eagle vision and his gaze reverted back to normal.

He winced as he felt a pinching throbbing headache form in the front of his head and rubbed his temples slightly, trying to relieve the pressure. That had never happened before when he used his Eagle Vision to sense the intentions of others. Was it a part of the Bleeding Effect?

“Hey, he all right?” he heard Lamdrid ask and stiffened before giving his approximation of a happy smile.

“Yeah, fine, just tired, that’s all,” he shrugged, “woke up a few minutes ago.”

The guard looked at him dubiously before handing Lucy back her ID along with Shaun’s. “You’re all cleared to go. Should I radio ahead to let them know you’re coming?”

“Please do, I have vital information to deliver to them,” Lucy nodded before Shaun continued into the base. Desmond glanced back to see Lamdrid the guard speak into a radio, but what surprised him was that Allen was still staring at them and he had a nasty feeling staring more at him. He suppressed another shudder and turned his gaze back to the front where Shaun pulled into a parking space and turned the car off.

“Well, here we are, home away from home,” the historian unbuckled his seatbelt before stepping out of the car, Desmond doing the same.

As soon as he stepped out, he took a deep breath of the mostly fresh air, smelling a combination of gasoline and a musty basement smell. Stretching once more, he looked around him to see a lot of military styled vehicles along with some regular looking cars. There were even some luxury cars and sports cars and he thought he spotted an Alfa Romero nestled in the corner.

“Wow, whose Alfa is that?” Rebecca commented as she too stepped out of the car with Lucy.

“Probably some military big wig,” Lucy replied as they gathered their things. Desmond didn’t really have anything in particular to carry with him, except the clothes on his back, and stood awkwardly as he saw Rebecca pack everything into a backpack before shouldering it.

“There you are!” a warm melodic feminine voice spoke up and Desmond turned around to see a woman, with graying black hair pulled into a bun walking towards them. She was dressed in a sharp business suit and at least four others followed in her wake, all of them dressed in business suits to varying degrees.

Behind them an elevator door was opened with two armed guards standing inside it, obviously waiting for them.

“Dr. Patrice?” Lucy smiled before the woman engulfed her in a hug, “it has been too long!”

“Yes it has my dear,” the woman replied before releasing her and shook hands with Shaun and Rebecca. As she finally looked at Desmond he thought he felt a slight pulse of power from her presence and realized that this woman, whoever she was, was probably the head of the Assassins of this day and age. Her gaze was kind, but he could see the undercurrent of power behind them and knew that she was not a person to be trifled with.

“Ah, you must be Desmond Miles,” the woman grasped his hand and shook it firmly, “we’ve heard so much about you in recent weeks.”

Desmond gave her a hesitant smile as she released his hand and looked at him with a critical eye. This was probably the person that Lucy had been communicating with while he had been locked up at Abstergo. “Sorry, I-“

“No need to apologize Mr. Miles,” she smoothly cut him off, patting him lightly on the shoulder, “it is we who should be apologizing to you and to Ms. Stillman here for not being able to rescue you in time.”

“Uh…”

“Oh dear me,” the woman gave him a smile that did not reach her eyes, “where are my manners. I am Dr. Alyssa Patrice, the director of the Operational Intelligence Watch here at Cheyenne Mountain.”

“But I thought-“

“A military man or woman would be in charge? Well, I am also a retired Brigadier General if that helps ease your conscience,” the woman continued and Desmond blinked in shock. This was definitely not a woman to be trifled with. “Now then,” she turned to address the others as if answering his question was nothing, “I’m sure all of you have had a long journey. However we will need to debrief all of you before I can allow you to rest. I am sorry, but we must know where the Templars stand.”

Yep, Desmond thought inwardly, Dr. Patrice was definitely part of the Assassin Order. No one could spit the Templar name out like she did with such venom.

“Before that, ma’am, is there a place where…you know…” Rebecca looked a bit uncomfortable and the woman laughed lightly.

“Of course, I am sorry,” she apologized before gesturing for them to follow her to the elevator, “I’ll direct you to the facilities before we begin the debriefing.”

They followed her to the elevator and surprisingly with ten people in it, the elevator still had a lot of room. Desmond saw her insert a keycard before pushing a button to take them down to the 30^th floor. The headache he had only a few minutes ago was starting to fade away, but replacing that was a bone-numbing fatigue that he didn’t realize he had felt since his harried escape from Abstergo. He realized that it was because for the first time in the past two weeks, he felt safe here and his body reacted by finally allowing itself to relax instead of pumping a steady small stream of adrenaline in him.

The ride was silent and once they hit the 30^th floor below ground, the doors opened with a quiet hiss and Dr. Patrice and the four other business suited men and women stepped out along with them before the door closed once more

“Facilities are that way,” Dr. Patrice pointed down a hallway before gesturing to the opposite end, “please find us in the Briefing Room A afterwards Ms. Crane.”

“Will do, thanks!” Rebecca jogged off and Desmond realized what she had meant earlier and shook his head.

“The rest of you, please, follow me,” Dr. Patrice gestured for them to follow her and they did so. Desmond took in his surroundings, noting how grey and colorless the walls were. Pipes running throughout the hallway were exposed, but even then, the placed had a very sterile, military feel to it. He remembered vague images of The Farm that he grew up in, open aired and with a rocky countryside feel to it. Here was very industrial and closed…he was glad that he wasn’t claustrophobic.

They entered the briefing room and to Desmond’s surprise, instead of the military backdrop, it looked more like a corporate meeting room, but with some homely touches here and there. Leather seats enclosed an oval shaped table and on one end was a projection screen and on the other, stairs that curved downwards to the level below.

“Please, take a seat,” the doctor smiled at them and Desmond did as he was told, sitting next to Lucy, Shaun opposite of him, saving a seat next to him for Rebecca. The others also sat down, except for one man who headed to a small coffee machine and poured himself a cup.

“Coffee?” he gestured with the pot and Desmond shook his head.

“I’ll take one, black please,” Lucy replied.

“Three lumps of sugar and some cream please,” Shaun said and Desmond glanced at his friend.

“That’s watered down,” he really did not get the oddity of putting so much cream and sugar into coffee where he usually preferred his coffee black with two lumps of sugar if that.

“That makes the watered taste you Americans have for your coffee much easier to drink,” Shaun shot back, grinning.

“Hey!” while he had mostly bartended the night scene, during his time off the grid he had done a few stints at high end cafes and served people their rich lattes and cappuccinos too.

“Mr. Miles, Mr. Hastings, Ms. Crane, and Ms. Stillman,” Dr. Patrice started once everyone had been seated and coffees in front of them and Rebecca had returned from the ladies room, “I would like to first say, welcome home.”

Desmond saw the other four nod and smile at them before Dr. Patrice gestured to the one closest to her on her right and the one that had asked if they wanted any coffee, “This is Leo Meridius, Patrick Li, Reina Smith, and Trey Jager.”

“I take it that the other compounds have fallen then,” Lucy looked saddened and Desmond was a bit confused.

“Yes,” the doctor nodded sadly, “it is as you may have heard. The smaller cells, like yours are all that is left and the survivors are still trickling in.”

“Won’t the Templars eventually discover where we’re gathering?” Shaun asked.

Dr. Patrice nodded, “Eventually they will, but even so, to get 30 levels underground even with a nuclear missile would be an incredible, if not reckless, feat. We are a military bunker and still have some control over the various governments of the world.”

Desmond knew that her words were supposed to reassure him but the uneasiness inside of him grew slightly. Outwardly he felt relaxed and comforted that he was safe once more, however he could not help but think that bunkering down in a place with technically only one way in or out was like backing into a corner. Even with government access and power in places, in this day and age it was the businesses that ruled the government, constantly lobbying and pressuring lawmakers to make laws in their favor. Corporations like Abstergo had the power and the influence to make some radical changes.

“So what then? We stick it out and hope that the Templars don’t come knocking?” Shaun asked and Desmond was glad to find that at least someone was thinking along the same lines as he was.

Leo Meridius, the one sitting to Dr. Patrice’s right laughed lightly before shaking his head, “We were hoping to take the fight to them with the knowledge that your cell along with Ms. Stillman has gotten from her deep undercover op at Abstergo.”

“Wait,” Desmond spoke up, bringing everyone’s gazes upon him, “taking the fight to Abstergo, to the Templars? Are you kidding?”

“I dare say I am not laughing now, am I Mr. Miles?” Leo pitted him with a steely look that felt like he was staring deep into his soul.

“I’m sorry, but remember when a team tried to get me and Lucy out of there? They kind of failed?” he hated to be callous, but how could these big wigs of the Assassins fathom the strength the Templars had? It was only a miracle and chance that Lucy was able to spring him from his cell and the two of them making their escape with relative ease. Even the ambush at the warehouse was all due to luck and Dr. Vidic’s incompetence for not bringing armored personnel with him.

Stony silence from the five business suited people greeted him in wake of his statement and in hindsight, Desmond realized that it was probably not the right thing to say.

“Sorry,” he muttered, staring down at his hands, rubbing his forehead to allieviate the headache that had flared up again. “I know the Assassins did their best trying to get us out-“

“No, you’re right,” Dr. Patrice cut him off, however, her voice was tight, “the Assassins did fail in their attempt. We had underestimated Abstergo’s strength and the Templar’s based where you were held. It was our fault that we did not get to you in time. You have every right to be angry with your Brotherhood for failing to protect you.”

Now Desmond felt extremely guilt and he winced, “I left the Brotherhood, the Farm, many years ago. You guys shouldn’t even have an obligation to me. I’m just a nobody, someone who-“

“Happens to carry the genetic legacy of extremely powerful and probably the most sought after Assassins in history,” the African woman, Reina Smith, finished for him, “and many of your genetic bloodline have held the Pieces of Eden.”

“So?”

“You are also the only one to have survived from the Animus where sixteen of our Brothers and Sisters before you have not,” Reina continued gravely, “you may not realize it, Desmond Miles, but right now, you are the most important asset we have to the Brotherhood, more than the Pieces of Eden.”

Desmond slowly closed his mouth as he realized the implications of her statement and looked at Lucy, a wash of betrayal running through him. “You told me that these sessions in the Animus were to quickly train me as an Assassin, not some messiah for the Brotherhood… Did you know this?”

“Desmond,” she reached out to grasp one of his hands, but he pulled away, pushing back his chair as he stood up and swore.

“Fuck!” he clutched his head, feeling his headache grow stronger, “I don’t want to be used like this! I only wanted to help because those jackasses fucked up my life!” Suddenly he blinked as he saw ghostly images of several horses, galloping from the distance, coming closer. He watched as they galloped past the table, passing through the walls and people before disappearing and squeezed his eyes shut once more as he groped for his seat and sat heavily down again, his headache now a throbbing pulsating pain. “Fuck,” he swore once more, quietly.

“Desmond?” Lucy’s gentle touch was feather light and this time he didn’t push her away.

“Ghost image,” he muttered, letting his elbow rest on the table as he kept his eyes shut. Somehow, the headache didn’t hurt as much when he kept his eyes closed. “Bleeding effect…”

“What did you see?” she asked gently.

“Calvary forces,” he started shortly, “dunno what kind of banner they were holding, armor looked ancient Roman, definitely riding somewhere…”

“When did this start?” another voice, one either belonging to Patrick Li or Trey Jager he couldn’t tell with his eyes closed spoke up.

“After I was half synched up with Ezio Auditore’s life. I had Eagle Vision a lot longer…after I was completely synched up with Altaїr Ibn la-Ahad back at Abstergo,” he replied tiredly, feeling completely drained of all energy.

“Has he had any other hallucinations or black-out episodes lasting thirty seconds or longer?” someone asked in the room as he squeezed his eyes tighter and rubbed his right temple, trying to find some comfort in the throbbing pain.

“Not that we know of,” Lucy replied for him.

“Mr. Miles,” Dr. Patrice’s voice was now kind and gentle and he cracked open and bleary eye to look at her, finding that she had a sympathetic gaze on her face. However, the others all looked like they could have been carved from stone. “Desmond,” she gave him a hesitant smile, “you may be excused from this meeting. We’ll talk later, all right? One of the airmen can show you to your quarters.”

Desmond nodded, grateful for the reprieve. He felt like such a fool, cursing out the head of the Assassins and the other big wigs while also falling prey to the Bleeding Effect at the same time. Getting up, he nearly stumbled and it was only with Lucy’s hand on his arm that he was able to find some steady perch before she helped escort him out of the room, following the airman to his quarters in the base.

He barely remembered getting to his quarters, only the door opening into a dark room before the cool pillow resting against his cheek and maybe Lucy saying something to him before the blissful darkness claimed him once more and he fell asleep.

* * *

It was several hours later, the meeting long ended, but the two of them still sat in the briefing room. The dim darkness of the room elongated whatever shadows were visible, but they sat there, contemplating what was said at the meeting and what was implied.

“Did she get the data yet?”

“She’s looking it over as we speak.”

“Are you sure about this? It’s dangerous, you know.”

“But he has to know…otherwise we’ll loose this war. We have less than three months left.”

“What if he can’t control it?”

“Then Minerva was wrong and all will be for naught. He will, have some faith in him. He’s the only one that was able to survive.”

“Are the others ready?”

“Andrew’s been ready for a long time. Enzo, not so much…”

“What about Arden?”

“She saw power in him and confirmed it. She’s not happy, but then again, she’s the one that is closest to him in this day and age.”

“What about you?”

“What about me? You know as well as I do what’s at stake.”

“It doesn’t mean I am ready for the others to know. It’s risky and it may break the will of some of the other Brothers and Sisters. They may see it as nothing more than manipulation on par with the Templars.”

“I grow tired of this life…I have said my farewells long ago…I am ready.”

“So am I, but the others, especially Arden, she may not be willing to let it go so easily. She is, after all, the youngest of us.”

“Andrew taught her well…she will accept it when the time comes.”

“The real question is, will Desmond accept it?”

“He has to, there is no other choice. It must be done or else everything will have failed.”

* * *

Author’s Notes:

A little fic I had started a while back, but I figure I post it for all of you to read. Not my first time writing in the AC fandom (I’ve got my Robin Hood/Assassin’s Creed crossovers to thank for that). I also would like to thank moondusted who wrote “Above the Serpentine” for inspiring me to write this. Chapters will be updated, but very slowly.

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Story:

Chapter 2 – Bleeding

Desmond awoke with a start and for a split second, he thought he was blinded as the inky darkness surrounded him. Groping blindly in the darkness, he smacked his fingers into the hard plastic of a digital clock and glared at the bloody red numbers, his mind trying to comprehend what the clock said [09:34]. He read the numbers again, this time a lot more slowly and his sleep addled mind finally registered that it was just a little after nine-thirty in the morning.

He bolted up right in bed as he found what felt like a switch to a light and flicked it on, wincing as the lamp next to his bed lit up; bathing the room he was in with a soft yellow glow. Shit, he had slept for that long?! He quickly rolled out of the bed and hurried to the bathroom adjoining the room. His bladder certainly told him that he had been sleeping for that long. After he was done, he glanced at himself in the mirror and was shocked at how haggard his own face looked, even after that much sleep.

Heading back out into his room and pulled open a few drawers and to his surprise, found clean clothes already sitting in the drawers, all of them his size. A feeling of uneasiness welled up in him as he picked at the clothes before taking a change of them into the bathroom once more. He quickly showered, changed, and shaved some of the five o'clock stubble he had before stepping back out.

How the others knew of his clothing size for that mattered worried him. He hadn't even realized that they were going to a military installation after their frantic escape from the safe house just days ago. Maybe Lucy had called ahead? But it felt so impersonal for her to tell them of his own measurements and clothing preference (hoodie, tee-shirt and blue jeans) – not to mention all kinds of creepy. But then again, the same thing happened while he was in Abstergo's care. They had fresh clothing for him in the room they kept him in...so...

Shaking his head, Desmond cleared himself of all thoughts, trying to focus on the present and the present was telling him that his stomach was very hungry. A quick glance around the room told him that he probably needed to find the general mess hall in the base.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his head and opened the door to his room, only to freeze as he saw two military policemen guarding his door. “Uh...hi,” he greeted them, wondering why there were outside his door.

“Good morning sir,” one of them replied handing him a small card before pointing to his left, “mess hall is on the 25^th floor, elevators down the hall.”

“Uh, thanks,” Desmond took the card, flipping it over several times in his hands before closing the door and heading down the direction the MP had pointed out. He looked quickly back at the two and saw that both had stony expressions on their faces once more.

Turning back around he continued walking down the hall, following the arrows that pointed to the elevators and soon enough, came upon the grey doors. A small card swipe was located on top of the buttons and he took the card out of his pocket and ran it through. The light lit up green and he pressed the down button. A few seconds later the elevator arrived with a beep and opened up for him.

He got in and pressed the button for the 25^th floor. He was momentarily surprised as the elevator proceeded to go up, not down as he thought it would before he realized he was on the 28^th floor and to get to the 25^th, it was three levels up. His concept of up and down in the facility was slightly warped. Nonetheless, he got off at the floor and immediately the mouth watering aroma of bacon wafted from the halls.

Following the signs to the mess hall, he found that it was still a bit bustling, but instead of military personnel, it was mostly civilians dressed from casual clothing to business suits that were eating.

“Desmond!” he turned at the sound of his name and grinned as he saw Lucy, sitting in corner, a half finished pastry on her plate, reading what looked like today's newspaper.

He waved at her before heading over to the buffet and picked out some food. This was definitely a lot more refreshing and appetizing than what he had been having for the past several days and also during his week's stay at Abstergo. Food on plate along with a piping hot coffee, he headed over to her table and sat down.

“Mmm...food,” he dug in just as she laughed and gave her a glare.

“Feeling better?” she asked and he nodded in between mouthfuls of scrambled eggs.

“Probably just needed some sleep,” he shrugged. He could still feel a slight headache, but it wasn't as bad as when he had hallucinated the Roman cavalry riding in front of him. “I guess I should probably find Dr. Patrice and the others and apologize to them, shouldn't I?”

“Don't worry about it. We were all pretty bone-tired so the meeting didn't go on for much longer,” Lucy shrugged, “Rebecca says that she has set up the Animus in one of the other briefing rooms if you want to take another gander at Ezio's memories.”

“But I thought we had hit upon all of his major memories?”

“Yes, most of them, but Shaun says that there was a spate of unexplained deaths that the Catholic Church attributed to the devil's work somewhere after the Bonfire of the Vanities and before Ezio confronted Borgia. He thinks it may be Ezio's handiwork since some descriptions of the deaths were by his style, though not all of them,” Lucy scraped some of her oatmeal from her bowl and chewed on it thoughtfully.

Done with his eggs, Desmond started on both the sausages and bacon he had picked up from the buffet along with the toast. For a military base, they had excellent meals, shattering any and all illusions he had about MREs or whatever he expected the military to eat. “Maybe he trained a bunch of others?”

“Possibly, that's why we figured if he did train others, you can benefit by having some extra training to help your own skills,” she shrugged her shoulders, “only if you want. We don't want to exacerbate the bleeding effect.”

Desmond knew that she was concerned about his well-being, ever since they had encountered each other at Abstergo. Even though the betrayal of information and what he really meant to the Assassins yesterday, he still appreciated the fact that she was always looking out for him. However, he still needed to get some stuff off of his chest. “Lucy, what's this about me being the most important asset for the Assassins? It sounds like a messiah complex or something.”

He saw her open her mouth to reply, but before words could come out, a boisterous voice spoke up behind him. “Messiah complex? Don't get in over your head, kid.”

Desmond turned slightly in his seat to see an older man, dressed in an expensively tailored and well-fitted business suit, walking over to them, a huge smile on his face, revealing impeccably white teeth. He looked Italian, in Desmond's opinion, but his words betrayed not even an accent, so he supposed he probably grew up in the states. His dark black hair was slicked back with gel, making him look even more contrasting to seriousness of the area. If Desmond could put the man somewhere, it would be on a fashion catwalk or somewhere where Beluga caviar was served as fodder food.

Another thought occurred to him...this man had to be the owner of the Alfa Romero he saw outside yesterday. Had to be... Lucky bastard, a part of him thought. Lucky rich bastard...

Then the implied insult hit him. He frowned up at the man, “Kid? Who the hell are you calling a kid?!” He had not been called a kid since...well, since he was a kid!

“You, kid,” the man grinned before seating himself without an invitation next to Desmond and before he could even protest, stole the last of his bacon strip and ate it. “Ah, still the comforts of home cooking.”

“You live here? And stop calling me a kid. Who the hell are you?” Desmond was aghast. He was starting to dislike this man, who thought he could just sit down and call him a kid, and expect him to share his bacon of all things. It was childish, but then again, the way this man acted was childish in his opinion.

“Of course,” the man grinned, “civilian contractor to Operational Intelligence Watch division. And don't tell me Desmond, you don't recognize your old Uncle Enzo?!” the man let a childish pout appear on his face and Desmond screwed his up, shaking his head dumbly.

“Uncle Enzo?” he tried to recall if he remembered any Uncle Enzo during his time at the Farm and came up with a vague image of someone resembling the man who sat down next to him. He remembered another woman, dark-haired, with the man; the two of them talking with another woman who he thought was probably his mother. But that was all, his memories of his time at the Farm still fuzzy. “I guess...”

“Come on, Desmond! We had a great time when you were growing up! Don't tell me you don't remember all of the times you wanted to ride the horses there and your father wouldn't let you, but I let you?”

“I guess,” there was another vague memory, him younger, laughing on top of a horse, riding around the compound he grew up in.

“See, let the bird fly for a few years and he doesn't even remember anything,” he saw Enzo turned to Lucy, a smile on his face and a flare of jealousy erupted in him as he saw him take her hand and kiss the back of it, making her blush slightly. “You on the other hand, must be Ms. Lucy Stillman, Enzo Torri at your service.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Lucy nodded a greeting as Enzo let her hand go, “though I have to say, you look vaguely familiar. Have I seen you before?”

Desmond glanced at Enzo and saw that indeed, he did look vaguely familiar, especially from profile. He suspected that it was probably his own memories playing tricks on him.

“Ha, ha,” Enzo laughed lightly, “perhaps it is destiny that makes me look familiar? A reincarnation?”

This time Desmond could not keep the irritated sigh from his lips and rolled his eyes. Mostly done with his food, he pushed his tray away and stood up. “If you'll excuse me, gonna go find Rebecca.”

“Animus already? So soon?” Enzo asked, glancing up at him.

“Shaun says that Ezio Auditore might have trained a bunch of other assassins before confronting Borgia. Figured it's the best way to get me trained up,” Desmond shrugged, not catching the slight frown and glint in Enzo's eyes.

“I think you should rest,” this time he saw the frown on the impeccably dressed man's face.

“The whole base knows what happened to me?” Desmond asked, irritated. He hated being a showboat and was hoping that his little stunt yesterday in the briefing room was to be kept quiet, but apparently not, as Enzo had not so subtly pointed out. “Fuck it...”

“I think Enzo's right, Desmond. We still don't know if having you in the Animus right after you had a vision due to the bleeding effect is going to enhance the problem or not,” Lucy spoke up and he glanced down at her, a wounded look on his face. Her too?

“Then what the hell am I supposed to do? I mean, we ran through Ezio's major memories in the span of two days. Now you're telling me that I can't even poke around his memories for a few minutes because I'll end up like Sixteen?”

“That's not what I'm saying,” Lucy quickly replied, “all I'm saying is that you're safe now and you don't have to rush the process. You were already in day in and day out for a week at Abstergo, and then we forced Ezio's memories upon you in two days. Just give your brain some time to adjust.”

Desmond opened his mouth to retort when he caught the look Lucy was giving him and closed his mouth. He realized that he was acting selfishly and that his predecessor, Subject Sixteen, the one to whom he had a common ancestry through Ezio, had been close to Lucy, or somehow she had also been involved in his Animus sessions, judging by the emails he had read during his time in the Templar fun house. He had been hurting her with his callous words and shook his head, poking now at the cold piece of half-eaten sausage, appetite lost.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, taking a gulp of the lukewarm coffee he had picked up when he been at the buffet line.

“Tell you what,” Lucy spoke up, making him look up at her to see that she was smiling at him, a sign that she had forgiven him for his earlier words, “go back a few memories, to the Battle of Forli…have fun on Leonardo’s flying machine for a while and we’ll call it even.”

Desmond had to grin at her statement. He had been happy that Rebecca had found a workaround patch to access the two major memories of his ancestor’s that he had not realized her patch had also included the improbable loading of Leonardo’s flying machine into the memory when it technically wasn’t supposed to even be there. However, he wasn’t complaining as he had spent a better part of the morning that he had accessed the memory to go flying around Forli, kicking guards off of rooftops and generally scaring the heck out of the virtual memory system.

“But that machine…” Enzo spoke up, confused and he and Lucy looked at him before he shook his head, “never mind, I do not want to even know…”

“Contrary to what history books say, it does work,” Lucy shrugged, “at least Ezio proved it worked.”

Desmond’s grin grew wider as he remembered his first ‘test flight’ outside of the memory test flight that happened between Ezio and Leonardo. He had deliberately went around kicking guards and desynchronized himself from his ancestor’s memories a few times before Shaun had yelled at him to stop dicking around and just go through his ancestor’s memories. The sound of hearing Lucy laughing out loud while he was still in the Animus was worth it though.

“You know,” his chair scraped the floor as he, Lucy, and Enzo got up from the table and he and Lucy put their trays on another cart to be taken away, “I could probably fly around all day…”

“Just for the morning though,” Lucy shook her head at him, “then we’ll probably need your help when Rebecca and I present the Adam and Eve Truth Files to Dr. Patrice and the other Assassin leaders this afternoon.”

“What files?” Enzo asked as they headed to where Rebecca had the Animus 2.0 set up.

“Sixteen and Desmond here are linked through a common ancestor, Ezio Auditore. When we made our escape from Abstergo, I took Sixteen’s files with me and apparently we discovered that he had hacked into the genetic memory of their common ancestor and implanted a few glyphs in the major areas that Ezio Auditore traveled through. Those glyphs revealed composite images of something I think the others should see.”

“May I take a look at it while Desmond here is flying about?” Enzo looked concerned and Desmond wondered why would someone who didn’t even seem to be part of the Assassin leadership would be interested in what they had found.

“I’m not too sure…”

“Ah, I understand,” Enzo shrugged nonchalantly, “we can check in with Dr. Patrice right now if you want?”

“Actually that would be a good idea,” Lucy looked thoughtful before pointing down the hallway they had entered, “Rebecca’s set up two doors to your right from the gymnasium.”

Desmond nodded, parting ways with her as she and Enzo headed back towards the cafeteria and probably to the elevators. He continued on and passing by the impressive looking gym the military bunker had, which was built with rock-climbing walls, ledges, training equipment, and so forth, found Rebecca, back to him, staring at her computer, fingers flying across the keyboard.

“Hey,” he greeted quietly, hoping not to startle her. In the past few days since meeting her, he had found that she was easily excitable, acting half of her age most of the time whenever she discovered something she liked – and that usually involved her “baby” the Animus.

“Oh, hey Des,” she glanced back at him before turning to her monitor once more and gestured vaguely with a hand towards what looked like a dentist chair. Actually to Desmond’s chagrin, it was a dentist chair, brown, with a small head-neck rest and exactly like the ones he used to remember going to when he was very young. “It’s the best I can do on a short notice, but hey…you take what you can get.”

“It’s a dentist chair,” Desmond approached the new Animus set up by the chair. “Next thing I know, I’ll be expecting my teeth cleaned or drilled.”

“At least it isn’t a root canal,” Rebecca laughed lightly.

“Don’t laugh, they hurt like a bitch,” Desmond remembered getting about a year before he escaped the farm, having eaten too many sweets without his parents notice and not even deigning to brush his teeth afterwards. Boy did that teach him to brush his teeth afterwards.

“I’ve had cavities, plus my wisdom teeth taken out. Dry socket afterwards. Now those, hurt like a fucking bitch,” Rebecca stopped her typing and turned in her seat, pursing her lips at him, “hop on in. It’s the same set up. Visor’s on the table next to the chair.”

“Where’s Shaun?” he half expected the Englishman to be sitting somewhere in the room, ready to feed him information or something of that nature, even if it was just a flying jaunt of sorts in Ezio’s memories.

“Mr. Meridius needed to talk to him,” Rebecca didn’t look too concerned, but Desmond was slightly puzzled.

“Why?”

“Oh yeah, you don’t know do you,” she blinked thoughtfully, “Shaun was recruited into the Assassin Order, not born into it like you, me, Lucy, or any of the others. He’s one of the few allies we have, like Leonardo to Ezio.”

“Really?” that was something that Desmond had suspected since Lucy and even Shaun himself had hinted, but he didn’t really get the chance to confirm. “So Mr. Meridius…”

“Has been like a guardian to Shaun since he was recruited in. I don’t know the full details, but there’s a rumor going around that he lost his whole family to the Templars, Abstergo’s branch, and it was Meridius who saved him and took him in.”

Desmond remembered the man with the steely look. He seemed jovial enough at times, but there was definitely the undercurrent of power that he knew not to mess with. He could just as imagine the man wielding a sword or even a gun with the same efficiency…maybe even a Roman gladius a part of him supplied. Shaking his head slightly, he wondered where that foreign thought came from before nodding his thanks to Rebecca and sat in the chair, adjusting himself to make himself as comfortable as possible before reaching over and putting on the visor.

Immediately his vision was encompassed by the blue-white lines of computer data and DNA sequences as he found himself immersed into the loading program of the Animus and waited patiently.

“All right, hooking you up…now,” Rebecca’s voice was tinned over his ears as he saw the lines of memories that represented Ezio’s life from birth to when he had killed Borgia. He suspected that perhaps Ezio had gone back to either Forli or Venice and had pursued either Rosa or the indomitable Caterina Sforza, but suspected Rosa as though his history was a bit muddled, but during the time of Borgia’s rule, Caterina Sforza had been captured and was rotting in a dungeon.

A brief thought occurred to him…did Ezio know that Caterina was somewhere in Rome? Had he gone to rescue her after dealing with Borgia? There were times Desmond wished his ancestors were still alive, so he could ask these questions, but more often than not, he knew he would get his answer in the Animus, or even outside of it; as evident with his brief mental trip to Acre days ago.

Sighing quietly, he picked at the file that lead to the Battle of Forli and activated it. A wash of white static filled his senses before he found himself dressed as Ezio, the Armor of Altaїr a bit scuffled, but still well cared for. Checking to see that his weaponry was as it was, when he had left it, he waited for the program to finish its loading before the lines blurred-

The burst of black static and hissing in his ears made Desmond jump slightly in his chair as he saw dark images around him. He frowned, pushing at the darkness, but couldn’t feel a thing as he saw flashes of face he did not recognize, screams, fading in and out.

He could feel a cold damp wetness upon him, embracing him, searching out for him. Shaking his head, his vision began to form and opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He saw cobbled street slowly forming itself in his vision, dimly lit by the rain and lights that was flickering upon it.

Cobble streets? Where the hell…?

The rain dripped upon his face and he realized he was staring at his hands, small, dainty, bloodied. He was kneeling in the puddles of water, the rain dripping down upon him before he looked up, blinking his eyes uncomprehendingly against the big fat droplets. He did not recognize the structures around him, yet…

“She was a whore, that was who she was,” an accent, British, spoke up above him and he craned his neck upwards, trying to see who it belonged to before looking down again.

This time he could see the body of a woman, dressed in the finery that he had long associated with the Victorian era, the late 1800s to early 1900s spread out before him. Blood ran from the numerous puncture wounds she had on her chest. Her stomach was disemboweled, half of her intestines splayed out on the cobblestone street in all of their ugly glory. Desmond felt the urge to vomit, staring at such a sight, but he could not move, stunned at the display before him.

“Now then, little girl,” the voice spoke up again and once again he craned his head upwards to see two beady eyes, a handsomely scarred face smiling a sinister smile. The barest of whimpers emerged from his throat as he stared up at the cruel face. “What should your fate be?”

He thought he felt his lips mumble something, but even his own ears, deafened by the roaring sound of the rain falling, of his own screams just moments ago at the death of the woman in front of him, his mother, he realized to some degree. He heard the twang of a knife being drawn and tried to force himself to move, to escape, to at least fight back, but his body wouldn’t cooperate with him. Squeezing his eyes shut, he hoped the blow would be quick, to send him out of the Animus when-

“There he is! Do not let him get away!” the shouts of men and booted feet rang in his ears and he whipped his head around to see at least six bobbies, running towards them, batons and pistols drawn.

The whooshing sound of a cloak being hastily drawn made him jerk a bit and he looked up once more to see the man who had been towering over him running away, clutching a walking stick about him.

“Come back here you fiend! Come back Jack!” one of the officers shouted as they ran past him and the body of the woman.

It was then that blackness abruptly over took Desmond and the last thing he saw were the officers sliding out of his vision, and then all was dark.

* * *

Author’s Notes:

Lots of things happening and a lot more characters introduced. Speculations are abound and what you suspect may be the truth, but remember the old adage of the Assassins: nothing is true, and everything is permitted. The mystery surrounding everything will be revealed in due time.

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Story:

Chapter 3 – Victoria

Desmond panicked as he tried to claw his way out of the blackness, anything to force the Animus to eject him, but surprisingly he could not. He could hear the rasping gasp of his own breath and felt like something was sitting on his chest, unwilling to let him breathe properly. He pounded frantically at the blackness, trying to open his mouth to shout for Lucy, Rebecca, anyone, even Dr. Vidic at this point, but his mouth wouldn’t open until just as suddenly he felt a twitching shock jolt through his body and the blackness disappeared.

Only to be replaced by the decidedly dreary and green-grey hues of what looked like a wooden wall with faded pictures of what was once a pastoral mural of sorts. He started slightly, pulling himself up right as he looked around the room and down at the bed he was apparently lying on.

Everything looked old, worn, ancient even. To his dismay he realized that he had not been ejected out of the Animus as his surroundings and the glance out of the window told him that he was still stuck in wherever he was. Then again, Desmond crawled to the window and peered out, taking in the sights of the daylight hours that shone upon the dusty and very dirty scenery. It looked vaguely familiar as he realized he had seen this kind of scene and dirtiness in the movies of old before.

Cobblestone lined the streets and horse drawn carts along with wagons and pedestrians milled about the roads. The shouts of merchants selling their wares and curious odors of bakeries mingling with crude factories made for an interesting smell that wafted this way and that. If Desmond’s history was correct, it looked like he was in the Victorian-era, or at least post Industrial Revolution. He remembered the accent and the clothing the police wore, or was it Bobbies; a brief foreign thought invaded his mind, before realizing that he was probably in England, maybe a major city like Liverpool or London, or even Southampton.

The muffled blasts of ship horns made his eyes track towards the river and in the far distance what looked like the half-complete skeleton of the London bridge. So he was in London, in the body of what he supposed was his ancestor, who apparently witnessed something traumatic the night before or something like that, was staring at a lifeless body then…

Desmond lifted his hands and stared at them, noting how dirty they looked. They were also slim, and he wondered if this ancestor was probably like Ezio, living the high life with such dainty hands…

“Excuse me, young Miss?” a matronly voice spoke up near the door and Desmond looked over to see a graying-haired woman peering in, and wondered if there was another occupant in the room that was a girl before he realized that the woman was calling him. He felt his mouth open of its own accord, his ancestor’s movements a bit foreign and seemingly not in sync.

“Who are you?! Where am I?!” the forcefulness of the words surprised Desmond, but what really shook him was how high-pitched his voice was. It was then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed his slightly warped reflection next to the window and saw that the body he inhabited of his ancestor was not a male ancestor, but rather a female one.

He was a girl.

Mortification and a sense of unease filled him as he glanced down at his hands again before back up at the woman who had a shocked expression on her face before clearing her throat roughly and thinned her lips. He couldn’t believe that this ancestor was a girl! Of all of the places to inhabit, instead of flying around Forli, he was stuck here in post-Industrial Revolution England in the body of a girl.

“Now then, young Miss-“

“I’m not young! I am fourteen!”

“All right then,” the matronly woman visibly swallowed, her jaw tightening with anger before nodding stiffly, “Miss. The Master is expecting you shortly. A bath has been drawn for your use and clothes-“

“Where is my mother?!” he could feel his ancestor’s voice squeak and his throat hurt. It had to be from the screams yesterday, Desmond was sure of it.

Some of the anger abruptly drained from the woman’s face before she shook her head, “I am sorry Miss, but the Master will have the answers for you.”

Desmond could feel the undercurrent of anger, denial, and grief running through his ancestor’s mind, a weird feeling even when he was in the Animus. He had not realized it, but his first session in the Animus with Altaїr; the master assassin rarely displayed any, if at all, emotion during his investigations. It was only after killing Robert de Sable and hearing what the dying man had to say that Desmond had felt the first glimmer of emotion from the master assassin. Ezio Auditore, however, was another story. He had run the gamut of emotions with the young man as he aged from a young angry seventeen-year-old hell bent on revenge to a cool, confident early forties assassin who tempered arrogance with knowledge, and humbleness.

Sometimes, the emotion rang strong, especially when Ezio had witnessed his family’s deaths, but other times it was a murky-like feeling, something he couldn’t quite grasp, but he knew it was there. Like now, his ancestor’s feelings were very murky, as if he couldn’t quite sync up with her.

He watched as his ancestor abruptly looked the way of the washroom and Desmond inwardly adverted his gaze. He knew he could not close his eyes unless his ancestor wanted to, but he tried his best not to stare, as out of the corner of his vision watch her go through the motions of washing herself and getting dressed in the clothes that had been laid out before her.

If there was one thing he was grateful for, was that he knew that this particular ancestor was probably not alive to flay him for being a peeping tom as she changed. As soon as he felt that the girl was properly dressed Desmond immersed himself again and watched as she left the washroom and followed the middle-aged woman out of the room.

He looked around the house and was mildly surprised at how old, dusty, and dirty the placed looked. He had expected it to be stereotypically like what he had seen in movies. It went to show that Hollywood always dressed things up prettier than he had expected.

“Does this Master not have servants?” he felt his lips move, disdain rolling off of her tone.

“No,” the woman replied, a bit sharply, “he only requests that two rooms be cleaned at all times, his own and yours, Miss.”

“I do have a name, you know,” his ancestor replied a bit icily, “it is Arden.”

“Well then, Miss Arden,” the woman bowed her head slightly before stopping in front of an ordinary looking door and knocked on it. A muffled voice replied back through the door before she opened it and gestured into the dimly lit room, “the Master is waiting. If you shall need anything, please find me in the kitchens.”

Desmond watched the woman walk away before he felt his lips move, “What is your name?”

“Mrs. Huston, Miss Arden,” the middle-aged woman looked back up as she was heading down the stairs.

He could feel her grounding her teeth before spitting out the next words, “Thank you.”

The woman, Mrs. Huston, nodded once and Desmond thought he caught the hint of a smile on her face before she disappeared from his view and found his gaze being wrenched to the dimly lit room. He felt a tremor of fear, anticipation, some emotion he could not quite identify before he entered. A crackling fireplace was the only thing that lit the room, splaying flecks of light across the areas it lit up. There were two high-backed armchairs inlaid with plush velvets and intricate thread designs. An ornate oriental rug was by the fireplace and even the mantle itself looked to be foreign made.

One of the armchairs, facing towards the fire was occupied and he made a move to approach the occupant when two fingers from the left hand, flicked up, stopping him in place. “Stay there,” the voice was male, deep, nondescript, and held a vaguely familiar accent that he couldn’t quite place.

Desmond kept quiet, watching through the dim light as the two fingers retracted into a fist, but the man, whoever he was, did not move from his chair and instead the only thing that was heard was the brief crackle and pop of oxygen being consumed in the fireplace.

After a few minutes, he felt his mouth open and the young girl, Arden, spoke up, “What service would you have me provide, Master?” He could feel a slight well of disgust and it only took a moment of puzzlement before Desmond realized what she meant, especially her stress of the word Master. He realized that she thought that she was to provide sexual services to this man sitting by the fire, who had apparently saved her from that rainy night.

“There is a knife by the bureau next to you,” the man spoke up, his accent a bit heavier now, but still vaguely unrecognizable to Desmond and his gaze tracked to his left to see a small thin knife resting on top of the bureau. He reached out and grasped it, feeling its even weight in its hands. A wash of familiarity ran through him as he briefly remembered throwing knives at guards when he was both Ezio and Altaїr.

“Throw it,” the command was sharp, barking and he felt Arden’s defiant irritation.

“Anywhere in particular?” she asked, unable to keep the disdain out of her voice.

There was no answer except the crackling of the fireplace and he felt his arm being heaved back, the blade tip of the knife nestled into the thumb, index finger, and middle finger. The familiar grip of the assassins’ memories he had explored just days ago. He hazily realized that in order for him to be in this body, Arden was probably descended through Ezio and it stood that maybe she was somewhat trained as an assassin like Ezio had been throughout most of his childhood, though secretly by his father.

He almost missed the moment when his body reacted by throwing the knife fast and silently, embedding itself into the wooden mantle of the fireplace, just barely grazing above the high point of the high-backed armchair.

“The first drawer of the bureau contains a bracer. Put it on your left arm,” the mysterious man in the chair suddenly barked out and Desmond did as he was told, another feeling of familiarity washing over him as he recognized the design of the vambrace and hidden blade that was in it.

It wasn’t the simple elegance of Altaїr’s own bracer or the intricate weave of Ezio’s bracers, but rather a hybrid mix of both. However, the release mechanism was the same as the modification Leonardo had done to Ezio’s meaning the assassins had taken to heart the modified design and used it in subsequent creations of the hidden blade. However, he felt the confusion radiating off of Arden’s mind as she flicked the blade in and out of its position, splaying her fingers each time so not to be cut by it.

Occasionally her right hand reached out and ran over the patterns and tested the sharpness of the blade before she looked back towards the armchair.

“What…is this?” her voice nervous and scared, unable to comprehend. Even he could feel the nervousness bleeding into himself and Desmond shook his mental head to try to stop it from affecting him anymore than it should. He knew what it was, knew what probably laid ahead for the young woman whose body he inhabited. That she was an assassin and whoever this person in the chair was, was probably going to train her, or at least improve her abilities, much like Mario Auditore did for Ezio and Al Mualim did for Altaїr.

“An informant will be waiting for you in alleyway behind the Second Street bakery. Go to him and he will direct you to your next assignment,” the man in the chair ignored her nervous question and immediately Desmond felt a flash of irritation. Who the hell was this man to order her around?

“I will do no such thing!” he felt his throat react with some pain as she nearly shouted her words.

The silence in the wake of her outburst was the only sound in the room, broken occasionally by the crackle of the fireplace once more before a barely audible shift in the seat made Desmond stare warily at the occupant who still had not revealed himself. He could feel a brief fear of trepidation run through his ancestor and wondered if it was his own. Based on his recent experiences, it usually wasn’t a good thing to be yelling at an assassin; especially one whom he figured was probably attempting to train Arden.

More than once, Desmond wished he could at least tell the person who he inhabited what was really going on, maybe save all of them a lot of grief in the long run. But alas, he was stuck in the body of his ancestor, privy to the real history that was happening around him instead of the sanitized version the Templars had ensured made it to almost all history books, or at least the ones he had read while he was living in The Farm.

A brief wandering thought crossed his mind. He knew of the Templars and the Assassins, his parents had told him that much before he escaped the confines of the hippie-like compound, but didn’t exactly know the full extent of the tangled history between the two factions. If his parents were really Assassins, why didn’t they teach him the real history of what had happened in the world instead of just letting him read the sanitized versions in his books?

Maybe when, or even if he could, get out of this forced nightmare from the Animus, he could perhaps ask Dr. Patrice or even some of the other Assassin bigwigs to let him contact his parents? But even as that thought crossed his mind, he quashed it just as quickly. His parents had kept him confined like a prisoner, or at least somewhat of one, in The Farm. He vaguely remembered having been allowed to wander the grounds, but had always been given explicit instructions never to leave The Farm.

He remembered that when he was young, the other children would tell ghost stories about what was beyond the compound fences and walls, stuff to scare the young kids with. But he was never afraid of those stories and instead, they had only fueled his desire to escape from the place and to see the world beyond, to see what his books had told him about.

A flicker of something silvery out of the corner of Desmond’s eye caught his attention and broke him away from his wandering thoughts before he realized that the flickering silver wasn’t a dagger, but it was flashes of the silvery DNA and molecule strands he was used to seeing in the loading area of the Animus. They were flashing across his vision, making his gaze through Arden’s eyes seem so distant and far away.

He could feel a wave of dizziness spread throughout his whole body, making him feel weak and tired. He saw his ancestor try to lift her arm up, and a brief flash of fear jolted through their shared bond, was it his own or hers? Everything was so sluggish…

Desmond suddenly felt his heart rate accelerate as he realized that something was terribly wrong. He couldn’t allow himself to desynchronize like this…a part of him knew that it would be fatal, if not for him, but would have dire consequences for Arden for some odd reason. Fighting back the silvery flashes and strands of DNA that floated across his vision, he sought to connect himself again to Arden’s feelings, to her memories, to her life.

He knew he needed to know what was going on, that he needed for her to survive. Because if she died or if anything happened to her, then he would cease to exist, he would not able to live. He needed to live…

Anger surged through Desmond before he suddenly found himself blinking his eyes rapidly in the dimly lit room, the fireplace still crackling on its warm hearth. The silence and stillness of the room deafening to his ears. He glanced down at his hands and to his relief, saw that the vambrace and hidden blade was still on his left arm, his hands still dainty. Breathing a mental sigh of relief he realized that he had successfully reconnected himself to his ancestor.

“You will do as you are told,” the man in the chair finally spoke up, his voice cold, frozen, commanding.

Desmond could feel his ancestor’s thoughts swirl angrily. He could pretend that he would follow this man’s orders, after all, he had grown up in the streets, he could take care of herself. She knew the backstreets and alleyways of London like the back of his hand and if anyone dared to mess with her, she would be able to take care of them, especially with this new weapon on her forearm.

But did he really know the backstreets of London as well as he could? He needed to get himself familiarized with the city, especially one as large as this one. He had almost gotten lost in Italy – when did she go to Italy? – and had to run around the streets a few times, climbing buildings and orienting himself before he felt confident enough that he could undertake his missions there – what missions – and kill the Knights Templars who had murdered his family – my mother…

Blood ran from the numerous puncture wounds she had on her chest. Her stomach was disemboweled, half of her intestines splayed out on the cobblestone street in all of their ugly glory.

“Now then, little girl,” the voice spoke up again and once again he craned his head upwards to see two beady eyes, a handsomely scarred face smiling a sinister smile. The barest of whimpers emerged from his throat as he stared up at the cruel face. “What should your fate be?”

With a start, Desmond realized that he needed whatever knowledge this man, who refused to face him, had. If he was to get his revenge on the man who killed his mother. The man the policemen – bobbies – had called Jack. There was one famous Jack he remembered learning about all those years ago, the same Jack that had existed roughly around post-Industrial Revolution England.

Jack the Ripper.

One of England’s most notorious murderers who existed in the late 1800s, who had killed numerous women by disemboweling them and had just disappeared without a trace. Scotland Yard never had any arrests or suspects in its custody…

“It was him, wasn’t it, Master…” he, no, Arden, spoke up, her voice quiet, thoughtful.

“Andrew,” the man replied, as if he was not quite familiar with that name. “You may call me Andrew.”

“The one all of the authorities have been calling Jack the Ripper?” he could feel the terror bleed into him as he whispered the murderer’s name.

“Go to the Second Street bakery, you will find your next task there,” this time, thought it was still a command, he heard compassion in Andrew’s voice, but he could feel a small hint of defiance fill him before he raised his left arm, bracer held outward.

“I want him dead,” he felt himself declare; “I want to kill him.”

Though he could not see outline of the man’s face who still sat in the armchair before the fireplace, he thought he saw the ghost of a smile appear on his lips and wondered how he could imagine such a thing before Andrew raised his left hand again.

This time, Desmond could clearly see the outline of an assassin’s bracer and the quiet snick made him grin inwardly as a hidden blade shot out of the arm. What was curious though was that the man did not splay his fingers out, but rather curled it into a fist. Perhaps Andrew’s own assassin blade was heavily modified so that one did not need to splay fingers out in order to balance and not lose any digits.

“You will, little one, you will,” was the answer from Andrew before he felt the surge of triumph fill him and nodded once before turning around and leaving the room, heading downstairs and out the door to the Second Street bakery and from there, to find his next task.

The colors and soot of the streets blurred in his vision as the silvery light became clearer. However, instead of shrinking back from it, Desmond reached out and embraced it…a sense of confidence and anticipation filling him…

* * *

Desmond gasped as he drew in air into his lungs; his vision of the silvery-blue waves of DNA disappeared from his vision, replaced by the somewhat familiar grey-white ceiling of the room he was in. He could feel the extreme nausea rise up within him and clawed at the visor across his vision, ripping it off before he scrambled out of the chair, oblivious to the shouting voices around him.

He needed…needed…there! Half crawling, scrambling towards the small garbage pail, he immediately felt the bile in his throat rise and threw up unceremoniously into the waste bin. Gagging at the sour taste of sausages, bacon, and the rest of his breakfast coming back up, he squeezed his eyes shut as his stomach continued to heave the rest of its partially digested food out of his stomach.

Acid burned his esophagus and he grimaced at the taste of sour bile that was left there. He felt dizzied and weak, and a quick self-check of his forehead told him that he was probably running a low grade fever. Slumping away from the waste bin and against the wall, he finally took in his surroundings and to his surprise; he was not in 19^th century England, but rather, back on the base of the assassins.

However as he looked around, letting his bleary eyes adjust to the lights and surroundings of the room, his surprise quickly morphed into dismay as he saw several other people, besides Rebecca who looked as pale as a ghost sitting at her station by the Animus, all staring at him, most of them with unreadable expressions on their faces. A small movement out of the corner of his eye made him turn to see Lucy approaching him hesitantly, almost afraid of him.

“Desmond?” she asked quietly, bending down to his eye level. Beyond her he saw the man who had introduced himself as his Uncle Enzo staring between her and the Animus and back, seemingly wanting to do something, but was unable to.

“Shit,” he rubbed his face, his hands coming away slick with sweat. Did everyone in the room witnessed his attempted escape and mad dash to the trash can to throw up whatever was in his stomach? That was decidedly embarrassing. If it wasn’t enough that people in the base knew about his collapse in front of the leaders of the Assassin Order and now this…

“Lucy…” he looked away, unable to bear the stares of the others. He could still feel the bile taste in his mouth, “please…”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw her pause a moment before standing up and turning around, nodding to someone he couldn’t quite see before apparently someone shouted something unintelligible and decidedly Italian then the sounds of shuffling feet made him turn to see the people who had been watching him all but leave, leaving only Rebecca, Lucy, Shawn who was talking to Mr. Meridius, before closing the door after the man left, and Enzo. Desmond had a feeling that it had been Enzo who had ushered everyone out.

A shadow fell across his eyes before Lucy’s cool hand pressed against his forehead. “You’re burning up,” she murmured quietly and he pushed her hand away, getting gingerly to his own feet, using the wall as his support.

“I’m fine,” he lied, but he felt comforted that she was concerned about him. However, he was even more concerned about what had happened. “What happened?” he asked, rubbing his eyes before looking around at the others left in the room.

“Well,” Rebecca spoke up, still sitting at her station, but he noticed that she was not looking at him and instead down at her hands, “it’s my fault-“

“No it isn’t,” Lucy immediately cut in, hands on her hips, “we don’t know what happened.”

“But the program loaded up fine, and then suddenly it just glitched! Like zip and then all I saw was just blackness for a long time. I mean, you ran down here after I called and even you and I couldn’t figure out how to get Desmond out of the Animus here without killing him!” the hacker shot back angrily. “Then the grainy images started to show up, like a bad TV feed of sorts and Enzo recognized one of the landmarks you were looking at so we got Shaun here-“

“Late nineteenth century London, if I’m correct,” the Assassins’ primary historian crossed his arms, leaning against the frame of the door, “that was Big Ben we were barely able to make out in the darkness and all of that rain. At least I think it was…”

“It is,” Desmond replied absently before turning to Rebecca and Lucy, the dizziness slowly fading away. Instead, he now felt a slightly buoyant empty feeling around his abdomen, a sign that he was really hungry, especially after throwing up all of his breakfast. However, he ignored it, wanting to know what had happened. “What happened? I saw the loading screen, me, dressed as Ezio in the Armor of Altaїr, sword, weapons, everything ready then nothing. Next thing I know, I’m in a street, its raining and this woman’s…entrails,” here he swallowed slightly, remembering the odor and feel of blood squishing through his fingers as if it was real, the noises, sounds, screaming, the man, Jack…towering above him-

“Hey…” Lucy’s hand on his arm startled him from his memories, no, his ancestor’s memories, not his own, “it’s not real, Desmond. It’s just your ancestor’s memories, his memories…”

“Hers,” he absently corrected her, forcing the fuzzy feeling in his mind to dissipate, to remember to live in the present. He was not his ancestor; he was Desmond Miles, bartender, and formerly trained Assassin. “I was in a female ancestor’s body…Arden, I think her name was.”

“Arden?” Enzo spoke up, his voice quiet, but Desmond detected a hint of surprise in them. He had almost forgotten that he was in the room with them.

“Yeah,” he looked at him, searching his unreadable features for any sign to what the man was thinking. “Why?”

“Nothing,” was the dismissal before waving a hand at him, “just not a common name.”

Desmond shrugged feeling that the man was not being completely truthful, but at the moment he was too tired, too hungry to press the issue. Plus he wanted to know how he had gotten from Ezio’s memories to this woman, Arden’s, memories through a mere glitch. “You think maybe some of Sixteen’s hacking may have done something like that?”

“We tried that, but when we tried to extract Sixteen’s files from your own, you, um, kinda convulsed and we thought we almost lost you there…that was…about two hours ago,” Rebecca bit her lip, ashamed.

“Wait, two hours ago?!” he vaguely remembered while confronting the Master of the house, Andrew, a part of him supplied, he had moment where he thought he was going to lose everything, that he needed to hold on and make sure that nothing happened to Arden. That feeling had passed after what seemed like a long time, but in reality it was probably only mere seconds in his ancestor’s memories.

“Desmond, we could see the memories, but they’re very fuzzy, indistinct until after that moment. Then everything seemed to snap into focus, like your memories of Ezio Auditore, and we were able to pull you out then,” Lucy explained.

“Okay, let me figure this out,” he had a hard time wrapping his brain around what Rebecca and Lucy were telling him and tried to piece it together, “nearly killing me made me sync up with this ancestor so you were able to pull me out?”

No one answered him, but Desmond took the silence as a resounding affirmation of what he had just said. He shook his head, “Why this ancestor?”

“I…don’t know,” Lucy looked helpless, shaking her head, “but I don’t think you should use the Animus for a while, Desmond. Not until Rebecca and I figure out if there was anything else hacked into or if something went wrong.”

Desmond knew that Lucy was trying to calm him down, but he felt so frustrated, so off kilter. As if somehow he needed something to do, to release the tension he felt. He did not know where it came from, but knew that he was not getting the answers he wanted. “Then what about the training? And all of the other stuff you said back at the safe house?”

“It’s just going to be for a few days-“

That’s what they had said before, a few days since she watched her die, deep in the darkness and bowels of the streets. A few days before they had lost the trail once more…

His vision suddenly cleared before he shook his head, rubbing his forehead. Turning his gaze sideways, he saw that the others were looking at him and shook his head slightly. “Bleeding effect,” he muttered for their benefit, “felt Arden’s frustration at the lack of progress by the bobbies, no sorry, police, in finding Jack the Ripper.”

“Did you say Jack the Ripper?” Shaun exclaimed, pushing himself away from the frame of the door and coming over to them.

“Yeah…didn’t I mention that before?” Desmond wondered why everyone, especially Enzo looked disturbed by the news.

“In history, he or some believe a series of people, had killed over five women in starting around 1888 in such a brutal fashion around the Whitechapel district of London. History would like us to believe that they were all prostitutes and women of little to no importance, but they were all women belonging to the Assassin Order,” Shaun said before hurrying over to his workstation near Rebecca’s and started to type. “Here we go…it says that Jack may have stopped after five or six women, but we believe that he has killed a lot more afterwards.”

“When did he die?” Desmond was now curious.

“Doesn’t say…” the resident historian scratched his chin, “odd…”

“So what is he? Templar hitman or something?”

“He is the one that nearly wiped out the Assassin Order and drove many of us into further hiding. After him, that was when the Order established small enclaves like the one you grew up in,” Enzo spoke up quietly, bringing everyone’s gaze upon him.

“You see, Jack used to be one of us, an Assassin.”

* * *

Author’s Notes:

I was inspired over my short little one-month break by E2 2010’s trailer for AC: Brotherhood and the first 7 minutes of the single player gameplay. Looking forward to playing that game. I should also note that though I am well versed in history, being a graduate of a history minor, my map of London in the late 1800s is based on my own mental designs and things lifted from documentaries, movies, and even anime that I’ve seen related to this period. I’m also not a Ripperologist, so I’m just going with what I’ve learned about Jack the Ripper. If any of you readers are Ripperologists or have extensive knowledge (please don’t quote wikipedia as that is a load of crap) about Jack the Ripper and would like to share it with me, feel free to do so! Thanks and thank you again for reviewing! See you in the next chapter!

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Story:

Chapter 4 – Memories

“You see, Jack used to be one of us, an Assassin.”

The simple pronouncement was equivalent of dropping a sledgehammer on top of Desmond’s head as he stared at Enzo, his brain trying to comprehend what the Italian man had said. The concept, from everything he had learned, everything he knew about the Assassins that one of them could betray their own kind and join the Templars was mind-boggling at the least and at the most, unthinkable.

Yet here it happened, at least according to what Enzo said. He glanced over to Shaun who looked surprised before turning around and typing a few things into the computer. “None of the databanks say-”

“That is because the Assassin Order back then wanted it kept a secret,” Enzo shook his head sadly, “I would like to think that they were ashamed back then that someone could do such a thing.”

“Or more like imperfect,” Rebecca gave a very unladylike snort of disdain. “How do you know this?”

“Only senior members of the Order are privy to some Order secrets,” Enzo shrugged as if he didn't care for his title or status. Desmond raised an eyebrow at such a blasé reply – the man did not even look over forty for crying out loud and he was a senior member of the Order? Even Dr. Patrice, Meridius, and the others that he had met in the meeting room yesterday looked much older than the man standing in front of him.

“Wait, you're telling me that what I've been compiling is pretty much bullshit in terms of the history of the Order? That it's all just a glorified version to make us look better?”

“Nulla é rella, tutta é lecito,” Enzo commented quietly, “nothing is-”

“-true, everything is permitted,” Desmond finished for him, staring curiously again at Enzo. The way the man pronounced the words in Italian, eerily familiar. He didn't know from where, maybe from his childhood? Brushing the thought away for another time he pondered the words behind it. If Enzo meant the familiar words of the Assassins to describe the known history of the Assassins, did it mean what he thought it meant?

“But of course the good Doctor would probably say that amongst our Order there are a few skeletons in the closet,” the man flashed a quick grin before waving a hand at Shaun, “don't worry your pretty little head off mister historian. I was only joking.”

The smile was too confident, too reassuring to Desmond, but as he looked around to his friends, he saw that they were taken in by the man's flowery words and reassurance that he was, for the most part, kidding about what he said earlier. Even Shaun looked a bit relieved that the history he had been compiling was not in vain. The training and the assassins' whose memories he possessed whispered not to trust those words, but also to take caution in them. That what Enzo said was true, yet calling him out on it at the moment was not an assured thing to do. They told him to be patient, to bide his time like one of them. To investigate and get to the heart of the matter.

Which was what? Truth be told, Desmond did not know what he needed to do, but his whole being told him to look deeper into the man's words and there, he would find his answers, to questions he didn't know he had.

“So you're a senior member of the Order?” he asked, surprised at his own volition, but realized it was the fledgling assassin skills within him, dormant for some time since his escape from the compound, revitalized with both Altaїr and Ezio's memories, that had asked the question. He briefly wondered if it was part of the bleeding effect, but quickly pushed that particular thought away and decided that it was a blend of his own curiosity and the skills he had picked up that asked the question. He still did not know how he had gotten from the loading screen with Ezio's avatar to being in the body of Arden, a female ancestor of all things.

“No,” Enzo shook his head, a quick smile of mirth on his face, “you really believed that? How do you think all of us developed our skills of eavesdropping? I happened to overhear that particular tidbit of information about Jack the Ripper from a closed door meeting long ago. I think the Assassins were trying to deal with another traitor in their midst back then...”

“Who?” Shaun asked, adjusting his glasses, curious now.

“No one in particular. One of the people living in one of the communities we maintained decided to make a little extra money selling information to the local Templar group I think. I don't exactly remember the details,” Enzo shrugged and this time Desmond saw it clearly. He was lying...it was something much bigger.

He wanted to call the man out on his lie, but once again hesitated, a part of him urging caution and more gathering of information. There was something about Enzo that didn't quite fit right, yet Desmond knew that he could trust the man, even though he was lying with every other word he said.

“Besides, we can talk about this another time,” Enzo said looking at Desmond, “you, my friend, don't look so well.”

Desmond wanted to deny the man’s statement, but realized the effort it took and the probability of resulting protest from Lucy and especially Rebecca who still had a guilty look on her face was not worth it. Instead, he just nodded his head and made for the door, wanting to get some food for all of his breakfast thrown up, but also wanting nothing more than to sleep again. His mind still felt fuzz and he was mentally exhausted.

“Desmond, you should see Dr. Sharif in the medical ward, especially if you’re still suffering from the bleeding effect,” Rebecca spoke up quietly from where she still sat.

For a split second, he was annoyed with the request, wondered why she would care about someone like him, who had nothing but blood on his hands, before he shook his head and realized that the thought had not come from him. It was from one of his ancestors. Still the urge to dismiss her concern and the concerned looks on the others was great, but he also knew that if he just brushed them off, then they would still harangue him until he went to see the base’s doctor.

“I guess,” he scratched the back of his head, a gummy feeling in his mouth that was leftover from the bile he had accidentally swallowed back down his throat when he threw up. “Which way?”

“27^th floor, take a right,” Enzo said before Desmond opened the door and left, closing it behind him.

He quickly walked past the gym and the cafeteria, ignoring the looks of a few people who flattened themselves by the walls of the narrow corridors as he sped by. He knew he probably looked like shit and judging by how he felt, his own assessment was probably right. At least he didn’t pass out in front of the big wigs this time. Still he could not help but wonder about Enzo. Was his own skills as an assassin, absorbing the memories of two full lifetimes of his infamous ancestors a credit to seeing through the apparent lies the man was saying or was it something else?

What did the flamboyant, but well groomed man had to hide that he was lying about certain things within the Assassin Order? Better the question was, why bring it up now when he was in the midst of his Animus sessions and then nearly violently ejected. Shaking his head mostly to himself, he swiped his card and got into the elevator, taking him down to the 27^th floor.

As soon as the doors opened, he got out and turned right and immediately saw signs and arrows pointing helpfully to the medical ward on the base. Desmond wrinkled his nose a bit at the sterile smell that filled the air as soon as he walked into the spacious area that was probably the medical ward. Curtains were drawn in various sections of the spacious room and several doors lined the other side. Two of them even had unlit boxes that said [IN USE].

It was a quiet bustle of nurses and doctors that wandered to and fro the area before one particular nurse came up to him, a friendly smile on his face. “What can I do for you Mister…?”

“Desmond, Desmond Miles. I was told I could find a Dr. Sharif?” he looked around for any man who looked like a doctor and was probably Indian based on his limited knowledge of the last name. At least it sounded Indian to him. He wasn’t prejudiced or anything, but he couldn’t quite figure out last names or anything. His own last name was simple and had roots in old English, but he knew that his skin and hair color were by far different than his Anglo-Saxon roots; especially with Altaїr and Ezio sitting in his head. Arabic and Italian roots nonetheless. And even farther back, he did not know where his roots came from.

“Oh, she’s in her office. Just go through there and it’s the first door to your left,” the nurse pointed out past a couple of beds that held two servicemen, one with a broken foot, the other with a broken arm.

“Thanks,” Desmond replied before heading towards the direction the nurse pointed, a bit chagrined that he thought Dr. Sharif was a male doctor and instead was a female doctor. You shouldn’t assume things, it’ll make an ass out of you and me, he remembered one of the many sayings a customer had told him when he had been bartending.

He found the doctor’s nameplate on the wall next to her door. [Major Ilana Sharif, CMO, M.D.] Knocking gently on it, he waited a beat before a feminine voice told him he could come in. Desmond opened the door and was promptly surprised to see such a young looking Middle Eastern woman sitting at her desk, writing on a few pieces of paper.

“What can I do…you’re Desmond Miles, aren’t you?” her voice was lilting and soft, but they carried a hint of power in them that he felt was oddly familiar.

Actually looking at her more closely, he could see that she looked a bit like Dr. Patrice. In fact, the two of them could pass for mother and daughter if possible given the age difference. He realized that he had been staring at her instead of answering her question and coughed loudly into his hand. “Uh, yeah,” he replied, “you knew I was coming?”

“First thing the CMO on the base needs to know is who’s coming in and who’s going out, especially with all of the refugees we have from Templar attacks,” she smiled brightly at him, before gesturing for him to close the door and he did so.

“Um, sorry for saying this, but, you look a lot, um, younger-“

“Than what you were expecting a Chief Medical Officer to be?” she finished his question before shaking her head, her black ringlets bouncing around her shoulders. “Everyone says that, but I’m guessing it’s probably in my parents’ genes or something.”

“Let me guess,” Desmond felt at ease with her words and moved to sit down in one of the chairs in front of her desk, “Dr. Patrice, your mother?”

She laughed, and half covered her mouth, “Everyone says that too. But no, the good General, excuse me, Doctor, and I happen to look similar, that’s it. Must be genetics again. Don’t worry, you’re not the first one to think of it and you won’t be the last.”

“Okay,” he replied, settling into the chair before remembering why he was here and straightened slightly, “I’m probably assuming a lot, but since you’re the CMO, you’ve probably heard about the incident in the briefing room yesterday, right?”

“You mean the one where you said you saw Roman cavalry forces riding somewhere and then you nearly collapsed because of the Bleeding Effect?” she stated simply and bluntly, yet somehow, her words didn’t seem to affect Desmond as much as he thought it should. The way she had spoken it, it was somehow calming and reassuring.

“I’ve been studying the Bleeding Effect ever since Abstergo’s been capturing Assassins to study using the Animus. Each one of them, with the exception of your predecessor, Subject Sixteen, had varying amounts of Bleeding based on the information packets we received from our inside spy. When Subject Sixteen and you were brought in, our new spy, Lucy, was able to send the same packets, but with more information,” she pushed aside some of her papers and tapped away on her keyboard.

Desmond couldn’t see the computer monitor, but saw reels of data reflect themselves off of her glasses from the screen as she brought up the necessary files. However, he realized that she had left her statement at that and was puzzled. “Well?”

“Hold on, young man,” she gave him a quick grin before turning back to the screen and clicked a few times with her mouse. This time, Desmond instantly recognized the small images that reflected off of her glasses. They weren’t readable, but could see the bloody imprints of what his predecessor left behind on the walls. They were a darker shade of red instead of the bright pinkish-hued red he saw with his Eagle Vision, and realized that it was the literal blood splattered patterns, probably taken just as the Abstergo employees discovered Sixteen’s death.

He glanced at Dr. Sharif as she sighed and shook her head, clicking through the images, “Poor man…the bastards pushed him too hard to quickly.”

There was something about her tone that made Desmond realize that this was more than an Assassin matter to the good doctor. This was personal…and Dr. Sharif had a personal relationship with the mysterious Subject Sixteen. “It’s personal, isn’t it?” he murmured quietly and was rewarded with surprise flitting across her face before she stared at him.

“Very astute, Desmond,” she folded her hands across her desk and nodded once, “yes it’s personal for me, especially for the one you all called Subject Sixteen. I trained him, back at the Farm, personally. So to see my apprentice, captured, tortured, put through hell and even far worst things; driven to madness to finally commit suicide, it is personal.”

“The Farm?” something in his mind clicked. He knew he should remember something about Subject Sixteen and the place he had grown up in. But all he remembered was the fuzzy memories of his childhood and the need to get away from it all.

“I’m surprised that Lucy never mentioned anything to you about it,” Dr. Sharif pinned him with a simple gaze and suddenly Desmond felt very trapped. But what kind of trap he had walked into, he did not know. However, he knew he would not like what came next.

“Desmond, Subject Sixteen was your brother.”

* * *

He walked with an air of authority, but also of casualness. Nodding congenial smiles and little waves of greetings towards the various personnel on the base, he slowly made his way towards the elevators. A part of him hoped that he would not run into any of the senior personnel as he made his way out, yet an even more defiant part of him hoped that he did so he could finally tell them to shove it where the sun did not belong, along with a few choice swears he had preserved from long ago.

Many of the personnel greeted him back, knowing him as a very friendly and talkative face, if not a little snobbish. That was fine by him as it was the mask he wore almost constantly since the discovery of the Prophet. He played his part well, he knew that for certain, and the others did not suspect a single thing. His only hope though, was that the Prophet would be able to fulfill his destiny even though the costs were so high. It was the only way to end this nightmare he had been living in for so long.

Swiping his card he got onto the elevator and took it to the top level, breathing a quiet sigh of relief when no one else got onto the elevator. To everyone including the security cameras, he was just going out for a little drive and that was that. Exiting the elevator, he had to allow himself a grin of enjoyment at the sight of his Alfa Romero, nestled in the corner of the spacious parking lot. It was one of the few things he truly enjoyed in his life.

Getting into his car, he started the engine and allowed himself a moment to enjoy the roaring purr. “Good girl,” he patted the stick shift of his car before setting it in gear and peeled out of the garage.

Pulling up to the gate, he stopped the car and grinned for the security cameras as one of the two guards came out to check his ID. “Hello, lovely, fancy a ride?” he smiled at the dark-brown haired young woman who had a hawkish gaze and the nametag of her BDUs read [ALLEN].

“No thank you,” she replied her tone icy, but as she gave him his ID back he saw with his quick eyes that she had slipped him something else on a small card the size of his ID. Masterfully pocketing it without showing it to the cameras, he shrugged and maintained his cheerful, flirtatious façade.

“Too bad,” he shrugged, “these drives get awfully lonely.”

To his infinite amusement, he was rewarded with the slight coloring of her cheeks before she glared at him and headed back to the guard house. Her fellow soldier who had been privy to the whole exchange was laughing and only stopped by a rough shove from her with the butt of her P90.

He smirked at the whole exchange before stepping on the clutch and putting the car into gear once more. Releasing the clutch, he hit the accelerator and sped off, shifting into higher and higher gears as he drove through the mountainous roads and towards his destination. The wind whipped at his hair as he drove opposite of the setting sun, passing by Colorado Springs, and turned northward on the interstate.

Merging onto the interstate, he soon settled himself into a comfortable speed and pulled out a small earpiece. Pushing a button to activate it, he inserted it into his right ear before reaching down and pressed a series of buttons on the radio panel of his car. Immediately a series of lights activated before winking out twice. He finally pulled out the card that had been secretly slipped to him and ran his fingers over the small bumps, feeling it from left to right.

The Braille bumps were rough against his skin, but he felt out the necessary information he needed hidden within before tossing the card out of the open window, letting it fly into the wilderness where it promptly was used as an impromptu fly swatter against a hapless giant horsefly. Punching in the corresponding numbers and letters on the card, he was rewarded a few seconds later with a slight click in his earpiece.

“Code clear,” came a quiet voice, as clear as ever even though the winds were whipping a loud roaring sound throughout his car. But he was too trained to let such noise distract him and instead, focused on the voice.

“He was sent to her,” he replied, finally allowing himself to drop the façade he had created for such a long time. It was only talking with certain people did he allow his true self to show through. They were just like him, the ones who knew what was to come and what was to happen. Even some of the others, the good doctor included, he did not allow his innermost self to show through. But with the voice on the other end, he knew that he had an ally.

“So it has begun,” the formal intonation, coupled with the accented English made it occasionally hard for him decipher the words, but nonetheless he was used to it.

“And the others?” he asked.

“They are safe,” was the reply, “for now.”

“I do not like the sound of that,” he frowned, passing another car before merging back into the proper lane.

“The assault has alerted them to enclaves in the region,” his companion on the other side of the line replied.

“Not good,” he murmured mostly to himself, but he knew just as well that the other person could hear it, if not better than he could.

The barest snort of laughter issued across the connection and he had to smile. It was rare to hear his companion laugh if at all about anything these days; whether it be bitter laughter or even sarcasm to him it was still a laugh nonetheless. Silence rolled across the connection before he spoke up again, knowing that his companion was too proud to even voice a question of his own.

“He is fine, though a bit addled-brained. Had a slight scare this morning, but he successfully accessed her memories.”

“That quickly.”

“He is also learning at a faster rate than previously thought. He will be removed before that happens,” he reassured the person on the other side of the line.

“Do not forget to bring it,” was the stern caution.

“And you keep it safe,” he added his own caution.

“Nothing is true.”

“Everything is permitted,” he replied before punching a button on his radio panel, immediately cutting the connection. Taking the earpiece out, he turned it off before putting it in a hidden compartment that was underneath his signal clicker. Reaching over, he tapped a few more buttons before bringing his radio to life and the music of a local station blared in his car.

He continued his drive along the interstate. After all, there was still time to enjoy a night drive, especially since it was calm and peaceful. He knew that in less than three months, he may not get the chance ever again to drive the open roads.

* * *

The person on the other side of the line heard the click of the connection being killed and shut off his own carrier and scrambler. He pushed his chair back and adjusted the hood of his outfit before stepping out of the shack he had been occupying. It was on the corner and outermost edges of the compound he was in and most if not all of the children avoided the area due to rumors of ghosts and otherworldly creatures inhabiting the area.

To him, he knew that it was only the wind howling its mournful song, pushed through the tight earthen mounds that surrounded the area. Wrapping his light brown cloak closer to his body as he stepped out of the shack and towards the more civilized areas of the compound, he bunched himself against a sudden gust of wind. The sand and dust thudded lightly against his cloak and against the hood he wore, but it did not bother him.

He liked the desert and its arid climate. It reminded him so long of home, a home he knew was forever gone to him. Allowing himself a measure of contemplative thought, it was good to hear the other man’s voice again, after months without communication. He knew what the others told him through their daily reports to him and his own daily reports back, but to hear from the other man, it told him the real news and situation at hand.

It would be happening soon now. And as much as the others denied it, he welcomed it and was ready for it. Soon, the fight would end, and he would be able to rest. It had taken them so long to prepare for it, and he had thought he would have second thoughts, but oddly none came. He was prepared and was ready. Allowing himself a brief smile to flit across his face, he knew that the Prophet would be able to make things right.

But first things first, they had to make sure he survived.

* * *

Author’s Notes:

And the plot really thickens. Everything will make sense and I’m sure all of you have guesses as to what’s really going on and who is who. I can’t answer any of those guesses if you put them in your reviews, but I will acknowledge them. ^_^ And there is a logical explanation for Subject Sixteen’s familial connection to Desmond that will be answered right away in the next chapter. See you then!

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Story:

Chapter 5 – Ancestors

“Desmond, Subject Sixteen was your brother.”

“What the fuck,” Desmond swore, staring at Dr. Sharif as if she had grown another head. “You have got to be fucking kidding me. My brother?!”

“Let me explain-“

“I don’t even have a fucking brother that I know of or remember!” Desmond leapt to his feet, glaring down at her, “that’s got to be some sick joke you’re playing at.”

“Desmond!” her voice grew sharp and shot through his angry haze. There it was again, a part of him whispered, the voice of power and authority; eerily familiar, yet so foreign at the same time. However, he pushed the thought away and instead stared at her balefully. “Desmond,” she tried again, her tone normal, but still a bit pitched, “he was your half brother, not your full brother.”

“Which side?” he demanded, wondering why his father or mother never told him that he had a half brother, “and if he is, how could the most common ancestor we share from back then is Ezio Auditore?”

“Your mother’s side,” Dr. Sharif gestured for him to sit down again and he did so with the utmost reluctance. His head was feeling muzzy again and he realized that his stomach was growling now from the lack of food. “As far as we know, your mother was your father’s second wife after his first one died in childbirth after giving birth to a stillborn baby.”

“Stillborn? Second wife?” Desmond whispered as faint images of his parents that he barely remembered coming to his mind.

“Yes,” Dr. Sharif nodded once, “your mother’s first husband was killed serving the Assassin Order of this modern day.”

“Doing what?”

“Serving his country overseas,” she replied, “but that’s nothing for you to be concerned about. We believe your mother’s genealogy traced back to Ezio Auditore, and from him, to Ezio’s mother, Maria Auditore, who was apparently descended from another Assassin family line, but did not exhibit the abilities that your line from Giovanni Auditore and Altaїr Ibn la-Ahad had strongly showed. That’s why Lucy said the earliest of your common ancestors was Ezio and not anyone before that.”

It took Desmond a moment to comprehend the crossing of lineages and the re-crossing implications from both the past and through his parents to fully understand what had happened. “So you’re saying, Ezio had at least two kids, one of whom was my dad’s line, the other whom became my mom’s line?”

“Yes,” the doctor nodded, “your mother and your father could be very distantly related cousins, but have the most common of ancestors.”

“So from there, before Ezio, my mom’s ancestor would be from Maria Auditore and my dad’s obviously from Giovanni?”

“That is correct,” she patted him lightly on the hand, “do not worry yourself about who married whom back then.”

“So…Sixteen is my half brother? Taking only my mom’s Assassin ancestors through him?” he felt like he was missing a piece of a puzzle, but it wasn’t the one he was trying to piece his mind around.

“Yes, otherwise, if he was your full brother, he would have the earliest genetic memory of Altaїr,” the doctor pointed out and Desmond nodded hesitantly. The next question was just as logical.

“What’s his name?”

“Alexander Roche,” she gave him a sad smile, “and he was one of my best students that I had ever trained.”

He had almost forgotten that the doctor had trained his…half-brother. The revelation of Subject Sixteen’s familial connection was still too fresh and too new for him to fully comprehend. It was as if someone had belted him in the head with the information and expected him to absorb it sitting in the good doctor’s office with a congenial smile on his face. But aside from that, his curiosity got the better of him, “What…was he going to do? Or what did you guys have him do?”

“Field agent, general public ops,” the doctor shrugged, “he was civilian, not military like myself and some of the other higher ranked Assassins, a really good public speaker too. In his state, he was going to run for governor in the next election year before Abstergo captured him.” She shook her head, “They caught him by bringing down one of the Cessnas he liked to fly, called it an accident, similar to what they did with John F. Kennedy Jr. all those years ago.”

“You mean his death wasn’t due to fog or an accident in instruments?”

“Of course not,” Dr. Sharif barked out a bitter laugh, “he is the son of one of our Assassin allies and we had been thinking of inducting him into our Order for some time now, after the assassination of his father in Dallas. The Templars caught wind of our plans and had him eliminated. They did the same with Alexander’s Cessna, except he wasn’t as publicly known then so it made the mention of the local markets, but that was all.”

The bloodied images of the glyphs that Subject, no, Alexander had painted with his own blood gave a slightly inhuman look to the doctor’s eyes, but she just as quickly shook her head and gave him a smile that did not quite reach her eyes, “Forgive me Desmond. Here we are, talking about my problems, when it is you whom we should focus on.”

“By all means, Alexander seems to be an interesting person. Lucy didn’t mention him much, but I’m sure he’s very important,” Desmond didn’t want to admit it, but when Dr. Sharif had talked about Alexander, it had taken his mind off of his own problems, and seemed to make some of the fuzziness that was clouding his mind clear away.

“She has her own reasons,” the doctor smiled slightly, “I’m sure if you ask her…”

“Probably not, I get the feeling she doesn’t want to talk about Alexander,” Desmond knew that the others had heard Sixteen’s haunting message when the final glyph was translated before the composite video of Adam and Eve appeared. It was a farewell to Lucy and he had a feeling that hearing Alexander’s voice again must had dredged up some pretty serious memories for her.

“Ask her, she knows a lot about your brother than even I do,” the doctor shrugged before clicking on a few of the bloodied images, “all right, back to you, Desmond. In your recent Animus session, have you been feeling off in any way or shape?”

Desmond opened his mouth before closing it, wondering how much should he disclose to the doctor. He knew that she was part of the Assassin Order, but she was also military and that meant that whatever he said was probably going to be reported up to Dr. Patrice and the other big wigs. Somehow, the idea that the heads of the Order finding out about his condition wasn’t as appealing as concealing it and letting himself deal with it on his own.

“If you’re worried that this is going to find its way up to Dr. Patrice’s desk, you’re sorely mistaken,” Dr. Sharif seemed to read his mind, “I do still take the Hippocratic Oath to help anyone, including if a Templar came stumbling in here injured, and patient confidentiality still exists.”

Desmond stared at her for a few seconds before a part of him whispered that she could be trusted, to a certain degree. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the air out of his nose and opened his mouth, “My mind feels fuzzy, like it’s clouded with something, making everything muddled and seemingly out of focus. Back in the warehouse, I saw images of horses, soldiers riding with pikes. Even Crusaders back in Altaїr’s time were sometimes there.”

“Go on,” the doctor stared intently at him.

“When I went into the Animus just this morning,” Desmond hesitated before plowing on, “for a few minutes, I thought I was my ancestor, not the other way around. I thought I was actually there, not like some out of body experience I usually got with Altaїr and occasionally Ezio.”

“What do you mean occasionally with Ezio Auditore?”

“Well,” Desmond scratched the back of his neck, unsure as to explain how he felt when he was exploring Ezio’s memories back at the warehouse, “Lucy started me from when Ezio was just born, hoping I could pick up some of his skills as he aged and got better at his job. I went along with it, but something, somehow, maybe when I reached Venice or maybe when I was able to wear the armor Altaїr left behind, I felt like I was in Italy, not at the warehouse. Only the fact that Alexander’s glyphs in the memory files was keeping me ground in somewhat of a reality for the most part…”

“Glyphs? What glyphs?” the doctor’s brows knitted in concern.

“Oh, um,” Desmond realized that while Lucy may have theoretically told Dr. Patrice and the other big wigs of the Order, things hadn’t quite filtered down. After all, it was only just yesterday that they had arrived at the base. To Desmond it had felt a lot longer for some odd reason. It had to be a side effect of the Animus or something like that. He wondered if he should tell the doctor about the glyphs, but after a few minutes of indecision decided that he was going to no matter what. Like the doctor said, she was both the CMO and Alexander’s trainer, so denying her access to what could be a crucial part of the closure she could have been seeking would be cruel. Plus, it had something to do with the symbols that Sixteen drawn with his own blood.

“Those symbols,” he half got up and reached around to point at the images on her computer screen, “they were inside Ezio’s memory files. Like you said, it seemed that our first common ancestor was Ezio and I don’t know, but maybe he caught a glimpse of the future or whatever and saw that I would be the next subject on the table? Still haven’t figured that part out yet.”

Truth be told, Desmond had not even allowed himself to even think of anything at all related to the symbols, too concentrated on absorbing Ezio’s memories and allowing the bleeding effect to train him into an assassin. He didn’t even want to think of the implications that somehow Sixteen knew that he was going to be Abstergo’s next subject and guest at their little house of horrors.

“How? The files couldn’t have been hacked into. Lucy may have known your familial relationship once you had been captured, but even she doesn’t have the capacity to hack into the Animus. Few of us do,” Dr. Sharif looked concerned.

“I don’t know how he did it, but when I was exploring Ezio’s memories, it seems that his session in the Animus got somehow maybe blended, I dunno, into mine and there were these random symbols littered all over Italy’s major cities, like he knew someone was going to find them with the Animus,” Desmond tried to keep the slight panic out of his voice as he tried to explain to Dr. Sharif what he had seen.

“And?”

“Every time I used the eagle vision to see into them, Alexander’s voice popped up, speaking of different historical figures, other Pieces of Eden used throughout history and mankind. Tesla was one of the Assassins, or at least someone who helped out the Assassins and it was he who caused Tunguska to happen,” he still could not quite wrap his head around the fact of so many historical figures, even Presidents of the United States, were either allied with the Templars or Assassins or were working for them. Hell even Hitler was a Templar who had gone rogue, much like Al Mualim had back in Altaїr’s days.

“He left puzzles for me to decipher and once they were finished, a fragmented memory appeared. We didn’t know what it was at first until I found the last one and it showed I think the first ever memory of both the Assassins and Templars…Adam and Eve…” Desmond had never spoken those names out loud in that context before, but now that he had said it, he felt an odd sense of overwhelming relief, like sharing with someone else the knowledge that Adam and Eve were real, yet not made in the image of God from the Bible.

“You sure this was the first ever memory?” the doctor looked at him shrewdly.

“Unless you know any other significant Adam and Eve figures? I’m guessing, probably yeah,” Desmond scratched the back of his head, “I can tell Lucy to show you the files, though I think she probably wanted to show it to Dr. Patrice first.”

“When you have the time Desmond,” the doctor inclined her head slightly murmuring, “I am curious about the potential of our origin and how it may relate to everything happening in this modern day.” Pulling herself out of her thoughts with a gentle shake of her head, she clicked on a few buttons and the images of the blood-painted glyphs disappeared, replaced by lines of text too small for Desmond to see off of the reflection of her glasses. “Now, let’s see if I can help ease the symptoms of the Bleeding Effect for you.”

“You can do that?”

“It’s only a temporary stop gap. The more you use the Animus, the less my methods may be able to help you,” she looked at him, “based on the information I received from Dr. Patrice and Mr. Meridius, you and Lucy have been planning to use the Animus to train yourself up to our standards, right?”

“Yeah…”

“And from the reports we got from Lucy, Shaun, and Rebecca, you acquitted yourself fairly well with the current abilities you absorbed from your time in the Animus with both Altaїr and Ezio. Gaining control of your ancestor’s special ability to see the intentions of others-“

“The Eagle Vision…” it was the first thing that Desmond had ‘acquired’ from his ancestor.

“No doubt named by Dr. Vidic, I presume. That man always had a flare for the dramatic,” Dr. Sharif rolled her eyes, “fine then, the Eagle Vision.”

“And then some of the basic free-running abilities from both Altaїr and Ezio as well as Ezio’s skills with the hidden blade,” the doctor scrolled through the text, “though it doesn’t say here whether or not you have Ezio’s ability with the blade and various other weapons.”

“Didn’t get to test it out yet,” Desmond shrugged before adding in a softer tone, “don’t know if I want to.”

However, the doctor picked up on his mutterings and sent him a sympathetic smile, “I understand. If I was in your position, I wouldn’t want to test it either. But we have to know how far you’ve progressed in order for me to figure out the best way to dampen the flow of your ancesteral memories.” She lifted her hand from her mouse and folded her hands on the table, turning slightly to face him. “The first basic thing is that I would stop using the Animus.”

“But-“

“I don’t care what Dr. Patrice, Lucy, or anyone else says. Even yourself for that matter. Our leader and the rest of the leadership may think that you are our Messiah, but right now, you are my patient and you will not use the Animus for the next few days.”

“Yeah but…” Desmond trailed off as he remembered just arguing with Lucy this morning about his Animus time. She had said that he needed rest, but conceded for him to spend time flying around Forli. That had ended up well…

“Desmond, think about it,” he met the doctor’s eyes, “thirteen days ago, you were bartending. Twelve days ago you started your Animus sessions and have never let up at all. Shaun’s report stated that you were in the Animus while on your drive across the United States to here. Granted, Alexander’s Animus’ sessions were long, similar like yours, but he had been subjected to it for nearly twenty-four hours at a time, barely even getting a chance to rest. At this rate, even just loading up the Animus in your state of mind would trigger the Bleeding Effect.”

When she put it like that Desmond couldn’t disagree with her. She was right…he had literally been in and out of the Animus since his capture by Abstergo. There were breaks in between sessions, and he had been allowed to sleep and recover, but it was a grueling pace he realized. And he had no doubt that the little hiccup in the Animus’ systems this morning, dragging him from the picturesque Italian countryside to a rain-soaked dirty London, was probably caused by the Bleeding Effect.

“I’m going to tell Dr. Patrice and the others that if you even approach the Animus room for the next three days, you will be forcibly removed and confined to your quarters. If you continue to persist and somehow escape your quarters, don’t think you can try with your fledgingly assassin skills under the noses of a base full of assassins; you will have an armed escort with you at all times.”

“I get it, I get it,” Desmond somehow felt torn, yet grateful that Dr. Sharif was giving him orders not to even go near the Animus. But the part of him that felt torn wanted to go back in, wanted to explore more memories and learn all that he could learn. He wanted to learn the skills to become an assassin and strike back at Abstergo for fucking up his life. Yet the part of him that was grateful was so afraid of losing his own sanity and mind, of becoming like Subject Sixteen, his half-brother Alexander.

“Good,” she sat back in her seat, “it’ll probably take me that long to figure out a way to dampen the Bleeding Effect. Have one of the nurses outside draw a few vials of your blood so I can analyze it.”

“That’s it?”

The doctor shrugged, “I may need to do a lumbar puncture if the blood doesn’t show what I’m looking for, but so far, just need the blood.”

Desmond’s eyes widened at the prospect of a lumbar puncture before shuddering slightly. For a second, he thought the doctor was going to laugh and say it was a joke, but her face remained as it was and he realized that she was serious. “Really?”

“Desmond, the Animus affects your brain and your nervous system, enabling you to learn by muscle memory without even having going through the movements hundreds of times. The best way to analyze that along with an MRI is a lumbar puncture,” the doctor replied in a simple tone.

“You don’t mince words lady,” he shook his head.

“No, I don’t. It’s my job and it’s your life. I would hope to tell it to you straight without fluffy words,” she finally cracked a small smile, “now, get some sleep. Tomorrow you can explore the base, head topside, or even go to the gym to test your fledgling skills. I’m sure some of the more inexperienced soldiers posted here would like to spar with you.”

“Ha ha, very funny,” Desmond replied sarcastically, getting up from his chair. The woman sure had a very dry sense of humor. “Thanks, doc.”

“Any time, Desmond,” she nodded her head once as he headed to the door and left her office.

* * *

By the time Desmond reached his room, the blood red numbers on his clock told him that it was only just a little after seven at night. He was surprised that it was still so early at night and his stomach rumbled slightly to let him know that he was hungry, but he felt so tired. Sighing, he headed to the bathroom and changed into a pair of comfortable sweatpants and a loose tee-shirt before brushing his teeth, finally glad to be rid of that musty, acidic aftertaste of vomit that had been lingering in his mouth.

Though he was slightly embarrassed for talking with the doctor while he probably still had horrid breath, he didn’t dwell on it. Peering at himself in the mirror as he finished brushing his teeth he noticed how haggard and worn he looked with dark circles under his eyes. “Desmond, my friend, you look like shit,” he said, watching himself speak in the mirror.

A sudden impulse came over him and he grabbed a towel from the rack before draping it over his head, forming a makeshift cowl. Pulling the lip of the cowl forward just slightly, sending everything above the tip of his nose into shadows, the corner of his lip pulled into a wiry grin as he saw that indeed, his jawline, nose, and even his expression looked like a perfect blend of his ancestors, or at least the visible facial parts of his ancestors that he could see.

“My name is Ezio Auditore, you killed my father, prepared to die,” he muttered in a low and horribly accented tone, parodying a character in a movie he had seen years ago. Chuckling mostly to himself, he lifted the towel off of his head and headed out of the bathroom. Somehow, he knew that if Ezio had been alive in his time, he would not exactly appreciate the words that he had just said, but perhaps the more jovial one of his two ancestors that he knew of, would see the humor in it.

Altaїr though, he had a feeling that the Master Assassin would more than likely stab him through with a hidden blade for such a joking matter. The man was serious, he got that, and dedicated, he definitely got that, but there were times when Desmond thought that he could take the stick out of his ass and beat a Templar with it. At least he loosened up enough to fall in love with Maria, of all people, and they decided to have kids.

Flopping down onto his bed in an undignified heap, he glanced at the clock once more, wondering if he should at least get some food before turning in for the night. He technically only had one meal in the whole day, but his stomach, though growling, felt a bit soured at the prospect of having more food in it. Plus he was bone tired, Animus not withstanding. The fuzziness in his head just dampened everything else… He sighed, rolling over onto his back and pulling the covers over himself. His stomach was going to hate him in the morning for not feeding it, but as far as he was concerned, he needed the sleep.

Shutting the lights off, he closed his eyes and pulled the covers closer to him, promptly falling asleep, dreaming of all odd things, laced doilies and Victorian dress wear.

* * *

Dr. Ilana Sharif tapped a few more keys on her keyboard before finally pushing it aside, her concentration broken once more in the past several hours since Desmond Miles came to her office. Seeing him for the first time in person had been a shock to her. He looked so much like the three of them, and yet, had his own unique look that had her instantly thinking of her former pupil, Alexander Roche.

She had missed him terribly, and talking about him with Desmond had eased some of that pain, but it had also dredged up memories of that fateful day, the day before he had been captured by the Templars. She had been visiting the north east of the United States, having been stationed in Spain at that time.

They had greeted each other warmly before he had invited her to his home, a modest colonial-style house located in the suburbs of the state. It was a modest house, but for one of the richest towns in the United States, the house was very expensive. Luckily, Alexander didn’t have to worry about money, having supported himself with his current job.

She had not seen him in a long time, and was pleasantly surprised to see that in the years that had passed, he had started a family with a woman whom was well educated and they had two small children, a third one on the way. She would later on find out that the woman had no Templar or Assassin connections, just a simple civilian who was married to one of the brightest and best Assassins in this modern age.

There was the usual chit-chat, introductions, and eventual small play time with the curious children of Alexander Roche. Ilana had found herself enjoying the small wonders, having forgone progeny for a long time. It wasn’t because of her career, but rather her age and her lifestyle. Soon, their mother came to take them away, sensing that her husband and she wanted to talk alone.

She had seen no hint of jealousy that her husband was even talking with a woman who looked so young, and realized that what Alexander’s wife had was true love, pure and simple true love. She wasn’t afraid of her husband bedding another woman behind her back simply because she knew that he would not do it. She trusted him completely to be devoted to her and the children, the most basic of marital vows.

Ilana had almost cried then, having not seen such devotion in a long, long time. But she had kept her Assassin cool and years of practice behind her pleasant façade, to control her emotions.

“So, not a social call?” Alexander was a handsome man and a popular speaker, which garnered a lot of votes towards his position in office. It also explained how fast he had ascended up the ranks of the state’s representatives and why there were talks for him to become the next governor.

“The leadership is wondering whether or not you will run for governor?” she had been sent to verify the facts and information.

“Most likely yes,” Alexander replied, nodding solemnly, “not only because I believe that my state needs more stability and job growth, but also because we need a more visible presence. I’m hoping that after my governorship, I would be able to parlay that into a seat in the Senate or House and then be able to work my way into seniority to oversee some of the committees, including the ones that fund NASA and other Templar fronts we know of.”

“Ambitious,” Ilana had to smile at Alexander’s humbled front. She knew that he was always self-sacrificial, willing to place the needs of the Assassins ahead of his own goals.

“Aren’t politicians always ambitious?” he cracked a crooked smile.

“They always are,” she replied before wiping the smile from her face, “I was sent to tell you that your current rival, should you go ahead with your plans to run for governor, has Templar ties.”

“You were sent all the way from Spain to tell me that?”

“And to give you this,” she produced a small package wrapped in cloth and gave it to him. He stared at it for a moment before unwrapping it, gently lifting each layer off before the final layer revealed itself.

Ilana watched as his eyes widened in shock and he stared back and forth between her and the lance head that sat in the pool of cloth it was formerly wrapped in. “I-Iltani, I cannot accept this,” he tone was formal and shocked as he spoke her true name. “If this is what I think it is…”

“It is,” she confirmed it; “Andrew found it for us after one of his missions.”

“But-“ he suddenly looked torn and afraid.

“The rumors do not stop there,” she dropped the illusion she had manipulated in place, letting Alexander hear her true voice, see her true features, a dark haired Grecian-Babylonian look. She rarely did that in front of her former apprentice, but trusted him not to say a word to anyone, including Dr. Patrice, for breaking the rules. He had long proven himself loyal to her and she rewarded that loyalty by occasionally showing him her true self. “They say your rival has the backing of Abstergo.”

“Templars,” his eyes met hers, “and you think there may be a chance they know who I am?”

“Yes,” she nodded once, “the others want you to continue your plans, but if something should happen…”

“Use in case of emergency,” he replied, his humor dark, hefting the blade, but unwilling to let his own hands touch the lance head. She admired his restraint in even touching the Piece of Eden that was the lance head of the fabled Lance of Longinus.

Dr. Sharif pulled herself out of that fateful memory with a quick shake of her head. That had been the last time she had ever talked to Alexander. The next day she had left back for Spain and the day after, they received news of a deranged murderer who broke into the Roche’s house, killing his wife, unborn child, and one of his children executioner style before kidnapping Alexander and spiriting him away.

The police called it one of the most brutal murders he had ever seen, and several months had been spent searching for Alexander. By the time they found his body, his wrists had been slashed open multiple times and the coroner said it was suicide, probably from witnessing his family’s deaths.

No one could find the killers, but the Assassin Order knew that it was Templars who had killed Alexander’s young family and who had kidnapped him for their Animus experiments at Abstergo. Lucy had been sending messages out to them and there were several squads sent to try to rescue him, but in the end, they had failed.

In the end, the only survivor of Alexander’s family was his youngest daughter, just three years old and barely able to talk, found amongst the dead bodies of his mother and older brother, clutching what appeared to be a baby blanket. To the Assassins’ surprise, in the blanket was the lance head, still intact and not stolen from the house as they had originally thought it would be. It seemed that in Alexander’s last act to protect the Assassins, he had entrusted one of the Pieces of Eden to his daughter.

And now…

“Auntie Iltani?” her voice made her turn to the door to see seven-year-old Tabitha Roche, the last surviving member of Alexander’s line standing there, the lance head in a sheath across her back.

“Coming sweetheart,” she replied, shutting off her station and walking over to the young girl. She had killed many people in her day, including Alexander the Great with poison, but she had not aged since the Greek Emperor’s death. Yet, this girl had miraculously survived and even bonded with such a powerful object and still aged. She did not believe in fate or in God, but she believed that someone wanted the girl to live, if for her sake. To Iltani, it would be the ultimately discovery, not for immortality purposes, but to finally be able to die.

* * *

Author’s Notes:

Taking a quick hiatus from this story to re-work the initial outline of this story. It’s not as solid as I would like it to be so I’m going to take this off of the fanfic rotation for one revolution before putting it back on again. Next chapter should be coming in October if my calculations are correct or late September. Thank you for those of you who’ve reviewed, added to favorites, or even added to author alert. I love you guys!

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Story:

Chapter 6 – Purpose

Desmond awoke rather violently, accidentally tipping himself out of bed and crashed to the ground in a heap of blankets. He flailed for a few seconds, panic filling him as he thought he had been trapped or worst, recaptured by Abstergo before he managed to yank the blankets off of his head and realized he was still in his bedroom. Sighing loudly, he shook his head wordlessly and lifted himself back onto his bed, scraping his blankets with him in a messy pile.

“There goes sleep,” he groused mostly to himself as he stared at the clock, its blood-red lights saying [07:45]. He wanted to sleep longer, but something had made him start rather violently and fall out of his bed. He hated when he had dreams that did that to him. They were usually the vivid ones he could remember and more often than not, those dreams came to him whenever he was sick with a fever or had a little too much to drink after all of the customers had gone home from the bar he had tended to before Abstergo captured him.

Closing his eyes, he scrubbed his face for a few seconds before breathing out quietly and sat with his hands crossed in front of him concentrating. The best way he knew to prevent himself from waking up with a start for a while was to figure out the most recent dream he had and replay it in his mind until he had committed it to memory or had pushed it away so it faded on its own.

He searched out his most recent dream, seeing flashes of bits and pieces of it in his mind's eye before he concentrated and saw the flash of a knife, spurts of blood, followed by the sound of a gurgling hiss of death. Desmond felt his own breath catch as he realized that it was not a dream that had woken him up by making his own body topple to the floor, but rather, it was his ancestor's memories. More specifically, it was the Victorian-era girl, Arden that he had accessed during his sleep.

The perpetual cold rain in the autumnal months of England was perfect for this kill. The blood would wash away and the rain provided minimal discomfort. The only thing she had to worry about was making sure her blade was true in the slickness of the rain. She had been killing for her Master for the past three months now, after her first kill by the bakery all those months ago.

She had also learned much from her mysterious Master who had taken her under his wing; for example that her mother was part of a group who called themselves the Assassin Order, dating past the Third Crusade and extending all the way into antiquity. Her Master was one of their key members, more of a field agent, but occasionally took a few apprentices. He had never said who his other apprentices were, but she knew that he had to have trained others.

Surprisingly the housekeeper, Mrs. Huston was also part of the Order, but trained her in a different aspect of the Assassin Order. She had been assigned to train her to become a lady in the day's society. She had nearly balked at that, saying that her late mother had trained her before her Master had insisted she learn from Mrs. Huston. The first few weeks were a living hell, for the both of them as she had refused to obey the grey-haired woman, preferring the blade that she had been given than anything else.

It was after another day of locking herself up in her room and refusing to come out that Mrs. Huston had told her the story of her mother's origins through the closed door. She had learned that her mother and even her father whom she did not know, were part of the Assassin Order and that her mother was well liked by the rest of the Order. She had only chosen the route of a prostitute because it gave the greatest access to information they needed to combat the Knights Templar whom she learned controlled almost every aspect of English society. And not only English society, but also a lot of the world's leaders and their governments too.

She had learned that the Knights Templar were behind the recent assassination of the United States' president, Abraham Lincoln and there were even key Parliament members who were openly Knights Templar. After that lesson, she had asked her Master why did they not kill them and he had replied that to do so would turn all members of the Assassin Order into wanted fugitives and they would not be able to combat the Templars anymore. They needed to subvert the Templars who were visible and popular in a more informational way or barring that, certain 'accidents' had to happen.

So she had asked how could she help in this endeavor and had received a couple of assignments from her Master. She instantly knew that these were simple ones, but they were also tests, given directly by whoever was in charge of the Assassin Order in this day and age. But she would complete them to the best of her ability, hoping for the day when the Assassins would send her to kill Jack the Ripper, the Templar assassin who had been contracted to kill her mother. That was her life's goal.

She knew that the Assassins had not dealt with Jack yet because of the things she had read in the papers recently. There had been two more deaths of women in the same area her mother had died, all with the same type of wounds inflicted upon their bodies. The bobbies were baffled and many decried the lack of Scotland Yard's efforts to find the killer. However, the press were having a field day, rampant speculation driving up sales of the papers.

Her Master had promised her revenge for Jack's slaying of her mother and she intended to hold him to that promise. She had a name of the organization of those she had been to kill and she had a purpose to her life. The girl who had cried and screamed her voice out three months ago was gone, buried deeply within, never to be seen again. “I am an Assassin,” she whispered, a feral smile on her face as she stalked her current prey.

He was a simple business man and through the training she had received, she learned that he had shadier deals that were connected to another mission her Master was pursuing for the Assassin Order. She was to remove him so it would make her Master's mission easier. She had her eye on her target, even in the crowded street that she walked in, dressed as a paper courier. Through a special way of looking at things taught to her by her Master, her target stood out like a glowing yellow beacon amidst the greys of ordinary people. Her long tresses were tightened under the cap she wore and she had smudged dirt on her face.

She had been patrolling up and down this particular section of London, near the Thames River for the past couple of days, familiarizing herself with the layout in case her assassination attempt did not go as well as she had hoped. Of course, she was not the only Assassin in the streets. One of the many lessons her Master and Mrs. Huston had introduced her to was that many of the citizens of London and the whole of England occasionally helped the Assassin Order as informants or provided the necessary distractions from police who were too curious for their own good.

They even had several members of Scotland Yard who were in the Assassin's employ and pay. The tip of her hat to one of the officers made him nod in greeting as she passed by. His name was Ciaran she had learned, and he had been helping her Master for a long while. He was the one who had brought her to him the night she had witnessed her mother's death. Ciaran stood out in her unique vision as a starkly blue-hued person, an ally. There were dots of red in the far distance, enemies she had learned to identify, but most likely bobbies and other law enforcement officials.

Sucking in a quick breath she let it out slowly and hurried her footsteps, her left hand unconsciously fingering the trigger to release the hidden blade of the bracer that was covered by the sleeve of the woolen jacket she wore. It was time.

She steadily quickened her pace until she was in a dead run her eyes sharp on her glowing target. To any other passerby she looked like a newspaper boy running like all the others. Releasing the catch of the blade in her bracer, she splayed her fingers out as it extended before she suddenly swerved across her target and raked her left arm across her throat. A messy spill of blood splattered onto her fingers and the sleeve of her dark jacket, but she ignored the warm sticky feeling and released the catch of the blade, sending it back into its sheath before continuing on without pause.

As she disappeared into the crowd, she let her vision fade to the normal colors of the dreary London streets and heard the distant screams of those who had just saw a man fall to the ground, clawing at his throat as his life's blood spilled out before falling deathly still, dead. She allowed the feral smile on her lips to grow just a hint wider as she turned down several streets and disappeared deeper into London, her job complete.

Desmond shook himself out of the trance he had put himself in and opened his eyes once more. A glance at the clock told him that only ten minutes had passed since he had killed the man, no, since Arden had killed the man with brutal and swift efficiency. She had not paused to give the dead man comfort or even asked his intentions like Ezio or Altaїr had during their kills. No, this particular ancestor got the job done and that was that.

He felt a slight shudder of revulsion fill him. He would have thought the young woman would have been a bit more remorseful, but it seemed that she was the complete opposite of his previous two ancestors whose memories he had explored. There was none of the graceful artistry and finesse displayed by Altaїr nor the arrogant flair that was Ezio's trademark, just brutal, cold, killer efficiency.

“She is fucked up man,” he muttered to himself as he pushed himself off of his bed and tried to compartmentalize the memories he had just accessed. That was why he had woken up with a start. He had been used to the way his ancestors killed, but Arden's way had startled him.

Shaking his head, he quickly showered and changed into his clothes before heading out of his room. He barely gave the two MPs standing outside his door a second glance, but did absently wave at them as he made his way to the mess hall once more. This time there was definitely a healthy looking crowd of military and civilian personnel, but none paid him any attention as he grabbed some food and sat down in a corner.

He noticed that someone had left a copy of the day's Denver Post and picked it up, glad for at least some news. His days of working at the bar meant that during Happy Hour and weekends, he watched all of the sports games that others wanted to watch, but when the bar was winding down late at night was when he would flip the channel to the local news, eager to learn what was going on in the wide world.

The 2012 Election was coming up and a fat heavy section of the paper was devoted to the latest Presidential race. Desmond ignored that, politics not really his thing, though a part of him did wonder if the candidates running for office were either Templar or Assassin affiliated. Instead, he turned to the national news page and read a bit, eating his bowl of oatmeal and fruit with half a mind.

“You shouldn't throw away the politics page, Desmond,” a deep and unfamiliar voice made him glance up from his paper to see Mr. Meridius standing by his table, holding a tray of breakfast foods.

“Uh, hi Mr. Meridius,” Desmond wondered if the man ever changed out of his three-piece business suit as he was wearing another freshly pressed one. In fact, he looked a bit comically out of place in a sea of civilians in lab coats or even military personnel in BDUs.

“Do you mind if I join you?” the man asked.

“Sure, go ahead,” Desmond shrugged and watched him take a seat and take the politics section of the paper, spreading it out in front of him.

“You can call me Leo, Desmond. Mr. Meridius sounds too formal and makes me feel like an ancient school teacher,” the older man grinned at him, his white teeth splitting the black curly beard he had. Somehow, he had an image of the man dressed in Roman armor of sorts, but mentally shook his head as he realized it was probably because Meridius looked a lot like a cross between Russell Crowe's character from Gladiator and Gerard Butler from 300.

“Something amusing?” Meridius asked and Desmond realized that the corners of his lips were twitching in an effort to suppress the absurd thoughts that were swirling within him.

“Uh, nothing really,” he coughed into his spoon, “just you don't mind me saying, but I thought you looked a lot like-”

“Gerard Butler or Russell Crowe, right? That's what I get every time I walk out on public streets,” Meridius smiled picking at his own breakfast which looked like English muffins and a jam spread. “You are not the first nor will be the last to say it,” he replied.

“Sorry,” Desmond apologized.

“Don't be, never apologize for speaking your mind or doing what you think is right. That was the lesson I learned when I was growing up,” Meridius took a bite out of his English muffin, “in order to get by in the world, we have to take what is ours, away from the corrupt people and give it back to those who need it.”

“The rest of the populace?” he asked, feeling a bit more comfortable talking to the man. At least he was grateful that Meridius did not mention anything about him throwing up in the Animus room yesterday or even the day before when he had been overcome by a severe Bleeding Effect and hallucinated chariots and Roman soldiers of all things.

“If need be, but sometimes, it is the populace that need tending to,” Meridius shrugged, “something I learned while serving in the latter stages of Vietnam.”

“Is every Assassin military on this base?” Desmond could not help but wonder, “or ex-military?”

“This is a military base Desmond,” Meridius replied a bit wirily before shaking his head, “no. I got my papers as soon as Vietnam was over so I've been out for a long time. Was part of the Draft, that's why. But people like Enzo, he's not military though.”

“I get that feeling with his fancy business suits,” somehow he could not picture the Italian man in a military uniform, just oddly whites or beige business suits, with a fancy tie and cuff links. But for some odd reason, maybe it was the oatmeal or the fact that he had just taken a trip into his ancestor's memories without the help of the Animus, but he thought he could see Enzo in a royal court or something out of a Renaissance Faire, dressed like a nobleman. That was it; Enzo had an air about him that screamed nobleman. It was why Desmond had found him oddly familiar in some ways, having recently accessed Ezio's memories and found his gait and mannerisms to be similar.

“Mine included?” Meridius asked and Desmond blinked in surprise before realizing that the older man was joking.

“Does it say Armani in the labels?” he asked, fighting a grin.

“JoS A. Bank, actually,” Meridius grinned, showing a row of perfect white teeth, “cheaper, but much better on the purse strings. Plus they're pretty hardy.”

“Not one for suits and stuff. I like-”

“Hoodies, jeans, and tee-shirt. We read over the notes that Abstergo had on you when you and Lucy escaped the place,” the older man replied, “you dress like a college kid.”

“Tried to blend in as one. Didn't work out so great,” he groused, thinking back to when he had been closing up the bar that fateful night, a bunch of black masked men had barged in, throwing tear gas and the like. There were still several patrons within and everything had turned into chaos. In all of that smoke he had been knocked out and dragged away then awoke to find himself in flickering images of Masyaf and both Dr. Vidic and Lucy's voices talking from afar as he tried to flounder in Altaїr's earliest memories.

“You're safe now, you know that right?” Meridius reached out and patted his shoulder reassuringly.

“Yeah,” Desmond took another bite of his oatmeal, and chewed it silently before swallowing. “Hey, can I ask you a question? Not as one of the leadership of the Assassins and stuff, but from one Master Assassin to a trainee like me.”

“Master Assassin? Wow, you're flattering me already,” Meridius had an easy smile on his face, “no, I don't hold that rank. There's only one of us that does, but he's...on an extended mission of sorts. You want my equivalent of 1191 Masyaf? I'm just a Bureau Leader.”

“A rafiq?”

“Just don't call me Malik.”

“You know about Malik al-Sayr?”

“Like I said, we've been looking over all of the files that Lucy brought with her when you guys escaped.”

“Yeah,” Desmond swallowed another bite of his oatmeal, this time with some of the sliced strawberries he had put in, “that's kind of what I'm unsure about. You guys call me your Messiah, why?”

“Blunt, very like your ancestors,” Meridius grinned and leaned back in his chair, having finished his breakfast and was now sipping on some coffee, “and straight to the point.” The man sighed, pursing his lips for a second before leaning forward again, “It's hard to explain Desmond. But the Minerva files that Dr. Patrice and I have been able to look at yesterday and yes we'll show it to Dr. Sharif today, she sent up a request for it. But needless to say, the Minerva files are part of it. They name you as the Prophet, not Ezio Auditore.”

“But how can you name me as the Messiah before even looking at those files?” he asked, confused.

“Ezio Auditore, like his ancestor before him, wrote a Codex, or rather, amended onto Altaїr Ibn la-Ahad's Codex with his own notes and included an extensive report on what he encountered in the Vault under the Vatican. He seemed to realize that this mysterious Desmond was the one Minerva was talking to and drew pictures of all of the symbols, places, and even the mention of Templars in his Codex. We have his Codex stored safely, but we knew that we had to prepare for the day that the mysterious Desmond the Prophet mentioned would arrive.”

“Wait, so you're saying that anyone who was part of the Assassins named Desmond could have been the Prophet?”

“Not exactly,” Meridius shook his head, “the Assassin leadership as it was passed down from generation to generation who read Ezio's Codex watched his bloodline closely. Ezio himself wrote down that he believed that it could be one of his children's children who was this mysterious Desmond.”

Desmond had to bark out an incredulous laugh, “So you're saying that they told Ezio's future generations to name their kids Desmond? Just so you guys can have your prophet?”

“No,” Meridius held up his hand to forestall him from talking, “please listen Desmond.” When he nodded, the older man continued, “Ezio even wrote that he had his own doubts about whatever Minerva said and in the later entries of his journal, said that he was probably hallucinating it, having suffered from massive blood loss during his duel with Borgia. But that did not stop the Assassin Order of the next generations from watching his bloodline carefully. Once or twice members had to step in to save the bloodline from becoming extinct-”

“Arden,” Desmond realized that the ancestor's whose memories he was currently experiencing was one such ancestor. She had watched her mother die and her father was probably already dead, he guessed, which meant she was the last of her bloodline that traced directly back to Ezio and to Altaїr and beyond her led all the way to him. It was not a coincidence that she was living in the house of probably one of the leaders of the Assassin Order in that day and age. She had been saved to prevent the bloodline from perishing.

“Yes, she is one such case,” Meridius nodded, “but the Order decided not to interfere with their lives, preferring to watch from a distance, waiting to see if this Desmond would appear.”

“And when I did? Was it coincidence or did someone tell my mother and father that they needed to name me after the Prophet mentioned in the Minerva files?”

“We were surprised,” Meridius smiled slightly, “but after so long, over four hundred years, we didn't exactly believe in Ezio's Codex anymore. There were other Assassin Codexes written by others and by then we were more concerned with the growing Templar threat. When you ran away and disappeared off the grid, well, we started to believe that whatever Minerva had said was just a hallucination from Ezio's blood loss.”

“Then I got captured by Abstergo,” Desmond said flatly, looking away.

“Yes, but there were also those within the Order who still believed that you could be the Prophet. Your capture spurred their arguments to the front and forced us to listen and re-examine Ezio's Codex.”

“That still doesn't explain much,” he replied.

“I know, Desmond, but you have to be patient,” Meridius chided him; “you remind me a lot of myself in ways when I was your age. When you were captured, we had been investigating the disappearance of several of our more prominent members of our Order. We didn't know why they had been disappearing for years on end. Since we have integrated into society, sometimes we do not even contact other members for a while so it took some time for us to figure out why certain people were disappearing and eventually realized the connection between all of those captured by Abstergo. They all came from the bloodlines that had to do with the Pieces of Eden.”

“Like Alexander Roche, Subject Sixteen,” he was beginning to see the pieces fall together in an intricate puzzle. There were definitely still some missing pieces, but everything started to make some sense.

“Yes, like your half-brother,” Meridius agreed, “it wasn't until his capture that we realized who they were really getting at. From Alexander they learned about the Minerva Prophecy and from that, they learned about the mysterious Desmond mentioned within.”

“Wait, you mean that Alexander also heard my name in there?”

“Based on the recordings that Lucy was able to smuggle out for us in her early days of working there, yes,” the black-haired man nodded. “We knew you had gone off the grid so we were hoping that Abstergo wouldn't find you but-”

“They found me,” Desmond finished for him, “and from Alexander they also learned that Altaїr had a Codex and a list of where all the current Pieces of Eden were located. But wait; didn't Ezio have a map of the Pieces?”

“Yes, but strangely enough, we think it was Alexander, in his last moments of lucidity within the Animus that had tampered with the Animus itself not to reveal the completed map that Ezio had collected with the codex pages. We think he was trying to stall the Templars from finding out the current hiding places of all of the Pieces.”

“So instead, they tried to go to the source of it, Altaїr and to him, through me,” he absently nodded to himself, “it makes perfect sense in a twisted way. Stupid motorcycle registration.”

“What's done is done Desmond. You cannot change the past,” Meridius smiled sadly at him, “what you can do is move forward with all of the knowledge you have.”

“So what am I supposed to do as this Prophet you guys say I am? And how did they know what my lineage was? I mean I could be one in a hundred thousand Desmonds in the whole world!”

“Just like we had spies in their ranks, we know there are Templars in ours. Which is why we tried to mount a rescue to get you out of there before anything else could happen and which is why Lucy had explicit instructions to take you to Shaun and Rebecca so they could protect you.”

“Have the spies been dealt with?” Desmond remembered how Altaїr had found the spy who had opened the gates to Masyaf to let in Robert de Sable's forces and how Al Mualim had dealt with him.

“That is still a work in progress, but know this. You are safe in here. Every member of the Assassin Order in this compound has sworn vengeance against the Templars for all that they have done to them, their lives, and families,” Meridius' eyes had hardened and Desmond found himself a bit afraid of that gaze. It was like looking into the eyes of someone so haunted and so aged by events that it made the man look even older than what he probably was.

“Now to answer your other question,” the hardened gaze softened just a bit, “it is Dr. Patrice and most of the leadership's belief that with your skills as an Assassin you would be able to stop Abstergo from continuing with their plans and to save the world from the scorching destruction mentioned by Minerva.”

“How?”

“The Bleeding Effect gives you an advantage right now. You are able to harness the abilities of two, maybe three of your ancestors, the best that the Order had produced, and use it against the Templars. Dr. Patrice believes that with this knowledge you would be able to stop the Templar from activating their satellite in orbit that houses a Piece of Eden, to control the minds of others, and thus save the world from being enslaved to the few.”

“What about the Minerva files saying that the world is going to end in a cataclysm of sorts and we need to find the temples?” Desmond asked.

“It is my belief and Dr. Patrice agrees with me, that the cataclysm referred in the files is a solar flare that will occur in or around December 21, when the Templars plan to activate their satellite. Many scientists around the world don't think that it'll be that bad of a flare, but we believe otherwise. We think that the Templars will use their satellite to disrupt the Earth's magnetic poles with the Piece of Eden and therefore hold the rest of the world hostage or get obliterated by the flare itself.”

“A Piece of Eden can do that? Can really disrupt the poles?”

“There are even those that say can resurrect the dead, like the fabled Lance of Longinus that pierced Jesus Christ's side.”

“The Lance can do that?”

“Who knows? That Lance has been missing since the era of Christ,” Meridius shrugged, “the Pieces of Eden are powerful objects. You yourself know that from your ancestors’ memories.”

“Yeah,” Desmond glanced down at his mostly eaten bowl of oatmeal, his breakfast all but forgotten. “So you guys want me to go stop them. How?”

“That is something Dr. Patrice will talk to you about. Even I'm not privy to that part of the plan,” Meridius shrugged before standing up, “but don't worry about that right now. We still have time and you are currently on doctor's orders not to go near the Animus.” He gathered his tray and leftover foodstuffs before patting Desmond on the back, “I hope you do take what I've said to heart Desmond. With our numbers so small and we're suffering from so many attacks, you're our only hope right now.”

With that he left Desmond at the table and walked away.

“Yeah,” Desmond replied into the thin air a few minutes after he had left. He stared at nothing, his thoughts internal and swirling like a storm. That was no coincidence that Leo Meridius had found him there. He wanted information and so they gave him the reason why he was here. He just did not expect it to be such a great burden...

* * *

Author’s Notes:

I’m back! And like I promised, I definitely have a much better outline than what was originally planned. I realized part way through writing Chapter 5 a month ago that I was severely deviating from the original one so I had to go back and revamp a few things and thus brought a few events forward into the story. Not much going on in this chapter, but the information is pretty important for later ones. Thanks for staying with this fic and I’ll see you next chapter! 10/1/10.

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Story:

Chapter 7 – Soar

It was a few minutes later that Desmond pushed himself away from his breakfast and dumped the leftovers into the garbage. He needed to do something to keep himself from thinking so much about what he and Leo Meridius had just talked about. The breakfast he had eaten was sitting in his stomach like a dead weight. He considered taking the elevator up to the ground floor and heading outside, but realized that he didn't exactly know the area and plus he did not think that the military personnel would welcome a civilian like him wandering around the outside of the base, not with all the terrorist threats and whatnot going on in this day and age.

Remembering what Lucy said about a gym also on the floor, he headed in that direction, noting that there were several armed guards posted outside the room that Rebecca and her baby, the Animus 2.0 occupied. Dr. Sharif wasn't kidding when she said she would keep him away from the Animus.

Waving jauntily at the guards as they noticed him approaching, he abruptly ducked into the double doors that led into the gym, a snicker falling from his lips. The soldiers outside were so easily agitated sometimes, unlike the two that were stationed outside his quarters. At this rate he would have to find something to get maybe a smile out of them. The door closed gently behind him as he found himself staring at the impressive rock wall.

He could feel a flutter of excitement that was most definitely not his own filling him as he continued to stare at the rock wall. One of his ancestors, whichever one he could not figure out, wanted him to climb the wall. But he hesitated, wondering if he did climb the wall and somehow used whatever skills he had learned from his time in the Animus, would it exacerbate the Bleeding Effect. Dr. Sharif had said it would, but she also said that it would not be as noticeable as when he was plugged into the Animus.

Eh, might as well try, he thought as he headed over to the wall and grabbed a hand hold. He quickly scaled the first few hand holds with the barest of ease, a grin forming on his face as he continued to climb higher and higher. A part of him told him that if he was to fall, there would be no harness to catch him, but he pushed that worry aside. He had the memories of two ancestors full synchronized with him, and both of them were excellent climbers.

Pulling himself to another ledge, he paused, noting that he was at the midway point and glanced over his shoulder and downwards towards the gym equipment littering the vast expanse. Everything seemed distant and somehow insignificant halfway up to the top. Turning back to the handholds he noticed several that rounded a corner and decided to see how good he was at scaling across the rock wall.

Grabbing onto one, he swung to his left and grunted as he held it firmly before letting his right hand go to swing to the next one. He quickly swung to the other side in a matter of minutes and saw that this side of the wall had minimal hand holds, thus making it harder for him to scale up. The boxes and walls in the safehouse they had been in held no challenge to what was above him letting himself hang by just the tips of his fingers for a few seconds he prepared himself to scale this side of the wall and swung upwards.

He felt his fingers slip just slightly at the first hand hold before steadied himself and managed to grab the next ledge. Breathing out a quick sigh of relief, he continued his way up, slowly and surely, making sure that he was steady in both his grip and perch when necessary. He knew his advancement was slow, but then again this part of the rock wall was supposed to be a challenge. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he grunted and pulled himself upwards. He could feel it dripping down his back, soaking his hoodie and tee-shirt, but didn't care. He was almost at the top of the rock wall.

With one final effort, he pulled himself to the top and half collapsed on top of the flat area, feeling exuberant, but exhausted. It was like climbing to the top of the Santa Maria del Fiore, or even the Cathedral of the Holy Cross in Acre, but he had not climbed to those places had he? He had never been to Acre or even Florence; he was in London – no he was in the United States in-

Desmond winced as he squeezed his eyes shut, the flooding of memories upon memories of his ancestors surged throughout him. He could hear phantom shouts of names, the screams of the dead echoing in his ears and clapped his hands to his ears in an effort to stem their screams. He was...where was he? He was... He had climbed Big Ben, no that was Arden. Arden had climbed Big Ben, relishing the brief challenge it gave as a childhood whim. She had loved it, climbing all the way to the top spire and rested upon the perch like the eagle she was.

But he had climbed it, hadn't he? No! It was Arden. Ezio had climbed the Santa Maria del Fiore, and Altaїr had scaled the Cathedral of the Holy Cross in Acre. His ancestors not he had scaled these feats. He was Desmond Miles, and the highest thing he had climbed was the rock wall. Forcing himself to breath he opened his eyes once more as the roaring sounds of his ancestors, their lives and their emotions clamoring to claim him slowly faded into the background until it was just an angry buzz.

He realized he was still sprawled out on top and anyone who had walked in would have thought he was lying dead on top of the rock wall. Getting up, he was mildly surprised to find that already his muscles were seizing from the lack of movement and glanced at his watch. It was already early afternoon by his watch's reckoning and he realized that he had been lying on the ground for a while now. The sweat that had been dripping down his back and soaking into his clothes was now a damp reminder and he felt the beginnings of a dehydration headache.

“Shit,” he muttered mostly to himself as he realized he had forgotten the cardinal rule whenever doing any type of exercise, including scaling a rock wall. He had forgotten a water bottle.

He glanced around to see if there was any chance some absent climber had left his or her bottle lying around, but there was no such luck. He resigned himself to having his headache get worst as he made to climb back down when a voice interrupted him.

“Hey, here,” the voice was feminine and sounded gruff before out of the corner of his eye he saw something aimed towards his head.

Desmond reacted without thinking, snatching the object out from the air and throwing it to the ground before his left hand held out in a defensive posture, his body crouched to either spring, run, or jump. It was only a second later that he realized what he had thrown to the ground was a water bottle. And it came from a female soldier dressed in fatigues who was pulled herself up to where he was, her face covered in a light sheen of sweat.

He picked up the bottle with a sheepish look, relaxing his posture and drank greedily from it. Wiping his arm across his lips, he looked at the soldier and saw that it was the same woman who he had seen when he had first arrived at Cheyenne Mountain. She looked no older than eighteen and was probably just a newly minted soldier from ROTC or one of the military academies.

“Thanks,” he replied as she straightened her uniform and glanced at him.

She was pretty, in a sort of exotic way, he realized. Her dark jet black hair was coarse but straight and shorned to a cute bob that he had seen on several of the woman that frequented his bar before his capture by Abstergo. Her skin was a bit of a dark olive, yet light enough that it gave her the extra exoticness. But it was her eyes that stood out from the rest. Extremely light blues stared at him and for a moment, he thought that they were contacts, yet somehow, he knew that they weren't.

Someone had asked her, him, that same question and the answer was just as flippant. Desmond squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the foreign thought that had invaded his mind before opening them again and saw the young woman staring at him, her raptor-like gaze giving no ground to as what she was thinking.

“Dr. Patrice wishes to speak with you,” her tone was rough, but polite and Desmond thought he heard an accent in it, but supposed that it was probably more upper-class Northeastern based. His years bartending made him see people from all walks of life and he definitely knew that those who lived in the more cosmopolitan areas of New England tended to have a slight British-sounding accent, a leftover from their puritan roots.

“You can all the way up here just to tell me that? Could have shouted it out from down there,” Desmond pointed towards the ground.

The girl stared at him impassively before standing up and moving to the edge of the rock face. He was about to tell her to be careful when she lifted her arms up, perpendicular to her body in a very familiar pose. His jaw dropped slightly as he recognized that she was going to do a Leap of Faith and glanced down towards where she was standing. There was a small pile of what he had mistaken for rock rubble, but upon closer inspection, looked like a pile of rubber-foam like blocks.

The modern day and age equivalent of haystacks and leaf piles, he realized.

The piercing cry of an eagle resounded in his head, a phantom sound from so many times he had leapt as his ancestors from the various buildings and rooftops to the ground below; as he saw her jump from the ledge, soaring gracefully in the sky before she twisted her body and fell into the block-foam pile. Witnessing the Leap of Faith in front of him put the Animus' version to shame, he realized. It was...beautiful.

Seconds later, she emerged from the pile, unruffled and stared expectantly up at him as if challenging him to do the same. Desmond glanced at the rock wall that he had been meaning to climb down before towards the foam pile. Could he really do it? Perform a Leap of Faith like his ancestors and hit a target that small without snapping himself in half and dying a horrible pain-filled death?

“Here, catch,” he took another swig from the water bottle before tossing it down towards the girl who still stared up at him as she caught it neatly without even blinking an eye.

He stood up on the top of the rock wall and was immediately assaulted by the feeling of vertigo and the realization of how high he really was off of the ground. “Whoa,” Desmond stepped back for a second, trying to catch his breath before peering over the edge again.

He was not afraid of heights, but sometimes there were certain distances that made it impossible for him not to break out in cold sweat. The Eiffel tower was one of those, though he wondered when he got a chance to go there.

However, as he continued to look over the edge, he realized that he knew the direct angle and velocity he was going to fall at. He knew how to make the jump and survive and a part of him comprehended that it was both Altaїr and Ezio that had made those calculations. Altaїr's cool confidence at such an easy jump made him relax somewhat and Ezio's playful understanding of such a jump like this were like refreshing balm against his trembling form. He knew how to do this...it was in his blood and it was simply done. He knew it...

Pursing his lips, he stepped to the edge and spread his arms out, adopting the pose that he had long seen many of the Assassins do whenever they were going to make a Leap of Faith. Ezio and Altaїr and done other Leaps without using such a pose, but they had been pursued by soldiers then so the pose was more of a display than anything else, his memories told him. He closed his eyes and leapt, losing himself in the brief memories of all those that came before him as he could feel the wind of his descent rushing against him, the coolness of his skin and sweat soaked clothing. Now, he reacted to the phantom voice, twisted his body, curling his neck towards his chest- the wind rushing through his ears now – then he felt the cushioning of the foam before his breath went out of him and opened his eyes.

Foam blocks greeted his vision as he rolled himself out of the pile and was greeted with an impish smile from the girl who held out the water bottle he had told her to catch. Taking the proffered bottle, he found that he liked the impish smile; it reminded him of his wife in ways-

Wait, he did not have a wife, so why-

Desmond’s grip on the bottle tightened slightly as he found himself staring into her face, the images of a woman, who looked so different, yet similar at the same time blurring her features- That’s my mom! The jolting thought lanced across his head before everything dissolved and was replaced by the image of the soldier who’s BDU tag still read [ALLEN] and her impish smile still gracing her semi-exotic features.

He realized his momentary lapse had passed in a quick second before coughing into his arm and drank from the bottle.

“You looked like you had fun,” the woman, Ms. Allen spoke up and he nodded, wiping his lips across with his sleeve.

“First time. Didn’t know I could do it. Don’t know if I want to do it again any time soon though,” he rubbed the back of his head, feeling a slight ache developing along his shoulder blades.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen anyone enjoy their first Leap,” she shrugged as he got up from the pile and straightened out his clothes. “Name’s Allen, 1^st Lieutenant Arden Allen.”

“Arden?” the name rang a familiar bell and he realized it was the same name of his ancestor his mind had decided to take a trip through at the moment.

“Yes,” she raised an eyebrow, her question unspoken.

“Nothing, just, I’m currently going through the memories of one my ancestor who’s also named Arden in the Animus. Don’t worry, she’s probably nothing like you,” he hastily reassured her at her mild expression, “just a girl living in Victorian-era England.”

“Not a common name,” Allen gestured for him to follow her as she repeated her initial statement, “Dr. Patrice is expecting you.”

“Any idea what for?” he asked.

“Do not know,” she replied as they took the elevator up to her office in silence. At the door to her office, she knocked and Desmond heard the muffled voice of the good doctor scramble around for something before she said enter. Just as Arden took the doorknob to open it, she turned slightly and stared at him in the eye. For a second, he there was the undercurrent of something so familiar about her, so ingrained that he thought he had lived her life for a hundred years, before that moment was gone, shuttered by the severe look she wore once more.

“Your Arden, in the Animus, she is a good woman,” Arden’s voice held some emotion he couldn’t quite described, “I hope you learn a lot from her.”

That was an odd thing to say, but he brushed it aside and nodded, “I hope so too.”

“Like Ezio and Altaїr before her, her name means eagle valley. You will be sure to remember it,” she opened the door and he stepped through before she closed it behind her, leaving him alone in the office with Dr. Patrice.

Desmond did not have time to ponder her odd statement before Dr. Patrice stood from behind her table and walked over to him. “Hello, Desmond,” she smiled warmly stopping before him, “how are you feeling?”

“Better,” he smiled sheepishly, “sorry for going all weird on you and the rest of the leaders a few days ago. Not my best first impression, I’ll admit.”

“Definitely not indeed,” she laughed lightly before gesturing for him sit on the couch near her desk. He sat down, taking one corner as she took the other, “but circumstances were difficult in light of your recent escapades so you are forgiven.”

“Thanks,” Desmond had been a bit worried that the leader of the Assassins would have thought him to be a bit crazy after that little scenario in the briefing room. “Lieutenant Allen said you wanted to see me?”

“Yes,” the woman folded her hands across her lap, “I wanted to talk about your future with us.” She paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts, “I had a chance to look at the Minerva files from Ezio Auditore’s memories and with much discussion at length with the other surviving leaders, and we’ve agreed that this is a serious matter.”

“I sense a ‘but’ in there,” Desmond interjected and saw a mildly surprised expression flit across her face before he hastily apologized, “sorry. I’m used to interrupting and conversing with lots of people at the same time. Bartending habit…”

“Understandable, but if you could not repeat that lapse of judgment again?”

“Yes ma’am,” he realized that she was not used to getting interrupted by anyone whenever she was talking unless she prompted the person to do so.

“We have known at length some of what was contained in the Minerva files through a Codex that Ezio himself wrote after his attempt to assassinate Rodrigo Borgia,” Dr. Patrice said, “much like his ancestor before him, Altaїr did so after extensive study of the Piece of Eden. However, this Codex, unlike the other one, contained notes about the Order of that day and age and some about the Minerva files. There are barely any drawings and symbols within, but with your memories of Ezio giving us handy access to the Minerva files, we now have a clearer explanation of what is going on.”

The question of what was going on was at the tip of Desmond’s tongue, but he knew that to interrupt Dr. Patrice once more was going to get him another frown and anger directed at him. And that was something a part of him cautioned against. He did not want to go pissing off the head of the Assassin Order, especially the sheer amount of power he had felt from her a few days ago.

“Suffice to say, that is a matter we will pursue after the Templars are dealt with. They are the real threat right now; no matter even if Minerva tells you otherwise,” she looked at him shrewdly, “I know she had mentioned you by name in Ezio’s memories. Has Leo mentioned to you the general gist of our plans for now?”

“Sort of,” he hadn’t quite gone over what Meridius had said, more focused on his skills at the moment, “something about being sent to stop Abstergo’s satellite and also stop the solar flare cataclysm that you guys believe Minerva may be referring to?”

“Yes, which is why that solar flare is the secondary objective and not the primary one at the moment. Solar flares are unpredictable and for all we know could happen today or even six months down the road. The threat that Abstergo and the Templars present right now is the greater one, especially with our numbers so thin and more refugees from our hidden camps coming in every day.”

Dr. Patrice caught his gaze and Desmond could see the hidden power behind her gaze, fierce and sharp, like an eagle ever watchful for its prey, “As the Prophet of our Order, your mission will be to eliminate the Abstergo Templars at their base of operations for this satellite. You will go to NASA, Johnson Space Center, in Houston and assassinate those responsible for activating the satellite.”

* * *

Author’s Notes:

It looks like the pieces of the puzzle are slowly coming together, but readers familiar with my works know that I love my little twists and turns and this story is no exception. A bit about the title: apotheosis means the elevation or exaltation of a person to godhood, or the ideal example, epitome, quintessence. Both of these meanings can apply to many of the characters in the story, but the focus is obviously on the Templars and Assassins and between the two, the fabled Pieces of Eden.

I took the title from a Babylon 5 episode which I really liked called “Falling Towards Apotheosis.” The title will only get even more ironic and appropriate when Subject Sixteen’s background is furthered in the story and how his destiny entwines with Desmond’s. Thanks for reading and for all of the encouragement! I’ll see you next chapter!

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Story:

Chapter 8 – Ghost

“You will go to NASA, Johnson Space Center, in Houston and assassinate those responsible for activating the satellite.”

Desmond stared at the leader of the Assassins in surprise. “But,” he opened his mouth, “wouldn’t it be easier to blow up the rocket carrying the satellite?”

“The idea of 'blowing up' the satellite would be construed as a terrorist attack in this day and age; wouldn't you think so, Desmond?” Dr. Patrice looked at him shrewdly.

“Good point,” he conceded.

“Though we will stop the Templars from gaining control of the world through the use of the Piece of Eden, we must do it subtly. Do not think that once we have destroyed the satellite that we would have won the war. It would be a major victory in our long battle against them, but only one victory in many. The Templars are still powerful and influential in the government and in other aspects of worldly politics. They will know that it would be our hand that destroys their satellite.”

“But if they know that, won't they be anticipating an attack?” he asked.

The hint of a smile on the leader of the Assassins' face told him that even though he had interrupted her again, she liked his question. “They would, on the rocket itself. The Templars, in the guise of Abstergo, are as arrogant as they were in your ancestors' memories. They do not believe that an attack is even possible in Johnson Space Center, the heart of their operations for this satellite. They expect we would resort to the crude way of blowing up the rocket carrying the Piece of Eden, not to assassinate those who would have ultimate control over the satellite.”

Desmond realized that his skepticism must have shown on his face before Dr. Patrice tapped her fingers together and tilted her head. “I can see the question clearly on your face even though you finally heed my word for fewer interruptions. Very well.” She folded her hands together, “Do not think you are the only one sent on this operation.”

With those words, something clicked in his head and he realized that while he had been given the most important mission, there were other Assassins who were going to be sent to Kennedy Space Center in Florida to attempt to disable and destroy the rocket itself; whether they succeeded or not, the Assassins assigned to that mission were going to draw a majority of Abstergo's attention away from Houston's Mission Control. It would give him the opportunity to strike fast and hard.

“But...the lives of the others-”

“They know what it is to sacrifice their own being for our cause. All of the Assassins know that each mission they are sent out on could very well be their last. They go and are willing to sacrifice themselves for our cause because they understand that to let the Templars win, to let them control the minds and will of others, is in of itself a death sentence for us and for the human race.”

Her rebuke was clear, even though it had been hidden in her words. Desmond clearly understood her admonishment that he needed to learn the Creed over again and the principle of self-sacrifice that the Assassins drilled into each and every one of their Order, especially those born into the Order. He who had left the commune, living off the grid for so many years, Dr. Patrice had implied that he had forgotten what it was to serve the Assassin Order.

Even though the sacrifice could be just giving time to research or even in the case of Rebecca and Shaun, to help out other teams in the field, there were still the Assassins who truly sacrificed their lives to stop the Templar Order from carrying out their nefarious plans. As one of the Assassins born into the Order, carrying the genetic legacy of so many ancestors within him, Dr. Patrice and perhaps even the others, had expected him to hold himself in a higher standard than the Assassins who were not born into the Order.

He realized that while necessarily not in her eyes, but in the eyes of some of the others of the Order, especially perhaps the other “bureau” leaders, he needed to prove himself as one of them. With that startling revelation, he realized that this was why he had been given what they considered the most important mission in the Assassin Order yet. With the Prophecy and Messiah to consider, they wanted him to succeed and become like what Ezio and Altaїr were in their days, the face and eventual new leader of the Assassin Order.

He looked at Dr. Patrice shrewdly now; she was greying in her hair, but noticed that she looked tired. Not just physically tired, but in the depth of her eyes, she looked so old, so burdened by the leadership of the Assassin Order. She truly believed that this was the last major blow to the Templar Order and in doing so, the Assassins would finally achieve their goal of breaking the stranglehold the Templars had on society and it would remain free forever.

Desmond did not know what would come afterwards, but had the feeling that Dr. Patrice did not really care. All she cared about was to finish the mission and perhaps the belief that everything would attend to itself in due time. He frowned slightly as he thought about it. He wanted revenge against the Templars for kidnapping him and forcing him to relive the memories of his ancestors; for forcing him to abandon the life he had outside of the Farm commune. But was that the only reason why?

“Each one of us, whether we are born into this life or choose to ally ourselves with the Assassins always goes through a period where we doubt our abilities, doubt our reasons, but most of all doubt ourselves,” Dr. Patrice spoke up quietly, “you doubt your abilities and your efforts against this war. I know you think you have been thrust into this age-old war without a choice or say, but can you really choose after all that you have been through?”

“The Templars didn't give me much of a choice when they stuck me in the Animus,” Desmond shrugged.

“Exactly,” the leader of the Assassins agreed, “but I am now giving you that choice. If you really want, you can just walk out of that door, into the world and disappear once more. We will not pursue you if you wish.”

“But you'll keep an eye on me, right?” he wasn't quite convinced of what she was offering. But then again, he did not know if he really wanted to just drop off of the grid again. After all, the Templars caught him so easily from a motorcycle registration. To truly live off the grid, he realized that he would have to move somewhere remote and not even have contact with anyone. Any one person in the world for all he knew could be an informant or even work for either Templars or Assassins.

“Yes, we will, but I will personally guarantee that we will not interfere with your life-”

“Unless the Templars come calling again,” Desmond interrupted her again, but this time resolutely ignored the slight frown on her face. He shook his head a resigned sigh falling from his lips. He could not go back to being incognito, not after all he had been through. Partially because he knew that he would be constantly hunted by the Templars or even watched by the Assassins, but it was mostly because he wanted to know the end of the story of his ancestors and all that they had fought for.

He knew that the longer he was exposed to the Animus, the more the likelihood he was going to end up like Subject Sixteen, but it was a matter of choice. He went in because he chose to go in. He chose to learn the skills of his ancestors, to live out their lives because he wanted to know why the Templars had chosen him. The only real stark memory he had of his childhood at the Farm was he wanted to know everything and everyone that was in the Farm.

He never told anyone, Lucy included, but he ran away from the Farm not only because he didn't like its confining nature, but because he wanted to know what was out there in the wide world. He knew of the dangers and of living off the grid, but he also knew then, that it was the best way to learn new things. He could have taken a job in the field of media, but instead, he took one was a bartender, where everyone told stories to the man polishing the glass.

To his patrons, he was just a ghost; a person absently listening to their life stories, their miseries, and their successes. Just a ghost.

But now, the ghost wanted more. The ghost wanted revenge for what had been done to him. Dr. Patrice said that every Assassin was willing to sacrifice their all to make sure the Templars didn't win, but Desmond knew better. He had sacrificed not only his life already, but had sacrificed the knowledge that had been buried deep inside his DNA to the Templars. And to balance the metaphoric scales, he needed to make sure that the sacrifices his ancestors made would be able to bring the downfall of the Templars. He could not go back to his life before Abstergo because that choice had been taken away from him.

Desmond could not hold back a slight bitter bark of laughter before shaking his head. “It's funny really...I feel like I'm living a mix of Altaїr and Ezio's life in a way.”

“Pardon?” Dr. Patrice looked at him, slightly confused.

“Never mind,” he shook his head, “it's nothing, just something I noticed. The Templars took away my choice, but thank you for offering the chance to go back to a normal life.”

This time he could see a genuine smile appear on the leader of the Assassin's face and knew that she was pleased that he was staying with them to help them with the fight. “Infiltrating and assassinating those at Johnson Space Center will be your primary mission, but that will have to be done on December 21^st or else the Templars could easily replace the people you've slain. However, before that mission, we will send you on a few other ones to get yourself familiarized with operational procedures and to see how far you have progressed with your training in the Animus.”

“Kind of like trainer missions?”

“If you wish to look at them like so,” she replied, “your other missions will also help focus Abstergo's eyes upon other things so when the time comes, you will not feel their full force upon you. It will also help thin their ranks so that they could never recover from such a blow.”

“Oh, okay,” Desmond didn't realize that it was seen in that kind of light.

“Lucy tells me that you've made great progress in learning our ways in such a short time,” Dr. Patrice changed the subject, leaning forward slightly, “tell me Desmond; why did you leave the Farm before your training could really begin?”

Desmond opened his mouth to say the reason he had told Lucy and the others, but closed his mouth again as he saw the seriousness in her eyes. While it was true that he left because of the Farm's confining restrictions upon his life and also his curiosity of the outside world, but as he thought about it, why did he really leave? He could have easily lived under his own name instead of taking assumed names and paying for everything in cash. He could have left a paper trail that defiantly said to the Assassins that he was here and not to bother him, yet he did no such thing.

But now, facing the leader of the Assassins, he somehow felt like he needed to come up with a better excuse. And somehow, he could not think of one...or at least he could not remember the real reason. He remembered fighting with his parents a few nights before he left, but he couldn't quite remember the details of that fight. It was as if something was muddling his memories of that fight. He frowned as he tried to remember; were there other people there also? No, it was just his family right?

“I...don't really know why,” he looked up at Dr. Patrice, “I mean, I told Lucy and the others it's because I hated that it was so restrictive, like some outdated hippie commune, sorry about that, but I wanted to get out of there.”

“No offense taken,” the leader said lightly, but Desmond could tell that she was stung by his offhand comment about the Farm being 'hippie commune', “yet I'm sensing that there's something else, isn't there?”

Desmond nodded, “I feel like I should remember why, but something keeps telling me that it's not the only reason I left. I don't know, maybe time in the Animus is making me forget things?”

“I would have thought the opposite, filling you with more information,” Dr. Patrice replied.

“Yeah, I guess maybe,” he shrugged, “to be honest, I really don't know.”

“We'll just leave it at that then,” the corner of her lips twitched up in half of a smile before she reached over to a pile of folders and plucked one off of the middle of the stack. Flipping through its contents she nodded briefly to herself before placing the open folder in front of him.

Desmond reached over and picked it up, noting the headshot of a young woman who looked to be in her early twenties. Most of the information in her file was blacked out, but her name was Sharon Adelline.

“She is one of our regular informants in the University of Colorado in Denver. You'll meet her the day after tomorrow to get whatever information she has on Abstergo’s latest moves. Since this is your first mission and since we don't exactly want to take any chances on Abstergo becoming alert to our informants within the University, you'll be meeting her in one of the local bars. Enzo will accompany you and fill you in on the details as he also has a mission that coincides roughly the same time as yours.”

Desmond nodded, “So I'm just going to meet her, get whatever info she has and come back?”

“Yes, simple as that,” Dr. Patrice agreed, “however, since Denver is under the control of Abstergo, security will be very tight within the city. Since we managed to ruin their plans by destroying one of the Pieces of Eden at the International Airport, they have maintained a vigilant outlook on any person they suspect is an Assassin or in league with them.”

“I recall Lucy mentioning something about Denver while I was at Abstergo's facility. She said that the situation was 'Denver' or something like that,” Desmond mused.

“I'm sure the others could tell you what happened,” Dr. Patrice frowned and Desmond realized that he had interrupted her again, but had also touched on a sore spot. She must have been personally involved with whatever happened at Denver International Airport. “Since the situation is volatile, you will be joining Lieutenant Allen's group of trainees at the shooting range after this to get yourself familiarized with holding and shooting a gun.”

“Uh, you really think that I can learn how to shoot a gun in less than two days?”

“From what Lucy tells me, the Bleeding Effect has greatly enhanced your abilities, and as far as I know, the current ancestor to whom you are exploring her memories was heralded in the Assassins' history as one of the greatest with guns. Ezio Auditore may have been the first to wield guns, but it was Arden who perfected the art.”

“Glad to know that she made killing people with a gun an art. She's just absolutely brutal with a hidden blade,” he muttered.

“Yes, she is not the most skilled nor making her kills the prettiest, but put a gun in her hands, especially a sniper rifle, which back in those days, was not even noticeably accurate; she is the best of us with such a weapon.”

“Huh,” Desmond saw a faraway look appear in Dr. Patrice's eyes as if she was remembering something before she shook her head slightly and returned to the present.

“So what time do I meet Enzo and where do I meet him?”

“He will find you after your training with Lieutenant Allen. You're dismissed,” he had almost forgotten that the good doctor was also a former General and stood up hastily as she waved him away.

“Uh, thanks,” he replied before getting an absent nod in return and left the room.

Standing outside of Dr. Patrice's office he wondered where he was supposed to go to meet Lt. Allen. There was probably a gun range somewhere in the facility so perhaps that was where he needed to go. His stomach wasn't quite rumbling yet, but it was getting close, so he suspected that he had probably skipped lunch judging by how much time had passed between him passing out on the rock face to his talk with Dr. Patrice; which meant it was probably mid-afternoon.

Desmond figured he should just probably ask somewhere where he could find Lt. Allen and then make his way there. Getting into the elevator, he headed back down to the mess hall and quick picked up a fruit to eat before asking one of the airmen in line where he could find Lt. Allen and was given directions to her whereabouts. Thanking him, apple in hand, he quickly ate it as he made his way back to the gym area and went around several halls winding away from the gym before he could hear the distinct report of gunfire.

Tossing the core of his apple away, he pushed open the door to see several military trainees, all dressed in fatigues shooting away at dummies, targets, and even several who were going through an obstacle course of sorts. Half covering his ears against the loud echoing sound of gunfire, he spotted Lt. Allen amongst the recruits who were shooting at paper targets, pacing back and forth, a frown on her face as she watched them.

He watched her for a few minutes as she went up to one of the recruits and adjusted something in his grip before stepping back and helping another. He gave her a brief nod as she turned her gaze and spotted him before walking over.

“Dr. Patrice told me that I'm supposed to train with you on firearms!” he half-shouted before she shook her head.

“I can hear you Miles, no need to shout,” she replied dryly and he grinned sheepishly.

“Oh, um, sorry,” he shrugged before she gestured for him to follow her.

“Dr. Patrice has already instructed me to train you in firearms, though she and the others believe that your Animus training would enable you to learn quickly.”

“I would hope so,” he followed her to one of the empty ranges hoping that his recent foray into his female ancestor's memories as apparently one of the best in firearms would be able to help him. However, he still remembered Dr. Sharif's warning not to do anything strenuous that would exacerbate the Bleeding Effect. His little trip with the Leap of Faith earlier had brought up a few odd feelings more than memories, so perhaps this wouldn't be considered too strenuous.

He noticed a 9mm resting upon the table and saw that the cartridge was full of bullets, but not loaded into the gun. Glancing over to Lt. Allen he saw her pick up the gun and hand it to him along with the cartridge. “Load it,” she said and he glanced at it before doing so, noting that the gun was a lot heavier than it was made to look in the movies that he had seen. He was also surprised to see how smoothly he had loaded the gun, considering that he had never touched a weapon in his life save for the occasional knife.

“Huh,” he muttered mostly to himself, examining the gun rotating it back and forth.

There was a whirling sound and he looked up from his examination to see a paper target being sent back to the optimum firing range. He stared at the target curiously, the bits and pieces of knowledge of where to fire, how the gun was going to fire filtering through his head. He could almost see the angle and velocity his 9mm was going to travel to hit the target in its center mass. The head is better for an instant kill, something within him whispered and he agreed. The head was definitely the best place for an instant kill, but it was also a smaller target. He would have to minimize civilian casualties by making sure his shot counted. Yet he could not linger because-

The sharp jab into his upper arm startled Desmond from the foreign thoughts that had been whispering in his head and he realized that he had not even moved an inch since the paper target had been loaded and sent away. A quick glance out of the corner of his eye saw that it was Lt. Allen who had jabbed him, one of her dark eyebrows arched in a look that plainly said, 'well, get on with it.'

I know how to do this; he could feel it in himself as he raised the handgun and fired a single shot. However, Desmond was shocked to find that his shot went completely wide as his arm recoiled from the fired shot. “Okay,” he brought his hand and gun level to his own eyes and realized that while the ancestors in his blood knew how to fire weapons, the only thing the Animus did not really show was how heavy and difficult handling the weapons were. It was the same thing that happened when he had first tried free running the containers in the warehouse. He had felt some of his unused muscles pull even though he knew how to free climb.

The same thing had happened when they were escaping from Abstergo in the underground parking lot and from the warehouse. He knew how to use his ancestors' knowledge of hand-to-hand combat and using the hidden blade but the initial punches were a bit off because his own body did not know how to coordinate with his new found knowledge. So it stood that his body was not used to the recoil of a handgun considering he had never used one in his life before then.

Adjust, tighten muscles hand and forearm muscles, relax the shoulder so not to tense up and make the shot wide, he could hear the mental voice of his current female ancestor Arden whispering in his mind. She knew how to fire that kind of gun, even though this was a 9mm instead of the revolvers and rifles she was used to handling. He adjusted according to her mental instructions and lined up his shot once again.

Firing another single shot, he grinned as he saw it hit the center mass of the target's head before gripping his gun in both of his hands and fired several more times. Emptying the clip, his smile grew wider as he saw that most of his bullets hit the original spot, leaving a few ragged edges, but otherwise, his shots were clean. Turning around he was about to comment to Lt. Allen when he froze, noticing the handgun she pointed to his head, her face blank without emotion.

“Reload now,” she commanded him and he opened his mouth to protest when she fired her gun, making him jump into the air.

It only took about half of a second later to realize that he was not dead, nor was he bleeding from anywhere. But his ears were ringing from the loud report of the gunfire that had gone off next to his head.

“Reload!” she aimed the gun at his head again and Desmond immediately turned around and fumbled for the gun.

He flinched as the gun went off next to his head again, his breath coming in quick gasps as he continued to try to load the magazine in. Why was it so hard now – he flinched again as another round went off next to his head – he could do it- He dropped the magazine onto the table before hastily picking it up again-

“Stop,” he flinched as Lt. Allen's voice cut through the gunfire and froze, closing his eyes and shaking his head, ashamed at himself. He had been too arrogant, relying too much on his ancestors’ memories and abilities that he had lost focus on his real self. Opening his eyes again, he put the gun and the cartridge down on the table and turned around to face her.

“I know I-”

“Do you really? Relying on your ancestors memories, no matter how great you are and no matter how much time you put in the Animus is no substitute for the real situation,” she looked at him with her dark eyes, their gaze critical.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “I know...”

He saw her silently gauge him before she lowered her gun and gestured to the table. “Reload and learn,” she said, this time kindly before moving away from him to help another one of her recruits. He may have learned a lot from his time in the Animus, but Lt. Allen had taught him a singular lesson, not everything could be learned from genetic memory.

* * *

It was late at night when Desmond awoke. Turning over, he tried to go back to sleep, but after a few minutes, found himself wide awake. Something was off, he could feel it, but he did not know what.

Here...

The whisper was like an echo of the Animus itself and he shook his head, wondering if he was hearing things before getting out of bed, a low groan of exasperation falling from his lips. “Great, now I'm hearing things,” he muttered mostly to himself as he put on his shoes and stepped out of his room once more. He knew that he needed his sleep based on what he had learned during the day from Lt. Allen. His fledgling abilities had emerged and become even more pronounced during his time in the shooting range, to the point where he was besting some of her recruits. She had then announced that there would be a one-on-one match up in an obstacle course for the early morning hours.

Here...

He needed his sleep, not to go find out what this mysterious Animus-like voice was mumbling in his head. For all he knew, it could have been a hallucination.

Not one...here...

He shook his head and headed out of his room, noting that his usual guards were absent. Perhaps they also slept during the night? Putting it aside in his mind he allowed himself to relax and focus on his eagle vision, knowing somehow that it would guide him to where he needed to go.

Immediately the greyed-out hues of the Eagle Vision's distinctive look filled his vision. He saw tiny footprints, glittering and glowing a whitish hue in the air and followed them, leading them to the elevators. Getting inside, he saw one of the numbers on the panel lit up and pressed it. The elevator went down to the designated floor before it opened and he continued to follow the footprints, hearing a faint tinkling sound of chimes in the air, almost as if it he was in the Animus, looking for feathers or flags to rip down.

He followed it until he came upon a set of double doors and with some effort managed to return his vision to normal. It was then that Desmond realized he had been led to the gym once more and opened the doors with some trepidation. He had a feeling that no one hostile was going to attack him, but still; it did not hurt to be cautious.

A young girl, no older than at least elementary school age stood in the middle of the gym, enveloped in a white glow. As Desmond drew closer, he saw that she was holding something in her hands that was emitting that whitish glow, a seemingly unholy glow. She suddenly giggled, the high-pitched giggle of joy a child would have when running around in joy.

It was then that he noticed whatever she was holding had also projected the ghostly image of a man who was also glowing the unholy whitish glow that was in her hands. “Uh...h-hello?” he tried out, approaching her cautiously.

He saw the ghostly image of the man look up at him before the girl turned around, a cherubic smile on her face. “Oh! You finally came!” She turned back around and grinned at the ghostly image, “You were right papa, he did come.”

“I know,” his hand reached out and seemingly ruffled her hair and he noticed that her hair moved as his ghostly hand passed over her head.

Desmond watched as she turned to face him once more and saw that she was holding a long blade of sorts in her hands. He realized that it wasn't just an ordinary blade, but rather a lance head. He looked up as the ghostly man approached him, a friendly smile on his face.

“So glad to finally meet you, Desmond Miles,” his voice was pleasantly pitched and oddly familiar.

“Have we met before?” he asked.

“Yes, in fact, we've met only just recently,” the ghostly man smiled, “I'm sorry I did not have the opportunity to introduce myself earlier. Circumstances were tenuous at best and you might have met my other...self in such a disturbed manner.”

“Other self?” Desmond was confused, “who are you?”

“I'm your half-brother, Desmond. I'm Alexander Roche,” he introduced himself in a simple manner, “you might better know me as Subject Sixteen.”

* * *

Author’s Notes:

Not quite exactly the part I wanted this chapter to end, but it is an acceptable break according to my outline. I’ve had a couple of reviewers ask if I will be adding Brotherhood elements to this story since the game came out and made this a big fat AU and suffice to say, the game has had some awesome elements regarding the Pieces of Eden and tidbits about the other Assassins, but I will incorporate as much as I could into them. The only thing I will say is that the game did not touch on one of my main plot points which I have yet to reveal (but hinted at) so I can still play with that element.

Btw, for those of you who have played Brotherhood – you think I need to add this mysterious William M. in the emails to this story?

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Author’s Note:

All foreign languages will be in italics.  All words emphasized in regular speech or character POVs will also be in italics.

Story:

Chapter 9 – Half-Life

“But,” Desmond gaped, “Sixteen's dead. He went crazy, killed himself, spread his blood all over Abstergo's walls. You can't be him...”

“Can't I?” the ghostly projection of the man in front of him sent him a challenging smile, “look, Desmond, really look...what do you see?”

Desmond switched to his Eagle Vision and immediately saw the seemingly sinew-like bonds threading between the lance head and the ghostly projection of the man who glowed a bright white. It was not an unholy white light when he was staring at him without the aide of his Eagle Vision, but rather like the light of an ally, not blue-hued, but an informant of sorts. He continued to gaze in the eerie ability that was the Eagle Vision and saw after a few seconds, the fibrous strands of DNA running like a computer code up and down the ghost's luminous form.

Switching out of his Eagle Vision and deftly ignoring the headache that suddenly started up, he shook his head. “I don’t know what I see,” he replied.

“Good answer,” the ghost replied, “and probably the most honest one I have heard yet.”

“What?”

“Never mind,” he smiled and stepped forward just as Desmond stepped back a step. Even if it was a ghost, he still did not trust whatever…he…it…was, even if it claimed to be Sixteen. “I won’t hurt you,” the ghost held up his hands in a placating gesture, “I just need you to hear me out.”

“Why?”

“Well, for starters,” he turned slightly and gestured to the beaming little girl who was holding the lance head, “Tabitha, show Desmond what you have in your hands.”

“Do I have to give it to him?” the girl looked apprehensive.

“Not now, but later, okay sweetie?”

“Sure Daddy,” she beamed again before stepping forward and held out the lance head that was in her hands, “see?”

“Daddy?” Desmond was now seriously confused, “wait, this…she’s…she’s your daughter?!”

“The only survivor of the Templars attack on my family before they captured me,” Sixteen, Alexander, said gravely before gesturing to the lance head, “do you recognize this, Desmond?”

“The plane crash?” he murmured, rubbing his forehead to alleviate the headache that had grown just a little stronger. He could feel the stirrings of his synchronized ancestors within him, especially Altaїr and Ezio’s pinched determination not to submit. Submit to what, he could not fathom- until it hit him. “Oh my God…” he dropped his hand and glanced from the ghost back down to the glowing object and back up. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Language! That’s my child you’re talking to,” the ghost of Alexander Roche crossed his arms across his chest, glaring at him.

“Sorry, sorry,” Desmond backed up another step, feeling both master assassins within him recall their own experiences with the cursed objects. He did not want to be anywhere near a Piece of Eden, especially if that was what the lance head was; especially based on the experiences he had absorbed in the Animus. Looking up at the ghost he tried to keep the astonishment and gritted determination of the memories that were threatening to overwhelm him from his voice, “That’s a Piece of Eden…right?”

“The only one of its kind,” Alexander gestured to his daughter to back away and she did so, skipping happily back next to her father. “The Nazis were looking for it and before them, many others, including the actual Knights Templar. They all believed that it would grant immortality to those who wielded it, seeing that it pierced the side of Jesus Christ during his crucifixion.”

“I’m beginning to believe that it does, considering you’re here,” Desmond could scarcely believe that the little girl Tabitha was holding the fabled Lance of Longinus, the same one that he remembered Mr. Meridius telling him was missing since the era of Christ. But here was a lance head, projecting the ghostly image of his dead half-brother who was talking to him of all things…

He suddenly pinched himself in the neck and winced. “Nope, not a dream; not even in the Animus either,” Desmond muttered mostly to himself but saw that Alexander had seen what he did and was laughing into his hand.

“As much as I want to assure you Desmond, no. You’re not dreaming, nor are you in the Animus,” Alexander replied, “and I do hope that you realize, I do not sound like a desperate man on the threads of his sanity that he cannot hold onto anymore.”

“Err, no, I guess,” he realized that Sixteen did sound a lot saner than he had encountered in the Animus, “wait, how do you know about that?”

“Because while I am Alexander Roche, I am also a remnant of him before his capture by Abstergo. I am forever a part of this Piece of Eden, designed to resurrect the dead. So in a way, I live on, in a half-life within this Piece. I know of what has transpired before and after my physical death because of the power this Piece of Eden has and because my daughter is also bound to it.”

“She’s bound to it?” he looked at Tabitha who was staring at her father, a loving gaze in her eyes.

“Tabitha sweetie, please drop the illusion for Desmond to see,” he turned to her and she nodded before closing her eyes, her hands clutching the lance head tightly.

Desmond had long known that the Pieces of Eden, at least some of them, but most especially the Apple of Eden wielded by Altaїr and Ezio had powers of illusion and mind control. But to actually see it in person was another thing. Her physical image suddenly flickered, as if there was a bad reception on a television set before he saw her real form. Before, Tabitha looked as healthy as any six-year-old he could imagine. Her long dark brown hair was held back with blue barrettes and her olive-tan colored skin a healthy glow. She had been wearing a black-white checkered jumper with white stockings.

Now, though, Desmond felt his jaw drop slightly as he saw that the shine in her dark brown hair was gone. Clumps of bald spots lined her skull, her once healthy skin sagging and sallow. The cheekbones of her face stood out in stark contrast to her too wide eyes. Her smile was death-like; even though he was sure she was still beaming at her father before that. She looked incredibly bony with no musculature about her, not even the child fat that was on all young children, yet somehow Desmond realized that was not the case. And the brief smell, the smell of rotted and heavily decayed flesh.

She looked and smelled like she had been already been decomposing in the grave, but suddenly brought back to life, was the realization instead.

His knees buckled as he abruptly found himself on the floor, staring at her before Alexander waved his hand and the illusion went back up, presenting the beaming, healthy looking child once more, the gagging smell gone. “Holy…shit,” he breathed out quietly, “is that what a Piece of Eden does?”

“Just this particular one,” Alexander stepped forward and reached out with a hand to help him up. Desmond took the proffered hand, realizing with some mild surprise that his half-brother’s grip felt solid even though his form was ghost like and stood up once more. “The Lance is a bit unique in terms of what Minerva’s people created. My guess is that it has the ability, like the Apple, to create illusions, but also to resurrect someone who had died and also to preserve a part of someone’s consciousness.”

“But then, I thought you said she was the only survivor of the Templar plane crash?”

“Plane crash? Who told you that?” Alexander looked surprised.

“Er, Dr. Sharif,” Desmond was confused.

“Oh, bless her heart,” Alexander sighed, “always trying to protect me. No, it was not a plane crash that was orchestrated, but rather a deranged murderer hired by the Templars and assisted by two others to break into our cul-de-sac home and take my family hostage. They wanted the Lance, knowing that it had been left in my possession the day before. I know Dr. Sharif did not betray me, but someone else knew that she was bringing it to me.”

“And…what happened?”

Alexander gave him a tired, yet sad smile, “Naturally being handed a Piece of Eden always makes even the most devout of Assassins curious enough to see what it does. I had examined it the night before, not knowing what it had done to me, taken a copy of my consciousness within itself. So when the Templars came I denied it and watched as they slaughtered my whole family in front of me.”

“But-“

“You’re wondering is it worth the sacrifice my family paid to not even let the Templars know? Ah, Desmond, how naive you truly are. There will come a time, in every member of our Order, to decide which is more important, the Creed of our Order or the lives of those your love,” Sixteen looked wistfully down at his daughter, “I sacrificed my whole family just so I could make sure this Lance did not fall into their hands. My daughter sacrificed her own life so she could be brought back in such a half-life state to make sure the Piece is bound to my own consciousness.”

“Why? I mean why go through all of that?” he could not imagine sacrificing anyone, not even what his ancestors had gone through. Altaїr had sacrificed all of who he was, even the Creed, only to realize that his mentor had betrayed him in the worst way and had slaughtered so many innocents in Masyaf with the Piece of Eden. Ezio had lost his father and two brothers and his innocence to Rodrigo Borgia and the Templars. Even Arden had lost her mother to Jack the Ripper and only lived for vengeance.

Could he sacrifice his friends, Rebecca and Shaun if the Assassins demanded it? Could he sacrifice Lucy to protect a Piece of Eden?

“It’s something you have to decide in the future, Desmond. Each Assassin goes through it, even if they don’t want to. It’s the nature of our battle with the Templars,” the ghostly man replied.

Desmond was silent for a moment, contemplating Alexander’s words before looking up at him again, “Why are you telling me this now? Why did you even call me in the middle of the night?”

“Because, things are going to change, and soon,” Alexander’s expression became closed, hesitant, “because things are not what they seem here.”

“Like you?” Desmond could not help the sarcastic remark that fell off his lips.

The closed expression disappeared for just a second as Sixteen grinned and it was then that Desmond recognized the family resemblance. It was the same smile that his mother had, the same one he had whenever he looked at himself in the mirror. Alexander opened his mouth to speak when his daughter had a sudden frantic look on her face.

“Daddy, she’s coming!”

“Okay we don’t have much time and I don’t know when I’ll get to talk to you next,” Alexander reached out and grabbed him by his arms, his ghostly grip surprisingly solid, “Trust Enzo or whatever name he goes by this day and age. Trust your ancestors; don’t trust anyone else, especially the heads of our Order.”

“Dr. Patrice? Meridius? But why-“

“Just don’t!” Alexander glanced back towards Tabitha who stood stock still in fear, her body quivering. He looked back at him and Desmond was shocked to see the amount of emotions from a seemingly dead man, “Please, protect my daughter. She will be your only hope when the time comes. She knows when to give you the Lance, but before then, protect her.”

“W-Why-“ Desmond did not get to finish his question when just as suddenly Alexander disappeared in a blinding flash of light, leaving him temporarily blinded. He grimaced as the bright spots of light dimmed after a few seconds and looked around, noticing that the gym was now dimly lit and little Tabitha Roche stood in front of him, a solemn expression on her face. However, the lance head was not in her hands anymore, but instead sheathed across her back.

“H-How-“

“Tabitha?” the melodious voice of Dr. Sharif, the chief medical officer on the base spoke up from the door and he looked to see her walk in, a curious expression on her face. “What are you doing here?”

It was as if the good doctor could not even see him as she approached them, her expression kind. He opened his mouth to see if the doctor could even hear him before catching the fierce glare the six-year-old shot his way. For a second, he thought he saw Alexander’s expression overlay his daughter’s face before he realized that while Tabitha lived in a half-state, the Piece of Eden strapped across his back providing her with life, it was Alexander’s spirit who inhabited most of her body.

If Desmond wanted to look at it in a twisted Lovecraftian-type of view, it was the spirit possessing the body of an undead girl who was like a familiar of sorts when the spirit was communicating with others. That’s fucked up, he thought mostly to himself, but then again, realized that while they thought they knew something about the Pieces of Eden, his ancestors knew next to nothing about them. And whatever his ancestors knew, they only scratched the surface.

“Nothing, Auntie. I wanted some air and I remembered how you said I could not go outside at night so…”

“That’s right sweetie. Here, let me take you back to bed before you catch your death out here, all right?” he watched as Dr. Sharif guided the young girl out of the gym before the doors closed behind her, leaving Desmond alone.

If the Piece of Eden could do that, could fool even one of the senior Assassins, it was a wonder the Templars were searching high and low for any of them to use. They were powerful objects indeed, and none to be trifled with.

* * *

The next morning found Desmond outside of the base in the training grounds surrounded by the myriad of colors the fall leaves provided. At least a majority of the leaves had already fallen, but there were still some clinging onto the last bitter warmth of the suns rays before succumbing to the cold Rocky Mountain winds that blew through the mountainous regions. He had learned from the other trainees yesterday to dress warmly, but not bulk up on coats as he would need movement to get through the obstacle course. He had also learned that the first snow fall usually happened around this time, their winter months a lot longer than what he had been used to back when he was bartending.

They all huddled near each other, rubbing hands together or up and down their arms in an effort to keep warm as they waited for the stragglers to show up. Finally when the last of the trainees arrived a sharp whistle from Lt. Allen made them all turn and Desmond saw her standing near an armory box that was holding a lot of different kinds of weapons.

Desmond was surprised to see longswords and maces in the armory, surrounded by handguns and machine guns. The Assassins were truly versatile in all forms of weaponry, he realized. Ever since he had been exposed to the Animus, he had found himself wanting to believe that it was like a dream of sorts, but since they had arrived at Cheyenne Mountain, that illusion had slowly been shattering.

“Today you will be going into the obstacle course, not to run it in five minutes flat, but rather to use it to your advantage. The whole obstacle course is free for your perusal, but if you do run into the base, you will be disqualified,” Lt. Allen looked at all of them, her eyes sharp and her expression flat. “Your objective will be to eliminate each other, with these.”

She picked up a handgun and a magazine cartridge and held both objects up, “The magazines are full of blanks, but don’t think that if you get hit by one, you will not bleed. They will hurt upon impact and you can die if you are not careful. Shots to your arms and legs do not count, only to the back or chest will. Headshots are permitted within reason. If we see you taking advantage of your fallen comrade’s state with a headshot you will be severely disciplined.”

“Ma’am!” one of the trainees raised a hand, “how many are we allowed to carry?”

“One extra, so make your shot count,” the corner of her lips quirked up in a smile, “and if you find yourself disabled and out, raise your hands as you return here. Those that are eliminated early will have kitchen duty for three months straight.”

There were a few twittering and grumbles from the trainees and Desmond saw them talking amongst each other. He wondered since he was a civilian, would he have to do kitchen duty if he was eliminated early, but his answer was right in front of him as he saw Lt. Allen give him a pointed look. Not quite a civilian anymore, Des, the thought passed through him before Allen motioned for silence once more.

“The whistle will tell you when to start and when the exercise ends. Good luck, recruits,” she nodded once before they all surged forward, intent on getting their weapons and heading into the obstacle course.

Desmond managed to pick up his handgun and two cartridges before checking both as he wandered away from the group and stuffed one into the pocket of the vest he wore. Of course, with all of them wearing camouflage colors, it would be hard to find each other in the obstacle course.

However, as he started his journey in, he could feel the whisper of something, urging him not to run ahead like some of the others and instead, to take his time observing his surroundings. The other trainees probably knew the course like the back of their hands, but he didn’t. So he needed a vantage point first, that was what his instincts were telling him. He needed a chance to survey the scene before the first whistle blew.

Desmond looked up and saw several boulders lumped into a corner a couple of other instructors standing on top of it to also view the area and make sure none of the other trainees were cheating or taking advantage of their comrades. He made his way casually up towards the boulders, occasionally glancing back to see the other recruits hurry into the obstacle course or were checking their weapons or even talking to Lt. Allen.

Good, no one was taking an interest to where he was going. He could hear the whispers of an Arabic tinged English in his head, filling him with a sense of anticipation. He-no, Altaїr- had done something like this before. It was child’s play according to the swell of confidence within him, followed by a feral smile that graced the corner of his lips. He was an eagle, searching out his prey.

“Hi,” Desmond tossed a casual wave to the two instructors who nodded their heads at him before one turned to stare out into the obstacle course. He did not know what kind of instructions they had been given, but he figured that they would monitor every single one of their actions during this exercise.

Going over to the edge of the boulders, he peered down and across the landscape, noting the paths of movement a few of the other trainees had taken. Committing the landscape and points where instructors were, both in and along the border of the obstacle course, he made sure to note places where he could hide effectively if pursued or even mounds of leaves to hide in.

It is also a good place to be ambushed, Altaїr’s voice whispered and he agreed. Good and bad, but it would be worth looking into.

“Hey,” he turned to the instructor he was standing next to, “mind if I ask you a question?”

The instructor looked at him, surprise hidden in his eyes, but nonetheless nodded. “What is it?” His voice was gruff and militaristic. Desmond had a feeling that as a drill sergeant, the man was not used to his trainees asking him questions.

“Can I borrow your jacket?”

He saw the flicker of surprise in the man’s eyes before just the slight hint of mirth in them before he shrugged and started to unbutton his distinctive grey-white looking jacket that marked him as an instructor.

“Trade you,” the man gestured to his vest and Desmond shook his head.

“Unless you want to get shot?”

He only got a grin in reply before taking the jacket and slipping it on just as the whistle blew through the obstacle course, signaling the start of hunt. Hurrying away from the two, well one-jacket-less, instructors he made his way into the obstacle course at a casual pace, keeping his gun hidden in the jacket’s pocket, hands stuffed into them and kept his walk even.

Blend; use it to your advantage, Arden’s voice whispered in his mind, overlaid with Altaїr’s instructions. The brief puzzling thought as to why the two of them would say the same thing lingered in his mind before he shook his head and tried to focus on the present. The hunt that was what was important. There were thirteen others besides himself and he needed to hunt them all down.

It only took a few minutes before the rustle of leaves to his left made him look to see one of the trainees, a young fresh faced girl emerge from her hiding place, gun in hand, only to lower it as she saw him walk by.

“Sorry sir,” she saluted him and he nodded once watching her turn around and head towards a different direction.

He knew that he could have easily shot her to end her round in the hunt, but the whisper of caution prevailed in his mind. Once he fired his gun, it would alert others around the vicinity to his general location. No, he would have to be casual, continue blending, until he could silently make his first “kill.” And sure enough, his patience was rewarded as yet another trainee leapt down from a large boulder and hurried towards the direction the girl went after, no doubt having seen her and heard her from his hiding place. He was ignored as the trainee brushed past him disappeared down a small hill. Desmond watched him go before glancing up at the boulder the trainee came from.

He decided to climb it and was almost to the top when he heard the echoing report of a gun going off followed by two more shots. There was a brief moment of silence followed by a staccato of shots. As soon as silence reigned in the area once more, Desmond watched from his new perch three trainees wandering towards the direction of the entrance to the obstacle course, their hands held high, dejected looks on their faces. Amongst the three were the fresh faced girl and the male trainee that had chased after her.

They must have run into the third one who tried to ambush them, rather unsuccessfully. That was three down which meant ten others were left in the obstacle course. He switched to his Eagle Vision and spotted little glows of yellow on the peripheral of his vision, two of them coming towards where he was. No other yellows were around him so that gave him time to make his escape once he sprung his trap. Reverting back he breathed out a breath of anticipation and climbed down the boulder he was on, ready to put his plan into action.

* * *

“Man, they just walked right past him!” Rebecca laughed as she, Lucy, Shaun and several other personnel in the military base crowded around the computer screen, watching the morning exercise commence.

She had managed to use the Animus’ advance technology to hack into an unused satellite that had long been deactivated by the Russian government for being outdated and old, into transmitting an overhead feed for them to see what was going on. Making sure her connections were secured through a 256-encryption key on each output, she was glad to see that some of the other Assassins on the base, including the two that guarded Desmond’s door each night, had taken an interest in all that was happening.

Though she felt a bit sorry for Desmond because of his status as the Assassin’s messiah of sorts, she also knew the psychological effect he had on people. She had seen it in everyone’s eyes, in their postures. Since Desmond had arrived, Lucy had even confided in her that she had noticed everyone on the base putting a lot more effort into their work, bolstered by Desmond’s presence, even if he was a bit oblivious to it.

“Knew he was a sly one,” one of his guards, Derrick, grinned, crossing his beefy muscled arms across his chest, “look at him, swapping jackets with old Hammer and walking away like nothing could touch him.”

“Shh, I think he’s setting up his trap for those two,” Lucy shushed them. Beside her Shaun was munching on a bag of popcorn he had procured from somewhere and Rebecca absently reached across to grab another handful. Shoving the popped kernels into her mouth she chewed and swallowed just as a small hand wormed its way across her vision and pointed at the upper part of the screen.

“What is that?” a young girl’s voice spoke up and she glanced over to see a girl with long dark brown hair was held back with blue barrettes. She was wearing a black-white checkered dress with something strapped across her back and had a beaming cherubic smile on her face.

“What is what sweetie?” Rebecca had never seen her before but a quick look beyond her made her see Dr. Sharif nodding her head as if to confirm that this was her child. “What’s your name?”

“Tabitha,” she replied shyly, “I’m six…”

“Wow, you’re a big girl,” Rebecca never had a sister of her own, her parents living in New York City, unaware of her Assassin connections or the whole war with Templars. It was the way she wanted it to be, to leave them in ignorance so they were not in the Templars’ line of fire. She had even changed her last name to make sure they were protected. When the war was over, she vowed she would return to them.

“Auntie Ilana says I am,” she grinned again before pointing at the screen once more, “what’s that?”

“That’s the satellite feed where we can watch the…game that’s going on-“

“No, that,” the girl insisted, pointing towards the top corner of the screen, “what’s that?”

“There’s nothing-“ Rebecca looked at where she was pointing before narrowing her eyes. Her fingers flew over the keyboard, eliciting protests from the others, Lucy and Shaun included, as she zoomed into where little Tabitha had pointed and sharpened the image. Her jaw dropped as she saw what was happening on the screen.

“Is that…”

“I thought they were supposed to use only blanks?” Shaun whispered.

“No…that’s…” Lucy trailed off before roughly shoving her chair aside and barreled through the small group, headed up to the entrance of the base. Rebecca heard the exclamation of surprise from the others before someone called on the radio, but all of it was white noise to her ears as she could only watch in horror the unfolding scenario.

They had just witnessed the brutal execution of one of the trainees by another one of the trainees and the only thing that popped into her mind was a single word:

Templar.

* * *

She sighted down her sniper scope as she watched him take down two more trainees. He was good, she had to admit, very good, and it proved once and for all that the Animus was the most excellent and useful tool to train up those who carried the blood of the Assassins that came before them. She could see bits and pieces of her own training and those her master had taught her in him as he set his traps and ambushed his comrades.

“How is he doing?” the Italian accented voice did not startle her as she had long sensed him approaching before he had done so. He could have done so silently, but she knew from experience that he liked to make an entrance whenever possible. It was his way, flashy and stylish; a stark contrast to what her master used to do. However, she also knew that he could be as good as her former master when stealth was needed.

“Lucy Stillman’s predictions that the Animus could serve as a way to train an untrained Assassin into a fully fledged one are coming true,” she murmured, following Desmond with her sniper scope as he took down one in an ambush from a tree branch before rolling to the ground and shot another trainee square in the chest with his gun. She felt the corners of her lips quirk up in a smile as she saw the trainee’s crestfallen expression at having been shot.

Desmond suddenly reached a hand out and the trainee looked back at him, curious. Though she could not hear nor see what was spoken, she saw the flash of puzzlement on the trainee’s face before a hesitant nod and began to take off the outer layer of his clothing.

“Ah, another trap, he is learning, fast,” she murmured for the man standing next to her.

“May I borrow that?” she only had half a second to form a negative reply before the scope suddenly disappeared from her vision as her rifle was quickly snatched up. Frowning, she turned to scold him, but he ignored her and hunkered down next to her, setting his eyes on the scope and made minute adjustments.

“Damage it in any way and I will make your life a living hell,” she glared at him even though he could not see her.

“I know,” he waved her concern away with a black gloved hand. She was surprised to see him not dressed in his usual attire of a sharp business suit, but instead, in casual clothing, jeans, and a black colored hoodie pulled over his head, forming a small beak according to his shadow. “It was your husband’s. I know better than to damage anything Stephen gave to you, after all I did train him.”

She did not say anything, the frown deepening on her face as he adjusted and swung the sniper rifle around to various spots. “Ah, there he is now. At least…no, that is not him,” she could not help but hear the slight admiration in his voice and her frown turned into a small smile. He sounded like a proud parent. “He is definitely very good, must have gotten that from him.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes before she opened her mouth again. “Derrick and Sheridan have been reporting that he has had more frequent lucid dreams,” she started conversationally.

“Afraid of what he might discover?”

“Afraid that he will turn into Alexander in the end,” she shot back.

“Sentiment, from you? Perish the thought.”

“Concern, not sentiment. He is a means to an end.”

“He is strong, just like you and I are. He will not succumb that easily,” she thought she heard a tinge of worry in his voice, but figured she imagined it.

“I will destroy it before it consumes him,” she challenged.

That got a reaction from him as he looked at her, his eyes hooded, dark beneath the black hoodie he wore, “It may have saved your life, but you would heed my advice and your master’s never to touch it again, unless you would like to suffer the same fate as Alexander’s little girl.”

She narrowed her eyes, meeting his gaze equally before he turned back to continue staring down the sniper scope. “This talk is dangerous, you know better than to say these words here,” he growled out, his accent thickening his English.

“This is the exact talk we need-“ she did not finish her sentence as her radio crackled and a frantic voice blared across it.

“Northern quadrant, obstacle number sixteen, Assassin down, repeat Assassin down! Templar spotted!”

Adrenaline immediately rushed through her veins as she grabbed her radio, “This is Lt. Allen, Enzo and I are up here with the scope.”

“Found him…”

“He’s found him-“ she released the talk button on the radio just as the Italian man took his shot, the loud report from the sniper rifle echoing in the rocky outcrop.

“Fucking hell, missed,” he swore in Italian.

“Missed, we’re-“ she released the talk button once more, “hey-!”

She watched as he cradled the rifle in his hands before backing up and running towards the edge of where he had been using as a perch. She knew exactly what he was going to do-

“He’s after Desmond!” he shouted to her as he ran by and leapt into the air, diving down to the ground in a perfect Leap of Faith.

“Ezio!” she shouted as she dropped the radio and jumped after him.

* * *

Author’s Notes:

Lots of little tributes to my favorite movies, TV shows, etc. in this chapter. The Animus gang’s part is a Matrix tribute and parts of the obstacle course/blanks in guns are from a Stargate SG-1 episode. Also a disclaimer here, I have little experience with firearms (exception is a paintball gun – if that could be counted as a firearm) so for anyone who is proficient and spots any mistakes I made, please let me know! I’m basing my firearm knowledge on movies and research I’ve done for other stories.

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Author’s Note:

All foreign languages will be in italics.  All words emphasized in regular speech or character POVs will also be in italics.

Story:

Chapter 10 – Ambush

Desmond gave the leaves he had stuffed into the jacket one more good shove before stepping back to admire his handiwork. From an angle, it did look like one of the trainees who had tried to hide behind a tree to ambush those that wandered by, but was not quite successful at hiding completely. He switched briefly to his Eagle Vision to check his surroundings and found no immediate threats before returning to his normal gaze and moved to set up another leaf pile near by to make it obvious that someone was hiding in it when the piercing whistle resounded in the air.

He paused as he looked towards the sound. Was he really the only one left in the exercise that had not been caught? He had heard the loud report of a gun firing above him a distance away just a few minutes ago, but it didn’t quite sound like a regular handgun. Arden, the female ancestor whose memories he was currently exploring, had supplied him with the knowledge that it sounded like a sniper rifle.

Maybe he was the only one left and didn’t know it. Shrugging, he set about bringing the trainee’s jacket he had borrowed back to him. He grabbed the jacket and was about to lift it up when Desmond froze. He had heard something and his senses were standing on end. Something was wrong…something terribly wrong. He did not know what, but the abilities given to him by his ancestors and through his own blood were screaming at him that he should prepare; for what, he did not know.

Turn now!

He mentally felt the instinct kick in as he pivoted on his left foot, his hands on the jacket before tossing it high and wide into the air, showering the whole area in a sea of dried leaves that swirled like a whirlwind. At the same time he leaned over to one side and heard the pop of a handgun’s bullet flying amongst the whirlwind of dried leaves. The distinct thought that someone was trying to kill him, not remove him from the game, echoed in his head as he moved, charging towards the sound of where the bullet came from.

He burst through the falling leaves and saw the surprised expression of the assassin who tried to kill him. The irony of the situation did not escape him, but rather he shoved it to the side and acted. A quick ducking jab towards the man’s pelvis made him crumple a bit before he had time to fire a second bullet, but by then Desmond was already moving.

He half turned and trapped the man’s gun arm underneath his right armpit. At the same time, he grabbed onto the man’s right hand while his left pulled the gun sharply forward. There was a snapping sound before the man howled in pain behind him, still half trapped and Desmond ripped the gun away from the man’s broken and limp fingers.

Tossing it to the ground, Desmond braced himself as he felt a sharp blow to his kidneys and released the man’s trapped arm. He backed away, raising his hands in a defensive move, staring at his attacker. He was older looking than him, a thin looking face with heavily accented cheekbones. A wicked looking scar puckered the skin around his face. His watery blue eyes were hard as crystals yet maintained a crazed look at the same time. There was an odd familiarity to him that Desmond did not know where it came from, but he pushed the feeling to the side as the man leapt towards him.

He kicked out swiftly, his foot catching the side of the man’s ribs knocking him off balance before he turn and ran, panic suddenly filling him. In the midst of the panic, he could hear phantom voices echoing inside his head, trying to direct him to what he should do when he leapt over a log, how he could use it to combat the enemy chasing him. The voices were insistent and Desmond felt his panic grow as he realized that he had only gotten through that initial ambush by the saving grace of his ancestors literally working within him, instinctively driving him.

The thought of why did he not use their knowledge to his advantage ran through his mind, but Desmond felt the deep seeded fear grow in him. He didn’t want to use it because it scared the living shit out of him; because he knew how efficient of a killer his ancestors were, especially Altaїr and Ezio. The problem was-

Desmond suddenly ducked as his senses screamed a warning and glanced up in time to see a thrown dagger slicing through the air where his head used to be. He swerved on his path, zigzagging back and forth. Risking a glance behind him, he saw the distant form of his killer catching up to him and the panic grew.

“Desmond!” Enzo’s loud commanding voice filled the air and Desmond’s eyes widened before he dove out of the way of the sniper rifle that Enzo was holding crouched on the ground.

“Requiescat in pace you bastard,” he barely heard Enzo mutter behind the rifle before a loud crack filled the air and Desmond saw his killer jerk slightly before collapsing to the ground in a mess of limp limbs.

It was over, he realized as he stood up on shaky legs, his breath coming in gasps, the adrenaline that had flooded into him slowly dissipating. A couple of crunching of leaves made him turn to see beyond Enzo was Lt. Allen and Lucy of all people, hurrying towards them. He saw the Lieutenant grab the sniper rifle out of Enzo’s hands, giving him a look before stomping over to the body, clearly angry.

“Desmond?” Lucy called out and he reached out with a shaky hand, grasping her own before she quickly hugged him, surprising him. She released him just as quickly and he gave her a hesitant smile.

“I think I’m all right,” he winced a bit as he felt his bruised kidneys protest at his words, “sort of all right. Bastard got me good in the kidneys.”

“We’ll have Dr. Shariff look at you, okay?” she gave him a hesitant, worried smile before turning to look at where Lt. Allen was standing next to the fallen body, “what happened?”

Desmond shook his head, “Your guess is as good as mine. He was good though, really good. Almost…” Assassin-trained, the whisper of a voice echoed in his head before he squeezed his eyes shut to shove the annoying whisper away and opened his eyes once more. He looked towards where the Lieutenant was still standing over the assassin’s body-

“Wait, something’s not right,” Desmond frowned as he felt and odd echo of shock within him as he continued to stare at the Lieutenant. It was then that he noticed that the Lieutenant had done nothing to the body, not even examine it and instead stood rooted to the ground, her expression blank.

Enzo must have come to the same conclusion as he swiftly approached her side and placed a hand on her shoulder. Desmond hung back as he saw the senior assassin talk to the young Lieutenant before looking down at the body. He saw him stiffen before the mouthing of an unspoken curse fell from his lips. Something was definitely wrong as he approached them.

“Hey…“ All words left Desmond as he looked from them to the body-

The blood dripped down his arms, unnoticed as they formed a growing puddle of red in the streets. His sallow, pale face was pulled in a hideous death-like smile, making his accented cheekbones and puckering scar even more pronounced. His other hand twirled a switchblade, almost lovingly as he seemed to wait for her to make the first move.

“I see you’ve decided to join the family business…” he nodded his approval, but she felt nothing but disgust.

“I am not a butcher, like you,” she fingered the trigger for her hidden blade on her left bracer, her right hand clenched into a fist. The eerily quiet night in the Whitechapel area of London was starting to become oppressive.

“Poor little girl, deceived to think that she serves a more noble purpose, that her work of killing those in her path would not make her a murderer,” he replied.

“You killed my mother!” she shot back hotly.

“She had it coming,” he said in a simple tone, as if nothing mattered, “her purpose was to carry you in her womb and that was it. She served her purpose.”

“You,” she lunged forward, her blade extended as he met her arm in a swift parry, “do not deserve the title of father!”

Desmond stumbled back away from the body blinking his eyes rapidly as the images faded away from his eyes. “T-That’s…that’s…” he could barely get the words out as he pointed at the body, drawing both Enzo and Lt. Allen’s gazes to him, “holy…shit. Holy shit…but…”

“Desmond?” Lucy grabbed his shoulders, trying to support him as he unsteadily regained his footing, “what is it?”

“That’s…fuck,” he shook his head not wanting to acknowledge it, but the screaming familiarity within him demanded it. He knew the person that had tried to kill him. But if that was true, how could this man, look not even a day over forty? “That’s Jack the Ripper…”

* * *

Desmond suppressed a grimace of discomfort as he felt the needle withdrawal from his back. As soon as he saw the glint of silver out of the corner of his eye, he allowed himself to relax somewhat as Dr. Sharif quickly bandaged up the small puncture wound in his back and turned to the fluid-filled syringe that had been taken from his lumbar puncture.

“You’re all set Desmond. No more physical activity for you today, but just take it easy,” the doctor absently swirled his spinal fluid inside the syringe before turning to look at him, “how is the bruising?”

“Doesn’t hurt as much as before,” Desmond absently glanced down at the spectacular black and bruise half hidden by his pants where his right kidney was. A few hours had passed since he had received the blow from his attacker, and he expected it hurt a lot, but the good doctor had done something, he didn’t know what, to ease his pain and let the healing process begin.

After he had identified his attacker, Dr. Patrice had come up with a contingent of soldiers to handle the situation and he had been ordered to see Dr. Sharif to tend to his wounds. When he had arrived, the doctor had done so before asking him if she could take a lumbar puncture, apparently having seen the security footage of him using his ancestors’ memories to dodge the initial attacks.

Desmond reached over and pulled his tee-shirt back on before gingerly putting on his hoodie and zipping it up, stuffing his hands in its pockets as he glanced over to the doctor who was making several notes on what looked like his medical charts. A quick peek showed a lot of extensive pen scribbles, but he couldn’t quite make out what they said. He probably figured that she, like many doctors, had handwriting only she and her medical staff could interpret.

“Here,” she turned and handed him a couple of pills of Advil and a bottle of water, “take these and drink the whole bottle.”

“The whole bottle?” he blinked.

“You’re already dehydrated from your little adventure this morning and this will help ease the headache you’re probably ignoring at the moment.”

“Are you a mind reader?” Desmond tried a light joke and saw it fall flat on its face as she arched a sculpted eyebrow. “Never mind.”

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some studies to conduct after my necropsy of the person who tried to kill you this morning,” she frowned for a second before looking at him again, “you can use the Animus, but no big missions in there.”

“Hell, I don’t even know if there will be big missions in her memories,” Desmond shook his head.

“That ancestor of yours, Arden, has several. They will present themselves in due time. You would only need to pay attention to the hints given,” the doctor replied cryptically before leaving him alone in the room.

The echo of her shout towards the man that had killed her mother and had been identified as Jack the Ripper still lingered in him, sending chills down his back. Was it true that her mother’s murderer was also her father? That would definitely be a big mission, he supposed, much like Ezio’s revenge filled quest to eliminate everyone who had a hand in killing his own family, yet it seemed so personal on many levels. It seemed that unlike Ezio’s revenge, which eliminated a lot of people that were supported by Rodrigo Borgia, if Arden’s ultimate mission was to kill her mother’s murderer, then she was more single-mindedly attuned to that goal than any of the ancestors’ memories he had explored.

Suppressing another shiver for reasons he did not know, he headed out of the infirmary and back towards where the Animus was. He vaguely remembered Lucy telling him that Rebecca had managed to hack into some of the security cameras to watch his morning training exercise and they had caught the image of his assassin killing several of the other trainees before going after him.

Security had been called, but Desmond didn’t know why Lucy had left the room and come to him in the field and she was not forthcoming in any of his questions. Luckily, Dr. Patrice had asked for Enzo and Lt. Allen to explain the situation while he had been led to the infirmary. While there had been no official confirmation that it was Jack the Ripper who had been his attempted assassin, the resemblance from his ancestors’ memories was too eerie to be a coincidence.

He nodded to the two guards he saw stationed outside the Animus room and was surprised to see one of them nod back with a slight grin before heading in. If there were guards now outside the Animus itself, then Dr. Patrice was truly worried about the Templars getting in.

“Desmond!” Rebecca looked up from her tinkering with a machine to grin at him, “You’re okay!”

“Yeah,” Desmond replied as he saw Shaun look up from whatever research he had been engrossed in to give him a once-over and a slight nod before burying his head back into his computer. “Heard you were the one I have to thank for saving my ass out there,” he said.

“Not really me, more like,” Rebecca frowned as she looked around, “hey she was here just a few minutes ago…”

“Huh?”

“You know, that little girl, Tabitha, I think was her name…” Rebecca looked around, confused and glanced over to Shaun who shrugged, “Luce, you know where she went?”

“Not sure,” was her absent reply and Desmond saw that she was on another computer, studying what looked like slightly grainy security camera footage. He realized that it was the footage of his killer moments before he ambushed him in the field.

“Ah, never mind, but yeah, little girl, can’t be about like six or something,” Rebecca made hand motions to approximate her size, “if you do see her, thank her. She’s the one who pointed out the crazy who tried to kill you.”

Desmond turned his attention back to what she was saying and nodded, a niggling feeling of worry filling him. If it was the same Tabitha he had encountered in the gym area the other night…and if she had been the one to identify his killer in the security footage, could it mean that Alexander was looking out for him in an odd way? He still remembered his words not to trust anyone, including the heads of the Assassin Order except for Enzo and his ancestors. He still did not know what that meant, but it was one more piece of a very large puzzle he was beginning to realize that was the heart of the conflict between the Assassins and the Templars. Some of the pieces he knew fit in perfectly, but others, like this one, seemingly shattered that puzzle once more.

“Hey Rebecca, can the Animus be used to pinpoint a memory?” he asked as he circled around the dentist chair that currently housed the Animus.

“Sure, if you’ve already explored the memory that you’ve already completed,” Rebecca replied, “why, want to muck around Ezio or Altaїr’s memories?”

“No, I mean unexplored ones,” he climbed into the chair and adjusted the visor and allowed himself to relax, ignoring the slight twinge of pain when his lower back met the chair from his most recent lumbar puncture, “I got a weird flash of something when that crazy dude tried to kill me. Thought it could be Jack the Ripper or something.”

“Really?” Shaun turned around and stared at him, pushing his glasses up his nose, “but Jack’s supposed to be dead-“

“I know,” Desmond sat up slightly, “but I can’t explain it. I know that’s Jack they’ve got down in the morgue and I want to see why Arden was sure it was Jack.”

“Wait so you’re saying that Arden’s memories told you that it was Jack the Ripper? Without even going through the Animus?” this time it was Lucy who turned away from the security footage, staring at him, worry in her eyes. “That’s not possible…unless…”

Desmond smiled grimly before tapping the visor across his eyes, “The Bleeding Effect. I know. And truth be told, it’s not the first time I experienced something like this…”

“But when we first arrived in the meeting-“

“You said that if any of the phantom images lasted more than a minute, I should let you know, right?”

“You were only out for ten seconds, not even enough to…” Lucy trailed off as her expression closed, “the warehouse. When you didn’t follow me back to the main room, I assumed you had gone to bed or something…”

“I found myself in Altaїr’s memories,” Desmond admitted, “back in Acre, I don’t know how long after he had killed Al Mualim, but probably recent considering that the Crusaders still held the city. I…he was chasing a woman, Maria, across the rooftops and I thought she was supposed to die, but…” He still could not believe that his ancestor had taken Robert de Sable’s steward as his lover, but he realized that stranger things had happened before, Apple of Eden not withstanding.

He looked at his friends, the implications of his unfinished story dawning on their faces before Shaun nodded thoughtfully. “It does explain how his line continued. What happened afterwards?”

“Shaun!” both Lucy and Rebecca looked at him, appalled.

“I don’t know,” he understood the historian’s question, “when Altaїr left, I wasn’t able to follow him like I used to. I was somehow just around Maria, that’s all…”

“So the conception of a child switches the point of view from ancestor to ancestor, from birth to the next conception and passing of genes,” Lucy tapped her lip thoughtfully, “it explains why you were able to witness Ezio’s birth because you were Ezio from when he was conceived until he had another child…”

The implications that Ezio had not had a child, even at his age while hunting down Rodrigo Borgia and the Piece of Eden dawned on Desmond. Even he knew from his history books that men Ezio’s age were considered already in their old ages and did not live long after that. So did that meant that Ezio’s eventual child, male or female, did not get to spend time with their father or because of Ezio’s robust health he was able to live well past the median age of death for people of that time period?

He had a feeling that he was able to bypass jumping from Altaїr to Ezio because of the similarities he and Subject Sixteen had when Lucy had started Ezio’s memories in Abstergo, but it did not explain the abrupt way he had jumped from Ezio to Arden’s memories. He had a feeling that there was more to Ezio’s story after he had spared Borgia’s life, yet felt that he could not explore it because he was current stuck in Arden’s memories.

“So you don’t want to jump back to Ezio or Altaїr’s memories then?” Rebecca asked.

“No, I want to explore Arden’s, but I have a feeling that if it is chronological order, then it’s far ahead of the last time I had explored her memories,” he replied.

“Desmond, the last time we tried that, you nearly died from the de-synchronization,” Lucy shook her head, “granted that was Vidic attempting to force you to remember things, but I don’t think the Animus can be used that way.”

“Not even for a small hop in years?”

“It’s too risky,” she shook her head, “what happens if you experience the same glitch again when you jumped from Ezio to Arden’s memories? You nearly died from that.”

Desmond shook his head, “Somehow I feel that this is really important.”

“Your life is more important,” Lucy crinkled her brow, her voice tight with slight anger, “don’t throw it away so rashly.” She abruptly turned around effectively ending the conversation as silence rang in the Animus room, leaving Desmond, Rebecca, and Shaun blinking in a slightly bewildered look.

He glanced at Rebecca who shrugged and motioned for him to get comfortable while she loaded up the Animus. He did so and after a few minutes, found himself back in his ancestor’s memories.

The far off sound foghorn was one of the few noises that echoed in the meat-packing factory she found herself in. Her knife was sheathed in belt across her waist, but that was covered by a long black overcoat she wore, the hood of the overcoat draw up over her head; its beak made the distinctive shadows of an eagle when moonlight hit her profile, but it made her blend in with the darkened factory even more.

She silently walked across the factory floor, brushing past hanging pigs and machinery usually noisily cutting apart the meat for market sales, but now silent after work hours was done. The smell of coal still filled the air as the furnaces never stopped burning, though at night they burned a little less. Her prey was here, she was sure of it. Today was the day she was to avenge her mother’s death. All of her efforts in the past two years were for this, all of the training her master Andrew had put through her were for this…

She would not apologize for not letting him know of her mission at the moment, but since her training she had been cultivating her own contacts and they had given her this information to hunt down her mother’s killer. She knew Andrew forbade her from even thinking of going after Jack the Ripper, but she did not care. This was her mission and she would confront and kill her mother’s murderer.

Arden’s eyes darted to her left as she thought she saw a shadow move across the opposite side of the factory and tensed, her fingers gliding over the release mechanism that would spring forth her hidden blade, but she did not activate it. Her gun was by her side, next to her knife, the modern equivalent of the sword, an upgrade her master had told her when she had been taught the usage of guns and rifles.

“So,” the voice that had long haunted her dreams suddenly spoke in front of her and she immediately drew her gun and pointed at the shadows, her eyes narrowed warily, “we finally meet.”

“Show yourself, Jack,” she snarled, anger filling her.

“As you wish,” his voice was smoother than she had remembered, but nonetheless she tightened her grip on her pistol as she recognized the handsomely scarred face. “There now, are you satisfied, little girl?”

“I will kill you,” she cocked the hammer of her pistol down, but found that she could not pull the trigger. Her senses were screaming at her to do it before anything else happened, yet something else was stopping her.

He smiled and shook his head, “No you won’t, little girl.”

“I,” she tried to pull the trigger, but her fingers felt frozen, “am not a little girl! I am the daughter of Anne-Marie Allen! I am the daughter of an Assassin!”

“Then may the Father of Understanding help you,” Jack suddenly pulled a glowing object out of the folders of his dark overcoat and she found herself frozen in place, unable to move or breathe. The clawing panic within her exploded as she struggled for breath, to pull the trigger, anything to live and to get away from the hideous object that glowed in front of her. It was a lance head, she could see as the claws of fear raced across her.

“S-Stop,” she whispered, struggling to draw breath as she saw Jack advance towards her.

“Still able to speak?” he was in front of her now, so close that she could feel his breath across her face as he leaned down towards her. She remembered what he had done to her mother, how he had raped her and sliced her body into ribbons before discarding her to the cobblestone streets like nothing more than a sack of potatoes before trying to kill her. She did not realize it back then, too engulfed in the grief and horror of what had happened in front of her eyes, but the blade he held was the same exact one that he had killed her mother with.

“You do not know how I have longed to see you,” he whispered to her, holding the glowing blade close to her face. She felt a spark of pain run down the right side of her face and could feel liquid falling in a line down her cheek. “How I have waited so long…”

He gave her a quick smile, his face a myriad of emotions she could not identify, but she thought she saw a crazed, but pained look in his watery blue eyes. “So precious…so like her. It makes me do things, you know…things…I never wanted to-“ He suddenly drew back, wincing before leaning forward again, “My daughter…my precious, precious daughter…”

Arden felt the horror growing within her as she struggled to scream, to move, to do anything to stop this man from killing her. She wanted to live! She did not want to die like her mother had! Someone, anyone? She thought frantically as she watched his eyes dart all around her face, seemingly memorizing each detail of her. She felt sickened and could not believe that this man had thought of her as like a daughter?! Was this what he said to all of his other victims before he killed them?

“Get away from her,” the heavily accented voice growled from the darkness followed by a string of words she did not recognize, but a distant part of her told her was Arabic, before she saw Jack reel back, swinging his glowing lance head wildly.

Arden suddenly found that she could move and her legs buckled beneath her as she collapsed to the ground, her breath coming in gasps from not being able to draw any oxygen for so long. She found her hands shaking wildly, her pistol rattling against the ground against her will and looked up blearily to see someone fending Jack off with broad swipes of a slightly curved longsword, a thin variation of a scimitar, before the man turned tail and ran.

She looked up, her whole body shaking as she tried to draw more breath into her, but the spots around her eyes were growing larger and larger. She could feel herself fall to the ground, her pistol finally clattering to the ground and just as the darkness overtook her, saw the face of her master appear before her. She tried to form his name with her lips, but instead, something else came out.

“Altaїr…”

* * *

Author’s Notes:

No offense to doctors, but the doctors-with-terrible-handwriting is based on my own doctor, who’s handwriting, especially for prescriptions, I cannot for the life of me read. On another note, things get a little more interesting here...and I will most likely be incorporating aspects of the Assassin’s Creed comic, The Fall in this story.

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Story:

Chapter 11 – Disclosure

Arden awoke to the near darkness of the familiar rooms of what was her home for the past two years. The snap and crackle of oxygen being consumed by fire made her slowly turn her head to see the flames dance their random pattern. Turning her head to the other side, she saw her master, sitting with his hands folded and chin resting on top, his frame half hidden by the shadows the fire gave off. Her eyes moved past him to see that there was another person in the room, standing near his master’s chair, staring at her. She could not quite make out the face, but the silhouette was definitely male and he wore the familiar garments that marked him as a part of the Assassin Order.

“You had been explicitly told not to search out Jack until I said it was time,” her master suddenly spoke, his English soft, but she thought she heard the twinge of a foreign accent in there. She vaguely remembered his voice shouting above her as she had fallen into darkness, his accent strong, not even remotely British like she was used to hearing. But had that been a product of the lack of oxygen?

“I…” she slowly sat up, feeling a bit dizzy, but otherwise fine. She realized that she was still in her overcoat, her weapons still on her.

“You disobeyed direct orders,” her master still did not look at her and she stared at the carpeted floor, shame creeping upon her. She wished that he was yelling at her, something, anything, to show that he had some emotion. Yet, he talked to her, his voice cold, hard, the undercurrent of disappointment in every word.

“You are not ready-“

“I am ready!” she looked up, swift anger filling her, “I have been killing for the Order for two years-“

“Only two years,” he cut her off, finally looking at her and she drew back, startled at the sheer amount of anger in them, his eyes as hard as crystals. “Two years and you consider yourself ready?!”

“He killed my mother!” she screamed, anguish filling her; “he raped her, cut her up into pieces and left her to die! Her blood was spilling to the ground and he laughed! He laughed!” She remembered him towering over her, taunting her with the memories of that night. He had told her something that night…but why would he do such a thing? He had never said that to her mother as she begged for her life. She could remember that horrific day now, having blocked most of it out of her mind in her quest for revenge. But now- “He called me his daughter…”

She looked at her master and saw those furious eyes look away from her. For a second, she was confused, but then realized that he had known. He had known. “You…knew,” she breathed out, “you knew all this time…” She shook her head, unable to believe that her own master knew that Jack, the man that had killed her mother was her father too. “Why…? Andrew, why?”

“Because he used to be one of us,” the other man standing in the shadows spoke up, his English accented with something that sounded Italian, “he used to be an Assassin.”

She stared at the other man, unable to comprehend what he had just said. Jack, the man that had killed her mother, was her father, of all things, used to be one of them? Used to be part of the Order? But the idea that it could happen for him to attack-

“Those women were his targets?” she looked at the other man, still hidden in the shadows.

“No,” he sounded resigned, “I apologize for that, little one, they were the victims of his madness.”

“But…”

“He had been one of the best we had trained before sent out on a dangerous mission to retrieve an artifact of great importance. We knew that the odds of success were low, but he had the best training we could give him. That mission also involved your mother and in the aftermath, it was she who told us of Jack’s corruption and defection to the Templars.”

“And the artifact?” Arden asked, but she already knew the answer, “that was what he used on me…on all of his victims…”

“Yes,” her master looked at her now, the anger lessened in his eyes, but still smoldering there. “You were fortunate.”

She wanted to protest what her master was saying, but realized that she had been very fortunate to survive. Absently rubbing her neck, she winced as she felt tender bruises around the area. She looked up at the man standing near her master, “You were his master, weren’t you?”

She saw him give her master a quick look before her master inclined his head once, an unspoken communication between the two of them. The mysterious assassin nodded once, “He was my student.”

“Then…”

“Andrew,” the man seemed to stumble a bit over her master’s name, “sent for me a month ago with information regarding Jack’s whereabouts. The head of our Order had given instructions to him to stop Jack by any means and to retrieve the artifact.”

Arden looked at her master, sitting with his back to the fire, his gaze expressionless and not even focused on her. It dawned on her that her own agenda to find Jack and to kill him had cost her master perhaps months, even years of planning just because she wanted to find him first. She knew that preparation and information were key to eliminating a target that was what she had learned in the two years under her master’s tutelage. Her half-assed plan to ambush Jack at the meat-packing factory was nothing more than an amateur’s play.

She did not know how high of a ranking her master had within the Order itself, but she had been told by many of his contacts, who had become her contacts, and even some of the visiting members of the Order that occasionally dropped by that Andrew rarely took on trainees, preferring to work alone. She had been told that the last time Andrew had taken on a pupil, it had been his own sons and both had become legendary Assassins of their own right.

But to find out that the head of their Order had personally given her master instructions to stop Jack spoke volumes. She had learned that her mother and all of the other women murdered by Jack’s hand were Assassins themselves, some very high ranking though all had been considered prostitutes by Scotland Yard’s assessment. She had not realized, but in the course of the two years she had been with her master, he had her doing smaller missions overall to help him achieve his missions given to him by the Order and those had changed some of the politics within England itself, even the rest of the world in some cases.

The incredible guilt welling in her bubbled to the surface as she bowed her head down, ashamed of what she had done; of her foolish actions that could have gotten her own master killed before he was ready to strike, that almost killed her.

“You will rest now and tomorrow we will continue,” her master finally spoke up and she nodded, still not willing to look up.

“Yes master,” she replied before getting up, a bit unsteadily as a wash of dizziness passed over her, but she managed to straighten herself and walked out of the room. Just as she was passing the mantle of the fireplace, she hesitated and brought up her left arm, staring at the ornate vambrace that was etched with the symbolic ‘A’ of the assassins.

She quickly undid the buckles and slid it off her arm before placing it on the mantle itself and headed out of the room without even a glance back. She did not deserve the weaponry of the Assassins for her failure.

Desmond saw the brief image of the silvery hues of the Animus’ loading screen flash across his eyes before the familiar surroundings of the Animus room appeared before his eyes, replacing the dark, drab Victorian hues of late 19^th century England. He blinked his eyes a few times, clearing away the remnant images before taking off the visor and sitting up. His back didn’t hurt anymore and absently placed the visor on the Rebecca’s desk which was next to the dentist-chair Animus.

“Hey Rebecca, can you rewind to the part of the memory where I, uh, where Arden’s getting choked? Before she wakes up, that little bit,” he asked, looking over to her.

“Sure, you okay?” she asked, typing a few commands on her screen before bringing up another window and dragged her ball mouse over the scroll bar.

“Yeah,” he scrubbed his face, “just, wow…something about it…” He could not get rid of the eerie feeling that he knew who Arden’s master was and also the person behind Arden. The fact that he thought he heard the whisper of Altaїr’s name before he-she had passed out, freaked him out a little, but maybe it was just a glitch of the Animus? Lucy did say that there were glitches in the Animus 1.0 at Abstergo and even Rebecca’s Animus 2.0 still had some occasional glitches.

“Here’s a good point?” she pointed to her screen and he saw that it was right when her master, Andrew, had started to chase Jack away.

“Yeah, play it,” he replied and saw the memory play. He listened carefully to the sounds of her harsh breath, the gasping hiccups as she tried to draw in oxygen and rubbed his own neck as he could seemingly feel the sympathy pangs of being choked by what looked like a very powerful Piece of Eden…

“Andrew…” was the barely heard last word from Arden’s lips before her eyes closed and Rebecca stopped the feed once more.

“Well?” she turned back to look at him and he frowned.

He could have sworn he heard her say Altaїr instead of Andrew. Perhaps it was a glitch in the Animus that made that happen? Maybe it was part of the Bleeding Effect, a leftover memory from this morning’s activities. Dr. Sharif had said for him not to engage in any big missions so was this considered one?

“Probably just my imagination,” he shook his head as a thought occurred to him, “hey, can you rewind back to where Jack shows that Piece of Eden?”

“Piece of Eden?” Shaun turned from where he had been sitting, “what Piece of Eden?”

“The one where Jack was using to paralyze her?” Desmond stared at Shaun, puzzled.

“Uh, sorry, but all we saw was Jack suddenly choking her, pinning her to one of the machineries before her master swooped down and saved her,” Shaun shrugged, “I was going to upload some more information about Jack to you after that incident, but then you came out of the Animus so…”

“Wait, wait, wait,” he shook his head, “I know what I saw in there. Jack was definitely holding a Piece of Eden when he attacked me, her, her – yes I know it’s her, not me, at least. Never mind. It was a lance head-“ He trailed off as he remembered where he had seen another lance head Piece of Eden…on a little girl named Tabitha. However, the thought of the little girl echoed with Alexander’s warning not to trust anyone save for his ancestors and he closed his mouth, wondering if he should even mention to them that Tabitha had the lance head. He wanted to trust his friends, especially since it was Lucy who got him out of that hell hole called Abstergo.

Yet something within him was warning him that things were not what they seemed. He shook his head, rubbing his eyes. Maybe he was spending too much time with his ancestors, especially with this morning’s incident. His ancestors’ memories were bubbling close to the surface of his own consciousness; perhaps it was their allegiances to whatever factions that was influencing him instead? Making him distrust his friends?

“I think you should get some sleep Desmond,” Lucy’s thin hands touched him gently on the arm and he opened his eyes to see her shaking her head, a slightly rueful smile on her face, the anger from before he went into the Animus apparently gone. “You still have your training mission tomorrow and Dr. Patrice did say we weren’t supposed to exhaust you using the Animus.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” he agreed, resolutely ignoring the phantom whispers of an unidentifiable voice in his head. He had nearly forgotten about his actual training mission tomorrow to Denver with all of the excitement of today.

“We’ll look more into Arden’s missions while you’re away, okay? That way maybe we can have a better grasp of controlling the memories you enter when you return from Denver,” she gave him a reassuring squeeze before gently shoving him towards the door.

“That would be appreciated, thanks,” he smiled in return, glad that she wasn’t angry at him anymore. He had seen her frustrated, hurried, relieved, even happy at times, but her anger, even directed at him, was something new and it was something that he didn’t particularly like. It had made him feel uneasy. “Night guys,” he turned and headed out of the room, back towards his own quarters. Tomorrow was the real test of all of the skills he had acquired.

It was long after he had gone into a dreamless sleep that a part of him realized he had never told them about his mission to Denver.

* * *

“You should tell him,” he said staring at her as she typed away at the keyboard, the glow of the computer monitor framing her face and the only source of light in the darkened room.

“I can’t,” she replied, not even stopping in her work to acknowledge him.

“Then why did you bring him here?”

“To find her.”

“Getting her out of here will not be easy. She’s been under a watchful eye for a long time now.”

“I promised him, did you know that? I promised that I would find his daughter and protect her.”

“Even at the cost of his life?”

“The other two, they knew the risks when I told them what I had planned to do after we escaped. However, leaving him at the Farm…”

“He would probably still follow you back here, I understand.”

“Please, protect him, will you?”

“I cannot guarantee it, especially in that city.”

“I know. I can already see her slowly being consumed by it. I know whatever plans she has for him; it will eventually involve him killing someone that he knows.”

“Perhaps even you?”

There was no answer save for the tapping of keys on the keyboard.

“You should tell him before it is too late. He may not realize it, but he loves you.”

“Did you ever tell her?”

“No, and I regret it…”

“I don’t deserve happiness, not after what I’ve done.”

“You may yet, Signora Stillman.”

* * *

Desmond could not keep the shit-eating grin off of his face as he exited the elevator with Enzo and saw the man head towards the Alfa Romeo sitting in the parking lot. “I knew it,” he grinned, “I knew that had to be your car.”

“And why?” the dapperly dressed businessman looked amused.

“Because only someone who dresses like you could ever have a car like that. Plus, you’re not the one I picture driving a Cadillac Escalade,” he replied before hopping into the passenger side, “wow…plush leather seats too.”

The only reply he got was a chuckle from the older Assassin as they drove out of the base and merged onto the interstate towards Denver. The Alfa’s radio was piping through a local station, but nothing that Desmond seemed to care for in terms of music. He had expected someone like Enzo to pimp out his car, but it seemed that the businessman was content to keep his Alfa in its same pristine condition.

“Did the good doctor tell you who you will be meeting with?” Enzo asked after a while of silence.

“Some girl named Sharon Avelline?” Desmond shrugged, “I saw her yearbook picture.”

“Ah, Sharon, good girl,” was a nod and a smile as his reply, “last I heard of her, she was just a few credits shy of completing her master’s degree, but kept deferring it because of her home situation.”

“Home situation?”

“What do you know about Denver?” Enzo glanced at him.

“Only from the barest of news reports and from what Lucy told me, but Denver International Airport was destroyed because of a Piece of Eden?”

“That’s the gist of it. We had a chance to intercept the transportation of a Piece of Eden a couple of years after the Cross situation and when we first learned that Abstergo had developed a memory extraction tool called the Animus.”

“The Cross situation?”

“2000, right before the elections, story for another time,” Enzo didn’t look too happy about it, but Desmond decided not to press his questioning of that particular situation, “we were all in hiding by then, and Dr. Patrice had assumed leadership of the whole of the Assassins, having been the North American leader for a while now. Europe’s Assassin leaders were the first to fall and the Pan Asian ones were not responding so the doctor took control to try to rally and organize us.”

“Everyone followed her?”

Enzo snorted quietly and shook his head, “You remember the friction between some Assassins back in those memories of your ancestors?”

“Yeah…oh, yeah, it makes sense,” Desmond realized that while the Assassins had been united as a whole, like Niccolo Machiavelli and even Malik al-Sayr had been vocal against his ancestors actions. There was unity, but like every group there was also dissent.

“We tried, and while most Assassins generally follow her orders, there are still those who claim that she does not have the recognition of The Mentor, who was our leader up until 2000, and thus try to strike out on their own,” Enzo continued, “they think that she just assumed the position in an attempt to grab more power.”

“But, she seems to know what she’s doing,” Desmond knew he had a weak argument against Enzo’s words, especially since it had only been days since he had even met Dr. Patrice.

“The truth is,” Enzo looked at him, his eyes serious, “we’re losing this war and we’re losing it badly. It’s not because of her leadership or anything else, it’s because we are being betrayed at every turn. Spies and agents lurk in every cell that is still out there and even within. Never in my life had I seen years of hard work disappear within a scant few years.”

“And with the Templars gearing up to launch their satellite…” Desmond trailed off, lost in thought. Alexander’s haunting words echoed in his head and he shook it to clear it from his mind.

“So, Denver,” Enzo turned back to watch the flow of traffic before merging onto another lane, “was one of our most visible assignments after we had all gone into hiding, not just those on the Farm, but every operational cell. A lot of our brothers and sisters died during that mission and when we could not capture it, we decided to destroy it. The explosion of a Piece of Eden like that would have caused such devastation on the scale of something like Tunguska.”

“I remember exploring Sixteen, er, Alexander’s clues he left behind in the Animus. He said something about the Tunguska explosion being the destruction of a Piece of Eden by Nicola Tesla?”

“One of our allies,” Enzo nodded, “could have been considered part of the brotherhood for his efforts against Thomas Edison who was a Templar. Alas, he did not feel inclined to join.”

“But Tunguska was huge. If something like that happened, wouldn’t Denver be wiped off the face of the map?”

“Yes,” the senior assassin nodded, “and it was only because the Templars had a second Piece of Eden there, that we knew nothing about, that half of the city was saved. The airport and surrounding area was utterly flattened, but the western side of the city remained intact, though fallout from what was used to destroy the Piece of Eden there has made the city somewhat of a wasteland.

“Many of the residents there now live in poverty, subjected to those who have the most money and wealth. It is akin to slavery to those who live there. Only the military presence in Colorado Springs and Cheyenne Mountain keeps them from doing anything rash.”

“Why haven’t the media-“

“Desmond, the media have been cowed after so many years of the Templar puppet in office to be afraid to ask the hard hitting questions. Even with the recent president in office, nothing has happened to stop that mentality. Plus they are so focused on this upcoming election all other things are irrelevant. Take the recent oil woes. A month after the clean-up process was done, did the media put as much intensity and scrutiny into the recovery? No. Yet, it still persists. The media are reactionary to things that happen at the moment, not things that will have further consequences down the road.”

“Point taken,” the few newscasts that Desmond was able to watch while bartending told him as much about the media’s behaviors.

“So then, wait,” he frowned as he stared at the interior plush comforts of Alfa, “you’re…”

“I visit the city enough to be warranted as one of the rich overlords, if you so wish to think it,” Enzo shrugged, “it has helped my efforts for the populace there.”

“You were one of the people who decided to destroy the Piece of Eden?” Desmond asked, pieces of another puzzle falling together in his mind.

“I was the one who decided,” the senior assassin did not look at him, but Desmond saw his grip tighten on the steering wheel. “It was my order and my command to the small unit I commanded for the Denver mission to destroy that cursed object.”

He had no words after that revelation and instead, stared at the businessman, a part of him appalled that he could callously ordered the deaths of so many civilians, innocents even, just so that the Templars would not get their hands on a Piece of Eden. Yet, the part of him that was swimming in the memories of his ancestors spoke differently. They echoed the warning that the Piece of Eden was not to be trifled with and in the hands of Templars, the fate of more innocents would be at stake than the ones who had died.

A soft derisive snort issues from Enzo’s mouth as he continued to drive, “Funny, you’re the first person outside the leadership, or at least what makes up the current leadership, that knows about this.”

“Uh…”

“I won’t kill you because you know what happened if you’re so concerned,” the fellow assassin replied, his humor dark, and Desmond gave him a dubious look, “and I won’t even try to convince you that what I did was right. The truth is it was the wrong decision.”

“It was? But if the Templars got their hands on the Piece of Eden…?”

“I was too much of a coward to use the Piece of Eden against the Templar agents at the airport. Could have prevented the deaths of so many…” for a second, Desmond was struck at how eerily similar Enzo was to his ancestors with such wistfulness and quiet determination in him before the moment passed as he pulled off the highway and onto the local streets.

“Whoa,” the conversation was momentarily forgotten as he craned his head around to see what was left over of Denver, Colorado. It was definitely a wasteland though power still ran in the streets; there were still signs of destruction all around. Husks of apartment and business buildings lined parts of the street while peeks of other side streets showed that the more affluent members of the city tried to build their own little paradise or at least kept themselves well-armed around their properties.

He saw more than one drug dealer and gang member on the streets, some pimping out prostitutes, others just harassing the poor. The distant pops of gunfire echoed and Desmond realized that the semblance of law and order was based on who had the biggest weapons and who could use those weapons.

More than a few people stared at the Alfa as it rolled by, but to his chagrin, he noticed that while some seemed resentful, others just nodded their approval. Desmond wished he could disappear into his seat and not be seen. He glanced over to Enzo to see him focused on the roads ahead, not even acknowledging those that noticed them.

“The bar you will be meeting Sharon at is located a couple of blocks south away from where I will be parking the car at. Use your discretion if you encounter any of the populace here. Mention my name if they start to harass you, they will leave you alone,” Enzo reached over to a side compartment as he drove with a hand on the steering wheel and pulled out a small handgun, 9mm. “Make sure it’s not visible,” the assassin handed him the gun before pulling into a parking space that was near a club.

Desmond nodded as he took the weapon, unloaded the clip and stuffed it into his front pocket. He checked to make sure the safety was on, before stuffing the gun itself in the back of his pants, underneath his hoodie. He got out of the car and wrinkled his nose at the pungent odor of something rotting in the alleyway. “Should I meet you back here when I’m done finding out the information Sharon has for me?”

“Yes,” Enzo replied, “I’ll be here.”

“Okay then,” Desmond took a deep breath, ignoring the smell, and gave the senior assassin a crooked smile, “any other tips and how do I know which bar?”

“You’ll recognize it,” Enzo still sat in the car, but flashed him a dark smile, “it’s the only one there.”

“Thanks,” Desmond frowned slightly, but nodded a farewell to the assassin and got the same nod in return before heading away from the car and down a few blocks to where he was supposed to meet his contact. He did not know how long it would take to meet and get the information from Sharon Avelline, but he could not help but feel a slight trepidation at his first official mission for the Assassin Order.

He just hoped everything would go well.

* * *

Author’s Notes:

I work for a well-known media entity here in the United States so I know how reactionary we get when news breaks. Having chosen it as my career field, there are times when I love the scrutiny we place on certain subjects, yet we don’t care for the subsequent consequences of other things. Enzo’s words just pretty much reflect the love-hate opinion of my field of choice.

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Story:

Chapter 12 – Assassin

Enzo was not kidding when he said it was the only bar in the area when Desmond arrived. The buildings surrounding the small bar were completely hollowed out or in various states of disrepair. Even the bar itself looked like it was in complete disrepair, the only sign that it was still inhabited was a couple of drunken people wandering out of the door, stumbling across the pot holes and broken sidewalks before heading in the vague direction of where they were supposed to be going.

Desmond hunched his shoulders and pulled the hood of his hoodie further down his head before entering the bar. Hazy smoke assaulted his vision and for a moment, he found himself back in the familiar place of tending to the bar, making small talk with some of the customers while ordering others to leave already because they had one too many drinks.

A wistful smile appeared on his face before he killed it and found an empty seat in the smoke-filled bar. Cracked leather seats lined the booths and more than one table had a few gouging holes of varying sizes. Some were probably made by cigarette butts; others looked like they had been shot through with bullets. He noticed several college-aged kids scattered about and was a bit surprised to see them patron such a dingy looking place, but then again, if this was the only bar in the area, there wasn’t much of a choice.

The clearing of a throat in front of him made Desmond turn back to see the bartender staring expectantly at him. “Whatever’s on tap please,” he asked, throwing a couple of bills and coins to cover the glass he had just ordered. He was of the school that no matter where he was, always try the local alcohol instead of ordering a favorite or regular drink. One it made the locals like you a little more, and two, it helped peg you as a local instead of an out-of-towner.

The bartender took the coin and filled a relatively clean looking glass with the local brew before handing it to him. Desmond took a swig and was mildly surprised to see that it was quite good, though a bit on the nutty-anise side; it wasn’t as bad as some of the other beers he was able to sample from time to time when he was bartending. Some of those he had sampled he would have liked to call near-frozen-gnat’s-urine or an equivalent thereof.

He set his glass down and looked up at the local fuzzy broadcast of the college football game between Colorado and Ohio State, a non-conference game. He had expected a college powerhouse like Ohio State to easily defeat Colorado, but it looked like the scrappy team was holding its own, or at least barely holding its own. It was only the third quarter but Colorado was ahead by one field goal. A couple of other games were on, like the Rockies losing to the Padres, again. He hoped that it was not another twenty-two inning game like the one that kept many of his patrons in his establishment several years ago until three in the morning. However, it looked like it was yesterday's game, so he supposed that maybe it did not go to three in the morning.

He shifted in his seat, pretending to take in the college game and instead, let his senses observe the rest of the bar. He could feel the whispers of his ancestors, all of them fine tuning his abilities, enabling him to pick up the sharpest sounds, clinking of glasses, the laughter of some conversation... The tinkling of bells from the front door told him that several more patrons entered the bar, some of the making their way towards empty booths, others sat at the bar and ordered their drinks.

This was definitely a college hang-out, but also for locals to enjoy the brew and he noticed a few college-aged guys eyeing a group of girls who were shuttling back and forth between the bar and their booth. A couple of the girls had hair dark enough to pass as Sharon Avelline, but he couldn't be sure from his vantage point. Still, Sharon could have not arrived yet and he was jumping to conclusions.

One of the girls in the booth abruptly laughed before throwing him a covert wink. He turned his head slightly, feigning not even seeing the wink, but out of the corner of his eyes saw two of the dark haired girls turning in their seats to look at him. He immediately saw that Sharon was part of the small group of girls. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself, it was only a simple courier mission; get the information she had, return to Enzo’s car and head back to the base. Simple as that; so why did he feel the whispers of danger from all of his combined ancestors’ senses?

His gun was still securely hidden in the back of his pants, the full clip reassuringly digging into his upper thigh. Grabbing his drink, he hopped off of the bar stool and headed over to the table of college girls plastering a smile on his face. As a bartender, there was the unspoken rule of not flirting with the customers while he serviced them, though once or twice, some of those customers were waiting for him outside after his shift was done. He wasn’t rusty, but decided to take a few pages out of Ezio’s own womanizing manual to bolster his confidence so he didn’t sound like a complete idiot.

Luckily, he noticed that Sharon was wearing a Colorado University sweatshirt with the school’s logo and sports team on it. “Enjoying the game?” he gestured absently with his beer towards the TV showing the game as he stopped in front of them.

One of them giggled while the other just batted her eyes at him. Sharon however, blushed and nodded mutely, shy.

“You’re a quiet one, aren’t you?” he focused on Sharon, “and here I thought all Colorado fans would be ecstatic that they’re holding their own against Ohio State.”

“It’s not really great,” Sharon finally mumbled her reply, “they’re going to lose.”

“You really want to say that Miss I-Am-A-Huge-Fan-of-the-Quarterback?” her friend across the booth teased her before smiling up at him, trying to entice him to talk with her instead of Sharon. “Sharon’s got a huge crush on him, don’t you?”

The dark haired girl blushed even further before attempting to hide under her sweatshirt. “I’m Jessica, and that’s Danielle,” her friend introduced themselves, “and you are…”

“Desmond,” he sipped his beer, “recent graduate student.” It was only September which meant that school had only started up again for colleges. “Transferred from New York University.”

“I would figure a city-boy like you would want to enjoy the city! Not this trash of a place,” Jessica gestured to the area.

“Found my own little piece of Eden here,” those were the codewords he had been instructed to say when he had found Sharon Avelline, “and you’ll never guess what it is.”

The blush had not faded from Sharon’s face, but he noticed how minutely she had started when he spoke the code words. However, proving to him that she was no amateur in passing along information she did not look at him or even make any motion that she had heard him.

“Oh, and what’s that? Me?” Jessica obviously had too much to drink before bursting out in laughter along with Danielle. Even Sharon grinned a little.

“The slopes,” he continued, unfazed, “the skiing. Grew up hitting the slopes out in Vermont and New Hampshire. Kinda wanted to see what’s on this side of the country.”

“They are really nice,” Sharon flicked a shy look at him, but one that also conveyed the seriousness of their meeting.

“Oh Sharon,” Danielle rolled her eyes as Jessica was still too busy laughing at her little joke. She turned to him and shook her head, “Listen, I know that you’re probably more interested in little miss wallflower over here, but she’s got her heart set on Quarterback of the Year on that screen. Hey look Shar, camera’s got a good zoom on him!”

Desmond turned and saw that indeed the camera was focused on the handsome quarterback who had taken the bench and was talking to several of his teammates as the game faded to commercial. He turned back to the girls and shrugged. “Well, then, it was nice to meet you.” He smiled at them before heading back to the bar and sat down again, startled when a small shot glass was placed in front of him. Picking the glass up, full of clear liquid, he sniffed it and couldn’t quite smell anything.

“Vodka, the good kind,” the bartender shook his head, “very brave and bold of you to try to talk to those harpies. They’ve been man-eating since they were freshmen, though little Sharon’s got somewhat of a good heart. I guess it’s a way for the other two to protect her from any unwanted advances.”

“Er, thanks,” he downed the shot in one gulp and was surprised at how smooth the vodka was going down his throat. However, he felt the alcohol hit his head almost immediately afterwards and blinked a bit, trying to orient himself. That was definitely strong stuff.

“I figured you’d be new,” the bartender smiled, “graduate student?”

“Yeah, transferred from New York University,” he gave his cover story again, “partially not my fault, but hey, who’s gonna complain?”

“Well, you need anything, just let me know,” the bartender nodded before heading over to help another patron. Desmond glanced back towards the booth of girls all whom were still laughing at his departure before glancing up at the TV that showed the game. Now how was he supposed to get Sharon’s information?

His answer came a short while later after the game was finished and Desmond had ordered another pint of the local brew and was half way finished with it. The girls had vacated their booth after the game was finished, having arrived at the bar for the sole purpose of letting Sharon watch the game and their exit was just as noisy. He watched them out of the corner of his eye as they made their way towards the entrance, Jessica, the drunkest of all, bumping into others with mumbled apologies from both Danielle and Sharon. Suddenly Sharon bumped into him, nearly making him spill his beer over his own hoodie before he felt her deft fingers slip something into his pockets.

She then helped her friend out of the door while tossing a few coins onto the edge of the bar for the bartender to collect. The door shut behind her and Desmond along with several others shook their heads before turning back to what they were doing. He reached into his pocket and drew out a small note that said [IN BACK – 5 MIN]. Crumpling the note and shoving it deep into his pants pocket, Desmond took another small swig of his beer before dumping a few more coins onto the bar. “Hey thanks man and keep the change,” he called out to the bartender who nodded and waved him goodbye as he joined several others in exiting the bar.

He blended in with them as they exited before slipping away to head to the back of the building that housed the bar. Tugging his hood into place, he hunched his shoulders and pretended that he was just a local trying to find his way home before spotting Sharon standing half in the shadows, looking warily left and right.

“Enzo usually meets me,” she started quietly, “is he all right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he looked at her, “I was sent because you had information?”

“Are you sure he’s all right?” she looked at him worriedly and the uneasy feeling that his ancestors had been pressuring upon him grew.

“You can trust me, you know,” he gently held her shoulders.

“I know,” she looked at him, her smile almost a grimace, “you look like both of them, did you know that? That’s why I trust you.”

“Like….”

Tears formed at the corners of her eyes before she wiped them away hastily and she shook her head, “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Do what? Spy for the Assassins? Spy on Abstergo?”

“If you see Enzo, tell him that I’m moving my family away from here. I need to get out of here…before…” she took a deep breath, “before its too late and they find me.”

“Wait, wait,” Desmond shook her unable to understand what she was saying, “find you? Are you in trouble? What’s happening?”

Sharon suddenly shoved something into his hands, a small thumb drive along with a key, “This is what she’s looking for, but don’t give it to her. Please…”

“Who…Dr. Patrice?”

“And I wasn’t supposed to know this, but please…Desmond, right? You’re name’s Desmond…”

“Y-Yeah,” he stared at her, confused, “Desmond Miles.”

“You have to stop him. Stop Enzo, stop Andrew,” she shook her head, “It’ll be my fault if they both die!”

“What?!”

“They’re walking into a trap!”

* * *

Desmond’s head reeled from what he had learned from Sharon Avelline as he made his way back to where Enzo had parked his Alfa Romeo. The girl had immediately left after giving her warning, running away from him down the alleyway. He wanted to run after her, to demand that she tell him what the hell was going on, but somehow, he knew that it would not solve anything, that her problems were the least of his own. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, his left hand fingering both the key and thumb drive nestled within.

He had a feeling that Sharon meant that he should not give Dr. Patrice the thumb drive, but why would she say that? Was it something that could compromise Dr. Patrice, compromise herself, compromise the Assassins? Or was it the complete opposite, that giving Dr. Patrice the information could compromise Abstergo? But how would not giving the information to the head of the Assassins compromise Abstergo?

He turned a corner and opened his mouth to greet Enzo when he stopped. The businessman was not in the car. “Enzo?” he called out, wondering if the man had gotten out to perhaps take a walk around or something. Sharon’s warning echoed in his head, to stop Enzo. He reached the car and peered over into the driver’s seat, and with his trained eyes and senses, saw that there wasn’t any sign of a struggle. So Enzo had left the car willingly. Looking around the car itself, there weren’t any sign of another footprint save for his own. However, there were a few boot prints that led away from the car…

He followed the print, noting that it led to a sheer vertical wall. Looking up he felt a small groan emerge from his lips. He should have expected Enzo to be able to free climb. But why would he free climb and more importantly where would he free climb to? Turning back, he headed to the car and stared at the pretty Alfa for a little bit, the early morning hours of the night oblivious to him.

He could sit here and wait, but Sharon’s warning had stirred something within him and he could feel his ancestors responding to her warning. He knew that something terrible was supposed to happen, and a part of him felt that he needed to stop it, but what was he supposed to do? He only had his handgun… And where would he go?

Trust your instincts…

Desmond mentally tried to batter away the disembodied voice that had to be one of his ancestors, but it pressed upon him the same words again and he folded his arms and inwardly glared. He didn’t need the Bleeding Effect to tell him that he was already slipping. Footprints were only good up to a certain point he knew that for a fact. Running over rooftops and broken pieces of what was once houses could only go so far to make footprints blend in with the surroundings so…

He grinned as he glanced at the footprints and concentrated just so- his vision suddenly muted into greys and the footprints that belonged to Enzo flared in bright yellow. His eyes tracked the foot prints up the wall and saw it combined with smaller sized yellow dots that were probably the man’s hands grabbing onto the ledge to pull himself up. Desmond suddenly winced as he felt a small headache erupt in between the eyebrows and released the Eagle Vision, turning his vision back to normal.

He rubbed his forehead to try to alleviate the pressure before looking around at the Alfa again. He had the ability to follow Enzo to wherever he went, and maybe heed Sharon’s warning to stop him. Stop him from dying? Stop him from doing something terrible, he did not know, but he instinctively knew that he needed something else other than a handgun…maybe a little extra firepower?

Desmond opened the door and popped the trunk of the Alfa, surprised that he was able to considering that the keys were no where in sight. Closing the door, he was mildly surprised to see the car automatically lock its doors before heading to the back of the car.

“Holy…shit,” he whispered as he stared at what was displayed in the trunk. He knew that by the size of the car, an Alfa Romeo didn’t really have too much trunk space, but what was in it was something else. It was the equivalent of a small armory. Knives, daggers, even a couple of shuriken hung from their places along with several half-sized swords, and a rather wicked looking scimitar. On the right were several guns all varying sizes and cases of bullets, also of varying sizes. He noticed several armor piercing rounds, regular bullets, even occasional pellets and flares.

However, displayed in the middle of the trunk’s hood was an eerily familiar looking set of robes, assassin robes. Parts of it were stained brown with what had to be dried blood, but it was still recognizable. It was folded meticulously, with the belt and a heavily stylized ‘A’ draped across it, but the hood was displayed in a dominant fashion and Desmond reached out with a tentative hand, his fingers touching the outline of the hood that ended at a beak’s point. He hadn’t really paid attention to the robes he had worn in the Animus, but as he stared at them, he could feel the sense of familiarity with them robes. He had worn them…once before. He knew where each of those frayed and tattered edges came from. His mother had re-sewn those with the utmost care, happy to help her son even in her advance age. Even she had done it a few times during the times when he could not return to Monteriggioni. The injuries he had sustained fighting the Borgias and their allies-

The barking of a dog nearby startled Desmond out of his thoughts as he shook his head and stumbled back a few steps, shaken by what had just happened. Taking several deep breaths, he released it and stared at the assassin robes once more, suppressing a shiver that traveled all the way up his spine. He had almost lost himself there, he could feel it. If that dog…Desmond refused to let the thought continue and instead rummaged around the trunk some more.

His hands brushed a black bag before he intuitively picked it up and closed the trunk, placing it on top of the trunk. It wasn’t even elaborately decorated, but as he unzipped it Desmond’s eyes widened slightly. He was not familiar with advance weaponry, especially ones the United States Armed Forces used, but even he could appreciate that the simplistic beauty of a disassembled sniper rifle. This explained how Enzo was proficient in using a sniper rifle, though he suspected that there was little training involved at shooting someone at point blank range with such a powerful gun.

A silencer was already on the muzzle of the rifle and checking the magazine, he found that it was loaded with a few extra clips hidden in the bag. The modern day equivalent of a thrown dagger or crossbow bolt if one needed to kill someone at a distance. Zipping the bag back up, he looped the main strap over his shoulder and cinched it tightly before glancing up at the wall that Enzo had scaled. He could do this, he knew he could… Time to put those skills of yours to work, Desmond, he told himself as he ran towards the wall and scaled it almost effortlessly, a sharp grin on his face.

As he scaled to the top, he let the Eagle Vision consume him to outline the rest of Enzo’s path and followed it, leaping from rooftop to broken rooftop with practiced ease. He could feel an unbridled giddy joy within him as he found himself actually doing what he had been doing in the Animus. Staring at the yellow-tinted footprints, he knew when to leap when to roll to the ground to avoid obstacles in his path. The weight of the sniper rifle pack on his back felt like the comforting weight of Altaїr’s short sword and the handgun still jammed into the back of his pants was like having Arden’s trusty companion, always ready at a moment’s notice. The handgun’s clip felt like one of Ezio’s hidden daggers, always an extra weapon up his sleeve if need be and Desmond could feel the firmness of the vambrace on his left hand, the hidden blade nestled in its sheath, ready to be activated to make his kill.

This was what it meant to be an Assassin.

He followed Enzo’s path until he reached the edge of a broken rooftop and crouched there, the brush of a warning to stop making him halt in his tracks. He glanced down to see that the businessman’s path had gone to ground level and tracked all the way into a building of sorts. Oddly, he could see the yellow-hued footprints inside the building and let his Eagle Vision fade away, ignoring the headache that suddenly roared between his eyes.

He pinched the bridge of his nose for a few seconds before opening them again and felt the headache recede into a more moderate fashion. Looking over to where he had seen Enzo’s footprints, he saw that the first few floors of the broken building were covered in shattered glass windows and such. The floors above the third, however, were reflective though some were broken. Briefly delving into his Eagle Vision, he tried to track Enzo’s footprints, but nothing appeared and he released the Vision once more.

His senses warned him that he didn’t want to be on the ground so he sought out another vantage point. Looking around, he found a building close to the one that Enzo had disappeared into and made his way there, wary and alert for anything that may be hostile. He didn’t know what part of Denver he was in, but it was definitely very decrepit and if possible, worst than the area the bar was in. If he had anything to say about it, he could have sworn that this area was near Denver International Airport and was probably on the outer edge of what the Piece of Eden was able to somewhat protect. He didn’t know how he knew that, but he had the sense that this was true.

Dropping gently to the ground level, he looked around, before heading over to the building’s door. Turning the knob, he found that it was locked and frowned. Why would a building like this, in such a state of disrepair would be locked? He craned his neck up and wondered if he could just climb to the roof, but something whispered to him that it was not a good idea to be so exposed to the elements or worst, hostile forces. Bashing in the door would make it obvious to anyone who passed by the area that someone was occupying the building.

“The key!” he whispered to himself as he remembered that Sharon had given him a key. Pulling it out of his pocket, he examined it for a second under the dim moonlight before inserting it and to his surprise, the door clicked open and he stepped in, closing it behind him. Did Sharon know? And if so, how did she know?

He stuffed the key back into his pocket and headed up the stairs, avoiding the debris and pieces of wood and stone that littered the stairs. He needed to show that no one was here and kicking the debris was not the way to do it. Following his instincts, he climbed up several flights of the stairs until he felt that the tenth floor of what was formerly an apartment complex was a good place to stop climbing.

Entering one of the rooms without a door, he headed over the windows and saw that he was placed across the building that Enzo had gone into. Nodding once in satisfaction, Desmond dropped the sniper bag and unzipped it, only to realize that he had no idea how to put together a sniper rifle, much less shoot one. He only had handgun training two days ago! Grabbing two pieces, he stared at them for a second before putting one down and grabbed another piece before suddenly placing them together, tightening the knobs and small screws by hand.

He knew how to do this…no, he did not know, but she knew. She was the best of all of them, he remembered in a vague and hazy sense; she was the best with guns, an expert marksman who made almost all of her kills from a distance, never bloodying herself. White Bishop was her nickname amongst those in the European Assassin Order, for her chaste background and her Master, and the fact that she never got her robes dirty. He could feel her influence in his hands as he put the sniper rifle together with a fast, but meticulous care. Once the last piece was installed and the cartridge snapped into place, Desmond blinked his eyes, feeling a part of him return to his own being as he stared at the completed rifle in his hand.

“Err…thanks,” he muttered absently to his ancestors as he settled the gun by the window, making sure that the crook of his shoulder was firmly placed by the butt of the gun before looking through the scope.

As he settled himself, he immersed himself in his Eagle Vision again and looked for any distinctive hues of yellow before- there it was! Desmond’s vision returned to normal as he searched out the vague area that his Eagle Vision had pointed him too and through the sniper scope, saw Enzo staring at someone else. Moving his scope a little to the right, he could not quite make out who the businessman was talking to, but it seemed like nothing was amiss.

The person was definitely male, and wore a long dark overcoat. The hood of his coat was pulled over his head, making him unable to see his face, but the coat was unbuttoned revealing ordinary looking clothes. However, just as he was about to move the scope back to Enzo, he saw the man cross his arms, exposing a set of distinctive looking vambraces on them. He imagined the one on the man’s left to have a hidden blade in it like his own. What was startling however and made Desmond’s breath stutter a little were not only the vambraces that he recognized as almost like his own, but the fact that the man’s ring finger was missing.

He could still feel the distinctive shock and sharp pain as his finger had been cut away, in service to the Creed. It was a sign of devotion his Master Al Mualim had said when he had been given the rank of Novice to start his Assassin training. But why would-

Desmond suddenly bit his lip hard, pulling himself away from Altaїr’s memories as he felt his grip on reality waver. He couldn’t falter now! Not when…not when… Readjusting his grip on the rifle, he focused his scope on the mysterious hooded man again talking with Enzo before tracking the scope elsewhere. He couldn’t let the fact that this man had a ring finger missing mean anything significant to him. For all he knew that some modern day Assassins had cut their own ring fingers to show their devotion to the Creed. But that vambrace design…he remembered it like it was his own, it was designed to have a ring finger missing, so that the finger that was supposedly threaded to the heart would be replaced with cold steel that spoke of the Creed that was deep in the heart.

If he had to hazard a guess, perhaps this was the man that Sharon had named as Andrew. As soon as that thought solidified, he felt something within him confirm it, something that he could not quite identify. Perhaps it was one of his ancestors, maybe one closer to his own time instead of ones like Ezio or Arden.

Desmond switched to his Eagle Vision once more as he felt the need to track the scope elsewhere and abruptly stopped as he saw a few indistinct red hues. He frowned as he watched the hues that were in a building further away from him, but still across from the glass business building that Enzo and the mysterious contact were in. Several more hues of red were on the ground, making a definite beeline towards the glass building. Letting his eyes readjust to the normal night, he peered through his scope and indeed saw several masked men, all carrying guns climbing to the rooftop of the building. They were barely distinct through the dim moonlight, but Desmond knew what their purpose was.

They were here to kill Enzo and Andrew.

* * *

Author’s Notes:

Things…get interesting to say the least. One major revelation soon to be revealed next chapter! Anyone want to hazard a guess – I will reply to guesses. Thanks for all of the reviews, alerts, and favorites! You make me a very happy author! See you next chapter!

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Story:

Chapter 13 – Revelation

Desmond frowned before chambering a round to his sniper rifle and immersed himself into his Eagle Vision, the area around him washing out into greys while all of those who had ill will towards Enzo and Andrew were highlighted in bright reds. Picking his target carefully, he lined up his shot, making sure to account for the slight unsteadiness and wind direction before steadying his breath and fired off a round. Immediately the red-hued outline of the person he had shot at the building further away from him fell to the ground, as the report of the sniper rifle echoed around him.

It had also alerted the others around his target that someone was in the area, but as he looked through his barrel again, he saw that they could not pinpoint his location and a small grin appeared on his face. Hollywood had always portrayed silencers with the ability to 'silence' a gun's echoing report, but that wasn't the case. It did nothing of the sort except to muffle the direction the sound was coming from, making it that much harder for others to pinpoint where the shooter was shooting from.

Picking his second target and nestling himself against his gun again, he fired off another shot and just as his second target fell, Desmond moved his sniper rifle just so and made another kill, two more bodies falling to the ground. By this time the soldiers across the building had all dived to various covers, and he could imagine that they were frantically talking on the radio. Pulling himself out of his Eagle Vision, he saw that the team on the ground was quickly making their way up. He glanced over to where he had last seen Enzo and Andrew and saw that the two assassins had disappeared.

A quick glance in his Eagle Vision told him that the two were sneaking on opposite sides down to where the ground team was located, having been alerted to the three shots he had fired. Good, at least he had given them a fighting chance. He pulled the rifle closer to him again and looked through the scope, hoping to help lower the odds and make sure that none of the team that was in the building across from him would be able to get a clean shot at either one of them.

This was what Sharon probably meant, he realized, to stop whoever was intent on killing them, and to prevent the deaths of Enzo and Andrew.

He found his next target, trying to set up another sniper rifle and quickly took him down. However, it had alerted the soldier's buddies next to him as they all ducked back into their hiding spots. Just then a distant scream rendered the air and Desmond released his Eagle Vision, turning his head to the source of the scream in time to see a body fly out of one of the windows, glass shattering to the ground. Bursts of gunfire erupted in the second floor of the building and he knew that Enzo and Andrew had sprang their ambush.

He moved his rifle again, but the whisper of a warning to leave the two of them alone to their massacre stopped him. Maybe it was better that he did not interfere in that ground battle, in case his shot wasn't sure and he accidentally took off one of their heads instead of the person he was aiming for. Several more bodies flew out of the windows and Desmond resisted the urge to whistle at the brutality.

If he had not been sure then, he was definitely sure now that Enzo and the mysterious Andrew were master assassins. A few minutes later, the last of a strangled scream that cut off abruptly was heard, before two figures ran out of the building and towards the one that housed the sniper team. Desmond took that as his cue that he should probably get out of there before either one noticed him and hastily packed up the rifle once more.

He hurried down the stairs just as the distant screams and rattling gun fire erupted once more and headed out of the door. In his haste, he would have realized that he had forgotten to lock it, but Desmond quickly traced his steps back, climbing like his life depended on it. He leapt across the buildings rolling and dodging through obstacles before finally dropping down to where Enzo's Alfa sat in its parking space, miraculously untouched.

He quickly popped open the trunk of the car, surprised that it had once again unlocked itself to his touch even without a key and settled the sniper rifle bag into the back. Just as he closed it, he heard a pair of feet dropping from the wall and looked up with what he hoped was a curious smile on his face as Enzo approached, adjusting his tie and the cufflinks on his shirt. His trousers looked a little scuffed, but it could have been from the dirt tracked across the rooftops than anything else. There was no evidence of blood or even sheen of sweat on the businessman's forehead that spoke of his recent fight against the soldiers which made him think that he and Andrew had wiped the floor with them.

“Looking to see what's in the trunk?” Enzo asked conversationally, not even dropping a hint that he was breathing hard.

“Uh, yeah,” Desmond didn't know why he hesitated to tell the other man that he had just helped them snipe four people, but something warned him not to speak of it just yet.

“Did you get the information Sharon had?” the man opened the driver's door and got in, while Desmond took the passenger side once more.

“Yeah,” he pulled out the thumb drive, leaving the key in his pocket, “she said-”

“A moment,” Enzo turned on the engine and drove back into the streets, before merging onto the highway. Desmond stared at him, puzzled before he noticed that the edges of where his cuffs met his jacket's sleeves were darkening, almost to a black color. It wasn't a black color, but rather a very dark shade of red...blood...

“Fuck,” Enzo suddenly cursed in Italian as they pulled onto the highway back to the base, lifting one of his arms and glaring at the darkening shirt, “there goes another shirt that I have to replace. Cost me a good amount of money too. Prices these days for designer suits.”

Desmond stayed quiet, watching him examine his other arm, all the while somehow realizing that he understood what the man was saying even though he had never taken a foreign language. He understood that it was hard getting fresh clothes in his day and age, especially when new shipments from Venice didn't arrive in a timely fashion. But then again it was Leonardo who always complained- His thoughts screeched to a halt as he pulled himself from Ezio's own musings and shook his head. He needed to stay here and now, and not wander off to one of his ancestors' memories.

“Hey,” Enzo looked at him, “you okay? You a little pale there, Desmond.”

“Uh yeah,” he realized that he was still holding the thumb drive and shoved it towards the other assassin, “Sharon said I shouldn't give this drive to her. You know what she meant? She also said that she was used to meeting you... So how come you didn't meet her and why was I sent?”

“Did she give you anything else?” Enzo did not look at him nor did he take the thumb drive, “and put that away, it's your responsibility now.”

Desmond pocketed the thumb drive before patting the key with his fingers. The blood was definitely now bleeding into the cuffs and was starting to bleed into the forearm of the jacket. The fact that it was bleeding into both of his arms meant that Enzo wore a double bracer hidden blades underneath his arms. Yet the man didn't say anything regarding that...

“Where did you go?” he abruptly changed the topic.

“Here and there,” Enzo shrugged, “just met with a contact of mine...”

“That caused all of that?” he pointed at the ruined sleeves.

This time Enzo did look at him and a mysterious smile was on his face, “You ought to know.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” he frowned.

“You have traces of gunpowder residue on your fingertips and your right shoulder is moving a little stiffer than normal, which says to me that you've recently fired a gun that had to be braced against your body. There is also the distinct smell of staleness that I recognize from my own trunk which leads me to believe that you carried something from there. And the fact that you hesitated in telling me if Sharon gave you anything else tells me that she did give you something other than a thumb drive,” Enzo said, glancing at him before staring back at the road.

Desmond felt his jaw drop at the sheer amount of information that the assassin had unloaded upon him before trying to come up with a plausible explanation but the assassin lifted a hand from the wheel and waved it at him.

“Thank you...” the assassin cut him off gently, “for rescuing and alerting us to the impending danger.”

“Uh...”

“A 'you're welcome' would suffice,” the assassin's tone had a teasing note to it, “but if you wish to name your first born child after me, that would be acceptable.”

“Uh, not having kids any time soon,” Desmond stared at him, appalled, “besides, I think whoever's going to be the mother of my child or wife would probably kill me for naming my kid after Enzo Ferrari.”

The Italian businessman laughed lightly before merging onto another highway lane. “That was rather an ostentatious name... Perfect though...”

“Your mother must have loved Ferraris...”

“No, no,” Enzo shook his head wistfully, “Mother liked the arts, liked both traditional names and names that were more meaningful to our family...”

“...She liked to name Federico after her father's side of the family,” Desmond found himself continuing Enzo's thread, the words coming unbidden from his mouth, the conversation eerily familiar, “little Petruccio after Giovanni's youngest brother who died when he was an infant. And Claudia, though she would have rather named her Octavia, a strong name, but Giovanni thought it would bring bad omens. And my name-”

Desmond stuttered to a halt as he sucked in a quick breath before looking at Enzo, the assassin meeting his gaze squarely before the corners of his lips quirked up in a crooked smile.

“And my name, Desmond Miles, is Ezio Auditore da Firenze,” the assassin re-introduced himself and for all of the deception and the whispers of his ancestors, he could hear the truth in his words and it rang true within him.

The assassin who had introduced himself as Enzo was really Ezio Auditore...alive and well when he should have been dead six-hundred years in the past.

* * *

It took a moment for Desmond to process the assassin's words before he managed to squeak out, “What the fuck?”

Enzo, Ezio, whoever the hell he was turned back to driving, switching into a different lane before answering, “What do you know about the Pieces of Eden?”

“Um, that the Templars are looking for them and that they're going to launch one up into space by this December? That they somehow have the ability to control the minds of others, but some of my ancestors like Altaїr and, er, you, uh, Ezio, have the ability to resist the Pieces of Eden? How can you be Ezio? You have to be over six-hundred fucking years old!”

“The fountain of youth...” the assassin replied a bit sarcastically.

“You don't even look like him-” Desmond bit his lip as he stared at the man sitting in the driver's seat who claimed to be Ezio Auditore. In fact, he really did not look a little like him, then again, this man was a lot older and his face was a little more worn. But he had the same scar on their lips, the same jaw structure, same eyes... He felt a shudder run through him as he really looked closely at the assassin. He could see bits and pieces of himself in the man and wondered why he did not notice it before, what had prevented him from seeing this...

“Okay so if you are him, what the hell?”

“The Pieces of Eden grant immortality,” Ezio said, “simple as that.”

“The Pieces of Eden – what?!” Desmond shook his head, “that's impossible. That's just...”

“Think about what you have seen in the Animus,” the man replied, “is it truly impossible?”

“But, I mean, how?”

“Through usage of the Piece of Eden.”

“But Al Mualim died! Rodrigo Borgia-” he shook his head, trying to wrap his brain around the concept.

“Yes they died,” Ezio said, “but they died because they were killed. It is not immortality as you think it may be. It is as simple as if our time as just stopped. We can be killed by normal conventions or even die of sickness and disease, but other than that, we have just...stopped. The flow of time does not affect us.”

“We? You mean there's more than one, oh my God...” the realization of every person that he knew that had come in contact with a Piece of Eden shot through him. “That means...Altaїr, Leonardo...”

“Leonardo is dead,” Ezio replied roughly, “he died...”

Desmond shot a quick look at his living ancestor and saw his jaw tighten with an unidentifiable emotion. Judging by what he had learned about Ezio life in the Animus, the two were close friends and he realized that for his ancestor to essentially not age for so long, it must have been painful to watch as his loved ones, friends, everyone he knew slowly grow old and eventually die.

“Sorry,” he muttered as an awkward silence filled the car. He looked out of the window, watching the signs and mile posts pass by before he frowned. This was not the way back to Colorado Springs and Cheyenne Mountain.

“A detour,” Ezio suddenly spoke up, “there are a few things you should know now that it’s become clear what’s happening.”

“What?”

“There is a second war being fought besides the one you are familiar with,” now that Desmond knew that Enzo was his ancestor Ezio, he could hear the not-so-perfect English the man had, little inflections of Italian in his speech and things that he himself had recognized when he was in the Animus. Of course, his ancestors’ memories that were within him swirled slightly in confusion too, compounding the situation. Here was Ezio in the flesh and inside his mind, he knew that he had lived Ezio’s life, had occasionally thought he was Ezio even though that was the Bleeding Effect influencing him.

“A second war? Between the Templars and Assassins?”

“It is one that we have been fighting since Adam and Eve stole the Apple of Eden from the one who would style themselves like Gods,” the elder assassin continued, “you know whom I am talking about?”

“Minerva, right?” The nod that he received was his confirmation. “I saw her when I was exploring Ezio, er, uh…your memories. This is going to be confusing…”

Ezio laughed lightly and Desmond was a little more than wigged out at how eerie his laughter was to what he remembered from the Animus. “I will not take offense at your usage of my name regarding those memories. They are memories of long ago so the passage of time has lessened their impact for me.”

Somehow Desmond knew that the assassin was lying, he could feel it within himself, his own memories of Ezio Auditore calling his flesh and blood out. However, he did not voice it, somehow knowing that Ezio would sooner deny it than confirm it. Plus, judging by the ruthless grace Ezio had in skewering his opponents, Desmond had no inclination of angering his living ancestor; not after seeing the sleeves of his jacket slowly stain with blood.

“I am not the right person to talk about this second war, Altaїr is better at that-“

“Altaїr is alive?!”

“Oh yes,” the smile that Ezio flashed quickly at nothing in particular was wolfish and a little more than predatory.

“Jesus…oh wait, he’s alive too, isn’t he?”

“No,” Ezio glanced at him before shaking his head, “do not worry your pretty little head off about who is alive and who is not. You will find out soon enough. Now as I was saying. The second war is best described by Altaїr, but it is one that involves the Pieces of Eden and these so called Gods that came before us.”

“If I am fighting Godzilla or anything like that, I am getting out of this car right now-“

“Even at eighty miles per hour?”

“I’ve survived worst,” Desmond replied flatly, remembering his first and only wipe out on a motorcycle late at night. It was a demon ride, a dare by one of his patrons and though he had received immediate medical care afterwards, it was also how he had gotten the scar on his lip.

“Yes, that wipe out you had given a lot of us a heart attack,” his ancestor replied a little pointedly.

“Wait, you know about that?!”

“You may have claimed to live off the grid, but for people like me, we know how to find someone if we wanted to,” Ezio shrugged, “I am sorry that Abstergo captured you. We had not realized they were watching you for a long time before they captured you. It was only after Lucy sent the message out indicating your location that we launched a rescue attempt.”

“They all died…” Desmond remembered the machine gun fire and screams that slowly died away. Lucy had been extremely quiet afterwards and it was only until he had sneaked into her emails after the day’s Animus session that he had learned what had transpired.

“We could have gotten you out if Dr. Patrice, excuse me, if Amunet had not denied the request to extract you.”

“What do you mean denied the request? You mean they plan to leave me in there? And Dr. Patrice is Amunet? But isn’t she the-“

“-Assassin who killed Cleopatra with an asp,” Ezio nodded, “she was one of the first who utilized the power of the Pieces of Eden and granted herself immortality. I did not know about her until several years after I realized I was not aging anymore. But yes, she denied the request and so we did not have the support that we needed to assault Abstergo’s scientific headquarters.”

“Why?”

“This is part of the second and more sinister war we are fighting, Desmond,” Ezio sighed heavily, shaking his head, “think about what you know about immortality, about the Pieces of Eden.”

“They’re pretty powerful things, able to control the minds of others, make them see things that they want to see, and you just said they grant immortality-“

“Not all of them,” Ezio interrupted gently, “not all of them. And though you have not encountered this part of my memories, I eventually used the Piece of Eden to kill those who were of weaker minds.”

Desmond looked at Ezio with some alarm, but the assassin did not meet his gaze and he bit his lip skeptically, “Okay, so based on what I’ve seen, Altaїr and, er, Ezio, they learned how to control it? I mean, with Al Mualim and with Rodrigo Borgia, it drove them a bit crazy, right?”

“Al Mualim, perhaps even more so than Borgia,” the master assassin looked thoughtful, “no, Borgia could have been considered a master of the Piece of Eden staff.”

It took a huge effort for Desmond not to quip that Borgia nearly wiped the floor with Ezio during their encounter in the unfinished Sistine Chapel, but he was sure that would not go over well with his living ancestor. Instead, he kept that thought to himself and quietly locked it away. “So if you control it, you become immortal?”

“Like I said, not all Pieces do that. I assume by now you realize that the Apple, the one that Altaїr and I used when you were exploring our memories, is one of those right?”

“Yeah…”

“I still do not quite know if it was controlling the Apple or becoming a master of it gives you immortality, but I do know that I have not mastered the Piece of Eden, not by a long shot. It is a constant effort, even now whenever one holds it, to fight against the temptations it whispers to you. Al Mualim fell to that power and it drove him insane. He was drunk with its power and devastated Masyaf with it.”

“Then…”

“But even if you fight against the whispers and temptations of unlimited power, the ability to make things right in your own image, to right the wrongs and injustices of what you see everyday, there is another aspect of the Pieces of Eden that neither I, Altaїr, nor the others who have been given this…curse, realized until it was too late.”

“The power of immortality,” it was as if a light bulb had clicked on in Desmond’s mind as he nodded absently to himself.

“Some may call it a gift,” Ezio’s words were tinged with bitterness, “do not believe their foolish words. It is a curse.”

“So then why do you live like this? I mean, to see everyone you loved, cared for, die of old age…”

“And it will drive lesser men insane,” the assassin’s grip on the wheel of the Alfa tightened slightly, “it has driven lesser men insane…”

Desmond blinked before his eyes widened in panic, “Wait, you’re not saying-“

“No!” his ancestor stared at him affronted, “at least I hope not. I do believe I have all of my, what do you call them, marbles, I think, yes, marbles, intact.”

“Hah…hah?” Desmond laughed nervously, “sure…I guess.”

“What I mean Desmond, is that the older one gets, and considering that I am relatively young, only six-hundred and something years removed from when I was born, the more one would lose their sense of self.”

“So then Dr. Patrice, I mean, Amunet-“

“She is part of the second war we are fighting,” Ezio finished.

But something did not make sense to Desmond as he shifted in his seat, “But I don’t get it. I mean, how do I trust you to say that she’s like that? How do I know that you’re telling the truth?”

His ancestor surprised him with a grin on his face, “Now you’re thinking like a true Assassin, Desmond. Nothing is true, everything is permitted. You do not know that I’m telling the truth about Amunet. You do not know that I’m telling you the truth about what we have been talking about all this time. But what do you know?”

“That nothing is true, everything is permitted?” somehow, the ancestors within him knew that everything Ezio had been saying was the truth. But there was still more to the truth than what he had been told.

“Leonius was the first of us to realize that we needed something to live for if we were not to fall prey to the Pieces of Eden’s sway. And so he chose to live for the truth and the fight to break this aspect of the Pieces of Eden. Your friend Shaun Hastings was recruited to help him not only to be one of the historians of our Order, but to help him in this endeavor.”

“Wait, that means that Leo Meridius…” Desmond trailed off, remembering what he had seen when he had first met Mr. Meridius in the conference room. He had seen Roman chariots running by and thought that it had been an unbidden memory, but it had been an association with Meridius who apparently was an ancestor of both Altaїr and Ezio. “Could he have picked a more obvious name? I mean, really, Meridius? Gladiator?”

Ezio laughed, “People have said he looked a little like Russell Crowe or Gerard Butler.”

“All of my ancestors are show offs,” he groused, “every one of you.”

“Why not boast the skills that you have.”

“The tenets of the Creed?!” he shook his head.

“Altaїr eliminated that aspect when he wrote his codex,” was the flippant reply.

“What is he living for?”

“You already know the answer to that,” was Ezio’s mysterious reply and Desmond frowned, thinking.

It was probably not Maria nor his two sons. Two sons, the words bounced in his head several times before he realized that he seen Altaїr before. Not in his own memories, but rather in another ancestor’s. More specifically, he had seen Altaїr in Arden’s memories. And there was another revelation within, “Lieutenant Allen…is Arden Allen, the one who I am-“

“Currently exploring, yes.”

“Her master, the one who saved her from Jack the Ripper, the one who brought her into his home, trained her, that’s…he’s…Andrew, no he’s Altaїr.” He glanced over to Ezio who was nodding to his revelations, “and you were there too. The time after Arden woke up after being saved by Andr-er, Altaїr. You were the one who had information Jack…” Another puzzle clicked into place, “You trained Jack!”

Here the nod was frozen half way before Ezio bowed his head for a second, “Yes. I trained him.”

“And, that man, that guy that tried to kill me yesterday-“

“That is Jack,” was the flat reply.

“What the fuck?! He’s also immortal? Oh fuck…”

“No, he is quite dead now,” Ezio frowned, “he was released to kill you.” He cursed in Italian and Desmond looked over to see that his ancestor had a pinched angry expression on his face.

“What…”

“Amunet is trying to undo all that we have done in this second war. She is trying to prevent us from winning both the war against the Templars and against the Pieces of Eden,” Ezio replied.

“Then why is she head of the fucking Assassin Order?”

“Only head of the North American branch. We have been working with our European brothers and sisters for a long time now, but with Abstergo eliminating so many cells across the world since the Daniel Cross incident, it has been hard.”

“So why doesn’t she just call the Templars here if she’s so eager to lose the damn war.”

“Amunet’s purpose for living so long was to protect the Assassin Order. But she has succumbed to the Piece of Eden’s siren call and though part of her will protect the Order, it has twisted that purpose to something even uglier. She believes that those of us who fight this second war, which is all of us immortal Assassins, are a threat to the Order.”

“Then those snipers and strike team in Denver…”

“I did not have a purpose there, Desmond. I volunteered for the mission knowing that she was going to send someone after me, to eliminate me. I went there because Altaїr had information he could only relay in person regarding the Templars’ activities in Johnson Space Center about the satellite. But I went there because it was the only way to protect you from her wrath after Jack had failed.”

Ezio grinned at him, “You are whom I am living for Desmond.”

* * *

Author’s Notes:

An info dump chapter, I know, but a lot of your questions have hopefully been answered and several more have been brought up. Just for your reference those who are immortal so far in the story and their names:

Dr. Alyssa Patrice – Amunet

Leo Meridius – Leonius

Enzo Torri – Ezio Auditore da Firenze

Andrew – Altaїr ibn la-Ahad

We are getting closer to what the title of my story means – apotheosis and deeper into what makes the Pieces of Eden and this whole war so morally grey. What is the difference between the Assassins and the Templars and if there is any difference between them?

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Story:

Chapter 14 – Escape

“You are whom I am living for Desmond.”

“Err,” Desmond looked sheepish, “I’m flattered, but I don’t really swing that way.”

Ezio laughed, “Not the way it was intended and I apologize if you thought it that way. No, since Minerva touched my mind and talked to me in the Sistine Chapel, I have waited a long time for this mysterious Desmond to arrive. Now that you have, I have found the purpose of my long life. The knowledge that I would someday meet you has kept me sane all these long years.”

Desmond's lips twitched up in a slight smile. He did not know what to say to that and the thought that he was his ancestor's answer for living so long was oddly touching. “Um...thanks...” he rubbed the back of his head before looking at Ezio again, “Amunet’s wrath you said?”

“Yes,” his ancestor replied, “Amunet wanted you dead.”

“But…why? How…?” Desmond was thoroughly confused now, “She said that I was going to be assigned the Houston mission to stop the Piece of Eden from making it up into space and said that I was going to train, be given smaller missions. Why the hell does she want to kill me? And with Jack the Ripper of all people?!”

“She…has her lucid moments, from time to time,” Ezio tilted his head slightly, “though they are getting less lucid. She is also devious; the brightest of all of us, capable of so much plotting that only one of us was able to figure her out before she made her move. But we acted too late.”

“When you say us, you mean you immortal ones, right?”

“Of course.”

“So then why does she want me dead?”

“To get to myself, Arden, Leonius, and Altaїr,” the Italian assassin looked at him briefly, “we had all heard about the prophecy regarding you when I encountered Minerva in the bowels of the Sistine Chapel.”

“Minerva didn’t really say much, just something about finding the temples of those who turned away from war and the like. Also about how the world’s going to burn again, time’s short, you know the doom and gloom.”

His thinly veiled sarcasm drew a laugh from Ezio and once again Desmond was a little more than wigged out at how much his ancestor sounded like the one he had been living through in the Animus.

“She also said guard against the cross and there are many who would stand in your way,” Ezio pointed out after controlling his laughter.

“Dr. Patrice, er, Amunet’s one of them?”

“She was the only one who had access to Jack’s cell, a blood sample scanner that had to be taken from a living, breathing body. And she was the one who specifically requested that Jack be transferred from England to here when she became head of the North American cells.”

“Why?”

“That is a question that you can pose to Altaїr when you meet him,” Ezio’s grip on the wheel tightened slightly; “you would figure after all of these years, he would tell a fellow ally his reasons.”

Desmond could feel a slight stirring within him that he recognized as Altaїr’s presence and snorted, “Still cantankerous and a stubborn proud mule?”

“As ever,” his ancestor gave him a crooked grin, “Altaїr used to be the head of the European Order during Arden’s time, though not many people knew that it was Altaїr per se, they only knew him as Andrew. He gave up that title when Amunet drove him underground.”

“Underground?”

“Oh yes, there is a resistance,” Ezio nodded to himself, “Amunet may claim that the cells have all been wiped out or at least have been driven to Cheyenne Mountain for protection, but Altaїr’s been keeping those groups safe and scattered so that both the Assassins and Templars would not seek us out.”

“What does this underground do? And Amunet doesn’t know about it?”

“We continue with our mission,” the assassin shrugged, “stopping the Templars from completing their goal of enslaving the human race with the Pieces of Eden. And Amunet does know about it, but she cannot do anything about it.”

“Except sending a sniper team after you back in Denver,” Desmond shot back.

“Except for that,” Ezio agreed, “which has worried me.”

“Worried you?”

“Spies,” was the only reply he got and Desmond instantly understood what Ezio was saying. The possibilities of spies both within the Templars and the Assassins were a constant threat, especially with the two groups at each other’s throats for such a long time.

“You don’t think it was Amunet just sending out people to kill you? I mean you said you didn’t have a mission there so you knew that you were a target, right?”

His ancestor just looked at him flatly before shaking his head, “I forget, that perhaps few hundred years down the road, the gene pool may have diluted enough to addle your wits.”

“Hey!”

“So easy to take offense,” Ezio chuckled lightly before sobering up, “no, the real question posed was why after all of this time in hiding Altaїr met with me? The last time we had seen each other was when you were born and your mother named you Desmond. Even then that meeting was brief.”

“You mean someone lured him out so Amunet can get rid of the two of you?”

“Amunet knows I am a spy for Altaїr, but she could not touch me all of these years because of my reputation within the greater whole of the Assassin Order,” Ezio looked thoughtful, “Sharon was supposed to give you a target to kill, that was her mission, but bless her heart when she realized that I and perhaps Altaїr were supposed to be your targets.”

“She did seem agitated and said that she couldn’t do this anymore before telling me that I had to find you and warn you…” Desmond trailed off; more puzzle pieces sort of clicking into place. He was definitely missing information, but the pieces did seem to fit in an odd way, “but that means that the sniper team-“

“May not have been sent by Amunet,” Ezio finished for him, a frown on his face before suddenly pushing several buttons on the dashboard of his Alfa’s radio and a high pitched whine issued from the speakers.

Desmond clapped his ears and gritted his teeth against the horrible screeching sound which suddenly cut out and a feminine voice answered. “Hello?”

“Where is he?”

“Who is this?”

“Where is he, damn you?!”

“I have no idea-“

A stream of curses issued from Ezio’s mouth and Desmond was hard pressed to keep up with the rapid Italian even with his ancestor inside of him providing all of the necessary translations in his mind. “I don’t give a fuck, just put him on!”

“I am not-“

There was a brief squeal from what sounded like a radio being tuned before Desmond felt a shiver of déjà vu down his spine at the lightly Arabic-accented, but precise English that he so recognized from his first time in the Animus. “You better have a good reason-“

“She knows. You were right, there was more than one of them and for the life of me I did not see it until now. Fuck.”

“Then it is true?” Altaїr’s cool voice betrayed no emotion and Desmond squeezed his eyes shut in the sudden onslaught of memories that he had of this ancestor. He clenched his fists and forced himself to breathed through his nose in a steady pace, trying to stem the tide of memories of actually hearing Altaїr’s voice over the radio instead of in the Animus or in his head.

“I’ve already alerted Arden, she will get them out. We are coming to you.”

“We will be ready,” there was a click of something being turned off before Desmond opened his eyes again and saw Ezio staring at him in concern.

“Desmond? Are you all right?”

“Uh, yeah…yeah,” the memories ebbed and lessened as he slowly unclenched his fists and forced himself to relax. “Sorry…just, actually hearing Altaїr’s voice…it’s just…”

“Desmond I need you to focus, all right?” Ezio shook his head, “we’ll talk about this later, but you need to focus right now.”

“Why?” he looked at Ezio, confused.

“Behind you, there is a small catch that leads into the trunk,” Ezio gestured with his chin towards the back of the car and Desmond turned to see that indeed there was a small catch and opened it.

“Uh…”

“I hope you’ve had plenty of practice,” his ancestor said as Desmond drew out one of the flare guns and stared at him for a moment before looking out of the rearview window. It was then that he finally noticed that they had been driving on a seemingly deserted highway, no cars in sight in front of them, but behind them, there were several headlights, headlights that had been following them for a while now, he realized. He had not known it consciously, but the assassins memories within him had been swimming uneasily, wary, not because of Ezio’s confession, but because of the headlights, he realized.

“Ezio-“

“Duck,” Ezio’s command reverberated through the small Alfa and Desmond did as he was told just as a spray of bullets pounded against the car, sending small shards of glass and metal everywhere. Desmond slammed into the passenger-side door as Ezio spun his Alfa around before shifting gears and speeding in another direction. The headlights followed them along with the staccato of more bullets being fired at the car.

The chase was on.

* * *

[GET THEM OUT NOW]

Lieutenant Arden Allen pursed her lips and shoved the pager she carried into the pockets of her fatigues. Pagers were old, outdated, and so very damn useful in this day and age when everything electronic could be traced. With a pager, the likelihood of the message being traced was far less than if she had received it on her cell phone. It was time. She knew the moment she had arrived that the message would come soon. They all had their missions and with her arrival from their original hideout and before that from Abstergo, it was the final piece.

Everything was in place, but she still had not expected everything to move so quickly. Amunet must have completely lost her mind for that curt of a message to be sent by Ezio. A brief smile touched her lips as she wondered about Desmond’s reaction to the news – he must have known by now, otherwise, Ezio would not have done what he had done. She had been happy to see him, even though she rarely smiled at anything anymore. When she had first seen him, slouching against the van’s chair, obviously still in a slight daze from his session in the Animus, she had nearly thought him to be Stephen back from the dead or even her old master Altaїr himself.

He had inherited the genes that had been in her line so strongly, yet she saw bits of Stephen within him. She would never admit it, if not for the brotherly teasing she would get from Ezio who had always said that she reminded him of his sister Claudia, but she had felt a maternal affection for Desmond at first sight. Perhaps it was a remnant of her children from ages past, one dead by the Templar’s hands, the other, an Assassin worthy of the bloodline of his ancestors.

She had dropped her married last name, Miles, when Stephen had died during that fateful train ride so long ago, and had begun to live under her maiden name, never staying in one place or another, disappearing at times only to reappear when a significant amount past. It was how she was able to get into the Air Force Academy and eventually have Amunet, taking the name of Dr. Alyssa Patrice, assign her to Cheyenne Mountain even though she was just a mere Lieutenant. She knew her duties and played her role well, to the point where she had fooled even Amunet of her loyalties.

Now, though, now was the time to reveal her true colors and make sure that everyone got out safely. She knew the facility like the back of her hand, having been sent on this assignment by her old master Altaїr so long ago. It would be good to see Altaїr again after so many years, good to see her old master who had initially trained her in London before allowing her to accompany Ezio and his then-new apprentice Stephen to America to continue her life-long mission.

However, she knew that there would still be that rift between them. It was something that time could never heal, not with what had happened. She had the chance to observe some of Desmond’s recent Animus sessions, but mostly stayed away, if only not to dreg up the painful memories. He was getting close though, close to that time when she had-

Arden shook her head, clearing her thoughts away like wiping a slate clean before focusing on her task. She could reminisce later…

She nodded a greeting to the two guards outside the Animus room and opened the door, noting that Shaun and Rebecca were the only ones in there. That was odd; she had thought Lucy would be in here too. She liked the young woman, even with her shifting…allegiances. She could have imagined herself teasing Desmond about his obvious relationship with her, but felt that if she did that, she would just be a gossipy old grandmother in a young woman’s body.

“Where is Ms. Stillman?” she asked, her voice hard and professional. She had never liked the flippant manner that Ezio always carried around him, preferring her master’s method of professionalism; though she knew that Ezio sometimes dropped the casual air and could become a lot like Altaїr in respects.

“Lucy’s up in a meeting with Dr. Patrice right now,” Shaun was staring at his computer, his tone utterly bored and a bit annoyed with being interrupted.

Arden cursed silently. Of all the times to be in a meeting with Amunet of all people.

“Something about Subject Sixteen’s files,” Rebecca piped up, also staring at her computer, but her hands were flying over the keyboard as she tweaked the Animus.

Arden suppressed the urge to curl her lip in disgust at the Animus lying innocently next to Rebecca’s station. She could feel the oily power within her responding to the cursed thing, and knew that the whispers were soon to follow. If only they knew…but it was not her place to tell them, even though she wanted to. It wasn’t because of orders or anything, it was because to tell them would mean dooming Desmond, and as much as she relied on her cold, hard, professionalism to get her through until the end of all of this, she did not want to see him hurt.

“Pack your things,” she ordered and saw the two of them stare at her, startled.

“Why?” Rebecca was confused, but Shaun looked concerned.

“Wait, you’re not…oh fuck, you’re serious aren’t you?”

“Wait, what? What’s going on?”

“Pack your things,” she ordered again and nodded once to the blood draining out of Shaun’s face. The man immediately started to swear a blue streak before throwing his things together into a bag.

“What the hell is going on?!”

“Don’t ask any questions just pack Rebecca! Dammit, just pack! Pack the Animus; pack your computer, everything! Pack Lucy’s- Oh shit, Lucy!”

“Oh shit Lucy? What’s-“

“I will handle it,” Arden replied coldly to Shaun’s not-quite inquiry. She held out a small scrap of paper to Shaun who took it and read the scribble in there. “That is your rendezvous point. Wait there and someone will find you.”

“But these are just-“

She glared at him, silencing him before he nodded in understanding. She was already taking a risk by telling them to pack. Amunet by now already knew that she would be on her way to retrieve Lucy, which would hopefully give Shaun and Rebecca time to escape.

“Bring her with you.”

“Her?” Rebecca sounded even more confused.

“Where can I find her?” Shaun asked, nodding once, the biting sarcastic humor hidden behind his mask of professionalism. Leonius chose well, she thought with approval. Shaun Hastings had the makings of a very good Assassin, even though he was not born into the gifts some carried. He was also one of the few Assassins outside of those of them who were immortal who knew that they were immortal.

“Infirmary most likely,” Arden replied before turning on her heel and headed out. Just as she reached the door she heard Shaun call out her name and paused, but did not look back. She never looked back, not after the way she and Altaїr had parted on the docks of Portsmouth.

“Arden, um, good luck,” was all the man said and she nodded once before letting the door close behind her.

She glanced at the two guards stationed outside who immediately straightened before silently giving her the signal she had been expecting. A firm nod was all that was needed before she continued on her way. The loyalties on the base were convoluted, but she knew that she had a trusted few who were completely loyal to her and her alone. They were once Amunet’s, but she had gained their respect and trust and thus whittled away some of her power. The two guards would see Shaun, Rebecca, and little Tabitha to safety.

Her next stop was to the armory and the guards gave her a casual salute to which she returned. They had seen her here enough that grabbing several different kinds of weapons and loading up on grenades was not an unusual occurrence. The benefit of being a trainer on base was that she was allowed live fire and blanks at any opportunity.

“Live fire today with grenades?”

“Better to make them dance a bit,” she replied.

“Unlike yesterday…”

“Now the recruits had a taste of real live fire, blanks won’t exactly feel the same anymore. Some target practice before I give them grenade practice,” she shrugged before leaving the armory with her weaponry.

She headed up to the surface of the base and headed towards a jeep that was parked with the others. There were two trainees standing by the jeep, seemingly joking with each other, one of them twirling the keys around her fingers as she approached them.

“Ma’am!” they saluted her as she dumped her small ammunitions pile into the car and covered it unobtrusively with a tarp.

“Spread the word,” she said, catching the keys one of them tossed at her and pocketing it. She knew that they had been sent up here by the guards at the doors to the Animus room. They were only mere Assassin trainees, but they had been loyal to her since she had watched them grow up in one of the compounds near the base.

“It is time?” one of them asked and she only merely looked at him before he wilted a bit under her gaze. “Sorry ma’am.”

“Ma’am, we can assist you with Dr. Patrice-“

“That will not be necessary,” she did not want to draw any more innocents into this. Everyone needed to survive this – she would not allow the bloods of those that she commanded the loyalty of to be on her hands. Never again…

“Yes ma’am,” the two trainees could see that she was dead set on her answer before they saluted her again and scattered to warn the others. She knew that Dr. Patrice had her own loyal forces, those that believed her ramblings and ravings, but she hoped that it would not come to blows, after all for the good of the Order, if so much Assassin blood was shed, then they were truly doomed.

But there was no other choice, it had to be done and Dr. Patrice had to be eliminated. When Altaїr had given her this mission, he had said it was because she was the best of them. Ezio had been her support, but with Desmond’s arrival, his priority was to protect him, the future, and it was just as well, because she worked better alone. Stephen had been a good support, but when he had been alive, even he had commented that she worked better alone.

The only regret was that Lucy would be there. She had to rescue the girl, she was the other half of the puzzle that made Desmond Miles who he was, Minerva’s Chosen. Ezio saw it, but Altaїr did not and she knew that her master would not understand it. Ezio understood and it was for that matter that she was grateful for his support. Before he had left with Desmond for Denver, he had said that whatever happened, Lucy must be saved, even at the cost of not completing her mission.

She had not understood until the day she had met Lucy Stillman. She was to Desmond what Stephen was to her and what Maria was to her master, Altaїr. And she knew instantly that Ezio was right. However, it seemed that Desmond had not realized it yet, had not realized the depth of the woman’s shifting allegiances and the torment that ate at her. She knew that Lucy knew of the truth of this whole business – being a senior Templar and all. Arden knew that Lucy had claimed to be an Assassin, and she had grown up in one of the enclaves, trained as one, but once she had entered her college studies, she had been sucked into the Animus project and switched her loyalties to the Templars after Dr. Vidic had saved her – or so the story went. In Arden’s opinion, it had more to do with her bloodline than anything else, but she would not tell anyone that, not even Altaїr or Ezio.

Even Arden did not know the depth of her loyalty, but if Altaїr had said that she was not to be killed, then she would do everything she could to save her. The irony of saving a Templar was not lost on her, but out of respect for her master’s wife Maria, she buried the thought. Maria had proved her loyalty to the Assassins and she hoped that perhaps in time, Lucy would do the same even if it seemed like she had done it already.

She arrived at Dr. Patrice’s office and knocked on the door. The two guards standing outside looked unperturbed and seemingly unaware, giving her a glimmer of hope that perhaps Amunet did not know of the betrayal going on underneath her nose.

“Come,” her muffled voice spoke through it.

Arden opened the door and stepped in, schooling her face in a passive expression, ever the soldier, ever the cold assassin she had been. She had been given a nickname during her days in Victoria-era London, Frost, which had suited her nicely for the manner she killed her targets. She did not linger over the finesse of Ezio, such frivolity was only a distraction, but rather, she considered herself economical and precise. Altaїr had insisted she study cadavers to make sure she knew the killing points and she had developed her ability to pinpoint the exact target area on any of a person, small, fat, short, tall, to kill with lethal efficiency.

She remembered when she had shown this skill to Altaїr and it was the first time she had seen him smile in approval. It was only until later, much later, that she realized she had surprised her master with her skill.

“Lieutenant, you have the most impeccable timing,” Amunet sat in back of her wooden oak desk, half of a smile on her face. “I was just discussing with the others the merits of Subject Sixteen’s recordings.”

Arden managed to keep her impassive façade up as she saw that all of the Assassin leaders had been present, Leonius included. In front of them sat Lucy who was holding a manila folder open with the notes and several disks of recordings. Behind Amunet was the frozen projection of both Adam and Eve from Desmond’s discovery of the glitches in the Animus while exploring Ezio’s memories. With their images frozen, it was very clear where Desmond’s DNA came from, written all over Adam’s face.

Eve however, was another story and Arden inwardly smiled. How like Assassins and Templars to show the subtleties of their respective Orders the two lines they had descended from.

“Ma’am, Ms. Crane has asked that Ms. Stillman be present in the Animus room,” she managed to keep her voice steady. She realized that she had not thought up of any excuse to get Lucy away from Amunet – which was her own folly. Stephen was much better at improvisation and it was her own fault that she had depended upon him too much for his abilities. She had long worked alone since his death and she could not even remember a simple excuse.

“Can it not wait? We are in the middle of a briefing,” Amunet stared at her.

“I believe not, ma’am,” she dared not look at Leonius, but hoped that her distant ancestor would be able to pick up on the hints she was trying to drop. “Ms. Stillman has a better working knowledge and Ms. Crane said it would help her with the upgrades.”

“Why do these upgrades now?”

“I do not know ma’am. Perhaps with Mr. Miles’ return from Denver-“

“Mr. Miles will not return from Denver,” Amunet suddenly said and Arden froze just as Lucy swiveled her head around to stare at her.

“P-Pardon?”

“Oh do drop the act,” the woman suddenly stood up before pointing at her, “I give you gentlemen and ladies, the traitor to whom we have been discussing for the past half hour.”

“Ma’am?!”

“Oh yes, it was you who released the man from confinement to kill Mr. Miles yesterday. Then you and that idiotic Italian assassin who thinks he was god’s gift to the Earth killed him to prevent him from saying anything. And it was Ezio who volunteered to take Desmond to Denver, so no one would be able to say a thing if he returned without him. Oh yes, I know who you are…traitor.”

Perhaps she had not fooled Amunet for all those years as she thought she had. Arden glanced at Leonius who had a stony look on his face while the other Assassin leaders were staring at her, shocked. Only a handful of people knew that Dr. Patrice was Amunet and that included her and Leonius. Lucy, the other leaders, they did not know, but she knew that they knew of the existence of the immortality the Piece of Eden afforded. She saw Leonius blink once at her and squared her shoulders. She knew what she had to do.

“I am no traitor, Amunet,” she let a frigid grin flit across her lips at the gasps of shock from the others, “if there is a traitor here, it is you, Templar.”

* * *

Author’s Notes:

More questions are raised, yes I know, and they will be answered in due time – especially regarding Lucy. I’ve also begun to drop more hints regarding another Piece of Eden’s existence so I hope that you eagle-eyed readers are paying attention! See you next chapter and thank you to all of you who have put me on favorites, alerts, and have reviewed!

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Story:

Chapter 15 – Serpent

Lucy was terrified. Though she kept her composure smooth and outwardly refusing to even show an inch of the turmoil she felt within, she quailed with fear. The air did not crackle with power, but rather the way Lieutenant Arden Allen refused to back down from Dr. Alyssa Patrice’s sharp gaze. That was where the power was and it made her realize how insignificant she was in the suddenly cramped office. There was only two times in her life she was completely terrified and both of those times involved guns. This one, this one was sure to involve guns, but she did not even see a weapon upon the Lieutenant.

She knew that this day was long in coming, ever since she had accepted the assignment, but now that it was here, she felt woefully unprepared. She knew that she had her hints, especially since Desmond went to Denver, but a part of her had thought that it would not have happened this fast.

When Arden had entered, she had thought that the Lieutenant was only reporting to Dr. Patrice, but then the look that was given to her confirmed that it was time to act. And in that time, Lucy felt terribly conflicted. But she was powerless now; she could not do anything without severe consequences. It was all up to Arden now…and perhaps Leonius.

She dared not look at the former Roman general, the other immortal assassin in the room besides Lieutenant Allen and Amunet. It wasn’t a matter of revelations, but rather the warning she had been given regarding Amunet. The woman had killed Cleopatra with an asp, and that was not only the weapon the ancient woman had upon her. She was rumored to be one of the most ruthless Assassins ever, leading some to question whether or not she was really an Assassin at all, or a Templar at best. Even the files Lucy had been given had questioned that and she knew that the files were dug up from the various sessions.

Sitting in her office was like sitting in a viper’s den and Lucy knew that of all the people in here, she was the greatest liability. The other Assassin leaders of the Order that were also in the office to discuss the Adam and Eve files were of no consequence, already dead in the eyes of her superiors. But her…Lucy knew that there was only one reason why Arden would brave the viper’s den, to see her to safety.

And it made her uneasy.

“Your immortality has corrupted you,” Arden said quietly, “made you drunk with power and as twisted as Al Mualim.”

“That is a serious accusation, girl,” the woman’s lips curled into a snarl, “calling me a Templar and comparing me to Al Mualim? And yet, you do not deny that you released the man to kill Desmond Miles.”

“Why should I, you would only find some way to blame it upon me again,” the young woman, relatively in Lucy’s mind, scoffed. “Your long life has made you insane. You have never had the intention of saving our Order from the Templars. Rather you would drive us apart with deceit and lies. You intended to kill Desmond from the very beginning, the hope and the Prophet that Minerva spoke of.”

Amunet shook her head, and looked at the rest of them. If Lucy had been just a casual observer, she would have thought that it was Arden who was talking nonsense and Amunet who held her ground and held her poise. But like the others in the room, she knew that the two were immortals and this was a fight that they could not interfere in. “Like I had said before, a traitor; to her brothers, her sisters, she would blindly follow her master Andrew before anyone else.”

“Perhaps, there may be merit-“

“Patrick, do you believe in this mere Lieutenant’s words?”

“I’m not saying that, Doctor, but she is one of your own kind-“

“We are all the same, are we not? We are all Assassins,” Amunet raised an eyebrow at the Chinese-American leader who nodded his head congenially.

“I believe what Mr. Li is saying is that could something have happened to make Lieutenant Allen, who has been a staunch supporter for so long, question you?” the other woman, Reina Smith, spoke up.

“You really believe her, do you not?” Amunet’s expression took on a more serious nature, “do you remember who it was that trained her?”

“Yes, we do,” Reina looked at Arden who was still staring defiantly at Amunet, “and we remember that it took us a long time to accept her back within our ranks after Andrew’s actions. But should we not be united now? With your guidance and with hers together? The two of you have seen history pass before your very eyes and the two of you should know that division against an overwhelming force that has devastated us for so long will not hold up against the Templars and Abstergo’s might. We need to be unified.”

Lucy stole a covert glance to Leonius, watching as the man nodded to Reina’s words. She realized that while the leaders had known about those amongst the assassins who were immortal, they only knew that Amunet and Arden were immortals. They knew nothing of Leonius and whether or not they knew that Ezio Auditore walked amongst them was yet to be determined, but she suspected that perhaps they did not know. What was equally curious was the name that Amunet had referred to the exiled Altaїr ibn la-Ahad – Andrew.

It hit her then that while the leaders knew of Andrew as one of the seemingly immortal assassins; they did not know that he was Altaїr. Perhaps that was also the same reason they did not know of Leonius or Ezio. The man, especially Altaїr and Ezio were legends in their own right, their exploits and their leadership of the Order through their greatest struggles against the Templars were always referenced, whispered, and spoken of.

Meanwhile, from what Lucy knew, Amunet while infamous in her own right for killing Cleopatra, had not led the Assassins of her time into a renaissance period of their own. She was known for killing the Egyptian Queen, but Altaїr, Ezio, even Leonius, brought the Templars down onto their knees with their actions, destroyed their empires, and rebuilt new ones.

Cleopatra’s empire was already in a downward spiral before her death and Amunet’s actions only added to that. Comprehension filled her as she realized that beneath all of this, beneath what was happening, it was simple, petty, jealousy that drove her ambitions to not have Andrew known as Altaїr. Clever, but also childishly petty – she knew what would immediately happen should people know that it was Altaїr that she had exiled and declared a traitor.

But the real question was why did the others not tell them then? What had kept them silent for so long?

“Her devotion to her master has corrupted her,” Amunet shook her head, watching Arden like a mother pitying a child.

“Your words are vipers, just like the one you used to kill Cleopatra,” Arden shot back and Lucy knew that it was her answer to her silent question. They dared not breathe a word regarding Andrew and Altaїr being one and the same because of the sheer amount of power Amunet wielded. Her age made her deadly and for the first time Lucy felt as if she was truly seeing the real assassin underneath.

Amunet looked old. Though her hair was still colored and shot with streaks of white, she looked every inch the assassin that she probably had been back in the ancient days. Age only made one even more powerful it seemed, and she probably had a long time to contemplate her immortality, much longer than anyone else. She was the oldest of all of them, Lucy realized, and with that, it would have taken the others like her, Arden, Leonius, Ezio, time and very careful planning to take her down.

And the fact that she had struck first and driven Altaїr into hiding was a testament to her skills. The others were wary and thus did not risk open rebellion against her control. A viper indeed…

For the first time, Lucy was not uneasy, but rather, frightened. Even with the knowledge she had, she felt so dwarfed, so small and insignificant in the grand scheme of things.

But if Amunet was a viper, then why was Arden provoking her so? The answer was just as easy to figure out had she not been so preoccupied. Desmond. Something had happened to Desmond and it was the only reason why Arden had come in so agitated, throwing accusations against Amunet. She knew that Desmond’s British ancestor could have waited for her to come out of her meeting, but something must have gone terribly wrong to compromise herself like this.

The fear within her grew. She had not heeded Ezio’s warning the night before he was to leave with Desmond, she couldn’t, not with all that had happened, and now she felt sick. If anything happened to Desmond… Lucy took a quiet deep breath, trying to steady herself – she was stronger than this, she would not go to pieces just because of the possibility that something had happened to him.

“Lieutenant, consider what you are saying,” Reina Smith had intervened again, stepping forward, hands held out in front of her, “perhaps seeing Jack yesterday-“

“That has nothing to do with it!” Arden hissed angrily stabbing a finger at Amunet, “you all knew that only she had access to that man’s prison! Who do you think released him?!”

“Is this true?” Patrick Li had nodded in agreement before turning to Amunet, “did you released Jack and cause the deaths of four of our very own? Nearly cost the life of the one that Minerva had said would fulfill the prophecy?”

“A most curious question is why have you sent Desmond Miles out so quickly on missions? We have time yet to train him,” Trey Jager, the last of the leaders spoke up, having watched the whole exchange up until now.

Lucy stood up too, as the leaders stepped forward to show their concern for what was going on. “Perhaps I should-“

“Have you all so little faith in me that you would believe her words?” Amunet stared at them, appalled, “have my leadership not guided you? I have sheltered you, all of you when the Templars attacked your enclaves. You sought refuge and I provided it. You have looked to me for leadership for all this time and now you question my capabilities all because of an accusation and the word Templar thrown at me.”

Lucy saw that the other leaders, Leonius the only exception, look a little abashed, but Reina spoke up once more.

“Ma’am, you have led us for a long time, but we have been wondering recently why do we not strike back? The other cells, enclaves that have not been attacked, they are ready. We could amass a force, even a political one with our allies in office, to counter the Templar threat right now. We have not even backed our Presidential candidate in office and elections are coming up!”

Amunet slammed a hand down onto her table, “I would be more concerned with the threat of the Templars’ planned launch of the satellite than with mere elections, wouldn’t you? Our candidate has successfully slashed their budget in the past four years he has been in office, but they still have enough clout to keep the program alive to launch satellites!”

“Which is why we still need him in office-“

“The President is not my concern!” the older woman glared daggers at them, shutting Reina’s protests up. She shook her head, staring at them with an incredulous look, “All of you, like sheep.” A bitter bark of laughter emerged from her mouth, “So weak, spineless. Even you, Lieutenant. You accuse me of being a Templar because my methods are so stringent? I am trying to keep us alive!”

“No, you would rather kill us then keep us alive,” Arden shot back, “tell me, Amunet, why did you allow the Templars to get their hands on the Piece of Eden in Denver? Why did you send good men and women to die raiding one of Abstergo’s compounds for secrets when there were none to be found? You’ve even sent Desmond to Denver, the heart of a Templar nest-“

“You are dangerously close to insubordination-“

“I think you and I know that I’ve gone beyond that,” the words were cold and hard.

“Very well then,” a gun suddenly appeared in Amunet’s hand and Lucy froze in place, sucking in a quick breath as she saw the head of the Assassin Order purse her lips together. “Surrender peacefully, Lieutenant and there will be no bloodshed.” However, her blood ran cold as she noticed that the gun was not pointed at Arden, but rather at herself. A clear warning of whom the leader of the Order was going to shoot if Arden did not stand down.

The others noticed it too as they stared in open shock at the grey-haired woman.

“Dr. Patrice…Amunet…”

“Sure you don’t mean to…”

“Well, Lieutenant?” Amunet did not have eyes or ears for any of them and the cold feeling grew as Lucy stared at the barrel of the gun pointed at her. The hand holding it was so steady, almost as if it was made out of rock. She had never known anyone at all with such steady hands. “Or perhaps some motivation would do you good,” even before the words left her mouth Lucy jumped at the sudden bang of the gun.

However, she did not feel any pain and opened her eyes that she did not know she had squeezed shut in time to see Trey Jager numbly staring at the bright bloom that appeared on the left hand side of his polo shirt before he collapsed to the ground, dead. The gun barrel had tracked back to her and Lucy could not help the slightly terrified stutter that emerged from her mouth. She looked at Amunet who had apparently lost all semblance of sanity in her cold, hard eyes.

A quick glance at Arden also showed the same cold hard eyes and for a moment Lucy wondered if both women had gone completely insane. She had no doubt that immortality came with both perks and downers and the downside was perhaps the lost of mental faculties due to very advance ages.

“We need-“

Another pop, followed by a few more made Lucy jump, shielding her eyes from a flash before an acrid smell filled her nose and she began to cough, her eyes watering. Several more pops filled the air and Lucy was knocked to the ground. She instinctively lashed out, kicking her legs, biting and scratching with her hands before she was bodily hauled up and dragged somewhere. Muffled shouts that rang a bit hollowed in her ears echoed around her.

Lucy kept fighting before Arden’s tense voice spoke up next to her ear just as the acrid smell disappeared and a freshened air filled her nose, “Lucy, it is I, stop fighting me.”

Lucy rubbed her eyes and blearily looked up to see that she wasn’t in Dr. Patrice’s office anymore, but rather in the familiar halls of Cheyenne Mountain. It was also then that she noticed, Arden was bodily hauling her along and she caught her legs beneath her to steady their fast walk, almost a jog.

“Where-“

Arden shook her head before shoving her into the nearest stairwell, “Start climbing. We need to get to the garage.”

“Arden-“

“Here, take this,” Arden drew out a handgun from the folds of her clothes and handed it to her. That was when Lucy noticed that the woman was bleeding from what looked like a gunshot wound to her side.

“You’re injured,” Lucy could not pause to look more closely at the wound, the tight trip Arden had on her arm practically dragging her up the stairs. She took the proffered gun and thumbed the safety off.

“It is nothing,” the tightness of the assassin’s voice belied the grim look on her face and Lucy knew that the little ‘nothing’ was definitely something worth worrying over. “I have handled far worst,” Arden caught her skeptical look as they continued up the stairs.

By the time they were three-quarters of the way up to the surface, Lucy could feel her calves burning with the exertion, but kept her steady pace up. She had refused to look behind her, knowing that with each step they took, more blood dripped down onto the floor from Arden’s gunshot wound. However, the woman was as determined as ever and made no other sound as they had climbed. Her grip had not loosened either and before long, they burst into the garage.

“Ma’am! Over here!” a youthful voice called out and Lucy looked up to see two cadets waving them over to a tarp covered jeep. The lack of soldiers made her puzzled and she wondered if it was Leonius’ doing that perhaps had stopped the soldiers from attacking them up here – they certainly had more than enough time to ride up the elevators than for her and Arden to ascend the stairwells.

Arden guided her into the jeep before all but collapsing into the seat next to hers. Lucy immediately felt a stab of worry as she saw the woman’s eyes blink groggily in an effort to stay awake. The assassin must have pushed on through sheer will and it was only in the safety of the jeep that one of the cadets had started up and screeched out of the garage did she finally allow the steady loss of blood to overcome her.

As they drove away from the military base, Lucy could only hope that Arden would survive to wherever the cadet was driving too and that Desmond had survived whatever had befallen him.

* * *

The sounds of pursuit were all but hushed as silence reigned in the office once more. Scattered papers littered the area and some fluttered to the ground after the unexpected move by Arden Allen. The bodies of the leaders who were slain so ruthlessly still bled into the carpeting, their limbs akimbo and sprawled onto the ground, but for two people, there was still the breath of life.

Leonius knelt beside Amunet’s body, cradling her head gently as she twitched feebly on the ground. Her blood was already spilling into his hands, making them sticky and slick at the same time, but he did not care. A sad smile flitted across his expression as he saw her struggle to draw the last of her breaths. Her eyes, so wild moments before were now peaceful, lucid, even childlike.

“…Leonius…?”

“I’m here, Amunet,” he had not flicked his hidden blade back into its bracer of his left hand, a part of him while sorrowful, still fearful that the madness of the viper would take over her once more, driving her into even further insanity. He would only release the catch on his blade and hide it once more once the viper was dead.

Still, he could not help but kneel close to her body, trying to provide some semblance of comfort in her last moments. It was he who had struck that fatal blow into her jugular when Arden had thrown a smoke bomb, fulfilling a promise that he had made so long ago, so many centuries ago when the madness first took her. Those two were part of the future that he wanted to protect, the future that he lived for. They were needed to end this eternal madness that had consumed the two factions.

“Leonius…” she swallowed heavily, sending more blood onto his fingers and onto the ground. “…I’m…I-I’m sorry…”

“Shh,” he smiled a little as he gently brushed the hair out of her face, “you did your best.”

She choked a bitter laugh out, “Liar. I always…knew when you were lying.”

“I know,” he wanted to say that he loved her as he held her in his arms, but love was such a transient thing. It was not for those who had been cursed to know what it was like, fleeting, and dead after the ones they had loved grew old and died. No, he cared for her, after all, she was the closest one to him in age, much like how the younger ones, Altaїr, Ezio, Arden, all of them close to each other, all of them protecting the future generation.

“It looks like…I will be finally entering…the darkness first,” she smiled, staining her teeth with blood. Her childlike eyes suddenly looked beyond him before a hand feebly rose up, “Leonius…?”

“I’m here,” he grasped the hand just as the last of her breath left her and she slumped to the ground, dead. Leonius waited a couple more seconds before releasing the catch on his blade, slipping it back into its holster. At the same time, he dropped her hand and reached over and closed her eyes. The madness was over…and the cursed objects held no more sway over her. He knew that given the chance, one would have asked him why had no one struck sooner, no one had deposed Amunet until now, when things were at their gravest. His answer, was because there was still that hope, the hope that perhaps this fallen woman who had lost her self so long ago would realize her error and make amends.

It was a foolish notion, but one without merit. To strike the viper that was Amunet was folly, she was one of their best and there had only been one Assassin equal of her skill. Not Ezio Auditore for all of his flare and grace with the blade, but rather Altaїr ibn la-Ahad. And it was the viper who had struck first, driving the man deep into hiding and away from her.

Leonius knew that he only got the chance to make his strike because Amunet had allowed it. One could have argued that Arden provided the chance, but from the many years, centuries he had worked with Amunet, the woman left nothing to chance and kept everything close. It was her last moment of lucidity that had allowed Arden to act, even at great cost to herself, and had allowed him to strike.

He picked himself up from the floor and was not surprised to see Dr. Sharif standing by the door. What surprised him was that she did not look stunned to see the sheer amount of blood carpeting the walls and the floor, nor the bodies of the leaders strewn like child’s play. In fact, she looked amused by the carnage, something that whispered a terrible warning in Leonius’ head.

“Iltani?” he rose up, every hair on the back of his neck standing up. Something was terribly wrong here… But why would all of his instincts be screaming at the doctor’s presence? They had worked together for so long, had both seen the madness that had consumed Amunet and had vowed to stem the madness as much as possible.

“I presume they got away?” the woman asked in a slightly bored tone.

“Yes…”

“Pity, they would have been useful hostages. Only found out myself when Tabitha said that she was going to go play with Ms. Crane,” the doctor shook her head.

“Hostages? Iltani…” Leonius had a sick swooping feeling that the same madness had consumed the doctor, the madness that not even he had seen. He knew that Iltani was older than Amunet, having made her mark in history by killing Alexander the Great, but what was the woman saying.

“At least she’s dead,” the doctor gestured with her chin to Amunet’s dead body, “good riddance.”

“What are you-“ Leonius froze in place as the doctor suddenly pulled out a gun and held it to his face. He raised his hands slowly in a gesture of surrender, “Iltani, put the gun down.”

“Why should I?” the doctor’s expression twisted into a sickening smile, “see the problem with you Assassins is that you trust too easily. You claim to be wary of everyone, but you forget, your methods are outdated. That was how Daniel Cross was able to kill your beloved Mentor, that was how we were able to have so much political power while you do not understand that it is greed that drives people to do what they do.”

Leonius stared, aghast. “Templar…”

“A label, that is all,” the woman snorted, “but if you wish to call me that, then do so. I prefer the term, concerned party.”

“But-“

“Al Mualim had the right idea, but he was too selfish to realize the true goal. Rodrigo Borgia had the idea once more, but he let that whelp of a boy Ezio defeat him and then allow his own son Cesare to take control of his family.”

“But Alexander…your student-“

The mystery of who had betrayed Alexander Roche had been one of the greatest mysteries in the Order and now it was completely stripped bare in front of him. No one had believed that it was Iltani, Dr. Sharif, who had betrayed her very own, but judging by the damning words she spoke…Leonius could not believe that he had been so blind.

“It was not easy, I admit, to get the Lance away from Altaїr,” the doctor shook her head before he thought he saw a flicker of her appearance change a little before reverting back to her normal form, “you of all people should have realized that the Piece I carried, the Piece that bound me, enslaved me…who is the master of it and who is the slave?”

Leonius realized what had happened when Altaїr had communicated with them in secret since being driven into hiding by Amunet so long ago, that he had found the fabled Lance of Longinus. Iltani had used her own Piece to manipulate, perhaps even seduce the master assassin, but would Altaїr’s own perceptions have noticed the proximity of the Piece? The more he thought about it, the more he realized that Iltani’s specialty was poisons and the like – it was how Alexander the Great died. She had probably drugged the master assassin and had stolen the Lance afterwards and there was nothing Altaїr could do. Even if Altaїr knew who had stolen it, he could not have sent out an alert without Amunet’s notice and compromising his own safety.

With a start, he realized that was why Arden had herself assigned to the base, not only to watch Amunet, but to keep an eye on the Lance and its bearer Tabitha. Even if Arden needed to be near the Piece for her own sanity, she must have been in some communication with her former master for her to undertake such a dangerous assignment. But all of that was not his concern. His concern was-

“What did you do to Desmond?!”

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Iltani replied and the last thing Leonius saw as he leapt over the table, blade extended once more was her sinister smile before the bullet took him in the head, instantly killing him.

Iltani huffed a little as she lowered her gun and stepped into the office, her nose wrinkling a bit at the metallic smell of blood that lingered in the room. She pulled out a small radio and opened a channel. “Cease pursuit.” The acknowledgement came back quickly and she tossed the radio aside. Stepping over the bodies, she gently pushed aside one of Leonius’ arms as it sprawled onto the desk and over the phone before picking it up and pressed a few buttons.

“Rikkin here,” was the short, curt reply.

“I will need a clean up team here,” she replied, tugging at the edges of her hair. She only needed to send the briefest concentration to the Piece upon her before it responded and she felt it ripple through her, slowly changing her hair from the dark hues of Grecian beauty back to the dark blonde.

“Y-Yes ma’am,” clearly he had not been expecting her call, “anything else I can do for you ma’am?”

“Yes, there has been a kill team sent after the brat and Auditore. Make sure they do not fail. I want Miles alive, you may kill Auditore. I believe they may be in contact with one or two cells, perhaps even with ibn la-Ahad.”

“Understood.”

“Oh, and please tell Vidic that his daughter got away,” she finished before hanging up. Two of the top Assassins dead and she only had to pull the trigger once. The others would be hunted down like the dogs they were, but she only wanted what was in Miles’ head.

* * *

Author’s Notes:

Of all the POVs you have read, you can be reassured that Lucy’s is the most coherent one. Alas, she is also the one that will be least featured because of the secrets she’s keeping. Now what are those two assassins up to in the Alfa I wonder? Next chapter, car chases, hidden blades, and the actual appearance of Altaїr ibn la-Ahad! I am also excited about AC: Revelations (even though I’m a bit sick of Ezio’s story, it’s the Altaїr and Desmond plot lines that intrigue me – and Woodkid’s “Iron” music to the trailer).

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Story:

Chapter 16 – Precipice

“Fuck!” the curse flew from Desmond's mouth as he scrunched up to the side of the window as several bullets whistled by his head, embedding themselves in the upholstery of the seats and the dashboard. He heard the dull thumps and realized that Ezio had all but bullet proofed his car. But even bulletproofing the fast and agile Alfa Romeo was not good enough as the back windshield of the car had already shattered, scattering a messy plastic-like glass around them.

Righting himself as the Italian assassin swerved from an incoming rocket propelled grenade that exploded and sent shards of concrete and asphalt into the open window, he sighted down the flare gun and focused his senses on the right moment to fire. Now, the voice whispered and he pulled the trigger, sending a bright red flare towards the truck that was in pursuit of them. The flare exploded against the grill, sending flames of red lights and stinging powder everywhere, the driver of the truck swerving from side to side before he overbalanced and tipped over, skidding to the ground.

A second later the truck exploded as two pursuing cars behind it had rammed right into it, sending a rather large fireball into the air. “Yes!” Desmond crowed before shooting a grinning look towards his ancestor.

“Great, there are more,” was the calm reply, but the roguish smile Ezio wore belied that calm and he knew that his ancestor was enjoying the adrenaline rush as much as he was. A part of him knew that he should have been terrified, yet he felt bolstered by the presence of his living ancestor and those whose memories he had accessed so far. He knew that death could just be right around the corner, yet he also knew that he was confident enough not to get himself killed.

He loaded the flare gun with another cartridge and was about to take aim at the second truck that had managed to swerve and regain the pursuit before he was thrown rather violently to the side as Ezio swerved again. “Shit! Watch how you're driving, old man!” the words flew from his mouth as his finger tightened on the trigger, sending the flare uselessly to the side where it burst out in a bright red harmlessly.

“Who the hell are you calling old?!” was the slightly snappish reply back in Italian before he loaded the last of the cartridges.

He glanced behind him as Ezio sped towards the road and saw that they were approaching a tunnel of sorts, “Take the tunnel!”

“I am,” the terse reply did nothing to his slightly irritated mood as he turned back and sighted down the barrel of the flare gun again, adjusting his sight to the small turns and bumps on the road. He ducked behind his seat once more as a spray of bullets peppered the car and he heard the assassin curse next to him before muttering a few choice words of comfort to his car.

“The car will survive,” he knew that the car was hardier than the murmuring the assassin was giving it.

“Reassuring the lady is nothing new to me. You ought to know that,” the Italian assassin replied, “just focus on that truck.” They entered the tunnel and his vision turned instantly dark.

But Desmond concentrated and his world flared into the bright hues of the Eagle Vision, no, Eagle Sense a part of him whispered, as he saw the glaring red of the truck full of enemies bearing down upon them. He allowed a wolfish grin to appear on his face as he fired the flare, the bright contrail nearly blinding him in his Eagle Sense before he refocused his gaze and saw the trail hit the red mass that was the truck spot on. Releasing the sight just as the truck exploded, the darkness that was the tunnel gave way to a huge roaring explosion and it was only a second later that he realized they were stuck in a tunnel with a roaring fireball that had no where else to travel to.

“Drive, drive, drive!” he called frantically, wishing that he was in the driver's seat, no wait, he was in the driver's seat so why would he-

“I am Desmond!” it was only the whiplash anger of his name spoken in Italian that snapped Desmond out of his frenetic funk and he jerked a little in his seat, his hands still clutching the empty flare gun. He blinked a little and was surprised to see that he, no, not himself, but rather Ezio, his ancestor Ezio was sitting next to him. He was not Ezio, he was Desmond.

Desmond Miles.

He was Desmond Miles.

Desmond took a shaky breath, feeling a pounding headache between his eyes and pitched the bridge of his nose a little. He realized that in the past few minutes, he had been jabbering in fluid, fluent Italian with Ezio and a quick glance at the his ancestor saw the minute bunching of his lower jaw, a sign that he had long recognized was a bit of chagrin and anger mixed it. His ancestor had realized that he had just fueled and participated in the Bleeding Effect of his own mind and was ashamed for that. It was only the saying of his name during that moment as they burst out of the tunnel, avoiding the fireball, that he had realized what he had done.

“I should have an AK-47 in the trunk. There are several cartridges, but they may be hard to reach,” Ezio spoke in clear, if a little accented, English and Desmond numbly nodded, dropping the flare gun as it started to rattle in his hands. He clenched his hands into fist to try to stop the shaking, and hoped that his ancestor did not notice it, but a part of him knew that Ezio was aware of everything. Thankfully he did not comment on it as Desmond grabbed part of his seat to steady himself as he blindly reached into the trunk once more to try to find the AK-47.

Another bump in the road made him lose the fingertip grip he had on a barrel of a gun he did not know whether or not was the AK-47, but he felt a small bag of what felt like little round balls roll into his hands and a grim smile appeared on his face. Grabbing the bag he pulled it out of the small compartment and opened them. A handful of grenades, all clinking rather innocently together, gave him an idea.

“No,” Ezio killed the idea with a firm denial, “You stick your head out there, their sharpshooters will get you. Dump them out of the back.”

“Like tacks?” Desmond had a mental image of some action movie he had seen where the good guy let tacks fall to the ground to blow out the tires of a pursuing vehicle.

“Something like that,” his ancestor replied, sounding a bit distracted, and he did as he was told. Pulling the pins out one by one, he tossed the grenades lightly through the broken back window and watched as they exploded one by one, sending some more pursuing cars careening out of the way, some into ditches, others into trees and giant boulders that sat near the edge of the highway they were driving on. But it did not do much to deter their pursuit and he looked sideways at Ezio and finally noticed that the Italian assassin had been trying to distract him.

Distract him from what was answered as he looked towards the fuel gauge and saw that the dial was rapidly falling. “Oh, we're in deep shit now, aren't we?” he grimaced.

“Do you have your blade?”

“My what – oh, yeah,” Desmond realized that Ezio was asking him about the hidden bracer in his left hand and he flicked his wrist just so, a thin blade popped out of its hidden compartment underneath his hoodie.

“On the left hand side, there is a small compartment, open it; there is a bullet proof vest in it. Wear it,” Ezio didn't really look at him and instead, turned hard, spraying dust and dry dirt into the air before gunning the engine in another direction. Desmond noticed that the pursuing cars had fallen behind a little, but they were still trying to catch up. He realized that the grenades had been tossed out of the back to slow down the pursuit, giving them time to do what was needed to be done. “Desmond!”

“Yeah, I got it,” Desmond snapped back to the present as he reached over the seat and into the trunk once more, digging around the left hand side before he felt a small catch of sorts and tugged it open. He could not quite see what was going on and used his hands to try to feel out what the bullet proof vest may be and pulled out a handful of fabric placing the darkened material of the vest on his lap before reaching in again and felt nothing else in the small compartment.

“There isn't another one-”

“I am already wearing one,” Ezio replied, his voice calm and steady and a part of Desmond realized that this was Ezio Auditore at his finest, a calm, cool, calculating assassin who so eerily now resembled their mutual ancestor Altaїr. No it wasn't that Ezio resembled Altaїr, it was the fact that Ezio had become exactly like Altaїr in his prime, or rather he was Ezio in his prime. The comparisons made his head swim a little and he squeezed his eyes shut to block the overwhelming flood of memories of both ancestors from his mind.

Desmond shrugged off his hoodie and put on the vest as he felt the car start to slow down, the jarring bumps as Ezio took the car off road and onto the dirt and dusty ground, making it hard for him to tighten the straps on the vest, but he managed to and quickly put his hoodie on again. There was no need to advertise the fact to their pursuers that he was wearing a bullet proof vest. That would only make them aim for his head or other parts of his body.

“Won't their sharpshooters target us once we're out of the car?”

“They may,” was the mysterious reply as Ezio stopped the poor little bullet-ridden Alfa and shut the engine off. For a second, the stillness of the desert was like a roaring wash of water in a flood in Desmond's ears before it was broken by the distant thrum of engines that grew louder with each passing second. The quiet murmur of Italian made Desmond look towards Ezio out of the corner of his eye to see him patting the dashboard gently before unbuckling his seatbelt and exiting the car.

He did the same, feeling a wash of nostalgia as he recognized the words that his ancestor had spoken. He remembered the last time they had been spoken was to his, no, to Ezio's lover, the mother of his son, and with so many years long gone, possession meant nothing. The Alfa Romeo had apparently become like a beloved possession to Ezio and it had served him faithfully.

Desmond wondered as he closed the door to the Alfa, noting how pockmarked the car had become, if they survived the upcoming onslaught, would the car be able to drive again? Perhaps not now with its fuel tank just about empty, but he hoped that it would not be left to rust in the harsh sun and wind-swept dirt of the desert and dry plain lands that they had stopped in.

“What's her name?” he asked, glancing over to Ezio and saw a look of surprise on his ancestor's face before the familiar wiry smile appeared on his face.

“Sofia,” Ezio replied as he stepped around and leaned against the smooth tapered trunk of the Alfa named Sofia.

“We're not going to...” Desmond gestured vaguely to the trunk and Ezio shrugged.

“Do you think you can shoot everyone with the AK-47? Do you even know how to handle one?” Ezio asked and Desmond opened his mouth to say that at least they would be armed with guns instead of just the hidden blades they had, but closed his mouth as he considered his ancestor's question.

“Yes,” he nodded, taking a bit of Arden's vague memories that he had not yet explored, but knew that she had handled firearms before. He could use that knowledge she had, just like he had used it to help snipe the red hued enemies that had been attacking Altaїr and Ezio back in Denver.

“No, would have been the wiser answer,” Ezio arched an eyebrow at him, “no would have been the sensible answer. You are already Bleeding Desmond. You will Bleed more in the next few minutes and I will not compound that by giving you weapons.”

“I'm not bleed-oh...” Desmond realized that Ezio was talking about the Bleeding Effect, not the fact that he might have had bullet holes in himself or that the Italian assassin's expensive suit was marred and covered in dark-red blood. He realized what his ancestor was trying to do. By forcing him to use only the hidden blade, he would be fighting using both Ezio and Altaїr's memories. But if he had used a gun, he would be adding Arden's unexplored memories, forcing him to relive experiences that he had not done so already with the Animus and thereby adding a third ancestor into the mix of the two that he already was familiar with. Ezio was trying to limit the Bleeding by making only use what he had already experienced through the Animus.

Whatever thanks he wanted to say to Ezio was lost as Desmond saw three vans screeching to a halt in front of them, sending dust and dirt everywhere, obscuring his vision of them for a few seconds. In the dust, he heard the doors sliding open and close, the staccato of guns cocked before the stomping of boots emerged from the dust to see heavily armed soldiers, dressed all in black, pointing their guns at him and Ezio. Desmond tensed a little, shifting his leg back, his hands away from his body, his left hand held in a loose fist, ready to flick the hidden blade out of its holster.

He flicked a quick look back at Ezio and saw that the man was still leaning against the trunk of his Alfa, almost nonchalantly calm. But he recognized the wolfish grin that turned up the corners of his lips and it was not hard to imagine Ezio dressed in the long ancient, but well preserved assassin outfit he kept in the trunk of his car.

“I am surprised that you Blackwater specialists were sent,” Ezio pushed himself off of the trunk and stood, arms held loosely at his sides. But no one could mistake the slow drip of blood that pooled down the sleeves of his ruined jacket. Just how many did Ezio kill to still make the blood drip for so long was beyond Desmond, but the message was clear – approach Ezio Auditore at your own peril.

“Abstergo has a concern with Desmond Miles, not you old man. You can leave your son and maybe we'll just kill you faster instead of letting you linger,” one of the black-clad gunmen growled out. Desmond realized that they did not know that Ezio was Ezio and thought that they were father and son based on the resemblance. A part of him that was Ezio bristled at the 'old man' remark, remembering some young upstart docttore mentioning that it would take time to heal because of his old age. The next remark made him frown as he realized that these weren't the military, but rather private military contractors, and that they were Blackwater and mentioned Abstergo. They were Templars...

“I think not,” Ezio growled out, the anger in his voice thickening his accent.

“Listen, old man, we've got guns here. You've got nothing,” one of the other soldiers called out.

“Shut the fuck up Smith,” the leader of the apparent group of Blackwater specialists glared back before hefting his P90 and pointed it at Ezio, “How about this, I put a bullet in your brain, right now, and then we'll just take him.”

The smile Ezio gave to the private militia group was chilling and one that Desmond recognized from so many sessions in the Animus. “You are welcomed to try.” With those words, the assassin abruptly moved and if he had not known how fast Ezio was, he could have sworn that the sudden spurt of blood that burst out of the commanding officer's neck was the result of a feather light touch. The man did not even have time to scream before two more spurts of blood appeared in the air and Desmond glimpsed the blur of fine business wear just as another soldier fell to the ground only to be stabbed with a pair of thin blades.

It was only the appearance of the blades that snapped him into action and Desmond lashed out at the nearest soldier, catching him with a swift kick to the soft part of his throat, sending the soldier gurgling away from him and collapsing to the ground choking to death. He extended the hidden blade from his bracer, ramming it into the temple of another. Grabbing the soldier by the straps of his helmet, he ripped him off balance, releasing the catch of his blade, the soldier limp body hanging before him. However, he did not release his grip and instead grabbed the handgun that was sitting in the dead Templar's leg holster and pulled it out.

Using the dead body as a shield he crouched and fired off several rounds, his instincts pointing the gun at the joints between the armors that they wore, at the neck and at their faces.

He ducked a little behind the dead body as several bullets flew towards him, impacting and peppering the ground near him. But he did not allow such annoyances to distract him. He was an assassin and he knew how to get rid of these pests. He emptied the rest of the clip injuring a couple of the soldiers before surging forward, dragging the body before him. Several more bullets impacted and he winced as he felt one penetrate the body of the soldier before clipping him across his side. The body had absorbed most of the impact, but the fact that it had penetrated his side, where supposedly his bullet proof vest was supposed to be protecting him told him that the soldiers were either firing armor piercing bullets, or had switched to them seeing that he held the body of one of their fellow Templars before him.

A small part of him realized that Ezio had just given him a peace of mind, to keep himself calm and not to allow the Bleeding Effect worry him for this current skirmish. He also wondered if the assassin was lying about having worn a bullet proof vest of his own. The probability of hiding such a bulky vest underneath such an immaculately cut suit was very small in his opinion.

Shunting the pain away like he had learned so long ago – he was certain he never had learned 'so long go' - he dropped the body of the soldier just as he reached out with his left hand raked the thin blade across another man's face, making him scream and clutch at his bleeding eyes. He then took the handgun in his other hand and whipped it across the face, knocking him to the ground. Using the adrenaline and momentum rush, he arced his foot out and kicked a man square in the stomach, folding him a little, but the man retaliated with a kick of his own before fumbling for his P90.

But he did not let the Templar get a chance to shoot him and stabbed the man in the eye, his hands instantly drenched in the sticky wetness of blood. He knew that the wetness should have bothered him – why would it bother him, he had killed many in this fashion – but ignored that warring part of his mind and turned to the next enemy. Jabbing the man in the face with a backhanded fist, he immediately turned his right hand downwards and punched him in the sternum, feeling the hard plated-feel of the vest the man wore to protect himself from bullets bend under his blow. However, the man sneered at him before lifting his combat knife out of its holster and slashed at him. Desmond ducked under the blade before bringing his armored bracer up in a parry; his left hand splayed out as he let the blade release from its catch and stab the blade-side of the man's hand.

The man cried out but did not drop his combat knife, as Desmond released the catch on the hidden blade, sliding it back into its holster. A voice whispered in his mind that he needed to be faster than this, he could not linger upon enemies and fight them one-on-one, otherwise he would not be able to survive. Shaking his head, he felt a lancing pain stab his mind and for a second thought that he had been shot, but as the moment passed, he realized that it was an unnecessary distraction.

He could deal-

For a moment, Desmond felt his breath hitch as he saw the black-clad soldiers standing around him, the gleam of the combat knife arcing downwards in the air. What was he...? Where was... Blind panic like he had never felt before froze him in place, as he felt like his head was about to split open, the pain drawing a ragged breath from him. But he was the best, he did not panic – no, he was Desmond? Was he Desmond? Who was this Desmond – where was- He was...he was Arden? He was...was he...?

The soft gurgle of death in front of him made him snap out of his panic as he saw the black-clad militia man holding the combat knife suddenly fall to the ground, blood bubbling to the surface of his mouth and dripped down, mingled with spittle. A familiar looking silvery dagger, carved in the likeness of eagle heads was embedded in the man's throat, thrown from somewhere...

He recognized that dagger...the eagle head, it was his....? No, it was not his...it was...

“You're going to be okay now kid,” a voice, unfamiliar, yet so familiar, like his own, but his own voice was- Desmond shuddered as he saw the face of a man, an ordinary looking man with an adventurous, rogue-like air about him, yet a friendliness that told him he was an ally. “Hey-”

His world suddenly swayed rather violently before he threw out his hands to find some kind of purchase, before he abruptly found himself forced to the ground. His hands grabbed at the dirt and small rocks that littered the area, the sharp jaggedness mixed with smooth wind-blown gravel making a definitive impression upon his reeling consciousness. He blinked a few times, looking up at the ordinary face; a handsome face a feminine whisper brushed his mind, eerily similar like Nikolai- Who was Nikolai?

“Let me check him over, Nate,” a feminine voice suddenly spoke up and the man moved away. He found himself staring into the face of a blonde-haired woman who looked eerily familiar, but a part of him knew that it was not her.

“M-Maria...?” he whispered, or at least tried to as he felt his mouth move, but he did not know if he spoke the words. His head still pounded painfully, a quick thumping feeling with each beat of his heart that blurred the edges of his vision to anything else. He felt dizzied, nauseous, yet the feel of the grainy dirt and stones on his palms was clearer than anything else.

“No...” he shook his head a little, “not...Maria...”

Why would he be thinking about Maria, his Maria - Altaїr's Maria, the whisper corrected him. But wasn't he...? He shook his head again; he was not Altaїr, was he?

“Desmond?” the blonde-haired woman gently cupped his chin and held up some water in a small cup to him. He drank it before blinking owlishly. If this was not Maria and he was not... Altaїr...then...

“How is he?” the soft, quiet, precise Arabic-accented English made him turn his head to see, well, seeing himself walking towards him was a first. No, it was not himself, it was Altaїr. That was Altaїr; he was...he- It was so easy to imagine the familiar white robes, vambraces upon the arms, red sash that denoted his rank, the beaked hood pulled over his head, shadowing the top half of his face so that he looked like an ordinary priest. It was so easy to remember him as he was, the ring finger still missing, the painful cauterization of the stump that devoted him to the Order, Al Mualim – Al Mualim was a traitor! The harsh thought jolted him out of his memories as he saw Altaїr kneel down in front of him, staring at him with eerily dark eyes that seeming saw everything including his soul.

“He's a bit dazed, but I can't find any bullet wound except for a graze on his side-”

“It's the Bleeding,” he jolted at the sound of the new voice that joined in the conversation and craned his head with some effort on his part as he felt a little sluggish now, the pounding pain growing stronger, to see- He knew who this man was dressed in the business suit walking towards them. The fabric was definitely ruined now, tattered with dirt, blood, and what looked like black powder burns.

He vaguely remembered a lament about the suit and made to gesture about its condition, but his arm wouldn't work.

“You did well, Desmond,” the man, was that himself he was looking at who had replaced the blonde-haired woman. No, it was not himself, it was Ezio. That was who it was, Ezio Auditore. He was not Ezio; the man in front of him was Ezio. He was...he was Desmond. That was...right, wasn't it? He felt so confused and suddenly winced, the pain move across his eyes like a knife stabbing into him. He could still feel everyone's eyes on him, but a part of him did not care. If he was not Altaїr, nor was he Ezio, then who...?

“...Lucy...” the name came unbidden to his lips. Was the blonde-haired woman Lucy? But he knew that it was not Lucy – wait how did he know that? Lucy was...she...was...

“Desmond,” Ezio's voice was filled with some urgency and he saw the frown of concern on that face, so like his, yet why was his own face filled with that expression? He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it, but he knew that if he started laughing, then all would be lost. He could not laugh, no matter how much he wanted to. “Desmond, stay with me...Desmond!”

He shook his head, the pain in his head too great now. It hurt to look at anything anymore, and he tried to close his eyes. The stinging slap to his face nearly made him open them again, but he could feel himself slipping, falling into the abyss where he did not know who would catch him. Was this the end? Was this how it felt like to die, a part of him wondered?

Yes... the voice whispered, and he could feel a pain, phantom, almost as if he was wearing the skin of another, a fiery wound in her gut, the harsh breath that mingled with the coughing spasms that sent claws of agony up and down her body. She could feel herself slipping; Stephen's frantic mouthing of something above her dimming vision, above his dimming vision. She felt the hand of her master in her own, but the warmth of the calloused palms did nothing to bring her back. Instead, they served to comfort him in the time of his passing, her passing.

She could feel herself falling, falling deep into the abyss of darkness, the blackness where no mortal could go. Where those whose time had come would pass into Hades' gates, into the very depths of hell.

Desmond reached out one last time, casting his hand wide, trying to find a purchase, anything, everything- Catch me Lucy, catch me as I fall, he pleaded as she had pleaded, catch me Stephen, catch me as I fall.

And Desmond fell.

* * *

Author’s Notes:

Yes you can all now go hug Desmond because he’s Bleeding badly – and that was a little B5 reference thrown in at the end. I had to, it was the perfect set up. Oh yeah, anyone spot the Uncharted cameo? I wanted to throw Nate and Elena in there partially because I absolutely adore Nolan North’s voice acting. Don’t worry, the crossover ends there (well, ends next chapter), as I won’t go into too much detail, just throwing a bone to you the readers. See you next chapter!

Ezio’s little hidden blade skirmish is based a little on the awesome “Iron” trailer for AC: Revelations. Btw, if you have not gotten the music for that, it’s “Iron” by Woodkid.

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Story:

Chapter 17 – Athanasia

The bump in the road jolted him a little bit as he opened his eyes from his meditation to see that they were essentially driving off road and on the dusty ground of the desert lands.

“I'm pretty sure that's an armadillo you ran over back there,” the person sitting in the front passenger seat, a blonde-haired female, quipped to the driver, a dark-haired man with ordinary yet rugged features.

“If that's to make me give you the keys and let you drive I don't think so. Remember the last time you almost drove?”

“Yeah?”

“Tibet? Trucks? Explosions?”

“I did not drive back then and you pretty much drove a train off of its tracks and almost down the mountains!”

“That was the helicopter's fault! You would think they wouldn't shoot at their own allies!”

Ezio Auditore tuned out the bickering between the two with a small shake of his head and instead stared out at the passing landscape, the wind whipping the lapels of his suit. He did not know the exact area they were in, especially since he had driven off of the main highway during the car chase, and had only pointed the car in a southerly direction. But from what he was seeing, they could now have been driving north for all he knew, perhaps over the Canadian border or south over the Mexican border.

Though in this day and age, borders did not quite mean that much anymore. Not with the plains devastated to the point where all there existed was desert and dust. A long drought had wiped out the fertile plains where crops grew and sent dust storms that lasted for weeks, even months. Flying in between the opposite sides of the country was usually diverted or delayed, with flights canceled more often than not. The drought had all but changed meteorological forecasting, weathermen now factoring in days of dust storms along with their usual forecast.

The once proud nation that was the United States now relied upon its northerly and southerly neighbors for most of its food, and had been ripe for Templar influence to grow over the past few years. The ordinary people of the world suspected nothing, but Ezio knew that it was the explosion of the Denver Piece of Eden that had changed the plains to dusty ground. It's effects had been carried by the winds to settle over the plains that was Tornado Alley and had thus devastated the area.

Another jolt bumped the open humvee they were riding in and the brief idle thought of what they had run over now flitted through his mind before it flew away just as quickly as he glanced behind him. Desmond had been laid out in the cramp, covered portion of the humvee, a modified military humvee, strapped to a medical board with a medic watching over him, fluids held up high and fed into the tube leading to his wrist.

The young man's eyes were closed and Ezio wondered if he was dreaming or still piecing together the fragments of his shattered mind. He would bet the latter judging by the condition he was in when he fell unconscious. “Shouldn't have let him fight,” he muttered mostly to himself, but it brought up the gaze of the other man that had been sitting next to him in the humvee.

Altaїr ibn la-Ahad did not say anything, but then again Ezio did not expect him to. After so many years, he had changed very little. The meeting just hours ago, in Denver, had confirmed that, but the look Altaїr gave him said his words just the same.

“You really think that he should have fought?” he raised an eyebrow at Altaїr who shrugged, the shoulder of the grey duster he wore dumping some dust in between their seats. The older assassin's face was a lot more youthful than his own, but his eyes spoke of the age and the long years the assassin had seen. Altaїr had touched the Apple just a little older than Desmond had been, but he had used it even more to divine the knowledge it held and write his fabled Codex. Ezio himself had touched the Apple when he was in his thirties and had used it instead to wage war against the Templars.

The Apple had left its mark, unique on each of them, but if one had to look at the two, they would have said Altaїr was the older, not because of his face, but because of his stoicism and mannerisms. There was another word that Ezio knew the whispers of those that did not know of the cursed immortality the Pieces bestowed upon its users was that Altaїr was a cold-hearted bastard.

“If not now, then when?” Altaїr finally asked.

“When he has had a chance to consolidate-”

“The Templars do not give us that chance. This latest attack only proves that,” the older assassin shook his head, a frown on his face.

For a moment Ezio was taken aback at how much Altaїr looked liked Desmond, or rather how much Desmond looked like Altaїr, but there was no doubt that Desmond's genetic legacy had run strong across the generations. The two looked so similar that it was uncanny. He never really thought about it, especially since he had only seen the man several times in the past hundred years, but it was only until Desmond had collapsed after the fight with the Blackwater paramilitary and Altaїr had been concerned that the physical similarities had come into light.

But that was the extent of the similarities between the two. Desmond, while seemingly at times bewildered by what was going on around him, had a youthful exuberance that Ezio knew he had when he was the young man's age. It reminded him so much of himself, ancestor memories not withstanding, yet at the same time, it had reminded him of his long-dead brothers Federico and Petruccio. He had watched the young man grow from a child living under the intense protection and scrutiny of his parents and the Order to a rebellious teenager who eventually concocted a plan that had even impressed him to escape the Farm. He remembered that it had thrown the Order into an outright panic when they realized that their 'savior' or whatever they wanted to call Desmond, had gone missing.

It had become a challenge for new recruits or those who were looking to advance in the Order's ranks to search for Desmond over the years and while Ezio made sure he kept occasional tabs, as did Altaїr even in exile, he knew that Desmond had just wanted to live a normal life, free from the 'crazy folks' as he had come to call them.

What could be said for Desmond and his youthful resourcefulness was the exact opposite of Altaїr. The years of exile had not been kind to the older assassin, though his face stayed forever young; there was a sense of frustration, bitterness that had only appeared in recent years. Ezio had his suspicions, but did not voice them – to do so would be pointless and fruitless. Questioning Arden was also pointless as he knew that she had not been in contact with Altaїr ever since their parting on those docks in Portsmouth, England over a century ago.

In the brief communications that he had with the assassin over the years, he had not really gotten a sense of that bitterness, but it was only their face-to-face meeting, followed by the ambush by the snipers and strike teams that he really got a sense of how the years had been treating the master assassin. He would not go so far as to call Altaїr a broken man, but judging by the way he spoke, the way he looked, the way he had acted, especially killed, it was not a stretch.

“But you are right,” Altaїr's words made Ezio start in surprise from his musings. He had rarely heard the older assassin acknowledge whether or not he was right or wrong in the years working with him.

“I am right?” Ezio knew it was childish to gloat over the words, but nonetheless was a little bewildered by the sudden change in attitude.

“The boy needs to consolidate his memories. William discovered that the best way was to put him in the Animus to act like a temporary barrier.”

“And there is always a catch-”

“At the expense of keeping its user at a heightened state of mind-”

“Which allows him to explore more memories of his ancestors. So it is not really a barrier at all is it?”

“It is better than nothing. And Desmond needs to find out where it is located,” Altaїr did not look at him, a pensive expression on his face, “he needs to find out.”

“What he needs is rest,” Ezio narrowed his eyes; he had not been joking when he had told Desmond that he lived for him. Ever since the prophecy Minerva made deep in the temple underneath the Sistine Chapel, he had been carefully following Desmond's bloodline, waiting, hoping, and dreading the day that one of his line would name the child. Only the higher members of the Order had known about the Prophecy and the Miles family line had been ignorant about the significance of the name. Even Arden had not known about the name until she had discovered the truth about her immortality. When that happened, she had withdrawn into the distance and had watched the rest of her family line prosper.

Ezio waited for the day when Desmond would arrive, and when he did, he watched him closely, though from afar. He wanted to see what this mysterious Desmond would do with his future, how he was to bring the downfall of the Templars. Unfortunately, Daniel Cross happened and it had scattered and devastated the Order. Then Desmond had run away and Ezio was busy with his own missions, including the ill-fated one to Denver.

Alexander Roche had been captured a few years later and it was only until Lucy had sent out a frantic email saying that Desmond had been captured by the Templars that Ezio realized the extent of the prophecy and how it related to the Templars and their use of the Animus. All he wanted now was for Desmond to be safe, to ignore the prophecy and to live his own life.

From what he had seen of Desmond so far after his capture and escape, made his faith in the prophecy shatter – there was so much bloodshed in the young man's future, so much madness and he felt that he was helpless to stop it all. Not long ago, Ezio would have given anything to end the living nightmare he was stuck in, but seeing Desmond, like this, suffering an even worst fate than he...he would have done anything to reverse the Bleeding Effect.

And it was all because of the damn Animus' fault. That and the Lance of Longinus that Tabitha Roche carried.

“Would you rather William find it, or perhaps one of his siblings instead?” Altaїr looked at him sharply.

“No,” Ezio frowned.

“Then he cannot rest.”

“He will Bleed out faster than Alexander!” Ezio barely kept his voice low as not to startle the medic in the back or the two in the front. “And William cannot be the one to find it. He needs to be able to control the Animus.” He did not want to think about what happened if Desmond ended up like Alexander. They had all read the reports, watched the video feeds that Lucy had sent out in little packets as she and Dr. Vidic worked on the Animus project with Alexander. The term madman did not come even close to describing what the Bleeding Effect had done to the once promising young politician and Assassin. Daniel Cross would have been considered sane compared to Alexander.

“Then there is no one else if you would not sacrifice the others,” the assassin looked at him with an even gaze.

Ezio knew that there was no one else. Arden had the memories within her, but the trauma that she had endured during the time those memories were created had erected a mental block in her mind. She could not go into the Animus without harming herself and Ezio knew that Altaїr for all of the distance between the two, would have sooner stopped her than to force her to relive her own memories.

He sighed deeply, knowing that there was no other choice. “He needs rest,” he repeated stubbornly – he had six hundred something years to perfect his stubbornness.

“And how much will you give him? Will you wait until December 21^st to let him rest?”

“You fucking bastard,” the Italian man wanted to punch the older assassin in the face, “I just said he needed rest, not some goddamn holiday. You are twisting my words again.”

“I am twisting them because you sound like an apprentice fool who has had a sudden sentimental crisis attack,” Altaїr countered.

“You really want him to Bleed out like Alexander, don't you? Want the walls painted in his own blood, screaming his head off, living the memories of all of his ancestors, you and I included,” Ezio hissed quietly, “Altaїr we do not even know if the Lance will respond favorably.”

“There is no one else,” the assassin looked at him, “Alexander was going to be the first.” The question for all of them was would Desmond be able to utilize the Lance if he was held in the thrall of another Piece of Eden? Alexander Roche would have been the first test if he had not perished from the madness of the Bleeding Effect. His capture had alerted the two of them that the Templars had not been looking for random Assassins to test the Animus technology on, but rather specific Assassins.

When Alexander had been captured, Ezio had immediately looked back into the genetic history of the man and had found out that he himself was one of the man's ancestors that came from his mother's side. They had all thought that Alexander was captured to give his opponent in the upcoming elections, a Templar-backed candidate a chance to win his seat, but when the truth was uncovered through Lucy's covert emails, it was too late to find Desmond and warn him.

With Desmond, the Templars had access to the Apple's map showing the location of every single Piece of Eden in the world, though many of them had already been moved or lost through the centuries. When Lucy sent out her email pleading for a rescue, Amunet had refused. Ezio had learned that Altaїr had mounted his own rescue with just a handful of fellow recruits that he trusted. It had been a great risk to him, exposing his position to both Amunet and Abstergo, though he suspected Abstergo did not know that Altaїr ibn la-Ahad was still alive in this day and age – otherwise, they would not have captured Desmond and would have gone straight for the source.

One would have called that sentimentalism or at least a heroic rescue attempt, but Ezio knew that in this day and age, Altaїr did not do things without another purpose. Too embittered by the longevity of his life, much like himself – though Ezio tried to keep a positive light at times – he knew that the older assassin had launched that attempt not to rescue Desmond, but to silence him so that his genetic legacy could not be used by the Templars. When it became clear that his attempt had failed, both as a rescue and as an assassination mission, Altaїr had turned his focus to ensuring that Desmond survived to fulfill the prophecy.

“You really think he will do it? That it will all end soon?” he asked quietly, his anger fading away. The long years of his immortal life had taught him that anger was just only a fleeting emotion, much like love, and it was pointless to get angry at petty words.

“We have no choice. Amunet had the right idea in her barely-lucid moments, but we have no choice and no time.”

“Because of the solar flare, no?” Ezio noticed the tightening of the corners of Altaїr's eyes and frowned a little, “not the solar flare?”

“Because of the Templars,” Altaїr said quietly. The simplicity of the statement spoke volumes in Ezio's opinion and he had been too trained, too world-weary to let such a statement pass him by. Instead, he waited out for the rest of Altaїr's statement, knowing that the assassin was collecting his thoughts. “Because of Dr. Sharif.”

“She's a Templar,” Ezio was proud of the fact that he managed to conceal his shock at the revelation, but it was soon replaced by swift anger, “you knew. You knew she was a Templar and you had me send Desmond to her?! You had Lucy send her all of the information regarding Desmond's Animus sessions while with Abstergo too!”

“Yes.”

“Why?! Leonius...Arden-” he thought after so many centuries there was nothing that could surprise him, but once again Altaїr proved to him that he was still a mere novice in the eyes of the older assassin.

“They do not know,” Altaїr had an expressionless face.

“What were you thinking?!” it was an effort to keep his voice a low hiss instead of shouting it for the whole humvee to hear.

“The destruction of all the Pieces of Eden. Did Sharon give the information to Desmond?”

“I presume so. I told him to keep the thumb drive, it is his responsibility,” Ezio could see the knowing smirk in Altaїr's eyes saying that he was no different than who he was angry at, at the moment. It was one of many times that he wanted to strangle the bitter assassin. You are no different that Malik, the words were on the tip of his tongue, but he knew better than to speak them. It would most likely erupt into another fight between the two of them which always ended up with hidden blades drawn and pointed at each other. How Arden had managed to stay sane during her time of training with Altaїr in Victorian London, as her master was beyond him.

A thought occurred to him. “You wanted Dr. Sharif to know what Desmond had been through. You wanted the Templars to know...because...”

“The Templars reacted just as I thought they would to Desmond's knowledge. They have been gathering all of the Pieces in one place instead of leaving them scattered. Dr. Sharif may think that she is clever, but the Templars do not have the manpower or justification to leave pockets of their forces scattered. With the political climate as it is and the world angry at the United States military for interfering in so many affairs, NATO losing its credibility, the Templars know they must take the Pieces to a central location.”

“And that is what you had Sharon doing,” it had been ages since he worked with Altaїr and he forgotten that the man played his hand very close to himself, only revealing little bits and pieces at times and even then not revealing much at all. “Then our meeting face to face was nothing but a distraction...” the puzzle pieces were starting to fall together, “you wanted Dr. Sharif to send out the Templar forces, or at least alert the Templars to our location because you wanted to be sure that whatever information Sharon had would be safely delivered to Desmond.”

“Amunet only knew that it was to be floor plans for Johnson Space Center and so Sharif would have dismissed it as inconsequential,” Altaїr shrugged, “there was not even a scratch.”

“Only because Desmond fired those sniper rounds,” Ezio looked closely at his compatriot, but the assassin had a firm grip on his emotions to the point where he did not know whether or not Altaїr had anticipated the ambush. He had taken his time to get to the meeting point that Altaїr had suggested through a communique left at one of the drop boxes scattered throughout the country and it was only when they had greeted each other that the first shot from the sniper rifle held by Desmond a couple of buildings away had alerted them to the incoming strike force that had been sent to kill them.

“The boy's using his acquired skills well, though I worry about the Bleeding,” Ezio ascended the stone-worked stairs of what used to be a high-rise office in downtown Denver. The building had been abandoned since the destruction of the airport, some of its windows blown out, damaged blinds and abandoned workspaces. The place had been declared a hazard zone, but he knew that the radiation fallout from the destruction of the Piece of Eden was no threat, having long dissipated with the passing of years.

The building was also close to the edge of the airport so reconstruction had not been started nor considered. In fact, destruction and the building of a memorial was talked about, but with so much red tape, hatred, and protests from those who just wanted the memories of their loved ones who had perished to just stay there dominated the headlines at times. Meanwhile, the surrounding buildings had been used by various gangs, drug dealers, and all sorts of vicious underworld criminals and black market dealers.

It was the perfect place to meet.

“And the others?” Altaїr wore a grey-colored duster with the hood pulled over his head to shade his eyes and prevent anyone from outwardly identifying him. Even in such a devastated city like Denver, one could never be too sure of spies, especially those who reported to Amunet or worst the Templars. It was the first time since Desmond had been born that he had seen the assassin. Twenty-five years had not changed his outward appearance though Ezio did not expect it to. Time stood still for them, save for the occasional scar that one may have acquired in a brief skirmish otherwise.

But Altaїr had no scars and the only thing that Ezio noticed that had changed was the seemingly utter weariness in his dark eyes. That look was quickly buried underneath as he saw some hidden emotion shutter themselves over his eyes before the ever cool facade of the master assassin he had known for a long time presented itself again.

“Your former apprentice is doing well,” he replied to Altaїr's inquiry, knowing that while the man was too proud to admit it, he did care for his immortal apprentice, taking all of the blame she had thrown at him during their harsh parting in Portsmouth, England. It was one of the few things that he had noticed that he asked each time they had met. He was not as interested in the others, but made sure that the girl he saw like a daughter of his own was well.

Of course, he did not tell this to Arden; he still liked to keep his head for a little longer.

“She's come alive with Desmond's presence at the base,” he gave Altaїr a ghost of a smile, “like a doting old grandmother, though she will kill me if she heard that.”

That brought a soft snort of an almost laugh to Altaїr and Ezio was pleased that the assassin had not lost all humor in the past few years. It had also seemingly broke some of the melancholy and bitter mood that he had been hearing during their infrequent radio communications. But like clockwork, he saw the emotion shutter away and inwardly shook his head. The years were definitely getting to Altaїr and Ezio hoped that he would not start to go mad like Amunet. One insane immortal assassin was enough, but two...Ezio knew he could take Altaїr in a fight, but beating him was another question. It was not that he questioned his abilities, but rather questioned the tactical methods he used.

He knew that his fighting style was flashy and surgical, designed to put the living fear into his enemies and demoralize them. Altaїr's style had been like his, but the years had changed it to a more tactical and subtle style where he could utterly devastate not only the enemies within the vicinity, but also the Templar Order itself. His abilities were not confined to the immediate presence of enemies around him, but rather focused on the whole of the Templars. It was why it had been either him or Amunet who had to strike first and unfortunately Amunet struck first in her madness, driving him away from the Order during the first World War and into hiding.

“Desmond has begun to explore Arden's memories, though the Animus' grip upon him nearly killed him when Tabitha wandered by the door. I sent her away in time,” Ezio frowned shaking his head a little; that had been too close for comfort. Luckily Lucy, Rebecca, Shaun and the others had been too occupied with what had happened with the Animus to notice Tabitha's presence.

“How far is he?”

“You had saved Arden from Jack in the meat packing factory-” Ezio abruptly stopped as he felt the whispered warning of the Apple brush through his mind before a split second later the crack of a sniper rifle shot filled the air. Beside him Altaїr had also stiffened, hearing the same whispered warning as he did, the two of them sharing the same Piece of Eden that had made them immortal.

“Over there,” Altaїr's voice became more businesslike and cold, and Ezio saw his gaze become fixed for a split second before he looked around him. He knew that his ancestor had accessed the secret ability that had always been part of their bloodline, the Eagle Vision. Minerva's eerie words had made little sense when he had found the temple under the Sistine Chapel, but now he knew better. They had the bloodline of those that styled themselves gods and were far more advance than any human alive, the blood of Minerva and her kind.

He looked towards where Altaїr had pointed and accessed his own Eagle Vision, his world becoming a muted grey, the bright blue-hues of the older assassin next to him nearly drowning out the very small dot of blue that he saw in the far distance. He felt the power of the Apple that kept its immortal grip upon him reach out and recognized the presence – Desmond. A crooked smile worked its way up his lips before he traced his gaze down around him and saw multiple red hues, on the floors beneath and across the building.

Pulling himself away, his world reverted itself back to the dark colors of a devastated city and Ezio saw that Altaїr was already moving towards an open atrium that crossed landed a couple of floors down, though not to the ground floor of the building they were in. He followed, shrugging his jacket off as he did so and adjust the collar of his pressed shirt. Discarding his jacket near the edge of the atrium, after all, it would be a terrible waste of good fabric and material to let it get destroyed, he curled his fists in anticipation, standing at the lip of the atrium.

The crack of two more shots made the feral smile appear on his face. Desmond was really utilizing his skills though a part of him worried at the amount of Bleeding he had to have felt climbing the buildings to get to his sniper point and also how much he used to fire a high-powered rifle like that. It had taken years for Arden to master her favorite weapon. Desmond was now using those years of experience with the barest of ease.

“How many do you think?”

“An Assassin strike team? Eight each...” Altaїr replied.

“Not an Assassin strike team?” Ezio heard the nonchalance in his tone and was a little puzzled, but did not get an answer to his question as Altaїr suddenly leapt down and he quickly followed.

He relished the brief moment of freefall as he saw his first two targets before releasing the catch on his blades and plunged them into the exposed necks of the soldiers dressed in grey-green-white military fatigues. Blood spurted in a messy spray from where he had pierced their necks as he used his momentum from falling to slam them into the ground at the same time.

He pulled his blades out and kicked hard at one soldier, sending him off balance before he cracked his back against the glass window on the second floor. The man slid to the ground just as a body went flying against the already damaged window, shattering it and sending the hapless soldier falling to the ground screaming.

Ezio heard the crunch of bones as the soldier landed in a heap, but ignored it as he brought his arm down in a sweep, catching the face and throat of one soldier, the thin blade racking a deadly path downwards. He spun, holding his arms out and pierced another one, pulling the his left arm back quickly and grabbing the barrel of the handgun that had tried to track him. He heard the rapid fire of bullets behind him, but the whisper of the Apple in his mind told him that the bullets were not for him and so continued with his attack, ripping the gun from the soldier's fingers, breaking his tips. The man screamed and Ezio silenced those screams with a quick rake of his right hand across his throat.

Even before the man was down, he ducked under a combat knife and brought his left arm up in a block, the blade skipping across his armored hand. Pushing both hands forward, he scissored the attacking soldier's throat sending a fan of blood everywhere and picked up his discarded blade as it flew into the air in the man's death throes. He flicked the catch on his right hand, the hidden blade retreating back into its holster before hefting the combat knife and threw it. The blade embedded itself into one of the soldiers whom Altaїr had been grappling with.

As the man reached behind in an instinctive reaction to the sudden pain, Altaїr grabbed him and pushed him into the rest of the others in the strike team, sending all of them toppling off of the edge of the building, sending more shards of glass out into the air.

“Here,” Altaїr called out and Ezio reached out to grab a P90 tossed at him, sheathing his blades. He could already feel the drip of sticky blood coating his wrists, soon to be dripping down his hands. He set the gun for a single fire spray and sighted down the small scope. The P90 was not designed to be a rifle, but it would do for now. Blurring his sight into the grey hues of Eagle Vision, he spotted the cluster of red in the building across from where he and Altaїr were and fired, tracking each red that faded from the grey every time he made a killing shot. However, he only got to a few before the rest ducked out of sight and let his sight return to normal.

Dropping the P90, he climbed back up the stairs, his shoes crunching on the shards of glass that had been blown in, and picked up his jacket, keeping back near the walls in case the team set up across the building decided to pursue their attack. He was pretty sure there were only three or four soldiers left of that team, all of them frightened out of their wits from the slaughter they had just seen through their scopes. He was confident that the Apple would whisper its warning should any stray bullet or attack come his way. Even though he was not near the Apple, the Piece of Eden finding its way back to Altaїr's care after a long absence, he still heard its whispers. Sometimes they were helpful ones, but at times, especially when he was asleep, they felt sinister, seductive, like the whisper of a nameless lover that told him he could have all of the power in the world, all he needed to do was to take it from Altaїr.

It was a great temptation, but after knowing Altaїr's history with the Apple, he felt more confident with it in the fellow assassin's care than worried that it would whisper the same things and actually tempt the older assassin into using it. That was one of the few things he trusted in, in this day and age.

He picked up his jacket, shaking some of the dirt and debris that had gotten on it before putting it back on, buttoning his collar up once more. Before glancing behind him, he took a quick peek into Eagle Vision and saw that the red dots across the street had all but disappeared and a scan of the area showed nothing to indicate that they were even near them anymore. A slight grin worked its way up his face as he knew that they had beaten a hasty retreat instead of staying around to be slaughtered by them. Releasing the sight, he looked at Altaїr who had a frown on his face.

“Head back to Denver, I need to check on something. This attack did not seem right. She may have had something to do with this,” the assassin looked a little disqueted.

“She? Who is 'she'?” Ezio finished adjusting his cuffs and looked up, but Altaїr was already gone, the flapping tail end of his duster the only thing he saw before it disappeared around a corner. “Great,” he grumbled as he shook his head and headed up a few levels before crossing to a low rooftop and made his way back to his Alfa. He had forgotten that Altaїr was used to working alone and gathering information on his own. On the bright side, Ezio knew that it was time to tell Desmond the truth of what had been happening in this world that he had been abruptly thrust into.

“Altaїr?” the voice of the woman up front broke into Ezio's thoughts as he saw her hand a small headset hooked up to the humvee's radio to the older assassin. Elena Fisher was her name and he only remembered her name then because he recognized the familial resemblance she had to her cousin, Lucy Stillman. A freelance journalist and documentary filmmaker, she occasionally helped the Assassin Order with small video projects and in turn, the Order gave her a stipend to spend on her own projects. The man sitting next to her driving the humvee and had denied running over an armadillo earlier was Nathan Drake. Ezio did not really know the man, only hearing rumors that he was a treasure hunter of sorts, a modern day Indiana Jones was a more apt comparison, but it seemed that Altaїr trusted him to do some of the Order's work on occasion. If the rumors he had heard were true then the two up front were either dating or set to be married.

He saw a slight apprehension on Elena's face and suspected that the news that came over the radio was most likely about her cousin. Altaїr was speaking quietly in Arabic, a language that after six-hundred years he still had not quite understood except for bits and pieces, before taking the headset off and handing it back to Elena.

“Crane and Hastings have Tabitha. Lucy Stillman escaped with Arden,” there was a slight hesitation that Ezio had never heard before from Altaїr. “Arden is wounded.”

They had all suffer injuries in the years that they were alive, most of them able to heal with time, but Arden's wounds were a unique case. Whereas normally as immortals they were able to die from a fatal wound, the Piece that gave Arden her immortality had special conditions attached to it. So when Altaїr said that she was wounded, it left no doubt that the assassin would not exaggerate the nature of her condition. What Altaїr meant was that there was a very good chance that Arden would die, even if the wound was not serious. He glanced back to Desmond's prone form; they could not lose both assassins, not at this critical time.

There was no one else.

* * *

Author’s Notes:

Yes, I know, I left more questions than answers, but this is a breather chapter before we delve back into Desmond’s sort-of-broken mind. I’ve begun to drop hints of some major plot threads that drives this whole story so hopefully it won’t be as much of a surprise to readers as was the existence of the immortal assassins (though everyone said they could see Ezio from the beginning – I kinda wrote it that way). I’ll also be bringing in Subject 16’s backstory soon as well as timeline all of the events from Arden’s life to the present including Daniel Cross, William M., and the Denver Airport Incident.

I may include bits and pieces of what happened to Altaїr in The Secret Crusade, but may not since I believe that Ubisoft really needs to hire a better novelist for their book-tie-ins (Bowden has some serious grammar issues) – and plus I’ve always liked making up my own background on what happened to Altaїr post-AC1.

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Story:

Chapter 18 – Lacuna

She awoke with a bitter taste in her mouth and for a fleeting moment, wondered why it was so before the realization of her failure the night before came crashing upon her. The brightness of the sunlight pouring through the windows belied her mood and she glared angrily at the sunbeams as if it was their fault for being so damn cheerful. It was also then that Mrs. Huston entered the room without so much as a polite knock on her door, turning her glare onto the housekeeper.

“Get up!” Mrs. Huston shot back a glare of her own, “Master Andrew has been expecting you downstairs since ten minutes ago.”

“And how was I supposed to know that?” she snapped, throwing the covers off of herself and sitting up in bed, changing into her underclothing ignoring the jerk of her head as Mrs. Huston quickly brushed up her hair as best as she could without any morning bath. Arden smelled the hints of lavender that the woman had oiled into her hair to make her at least presentable and not smelling like yesterday’s meat-packing factory aftermath.

“You have trained yourself to wake at the morning’s light in the two years you have stayed here, surely you do not need me to answer that question,” the graying-haired woman started to pin her hair tightly against her scalp.

Arden pursed her lips as she kept her body steady through the rough motions of the housekeeper finishing with her hair before hurrying over to her closet and rummaging through it. The truth be told, she had found herself fighting a dream she could not wake from. It had been so odd, and for a few fleeting moments in that dream, she had thought she was in the mind of another, the body of a man dressed in odd clothing staring at the fading image of her own master before she had found herself once again trapped under Jack’s choking grip unable to move or breathe.

“Will Master Andrew require exercises today? If so, the trousers at the bottom of the closet are the best,” Arden heard the woman rummaging around.

“No, you will wear this,” she turned around in time to see Mrs. Huston hold out one of the more fashionable dresses that had been purchased for her to wear but she had thrown it into the deep recesses of her closet, preferring to wearing her older and more worn dresses on the occasion that warranted. She did not understand the need for more fashionable clothing and her master had never told her otherwise, but always to blend in.

She had thought she was blending in well with the assignments given and the outfits she wore even the occasional dress. It was not that she detested dresses; she thought that they were impractical when it came to potentially hunting down a target and assassinating the man or woman. For eavesdropping or just gathering information they were useful to a certain point, if the target she was following did not suddenly speed up while walking along the Thames or some street.

Trousers were far more practical and she was able to hide most of her long hair under a cap that she wore while disguising herself as a newsie or errant young dock worker.

“Am I having afternoon tea with a Duchess at this morning hour?” she stared at the dress.

“No, you are meeting two very important guests that have come at Master Andrew’s behest,” the housekeeper gestured a bit roughly towards her with the dress and she reluctantly slid completely out of bed, going over and allowing herself to be helped into the high-necked dress. It was a light blue fabric, with all of the laces and ruffles of the current style from Paris. The only difference was that there was already a corset built into the waist which Mrs. Huston wasted no time tightening, though not to the point where Arden could not breathe properly – the older woman still had a sense of the fact that she was still developing her curves, and had only begun to bleed in the past few months.

However, instead of the long pointed sleeves that were the height of fashion a couple of years ago, these sleeves were of a new experimentation that the Parisian fashion houses had been testing with some of the ladies of high society. They were short and light, showing the bare arm instead of covering it. Some had already called it scandalous, but Arden had over heard gossip from many women on the streets that it felt good during the summer heat, though the heat in London was relatively mild compared to other places in the world that were of lower latitudes. She disliked the shorter sleeves as they did nothing to hide her bracer, but then she realized that she had given her bracer and hidden blade back to Andrew the night before – undeserving after her impetuous mistake in trying to chase down Jack the Ripper.

“Who are these guests? Diplomats? Members of Parliament?” it was not unusual for her to spy members of Parliament and even occasionally the Prime Minister calling at her master’s house. She thought she had seen a royal carriage stop in front once, but had not been too sure and even then her master had been tight-lipped.

“I am not at liberty to say, Miss Arden,” Mrs. Huston replied stiffly before finishing the last touches on her dress and lacing up her boots before pushing her gently towards the door, “now go, he is waiting.”

Arden could not hurry down the stairs like she always used to, confined to the restraints of the dress and the pressure of the corset she was wearing but as she rounded the curve of the steps, she found that the parlor door was closed instead of opened and a young man, perhaps only a year or two older than her, was standing by the door, looking around at his surroundings.

He turned towards her as the sounds of her footsteps echoed on the wooden stairs as she made her decent and he nodded once as if expecting her.

“Good, you are ready then,” he said in a business-like tone before offering his arm, “we will be able to leave and hopefully not miss it.”

“Pardon me…but, who are you?” Arden did not take the offered arm, but instead halted where she was, unwilling to go any further. She spread her senses out for any hint of her master, but did not feel his presence and found it odd that the parlor door was still closed. She considered activating the special visionary gift that her master had only begun teaching her to use, but it required a large amount of concentration and she did not want to turn her attention elsewhere in case this was a trap of sorts.

“You were not told…?” the man looked a little confused before seemingly accepting it and extended his hand and she noticed a brief flash of an intricate vambrace design underneath the suit he wore. He was an Assassin, one of her kind… “Stephen, Stephen Miles from New York City.”

She stared at the hand, still a little wary before looking up at him to see him cough a little before pulling his hand back, seeing that she was not going to shake it. New York City; it certainly explained his unique accent, though she thought she heard a little more of an old Colonial pronunciation called New Englander instead of the harsher lower-class city accent. And his mannerisms definitely indicated that he was a typical boisterous American, especially with that attempt to shake her hand. Did he not know that polite society was to let the lady extend her hand first? She most certainly did not look like another man to him.

“Well, um,” Stephen scratched the back of his head a little awkwardly; “we need to hurry to the Parliament area if we are going to be able to catch our contact.”

“I will need my weaponry-“ Arden made to go back up the stairs before Stephen caught her by her arm and shook his head.

“No, my master and your master said that we needed to do this with how we are dressed as supposedly it’s a regatta today?”

“Princess Beatrice’s Regatta,” Arden stopped and glanced down at the outfit she was wearing. She had almost forgotten that the last of Queen Victoria’s children had one of her many regattas today, for what knight or cause, she did not know, but she was dressed appropriately for it. Glancing over to Stephen, it seemed that he too was dressed for it. She could not wear a different dress with longer sleeves nor go in her usual tomboy outfit as many of the participants there would be well-dressed society members hoping to catch a glimpse of their Queen and the Princess that always attended her.

“Everyone along the Thames-“

“It’s Tames, flat ‘a’,” she corrected him before placing a hand on Stephen’s arm as he automatically raised it to accompany her and they walked out of the door. “Metropolitan line to Charing Cross to your left,” she added, nudging him none too gently with the toe of her left foot to his right ankle.

He pursed his lips a little, but followed her direction as she drew a smile upon her face and nodded greetings to various people on the streets, some of whom had taken advantage of the Regatta to head to Regent’s Park hoping for a peaceful morning and afternoon without the bustle of crowds or children eagerly playing amongst the grass.

In the two years she had been under the guardianship and training of her master, she had found out that his modest home was in fact in one of the most sought after real estate areas in all of London – even she had been shocked the first time she stepped out and saw across the street the greenery that was Regent’s Park. In the faint memories that she had of her mother before her death, all she remembered was living in the slums near the docks, the so called east side of London where all of the poor and migrant workers lived, hawking their wares and formed gangs. Prostitutes sold their bodies at the various churches in the area that served as places of worship from incoming travelers and the ability to hide from the constabulary that came by to arrest them.

“Is that it?” Stephen had barely moved his mouth, but she heard him all the same and saw that they were approaching the familiar sign to the Underground.

“Yes,” it was an effort to restrain herself from saying anything else regarding his ignorance as they walked down the stairs towards the tube, joining other Londoners, some whom were also fashionably dressed and most obviously going to the Regatta along the Thames. There were times when her master had required her to work in concert with another Assassin apprentice, but she felt that having Stephen Miles heaped upon her with little to no warning was part of the punishment for her for ruining her master’s long fermenting plan to capture Jack.

Adding to the fact that her master had not told her of her mission and her details, however little of them, to learn of them from Stephen irritated her. It forced her to be play the role of a high societal woman who was perhaps escorted by a gentleman caller on their way to the Princess’ Regatta. Her mother had always emphasized that she was her own person, a growing woman who needed no man to hold her hand. Even her own master had taught her the independence of working alone, yet using her allies as sources of information. This current role did not agree with her.

“Interesting,” Stephen looked around in wonderment instead of the fear that she had seen in others who had never ridden in the Underground, nicknamed the Tube. They sat down near another couple who were also well-dressed for the Regatta and Arden smiled politely at them before turning to Stephen to pretend to chat animatedly. However, she was a little curious as to his reaction.

“Interesting?”

“New York only has steam-powered railroads above ground right now, but I am willing to bet in less than ten years, especially if some of the businessmen my master knows sees this, they’ll want to put everything underground. This is really efficient,” Arden coughed lightly to restrain herself from hitting her fellow Assassin from gawking at both the car they were in and at the speed they were going at. Just when she had a slight hope, he dashed it.

She knew that she should have hailed a coach, but the current fashion raging through the upper echelons of society was to ride the Tube through the more upper-class and ‘cleaner’ areas of the city. There was also the matter of large pedestrian traffic as they got closer to the embankment of the Thames that would hinder a coach’s ability to pass through. Lastly, she did not want to appear to be that high up in society that she was going to hire a coach instead of riding the Tube. The advantage of having her and Stephen walk amongst the crowds towards the embankment was the ideal way of having them blend in while he found the target.

Of course, he was unfamiliar with the whole area and they had limited time…

“Who is our target?” she asked quietly as the doors closed on Oxford Circus and the cars gently sped towards the next stop, Piccadilly Circus.

“Two members of Parliament who are at the Regatta. One is supposed to confirm the target for assassination, but we don’t know the location or the target,” Stephen replied quietly and Arden was surprised at the sudden change in his manner, dropping from a more tourist-like atmosphere to an almost serious demeanor. She suddenly felt the hairs on the back of her and shot a quick glance behind her.

There were more people that had entered their car and something about them seemed a little off. For a moment, she thought that perhaps they were Templars, but judging by the look of their clothing, ratted under layers of niceties, she knew that they were here to cause trouble for the Regatta.

She squeezed Stephen’s arm in a warning not to do anything and he looked at her, appalled. Shaking her head minutely she tried to tell him with her eyes that they could not do anything, it was up to Scotland Yard and the local constabulary to deal with hooligans. She knew that Queen Victoria was sympathetic to the Assassin cause, but members of Parliament, especially the ruling PM was Templar-allied, making England and overall, the United Kingdom a contentious place. The hooligans could very well have been hired by Templars to disrupt the peace, but Arden knew that they were just mobs of people who wanted to cause trouble instead of working for any faction.

“We could deal-“

She tightened her grip, shutting him up. “No,” she hissed, “do you have a description of our target?”

“Supposedly wearing a red neckerchief, a little round, about your height with a top hat shot through with red,” she could see his brown eyes trying to plead with her to at least break this part of their mission to nip the problem in the bud so it would not cause a problem later.

Shaking her head again, she kept firm as the doors closed on Piccadilly Circus and they finally sped towards Charing Cross. There were stops after Charing Cross, but the stop after was Waterloo Station which would take them too far from the embankment. A few tense minutes later, with Arden keeping a sharp eye on Stephen in case he ignored her warnings and went off on his own, they arrived at Charing Cross and with the others, got off of the car and headed up the stairs to the entrance.

“Left, then another left when you reach the edge of Trafalgar Square,” Arden said quietly as she let Stephen guide her.

“As milady wishes,” there was a slight coldness now to Stephen’s voice, but she ignored it as they played their roles. It was easier this way, for her to work with him, for him to realize that she was all business and did not want a friendship with the boisterous American.

“Whoa,” still, she could not help but smile a little at the wonderment that had returned to the American’s voice as they approached Trafalgar Square along the busy street known as The Strand. She had the same exact reaction when her master first took her here almost a year and half ago. Her mother had never taken her to Charing Cross, at least above ground, and the open-aired square along with Nelson’s Column still made for a very impressive sight, especially the enormous lions guarding the Column.

“Left,” she reminded him gently before he nodded once and the sight of Nelson’s Column and the National Gallery was replaced by the distant image of Big Ben standing out amongst a fern of trees. The walk was short, but increasing crowded as they reached the embankment, hundreds of other socialites and even some of the poor of London had gathered to see the parade of ships along the Thames, hoping to catch a glimpse of their Queen and her devoted companion to whom this year’s Regatta was dedicated to.

“I do not see-“

“Pretend you’re pointing out the ships to me,” she said quietly and saw a moment’s confusion before her vision flickered into the grey washed out hues of her special gift as she looked around. Stephen was a bright blue next to her that she ignored and there were pockets of whites and blues, some in the guises of Bobbies, others she recognized as her fellow contacts and allies who were also here, not for any purpose but to enjoy themselves. She saw little pockets of red in the edges of the whites of civilians, perhaps even more of the hooligans that they had encountered on the train.

She could only hope that Scotland Yard and the local constabulary would be able to contain them. It was only when she looked towards Westminister Bridge that she saw a flash of yellow and pulled herself out of her vision, a slightly feral smile on her face. “Found you.”

“Excuse me, what?” Stephen’s hand dropped a little as he looked at her and she jutted her chin towards where the still-glowing yellow hue of her target, a slightly overweight man dressed in a day outfit complete with red neckerchief and a red-sash top hat was making conversation with a woman, but obviously looking out for someone else. “What did you do?” he asked as they made their way unobtrusively towards their target.

“Later,” she replied as they got close enough and she concentrated to enhance her hearing, seeing Stephen do the same. However, where she had not yet perfected the art like her master, she saw with a little hint of jealousy that Stephen was able to maintain a pleasant façade and continue to point out passing boats or people with ridiculous hats to her as they picked up the conversation.

“Ah, there you are. Preparations complete?”

“Yes, he is arriving in a few minutes. It will be done at Trafalgar. He’s wearing his usual monocle. Chamberlain will weep the day he thought to cross us.”

“May the Father of Understanding Guide you then.”

“Chamberlain,” Arden pulled out of her enhanced hearing and looked at Stephen, shaking her head, “they mean to probably kill Austen Chamberlain, son of MP Joseph Chamberlain.”

“Who?”

“Joseph Chamberlain has been an ally to us from the beginning of his days in Parliament, but his son is not convinced of the dangers. My master has been trying to convince him otherwise. He says that he sees a great future in both Austen and his half-brother Neville, I do not know how, but it would make sense at this juncture.”

“So we stop them,” Stephen looked at her and she nodded once.

“We have no choice,” she took his arm once more and he guided her back up Whitehall, moving almost effortlessly through the crowds with a feline-like grace that Arden did not know he could possess, and before long, they were at the edges of Trafalgar Square.

“Do you know who he looks like?”

“Yes,” she nodded, “he has only recently begun his campaign for a seat in Parliament after returning here two years ago.”

“I see Mister Red-Hat Templar,” Stephen casually pointed out one of the lions and near it was the Templar whom they had been tailing, looking for all the world, waiting for someone, not unlike many others who used Trafalgar Square as a meeting place. Its rotary carried some of the heaviest traffic throughout London and made for a very efficient meeting spot.

“I see our MP-to be,” Arden spotted Austen Chamberlain, a bit sallow faced, but otherwise youthful young twenty-something man who still had the vigor of his youth instead of the weight of politics like his father. He had crossed The Strand and was apparently bent on taking a look at the plaques surrounding Nelson’s Column that depicted his victory at the Nile and Trafalgar as well as his death at Trafalgar, before heading over to the embankment for the celebrations.

“Distract him,” Stephen suddenly dropped his arm and moved away from her and she only a moment to wonder what he was doing before he disappeared into the crowds. She forced a quick breath to calm herself and knew that occasionally the partners she worked with also had plans of their own. She could only hope and trust that Stephen, the only one with a blade amongst them would know what he was doing.

She could have used her bare hands, but in this public of a setting, she could not do anything without attracting the wrong sort of attention and that was the last thing she needed, especially after last night’s debacle.

Crossing the walk way, she raised her hand in an effort to catch Chamberlain’s eye, putting a cheery bright smile on her face. “Sir Chamberlain! Over here!” She saw the man look around before spotting her, a puzzled expression on his face.

“Do you remember me sir?” she hurried over noting that the crowd was getting a little thicker, but still saw the red-sash top hat advancing.

“I am sorry; milady, but you do have me at a disadvantage. You are…?”

“Oh how silly of me. I thought you would have remember me,” she gushed in a falsetto, blinking her eyes and laughing, placing a hand over her mouth, “I was at one of your rallies last year and you had signed your book for me. You have inspired me-“

“I am terribly sorry, milady, but I do need to leave now…Ah, there is the representative from Swansea-“

Arden turned slightly to see the Templar MP approaching them, a congenial smile on his face. There was the brief glint of silver in his hand that reflected off of the sunlight and she knew that he held a blade of sorts to stab into Chamberlain. Her eyes darted through the crowds, growing by the number that she realized was not normal, but saw no sign of Stephen. It was then that she realized that the Templars has specifically chosen Trafalgar Square because it was also a place of protest and judging by the crowd, these were anti-royalists pouring out of Charing Cross and on foot from other paths, converging here in the square.

“Sir-“

“Now excuse me young lady-“

“Sir!” Arden forcibly shoved herself into his path and stopped him, her grip on his arm clamped down like iron.

“I beg your pardon!” Austen Chamberlain finally faced her, looking not one bit amused, “unhand me!”

“He is a Templar come to kill you!” she hissed, glaring at him, willing the young MP-to-be to see the truth in her words.

The man instead spluttered, “W-What?! Preposterous! Child’s stories-“

“Austen! How are you-“ Arden spun to see the Templar calling out to them a few feet away when suddenly a crowd of people crossing the street to reach the lions of Nelson’s Column blocked his view and Arden saw Stephen amongst them. There was a brief flash of silver and she saw Stephen’s right hand jam into the man. She could almost feel the release of the hidden blade from its bracer before seeing the sudden budging of eyes from the Templar before he looked to his right in horror at Stephen who had a grim smile on his face.

To her surprise, the American Assassin walked the Templar closer to Chamberlain and Arden made a move to shield the man in case the Templar was not dying from blade shoved into his body but at the shake of Stephen’s head, stepped aside a little. The crowd surged around them, uninterested in two well-dressed socialites seemingly conversing with a fat pudgy MP and another man who could be an MP.

“You believed the threats were non-existent. Here is proof that the Templars would want to silence you to get to your father. They believe you to be a threat, Austen Chamberlain.”

“Who…w-who…” Chamberlain had gone deathly pale, trembling from head to toe as the MP from Swansea slowly bled out, the blood expertly not falling from his lips, but rather standing his shirt underneath a dark crimson with Stephen’s blade still jammed into him. Stephen himself looked unruffled and had a rather calm, cool, detached gaze about him. Arden smiled a little; the American was a professional after all.

“My master and I found out about this plot in Washington D.C. a few months ago. We have only arrived just in London to warn you. Her master,” Stephen gestured to Arden with his chin, “believes you to have a great future in Parliament. Now do you believe?”

“Y-Yes…yes, but it is so much to take in-“

“We will explain it to you then,” the cultured tones of her master emerging from the crowd that surged around them startled Arden and she looked to see both her master and another well-dressed man emerge, both wearing grim looks on their faces.

“Master,” Stephen tilted his head to the side to acknowledge his master. The two of them were dressed in half-capes that were a little old-fashioned, but judging by their ages, it seemed within style. Hoods were pulled over their heads, obscuring the top half of their faces, but then again Arden knew it was her master from anywhere.

Stephen’s master returned the attempted nod before saying something in a language that Arden realized was fluid Italian. She had heard bits and pieces of Italian slang while she had been with her mother, but never this fluid of a language. However, it seemed to illicit a reaction from the American Assassin who nodded once before releasing the blade he had in the man whose eyes promptly rolled back into his head, dead at last.

Stephen then gently set the body down on a nearby bench and said a few words, closing the man’s eyes before rising up and stared at his right arm, which had a dark patch spreading up his coat sleeve. “Not another one…”

“You can always replace it,” Stephen’s master replied and Arden frowned a little. She recognized that voice and realized it was the same voice that had spoken with her master last night after she had woken up by the fireplace. The same one that had said had trained Jack, her father.

“You like new clothing. I like to keep mine as well as possible thank you,” Stephen shot a look towards him.

“Brat,” was the affectionate quip from Stephen’s master.

The reply in surprisingly fluid Italian from Stephen, especially considering that she recognized the words that were not supposed to be used in polite society, made her nearly smile until she realized that her master was still there and Chamberlain was also a little bewildered.

“If you will, Sir Chamberlain,” her master guided Chamberlain by the arm and effortlessly pushed through the growing crowd and hailed two cabs. It was only then that she noticed that both her master and Stephen’s master’s hands were extremely dirty. She had seen those same exact dirty hands…

“You were on the Tube, with us!” she looked at Stephen’s master who flashed a white-tooth smile at her.

“We provided the necessary distraction at the Regatta. Your mission was not the only one to prevent an assassination.”

“Someone targeted the Princess?” Stephen asked, as she saw her master and Chamberlain get into one of the cabs before she got into the other one with Stephen and her master. The driver seemingly knew to follow her master’s cab and they were off.

“No, the Queen. They were dealt with,” Stephen’s master drew down the hood of his cape and for a moment, Arden was struck at how eerily similar he looked like her mother, like a brother of sorts.

“You two could pass for siblings,” Stephen commented, sitting across from them, “are you sure you are not related?”

“Perhaps in another lifetime,” his master shrugged, almost a little too nonchalantly, but she thought she was seeing things, “I am Ezio da Firenze, Stephen Miles’ master.”

“You are not American, are you?”

“Son of Italian immigrants,” Ezio smiled a little, “comes with the accent unfortunately. Helpful at home, exotic abroad. And you, my dear, are Andrew’s star pupil.”

“Failed pupil,” Arden looked away, seeing the streets of London through the window, “I was foolish.”

“One does not learn humbleness from praise and victories. And one does not learn without mistakes along the way. You are young, there will be other opportunities,” Ezio replied.

“I have been forbidden to go after Jack. He killed my mother and Master Andrew forbade me to go after him,” she whispered angrily, “there is no more opportunity.”

“If you truly believe that, then you are not the Assassin we have heard about overseas,” Stephen’s master said and Arden looked at him. “Oh yes, little one, you are garnering quite the reputation outside of this dry island of England.”

“England is not dry…not in the winter months,” she replied.

“Master Ezio presented me with the opportunity to work with you,” Stephen chimed in, “so I took it. You are known to get things done in a way that is brutally efficient and my master believed I could use some of that refinement before he releases me from apprenticeship.”

She blinked, surprised at his words before suddenly feeling heat flush to her face and looked away in embarrassment. She did not deserve any of the praises that they were throwing at her. “Do not learn from me, death follows me.”

“Arden, death follows us all. Whether we embrace it or let it define us is another story,” she heard Ezio’s words and could hear the weight of age behind them, but did not reply.

They soon arrived back home and Arden saw her master usher Chamberlain into the parlor room, Ezio directing Stephen to perhaps change out of his bloodied outfit before heading into the parlor room himself. She was about to turn to ascend the steps to her own room and to find Mrs. Huston to get her out of the dress and into something more comfortable when she felt her master’s presence behind her and turned to see him standing by the door holding her bracer. It gleamed as if newly polished and obvious care had gone into it since she had left it on the mantle the night before.

“Every error has a solution. Have you found your solution?” it was there again, she could hear the faint accent, not American or anything European. It was different, yet soothing.

“Yes.”

“Then you are ready to continue,” her master handed her bracer over and she gently strapped it onto her bare left arm. Staring at the beauty and intricate design for a few seconds, she flipped her wrist over and popped the blade out, testing the sharpness with her other hand.

“I will not fail you again, Master,” she looked up at him and saw to her surprise, a small smile on his face. A sudden impulse overtook her and she flung her arms around his neck, noting the momentary startled look that flashed across his dark eyes before kissing him on the cheek like a little girl would do to her father. “You are my father, not Jack,” she whispered, fighting back the tears before hurrying up the stairs, unwilling to see his reaction; if she had, she would have noticed that Altaїr ibn-la Ahad, her Master Andrew, had a very human reaction as a single tear rolled down his face…

The image was frozen for a moment before darkness engulfed his vision once more and Desmond snapped open his eyes, drawing a gasping breath as he stared at nothing. He could not feel anything except for the lingering happiness, the sense of tranquility and for the first time in a long while, a sense of peace. He did not know whether or not the peace belonged to him, or to her, or anyone else yet he grasped onto it, holding tightly. The despair, anger, all of it that had fallen with him was seemingly pushed to the side as he grasped onto this new sense of security.

He felt he was at home.

* * *

Historical Notes:

Austen Chamberlain is the older half-brother of Neville Chamberlain and both are the sons of Joseph Chamberlain, a prominent Member of Parliament. For those who have studied WWI and WWII you may recognize that Neville was the Prime Minister before Winston Churchill took over. In the Assassin’s Creed world, Churchill is a Templar and I thought it would be nice for the Assassins to have a PM backing so decided that the Chamberlain family would be a good start. In real-life history, Austen finally gained his seat in 1892 (which if you’ve noticed in the chapter by Stephen’s referencing, Altaїr’s been peeking in the Apple and noticed some of the history surrounding the Chamberlains).

I would go into a make believe history that while Austen had died the year his younger brother took office as PM, he had considerable influence over his younger brother to the point where Neville had tried something that had been done many times before and failed – make peace with the Templars. As an Assassin-allied person leading one of the strongest nations in the world, Neville would have been a little too optimistic in his dealings with Nazi Germany and other countries before WWII broke out in his attempt to curry favor and make peace with the Templars (i.e. peace with Hitler before WWII). Of course, it was doomed to fail.

Now in terms of Queen Victoria and her Assassin leanings, I made it so that some of her children, including Heir Apparent, Edward VII were perhaps Templar leaning. Makes for a more interesting family dynamic wouldn’t you say? ^_^ Anyways, this is just me twisting history as we go along. If you would like to research more about Austen Chamberlain and the rest of the family, Britannica would be a good start or local library.

Author’s Notes:

This chapter was re-written several times with different POVs. I finally got inspiration to properly write this chapter after returning from a nice trip abroad to London where my inner historian was allowed to roam free. Picked up a few maps from the late 1800s and early 1900s so I’ve ensured a modicum of accuracy. Now that we’re back on Desmond’s POV, things will be getting far more interesting.

Oh yeah, I’m ignoring the whole Ezio and Altaїr are not related thread that Ubisoft decided to announce – it’s silly and pointless. The gamescom demo for Revelations, however, looks stunningly beautiful. By the way, if you have not already, go read moondusted’s “Above the Serpentine” – it is a major influence on my story. Just don’t forget to come back here!

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Story:

Chapter 19 – Family

The noise seared across his consciousness, rhythmic, oddly soothing. It took him a moment to figure out that it was a liquid, dripping down something, and in that moment more sounds made themselves known. He could hear the harsh deep breaths, like someone wheezing before he realized that it was he who was producing that sound. The next thing was that there was absolute silence save for the dripping noise and the harsh breaths.

Falling. He had fallen, had fell, had...had he hit the bottom then? He had reached out, grasping towards someone...towards Lucy? No? Towards Stephen? Towards someone, a desperate plea to catch him as he fell...

Desmond's eyes slowly fluttered open as he pulled himself from the deep recesses of unconsciousness and stared out into the darkness. A small shaft of light where the door to the room he was in gave the room its only illumination. He blinked his eyes a few times as the harsh breaths receded from his heightened sense of hearing and the rhythmic liquid drops all but faded away, leaving the absolute silence. It was then that he noticed his jaw was locked on something and suddenly swallowed out of reflex. He reached out with his left hand only to find it tug a little and a sharp shooting pain erupted from his wrist.

Bringing it up carefully, he noticed with the small amount of light and his eyes adjusting to the darkness, that an intravenous was inserted into his wrist and the tube led to what looked like saline and nutrient packs. He absently took out the mouth guard that had been placed in his mouth with his right hand his fingertips running along the sharp ridges as he realized he had locked his jaw. That explained why he had a slight headache from clenching his teeth, but not the fuzziness that he could feel pervaded his brain. He felt oddly disconnected, yet connected at the same time.

Dropping the mouth guard onto the table near the side of the bed he was laying upon, he reached out and carefully pulled out the IV needle, wincing a little at the continuous sharp pain before finally removing it. He immediately clamped down upon the small well of blood that began to form and sat up gingerly, hoping to spot something to absorb the blood. He spotted a box of tissues next to the nightstand and grabbed a couple of sheets before stemming the blood flow with them.

It was only then that Desmond looked around the room he had been placed in and realized, he did not recognize anything in the room. During the few days he was at the Cheyenne Mountain base, he had come to recognize his surroundings, boosted by his ancestors' abilities to quickly remember their surroundings; and this did not look like his room at the base. He fought back a well of panic, letting his mind settle into the blank nothingness that felt right and focused his hearing, trying to sharpen them again.

However, it was not necessary as he realized that it was not absolute silence he had woken up to, but rather there were voices outside of his door, muffled, but nonetheless voices. As he closed his eyes and listened, he thought he heard the familiar voice of Lucy and another female occasionally mixed with a male's voice. The two did not sound familiar, but based on what he heard; he could sense that Lucy was at ease and definitely not being held prisoner or anything. It was safe then, he decided as he opened up his eyes and gingerly stood up from bed. That meant that Ezio had gotten them to safety...he was not too sure of that as he could not quite remember what had happened. The last clear thing he remembered was something to do with flare guns, Ezio's crazy driving in the Alfa, and Altaїr’s face somewhere in the murkiness of his memories.

Desmond froze as he realized that the reason he felt so disconnected was like every other time he had suffered from too much of the Bleeding Effect. He must have passed out somewhere, he realized and perhaps it was only a miracle that Ezio got him to here, wherever here was. Closing his eyes, he reached out to the familiar whispers of his two dominant ancestors, Altaїr and Ezio and found, to his surprise, that he could not hear them, nor even feel them, at least not quite; Arden was even further away. He could feel their presence, hovering at the edges of his mind, but like the murkiness that he felt when he woke up, it was like grasping for them through a curtain of thick liquids. He knew he could extend his reach and grab hold, but withdrew from it and opened his eyes once more.

Had he been cured of the Bleeding Effect?

No, a gentle whisper, unlike the voices of his ancestors, brushed his mind and Desmond started a little. Well, that's confirmation for you, he mentally groused as he shook his head. But the whisper did not feel invasive; instead it felt somehow...different. Perhaps it was what was making his mind feel so disconnected to the rest of his body.

Shaking his head once more, he reached out and groped for a light switch to the lamp that was on the nightstand and managed to flick it on, squinting his eyes shut for a brief moment as the light temporarily blinded him. After opening them, he looked around the room he was in and saw that the bare military-style walls had been replaced with a more earthy-rock jutted wall; in fact, it looked like the room had been carved straight into the rocks.

The furniture were of a more homely style and he saw a small standing closet, and adjoining bathroom that looked to house only a small shower, sink, and toilet in what was a very cramped space. A distant whisper, almost lost in the disconnection of his mind, told him that space was definitely at a premium. He walked over to the closet and found a few odds and ends of clothing, some of which were a little too small for him, but there were one or two that looked like could fit him. At least it was not like the creepiness of Cheyenne Mountain where they had clothes all his size.

He picked at a few of the clothes, some clearly worn and donated to this closet, others brand new, and headed to the bathroom. Cleaning himself up with what looked like a small toiletry pack left for him, he emerged feeling a little more human and definitely more awake. He had found a small bandage strip to put over where the IV line had been inserted into his wrist and did so.

Going to the door of his small room, he stopped for a moment, pressing his ear to the door and a smile came unbidden to his lips as he heard Lucy's familiar tones. He had been worried that she had not gotten out of Cheyenne Mountain after what Ezio had said – it sounded like she was safe. He pulled away and took a deep breath before opening the door.

A small suite-like common room greeted Desmond as he saw Lucy sitting on a faded, worn couch in one corner, hands wrapped around a Styrofoam cup of something that looked like coffee. A small TV set, one of the old CRT kinds instead of the high-definition flat screen monitors, was in another corner along with an instant coffee maker and some cups. Two others were in the room, a man with dark hair and rugged features and another woman who could easily pass as related to Lucy herself.

“Told you he's awake,” the woman grinned at Lucy, before looking at him, “didn't want to disturb you in case you weren't quite ready to face the lights and cameras.”

“...What?” Desmond felt a little lost as he gingerly sat down and was promptly handed a cup of water by the man with the dark hair, “thanks.”

“You look like how I did when I woke up after fighting yetis,” the man smiled easily, stepping back and grabbing the beer on one of the small end tables and slugging it back. He emptied the bottle before tossing it into the small trash can near the door before opening it.

The other woman followed suit, standing up and smiling at Desmond briefly before joining the rugged man. Her arm slipped easily around his waist, a clear indication that the two were a couple, before winking at Lucy. “Keeper!”

“See ya kid!” the man waved a jaunty goodbye before the two left, leaving Desmond a little more than bewildered and staring at the door that closed behind the two.

“Who...”

“My cousin, Elena Fisher. That's her...partner is the best word for it, Nathan Drake. He's supposedly an adventurer of sorts, you know, lost artifacts, that sort of thing,” Lucy shrugged before looking at him, “how are you feeling Desmond?”

“Indiana Jones?” Desmond could sort of see the rugged man as something akin to a modern day Indiana Jones, but pushed the thought out of his mind as he saw Lucy looking at him, not worriedly, but rather compassionately, “I'm fine. I feel a little fuzzy, almost disconnected somehow-”

“William did say that's the most likely scenario,” Lucy nodded, “don't worry, it's nothing serious. He was hoping that's what would have happened. It's your mind, trying to heal itself after so many continuous Animus sessions and also your training exacerbating the Bleeding.”

“So...” Desmond drained the rest of the water, feeling a little more human and realized that he was hungry.

“You were out for at least a week and half,” he had been in the middle of crumpling the cup and throwing it into the garbage can when Lucy's words stopped him in the middle of his throw. The cup landed short of the waste basket as he stared at her, agog.

“A week and half?! But the last time...”

“The last time you only were going through Animus sessions and we had only begun to see what skills you had acquired from Ezio. Even the one after that was due to Animus exhaustion, not a combination of everything,” Lucy pursed her lips, a frown on her face, “I wanted you to take it easy...”

He remembered her echoing warning that he should take it easy for a few days, especially since he had passed out in front of the Assassin leadership, but had overrode her request with the intention of just flying around Forli with Leonardo's flying machine. That session had turned out really well, a part of him groused, glitching and apparently nearly dying before being yanked into Arden's memories. “You let me fly around,” he pointed out, feeling a little childish.

“I did,” Lucy nodded once, “but we didn't know...” She sighed, “I guess I'm to blame...”

“We're both to blame,” the childish feeling was suddenly replaced by a niggling sense of guilt as he saw her melancholic expression, “sorry. I...didn't mean to worry you...”

“I'm just glad you're okay,” Lucy smiled wanly; she looked as if she was about to say something else, but instead, took a sip of her coffee.

“So,” Desmond did not quite know what to say to the awkward silence that followed and raised a hand to wave absently at the rocky interior, “no windows, rocks, and slightly cramped space. I take it that we're not at the base anymore?”

That drew a laugh from her as she settled her cup down and made herself more comfortable in the faded armchair she was sitting in, “I don't even know where we are, maybe in Canada or Mexico by now, but this is one of the few Assassin enclaves left that neither the leadership nor the Templars know about. From what I was told, it had been created just after World War II by religious fanatics who abandoned it a couple of years after they found their God or whatever by jumping off the nearby cliff.”

“So we'll be safe here from Amunet-er...Dr. Patrice-”

“I know,” Lucy interrupted him shaking her head, “I've known since we arrived at Cheyenne Mountain, even before that.”

Desmond all but stared at her, agape. The apologetic feeling was washed away quickly as a well of resentment, of anger started to fill him along with the questions he wanted to ask – mainly if she had known why did they go there? If she had known, what the hell was going on then? If she had known, then that meant that Ezio, the others...Rebecca, Shaun, they all knew-

“Rebecca didn't know, but Shaun did,” Lucy's voice was calm, quiet, and it broke through the flash of anger that had overtaken him, leaving him a little stunned. He could feel a headache forming around his temples and wondered if it was due to the surge of emotion, or was the fuzziness that made his mind feel so disconnected fading away. But he ignored it and instead focused on Lucy, realizing a split second later that she was anything but calm and quiet.

He had always been good at reading emotions, after all, it was one of the perks that came with being a bartender – looking out for customers and all – but even before that, he vaguely remembered being able to pick up on his parents' moods, the fear that had gripped them for a while. Lucy was anything but calm, rather, she was afraid. He realized that she was afraid of him, or was it for him, but she tried to hide that behind her words.

“...you knew?” he managed to get out, staring at her.

“Would you have wanted to be left behind after we escaped from the hideout?” Lucy asked, her gaze simple, “Because that was what was strongly recommended. To leave you and Rebecca here so you could continue learning through Ezio's memories while Shaun and I went about our missions.”

“Your mission? But, I thought that the base was another safe house-” he stopped abruptly as he realized that while they had been driving from the safe house to the base, never once did Lucy said it was another safe house, just a base that the Assassins occupied. It was he who had assumed that it was safe here, and that assurance was magnified by Dr. Patrice, Amunet, that he would be safe here, even though she had clearly said that the Templar threat had been cleared out a few years before. He realized that he had fallen into the oldest trap in the world by making so many assumptions – the presence of military personnel and those who knew how to handle weapons was ingrained into both society and human nature at this point that they would protect those without weapons.

Nothing was true, everything was possible; and in this case, he should not have assumed that he was safe there. Sure there were guards outside of his room, outside of the Animus room in the few days he was there, but for all he knew, they could have been placed there by Amunet or were part of Lucy's mission to make sure that she would not be caught. And, he realized that Lucy was right, if he had been told that he was staying at this base instead of going with her to Cheyenne Mountain, he would have protested and have gone, Animus be damned.

“What was your mission?” he asked, noting that she looked a little relieved to see that he was not going to demand questions. That in of itself was a little odd in his opinion, having never seen that kind of fear in her since the short time that he had known her.

“I promised Alexander that I would get his daughter out whatever the cost. Ezio notified me while we were in the safe house since he could not contact me directly while I was with Abstergo, but I managed to coordinate something with him that would bring me directly to the mountain had we not been driven out by Vidic.”

“And Shaun?”

“He was going to update Leonius on your progress and from there send the information to Altaїr by way of Ezio,” Lucy replied.

It was as if a little light bulb of insight had lit up within Desmond as he put two and two together. If Amunet was as corrupt as Ezio had said she was, then it explained why the Italian assassin was careful with his communications – though he did not know how careful. It was still odd though, that the communication was specifically through Ezio and not Arden. Judging by what he knew of his Victorian-Era ancestor, she had to have been close to Altaїr; had something happened two the two of them that he had not lived through yet? The possibility was more than likely he supposed. He wondered if it was either cowardice or perhaps something else that drove the assassin to be so careful with his communications. He could feel a vague sense, almost as if it was muddled by the disconnection in his mind, of one of his ancestors scoffing that only a coward would go to such lengths to hide – it did not feel like Ezio or Altaїr.

He ignored the muddled whisper, “So I put a wrench into those plans, didn't I?”

“More or less,” Lucy smiled a little before shaking her head, “I didn't know that things had become so bad at the base, the information I got didn't say anything about that. Didn't know that Ezio and Arden had their own missions besides my own.”

“So having me explore Ezio's memories wasn't a coincidence? Neither was Arden's?”

“I don't know about Arden's, that's why I was glad Rebecca was there – we are still trying to find the glitch in the Animus, but if you want to look at it that way, yes. I'm sorry if you feel like you've been used-”

Desmond had to let the slight bitter laugh escape his lips and shook his head, “It definitely feels like that; like I'm being dragged one way and then pulled in another direction. I think at this point, though, I'm just going with it. I mean, how much worst can it get?”

“We all become enslaved to a Piece of Eden in orbit by the end of the year,” Ezio's lilting Italian-accented English cut in and Desmond turned towards the door to see him leaning against the frame dressed in a more casual style of clothing that looked a little suspiciously like a modern version of Renaissance outfits. “Well, you and I wouldn't, we'd probably be dead...but the others,” the man shrugged, “not so much.”

“Thanks, I needed that ray of sunshine after I just woke up,” Desmond shot back, rubbing his forehead as he felt a sharp lancing pain shoot through his head and for a moment, the disconnection disappeared, Ezio's presence in his mind roaring forth. It was buried just as quickly as the sense of disconnection returned. Somehow, he felt as if he was losing control of his emotions and wondered if it was part of the disconnection. He knew he usually had a firm control.

“Prickly,” the Italian assassin let himself in and stared at him, before asking in a gentler tone, “how are you feeling?”

“Better, I guess. I feel like I have cotton stuck in my head, no pressure, little pain, but it's just...” he waved vaguely at the air around him, “not there. Make sense?”

“No, but it's much better than what William had said may happen when you woke up,” the corners of Ezio's lips quirked up in a small smile, “glad to see that you still know who I am.”

“Annoying,” Desmond thought he felt a hint of playful teasing from within, almost akin to what Ezio and Federico had in the years before tragedy struck their lives.

“Brat,” the assassin replied in Italian with a full grin on his face. “Nate and Elena said that you were awake before they left, so I figured I come down here to make sure your brain has not been addled much.”

“It's fine,” Desmond suddenly wished that Lucy and Ezio weren't looking at him like he was going to shatter like dropped glass. “I'm fine.” He saw Lucy open her mouth to counter his own before catching the latter end of a slight movement of Ezio's hand to stop her from saying anything.

“All right then. You should know that you're safe here as long as you don't go above ground. If you do, just only stay for about ten minutes at the most; we're supposedly in an abandoned town,” the assassin said then turned to Lucy, “she's awake, but not quite lucid. You can see her, but I would not recommend talking about anything recent. We still do not know the extent of her injuries or what the Piece would have done to her in her current condition.”

“Thank you,” there was the tiniest bit of relief in Lucy's posture as she nodded that puzzled Desmond.

“Who was injured?”

“Arden,” gone was the humor that he displayed a few seconds ago, replaced by a weariness that showed hints of his true age, “a stark reminder of our immortality...”

But Desmond was not listening anymore as he stared at nothing in particular, his mind seizing up as the headache returned, ripping through the disconnection and suddenly he could see. He saw her, almost detached somehow, yet attached to the vision, from a warped third-person view that she was running through the darkened streets of London, her breath coming in gasps, but she pushed forward, determined not to lose her quarry.

“Arden wait!” a voice, so like his own, yet with a formal tinge to it, yelled and he thought he caught a glimpse of a top hat, coat with tails, trying to catch up to her, noting the scattered pieces of the beautiful ball dress that she had ripped apart so she could run free.

“Arden!”

“I will not lose him this time, Stephen! Do not stop me!” she shouted back, dodging to the side as several carriages trotted by, the horses rearing back in surprise, their drivers shouting as they tried to calm them.

Another pulse of pain lanced through Desmond's head as he suddenly saw the flash of a blade, glinting in the moonlight, blood, excruciating pain, before he snapped himself out of the surge of memories, the disconnection slamming back into place, distancing himself from Arden once more.

“...an interesting one nonetheless,” Ezio finished as Desmond looked shakily up at them. “Desmond?”

“I'm...fine,” he could hear the quaver in his own voice, “just...you mentioning Arden and her injury, kind of, made me see a part of her, though, I didn't feel...involved then.”

“I'll ask William about it,” Lucy shared a look with Ezio who nodded before gesturing to Desmond.

“Come on, kid, I'll show you the place,” the corner of his lips quirked up in a smile before turning around and heading out of the common room of the suite. Desmond glanced at Lucy who shook her head.

“Get some fresh air, stretch your legs. It's very safe here. We'll figure out what to do next later, all right? Oh, have Ezio bring you to the common eating area. He has a tendency to forget that the rest of us mortals would like to eat every few hours.”

“Really?”

“Kid, come on!” Ezio's voice called out before Lucy could answer, but the look she threw him was an impish one before waving him away. He shrugged and headed out of the door, spotting the familiar Italian Assassin standing a few feet away, nodding an occasional greeting to a passerby who recognized him. What was surprising was that he had been identified by his cover name of Enzo instead of Ezio.

“Come on,” Ezio started walking, pausing every so often to let a person through a narrow part of the corridor that had literally been carved from the rocky cave system they were in before continuing on.

“Why...”

“Most people cannot quite handle the truth of what the Pieces of Eden actually do. And think about it, what did you know before Abstergo captured you about the war between the Templars and Assassins?” Ezio asked, having anticipated his question.

“I knew that my parents were...very protective,” Desmond could barely remember what his parents looked like save for a distant memory of his childhood. Even then he could not remember all of the details. He supposed that if his parents were still alive, that they would be older now, with greying hair, but somehow he still had a hard time picturing that. “I thought that they were hippies, against the system and all. I know that they talked about Templars, but they didn't quite say that they were Assassins. Thought they were crazy, talking about an ancient order that died out somewhere before the Renaissance. Dad...Dad always mentioned about how we had to be careful and hide if anyone asked us questions about who we were in the compound. All I remember is that I wanted to get out of there, especially after I think we moved and Dad and even Mom became even more paranoid. Refused to let us out of the house, only certain days of the week and even then with either one of them watching us.”

“Us?”

“I...think I had a brother or sister. Don't quite remember. I mean, I remember playing with a couple of kids younger than me, but...it's not that clear,” Desmond remembered a thatch of dark curly hair on a girl who always chased after him – distant laughter that echoed, but that was about it. Since he had run away, the memories of his family had become distant, refusing even to bring a picture of them with him. He remembered the anger and then the elation of freedom right after he realized he had escaped. Then there was the need to hide himself so that the crazies of the Farm he had lived in would never find him. It was sometime in the aftermath, somewhere in the years that the memories of his family had become all but a whisper of fuzzy images in his head.

Ezio made a noise that could have sounded like an agreement or nothing at all, but Desmond glanced at him as they walked through winding areas, past several large cavernous stalagmites and stalactites before ascending a few stairs and going through several more corridors. All the while, there were signs clearly pointing which way they were going with a small map showing dots of where they were, but Desmond had their path already memorized.

“Hey Ezio, you probably knew about my family, didn't you? I mean, knowing about my name and all,” Desmond asked.

“I do,” was the only reply.

“And?”

“Uncle Ezio! You're back!” a cheerful voice shouted and for a second the disconnection in Desmond's mind disappeared, leaving the raw feeling of knowing who the voice belonged to. It was Claudia, it had to be-

The disconnection slammed back into place as Desmond saw a dark-haired girl run towards them, looking nothing like Claudia Auditore before nearly bowling over Ezio with the force of her bear hug. He saw a grin light up on the Italian Assassin's face as he patted the young teenaged girl on her head as she released him.

“You've gotten big Amanda,” Ezio shook his head, “your Madre feeding you well?”

“Are you calling me fat?!” the girl looked utterly scandalized before turning back and shouting to a group of people, “Dad! Uncle Ezio called me fat! Do something!”

“Because you are Mandy!” it was the younger boy in the group of three others that stood near the side that spoke up and Desmond was struck at how eerily similar the young boy looked like- Sef always had more of Mother's looks – a mysterious voice, one that he had never heard before whispered quietly in his head before disappearing into the foggy disconnection in his mind.

“Amanda,” Ezio said quietly, instantly getting her attention and Desmond saw the adoration in her eyes. He vaguely recognized it and to his horror realized that it was not only adoration, but rather a large unrequited crush that the girl had on Ezio. He had seen that look too many times in the memories of his living ancestor and for a second, felt like someone had walked over his grave several times. It was an unsettled feeling.

Ezio gestured to him and Desmond unconscious straightened a little, drawing himself up, “This is your brother Desmond. Do you remember him?”

As the young teen looked at him he was struck with a vague memory of the girl with a thatch of dark brown hair that was in curls. This girl still had some curls, but they were now waves instead of the curls he remembered pulling and making fun of her. He had always tried to make sure she was safe, especially with suitors- since when did the teen in front of him staring at him with the same brown eyes had suitors? Desmond managed to pull himself out of Ezio's fond memories of Claudia and instead watched as comprehension filled the teen's eyes.

“It is you...” she smiled tentatively, breaking the memory of Claudia Auditore from the present, “I thought it might be...I...” Desmond was suddenly engulfed in a bone crushing hug and he remembered.

Amanda Miles had always followed him around, the shining adoration of familial love for her older brother who was seemingly invincible and always found things for them to explore in the Farm. She loved it when he brought back some mysterious pretty rock that he had found or even some bug species that the books did not tell them about. Once, he had saved her from a rattlesnake that they had stumbled upon by throwing a sharp stone at it that struck it in its head. Another time, he had chased off some of the bullies on the Farm for making fun of her curly hair that had been pulled into pigtails. He remembered telling her that he was going to escape, that he could not stand it anymore – he remembered the tears, her pleas of not to go, but he had been adamant. He said that once he was out and safe, he would somehow reach her and take her out of there too.

“You promised,” he heard the muffled whisper against his hoodie, “you promised and you broke it...”

Desmond could feel the hints of tears pricking at the corner of his eyes as he nodded, “I did...I'm sorry. I'm so sorry Amma...” He remembered the nickname that he had given her, a special one that she had told no one about.

“You remembered my name too,” she looked up at him, a sad smile on her face, “but you're back now, right?”

“I'm back,” he embraced her gently as she refused to let him go and looked up at the rest of his family. He recognized his father, still stern-looking as ever, but with a lot more greying hair than he remembered. He also looked like he had gained a little weight to his normally strong form. Desmond remembered the brief time, before Amanda had been born when he had demanded that his father pull him up with his arms. Next to him, he saw his mother, still beautiful as ever even with her lined face, her dirty-blonde hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. For a second, he was struck at how much she resembled the ghostly image of Alexander that he had talked to and realized that it was true, all of it. Alexander, Subject Sixteen, was truly his half-brother – he wondered if she knew about him and his fate.

“Desmond,” his mother, Alice, that was her name, pushed forward the last person who had been standing shyly against her pant leg, grabbing onto it and staring at him with wide eyes. He was only a little boy, younger than Petruccio, but resembled his younger brother, Ezio's younger brother; he felt the barest of whispers in his mind. “This is Peter. Peter, this is your brother, Desmond.”

“Hi,” Desmond felt Amanda detaching herself from him, grabbing his hand and refusing to let go as he knelt down to Peter's eye level and smiled at his younger brother, the one he never knew he had. He realized his parents must have had Peter after he had escaped the Farm all those years ago.

“Hi...” was the shy reply before Peter buried his head against their mother's leg again.

“Peter's shy,” his father ruffled the young boy's hair before stepping forward as Desmond stood up again, “so...Desmond...”

William, that was his name, or rather, Bill Miles, he remembered many of the members who had talked to his father refer to him by that name. But there were one or two who had called him William. Age lined his father's face, but there was still the same resemblance, and he could see bits of Ezio, Arden, and even Altaїr's features in his father. It was more subtle than not, but it was still there.

“Dad...” he tentatively greeted, hesitant, unsure. The starkest memory he had of his father was the constant fights that he had gotten into with him in the three years before he had left the Farm for good. He realized that he was still afraid, still guarded around his father – that any moment they would go at each other again, butting heads and yelling harsh words; words that Desmond did not regret, but also did not want to say.

But it was apparent that William Miles had no misgivings as he quickly closed the gap between the two and Desmond found himself engulfed in another crushing embrace. “Welcome home, son....welcome home.”

* * *

Author’s Notes:

Warm fuzzy moment chapter with a lot more questions posed and the introduction of Desmond’s family! I’ve also put out one of my own theories regarding the mysterious William M. we read in the emails of Lucy and Shaun in AC: Brotherhood. I believe that “William M.” stands for William Miles. More specifically, Bill Miles, from The Fall comic books and that Bill Miles is in fact Desmond’s father. I have a couple of more theories, but that’s what this fanfic is for and it gets quite…dark in a couple of chapters (darker than what I’ve written so far). So yes, dire need for some fuzzy family moments before I start messing around with Desmond’s psyche again.

Before I forget – there is a reason why the rest of Desmond’s family calls Ezio, Uncle Ezio as opposed to Desmond being introduced to him as Uncle Enzo (way back in the early chapters) and why the others on the base call him Enzo.

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Story:

Chapter 20 – Mirror

“You grew,” William Miles commented to Desmond as he looked at him before gesturing to the rest of the family to join him.

“You...and Mom-”

“Old, greying hair, yeah, they've changed,” Amanda interjected rolling her eyes seemingly bored, but she kept close to Desmond, afraid that he would disappear once more.

“Amanda!”

“It's true Mom,” the teenager gave a crooked smile, “I mean seriously, you've got a couple of more white hairs! Age's not been kind to you like it has to Uncle Ezio.”

Desmond had almost forgotten that Ezio was still standing near them, and glanced over to see the tail end of the assassin coughing lightly into his sleeve at Amanda's innocent comment. He realized that his family, or at least everyone but his father judging by the knowing look he caught, did not know about Ezio's immortality. Of course, the question of why the base referred to Ezio as Enzo and why his family referred to him as Ezio was a bit puzzling, but he was not that concerned about it. If he had to guess, it was what Ezio had said, that most people could not probably handle the truth about the Pieces of Eden, that some gave a form of immortality to their wielders.

“I'm sure that age will catch up to everyone in due time,” Alice Miles chided gently before smiling up at Desmond, “now, Desmond, I'm sure you pretty hungry, right?” Before he could answer the implication of how his parents knew that he had just woken up, his mother gently pushed young Peter towards them, “Amanda, take your brothers to the cafeteria. We'll join your shortly, all right?”

“But Mom-”

“No buts honey,” she shook her head, “please do as I asked.”

Desmond glanced down to see his sister thin her lips a little as if to protest some more before finally nodded and grabbed Peter's hand before looping her other one around Desmond's, “Come on, dinner should be starting to be served in a few minutes anyways.”

He glanced over to Ezio and saw the almost imperceptible shake of the Italian's assassin's head, telling him to follow his sister and was puzzled, but shrugged and decided to follow his sister's lead. As they walked away, he glanced behind him to see his father and mother approach Ezio; already deep in a discussion that he knew he could listen in with his abilities, but also knew that Ezio would figure out if he was eavesdropping. He decided to leave them, hoping that perhaps Ezio would be forthcoming with what was discussed with his parents.

“You feeling okay, Des?” Amanda asked as she led them towards the cafeteria. He saw that many people joined them on their little route, some chatting with others, others chasing after a few children or were shouting and waving to those that they knew.

“How...”

“Uncle Ezio told us that you got knocked out during a Templar ambush. Wanted to make sure that your head wasn't too addled since Andrew said that you probably had a concussion of sorts.”

“Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Head feels a little fuzzy, but that's probably post-concussion symptoms,” Desmond wondered what his parents knew about how he got to the base, Bleeding out and passing out at the same time. But it seemed that his siblings knew of a different story. “Who's Andrew?”

“The leader of the base. I think he's from the Middle East or something, but he does speak English, even though it's a bit of a weirdly precise form. Probably didn't teach him contractions and stuff while he was growing up in the Enclaves there,” Amanda grinned, “funnily enough, he looks a little like you. But Dad says that our ancestors had some strong Middle Eastern blood, so it could be the fact that we all look alike or something.”

He immediately knew that it was Altaїr whom his little sister was talking about and was not surprised that he had taken the name he had used in Victorian England. So it was true that Altaїr had hidden here, away from Amunet. He wondered what had happened that drove Altaїr into hiding. Ezio had not been too forthcoming with that information, only saying that Amunet had struck first and drove him away from the main Assassin Order. How anyone could drive such a man as Altaїr into hiding was beyond Desmond, but he knew that it made Amunet all the more powerful and dangerous – especially if she was insane from being immortal for so long.

“So where is he now?”

“I dunno,” Amanda shrugged, “probably doing leader-y stuff or something like that. He sometimes makes an appearance during meal times and occasionally at our suite, but then again Dad's kind of important here on the Farm too.”

“This isn't the Farm...”

“Yeah, well, we had to move again for some odd reason a few weeks ago to here. I've basically called every place that Mom and Dad moves us to the Farm.”

“I'm sorry,” Desmond heard the bitter resentment in her voice and felt guilty for breaking his promise to her.

“Nah, it's okay. I've learned to rebel a little. Couldn't quite pull off what you did nine years ago, but hey, if it pisses off Dad and Mom, I do it.”

“Uh...”

“Not like drugs or anything, okay, well, I did do some marijuana, but Trevor smuggled some into the Farm. Doesn't feel good though, especially waking up smelling it.”

Desmond had a feeling that his sister was not telling the truth, but he also knew that if he pressed, she would not speak of it anymore, especially since she was still a little angry at him. Maybe he could ask Lucy to ask Amanda or even Rebecca to ask Amanda what else she did. A sense of brotherly concern that felt like a mix of both Ezio and someone else – Darim - combined with his newly rediscovered memories of his childhood made him want to make sure Amanda was safe.

“That never feels good,” he echoed, remembering his own incident with some narcotics while he had been bartending. Some of his customers were druggies in the different bars he had worked at, and occasionally offered him some of their drugs in exchange for a free drink. He had tried some, if only to experiment, but most of those had just put him off to drugs because of the after effects and the fact that he knew he had to be careful during that time.

“Ah ha, so you did do drugs while on the lam,” Amanda grinned, a glint in her eye as the joined what looked like a fairly medium length line to get food.

“That doesn't give you permission to try heroin or anything like that,” he chided, “it's not fun. Trust me. Waking up completely disoriented-”

“With a girl you fucked the night before while high-”

“Hey! Peter's here!” he pointed to their little brother who had been staring up at them the whole time, completely silent.

“Whatever, Peter knows not to repeat anything I say, right Pete?”

“Right!” his younger brother echoed.

Desmond thought it odd that his younger brother would not repeat a word, especially since he knew children that age repeated everything they heard. Hell, even he did it himself, sometimes to the embarrassment of his parents while growing up.

“He's always been quiet, seriously. We thought that he had a speech problem, but he just doesn't talk,” Amanda handed him a tray before grabbing some food onto her own and another one apparently for Peter and thanked some of the cooks in the line. Desmond did the same before they headed to one of the empty tables and sat down. He watched as his sister fussed with their younger brother before turning to her own food.

“So, am I right? Waking up next to a girl you fu-”

“No,” Desmond felt like he was missing something as he heard the words tumble out of his sister's mouth. He remembered her, but realized that she had changed, just like he had in the years that they had been apart. Yet some things were still the same...

“No? A guy then? Didn't peg you for some guy-guy action-”

“Amanda, I'm straight. And yes there were one or two girls, but I never woke up next to one after being high,” Desmond arched an eyebrow at his younger sister before she burst out laughing.

“Come on Des, I'm only yanking your chain, geez. You're so uptight! You sure your concussion didn't make you lose all of your brain cells?”

“I'm fine. My head just...feels fuzzy, all right?” he felt a little irritated and barely suppressed a wince as a flash of pain pierced across his head, heightening the irritation. He knew that his sister was just teasing him, yet he could feel one of his ancestors, most definitely not Ezio, Altaїr, or Arden, highly uncomfortable with this line of questioning. That ancestor must have been a prude, he mentally groused to himself.

“I'm sorry,” she waved a fork full of green beans at him before eating it and swallowing it down, “I know. But it's just that...I mean, we didn't know where you went off to and suddenly Dad tells me that you've been found, ambushed by Templars, but that you're going to be okay. I didn't...I didn't know if it was really you until they let us peek into the hospital room that you had been in before they moved you to your own suite.”

She shook her head, “I asked Mom even Dad to move you to our suite, but Andrew and even Uncle Ezio said that you would be better off in your own suite. There was another girl, Lucy, I think was her name. She said that she helped you escape the ambush; she said that she was going to stay in the other room in your suite to make sure that you were okay.”

“Yeah...Lucy,” Desmond absently ate his own dinner.

“She your girlfriend?”

“Who is whose girlfriend?” Rebecca's boisterous voice cut through their conversation and Desmond looked up to see her and Shaun headed over to them. He grinned, feeling relieved that they had escaped Cheyenne Mountain without any problems. “Hey Des!”

“Desmond,” Shaun greeted as he sat next to Rebecca who sat next to Desmond's right.

“Hey guys. Glad you're all right,” he greeted them.

“Yeah, not a scratch! Though Baby also was fine too. Oh hey, you must be Amanda. I remember you...”

“And you are...?”

“Rebecca Crane? Remember, you were with your Dad when we got to the Farm?”

“Oh yeah, I remember now. You're Shaun Hastings, right?” Amanda nodded towards the historian who nodded back before stuffing some rice into his mouth.

“So what's this about girlfriends? I love gossip!”

“I'm wondering if Lucy is Desmond's girlfriend,” Amanda asked and Desmond looked down at his food, finding it suddenly interesting as he considered his sister's question. It was true that he knew he had a little more than passing friendly feelings for Lucy, but he did not know if they were real or part of his ancestors' memories; especially since Ezio was definitely a womanizer and having just lived his life, he could feel the swirl of confusion within himself.

“Hmm...that's a really good question,” Rebecca tapped her chin with the pair of chopsticks she had, “but I don't know. I mean we only met a few days before the ambush, so don't really know. What I do know is that Lucy's always looking out for all of us.”

“Oh,” Amanda seemed disappointed, but Desmond felt like he could kiss Rebecca for her answer.

“Thanks,” he murmured quietly as he ate some more of his food.

“Any time,” Rebecca nodded a little before waving her hand, “over here!”

Desmond looked up again to see Lucy holding a tray of food, looking around before spotting them and headed towards their table. She sat down diagonally across from him and the tension that he had noticed earlier while talking with her in the common room was not quite gone. He could tell that she hid it very well, but most definitely not gone.

“Hi guys,” Lucy greeted them and he nodded his greeting, his mouth full of food. “Amanda, Peter.”

Desmond noticed that she looked a little sad and wondered if she had taken Ezio's advice and visited Arden in the hospital area of the Farm. He knew he had to make a visit too, if not only to assure himself that she was truly immortal, but also to answer his own question of how did an immortal Assassin live past injuries and the like. Ezio had said that Arden's injury was a stark reminder that they were not as invincible as they had thought to be, which meant that none of those that he knew that were immortal had been injured in a long time.

He wanted to ask Lucy how she, Rebecca, and Shaun escaped the base, especially with Arden injured, but with Amanda and Peter there, he knew that he could not; especially since they had been told a different story.

“Lucy,” his sister grinned and Desmond was struck at how eerily similar that smile was to the one he had seen Ezio throw around in Renaissance Italy. But she was not Claudia, he firmly reminded himself, not Claudia – yet the bloodline that he and his siblings had descended from was so strong.

“Yes?”

“Maybe you can tell me, but how did you and my brother meet? I mean, I knew that it was an exercise for new recruits in the Order to go search for my brother here since he went off the grid all those years ago. You're obviously an Assassin and my brother probably did something stupid to alert the Templars to ambush him and knock him out.”

Desmond nearly choked on the food he had been eating and coughed a little to swallow it down hard. He also noticed that both Shaun and Rebecca had stopped eating and were staring at Lucy. Looking towards her, he saw that she had barely paused in her chewing before swallowing and cleared her throat.

“Amanda, what do you know about the Templars? I mean, besides what your father might have told you.”

“Well, Dad says that the Templars are bad men who could come and kidnap us. I think that they're just the government who's concerned that we're like some religious fanatic group that's going to Kool-Aid ourselves to death-”

“You're wrong...”

“Ignore Peter,” Amanda poked her younger brother in the shoulder who frowned before turning back to mashing his peas into paste and slowly eating them. “Anyways, sometimes I wonder if I just left and went to see who these Templars are, maybe they wouldn't be so bad, right?”

As Desmond stared at his sister, he felt a well of guilt build in him. He had known some of the truths about the Templars before he had left; that they were part of the government, but also that they sought control and order while the Assassins sought chaos and freedom. He vaguely remembered some of his training, but most of all, the lessons he had learned before he had escaped was to always hide off the grid, and live in plain sight. He had done so out of necessity, both to keep the Assassins and Templars from finding him. He realized that deep down; he knew that something inherently bad was going to happen to him if the Templars found him.

But now, listening to his sister, he realized that she was so innocent, so naïve, unable to fathom the real war that was happening right outside of this compound, the battle that he had barely escaped from and the battle that had started with him thrown into the Animus by Vidic. Their parents had kept her so sheltered, even after he had left, for all she knew was what she overheard and even then it was not much judging by what she was saying. And it hurt...it hurt him to see her like that.

I have no right to intrude and bring war to her doorstep, the ghostly whisper of Ezio's voice spoke into his ear before he felt a small sharp lancing pain over his right eye. But instead of pushing it away, he grasped it, or at least tried to as he felt the disconnection return and the whisper and guilt that floated with it slip through his mental fingers, lost again. He had no right...he could not involve her.

He abruptly stood up, stopping Amanda who had been getting animated about one of the conspiracies as to who the Templars were. “I, uh...need to go,” Desmond coughed again, “hospital...concussion stuff.”

“But-”

“He just doesn't want to hear the part where he got knocked out in one punch to the face,” Lucy spoke up quickly.

“Oh my god, really?!”

“Uh...yeah, I'll see you later all right?” he ignored the appalled look on his sister's face along with the very interested look on his younger brother's face. Pride was one thing that he could take a hit from, but he knew that if he stayed to hear whatever story Lucy or even Shaun or Rebecca was going to come up with, he would not be able to resist to bring Amanda into the war and tell her the truth. He could not quite understand the urgency to leave, but he knew that he had to.

“Wait, Desmond,” Amanda caught him by the sleeve of his hoodie as he rounded the table to dump his tray of half-eaten dinner away.

“Yeah?”

“You're going to come back right? I mean, you're not just going to up and leave right?”

Desmond turned back and looked down at his sister; his beautiful little sister who followed him constantly. He knew what she was asking and knew that she was worried that he was going to suddenly disappear again. “I'll come visit you after I get checked out okay?”

“Okay,” Amanda looked relieved before grinning up at him, “Suite 18. That's where we're located.”

He nodded and headed away, dumping his tray of food into a compost bin before heading out of the cafeteria, dodging several children who laughed in delight as they ran to take their place in line for food. Once out in the main hall and cavern area, he wondered if he should head back to his own room to rest some more, but he could feel that this was not the right thing to do.

Instead, he found himself headed towards the hospital area of the underground cavern, following the directions listed along parts of the rocky walls and occasionally asking a couple of people along the way who pointed him towards it. Desmond did not know why he wanted to go towards the hospital area, but as he got closer, he figured that maybe he should pay a visit to Arden. Ezio had said that she was awake, but not quite lucid.

As he entered the hospital area, he was struck at how sterile and clean the environment was – almost like a real hospital, except without the white walls.

“Do you need help?” a nurse asked him as he looked around.

“Um...no, actually. Just visiting,” he replied and could feel something drawing him towards one of the corridors. He didn't know why, but the barest of whispers said that it was where Arden was located and followed that instinct.

“All right. Visiting hours are almost over, so please do not stay too long, okay?”

“Yeah, thanks,” he headed towards where his instinct told him to go and soon arrived in front of an unmarked door. There was no last name placard or anything to indicate that this was Arden's room, yet Desmond knew that it was hers. He put a hand on the handle and opened it a small crack, sensing that someone else was in the room besides Arden.

“-must think of me as a hypocritical bastard,” the quiet precise murmur of Arabic-accented English struck Desmond like a tidal wave, sending a blast of pain that made him squeeze his eyes shut in agony. It was as if someone had ripped the curtain away from the disconnection in his mind and exposed all of his raw nerve endings for the world to see.

“Nothing is true, everything is permitted...”

“My concern is for the people of the Holy Land. If I am to sacrifice myself for there to be peace, then so be it.”

“You held fire in your hand, old man. It should have been destroyed.”

Just as suddenly the disconnection slammed back and nearly left Desmond reeling from where he stood his knuckles white as they gripped the door handle. As he recovered, he noticed that he had not moved an inch nor had given any indication to Altaїr ibn la-Ahad that he was eavesdropping.

“But if you were the hypocritical bastard, then you would not have done the things you have done,” the familiar tone of Arden, not the Americanized Arden he had learned how to shoot a gun from, but rather this was the real Arden he realized, talking made him attempt to suppress a shiver. It was as if someone had walked over her, no his grave, or was it really hers, he absently wondered, several times.

He vaguely remembered the humbleness she had felt when she had saved Chamberlain, the overwhelming joy and the affection she had for the man sitting by her hospital bed and could see the familial tenderness the two had for each other. Desmond's grip became tighter on the door knob, almost to the point where he felt his bones creak with pain. He knew he was intruding on a private moment, a moment that he should not see, yet something made him stay, made him unable to neither voice his presence nor leave the two.

He could feel something trying to penetrate the fogginess that muddled his mind, the swirl of anger, hopelessness, and fury that had been directed at the ancestor he had first become acquainted with. Portsmouth, I never want to see that place again, he could hear himself say before the memory all but dissipated once more. The sense of loss, of guilt, the despair, ate at him as he tried somehow to piece together what he was suddenly feeling. Yet somehow he could not, like grasping water in his hands that slipped away. He knew he needed some kind of peace, something to follow this conversation he was listening into but it was elusive. He did not know why, but only the need.

“You are too kind.”

“Call it a maturity that comes with aging...”

“You, mature?” of all of the memories that Desmond had experienced, he never once had heard Altaїr with a teasing tone in his voice, even though it sounded saddened at the same time. Father had mellowed as Sef and I grew up, but those moments were still rare; the faint whisper of someone else brushed his mind.

“Your attempts at humor have not changed all these years, Master,” the droll sarcastic tone Arden had adopted brought an unbidden smile to Desmond's face. He thought he could see her expression, a rather bland look followed by the arch of an eyebrow that she had always thrown at Stephen. Stephen had always tried to get her to laugh, she did not know why, but nonetheless she appreciated his efforts.

There was a moment of pause and Desmond peered through the small crack to see the two of them sitting in silence, both staring at nothing in particular. But what struck him was that Altaїr's hand was grasping Arden's, like a parent grieving and worried, and he remembered – blood spurting into the air. She was falling, spinning to the ground, her arms flung out like the sick mimicry of a rag doll. He remembered the fury that had seemingly overtaken Father, the dance with death that he was prepared to do with those that had killed her. He had run, knowing that they would chase after Father instead of him. He would save him as Father took his leap off of the cliff... Maria...Mother... Desmond realized that Altaїr was holding her hand like a lifeline; unwilling to lose the person he had adopted as his daughter, even though she was technically distantly related to him through so many hundreds of years. Ezio had been right, he did not know the circumstances that led to Maria's death, but judging by the unbidden memory that had crossed his mind, it seemed that Altaїr had nearly drove himself into madness and despair and it was only through the saving grace of Arden, whom he saw as a surrogate daughter of sorts, that he had managed to find a way to live for so many years.

“Rest,” the master assassin finally stood up and Desmond immediately released the door knob, however, in his haste he rattled the knob and winced, freezing in place as the room went silent. The silence was broken in short steps before the door was flung open and he came face to face with the very first Assassin whom he had become acquainted with in the Animus.

It was like looking into a mirror.

The realization of how had the Piece of Eden stopped time for its wielder was no more evident than on Altaїr's face. Features that showed the maturity of a mid-twenty year old combined with the youthful lines that older generations always envied made up the master assassin's face. His hair a rough jet black showed not even a hint of white in it, cropped close to his head in a modern style. The same scar that marked Desmond's face also marked Altaїr's face and one would have thought centuries of supposed grimness would have created some deep frown lines, yet none existed. The only thing that truly showed the master assassin's age was his eyes.

Altaїr's eyes were the same color as his own, but they glittered with a hidden darkness, the look of one who had seen too much and had lived too long. He did not see any signs of madness, but then again, Desmond knew he wasn't the best poster child for looking for signs of madness in others. He could almost imagine, if not see the warmth in them, but that was not what he saw at the moment – they were cold, calculating, and held none of the familiarity that he seemingly imagined only a few seconds ago when he had been talking to Arden.

And the eyes showed that Altaїr knew that he had been listening in.

A part of him that was Altaїr leapt forward breaking past the hazy muddled feeling in his mind, and seemingly challenged the man standing in front of him and it was all Desmond could do from reacting to the cold look the master assassin was shooting at him. Some of that defiance or perhaps it was something must have shown on Desmond's face before Altaїr brushed roughly past him without another word and walked away, leaving him standing at the door way.

The defiance that was Altaїr within him was suddenly obscured by the haziness in his mind, leaving Desmond utterly drained and his hands shook a little as he grabbed the door handle in an effort to keep his knees from buckling underneath him. He realized that it was not coldness that he had felt from the master assassin, but rather a power behind whatever force was driving him. Was it the power of the Apple of Eden that had made him immortal, he did not know, but whatever it was, it was old, ancient, and very, very dangerous?

“Who...is there?” Arden's faint, exhausted voice spoke up from her bed and Desmond stepped in. He received the second shock and scrambled for a chair before sitting down hard. Standing next to Arden amongst the monitors that were hooked up showing her vitals was little Tabitha Roche, the illusion showing her hale and healthy gone. However, the lack of a rotting corpse-like smell puzzled Desmond as he could clearly see her sagging, sallow skin and the death's mask she wore as a decomposing body suddenly brought back to life.

“Shh, shh...go to sleep now, little one,” it was revolting and creepy to see the skeletal hand brush a strand of hair away from Arden's face as her eyes rolled into the back of her head and her breath evened out.

“Wha...” Desmond could not even get the words out before Tabitha turned her too-wide dead eyes to look at him.

“Hello Desmond,” the voice that spoke out of the young girl's mouth was not her own, nor did it sound like Alexander's voice. In fact, it sounded vaguely familiar – he knew he had heard it before. It thrummed with power, wisdom, and was most definitely female.

“Who-”

“Our name is not important,” the voice-speaking-through-the-girl said and that was when he noticed the object glowing in her hands. It was not like the glow of the Apple of Eden or the Staff itself that he had encountered. It was not even like the glow that had enveloped Arden when she had tried to attack Jack the Ripper at the meat-packing factory. This glow drew light like a black hole, a terrifying one that was felt across the living memories of his ancestors. He could feel the sudden well of disgust and even the hints of fear that penetrated the disconnection in his mind.

“You're...not Tabitha...or Alexander...”

“Very good,” the voice replied before making Tabitha's already sagging skin stretch across her face in a death head's smile.

“Are you...” he swallowed past the lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat, “are you...the Lance of Longinus Piece of Eden?”

“Yes.”

* * *

Author’s Notes:

The chapter title refers to the two different moods of the chapter – a life that Desmond knew he could have had if he stayed with his sister and the reality that he faces now when he visits the hospital area. Some truths come out, yet more questions are asked – and I probably suspect a lot are scratching their heads. This is my answer: :D – tee hee…

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Story:

Chapter 21 - Lance

“Yes,” little Tabitha nodded, making her skin stretch in all of the wrong places and for a second Desmond thought that the girl's head would pop right off of her thin frame. It was quite disconcerting and he knew that he should, by all rights, be completely freaked out, but somehow, he was not. That did not mean he sat calmly in his seat. He felt like throwing up, staring at the little girl who was holding the glowing Piece of Eden Lance head in her hands, it's unearthly and sickening glow penetrating the sheath it was in.

The revulsion and urge to be somewhere else was warring with the morbid curiosity in him. He did not know why he felt so revolted, especially since he had wielded the Apple of Eden in both Ezio and Altaїr's hands – maybe it was another ancestor that had these feelings? It was not the first time, remembering that the last he had seen the Lance was when Tabitha or Alexander, which ever one of them inhabited the girl's body had summoned him to the rock climbing wall back at Cheyenne Mountain.

A thought occurred to him – was this how Altaїr and Ezio communicated with the Apple of Eden? He remembered how they had activated and used the Apple, if not by accident, but by just touching it, yet somehow he knew he was missing a key part of how to work the Piece of Eden. He had always thought that there were words exchanged, perhaps not vocally, but rather through thoughts, but that was just his opinion.

“Your mind is quiet now, enough to hear our song,” the not-quite-dead-girl said and Desmond realized that it was not only one feminine voice speaking, but rather several, overlapping and echoing each other – like a vocal dissonance of sorts.

“Song? Quiet mind?” Desmond stared at Tabitha, not quite comprehending what whatever was speaking through her was saying. “Wait, do you mean why my mind feels like it's disconnected somehow? Why I can't hear my ancestors or at least hear them well?”

The only answer he received was a mysterious mature smile that had no right to be on a little girl's face, “It will not last, but we wished to see you, to see the future.”

“Future?”

“You hold in your hands, Desmond, the power of the world. All you need to do is to reach out and the stars will obey your every whim. Your resistance is commendable, but is it strong enough?”

“What are you talking about?” he was so confused; it was like listening to a living sphinx that posed riddle after riddle.

“We have warned you to beware the Cross and will do so again. The next we meet, you will decide the fate of the world. You will either fall with no one to catch you, or you will soar on the wings of those that came before you.”

“Warn me about the Cross...” Desmond echoed as his eyes widened, staring at Tabitha, “wait a minute...Minerva?!”

The ghost of a smile appeared on the thin chapped lips of the skeletal girl before she reached underneath the pillow supporting Arden's head and withdrew a bracer that was well polished and lovingly cared for. Desmond recognized it as the one Lucy had given to him at the safe house before they had fled. It was also then that he realized he had woken up without the familiar weight of his bracer on his left arm. He realized that he had not felt any concern about it because it was not his memories that gave weight to the bracer, but rather a combination of his own, of Altaїr's, Ezio's, and Arden's that surrounded the bracer.

He had known that something was missing, but had not been able to pinpoint it until now. It also made him realize how much he had adjusted to the presence his ancestors had within him – even though the Bleeding Effect had made him reel most of the time followed by his own inability to occasionally separate who he was from his ancestors.

“We believe this is yours,” Tabitha handed him the bracer and he took it, cradling it in his hands before rolling his sleeve up and strapping it to his arm. The fogginess in his mind parted for a few seconds, letting in the familiar memory of Altaїr in as he activated the blade with a quiet snick and his right hand tested the sharpness of the blade. It felt good, but most of all, it felt right.

As he retracted the blade, the fogginess returned, leaving him with a minor headache. Glancing up at Tabitha he saw that she had fallen silent and was neither smiling nor frowning, looking for the entire world, a skeletal doll. Desmond waited for a few seconds, wondering if she was going to speak, but it did not look like she was going to utter another word. However, he noticed that the Lance still glowed in her hands and her eyes were seemingly blank.

Something was not right here, something was off and it was only until he looked at Arden's sleeping form that the realization belted him in the head. If the Apple of Eden made Altaїr and Ezio immortal; if the Lance of Longinus saved Tabitha Roche's life, then why could not it not save another life? The Lance was Arden's Piece of Eden and somehow, in Tabitha's hands, it was either healing, or keeping the Assassin alive – though its glow certainly did not look like it was a healing one.

But from what he knew of the Lance, Alexander had said that it was in his possession before his cul-de-sac home was ransacked, his family murdered, and he himself captured by Abstergo to be their sixteenth subject. Before that, Leonius said that the Lance was lost to history, with Nazi, Templars, and all sorts of groups searching for it. Yet here it was, in Tabitha's hands, the possibility of being Arden's Piece growing stronger – all he could think about was that he had seen it before, somewhere else outside of what was in front of him at the moment.

Shaking his head, Desmond saw that there was nothing else to be said, Tabitha silent once more, still looking like a rotting corpse, but otherwise made no indication that the voice-that-was-not-her was going to talk to him. He stood up, staring at Arden's prone form and felt an echo that was her within him resonate with her that was lying on the bed. I was so foolish, the whisper of her voice, tinged with regret brushed his mind before he turned and left the hospital room.

If the Lance was truly Arden's Piece of Eden, then Desmond knew that somewhere in the swirl of memories that he was currently living in, he would encounter that fabled object. For the first time in his life, he felt a shiver of fear roll down his back and knew that it was not from his ancestors, but from his very own being.

* * *

It took a few minutes for Desmond to navigate his way out of the hospital area and back into one of the giant caverns that seemed to be a general meeting place and market place for the underground Farm. The bustle of people that lived there had all but died away, most of them at dinner now, but there were still some people lingering around. He wanted nothing more than to go back to his own suite and at least have a quiet moment to himself, especially from what he had just witnessed, but he also knew that he could not break another promise to Amanda.

As he glanced at the signs along the wall to direct him to the suite his family stayed in, he took his time studying what this incarnation of the Farm looked like. While most of the cave system looked like it was carved from millions of years of river water running through it, there were a lot of the areas that looked man-made. He wondered how a cave system that was supposedly originally inhabited by religious fanatics could do so much work in the short years before it was abandoned. It just seemed a little impossible.

Nothing is true, everything is permitted.

Desmond shook his head to himself, he knew he should take the creed for what it was, but at times it was hard to wrap his mind around the concept, especially if he applied it to the caverns. Yet, perhaps it was true in some way – that the human spirit, when pressed, could do anything and everything. Since when did I become such a philosopher? He wondered as he saw that he was nearing Suite 18. The area it was in was far more spacious, he noticed, and older. The walls were smoother, time worn away the jagged edges made by humans, and the air of mustiness was much more prevalent.

“Not tonight, okay? My brother's supposed to hang out with me, you know, family stuff right?” he heard Amanda's voice through the half open door to the suite and knocked.

“Hello?”

The door was yanked open to reveal both his sister and a girl around her age, who had a frown on her face before it turned upwards in a smile. Desmond immediately recognized the change in posture from a slightly hostile 'what do you want' attitude to one of interest. His years of bartending did not make him oblivious to the looks women gave him while he served their drinks.

“Desmond!” Amanda greeted happily behind her friend as she leapt off of the couch and hurried towards him.

“So this is your brother?” her friend did not hide her interest in him and raked him with the most smoldering up-down look she could manage. “Hi handsome...” she purred.

“Uh...hi,” he did his best to ignore the look, feeling a little uncomfortable that someone roughly his sister's age could achieve a look like that.

“Sarah! Stop hitting on my brother!” Amanda shoved her friend in the shoulder, before shaking her head, “ignore her Des. She's always like this.” She grabbed him by his hand and dragged him in past Sarah who was glaring at Amanda.

“You could bring him, you know. I mean, one more isn't going to trip the alarms and plus it'll be fun,” Sarah crossed her arms, her curly red hair swinging this way and that, “I mean you said so yourself that he's new, so it'll be a good way for him to learn the area.”

“No,” Amanda shook her head, “I want to catch up with my brother, without you trying to sink your claws into him, you man-eater.”

“Man-eater? Really, the best you can come up with?!”

“Besides, won't Wes get jealous?”

“It's almost over with Wes anyways. I found out that he's been sleeping with Lauren and Eric, at the same time,” the red-headed girl replied flippantly waving a hand in the air.

“What?!” Amanda's eyes became as wide as saucers before she grabbed onto her friend's hand, “Wes is bi?”

“Probably bi-curious, but who knows and cares. He's cheated. I'm planning to dump him tonight in front of everyone. Was going to do it at dinner, but the fucking bastard didn't even come. Probably still fucking Lauren and Eric at the same time,” Sarah replied rather viciously before glancing at him, her mood instantly changing, “still; I think you should bring him.”

“I don't know Sarah...I mean-”

“Fine, I promise I'm not going to try to seduce your brother tonight,” the red-head grinned, shooting him another look, “can't guarantee the others though...”

“Uh, maybe I should come back,” Desmond made to move towards the door to leave, a little apprehensive at what was going on between then two, but Amanda grabbed his hand and shook her head.

“Please stay. I guess it'll be fun, showing you the outdoors. It's actually quite nice, you can see the stars, even the Milky Way band.”

“But aren't we supposed to be an abandoned town-”

“Listen, that rule was made up by Dad and the others, probably also Andrew, to stop everyone from leaving. We're very careful. Besides, you can meet my other friends.”

He did not know if he wanted to meet Amanda's other friends, judging by Sarah's introduction of herself. He had long recognized the abrupt mood changes of teens that did drugs and had a feeling that Sarah was one of them, but the pleading look from Amanda made him hesitate. He wanted to sit somewhere quiet and try to process what had happened in Arden's hospital room, but had also promised Amanda that he would spend time with her. He missed his little sister, that emotion having long been buried when he ran from the Farm and started to live off the grid.

“Its fresh air,” Amanda pleaded, “you have been out for at least a week since they told me you were here, I think...” Desmond knew he should have been surprised at the revelation that he had been unconscious or unaware of his surroundings for at least a week, but he oddly wasn't. Still, he realized that he had missed the fresh air, having been stuck underground at Cheyenne Mountain except for the disastrous training exercise and his mission to Denver. He suspected that his sister and her friends were very careful at not being detected while outdoors, otherwise he supposed Templars and even other Assassins would have already discovered the place. And since Amunet had not found Altaїr in all of his years of exile, then perhaps there was no harm in taking a peek outside.

Lucy had said that they were safe and even Ezio seemed a little more relaxed than he had been at the base. He looked at Amanda who smiled tentatively at him, but also seemed to understand if he wanted to stay inside. He shrugged, “Fine. Just a quick peek though...I don't plan to stay the whole night with whatever you teenagers do.”

“Thanks Des,” Amanda squeezed his hand as she grabbed her shoes, a glow stick and a jacket that she tossed over her shoulders. “Come on!” she grabbed his hand again and pulled him out of the suite, following Sarah who had moved ahead of them, but held up a hand to stop them. After a few seconds, she waved her hand to indicate that they could come forward.

Together, the three of them quietly stole through the caverns, making sure that if they were seen; the seer did not suspect them of sneaking out and made their way to what looked like a very small tunnel with a ladder at the end of it. Sarah climbed up first before tapping the metal ladder quietly to indicate that they could follow. Amanda scrambled up before Desmond followed and what first greeted him was the cool dry desert breeze, colder than the ambient temperature in the caverns, but nonetheless very welcomed.

An unbidden smile appeared on his lips before he climbed out of what looked like a very tiny grating plate that was camouflaged with the local fauna and the stars, glittering across the blackness of the night sky nearly took his breath away. The last time he had seen stars like this was when he had been sitting on the rooftops of the Jerusalem bureau in the Holy Lands, a moment of peace in between the dances of death with the targets Al Mualim- Desmond shook his head, the disconnection that was in his mind slowly reasserting itself and pushing the memory out of his grasp once more. That was Altaїr’s memories, not his own, he thought to himself as he climbed out and someone slid the grating back into place.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” Amanda's voice was a little breathless in the darkness and her fingers found his hands, squeezing them again. He looked at her and saw that in the inky darkness, with no lights except for the stars and the moon obscured by some passing clouds, he could barely see her outline.

“It is...peaceful,” he admitted quietly, his eyes picking out the dense cluster of stars that shot through one quadrant of the sky. The cluster of stars looked like a band of sorts and he knew based on the books he had read a long time ago that it was the Milky Way arm that was visible from Earth.

“Hey, so you did come,” a deep male voice spoke up to his left, but Desmond could not see who approached them. He felt himself instinctively tensing-

“Hey Robert,” Amanda greeted the voice before whispering at him, “Desmond what are you doing? It's only Robert.”

“One of your friends?” he asked, trying to force himself to relax. The combined instincts of his ancestors were pushing against the disconnection and he could feel it bleed into him once more. It was not the darkness that they minded, but rather the fact that they could not see who was talking to them, wanting to know foe from friend. He tried to access his Eagle Sense, relishing at how easily it came to him now, but somehow felt as if something was blocking it. Focusing a little harder, he tried to push at it, but received a minor headache for his efforts.

“Yes,” he could sort of make out the frown on Amanda's face, “no one is out here Desmond. Just my friends. No Templars, nothing, okay? You don't have to run; don't have to live off of the grid. You're with family now.”

“A little jumpy?” Robert's spoke up, having heard her words to him as a small flame from a lighter flicked open and Desmond caught a glimpse of him before the flame died and the acrid smell of a burning cigarette filled the air. “You sure your brother's the legendary Desmond that everyone gets sent after just to see if they're good enough for the Order?”

“He is, but he's here now so no one has to go hunt him down like a stupid animal,” Amanda shot back, “and stop breathing your smoke into my face. You know I hate that.”

“Says the girl who's tried everything except prescription pills,” Robert laughed before Desmond heard his footsteps wandering away.

“Ignore him;” Amanda squeezed his fingers again, “Robert's just jealous that you're here now. He's been hoping that Dad would choose him next to go find you. He's been training for a while now, but only one person gets to go every year out of the Farm to find you across the world.”

“How old is he?”

“Nineteen,” Amanda replied, “Dad usually lets the others here train apprentices when they're thirteen and if you're ready to join the Order, you have to pass tests.”

“Have you trained?”

“No,” his sister sounded a little hurt, “Dad and Mom wouldn't let me. I asked if I could train with Uncle Ezio on the rare occasion he was here on the Farm, but even he said no. I did sneak out to watch the others though and Robert's let me hold and practice with his gun. Blanks though, no one's allowed into the armory for real bullets.”

Desmond wanted to ask why no one left, but he already knew the answer. It was the same one that had plagued him before he made his successful attempt. A combination of awe in the chance to train as an Assassin and wield one of the legendary vambraces that members of the Order were given when they started their apprenticeship and the fact that by the time they were finished training they were ingrained with the tenets of the Creed and the knowledge of the war between the Templars and Assassins. He remembered when he was thirteen, he had looked forward to the day when he would have been apprenticed to one of the senior members of the Order and learned ways he could have helped. Back then, the others had called it helping out in the Farm, but now, Desmond was wiser to what they were really doing. Apprentices were chosen for their abilities to do things – some became spies, others members of society that blended in with the unassuming public and even yet, some became politicians, pushing forward the Assassins' agenda in governments.

He supposed Alexander was one, having found his innate ability to be an efficient politician and urged to cultivate his skills. The Farm was like any other small town or community, but he remembered that no child before he or she was apprenticed was allowed off of the property.

So when he was thirteen, he had been looking forward to leaving the Farm, apprenticed to one of the senior members who would guide him, but then something happened around September of the year 2000. All he knew was that one day his father had ordered them to pack whatever they could carry and leave immediately. The Farm had been in an uproar as people ran around, a calm panic, but Desmond vaguely remembered a lot of the older members swearing.

When they had arrived at their new destination, another desolate looking place that was surrounded by rolling plains and distant hills, he learned that he would not be apprenticed and the rules that had eventually made him escape the Farm were put into place; restricting his movements, constantly watching him...

“Dad still have the rules in place?” he asked as Amanda took a few steps to the left in case anyone else wanted to join them outside. He heard the murmurs of several other voices around them, the brief flashes of lighters lighting cigarettes.

“As ever,” Amanda snorted, “you were lucky Desmond. I remember Dad was having shit fits for a few weeks after you left. I thought you were going to be brought back, but after a year had passed...” He could see the faint outline of his sister looking at him, “You really did go off the grid didn't you?”

“No credit cards, fake names...got a job bartending wherever I could. Moved around every so often,” Desmond shrugged, “sometimes pick pocketed the IDs of the guys that ordered drinks from me so I can use their names.” He did not mention to her that he had sometimes even stolen some extra cash from their wallets to support the days that he got stiffed on tips or had come down occasionally with colds that needed some serious medication. His years living off the grid had also made him friends with shady pasts, but they were always willing to provide him with favors, some times for a price or were content with him giving them free booze.

“So how did you meet up with Lucy and the others?” Amanda asked, the initial hostility at abandoning her changed now to curiosity.

“Motorcycle license,” Desmond replied, “fingerprinted. Gave a fake name and ID, but looks like the Templars found me that way. Lucy...helped me escape.”

“Must have been some escape,” his sister replied, “Robert says that he was called to go on standby, but didn't really get any other orders from Andrew. Dad looked like he was about to have another shit fit and Mom, well you know her. Nothing seems to faze her. I kind of remember her being more open though – just around a couple of years ago, she suddenly just became quiet and a little cold. Robert and the others call her the Ice Queen whenever she's not listening. I don't tell her that though...”

“I'm sure she wouldn't like that,” Desmond remembered their mother always a calming force, especially whenever things had gotten a little heated between him and their father. But Amanda had said that she had become cold, and it was only a couple of years ago that it had happened. He wondered if that was about the same time she had learned that her eldest son, Alexander, had been kidnapped by Templars. Another thought occurred to him, did she know about Tabitha's existence? He had a suspicious feeling that Altaїr knew about Tabitha, especially her being in the same room as Arden at the moment, but would he have told Alice Miles about her son?

Nothing Ezio said indicated what his parents knew, yet he did not want to confront them about it. It was not because he was afraid or anything like that, he just wanted to avoid any potential blow ups that could happen between his father and himself. A thought occurred to him as he remembered something Amanda had said earlier.

“You said that Dad was important at the Farm?”

“Yeah, did you forget? Dad was one of the most important people in all of the incarnations of the Farm! Why do you think you and even I was picked on by some of the other kids? It's like being a pastor's kid, I suppose. Dad's one of the leaders, if not the leader whenever Andrew's not around, I guess, of the Farm. He's the one to decide who gets trained who gets to go places and what happens here,” the resentment Amanda felt was not disguised and he heard her shift in the darkness. “Wouldn't even let me train – you would figure the 'pastor's kid' gets trained too, right?”

“Yeah,” it was an effort for Desmond not say to her that he was also being 'trained' as an Assassin, but he knew that she would have asked who and how, especially since he had been off the grid for so long.

“Dad apparently has Andrew's ear, or Andrew has his ear, I don't really know since Andrew rarely makes appearances. I know that the others respect him, but us younger generation, we just want to do things our own way. Hate being cooped up and all of that shit.”

“You think maybe he has a reason for it?” he cautioned and caught the scathing look she shot at him in the inky darkness.

“Says the one who ran away,” the resentful tone returned before she shook her head and sighed, “Listen, Des, why did you run away? I know you got into fights with Dad, I remember them even though I was only six.”

“Do you know what we fought about?” he asked, curious.

“No, not really. I mean, I think I know now that I'm sixteen, but not really. I remember Mom sometimes coming in and picking me up and just hugging me afterwards. She did that a lot when you left. I remember her and Dad talking about what if the Templars had kidnapped you and I said that I was going to fight the bad men for taking you away. I think they realize that you ran away after a few months, but Mom just kept hugging me. Oh, you know, you're also to blame for them keeping a laser-eye on me for that first year you know, not that I didn't mind the attention back then.” Amanda laughed lightly, trying to show that she was not angry and Desmond felt a sad smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“I don't know, Des. You're back, Uncle Ezio's making his rare appearances...” she sighed, “I just want to leave this place. See what you saw...I mean, I don't care about the Templars. Don't care if the government finds me. It's just some superstitious nonsense, even Lucy and Rebecca said so too. I know you're probably not going to stay long, right? I mean, once you're okay and stuff, you're going to leave right? Go back off the grid?”

Desmond heard the loneliness in her voice and the unspoken plea to take her with him and realized that he really did not know what to do next. With Amunet, she had a plan to strike at the Templars, to stop their satellite from launching in a few months. But now, with the knowledge that she was a little crazy and could have possibly compromised everything to the Templars, he was adrift. He knew he could still train and explore his ancestors’ memories in the Animus, but what would he do? He already had some of the skills of Ezio and Altaїr and could rejoin the Assassins' fold, but did he want to?

Amanda had all but spelled out that their father was the nominal leader of the Farm and Desmond wondered if he could ever take orders from his father, after all that had happened between them. The other enclaves could have been compromised by Amunet and he knew that the woman would be looking for him now. Lucy had said that this was the safest and it was where Altaїr had hidden from her all these years. He could not go to another enclave nor could he go back to the life he had before Abstergo captured him.

The real question was: did he want to go back to his life before Abstergo?

“I...don't know, Amma,” he replied.

“Can you...take me if you do? We can go somewhere, where no one can find us. Show me what New York City really looks like, what the Sistine Chapel in Rome looks like,” the hope in her voice only made Desmond squirm even more.

“What about Peter, what about your friends here?” he asked.

“I don't care about them,” she quickly replied, but he could tell she was lying. When he had left, he knew he had abandoned her, but he had been so angry then and had not cared about anyone else. She did not have the anger he had; only resentment that seemed like it was just on the surface. She had been too young to remember the restrictions placed on them when they had moved three years prior to his escape.

He scratched the back of his head, “Amanda, I don't know what's going on right now. I'm taking things day by day, all right? If I leave, I will let you know, okay?”

“You promise?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but the sound of the grating moving made him stare in the darkness towards the sound to see a bouncing shaft of light that belonged to a flashlight appear followed by a hissed whisper. “Someone's coming, you guys better scatter.”

The light disappeared, but Desmond heard the muttered curses of others around them before a few of them made stomping noises and the crack of glow sticks filled the night. The light, though dim by any means still jarred Desmond's eyes as he was used to the inky darkness now and he saw a few go towards the grating and climb down the ladder while others hovered around. He wished he could access his Eagle Sense to see if anyone was coming, but the fact that he was not able to grasp at it puzzled him.

“Clear,” a hoarse reply floated back up the ladder before several more went down and he heard their footsteps jog away.

“Desmond,” Amanda's face was bathed in a greenish hue as she cracked the glow stick she had in her hands, “let's go.”

He climbed down after her and saw others follow them down before following Amanda through the small narrow passageway as she held the glow stick aloft, carefully stepping on the slippery stones that had been dripped on since they had come this way in what felt like minutes ago. What were once dry caverns was now full of moisture and he understood the caution that each one of them had taken to arrive here and the reason why glow sticks were needed.

“Careful,” his sister whispered back before indicating a step that had been dry, but now had a pool of water around it.

“Go back! Go back! Shit!” a hoarse whisper called from further up and everyone froze in place. There was the sound of something being dropped before beams of light came down the hall. He heard muttered curses behind him as the beams of light revealed several adults, holding small, but powerful flashlights and what looked like tasers in their hands.

“Well, well, what do we have here? Rule breakers?” the lead man sneered, “Bill's going to love this...”

* * *

Author’s Notes:

Moondusted brought up a good point about Amanda Miles’ age and I’m obligated to answer for the rest of the masses. Amanda is about 15-16 years old and does not quite act her age, especially when her brother’s concerned. I’m sure you can figure out why. Oh, the WTF-ery of Tabitha is part of the giant puzzle piece I’ve got going on for this story. It also has an oblique reference to Babylon 5 in it too. See you all next chapter!

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Story:

Chapter 22 - Broken

They were marched down a myriad of halls and stairs before arriving at their destination. There were four others besides him and Amanda and each one of them had a guard behind them, grabbing onto their shoulder to make sure that they did not escape. To the others, they had seemingly resigned themselves and let the adults prod them along, but to Desmond, it felt eerily like how Abstergo had treated him in the barely lucid moments he remembered before being stuffed into the Animus.

He could feel himself tensing again, the emotions of his ancestors, especially Altaїr and Ezio bleed into him, the disconnection in his mind a little less hard to penetrate now. He especially felt Altaїr's resentment, like a predator uncoiling, ready to strike and it was a mental effort not to let it overcome him. He wanted to shake off the hand that was on his shoulder, feeling more like a prisoner led to meet his executioner than anyone else, but knew that it would only invite a taser and probably more hands grabbing onto him. They are nothing, he heard the whispered growl in his mind. It was true, they were nothing – he knew he could break free, take them all out-

And then what? He had fought off guards before, no, Altaїr had fought off guards, he reminded himself sharply.

“Desmond....” Amanda's whispered plea broke through his thoughts as he realized that he had clenched his fists tightly and that his index finger was close to brushing the catch on his hidden blade, ready to release it. “Desmond, why are you looking like that...?” he forced himself to relax, to ease the tension to flee from him as he forcibly uncurled his fists.

“I'm fine,” he muttered tightly the disconnection in his mind slowly breaking Altaїr’s hold over his emotions once more. He knew he could reach out and tear it apart, giving him access to his ancestors once more, but he also knew that the others who surrounded them meant no harm. They were just looking out for anyone who was sneaking about – they were only following rules. They were only following orders...

Every action we take is a choice, whether or not it is an order, the thought floated across his consciousness.

“You were right, Bill, they did have a loop feed going on,” one of the adults spoke up, a woman seemingly in her thirties, as they were led into a large room with monitors set up in every single corner. Desmond noticed that she wore a bracer that was visible on her arm rather than ones hidden underneath the jackets and sleeves of others who escorted them. He also noticed to his chagrin and dismay Ezio standing near his father, seemingly staring at the monitors, but shifted his body to look at them as they were walked in. There was no sign of Altaїr, but Desmond had a feeling that his ancestor was also present in the room, perhaps watching from somewhere else.

He saw his father turn from where he had been staring at one of the many monitors and shake his head before rubbing his forehead, “How many?”

“I don't know, but maybe others,” the woman replied.

“All right, thanks Melinda. We probably can't find the others, but maybe the punishment they'll take will deter the others,” he saw his father look anywhere but at him and frowned, a sense of deja vu filling him. “You all know the rules so let me ask you why.”

“Why not?” Robert spoke up, a frown on his face and in the light, he saw that the young man was of a stocky build and wore a visible bracer on his right arm. “We just wanted some fresh air, you know, not like stale air.”

“Along with drugs,” another Assassin spoke up behind them and produced a few Ziploc bags of what looked like powdery substance, “found these on this one.”

“Amy,” Bill shook his head, “three months in the outside world and you abuse my trust, the safety of the community to bring back drugs?”

“Trevor did it first,” the girl groused, folding her arms across her chest.

“Hey! I did not-” the young man next to her looked appalled before turning to Bill and spread his hands out, “she's lying.”

“Listen it doesn't matter who did it first, but why, tell me why would you do this? The two of you know what kinds of dangers are out there! You know what threat the Templars pose to us! Drug running, hanging outside when satellites can track you...” Bill frowned before looking at him and Amanda, “and what were the two of you thinking? Going outside? You know the rules, Amanda. You dragged your brother-”

“I thought it was a good idea,” he suddenly spoke up, the old feeling of not wanting to put his sister in his father's crosshairs, especially since he recognized the disappointment mingled with anger that he remembered from so long ago.

“Desmond-”

“Explore all of your options, make sure you know where you are,” he shrugged, feeling everyone's eyes upon him. Most of them looked surprised, but he saw Ezio staring at him curiously as if evaluating him. “I wanted to know where I was so I asked Amanda to show me around. She did. We just happened to be outside-”

“You know you're not supposed to be outside-”

“And I am not sixteen anymore,” he could feel the old resentment bubbling to the surface, remembering the same patronizing tone his father used. It was hard to keep those emotions down and he had long thought that he had worked past it, but in reality all he had done was just bury it.

“I know you're not, but you don't understand, the Templars-”

“-Are not the boogeyman that everyone thinks they are. Yes, they're real, yes they come after you with guns, knives, and anything you can think of,” he stared at his father before pointing a thumb at the four others, “Dad, I get the feeling that these guys have been sneaking out even before you knew it. They just happened to be sloppy today. If the Templars were really actively looking for you, you think that Al-er-Andrew would have been so foolish to let them do this?”

“Way to be on our side, Desmond,” Robert sneered.

“I'm not on anyone's side asshole,” he glared at the stocky apprentice Assassin. However out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ezio hiding the tiniest of smiles before attempting to make his expression as neutral as possible. He felt a little bolstered by the support and could feel both his ancestors' pleasure at taking Bill Miles and an arrogant Apprentice down a notch, though the two of them had similar encounters with others that ended up in the same way.

“That's not the point-”

“It is the point. You're still a control freak, just like you were all those years ago,” he cut Bill off and shook his head in disgust, “stop trying to control everyone's lives.” Looking around he saw the looks of surprise on the others faces, and shook his head again, “This is stupid.” He could feel a twinging headache form around his temples and wanted nothing more than to rest. The foggy-fuzziness in his mind was easier to part now, and he felt the whispers of his ancestors as if it was far away. He started to head out of the room only to feel a hand on his shoulder.

Desmond somehow knew that what happened next was partially his own instincts lashing out, a mix of Altaїr's prickly anger at having his time wasted for no particular reason and the memory of Ezio held against his will by Templar guards. He felt every single one of his senses stand on edge as he suddenly grabbed the hand that had fallen on his shoulder and turned to his right, his right hand twisting the arm downwards in a painful grip. At the same time, he pulled the owner of the arm towards him, his left arm lifting upwards, finger releasing the catch on his blade ready to plunge into the carotid artery in the neck-

He stopped just short, seeing the utterly terrified expression on the Assassin Melinda's face that he had nearly skewered and froze. The two of them stared at each other for a heartbeat before Desmond realized that the older Assassin's expression had turned into one of a grimacing pain and released the grip he had on her hand. At the same time, he shoved her backwards and flicked his hidden blade back into his bracer. “Do not touch me,” he growled out, barely hearing the Arabic-accent that had colored his words and quickly left the room before anyone could see how shaken he was.

As soon as the door closed behind him, he took a shuddering deep breath and closed his eyes, one hand braced against the smooth damp stone wall of the passageway. What had he nearly done there, killing an innocent? Stay your hand from the flesh of an innocent, he had heard those words so many times when he was Altaїr. But then why had Altaїr attacked the guards? Or was it he who attacked the guards? He felt a little confused and scared – he had reacted as if someone had attacked him and he knew that in the past few weeks he had not outwardly attacked anyone; the exception being Vidic and the Templar goons he had brought with him, and when Jack the Ripper had try to kill him in the training grounds.

So then what was the provocation? What had made him react like that?

He slowly made his way back to his suite, glad that it was nearly empty save for a few people milling about, but even they did not bother him. When he opened the door to his suite, he was not surprised to see Lucy sitting on one of the couches, a laptop on her lap, the glow lighting up her face.

“Hey Desmond – are you okay?” she looked up and frowned.

The lie was on the tip of his tongue and he knew it was so easy to let it fall out, to reassure Lucy that he was fine. After all, she had kept secrets from him, so why could he not? He had eventually told her about what had happened when he accidentally relieved 1192 Masyaf in the safe house, but had kept it from her even with her warning to tell her if he experienced hallucinations for longer than thirty seconds. But something didn't allow the lie to fall, the word 'yes' to go so easily from his lips. Instead, he found himself shaking his head. “No,” he said, his eyes seeing as if for the first time, the worry that was in hers, the fear – fear for him or fear for what was happening to him he wondered – but most of all the concern.

“Hey,” she stood up, packing away her laptop before guiding him by the shoulder to sit down on the couch. The springs dug up none too friendly against his back as he sat down, but that was the least of his worries.

He shook his head, scrubbing his face with his hands, feeling some stubble grow in, “I...don't know Lucy. I mean, I was fine when I woke up and now...Now...”

“What happened?” she asked gently and he looked at her through his hands.

“I'm going to end up like Sixteen, Alexander, aren't I?” he closed his eyes, trying to find his center of calm, but like the tide ebbing away and coming back, he could feel the pull of his mind letting the murmurs and memories of his fellow ancestors back while taking it away. His calm rolled right along with it and once again it felt like he was trying to grasp at water only to have it slip through his fingers.

“Only if you let yourself say so,” of all of the answers and reassurances that Desmond thought he was going to hear, he was surprised by her words.

He blinked, lifting his head up to see her sitting next to him, but her face was pinched with frustration. “Desmond, if you keep saying that you will end up like Sixteen, you will end up like Sixteen. I know you; I know you can work through it-”

“How,” he shook his head, “the hell am I supposed to work through having five million God knows how many ancestors of mine crammed into my brain! How am I supposed to shut down all of their voices, all of their memories and just use their abilities when I can't even control it?!”

He looked at her, “I can hear others now, just now when I woke up. I heard Darim, Altaїr's firstborn son, I think. Who else am I going to hear? I mean...I passed out, didn't I? I remember fighting with Ezio while he drove his car, I remember...something...I just remember falling...” He looked away, unable to meet her eyes, “...and no one to catch me.” He clearly remembered his own plea, a last desperate attempt to grasp to reality as he could feel himself falling into the darkness that he knew he should not have awoken from. He had reached for her, trying to find her and she had not answered. He did not want to see the compassion, the pity that was in them that he saw on the occasion she thought he was not looking at her. It was too much of a reminder that he was slowly Bleeding out, possibly had already bled out and there was nothing left.

“We caught you Desmond,” her hands grasped his and she rubbed her thumbs across his knuckles, “I caught you. I didn't let you fall. You're too important.”

“Because of the prophecy?” he snorted, “all because of that, right?”

“No,” her fingers stopped rubbing his knuckles and he looked at her. “Because you're important...to me.”

“Lucy, I-,” he hesitated, the feelings he had for her mingling with the sadness and despair he felt from both of his ancestors. He instantly understood the reaction from his ancestors; they had witnessed those that they loved, those that professed their love for them slowly die from old age while they had been left alone in the world. The children or grandchildren that surrounded them had also died and the generations that followed were all but unbeknownst to them.

He was Bleeding and he knew he was probably not going to live long, not with the knowledge overwhelming him at times, confusing him, making him think things that were not his own. He was going to Bleed out and he knew that perhaps one day, the silvery glint of a knife, the shattered thick edge of a glass was going to appeal to him – to end his own life because he could not take it anymore. The loneliness and sadness his ancestors felt, they were trying to tell him to spare Lucy the pain of a relationship with him, to bury his feelings for her.

“You're not going to Bleed out,” she shook her head, “not while William and I have anything to say about that.”

Desmond froze at her words. He could feel the anger that he thought had drained out of him from his walk back rising once more – like ripping into a barely healed scab, making it bleed again. “What does this have to do with Dad,” he pulled his hand away from Lucy's grip, the anger rising in him once more. It was so close to the surface now – too close! - He heard the whispered warning, but he ignored it.

“Desmond, you were Bleeding and we couldn't stop it-”

“What does this have to do with Dad,” he asked again, reaching out mentally to grab hold of the swirl of anger. It felt good, felt like something he could cling onto at the moment, something that was not going to slip through his fingers like the liquid watery memories that he had tried to grasp onto all day.

“You were going to die- Desmond, wait! Stop! It's only a temporary stopgap! You're feeling its side effects right now-”

But Desmond was not listening anymore as he headed out of the room, the anger at what his father had done blanketing all of his senses. He could feel the rage of all of his ancestors within him, feeding him, fueling him. How dare his father resort to drugging him of all things, using his vulnerability to the Bleeding Effect to try to control him! The memories of his fights with his father rose to the surface, fueling him, making him remember one of the major reasons why he had left. His father was too proud, too controlling and needed to make sure that everyone obeyed him. When his son would not toe the line, he sought to control him instead, to restrict his movements.

And this...doing something to disconnect his mind from the Bleeding Effect, no matter how benevolent it was to someone like Lucy, it was another form of control, he thought bitterly. His father had not welcomed him back with an embrace; he had welcomed him back with chains.

The path back to his father's office was clearly marked in Desmond's head as he strode through the cavernous areas with purpose. As he walked down the halls, he pursed his lips before shoving the door open and was glad in a twisted sense that all of the teenagers along with Melinda and her Assassins had already left. The only people in the room were not surprisingly Altaїr along with his father, Ezio most likely having left to help escort the teens back to their rooms. He had suspected that his first ancestor had been watching the attempted dress down from somewhere else in the room. The two of them turned when he burst into the room and he noticed the frown on Altaїr's face, but resolutely ignored it in favor of his father.

“What the fuck did you do to me,” he growled out, stalking forward, his hands loose by his side, index finger not quite hovering over the catch of the hidden blade on his left arm.

“I knew she wouldn't keep her mouth shut,” his father turned to face him, his expression mildly neutral. The fact that his father seemed unconcerned only increased his anger.

Desmond could feel the part of him that was Altaїr break easily through the disconnection, leaping to the forefront in time for him to shoot a scathing look at his ancestor. “Stay out of this,” he warned and saw the dark golden eyes narrow ever so slightly, but his ancestor did not say anything. Turning back to his father he saw that Bill had crossed his arms, his expression the same grimness and ever so hint of smug pride that he had long recognized and hated staring back at him. “What did you do?”

“I saved you,” his father stared at him from across the desk that separated them. Desmond could hear the whispers clearly now, the disconnection, fogginess, whatever it was in his mind all but gone. He could feel the emotions of his ancestors, especially with Altaїr here in the flesh Bleed into him, but his anger held it at bay, controlling it like a sieve on a slow drip. They told him that all he had to do was leap forward, the table nothing more than a mere obstacle. His father had always had that same smug expression, like he knew he was better than others, like he knew more than others would ever know. The pride on his face made the entire childhood resentment rise up in Desmond – his father had not changed after all these years.

“Don't look at me like that Desmond,” his father arched an eyebrow, “I saved you from Bleeding out so don't come into my office like you have a right to. You were perfectly fine today until just now when your childish antics could have compromised this base-”

“They were already doing it right under your damn nose, so don't go blaming me about that!”

“You could have said no!” Bill shouted back, “you could have said no!”

“I said yes because it was what Amanda wanted!”

“Hah,” Bill snorted, “sentimentality will get you nowhere in this day and age Desmond. I know what you've been through; I know that you know about the real war we're fighting against the Templars. You know secrecy is our best hope-”

“Oh shut the fuck up about the goddamn Templars Dad!” Desmond shook his head, “this isn't about them! It's about what the hell you did to me!”

Bill Miles narrowed his eyes as he uncrossed his arms and placed them on his desk, leaning forward and looking eerily like many of his ancestors before him. “You want to know what I did, son? I saved your life because you were two seconds away from Bleeding out after your little joy ride in Ezio's Alfa. You were going to die.”

“You don't know that,” Desmond met his gaze equally, but felt a tremor of fear pass through him; “you can't...know that.”

“I do,” his father replied, “I know what happened to Subject Sixteen, I've seen the results of the Bleeding Effect on others, what happened to Daniel Cross. I am only trying to protect you-”

“I've lived nine years without you hovering over my shoulder,” Desmond glared at him.

“-and you did the most immature thing while hiding in plain sight and got yourself caught, by a fucking motorcycle license,” his father shook his head, “you're still a child-”

The eeriness of the conversation belted Desmond in the head before he realized the growing anger, the annoyance at his father, the sheer madness to everything in here that was somehow wrong in a twisted sense. “Get off your fucking high horse and stop sounding like Al Mualim Dad!”

That stopped everyone cold, and he barely registered the hint of surprise in Altaїr’s features, but Bill's eyes widened before he stepped back. “He's Bleeding again, it didn't work or last as long as I had predicted, shit,” his father kept staring at him, but Desmond had a feeling that he was talking more to himself. But before he could do anything he saw a syringe appear in Bill's hand with some kind of liquid that gave off a faint unearthly glow-

It was as if all of the ancestors within him, the ones he had explored and those that he had not reacted to what was in Bill Miles' hand. Desmond felt the blind fury overtake him and knew that he did not want whatever 'cure' his father had in his hand in him. He leapt forward his right hand ready to knock the syringe out of his hand, anything to get away from that eerie glow, the wrongness of it – only to find a fast moving blur tackle him across his midsection and slam him up against the cave wall.

Desmond gasped in pain as stars erupted across his vision for a second before he saw Altaїr's face in front of his own, the dark eyes staring at him as he pinned him against the wall, trapping both his bracer and his right hand in a vise-like grip, twisted painfully against his own body. “Cool your head,” his first ancestor growled out in Arabic.

“Fuck you,” he shot back in the same language, Altaїr's memories surging within him, screaming at the impossibilities of this being an impostor in front of him, that he was the real one, that he was there. That he was Altaїr, he had the Apple and this person, who looked so eerily like him was-

Nothing is true, everything is permitted, the words lanced through his head like a gunshot, making him grimace in pain.

“Stay away William,” Altaїr had shifted his body every so slightly, but not enough for him to break free without breaking one of his arms.

“But-”

“Stay away!” the command was like a whiplash and he choked, memories blurring into his vision – he was...he was Altaїr, no he was...

“Desmond,” he lifted his gaze to stare into the dark golden eyes, the blur of memories, the swirling anger, fury at being deceived once more slowly fading away. The eyes were like a lifeline, something for him to grab onto and he clung onto the name that had emerged from the lips of the face that looked like his, the mirror image. Slowly, he could feel himself calm down and it was after what seemed like an eternity that the pressure to his arms was released and Altaїr ibn la-Ahad stepped away from him.

Desmond could feel his ancestor retreat back into his mind, leaving him to his own thoughts as he stared at the immortal Altaїr whose expression had not changed during the whole time. He opened his mouth to try to thank him for bring him back from what had felt like the brink of a very large abyss, but no words came out. Instead, he saw the flicker of a 'you're welcome' in those golden eyes before his ancestor turned to Bill.

“I warned you,” was all that was said before he walked out of the office without another word.

Desmond kept his back to the cavern wall, his back aching in multiple places from where he had been slammed up against it by his ancestor. It was the only purchase he had, the only solid feeling he had as his mind continued to slowly return to normal, or at least as normal given the circumstances. He closed his eyes for a quick second, trying to steady his own breathing and opened them again as he heard a movement from where his father had been standing.

“Desmond...” he heard something that could have sounded like an apology in his father's tone, but instead, pinned him in place with a glare. If he could have seen himself in a mirror, that glare was almost the exact same one Altaїr had given to Bill Miles a few minutes earlier.

“Don't,” he warned, glancing down to see that his father's hands were empty, “just...don't.”

He felt sluggish as he pushed himself away from the wall and walked out of his father's office, drained and utterly exhausted. As he slowly made his way back to his room, he knew he should apologize to Lucy, but he wanted nothing more than to sleep, especially after what had happened. Still he could not shake the horror that had overcome him – he had nearly attacked and could have possibly killed his own father. What's happening to me?

* * *

Author’s Notes:

Err…I’ll just leave the chapter at that and have a sloppy smile on my face. Next chapter is going to be quite dark so fair warning, we aren’t out of the woods just yet.

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Author’s Warning:

This chapter deals with rape/attempted rape. You have been warned.

Story:

Chapter 23 – Morituri

In the residual anger, he Bled...

The sense of something wrong woke him up as he blinked his eyes open. Inky darkness broken by bits of moonlight greeted his vision, but he knew that it was normal. It was only until he looked to his left and right that he realized what had woken him up. She had left, her comforting warmth gone as the chilled air sent slight shivers through his thin frame. The clothes they wore were enough to be walking around during the day, but at night, they had huddled together for warmth. Society would have said it was improper for him to be sleeping next to an unmarried woman unless she was one of those women, but then again, he was used to breaking society's rules.

One could not be an Assassin without breaking society's rules, he thought as he threw back the fur-lined covers that they had brought from a merchant a couple of days ago before making their trek deep into the heart of the mountains. The chill of the wintry air slammed into him before the flap of the small tent they had set up opened and she returned her cheeks rosy with the cold and with a smile on her face as she proudly held up the hares that she had caught in the nearby woods.

“Breakfast?” he asked, “You actually caught breakfast?”

“No need to be sarcastic about it,” she snipped back at him before throwing him one to skin, taking the other for herself, “just because everyone thinks you are God's own son...”

“I am-”

“And still arrogant as ever,” she laughed, a hoarse sound, but one that he had gotten used to since their respective masters had assigned them to work together. She was not pretty, not even by his standards, but she was competent. Her master was an old dithering fellow that his own master had worked with from time to time, but did not have much to say about him. He himself wished that he had been apprenticed to the head of the European bureau, Andrew, but his master had said that Andrew never took any apprentice except for his sons a long time ago.

“What can I say, I am the best,” he shrugged as he finished skinning his rabbit and gave her the meat to cut and boil, “remember, we need these two to last us a couple of days. We are almost there, I can feel it.”

“You can feel it, sure,” she snorted, “but I will trust you on that.”

“You do not believe me?”

“I just think that the prophecy made your head grow larger than it was already.”

“I will stop them, stop the Templars,” he looked at her as he wiped his short blade clean and sheathed it back into his fur-lined boot. “This mission, this will prove to the Leadership that I am ready.”

“Yes, yes, that is what you say every day,” she dismissed his words as easily as the first time he had said them and he glared at her, a little more than annoyed.

“I am ready,” he knew that she did not believe in the prophecy that the Grand Master Ezio Auditore had discovered underneath the Sistine Chapel nearly four-hundred years ago, but he knew that he had been named in it and it was his destiny. Even his own master who shared Auditore's first name had said he should be cautious. But he could feel it in his bones, in his senses that he was truly the one - the one to end this war.

She ignored him, concentrating on slicing the meat off of the bones of the rabbits before throwing the bones into a boiling pot of stew to be eaten for breakfast before they continued their trek. He watched her as she worked from the thick fingerless gloves she wore. For such unkempt plain looks, he did have to admire that she had delicate fingers, even covered in the faint sheen of blood of the animals they had just skinned.

He had never seen her kill, but she had come with the excellent recommendation from her master that she was one of the best to guide him through the inhospitable areas of the mountains and well versed in conversing in many languages. He supposed that all of them had to have gone through the basic training sometimes and judging by her killing of the rabbits, perhaps she was competent enough should there be Templars in their way when they found the artifact.

Turning back to his cleaning of the furs with some of the snow brought in from outside that had not been melted yet by the small fire in their tent, he concentrated on his task. She did not know the pressures on him to succeed not only in this mission, but also of what the general Assassin leadership wanted from him. His own master had not said a word nor mentioned anything regarding the prophecy, before and after he had discovered it, but he could tell that his master was waiting, like the others. Watching and waiting to see if he was truly their savior and deliverer.

Sometimes he felt like he was Moses from the Bible, even though he did not believe. He supposed the Templars was akin to Rameses and the Egyptians and he was supposed to ‘deliver’ his people to freedom, deliver ultimate victory over the Templars. As long as they do not ask me to part the Red Sea, he mentally grumbled to himself as he continued on his task. He knew his master had asked Andrew to assign him this task, a chance to prove himself and knew that Andrew had only reluctantly consented to it. There were rumors that these were one of the fabled artifacts of power that was spoken in legends of Altaїr and Ezio, both of whom wielded the Apple of Eden to bring the Templars to their knees in their respective times.

He did not know why the leader of the European Assassins was so reluctant, but in his first and only meeting with the youthful-looking Assassin, he could see that Andrew would not have given him the mission if it not had been requested of it by his own master Ezio. Perhaps Andrew wanted to search for the fabled artifact himself and wield extraordinary power? Perhaps he feared that once he had gotten his hands on the artifact, he would usurp his position and become leader of the European Assassins?

Every person in power feared the eventuality that someone would replace them, that was what he knew and it was not from his master’s teachings. It was the way of the world and the way he had observed it, growing up the only surviving son of a semi-prosperous naval family, the rest killed in the later Napoleonic Wars or by plagues before he was born. His father had been a successful captain, but did not have much in terms of prize money. He also did not have the favor of anyone higher ranked than a post-Captain and so his family did well, but was not like the other post-Captains that were eventually made Commodores and Admirals.

He knew his father wanted him to be apprenticed to a sea captain who was also a fellow Assassin, but before the arrangements were made; his current master had stepped in and said that he would be trained not in the ways of the sea and took him as his apprentice. His father had disapproved, starting him down the path of making sure that he was worthy of not only his father’s approval but of those that doubted him.

“You finished there?” she asked as the smell of boiling rabbit stew was rapidly making the enclosure rather warm.

“Finished,” he cleaned the last of the sludge off of the skins and spread it out to dry, “food ready?”

“Just finished cooking it too,” she handed him a bowl with some bones in it and bits of rabbit meat and some of the local leafs that were edible. He ate it, surprised at how well it turned out.

“You would make a good wife to someone someday,” he commented absently and saw a frown on her face.

“I do not plan on raising any babies you know.”

“Whoring around then?”

“I will ignore that comment from you,” she did not look particularly angry, but he knew he had gone too far with his joking.

“Sorry,” he apologized, “I did not mean it that way.”

“Of course you did not,” her flippant tone told him that she did not even accept his apology and he frowned.

“I did say I was sorry.”

She sighed and looked at him, irritated, “Listen, you may think you are charming and a gentleman by apologizing like that after a comment, but until you are truly sincere, I am not accepting it.”

“But-“

“Let us just focus on the mission at hand, all right?”

He nodded politely, “Whatever you say milady.”

* * *

After finishing their meal in relative silence followed by packing up their encampment, they continued their trek up the mountains, passing by local villagers with nods and greetings before asking for directions to their destination. He knew that the villagers meant no harm, but he could not help but think that the Templars were closing fast. His partner however, spoke the locals’ language fluidly and addressed him even by the name he had taken on for their trek instead of his real name.

It had been her idea that he not use his real name, especially there was not the guarantee that the Templars had not also heard of the prophecy made in the Sistine Chapel. He had to admit, there was the occasional brilliance from her that outshone his own, but as long as she knew her place, he would be content to let her deal with the locals.

They stopped for the night in one of the smaller villages, staying with a family whose children stared up at them with some curiosity. He stared back at them, surprised by the blond-haired blue-eyes that they had in this region of the world. The children’s parents had a mix of looks too, but it was the grandparents that had surprised him. The grandparents were black-haired and had almond-shaped dark eyes that looked like what was expected of the people in the region, so it puzzled him as to why there were blond-haired children. Perhaps when they grew older, their hair would turn a darker shade he supposed.

“Eat, it is good food,” his partner nudged him none too gently in his ribs before he shoveled the food into his mouth, smiling through the bitter taste the stew had.

“You seek temple?” the father of the household asked in his broken English and he nodded.

“We were told by legends that there was a hidden temple in these mountains,” he replied before she helpfully translated his words back to the father.

“No, no,” the father shook his head, “cursed temple. Screams and howls of the mad. Children think its legend and get lost. You not first.”

“What do you mean we are not the first?”

“Men, seeking glory like you, climb mountain,” the father shook his head, “we expect screams of the damned.”

He glanced at his partner as she fired off a quick question in their language before the father replied back, the two chattering for a second before she turned to him, a frown on her face and worry in her eyes. “What?”

“Templars, they were already here,” she replied, her voice tight.

“Shit,” he cursed softly, “we need to go, now.”

“Wait, D-er-Jack! Wait!” she grabbed onto his arm as he looked at the family with some suspicion. The possibility that they had harbored Templars was not lost on him and he fingered the trigger on his hidden blade, his right hand brushing against the catch. He could not trust them now, could not trust the bowl of food that had been handed to him. What if it had been poisoned, designed to make them ill while the Templars scaled the mountains and reached the artifact?

“We cannot trust them-“

“They are telling the truth! And they are innocent!” she grabbed onto his bracer arm and he knew that it would be so easy to rip his arm from her grip, but he stared at her.

“No one is innocent,” he said before shaking her grip off and thumbed the catch to his blade, letting the silvery thin metal shoot out before he turned to face the family, all of them stilling in the firelight that glinted off of his activated blade. He saw all eyes on the blade and smiled a little darkly – good he had put the fear of God into them. That was how it should be, especially for those who helped Templars.

“You will only get one warning from me,” he growled out and heard her reluctantly translate behind him, “how long ago did those of the Cross pass through here?”

“One day,” was the hushed, fearful whisper from the father as he clutched his wife and children, “please…spare us…”

He rolled his eyes and glared at them before turning to his partner, “Come on, we can still catch them.”

“A-All right,” she got up and followed him out as he wrapped himself up again to protect himself from the icy temperatures of the region and plunged into the night. He could feel it and knew that they had to hurry.

* * *

It was several hours by his reckoning before they reached the summit, passing by what she had said were dozens of warning signs and prayer poles to the Gods, warning them to stay away that this was a cursed area. He ignored them as superstition and ignorance of those who did not know the power behind the artifact as they reached a temple entrance of sorts. He saw footprints leading in side and pulled the doors open, slipping in and closing it behind them.

The corridor was large and grand, filled with statues that looked like carvings he had never seen. Their large eyes were gouged out and they wore stone robes of designs he had never seen before. Geometric in shape and seeming drawing the very life out of the fires that had lit the area, their shadows loomed over everything.

“As if the Gods themselves rose up to smite the wicked,” she breathed out quietly and he glared at her, silencing her.

He saw beyond the large atrium, he called it, not a corridor, a seemingly bluish glow emerging from a crack and gestured for her to follow him as they ran towards it, their footsteps light against the stone-worked ground. Peering through the crack he saw what looked like several Templars, some of whom stood on guard, holding pistols at their belts, their swords thin and sheathed. Others wandered around, but there were two who stood looking at something that, from his vantage point, casted a somewhat eerie glow in the middle of the blue-silvery room.

He took a minute to look around the room itself from his vantage point, his eyes tracing the intricate and precise geometrical patterns, much like those on the statues that they had just passed. Little jets of light seemed to run through cracks in the wall, winking along their path before disappearing only to appear once more. He wondered if this place was like the one that the famed Ezio Auditore had described in his journals. It certainly matched the descriptions of the temple beneath the Sistine Chapel.

“How many?” she asked in a low voice.

“Seven at least from what I can see,” he whispered back, “stay here; I will take care of them.”

“But-“

He was already on the move, pushing the door to the crack a little wider and strolled in, both of his blades extended from the vambraces on his hands. A wolfish smile graced his lips as all of the Templars in the room halted, staring at him.

“Hello,” he greeted almost congenially, “I bet you did not awaken this morning to realize it was the last sunrise you would ever see.”

“Assassin,” one of the two Templars standing in the middle near the eerily glowing object growled out, drawing out his sword.

“No wait!” the other Templar placed a hand over his comrade’s arm and stepped forward, his heavily accented English barely understandable. “This object, this…thing, it is cursed! We cannot touch it-“

“Good, then I will just claim it for the Order,” he tilted his head a little before leaping forward, his blades extended.

“No! You do you not understand-“ the mousey looking Templar fell beneath his blade in a choking gasp as he sliced across his throat, the Templar’s warm life’s blood spilling onto his gloves, staining them before he reached out and stabbed the other one in the chest, instantly felling him.

Turning around, he crouched to the ground and sprung forward as the other Templars in the room tried to draw their weapons and target him. He heard their cries for them to shoot him and heard the pops of gunfire, but dodged and ducked nimbly under their horrid aim. His blades flashed against the blue-silvery glow of the room, spraying walls and the floors of the circular room with the crimson color of blood. He lived for the thrill of battle and could feel the pulsing sensation of ending the lives of the Templars underneath his blade. There was no need for the other weapons he had brought with him, his blades were enough – he was the best – there was no other.

As he threw an uppercut the last Templar in the jaw, slicing through part of the man’s face and eyes, he reached out and crushed his larynx with his hands before letting him drop to the ground to slowly asphyxiate to death. His gloves were liberally coated in blood and he could hear the echo of each drop on the ground, but didn’t care. The rush of adrenaline and surge of power he had felt…it had felt intoxicating.

He looked around him, a little dizzied with the heady feeling of his ability to take out all of the Templars in the room without even a scratch upon himself. As he turned, his steps uneven and seemingly drunk his eyes rested on what the two senior Templars had been surrounding. It continued to pulse an eerie glow, but he felt drawn to it as if it had welcomed his bloodbath and enjoyed his display. “You liked it did you not?” he whispered and saw the glow flicker as if acknowledging him and grinned, sheathing his blades.

He stumbled a little over the head of one of the Templars he had slaughtered and shook off the dead man’s jaw from the toe of his foot, ignoring the faint pop as he ripped the head from the spine before it hung loosely and at an odd angle from what it had been before. Walking forward, he could see that the object was not one the legendary Apple of Eden, but rather it looked like a lance head. It rested upon a pedestal, its flat blade glinting dully.

He reached out with one of his hands and gently caressed it, smiling as he could feel some kind of foreign power fill him. Yet something seemingly blocked it and he realized it was the gloves that he wore. Shucking them off he was about to reach out again when he heard a whimper behind him and turned, annoyed at the disturbance his partner made.

“Elisabeth,” he growled out as she stepped away from the first mutilated body, her eyes wide with horror before she looked at him.

“What...did you do?”

“What I had to, now shut up,” he shot back before turning back to the object.

“They said it was cursed-”

He sighed, irritated beyond belief. Did she not understand that he wanted quiet, that he wanted to hold the artifact in his hands and bathe in its glory? That it was calling to him? It had a siren’s call that he could feel being so close to it. “If it was cursed then it was meant to curse them. This will bring victory and the downfall of those that oppose me.”

Without a second word, he reached out and grasped the lance head by a small pommel. He stiffened as he could feel the raw power coursing through him, filling him with images that whispered words he could not understand, words that he could barely begin to comprehend. He opened his mouth and laughed as he saw the Cross, shattered on the ground, could see himself standing amongst those who were behind him, everyone bowing down before him. The intoxication he felt when slaughtering the Templars coursed through him, burning him like holy fire. This is how it feels to be reborn!

It filled him, like the holy mana of the Gods, making him feel alive, making him see things that he knew could only exist in the future. He would be able to make them all believe and those that stood in his way – they were not worthy of the power that was in this...this... Lance of Longinus, it whispered to him, like the caress of a nameless lover, sending a shiver down his spine. This was the holy artifact like those of the famous Assassins before him, like what Altaїr had first found in Solomon's Temple and had used to slaughter the Templars. This was true power...

“It’s...so beautiful,” he turned the blade in his hand, staring at it.

“Here,” her voice grated on his ears and he turned at the harsh sound, glaring at her darkly as she approached, “let's wrap it up-”

“No!” he held it close to him. She's not worthy, he could hear the whisper and saw that indeed, she was not worthy to even stare at the beautiful artifact, “I'll...carry it. Go back outside-” But she can be, the Lance stirred the feelings in him. He realized that once he returned there would be no one else, those in the leadership, people like Andrew would usurp his position; try to steal the Lance away from him. He could not allow that to happen. As he continued to stare at her, he realized that she was the perfect one, the one who was worthy. She would not be missed and the villagers below, even though they were Templar-allied, he was sure of it now, they would be able to take care of her.

She took his silence as an affirmation to come closer and he could only think of her like a sheep being led to slaughter. The Lance pulsed under his hands and before she could react, he reached out and grabbed her, pulling her close.

“What-”

He kissed her roughly on the lips, feeling her resist once before melting against him. So the insignificant woman did have feelings for him too, he realized as he could taste the bitterness of her lips before trailing kisses down her neck. She whispered his name, his real name, as he clawed at her clothes before suddenly she shoved him back, staring at him with uncomprehending eyes.

“What are you-”

He reached for her again, trapping her wrist against his arm, pinning her in place and tightened his grip as he kissed her roughly once more. But she tried to fight him and he growled, angry. She was not supposed to fight! She was to accept her fate! He redoubled his efforts and threw her to the ground, stunning her before he slashed at her clothes with the Lance, ripping the seams and fur, reaching down and tore at them. He needed to see her; her clothing was only the barrier.

He could hear her screaming now, screaming his name, screaming for him to stop, but he continued. She was to be his and his alone. He would plant the seed of his forefathers in her and she would be the only worthy one to bear the heirs. He laughed, a high-pitched and cruel sounding laugh that sounded unnatural to his ears, the tears of joy, tears of pain falling down his own face.

“Stop...fighting-”

“Stop it!” she screamed, trying to force him off, trying to activate her own blade, but he batted the hand away and pinned it underneath her back as he mounted her. He could see her pale flesh now, the heaving of her chest, the perfect round breasts. Yes, she was worthy-

“Desmond!” she kicked him full in the chest, sending him back against the wall, his head slamming against it enough to send a bright flash of stars across his vision. Stunned, he gasped in pain, blinking his eyes as the eerily blue-silvery cavern he flickered before his vision. He looked up; the blurry image in front of his eyes seemingly short circuiting like electrical connections that did not quite work- what is electricity? – and he could see her, clutching at the tattered remains of her shirt, curled up, staring at him in fear. Her dark blond hair-no it was dark brown, matted- blond hair was askew from where he had tried to pin her to the ground.

“…Desmond,” her chest was heaving as shook his head, still dizzied from where it had been slammed against the wall as the blue-silvery cavern images faded from his vision, leaving him…leaving him…

It was as if someone had switched on a light in his mind abruptly slamming the door to that particular memory, that life, and Desmond blinked, looking up from the floor to where Lucy was still half curled up on the ground, the door to his room opened, spilling the common room’s light on her back. To his growing horror he realized what had happened, what he had almost done…what he had Bled and how he had reacted.

“Oh my God, Lucy…” he whispered, reaching out with a hand to her to see her flinch even though they were across the room from each other, “Lucy…I’m…I’m s-sorry…I…” His stomach roiled with bile as he quickly grabbed the trash bin that was near his bed and threw up into it. Choking a little, his stomach heaved feebly with disgust before he placed the trash bin down and felt the shame burning his cheeks.

He could not believe what he had almost done, under the influence of what was the most bizarre Bleeding he had ever hallucinated. “I…I would,” he looked away, anywhere but at her as she slowly sat up, her arm wrapped around her chest, trying to preserve a modicum of modesty, “I would…never…Lucy, you-“

Desmond squeezed his eyes shut, curling his fists together as he hammered the ground. How could he have-? How could he have let the Bleeding affect him so? He had almost… Jack raped Elisabeth, drunk with the power of the Lance and that was how Arden was conceived; he realized as he bit his lip. And in turn, while Bleeding Jack’s memories, he had nearly raped Lucy. It was only through her efforts, to jolt him out of the waking dream and hallucination that he was able to regain his senses.

He remembered her screaming his name as she, and as Elisabeth had attempted to fight him, fight Jack off, but he had been so lost, Jack had been drunk with the Lance’s power to not notice it. Lucy had tried to call to him, had shouted his name as he ripped at her clothes, shouted for him to stop-

Her touch was warm, but it was the softness of her hands that startled him from his thoughts and Desmond looked up, recoiling as he saw her sitting in front of him, one hand still across her chest. He quickly looked away, backing himself up against the wall. He did not want to be this close to her, not right after what had happened…

“It’s not your fault, Desmond,” she said quietly, her hand resting on his. He wanted to pull his hand out from hers, to not feel her touch, no matter how searing it was just moments ago-

Desmond bit the inside of his cheek, before gasping out, “Please, don’t come near me, I don’t…I don’t know-“

“You’re Desmond, okay? You’re Desmond Miles-“

“T-That’s not the point,” he shook his head as he finally looked at her, despair written all over his face, “his name…Jack’s original name? It was Desmond too…” The implications was not lost on Desmond as he realized that the Assassin Order had pinned all of their hopes, all of their dreams on Jack and he had been given the mission to find the Lance of Longinus. He did not know what the Lance would have done for the Order, but whatever it did, it drove him mad instead. It drove him to rape his partner Elisabeth, to consummate the dark feelings he had for her, feelings that she may or may not have reciprocated. Based on what he had learned from living Arden’s life in and out of the Animus, it had driven him insane enough to join the Templars, perhaps even tell them the secrets of the Order. He had hunted down women, prostitutes as Jack the Ripper, eventually killing Arden’s mother and starting her path of vengeance.

He felt the tremors in Lucy’s hand still and looked down, his eyes tracing the forming bruise that he had inflicted on her skin with his own hands. Shame burned him again as he realized that the bruises would be visible on her, that people would ask questions…

“You…were living in Jack’s memories?” she asked softly.

“Yes,” he nodded, hanging his head.

“That’s…not possible, unless,” she trailed off and he looked up to see her turn her head to the side, thinking, “it has to be a side effect…”

“The drug? Whatever…Dad put in me…?”

“Altaїr stopped by after you went to sleep and told me…what happened with your father,” she looked at him carefully, “and maybe it was the residual anger combined with your body trying to free itself from the serum that triggered that kind of Bleeding Effect-no wait, Desmond, it’s not your fault. It’s not your fault-“

“It’s my fault,” he tried to pull away, only to be stopped by her hand grasping onto his wrist. “If I didn’t-“

“Desmond,” she tried to smile and he nearly flinched as he saw some blood staining her teeth, his blood when she had tried to bite him or her own as she fought him off he did not know. “I could tell that you were fighting it, that somehow you knew it was wrong-“

“That could have been Jack’s own memories twisting-“

“I know what I saw!” she cut him off, “I know…all right? I could tell that you were trying to wake yourself up from the memory, but whatever Jack’s feelings, memories had their hold on you, that you couldn’t pull yourself out. I tried to help-“

“And that’s when I attacked you, thinking you were Elisabeth,” he finished for her, feeling utterly drained, “around the same time Jack picked the Lance up.” He pulled his hand from hers and scrubbed his face, rubbing his eyelids several times, “Lucy, the Lance, it amplified everything about him and twisted it. I don’t know…it felt…so real… I could literally taste the madness, the fact that he was obsessed with its power and the agony that it held on him. I…never felt this when I was Altaїr or Ezio when they held the Apple…”

“Do you feel him now?”

He closed his eyes, the whispers of his ancestors clearer now, than they had ever been before; he could feel the hints of others like Darim hovering not quite near the edge of his consciousness, but he mainly heard the familiar voices of Ezio and Altaїr and along side them, becoming a little easier to feel and gather the pieces from was Arden. But of Jack? Opening his eyes once more he shook his head, “No. It’s as if something ripped him away, leaving him a void, I think. It’s hard to describe…I can remember what happened, but…no, I can’t…hear him.”

“Good,” she sat back, shifting her arms a little to cover her nearly bare breasts and he had to look away again. This is not…Desmond knew that whatever feelings he had for Lucy, be it the possibility of love or even lust, he had to bury them now. He had to cut himself off from all of it, after what had just happened.

“You should…change, you know,” he muttered, “I’ll go find a first aid kit…”

“It’s not your fault-“

“Can you please stop saying that?” he stood up, facing away from her as he took a step towards the bathroom, “I know I’m Bleeding and I know it was my goddamn fault! I should have-“

“I forgive you,” he heard her stand up behind him and tensed. “Desmond, I forgive you, okay?”

He felt miserable, “I can’t forgive myself…” He had hurt her, had nearly raped her. That anguish was magnified as he felt Darim’s distress at witnessing his mother’s death and heard the odd echo of Altaїr’s despair for being the cause of Maria’s death reverberate through him. The pain of hurting someone they loved someone they cared about. Suddenly, his room felt too stifling, too confining. He wanted to be anywhere else but here and he knew it was the coward’s way out, but he did not want to hear anymore of Lucy’s platitudes, no matter how sincere they were. “I’m sorry, Lucy…”

“Desmond-“

Desmond all but ran out of the room, sweeping past the common room and out the door before she could say another word. He could feel the sting of shame burning on his cheeks as he jammed his hands into his pocket. The only thought that ran through his head was that he had nearly raped Lucy and that in of itself was something he could not forgive, not with all of the combined thoughts of his ancestors.

* * *

“Hello?” the voice at the other end was huskily accented, but it was most definitely not from the lack of sleep, this much she knew.

“Help him, please…” she whispered.

“I will,” there was no hesitation in the reply before the click on the other end of the line told her that all other activities in the night were long forgotten.

It was only then that Lucy set her cell phone down and allowed herself to cry, sobs wracking her frame as she hunched over. He had been right all along, she should have told him long ago, before any of this happened. Now, she feared that there was little time left.

* * *

Author’s Notes:

This chapter was very, very hard for me to write. I almost did not want to even write it, wanting to write something else, but then I realized, if this is the implication of what the Bleeding Effect may do to a person, especially based on what we knew about Subject 16 in the games so far, then I realized I had to show it. I had to show the razor fine edge of madness that Desmond realizes he is getting into (even though the excuse may have been whatever drug was pumped into him and coming off of it).

So far, Desmond has not experienced bad Bleeding, even though he has lost his bearings a few times, but there were others around to bring him back, especially his ancestors. This was a what if, in the restful night, when his guard is down, what if he Bled differently and there was no one to bring him back? I believe that not all of Desmond’s ancestors were benevolent or nice and there had to have been one or two bad apples.

The basis for the raping of Elisabeth (Arden’s mother) by Jack and Desmond accidentally living the Bleed in person instead of just in his mind, by attacking and nearly raping Lucy was from Buffy: The Vampire Slayer Season 6, Episode 19 “Seeing Red”. Paraphrasing James Marsters (who plays Spike) commentary for that episode, it was very hard to write that scene as an author, even if it was fanfic. I will never, ever write a scene like this again – rape is no joke and it should not be treated so lightly in any written material.

That said, this, I think is by far the darkest I will go with Apotheosis; going back to sort of not too dark stuff now for the rest of the chapters, but still dealing with the plot points.

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Story:

Chapter 24 – Desmond

Desmond’s wanderings eventually took him to the empty cafeteria as he grabbed a cup of stale cold coffee and sat down in the corner. He had pulled his hood up so anyone would not identify him and hunched forward on the table, staring at the slow swirl of the dark brown liquid. The images would not go away, the realism, the taste…he could literally feel Lucy writhing underneath him as he had pinned her to the ground, and squeezed his eyes shut, trying somehow, some way to burn those images out of his head.

He wanted nothing more than to claw it out of his eyes, out of his memories. How could he almost do that to her? She was his friend, his savior, the one who had helped him escape from Abstergo, the one who supported him while they were at the safe house. She had meant something to him and he had all but ruined it because he could not control the Bleeding, because he was too weak to resist the memories of his ancestors while he had been sleeping.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! He thought, staring at the brownish liquid that was still making its lazy swirl around the cup. He suddenly tensed as he felt the whisper of a warning from his ancestors in his mind and let his left hand drop, activating the hidden blade with a quiet snick. “Don’t come any closer if you value your life,” he did not know who it was, but he did not want to be bothered right now, not with his emotions in such a disarray.

“Then perhaps it is good that I do not place too much stock in it at my age,” Ezio’s accented voice was the last that Desmond wanted to hear before the sounds of footsteps got closer and he tensed.

“Go away,” he could feel Altaїr’s irritation magnifying his own and let it Bleed into him. He knew he could stop it, or at least stop some of the Bleeding, but at this point, he did not care. The footsteps did not stop and Desmond leveled a glare at the Italian Assassin who unceremoniously sat down in front of him, a mild expression on his face.

“Being Altaїr does not become you, Desmond,” the assassin gave the ghost of a smile and Desmond blinked, shocked by the words. “How can I tell? You look exactly like him when he is brooding.”

“And you don’t,” he snarled, retracting his blade, but placing his left hand on the table, the bit of silver in the under part of the bracer visible from the sleeve of his hoodie.

“Oh, I have been known to brood,” Ezio continued, his tone never changing, “and I am willing to bet you can feel some of those memories surface right now.”

Desmond looked away, knowing that his ancestor was right. He could feel those exact emotions rising in him, prominently when he was in Venice, back at Monteriggoni, all of those places. “So what’s your point?”

“There is no point, but I am here, if you wish to talk.”

He looked up at Ezio, disbelief on his face, “And what, you happen to not sleep at night? It’s practically two in the morning and you so happen to wander here…”

“I may be immortal, Desmond, but I am not infallible. Even we need our sleep,” Ezio kept staring at him and somehow Desmond felt uncomfortable by that laser-like stare. The stare that saw too much, lived too long. It was the same stare he had seen in Altaїr’s eyes and a part of him realized that the Ezio he had interacted with before was not the Ezio sitting in front of him. This was Ezio Auditore as he was, as he is, and as he lived. He was just as seemingly all-knowing as Altaїr, but hid it well behind a façade of cheerfulness, of goodwill.

That was it, he realized. That was why his first ancestor in him somehow did not like the real Altaїr. It was because the one whose memories he felt and Bled did not like seeing the horrifying knowledge that he had seen in those eyes, did not like that they knew too much. The way he had Bled Ezio in his head was more harmonious for the lack of a better word, and even now he could feel Ezio shifting uncomfortably in his mind, wondering who this person was sitting in front of him.

“Lucy called, if you are wondering,” Ezio continued and Desmond froze, his mind closing up on all of his ancestors, shutting out their voices as the depth and horror of what he had done swiftly replaced them, opening a void in him.

The fact that Lucy had called Ezio, perhaps had even told him what had happened burned the shame in him again-

“I do not know what you had done to make her cry, but I will not ask. That is not what I am here for,” Ezio continued and Desmond looked up, feeling utterly drained once more, the despondent shame of what he had done weighing heavily upon him. “So if you wish to talk…” He trailed off and Desmond recognized the offer in front of him. His ancestor was not forcing him to talk, was even content to sit in silence, but the offer of brotherhood, of kinship, of something akin to a comforting shoulder for him to feel that he was not alone was there. But he wanted to be alone, he did not want that shoulder nearby – or did he? As he looked up into those ageless eyes, he could see that Ezio already knew something, possibly not everything, but something and it was not from asking Lucy.

Desmond sighed and nudged his coffee cup with a finger, “Do you at least have a drink? Seems like Dad would keep this place free and clear of all alcohol.”

Ezio’s lips quirked up in a brief smile before pulling out a small silvery container and handed it to him. “Local moonshine,” his ancestor said as Desmond took a swallow of the container and promptly felt a flood of memories pour into his mind as he remembered the taste of the brew. He nearly choked as he swallowed the mouthful hastily down, feeling it burn his throat all the way, but there was nothing that could deny the sweetness of the alcohol.

“This…” he sniffed the container and looked at Ezio who shrugged.

“How he is able to remember the recipe from centuries ago is quite a feat, but it is still pretty good,” the Italian assassin looked beyond Desmond and shook his head, “It is not eavesdropping if we know you are there.”

Desmond glanced behind him to see Altaїr step in and as if the tension that he had been feeling melted all of the sudden. He recognized that it was the ancestor in his mind relaxing a little in the presence of the assassin in front of him, but still disliked the fact that he was here. However, instead of sitting down at the table, Altaїr leaned against the wall, staring at him with his dark golden eyes, unmoving, unblinking.

“If you …were so reluctant to give Jack the mission to find the Lance of Longinus, why did you?” he asked, realizing that he wanted answers, wanted to know why Altaїr and Ezio did the things they did before Arden’s time. Why there was that sense of competitiveness in his crazy ancestor, why it had all failed and most of all, where had it failed.

“Because I asked him to,” Ezio answered flicking a look at Altaїr and Desmond turned to face him.

“You trained Jack,” he remembered confronting his ancestor during their drive from Denver about this.

“I did,” Ezio nodded once, “and I thought him to be a brilliant student.”

Desmond chewed his lower lip for a second, his hands absently playing with the metal tin of alcohol in his hands. “Was it because he had my name?” He did not need to look up sensing that both of his living ancestors stilled at his question. “Was it,” he continued quietly, staring at the tin, unable to meet Ezio’s too-old eyes, “because you were hoping that he would bring the downfall of the Templars? That he had too much pressure on him to succeed? That he believed he was the prophesized savior of the Order?”

There was no answer for a moment before Altaїr spoke up, “You lived through it.” It was not a question, but rather a fact.

“I Bled it, or rather, a part of it,” Desmond corrected, “maybe thanks to Dad’s weird shit, maybe I’m supposed to experience this before I start slicing myself because I can’t handle a psychotic voice aside from three others in my head.”

“Is he still there?” there was no emotion in Altaїr’s voice and Desmond looked sideways up at his Arabic ancestor, the first ancestors whose memories he could feel swirling in his head. He knew the real question behind that question.

“If I said yes, you would end my life right now, wouldn’t you?” he saw the spark of surprise in the golden eyes and the barest flinch from the left hand, the familiar ring finger missing. “I know how you think, Altaїr,” Desmond tapped his head, “do you know what you’re feeling in my head right now? The Altaїr that I lived through is seeing you, the living one, as an imposter, a rival if you want. He knows the necessity of keeping the Creed that nothing is true and everything is permitted. He somehow senses that you are a danger, like Al Mualim with the Apple. And he knows…he knows that you’ll strike to eliminate any potential danger.”

Altaїr was silent, but his stare told him that he was evaluating what Desmond had said and he took it as a sign to continue. “No…Jack’s not there anymore, the same question Lucy asked if you really want to know. It feels like he was suddenly ripped away.”

He saw both of his living ancestors exchange a look before Ezio said, “Do you know why I introduced myself as your Uncle Enzo instead of Uncle Ezio like I did with your family?”

“Because Dad knows something about all of this, I can tell,” Desmond replied.

“Because I was not sure how much the Bleeding Effect has held its grip on you,” his ancestor ignored the jab, “because none of us were sure when you first arrived at the base.”

Desmond thought it was an odd choice of words; why would the Bleeding Effect have a grip on him, if at all. From what he knew and from what Lucy told him regarding the Bleeding Effect, it was just it, he Bled memories into his waking consciousness and the more times he spent in the Animus, the worst it was going to get. “Are you saying that the Bleeding Effect is controlling me? But that doesn’t even make sense…I mean, isn’t it just a side effect of the Animus…” he trailed off.

The way Ezio had said ‘grip’ made it sound like something possessed him. The only thing in the world that he knew could seemingly ‘possess’ someone was a Piece of Eden. Al Mualim had said it spoke to him, shattering the illusion of the world. Altaїr himself had sought its knowledge; and he distinctly remembered Jack’s reaction to it, how it had seemingly seized upon his desires, gripping him, eventually driving him insane as if possessed-

“The Animus is controlling me? But it’s just a machine, right?”

Ezio only stared at him with those ancient eyes before speaking, “Do you know what I heard when I touched the Apple of Eden for the first time?”

“When you confronted Borgia in Venice, right?” he remembered the swift anger, the vicious joy of retribution only to have it spoiled with Borgia escaping, but with the Piece of Eden in Assassin hands. However, instead of shaking his mind from it, he let it flow through him, and heard the subtle inflection of regret in his living ancestor’s voice. It puzzled the one whose life he had lived.

Ezio nodded, a contrast to what Desmond thought would be a dismissal, a simple wave of a hand followed by words that were platitudes, but his ancestor did nothing of the sort. “In that brief moment, with Leonardo, Mario, and Niccolo at the workshop, when I touched it, it spoke to me. The others, they could not hear it, though perhaps Leonardo could have, but it whispered to me that I could have power. It showed me images, of the future, of what had come to past as the Industrial Revolution. Railroads, steam power, transportation beyond what was then of my time. It also showed me firearms, weaponry, and death.”

As Ezio spoke, Desmond relived the memory in his mind and could now see it clearly, far more clearly than he had in the Animus. Still, he could feel something filtering it, as if telling him that he was not meant to see it this clearly. He tried to mentally push it away only to feel a spike of pain in his head.

“The Apple, in that moment, told me I could learn from it,” Ezio finished quietly.

“…Just like I am learning from the Animus,” Desmond was beginning to comprehend what his ancestor was talking about and the implications of what was not being said. “I learned how to use the Eagle Sense from Altaїr’s life, learned how to free run and take a leap of faith from your life…fight with the hidden blade…am learning about firearms from Arden’s life.” He shook his head in disbelief, yet a part of him knew it was true, knew that nothing was true, yet everything was permitted. “All of that, all of what I know, is from a Piece of Eden? From the Animus?”

He wanted to say that it was impossible, that it was not true. That the Animus could not be a Piece of Eden because that meant that…it meant… It was like watching a mirror, showing his own reflection suddenly shattering because the truth was not what he had always known. That because he was Bleeding due to him being possessed by a Piece of Eden?! That all of the memories, including the one of Jack raping Elisabeth, it was because of a Piece of Eden…because of the Animus teaching him, showing him – showing him what? The past?

“If the Apple and others can show the future, if the Lance could preserve someone’s life, could there not be a Piece that shows the past?”

Desmond stared at the coffee cup, the liquid untouched and saw his own haggard reflection in it. He did not want to answer Ezio’s question because that meant that he had to accept the fact that the Animus was a Piece of Eden. Yet…it all made sense at the same time. Vidic had said that Abstergo Industries was the foremost leader in pharmaceuticals. They had access to the most advance technology and in all of the research and development that had been released to the general public, no one, not even Abstergo’s rivals, had anything like a genetic reader like the Animus. Even while he had been on the run, he had heard no news regarding genetics except for the usual stem cell research and protests against them.

“The Animus is a Piece of Eden,” he stared at the cup, taking a deep breath, “the Animus. Is a Piece of Eden.” His ancestors were silent and he could feel their stares on him, watching him, judging and gauging him. “The Bleeding Effect…like the voice of the Apple that whispered to the two of you?” He glanced up at Altaїr who tilted his head a little in affirmation, but was otherwise silent. Looking back at the cup, he breathed out noisily and rubbed his forehead, trying to relieve the headache that had formed there. “The headache that I get each time one of your memories tries to replay itself in my head while I’m still standing?”

There was no answer and Desmond looked up to see Ezio shaking his head, “I do not know.”

“Oh, great,” he nodded calmly. He wanted nothing more than to scream, to laugh at the absurdity of it, to laugh until tears were falling down his face, to be an utter madman. He could see why Sixteen sought the appeal of slashing his own wrists. Blood was real, liquid, and tangible. The memories, the lives, those personalities that had been brought to the surface of his mind, seemingly cramming it with others, like a different personality in him that was not Desmond, those were intangible. Those he could not claw out, could not see except in his own head. The crimson red liquid of blood could be shown to others.

“Des-“ in an instant, Desmond knew that Ezio had seen his growing panic, but had been stopped by Altaїr. He could feel the assassin in him bristling at the outrage that he would panic, that he needed to be judged, but it quieted just as suddenly, as if a coiled serpent had lowered its defenses, ever so slightly.

“Piece of Eden, right,” he mentally seized onto the calm of his ancestors and let it flow through him before an absurd thought popped into his head and glanced at the two living ones, “Am I now immortal like you guys?”

Altaїr shrugged, “You are the first known survivor.”

The answer was blunt and Desmond was not quite expecting it, but he realized that the master assassin did not know and had only meant that out of all of those who had been subjected to the Animus, he was the first one to be aware of the Piece of Eden. Whether or not he would really survive in the long run, having Bled so much already was another question. Then there was the real question: if he kept his training up, and thus kept Bleeding because of the knowledge he had, would he survive or would he end up like Alexander with his blood painting the walls?

“Probably not immortal,” it was not easy trying to keep the panic from rising in him, but Desmond was bolstered by the memories of his living ones who had all faced moments of panic in their lives and had come through them successfully. That at least was somewhat of a comfort, even though it was indirectly related to why he was panicking in the first place. He scrubbed a hand over his face, “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”

“Would you have believed me?” Ezio asked.

“No,” he conceded, “probably not with what was going on. How do you know it’s a Piece of Eden? I mean, I don’t think it glows on the outside…oh wait.” Desmond thought about it for a second. The lights on the table of the Animus at Abstergo always glowed a faint light blue whenever the machine was on, but he had chalked it up to something akin to a computer’s internal lights. Rebecca’s Baby had also glowed, and again he chalked it up to computer lights. Perhaps those were computer lights at all, they were the lights of the Piece of Eden glowing as its power was activated.

“Then what about the Animuses, Animi, whatever I saw while Lucy and I were escaping from Abstergo. I mean, how was Rebecca able to get a copy a Piece of Eden? Can you even do that?”

Altaїr shifted a little, making Desmond turn to face him and he blinked in surprise as he saw that the master assassin held the Apple of Eden, the same spherical object with intricate markings that he had seen in the two assassin’s memories in front of him. A part of him wanted to touch it, to feel that was what was real in his hands, yet another part of him recoiled at the fact that it was the fabled Apple of Eden and he knew what kind of power it held. The Arabic assassin twisted his wrist a little, staring at the Apple before answering his question. “When I saw the map indicating the locations of the other Pieces around the world, I did not know what the other objects did. Through the years, we discovered a few of them and what their abilities were. Some were like this Apple. Others, we destroyed like the Sceptre that happened to cause what history recorded as the Tunguska Event.”

What was not mentioned, perhaps out of respect for Ezio or some other factor, Desmond realized that it was exactly what Ezio had said happened to Denver International Airport during their escape from the city days ago.

“The Animus, we believe, was considered a dormant Piece that was only activated when microprocessors and computers were invented. The ones who styled themselves Gods perhaps had used it as a way to communicate with each other or to relive memories,” Altaїr placed the dormant Apple back in a small pouch he had on him, “the Apple reacted to its presence when it was first discovered.”

“You were there?”

“Not exactly,” was the reply and Desmond waited a second to see if he would elaborate, but when no answer was forthcoming he decided to let it go – for now.

“Why are you telling me about this now? I mean, if you’re going to ask me to go back into the Animus, my answer is definitely a no. I don’t even want to relive any memories now, not ever, not even if it’s for this mission to Johnson Space Center – is that also a lie?”

“No,” Ezio smiled crookedly, “Amunet did have the right idea, but not the whole picture. We told you because you needed to know the truth before anything else happened.”

“You mean with Dad and being a control freak,” Desmond absently rubbed his arm. He still could not believe that his father had injected him with something that had made him Bleed so wrong.

“I make no claims to be a family man-“

“That’s a lie,” Desmond managed a small smile and saw the returning twinkle in his ancestor’s eyes.

“-but I think, Altaїr don’t even think of interrupting me, he needs to hear it,” the abrupt switch to Italian did not even affect Desmond as his mind translated the words, an echo of the same kind of tone he had lived through as Ezio when he had become head of the Order, “you should have a choice Desmond. Whether you want to really fight this war or not.”

“What? Why…Abstergo captured me, experimented on me. You think I don’t want to fight back, after what they did to me? I mean, they’re the ones who started this whole Bleeding thing-“

“You can walk away now, with your mind intact for the most part. Walk away and still have some of your sanity. You stay and fight this war, you will Bleed,” Ezio cut him off.

“Because of the abilities? Or do you want to stick me back in the Animus to go through more memories? To live more lives so I can train because there’s a deadline…” Desmond trailed off as he realized it was exactly what was being asked of him. He sat back against his chair, staring at the two of them. Altaїr expression was closed, but he could sense that the older of the two immortals was not pleased that Ezio was giving him a way out. Altaїr wanted him to stay and he realized Ezio wanted him to leave, to leave all of this behind, to turn his back and live his own life.

He remembered that Ezio had told him that he lived for him and in this case, meant every word of it. Ezio was willing to let him go, prophecy be damned, and let him return to a life of anonymity. Desmond was willing to bet that the Italian assassin would be able to enforce it too, to prevent either Abstergo or the other Assassins from finding him ever. He wondered if it was guilt, because of his first failure with Jack, with the first Desmond that the Assassins of that time had placed all of their hopes and dreams of defeating the Templars on. Or was it something else?

If he left, he knew that there were other plans that would be put in place. Hell, there probably were plans put in place before he had been found by Abstergo. He just happened to be discovered by then and started a frenzy amongst the surviving Assassins that he was the next prophesized savior. But something bothered him and he realized it was the comment about family that Ezio had made earlier.

“If I left, would you have placed Amanda, my dad, or even Peter in the Animus?” he looked at Altaїr.

“You are a lot more observant than I gave you credit for,” Altaїr replied in Arabic before shaking his head, “no.”

“I believe you,” Desmond could see the sincerity and truth in his ancestors’ golden gaze and turned to Ezio, “Which is why I’m staying.”

“For all you know, we could be lying-“

“For all I know, is that I know you, both of you,” Desmond tapped his head, “I know how you guys think and I know, that you will do anything in the Creed, that nothing is true and everything’s permitted, to stop the Templars.” He glanced at Altaїr, “I know you’ll stop me if Jack suddenly takes over and I get lost in his memories.” He was rewarded with the hint of a rare smile before turning to Ezio, “And I know that I’m probably not the real Desmond of the prophecy, I don’t know if he exists, but I know that I’m not going to be like Jack. Because you’ll be there, watching me and you won’t make the same mistake twice.”

Ezio stared at him for a second before chuckling, hanging his head and laughing into his hand before lifting it up and stared at him, “And here I thought you were in a depressive funk, kid. I was going to tell you about Jack too…”

“Story for another time,” Desmond could feel his ancestors swirling in his mind, bolstering him, adding to him. It made sense now, even as they Bled their whispers and memories into him. But even if he slipped and fell again, there would always be someone to catch him. Lucy had caught him the first time he had fallen and she had forgiven him. He still could not forgive himself, but he could at least try to make amends and he knew the first thing to do was to find out what really happened to Jack and why it was related to Arden. “You need me back in the Animus…Piece of Eden…” it still felt weird to say the words much less think of the Animus in that context.

“Not yet,” Altaїr stepped away from where he was leaning against and Desmond saw the hint of a wolfish smile on his ancestor’s face. He abruptly felt the part of him that was Altaїr shoving itself forward, trying to Bleed into him and it took a little effort on his part to mentally pull the assassin to heel but recognized the smile as one that Altaїr had worn long ago whenever he had the opportunity to spare in Masyaf’s training grounds.

“I see that my self that exists in you recognizes what is about to happen. Good, this will make it far more interesting,” Altaїr commented wirily before gesturing for him to follow as he left the dining hall.

“I’m not going to like this, am I?”

Ezio just smiled before pulling out a cell phone and called someone, speaking in fluid Italian, “I will not be back. Go to sleep without me.” He hung up and placed an arm around Desmond’s shoulder and steered him out of his seat and out of the dining hall, “It should help control the Bleeding.”

“Yeah, if I don’t physically do it first,” Desmond shot back, but a part of him, a genuine part of him that was neither affected by the Bleeding nor influenced by any of his ancestors jumped at the chance to reclaim a little of his lost childhood and actually train under an real master assassin, even if it was Altaїr.

* * *

Author’s Notes:

So after putting Desmond through hell last chapter, he pulled me over and said that he would never do that again and that I better write a slightly more pleasant chapter or else his blade would be talking to me the next time we meet. He can be pretty persuasive when he wants to be, hence the more hopeful note I ended this chapter on. The story is far from over, but at least one of the major plot points has been revealed (namely Animus = Piece of Eden).

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Story:

Chapter 25 – Blade

At least I won’t be skewered, Desmond thought as he watched his ancestor with wary eyes, keeping himself relaxed but at the same time at an alerted state. Altaїr had at least recognized that his combat abilities were sporadic at best and at the very least, he only had been able to do the things he did in recent days under great duress. So to Desmond it felt like a back-to-basics class and that meant no vambraces with hidden blades on them.

For whatever reason, he had thought that Altaїr had always worn the one blade on his left hand in the design that made him lose his ring finger, but he had seen his ancestor remove a bracer from his right hand, something that had been well hidden under the sleeves of his clothing.

“Huh…don’t know why I pegged you as a single-bladed fighter in this day and age,” he commented.

“That is why most underestimate me,” Altaїr replied with a hint of the smugness that Desmond long recognized from so long ago. He remembered that Malik and the others – no not him; Altaїr, the same man standing in front of him. Altaїr then, he could feel something concede and was inwardly surprised.

“Desmond?” Ezio prompted and he realized he had been staring at nothing in particular for a second.

“Uh, nothing, just,” Desmond waved at his head, “I think I won like a round or something with the Bleeding…with the Animus? I don’t know how the hell it works.”

There was an audible sigh of irritation from Altaїr and Desmond shook his head, “I know, I know, inattention will get me nowhere and by now I’d probably be dead-Whoa!” He suddenly found his world turned upside down, as a leg swept through his own and barely caught himself from landing onto the hard sand-covered ground of the small training sale that was carved into the cave system. Rolling to the side he picked himself back up only to give a somewhat strangled yell as the air rushed out of him, kneed in the stomach before the lightest tap of the blade of a hand touched his neck.

“By now, your nose would have been broken, the bone shards piercing your brain. The blade would have just been the coup de grace in the kill,” Altaїr said as Desmond coughed before straightening, feeling a twinge of pain run through his stomach as he stared at his ancestor who had stepped away from him. He understood that the knee had not been meant for his stomach at all, but rather the assassin had aimed lower just to prove his point.

He did not expect any special treatment and Desmond pursed his lips, straightening fully before dropping into a fighting stance, his hands held up in front of him, thumbs across the middle curled part of his fingers, ready. He saw the images of the Masyaf training salle in his mind, distorting the real image in front of him and quickly grabbed the training period Ezio had went through, balancing the two out.

“You can control it, Desmond. You know you can,” Ezio’s voice called out from where he was watching the two of them fight.

“How?!” he called back, but dared not take his eyes off of Altaїr, the echo of his living ancestor resonating in him that he should be aware of everything around him, as opponents could circle him, but also aware of the immediate threat. “How did-“ he barely managed to duck under a quick jab before trying to pivot and strike back, but his muscles, unused to combat even though he knew what to do, responded sluggishly, “-you guys – oof – control the Apple?” His last words were a little strangled as he found himself dumped to the ground again and remembered at the last second to tuck his head and relax his shoulders so not to give himself whiplash and a concussion.

He rolled to his feet again, brushing some of the dirt off and resumed his fighting stance again. “You know, it was hell of a lot easier when I was in the Animus being you two.”

“Too much talking Desmond,” Ezio chided, “we can tell that you know what to do and that your muscles are unused to the movements, but if you let yourself go-“

“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of not having the Bleeding Effect take me over?” Desmond stepped back, blocking a blow before trying to counter with his own. He could see that Altaїr was holding himself back, going at a slower pace, but still nonetheless trapped his arm and extended it across his own chest. He felt the pressure against the joints of his elbow before Altaїr released the arm, indicating that he would have already broken it. So far, they really had been fighting he would have had a broken nose, pierced brain from the nose shards, broken hips from falling, possibly a twisted ankle from being swept to the ground, and a broken elbow. I am the epitome of a walking wounded, if not dead, he mentally groused as he stepped back and fell into a fighting stance once more.

“If you start talking in Italian or Arabic, we’ll just knock you out for real until you regain your senses,” his Italian ancestor replied in the most blasé voice ever.

“Your apprentices must have hated you back in the fifteen-hundreds.”

“La Volpe, Niccolo, and the others handled new recruits and their training. Are you already forgetting how I operated?”

“Good point,” Desmond remembered that when he had been Ezio, the man operated on a solo basis, though he had allies who helped him, he mostly did not train recruits. He had a sense that Ezio had sent out recruits on missions, but most of their training was done by the others of the Order. Releasing the mental grip he had of the Monteriggioni training salle, he allowed the Masyaf one to fill his mind just as Altaїr attacked again and this time, he saw it.

It was one of his, no, one of Altaїr’s favorite moves, ones he had performed countless times while in the Animus. A low profile move designed to kill by breaking the knee caps before slicing the blade across the victim’s throat, instantly silencing him without too much noise. He knew the counter move and twisted his body just so hooking his leg around Altaїr’s, seeing the quick flash of surprise on the assassin’s face before attempting to grab his arm.

His hands closed on empty air before he realized what had happened and suddenly found himself swept to the ground once more, but managed to catch himself with an arm on the ground and rolled to his right, where he knew where Altaїr would be and kicked out, feeling his leg connect with its intended target and the quietest of growls of surprise from his target. He leapt to his feet and raised his arms in a quick block, jabbing back with his left fist.

The jab was met with an elbow block before he twisted a little to avoid the subsequent blow and attempted to knee his target in the stomach. It was like fighting a mirror, he supposed as he could somehow sense and feel the blows before they were ever there. His muscles were still sluggish which bothered him because he knew that they should not be like that – they are! – but he would be able to compensate to fight this doppelganger in front of him. No! It was not a doppelganger- his thoughts were cut off as his opponent grabbed his knee and tried to twist him to the ground, but he fought him off by breaking his grip on the soft bending part of the elbow. At the same time, he tried to head butt him, but his target danced backwards, out of reach before he advanced forward.

His left hand twitched and it was only when he did not hear the familiar snick of the blade releasing itself from its holster or hear anything from there that all of his thoughts screeched to a halt and Desmond, my name is Desmond, froze as he found himself staring dumbly at his left arm, where the familiar vambrace should have been sitting under his hoodie. His mind felt empty, devoid of all emotions, thoughts, whispers of ancient ancestors-

That precious second of inattention cost him as he suddenly found himself grabbed from behind in a bear hug. Desmond reacted on pure instinct and moved, bending his knees while at the same time jabbing his right elbow back hitting Altaїr’s solar plexus. His left arm came up in a move that broke the grip the master assassin had on him before stomping his foot down on the instep. In less than a second, he was free, spinning away before settling in a fighting stance.

However, Altaїr did not attack and instead had straightened, though one hand was across his stomach, but the man did not show any sign of discomfort. However, the part of Desmond that was Altaїr felt a little smug at actually managing to hurt the living one enough so that he felt it. Desmond managed to shove that smugness to the side of his mind before the master assassin could read it in his expression.

“That was new,” Ezio hopped off of the flattened stalagmite he had been sitting on and walked over, waving to Desmond to relax and he did, but was still a little wary of a surprise attack of sorts. “Where did you learn that?”

“I…uh…one of my patrons a couple of years ago taught me a couple of basic self-defense moves?” Desmond did not know what happened, but he realized that neither Ezio nor Altaїr had ever used a move like that. The faint memory of fighting guards in a souk in Damascus floated across his consciousness. Altaїr would have never allowed a guard to get that close to him even when he was ambushing him. There would have been a counter, whether through the bracers or with a sword.

“Instead of turning away to set up for another attack, turn into the attacker and use your blade,” Altaїr commented quietly, “you let the Bleeding take over.”

“I know,” Desmond pursed his lips and shook his head, “thought for a second that I was really fighting as you…”

His ancestor did not say anything except to give him a look that plainly said he was complaining. It was the same look he had seen in Victorian England – no, Arden had seen – when she had been training with him. He squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing his forehead, trying to alleviate the headache that had formed in between his eyes. Open them again, he saw that Altaїr had settled himself into a fighting stance again and that Ezio had sat back down, watching them with an eerily eagle-like gaze.

“Again,” the Arabic assassin called out and Desmond settled himself into a fighting stance once more.

The assassin attacked once more, punching him straight in the face. Desmond blocked with his arm, retaliating with an elbow strike only to miss, his momentum carrying him forward. He tried to twist into another attack like Altaїr had said a few seconds ago, but was trapped with a foot touching his knee and putting some pressure on the kneecap itself indicating that it would have been a break. He could imagine the rest of the scenario, break the knee, and slice the blade across the throat as the person fell forward.

The pressure relented and Desmond stepped back, resuming his stance.

“Focus,” the master assassin said before attacking him again.

This time, Desmond tried to move out of the way only for Altaїr to advance forward so quickly that he recognized the way the master assassin’s arms were crossed, indicating that if he had both of his blades activated, they would have scissor his throat in two, a move that he had used many times as Ezio.

His ancestor stepped back again and stared at him, “Why are you hesitating?”

“I’m not!” Desmond could feel the frustration from all of his ancestors Bleeding into him, magnifying his own. He was trying, could they not see it?! He was trying, but his muscles, unused to actual combat were not cooperating with him! He could see the moves, see the finishing attacks, but he couldn’t do a damn thing about it!

“You are afraid,” the lilting accent of British Received Pronunciation made him turn to see Arden walking towards them, dressed in nearly the same clothes he wore. He suddenly saw stars as his world tilted upside down and he smashed to the ground, hitting the side of his head against the rocky ground.

“Ow,” Desmond managed to croak out as he blinked the stars out of his eyes and saw Altaїr’s feet stepping back and knew that the assassin had taken advantage of his distracted state to attack him and punish him for his inattention. He turned his head a little and saw that it was indeed Arden, walking towards them, hale and healthy looking unlike her prone pale form he had seen in the hospital room in what seemed like days ago, but was only a few hours before.

Pushing himself up from the floor, he sat and rubbed the side of his head, feeling bits and pieces of sand and rocky pebbles fall out of his hair as he noticed that Altaїr had finally stepped out of his fighting stance and gave a cursory nod to Arden.

“I am well, Altaїr,” Arden had a neutral expression on her face and it puzzled Desmond as to why. He would have almost called the expression cold and distant if it had not been for what he had seen between former master and apprentice. But glancing over to the Arabic assassin he also noticed that Altaїr wore a neutral expression and nodded once. “Hello, Ezio,” this time there was a definitely warmth to Arden’s tone as she turned a bit to address the Italian ancestor.

“Madonna,” Ezio grinned from where he sat, “it is good to see that you are well. Did…?”

“Tabitha,” was her reply before both Altaїr and Ezio nodded, “I have sent her away for now.”

“Bene,” Ezio flicked an absent hand towards Desmond, “the young pup would not like it.”

Desmond could only guess at the reference to Tabitha was probably a reference to the Lance of Longinus that she carried and wondered if Arden had sensed something or what was going on in the last hour or so with his nightmares. He still did not know if the Lance was Arden’s Piece of Eden or how it had gotten from Jack’s hands to hers, but he was grateful that she had seemingly sent Tabitha away. He did not need the creepy rotting corpse girl to be anywhere near here, and he most certainly did not want to see the Lance right now, not with what had happened still so fresh in his mind.

He was a little more than annoyed that he had been referred to as a ‘young pup’ by Ezio, but since it seemed that both of his ancestors were not inclined to attack him or give him ‘encouragement’ he took the brief respite as a chance to catch his breath. He could feel the initial headache he had gotten in the cafeteria growing a little, pressing upon him. It wasn’t debilitating yet, and he certainly wasn’t seeing any ghostly images around him, but the added presence of his ancestors in front of him coupled with the recent trauma he had witnessed was making him uneasy.

Arden’s quiet footsteps, ones he had remembered walking around Victorian Era London in, made him look up from where he sat. She peered down at him, her eyes holding none of the too-old look both Ezio and Altaїr wore, yet they were not youthful ones anymore. There were something about her light brown eyes that seemed familiar, but he could not quite place what it was. However, this close to him, he could see that she looked a little like him, yet was probably the least similar, in appearance, to his other two ancestors. There were definite signs that she came from their bloodline, but she looked more like Maria and Claudia Auditore than Ezio or Altaїr.

He could feel the faint swirl of her memories Bleeding into him, whispering, but it wasn’t as strong of a presence as his other two ancestors. She extended a hand out to help him up and he lifted his own before he suddenly felt a flash of warning from the presence that was her in his head – don’t! – disappearing just as quickly before he remembered. He…no, she had experienced nearly the same thing while she had trained with Altaїr, with Andrew.

Her smile at his hesitation made him dizzy as he felt her presence Bleed a little more into him; the same exact smile that Andrew had worn, when she was wise to his actions during their sparring time. “I can see myself,” she commented as he slowly got up, brushing some of the dirt and sand from his pants, squeezing his eyes shut to try to stem the Bleeding. He had not lived her life he, he knew that, but with her in front of him, it seemed to exacerbate the Bleeding. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Altaїr step back to let his former apprentice take over while Ezio had shifted positions and was watching them with something akin to laughter written all over his face.

He had the same expression when Stephen and I fought, he remembered before grimacing a little. It wasn’t he that had fought with Stephen Miles; she had fought with Stephen way back then.

“You are afraid,” she said again, circling him before attacking with two quick jabs. He backed away, blocking them as best as he could. Her attack was unlike both of his ancestors and for some odd reason, he could not quite comprehend them. “Why are you afraid?”

“I’m not,” he replied as she attacked again, kicking high before spinning and aiming for his knee. He managed to grab onto her leg before she suddenly ripped it out of his arms with a twist of her hips, nearly sending him tumbling back into the ground. He did not recognize any of her attacks, neither in the brief memories of her life that he had lived through and could feel the not-quite-panic of his two ancestors trying to adapt and adjust to her fighting style adding to the Bleeding that he was hard pressed to mentally keep at bay.

“You know how I fight-“

“I don’t, I didn’t experience your life-“

“Liar,” her words cut through him and he felt a stabbing pain in his head and instinctively placed a hand on his temple – “Liar!” she screamed at him. He was lying, he had to be. There was no way that what he had just said was the truth. Because if it was then… - the image of Altaїr’s stoic expression shocked him out of that brief memory before he glanced to the side of the training salle to see his Arabic ancestor currently wearing the same exact expression. A sudden fury clouded Desmond’s mind, fury that he did not know he had – how dare he – her fierce whisper echoed and resonated within him, before he turned back just as Arden attacked him again.

He quickly dodged her attack, side stepping to the right before his left hand swiftly dealt a punch to her stomach, recognizing it as a variation of how Altaїr tried to launch a first strike. He would deal with her before going after Altaїr. How dare he, the whisper brushed across his consciousness again, fueling him. That’s a variation of Ezio’s style, he could see it clearly now as he saw how she moved. She had combined the two styles of their mutual ancestors and used it to her advantage plus with a little extra modern training that she had obviously learned during the years she was alive.

She attacked him with two jabs, one he blocked with a forearm the other he caught with his other arm before trying to twist it and break her arm before she kicked out, catching him in the stomach, sending him back a little. He released the grip he had on her arm before punching her, aiming for her solar plexus. She blocked with her left arm and he felt the impact of the bracer she wore underneath her hoodie. Armed! A part of him snarled in anger before he kicked out, extending his right arm out in a back hand. She caught his arm and he turned into her attack, sending an uppercut into her jaw where his own hidden blade should have been on his left hand; it would have pierced her brain, he thought viciously.

She reeled backwards before charging at him again, ever silent, but he saw the smile on her face and it only served to make him angrier. He tried to block her attack, but she slipped under his guard and yanked him forward just as the sliver of the thin blade slid out of her bracer and touched his neck, not quite piercing him, but enough to make him freeze in place. She did not deserve to have such a smug expression on her face, not after – just like her mother! – Elisabeth’s face flashed across his eyes and he choked, the fury suddenly draining out of him. His breath came in heaving gasps, sweat pouring down his face that he had not noticed earlier.

“You did not hesitate that time,” she whispered in his ear, her accent echoing along the lines of the voice in his head that was hers.

He could hear his own breaths, harsh against his ears, grating against the draining fury that had overcome him before she released him and he stumbled backwards, blinking his eyes. It was like seeing things for the first time as he stared at her. She sheathed her blade with a quiet snick as a wiry grin worked its way up her face and she turned to the others. “Well?”

“Interesting,” Altaїr said and Desmond took a shuddering breath, rubbing his forehead, the headache a little stronger.

“I…what….” He knew he had fought, his muscles, along his back and his arms and legs were aching all of the sudden, but unlike previous times when he had Bled, he remembered every single detail of it though he could not quite remember the fight. He knew he had Bled, and he knew he had fought at the same time, using those memories to fuel whatever unnatural anger had risen in him.

“You controlled the Bleeding, though not very well,” Ezio hopped off from his perch and walked over, tossing him a water bottle to which he drank from.

“Did I…talk in Italian?” Desmond wiped the sweat from his face with the sleeve of his hoodie.

“No, but it is progress nonetheless,” Ezio clapped him on his shoulder, shaking it a bit in reassurance, “what did you see, if I may ask?”

“Uh,” Desmond glanced at his other two ancestors, suddenly wondering if he should mention that there was something in Arden’s tone that had triggered the memory followed by the same exact expression he had seen in Altaїr’s face. He sensed that the memory he had experienced was something that the two would not want to talk about and for some odd reason, felt protective of that. There was clearly some kind of rift between former master and apprentice, he could see that now by the way the two stood close to each other, yet their body language shouted that something had happened to break the bond between them. “It’s kind of hard to describe…” he finally replied, “I saw…well, I…”

“I saw my anger reflected in your own face,” Arden crossed her arms in front of her, “and I saw you move from Altaїr’s fighting style to Ezio’s with fluidity. I saw some of my own fighting style too and then…one I did not quite recognize-“

“Jack’s,” the name fell from Desmond’s lips before he could stop it and saw Arden still at the name. He could see the flash of pain and agony in her eyes and bit his own lip, “Sorry…I didn’t mean to-“

“It is fine,” she replied, a little too woodenly to convince him, but he took the dismissal for what it was worth.

“You Bled Jack?” Altaїr however was a little more concerned and Desmond saw that he was wearing his bracers again; his familiar left one far more visible than his hidden right one.

“Not exactly,” he scratched the back of his head, “it’s only when she got under my guard and- what?” Both Altaїr and Ezio were staring at Arden, concern written over their faces before she lifted her bracer and he could see a faint unearthly dark glow from it. He recognized that glow, and he could feel the utter revulsion of all of his ancestors within him trying to back away from it. He needed to get away from it, it was evil, it was anathema, it was-

“Desmond!” Ezio’s grip on his shoulder tightened, and he snapped out of his thoughts.

“Did you…do you not see it? Feel it?” he tried to suppress a shudder of revulsion as he stared at Arden’s bracer, her memories of how Jack had choked her with it, how he had lived through him and had nearly raped Lucy coming back to the forefront.

“We do,” Altaїr’s seemingly nonplussed answer startled him from the onslaught of memories and he looked at his first ancestor, shocked.

“Then…”

“Unlike Altaїr and Ezio, I need to have the Lance, or a part of it, upon me at all times,” Arden said quietly after Altaїr did not elaborate further. “I think this was the reason why you Bled Jack.”

Desmond did not miss the way she had forced out Jack’s name, the pain of discovering that he was her father still evident in her voice after all of these years. He understood now, her expression when she and Ezio had discovered who had attacked him at the base’s training ground, understood that it was not a blank expression she had worn, but rather, unfiltered shock. She had said anything, but her eyes had told him that she had been screaming inside, sobbing, and had relived painful memories that he suspected she had buried a long time ago.

It was an effort for him to suppress the shudder and he knew he was not successful in that attempt at the quick look of concern Ezio shot at him, followed by the barely noticeable tightening of his grip on his shoulder. He knew that grip was telling him that he was here, that this was reality, not the storm of memories swirling in him that he tried to keep at bay. It was hard not to fall back into Arden’s memories as she was holding up the bracer, to relive the screams, the attack…the pain…

“W-Why…did I Bleed Jack?” he managed to get himself under control, “with…that?”

“The Lance leaves a residual imprint of its previous wielder,” Arden replied, “I am sorry, Desmond.”

“Yeah…” he could not quite shake the feeling that Arden was not telling the whole truth, but he did not want to find out at the moment. She lowered her hand and the bracer with the hidden blade sliver that was the Lance stopped glowing. Desmond felt the instinct to flee far away from it died down in him, leaving him drained once more. It was also then that he realized he was utterly exhausted, from both the lack of sleep and from the training he had received from both of his living ancestors.

“Get some sleep,” Altaїr was staring at him with a critical eye and Desmond nodded, ignoring the bristling of his ancestor within and mentally telling him to shut up. He was mildly surprise to feel the bristling fade away as Ezio’s firm hand guided him from the training salle, leaving Altaїr and Arden there.

“What time is it?” he asked as he trudged up the steps strapping his bracer back onto his left arm, grateful that Ezio had not let go of his grip on his shoulder. He could feel the headache growing now and fought the urge to rub his temples to try to alleviate the pain. He did not know why, but he did not want his ancestor to worry over him, not after giving him a way out of this war. He felt a little dizzied, but he supposed it was from the lack of sleep and a bit of dehydration. Ezio’s grip was like an anchor, telling him that this was reality, not the churn of memories that was threatening to overwhelm him. He thought he could see the faint images of ghostly figures running, but wasn’t too sure.

“About five in the morning,” Ezio’s tone was back to what he remembered the hint of laughter in them, unlike the seriousness and age-old quality he had spoken with in the cafeteria.

“Good freaking god,” there had been a few times he had worked into the early morning hours, especially seeing a sunset going into work at the bar and leaving in time to see a sunrise. Those were the days he wanted to kill a few of the patrons who made him stay that late, or early, at work.

Ezio laughed a little, echoing a faint laughter within his head, but he did not find it disturbing unlike other times and instead took comfort in it. “You did fine, kid.”

“I Bled,” he shot back, “how is that fine?”

“But you were able to control it,” Ezio replied, “were you able to do that before?”

“No,” Desmond admitted, “but I feel like I was going to slip and somehow lose myself. I....” He hesitated as the cavern halls started to look familiar, the reminder of why he had fled from his room coming back to him, “I don't want to end up like Sixteen... I mean, what happens if I...” It had taken a physical effort on Lucy's part to knock him back into reality, to knock Jack's personality that had seemingly taken over him, away. He knew that his ancestors would be true to their words and knock him out if he ended up losing himself again. He was more afraid of the fact that one day, just knocking him out or physically shaking him out of his ancestors memories would not be enough, that one day, he was going to start babbling and there would be no one to stop him. One day, the physicality of blood would overwhelm everything else and he would paint the walls with his own madness.

He heard Ezio sigh and squeeze his shoulder in reassurance as he guided him back to his room, “We will cross that bridge if it comes to that.” The unspoken words that someone would always be there was meant to reassure Desmond, but a part of him wondered if they should just leave him, leave him to his growing madness, to the Bleeding because a part of him was afraid that at that point, he would not be able to control himself anymore and would attack anyone while lost in the thrall of his ancestors lives. If he had attacked Lucy as Jack, who else would he attack when living the memories of others? Jack could not be the only insane ancestor in his bloodline, he was sure of that.

“Desmond,” Ezio spoke up after a few minutes of silence as they continued to walk.

“Yeah?”

“Arden does not know Jack’s real name,” his ancestor said and Desmond looked at him puzzled.

“But, he’s her father…”

“Altaїr and I rarely see eye to eye, but this is one of them.”

“But she has the right to know-“

“It would break her,” Ezio calmly interrupted him; “it would destroy everything that she has lived for and everything that she is.”

“But…she’s…strong,” it was the only word he could come up with to describe his British ancestor from the memories that he had lived of her and from the way she presented herself to him at the base and during the training. He would have called her cold, professional, independent, but strong was a much better word for her both for her physicality and mental state, especially in light of the knowledge that Jack was her father. She seemingly accepted the fact and moved on, working with Stephen the last he remembered.

The corner of Ezio’s lips flicked up in a sad smile, “Altaїr does not want her to know.” The unspoken words that Altaїr would take that knowledge to his grave, if and when he reached it, were not lost on Desmond. He realized that whatever rift had seemingly formed between former master and apprentice, there was still the hint of protectiveness and father-like feelings the Arabic ancestor had for Arden, even after all of these years.

“All right,” Desmond could see the unspoken request from his ancestor to honor Altaїr’s wishes.

“And here we are,” Ezio opened the door to the common room as he steered him past the couches and opened the door to Desmond's tiny room. However, Desmond froze, the onslaught of what he had almost done just hours ago coupled by how he had fled, rooting him to the spot. His room had been cleaned up, the small end table and lamp that had been knocked down standing straight once more and he realized Lucy had straightened everything in the hours he had been gone.

“You okay?”

He pressed his lips together and nodded tightly, unwilling to show how rattled he was. “Yeah, just tired...”

“Get some sleep Desmond. You did well,” Ezio left the room, closing the door behind him. He heard his ancestor's footsteps cross the common room before the sound of another door closing told him that Ezio had left. It was only then that Desmond allowed himself to relax and found that he was shaking all over. He could still see Lucy sitting on the ground near the door, half-naked, bruised and a little bloodied. Squeezing his eyes shut in a futile effort to rid his mind of the searing image, reached out to lock the door, only to find that there was no lock on the door.

He wanted to make sure that if he did Bleed in his sleep again that Lucy would not be able to get into his room and possibly be injured again, but the lack of a lock on the door puzzled him. He looked around before finally taking the lamp off of the small end table, putting it on the ground and taking the table itself and propping it up against the door. If he hallucinated or was in the thrall of one of his ancestors' memories, maybe before he attacked anyone else, the sudden pain of smashing his shins against an end table would be enough to snap out of the memories.

With his task done, he crawled into the covers of his bed and finally allowed himself to relax, hearing the whispers of his ancestors brushing his mind before he fell asleep minutes later.

* * *

Author’s Notes:

There is a certain point I want to get to this story before Revelations comes out and I have about three weeks to write about four or five chapters before Uncharted 3 comes out in early November and I’m distracted until Revelations two weeks after that. Let’s see if this can be accomplished. Anyways, recent news regarding AC3 to conclude Desmond’s story (but not the AC universe) next year has gotten me excited – does that mean we get a fully playable Desmond for the majority of AC3?

Oh, it’s not that obvious from this chapter or previous ones, but my favorite character in Assassin’s Creed is Altaїr. Desmond is a close second followed by Ezio.

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Story:

Chapter 26 – Onus

After living for so long, it was not easy to anger an immortal Assassin and for that Ezio Auditore praised himself at his ability to control his anger. But then again, he knew that Desmond had been distracted on their way back to his suite so perhaps he was not as good as he thought he was at controlling his anger. The optimism that he had heard in the young man's voice several hours earlier had been replaced by a melancholic tone that he knew ran deeper than Desmond would ever let on.

If there was one skill that he knew he had improved on over the course of so many centuries, it was the ability to read people, read deeper than what they were saying and read deeper than their body language had revealed. Desmond’s words and confidence regarding the Bleeding and his trust in them had been replaced by the real unspoken fear that what if he Bled more than one ancestor and he and Altaїr could not stop him.

Ezio wanted to say that they would be able to stop him no matter what, but he knew that at the moment the young man would not accept any sort of comfort his words could have provided him. He could only hope that perhaps in time, Desmond would realize that he had their support and their watchful eye upon him at all times; that there would be someone there for him whether he stopped the Templars or eventually covered himself in his own blood because the Bleeding became too much. He was sure of it now, especially in light of Lucy’s frantic call to his phone several hours ago, pleading with him to help Desmond.

The irony of her call was not lost on him and it was the only thing he could call a positive in light of what was going on. The whisper of the Apple, even though it was in Altaїr’s possession, had led him to Desmond in the cafeteria and it was only until a few choice words had slipped from the young man’s mouth regarding Jack that he had pieced together what had happened to prompt that frantic call from Lucy. He respected Desmond’s privacy too much to ask what had really happened, but judging by the bruising on his knuckles that Desmond had seemingly not even noticed, plus a few marred streaks of dried blood on the side of his face, and that Desmond had been scared shitless while talking about the Lance he guessed that the young man had Bled part of Jack’s memories.

Jack, or rather the first namesake Desmond, was a little sore subject with him and one that weighed heavily upon him. He was his first real failure in so many years that he had lived and occasionally trained an Assassin, most of them from his bloodline. He could not blame Desmond for what he had experienced in his genetic memory, and could only provide a semblance of comfort. It was one of the main reasons he was adamant about watching over the young man and against Altaїr’s wishes, give him an out to all of this.

He could see Desmond was afraid of the knowledge that his ancestors held, the knowledge that the Animus afford him to live through and the young man was right to fear that knowledge. But he could also see that Desmond yearned for that knowledge, was perhaps even addicted to the power that enabled him to accomplish feats that even the most experienced of Assassins, himself and Altaїr included, learned through a lifetime of trial and error.

With the Animus as his Piece of Eden, Desmond could learn so much more, yet the catch was a descent into madness that no one, not even he nor Altaїr knew how to stop. He knew that he had encouraged Desmond to embrace the knowledge with the instruction to try to control it, but it was a false platitude that he hoped would have given a semblance of comfort to the young man.

But there should have been no way that Desmond Bled Jack’s memories into him and that was what made him very angry as he made his way across the caverns and towards Bill’s office. He knew it was the suppressant drug that William had given his son while he had been unconscious and knew that it was the final gasp of the withdrawal effects that had made Desmond Bleed in such a strange way. There was no way that Jack’s memories could have existed in the initial Bleeding because those memories had been consumed by the Lance.

There was so much about that particular Piece of Eden that they did not know about, since each time either he or Altaїr were near it their own Piece, the Apple, screamed silent warnings and wanted nothing to do with it. Desmond was far more vocal with his protest and he knew that it was the Animus’s Bleeding reacting to the sliver of the Lance Piece of Eden. He did not want to worry the young Assassin by agreeing with him, but he himself had managed to push the whispers of the Apple’s reactions to the back of his mind. He knew that they could have asked Arden more about her Piece since she was bound to it, but with her lost memories and with the sorrow that had sprung into her eyes each time she saw her own Piece, it was a very painful reminder of how she had gained her immortality, even though it was a twisted version of immortality.

No, Desmond would never know that each time he and Altaїr were in the vicinity of the Lance, permanently activated as it sustained Arden and half sustained Tabitha Roche, the Apple shrieked its fury to try to destroy the thing it called an anathema. But the years of mental control he had developed to counter the Apple’s seductive tone, sometimes whispering in the fatherly tone of Giovanni Auditore, sometimes whispering with Sofia’s voice, or even Caterina, had enabled him to ignore its false promises of power and of knowledge – and ignore its furious cries.

And it was what Desmond was perhaps starting to learn – that the call of a Piece of Eden, no matter what type it was, was a siren’s call.

When he had been training Jack, he had gleaned knowledge from the artifact and that was where a large part of the fault was. He knew that the Apple along with his own pride and curiosity had led him astray and led Jack down the dark path that had drove him to madness. When he had learned what had happened in the Asiatic mountains it had left him shaken and it was then that he had given Altaїr the Apple to keep. He wanted nothing more to do with the object that had cursed and given him his unnatural life. This time, with Desmond, he would make things right. He would do what he should have done a long time ago when he realized he was not aging, he should have watched over the next generation instead of interfering in their affairs, unlike Altaїr and Amunet.

When he had visited Arden as she was recovering, she had not said whether or not Amunet was dead, but had said that she had glimpsed Leonius attacking her as she and Lucy made their escape. That could have meant anything as neither of them knew if Amunet kept her Piece close to her or even if her Piece could heal even the most grievous of injuries. In the centuries that he had lived, Amunet had been a distant figure, only rising to prominence after Altaїr’s exile once more and through all of that time, he did not know what her Piece of Eden was. It was definitely not the Apple as she would have taken it from Altaїr before exiling him, he was sure of that.

The only person that knew the truth outside the select few was William Miles and he only knew the truth because of what happened to Arden a few years before Altaїr went into exile during World War I. Some might have called it arrogance on Ezio’s part, but he called it preservation because of the single statement Arden had said after she had been rescued from her Templar captors – the Templars were hunting those that had a connection to himself and to Altaїr and long before that, Those that Came Before.

He had initially thought that the Templars were looking for those whose ancestors could have come from Those that Came Before, which others besides Desmond and his line had came from, but over the years, it had become clear that the Templars were searching for specifically the line that passed from Altaїr to him and to this modern day, Desmond. Luckily by the time that had happened, Desmond’s family had already been in hiding in the enclaves and William was aware of the dangers.

But now, Ezio wondered if William had gone too far, his paranoia and guilt fueling him to do what he had done to Desmond. He had gotten too adept at reading body language to know that William did his best to hide the guilt, but what it was for was not his to tell, but it was the source of his anger. He should have prevented it from ever happening after they had reached the underground enclave; should have spoken up on Desmond’s behalf since he was all but in a coma. But William had reassured them that it would work out that it would be fine.

Ezio had a responsibility towards the young man and William had crossed that line by not even mentioning the serious withdrawal effects the ‘cure’ had on Desmond’s fractured mind. Altaїr had told him what had transpired in William’s office after Lucy had revealed that his father had a hand in trying to make the Bleeding Effect disappear. As he approached William’s office, he saw that the lights were on and the door was partially open, a sign that William was already awake and at work for the day-to-day business of running the enclave.

He pushed the door open and saw William flick a look at him before returning his gaze not to his computer, but rather to a monitor wall that was filled with lines and codes. A small table underneath the monitor wall was equally cluttered with test tubes, bubbling liquids and other things that could have looked like it was out of a science fair. William had a lab coat on and was typing a few things into what looked like notes on part of his monitor wall.

“I was wondering when I would see you,” the grey-haired man grabbed a mug and sipped some of the steaming coffee that was in it.

“Then you know that I will be watching you closely,” it was not much of a threat as far as threats went, but Ezio tried to suppress the growing anger at seeing the seemingly unconcerned posture William had adopted.

“You had no objections when I showed it to you,” Desmond’s father glanced at him, “in fact, you thought it would be good for him, a way for him to return to his normal life.”

“That was before we found out the side effects, the withdrawal effects-“

“He would not have had any if it was brought to my attention sooner,” William growled out, “I thought you were going to keep an eye on him, like you said you would.”

“He Bled Jack,” Ezio refused to rise to the bait that William had set out. He could easily see Desmond taking the bait, much like he had when he, Amanda, and the other teenagers had been brought in before William earlier in the night, but Ezio had too much experience to let something like that bother him.

William was silent, his back turned to him, but he was not typing on his keyboard either. Instead, he seemingly stared at a vial of the ‘cure’ that he had created. Ezio could see the unspoken emotions warring on the man’s face and knew that he had struck a nerve and had even surprised him.

“The only way he could have done that was through the Lance’s power,” Ezio continued quietly, “William, what did you do?”

“What I had to, Ezio,” William finally replied, his voice a strained hiss, “good God, what I had to. I won’t apologize for trying to protect my son, protect him from anything and everything!”

“By magnifying the Bleeding Effect? By scaring your son-”

“It was supposed to work!” William curled a hand into a fist and pounded it lightly against the walls of the monitors before looking at him sideways, “Ezio, we are the same! We want the same thing for Desmond! We want him to be safe! Why can’t you understand that?!”

Ezio narrowed his eyes and shook his head, “I disagree. I want him safe, free and clear of this war, of some prophecy that I found in the Sistine Chapel. But it does not work that way; fate does not let you have what you want. No, William, you don’t want him safe, you want to control him. You want to control every aspect of his life so that he can be safe, on your terms. Not his.”

“I’m his father!” William stressed, “I know what’s best for my son!”

“No,” Ezio gestured to the vials and monitors, “you’re a scientist who thinks he’s a father.”

There was something in William’s eyes that looked like regret, but it passed too quickly for Ezio to figure out what it was. “Does he know yet?” William flicked a feeble hand at the monitor wall, the codes and lines still flickering across the screen like the blue smoky hues of the Animus.

“No,” Ezio softened his tone; William deserved that much, and shook his head, “I will not break Desmond’s spirit. You are already done a fine job of that.”

William’s lips thinned at the last part of his statement, “I should have never expected you to understand how a father feels when he sees his son, his child, like this. You’ve lived too long without your own family to understand it.”

Ezio could feel the anger rising in him and quickly suppressed it. It had been a long time since he had dealt with the man and so somewhat forgave him for his callous words. “Put your ego behind you, William,” he said his voice tight with control, “Desmond needs you as a father.”

“What Desmond needs is my knowledge,” William turned back around, effectively ending the conversation.

Ezio’s lips curled in disgust, “You have not changed at all in the years, William. I would have thought you the better man.” Silence greeted him before he turned around and headed out of the man’s office, leaving him to his experiments and monitors. He had hoped that William would see reason, but like so many years before when Desmond was only thirteen and everyone had to escape the enclaves for new ones, William still wanted to control the things he loved and could not let go.

The only thing Ezio knew now was to protect Desmond, whether it was from his father or from anyone else, no matter the cost.

* * *

Desmond rolled over and opened his eyes, instantly awake, his senses aware before he even realized that he was staring up at the rocky ceiling of his room. He blinked his eyes a few times, feeling the sharp scraping feeling of having a lot less sleep than what his body was normally used to before turning over and glancing over at the end table. It was only then that he realized that his end table was not where it was and remembered where he had put it.

He glanced over to his door and softly groaned as he tried to go back to sleep, throwing an arm over his eyes. It would have been so easy, hearing nothing, not even a peep from the common room, the silence a rare blessing from the hectic noise that he was used to hearing. His mind was quiet-

Desmond snapped open his eyes again and sat up with a start. That was it! His mind was quiet. He was so used to hearing the whispers of his ancestors, just hovering at the back of his mind, even when it was muddled by that drug his father had injected into him. Now, there was nothing but silence and Desmond realized that was what had woken him up.

He sat there, listening to the sounds of his own breath, the stillness of his mind, devoid of any thoughts except bewilderment. He dared not allow any hope not even the thought of-

In the stillness of the night, the roof of the villa was always a good place to think, Ezio’s lilting Italian accent broke through the silence and Desmond resisted the urge to sigh loudly and deeply. Instead, he flopped back down onto his pillow and placed a hand across his eyes once more. It was surprisingly Acre bureau for me, Altaїr’s gentle Arabic-accented English continued and Desmond rolled over to his side. He did not want to know what places there were to think, he just wanted some peace and quiet and-

His thoughts screeched to a halt as he realized he had not fallen into their lives as he had times before when he thought he was them, but rather, they had answered what was on his mind at that moment, the peace and quiet. Instead of living their lives at the moment, thinking that he was on the roof of the Monteriggioni villa or the rooftops of the Acre bureau, looking at the moon and stars, they had given him an answer.

Uh, hello? He queried silently, hoping that it was true, but suddenly felt the pressure of the Bleeding Effect drum against his mind and the murmurs of his ancestors of Altaїr and Ezio, of Arden and the others pressing upon him once more and rubbed his temple, feeling the slight twinge of the familiar headache form. Perhaps it was too much to hope for, that he had only imagined it.

He sighed and got out of bed, headed to the small bathroom and cleaned himself up before strapping on his bracer and pulling another hoodie over his tee-shirt, this one a black one with some red trimmings on it. It smelled a little like mothballs, but otherwise seemed fresh and not donated like some of the other clothing that was in his drawers. Feeling a little more human but still tired, he moved the end table out of the way of his door and opened it, only to stumble back and nearly trip over the end table as he came face to face with Lucy who had held up a hand to knock on his door.

“Uh…”

“Oh, you’re awake,” Lucy looked a little surprised, but covered it with a faint smile.

Desmond wanted to return the smile, but he spotted the purplish bruise marks on her wrists and the memories of what he had done last night rushed into him filling him with shame. Lucy must have noticed as she quickly hid her hand behind her back and instead held out a watch with her other hand. “Here, I forgot to give you this when you first woke up yesterday.”

He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, anything, but instead closed it after a few seconds and nodded dumbly, taking the proffered object and examined it. It was digital and definitely used, but seemed to work. He noticed that it was just a little after eight-thirty in the morning, no wonder he still felt like crap. He had only gotten a little over three hours of sleep. As he strapped on the watch to his right hand, unused to the feeling since he normally wore one on his left, but that was covered by the bracer, he spotted Lucy peered over his shoulder and moved a little to hide the end table that he had nearly tripped over.

“Did you…?”

“It’s nothing,” Desmond was at a loss as to what to say to her and felt decidedly uncomfortable with her this close to him even though they were standing at least a person apart. The memories of what happened last night were still viciously playing through his mind as he adverted his gaze from her body and from her face. She was not Elisabeth, he reminded himself sharply, but he could feel almost a phantom-like urge to run his hands across her body, to feel her writhing beneath him and inhaled sharply. Jack was not there, he could definitely feel it, but the realness, the surreal touch of that memory felt like it had been branded into his mind and soul, and nothing, not even the whispers of his ancestors could drown that out.

“Desmond are you-“

“I’m fine,” he snapped before looking up at her, immediately apologetic, “I’m sorry…Lucy, I just-“

“No, no, it’s my fault. I know you got in around five this morning,” she replied, “by all rights, you should be irritated and tired.”

“You were awake then? But how did you…”

“I heard Ezio,” she shrugged as if it was nothing out of the ordinary and Desmond felt terrible. A part of him wanted to reach out and apologize to her, but another part of him wanted to grab hold of her, scream at her, asking her why was she acting this way; why she was acting like nothing had happened between them, that she should be angry with him, should be furious with what he had almost done to her. Instead, she was acting like nothing was out of the ordinary and that in of itself felt like glass shattering with him. The pain and the hurt, oh god it hurt so much-

“Yeah, Ezio,” instead all he could do was agree with her, the awkwardness and inability to do anything paralyzing him. “So…”

The knock on their common room door interrupted any further conversation and before Lucy could walk over to open it, Rebecca came in, a wide grin on her face. “Hey guys- uh…am I interrupting anything?”

Desmond breathed a quick sigh of relief, glad for the interruption as he closed the door to his own room behind him and walked over to the small coffee pot, picking it up and sniffing it as a distraction. “No, just woke up, that’s all. Only got a few hours of sleep.”

“Ouch, yeah, I know what’s it like pulling one of those, not fun,” Rebecca clasped her hands together, “so, you joining us for breakfast Des?”

“Uh-“

“Yes, he is,” Lucy answered for him before he had a chance to say no, “come on.” She reached out and grabbed his hand, startling him as could suddenly feel the affection from Altaїr, of all ancestors, surging in him. Her hands were calloused, then again, she had been in battles and wielded a sword- The thought broke away like a dangling piece of something terribly important that he knew he should have seen as he stumbled, barely able to place the pot of lukewarm coffee back on its burner. Lucy looped her other hand around Rebecca’s elbow as they headed out of the room.

The narrowness of the caverns and paths made it so that only two people could walk comfortably at the same time and it was here where Lucy released his hand, leaving him to follow behind the two women. As soon as her hand was gone, he felt the memory of Altaїr’s affection disappear and shuddered a little. He knew that the affection was for Maria, but it had felt so real and he could have sworn that he saw bits of Maria in Lucy when that had happened. But that was the Bleeding, overlaying the memories of others upon those he was familiar with.

“So, I was able to free up some of the glitching that’s been happening with Baby with the files you gave me. Great work! Where did you get them?”

“I was going to give it to you before we left, but since everything went down so quickly…”

“Ah, gotcha,” Rebecca nodded sagely, “still, the coding on them is unlike anything I’ve seen before-“

“It’s a coding that Vidic used-“

“And you stole, sneaky, girl, very sneaky. Baby’ll be all nice and shiny soon,” Rebecca turned her head a little, “hey Desmond, are you up to having another session soon?”

“Uh what?” Desmond blinked, having tuned out most of the conversation as he tried to sort his brain out.

“You know, a session in the Animus? In Baby?” Rebecca asked, “I’m kind of curious about Arden’s mission and all. I mean last time we checked, she was attacked by Jack in the meatpacking factory and damned if I do, Andrew was seriously pissed off. I get the feeling that he’s someone you don’t want to piss off.”

“No, you don’t,” Desmond murmured in agreement; he could see it clearly now that Andrew was really Altaїr underneath the entire mystique that had shrouded Arden’s memories, “I, uh, she had to learn how to operate with limited information and with someone else guiding her actions. Andrew forgave her after she and Stephen were able to save future MP Austen Chamberlain.”

He realized that the two women had fallen silent and saw that they were staring at him with worried eyes. It was also then that he realized that, that particular memory had not been experienced in the Animus, but rather, it had been when he was most likely unconscious. He could not quite remember the details, but still remembered the sense of peace for a moment before he had fallen unconscious once more. “I…uh…”

“I think maybe we should wait a couple more days before we do any more sessions,” Lucy said in a mild tone.

“Yeah, gives me more time to make sure Baby won’t glitch,” Rebecca agreed quickly before looking at him and trying not to let the worry in her expression show, “so who’s Stephen?”

“If I’m not mistaken, he is, er, he will be my great-great-something-great grandfather? His last name is Miles,” Desmond was still not too sure of the memory that he had experienced, Arden did not seem to be warming up to Stephen, but at the end of that Chamberlain mission, had felt that he was an all right sort of bloke, if a bit eccentric like his master. All right sort of bloke? Desmond shook his head as he tried to clear his mind from Arden’s British terminology floating about in his head.

Both Lucy and Rebecca looked surprised before Rebecca grinned, “Well, at least we know that your family’s from Great Britian-“

“Part of them,” Desmond shrugged, “Stephen I think is already in America though. He just traveled over with Ezio to investigate the Jack the Ripper stuff.”

“Ezio was his master?! Damn, still kind of hard to believe it, that they’re really still alive. I mean, the Apple keeping him and Altaїr alive,” the computer tech shook her head in amazement, “I still can’t believe you knew about this Luce, and didn’t tell me!”

“I couldn’t,” Lucy gave a half-hearted protest, trying to make light of it, but Desmond caught the undercurrent of strain in her voice. He knew that Rebecca was only poking fun at Lucy, so then why did she sound so strained? He also wondered if Rebecca knew about the Lance of Longius keeping Arden alive, or for that matter, Arden being an immortal like his two other ancestors.

“Excuse me,” Arden’s voice made them turn to see her dressed again in military fatigues, her expression businesslike and very much so like the soldier he had seen when they had first arrived at Cheyenne Mountain.

“Hey, Lieutenant, good to see you up!” Rebecca grinned, “We were worried for a few days.”

“Thank you, Rebecca,” the simple nod conveyed much more than Desmond was willing that Rebecca saw and for a second thought he saw a flash of pain in her eyes. He had told Ezio that he thought her as strong, maybe stronger than ‘strong’. How else could she bear the Lance of Longinus as her Piece of Eden? So then why did the pain he thought he saw echo deeply within him?

“I was hoping that if it was not too much trouble, I could borrow Desmond for a moment?” she asked politely, her normal accent all but fading into a cadence he recognized as a bit of New Englander. A quick glance to Rebecca and Lucy told him the whole story – Lucy knew, but Rebecca did not and it seemed Arden wished it would be kept that way.

“More gun training?”

“Something like that,” the assassin replied.

“Uh, sure,” Desmond saw all eyes on him and realized that this was his way out, to be away from Lucy and not have to bear the awkward feelings or see the bruises he had inflicted upon her last night. She was wearing a long sleeve shirt, but with a turn of her head in a certain way or her wrists moving, he could see bits of the purple-blue bruises. “I’ll catch you guys later, all right?”

The two women nodded before he turned and followed Arden. It was the coward’s way out, he knew it, the whispers in his mind knew it. But he also knew that he could not face Lucy or face the awkward questions that would arise once someone commented on her bruises. You’re nothing but a coward, Desmond Miles.

* * *

Author’s Notes:

I would like to take this time to thank my beta reader Legume Shadow for her input in fixing this chapter. Ezio happened to babble a lot whenever he gets passionate about a subject and in this case it was regarding Desmond. I would also like to thank moondusted for keeping me on my toes with her remarks regarding what I plan for this fic and occasionally pointing out whether or not I have inconsistencies – though I hope that the kraken will get those inconsistencies and munch on them.

For readers who are watching the Desmond/Lucy plotline, it will take time for their relationship to repair itself back to what once was and even then, it may not as with the case of attempted rape (with or without Bleeding Effect). Right now, Desmond is feeling a lot of guilt even though Lucy already said he is not to blame; hence the title of this chapter.

Oh, speaking of which, if you haven’t noticed already, but all chapter titles that don’t look like they’re quite English (re: Athanasia, Morituri, Lacuna) are in the POVs of the immortal Assassins. The normal worded chapters are all Desmond’s POV with a little bit of others when need be. This chapter, Onus, is a hybrid of the two, as it is a word used in the modern day and also from Latin, thus dividing the POV between Ezio and Desmond (and even I think William deserved that verbal smack down from Ezio). Tee hee.

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Story:

Chapter 27 – Barriers

Desmond thought that they were headed to the training salle once more, but when Arden made a different turn into another path, he was puzzled. He had been handed a banana to eat by his ancestor and had long finished it, not realizing how starved his body was for food after the three hour training session he had engaged in hours ago. Already, his muscles were hurting and pulling from the strain of trying to put his body through the motions his mind knew, but it was a good kind of hurt.

“Where are we going?” he asked as she led him through a small narrow path that was only blocked by guardrails, the drop into an abyss making him a little queasy. The path widened just a little more before they stopped by a ladder and she began to climb up. He followed her curious instead of afraid as to where she was taking him. As she reached the top and paused, he saw her fiddling with a lock of sorts before the loud echo of a click resounded in the caverns and down into the abyss before coming back up and she pulled herself through a wooden latch of sorts.

He climbed up after her and paused as he emerged into a dusty wooden room that looked unused. Old radio equipment was lined up on a table and a chair with bright yellow stuffing contrasting dark green fake leather sat in front of the table. It was an old ham radio, he realized, but there was something different about it. His eyes followed some of the wires that were strung across the walls and ceiling to what looked like a small tower computer that was gently humming in the far corner, nearly buried underneath a pile of scrap metal and other sundry items.

“This was where Altaїr communicated with Ezio and a few others he trusted,” Arden gestured for him to climb all the way up so she could put the wooden floorboard latch back into its proper place. He did so and held an arm over his nose as dust and sand flew into the air. It was extremely dry and he could already feel the sun beating its heat down upon them through the wooden shed. They were definitely in the desert, no doubt about that.

“But wouldn’t the Templars or even Amunet be able to find you guys with the radio?"

“The occasional assassin sent out to search for you on a yearly basis from this enclave was also given a series of codes if Altaїr wished to communicate with us that year. They were instructed to leave it at a predetermined drop site or person that was agreed upon during the last communiqué,” Arden explained, her natural accent returning as she dropped the faked New Englander one she had affected in front of Rebecca. Desmond was a little surprised at how easily he could tell the accents apart, knowing that just weeks ago, he probably would not have figured out the difference.

“And then…”

“I would pick it up and if Ezio wished to talk to Altaїr or if there were instructions left for him to specifically contact Ezio on a certain date, then I would relay it,” she shrugged.

“Why didn’t you talk to Altaїr yourself?” he asked, but she had already turned around, peering out from the door to the shed before gesturing with a hand for him to follow her once more. She rounded the corner of the shed and climbed up a ladder. He followed and pulled himself to the rooftop of the shed, squinting at the bright early morning sunlight.

An unbidden smile appeared on his face as he paused for a moment, savoring the fresh dry air and the warmth of the light bathing on his face. He had spent the last few weeks either underground or in a building unable to go outside whenever he wanted to. Though he had taken a car ride with Ezio to Denver, it had been at the waning hours of light instead of the morning. Truth be told, Desmond missed seeing the sunrise something he had occasionally done when his shifts had ended as everyone woke up to greet the day.

“Come,” Arden’s tone was soft, almost matronly as he opened his eyes and saw her sitting on the rooftop. She patted the wooden boards next to where she sat and he sat down next to her, wondering what this was all about.

“So…”

“Meditate,” her soft tone was undone by the blunt statement as she stared at him expectantly.

Desmond blinked a few times, “Excuse me?”

“Meditate,” she repeated, “I want you to meditate. Let your ancestors talk to you, let the Bleeding Effect flow over you even if it overwhelms you.”

“Uh, no…”

“Control it,” she continued, “compartmentalize your mind. Learn how to preserve the part of you that exists in that tide. Yesterday I saw that you were afraid to fight, you were afraid of losing yourself. But then something changed and you began to fight it, fight the Bleeding and fight the tide.”

“I,” Desmond grimaced, “I tried, but, I don’t think I managed to really well.” He remembered Ezio’s encouragement and reluctance to acknowledge that he could very well lose himself permanently to the memories of his ancestors and perhaps even attack them.

Arden smiled and he felt it echo within him before she reached out and grasped him by his upper arm, squeezing his biceps gently, “This is your physical strength.” Releasing his arm, she placed a warm hand on his head and he felt the oddest echo that he knew he should not have felt from the memories that was her within. Her touch was like a mother’s an affectionate sort that he wanted to grasp onto, but somehow could not. “This is your mental strength.”

He slowly nodded as he saw the maternal affection in her eyes. The echoing pain in him wanted to tell her to stop, that she should hide it because they, whoever they were, would surely use it against her. For a second, he saw the ageless eyes staring back at him, the hurt, the agony, and he knew. He had not lived the memory yet, but the raw depth of her anguish resonated across every single one of her memories. It started with the loss of her mother, but it was the loss of a child that he had not known yet.

Something must have shown on his face as she withdrew her hand and looked at him, the demeanor that was her military persona at the base all but gone and before him was the immortal Arden. She was still cold, imperious, and business-like, but there was a vulnerability that he had only glimpsed through her memories.

“Those that are bound to the Lance always have the voice of those sacrificed by the Lance,” she said, folding her hands on her lap, “and those that are bound slowly lose memories of the sacrifice.”

“I…don’t get it,” Desmond was confused.

“Each time I am injured, I lose parts of myself,” she explained, “it is the Lance’s price for my…life.” She held out a hand, staring at it as if it was something new to behold. For a moment, Desmond wondered if she too had an illusion of sorts cast over her and she was in reality, much like Tabitha, skeletal, rotting, a living corpse. “I am not like Tabitha,” she answered his unspoken question with a faint twitch of her lips, “but perhaps one day, I will be.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I said I lose parts of myself, I meant I lost parts of my memories,” she dropped her hand and curled her knees to her chest. For a moment, Desmond was struck at how young she suddenly looked and realized that in an essence, she was much younger than he was when she was bound by the Lance and made immortal. In fact, she looked much like the age he was currently experiencing her memories from. “I know there is something important in those memories, something that no one else alive knows.”

“Altaїr and Ezio weren’t there?”

“No,” Arden shook her head, “the last thing I remember before the loss of my memories is a fancy dress ball in what history calls Victorian Era England. I remember the events that happen after that and learning the truth about my two ancestors. Then…my first memory is raising a son, probably just a few years before World War I broke out.”

Desmond could not help but gape at her, “That’s…twenty, almost thirty-“

“Around twenty of my years that I do not remember, yes,” she shrugged, “I know that it was the Lance that ripped those memories away, consuming them to keep me alive.”

“How…”

“I can feel it here,” she pressed a fist to her breastbone, “and I know somewhere in there, is the echoing pain for a terrible loss.”

“Couldn’t Stephen…I guess, I mean, the father of your child-“

“Stephen was the father of my son,” a sad smile appeared on her face, “that much I know because I had a picture of him with me and my son, Alan, looked like him. Ezio says that we married, but I do not remember it.”

“Was?”

“I think he died, somewhere in those lost memories because I remember picking up his picture and tears would just unexpectedly fall,” Arden sounded detached, “I still do not know why to this day.” She glanced at him, “You remind me of him, sometimes, at least from what I remember of him. But you remind me more of myself, though I would think that it is the Bleeding Effect more than anything else.” She fell silent for a few seconds before staring out at the desert, “The Lance…told me that you met Tabitha and her guardian spirit, her father Alexander.”

“Yeah…back at the gym at the base,” Desmond was still confused as to what the spirit, for the lack of a better word, of Alexander had said in trusting his ancestors.

“The Lance itself, like the other Pieces of Eden out there, whispers with the voice of those that we cared for in our lives. It is easy for Ezio, for Altaїr to push those voices away because it does not sustain them like the Lance does for Tabitha and I,” she turned her right forearm upwards and he saw the glint of the hidden blade nestled in the sleeve of the long-sleeved shirt she wore. However, he did not feel the revulsion he had felt during their sparring session and saw that the blade was not glowing. Instead, it looked like an ordinary hidden blade, except for what he knew about it.

“I said last night that I needed the Lance near me at all times or else I will die,” she flicked the blade out and like her master before her, absently tested the sharpness of the blade, “I do not remember how I received this blade, but what I do know is that I had it even when the Lance itself was not near me when I was raising Alan. All I know is that the next I saw of the Lance was that it was with Tabitha and it was sustaining her.”

“That’s why you were at the base?” he asked.

She nodded absently, “I am not strong, no matter what you think. The Lance, it speaks to me with Stephen’s voice.” She sheathed the blade and something clicked inside of Desmond as he stared at her and the blade she had been inattentively touching. He had seen that bracer before, certainly not the blade, but definitely the bracer. Its intricate style was similar to Ezio’s, but it was the same bracer that Stephen had worn when she had first met him. He realized that she had gone to the base not only to be closer to the Lance, but also because she could not resist the Lance’s voice and it spoke with Stephen’s voice to her. He realized that in the years that she had known Stephen was dead and the Lance not with her, she had missed her husband’s voice had missed everything about him and when given the opportunity, she had leapt at the facsimile.

“Meditation helps for the most part,” she smiled sadly, “it at least keeps my mind focused. I thought it would be able to help you with the Bleeding Effect.”

He realized that whatever the Lance did to her, it was akin to the Bleeding Effect, except it was with the voice of the one person she loved dearly. He had multiple voices in his mind due to the Animus and realized that she was trying to help his mental fortitude by having him meditate, to at least compartmentalize or try to build a defense against the onslaught of memories to help him control like Ezio and Altaїr had tried to do earlier while they were sparring.

“Amunet-”

“Believed that the Bleeding was minimal,” she said, “I am sorry for not helping you sooner, but we could not take the risk.”

Desmond nodded before shifting a little to a more comfortable position and looked at her, “So what do I have to do?”

“Close your eyes,” the sadness that had seemingly engulfed her when she talked about her husband and about the Lance receded and she seemingly brightened a little, showing bits of the persona he recognized when he lived her memories. Underneath the cold exterior she presented was a young woman who loved life and loved those that were close to her.

“If I fall asleep...”

She laughed lightly and Desmond was shocked at how youthful it sounded. He realized that in all of the memories he had of her, she had never laughed. Oddly there wasn't the echo he received from her like he had when Ezio laughed and he knew that it was rare. Of all of his ancestors, she was probably the most serious of all of them – even Altaїr had a dark humor that occasionally surfaced. The only time he had even felt a hint of affection was when she had impulsively embraced her master like a father and that was in her memories that he had experienced.

“If you fall asleep, you will regret it,” he felt a faint echo run along his memories and the flash of her smiling face – a doting mother – before the echo faded away just as quickly. He realized that she saw him like the ghost of her son or even a grandson that needed help embarrassed him yet touched him at the same time.

“Close your eyes,” she repeated her command and he did so, “and think of nothing.”

“I can't quite do that...” he could feel the memories of his ancestors pressing down upon him, could already see flashes of the Jerusalem bureau, mingled with the night skies of Venice.

“What do you see?” she asked calmly.

“Venice...the skyline, I'm running through the rooftops,” he had just killed a guard, a flying leap at him, death from above, “that's one down-”

“Why did you do that?”

“Because I need to reach the boat, at least the Carnevale is making these guards stupid with wine-”

“Did you not kill him already?”

“No, Rosa why are you-”

“Rodrigo Borgia is dead.”

He could see it now, the old man poisoned by his own deceit as his son Cesare shoved the apple down his father's throat. He shook his head, that was an unfortunate way to meet God and hopped down into the room, ignoring Lucrezia's near-silent sobs. Kneeling down next to the Pope, he closed the man's sightless eyes. “Requiescat in pace,” he murmured-

Desmond snapped out of the memory as he felt a hand on his own, startling him and opened his eyes. For a second, he reeled as he saw Lucrezia's face overlying Arden's followed by Maria's and countless other women that he could not identify but knew them in many different ways.

“Breathe, Desmond, breathe,” Arden's clear voice brought him back to reality and he did as he was told, the memories slowly fading.

“That...” he ran a hand through his hair, suddenly feeling drained, “that was...what the fuck happened?”

“What I suspected would happened each time you close your eyes,” she shook her head, “you did not fall asleep, but rather, went into a waking dream of sorts. Let's try again.”

“Oh no,” he shook his head, “no...I don't want to-”

“This time, Desmond, focus. See yourself as who you really are, who you want to be. See past the memories and focus on yourself,” she looked at him earnestly and he grimaced.

“Focus on myself?”

“Who are you Desmond?” she asked.

“I'm-”

“You are an Assassin, yes, but that is superficial,” she interrupted him, “who are you? Are you truly Ezio, are you truly Altaїr? Darim? Are you Arden? Nathaniel? Leonius?”

“I'm related to Leonius?”

She arched an eyebrow at him and for a moment, he felt the quiver of fear that was Arden in him react to the eyebrow. It was the same expression Andrew, no Altaїr had whenever she asked an ignorant question.

“Close your eyes,” she said and he reluctantly did so, seeing nothing at first before the whispers became stronger and he pressed his lips together in an effort to try to not see the shadowy images. “If you are Ezio, then be him,” her voice had seemingly melted into the distance as he thought he saw the shadow of a Templar wandering the streets of Damas, or Damascus as the Crusaders called the city. Who was this Ezio-

The villa was always pretty in the spring-

“Are you Ezio?” he glared up at the sky, annoyed at the question. Where was this phantom voice-

“No,” Desmond felt everything retreat for a second as he forced the negative out and choked a little at finding his own voice. His denial had washed away the images of the dusty streets, peasants and beggars wailing all but gone.

“Who are you then?”

The rush of another image nearly overwhelmed him as he observed the grey, bleak, burnt country side. Snow was arriving soon, and he hoped that the army would be away from Germania soon. The Caesar's health-

“No,” Desmond found it easier to push away the memory of Roman battlefields of Leonius' memory as he found himself plunged into darkness once more. He heaved a deep breath, but it was like swimming in a murky pool. “No...I...”

He had only been a child, but a happy child nonetheless. He remembered running to a field of wildflowers, giggling like there was no tomorrow. The call of his name made him turn to see his father running to catch up to him, a wide smile on his face. He ran, trying to avoid his father's outstretched hands before they swooped down and picked him up, sending him flying through the air and he shrieked in joy. Those hands were not going to drop him, he was sure of that and so flung his arms carelessly into the air, pretending he was a plane. Dad said that perhaps one day he would be able to fly on an actual plane... “Careful, Desmond!” he heard his mother shout, and saw her tucking a hair behind her ears, watching them as she hugged her own belly, swollen with the impending birth of either a sister or brother for Desmond. He was excited about it, and already said that he would be the best brother there was and would take care of either his little brother or sister regardless...

Federico always led him across the rooftops, teaching him the agility he knew-

When he wasn't watching over his little sister Amanda, he would sneak outside and climb up to the tallest building in the small community, relishing the chance to practice what he saw some of the older apprentices do. The wind whipped across his hair like Dad used to do when he pretended he was a plane, but those days were few and far in between. Dad was more solemn now, sterner...something had happened and Desmond wondered if it had been his fault. He hadn't meant to listen in, but he had heard raised voices and it was scary...

Abbas did not believe him, not even after he had told him the truth-

Desmond shook his hand out, feeling the sting of pain on his knuckles as he glared at the teen in front of him. Eric was a bastard and always lorded over him that he would never be picked because he was Bill's kid, the Leader's kid. No one wanted to train him because he just wasn't good enough. It was bad enough that Dad had forbidden him and Amanda from going outside unless either one of their parents or someone designated to watch over them was making sure that they did not wander outside of the compound. But then Eric and some of the others who had senior Assassins training them began to realize that he wasn't even apprenticed to anyone. That he was given some menial tasks and thus began to make fun of him. He hated this place...

Running away was never an option, especially if Jack was somehow involved. She would face every opponent that challenged her and she would prevail-

He had to learn fast in the world outside of the Farm and in that first year, survival on rats, picking through garbage, anything to do to survive nearly made him crawl back to the Farm. But he resisted, even when things got so bad that he had been hospitalized. As soon as he had awakened, he read his medical chart before stealing medication from the shelf and hurried out of there without even checking out. He had hitched a ride to a city some two hundred miles away. He knew he could not leave anything for his father to find him with and would change locations every so often. He would disappear off the grid...

Sometimes Ezio hated Florence for what it reminded him of-

There was always a part of Masyaf that Altaїr avoided, reminding him too much of where his friendship had broken with Abbas-

Arden never went back to the Whitechapel area; she did not want to see the cleaned streets, always seeing her mother's guts spilled across the cobblestones-

Desmond slowly opened his eyes as he could clearly feel a distinct barrier of sorts across each and every one of his ancestors' memories. The barriers were the memories of his childhood and adulthood, long forgotten; only remembered now. Arden was staring at him and in his mind's eye he could see her running across the rooftops of London, hiding behind chimneys when several bobbies were in pursuit, but it wasn't as intrusive as before. He was able to push it away like so many other times, but this time, picked one of his own memories, when he had scraped his knees attempting to climb the church in the first Farm for the first time, and block it off.

“Who are you?” she had a proud smile on her face and Desmond returned the grin, feeling a lot more confident.

“Desmond Miles,” he answered confidently, “Assassin.”

* * *

It was a couple of hours later and Desmond could feel a significant improvement in trying to separate the memories of his ancestors from himself, but knew that the process wasn't over yet. He did not know if he could truly separate himself when the Bleeding got worst and Arden had cautioned that when he fought or even used his Eagle Sense, those barriers may be destroyed, but at least he was able to somehow manage it for now.

The sound of the latch opening in the shed under them made the two of them stop and for a second Desmond tensed, thinking it was an enemy before he recognized the cadence of steps and could feel Ezio relax in his mind as the living one appeared on the roof, his head popping up from the ladder that they had climbed.

“Ezio,” Arden greeted.

“Just reminding you that the satellite is due to pass over in a few minutes,” he said and Desmond glanced up in bright blue cloudless sky.

“Aren't there hundreds of satellites up there?” he asked as he climbed back down, following his two ancestors as they entered the shed and climbed down into the cool caverns once more. He did not realize how hot and dry he had been until the cool moisture filled breeze hit his face as he descended the ladder.

“There are, but we know of a couple that specifically belong to NASA and thus to the Templars. They are specifically designed to look for heat signatures in remote areas where some enclaves would be,” Ezio replied.

“But how do you oh wait never mind,” Desmond shook his head, “contacts in NASA and other military installations, right?”

“And our own enclaves that operate as part of more private sectors with satellite installations. Not all cable companies in the world belong to the Templars,” Ezio said, grinning, “So how are you doing?”

“Better, I think,” Desmond admitted, “I don't know if it'll really help, but for what it's worth, thanks.”

“Aww, see even the grandson likes you-” the flashing glint of a hidden blade emerging from Arden's bracer was so quick followed by Ezio's grunt before he was pushed against the railing that prevented anyone from falling into the deep abyss surprised Desmond. Arden's eyes were narrowed, but he recognized the chilling smile she wore while pressing the blade to Ezio's neck, not enough to draw blood, but enough for a warning.

“Uh,” Desmond reached a hand out, wondering if he should interfere, a little more than shocked at both the teasing tone that Ezio had adopted as much as Arden's reaction.

Ezio however, had a wide smile on his face, seemingly unconcerned that his neck could be slit from ear to ear by Arden. “Doting old grandmother does not like to be reminded-ah!”

“Want to keep calling me that?” Arden asked.

“You're making the kid have a heart attack you know,” Ezio said and a few seconds later Arden straightened, sheathing her blade but giving the Italian assassin a shove against the railing as a warning, but this time Desmond could see that it was more of a childish, affectionate shove than anything malicious.

“Bastardo,” she shot at him in Italian before moving ahead of them.

He only laughed as he picked himself up and dusted himself a bit before turning to Desmond with a grin, “She's not as serious as she claims to be. I can tell you for sure that she has a soft spot for you and is like a doting grandmother!!” he shouted the last part in Italian, making Arden turn back and give Ezio the middle finger before continuing on.

Desmond raised an eyebrow, wondering what had gotten into his ancestor. For a second, he had glimpsed a long-forgotten youthful teasing in Ezio. “Is it necessary to antagonize her?” he could feel Arden's irritation within him, a reaction to the comments earlier. He had tried to wrap it up in a similar memory, but nothing would come forth and so he Bled the particular feeling.

Ezio shrugged, “Sometimes she takes herself too seriously, almost like Altaїr.” He left it at that as they continued back into the main area of the enclave. After a few minutes of silence, Desmond saw Arden turn into the tunnel-hall that led to his father's office.

“Where is she-”

“Your father is holding his daily meeting with the others, but it is also one of the reasons I went to find you and Arden. Altaїr said something came up regarding Cheyenne Mountain,” Ezio shook his head, “before you ask, I do not know what. I was sent to find you and to find Arden.”

“Amunet?”

“Possibly,” the darkening of Ezio's expression was not lost on Desmond as he recognized the abrupt switch from humor to seriousness that he had experienced in his ancestors memories. It was a little unnerving to see him actually do it, having the ability to turn off the lighter part of himself like a light switch so fast. It made him wonder if Ezio used the humor as a shield against others or was perhaps a little more sociopathic than he was led to believe.

“All right then,” Desmond was also concerned about having to face his father, but supposed that if it was a meeting, maybe he would be able to get away with just standing in the back, blending in with the others. He headed up the hall that would lead him to his father's office, Ezio following behind him.

* * *

Author’s Notes:

Quiet chapter with a little bit of humor at the end – after all, it’s the end of the world so why can’t there be a laugh before everything goes to hell in a hand basket (oh wait, oops). This is as much of Arden’s story as it is Desmond’s right now and you’ll eventually learn how she come to be attached to the Lance.

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Story:

Chapter 28 - Objectives

It was already crowded in the office with other Assassins in the room, some whom he recognized from last night when they had hauled in the other teenagers from outside, others he vaguely remembered seeing in the cafeteria. He and Ezio managed to squeeze into the back, standing near Arden. He spotted Lucy, Rebecca, and Shaun near the front, but did not greet them. His father was by his desk in conference with Altaїr who was pointing out a few things. A projection of sorts was set up on a wall across from the desk as people murmured or said greetings to each other. Desmond was reminded of the first meeting he had with Amunet and the other leaders of the various cells that had found themselves at Cheyenne Mountain, except this one seemed a lot more impersonal and less formal.

“Excuse me,” a voice spoke up behind him and Desmond moved a little to the side, pressing against the rocky wall as a couple of people squeezed by him, blocking his view of his father, but not of the projection wall. He did not mind, it made it easier for him to avoid his father at this meeting. He still had not forgiven him for what he had done to him, had tried to control him through a drug, a so-called cure to the Bleeding Effect that had made it worst.

Curiously enough, he did not see any children in the meeting, but did see some of the teenagers he knew had been apprenticed to assassins sitting around. Amanda was neither there nor little Peter, but he thought he spotted his mother, Alice, sitting up front in the seat closest to his father's desk. He wondered where or what Amanda was doing as he strongly suspected that she probably knew about the meeting but was forbidden from going to it.

His proximity to the door to his father's office showed him a clear passage down the hall and there was no way Amanda would have been able to eavesdrop without him noticing. The ventilation shafts were too tiny for her to crawl through so he suspected that she was probably somewhere else, most likely annoyed at not being allowed in.

“Are we all here?” Bill spoke up, quieting the murmurs as he looked around. His eyes swept past where Desmond and Ezio were standing, giving no hint that he even saw him, but he had a feeling that his father knew he was there, especially since he saw Altaїr also look around and give a small nod that his Italian ancestor returned. “Good,” his father clasped his hands together, “I know that this is the time for the usual daily meetings and assignments that we have, but we just got a ping from one of the cells an hour ago regarding Cheyenne Mountain, the last stronghold of the leadership. It is with regret that I say we have lost our stronghold at the Mountain. Dr. Patrice and those with her were executed by Abstergo and the Templars.”

The room burst into chatter again as a few of the Assassins turned to each other. Desmond caught little whispers of a couple of Assassins saying that they feared that what had come to past, that what would happen to them. The undercurrent of worry pervaded the room, yet he felt oddly relieved. Shooting a look at Ezio, he saw that his ancestor had an impassive expression, as if he was waiting for another shoe to drop.

“It is my decision to show you the video that was recorded regarding this execution,” Altaїr spoke up and Desmond was surprised to hear almost all traces of his Arabic-accented English disappear and realized that he was adopting the persona of Andrew. “Al-Jazeera has begun to broadcast this saying that the Taliban gave them this video. Soon media outlets across the globe will know of this.”

Everyone's attention was directed to the projection wall and Desmond started a little as he recognized the video shown. The background was made up to look like the inside of a Taliban compound, but the chair used to tie up several hostages was definitely from the commissary of the Mountain. A voice speaking in Arabic quoting the Qu'ran and saying things regarding death to the infidels droned in the background before a masked person, dressed exactly like one would expect a terrorist of the Taliban, lifted the heads of three who have already been shot. He saw that one of them was Trey Jager, and the other two were Leonius and Amunet.

Desmond felt his flesh pucker a little as he could understand the Arabic spoken. When he had been bartending, he had been ignorant of the language and like many of his other patrons had thought that it was unfair and an injustice that the Taliban were not caught. But now, with Altaїr's memories in him translating the Arabic, the whole experience became even more surreal. These were Templars, he realized, not Taliban fighters, but rather Templars in disguise.

Even though they dressed themselves up like the group, the flashes of skin in-between their gloves and sleeves of the outfits they wore, too quick to be noticed by anyone else, he saw the paleness of their skins, the different colors even. The Templars wanted Al-Jazeera and the other news outlets in the world to blame possibly Al-Qaida or even the Taliban. Which begged the question, of the past eleven years since the September 11^th attacks on New York City, with all of these hostage videos out, which ones were real, and which ones were made specifically by Templars to fan the flames of war for their goals of control and peace?

Seeing Leonius' open dead eyes with a bullet in the middle of his forehead made Desmond see a flash of a body he did not recognize, but knew had been executed in the same manner. The memory had disappeared just as quickly, but he glanced over to see Shaun's expression grow rigid as he stared at the screen. He had almost forgotten that Shaun saw Leonius as a mentor, as someone who had brought him into the Assassin folds and gave him a purpose. He saw Rebecca place a hand on the historian's shoulder in comfort while Lucy just moved a little closer.

There was a change in tone from the droning speaker as one of the fake Taliban members moved over to the last figure sitting on the far left, slumped against the seat. She was clearly female, but with a hood over her head, Desmond suspected that she was not dead and was going to be executed in the video. He had seen enough of the types of videos, one where demands were made, others where dead bodies next to a live one meant an execution video.

“This is what happens when traitors to the cause are found,” the voice said in Arabic before her head was pulled back and the hood ripped away.

Desmond wanted to throw up.

Sharon Avelline stared back at the camera, her face stained with dirt marks and tear streaks. A streak of dried blood ran along her jaw line and her clothes were also stained with blood, but she did not look like she was injured. Desmond wondered if it was the blood of her family members that she had said was going to get out of Denver or if she had fought the Templars that had captured her.

“Easy,” he felt Ezio's strong hand on his shoulder and nodded numbly, trying to keep the bile from rising up in him. She had been captured and he had a horrible feeling that it was his fault. He should not have met her in the bar, should have just walked back to the Alfa without getting any information. There were probably Templars in the bar itself who had seen the exchange, his attempts to be a college student like them failing.

It was like watching a nightmare come true as a handgun was held to the side of her head, but she did not flinch, resigned to her fate. He wanted her to fight, wanted her to get up, to fight her captors, but she did not and he could not help but flinch when the shot finally rang out, splattering her brain matter to the side before she slumped over, instantly dead.

“Let their deaths serve as a reminder that we shall prevail!” the voice crowed before the video froze.

The room broke into worried murmurs and hushed conversation, but Desmond blocked it all out as he felt as if a vast emptiness inside of him opened up. Even though he had been captured by Abstergo, had Vidic chase after him, it had all been done to him and no one else. But he had known Sharon, even though it was just a brief moment. He had felt sympathy for her because she lived in such squalid conditions in a city that should have been left to die. In a way, she was an innocent girl, though she provided information to the Assassins, somehow he had thought she was protected from any sort of retaliation, but this was not the case. They had killed her and it made it all the more real for him.

“There is nothing you can do about it,” Ezio's quiet whisper spoke in his ear and he nodded, unable to voice his gratitude for the support that his ancestor was providing him, “this is war.”

“...Yeah,” he muttered quietly staring at Altaїr who was holding a hand up for silence, “I know...I...it's just...”

“All we can do is say a prayer for her and move forward,” Ezio took his hand off of his shoulder as the murmurs finally died down and Altaїr was allowed to speak. Requiescat in pace, he heard the unspoken words as if his living ancestor had whispered them, mingled by the grief and knew that his ancestor had seen many others like Sharon fall during his days in the Renaissance. It will pass, he Bled the reassurance and somehow, it gave him an odd comfort. It would pass, he knew that, but he also vowed never to forget. If the grief passed and he had forgotten about Sharon, then her sacrifice meant nothing and he was no better than a ruthless hired killer, no better than the Templars. Compassion, compassion for the enemy, for those he had killed, would kill, the lessons learned from Mario and from others.

“We will not be taking the mountain back,” Altaїr declared, “too many of our brothers and sisters have been lost.”

“Then what do we do?” someone shouted from the small crowd gathered, “the mountain-“

“The mountain is of no more concern to us,” Altaїr overrode the protest, “now is the time for us to act. The Templars would be occupied with their victory and that would enable us to move more quickly in the shadows.”

“But why now? Why the sudden urgency?” someone else asked.

“The most recent news brought to us by Lucy and her cell members is that the Templars plan to launch a satellite on December 21^st with a Piece of Eden in it,” Altaїr replied almost coldly, impassively. Yet Desmond felt a swoop of déjà vu as he recognized the tone and stance the master assassin had adopted. It was the same posture he saw through bits and pieces of Darim that was hovering over the edges of his consciousness, but what stood out was that he recognized the power and leadership Altaїr exuded from Arden’s memories. This was Altaїr as the former Grand Master of the Order, taking control of a group of assassins and directing them with confidence.

Dead silence reigned in the room save for the low hum of computers and monitors. Desmond did not blame them, after all, he at first did not believe in the Piece of Eden and it was only after seeing Al Mualim wield one against Altaїr did he really believe in them. Hell, he still was a little skeptical about the Animus as a Piece of Eden, but it was the only thing that made sense in the long run. Oddly, his father had a pinched expression on his face, as if he did not like where this part of the briefing was going towards.

“Uh, Andrew, not to be rude, but isn’t it a lie?” a hesitant voice spoke up and Desmond recognized it as the woman he had nearly skewered last night in his father’s office, Melinda. “I mean, I know the other cells and enclaves are looking for them, but aren’t they just chasing after rumors and falsehoods?”

Altaїr’s answer was to reach into a small pouch that he concealed upon himself and pull out the Apple of Eden, completely inert, and the silence grew louder. It was so vast that one could have heard a pin drop. It seemed that everyone’s eyes was rooted upon the Apple, even though it was inactive and Desmond glanced to his right to see Arden moving quietly over to them, shaking her head a little in both minor exasperation and disapproval.

“What,” he all but mouthed.

“Altaїr just played his hand and wrested control of this enclave from William’s control,” there was barely the exhale of sound from Arden’s lips, but Desmond instinctively tuned his hearing towards her, blocking out the silence in the room, “he did not need to use the Apple, but then again, as Andrew, he was a little on the theatrical side.”

“And he complains that I showboat,” Ezio added, “but it is brilliant as your father knows what is happening yet cannot do anything about it without eroding his own position. It is similar to how I took control of the Order from Niccolo Machiavelli.”

Desmond had to agree as the pinched expression on his father's face became a little more familiar. He had glimpsed it once or twice when he sneaked into some of his father's meetings, noticing how whenever something was out of Bill's control, he always looked soured or tried to wrest that control away. It was the same expression he had worn after their last fight before he had run away. He felt a little vicious coil of pleasure at Altaїr's ability to wrest away control of the enclave away from Bill. The old man certainly deserved it.

“You will be sent out on assignments in the next few days,” Altaїr spoke into the silence while putting the Apple back into its little pouch, “and these will ensure that the Templars cannot strike at us with surprise.”

“Are we going to make contact with the other cells and enclaves?” one of the assassins asked and Desmond tilted his head a little, for the first time wondering what his father and the assassins in this enclave had been doing in the past few years.

“Altaїr has been gathering intelligence and information about the whereabouts of the other enclaves and cells around the world,” Ezio seemed to understand his unspoken curiosity and told him quietly, “I was looking over the notes yesterday. For someone who’s been in exile for nearly a hundred years, he does get his hands on a lot of reports – though it seems most are second or third hand.”

“So Amunet would not have been able to find him?”

“Very likely,” his ancestor nodded once.

“Yes,” Altaїr had answered the assassin’s question and a new wave of murmurs erupted amongst the crowd.

“Won’t that compromise the integrity of this enclave?” this time it was Alice, Desmond’s mother who spoke up, her voice firm, but her question loaded.

“It very well may,” Desmond knew that it was Altaїr’s way to be direct and firm, but even he had been expecting his ancestor to placate the question with nonsensical stuff, something about how it would not, how they would be able to keep this base safe, but Altaїr did no such thing. He felt the whisper of smug satisfaction from his ancestor within and was surprised by the agreement shown that mirrored the real one.

The master assassin held up a hand, quelling the new round of mutters from the others, “There is no more time for us to hide and make plans. We bring the fight to them. You have all heard the stories, the rumors regarding the powers of a Piece of Eden. If the Templars are allowed to launch their satellite with this powerful object then we will have lost.”

Heads nodded from the crowd and Desmond saw a clear divide between the older assassins and their apprentices who looked utterly confused. He suspected that the training that the younger ones went through eventually spoke of the Piece of Eden, but judging by how they had all reacted, most of them had only heard of legends of the objects. But then again, most of the other apprentices had lived through the upheaval that happened around the year 2000, when the Daniel Cross Incident happened. Their apprentices looked too young to remember what had happened.

Even Desmond did not know who Daniel Cross was, but he suspected that the man or alias of a person had a hand in why his father suddenly had panicked one day and abruptly moved them somewhere else. The friends he had made in the first Farm had disappeared to different places and he did not know if they were still alive.

“We are the leadership now,” Bill stepped up and though Altaїr was adept at hiding it, Desmond caught the flash of irritation from the master assassin as he stepped back. He realized that what Ezio had said was true, there was an unspoken power struggle between his father and the master assassin, control for this enclave which, if he remembered correctly through the vague memories of his fight with the Templars in Ezio's Alfa, probably had more weaponry than he knew of. Another thought occurred to him, did this make this particular hidden enclave the strongest after the one at Cheyenne Mountain? And if so, the implications of what it meant for Altaїr, for the Order itself...

The pronouncement from his father indicated that the meeting was at an end. As everyone got up and left the office, Desmond pressed himself up against the wall. Everyone was talking with each other, the younger ones with far more excitement in their expressions than the older ones. It was curious to see the generational divide between the older assassins and younger ones. Oddly enough, those around Desmond's age had the most neutral of expressions, but they were few and far in between. The divide was clearly across a gap that consisted of those who were maybe late thirties and older and those who were around Amanda's age.

He wondered why there was such an age discrepancy.

However, he did not give much more attention to his unspoken question as he spotted over the crowd of people leaving his father turning to Altaїr, his expression returning to a pinched and angry expression. The door leaving his father's office was tiny so there was a log-jam of people trying to leave, but Desmond used the opportunity to sharpen his hearing towards where the two were talking, hoping to listen in discreetly.

“-think that I would compromise the security of this base just because the video shows Amunet dead?! For all we know, it could be a trap! It's Amunet we're talking about!” his father hissed quietly.

“She is dead,” Altaїr replied calmly.

“And how do you know that?”

“I know because it is something that she would have done,” the master assassin replied cryptically and Desmond had a feeling that the 'she' Altaїr was talking about was not Amunet, but rather another female.

Bill's expression closed up a little and for a moment, it seemed like he understood who Altaїr was talking about, but then shook his head angrily; “I will not have my family's safety compromised just because you think it's the time to strike!” He poked a finger into the man's chest, “Just because you have no moral compunctions in sacrificing everyone for your goals doesn't mean my family should be part of that.”

“You are already a part of it no matter what you think,” the Arabic assassin narrowed his eyes a little, but refused to look unsettled.

“Those are my own choices!” Desmond saw his father slash a hand to the side.

“Then what about your son?”

“Desmond still has a way out of this,” he heard his father mutter tightly, “I won't let the Templars get to him-”

“Do you not think your son has a voice in this?” Altaїr raised an eyebrow.

“I am his father! And he never had a choice-”

It was an effort for Desmond not to push through the leaving crowd and yell at his father again as he forcibly lessened his hearing back to normal. The hissed whispers and quiet tone of his father and Altaїr faded into the noise of the muttering crowd once more. Where the hell did his father get off to on his high horse thinking that he would force him from this, from all of this? He had made his choice and he was eager to give the Templars a little payback for what they did to him. He had told the others that he was willing to risk the Bleeding in order to learn the skills necessary to defeat the Templars.

“Oh hey, good, you guys are here,” Shaun suddenly emerged from the parting crowd, and with him both Lucy and Rebecca. Desmond moved a little further into the room so not to block the entrance with the three pausing against the flow. A few of the other assassin leaving glared at them, but otherwise shifted to move past them and out the door.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“Leonius had me on a long term project researching the Pieces of Eden,” the frozen calm in Shaun’s voice belied what he had seen earlier when the video played. Desmond did not hear any sign of sadness or remorse in Shaun’s voice, just absolute professionalism in the face of his mentor’s death. It was only afterwards that he realized this was how Shaun coped and showed his grief.

“Long term project?” Rebecca asked, shooting a concerned look at Shaun, but otherwise made no mention of Leonius’ death or if Shaun was okay. He supposed that perhaps Rebecca knew the historian a little better than he did, having worked with him far longer too.

“The more popular, I guess is the best word for it, ones were recorded in history, like the Apple for instance,” Shaun gestured towards Ezio who nodded once in acknowledgment, “then there's the more obscure ones, like the Lance.” Here he glanced at Arden who shrugged.

“The Lance is obscure? But I thought it was used-” he asked.

“Yes, it may have been used to pierce Jesus Christ's side when he was crucified, but that's about the only thing in existence and we don't even know if that was the actual Lance. The actual Lance of Longinus has a different history if you really want to call it, basically just rumors and stories, even with the Templars trying to obscure it,” Shaun cut him off, “the thing is that, with the map that the Templars got from the Apple through Altaїr’s memories, I've been able to create a database of sorts that places where each Piece may be or if they are in our hands, the Templars’, are still not found, or were destroyed.”

“You can destroy a Piece of Eden?” the question fell from Desmond's mouth before he remembered Ezio talking about the incident at Denver International Airport. “Oh wait, never mind...”

“Yes, you apparently you can destroy one,” Shaun arched an eyebrow at him, “though from what I read there are only two instances where they were destroyed, at least in recorded history. Possibly three if we're counting the nuclear explosions over Nagasaki and Hiroshima.”

“One was done at the request of Nikola Tesla which caused the Tunguska Event and the other-” Lucy spoke up before glancing over to Ezio.

“My doing,” Ezio shrugged a little nonchalantly, “though neither the Templars nor the Assassins realized what was going to happen to Denver.”

Desmond wondered how one would go about destroying a Piece of Eden. Granted, it seemed like it involved a huge explosion which probably either melted or completely obliterated the Piece of Eden. But even as he had held a Piece of Eden in Ezio and Altaїr’s hands, he realized he did not remember the texture and feel of it. When Altaїr had showed him the Apple last night in the cafeteria, he had only guessed that it was metallic, though intricately carved. But was it even metal or maybe some kind of element that only Minerva and Those That Came Before had used in forging it? He was pretty sure that the objects were forged, having seen it in the Adam and Eve memories courtesy of Subject Sixteen.

He was about to ask when Rebecca asked for him, having the same thought.

“So my question is, how do we know that Tunguska was a Piece of Eden being destroyed? I mean, I'm sure there are probably records of it back then, but the propaganda right now says that it was caused by a fireball or something exploding in the atmosphere.”

“The Piece was supposedly destroyed by Nikola Tesla’s machine. However, we sent one of our own, a man named Nikolai Orelov, who had tried to kill Tsar Alexander III of Russia. He was reportedly the only survivor of the event, but wouldn't actually say if the Piece was destroyed. Another team was sent several years after and they found no traces of debris or anything, just flattened trees.”

“He sounds vaguely familiar...” Arden's voice was oddly quiet and Desmond saw her brow furrowing in thought.

“He should,” Ezio answered sympathetically, “I sent you and Stephen out to look for him. I do not know if you were successful or not.”

“Oh,” the closed expression told Desmond everything and Ezio's words heavily implied that that particular memory was part of the ones that had been ripped away from her by the Lance.

Desmond wanted to ask whether or not Ezio had a version of Tesla’s machine when he unleashed its destruction on Denver International Airport, but he had a feeling that his question would not go over well in such a public setting and so kept quiet. Instead he asked, “So what's the importance of whether or not the Piece of Eden is destroyed in Tunguska?”

“Because Orelov also carried knowledge of an object that would be able to destroy Pieces of Eden,” Altaїr interrupted them, “perhaps it was Tesla’s machine, perhaps not, but that knowledge is currently in Templar hands.”

Desmond stared, shocked at Altaїr’s implication. You want to destroy not only one Piece of Eden, but all of them? The thought passed in his mind, but he did not get a chance to voice it as Rebecca held up her hands. However, he did see Altaїr tilting his head as if confirming his unspoken thought and suppressed the urge to shiver.

“Wait, wait, the knowledge is in Templar hands? How the hell-“

“There was a man, who was picked up by one of our camps outside of Vancouver who spoke random Russian and seemingly was on drugs, but had the stylized ‘A’ symbol of the Order on his forearm,” while things had been awkward around them, Desmond noticed that Lucy had specifically avoided looking at him. “Eventually Paul Bellamy, the leader of the camp found out that his ancestor was Nikolai Orelov, one of the members of the Russian branch of the Order and involved in the Tunguska event. We were not able to find out more because…”

“He killed the Mentor as we were nearing the 2000 elections in the United States,” Shaun continued and pushed his glasses up onto his nose as a habit of nervous gesture, “we don’t know much afterwards, but we do know that he went to an Abstergo facility and from there…”

“Well that explains the panic everyone was going on about back then. I just remember having to move somewhere else,” Rebecca shook her head, “so Daniel was the one who ratted out every single enclave. Fucking bastard, I hope the Templars put a bullet into his head afterwards.”

“Actually no,” Lucy wrung her hands, “he’s still alive.”

“What?!”

“He’s known as Subject Four,” she finally met his stare and Desmond could see the pain in her eyes. He knew the pain was not directed at him, but it still magnified the guilt that he still had for what he had done to her last night, “I was able to…access certain files on him from my friend Leila. As far as I know, Abstergo has kept him in a vegetative state in an Animus somewhere in the main headquarters.”

“So couldn’t we have, I don’t know, taken him along with us when we left?” he felt a twinge of guilt knowing that he had escaped Abstergo only to leave one of his own behind.

“We weren’t at headquarters,” Lucy replied quietly, “we were in one of the main offices, but not headquarters. Even I don’t know where it is…”

“The main problem is that the Templars have access to Cross and his memories,” Ezio cut in and Desmond saw the quick grateful look Lucy shot at his ancestor, but did not see it acknowledged or even a smile that he knew should have been there.

“It does explain why Leonius wanted me to research the history of every single incident of a probable Piece of Eden and why many of our cells have been devoted to looking for them for a while now,” Shaun scratched his chin in contemplation.

“It’s like an arms war,” Rebecca shook her head, “a goddamn arms war.”

“And everyone’s trying to find the object that would be able to destroy the other side’s Pieces of Eden, aren’t they Altaїr?” everyone looked towards the Arabic assassin at Lucy’s question.

Altaїr only nodded coolly before Desmond realized something. “The only two people in the world with that possible knowledge is Cross and,” he turned to Arden, “you…but…”

“I do not remember meeting Orelov,” for a moment, Desmond thought he saw an incredibly naïve and sorrowful vulnerability in her expression, but perhaps it was a trick of his own mind.

“And you need me in the Animus to find out,” Desmond still had a hard time wrapping his mind around the concept that the Animus itself was a Piece of Eden, but he understood at least some of the reason why he was needed to continue to experience his ancestors memories and Bleed at the same time. At least it explained a lot of why Arden had insisted that he meditate to try to combat the Bleeding and why both Altaїr and Ezio were forcing him to spar with them. He was going to Bleed more while in the Animus and they wanted him to at least try to minimize some of the effects, to learn how to bend and control his Piece of Eden.

The brief foreign thought of whether or not one could actually control a Piece of Eden floated through his head, but he pushed it away just as quickly. Negative thoughts were not conducive to a proper frame of mind; he could feel that from the ghostly hovering of Darim who was radiating some fraternal warmth towards the living Altaїr.

But he had already agreed to what they wanted him to do, his conversation the night before in the wee early hours of the morning. He had told them that he knew that his living ancestors would do anything to stop the Templars and by Altaїr’s unspoken words that he would use the object to destroy the Pieces of Eden, it would be a step to stopping the Templars once and for all.

The insight that Desmond received as felt another puzzle piece click together was that prophecy or whatever it was that Ezio had seen in the Sistine Chapel did not have to say that he would physically stop the Templars. Amunet was wrong. He could be the one to find out where this object was and hopefully Altaїr would be able to send teams out to retrieve it before the Templars did. He had a feeling that the Templars did not know where the object was, otherwise the cells and enclaves would have been long destroyed. That meant that there was still time, that there was still a chance of stopping them, of winning this long war.

“My answer hasn’t changed,” he managed to suppress the grim smile that threatened to appear on his face as he saw his ancestors nod in approval while Rebecca, and Shaun only had slightly confused looks. Lucy however, frowned at him.

“I don’t mean to change the subject,” Shaun said, “but how the hell are we going to find all of the Pieces of Eden even if Desmond does figure out where the object to destroy the Templar ones is? Altaїr’s, uh, your memories revealed a globe and even I know some of those land masses don’t exist anymore. Abstergo does have a greater reach than we do right now…”

Altaїr’s lips turned up in a slightly feral looking grin before looking at Desmond, “Do you have the thumb drive?”

“Thumb drive? What thumb-oh,” he had all but forgotten about the thumb drive that Sharon had given him before urging him to save Ezio. Another random thought occurred to him as he now recognized who his Italian ancestor had been talking to before he sniped the enemies in the decrepit, destroyed grounds near Denver International Airport. Ezio had met up with Altaїr, for what purpose he did not know, but he wished he could have recognized him then.

He patted his pockets for a second before realizing that he was wearing different jeans and that his old pair of jeans. Come to think of it, he did not know what happened to his old clothes after he had collapsed fighting the Templar soldiers out in the desert. “Uh…”

He saw a flicker of annoyance pass in Altaїr’s eyes before the sudden leaping of the one in his head to challenge the annoyance nearly made his world spin dizzily before he was able to push it back. He drew a shuddering breath and lowered his gaze before coughing, hoping to fool the others that he was a little embarrassed instead of nearly losing it in front of them. It had been a while since he had felt the Bleeding like that so strongly. It was also a stark reminder that he could still potentially lose it and end up slitting his wrists like Alexander.

“I have it,” he looked up in surprise as Lucy pulled out the thumb drive that Sharon had given to him and handed it over to Altaїr who nodded once. He thought he caught what looked like a measured look from his Arabic ancestor, but it passed too swiftly.

“What-“

“Shaun, I will need your help deciphering the contents of the drive and comparing it to your notes,” Altaїr said, his accent faint, but commanding, before leaving the group.

“See you later,” Shaun shrugged as he pushed passed them and followed Altaїr to where he joined up with Bill who still had a frown on his face, but was now staring at a list projected onto the wall. Desmond noticed that it seemed like a list of all the major cell leaders in the area. He realized that the information Sharon had smuggled out at the cost of her own life was perhaps the most recent list of all the Pieces of Eden Abstergo had been able to find; perhaps even having utilized the map in Altaїr’s memories that he had given to them during his week-long stay.

“So then,” Rebecca spoke up, “Animus?”

“No,” Ezio shook his head, “not yet. Training.”

Desmond groaned softly as he saw the razor-thin edge of a smile of dark humor on his ancestor’s lips. He was even more convinced now that Ezio was a little more than sociopathic. “I’d rather meditate.”

“It will help,” Arden apparently was ignoring the humor and was all serious business before Desmond shook his head.

“Yeah, I know,” he resigned himself to yet another couple hours of bruising and muscles that would not cooperate with him. He gestured theatrically and sarcastically towards the door, “After you, Madonna.”

“That is not how I sound,” Ezio muttered good-naturedly as they headed out of the office and towards the training salle once more. Desmond only shook his head and shrugged. At least, he knew now why he was willing to subject himself to the Animus and its Bleeding Effect.

* * *

Author’s Notes:

If you have been following my twitter feed, you know the vague area of where I live. In regards to the September 11^th attacks, it is something that I still find very hard to talk about and in those contexts, even harder to write. My own opinions regarding Al-Qaida, the Taliban, and everything related to September 11^th is not reflected in this chapter – this was written from a purely AC-style standpoint, that everything is deceptive and things that we take for granted could be there to deceive us.

Moving on, I had fun writing Altaїr in this chapter, but he kind of took a leaf out of Desmond’s book and decided that I should spoil a major plot line and move the plot ahead. Of all of the characters in this story, he was the one I was not expecting to do that. Oh well…see Desmond, look at what you started! And yes, there is a power struggle between Bill and Altaїr. Tee hee…

The extensive references to Daniel Cross and Nikolai Orelov can be found in the AC comic, The Fall. Of course, I just spoiled the whole damn plot line in this chapter, but hey, still a good read if you haven’t read it already. And yes, Daniel/Subject 4 is still alive in my story.

Lastly, I would like to thank my beta Legume Shadow for reading this and handing it back to me with the succinct words: it sucks, rewrite it. I had a tough time with the chapter due to being distracted by shiny objects (re: video games). Sorry for the delay and possible grammar issues (apparently I write run-on sentences when I’m horribly distracted, yay). I think there should be two more chapters before I stop for a few weeks when Uncharted 3 comes out and then followed by AC: Revelations two weeks after that. Then resuming this story after I get through the Mind Screw that is Revelations.

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Story:

Chapter 29 – Confession

Desmond rubbed the small of his back, trying to alleviate the pain there, as he stood up on shaky legs once more. He wiped sweat and small bits of sand away from his forehead before putting his hands up in a defensive position. “So there’s a school?” he asked as he ducked under Ezio’s first jab and retaliated with his own, planting his feet behind Ezio’s ankle in and attempt to flick him off balance, but his ancestor spun out of the way. Desmond felt the brush of his hands on the painful part of his back where he had landed one too many time and knew that Ezio had just scored a kill on him.

However, the fight was not over and done as he spun again, crouching onto the ground and lashed out with a hand, easily blocked, but that was not the point. He saw approval in his ancestors’ eyes as he suddenly leapt up from his crouch and at the same time, with his right hand, flicked dirt and sand towards Ezio’s face.

Ezio, however, was used to the move, having been one of his own, but nonetheless allowed himself to be tagged by Desmond’s left hand which had used the distraction to rake across his stomach. If the hidden blades had been activated, it would have spilled his innards out, a mortal blow. Nevertheless Desmond pressed his attack like he had been learning for the past couple of hours from Ezio. He spun and flicked his other wrist out towards Ezio’s throat, but his hand was caught and twisted against his exposed back.

Desmond felt another light touch on the base of his skull, a clear warning from his ancestor that he could have severed his spine from the rest of his skull before attempting to twist out of the somewhat painful grip that was holding his trapped hand. When panic settled in, the instinct to twist and pull away from a captor was great, but Desmond had managed to suppress that instinct and instead, drew upon the years of experience from his ancestors to twisted into the grip, pulling arm across his back a little more, but all it did was set up his free arm for a quick blow which he dealt by ramming the ball of his hand into Ezio’s chest.

“Good,” was the murmur of approval before Ezio finally let him go and Desmond inadvertently stumbled back, but kept himself upright. He felt sweat pouring down his face once more and wiped absently at it with the sleeve of his hoodie before grabbing the bottle of water that Rebecca had gotten for them before she had left to tinker more with Baby. Draining the rest of its contents, he saw Ezio wave him down for a quick break and leaned himself against the rocky wall of the training salle, but did not sit down.

“There’s a school,” Lucy replied to his earlier question, “for most of the children here as far as I could tell. Most teens get to train with the older Assassins here, but it seems like those that were not chosen were given a different education, becoming teachers for the younger children.”

“So school time right now then,” he said as shook some dirt and sand out of his hoodie, “explains the lack of kids right now.” It certainly did explain where his younger sister and brother were, especially if they were not at the meeting. And it most certainly explained Amanda’s resentment towards the fact that her fellow peers were learning the ways of an Assassin while she was stuck teaching children. He would have been pissed at that prospect if he had been in her shoes.

He had to admit, a part of him had been excited about the prospect of learning from his ancestors, his actual, real ancestors whom he had only lived through the memories. No one else could say that they had that chance to learn from some of the best masters. And their differing training styles clearly showed. Where as Altaїr took it one step at a time, dealing death with one or two blows, Ezio preferred to string together his attacks, hence the seemingly choreographed ‘dance’ that he had went through instead of pausing and stepping back before attacking again.

He was definitely not up to the level of both of his ancestors, but he could still see and feel each move in his muscles. However, instead of forcing them to cooperate with his phantom memories, Ezio had suggested that he go slowly. After a few of hours, he thought he was getting the hang of it, even though the speed at which they sparred was still slower than what the memories were pressing upon him. At the very least, he remembered a couple of different moves now, his muscles committing them to memory so that he was able to react on instinct instead of thinking and pulling the sinews to make it work.

During the last few hours, Arden had also suggested a technique she had learned in recent memory, to shadow spar. It turned out that his British ancestor had taken some karate lessons to augment her already lethal abilities and cited that shadow sparring once he knew certain techniques as a way to help him memorize different attacks. They had let him do that for about an hour before Ezio had stood in for the phantoms that he was supposed to be fighting.

He had not told them during that time, but he was glad that Ezio had stepped back in; the shadow sparring worked, but had started to see hallucinations of people around him, attacking him. He had thought he could feel their touches, but had not been too sure. Maybe some of his panic had showed or maybe he had been telegraphing something, but Ezio had steadied him with a hand on his shoulder, making him immediately aware of his surroundings.

“Catch,” Ezio called out to him and Desmond brought out of his thoughts in time to catch a water bottle thrown at him. He immediately opened and drank half of its contents, quenching his parched throat. He considered dumping the rest over his head, but decided that even with the cool air blowing through the training salle, he wouldn’t want to be damp for the rest of the day.

He looked up towards the entrance to the training salle as the echo of children laughing reverberated through the walls and saw a rueful smile on Ezio’s face. “Classes are over,” his ancestor shrugged, polishing off the rest of his own water and tossed the empty bottle at Lucy who caught it and placed it in a bag. Next to her Arden tilted her head, but Desmond saw Ezio shake his head. The unspoken communication echoed in him, as he recognized what had been asked and what was the answer.

“Ready for more?” his ancestor asked, stretching his arms in the air before shaking them out as he stepped back into the training salle and Desmond sighed, setting down the water bottle as he pushed himself off of the rocky wall.

A small part of him wanted to grouse that he probably did not have any choice, but he quashed it as he knew that he should be grateful that his ancestors, all three of them, were willing to teach him, to help him at least control some of the Bleeding and what he learned from their memories. It still did not help that a very tiny part of him saw this opportunity not as a training session, but rather as a chance for ‘let’s-all-beat-up-on-Desmond’ session; certainly felt that way since he had stepped into the training salle after the meeting.

“You are doing better,” Ezio said, “this takes time and practice will help.”

“Thanks,” Desmond huffed out a quick breath before settling himself into his familiar fighting stance, arms held up, ready for an attack. He could feel the faint Bleeding of mostly Ezio’s memories into his own being, but saw the ghostly forms of various attacks that perhaps one of Mario’s soldiers were going to throw at him in the ring- Desmond gritted his teeth together as he tried to banish the ghostly image just as Ezio shuffle-stepped forward and threw a punch towards his head.

He side-stepped, tapping his wrist under Ezio’s exposed armpit and saw his ancestor grin before spinning around behind him. Desmond also spun to counter the attack, but suddenly felt his ancestor’s wrist tapping him right beneath his shoulder blades, where if the hidden blades had been there, would have skewered him from behind. He knew that the logical next step was for him to attack again, but instead, stepped forward and sensed a slight hesitation in the assassin’s attack before he pressed forward again to tap him once more on his back.

However, just before Desmond could feel the hands under his shoulder blades, he suddenly lashed out with a back kick, catching Ezio hard in the stomach. Desmond felt a little grin creep up his face as he finally turned and saw Ezio catch himself for a moment before a wolfish smile appeared on the Italian man’s face. “If that is how you want to play it,” the threat was quietly spoken in Italian before Ezio seemingly disappeared in front of Desmond’s eyes.

A split second later, Desmond’s world exploded in pain before he found himself tossed unceremoniously onto the ground and Ezio’s upturned wrist inches away from his own throat. Holy shit that was fast, he thought as his ancestor pinned him to the ground for several heartbeats, a dark mirth in his eyes before standing up and helping him to his feet.

Desmond winced as he rubbed his back again, noticing that his breath was a little more ragged than before and shook his head. Surprisingly Ezio’s memories had not warned him of such an attack. “Where…what…?”

“Something I picked up from Arden,” Ezio had an easy going grin on his face once more as he shrugged.

The faint memories of Arden’s life swirled around him, but from what he had experienced so far, she had not executed a move like that either. He suspected that perhaps it was after she had her child, Alan.

“I thought we weren’t going to do anything like that?” Desmond asked, but as soon as the question was out of his mouth he realized that the creed governed everything, “oh, nothing is true and everything is permitted.”

Ezio shook his head and waved his hand absently, “It is unfair for you, I apologize. Call it in the heat of the moment if you will.”

“Heat of the moment? That was so wicked cool!” Amanda’s voice suddenly spoke up from the entrance to the training salle and everyone turned to see her standing there, unmasked jealousy clearly written on her face. Desmond felt a pang of guilt at the jealous yet awed expression she wore. He knew that their father did not allow her to train and here he was training with Ezio.

“Uncle Enzo, I didn’t know that you were training Desmond. Did Dad say yes? That means I can train too right?” Amanda pressed on as she walked into the training salle.

“No, you will not,” Arden stepped in front of Amanda, stopping her and Desmond saw her recoil a little, startled and surprised.

“You must be Arden, right?” the hesitation that he heard in his sister’s voice made him want to step forward and at least explain why he was training, but as he looked at both Ezio and Arden, he saw that they both wore stony expressions on their faces. He realized that they had no intention of telling Amanda anything and it was his own cue not to say a word either regarding the Animus or Bleeding Effect.

“I am,” nonetheless, the coldness in Arden’s voice sent a shiver down Desmond’s back as he could hear the echo in his mind. He had used, no; she had used that same tone whenever she was interrogating someone who had information she needed. “And you will not,” Arden side stepped, blocking Amanda’s path again, “train. You must have been sent down here by Andrew if you were able to find this place.”

“…Yes,” Amanda seemed to have gotten the message and backed up a step, but Desmond also recognized that she was getting both annoyed and angry; most likely because of Arden’s words, “Andrew wants to see you and Uncle Enzo.”

“Very well,” Arden replied before gesturing with a hand back up to the entrance, “after you.”

“But-“ Amanda pinched her lips together before looking beyond Arden’s shoulder. Desmond avoided her gaze, knowing that his ancestors were right. He could feel Ezio’s anguish, yet steely resolve at doing the same thing to Claudia. She had to be protected, to let her become an Assassin, it would break her. It was far better that he be the one to carry the burden of those that he would kill than soil her innocence. “Desmond- Uncle Enzo!”

“Now is not the time,” Ezio finally spoke up as he walked towards Arden and Amanda. Desmond could see in his mind’s eye the firm set of his ancestor’s face before he heard the shuffling of footsteps slowly fade away. It was only after he could not hear them anymore, even enhancing his hearing that he finally allowed himself to stare at where Amanda had stood, Arden blocking her path.

He wordlessly shook his head; Amanda would never forgive him. She had poured her dreams out to him last night after dinner and he had all but thrown it back into her face by not even acknowledging her pleas.

“It’s for the best,” Lucy suddenly spoke up and Desmond nearly jumped in surprise at how close she was to him as he turned around. She was holding his water bottle in her hand and handed it over to him.

“Uh…thanks,” he took it and absently drank a few gulps before realizing that it was only the two of them left in the training salle. “I, uh, I should probably…“ he trailed off as he turned to leave. He had been able to mostly forget that she had been in the training salle for the hours that he had been there, but now, with just the two of them…

“Desmond wait,” he paused mid-step and turned a little to see her staring at him, her expression unreadable. “We need to talk, about last night.”

“Listen-“

“I am okay,” she said, pushing back her sleeves a little to show him the bruises on her wrists that were still purple, but fading nonetheless. He looked away, unable to stare at the marks, knowing that he had made them. “I’m okay.”

He wondered why she was like this, like the awkward conversation they had this morning. By all rights, she should be angry with him, yet here she was, calm as ever and somehow, that in of itself hurt a lot more than anything else. It would have been better if she was shouting at him, screaming at him, or even giving him cold looks, blaming him for what happened to her, but here she was, doing none of that.

“Desmond-“

“Stop,” the whisper fell from his lips as he shook his head, his fists curling into fists, “just…stop.” He shuddered before turning to look at her, “Why…why aren’t you angry? I had…I…did…”

“Because that wasn’t you-“

“Goddammit, that was me!” it was as if all of the anger and rage within that he had tried to suppress suddenly spilled as he stared at her, the naked pain evident in his eyes, “that was me! It may not have been my own mind and body, but that was me! I knew…I could-“ He bit his lip, “I was aware, Lucy. Somehow, I knew what was happening and damn it, I couldn’t stop it. I should have had more control, I should have realized that-“

“I forgive you,” she reached out and he stepped back, shaking his head.

“I…can’t forgive myself,” his voice cracked at the words as he realized the truth about himself. Even though she was treating what had happened between them as nothing or at least as normal as possible, he could not forgive himself for what had happened. “How can you even forgive me?”

“Because I know what it is like,” Lucy’s words froze him, “because I know what you’re going through. I saw it once before with Alexander, with Subject Sixteen, and I know the risks.”

“You don’t know the risks,” he muttered quietly a part of him wanting to deny the truth to her words.

“Yes I do,” she narrowed her eyes in annoyance, “Desmond I worked with Vidic-“

“Then what happens if I suddenly lose it one day huh?! What happens when I attack you again because my fucking mind can’t tell the difference between friend or foe? What if there is some other wacko in my memories that’s just that, a killer and a murderer? What if one day, no one is there and I end up thinking that I'm someone else, that the knife, the only way to end it is to end my own life?”

“That won't happen-”

“You know as well as I do that it's the only way that this is going to end,” Desmond cut her off roughly, “Lucy I know that I'm Bleeding and I can't stop it. Ezio, Arden, hell even Altaїr I can tell that they know. They're claiming to help me, but all its doing is either just prolonging the inevitable or making it worst, probably both.” He shook his head, “I know that I'm screaming at night, I know that I can't control it. I know that I wake up and my throat hurts like hell because I'm losing it.”

“That's why you need to forgive yourself-”

“I can't,” he flinched as Lucy grabbed his hand his anger suddenly draining out, “because even though I want to, I can't. Not after...” He half-heartedly tried to pull his hand away, but she kept her grip firm, “what do you want from me Lucy? Why aren't you angry at me? Why are you forgiving me?”

“Because I can,” she replied, her face serious, “and because I care about you.”

They were the same words that he had heard before, hoping to hear them again. Yet he knew he did not want to hear them, not for what they meant to him, to everything about them. Not after what had happened; not with his feelings so muddled to the point where he could not tell whether or not his feelings for Lucy were genuine or a byproduct of Bleeding the affection of his ancestors for the wives and lovers they had over their lifetime. Somewhere in there, he thought he had feelings for her, after all she had saved him, but he could not tell anymore. “Lucy,” Desmond hesitated, “don't...I...”

“I love you, Desmond.”

He could feel his heart breaking, an echo of someone, some unnamed ancestor's memory where the same exact words had been spoken. That ancestor did not want to accept the love and affection, yet there it was. And that was also the problem. He could feel the surge of emotion within him, but did not know whether or not it was his own or was part of the echoing heartbreak.

“A part of me wants to tell you the same, but I don't know if that's a fabrication of the memories in me or if it’s real. I can't tell anymore because everyone,” he waved a few fingers towards his head, “is talking, making me see things, making me feel things that I don't know if its real or not.”

He stared at her, ready to see the rejection, the hurt in her eyes. It was the same hurt that he had seen in Rania's eyes – who the hell was Rania? But to his surprise, Lucy just nodded, “I just wanted you to know that there's always someone there for you. I know that you're going to help the others figure out what's in Arden's memories and the Bleeding will get worse, but I will be there for you, no matter what happens.” The unspoken echo that she should have been there for Alexander hung between them.

It also sparked an unsettled feeling within him as Lucy let go of his hand. There was something finite about what she had said, like something bad was going to happen. He supposed that perhaps it was because he was going to continue Bleeding and most likely end up like Alexander that she was telling him this. Still, he took the small comfort her words brought him.

“Don't give up, Desmond,” she smiled a little sadly at him, “you can't give up, not after all that we've been through. Maybe one day you'll be able to forgive yourself, not carry the burden of guilt around for mistakes that aren't of your doing.”

He watched as she moved back towards the entrance of the training salle, suddenly wishing that he could tell her right then and there that he wanted to forgive himself, that he also loved her. Yet he could not bring himself to say the words. The guilt of what he had done under Jack's influence still haunted him. However, it was her parting words that shocked him to the core.

“I'll be there to catch you, if you fall.”

* * *

Several days later Desmond found himself sitting outside on the shed’s rooftop once more. The night air was cool and the gentle breeze smelled of hints of the coming winter, even here in the desert. Since he had talked to Lucy he had barely seen her, only catching her in passing or in the mornings that he woke up to see her going over something on a portable laptop before she dashed off to yet another meeting with Altaїr and the others. He supposed that since she had inside knowledge regarding Abstergo's movements and the fact that she had been at this whole assassin thing longer than he had, she was the perfect person to help execute this group's plans to contacting the other cells and finding where the Pieces of Eden had been scattered to.

It was the same with his Arabic ancestor, having left most of the training to Ezio and 'meditation' sessions to Arden. Even Shaun and Rebecca were scarce, the two also in the meetings. He wondered if his father was also planning with them and supposed that he was, considering that the rare times he got a meal at the cafeteria he saw only his sister, brother, and mother. However, he had declined to join them, having avoided Amanda's angry glares thrown at his direction before taking his meal elsewhere. There were also less and less people at the Farm now, teams sent out daily to god knew where.

He had asked Rebecca to pull up the times when the known Templar satellites were going to go over the compound before making his way outside with a blanket, pillow, and small LED lamp. His room had become somewhat stifling in the past few days, partially because he did not want to disturb Lucy with his screaming or hallucinations in case he Bled further in his sleep, partially because he felt cooped up after waking up to near darkness day after day.

He glanced at his watch and noted that there was about twenty minutes left before he had to go back into the shed. He was pretty sure that he could sleep in the shed, having found evidence of someone camping out at night in it and so had dropped his blankets, pillow, and lamp off near the desk where the modified ham radio was. The howl of the alpha male of the wolf pack that lived near the shed echoed across the night and he felt a grin tug at the corner of his lips.

Amanda had been right about one thing, out here, in the desert, away from light pollution, the starry night was spectacularly beautiful and at night, he thought he could see even better. He had tried his eagle sense upon the land, but received only muted grey hues with the occasional four legged brief spot of red that indicated how close the wolf pack was to the shed. But the pack did not get any closer; content to howl the night away from wherever they were.

He sighed and wrapped his hands around the back of his head as he stared up at the stars, the ribbed rooftop of the shed digging a little into his aching back and legs. Ezio had increased the speed of his training, but before that, had made him do some light workout to help preserve his muscle mass. It never occurred to him that his ancestors had also worked out prior to keeping themselves in trim fighting form, but he supposed that was why they had healed so quickly from their injuries received in their missions.

It was a good ache, he reminded himself as he gingerly stretched out. A good ache with the memories and abilities he was starting to control. It had been easier in the past few days to be able to differentiate between the two fighting styles of Altaїr and Ezio, especially with his living ancestor training him. However, the occasional bout of him reliving another ancestor's memory whenever he managed to make his muscles learn a new move compounded the situation. Arden's meditation sessions had helped a little too, but he still felt uneasy about them. Oddly though, he had never had his ancestors talk to him like he thought they did and wondered if he had been imagining it as a result. He stared up at the stars, picking out the familiar constellations that he had learned as a child. They were still in the northern hemisphere; he knew that having spotted Orion and Taurus. If they had been in the southern hemisphere, the constellations would have changed and he would not have been familiar with many of the stars there.

Desmond allowed himself to relax a little, and just think of nothing except the stars. He tried to block out the whispers of others who knew how to use them to circumnavigate a sea or even the desert. That was not the point right now, the point was for him to relax, to enjoy the stars for their wonderment, he mentally groused. All of the sudden, the whispers stopped and Desmond blinked in surprise, but the moment disappeared just as quickly.

The harsh beep of his watch telling him he had five minutes made him start a little and he pushed himself up, still a little surprised that the whispers had stopped when he had that thought. However, he did not dwell too much on it as he climbed down the ladder and went back into the shed, flicking on the small LED light and set himself up for the night.

He knew that he probably had maybe five or six hours of good sleep before whatever the wild animals outside would wake him. Settling himself in the chair with his blankets wrapped comfortably around him, cocooning him and providing some comfort in the cracked leather arm chair, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to be lulled to sleep by the muffled howls of the wolf pack that had started up. Desmond soon found himself living another memory.

“I love you,” Stephen said, surprising Arden who stood dumbly in the middle of the entrance to her master's home.

“C-Come again?” she knew that Stephen had been wanting to say something to her all day, but had not done so, even when they were gathering information for their respective masters. It had been a year since she had met and started working with the American assassin. She had thought Master Ezio was to leave after a few weeks, but it seemed that her own master had other plans. Both Americans had found a place in the Paddington area of the city, further away from the city center, but nonetheless was another information heavy area.

“I love you,” he repeated himself, the initial smile he had on his face faltering a little as she continued to stare at him before he cleared his throat, “I know, it is improper of me to say that, especially even in a private setting like this, which is probably too public, but I wanted you to know. Sir Chamberlain is a good match and he will bring you much joy and happiness, so before the announcement is made-”

Arden held up her hands, stopping his nonsensical babbling, “What is this about Chamberlain and I?”

“Uh,” Stephen blushed furiously, “well, I had heard rumors that Sir Chamberlain has been asking to court you – wait! Arden!”

As soon as the words 'Sir Chamberlain asking to court you' had been out of Stephen's mouth she had immediately stopped cleaning the soot out of her newspaper boy's outfit and headed straight to her master's sitting room. Her body had been changing for the past year, growing into a woman's body. Unfortunately most of her old outfits, especially those that were not dresses were nearly unusable anymore, unable to hide her figure. She had thought of binding her breasts to flatten them, but the pain was unbearable for long stints and so opted to wear looser clothing to hide the fact that she was not a boy.

Her master however, had been changing her assignments too, having her gather information as a lady of society more often than not and that had irked her to no end. It was only the occasional time that she had spent with Stephen that made those times bearable. His easygoing manner had helped relax their contacts even though occasionally he acted like a stupid American tourist. He was the only one who did not seem to realize that she was a woman now, preferring to treat her like an equal, instead of the usual delicate manner he had with some women...until now.

She knew that she had been receiving letters from potential suitors, but her master had shielded most of that from her. This news that Sir Austen Chamberlain was interested in her had shocked her. Many ladies of society would have given their all to be courted by a Member of Parliament, especially one as powerful as he was. Why her master had not told her about this irked her.

She knocked stiffly on the wooden door and received a muffled 'enter' as a reply before going into the study. Her master was hunched over his desk with an odd metallic sphere in front of him, jotting down some notes with a quill and ink well. Sitting in one of the chairs by the fireplace was Master Ezio who looked to be flipping through the latest newspaper that had been delivered.

“Master,” she started, bowing slightly to the two of them.

“Yes?” Andrew did not look up from his notes.

Suddenly Arden felt foolish and a little embarrassed. She wanted to ask the question regarding Chamberlain, but it felt so selfish now, that she was thinking only for herself and not the goals of the Order.

“Oh my heavens! What is this- is this soot?! Dirt?!” Mrs. Huston's shrill cry broke through the quiet and Arden turned to see the old lady standing by the door, her mouth agape and staring at the tracks of dirt and soot she had left when she had not finished brushing herself off. “Miss Arden!” Arden suddenly felt like a little girl as the old lady glared at her, hands on her hips, “I have worked so hard-”

“That is probably my fault, Mrs. Huston,” Stephen's voice spoke up behind the housekeeper, “we should have cleaned up outside, but you know, Arden was curious about whether or not Chamberlain-”

“Oh, that handsome young man,” her anger forgotten Mrs. Huston smiled a little before gesturing for Arden to follow her out, “well, if the young miss was worried, then that quite all right-”

Arden reluctantly followed the housekeeper out, but before she crossed the threshold Stephen's master's voice stopped her. “Sir Chamberlain has been asking for you,” he said in a light tone, thumbing through a page, “it seems that he considered you a good match to seal an alliance with the Order.”

She paused, digesting this new information. If Chamberlain had been asking for her, then why was this the first time she was hearing about this?

“However, alliances are not made through marriage in the Order,” he finished before seemingly going back to reading his paper. She turned her head a little, puzzled at his statement before glancing over to her own master, realizing that he had been silent the whole time. His quill was still in his hand, but he kept his gaze down at the piece of paper. She realized that he had not been reading anything he had written and was silently evaluating her, or more importantly evaluating her reaction to the news.

They had known.

The rumors that Stephen had said were not actual rumors. It seemed that Chamberlain had indeed approach her master and asked for permission to court her. Stephen's master had also known and probably had told Stephen about it, but it seemed like he was ordered to keep silent about it. She realized that Stephen was jealous, mostly because of the potential for her own master to give permission to Chamberlain and had hastily confessed his feelings for her, so that she would know.

But since her master had made no mention of it, not until this very moment, she realized that Andrew had been protecting her. From what or who she did not know, but Master Ezio's light words had told her that much. Her master was evaluating her reaction to this news, and she realized that it was not for his own purposes, but whether or not she wanted to be courted by Chamberlain. He was giving her the choice instead of taking it away from her. Arranged marriages were so common and she knew that if she were a regular girl growing up, she would eventually have been betrothed to someone she might not have known. Andrew was letting her choose who she wanted to marry when the time came and it warmed her.

“Alliances are usually made through a common enemy or goal,” she replied quietly before stepping out and closing the door behind her. Just as she started to walk away, she thought she heard a little bit of laughter from the study.

“Arden, I am sorry, but-”

She held up a hand to stop Stephen from talking as he met her by the stairs leading up to her room.

“Thank you, Stephen,” she smiled at him before going up the stairs. If she had stayed just a little longer, she would have caught the bewildered look on his face, but she heard him mutter all the same.

“I think that is the first time she said thank you to me...huh.”

Arden had to grin to herself as she continued up the stairs. Alliances were made through common goals and enemies, but perhaps she could allow herself the thought that maybe one such alliance may be beneficial through marriage. After all, Stephen Miles was a good man at heart.

* * *

Author’s Notes:

Even though Arden/Stephen is a foregone conclusion in my story, I still wanted to build up their relationship – oh and have the opportunity to play with PapaWolf!Altaїr in regards to him finding out that his surrogate daughter has a lot of suitors. Arden is one of those people that doesn’t really care about her physical appearance towards others, but rather is very mission and duty focused.

Anyways on the flip side, there was an extra scene I was thinking of writing up between Desmond and Lucy that ended in a kiss from Lucy to Desmond, but realized that in the context of what they’ve been through would be wholly inappropriate.

I also had promised to post this chapter and the next before Uncharted 3 came out, but alas, got completely sidetracked the weekend before and didn’t get a chance to finish the chapters. Luckily, Uncharted 3 provided the jumpstart needed to write up these chapters so there you go. Oh, I’m more than likely going to post a crossover story between AC and Uncharted sometime in the near future. It’ll be unrelated to this story.

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Story:

Chapter 30 – Animus

Desmond awoke when he thought he heard the latch on the floor to the shed open. For a second, his razor sharp instincts, still partially in the thrall of the memories of Arden, sharpened in anticipation of an attack before he recognized the other presence in the small shed and relaxed. Opening his eyes, he saw Ezio sitting down in another chair across from him, feet extended and crossed near his own.

“I was wondering when you were going to wake up,” his ancestor grinned at him before shifting his feet again, though in the narrow confined space, it was a little hard.

“Arden's memories,” Desmond grimaced as he shifted his own body, his muscles pulling this way and that in protest to his movements. He managed to untangle the blankets from his own body and swung his head back and forth, trying to work out the kinks in them. “Ow,” he muttered as he stretched and stifled a yawn. A glance at his watch told him that it was about seven in the morning. His throat did not feel raw, so he supposed that maybe he did not scream in his sleep, though the dryness in his throat told him otherwise.

“What of if I may ask?” Ezio tilted his head, curious.

“You don't want to know,” it was embarrassing enough that he was living the memories of a female ancestor, but dreaming about her own feelings and budding romantic attachment to Stephen Miles was another thing. Living the memories of both Ezio and Altaїr spending the night with their lovers was one thing, but having that potential with Arden was another thing and one he realized he was not quite keen to explore. It was not that he had anything against Stephen, but rather because he felt more like a voyeur than anything else, especially in Arden's body.

“How did you know I was up here?” he changed the subject as he folded his blankets and placed it on the table with the softly humming computer and radio equipment.

“It was easy to figure out where you went once Arden had showed you the communications shed that Altaїr used,” Ezio shrugged, “you are like us. We are birds of prey and we want the open air. The confines of the underground stifle us.”

“What?” Desmond was confused.

“The Apple told me,” Ezio chuckled.

“Oh,” that was a little easier to digest than the slightly esoteric words that his ancestor had used, especially since he had literally just woken up. “Hey can I ask you a question?” he suddenly asked.

“Sure,” there was that easy going smile on Ezio's face, but Desmond could see a hint of guarded congeniality in them.

“What's it like, using the Apple's powers?” if that was the question Ezio had been ready to evade from, that was not it as he saw the surprise on his ancestor's face.

“Certainly different than how you utilize the Animus' power,” his ancestor scratched his chin.

“I don't really know how I use it. I just lie back and let Rebecca upload the programming code or something,” Desmond shrugged, “I remember holding the Apple, as you, not as me you know.” He stuttered a little at the last part, remembering to disassociate himself from the memories of Ezio that he had lived through versus the living ancestor in front of him. “But that's about it. I don't think I used it or anything. I do remember that when Al Mualim held Altaїr in its grip, it was like choking me. I thought it felt sinister, yet...different...”

Ezio nodded through his muddled explanation without another word before sitting back, drawing his legs up instead of stretching them out. There was a moment of silence that was only echoed by an occasional piercing cry of a bird of prey that was muffled through the shed's walls before his ancestor looked away, eyes staring at nothing in particular.

“You cannot control it, if that is what you are asking,” Ezio seemed to get the general gist of his real question underneath his spoken one. “Letting Rodrigo Borgia live was probably the biggest mistake of my life,” the Italian assassin looked contemplative, “his son, Cesare, attacked Monterriggoni soon after Mario and I returned and razed it to the ground. Mario was killed in the attack and the Apple fell into Cesare's hands.”

Faint memories filled with the screams of the townsfolk that he had come to know in the city echoed in Desmond's mind. A part of him realized that if the Animus had not glitched and switched him to Arden's perspective, he probably would have seen these memories, which meant that Ezio had not had a child yet.

“We should have counted ourselves lucky that Cesare did not know how to use the Apple and instead, decided to hide it. Roma was the new battleground and it was where Niccolo and I established the seat of the Order. We brought down Cesare and the Borgia's influence in both Rome and the papacy in a few years and I regained the Apple. I remember...”

Here Desmond saw his ancestor hesitate, a newfound vulnerability that he had never seen before passing over his face before he managed to school his expression into a neutral one. But his voice was wooden, as if he was telling a story from someone else's perspective. “I remember holding it in my hands. It whispered to me, sometimes using my father's voice, sometimes Federico or even Caterina's voice.”

“What...did it say?”

“It showed me visions of the future, of unlimited power that I could hold. It tempted me with the domination of the Assassins over the Templars and said that all I needed to do was to reach out and it would be mine,” Ezio glanced at his hand, fingers curled into the shape of the spherical Piece of Eden. “Like Eve taking the apple from the Forbidden Tree, it showed me the more pressing matter of getting rid of the Borgia soldiers that had surrounded me.”

Desmond winced as a lance of pain pierced his head and saw the flash of incredible yet sickening light, followed by blood spurting from the noses and eyes of those who fell under the Apple's deadly power.

“It dominates the minds of those who cannot control it,” Ezio continued, “and it kills for those that wield it.”

The air seemingly shimmered around his father as Abbas continued to hold his mother hostage. He could see the glowing object in his hands as he realized swift, hot, furious anger had consumed his father and the object...the cursed object was reacting to it! No! He wanted to shout, but something prevented him from saying those words. No! Come back! Do not let it lead you astray! He tried as he reached a futile hand out towards his father. The Apple, it killed for his father...

Do not let it touch my allies, my family, my friends; he commanded it as he drew his sword out, his left hand holding the Apple. Its unearthly glow filled the courtyard as they stepped forward to confront the soldiers that Cesare had sent out in a last desperate attempt to regain control of the city he had long lost. He would kill them all, and he could feel the humming pleasure the Apple exuded. He heard Claudia shout a warning as he held his sword loosely, the battle flowing around them. Come to your death, he thought, letting the hapless soldiers surround him. Now, he commanded the object and the object drew upon his dark pleasure before unleashing its unholy power. The blood spurted messily out of the orifices of those who could not comprehend its power, the men falling to their knees as they keened a death wail and screamed.

Desmond drew in a sharp breath as the images faded from his mind and stared at Ezio who was still looking at his curled fingers. “That's...” he did not know what to say, knowing what he had just Bled was not filtered, yet it was so surreal at the same time.

“The Apple stays with Altaїr because he's stronger than I am,” Ezio shook himself out of the memories that probably had been long forgotten and shifted in his seat, “his wife, Maria, died while the Apple used his rage to punish Abbas who had betrayed him and killed his son Sef and his long-time friend Malik. I keep my distance away from that thing because I know that I will use it for petty revenge, not for the good of the Order. It is perhaps serendipity that neither of us needs to be close to the object unlike Arden or Tabitha.”

His ancestor looked up and smiled grimly, “You do not need to worry. Altaїr knows better than to activate the thing in my presence.”

“But-” Desmond fell silent as he wanted to say that based on the memories that he had experienced as Ezio, he was stronger than he gave himself credit for. Yet based on those same memories, he knew that Ezio was his own worst critic and would not accept any words of praise from him.

“There is a fine line between control and falling into the Apple's temptations,” his ancestor said, “and you will learn, it is always a constant battle with the Pieces of Eden. The only advice I can give to you is to be firm to your ideals and keep them close. Do not let anything sway those ideals, not even the logic that the Piece may whisper to you. I nearly lost my ideals when I used the Apple to kill, but it was only in the aftermath that I realized I could have lost so much more.”

“I will,” Desmond replied, knowing that there were no other words he could say.

“Now then,” Ezio abruptly pushed himself up from the chair, “let's get you fed and perhaps some more training today?”

“Uh, I was actually thinking of maybe trying an Animus session today? You know...see if I can somehow try to control my Piece...of Eden,” he mumbled the last part, still a little unsure. “If anything, I want to at least do my part in helping find that object that's supposed to destroy a Piece of Eden. I mean, we don't have much time until the satellite launch so that's one thing we need to go after.”

Ezio nodded congenially, “All right, but you should still eat something.”

“Yeah,” Desmond smiled faintly, hoping that this Animus session would not end with him throwing up his breakfast into the garbage can like he had done when he had first experienced Arden's memories.

They climbed back down into the caverns and made their way to the cafeteria. Desmond had to press himself up against the narrow walls as a group of children ran by, giggling, their backpacks swinging around their back before an exasperated parent chased after them, trying to herd them into the cafeteria for breakfast. By the time they reached the area, it was already crowded, though he definitely did see a lot less people than before. He also noticed that more than a few were outfitted with bandoleers and weaponry, and they looked ready to leave.

“William and Altaїr have been sending out groups in the past few days. We've only begun to get scattered reports back in, some of them good, most of them bad,” Ezio explained as they got their breakfast. Desmond opted for something light instead of heavy, hoping that it would settle his stomach.

“Bad?” he asked.

“Over here!” a voice called out and he saw that it was his sister, her schoolbooks in a neat pile next to her plate while Peter was sitting across from her, his own backpack on the seat next to his, ready for school. He noticed that his mother was also sitting with them and beckoned them to join them. For a moment, Desmond thought to avoid them, puzzled at the sudden change of attitude Amanda showed to him, but Ezio took the choice out of his hands and led them towards the table.

“Some of the groups we had contacted previously had either been driven into hiding or were killed by Templar hit squads posing as the government,” Ezio explained in a flat tone before adopting a smile as they sat down. The message was loud and clear, the children did not know and it was expected to stay that way.

“Hey, wanted to apologize to you,” Amanda said as he sat down next to her, pushing her books a bit towards the middle of the table.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, acted like a dick, sorry mom,” she shot a look at their mother who had frowned at the use of the swear word, “anyways, yeah, wanted to apologize. Mom said that you were learning because you don't want to go down with one hit again in case the Templars show up.”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Desmond took a few bites, shooting a look at his mother who had turned to fuss with Peter. He had forgotten that Lucy had made up the story of him getting hit by one punch and wondered what his mother knew about all of this. He had the feeling that she knew a lot more than she was letting on. He vaguely remembered listening to his parents’ soft chatter with each other before they fell asleep when he was younger.

“So I asked Dad if I could learn,” Amanda continued, “can you believe him? He said no. I told him that you were learning from Uncle Enzo here and that military lady Arden, whoever the hell she is, and he got a little pissed off.”

“Your father knows what's best for you, Amanda,” their mother said, “Peter stop it. Eat your food properly.”

“Yes mom,” his little brother had been quietly mashing up his eggs with a fork before slowly eating them, “they're coming you know.”

“Mom,” Amanda sighed, “Peter's talking nonsense again.”

“Amanda finish your food,” Alice shook her head; “the two of you will be late.”

“Yes ma'am,” his sister replied a little snidely before wolfing down the rest of her breakfast before grabbing her books and Peter's hand before heading off.

“I'll let Altaїr and Bill know,” Alice said after a few minutes of silence and Desmond saw Ezio nod, having been silent the whole time.

“Know what?” he asked, feeling like he was missing something big.

“Peter...is...” his mother looked at him, her lined face suddenly showing her age. He had always known that his mother was older than his father, and in light of the fact that Alexander was his half-brother, it seemed logical, but he had never realized how much older she looked when he really saw her.

“Peter is what we called 'touched' by a Piece of Eden,” Ezio finished for Alice.

“He's what?”

“There's no official word for it, but Bill thinks that it's because our family line has been so influenced by the Pieces of Eden for so long that there has to be some kind of genetic repercussion,” Alice explained quietly. Desmond had not had a chance to interact with her since he had arrived at the Farm, but the tone she had adopted was a far cry from the memories that he had of her. He remembered the warmth, the motherly affection she had for him. Now she was a little cold, a little clinical, and different from when he had first seen her after waking up. Yet he heard the sadness in her tone.

“Genetic repercussion?”

“Much like Jack,” Ezio interjected.

Desmond was about to say that Jack was as normal as he or his ancestor but thought on Ezio's statement for a little bit. Even though there was the emptiness that was Jack in his swirl of memories, he had felt the man's psychopathic tendencies and inherent need to prove himself. There was not anything 'off' so to speak about Jack, yet he realized that Peter exuded the same kind of feeling that he had felt when he had lived that brief moment in Jack's memories.

“The boy is very smart, yet very quiet. Bill and I discovered that when he did speak, it was usually warnings that eventually came true,” Alice said, “I won't let my boy end up like Jack, but he needs to be watched and cared for.” His mother suddenly reached out and grasped his hand, “You're going to go back into the Animus, aren't you?”

“How did you-” he glanced at Ezio who shook his head a negative.

“A mother always knows, Desmond,” she smiled sadly at him, “and I recognized the look that you had on your face whenever you're stubborn. I want you to be careful, okay? There's so much we don't know...so much that...” She squeezed his hand, her eyes suddenly bright with tears, “I lost one son to that damned thing, I don't want to lose you either.”

“You know about...” he realized that his mother knew about Alexander, about Subject Sixteen and what had happened to him.

“I had Lucy show me the videos,” her smile had tightened a little, “had your team explain what happened. Ezio here told me what happened to you while you were escaping from Denver.”

“Oh,” Desmond did not know what to say, but felt that he had to say something, “Um...”

“Your father may disagree with you, but just remember that Bill's only trying to protect you, okay? He doesn't want to see you hurt. I don't want to see you hurt,” she said and he felt a small spark of guilt well in him at her words. He had yelled at his father, had told him to get off of his high horse, and here his mother was apologizing for both of their actions, for his own and his father's. She was still the same, still the mediator between their fights and somehow, he still felt guilty at the role she had placed herself in.

She patted his hand gently before getting up and leaving the two of them at the table. After a few minutes of silence Ezio spoke up, “Your mother is a good woman, reminds me of my own mother sometimes…”

“Yeah…” Desmond pushed the rest of his food away from him. He wanted to think that his mother was as manipulative as his father, but he knew that he could not think of her in that way. He still loved her, the only comforting force he had when things got too heated with his father and Amanda too young to know what was going on. He could not bring himself to hate her nor pity her, not after what he knew about her and about Alexander.

She had given no indication that she was to fall to pieces after finding out about her eldest son and only impressed upon him her worry for his safety. Most other parents he knew would have immediately banned their children, no matter how old they were, from using such a dangerous object. Instead, she gave her unconditional support, setting him free to do whatever he wanted the only way she knew how. That was the difference between his parents. His father wanted to control everything, his mother, knew that one had to choose their own path no matter what.

He sighed and stood up; scraping his chair back before dumping the rest of his breakfast into the trash can, Ezio following him out. They made their way towards where Rebecca had set up the Animus and he opened the door to find that it was a rather spacious room, a bit chilly and damp from the size of the area. He was not surprised to see Rebecca hard at work in front of a monitor that showed the lines of code of the Animus. Nor was he surprised to see Shaun at another station browsing through late 19^th century files that he had on one monitor, the other one with a huge list of sorts and pictures of what looked like the Papal Staff and Apple Piece of Eden.

He was surprised to see Lucy hunkered down at a station in between the two, talking quietly with Altaїr who seemed to be occasionally pointing something out on her monitor. Behind them stood Arden, who had a frown on her face, occasionally interjecting with a quiet comment. On a monitor near her was his father’s face, clearly in a video communication with them from his office.

Near Rebecca’s computer was a gleaming white contoured chair with reddish-orange cushions, much like the one that he had sat in at the safe house. It looked so innocuous and innocent as he stared at the chair that held the Animus program. Yet, something about it was off, was different. He could not see the glow of its circuits or microcircuits if Altaїr was to be believed. Yet, he could feel a sort of yearning for it, of wanting to sit down, explore the memories of his ancestors, and learn more than he could with one lifetime.

It beckoned him and for the first time Desmond realized that of all the times he had pushed away the whispers in his mind, the knowledge that he plucked to supplement what he knew from his ancestors, everything…it was partially the Animus manipulating him, its way of whispering to him. Even back when he was an unwilling participant at Abstergo, Vidic had said he had no choice. He had choice; he realized he could have killed himself using perhaps a blunt object in the shower, or even muffled his own breathing with the towels, perhaps even hung himself with a makeshift hang man’s noose. But he had done as he was told because he had been too cowardly to think otherwise.

No, you’re over thinking this, Desmond blinked, trying to separate his thoughts out, you really did not have a choice. You do now and you chose to do it.

He glanced at Lucy, her presence bolstering him. She believed in him and he used that to chase the negative thoughts away. He took a shuddering breath, realizing how close he had come to losing it, all because his mind had plucked a fear and ran with it. He had chosen to help them, that was his choice. It was not influenced by the Animus or anything else. His choice, something no one could have decided for him.

“Oh, hey Desmond,” Rebecca was the first to spot him as he realized he had been standing at the entrance to the room for a few minutes.

“Hey,” he forced himself to brighten a little and stepped in as if nothing was wrong. Behind him, Ezio moved away towards where Shaun was, taking an interest in the other man’s work. It embarrassed him a little that his ancestor had not even said a word about his near-meltdown, but then again, he realized that Ezio’s support was unconditional and if anything at all, was treating him like a younger brother of sorts. The familiar affection Bled through his mind as he could feel the memories of how Ezio had supported Petruccio with the same kind of warmth.

Everyone’s eyes shifted to him as he walked towards Rebecca, but he did his best to ignore them. “So how’s Baby today?” as he got closer to the Animus chair, he thought he could feel something in his mind, but wondered if it was his own paranoia or was it the Piece of Eden.

“Humming along rather well,” Rebecca grinned at him and he peered over her shoulder to see the lines of blue and silvery code that was the Animus. It looked so different when seen on a computer screen instead of in the Animus itself, he realized. Gone were the DNA patterns and occasional fogging that he had seen in the loading screen. Out here, the Animus looked like lines of code and computer shortcuts that he had never learned about.

Was this really a Piece of Eden? Existing only in codes and lines instead of a physical object like the Apple or Lance? Could the ones who styled themselves like Gods, like Minerva, have created something like that? He remembered the video Sixteen left behind of Adam and Eve running away from something, holding the Apple. There had been a forge that they had passed where other Pieces of Eden were made.

Then again, Altaїr believed that the Animus or at least its code was used as a means of communication during the time, but then again it sounded as if he did not know its true purpose. Yet, Desmond wondered if it was true, after all, it seemed that Altaїr had gotten that knowledge from the Apple and based on what Ezio had said and what Arden said about her own Piece, the Apple itself could have been suspect.

He wanted to ask Rebecca about where she had gotten the coding for the Animus from, ask Lucy how did Vidic or Abstergo get it, but now was not the time. It would not change anything and would just waste even more time for their mission to destroy all of the other Pieces of Eden. He had said he would help and the questions could wait for now. Ezio had said that the reports were starting to filter back, which means he did not have much time and needed to get to the point of Arden’s memories where she had been sent with Stephen to find Orelov. His dreams of Arden and her life were few and far in between and so the Animus would help speed that process up.

“Mind if I explore a few memories?”

“Sure!” Rebecca looked excited, “just take it easy in there, okay? I’ve made a few modifications to try to stem the Bleeding once you got out, but we don’t know if it’ll really work.”

“Thanks,” Desmond had a feeling that Rebecca did not know that she was working on a Piece of Eden, but appreciated the thought that she could try to adjust its coding to help him.

“I’ve updated some of the historical files if you’re inclined to look at them before you trapeze around London,” Shaun spoke up and Desmond nodded as he stopped by the reclining chair.

“Sure, or you can just tell me,” he picked up the headset and visor that Rebecca had given to him and slipped it on, avoiding looking at Lucy, Altaїr, and Arden. He could feel their stares on him, but refused to acknowledge them. A part of him felt a little self conscious that his ancestors were most likely going to watch this session in the Animus, but then again, he could not fault them for being perhaps both curious and concerned.

As he finished adjusting the earpiece, he glanced at the plush cushioning and pursed his lips for a second. He could definitely feel something…alien, for the lack of a better word, about the Animus now. Shaking his head a little, he sat himself down and shifted his body into a more comfortable position before finally looking over to where Arden was. “If I end up flailing around London as you, don’t hold it against me, all right?”

He was rewarded with a rather rare smile from her normally passive expression before turning to Rebecca.

“Fire it up,” he said, breathing out quietly. Desmond’s world became a split second of pain as he could feel the Piece of Eden at work before his vision was awash in the blue-silvery hues of the Animus.

* * *

Author’s Notes:

And we’re heading back into the Animus! There is probably one more chapter to post up before I go on a short hiatus with this story because of AC: Revelations’ release. Thanks to everyone who’s reviewed, favorites, alerted, and messaged me regarding this story. Your support is as always, welcomed and appreciated.

Peter’s special status is something I’ve always wanted to explore. I’m of the belief that if the Pieces of Eden are used to manipulate and are that powerful, then why their powers can somehow affect later generations and so developed that little thread regarding Peter and hints that perhaps it was the reason why Jack was so screwed up before he even touched the Lance.

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Story:

Chapter 31 – Providence

For a second her world spun around dizzily before she managed to grasp onto the rough brick wall to steady herself. She thought she had seen a glimpse of a cavern filled with metallic looking things, but the vision passed by too quickly for her to make out anything in it.

“Are you well, Arden?” Stephen’s voice behind her made her straighten and regain her composure.

“I am fine,” she said curtly, “just…” She would never admit that the poison she had accidentally ingested four days ago was still affecting some of her equilibrium. Master Ezio had been teaching the two of them how to mix poisons and the like and had them use on a couple of targets that the Queen wanted eliminated. The Queen used those deaths as a warning to her son, the Prince of Wales Albert Edward, to tell him that she was still reigning monarch. She and Stephen had successfully tracked their targets, but they had proven a little more resilient than the average fighter and she had accidentally inhaled some of the poisonous fumes meant for the targets.

It was not a fatal dose, but it had kept her in her sick bed for two days with Mrs. Huston fussing over her. It was enough that the housekeeper treated her like her own daughter and constantly worried over her, but she had learned that Stephen had been waiting outside of her door for those two days. He had not actually visited her, just asked about her health and so forth to the point where she had gotten out of bed, against Mrs. Huston’s tutting, and had asked her master for a simple assignment. It was to prove to Stephen that she was well and he need not have kittens over her health.

She had seen the brief hesitation in her master’s eyes, but Andrew had given her the assignment with the strictest instructions not to overexert herself. The assignment itself had been easy, delivering a few letters here and there to discreet people or drop locations. But she had decided instead of taking to the streets like a newsie, she wanted to practice her rooftop climbing and had taken a few minutes to reorient herself at the landmarks across the city.

It had been enjoyable, climbing up to Big Ben with Stephen, but now as she finished climbing back down, she could feel her body trying to compensate for the exertion that she had put herself through. However, it had been worth it, in her eyes, to see the look of pure unadulterated wonderment in Stephen’s face as they took in the hazy skyline of London.

“We should be getting back,” Stephen said as a cold stiff breeze blew into their faces. She grabbed onto the cap that she wore, hiding her long hair underneath it and pulled her loose newsie clothing closer to her body. Perhaps she could ask her master if she could switch to a chimney sweeper style of clothing. Then again she realized that the only times she could be leaping across the rooftops was at night, not with all of the other assignments Andrew was giving her that required her to dress as a lady of society during the daylight hours.

She nodded and the two of them headed back towards Regent’s Park. It was a good half an hour climb across the rooftops, leaping and grabbing at purchases as they flew over the heads of those who were unawares. Once or twice, Arden and Stephen hid behind chimneys as they saw some roving gangs also make their way across the rooftops. They knew from experience that these gangs had been hired by Templars to hunt down Assassins who were operating in the city.

Finally, Arden spotted the familiar rooftop that was her master’s home and a small smile appeared on her lips. She was also grateful that Stephen had not said a single word regarding her health after his initial concern or the fact that she had paused on more than one occasion to catch her breath and let her body rest a little before pushing on. The two of them dropped in and Stephen reached up to close the window just as Mrs. Huston rounded the corner, carrying a fresh set of linens.

“Oh good,” the housekeeper had long been acclimated to Assassins dropping into the house, especially on the top floor, “you are back. Master Andrew requests that the two of you come to his study when you are cleaned up. Master Stephen, there is a change of clothing in the guest room, two doors to your right on the second floor. Miss Arden, I will come by and help you in a minute.”

“Yes ma’am,” Stephen nodded and the two of them headed down the stairs to their respective rooms.

“Oh, and dearies,” Mrs. Huston’s voice called back up to them and Arden turned to see her smiling at them with a slight twinkle in her old eyes, “please do not track the soot all over the place again.”

“Yes ma’am,” Arden had to suppress her own smile at the non-threatening tone that the housekeeper adopted. She had spent the better part of the day cleaning up the mess she had left after tracking dirt and soot to her master’s study. When she had been taken in by her master, she had not realized his status, but had learned that it was expected that he have servants. The fact that he only employed Mrs. Huston, and even then paid her wages, meant that she had been expected to help clean the house. She did not mind, the rough work giving her a chance to experience the different facets of life around her.

In her room, she managed to strip down to her underclothes without tracking too much dirt, nudging some of the large clumps that had fallen out underneath her bed, hoping that Mrs. Huston would not discover them until much later. True to her word, the housekeeper came in a few minutes later and helped her into a fashionable tea dress that was the latest in this year’s fashion. She wondered if she was entertaining a guest today, judging by how new the fabric was, and supposed that it was expected of her now since her assignments had been changing. She remembered that only a few months ago she had been allowed to wander the house in a cleaner newspaper boy outfit.

“You’d be a fine match to a lucky young man,” the housekeeper tutted as she adjusted the looser corset built into her dress.

“Not Chamberlain?”

“No, young Miss,” the old woman’s answer surprised Arden, remembering just two weeks ago that she had been seemingly over the moon regarding the rumors about Austen Chamberlain. “Master Andrew made it perfectly clear to Sir Chamberlain. Of course, the good Sir was a surprised and dare I say angry about it, but we shall see.”

“Who then?” Arden was curious.

“Well, young Master Stephen is a good choice. I have seen the way he looks at you.”

Arden was silent as she continued to adjust the rest of her dress. She still did not know how to interpret Stephen’s confession of love for her, but did not deny that she too felt a growing attraction to him. She had at first thought it was because he was dependable, reliable, and a good Assassin when push came to shove. However, that sentiment had grown upon her. But she could not ask her master for permission, he had to give it to Stephen. There was also the question of whether in her heart; she was ready for something like that. Not with Jack…not with revenge in her heart.

Mrs. Huston finished the last touches on her dress and stepped back, “There now, as pretty as ever.”

Arden looked at herself in the mirror and swished the dress experimentally before shrugging. She did not put much stock into fashion these days, but she supposed that the fabric did have some use, especially since the sleeves were long and wide enough to somewhat hide her bracer on her left hand. “Thank you,” she said as she turned to face the old housekeeper.

“It is my pleasure, young Miss. You have certainly changed since you were brought into Master Andrew’s care just a few years ago,” the old woman reached out and grasped her hands, “you will make someone happy, I know it.”

“Mrs. Huston,” she suddenly felt like she needed to tell someone, anyone but her master this, “please. I know you mean well, but, my mother- she…” Arden drew in a deep breath and composed her features, “I cannot consider marriage or even someone to spend my life with until I see to Jack’s demise.” She had followed her master’s command not to hunt for Jack, not even look for information into the man’s whereabouts, but she still felt the burning desire to see him pay for her mother’s murder. No one, not even Mrs. Huston or her master knew about the occasional nightmares she had, waking up to the smell of hot blood, of intestines still steaming on the cobblestone ground.

The old woman nodded, but there was sadness in her voice, “I understand, but please, remember that there are those who care about you.” With that, she gently pushed her towards the door and Arden walked out of her room, carefully stepping down the stairs and headed towards her master’s study.

She knocked on the closed door and received a muffled command to enter and did so. To her surprise, she saw that there were several others in the room including Stephen and his master. Two women who looked about her master’s age stood in the corner, both wearing the latest fashion while three other men stood near them. The room felt smaller as she surveyed everyone before spotting Sir Chamberlain standing by the blazing fireplace, a pipe in his hand as he nodded congenially at her entrance.

She curtseyed towards everyone before moving closer to Stephen, a sudden case of shyness overcoming her at the presence of so many eyes upon her.

“Good, we are all here then,” her master stood up from his desk, clasping his hands behind him. He was dressed in a suit of sorts that gave him a more mysterious edge, yet cut a very sharp profile.

“As you all know, tomorrow is a ball held in honor of Princess Beatrice’s son Prince Maurice Victor Donald born several weeks ago,” Andrew started quietly, his voice carrying across the room, holding everyone’s attention with the barest of ease, “Abdul has informed us that while Princess Beatrice will be in attendance, she will not stay the whole of the ball.”

Arden saw everyone shoot looks towards a very well dressed Indian man and realized that he was Abdul Karim; one of the Queen’s favored servants and known in the royal circles as the Munshi. The fact that he was an Assassin surprised her, but she realized that she should have expected that one of their own be very close to the royal family, especially since her master even said so. There were rumors that Edward, the Queen’s heir apparent hated the man’s influence over his mother, and Arden realized that Karim was probably one of the most visible Assassins, which had to irk the Templars to no end.

“The Queen however, will,” Abdul took over, stepping forward. His English was soft and with barely a hint of an accent that she could identify. His graceful manner seemingly soothed everyone, giving insight as to how he mastered the art of conversation and small talk. “And this is the problem. I have discovered that Edward intends to stay by his mother’s side throughout the party.”

“To poison her?” one of the female assassins in the back spoke up.

“Possibly, we do not know yet. But what is known is the invitations sent out. They have included many of those we know as anti-royals, or more specifically, anti-Victoria. Master Andrew and I have come to the conclusion that Edward plans to poison his mother during the ball, let her die this winter and have himself crowned as King.”

“He cannot do it himself, it would be too obvious,” Master Ezio looked thoughtful, “what is the catch?”

“Many members of Parliament, those of us who have had a good relationship with the Queen have also been invited, my father and I included,” Chamberlain answered quietly, his grip on the mantle tightening; “they plan to poison those who are loyal to the Queen during this ball. Perhaps claim a plague of sorts.”

“It would ruin the Queen’s benevolent reputation and if she dies around the same time the guests do…” Stephen tapped his chin, “how many of these anti-royals are Templars?”

“At least several,” Andrew replied, “but they will not be the one to administer the poison. It will be their servants or guests they will bring, which is why I have called you all here. Sir Chamberlain has kindly agreed to extend several invitations for us. Abdul and I have compiled a list of those we know to be Templars and anti-royals. Each one of you will be assigned a target or two. You are either to disable or eliminate them in any way possible.”

The unspoken words of killing them in a discreet manner, weighed heavily on Arden’s mind as she began to realize the magnitude of the assignment. She felt oddly proud that her master had considered her worthy of such a mission, yet she could not help but feel apprehensive.

“Those in the Queen’s guard that I know are loyal to her will also help in this,” Abdul said, “They will be identified with a marker that is familiar to the rest of you.” Arden saw Chamberlain frown at the use of Abdul’s words and looked to protest before restraining himself. She realized that while her master was telling them their mission, the inclusion of Chamberlain into the meeting still meant that they did not fully trust him. Abdul’s snub of letting him know what that marker was, was clear – the potential for a spy, even as one as loyal as he to their cause still did not mean he was trustworthy.

“Each of you have your assignments in the envelopes given to you when you entered,” her master said, “safety and peace to you.”

Arden was a little confused as she saw the others bow to her master before leaving the room, some of them talking with each other, others stoically heading out. She bowed her head once to Abdul Karim before he left followed by Master Ezio and Stephen who looked as confused as she did.

“Arden,” Andrew’s voice brought her gaze around to see him rounding his desk, but he did not sit down. She saw his gaze look beyond her shoulder and turned to see Chamberlain still standing by the fireplace, except there was something softer in his expression.

“Yes Master?” she asked as Chamberlain stepped away from the fireplace and stood near her.

“Sir Chamberlain has requested that you escort him to the ball,” her master said quietly, “I have given my approval.”

“Oh,” she realized what he meant by his approval. Chamberlain had most likely requested permission to court her, just as the rumors had said, and her master had denied it. However, with the advent of this mission, he could not, in good grace, decline Chamberlain’s request to escort her to the ball and so had to give permission. She realized that even though she could have been escorted by someone else or could have had a different assignment, her master wanted her on this mission and so had to make a few concessions – one of them being Chamberlain’s escort. And she realized that Chamberlain took her master’s approval as permission to begin to court her, even though it was under the guise of this mission.

Arden suddenly wished it was Stephen who was escorting her, someone she could trust, someone she knew. The notion that Chamberlain could very well end up being her husband in the near future did not frighten her, but it was rather jarring as it brought the reality home that she was of marriageable age. She realized that she was not afraid of that, but rather she was afraid that she would not be able to fulfill the promise to avenge her mother, especially if she was to be married off to anyone.

Her world tilted for a second before she thought she saw a flash of blue haze – [Just a minor glitch, it’s all right Desmond, you can continue] – who was this Desmond?

Chamberlain suddenly lifted her hand and kissed it gently on the back, “I look forward to escorting you, Miss Allen. And I hope you will feel the same.” She could feel herself blush at the sudden contact before he released her hand and left the room, leaving her and her master behind.

As soon as the door closed, she turned to face Andrew, opening her mouth to speak before he spoke first.

“Keep a strict eye on him,” her master said his tone firm.

Shock coursed through her as she grasped the meaning of his words. Her master believed that Chamberlain was a Templar spy, or was a Templar himself. It was beginning to dawn on her that the day she had saved Austen Chamberlain was not only to sway his family to the Assassins cause, but also to determine whether or not he had Templar connections. Her master knew something of this man, of his family that fueled his doubts and trust of Chamberlain.

Her assignment was not to poison or kill anyone, but rather to make sure that Chamberlain’s every action was watched, to truly determine his loyalties. Her master believed that the threat was real, but that also perhaps the newly elected MP was the mastermind behind the threat.

“Yes master,” she bowed her head, understanding her mission.

* * *

A high society ball meant that she could not wear her bracer, the confines and sleeves of the dress not long enough to conceal the weapon. It also meant hindering her movements to dainty steps. At least that was what she knew about balls. She had only been to them twice, both of them with her master as her escort. Her first one was a learning experience, especially compared to what she had learned from her mother and her second one went much more smoothly.

She thought it was a high society ball, but staring at the outfit that Mrs. Huston had laid out on her bed for her said otherwise.

“Mrs. Huston?” she stuck her head out of her door, calling for the housekeeper. The old woman bustled into view a few seconds later. “Mrs. Huston, what is…” she gestured vaguely towards her bedroom and a knowing smile appeared on the housekeeper’s face.

“Ah, I suspected that Master Andrew wanted to surprise you,” the housekeeper said, “this is what you will be wearing, Miss Arden.”

“But…it looks like-“

“It is a costume ball, my dear,” there was a definite hint of laughter in Mrs. Huston’s tone and Arden blinked in surprise, “and Master Andrew thought it be best for you to go armed and prepared.”

“But the Queen-“

“It seems Princess Beatrice requested her guests to enjoy themselves instead of holding to what her mother’s norms are,” Mrs. Huston replied, “now will you need help?”

“No thank you,” Arden’s mood brightened a bit before she heard the door close behind her and began to change into her outfit. When she finished, she looked at herself in the mirror, an unbidden smile working its way up her face. The outfit was cut for modesty, but it still was not a crinoline dress at least. The neckline plunged a little, baring her shoulders, but it was covered artfully with a tight-fitting half-jacket that only was buttoned four buttons in the front. The jacket had a long tail that was trimmed, but also covered her legs in the back for modesty’s sake. The pant legs were wide enough to move a little like a dress, but they still afforded her some movement if she needed to run or climb.

The boots she wore reached her calf and she was able to hide a small dagger in it before adjusting her bracer to fit snugly under the expansion of her sleeve and gloves she wore. However, she looked at her right hand and found that she needed a complimentary bracer to fit it, but she did not have one.

A gentle knock to her door made her look up to see her master stepping in, holding another bracer in his hands. He was already dressed in a dark grey outfit that was similar to what he had worn in the other balls that he had attended. However, there were little bits layers of fabric that gave the outfit a more rakish flare to it, almost a little like a throwback Italian renaissance period dress.

The dark red cravat he wore to compliment the grey hues made her master look impeccably handsome and Arden briefly wondered if her master had entertained any women before she had dropped into his life. He did not seem lonely, but like a daughter wondering if her father would find someone to love; she hoped that he would perhaps find happiness in his future.

“You will need this,” Andrew held out the bracer and she took it, cradling it gently in her hands before turning it over to see that it held another hidden blade. Her smile grew wider as she looked from her master back to the blade before strapping it on, hastily adjusting her sleeves to fit this new blade before activating it with a quiet snick.

“It is beautiful,” she murmured, watching it gleam in the lamp light of her room. Most other ladies her age would receive jewels, pearls, heirlooms passed down from mother to daughter or from father to daughter, but she received a better and more practical equivalent from her master, another blade.

Sheathing the blade, she impulsively hugged him as her world tilted before her eyes again, this time even more flashes of blue-grey foggy haze – [Huh, there it is again. Rebecca, run a diagnostic, just in case. I think it’s stable to continue] - before releasing him, a little embarrassed. Andrew’s gaze softened for a moment before he straightened, composing himself and handed her a small vial and a piece of paper.

“These are additional targets you will poison while being escorted by Sir Chamberlain. Do not let anyone else know,” her master said and Arden nodded, scanning the list once, memorizing the names.

She knew the faces to the names, having encountered them at least more than once. Looking at the liquid vial she saw that it was the same concoction that she had accidentally breathed in a few days before. A quick glance at her new blade on her right hand showed that the design was hollow, which meant it had been specifically designed to administer the poison, whether through a small stab wound or otherwise instead of breathing the fumes in.

“Stephen has been assigned to help you dispose of the bodies should the need arise,” her master continued, “but be discreet.”

“Yes master,” she replied pocketing the vial while lighting the edge of the list on fire from the oil lamp. Her master nodded in approval as the list turned to ash, before the two of them left her room, heading downstairs. She knew was being asked of her – a separate list of the ones they knew to be strictly Templars. The list that Chamberlain had provided was only a means for the real mission, to eliminate the true Templar agents.

She noticed that Chamberlain was already waiting for her and next to him was Master Ezio, dressed similarly like Andrew, but somehow his outfit was a little more flamboyantly cut, a definite throwback to the Italian renaissance period. She did not see Stephen anywhere and wondered if he had already gone to the palace. Chamberlain stepped forward and she saw that he wore a costume of sorts that looked like a hunting outfit, but also wore half of a mask over his face.

“Ah, the jewel of the ball,” Chamberlain bowed towards her as she approached him.

“You flatter me,” she schooled a smile on her face before allowing him to take her arm and head out to the carriage that awaited them. A quick glance behind her showed that her master and Stephen’s master followed behind them before the clearing of a throat in front of her made her look up.

She was surprised to see that Stephen had not gone ahead, but was rather the coachman of all people, for the carriage that Chamberlain was leading her to. However, he did not acknowledge her, falling into his role easily and she was reminded that she was now the escort of Sir Chamberlain, a lady of society. She got into the carriage with his help, even though she could have done it on her own and was promptly joined by Andrew and Master Ezio.

They rode in relative silence, broken occasionally by Chamberlain pointing out some of the landmarks that he thought she might not know. She played her part, nodding and making small observations regarding said landmarks even though she knew them very well. She did not know whether or not Chamberlain was playing a part, but she was willing to go along with it and only once saw the minutest of nods of support from Andrew. Oddly, she was struck at how similar her master and Master Ezio looked and could swear that they were perhaps long-lost brothers with their similar build and features.

They soon arrived at St. James’ Palace and she took Chamberlain’s hand as he helped her out of the coach. He introduced them to the butler to be announced at the door before handing over an invitation and gestured to the two masters behind her as businessmen brothers who were from Italy. She knew that Master Ezio had a convincing accent, but hearing the same accent mimicked by her own master surprised her.

As they stepped in and joined the growing crowd, she spotted some of the others that she saw in yesterday’s meeting mingling with their guests or were escorting others. She was introduced to the Queen and Princess Beatrice and bowed her head low, managing to catch Abdul’s gaze before he winked at her as she straightened. Chamberlain then led her to others, introducing them. She caught glimpses of her secret targets as the festivities began, slipping into her special vision that she was able to access, seeing amongst the grey and blue hues of those who were not targets and those who were allies the yellows of her targets.

Her first target was a well dressed woman who had opted for more of a traditional gown than a costumed outfit and she discreetly slid some of the poison into her right blade before delicately scratching her skin by accidentally cracking a glass as she reached for a drink. At the same time, she accepted a glass from one of the servers and moved away from the table with Chamberlain by her side. He had been completely oblivious to her actions as she retracted the blade. Both of them turned as the woman started to berate the servant at the table and Arden adopted a surprised expression on her face. A few others in the crowd watched as the woman’s face turned redder and redder before she seemingly fainted from exhaustion.

That was one down and she had four more on the list to go.

“Shall we dance milady?” Chamberlain turned away from the noise as a waltz was struck up and Arden smiled before nodding.

“If that is your wish,” she replied demurely, extending her hand to him. He kissed it before sweeping her up in the waltz. They danced in relative silence for a few steps as she kept her gaze on him, but managed to spot her next target which was a man dressed in a military uniform reminiscent of the American Revolutionary war. He too was dancing with his partner and she knew that this waltz would not have an exchange of partners.

However, if she managed to steer close to them…

“My dear, are you distracted?” Chamberlain suddenly spoke up and she smiled at him.

“No, I am only concerned about the others-“

“You should have faith in your master and that Indiaman’s planning,” Chamberlain chided gently.

“He has a name,” Arden did not like the tone he used regarding Abdul’s status in England. She fully understood the racism that made so many in the Queen’s inner circle detest Abdul Karim, but she still thought that the head of the Indian Assassin Order would deserve more respect. At least the Queen saw to that courtesy. She had learned that Abdul was on special assignment from India and was leader of the Asiatic bureaus; much like Andrew was head of the European ones.

“He should understand his place in this society,” Chamberlain countered before restraining himself, “I am sorry, milady. My words were spoken out of haste and I hope you will forgive me.”

“Of course,” Arden had no intention of ignoring Chamberlain’s words, but she played her part.

“As I was saying, they will complete their assignments. The Queen will not fall today,” Chamberlain said before dropping his voice a little lower, “I wanted to thank you, for saving my life a little over a year ago.”

“You are welcomed,” she replied as they continued to whirl around the room.

“If it is not too forward of me,” Chamberlain looked to the side for a moment and Arden used the opportunity to flick her blade into the side of the man dressed in the American Revolutionary war uniform as they passed by before retracting her blade. She grabbed the hem of her jacket acting as if she had not dropped it for the split second and held it out, continuing to dance. “If it is not too forward of me, perhaps might you consider a trip out of the city with me soon?”

“Um,” she did not know what to say and was thankful that the music ended and people around them began to clap for the others who had danced. She joined in, glad that it had provided the necessary distraction to prevent her from answering.

“Well, Miss Allen?” Chamberlain looked a little hopeful at her answer.

“I-“

“It seems, I…must excuse…myself,” the breathy words of the man she had stabbed passed by them as he hastily made his way towards the parlor rooms, stumbling a little before disappearing from sight. That was two down, three more to go.

“It seems like people are celebrating a little earlier than expected,” Chamberlain was also staring at the door the man had went through before turning back to her, “now my dear, you were about to answer my request?”

“I-“

“May I have this dance, mia signora?” Master Ezio’s fluid, cultured tones cut her off as he slid up next to them, a charming smile on his face.

“Oh, uh,” Arden did not know what to make of the sudden interruption but before she could say anything else, was swept back to the dance floor, leaving Chamberlain behind. A quick glance behind her before the whirl of clothing obscured her vision was her master stepping up next to Chamberlain and engaging him in a conversation of sorts.

“Your master will watch Chamberlain for now,” Master Ezio led her with far more grace than she could ever imagine across the dance floor. “Yes, I know of your secret assignment.”

“Oh,” she peeked over his shoulder to see that indeed, her master was talking to Chamberlain, apparently an animated conversation as his hands occasionally flickered this way and that.

“You, mia signora, however, need to pace yourself,” Master Ezio scolded gently, “You have poisoned two people in the past fifteen minutes. If you move too fast on your targets, people will suspect. The night is young and the guests are not leaving yet.”

“I understand,” she blushed a little, realizing that she was too used to killing her targets in a methodical fast way instead of waiting and watching.

“I do however, have to praise your ingenuity in those kills,” he smiled at her, “not even I could have managed the artistry in breaking a glass to cover a cut or stab someone in a fast waltz.”

It was an effort to keep the proud smile off of her face. She was supposed to be modest in the ball and managed to hide her smile by ducking her head down. The music picked up a bit and Arden found herself enjoying the dance and allowed Master Ezio to finish the dance with her. They stayed on the floor and he led her to a few more before she spotted one of her three targets leaving to go to the powder room.

“Would you like some refreshment?” Stephen’s master did not miss her quick look and led her to the side after disengaging from the group of dancers on the floor.

“Yes please,” she replied before curtsying at him. She saw Chamberlain and Andrew approaching them and bowed her head a little towards the MP. “Excuse me Sir Chamberlain. I must catch my breath.”

“Oh, of course my dear,” Chamberlain looked a little disappointed, but nodded in understanding as she left them and headed towards the powder room.

She discreetly applied more poison to her right blade, the poison having dried up in the past hour or so since she had used it to kill her previous two targets. She walked past several gentlemen who had traded their costumes for smoking jackets and were puffing on their cigars, discussing the latest news. Pushing the door open to the female parlor room, she breathed a quick sigh of relief seeing that it was only her and her target.

“Are you lost, young miss?” the woman looked up from powdering her face and Arden kept her silence as she casually approached her. “You look a little young to be here.”

The woman was utterly oblivious to the death that she was going to face as she continued to powder her nose and forehead before snapping shut her purse. Arden quickly reached over and flicked the catch to her blade, extending and ripping a thin line across the back of her hand, making her hiss in pain before pulling her hand back and staring at the welt of blood that started to form.

“What…who…” the woman stared at her for a second, uncomprehending before looking down at the blade she had flicked back into place, “Assassin!” The woman stumbled out of the chair she had been sitting in, one hand curled into a claw to grab at her, but Arden easily stepped out of her range. “H-How…” the blood was draining rapidly from her face as she fell to the ground, but tried to pull herself forward.

Arden knew that she could end the suffering with a swift cut to the woman’s throat, but doing so would expose the fact that there were Assassins at the ball so she had to wait out the woman’s death. She already figured out that she was going to pose the body in a way that showed her having a little too many drinks and fell asleep in the powder room, covering the small scar on her hand with the very same powder she was using on her face.

Spittle frothed at the woman’s lips as she tried in vain effort to crawl forward again before finally she collapsed to the ground. Her death rattle finally escaped her lips and Arden knelt down next to her, placing two fingers on the side of her neck, waiting to feel a pulse. After making sure that there was none, she flipped the woman over onto her back and cleaned the foaming spittle up with the woman’s own dress before reaching over and closing her eyes.

She was about to heft the woman back onto her chair when a sudden gurgle behind her made her turn in time to see another woman clasping her throat, blood seeping in between her fingers as she fell to the ground. A small knife clattered next to her body, dropped from her limp fingers. Behind her stood her master with a frown on his face, left arm extended with his hidden blade activated and coated in the woman’s blood.

The woman’s whose throat had been slit by Andrew had been one of her two targets left for the night. It was only staring at the small blade that had fallen next to the body that Arden realized the woman had been sneaking up upon her. She could have seen her kill her target or was trying to set the body up. Arden opened her mouth to say something, but closed it as Andrew looked at her, his expression unusually serious.

“Stephen is outside to your left. Get him. I will cover you,” was all he said before he stepped back out of the parlor room, sheathing his bloodied blade once more.

Andrew must have seen her other target approach the parlor room where she had been making her kill and had intercepted her target at great risk to his own being at the ball. She knew that she had been assigned the five targets because her master was in a more visible position than she was.

She abandoned her attempt to position the body of the woman she had poisoned and hurried out of the parlor room, catching a glimpse of her master joining the crowd of men with cigars in their mouths. He had one in his mouth, but did not seem to be smoking it and instead, stood at the edge of the crowd, his back towards her, but his body blocking the hall to the women’s parlor room.

She hurried towards the servant’s exit that he had pointed out and found that Stephen was indeed sitting outside on the steps, looking a little more than bored.

“Arden?” he immediately stood up upon seeing her.

“Two bodies,” she said gesturing for him to follow her. Master Andrew had said that Stephen had been assigned to help her dispose of the bodies.

“This is going to be a bit of a problem,” Stephen whispered behind her as they entered the parlor room once more.

“She I can still make like she is sleeping,” she gestured to the poisoned lady before glancing down at her fourth target. She could see a dark stain spreading on the carpet, but luckily it was not too noticeable, having blended in with the plush blood-red of the carpet itself.

“Help me carry her to the door. I can handle the rest,” Stephen decided and she grabbed onto the woman’s legs, grimacing a little at the volume of dress she had worn. Like her poisoned target, this Templar woman had opted to forego the costumed party and instead wore a ball gown.

It was a bit of an effort managing the body down to the servant’s door, but they managed soon after and Stephen nodded for her to let go of the legs to which she did with the utmost relief. The dress had been tickling her nose, nearly making her sneeze several times.

“Before I forget,” Stephen grunted a little bit after hefting the dead Templar’s arms around his own body, “you look beautiful.”

Arden had to laugh a little at his compliment, breaking the seriousness of the moment for a second. He was the only one that could compliment or make a random comment while carrying a dead body – and somehow, he was able to ease the tension she had felt in her all those times. He nodded for her to close the door behind him. She did so, but not before smiling at him, thanking him silently for his flattering remark. She hurried back to the parlor room and finished arranging the poisoned lady’s body before applying some powder to the cut on the hand.

Finally finished, she checked herself in the mirrors, adjusting her own outfit before heading out of the parlor room, passing by her master without another glance. That had been too close she realized as she rejoined the party and adopted a winning smile on her face at seeing Chamberlain talking with Master Ezio.

“I was beginning to think you lost your way in the parlor rooms,” Chamberlain murmured quietly.

“Just engaging in some lively gossip,” she replied sweetly and saw Master Ezio wink at her before moving to ask a random woman for a dance.

“Shall we?” Chamberlain gestured towards the floor once more and she nodded.

“I would be glad to,” she said. Four targets were down; there was one more to go.

* * *

She had spotted her last target first when she had first entered into the hall with Chamberlain, but he had been by the Queen’s side through most of the ball and had rarely left her side. Once or twice, he joined with the others in dances, but even then she had been too far to poison him like she had done with the man dressed in the American Revolutionary uniform. She had lost him when he stepped outside and was trying to think of an excuse to follow the man outside without seemingly being rude to Chamberlain when Chamberlain himself asked if she wanted some fresh air.

Her ‘yes please’ might have been a little too enthusiastic, but Arden did not care. The ball was nearly over, some of the guests having already left, and he was the last target on her list. Chamberlain led her outside and they turned a corner only for him to pause mid-step.

“Is that not, hmm…this would be a good time to talk to him,” Chamberlain sounded contemplative and Arden saw that it was her last target, standing silhouetted against the moonlight, hands in his pockets, seemingly staring at nothing but the oil lamps and carriages waiting by the front.

“Sir Chamberlain?” she asked, trying to mask her own excitement, yet also puzzled as to why Chamberlain wanted to talk to a Templar. Maybe this was why her master had told her to keep a strict eye on the man, because of the possibility that he was consorting with Templars.

“Come with me, Miss Allen, I will introduce you to a good friend of mine,” Chamberlain smiled congenially at her as they walked towards her target. Arden prepped her blade as they approached, ready to rake a small cut across his hands – [Hey, Lucy, it’s that glitch again, maybe we should stop for now] - or stab him in the side.

However, as they got closer, she sensed that something was wrong. Her target had not moved a single inch and instead, was standing stock still. “Hello, old friend-“ Chamberlain started before faltering as the person he was talking to, her target, suddenly pitched forward almost boneless to the ground.

Beyond him was a man dressed in shambles of clothing holding a very familiar glowing object that she recognized. Arden’s mind froze as she remembered being in its clutches, screaming, choking – [Holy shit! What the fuck just happened! Rebecca, get him out now!] – dying as her world was blurring…

[It’s not responding!]

A small cry of terror escaped her lips before she saw Chamberlain fall to the ground, crying out in pain as he suddenly clutched his stomach. She could see the blood pouring out of the wound, but had not even seen the attack.

“I have missed you, my daughter,” the same breathy hiss of a whisper, the cold tone.

She remembered kneeling in the entrails of her mother’s corpse, crying, shrieking as he had disemboweled her.

[Shit!]

She had sworn revenge…and that fury broke into her thoughts, chasing any doubts away from her mind as she registered the man standing in front of her; the man that had conveniently killed her fifth target. The man she had been hunting for since her mother’s death. She bared her teeth and growled at him, her rage suddenly and swiftly filling her, fueling her as she activated both of her blades, hands spread out from her body. “I will kill you,” she hissed out quietly.

Jack the Ripper smiled at her bravado and only gestured with the glowing object he held, a lance head. “Catch me then,” he taunted before suddenly taking off into the inky darkness, the moonlight barely lighting his form and path.

Arden roared her rage before taking off after him, sheathing her blades with a click. As he dashed past the line of carriages, she followed, hot on his heels – [What the hell is going on? What is this? Is that Jack in that memory?!] – only to hear Stephen’s concerned shout behind her as she leapt past the carriage he was manning.

“Chamberlain is injured, get help for him,” she shouted back before turning a corner and running through the gardens.

She trampled past the carefully tended flowers and shrubbery before scaling up the walls to the rooftops, flickering in and out of her special vision to keep an eye on Jack’s whereabouts. She was not going to lose him this time, not after he had dropped into her sights. She had promised her master not to look for him, but she had not promised to take the opportunity for her revenge if he so happened to wander into her path.

“Arden!” Stephen’s voice behind her made her curse inwardly. That stupid boy, she thought as she scrambled up the side of a house before leaping across the chimney stacks. She was glad now that she had pants instead of a dress for her costume.

“Arden wait!” she glared at Stephen as he managed to catch up to her, “you cannot just take him alone-“

“Watch me!” she shot back, leaping across the open air and grabbing a ledge before pulling herself up. “He killed my mother-“

“And he will kill you if you are too hot headed to think about it!” Stephen cut her off, “we can ambush him!”

[Desmond, come on, snap out of it!]

“Sod off!” she swore at him before leaping to the ground, her feet pounding into the cobblestones for a few seconds before taking to the rooftops again. She could see his fleeing form now and knew she was catching up to him. Jack dropped to the ground once more and she did the same, breaking her fall on a stack of old boxes, pain flaring across her legs, but she ignored the fleeting pain.

He was so close, she could feel it, taste it. Her mother would be avenged tonight and then she would be free from the demons that held her back. She wished she had her revolver or even her trusty light .44-40 Winchester Model rifle with her, but there had been no place for her to conceal such a weapon and the Queen’s guards would never allow someone so armed to be at the ball. One shot would have stopped Jack forever and with her skills in guns, she knew that her accuracy was lethal.

Instead she had her dagger and blades. She drew out her concealed dagger as she rounded the corner, wary for an attack. She did not hear Stephen behind her, but did not care. Let him do whatever he wanted, she was focused on her prey. She suddenly brought the dagger up in a block as the glint of the odd looking bladed weapon Jack wielded crashing down upon her head.

Twisted and rolling to the side, she backed away, holding her weapon aloft as Jack emerged from the shadows, a wide, death-like smile on his face. “Like a lamb to slaughter,” he murmured and she shook her head.

“I do not think so, you bastard,” she growled out before charging forward, slashing left and right. She kicked him swiftly in the stomach, only to hit cloth before he spun around her. She barely ducked under the swipe of his blade, hearing some of the fabric of her clothing tear from the near miss.

[Bill we need you here, something’s wrong-]

“And she is not alone!” Stephen’s voice suddenly cut through the eerily silent night and Jack turned to the new source of attack as Stephen leapt from the top of the building, blades extended in his hands and landed, sheering off some of the cloth off of Jack’s clothes. Jack hopped back a step, holding his blade out in front of him, a feral smile on his face.

The madman suddenly burst out laughing before he seemingly disappeared in front of her eyes. She only had a split second of a shout of warning before suddenly stars exploded in her vision and she felt an incredible pressure clamping down on her neck. Arden choked as she felt Jack’s hands around her throat, slamming her up against the wall of one of the buildings. She coughed and grabbed onto his hand, trying to pry it away from her own throat, her dagger falling uselessly to the ground.

“Arden!” Stephen’s shout sounded so distant before the pressure was suddenly released as he bowled into Jack, sending the two of them tumbling to the ground. She fell weakly to her knees and rubbed her throat as she coughed violently, her body trying to grasp for more air.

She managed to look blearily at their forms, fighting, blades flashing this way and that under the pale moonlight. “N-No…S-Stephen…” she saw that the blade in Jack’s hand was beginning to glow. Stumbling to her feet, she managed to take a few steps forward before Stephen was suddenly thrown into the air, his arms pulled out to his side like a sick mimicry of the crucifixion.

A wordless scream emerged from his lips as he struggled against the sickening glow that had enveloped his body and Arden felt the rage return to her. How dare he, how dare Jack- She charged blindly towards Jack, a strangled yell emerging from her lips before she leapt into the air and stabbed at him from behind.

Her left blade found part of its mark as he turned at the last minute, glow fading from Stephen, dropping him unceremoniously to the ground. Arden saw a flash of victory in Jack’s eyes before she realized she had fallen into his trap and then her world exploded in a burst of incredible white-hot agony. Her breath hitched as she suddenly coughed, but this time felt a bitter copper-tasting liquid drip down the side of her mouth as she stumbled back.

She looked numbly down at the source of the pain just as the world blurred for a second-

[Desmond’s going into cardiac arrest! We need a defib!]

[Where the fuck is Bill?! He knows more about this than I do!]

-the hilt of the lance head sticking out of her chest, the blade plunged deep into her body. Blood was already dripping down from the wound, staining her clothing. She feebly reached up and touched it, suddenly finding herself on her knees-

[No! Don’t use it. It’s the Animus that’s doing this. Fuck, I had a feeling something like this was going to happen.]

“No…” she heard herself whisper as her world tilted and she found herself staring up at the moonlit sky. She could feel her life’s blood pouring out of her, ever so slowly. There were blurred faces now, voices that she vaguely recognized. She thought she saw her master standing over her, could feel his hands cradling her with the utmost gentleness she did not know he could possess. She could not tell as she felt tears prick the corner of her eyes. She thought she saw Stephen, eyes bright with tears, desperately calling her name – why was everyone crying?

Is this how it will end?

Arden cried as the world slowly faded from her eyes.

Desmond screamed.

* * *

Author’s Notes:

And I am off to go play AC: Revelations and leave you with this nasty cliffhanger for the next couple of weeks. :D Anyways in all seriousness, some notes to go along with this chapter. Abdul Karim was a real person in Queen Victoria’s court and was named the Munshi. He was one of the Queen’s beloved servants and even received lands of his own, much to the resentment of the rest of the court and especially Edward VII, Victoria’s heir. I just added the little twist that he was the head of the Asiatic bureau of the Assassin Order for history-twisting purposes.

Altaїr’s outfit that he wears to the ball is a variation of Ezio’s Brotherhood outfit whereas Ezio’s outfit is more similar to the one he wore in the games with maybe one or two differences. The red master sash is turned into a red cravat for Altaїr though. Arden’s outfit is a combination of the Courtesan and Smuggler’s outfits with a little bit of the Victorian ball gowns. Funnily enough, I took a course on 19^th and 20^th century fashion back in college and all but slept through that class (except for the mid-term and final). Now I kind of wished I paid attention in it to help to me describe more of the fashion of those days. Oh well, old school notes help – digging them out of the old pile was another story though.

Yes, the Animus glitched and has trapped Desmond in it. Yes, Arden just got run through by the Lance of Longinus and is dying.

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Story:

Chapter 32 – Anathema

The blood curdling scream that emerged from Desmond’s lips as he struggled against invisible restraints that seemingly bound him to the Animus chair puckered everyone’s skin, including Ezio’s. That was a sound not meant for any man, immortal or otherwise, to produce. “Dio mio,” he muttered as he curled a hand into a fist, feeling for the first time in a long time utterly helpless.

“Someone stick something in his mouth-“

“What?!”

“Just do it! We don’t need him biting his fucking tongue!” William snapped without pause, his hands flying over the keyboard. Ezio saw Shaun lurch from his chair and hurry over to Desmond, careful not to touch the writhing man before shoving a ball of spare cloth into his mouth, muffling some of the screams. The Englishman looked highly unnerved as he backed away a little, hesitant to move away from Desmond, but wary enough not to move any closer.

They had all seen what had happened when the Animus had suddenly seized up and Desmond had begun to twitch involuntarily in the chair. Lucy had been the first to try to physically pull Desmond from the chair only to the thrown by back an unseen force before William had arrived. But that was not the reason Ezio felt helpless. It was because he could feel his own Piece, the Apple, screaming in unison, joining in the chorus, the voices only mere whispers for the longest time, an angry cacophony of sound in his own mind, shrieking at him that it was evil, that it was anathema. It had paralyzed him, preventing him from even going near where the computers were, near Desmond, to do anything.

The screaming voices had been so alien that he had nearly been overwhelmed by it – he had been overwhelmed by it. Mental defenses that had once been strong had faded away with time. Whatever he had built since then had been meager and had been easy to resist the Apple’s whispers. They had crumbled like sand against the tide of water before he fought back. He had mentally clawed at the voices, shouting them down with his own, finding his own strength that he had not realized he had lost since the last time he had wielded the Apple. He had fought, the hardest mental fight he had ever fought, for those few minutes, standing rigid, unable to move, unable to find his voice.

Beside him, he would have thought that Altaїr would have faired better, but it seemed that the Animus’ abrupt frightened call that had activated the Apple’s own keening wail had paralyzed him too. Ezio slowly blinked, his muscles aching, shivering just a little at the stark reminder of the Apple’s own power resonating with its fellow Piece. It had been a long, long time since he had felt its power, never mind its seductive whispers that he automatically kept at bay.

As he slowly regained control of his own body, the sounds of the room filtered through his sharp, acute senses, the smallest of whimpers echoed in the air. William, Lucy, Rebecca, nor Shaun made any movement towards the sound, the three of them concentrated on Desmond's prone rigid form until Ezio realized that the sound had come from Arden. He turned to see that she was on her knees, her eyes wide, staring at something beyond the ground. Her mouth was opened in a wordless scream. Her arms hugged her body tightly as she rocked back and forth, seemingly possessed by something.

“Arden-” the wrenching compassion Ezio heard in Altaїr's voice sent another shiver of deja vu down Ezio's back as it was the same exact tone he remembered when she had be mortally wounded by Jack on that winter's night.

However, just as Altaїr moved to try to calm her down William abruptly swore.

“Fuck, what the hell do you want Melinda?!” he stabbed a finger viciously at his cellphone next to where he was working. Rebecca had immediately vacated her seat to William as soon as he had arrived. Ezio remembered Lucy explaining the situation from her station, but anything after that was still wrapped up in the haze of pain that had exploded from the Animus' resonance with the Apple.

“I'm sorry Bill, but...but we've got multiple bogeys-”

“I don't give a shit. Deal with it-”

“Bill! I think they're-”

“My son needs my help now! You deal with the threat!” William stabbed at the phone again before turning back to the scrolling lines of code and began to type furiously. “Fucking A-, why the fuck are you doing this you piece of crap... Lucy! Override the data code to Source A!”

“Y-Yes sir,” Lucy jumped a little at her name.

“Watch her,” Altaїr said softly, gesturing with a curl of fingers towards Arden and Ezio blinked as he saw the older assassin step away from them. He walked towards William and the others as nonchalantly as possible. Ezio knew that his ancestor was hiding his pain well, but he could still see that Altaїr was hurting just as much as he was, perhaps even more.

The older assassin stood next to William and the two conversed for a few seconds, their voices low, but William’s replies were as curt as his rapid typing before Altaїr abruptly turned on his heel and left the room. There was not even so much of a second glance at Desmond, who had stopped screaming, or the flickering monitors around him. But then again, Ezio knew that Altaїr did not show much sentimentality.

Ezio knelt down next to Arden and tried to pry her hands away from her body, a little surprised at how icy cold her fingers were. “Arden,” he said quietly, trying to get her attention. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the others with somewhat bewildered looks on their faces in the aftermath of Altaїr’s exit. They did not understand and perhaps they would never know, but Ezio knew that Altaїr thought this was his only option – to leave.

Though he would never say nor show it, except in rare moments of privacy, Altaїr cared greatly for Arden and seeing her like this distressed him. The memory that Desmond had begun to explore had pulled those distant sorrowful memories out into the forefront. Ezio knew from the long years of working with Altaїr that the man had a lot of regrets. This particular memory of Arden’s that Desmond had gone through was one of them. He knew that Altaїr would have gone mad with grief if he stayed in the room with Desmond struggling, seemingly held hostage by the Animus and with Arden in such a state.

As for Arden, Ezio suspected that either her Piece had activated long forgotten memories, not stolen ones by the Piece itself, or that she had buried this particular one. She had always claimed that she knew that there was a ball and of the fight with her master in the aftermath of gaining her twisted immortality, but whether or not she remembered everything from that night was another story.

“Arden,” Ezio tried again, trying to pry the fingers away from her body, but she held fast, shaking her head a little.

“No...no, no, no,” Arden muttered, still staring at nothing in particular, “it can't end like this, it can't end...”

“It has not ended, little eagle,” he said quietly, soothingly. To him, Arden reminded him of his own sister Claudia, yet had the strong independent streak that was in his long departed daughter Flavia. When she had left England to travel with him and Stephen he had given her the nickname of little eagle.

“No, no...no,” Arden continued to whisper, oblivious to his presence. She tightened her grip and he grimaced a little at the sharp pain in the tips of his own fingers. After all these years, she still had an incredible strength in her muscles. Thinking of a different tactic, he moved in front of her, blocking her view of Desmond, the Animus, and the jagged broken lines on the monitors if she had been looking up at them.

“Arden, it is only a memory. You are here now-”

“Why...Stephen...why?” the heart-wrenching whisper of her deceased husband's name made him frown as his own memories of that night rushed up to him.

He and Altaїr had seen Arden and Chamberlain step out side for air as guests were starting to leave the ball, the merriment coming to a close. The Apple had been murmuring restless nonsense for the whole night, only for her murmurs to grow a little louder when the two had left. Abdul Karim had been left to check in with the other assassins as the two of them made to follow Arden at a discreet distance, ready to aide her in killing her last target. The man had proven to be resilient at dodging every single one of Arden's attempts to claim his life through the night and had even deftly avoided him, Altaїr, and Abdul having known them as Assassins.

They had only arrived outside in time to hear Stephen shout his warnings to Arden that the two of them could ambush Jack before he took off from his post as a coachman. The Apple had immediately burst out a warning and he and Altaїr took to the rooftops. Ezio knew that Altaїr feared having Arden confront her father again, having barely saved her from her last foolhardy attempt. He himself dreaded facing his once promising student who had fallen so far from grace.

If Ezio could have his own way, he would have been the one to hunt down Jack, but Altaїr had forbidden it, citing that their mutual connection to the Apple would have dire consequences if they ever came near the Lance which Jack had upon him. But that did not mean that they would let the insane Assassin turned Templar roam freely. Altaїr had been discreetly gathering information regarding Jack's whereabouts after he had left his partner Elisabeth in the Ural Mountains heavy with child. Ezio also knew that the Arabic assassin was trying to circumvent the Apple's own self-defense mechanism to eventually confront Jack.

He had been asked to come to England to use his own mental influence over the Apple to potentially break its hold over them, but so far, after a year of fruitless ways, the two of them had not figured out how to dispel the Apple's influence.

As he and Altaїr had leapt from rooftop to rooftop, trying to catch up with their apprentices, he had heard the Apple's attempts to stop the two of them, but had viciously silenced it or at least softened it to a murmur by sheer force of will. Added to the fact that he did not want to lose his current apprentice Stephen to Jack reinforced that will. But they had arrived too late and had arrived to tragedy.

Arden had been sprawled on the cobblestone ground, impaled with the glowing Lance, a mortal wound as her blood flowed onto the streets, staining them red. Jack had taken one look at them before fleeing while Stephen, in obvious pain from whatever had happened to him, had been crawling towards Arden, shaking his head in denial. Ezio had long known that his apprentice had harbored a growing affection for the skilled woman, but had not actively encouraged him to develop the relationship. It had been due to his misgivings about his current apprentice potentially romancing the daughter of his failed apprentice. But it seemed that Stephen had been as foolhardy and impulsive as he had been in his youth in the Renaissance.

The Apple had been screaming in his mind as Altaїr cradled Arden's dying body with the loving care of a father watching youth pass before him. Ezio had felt helpless, unable to do anything except feel the sorrowful loss of one of their kind that had been so talented, cut off when she had barely begun to strike out on her own. He knew that Altaїr could have offered the Apple to her, to give her an immortal life, but there had been two things standing in the way.

One was that the Apple itself had been screaming anathema and all kinds of foreign curses at being so close to the Lance in Arden's body. Two was that Ezio knew that Altaїr would never deliberately offer such immortality even if it was a vain attempt to keep the only thing he cared for alive. It had been part of a very frank conversation he had with his ancestor after he had discovered he had stopped aging due to the Apple's effects back in the Renaissance. That conversation had also ended with blades at each other's throats. Still Ezio had to admire Altaїr's sheer force of will by being so close to the Lance with the Apple in his possession. Then again, he had suspected that Altaїr had more experience with it.

But then Stephen had done something that no one, not even the Apple for all of its alien sentience, anticipated. His apprentice had suddenly reached out and grabbed the pommel of the Lance and had uttered six words - “I will not let you die.” A blinding light had filled the area rendering Ezio unable to see, only hear Arden's sudden high pitched scream before the light had died. In the aftermath, Stephen had been holding the Lance, Arden’s wound had stopped bleeding and she had been groggily getting her bearings and the Apple had stopped whispering, falling silent.

Ezio had immediately gone on guard, watching his apprentice warily, wondering if he would have to strike a killing blow to another one of his students. However, it was only Arden who had sat up; her wound miraculously healed had prevented him from doing anything. They had learned soon after that she was immortal, like them, but with a heavy, heavy price. Stephen's life for each one of her injuries that she sustained and when Stephen eventually died, through circumstances that neither he nor Altaїr knew, it seemed that the Lance continued to sustain Arden's life by taking away her memories.

“Stephen loved you,” Ezio forced himself to push away the memories of that horrible night. There were a few that had been vivid in his long years of life. “He did it to save you...”

“Why...Stephen?” Arden did not hear him and continued to rock back and forth, looking like a little lost girl.

He was about to try something else when a sudden rumble reverberated through the room. Bits and pieces of loose dust and rock fell to the ground as the others, the exception being William, also looked up in apprehension. A second later a general alarm blared out. Ezio narrowed his eyes as he knew what the alarm meant – the location had been compromised and everyone was to evacuate. “...Arden,” he look at the young woman again before making his decision.

Standing up he saw Shaun staring worriedly at him, Lucy, Rebecca, and William turning back to their stations to get the Animus to release Desmond. “Keep an eye on the door,” he drew out a 9mm handgun he always kept on him and gave it to the historian, “I will be back.”

Shaun nodded, glancing back at Desmond before moving over towards the door. Ezio took one more look at Arden's semi-comatose form, still open-mouthed and silently screaming. He could do nothing for her, not at the moment, but he could at least buy everyone in the room some time if the base was breached by going to the armory and getting a few weapons.

* * *

There was always purpose in Altaїr's steps, none more so than now as he headed up to William's office which also doubled as the base's command and control center. He needed to get away from the Animus room, needed something else to focus his attention on. Melinda's message to William had been a convenience, even though he knew that it was anything but. He had been anticipating this, anticipating the discovery of this base ever since Amunet was killed. Iltani was far too clever to let such an opportunity go to waste.

“Show me,” he commanded in a quiet tone as he stepped into the office, the projections of William's projects replaced by radar and satellite feeds.

“Andrew, I thought Bill was-”

“Show me,” he repeated his request to Melinda who wiped the startled look face off before punching a few keys to bring up a projection of the outside cameras. He frowned as he saw multiple military trucks rumbling towards them, throwing dust into the air. They bore the logo of ATF and SWAT on the sides, supposedly government sanctioned. Altaїr knew better; these were Templars.

He glanced down at the infrared satellite feed, adjusting it to block the objects he knew by heart were part of the desert, heated by the scorching sun at this hour. Several red blips popped up and were moving in a sort of zig-zagged line towards them, commando teams. They were advancing further ahead than the armored vehicles. The warning that he had received several hours ago from Alice Miles, given to her by her youngest son Peter during breakfast echoed in his mind. He knew that William had dismissed it, concerned more about the Animus and its influence over Desmond than anything else.

“Andrew...what do we do? We don't-”

He held up a hand, silencing William's second-in-command before tapping a few buttons on the screen. “Start the evacuation,” he punched in a code before a blaring alarm started, echoing in the cavernous corridors of the enclave.

“But...” Altaїr looked up to see Melinda’s face go from worry to comprehension finally to horror as her jaw dropped. “But...you knew? You knew that this was going to happen?”

“I knew,” he knew he did not have to confirm her sentiments, but Melinda was a good, loyal woman to the cause. Though she was William's lieutenant, she had always deferred to his knowledge whenever he was at the enclave.

“That's why...you sent the other teams out, didn't you? Because you wanted us to find a new base, because when Desmond arrived, you knew that he would bring the Templars didn't you? I mean, we all knew that the Templars captured Desmond and that Lucy's team has been on the run and that they've been looking hard, looking high and low for them...but...” the woman realized she had been babbling before restraining herself and took a deep breath.

“Where...where do we go?”

“Have those that cannot fight evacuate to Toronto and Quebec,” he replied, “tell the other teams that they will submit themselves to the leadership of the other cells they have come in contact with-”

“What about the other teams that have reported in with bad reports?”

“They are lost to us,” it was a harsh sentiment, but this close to the launch date of the satellite by Abstergo, they could not afford to rescue the others.

“But Andrew-”

“Set up a defensive perimeter for half-an-hour,” he cut her off, “that is how much time you will have to evacuate everyone.”

“A-All right,” Melinda looked fearful, but immediately headed out of the room, shouting orders to a couple of the others who had been waiting outside of William's office. He knew that she would put up a good defense, to make sure that the younger and older members of the Order had a chance to flee without any fear of retaliation from the Templars. Whether or not she would survive the defense he did not know, nor did he wish to divine the Apple to find out, but she would not hesitate to give her life for the enclave or for the Order.

He turned back to the monitor and brought up another screen, typing in a few passcodes and started a purge of all the computer systems and information stored in the enclave's databanks. A beep of an incoming communication feed made him look up from the scrolling data being deleted and he tapped the screen to accept the incoming call, shifting his stance a little. His muscles still hurt from the paralyzing pain the Apple and put him through, but could already feel its unholy power healing him and accepted it as much.

“This is Alan Rikkin of FBI to paramilitary base. You are in violation of the Patriot Act. Surrender peacefully and a fair trial will be given to you. Release your hostages and you will be spared. Failure to comply with any of these orders and we will consider you to be hostile and be forced to open fire.”

Altaїr stabbed the reply button and smiled tightly, “You are welcomed to try.” He closed the communications feed before bringing up the screen showing that the deletions had finished and nodded to himself. Tapping a few more buttons, a more localized alarm started to blare and Altaїr headed out of the office, closing the door behind him just the computers began to spark. A few seconds later he felt the rumble of the whole office exploding behind him.

He stepped out into the main halls just as the first rumbles and distant booms of shells being bombed at them shook the caverns. A multitude of people running this way and that, some holding guns others carrying children or some meager belongings paused and looked up. More than one screamed only to be silenced with harsh words as people continued to evacuate or head up to the surface to help defend the enclave.

He stepped to the side on more than one occasion as a couple of assassins dressed in military fatigues helped some of the elderly along the halls. Most did not acknowledged him as he made his way towards a different area of the caverns, but some shouted greetings to him before hefting their guns and rifles and moved passed.

“Andrew!” Alice's voice made him turn to see her running towards him, moving against the flow of people. Peter was clinging onto one of her hands, looking up at him with his too-old eyes. Unlike Ezio and Arden who would never voice their discomfort in Peter's presence, Altaїr did not mind that the young boy was staring at him and at everything with those eyes. In fact, he welcomed it, though he always kept a close eye on the child. He did not want the young man to end up like Jack.

“Altaїr,” she greeted him as she got closer, lowering her voice so that no one else would be able to pick up on his real name instead of the one he had re-adopted when he had founded this enclave. “Is it true?”

“The Templars are here,” he looked at Peter who was sucking his thumb and staring up at them with a solemn look.

“And Bill...?”

“He is still here-”

“Mom! Peter!” Amanda's voice cut through the crowd before she pushed her way through to join them. “Hi Andrew,” the young teen greeted a little out of breath as she clutched her school books against her chest and looked worriedly at Alice. “Sorry to interrupt, but Mom, I can't find Desmond anywhere. He's not at the training salle, he's not in the cafeteria or in his suite! The evacuation alarm,” Amanda gestured to everything around them, “I mean, what's going on-”

“The Templars found us,” Alice said in a quiet soothing tone, but that only served to heighten Amanda's fear as her eyes widened.

“Oh my God, really? Oh we're so fucked-”

“Desmond is in the Animus room,” Altaїr believed, unlike Ezio and Arden, that Amanda should have been trained. He believed that William's attempt to shelter his children from the war between the Templars and the Assassins was fruitless.

“The what room?”

“Your husband is also there,” he looked at Alice who had a frown on her face, most likely because of the fact that he had mentioned the Animus room to Amanda.

“He's suffering,” Peter spoke up quietly and Altaїr nodded once.

Just like that, the frown on Alice's face was replaced by dread before she grabbed her daughter's hand and pulled her into the crowd without a second word. Altaїr watched them disappear into the crowd for a moment before continuing on his way.

Several more rumbles made him stumble a little before he finally arrived at the armory. Already, many of the weaponry contained in it had been repurposed or taken by Melinda for defensive purposes, but Altaїr saw that at least one container had not been emptied. Pulling its contents out, he quickly pieced together the weapon found inside and slung it around his neck and opposite shoulder before reaching over and grabbing several different kinds of grenades.

The familiar hum of the Apple alerted him to Ezio's presence before the man appeared at the door, a little bit out of breath, but otherwise as grim-faced as he was. “Seems like you had the same idea, no?” the Italian assassin asked as he stepped in and grabbed a couple of magazines for handguns and stuffing them into a small sack that was supposed to be for grenades.

Altaїr did not reply as he handed over two handguns to his fellow assassin followed by a couple of flash-bang grenades. “You have twenty minutes before the perimeter is breached.”

“William is trying his best,” Ezio replied tightly and Altaїr shook his head.

“I told you sentimentality will get you nowhere,” he knew that Ezio would not listen to him. He almost never did, even though he knew that Altaїr knew he was trying to spare him the pain in the long run.

“I am not putting a bullet in Desmond's head if that is what you are thinking. I thought you said he was the only one that would be able to wield it-”

“The Animus possessing him was something neither of us expected,” Altaїr arched an eyebrow at him, “if Amanda and Peter-”

“Desmond will pull through,” Ezio suddenly reached out and pulled him close, hissing at him, “he will. Have some faith, Altaїr.”

“I do have faith,” Altaїr narrowed his eyes, “and I consider all of the possibilities.” While he had told Desmond that he would never put Amanda or Peter into the Animus, he still did not dismiss the possibility. No one understood what was at stake; that the balance of the world was at the point where one misstep, one action that was not meant to be would give not only the Templars, but would give Iltani absolute victory and would doom the world to slavery. Telling it to Ezio was akin to hammering a nail in the head that was already blunted. The man cared, he could not fault him for that, but he cared too much, or rather was too obsessed with the prophecy.

He knew that Ezio would sooner deny it than confirm it, saying that he learned his lesson with Jack's betrayal of the Order and subsequent rampage, but Altaїr knew differently. Ezio had long been bothered by what he had learned in the bowels of the Sistine Chapel, of Minerva and this mysterious Desmond. It had consumed him and blinded him to the truth of the real war even though he was somewhat aware of it. Ezio was too consumed by his own failings as a master to the first Desmond, too full of guilt to consider the ramifications and possibilities with this current Desmond. Too skittish, too blinded by familial love to do anything about it or even think of pushing Desmond Miles to his limit.

Altaїr had no such reservations. The war had to end, no matter what, no matter the cost.

“If this is about Desmond-”

“It always is,” he placed his own hand on top of Ezio's and forced the other assassin to release him or risk having a broken thumb, “you know it as well as I do that it is always concerning the Desmond of prophecy.”

Ezio swore at him in Italian, but he only smiled, refusing to rise to the bait. The man was as hot-headed as he was during his time as Il Mentore in the Renaissance. Instead, he reached into the pouch where the familiar Apple of Eden was kept and pulled it out before unceremoniously dropping it into the Italian assassin's hand.

As expected Ezio recoiled from the Apple and attempted to shove it back into his own, “I do not want trinkets or favors-”

“It will tell you when you have run out of time against the Templars,” Altaїr said and saw Ezio frown.

“I know how this thing works,” he growled, but nodded gruffly in thanks, “I am surprised you are giving it to me.”

“I trust you will not lose it,” Altaїr shrugged, trying to hide how close Ezio's words were hitting its mark. He would never admit it to anyone, but he could not bear to be away from the Apple. It was petty really, and he knew it, but hearing it speak in Maria's voice, in the voice of his sons, Darim and Sef, even hearing Malik's scathing tone, it kept him company during his exile.

“I trust I will not have to keep it forever,” damned Ezio's instincts, Altaїr thought he had hid it well.

“The shed will be you exit,” Altaїr turned and handed over a few more magazines of ammo and a couple of extra handguns and grenades.

“Safety and peace,” Ezio slipped the Apple into a pocket and took the supplies, stuffing them into his small bag before holding out a hand.

“Safety and peace,” Altaїr replied, taking the hand and shaking it once before the Italian assassin headed out of the armory, hefting the small bag as he headed back towards the Animus room.

Another rumble shook the cavern and Altaїr looked upwards as bits of pebbles and dust fell around him. He did not have much time if he wanted to finish what he was doing. He grabbed a tactical vest and put it on, adjusting the sniper rifle that was slung over his back and stuffed the vest full of C4. Satisfied with his preparations, he headed out of the armory and down into the deeper levels of the enclave. The hard drives may have been purged, but he would make sure that the Templars would never find the actual physical drives. A quick glance at his watch told him that he only had fifteen minutes before they would be breached.

Time was running out.

* * *

Author’s Notes:

This is actually the first time Altaїr’s POV turns up in this story and I must say it was really hard for me to write him. Mostly because I’m afraid to drop the ball with his characterization and plus he’s completely different from the way I wrote in him in my BBC Robin Hood/Assassin’s Creed crossover stories. Anyways, I had fun with his POV and I hope I did him justice in this chapter. Oh, and remember what I said about certain POVs being truthful than others, well…count Altaїr as one of the very few truthful ones in this story…from a certain point of view. ^_^

On the ACR front, I’m slowly making my way through the game, just finished the first of Altaїr’s memories in the game (and yes, I let Al Mualim die several times and did desynch, but who can blame me…it’s freaking Al Mualim). I also am very amused by Desmond’s memories (read: I ended up cackling and rolling on the floor laughing). I will let readers know if there are any ACR spoilers, but so far, there are not (and uncannily, I predicted a few things that happened in ACR in my story).

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Story:

Chapter 33 – Templar

Lucy Stillman managed to keep her fingers from trembling as she tried to type in another bypass to reach deep into the core of the Animus' programming. She kept her eyes on her screen, trying to focus on her task instead of looking at Desmond who had thankfully stopped screaming, but was now just lying stiffly in the Animus chair. His earlier screams had chilled her to the bone, had made her nearly cry in sympathy pain, but she had managed to pull herself together.

Sitting next to her and attempting to also bypass the Animus' lockout programming was Rebecca, who had streaks of dried tears running down her cheeks, having been unable to keep a firm check on her own emotions. It had happened so fast after the glitches had started while Desmond was wandering through the costume ball in Arden's memories. She had thought it was just the Animus doing its regular thing, occasionally glitching when memories were trying to sync up or if Desmond as Arden had accidentally killed a civilian, but then the glitches started to get more frequent and she had decided to pull Desmond out of there.

When the Animus would not release him, she had tried to speak into the earpiece that was usually able to jolt him somewhat out of the memories of his ancestors, but he had not responded. That was when Rebecca said that the Animus had locked her out and was not responding to any of the commands. It was also when the screens showed Jack, appearing out of literally nowhere in the memory and attacking them before Arden had chased after him.

She had shouted for Bill, knowing that if anyone could fix the Animus, fix the Piece of Eden it would be him. Then Desmond had seemingly gone into cardiac arrest, his vitals and monitor lines jumping up and down while he himself shook like a leaf in the chair. She had tried to physically pull him out, but had found herself thrown across the room just as Bill came in and took over the situation. She had a moment of helplessness in her inability to wrest Desmond away from the Piece of Eden’s control.

Altaїr had pulled her aside a couple of days ago and had said that Desmond knew that the Animus was a Piece of Eden which had taken a burden off of her shoulders. For the longest time, she could not bring herself to tell him that Vidic had him trapped and using a Piece of Eden in Abstergo. She had been scared, had been a coward and even after they had escaped the facility, she had not told him then.

He had been willing to explore the memories of Ezio and had been excited about searching for a real Piece of Eden that she did not want to break that fantasy for him – to tell him that he was using one to find another. But now...she had seen him stare at the chair before he had sat down in it, had seen the slight trepidation in his expression as if he could not believe that it was Piece of Eden, even the fear of what it would do to him.

Rebecca and Shaun did not know, though she suspected that Rebecca had inkling that the Animus “program” she had improved was more than it seemed. However, something still puzzled her...the Animus had never acted this way, not with the first two times Desmond as Arden had seen Jack the Ripper, not with even Ezio holding the Apple of Eden in Renaissance Italy. What had triggered this?

“Bill-”

“I already told you, it's not the Lance itself, but rather the presence of the Lance that's been stabbed through Arden in this particular memory that's doing this. Seems like the Animus doesn’t like this memory,” Bill cut her off roughly, “now disable those codes that you got.”

“I'm trying to,” she did not need to look at Bill to feel the displeasure and anger he radiated as he worked on the main computer.

She knew that part of that anger was directed at her, the other part directed at the Animus itself. But she could not blame him for the anger...she had thought that the codes she had stolen from Vidic would be able to streamline the processes and maybe perhaps they did mess up the initial coding of the Piece of Eden.

“It's my fault, those codes-”

“It's not your fault,” she cut Rebecca off quietly as she typed in a few commands, but received an error message.

“No, you don't get it, I modified them from what you gave me and it's why Desmond's like this right now-”

“He'll be fine,” she muttered tightly, “he'll be fine...”

“Fuck this! What the fuck is it saying now?!” Bill suddenly shouted from his station before pushing back, “I fucking made you! I fucking gave you life from whatever dormancy you had so you better fucking release my son you fucking piece of crap!”

Lucy suddenly stopped typing as her screen abruptly turned black.

“What the...” Rebecca’s swear trailed off as she too stared at her blank screen.

The cursor suddenly blinked on top of the screen before the words materialized as if being typed by some otherworldly being. [He is mine.]

“He is not fucking yours! He's my son!” Bill screamed back, hovering over his station, “are you guys-”

“Yes, we're getting it too,” Lucy said, dread filling her as she realized that it was the Animus actually communicating with them, much like how Minerva had used the Apple and the Staff to communicate through Ezio to Desmond in the Sistine Chapel.

[It is a curse, it is Anathema. We will not allow this to happen. We will not let him live it.]

“Then release him, please,” Bill hissed quietly, his hands gripping the sides of the monitor, “he's my son...”

[He will destroy us.]

“You don't know that,” Lucy wanted to turn away, to not hear Bill nearly begging the Animus to release Desmond.

[You are welcomed to try.]

The screen suddenly flickered back to its lines of code and Bill slammed his fists down on the keyboard, hanging his head. “Fuck this...”

“...is that Desmond?” Amanda's horror-filled voice broke through the silence, and Lucy looked up to see Alice, Amanda, and Peter hovering near the entrance of the room, steadying themselves against the walls as another rumble shook the caverns, sending some dust and small pebbles into the air.

However, Bill seemed not to have noticed them as he suddenly looked up, staring at her, his face red with anger. “You have the codes Lucy! What are they?!”

“Bill-”

“What the fuck did your father do to this machine?! What upgrades did he tell you to give it huh?! So that you can trap my son in it?! Is that what you wanted? To see him suffer?!”

Lucy sat stiffly in her seat as silence reigned in the room once more. She could see Alice's concern growing as the older woman took a half-step into the room, but the others just looked at her. Rebecca and Shaun looked confused and she did not blame them. They did not know; it had been a secret she had kept for so long, that her life was all just a lie.

“Bill, don't do this-” Alice started towards her husband, but Lucy shook her head.

“I never wanted Desmond to suffer,” she managed to keep the anger, mingled with despair out of her voice as she replied to Bill's accusations. “I love your son,” she said quietly, evenly.

“You're nothing but a fucking Templar spy. You never were one of us,” she knew that Bill was angry, was lashing out at her because of his inability to do anything to get the Animus to release Desmond from its grip, but his words made her flinch as if slapped. It hurt; it hurt to hear those words spoken.

“I've changed,” she heard her own voice cracking from the pressure of what had happened in the last half hour or so.

“Lucy, what's he talking about-”

“She's Vidic's daughter, that's who she is-”

“Bill!” Alice suddenly stomped forward, and placed a firm hand on her husband's shoulder, “that's enough!”

“It's her father's fault-”

“She's not her father!” Alice cut him off, “and you need to cool your head.” She tightened her grip on her husband's shoulder and knelt down so that they were eye to eye, “Bill, listen to what you're saying. You are a better man than this...I know you are frustrated, I know that you're terrified, but you know how to bypass this. You know the Animus, you created it.”

“With Vidic's help,” his muttered reply was muffled a little by another rumble and the sound of an explosion that shook the caverns once more.

“You did most of it,” Alice insisted, “you raised it from dormancy, you gave it life. The Animus owes you its allegiance and you know how to code it to get it to release our son. Okay? Just, think rationally. Desmond will be fine...”

“You didn't hear him screaming his head off earlier-”

“Stop it, please,” the calm facade that Alice Miles had put up cracked a little as she took her husband's hands into her own, “just, stop it. I know you can do this Bill. You can bend that Piece to your will.”

Something passed between the two of them before Bill released his wife's hands and turned back around to the main screen. He began to type, his expression melting into a neutral determined one. No apologies were given, nothing said, but Lucy saw that a new determination had filled Bill as his hands flew over the keys.

“Lucy,” Alice's voice startled her from her thoughts as she looked up to see Desmond's mother approaching her. She had known that Alice Miles was a few years older than Bill, being Subject Sixteen’s mother, but she had never known how old Alice looked until now. Her hair was a salt and pepper grey, but the lines on her face seemed even more pronounced.

“Rebecca, Shaun,” she greeted the others, “Altaїr ordered the evacuation of the whole enclave.”

“The alarms, yeah,” Shaun nodded absently.

“I believe you should go,” Alice said, her tone was one that brook for no argument, but Lucy frowned.

“But Desmond-”

“There is nothing any of you can do for him now,” she cut her off gently, “Bill created the program to utilize the Piece of Eden, and he is the only one that can unmake it.”

“But the codes-”

“I know that if my son was here right now, he would not want any of you to stay when the Templars invade this place. He would want you to evacuate to safety,” Alice turned to her, “especially you, Lucy.”

Lucy frowned. She had not thought that she had been obvious about her growing feelings for Desmond, but it seemed like Alice had picked up on it. Maybe Ezio had told Alice what had transpired at Cheyenne Mountain the night before they had left for Denver. However, she did not want to be coddled like this, to leave when she knew she could at least try to help Desmond, to do something. She felt like a coward, running away. She had seen Desmond through all of his Animus sessions and wanted to help him, to make up for the guilt she felt when she had not helped him earlier to escape Abstergo or when she had not helped his predecessor. She should have stopped Vidic when she had the chance, to stop him from experimenting and causing Alexander to suicide. She should have stopped Vidic from forcing Desmond to relive the memories of Altaїr.

Her indecision was what stopped her, her discovery of the truth about her birth, growing up at an enclave, who her real father was had made her hesitate. It was only after Alexander’s death, after Desmond’s capture that she realized she could not hesitate anymore.

“Please,” Alice softened her tone as she took a step forward, “take Amanda, take Peter, take them out of here.”

Lucy realized what Alice was asking her. She had all but forgotten that Amanda and Peter had arrived with her and it had been Desmond's little sister who had wondered if it was her brother in the chair. Alice believed in her, trusted her with her other children. She did not believe that she was a Templar spy, believed that she was reforming herself, aligning herself again with the Assassins.

She knew that Alice could have easily asked Rebecca or Shaun to take her other children away as Bill fought to free Desmond from the Animus, but the woman was specifically asking her. Any other Assassin after hearing the words Templar spy would have immediately been suspicious, but Alice was anything but. The woman trusted her, saw that she was sincere in her love for Desmond. Lucy knew that Desmond did not readily trust in his mother, but she realized that he did not really know her that well – his mother was a strong woman, a capable one, and one that rarely gave her trust to anyone.

“All right,” Lucy said and stood up from her station. Alice was right; there was nothing she could do for Desmond now except see to the safety of his siblings. She had not missed seeing the affection he had for his little sister and growing wonderment for his newly discovered younger brother.

Nodding once to Alice, she rounded her workstation and grabbed Peter's little chubby hands, the young boy automatically clinging onto her.

“You're probably gonna need this. Ezio gave it to me...” she heard Shaun hand the gun over before Alice thanked him.

“Mom, I want to stay-”

“Amanda, go,” Lucy grabbed the teen's hand just as Alice spoke up and pulled her reluctantly along. She heard Shaun and Rebecca following behind her, but before they left the room, she looked towards Desmond one last time, a sense of foreboding filling her. Please be all right, she thought as she left the room.

* * *

Alice Miles breathed a quiet sigh of relief as she turned away from the door and instead stared at the motionless form of her son lying in the chair that housed the Animus. That was two problems dealt with and she was glad that Lucy was able to understand her request. She knew that she should have handed Amanda and Peter over to one of the other Assassin leaders to evacuate, but when Altaїr had all but said that Bill was in the Animus room, fear had overcome her and drove her to be near her son and husband.

She knew that Bill would have never entered the Animus room whenever Desmond was around, fearing that their eldest son would find out his dark secret. But if Bill had entered and Desmond was still in the room, it meant that something had gone terribly wrong. When she had burst into the room with Amanda and Peter in tow, her heart had nearly stopped at the sight. She had thought she had been prepared by viewing the videos of her eldest son, Alexander, subjected to the same thing, but this had been completely different.

The sheer amount of pain etched onto Desmond's features had taken her breath away and nearly made her fall to the ground. His hands were gripping the armrests of the Animus, knuckles white with effort, while a makeshift cloth gag had been stuffed into his mouth – a clear sign that he had been screaming earlier. It was only Bill's agitated shouting that had snapped her out of her funk and she had drawn upon the years of seeing battlefield horrors that had managed to piece together a somewhat calm facade to set Bill back on the path to helping their son.

“Don't touch him,” Bill suddenly spoke up, his voice gruff with emotion and she drew back a hand she had not known she had reached out to try to caress her son's face, to try to smooth out the pain he was clearly feeling, but not voicing. “I don't know what the Animus will do if someone touches him.”

“Bill...” she looked back at her husband as he typed at a determined pace.

“Should apologize to Lucy,” Bill continued, “didn't mean to out her like that...”

“Bill...” she shook her head, “I'm sure she realized that you didn't mean it.”

“I did...God all mighty, I did,” Bill looked at her with a haggard expression, “I just...for a second I saw Warren, you know? I saw him through her. I saw him laughing at me, that he had captured Desmond, was experimenting on him. He had my son and I saw that through her. I know...I know she's not her father, but Alice, you don't know how it felt. Warren and I...” He gestured with a hand almost helplessly at the lines of code that was flickering blue and white, “This was supposed to be the bridge, the first step to actually maybe having peace with the Templars and I...fuck this, it wasn't supposed to happen! This wasn't supposed to happen, not to Desmond, not to Alexander- Fuck it! I tried to protect him! From this! From all of this!”

He sighed noisily before turning back and typing a few more lines, “Now the fucking machine is taunting me. Telling me he has our son hostage. That she won't let him go.”

A louder rumble shook the caverns and Alice looked up, knowing that they had been breached. She fingered the gun that Shaun had given to her, mentally counting the bullets inside. It had been a long, long time since she had used any type of weapon, even the hidden blade that most of them wore, but she was still sure that she could kill any Templar that dared entered the room to harm her family.

“Fucking Abstergo,” Bill had also glanced up before resuming his typing, “They can all go fuck themselves.” He continued to grumble as Alice stepped away from the Animus and towards the door, only to raise her weapon as the door opened a little. However, she lowered her gun as she saw who it was.

“T-Tabitha...” though she had been estranged from her eldest son, Alexander, for a long time now, she knew that he had children, making her a grandmother. However, she, like the Assassins, had thought that the whole family had perished in the aftermath of the Templar attack in their cul-de-sac home. She had only been introduced to Tabitha a few weeks ago after Desmond had arrived at the enclave unconscious from the Bleeding Effect and had learned the young girl's terrible secret – that she was bound to the Lance of Longinus Piece of Eden.

“Hello mother,” it was not Tabitha's childish voice that emerged from the girl's mouth, but rather the familiar tones of Alexander and she trembled at the sound. She knew that the spirit or whatever it was that inhabited and shared Tabitha's body was a facsimile of her long-dead son, but it had shocked her to hear and even see him for the first time in ages those weeks ago.

“A-Alexander...”

“Stephen...” the heartbroken tone of Arden made Alice turn around in surprise to see the immortal assassin reaching out with a hand towards Tabitha. She had not known that Arden was in the room, but seeing her hugging the ground, tears falling from her eyes, incredible sorrow etched across her face, made her realize that something had drastically affected the woman.

“It is all right, Arden,” Alexander's tone was replaced with a milder, friendlier voice that sounded a little like Desmond's. She knew that the immortal assassin was also bound to the Lance, but had not realized whose voice she had heard until now. “It will be fine, you will see.”

“It's almost over,” the friendlier voice was gone, replaced by Alexander's voice and Alice turned to see little Tabitha with a smile on her face, a smile that looked hauntingly like her eldest son's face before she reached behind her and gripped the pommel of the Lance head that was strapped to her back.

“What the hell?!” Bill suddenly pushed away from his station as sparks flew from the keyboards and monitors in the room.

Alice quickly looked towards the Animus chair to see it glowing as an eerie humming sound filled the air. She looked back to see Tabitha, except it was not Tabitha, but rather a skeletal form of whom Tabitha was and realized that the Lance had been projecting an image. A nauseating smell filled the air as the young...rotting corpse of a girl continued to stare at her. “What...”

“Oh my God...that's what happened...” the wonderment mixed with horror in Bill's tone made her turn to see him staring at the projection screens that were supposed to show the memories that Desmond was going through. It was fuzzy, like a TV with a bad reception, but was clearly showing a young man, maybe a little older than Arden, reaching out towards the lance head that had been stabbed into her body. She realized that the young man was Stephen Miles, the namesake of the family line she had married into.

A glow was filling the area as Stephen, oblivious to the startled shouts of both Altaїr and Ezio in their Victorian era clothes, grabbed onto the pommel of the lance head. “I will not let you die!” he said just as the glow became a blinding white light.

Alice had to raise her arm to shield her eyes before she realized that the glow was not only occurring on the monitors, but also in the room itself. She could barely make out Tabitha who had unsheathed the lance head walking slowly towards Desmond and the Animus chair.

“Stephen...no!” Arden's scream echoed somewhere to her right as Alice saw her only surviving granddaughter turn to stare at her as the lance glowed brightly, its unearthly hum filling the air. Someone or rather something, maybe the Animus, was screaming she thought as Tabitha smiled one more time.

For a second she saw the healthy looking six-year-old smiling back at her before a new voice filled the air, one that chilled her bones. It was old, powerful, and reverberated through the area.

“The future begins...”

Goodbye, mother, Alice heard in her mind as unbidden tears sprang to the corner of her eyes. She collapsed to the ground as an unimaginable sorrow filled her, the growing screams not only pounding in her ears but seemingly echoing inside of her. The screaming became a shriek of fear and just when Alice thought she could not bear it, her whole world exploded.

* * *

“What did he mean, you being a Templar spy?” Rebecca asked as they made their way past the fallen debris, rocks, and half-collapsed passageways.

“Warren Vidic's my father,” Lucy replied quietly as several distant screams filled the air along with the popping sound of automatic gunfire. She shuddered, hoping that the gunfire and screams did not come any closer. They had all been given the evacuation routes and the one closest to the Animus room was through one of the more treacherous paths. It edged over a very large abyss with no end in sight and supposedly led out to a small shed of sorts. But Lucy did not know whether or not the shed area had been compromised by the incoming Templar forces.

She wished she had a gun or something to defend herself with, but going to the armory was out of the question. The armory was near the general area of the screams and gunfire which meant that it might have been overwhelmed by the Templars.

“You...don't sound surprised by that,” Rebecca sounded a little dubious and Lucy smiled sadly as she clutched Peter's little chubby hand. Behind her, she could hear Amanda following behind, still bewildered by everything she saw, most likely confused by the conversation.

“Templar? You're one of those bogeymen Dad's been talking about?” Amanda's question was resentful, but still curious.

“Of course she doesn't sound surprised,” Lucy could almost imagine the frown on Shaun's face as they followed her; “she knew it for a while, didn't you? But being born to Vidic doesn't make you a Templar, right?”

“I was one,” she didn't look back as she carefully climbed over a large rock, helping Peter over, the odd child surprisingly quiet with this much destruction going on.

“Luce...”

“I thought my parents were Assassins,” she continued, “thought that I had grown up on a Farm like Desmond. Hell, Bill trained me when I was young, I remember that. But when I went to college, and then got hired by Abstergo, I thought I was going to be an Assassin spy in Abstergo. Then...I found out...”

She had walked into Abstergo with the knowledge that she was going to be a spy for the Assassins and it seemed like Abstergo knew too, but they had also valued her knowledge in the practical applications of her field. She had thought Vidic had taken a chance on her and valued her work, but she had discovered through Leila's digging of her background that she was actually Vidic's daughter. When she had first found out, she had vehemently denied it, but there was no denying the DNA patterns and chromosomes that were also in the files, especially compared to the ones in Vidic’s file. No one could have doctored that, and since Leila was not even supposed to have access to any of those files, it had only served to confirm the truth.

It made sense now, why Abstergo had seemingly kidnapped her in the middle of the night and was ready to kill her for being a spy. She had thought that Vidic had saved her because of her usefulness and knowledge, but in hindsight, the ones sent had been too familiarly trained, with moves that she had vaguely recognized as ones Bill and her other instructors had taught her so long ago. They were not Templars that had been sent, but rather Assassins disguised as Templars sent to kill her for betraying her objectives. They had thought she had defected to the Templars and in a way she had when she found out the truth about her origins.

She had stopped sending information to Rebecca, stopped sending covert updates and had used some of the knowledge of genetics that she knew to help her father; to try to win some affection and some acknowledgement from him. Vidic had faked the work order and the story that he saved her from the Templars to deflect suspicion from his bosses and it had told her that they did not know about her relationship to Vidic. He had been willing to acknowledge her to a certain extent, but that was it.

It was only after Alexander Roche became Subject Sixteen that she began to have doubts about her actions, about her status as both an Assassin and a Templar, a unique person who got to experience both and survive so far. What really made her switch her allegiance back to the Assassins was Alexander's suicide and then Desmond's arrival. At least that was what she kept telling herself.

The only person she knew who did not even care about her status as a double or triple-agent was Altaїr and that was because he was the only one who told her the truth to this whole war. He did not try to bend each side to their own agenda like Bill had or even Vidic. He told her flat out what the war was really about and what needed to happen to stop it. And then, he told her his plan to stop it.

“I don't want to spy for anyone anymore. I'm sick of this fighting, of losing good people, Assassins and yes, even Templars. Leila Marino was one. She was a good woman who only thought that what she was doing was helping others-”

“By oppressing them with capitalistic tendencies-”

“The Assassins aren't all roses either!” she glared at Shaun, “you should know that better than anyone else!”

Shaun frowned, pushing his glasses up his nose as he waved some dust particles out of the air in front of his face, “I know that, but the Templars been systematically hunting us. Giving us no quarter! I mean we've been running and hiding from them for God knows how long.”

“I just want this war to end,” Lucy sighed trudging forward before suddenly placing a hand on the rough stone walls to steady herself as a huge tremor shook the area. However, unlike the smaller tremors that eventually stopped, this one continued to the point where she found herself on the ground as Amanda screamed and Shaun yelped as rocks and debris began to slide all over the place. She immediately swept Peter up in a hug towards her, trying to shield him with her body.

“Look out!” Rebecca suddenly shouted and Lucy only had time to reach out and grab Amanda’s shirt front and pull the girl towards her as the cavern ceiling they were walking through collapsed.

She looked away as dust filled the air, coughing and wincing as several smaller rocks clipped her, but did not draw blood. She managed to open her eyes a little through the dust and coughed again, waving her hand in front of her face in an attempt to clear the air.

“Rebecca? Shaun?!” she called out as she saw that the passage way had collapsed.

“Ow!” Amanda’s yelp of pain made her look down to see that she had been partially successful in saving her from the collapsing ceiling. Her leg was trapped in a pile of rocks and she was bleeding freely from a cut across her forehead.

“Amanda?” Lucy coughed again as she knelt down next to the girl who had a grimace on her face as she tried to pull her leg out, “Amanda, don’t pull, I think you may have broken something.”

“Yeah…” the girl hissed, “think so too…my leg…doesn’t feel right. Peter?”

“I am here,” Lucy turned to see Peter pushing himself off from the ground, a bit dirty from the dust, but otherwise healthy.

“…Lucy?!” Rebecca’s distant voice called from the other side of the debris mound and she looked up, trying to spot her.

“Rebecca?!” she shouted again.

“…Lucy?! Are you all right?” the question was faint against the sheer amount of rocks that separated them, but Lucy heard the strong emphasis in Rebecca’s voice, which meant that question had been shouted.

“We’re fine!” she shouted back.

“No, we’re not!” Amanda glared up at her.

“You’ll be fine,” Lucy was in no mood to argue with the girl before shouting back to Rebecca, “Amanda’s caught on some debris, but I should be able to get her free!”

“What was that?”

“Amanda, caught on debris! I will free her!” she shouted again, “Shaun okay?”

“Yeah, fine…got clipped with a rock, but he’ll live!” Rebecca shouted back, “hey Luce! Looks like we’re trapped here…can’t get to your spot!”

“Can you find another way around?” she shouted back, apprehension filling her.

“Probably. Listen, we’ll head back to the room, check with Bill…”

“All right!” Lucy wished she knew another way to their exit point, but also knew that a cavern collapse was inevitable, “be careful!”

“You too!”

There was the distant sound of scuffling across rock, but Lucy did not know whether it was an incoming Templar force that was making those sounds or Rebecca and Shaun heading away. She paused for a few seconds, waiting to hear if Rebecca was going to say anything else, but silence greeted her.

“Okay,” she turned her attention back to Amanda whose face was scrunched up in pain and she looked like she was trying not to cry. “Easy there, Amanda,” she tried to smile at her, “we’ll just get these rocks off of your leg…” She looked at the rocks and bit her lip. They were rather large chunks and she did not know if she would be able to lift them. The best way was for Amanda to slide out, but the girl looked like she was about to pass out from the pain.

“Okay then,” she looked at Peter who was staring at his sister with solemn eyes, “Peter, stay with your sister, all right?”

“I love you,” Peter reached out and touched Amanda’s dirt stained cheek with a chubby little finger.

“Heh…love you too, little brother,” Amanda huffed out, but Lucy was slightly unnerved by the finality of the statement from Peter. She did not know what the child was, except what Altaїr had said about him being ‘touched’ by a Piece of Eden. What that meant, she did not know nor was Altaїr inclined to explain it to her.

Instead, she pasted a smile on her face at the words before moving to slid one of the rocks to the side. “Okay, this is going to hurt a little-“

“I wouldn’t do that, Ms. Stillman,” Lucy froze, not at the sound of multiple clicks of guns being cocked, but at the familiar voice that spoke behind her.

Flashlights played across her and Amanda’s prone form, giving her a glimpse of the young teen’s terrified expression.

“Get up slowly, Ms. Stillman and no sudden moves,” the voice continued and Lucy stood up slowly, raising her hands above her shoulder at the same time. She felt Peter cling onto her leg, hiding a little behind her.

“Hello Vidic,” she greeted her father coldly as she turned to face the speaker. She was not surprised to see a gun in his hands, the barrel steadily pointed at her chest, not even the hint of a waver.

“You disappoint me Ms. Stillman,” Warren Vidic had a neutral expression on his face, addressing her with cold professionalism. She did not expect anything else; after all, he had gone to great lengths to keep their familial relationship a secret. “I expected better from you…”

“And you didn’t learn your lesson when you attacked our hideout a month ago,” she replied, noting that there were a lot of armed men, all dressed in military fatigues, surrounding them. A quick glance down at her own chest showed that more than one were pointing laser-sights at her, snipers perhaps perched somewhere else in the dimly lit caverns.

“Take them,” Vidic did not seemed fazed at her statement. She knew from accounts by Leila and others that those who were sent out to capture Assassin cells and failed were severely reprimanded in more ways than just a pay deduction or demotion.

“…Lucy?” Amanda’s faint tone made her tense a little. She knew that Amanda wanted her to fight, wanted her beat the ‘bad guys’. And God only knew that she wanted to do that, but there were too many and she did not want to give away the fact that this passageway, though collapsed, led straight to the Animus room.

She pursed her lips as two burly Templars stepped forward and yanked her arm painfully around her back before cuffing her. She felt Peter’s hands yanked away from her leg as another soldier picked him up and cuffed him, but the young boy made no sound and instead allowed himself to be manhandled.

“No…no, Lucy! Do something! Do-“ Amanda’s words ended in a yelp of pain as someone did something to her that shifted the rocks still on her leg.

“Don’t hurt her!” Lucy glared at Vidic who had a bored expression on his face, “she’s Desmond’s sister! She can be useful-“

“You are a Templar traitor!” Amanda shouted.

“She’s just trapped by the rocks,” Lucy ignored the outraged expression on Amanda’s face as she winced in pain. She did not know that the Templars would kill anyone claiming to be an Assassin and this was the only way to save her, to at least keep her alive long enough for maybe the others to mount a rescue.

“Sir, the boy?”

“Kill him-“

“That’s Desmond’s younger brother!” she shook her head as she tried to stay near Peter who was silently staring at them.

“Oh really,” Vidic turned to her as she was shoved past him before holding up a hand to stop her captors from taking her away, “Desmond’s younger brother? You didn’t tell us he had a younger brother…”

“I didn’t know,” Lucy frowned, a bitter taste in her mouth.

“Hmm…still he may be useful,” Vidic looked thoughtful before waving for them to take the two of them away.

“No…” Lucy struggled a little, but was ultimately dragged deeper into the tunnels and away from Amanda. She heard the single Templar that had taken Peter following behind her before a high pitched scream echoed in the caverns. The scream was abruptly cut off by the single report of a gunshot that took her breath away. Tears formed at the corner of her eyes as she realized what happened.

“Goodbye, Amanda,” Peter’s unemotional whisper grated harshly against her ears as she cried.

I’m so sorry Desmond, she thought as she and Peter were led away. I’m so sorry…please forgive me.

* * *

Author’s Notes:

I discovered through sheer accident that angry!Bill equals mass hilarity in terms of writing his reactions. Considering that he is a control freak in my story, I based his reactions on a blow up of a co-worker of mine about a year ago. Also, Lucy’s storyline has expanded and I added a little bit of her being trained by Bill from ambient conversation Bill has with Rebecca while Desmond’s in the Animus from ACR. I also have an idea to write a separate story about the scenario of Desmond and Lucy growing up on the Farm together (if Bill didn’t travel to train apprentices).

Yes, Peter is infinitely creepy. Tabitha’s fate will be revealed next chapter as will Amanda’s. Yes, the Animus is “talking” (well, more like typing words on a screen).

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Story:

Chapter 34 – Thanatos

It was a shallow cut that would not quite stop bleeding, but Ezio ignored it as he waved his hand left and right to clear some of the dust in front of him. The tremors and rumbles that had shaken the caverns earlier had all but stopped, which meant that the Templars had broken through whatever defenses had been set up. He kept flickering to his Eagle Vision as he walked carefully amongst the piles of rocks and debris in the caverns. It was partially to make sure that there were no Templars nearby, but also because he sensed that there had been several cavern collapses due to the shelling.

A rough muffled cough echoed behind him and he glanced back to see William trying to cover his mouth with the tattered remains of his sleeve that hung in rags on his arm. Alice patted her husband gently on the back as the two of them moved carefully over the debris. “Sorry,” William caught him looking at him as he coughed again.

Ezio shrugged before continuing forward. “Desmond?” he called out to the young man who was several feet away from him, his footsteps sure and steady as he stepped over the piles of rocks with the barest of ease. Something was different about Desmond and Ezio could only guess as to what the Animus had done to him while in its clutches.

He had arrived just as an explosion of sorts ripped through the Animus room, sending him nearly flying into the wall opposite of the entrance. It was only due to the Apple’s warning that he had managed to press himself against the wall perpendicular to the entrance to avoid the brunt of the explosion. When the dust had cleared he hurried inside. He had been expecting the worst, a blast radius where blackened corpses, mangled body parts would have greeted his vision, but there was no such thing. Instead, he saw that a definite ‘explosion’ had taken place, but all it had done was seemingly short circuit everything.

William had been cradling his arm, his sleeve shredded as what looked like electrical arcs had surged around his computer station while Alice was groggily picking herself up from the floor, one hand groping for the handgun near her. However, he had been stunned to see Desmond sitting up in the Animus chair. He distinctly remembered that he had last seen the young man writhing silently in the clutches of the Piece of Eden. Desmond’s eyes were not clouded with confusion, but were clear and determined as he stared at the back of the Animus chair.

Ezio had followed his gaze to see the familiar tattered rags of what used to be a black-white checkered jumper. The blue barrettes that had held back shiny dark brown hair were faded now, blackened edges that had not been there and the white stockings were all but that color, dirtied and browned.

A skeleton lived in those rags and for all of his long life; even Ezio could not help but whisper a curse in Italian at the sight. He had known that an illusion was projected upon Tabitha, to make sure those who did not suspect that she was a living corpse would be able to at least interact with her. But even that illusion could not change the fact that the little girl always wore the same outfit day after day. It was why Iltani had kept her away from most of the base during his time there.

Gone was thin olive-tanned skin stretched across her face whenever Tabitha lifted the illusion and instead all that remained was just a bleach-boned skeleton. The thin arms had been gripping the pommel of the Lance, the blade itself embedded deep into the back of the Animus chair. Ezio realized that Tabitha or whoever inhabited Tabitha’s body had made the ultimate sacrifice, having no more memories to give to feed the Lance’s power and instead used up whatever was left of her life to destroy the Animus.

And it looked like her efforts had freed Desmond.

However, as Ezio had turned his gaze back to the young man, he felt the Apple pulse uneasily and with his own abilities had sensed something different about him. Arden had been the first to mention that whenever she had trained with Desmond, there were times when she could see parts of herself in his stances and fighting ability and while Ezio could also see that when he trained, he had merely attributed it to the Bleeding Effect.

But now, Ezio thought he saw himself, not parts of himself, but rather his fully flesh and blood self in Desmond. The feeling had been utterly disconcerting and he thought someone had walked over his grave, several times over. Then something seemed to have changed in Desmond and the presence that he had felt in Desmond had retreated slightly, the Apple’s uneasiness easing from his own mind.

“Ezio,” Desmond had looked up at him and for a moment, he thought he saw Altaїr, but it was not Altaїr. It was someone similar to Altaїr, perhaps even related to him, especially the way Desmond had pronounced his name with a soft Arabic accent. If he had to hazard a guess, he would have suspected that maybe Darim, Altaїr’s firstborn son had possessed, inhabited, maybe had done something to Desmond’s body. He had never met Darim ibn la-Ahad, but it was not hard to guess whose memories Desmond might have accessed being this close to Altaїr.

“…Darim?” he saw the brief crinkle of the corner of Desmond’s eyes, a smile of sorts.

“In a way yes,” Desmond had replied, the bizarreness of hearing both Desmond’s own voice and Darim’s friendly softness activating the Apple’s own uneasiness again, “he is here, is aware, is conscious, but…coping.” Suddenly Desmond shifted his feet as he shook his head, “Whoa, okay, wasn’t expecting that. Sorry, talking in third person now.”

Ezio relaxed just a hair, but fingered his hidden blade on his right hand as his left was carrying the weapons satchel he had taken from the armory. Had Desmond been possessed by the Animus? Had he been possessed by the Lance? What had happened when Tabitha had used the Lance to destroy the Animus while he had been inside? Flicking his gaze to his bloodline’s ability, the Eagle Vision, he was surprised not to see Desmond red, but rather a blue-white that occasionally flickered to gold. He was still an ally that much was ascertained by his sixth sense, but the gold lines usually meant some kind of importance in the moment itself.

“D-Desmond…?” even William was staring warily at his son as Alice stood next to her husband.

“Still not talking to you,” there was the familiar bitterness in Desmond’s voice as he arched an eyebrow at his father before turning back to Ezio, “You got weapons?”

“Yes,” he stepped further into the room as several more tremors and distant screams echoed through the corridors. One particular one shook the room and Ezio saw William look up at the ceiling as several more loose rocks and debris fell to the ground.

“That one was close. May have been a cave in,” William muttered as Ezio reached into the bag and parceled out the handguns and grenades. “Wait…Desmond-“

“I’m okay,” Desmond had grabbed one of the handguns and was expertly pulling out the magazine feed and checking it before sliding it back in and checked the sights before flicking the safety on. Ezio blinked, for a second seeing Arden before Desmond’s presence returned. “I’m okay…just…” he grimaced a little, “need to deal with it, okay?”

“What happened?” Alice’s expression showed nothing, but Ezio saw that she too was unnerved by her son. Something had changed, but Ezio did not know what. He was still the Desmond that he had known, but there was something else about him, a presence of sorts, not just those of his ancestors…as if he had come to a conclusion.

That presence suddenly disappeared and Ezio saw a brief moment of vulnerability, of petrifying fear, before it Desmond shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about it, not now, okay?” He reached in and took another magazine before stuffing it into his jeans’ back pocket.

The sound of a quiet grunt followed by the clatter of bones had interrupted them and all had turned to see Arden, lifting the Lance out of the deadened and dark Animus. She had then taken the sheath Tabitha had worn, scattering the girl’s bones across the ground without a second thought and had strapped it to herself, sheathing the Lance once more. The Apple hummed a quiet mournful tune for a second before falling silence once more. Not for the first time, Ezio wondered if there was some kind of otherworldly sentience to the Pieces of Eden. He knew of Minerva who had spoken about the prophecy, but she had said that she was speaking through him, glorifying him, for all purposes, as a message recorder.

Arden turned and he saw the agelessness and sorrow in her eyes. He was glad that she had broken out of her funk, perhaps even through Tabitha’s intervention with the Lance, but he could not help but see death in her eyes. It was not his death, but rather, the deadness of her flesh and of her own will. When she had been raising Alan, he had visited her several times over the years, more as a formality, sometimes for Altaїr’s sake, but also wondering if she remembered what had happened to Stephen in the mission before she had been rescued by him. During some of those times she had occasionally expressed regret and sadness, only wanting to die, to suicide. But she had said that it would have been selfish, to her, to Stephen’s sacrifice, to her son, even to her master.

He had thought that she had found a new reason to live, but now, he saw her pain once more and realized that she had only buried it deep within herself. The Lance’s destruction of the Animus or perhaps even Tabitha’s sacrifice must have triggered that sorrow once more. He did not know what had triggered it, but he also knew that once Altaїr saw her, he would not forgive him. Ezio had long concealed from Altaїr that Arden wanted very much to die, knowing that it would break the other assassin’s spirit to see such sorrow in a girl he considered a daughter.

“Its all clear up here, just watch your step. A few sliding rocks,” Desmond’s voice broke Ezio out of his thoughts as he scrambled over the rocks and helped Alice get William past the uneven terrain. The man coughed once more, doubling over a little before wincing. The dusty air along with what seemed to be electrical smoke inhalation that he was suffering from was not doing him any good down here in the confines of the caverns.

“Hold on,” Desmond suddenly paused and Ezio saw him tense a little. He was about to use his Eagle Vision to discern any enemies ahead when Desmond relaxed just as Rebecca and Shaun came around the corner warily.

“Desmond!” Rebecca immediately ran forward and hugged him before releasing him, “you’re all right!”

“Good to see you up,” Shaun was a little more reserved and patted Desmond awkwardly on the arm. His other hand pushed up a makeshift bandage and compress that he had tied to his head.

“Hi guys,” Desmond seemed to be more himself as he seemingly dropped the scouting ability that Ezio long recognized as his own style, smiling at his friends, “where’s…”

“Cave-in, just up ahead,” Rebecca shook her head and pointed a thumb towards where she and Shaun had come from, “Lucy, Amanda, and Peter are all right,” she turned to William and Alice who looked concerned, “Amanda may have been caught on some rock debris, couldn’t quite hear what Lucy was shouting, but she says she’ll free her or something like that. I don’t think it was too serious ‘cause Amanda sounded a little pissed, not hurt.”

“My baby…”

“Peter’s fine and I’m sure Amanda will be too,” Rebecca’s smile was a little strained, “you gave them to Lucy’s care, right? They’ll be fine.”

“Rebecca?” Desmond had caught onto the strained smile.

“Oh, nothing, nothing,” Rebecca suddenly shook her head, “it’s nothing related to Amanda, just….you know.”

There were only a few things that Ezio knew could set Rebecca on edge. She did not seemed worried about Amanda or Peter, which meant it did not mean the Miles children. She had not looked back at Shaun at all, which eliminated that prospect. All that was left was Lucy. A quick covert glance at Shaun showed that the other man was also a little tense and confirmed his thoughts. Rebecca was worried about Lucy…

“We should still check to make sure Amanda’s all right,” Desmond had guessed differently before turning to his parents, “do you know if there’s another way around to where this passageway leads?”

“Yes, but it is a difficult climb,” Alice replied, holding her husband as he bent to cough once more, cradling his burnt arm closer to his chest, “your father-“

“I’ll be fine,” William cleared his throat roughly, “we need to go to your left then up a vertical climb before cutting to the passage on your right.”

“Good,” the flatness of Desmond’s tone clearly indicated that he still had not forgiven William even with his father injured. He spun on his heel and headed in the direction his father had pointed out, his features set in a mask of determination and the barest hint of anger. Arden followed behind him, having been silent since she had taken possession of the Lance.

Alice murmured a few words of encouragement and about William’s stubbornness as she helped her husband on the new path that had been pointed out. Ezio was to bring up the rear when Rebecca tugged gently on the sleeve of his jacket, stopping him. “Hey Ezio…Shaun and I…well…we were wondering…”

“This is about Lucy, no?”

“Yeah…I mean, Bill says a lot of things, some of which I know hurts Desmond and others, but…he said that Lucy was a Templar. I mean, you would know, right? With your Eagle Vision and stuff. You can tell the intent of others?”

“If you are asking if I read Lucy Stillman’s intent for her Assassin cell since her appearance at Cheyenne Mountain, you are mistaken,” Ezio saw the horror on Rebecca’s face before nodding once, “but I knew she was a Templar.”

“But you said you didn’t read-“

“I have known since she was stolen by William as a very young child, just barely past her baby years, and taken to another enclave to be raised and trained as an Assassin,” Ezio could imagine what had transpired when William had been shouting at Lucy to help fix the Animus while he had been at the armory. It had somehow led to William outing Lucy as a Templar spy, though he suspected she was a former Templar spy, and now Rebecca and Shaun had their doubts.

“She was what?!” Shaun’s jaw dropped, “but that’s…we…” The man’s expression became rather pained. Ezio noticed something inside of the historian break, as if the realization he did not want to acknowledge had burst forth before he shook his head sadly. “I wanted to believe otherwise…”

“That the Order is an Order of saints?” Ezio shook his head, feeling a little like, of all people, Altaїr. Perhaps this was what it meant to have every single illusion shattered. It was a wonder that Altaїr because extremely cynical. “Nothing is true, everything is permitted.”

“But…that means…why…” Rebecca was having a harder time comprehending it. “That makes us as monstrous as the Templars!”

“If you wish to believe that,” Ezio shrugged, “but it seems Lucy discovered something else to fight for, to turn her back on everything.”

Rebecca turned to stare up at the passageway as did Shaun and a sad smile appeared on her face, “Desmond, right?”

“It seems so,” Ezio agreed.

“That’s why you, Altaїr, even Arden, you guys didn’t do anything, even if you all knew,” the woman laughed a little bitterly, “and here I was, worried.”

“Sometimes, we only have to discover the truth for ourselves, not have it told to us from others,” he patted her on the shoulder, “come, we should not linger.” The two of them nodded before following him as he jogged to catch up to the others.

* * *

Desmond could feel the unbridled exhilaration of joy as he climbed hand over hand up the sheer vertical cliff that he had been directed to. He could feel Altaїr’s determination, Ezio’s roguish giddiness, and Arden’s joy at climbing such a rock face. Even Darim, who had always been hovering at the edges of his mind, more prominently than the other distant ancestors he had yet to explore, was excited by the prospect of free climbing the damned thing. He could hear the others behind him, but it was only Ezio’s appearance halfway up the cliff face, climbing as fast as he was, that he felt a little challenged.

He could feel Ezio within him surging at the appearance of the living one and climbed faster until the two of them slapped their hands at the top of the cliff and pulled themselves up together. Desmond shot a slightly exhausted grin at his living ancestor who nodded once before reaching over a little and helping Alice up before the two pulled William up. Shaun and Rebecca followed suit as they all took a moment to catch their breaths. Arden was the last one to climb up, still solemn as when she had pulled the Lance out of the back of the Animus, but in a way Desmond understood her silence.

Something had changed within him, he knew that, but it was something that he did not want to give much thought about right now. The more immediate concern was getting out of the caverns which had become a death trap, and getting away from the Templars. He could feel the looks everyone was giving him, the uneasy wariness exuding from Ezio, the worried looks from his mother, Rebecca, and Shaun. He ignored the looks from his father, his anger at him having not abated since he had discovered that his father had all but drugged him. He could feel a little sympathy from the presence that was Altaїr as he reminisced over his absent father and also from Darim who had been driven away by Altaїr after Maria’s death.

Flicking over to his Eagle Sense, he could see a clear path up ahead which dropped down a little. He reverted his vision back to normal before starting up ahead, the others following behind him. He did not mind taking the lead; it lessened the chance that questions were going to be asked. Desmond knew that everyone wanted to ask what had happened while he was inside the Animus as it screamed its fury, but he could not tell them, not yet. It was still too fresh, too raw, too…painful yet so eye-opening that even he still had some problems comprehending it.

He could feel Darim’s offer of support once more and mentally nodded as he took the hand that was offered, closing his eyes briefly as he felt the barriers in his mind build up, fortifying themselves before releasing the hand. Thanks, he thought and could almost see within his mind Darim nodding a ‘you’re welcomed’ before he all but disappeared back into the recesses of the memories of his ancestors. Opening his eyes once more, he looked down and saw that indeed the tunnel that had been carved out by both man and water had collapsed. However, in the dim darkness, he thought he saw something shiny on the edge of one of the rocks and activated his Eagle Sense.

The shiny splatters were blood, he realized as he scanned the area and frowned. A lot of blood… Flicking his vision back to normal he waved a hand at Rebecca and Shaun who looked up from where they were stepping tentatively around a large boulder. “Is this where you guys were?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Rebecca squinted down at the pile of rocks, “looks about right. Looks different from up here, but yeah, that seems to be the right size for that amount of rocks.”

“There is someone down there,” Ezio said and Desmond glanced at him, concerned before flicking his own Eagle Sense down at the rocks once more and saw indeed, that the pool of blood led to the barley visible edging of someone in blue…

“…and still alive!” Desmond realized as he saw the barest of movement in the blue that he could see before reverting his vision back to normal, leaping down from where he stood and rolled forward to stop his momentum. He grimaced as his shoulder and neck bumped into several large boulders before he finally stopped and stood up, a little bruised. He could hear the others slowly making their way down, but ignored them and ran ahead towards where the blue outline was just fading away. He hoped that it wasn’t Lucy who had been shot or trapped in the boulders.

“Oh no…” Desmond felt like he had been sucker punched as his knees buckled and he fell to the ground heavily next to the body half trapped in the cave-in. “No…” He reached out, his hands shaking a little and caressed the strands of dark hair that fell across Amanda’s pale face. “Amanda…”

Her eyes opened at the sound of her name and immediately she winced before focusing on him. “Hi…big brother…”

There was a single gunshot wound to her chest that had stained her shirt crimson and made a pool that spread across the rocks. She had been splayed awkwardly against the rocks; her left leg bent the other way, indicating that she had been initially trapped by the cave-in. “Not you…Amma…not…” even without the memories of his ancestor, Desmond knew that the bullet wound was mortal. Also with the sheer amount of blood that she had bled out, for god knew how long she had been stuck there, he knew he could not do anything.

“No…” he heard his father’s faint pained gasp as the others slid down to meet them, but Desmond ignored them all, eyes focused on Amanda.

He reached out and grasped one of her bloodied hands, shocked at how cold they had become. Swallowing painfully past the lump in his throat he squeezed her cold fingers gently. “W-Why…”

“The…T-Templars…” Amanda gasped, her other hand groping uselessly at her wound, trying in futile effort to stem it, “they came…ambushed us right after…after the collapse.”

“Desmond…” Ezio’s hand landed heavily on his shoulder and he turned to his ancestor, “we have to move on-“

“Fuck you,” Desmond shoved the hand away, glaring at Ezio, the tears that he had been trying to hold back, “I’m not leaving! I’m not- She can be saved!” He shook his head before remembering that Arden was with them and that she carried the Lance. He half turned, “Arden! Give me the Lance!”

“Desmond-“

Desmond glared at Ezio, silencing him, daring him to say anything, anything at all, just to give him the excuse to shove his hidden blade into the man. He didn’t give a rat’s ass that this was his ancestor. Amanda could be saved and her salvation was in Arden’s hands-

“No,” it was like having a cold bucket of water thrown onto his face as he looked back at Arden who had been the last to reach the bottom. Her hand was gripping the hilt of the Lance, but she did not draw it.

“What? But-” Desmond half stood up, but Arden shook her head.

“No,” she stepped back, her expression twisting up into fear, apprehension, wariness, “no.”

“Arden-“

“I will not be responsible for your life turning into one like Stephen’s!” she suddenly shouted before turning away, “Do not ask me. Please…”

Desmond opened his mouth to say something, anything, but he could feel Arden’s anguish within him, echoing the anguish that he could see from the living ancestor and bit his lip. He closed his mouth as he sudden felt Amanda’s fingers twitch in his hand and knelt back down next to her.

“It’s…okay,” she smiled faintly at him, blood staining her teeth, “it’s okay, Desmond…I’m okay with…this.”

But I’m not, he wanted to say, however the words would not come out. He looked sideways at Ezio and down at the spherical-shaped pouch he wore. The shake of Ezio’s head told him that he could not save her even with the Apple and it echoed the sentiment within the memories of Ezio.

“Desmond…listen,” Amanda’s voice was fainter and he knew that she was about to die. He could feel the tears that had formed at the corner of his eyes falling.

“Shh…don’t,” the anguish pained him greatly and he could feel the echoing memories inside of him of each of his ancestors’ losing someone they loved and cared about. But that tide was somehow held back and for that he felt a modicum of peace. “Don’t…talk, Amanda…just…”

“No,” she shook her head a little, “the Templars…t-they…they…captured Lucy and Peter…took them away…” She took a deep breath and Desmond thought her eyes flickered to Ezio’s for a second before looking back at him, “She…she…loves you…” Her hand went limp in his and her breath stilled after her last word. Desmond saw that Amanda’s eyes had taken a far-away sheen before he gently reached out and closed her eyelids, hearing a faint sob behind him that sounded like it had come from his mother. A slight sniffle that was muffled told him that Rebecca was also trying to hold back her tears. He heard a distant muttering in Arabic somewhere above him but it was drowned out by Ezio’s whisper.

“Requiescat in pace,” Ezio said quietly just as the sounds of shuffling feet and clicks of guns being cocked echoed loudly behind them.

“Well, I thought Warren had cleared this spot, but it seems like he missed a couple,” a voice spoke up, one that was vaguely familiar to Desmond. However, he did not care as he saw bits of flashlight play over the parts of rubble, over Amanda’s still face, even shining on his body, casting a shadow against the rocks. He could feel Ezio slowly tense beside him, but his ancestor did not move nor get up.

“Put your guns down, especially you, Bill,” the voice said in a cold commanding tone, “you are trapped and surrounded. I will give the order to shoot if you don’t do as I say.”

He heard movement behind him and knew that his father had lowered his gun, but Desmond only stared at Amanda’s body. They had killed her…they had shot her while she had been trapped…

“Now that’s a good man Bill. See? Just like old times-“

“Fuck off, Rikkin,” Bill spat.

They had shot her…while she had been trapped. They had shot her like a dog to be put down. They had kidnapped Lucy and Peter… He could feel the growing anger in him and could feel something within him responding to that anger, fueling it, making it grow within him. They had shot Amanda; they had killed her in cold blood. They could have executed her, but they had left her lingering in pain for god knew how long. They had captured Lucy and they had Peter…

He could feel the memory of Ezio in his mind bolstering that anger before realizing what needed to be done. He promptly tapped the living one’s shoulder. The unspoken message was passed and he hoped that Ezio got what he had been telling him to do.

“Bill, is that any way to greet-“

Desmond’s nose flared in rage as he abruptly stood up and turned around, hearing multiple clicks of more guns being cocked before several red dots appeared on his chest. Laser sights… However, he did not care and stalked forward, pushing past his father and the others, and stood a few feet away from the man he knew as Alan Rikkin.

He had only a glimpse of the man standing with two others behind an observation window when he had exited the Animus after Altaїr had seen the Apple’s map in Abstergo. But Desmond’s memory was sharp, and he remembered what Alan Rikkin looked like. The man was a little pudgy, wore an immaculate suit, much like now…a Templar who did not like to get his hands dirty.

“Hey asshole, remember me?” he snarled, activating the hidden blade so that it was clearly visible from where he held his left arm loosely.

There was a moment of tense silence as the Templar stared at him.

“You would want to put that way, Mr. Miles,” Rikkin’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the naked blade for a second before looking at him, “after all, you wouldn’t want to die like your sister did, now would you? Bullets through the chest-“

“Nothing is true, everything… everything is permitted,” Desmond smiled, pure unadulterated and utterly feral before raising his right hand, clasped into a fist. He could almost imagine the sound of an eagle’s piercing cry before the Apple suddenly unleashed its unholy power followed by the loud report of a lone sniper rifle. Requiescat in pace you fuckers. I hope you rot in hell.

* * *

Ezio had nearly reeled from shock as he had felt Desmond touch his shoulder. He had thought he heard the ghostly whisper of his own voice emanate from that touch. All it said was to be prepared and float the image of the Apple in his mind before the voice retreated. It had left him shocked, but that had worn off as soon as Desmond had stood up and stalked forward. Ezio immediately turned, using Desmond’s movement as a cover and saw the smallest glints on a cavern wall high above the Templar’s head. A quick glance in Eagle Vision showed him a spot of blue high above them holding a sniper rifle pointed down at the Templars and he allowed himself a tight smile.

Altaїr was always a show-off…

He watched as Desmond somehow changed. There was the presence of superiority, of fatalistic expectations, and yet Ezio could feel the seemingly hair-raising charge of actually doing something from Desmond. He had been told long ago when he was Il Mentore that it was how the apprentices and even some of the master assassins felt around him when he walked into the room. He had felt it from Altaїr in all of his smug superiority tinged with world weariness as he took the position of the leader of the European Assassins as Andrew back in Victorian England.

And to feel that from Desmond, it declared that a leader was being born, right now, right in front of him. That Desmond, whether or not was embracing or discarding his destiny, declared to everyone with his posture and his actions that he was taking charge.

And Ezio was ready as he quietly drew out the Apple from the folds of his robes. No one noticed his movement, too focused on the dangerous aura that Desmond exuded, and Ezio saw himself, saw Altaїr, Arden, and others he did not recognize seemingly play over Desmond’s own presence. Even the Templars surrounding the loud-mouth idiot Rikkin were trembling a little, if one had to judge by how much the laser dots were shaking.

The Templars were going to die right here, right now and Ezio knew what Desmond was asking of him. Though a part of him quailed and rebelled against holding the Apple of Eden, was screaming at him to stop what he was doing, he squashed that part ruthlessly. This was life or death and he could not have doubts. He was an Assassin and he would not let anymore of the Miles family or friends die today.

They had killed Amanda for sport and seeing her slowly bleed out was akin to seeing his father and brothers die. They do not deserve to live, he could feel the Apple’s hungry whisper and for once since he had given the Apple back to Altaїr so many hundreds of years ago, Ezio mercilessly agreed.

His world suddenly slowed as he saw Desmond’s right hand rise, balled into a fist. That was the signal that all Assassin’s used when calling a coordinated attack. It was one passed down over the generations and it was one that he knew. Even before Desmond’s hand reached the apex of his call, Ezio was already unleashing the Apple’s power. A vicious smile curled up onto his lips as he felt the Apple’s unholy glow suddenly spread from him and directed it towards the Templar soldiers.

Kill them, he ordered as a high pitched whine filled the air. Just when the static sound grated against his ears, Ezio felt the Apple twitch. The sound of multiple necks snapping and sputtering spurts of blood filled the air. Screams and shrieks followed as he distantly saw Arden leap into action, knocking Shaun and Rebecca down onto the ground to protect them, Bill throwing himself over his wife, but all of that was immaterial as he focused another charge of the Apple.

He could hear the echoing report of gunfire from high above, as several others fell to the ground dead each with a bullet hole through the top of their heads or back of their skulls. He saw Desmond launch himself at Rikkin; his hidden blade flashing as Rikkin stumbled back, hastily producing a knife to defend himself. But Ezio ignored all of that as he reached deep within the Apple, feeling it hum with power, filling him with the strength of so many and smiled as he unleashed its power upon the masses.

He reached out and seized the minds of those that he had not killed, reveling in its power, reveling in the fact that he was able to take control of these weak minded fools and control them like puppets. They did not deserve to live if they were so weak. Those who resisted he batted aside only to feel them die seconds later. A low growl of anger filled him as he glared upwards at the interruption. He wanted a challenge to possess the minds, how dare Altaїr intrude!

Fools, he snarled before he reached out again and drank in the pleasure of twisting the minds of the others before flicking them away with a snap of his fingers. He laughed, a cruel sound as he saw blood spurt into the air, almost fountain-like, the sounds of gunfire shot everywhere as their body reactions could not compensate for the sudden shift of a dying nerve, twitching fingers that were already on triggers…

He felt the sudden scream, a pressured warning before he turned to see Arden approaching him – Anathema! It seeks to destroy us! – her hand on the hilt of the Lance-

“I have received word that your apprentice Desmond has retrieved the Lance of Longinus.”

“Is that not well?”

“He has also murdered the Templar forces that had been sent to investigate the Lance along with two villages of local tribesmen.”

“Dio mio…”

Altaїr sat back in his chair, a steady look in his eyes, “Ezio, I believe Desmond has been possessed by the Lance of Longinus.” They both looked at the Apple of Eden sitting innocently at the corner of Altaїr’s mantle. They both knew what possession by a Piece of Eden meant…

Ezio stumbled backwards a little and it was only through Desmond’s steady hand on his shoulder that he did not fall the ground as the Apple suddenly released its grip on his mind and body, leaving him utterly drained. While the brief irony of their role reversal was not lost on Ezio, it was brushed away just as quickly as he realized what he had done, what had happened, and why his world was suddenly very, very wet and slicked in red.

He shuddered, folding a little in on himself as he stared down at the inert Apple still clutched in his hand. It was not glowing anymore and even the whispers that had dogged him for so long were silent. He had almost…no; it was not ‘almost’ he had done the unthinkable. He had let himself be lost to the Piece and it was only due to sheer intervention, the appearance of the Lance that the Apple so feared that had snapped him out of the bloodlust that had overcome him. He had poured too much anger, too much pleasure in killing the Templars into the Apple and it had consumed him.

“Are you all right?” Desmond asked quietly in Italian and Ezio shot the young man a half-ironic smile.

“I will be,” he could literally see a younger version of himself in the man, wondering if the older one needed support or help, “it was necessary.” It was necessary, he repeated firmly in his mind before he pocketed the Apple just as quiet footsteps landing on the ground before them told him that Altaїr had come down from his sniper’s perch.

“Everyone evacuated,” Altaїr turned to William without any formalities or acknowledgment of what had just happened in mere minutes. Though it would have seemed that Altaїr was seemingly unaffected by the sheer amount of Templar soldiers that were sprawled on the ground, Ezio noticed that he studiously avoided looking at them. Some of the bodies were piled on top of one another, having died next to each other from either a sniper bullet or the Apple hemorrhaging their brains.

“Fuck you,” William snarled before pointing a finger at where his daughter laid, “where the fuck were you when Amanda was shot?”

Altaїr stared silently at William for a few seconds before turning around and walked towards the exit to the shed, “There is a safehouse we must get to.”

“Uh…what about him?” Shaun spoke up, and Ezio saw that the young British man was pointing a gun down at the ground at a body. He had thought Alan Rikkin had died when Desmond attacked him, but the man twitched and moaned a little on the ground. Clearly Desmond had better command of his own faculties then he did during that brief battle as Rikkin was all but knocked out.

“Bring him;” Desmond’s voice was tinged with a slight Arabic accent as he followed Altaїr, “he will be useful to us.”

Ezio hear the implication in the younger man’s words and it had been partially directed at himself. This was not the time to lament or wallow in the guilt of what he had done or whether he lost control over the Piece of Eden and let it consume his anger and dark wishes. It was all in the past and the only thing he could do was to move forward and not let it happen again. Ezio pursed his lips for a second before he pushed the guilt away – Desmond, with Altaїr’s voice gently rebuking him was right.

He reached over and grabbed one of Rikkin’s arms as Shaun reluctantly took the man’s other one and the two of them dragged the Templar off, following behind Altaїr and Desmond. He heard Rebecca whisper to Alice and William behind him before Alice whispered back about not leaving Amanda’s body; however a negative from Arden’s mouth silenced that conversation quickly as she brought up the rear.

He understood William and Alice’s wish to bury their daughter, but they could not risk staying here any longer with Templars overwhelming the caverns. It was cruel, it was heartless, but Ezio knew that one thing was for certain – that this was war.

* * *

Author’s Notes:

The latter half of the chapter was originally just going to feature Desmond being a complete badass, but I wanted Altaїr and Ezio to join in on the badassery. I didn’t know how to do it until moondusted whom I’ve been chatting with for a while now suggested that I take a leaf from a previous chapter and use it here. Her request was to see sociopathic!Ezio wield the Apple of Eden. I hope I obliged this request though I may have gone a little over the Moral Event Horizon with him in this chapter…hmm… I was also kind of influenced by Altaїr’s third memory seal in AC: Revelations where he uses the Apple in anger with disastrous results (for those of you who haven’t played the game yet, I haven’t spoiled it).

Oh, I hope you all noticed, everyone, except for Desmond knows that Lucy is/was/may still be a Templar spy. And that Amanda never told her brother before she died. I know the main thing is that all of you are wondering: WTF with Desmond. I say…read on! I will always answer mysteries and questions in my stories and this little bit with Desmond is no exception.

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Story:

Chapter 35 – Prisoner

The room was an opaque glass that gave off a blue hue which Lucy knew to be very thick. More than likely it was bullet proof as the thicker the layers of silica on a sheet of glass, the more green-blue it became. She knew it was an interrogation room, having been in one her first day as an employee of Abstergo. They had done in-processing through a room just like this one, but she had not known what it was for until several months later when she had been brought in to witness the interrogation of a captured Assassin.

It had been a test, both to see whether or not she could stomach the sight of blood and broken bones, but also to see if she had an inclination to rescue her fellow Assassin. She remembered retreating deep into herself and let the blank expression show on her face, impartial to the messy interrogation they were conducting, unwilling to compromise what had been her infiltration into the Abstergo. She wondered if she had been brought back to the same facility that she had worked in, but realized that the familiar hum of fans was absent.

In any of the rooms at the facility she had worked in the Animus Project, they all had a humming sound to it, massive fans cooling hundreds of CPUs that ran the Animus code. This one was particularly silent, which meant she had not been brought back there. She could only guess where she had been brought to, or whether or she was half-way around the world for that matter as she had woken up feeling fuzzy and very thirsty – drugged.

“Lucy?” Peter’s voice made her look down to see him holding his fingers, curled and twisted together in a facsimile expression of trying to entertain himself. For all of his quiet and slightly unsettling mannerisms, she had to remind herself that Peter was still a child, a four-year-old child at that.

“What’s that supposed to be?” she brightened her voice a little, feigning interest even though she knew that Peter knew she was faking it. There were cameras in the room; Peter had immediately identified one as soon as he had woken up, before abruptly sitting down and making zooming sounds with his hands flying in the air, pretending he was an airplane.

“Boooooom!” he smiled as his hands flew apart before flying them all over the place, occasionally making more explosive sounds with his mouth.

Against her own will she had to laugh a little before Peter grinned up at her. She reached out and mused his hair a little, earning a childish giggle before he continued with his mock play. She realized that he had been trying to cheer her up and felt touched. Even at four, she could not help but wonder what made him so special, why had Altaїr called him ‘touched’ by a Piece of Eden. It was true that he seemed wiser beyond his years, but just looking at him, he looked like an ordinary child. He even acted like one when not speaking in riddles or cryptic messages.

She watched as he played with his hands, pretending that they were fighter jets in a dogfight for a few minutes before the hiss of the door opening made her look up to see Vidic in his familiar white lab coat along with two others in severe looking suits by the door. Peter immediately stopped what he was doing and shied closer to her. She reached out and grasped one of his pudgy hands, squeezing it gently in reassurance as she continued to sit on top of the table in the room.

“Bad men,” Peter whispered almost inaudibly as Lucy steeled herself. The young boy's words could have meant anything; from a talking interrogation or even torture, but it was clear that Peter did not like the three Templars that walked into the room. But whatever it was, Lucy was determined to protect the young boy. It was the only thing she could do now, having been unable to save Desmond's sister.

“What defines a 'bad man' little boy? Hmm?” Vidic peered down the rim of his glasses as two armed men walked in after the three. They held FN P90s in their hands and had tactical vests along with helmets in place and took up their posts in the far end of the room. Lucy raised an eyebrow as she stared at them. Surely Vidic did not think of her as that much of a threat. Granted, she knocked him out as they had walked back to his office after leaving the Animus room before making her first escape from Abstergo with Desmond. She had also disabled three guards that had been left to guard the Animus room, but the sheer display of strength seemed a little much.

“Blood,” Peter pointed straight at one of the soldiers who had a devious expression on his face before pointing at the other solider, “Murderer.”

“Hmm,” Vidic glanced at the two soldiers before looking back at the two in suits, “interesting isn't it?”

“Adulterer,” Peter suddenly pointed at one of the two, a woman with her hair done up in a severe looking bun. Lucy saw her flinch and a frown appeared on her pencil thin lips before Peter pointed at the man in the suit, “Her husband already knows...”

The man frowned and looked at the other woman who blushed a little before shaking her head. “He does not.”

“He knows,” Peter said solemnly.

“Why you little piece of shit,” the woman's expression turned ugly. But before she could take a step forward with her arm raised, Lucy pushed Peter behind her and glared at the woman, daring her to take that step. The guards raised their P90s at the same time, pointing it at her, but Lucy did not care.

“Now, now,” Vidic shook his head and waved for the woman to back down, “I'm sure your personal problems can be dealt with, Aileen, Max. Remember why you are here?”

“Just get it over with Vidic. I've had enough of your bullshit,” the woman, Aileen crossed her arms and huffed, “I still don't see what's so special about this...boy.”

“Max?” Vidic turned to the man.

“The footage recorded shows that the boy has a remarkable spatial awareness and adaptation ability to the situation. We had sent a couple of guards to patrol the room and each time, the boy has been alerted to their presence even though he cannot even see them. His interactions with Ms. Stillman here prove to be a fascinating attempt to placate her worries and give her hope,” the man replied in a slight nasal tone.

It dawned on Lucy that Vidic had not come to see her, but rather to show off Peter. They were talking about her as if she did not exist. She wanted to bristle at that, but she also knew that she did not want to draw any attention to herself. The soldiers had stopped pointing their P90s at her, but did not relax.

“And?” Aileen looked bored.

“We think he may be prescient,” Max cleared his throat, “as in he may have cognitive abilities that we have only begun to research through the Animus Project.”

“Prescient? As in psychic abilities?” Aileen raised an eyebrow, “are you bullshitting me?” She pointed a long finger at Peter, “This boy, is a mind reader?”

“You saw it for yourself;” Vidic replied mildly, “your affair with Max may be on the outs.”

“Ethan does not know-”

“Regardless,” Vidic interrupted her smoothly, “Ms. Stillman has brought to our attention a coup.”

“Ah yes,” Aileen turned to look at her and Lucy felt as if she was being viewed under a microscope, “Ms. Stillman...Assassin traitor. Tell me, traitor, why we should keep you alive? Did you know you cost the company several billions of dollars of resources? That your actions in stealing Subject Seventeen and corrupting most of our research is punishable by death?!”

“His name is Desmond,” Lucy glared at the woman.

“Seventeen,” Aileen sneered taking another step forward and invading Lucy's sense of personal space, “was a viable specimen. We had uses for him.”

“Was that before or after he was going to paint the walls with his blood?” she refused to back away, refused to show how uncomfortable she was nearly nose-to-nose with the shrewish woman.

“The transfer was all set. Rikkin had no more use for him; Vidic had approved it,” the Templar woman looked annoyed that she had not back down, “his blood was the one we needed to control the objects in our possession. And you ruined that.”

She turned her head to the side as if contemplating something before staring at her again, her eyes sharp and predatory, “Tell me, Ms. Stillman, did you do it because of some foolish notion of love?”

“W-What?” Lucy had not expected the question and blinked in surprise, backing away a little.

Aileen took advantage and dropped her voice down to a low hiss, “Did you fuck him? Was it nice? A strong, supple body like his, those warm golden brown eyes, staring at you, calling your name…”

Lucy had the sudden unexpected image of Desmond on top of her, a fantasy of him whispering her name as the warmth of their bodies pressed together- Stop it! No! That’s not what happened! She mentally threw herself out of the fantasy and could feel a blush of heat rise up in her face before swift anger filled her and she raised her hand to slap Aileen in the face. However, her hand did not connect as the woman’s own hand suddenly rose up and intercepted hers, trapping it in an icy vise-like grip.

“Naughty, naughty Ms. Stillman,” Aileen sneered wolfishly, “You are such a foolish naïve girl.” The smirk on the woman’s face grew a little before she shook her head, squeezing her grip a little tighter enough for Lucy to bite the inside of her cheek. She could feel the hairline fractures and wondered how a stick-thin woman like Aileen could be so strong.

“Don’t look to your father for help,” Aileen continued and Lucy’s breath hitched as she realized that the woman meant Vidic. She shot a quick look beyond her shoulder to see Vidic staring back impassively while Max had the most neutral expression on his face. They knew…the Templars knew of their familial relationship.

“We know,” Aileen confirmed, “and Dr. Vidic’s transgression has been dealt with.”

It took an enormous amount of willpower for Lucy to not shudder at the implied meaning. She knew it could have gone from a simple reprimand to god only knew what kinds of cruelty the Templars were capable of inflicting upon their employees or traitors. It certainly explained Vidic’s lack of emotion when he had greeted her in the enclave and also the business-like demeanor he had set when he entered her cell.

“Now,” Aileen released her hand and Lucy cradled her wrist, massaging it even though she knew that some would have thought of it as a sign of weakness. But she already knew she was at a disadvantage and for all she knew the soldiers would be ordered to kill her next. “We could advertise to the Assassins and to your beloved Desmond-“

“He’s not my beloved,” Lucy frowned, “get the facts straight.”

“But you did escape with him, didn’t you? A knight in shining armor riding to the rescue of her beloved. To free him from torture and from the chains that bind him.”

“Because the Templars don’t need what has been hidden inside his DNA for so long-“

“But the Assassin’s do? Is that why you have been subjecting him to the Animus after? Because you wanted the Assassins to find out what his ancestors knew? What was locked inside his DNA? Or did you want him to be the Desmond of prophecy?”

Lucy’s jaw dropped in shock. How did…how did they know?

“Oh, we have our own spies. The Assassins forget that it was through our humiliation, that each time they thought they had beaten us, we grew. We grew, we learned, and we expanded from our…setbacks.” Aileen’s smile grew wider, “You think the Assassins were the only ones who thought they were clever? That the Templars would be so stupid to not learn from our mistakes? Why do you think we took you in? The long-lost daughter of one of our very own? And then you decided to stab us in the back, to betray everything we have given to you, even the very breath of life conceived from your parents. All for what? Because of your foolish ‘training’? Because of some notion that you thought the Assassins could benefit from Desmond’s knowledge?”

The woman waved an errant hand in the air, “The Assassins think they may have the moral high ground, but you have been pushing Desmond as much as we have. In fact, we may have the moral high ground here. We at least want order, the Assassins want chaos.”

Lucy bit her lip – Aileen did not know, did not realize the truth. She wanted to yell and tell the woman that no one had the high ground; that both Assassin and Templar were the same, that they were not black and white. That both were achieving a sort of godhood – and apotheosis if you would – that was unattainable. That the war that both were fighting was petty, cruel, and unfair to those that did not realize it. But she knew that Aileen and the others, especially Vidic, would dismiss her rants, call her a traitor once more and perhaps even kill her.

“But like I said,” Aileen continued, “we could advertise to the Assassins that you are here, at headquarters, oh yes, Lucy, you are at the fabled headquarters.” The woman tilted her head, a mocking looking on her severe face, “Perhaps that would invite an attempt to rescue your pathetic self. Maybe even a role reversal as Desmond becomes your knight in shining armor and rescues the damsel in distress.”

The Templar woman suddenly clasped her hands, “But wait, you are not in distress, aren’t you? In fact, you are defiant. I can see it. You think that if you stand up against me; protect this…boy, from everything that you can resist us.” She turned to stare at Vidic, “What would you do if your daughter were to receive special…care?”

“Like Subject Four?” Vidic’s response was impassive, uninterested and Lucy could feel a small pit of horror open inside of her. Surely Aileen and the others were not thinking of turning her into Daniel Cross. But she realized that it would be like the Templars to do something like that and she would not even know it. For all she knew, they could sedate her and have her wake up in the Animus, much like how Desmond had ended up at Abstergo.

She could be released, or at least made to look like she had fought her way out, sacrificing some of their employees along the way for her to kill and for her to find her way back to Desmond, to the others, only to perhaps at a triggered moment, stab them in the back, betray their plans, and reveal everything. This time, she could not keep the horror from her face as she shook her head.

“The Assassins already did it to you,” Aileen turned back to her, a triumphant smile on her face, “they did it to you through your upbringing and eventual infiltration into Abstergo’s projects. In a way, they programmed you to bend Dr. Vidic’s sympathies, even sent a hit squad disguised as Templars after you once they realized you had turned. But then you convinced yourself that you were a mole after all, when Desmond came along. Yet you had your doubts when you escaped with him, didn’t you? It was you who triggered a silent alarm, when Desmond was setting up the security systems at your first base. Then you escaped to Cheyenne Mountain and from there, you realized, you loved him.”

“Why are you doing this?” Lucy could feel her confidence, her defiance cracking under such scrutiny. She knew she was being manipulated, but everything that Aileen said was twisted yet true at the same time. “What…what do you want? Yes…yes, I love Desmond, but…”

Aileen’s smile grew a little wider, “Poor little wretched girl who thought she could change the world. So sad, so pathetic. You are a prisoner of your own mind, of your feeble feelings and so human.” She suddenly stepped back and tapped her lip for a second, “Tell you what, Ms. Stillman, this is how it will go. You will work for us once more though under heavy supervision. Everything you do will be monitored in person, even your showering, your trips to the bathroom, everything.

“It is against the judgment of others, but you will be allowed to continue your research on the Animus project here at headquarters. You will stick to a set schedule, eat when we tell you, and sleep when we tell you. Any deviation or attempt to suicide or kill yourself we will subject you to the same brainwashing we had done to Subject Four.”

“How do I know you won’t do that, just because?”

“Because, Ms. Stillman, I, your father, and Max here still value whatever is left in your empty head. Because against expectations, you have proven that you have the capability of expanding what your father cannot.”

“I can sabotage it,” Lucy countered.

“You may try,” Aileen nodded, “but you will also know the consequences of what will happen to you if you do. And it is not only yourself you have to worry about. You may be pleased to hear that Desmond and those with him have escaped their compound, but we are tracking them. Anything you do that deviates from your assignment will have severe consequences. Amunet is not the only one with resources. For one thing, you do know that Subject Four is still alive, do you not?”

“Yes…”

“How would you like to see him pay a visit to Desmond Miles?” the woman asked, “how would you like to see the true power of the Bleeding Effect mastered against the pittance that is Desmond, nothing but a broken puppet.”

Lucy felt her breath hitch a little in fear – even though Aileen had said that Desmond and the others had escaped, she knew she could not believe most of it. For all she knew, Altaїr and Ezio could have physically carried Desmond, still attached to the Animus, out of there. The thought of Desmond, potentially comatose in the Animus facing Subject Four, Daniel Cross, to kill him was inconceivable. She knew that Arden, Altaїr, and Ezio would protect Desmond, but could three trained assassins go up against a man who had lived the lives of so many others and had their knowledge?

“I see my words finally make sense, good,” Aileen nodded once before clasping her hands behind her, “you will be working on the Animus to configure it to this boy here. If he is Desmond’s younger brother, then he will be able to pick up where Subject Seventeen left off. Configure the parameters so that this…boy, lives the life of Altaїr’s son Darim.”

“No,” Peter shook his head vehemently before Aileen kneeled down in front of him.

“You do not have a choice, little boy,” she sneered, “do you want your brother to suffer?”

“No,” Peter scrunched up his chubby baby-fat face, looking like he was going to cry, “no. Do not want.”

“Do you want her to suffer?” Aileen pointed a thin finger at Lucy.

“No…” was the softer whisper.

“Then you will get in the Animus and you will give us what we need.”

Peter shook his head as Aileen stepped back and gestured for the others to head out, the conversation done. Lucy groped and found Peter’s hand as the two of them watched them file out; she could feel something shattering in her heart, a resistance that she thought had been strong, but in reality had been nothing more than a brittle weakness. Ezio had been right all those nights ago at the base, she should have told Desmond the truth, the full truth; not only did she love him, but she had been set up to betray him.

“Abomination,” Peter whispered as he stared at Aileen, the doors closing behind her.

* * *

“You have a complaint, Vidic?” she asked as they broke away from Max to head up to the observation room above Lucy Stillman’s cell.

“Was it necessary?” there was a barely contained anger in Warren Vidic’s tone, but it was nonetheless restrained. She smiled mostly to herself as she closed the door behind them and looked down to see Lucy, patting the little boy on the head. Abomination, she growled to herself. If there was anyone apt for that title, it was the little spawn of William and Alice. She had heard the boy’s parting shot to her as she left, but ignored it.

“Do not forget your place,” she shot back, “if Amunet had been in charge, you would already have been dead.”

“But you took care of that, didn’t you? Setting Leonius upon her-“

“I merely manipulated events so that Leonius would do what that soft-hearted fool would always do. He always loved her,” she sneered at the word. It was pointless, foolish, and utterly transitory. Leonius was too attached to the remnant-tatters of his humanism and it ultimately betrayed him.

“Iltani-“

She frowned at his slipup.

“Aileen,” Vidic hastily corrected himself, “you nearly slipped up yourself. You are lucky Max knows what’s going on.”

She had to admit that Vidic had a point and shook her head, “Kill the guards and their families. Make sure that Max’s son is raped to keep his silence.”

“…As you wish,” Vidic replied after a few seconds, “might I also remind you of Alan Rikkin’s capture?”

“No worries,” she waved a hand, noting for the brief moment her skin color changing a little before it returned to the shade that was supposed to be Aileen’s color, “Rikkin will be dealt with when the time comes. For now, that fool is doing what he is supposed to be doing. Consider it his punishment for allowing Miles to escape the facility.”

“Anything else?” Vidic asked.

“No, leave me,” she waved a hand at him and heard the door open and close after a few seconds. She waited a couple more before touching her left ear where a small spherical jewel was seemingly embedded in her lobe. To any ordinary person, it looked like a simple gold earring bud, but she stroked it gently, feeling its reassured hum and smiled mostly to herself. Taking the pleasurable memory that she had forced Lucy Stillman to conjure up of her and Desmond possibly making love she fed it to the Piece of Eden, hearing it seemingly sigh in return. She drew upon the fear and the shattered hopelessness that she had felt from Lucy and continued to feed it before finally feeling fullness in the Piece; a sign that it had been sated.

Your move, Altaїr, she thought as she continued to watch Lucy and the boy.

* * *

Author’s Notes:

I know I’m making you guys reach way back to remember Iltani, but we have met her before. You may remember her as Dr. Sharif from the base – and Subject Sixteen/Alexander’s mentor/master. Now go spin your head on that mystery oh and add the Lance of Longinus to it too. Aileen is one of her personas and Iltani’s Piece of Eden is far more devious than the others. Oh, and once again, Peter is a creepy child – if you haven’t noticed, Iltani abhors Peter and Peter abhors Iltani. Also, don’t sell Vidic short yet, he may seem like he’s subservient to her…

Anyways, I finished playing Revelations and I have to say, I am a little disappointed. I think it’s mostly because I feel the game was rushed and that they could have made a better game. To me, ACR felt like an expansion pack, not a full game which only disappoints me. I hope this is because the developers have taken this past year they’ve ignored ACR and parceled it out to the other Ubisoft branches and used it to make AC3 (coming out next year) a very good game. I hope.

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Story:

Chapter 36 - Odium

Arden hated it. It was akin to being a prisoner, except it was the prison of flesh, not of iron bars. But Arden did not tell anyone, especially Stephen, whom she had learned had sat at her bedside for three weeks straight before being physically hauled off by his master to do more than eat a few mouthfuls of food and sleep by her side. His spot had been taken over by her master and it was Andrew’s face that she had awakened to see. She remembered panicking; gasping for air, unable to comprehend why there was no wound in her chest when there should have been one.

She remembered Andrew calming her down before slowly explaining what had happened to her. She had seen his stoicism break as he told her about Jack attacking her, leaving her for dead before fleeing. Of how, he had been helpless to do anything but watch her die in his arms. Of how Stephen who had been affected by the lance head had crawled towards her before fiercely declaring that she would not die. He explained how a bright light, an unholy light he had said, had filled the air as Stephen grasped onto the embedded lance and pulled.

Andrew had said that when the light died, she had fallen unconscious and for a moment, he thought that she had died. But then, her wounds had begun to close and her breath resumed. However, she had not woken up until now, Ezio, Stephen, and even Mrs. Huston keeping vigil on her. Arden had taken all of it in before her master slowly produced a round spherical object from the folds of his robes.

“I am not who you think I am, Arden Allen,” Andrew said staring at her with a measured look. She thought she caught a glimpse of an ageless gaze in his eyes, but drew back against her bedcovers as the spherical object began to glow. A panic filled her as she wanted to scramble away, but she could not, mesmerized by the intricate lines that appeared.

“W-What…”

“This is an object not made by man’s hands, but rather by an ancient civilization that was before us,” Andrew slowly rotated the sphere in his hands.

“It…looks like what the stories tell us, of Altaїr’s codex, Ezio’s even,” it was one of the first things her mother had taught her of the Assassins when she could read. That the fabled Grand Master Altaїr Ibn la-Ahad had divined its secrets and gave new weaponry to the Order, advance weaponry that even to this day had its uses. Three hundred years later, the Grand Master of the Italian assassins, Ezio Auditore had done the same thing, except it was not advance weaponry or that sort, but rather knowledge that he had gained, a prophecy about a mysterious Desmond. There was also some wild tales about the pantheon of polytheistic gods that came to life, like Minerva and even Juno, but Arden remembered her mother scoffing at the notion and she too did not put too much stock or grain into them.

“It’s called a Piece of Eden,” Andrew said as the glow faded, but he did not put the Apple away. “More specifically, this is the Apple of Eden that Altaїr and Ezio wielded.”

“But I thought the Templars-“

“Ezio kept it upon himself after he stole it from Rodrigo Borgia,” her master had an odd smile on his face.

“And then I realized the foolishness of keeping such a dangerous weapon near myself,” Master Ezio’s voice spoke up from the door to her room and she turned to see him standing by the frame, one arm propped against it. But what shocked her was that Stephen’s master was not dressed in the clothing of this period, but rather looked exactly like the codex pictures had depicted Ezio Auditore. The man was dressed in a very good replica of the white master assassin outfit – no, it was not a replica, she realized. It was the exact same outfit Ezio Auditore wore.

She could see the little bits of frayed threads, some brown spots where blood had not been able to be cleaned in time to be absorbed into the fabric. Her breath hitched for a second as she traced the outfit and of Stephen’s master, all the way up to the damning mysterious smile he wore, his hood hiding his eyes.

“Signora Allen,” Arden stiffened at the Italian accent, once thinking that it had been because he was raised in the little Italy area of New York City, but now…

She shook her head, “That is…that cannot be…” She looked to her master, “Andrew…” and then down to where his left hand was holding the spherical Piece. She had always wondered why her master had lost his ringer finger and had speculated that perhaps he had lost it on a mission of sorts. But she could see the calluses and remembered the way her master would sometimes gesture or use his hand. An ordinary man who had lost the use of a finger would sometimes absently mourn it, would accidentally try to compensate too much for it. But her master was not bothered by it – which meant he had gotten used to it. But her master was only in his twenties, was he not? Surely he could not have been born without a ring finger, the way the small dip in the middle of the stump meant that it had been cut off and healed like that.

“No…” she drew her blankets closer to her, her mouth opening and closing several times, “it…cannot be…it…”

The fact that her master was Altaїr Ibn la-Ahad or that Stephen’s master was the Ezio Auditore da Firenze was inconceivable! It had to be! She wanted to say, wanted to believe that her master was making a joke of this, that he was not really Altaїr, perhaps someone who wanted to think like he was but was her master that cruel, that demented? Yet she knew that it was not the case, not with the Piece of Eden sitting in his hand, the fabled object of legends.

A sphere that glowed an unholy light, maybe it was filled with oil or something, lit by a spark that had been brushed against it, making her see that it was glowing. She blinked a lost expression on her face before she reached out. If it was a Piece of Eden, then surely she would be able to hold it, feel its confirmation like the codex of Ezio Auditore said. He had spoken of hearing a voice or several on occasion, when he divined it.

“C-Can…I?” she looked to Andrew, still unable to believe that he was Altaїr, who blinked once, giving his assent and she tentatively reached out, her fingers trembling in trepidation. It was just oil lit by a spark. The intricate designs were nothing more than scored onto a beautiful sphere of metal that had been forged by the steel factories she kept telling herself.

Just as she was mere millimeters from the object she suddenly felt a lash of pain lance through her head and yelped, drawing back before squeezing her eyes shut, pressing her hands against them to try to stem the sudden flash of pain. At the same time she thought she heard a grunt of pain before opening her eyes again and saw the remnant expression of pain flit across her master and even Ezio’s face.

“Just like Stephen…” Ezio muttered, biting his lip and rubbing his temples.

“What?”

“This could be a problem then,” her master muttered, his foreign accent clear and distinct now.

“What…” she tried to reach out, but somehow her hands wouldn’t work and instead, she could literally feel herself shy away from the object in her master’s hand. She grimaced before looking away, suddenly repulsed by it, “Can you…put that away? I…it is making me feel uncomfortable.”

She saw her master and Ezio exchange concerned looks before he nodded and put the sphere back into the folds of his robes. “What is it?”

“You had nearly the same reaction Stephen did when he also tried to reach out to the Apple,” she vaguely recognized her master’s accent now, having heard it from the many invalidated soldiers sent home from the Afghan wars during some of her missions. Some of the soldiers had been translators in the wars. Except his was more cultured and precise than the soldiers and had a distinct flavor to it.

“It hurts,” she rubbed her forehead, unable to make the pain go away.

“I believe it will fade away,” Ezio said, “perhaps after a few hours though. That was how long it took Stephen’s to fade away.”

She looked at them, swiveling her head back and forth, “You truly are…Altaїr Ibn la-Ahad and Ezio Auditore?” It was hard to speak those names, to swallow them past the lump in her throat.

Her master nodded solemnly, “The proof would have been in the Apple, would have given you a glimpse of the truth, but since you cannot touch it-”

“You said Stephen had the same problem?” she asked.

Andrew-no, Altaїr, pursed his lips for a second before leaning a little towards her, “I believe it has to do with the Lance of Longinus.”

“You?” she glanced at Ezio who shook his head.

“I do not know what to believe at this point,” she was surprised at the frank and honest answer, “however, Altaїr knows more than I do at this point.”

Arden turned back to her master as he folded his hands together on his knees and rested his chin on them. “When I had defeated my master, Al Mualim, the Apple had showed a map of sorts, of different points in continents that had yet to be explored and in continents that we had known about in that day and age. It took a while, but I believed that those points were places where other Pieces of Eden could be found. I believed that the Templars were already looking for them, for these fabled objects of a precursor race that came before us, a First Civilization if you would.

“I knew that the Templars were looking for it because it was my master who had first sent me to intercept the Apple in Solomon’s Temple in Jerusalem; to prevent Robert de Sable from acquiring it,” Arden saw that Altaїr had a far-away look in his eyes and wondered how many years, centuries even did her master see? He looked no day older than in his late twenties, early thirties, yet there was a world weariness that she had not noticed before in his countenance.

“As I continued my research with the Apple, I began to learn more and even hear stories of different types other than the Apple that existed. One was wielded by Genghis Khan to which I, my son Darim, and one of Khan’s most loyal vassals Qulan Gal stopped him from advancing. There were others and I began to wonder what the purpose of these objects was.” Altaїr shook his head sadly, “I only learned too late that to wield the Apple meant that my time had stopped. I watched as my wife grew old, my sons grew old and I never aged.”

“What happened?”

“I gave the Apple up, for a time,” Altaїr shrugged, “hid it in Cyprus while I traversed the world, looking for other objects. I believed that if I were not to die from aging, then perhaps I would be able to find these objects and prevent them from falling into Templar hands. One, I eventually hid in Masyaf in a library I had constructed before the Mongols finally destroyed the city.”

Altaїr absently rubbed his knuckles with his left hand, “Being seemingly immortal gives you a long time to think and one thing I thought about was the purpose of these objects and if so, why were they made. I began to do extensive research, collecting stories, fables, anything that supported the Pieces of Eden or so-called ‘miracles’ that happened. One such story was the Lance of Longinus.”

“The lance that supposedly pierced Jesus Christ’s side when he was crucified,” Arden murmured quietly, “it is a…Piece of Eden?”

“Unfortunately yes,” her master nodded once, “and it is the weapon that Jack stabbed you with.”

“But…why…am I not dead…”

“Because I believe it has life-sustaining properties,” Altaїr replied.

“But…it killed Jesus-“

“It is using Stephen’s life to sustain yours,” Ezio interrupted quietly before looking over his shoulder and gesturing for someone to come in.

Arden’s eyes widened in shock as Stephen stepped in, standing next to his master. He looked older, much older than she had ever seen him. Though his face still had some youth to it, there was a streak of white in his dark hair and lines that had not been on his face before the ball.

“I am fine, Arden,” Stephen smiled a little, trying to reassure her, but Arden could only stare, horror filling her. If what Ezio said was true, and she had no reason not to believe him, then Stephen’s life had repaired the wound…?

“Reverse it…” the words fell from her lips, “please, anything, reverse it. I do not…I…” She felt so sick, so disgusted that she was using Stephen’s life to sustain her own, to leech off of him like some damned parasite! “Reverse it…” she could feel herself hyperventilating, her breathing growing quicker as a white noise started to fill her ears. She could not believe that this was happening, that she could use someone like this, if only to, for what, for her to maintain her youth?! For her to be vain and eventually turn Stephen old? What would happen when twenty years from now? Would she be the same while Stephen was an old feeble man?

“Reverse it, reverse it, I want to die, I want to die,” she whispered over and over again. How could she do this? How could this have happened? She should have died – I should have died! – she silently screamed, or was that an actual scream she heard, ragged-

Arden suddenly felt her world go mercifully black, but before it did, she could feel herself breaking, crying. I am so sorry Stephen, she thought.

* * *

The next time Arden awoke, she could feel someone sitting next to her on the bed and opened her eyes a crack to see Altaїr sitting with his back to her, staring out at her window. It was raining out, she noticed, the soft patters of raindrops hitting the glass before falling to the ground.

“I am sorry, Arden,” her master’s voice was soft, kinder than she had ever heard before she heard the soft snick of a hidden blade being let out of its holster. She opened her eyes a little more to see him raise his left arm, the thin blade gleaming a little. Arden held her breath very still, both in fear and in awe. Was her master going to end her life, right then and there? Or was he making another point? She felt her bed shift a little before he turned towards her, his arm still raised with the blade pointed at her.

He was going to kill her, she realized as she fully opened her eyes and stared at her master. A part of her was thrilled, that she should die a proper death instead of lingering like this, like some parasite feeding off of Stephen, yet another part of her quailed at the fact. It screamed for her to live, to defend herself, that she was an Assassin and she need not die like this, in bed.

“Are you sure?” Altaїr’s teeth were clenched and she realized he looked incredibly pained. He did not want to do this, but he was willing to do it for her sake if she said those words.

She stared at him and was about to answer when suddenly the thundering footsteps of several people running up the stairs made her look to the door to see it crash open a split second later, flying off of its hinges before Ezio barreled through and threw himself at Altair, his own hidden blade drawn. The two of them rolled head over heels off of her bed and to the ground before Ezio hauled her master off of the floor and threw him against the wall.

He shouted something in a language that she did not recognize, Arabic, she realized, his face a mask of fury and anger as Altaїr wiped a hand across his split lip, a sneer on his face. Her master shouted something back before pointing to her and Ezio barked a word, a swear, she thought before shouting at him again. She saw her master’s expression suddenly turn dark and dangerous, but Ezio was not cowed and to her surprise matched Altaїr’s expression before raising his blade, a challenge. Low hissing words in Arabic were exchanged between the two of them and Arden could feel tears pricking at the corner of her eyes.

She did not want this to happen. They were allies, they were friends, she had seen them forge a bond like brothers-in-arms and to see them at each other’s throats, threatening each other all because of her… It broke her heart and she pulled herself up. “Please…” she whispered, startling the two of them as she shook her head, “please leave…”

Something passed over Altaїr’s expression before he stalked out, his face a cool mask. Ezio followed a half second later, only to pause at the threshold to her door, staring at her with unmoving eyes before stepping out. It was then that she noticed that Stephen had been standing at the door, watching, like her, what had happened.

“You…uh, nearly scared us there,” Stephen looked a little awkward as he ran a hand through his hair. The white streak that shot through his crown looked more like a skunk streak than anything else, she noticed.

“I am sorry,” she apologized, “I…” She stared at her hands before looking up at him, “Stephen are you…I…did not want this-“

“I am fine with this,” Stephen gestured to himself, “it is not that bad, really. I mean, I feel a little older, but I am fine…”

“How-“

“It…asked me,” he pointed to his back and it was only then that Arden noticed he was carrying the Lance of Longinus in a sheath of sorts, “when I reached out to you. It asked me if I was willing to sacrifice everything to save you.”

Arden opened her mouth several times to answer, but no words would come out.

“I told it yes. I never hesitated,” Stephen had a sad smile on his face, “do you know why?”

“W-Why?” she felt herself afraid of the answer.

“Because I love you,” he said tilting his head, “I loved you since I met you and I know you will be uncomfortable with this, but I wanted to ask you, during the ball, if you would consider traveling back to America with me. I did not want to tell you then, because you were so happy, but Master Ezio and I were going to return a few days after the ball. A lead we had been looking into for a Piece of Eden had been delivered.”

“Oh…” she looked down again.

“Ezio wanted you to travel with us because he said you were an excellent scout, but apparently Altaїr did not want you to go. I do not know the reason why, but it was not my place to ask,” Stephen shrugged, “still, my offer still stands. I know you probably want to stay now, recover, that sort of thing, so maybe we shall see each other in a few years-“

“There is something you are not telling me,” she could feel something within her, maybe it was the Piece of Eden, maybe it was something else, telling her that Stephen was hiding something from her.

“Uh,” Stephen looked a little surprised before biting his lip and heaving a loud sigh, “what makes you think-“

“You always look up to the ceiling when you are lying,” it was a trick she had learned long ago whenever Stephen talked.

“Oh,” he blushed, suddenly making him look younger than the aged face he now wore. “Uh, well,” he scratched the back of his head, “listen; do not consider this into your decision, all right? I want you to make your own decision, free from any of this, any of Pieces of Eden or anything like that, okay?”

“Stephen?”

“The Lance,” he sighed, “whoever it is sustaining, it needs to be near them. Look, I am working out a solution right now, but until then, I have to stay here, well, sort of. Have to stay near you. I mean, I am also testing to see how far we can go-“

“I will come with you,” she suddenly decided. She did not want to see anymore of London, of the cobblestones, the soot; she did not want to see this place, her bedroom. All of it was a reminder of what was past, what had happened, and what she had lost. She wanted to start somewhere new, somewhere where she was able to perhaps forge a new identity, maybe even with Stephen.

“Listen, Arden, you are factoring in-“

“I am not,” she frowned at him, “I want to go. I want to see what these…Pieces of Eden are. I want to know.”

Stephen stared at her for a second before a smile appeared on his face, “I do too.”

* * *

It was a week later that Arden found herself standing by the pier in Portsmouth, dressed in the latest fashion of clothing as befitting a woman of her age in London. She had already told Altaїr of her intent to journey with Ezio and Stephen to America and from there to search out more clues about the Piece of Eden that they had received word about. She had expected her master to protest, to say that it was his decision as her master whether or not she could go, but surprisingly, he had not.

Instead, he had only nodded before turning away, ignoring her completely. She felt a little part of her die inside at the abrupt dismissal before pushing it out of her mind by packing and buying the clothes and supplies she would need to move into her new life. Mrs. Huston had been beside herself, alternating between laughing with her and reminiscing about old times and how much fun she would have in America to crying at her impending departure. She had tried to comfort the old housekeeper as best as she could, but sometimes she wanted to get out of there.

And she got out of there on occasion by just free running the rooftops once more, joined by Stephen as the two of them tested the distance they could be away from each other before the Lance of Longinus sent her painfully to her knees, leaving her gasping for breath. The first time it had happened, Stephen had nearly had conniptions, but she had reassured him that she was fine and continued on.

“Are you ready?” Ezio spoke up quietly behind her and she turned to smile at the Italian assassin. Once she had learned the truth, something stiff and formal seemed to drop from Ezio, turning him into more a friendly brother than a distant master assassin who occasionally had odd tastes, especially lamenting about ruined clothes like Stephen did.

“Almost,” she said, glancing over to where Altaїr stood by the carriage, waiting to take him back to London. “I will be just a minute.”

“All right,” Ezio sensed that she wanted to talk to her master alone and stepped away, heading up the plank with a gracious bow of his head. She heard him strike up a conversation with a porter who was managing their trunks for the journey. In the past week and half since she had woken up, she had time to reflect and think about all of the information she was given. She had not come to the best of conclusions, but she had made her decision. It was an ugly one, but she had no choice. She walked up to Altaїr and saw him turn his gaze from the seagulls to her.

She took a deep breath before speaking, “I will not be returning.”

“I thought as much,” Altaїr replied neutrally.

Arden could feel her lower lip quiver, in both anger and in sadness, but she knew she had to continue, had to say everything before it was too late. For all she knew, once the Lance was done consuming Stephen’s life, it would consume hers in short order. “I hate you.”

Altaїr did not say anything and instead stare at her, his face expressionless.

“I hate you, I hate what happened, I hate…I hate all of this. I hate what you have done to me, what you did. I hate that you saved my life, that you let my mother die, that you did not tell me about my father Jack. I hate that you thought your arrogance could keep a Piece of Eden from taking over your soul and drag you to hell. I hate everything about you.” She could hear her own voice rising in anger, the tears forming in the corner of her eyes, but refused to let them fall, “I hate you, Altaїr Ibn la-Ahad. I hate that you thought you were Andrew, that you could lead the European Assassins to glory. That in your foolish arrogance you believed you could control the world.

“I would call you a Templar, but you are not that. You are just a man who has lived past his age and who cannot come to grips that he needs to die. I hate that you believe yourself beyond mere humans and that you would compare yourself to the First Civilization. I hate you!” she yelled unable to stop herself. I hate myself for blaming you. “How could you…”

She fell silent, her chest heaving, the air between them cracked and broken. Altaїr had gone utterly still and Arden knew that her words had struck him deeper than he would ever show. But it had to be done. She had to let him know. She loved him, yet she hated him. “You should have let me died when Jack attacked me. I should have died when my mother’s guts were spilled across the cobblestones…”

“I love you,” Altaїr suddenly engulfed her in a tight embrace, “as I have loved my sons. You are my daughter, never forget that.”

“I know,” she wept, her tears staining his clothes before she released him and hurried away, never once looking back at him as the seagulls cried. She hated this cursed life.

* * *

Author’s Notes:

This chapter was actually supposed to be a part of last chapter, but due to length and also tone/pacing, I’ve decided to post it as a separate one. Arden’s speech to Altaїr at the end of the chapter may seem like its out of nowhere, but she’s dealing with a lot of emotions, information, and the reality of what happened and is blaming the only person she can really blame. Next chapter is back to Desmond’s POV and you’ll find out what really happened while he was trapped in the Animus.

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Author’s Notes: Very long chapter ahead!

Story:

Chapter 37 – Parcae

Desmond absently wiped clean a tall glass with a cloth that he had found in the drawer of the kitchenette-bar that was in the spacious loft. It had been converted from an old warehouse garage, sitting next to the rocks and what counted as a beach on Staten Island. The garage loft opened up to a spectacular view of the Upper Bay, where the East Side River and Hudson met up. If one squinted, one could see the distant island that was Manhattan, to the left Liberty Island and New Jersey, to the right Queens and Governor’s Island. The Staten Island ferry made its rounds on the dot and Desmond had felt a sense of déjà vu when they had arrived in the early hours of the morning after a very long drive from the enclave.

It was not hard for him to imagine hopping on the subway, passing into Queens and from there to the tip of Manhattan to go to work at one of the many bars that he worked at while he stayed in New York City during his time on the run. It had been where he had been captured by Abstergo. He had arrived in the city nearly two years ago and crashed with a couple of roommates found on Craigslist before moving to a different neighborhood in Queens, this time crashing with some college students.

It certainly didn’t help that the loft had its own bar and Desmond had automatically gravitated towards it while his parents, still in mourning over the loss of Amanda climbed upstairs to one of the two bedrooms available in the loft. Rebecca who had driven the last leg of their journey had immediately claimed the other bedroom before passing out even before she managed to change her clothes. They had left her at that, closing the door behind her, but not before Shaun had kindly draped a blanket over her while muttering about her getting a stiff neck in the morning.

It turned out that this was one of Ezio’s personal safe houses and one that he frequented on occasion during the years. The times he was not there, he rented it out to foreigners who were on holiday in the U.S. or even to couples looking for a weekend getaway. Desmond did not know what to make of it, suspecting that Ezio also used it to keep an eye on him while he had been living in Manhattan, but he did not feel like confronting his ancestor about it.

Desmond looked up from his polishing as he heard a few muffled thumps and a mild swear in Italian. He could only imagine Ezio finding enough cushions or at least blankets for the rest of them to sleep on. But sleep eluded Desmond as he held up the glass to the light, examining it with a professional eye. Satisfied that it was gleaming clean, something he wished many of the bars he worked at was able to achieve, he set it down and picked up a smaller one, rubbing it gently with the towel in his hand.

It was soothing to do something as mundane, as familiar as this and it helped relieve the stress that he knew had been building. The others had politely not questioned him during the trip, but Desmond knew that sooner or later, he would be asked what had happened. He needed to think, needed to organize his thoughts. He mentally shook his head at the offer from the memory of Arden who told him that she was good at compartmentalizing her thoughts. No thank you, he thought back and could feel her presence shrug before retreating to leave him as he was. He heard the memory of Altaїr grumbling towards the muffled thumps about having such a disorganized bureau and silently laughed.

And that was the problem.

He knew he had changed, knew that the others sensed something different. It made his living ancestors, Altaїr and Ezio wary. From Arden, he did not sense anything, but then again, he knew what she had to do now, what she wanted to do. Her burden was terrible and Desmond could only wish he could lend his own support, but it was not time yet. She had barely spoken a word on their journey here and he could now see the worried looks Altaїr shot towards Arden each time he thought no one was looking. In the time he was able to sleep on their trip up here, he finally understood the harsh words spoken at Portsmouth, understood the dynamic between student and master, and understood why it needed to be done.

He finally understood Stephen’s reluctance at explaining what the Lance had asked him, understood why he had not spoken about the pact made with it. But he wondered, in the long run, if Stephen knew that withholding the information from Arden made her life that much more tragic. The young woman only wanted to fiercely protect those closest to her, to keep them at arm’s length even though she did not know she was doing it.

Desmond set the smaller glass down and stared out at the glittering distant city lights of Manhattan. In the brief moment when Jack stabbed the Lance into Arden, he heard the unearthly scream that set his teeth on edge, made his skin prickle before the memory abruptly cut out.

Desmond heard a more distant guttural scream echo the remnant fading one that rang in his ears as he found himself surrounded by jagged, angry black lines. The blue sparkle of scattering bits of DNA and lines of code that colored the loading buffer of the Animus occasionally winked in and out, but the black lines ruthlessly overrode them with prejudice. He realized that it was his own body, outside the Animus that had screamed and shuddered.

He wanted to shy back from the jagged lines that seemed to lash out at everything, but when one passed through his body quickly, he did not feel anything. However, it still did not comfort him that these lines felt dangerous, felt…sinister. He somehow felt different, detached even, from his physical body and briefly wondered if he had somehow lost himself to the Animus, to the Piece of Eden.

“No,” the precise accented-voice spoke up behind him and Desmond turned to see the avatar of Altaїr, dressed in the familiar black armor Ezio had worn. He stood a few steps away from him, seemingly flickering in and out amidst the jagged lines.

“But you may,” Ezio suddenly materialized next to Altaїr, dressed in black robes too and Desmond took a step back.

“Whoa, wait a minute-“

There was a buzzing sound near his feet and Desmond turned to see Arden’s prone body, still dressed in the costume she wore to the ball, on the ground, the Lance of Longinus impaled in her. “…the fuck…” Desmond looked around him, trying to peer through the jagged black lines, trying to see what the hell was going on.

“Kill it…” an ethereal voice called out, “kill it…” The words repeated over and over again, sometimes like a breathless whisper in his ear, sometimes far away. He thought he heard the echo pierce his mind, but then it suddenly disappeared just as fast, only for it to speak once more. “Kill it…kill it!”

Desmond spun in place as the echoes grew louder and louder until it grated on his nerves and he clapped his hands over his ears. But that did not stem the tide and he squeezed his eyes shut in a futile effort to stop it from echoing everywhere, in his head, in his body. “Stop it!” he shouted, squinting his eyes open just a hair to see the avatars staring at him blankly. To his shock and horror, he also noticed Arden’s prone body twisting her head to stare at him too and fell to his knees as the voices grew louder.

“Kill it! Kill it! KILL IT!”

It spoke with an unseen power behind it and he could feel it trying to force him to obey it, to submit to it. He gritted his teeth as he squeezed his eyes shut once more and curled in on his himself, hunching over. He knew he did not want to kill whatever ‘it’ was, he could not. He knew that if he gave in to the pressure, to the voices, he would not be able to find himself again. He would be completely lost.

Help me! He reached out, trying to find the familiar presence of his ancestors, and thought he grasped onto the tattered edges of Altaїr only to find him slipping away just as quickly. He reached out once more and hissed in pain as he felt something claw against his back, ripping a line of pain that burned. He let one of his arms swing free to reach behind him, instinctively expecting to find blood, but did not feel anything.

“Kill it…kill it!”

“No!” he shouted, his breath coming in gasps as he pressed his hands closer to his ears, trying to drown out the droning sound. It did not help that he felt something akin to a pleasurable pain when the whisper brushed his ears, only to feel its loss keenly as it faded away. Was this the Piece of Eden’s work? Or was it the Lance’s work? He felt so confused, and for a second wondered if it was indeed the Lance’s work, should he not listen to the voices-

“Yes…Kill it!” there was a second of triumph in the whisper before Desmond fought it off once more.

No, he could not. It was not the Lance, he was sure of it. Deep within him, he felt something protest against that thought and grasped onto it, clinging to it like a life preserver. The protesting thought was like a beacon to him, it told him that he did not have to listen to the whispers, the need the urge to kill whatever ‘it’ was. He could feel a redoubling of effort, trying to somehow tell him, without words that he need not wonder what ‘it’ was, all he needed to do was to obey, to let things happen.

What things?! He countered fiercely before grunting as another lash of pain whipped across his back.

He could feel the smoldering anger as the voices and sensations doubled their efforts, assaulting him from all sides. He choked; gasping as he thought the air was forced out of him and nearly fell flat to the ground. He could not falter now, not when he had the memories, the knowledge of two master assassins and was so close to gaining a third one. He could not!

Desmond forced his eyes open a little to see the black jagged lines jumping and twitching all around him, angry, furious. He thought he could make out the distant blurry figures of the avatars of his ancestors – he could not rely on them. They were not his ancestors; they were only facsimiles of Altaїr and Ezio. I deny you, he thought.

That thought bolstered him and Desmond found that he could breathe again. He took in a lungful, reveling in its sweet taste.

“…kill it, kill it, kill it, killitkillitkillitkillit…”

“SHUT UP!” he screamed and just as suddenly the whispers and echoing voices stopped, leaving the void of silence deafening his ears.

Desmond heard his own hoarse gasps and with some hesitation fully opened his eyes, the pressure that had once been upon them all but faded. He lowered his hands from his ears, grimacing a little at the little sparks of pain on either side, a testament to how hard he was pressing his hands against his head. He shuddered, feeling a little odd, freed from the pleasurable pain that had also assaulted him, trying to make him give in.

As he looked up, he saw two women, dressed in the flowing garbs he had long recognized from Ezio’s memories step away from the avatars of his ancestors, seemingly materialized from inside of them. They wore imperious looks on their faces and glowered down at him before as one, turned their gazes to where Arden’s body laid. Desmond also looked at Arden and scooted back a little as he saw someone seemingly rise out of her body, a young girl, maybe a couple of years younger than Amanda. However as she stared at him, he knew that she was anything but a young girl.

Her eyes were old, but not the agelessness of his immortal ancestors. They were also smoldering with anger and irritation. “We realize his plan,” her voice was that of a woman’s, full and cultured. She raised an elegant finger at him, her nails filed, polished, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. At the same time he could feel the undercurrent of danger and somehow imagined those nails suddenly growing, turning into spears and piercing someone.

“His…who…?” he asked, tensing, expecting an attack, but the girl glared at him, her pale almost translucent eyes in the jagged lines of the Animus blazing.

“Him,” she sneered before one of the other women, an older woman, but not the crone next to her, pointed towards the flickering avatar image of Altaїr. “He thinks to shatter the spindle of destiny, of fate. We shall not let him.” The young girl turned towards him and a cruel smile appeared on her lips.

He wanted to take a step back, but somehow found himself unable too, staring at her translucent eyes. He was mesmerized by their ancient power, an oddly familiar one that he remembered feeling…somewhere… It was like a velvety whisper that spoke in his ear, showed him images. He thought he could see something out of the corner of his eye, but the image was shadowed, blurred against the jagged lines – wait a moment, why were there jagged lines amidst the blue-hues of…hues…blue…

He felt a crawling sensation on his arms and lifted one up to his face, partially obscuring the girl that held him with her gaze. A part of him was so glad, so happy that he was able to do this, but he could not reconcile as to why. Why…

[There is no why…] he thought he heard from the girl, but her lips did not move as he stared at his left arm.

That was odd…it was like watching pieces flake off, floating into the air, only to disintegrate as it was speared by the jagged lines. But was there not supposed to be a blue hue, he wondered? Was this not right…no…it was not right. It was…

The flaking-

That was not right.

A Piece of his skin – what was skin in this world of zeros and ones, of code – code! That was it! It was a code…a code…

“C-Code…” he managed to whisper as he stared at his hand, flexing his fingers back and forth, able to comprehend that the undulations were random, not deliberate, not set in code. That was right, it was not set. Nothing was set…nothing…

Nothing was true…

Yet everything was permitted…

Desmond suddenly cried out and instinctively curled up once more on his knees as he felt the sensation turn into a crawling wave of pain that ran up his arms and spread across his body. He saw the jagged lines increase their random patterns in a renewed fury and could not help but give a strangled scream as he thought he could feel the skin upon himself burn off. It was like being flayed alive and he tried to hunch over more, try to flatten himself, anything to make the pain disappear.

He managed to squint and lift a shaking hand to see the layers of skin peeling from his fingertips, revealing streams of ones and zeroes; a code, his code, he realized. His digital avatar projection in the Animus, the Piece of Eden.

“STOP RESISTING!” the girl’s frustrated screech tore through him, leaving him gasping, but as he continued to stare at his hands slowly being digitized and replaced, he could feel a deep seeded anger grow within him.

How dare they…whoever they were. How dare… It was the girl! It was the girl, it was the woman and the old woman who were doing this – it had to be!

“Morta!” she screamed and Desmond did not know if it was a curse or not, but he tried to shunt the pain away from him, even though it hurt so much. It was only a digital projection, he repeated to himself, a digital projection that should not hurt-

Desmond instinctively curled in some more as he felt a lash of pain cut across his head before he managed to uncurl and glare at the girl. He saw her hand extended, small sparkles of the blue-white digital puffs of smoke he had long recognized from the Animus 1.0 and bits of silvery-white from the Animus 2.0 on the tips of her fingers. He did not know what she was trying to do, but he was willing to bet that it was where all of the hurt, the crawling pain was coming from.

He flung his arm at a wild attempt to hit her, even though he knew he was too far away, still too weak, hurting too much to do anything. But he needed to do it, to show that he was still defiant, that they had not beaten him in whatever sick game or attempt they were trying to force upon him. He was in charge here, he was in the Animus and they could not hurt him-these avatars, projections, memories of his ancestors.

To his surprise, Desmond saw the girl stagger back, shock playing across her features before her translucent eyes narrowed and she sneered at him before drawing her fist back. He only had a split second to realize what he had truly done before she flung her hand straight at him and Desmond was hurled to the ground, spread eagle and flat on his back.

He opened his mouth to scream as the agony of almost thousands, if not hundreds-of-thousands of needle like knives seemingly pierced him. However, with no breath, he could not even make a sound.

“WE ARE THE PARCAE. WE ARE THE ANIMUS AND YOU WILL OBEY US! YOU WILL SUBMIT TO OUR WILL!” he heard their thundering voices, crashing against his ears, against every single fiber of his body and being. He heard it in the jagged lines above him and through him, heard it in the flaking of the skin, the peeling of his own digital self and heard it screaming in whatever was left of his body.

He saw bits and pieces of images, people he could not comprehend as he continued to try to scream. He needed to scream, needed to hear himself, he did not know why, but he needed to. It was… He thought he saw a familiar face, one he recognized…she had darkened hair, features that he thought he had seen before, golden eyes-

Cobblestones; oil lamps that were slowly giving way to the latest technology, something called electrical currents. Horse drawn carriages…he, no, she? Was it she? She recognized, he recognized the place. The familiar salty air of a port – no wait, he had departed already – America. Yes, that was it…away from the soot and dirty air to the plains. Rolling hills…this was home. The Farm? What was the Farm? It was railways…

The warm early summer breeze flicked strands of her dark hair into her eyes, those not pinned down by the hat she wore as the train sped along the tracks, headed back to St. Louis. Occasionally she smelled the acrid smoke of burning fuel, but this far back in the luxury section of the cars, it was not that much of a bother. She shifted a little in her seat as her hand absently rested on the visible bump of her stomach.

“Is the baby bothering you?” Arden turned her head a little to see her husband smiling at her, his craggy face crinkling in kindness.

“No,” she shook her head a little, a small smile on her lips as she glanced down at where her hand was and could not help but feel a small spark of joy and sadness. “Just…a few more months…”

“It’s all right,” he reached out with a weathered wrinkled hand and covered her own, stroking her knuckles with the calloused tips of his own fingers, “I am at peace.”

“I am not,” she refused to look at him and stared back out at the empty plains that they were racing through. Occasionally she saw a glimpse of a few herds, maybe some wild buffalo, but they were mere dots amongst the yellow-brown fields. There were patches of wild reds, purples, and greens, wildflowers, but they moved too fast for her to get a good look.

“Remember what I told you? Back in London?” he squeezed her hand gently, “do not blame Altaїr for this.”

She did not answer him, the anger, hurt, denial she had felt for sixteen years still burning inside of her. She had yelled, she had screamed, she had railed against her former master and she could not forgive him, could not forgive herself for his deception even though she knew that there was none. It was easier that way, she supposed, to pin the blame on him, even though he was vaguely connected to all of this. She needed someone to blame, could not blame her husband even though it was his life she was taking.

“Arden,” his voice was quiet, almost pleading, but gentle and she finally looked at her husband of twenty years, even though she supposed that they had been married since he had sacrificed his own life for hers on that fateful night twenty-six years ago.

Stephen Miles, though technically in his late thirties, looked much older than that. He looked like a seventy-year-old man with his shock of white hair, craggy features, and withered old hands. She had never told him, but each time she saw his features grow older, year after year, while she still looked so young, pretty, in the cusp of womanhood, she wanted to cry. “What do you want from me?” she was tired of this argument, this discussion that inevitably was brought up year after year.

It had become a heated discussion the first time Stephen had expressed a desire to have children. It turned into weeks of silence between them when their first child had been born and the transformation of her husband from a healthy slightly older looking man into what he was now, old and fading shocking everyone. Even Stephen’s former master, Ezio had been there when she had given birth had been taken aback at the Lance’s sudden glow enveloping Stephen before Arden felt the wounds gained in the birthing process instantly heal, wiping the exhaustion away, revitalizing her.

The midwife had crossed herself and nearly fled in terror, claiming that it was the devil’s work and she had given birth to the devil’s baby before being calmed and restrained by Ezio and taken to another room to recuperate. Though Arden never knew what happened to the midwife, she suspected that Ezio had her killed a few weeks later to prevent her from speaking about any of this. It was hard enough that while most of society accepted her as Stephen’s wife and mother of his child; they still wondered and openly pointed at their age difference, sometimes whispering behind their backs that Stephen was nothing but a dirty old man who liked to bed really young women.

After the birth of their first child Arden had refused to conceive a second one, stating that she was content. In reality, she was afraid, scared that any more harm to herself or her body would kill her husband. But now…

“I want to know that you will be all right,” Stephen squeezed her hand again and stared at her, his hazel eyes kind, a gentle smile on his face, “I want to know that you will not mourn or do anything reckless when I am gone.”

She wanted to throw the words she had thrown at Altaїr – I hate you. She wanted to say those words, curse him, yell at him for dying on her, to say that he was selfish, just like Altaїr because he loved her too much; all because he wanted another child and she had been too weak, too in love with him to refuse his request. And now…she knew that when she will give birth in a few months, the Lance would take the rest of Stephen’s life to keep her alive. She did not know what would happen afterwards, but she hoped that perhaps after Stephen died, she would begin to age and finally grow old.

She knew many women had been jealous of her looks, many commenting that after a few years of not seeing her, it had seemed she had not aged a single day. They had then pressed her as to her secret to revitalize her youth and she had only shrugged before mumbling something regarding genetics. She hated it, the stares, the jealous looks others shot her, the envy. It did not make her feel like an Assassin, one who should have been hidden. Instead, she felt exposed and naked, wondering what good was she if everyone always commented about her agelessness instead of her deeds within the Order.

Ezio had been little help, for the most part having disappeared for a few years at a time, occasionally returning for perhaps a week or two before disappearing again. Arden did not bother to ask what his missions were; she suspected that he was hunting down leads regarding potential Pieces of Eden, perhaps even working with Altaїr. Perhaps he was even involved in the war currently engulfing Europe. She had heard rumors in the times she and Stephen received messages from their fellow brothers and sisters in the Order regarding their efforts to combat the sudden Templar offensive. She had no doubt that Altaїr was involved in the war, maybe even leading the effort in the name of the European branch of the Order.

In those times, Arden was too proud to ask after her former master, too proud to even send an apology for the vitriolic words she did not mean to hurl at him during their parting. But she could not – pride and resentment, mostly childish reasons now, prevented her from doing so.

She knew that her resentment against Altaїr and even a little bit towards Ezio was the fact that neither of them deemed to tell her that there was a chance that they could have helped so many people with their immortality. That the potential for preventing her mother's death could have been there, dangling in front of them if they had only just reached out. She resented that they did not help others, save so many lives and instead stood by and watched as some withered and died.

She remembered Stephen telling her all of this, what the Lance had supposedly told him when they were out on the London rooftops during her recuperation period. She had been shocked that the Lance seemingly spoke to Stephen and wondered if he had been possessed by the demon. But he had said in earnest that the Lance sometimes saw things and gave morsels of information to him. It had told him a little about its previous...master...for the lack of a better word, about Jack, and Stephen said that the Lance saw things.

However, she remembered Stephen also hearing caution from Ezio regarding the Lance's words, that anything it told him could be suspect. Ezio did not mention the reason why, but Arden suspected that perhaps the Italian Assassin's own experience with the Apple of Eden made him cautious. However, it had been an off-hand comment between Ezio and Stephen all those years ago that had made her a little angry at Altaїr. She had overheard that Altaїr used the Apple frequently and divined it constantly to search for objects or at least get hints of what would happen in the future.

She had wondered if her master had seen this and had only provided a semblance of comfort to her. If she had been saved from Jack's attack on her mother all those years ago just for this. It had led her to suspect, to doubt everything that her master had done and it had made her angry. When Altaїr had embraced her and called her his daughter before she had left, it had made her realize that even if he knew, even if he did suspect, he still loved her like his own. She would have apologized, except for her pride.

“I will be fine,” she replied quietly, “perhaps in a few years, I may join you.”

“Arden,” Stephen's gaze sharpened a little, “do not joke about that. Joshua and the baby will need you for a while now.”

“I know,” she rubbed her stomach again, “I know...”

Stephen suddenly scratched the back of his head, looking for a brief moment, his young self before all of this happened, “You probably think I am selfish for giving you another child in exchange for my own life-”

“Hush,” she cut him off with a shake of her head, “I am also at peace with that.”

“Arden,” he suddenly leaned forward again and tightened his grip on her fingers, surprising her with strength. She would have thought with his old feeble hands that he could not grip anything so tightly, not with him complaining about his joints every so often, “this child, our child. He must survive.”

“Stephen we do not even know if the baby will be a boy-”

“He will,” Stephen smiled that mysterious damning smile that she had seen so many times on Ezio or even Altaїr's face. He must have taken lessons from his former master; it was the smile that had ultimately won her over to agreeing to become Mrs. Arden Miles.

“Stephen?” she could sense an undercurrent of urgency in her husband's tone.

“Whatever happens, the baby is the most important. Not the Lance, not anyone else-”

“Stephen what is happening? Did the Lance tell you-?”

The sudden familiar high pitched giggle coming down from the entrance to the car made her abruptly stop and sit back, Stephen doing the same as he absently smoothed his sleeves and reach back to grab the hilt of the Lance for reassurance. Arden flicked the small catch to her hidden blade on her left hand, releasing and sheathing the blade before looking up with a smile on her face as her eldest child raced towards them, a wild smile on his face.

“Mother!” seven-year-old Joshua Miles was holding a wooden toy bird and flying it in the air before he crashed into the empty seat next to hers. “Look what Uncle Nikolai gave to me!”

“That is very sweet of him,” she nodded before she and Stephen looked up to see the legendary and famed Assassin Nikolai Orelov walking towards them, having shepherded their son back to the car.

“Master Orelov,” she greeted politely, still unsure and uneasy around the old man. If Stephen looked positively old, Orelov looked even older and ancient. She and Stephen had been sent by Ezio to search for the old Assassin a couple of years ago, receiving a tip that the former member of the Order had settled somewhere between San Francisco, California and the wilderness of a small town called Juneau. Orelov's reasons for leaving the Order were a closely guarded secret, but Ezio had told them that he had been involved with Nikola Tesla's attempt to destroy the sceptre Piece of Eden and it was something he and Altaїr had been researching for a while now.

Ezio had suggested this mission to them since it had the potential to lead to possibly the Lance of Longinus' destruction and Arden had jumped at the chance. However the Italian Assassin had cautioned that they did not know what happened to Orelov or if he was willing to talk about what happened. When they had arrived at San Francisco, they had spent several months, in the guise of a traveling family, looking for any of his relatives and discovered his wife and daughter living there.

Orelov's wife, Anna had reluctantly told them where to find her estranged husband, but also cautioned that the rest of the family considered him mad due to his occasional insane ramblings. Arden and Stephen discovered that Orelov now lived in the wilderness along the Canadian coast and so spent a couple more years searching for him. Then several days ago, they had found him and though Arden suspected that it had been Stephen who told him something regarding the Lance, Orelov had agreed to accompany them back to New York City to meet Ezio.

“Mrs. Miles,” Orelov greeted equally politely before taking a seat next to Stephen, “your son has quite the energy. An old man is hard pressed to keep up.”

Arden had to smile a little before absently reaching over and ruffling Joshua's rough bed of hair. Her eldest looked a lot like his father and for that she was glad that he had Stephen's features instead of her own, which would have made him look eerily like both Ezio and Altaїr. She knew her own features could have passed for the younger sibling of her two ancestors – the thought of that still unnerved her – but she was glad it had not been passed to Joshua.

“Master Orelov-” Arden stopped as the old assassin held up his gloved hand, still wearing the furs and pelts of the wilderness that he had come from. It had made for an unusual sight when they had boarded the train in San Francisco, but most had readily ignored it when he began to jabber in Russian, some of the people turning away, feigning ignorance.

“Please, I am no longer a master or a part of the Order. Nikolai is fine,” he rumbled gently.

“Nikolai,” Arden found it hard to roll the name off of her tongue, so used to calling others based on their rank or in polite society. “The sceptre fragment...”

“Is in a safe place,” Orelov finished for her, the ghost of a smile on his lips, “the knowledge I gained will be imparted to Master Ezio. If Master Stephen here did not tell me of the circumstances of the Lance and of what has happened, then I would not have followed you all the way out here.” He chuckled, a gravelly sound, “I will admit, it would be nice to meet a famed member of the Order. An old man should at least see a wish fulfilled before he dies.”

Arden shot a quick look at Stephen who was nodding in agreement. She frowned – she did not like how her husband was agreeing with Orelov. Stephen was not old, by any means even though he looked like an old man.

“Mother, look! A bridge over a canyon!” Joshua suddenly pointed towards the windows and Arden looked out, nodding at her son's excitement before she suddenly frowned. There was something not quite right as the train started to cross the curve of the bridge before she saw the engine suddenly explode into a million pieces. Metal on metal screeched in protest before Arden felt herself thrown around the car as the rest of the train started to teeter off the tracks. She instinctively placed one hand on her stomach, the other grabbing Joshua by the shoulders and pulling him tightly towards her before she felt Stephen's arms around her shoulder, determined to shield her as they fell from their seats.

She felt pieces of loose luggage strike her and Joshua cried as something clipped her outstretched arm and hit him. Arden pulled him closer, squeezing her eyes shut as they rode out the bumps and dislodging of the train before everything screeched to a halt, leaving whispers, and stunned passengers in its wake. As soon as she felt the train come to a halt she immediately pushed her son up patted her hands through his hair, face, and body, checking for any injuries.

Joshua made a slightly annoyed sound before pushing her hands away and Arden let go of him, a sudden relief at seeing her boy safe and without any major bruising. She turned to see Orelov gingerly pick himself up and pushed herself off from the floor to help him as she caught Stephen peering out of the window. Several others who were in the luxury car were also helping others, one of the conductors helping a frail old lady who had a nasty looking cut that was gushing blood on her forehead.

“...the bloody hell was that?” she heard a fellow British passenger exclaim as he also peered out of the window.

“Oh my stars, we're hanging off the bridge!” a woman exclaimed followed by muffled screams of the others as they looked around in fear.

“Stephen?” she saw her husband lean back in a grim expression on his face. However, he did not turn to her and instead caught Orelov's eye who nodded. Arden immediately knew that they were keeping something vital from her and she frowned.

“It is time,” the old Russian seemed to heave a relieved sigh before searching his pockets, “by God you were right.”

“Arden,” Stephen finally turned to her and she saw the sad smile on his face.

“Stephen, whatever you are-”

“I need you to listen very carefully,” she watched as he lifted his left arm and roll up the sleeve of his jacket, exposing the bracer containing his hidden blade. He started to undo its simple clasps before handing her the bracer. “Put this on-”

“Stephen-”

“Please, Arden, please just listen to me, all right?” he said quietly and firmly and Arden shut her mouth, a sudden sense of apprehension and sadness filling her. She wanted to cry again even though she did not know the reason why. “Put it on...” he prompted her and she did so with the utmost reluctance. She could hear the conductor gently instructing people to slowly make their way towards the back of the car to get off and not to rush, but ignored all of the white noise.

As soon as she strapped the bracer to her right arm, she felt something whisper in the back of her mind, sending chills down her spine. Turning the bracer over, she thought she saw it glow faintly and looked up at Stephen in concern. However, he only smiled and nodded before she looked towards the sheath he always wore and saw the faint glow of the Lance breaking through the sheath.

“What...”

“I had taken a sliver of the Lance's metal, well, it is not really metal, and had it made into a blade. It was meant to be a present to you, but I did not want to remind you of it,” he explained.

“A-And now...?” Arden suddenly felt afraid as she clenched her fists together, minutely shaking her head.

“The Lance...it sometimes tells me things,” Stephen said, “much like I suppose how the Apple told Ezio and Altaїr things. At first, I did not realize that some of which it whispered to me was future events, but now, I see.”

“Stephen, do not-”

“I knew this was going to happen. The Templars, they know that we had contacted Master Orelov here,” he gestured vaguely to Nikolai who had stopped rummaging through his pockets and had a neutral look on his face, “they had been searching for him for a while now.”

“Because of what happened...with Tesla?”

“Amongst other things,” Orelov rumbled.

“The Templars are here,” he reached out and touched her arm, making her sit back down, “you cannot fight them-”

“But I have my rifle-”

“You cannot,” Stephen shook his head, “you must survive. The child, our child, he must survive.”

“But,” she looked at him in anguish, all of the sudden feeling helpless. “I told you, I do not need protection even though...” she trailed off as she thought about the consequences of setting up a sniper position in the back of the train, shooting any Templar who dared come close. There was the chance that she would be shot and injured, and then the Lance would steal even more of Stephen's life to heal her instantly. Had Stephen foreseen his own death if she was to do such a thing?

She turned to Joshua to see him staring excitedly out of the window and turned back to see Stephen also staring at him, but there was something sad in his eyes and she felt her breath hitched. No...it could not be. The Lance told Stephen that her eldest son would not survive? “No...”

“They are after Orelov's sceptre Piece. They are after the Lance,” he turned back to look at her.

“So then, what do we do?” she felt like she was in the meat-packing factory all over again. Helpless and unable to do anything; except this time she knew that Altaїr was not here. No one, except for Ezio supposedly knew of their mission. But there could have been leaks when they had gotten to San Francisco or had been searching Orelov all over the western United States-Canadian coastline.

“The Lance,” Stephen reached behind him and drew out the Lance. Arden wanted to recoil at its unholy glow, a sickening crawling feeling puckering her skin. “Do you know why Altaїr wanted it? Why it had only been mentioned once or twice, but lost to the flow of history since it pierced Jesus Christ's side?”

She had a feeling that he was speaking rhetorically and kept her silence.

“It is considered Anathema, blight upon all other Pieces of Eden created. The objects left behind by our predecessors, the mysterious God-like race that Ezio encountered as a ghostly image of sorts in the Sistine Chapel; they imbued each Piece with the anima of their creators. But such power always needed to be kept in check and so one was created to destroy them.”

“The Lance.”

He smiled a little and rotated the blade slowly in his hands, “The Lance. It can act like the others, like the Apple in a way to keep others alive, but at a sacrifice. It can also drive those who do not truly understand its power completely and utterly mad.”

“...Jack?”

“Possibly,” Stephen shook his head, “I do not know and the Lance will not tell me.”

“So...”

“The Lance's primary purpose is to destroy the Pieces of Eden, obliterating them from existence,” Stephen looked at her through the blade and Arden could see the truth in his words, “the Templars will not get Orelov's remnant Piece.”

“Nor will they receive the knowledge that I have divined from picking this cursed object up at Tugunska,” Orelov interrupted them and she turned to see him holding a pebble-sized object, seemingly glowing fiercely in his hand, “do it now, Master Stephen before it takes control of me and uses me to attack you.”

“As you wish,” Arden drew back against her seat, shaking her head wildly as she saw Stephen draw his own arm back before thrusting it forward. There was a split second where Arden saw the tip of the Lance head hit the small pebble-size object in Orelov's palm before everything was a blinding light. She closed her eyes and let out an involuntary scream as she felt something start to tear from her only to feel the tear stop before everything went dark again.

As she opened her eyes, she saw Stephen pulling the Lance head out of Orelov's chest, covered in blood and the former Russian assassin slumped back against his seat, his eyes open in death, but his expression at peace. She heard a hacking cough and her eyes widened in shock as she saw Stephen slump back against his own, his hand shaking feebly as he held the Lance.

“S-Stephen...” Arden whispered as she reached forward with a tentative hand, almost unable to comprehend that the now-skeletal figure who was no more than skin stretched so horribly thin over bones was her husband. It was as if he had suddenly aged thirty years, placing his seventy-year-old body near one-hundred.

“I...probably look h-horrible,” he croaked, his once vibrant voice now no more than a mere whisper. “Do I...look...” he coughed again, “so bad, Arden?”

“N-No...” she felt tears falling down her face as he smiled, a death's head-smile. “You...you look...handsome...”

“Liar,” he lifted his free arm to try to cover his cough.

“F-Father...?” Arden had forgotten Joshua was there as he approached them apprehensively.

“Joshua...” Stephen's too-wide eyes turned to stare at their son before he lifted his right hand, the one that held the Lance and gestured it towards him, “t-take...it.”

“No!” Arden intercepted her son's hand before he could reach out and take it and quickly reached over to undo the sheath that Stephen always wore, desperately trying to ignore the feel of her husband's bones against the material of his clothing. Once she had the sheath she took the Lance, feeling an alien voice flare a little in her mind before she sheathed it and strapped it to her son's back.

“Do not touch it, no matter what, do you understand Joshua?” she did not want her son to end up like Jack or God forbid, like Stephen, using his young life to sustain hers.

“Yes mother,” he nodded solemnly.

She reached out and kissed him gently on the forehead, “Go now. I will follow you soon.”

“Where do I go?” Joshua suddenly looked afraid. Arden quickly looked out of the window and noticed men dressed in black suits approaching their car. Some were wading through the crowd of passengers that had already escaped. Templars...they were everywhere.

“Down the canyon. Remember all those hide-and-seek we were playing?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Hide from the black suited men, all right? Mommy will follow and find you,” she hoped that by the time Joshua had found a good hiding spot, she would be able to follow with Stephen in tow. She just hoped that Joshua did not get too far to activate the Lance's defensive mechanism that always sent her to her knees in writhing pain.

“Yes mother,” her son nodded again before hugging her, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she returned the embrace before he reached out with a small hand and grasped Stephen's hand before hurrying away.

She watched as her son ducked and hid behind boulders dug up by the train partially derailed before making his way away from the train and towards the canyon. Turning back to Stephen she saw her husband with a smile on his face.

“We need to get you-”

“I am not going anywhere, Arden,” Stephen coughed again, a hacking, wheezing sound that grated harshly against her ears. “Arden, I am dying. I can feel it, in my bones, in my very soul. The Lance...it used the last of my life to destroy Orelov's Piece.” He took a deep breath, “I think Altaїr knows the Lance's capabilities, though I have only suspected of his knowledge. But I think he also knows enough not to take away whatever we have left of each other...” He laughed a little, a hoarse sound, “His time will come...when he must surrender the Apple. But for now...for now he will need it to guide him through the coming storm.”

Arden was quiet as Stephen fell silent, his eyes shifting this way and that. She never noticed how pretty of a hazel color they were until now; how the light changed his eyes from a dark hazel to hints of light green.

“You will be fine when the baby comes,” Stephen lifted a shaking hand and placed it on the bump on her stomach, caressing it gently. “You will be fine...”

“Stephen...” Arden heard her own voice cracking; something was squeezing her heart so tightly that she felt like she could not breathe, “...I am not...don't go...” She lifted his hand into her own, entwining their fingers together, “I am not ready.”

Her husband only smiled at her, a peaceful one, “No one ever is...but when death comes for you, the only thing you can do is smile right back.”

She stayed silent as she watched him struggle for another breath before leaning in a little closer to her, “Arden...we will meet again, I can promise you that.” He coughed, his finger shaking against hers, “You were a wonderful wife and you will be a good mother...”

“...I want to join you...now...” she whispered, tears falling freely down her face.

“Later, my love, later,” he replied, “When the time comes, you will know.”

“I love you,” she whispered as she saw him turn his head a little before the light died from his eyes and his fingers fell limply from hers. “I love you...” A small keening sound echoed in her ears before she realized it had been from her own mouth. She covered it as the sobs overtook her, shaking her with grief. She could not even reach over to close his far-away eyes as she hugged herself tightly, mourning. She could hear footsteps drawing closer and knew she had to move, but at this point Arden did not care. The loud sound of the door opening to her car grated against her ears before she heard heavy uneven footsteps thumping all around her and the sound of many guns cocking.

“They are dead, ma'am,” the voice of one of the Templars sounded above her, but she did not look up, too numb to her grief to even care.

“Pity,” the woman's voice spoke somewhere to her right before she suddenly found herself hauled roughly upwards, her arms yanked behind her in a painful grip. She knew that they were expecting her to fight their hold on her and thus treated her roughly, but she did not fight. Her eyes were riveted on Stephen's stilled face, a part of her clinging to the hope that he was not dead; his chest would rise and fall once more with the breath of life.

It was only the ringing sound of steel drawn out of a scabbard before the cold tip of the blade touching her chin did she turn her gaze away from Stephen to look up at its wielder. She was a stick-thin woman with narrow face. Her hair was done up in a severe looking bun and she surprisingly wore a soldier's uniform, but it had been tailored to her body, accenting whatever little curves she had. “I would have said that was your father, but judging by your expression, he was your husband, was he not?”

Arden did not answer, staring at the woman with dull eyes. She could feel a hollowness inside of her, her grief threatening to engulf everything that she was. She wanted to instinctively pull a hand to hold her stomach, cradling the life that Stephen had left for her, growing minute by minute, but her arms had been held back away from her body.

“Fascinating,” the woman stared at her as if viewing her under a magnifying lens. She turned her head a little at the sudden sound of gunfire and some shouts and Arden almost dismissed the sound until she stiffened at a sudden childish scream that rendered the air. Joshua...

“Careful! I want him alive!” the woman sudden shouted angrily, leaning a little out of a broken window.

Save him! Arden could hear herself scream for her muscles to move, to fight. She had both hidden blades on her, could easily cut through the guards holding her. Yet, she was frozen in place, unable to seemingly move even though she knew she could. There was nothing stopping her, nothing except the all consuming grief that she felt when she stared at Stephen's dead body. Another scream rendered the air, but it slowly faded away and Arden suddenly knew what happened... Oh Joshua...I...

“Sorry ma'am,” a soldier suddenly appeared by the door, a little disheveled in his appearance, “the boy...we wounded him and almost got him, but he slipped and fell into the canyon...

Arden saw the silvery blade move before a gurgling sound rendered the air followed by a splash of blood that sprayed across her cheeks. She blinked, more out of the reaction of having a liquid of sorts thrown into her eye than anything else and knew the soldier that had reported the news had died. The tip of the sword returned to rest against her cheek and she could feel the drip of blood sliding down her neck from its recent bath, but did not move.

“Stoic, even with news of your son's death,” the woman clucked her tongue before turning her head a little, “scour the canyon and river below. The boy was supposedly carrying a lance head. I want it found. Do not touch the object; just bring it to me in the sheath.”

“And if the boy is still alive?”

“Make sure he is dead,” the woman snapped.

“Aye ma'am,” a couple of the soldiers snapped their heels before the pounding of the boots told Arden that they had left to issue new orders to those outside.

“Not even a word all this time, Arden Miles?”

“...Allen,” she heard herself whisper.

“Excuse me?”

“Allen...” she looked at the shrewish woman, “I am Arden Allen...my husband is dead...”

“So quick to change back to your maiden name? My, you must be one cold woman,” the Templar woman smiled a little, “well then, Ms. Allen. I could kill you here, especially since you are pregnant and the world could do without one more spawn of an Assassin, but...there is a better way.” The woman lifted the point away from her chin and sheathed her sword, “Perhaps your baby will be of use to us.” She clasped her hands together, “No harm will befall you, Ms. Allen. You will be cared for and you will give birth to a healthy baby.”

“...No,” Arden tried to wrap her arms around her stomach before she remembered that were restrained and turned her head slightly. It was Stephen's last request that she protect the growing life inside of her, that this baby had to survive. But she knew that Stephen did not mean for it to survive and be taken away from her to be raised as a Templar. The baby was all that was left of her family now...

“No?” the Templar woman shook her head, “I believe you have no choice Ms. Allen. I could order you shot here and you and your unborn child would die right here, do you want that?”

Arden knew in a heartbeat that if it had not been Stephen's last request she would not care for her fate. She would have jumped at the chance to be with her husband and son in the afterlife, but with the life growing inside of her... She hung her head, despair filling her. “...No...” she whispered before she felt her arms being let go and curled them around her stomach, staring down at the ground. It would have been so easy to just kill herself with her own blades, yet Stephen...

He had promised they would meet up again, in the afterlife, but now, she had to protect her unborn child.

“I see that you understand,” the woman spoke up before leaning down to look up at her, “good. I am glad that we have come to a mutual agreement, Ms. Arden. I am known as Aileen and I am sure that we will become better acquainted in the next few months.”

She straightened back up before Arden caught a gesture of her hands waving in the air. “Bring her.”

“Ma'am, her bracers, the blades-”

“She will not harm any of you. She cares too much for her child to risk it. Such a foolish human sentiment and Assassin notion,” Aileen shook her head before heading out of the car. Arden took one last look at Stephen before she felt arms under her elbows and she was escorted out. She would honor Stephen's last request, but she would also plan her escape...

“Can you not feel the despair?!” the girl's voice shrieked in his, or was it her ears as he twitched and writhed under the agony of the digital flaying. She almost felt himself fighting back, but realized that time needed to be brought. He had to protect the unborn child, her unborn child. Wait a moment, child? But...there was no child – was there a child involved?

“You are nothing!” the words pounded into him, pounded into her, searing their brand upon him as he felt something worm its way up his hand. He tried to fight it, tried to shake it off, but he could not concentrate – why did he need to? She had failed, had failed Stephen, had failed Joshua-

“Yes, that’s it…give in…” he started at the greediness of the girl’s tone and opened his eyes to see her leering down at him, a wide smile on her face.

“...No...” he tried to croak out, but all he heard was an electronic garble that emerged from his mouth. Somehow he, she knew that this was not it. It could not end this way, the child- A child, whatever it was, it could not end like this. “It...can't...” the words would not emerge from his mouth, but he nonetheless glared up at the greedy eyes, daring the girl to continue her assault. A part of him wanted to scream and to give in to the horrific pain he felt through him, but he knew that if he did, he would not be able to find himself once more.

He wanted nothing more than to pick the pieces of his self, the digital flaying that peeled the outer layers of his self off and to shove it all into a box, but he had to fight. He wanted to curl up, to try to piece whatever was left of himself, to give in and save what was left, but he could not. He had to fight for the child's sake. Her child...his child? No, it was not his child, nonetheless he knew he had to fight for the child's sake.

“No!” the girl shrieked before her eyes blazed and he felt a lash to the side of his face, slamming him back into the ground. The pressure increased on his chest, pressing upon him, choking him. He could feel the curling edges of the tips of his fingers burn as the assault continued and opened his mouth, trying to breathe, trying to grasp onto the hazy edges of reality.

His vision blurred a little before he refocused on the distant form of a woman, dressed in the fineries of a costume ball, a familiar young lady who had been impaled by a glowing sword-like object. He recognized the faint hazy ground she was lying upon, cobblestone and knew her importance.

The child...her child. He recognized that the woman was to have a child...

Who was she?

“Submit!” the command ripped at him, making him writhe under its forcefulness.

She had submitted, he remembered living, or did he – no, he had not lived, she had lived. The young lady on the ground had lived, had submitted for a moment to the despair eating at her. Then, her husband – Stephen – had told her that she had to survive. That she could not give in, that the child had to survive when all around her died.

The child...

“There is no child!” the girl shouted above him and he turned to finally face the wrathful face once more.

“There...was a child...” he dared not look at the reflection of himself in the angry girl's eyes; afraid that if he saw the bits and pieces of himself spread across the jagged black lines, he would not be able to piece whatever was left of his mind.

The child was the future...the child...he was not the child, but the child was what was important. He seized at that thought and clutched it close to him, letting it fill him. The despair was only temporary, transient.

This was not the end of the story.

Desmond suddenly found the strength to reach up and seized the hand of the girl standing above him. His own hands were dripping ones and zeros, the digital self, digital skin flayed from his very being. They were dripping down the rest of his body like blood. He remembered that he had flesh and blood – that this...this was the Animus. As he gritted his teeth against the incredible pain that shot through him, threatening to overwhelm him, he glared at the girl who suddenly took a step back as if afraid. Her eyes reflected his and he saw that his were a brilliant gold, the gold of his ancestors.

“It's not over yet, Nona of the Parcae,” he knew her, knew her name and spoke it, feeling a tremble of fear as her avatar twitched. A ruthless smile appeared on his face as he tightened the grip on her thin, brittle hands, “Shall we go and see how this story ends?”

It was nearly time, Arden could feel it as she shifted her feet, the chains rattling quietly against the ground. The chain was useless as she could barely move, taking a few steps at a time, but she understood the Templars caution. The odd thing was that she was still surprised that she had been allowed to keep both of her hidden blades and had learned that it had been on Aileen's orders. She supposed the Templar woman wanted to see if she would end up committing suicide when they took the child from her.

But Arden would do no such thing or would allow the Templars to take her child away. She would fight as soon as her child was born, would sacrifice bits of her life to heal herself as soon as the child and afterbirth cleared her womb to fight to keep her child. That was when she would make her escape. She now understood why Stephen had a sliver of the Lance of Longinus made as a hidden blade.

Aileen had not said it, but the hints of frustration and anger the woman always wore told Arden that she had not been successful in retrieving the Lance after Joshua had fallen to his death in that canyon. She did not hold out hope that her eldest son had survived, but in a way was glad that the Lance was forever lost somewhere in the plains and deserts of the United States. She was now sole bearer of the part of the Lance of Longinus and knew that as soon as she gave birth, its power would be activated. She also feared that moment, for it would be when the Templar woman would know what she had been allowed to keep and would seize it from her along with her newborn child.

She intended to keep her blade with her and hopefully skewer the woman with it while making her escape. Though she did not know where she was, she could only guess that it was a secure facility somewhere in the suburbs of a city. The smell of the air whenever she had been allowed to walk an enclosed courtyard was not the fresh smell of the plains, but rather had hints of smoke and industrial metals. There was no sound save for the chirping of birds so she knew that she was somewhat near a city, but it was not the roaring silence of the desert or plains.

She lifted a hand and caressed her stomach as she felt the baby kick. She would honor Stephen's last wish to protect their child, would watch the baby grow to an adult. Perhaps then she would be able to join her husband in the afterlife, having fulfilled his wish.

Do not think those thoughts, she thought she heard his voice just now and shook her head.

“I know,” she whispered absently as she saw her blade glow a little. It had been a shock, the first time she had felt a foreign presence in her mind, whispering reassurances with Stephen's voice. She had thought it was the Templars who had cruelly devised a recording of her husband and played a facsimile of him back through speakers, but the guards had only stared at her puzzled and a little afraid.

It was only a week after that first incident that she had discovered it was the sliver of the Lance that had spoken to her, had whispered reassurances and encouragement. Though she had been afraid of it, she had to admit that it had given her the mental fortitude to endure her captivity for the past few months. She knew that it was not Stephen that had spoken to her, but occasionally she pretended that it was, that he was lying beside her in the bed. The ghost of the comfort it provided helped calm the nights that she gave into the despair that he was dead and the realization that she had always kept him at arms length. She had rarely told Stephen that she loved him, even in their years of marriage and now, regretted it.

Help is coming, she felt the foreign whisper in her mind.

“I'm sure it is,” the partial Piece had been whispering the same damned words for the past few weeks now. She heard footsteps approaching her cell, but ignored it as she expected whoever was coming to open the little slat on the door to peer in before closing it and walking away.

However when the sounds of keys being inserted and the door clicking open, Arden struggled a little to push herself up to a sitting position. One hand clutched her swollen belly, the other held out away from her, ready to flick her blade against any attempt to restrain her and possibly rip her child from her womb. She barely kept the open shock from showing on her face at the sight that greeted her.

“Ezio...” she breathed out quietly at the sight of the master assassin, covered head to toe in blood, but otherwise, grim looking.

“Are you ready, madonna?” the sleeves of his jacket were dripping blood, but Arden had never seen such a finer sight as a wide smile appeared on her face.

“Yes,” she struggled to get up, only to hear the clinking of the chains that bound her to the bed. A quick glance to it made Ezio move quickly into the room as he procured a key and unlocked the chains. He then wrapped an arm around her and helped her up, Arden immediately felt weak in the knees and nearly collapsed to the ground. It was only Ezio's steady hand that kept her upright as she took a few tentative steps forward.

“The guards-”

“Everyone has been taken care of,” Ezio said quietly and Arden knew that he had methodically killed everyone in the building. It certainly explained the state of his clothing and why he looked like he had been liberally covered in blood.

“Including Aileen?” she asked.

“Who?”

“Shrewish woman, thin, mousy-haired, severe-looking,” she described the Templar woman.

“I did not see a woman like that,” Ezio shook his head as they stepped out of the room that had been her prison for the past few months. She saw the bodies of guards and of orderlies, some of them hanging off of carts, others with blood smeared across the windows and walls. The hall was deathly silent and Arden knew that there was no one alive in the building.

“Too bad,” she whispered, ignoring the blood and lifeless eyes staring at nothing as they slowly walked out.

“Is she the leader of this facility?”

“I would think so, but I do not know,” Arden replied, feeling a little faint as they continued to walk. She grimaced a little, pressing her free hand against her stomach.

“I did not see Stephen-”

She suddenly felt a shooting pain spread between her legs all the way up to her stomach and fell to her knees. It could not be time...she needed to be out of here before...before-

“Arden?!” Ezio grabbed her by her shoulders as she felt another sweeping pain.

“The baby...” she gasped as she felt something wet slide down her legs. Her water had broken.

“Dio mio,” she heard the Italian curse as she squeezed her eyes shut. She could feel something nipping at the back of her mind and tried to ignore it, but the foreign-alien-like feeling would not go away. “Uh...” she heard a frantic movement before squinting her eyes open to see Ezio grabbing some towels and trying to spread it around her. It was also then that she realized he had no idea what to do.

“You...” she felt another contraction and wondered why they were coming this quickly. Could it be that she had already had a child and this one was supposed to come out faster? Or was it something that was urging its presence to the world? “Need to catch...the baby...”

“I am not clean-”

“Sink, two doors to your left,” she bit her lip in an effort not to scream at the pain. It was not this hard when she had given birth to Joshua, had it? She heard him scramble up and the echo of a door opening and closing followed by the rushing sound of water. A few minutes later, the door opened and closed again and Arden opened her eyes a little to see Ezio looking somewhat cleaner. It could not be helped, she supposed, it was only supposed to be a rescue mission, not one that ended with her giving birth in the middle of a host of dead bodies.

She grunted as she felt another painful contraction, followed by another quick one before they started to blur together and she reached out to grab at anything, anything for her to try to transfer the pain to. Her world was hazy and she could feel her body trying to push the baby out. The foreign presence nipped at her mind, but Arden tried to bat it away only for it to whisper reassurances. She grasped at it, clinging onto it, hearing Stephen's voice in her head.

Stephen, she smiled through the haze of pain only to feel something start to tear and rip. For a second, she thought that the baby was clawing its way out of her, but it was only too late that she realized the tearing was in her mind, that something was ripping away a part of her. She started in horror as she saw in her mind's eye Stephen's face, his last moments on that train suddenly disappear. She reached out, trying to cling onto the memory but it was forcibly taken away and she felt herself cast to the wind just as she heard the distant cry of a newborn babe.

No! she screamed before her world dissolved into a haze of blue jagged lines, but in the midst of losing that memory, there was hope, there was the future being born.

Desmond pulled himself out of the memory and found himself staring back at the girl, at Nona of the Parcae. “There is hope,” he stated, his breath coming in gasps before he could feel the memory of his next ancestor, his grandfather Alan Miles, force its way into his consciousness.

Nona bared her teeth, “There is no hope! You are ours!” She tried to rip her arm out of his grasp, but he clung on, squeezing her thin wrists tightly.

“I am no one's! I am Desmond Miles,” he growled at her, “I am Arden Allen, I am Ezio Auditore da Firenze, and I am Altaїr Ibn la-Ahad.”

“Then be them!” Desmond saw the girl's attempt to pin him with the memory of his ancestors, but batted her attempts aside with a swipe of his hand.

“I am them, and they are me. But I will not be them,” he stared at her as he could feel his ancestors around him. They hovered at the edges of his vision and he turned his head a little, seeing them for who they truly were. They stood near him, their expressions grim. His three dominant ancestors whom he had lived their lives stood at the forefront, but he could see shadows of others behind them, unaffected by the jagged lines of the Animus loading screen. He saw them walk closer until they surrounded him, all of them staring at Nona whose translucent eyes were alight with fear.

“Y-You-”

“You thought you could control me, that I would fall victim to the Bleeding,” he heard Altaїr in his voice, reverberating through him, felt Ezio echo that sentiment along with Arden. “You were wrong.”

“Accept your fate, Parcae,” a new voice spoke up and both turned to see little Tabitha standing near the facsimile bodies that were still flickering amongst the jagged lines of the Animus. The two other women who had emerged from them were seemingly frozen solid, unable to move. Fear lighted their faces and Desmond recognized them as Decima and Morta, the ones who measured the thread of life and the one who cut the thread and chose the manner of death. He did not know when she had appeared, but was grateful for whatever assistance she was providing him.

“NO!” Nona yelled before suddenly lashing out at him with an arm. He danced back a step, feeling himself steadied by the ghosts of his ancestors as he let go of the girl's arm. “His is ours! He will submit! There is nothing for him to live for! He will fall!”

“I will catch you if you fall,” Desmond started as Lucy's voice floated somewhere above and he reached out to grasp that memory, pulling it close to him. He glared at Nona as she frowned, her eyes blazing a little in anger.

“Give me that,” she reached out and he turned away from her.

“No,” saw her hands turn into claws as she reached out to rip away the hope that he clung to him, only to see those claws batter against a shield that was placed inches from his face.

“I wouldn't do that,” out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Alexander Roche step away from, waving his hand a little to make the shield go away, “you should stop that you know. You are acting like a spoiled child.” Desmond looked around for any sign of Tabitha, but there was none.

“Isn't it time that you told him the truth?” Alexander was suddenly replaced by Stephen and Desmond could feel the muted pain that had had so recently felt from Arden, yet there was hope and the satisfaction of keeping a promise bolstering him.

Nona hissed, an electronic warbling sound, “The truth is a lie!”

“Is it?” Stephen's gaze was not the kind one he had long recognized, but rather was something different, something alien yet predatory. “Or are you afraid?”

“No!” the girl swiped her arm down angrily and something seemingly passed through Stephen as he circled around her, but he was unaffected by whatever it was.

“Pittance. That was pathetic.”

“You should have realized that the attack come from outside,” Desmond could only stare as Stephen's form suddenly morphed into the last person he had expected. Jack the Ripper, or rather the first Desmond namesake, now circled around Nona. His woolen long coat flared around him and it was easy to imagine the streets of Victorian London around him; of the mad murderer stalking his prey of helpless woman. There was the flash of something and Desmond saw the glint of metal by the man's wrist.

“You will die now,” Jack stated in a simple tone as he continued to circle around, a predatory smile on his face.

“Anathema!” Nona trembled as she shook her head, seemingly trapped by Jack's circle and Desmond suddenly felt a pang of sorrow. She did not deserve this...even though moments before, she had tried to digitally flay him alive. He saw Jack raise his blade up and even before he knew what he was doing, Desmond moved.

The blade crashed down upon his own as he activated it before he reached out and grabbed Nona's thin hand, pulling her close. “I will save you,” he whispered into her hair just as she screamed, her wail screeching across his ears, seemingly deafening him as it was joined by Morta and Decima's deathly screams.

He could feel her dissolving into him as a white light filled his vision, blinding him. Just when the light became too much, he thought he heard it – a powerful voice, a thundering echo.

“I AM THE ALPHA AND THE OMEGA, THE DESTROYER OF EDEN. I AM THE LANCE OF LONGINUS.”

He felt Nona's grateful whisper in every fiber of his being, “Thank you...”

* * *

Author’s Notes:

There was no way I was able to divide this chapter up, not with the tone and pacing and so forgive me for posting such a long one. Technically this isn’t even a good spot to break the chapter up, but it is the best spot out of the outline that I have. I must admit, as an author it was a challenge to do three POVs in one chapter, sort of like an Inception-esque style, memory, within a memory.

I hope this chapter came out right…and I also hoped it answered one of the biggest questions in this story – that the Lance of Longinus is what Altaїr had been looking for to destroy all of the other Pieces of Eden. Now comes the other question of when did he start looking for it and when he realized that the Lance was what he was looking for. Also, how did he eventually find it and how it eventually ended up in Iltani’s hands who then passed it along to Alexander Roche.

The notion of the Parcae, especially Nona, was taken with permission and a leaf out of moondusted’s Above the Serpentine. Kudos!

This chapter also served to insert a part which I had taken out of the previous chapter regarding Arden’s words to Altaїr at Portsmouth. A few reviewers along with my beta had said that her reaction was a little jarring, so I hope this answered those questions. Anyways, wish you all a Happy 2012 New Year and a belated Merry Christmas!

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Story:

Chapter 38 - Truth

Desmond twitched, nearly dropping the glass he had been absently polishing. He could feel Ezio's calm reassurance that he was the only one in control; that Nona was safely in whatever grateful mental prison the rest of his ancestors had erected to keep her there until it was time. He did not know if he had done the right thing by absorbing the essence that was the Animus into his being, rather than having it forced upon him like wearing an ill-fitting coat. But he knew that Nona, or rather, part of the Animus Piece of Eden was grateful to be spared a horrific 'death' by the Lance of Longinus.

Perhaps it was of some irony that he had ‘saved’ Nona, the purported Parca that spun the threads of destiny. Morta and Decima, the other two entities that inhabited the Animus Piece of Eden most likely had not survived; so it stood that the threads of his destiny or whatever destiny lay ahead for him would be continuously spun instead of measured and cut at the end.

He remembered in that moment he had clutched Nona close to him, absorbing her into his avatar and ultimately, he supposed, into his own self, he had felt his ancestors somehow change. They were a part of him, no longer Bleeding or making him live their memories in unexpected ways, but rather, helped him. It felt like they were somehow alive and aware in his mind, like other personalities. While Desmond thought that he should have been scared at the prospect of now having a multiple personality disorder, he felt oddly in control and could access his ancestors at will.

He remembered that he had opened his eyes and thought he had been blinded by a white light, but had seen little Tabitha’s skeletal form, standing behind the Animus chair. She had a wide death’s smile on her face as she stared at him; the Lance plunged into the back of the chair which was throwing out sparks. The death of a Piece of Eden he supposed before he saw her skin peel away and whatever he could see of the Lance pulse once before the light died away and all that was left was her bones.

That was when the exhaustion of what had just happened, the aches and pains his body had experienced outside the Animus while he had been fighting for his very being inside it pounded into him, nearly making him shake. It was only when he felt the offer of support from his three primary ancestors that he realized what had happened. His thought of whether or not what had happened in the Animus was real had been gravely confirmed by the memory of Arden and that was when he realized what needed to be done.

Altaїr had been right all along. The Pieces of Eden needed to be destroyed and the Lance of Longinus was the only thing that was able to do such a thing without causing massive destruction. Tunguska and Denver International Airport were proof that any other way would end up destroying the world. But as he had regained awareness, with the help of Darim’s sharpened senses that he had taken to aid his weary, hurting body, he knew that the first order was to escape from the enclave with the rest of his family.

Even so, it still left one question, two if the answer was positive to the first.

The soft tread of booted feet crossed the ground, but Desmond did not look up as he finished polishing the smaller glass and set down the wash cloth. He reached over and grabbed a couple of bottles before pouring a quick mixture into the smaller glass, swirling it twice. “Is she sleeping?” he asked quietly in Arabic, letting Altaїr’s familiarity with the language roll off of his tongue and giving it the right accent. He sent a mental wave of gratitude towards the memory who shrugged and retreated a little. Gone was the hostility he had felt earlier whenever his living ancestor happened in the vicinity and he was living his memories. Perhaps with his newfound grasp of the situation and what had happened in the Animus had calmed the memory one down.

“For now,” if Altaїr was surprised at his pitch-perfect mastery of Arabic, he did not show it as he sat down and Desmond set the glass in front of him. Then again, Desmond suspected that Altaїr was not surprised.

“I know what I have to do,” he continued conversationally before flicking his eyes up at the master assassin who had taken the glass and was swirling the drink a little more, not quite staring at it, “its non-alcoholic.”

“I am not a practicing-“

“But it is what you prefer,” Desmond’s lips twitched up in a faint smile, exactly like how his ancestor used to do so whenever teasingly irritating Malik or sometimes the council. “You prefer it because you do not want to chance a loss of control, whether wielding the Apple or in memory of Al Mualim’s loss of control.”

The same smile appeared on Altaїr’s face as he nodded once before tilting the glass at Desmond in a salute. Desmond watched as Altaїr sipped the drink, nodding his approval before setting the glass down once more. “So, I know what I have to do,” he started up again, reaching over to polish a tall flute glass, “and I have one question, perhaps two.”

“Only one?” Altaїr switched back to English.

“Only one,” Desmond knew that Altaїr was stalling a little before he heard the minute sigh and saw him take a quick drink again.

“I believe I may have an answer,” the Arabic assassin and the one that Desmond felt more attuned to, though he felt Ezio’s affectionate mental shove in his head, stared at him, his golden eyes unmoving. “And the answer is yes. I knew all this time.”

Altaїr shifted a little and Desmond sensed that the master assassin was trying to get comfortable. He realized that with that answer, Altaїr was about to tell him and perhaps even unload the burden he had carried for God knew how long. “I did not know at first when I realized I had become immortal through the Apple of Eden, but my further divinations of the Apple revealed many truths.

“When I discovered that the Lance of Longinus may be the key to destroying all Pieces of Eden and stopping the ages of pointless bloodshed between the Templars and the Assassins I dedicated myself to searching for it.”

“Is that why you were reluctant to let Jack search for it?” Desmond still remembered the resentment he had felt from his brief foray into Jack’s memories.

Altaїr shook his head, “Yes and no.” He curled his hands around the glass and rolled it a little bit between his palms, “Jack…was different…”

“The prophecy?”

“Partially,” Altaїr shrugged, “I did not put much stock into it, though like Ezio, I was curious about it. I knew he was descended from our line and that he was the son of a naval officer within the British fleet. There was nothing extraordinary about him, but the Apple had whispered caution when I first met him.”

“And Ezio?”

His ancestor leveled him with a stare, “You would have to ask him.”

“Sorry,” Desmond realized that his question was a little callous and Altaїr still had a sense of propriety regarding certain decisions made by either him or Ezio in their very long lives.

“From the research I had gathered over the years and the stories that had been told of the Lance, I realized it was a very powerful object. So I was cautious when I received a lead to its whereabouts. I told Ezio about it and we had determined that we would wait a few years to see if the rumor would appear again,” Altaїr continued, taking a sip of his drink, “instead, Jack decided he was going to search for it.”

“He wanted glory, recognition in the eyes of the Order,” Desmond looked down at the glass he had been polishing and shook his head, “I think he probably also wanted your job.”

“Perhaps the chief reason I came back to lead the Order in some capacity,” the Arabic assassin tilted his head a little, “the information available regarding the Pieces of Eden would be vetted from so many sources.”

“Yeah…”

“The Lance was not only the Piece of Eden I had searched for over the years-“

“I know...Arden’s memories,” Desmond winced a little as he saw the flicker of a shadow pass over Altaїr’s face. He realized that the master assassin was still hurting from whatever was said during that time, but had hid it so well. Now, it seemed like with all truths coming out, all manners of confessions, that wall of emotion that had been so carefully constructed was being torn down at the same time.

“Ah,” was all that Altaїr said, pausing for a moment before shifting in his seat. “The Apple sometimes tells me bits and pieces of the future, never a complete picture, but enough that I could try to prevent certain things from happening.”

“Like the meat-packing factory,” Desmond murmured quietly.

“Amongst other things,” Altaїr said equally as quiet, “the Apple though, it has an unusual way of showing me certain things. It showed me enough to save Arden when Jack killed her mother Elisabeth, but when I wanted to see the Lance itself, it showed me the destination, the meat-packing factory. It so happened that one of my informants told me that Arden was there too…”

“And the ball?”

“…No,” the shadow passed over Altaїr’s eyes again before he drained the rest of his drink. Desmond quickly made another one for him while setting the old glass in the sink to be cleaned before resuming his polishing of the flute glass. “Then Stephen had the Lance-”

“And you decided not to risk testing its effects after seeing him age so rapidly,” Desmond finished for Altaїr, unwilling to believe the other implication of what he had figured out from Stephen Miles’ double-speak to Arden on the train. Whether or not Arden knew that her husband had been protecting her memory of her former master with his words he did not know; nor did he suspect he would ever know judging by how his perspective had transferred the moment she gave birth to her second son Alan.

His ancestor looked up at him in surprise before an ironic smile graced his features, “That is kind of you.”

“Let’s just leave it at that,” Desmond looked away, realizing that Altaїr had been as indifferent and a little callous with that confirmation of the truth.

“I went into exile around the time Ezio rescued Arden during the end stages of the first Great War, but did not make direct contact,” Altaїr continued, “Amunet made sure I had no allies, no one but myself and the Apple to rely on.” He tapped the side of his new glass with a fingertip, “Perhaps I had grown too confident with the Apple back then…” He trailed off for a few seconds before shaking himself out of whatever memory he had fallen into. “Arden was unable to tell us what had happened due to the birth of her son and the Lance taking her memories away of her mission to find Nikolai Orelov. But Ezio retrieved notes stating that the Templars had tried to search for where the Lance had presumably fallen with her firsborn son Joshua and had failed to find anything.”

Desmond realized that whatever Amunet had done to Altaїr during the end stages of World War I to exile him from the Order and from his position as head of the European Bureau she had done it well. Judging by what the master assassin had been telling him, there was no way that he would have let such an opportunity go by without personally search for the Lance again. But with his resources limited and with Amunet searching for him, Altaїr had to have been very careful with his movements. Desmond remembered Ezio telling him that Amunet was the only one that was able to challenge Altaїr and vice versa.

He had an inkling that Altaїr was not keen to die by some other immortal assassin’s hand, not when he was so close to his goal – which thus limited his movement to shadowy forms of communication with Ezio and occasionally Arden as his primary outside contacts. Even then, he needed to be careful not to cast suspicion upon either one unless Amunet wanted to hunt them down too.

“Did you find it?” he remembered the ghostly form of his half-brother Alexander telling him back in the base that Dr. Sharif had given him the Lance the day before Templars had attacked his cul-de-sac home and killed all but Tabitha. However, judging by Tabitha’s skeletal form, he realized that perhaps the little girl had died and was revived by the power of the Lance through the spirit of her father.

“I did,” Altaїr nodded once, “after a long search. I tried to study it-“

“But the Apple reacted badly,” Desmond interrupted him quietly, “like the Animus did to me, or at least the memory of the Lance in Arden’s life.”

“And that was when I knew what its true purpose was,” the Arabic assassin looked at him, his golden eyes hooded, “and in my foolishness, I contacted Iltani.”

“Who?” the name sounded vaguely familiar to Desmond, but he could not recall where he had heard the name.

“The oldest of all of us, and most apt for her method of killing Alexander the Great with poison,” Desmond heard the respect in Altaїr’s tone, but it was tinged with bitterness. “She stole the Lance from me and gave it to her pupil for safe keeping.”

“Must have been some safe keeping if it ended up in the hands of Tabitha-wait a moment,” Desmond nearly dropped the flute glass and only managed to stand it upright against the realization of Altaїr’s words. “Are you fucking serious?! Dr. Sharif is Iltani?!”

“Is that what she is calling herself these days?” Altaїr sipped gamely from his glass and Desmond narrowed his eyes, feeling like someone had turned the tables. He could feel the derision from the memory of Altaїr at the living one’s words, but managed to bat it away before he could take it and use it. It was the memory’s derision, not his own.

“You knew?” he asked. He had fleeting thoughts of his interactions with Dr. Sharif at the base and all this time he did not know that she was Iltani.

“I did not,” Altaїr set his glass down again and his eyes hinted at an apology, “it is…hard for me to reveal secrets that I have kept for so long.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Desmond wanted to make a smart remark comparing Altaїr to Al Mualim much like he did with his father only days ago, but he considered himself above that, at least for now. But Altaїr had said that Iltani stole the Lance from him – did that mean that she was not an ally? Or was it because Altaїr had finally found the Lance and wanted to study it away from others so that he selfishly kept it to himself and it was just resentment talking? Another thought occurred to him; he knew Altaїr’s capabilities and skills, so then if Iltani’s intentions was to actually steal the Lance, how in the world did Iltani manage to get a Piece of Eden away from him? A quick glance at his ancestor told him that Altaїr would never tell him what had happened, only that it did. Desmond realized that it was one of the few things that the immortal assassin never forgave himself for doing.

The logical chain of his thoughts threaded to Alexander and his family. Alexander, or at least the spirit of him, had said that Iltani was not the one to betray his family to the Templars who only came the day after he had received the Lance from her. But then again, he wondered if everything Alexander had said was suspect – after all, he had encountered the projection shifting inside the Animus when Tabitha had approached it with the Lance. Perhaps Alexander was only merely an outward projection of the remnant spirit that inhabited the Lance, much like Nona and the Parcae of the Animus?

If that was the case, it certainly explained Tabitha’s frightened reaction to Dr. Sharif finding her at the gymnasium of the base. So then perhaps it was Iltani who had truly alerted the Templars to Alexander and the Lance, which meant she was responsible for the family being murdered in their home and Alexander’s capture.

“She believes labels of Templars and Assassins are meaningless, but putting the label of Templar upon her for all intents and purposes is apt,” Altaїr interrupted his thoughts, confirming what he was thinking.

Desmond shuddered a little before picking up a taller glass and polishing it. He had let the woman draw some of his blood and spinal fluid too; hexamined all of the Adam and Eve files with her, had even showed her Subject Sixteen’s crazed blood-paintings on the walls. Horror filled him as he realized that she could have easily killed him or injected him with some slow-acting poison like she killed Alexander the Great. He grasped at the mental support of his ancestors who sympathized with the awful truth he had just found out.

Looking back up at Altaїr he saw too the affirmation of the external support, telling him that he was not the only one to be horribly deceived by her. “What…” he wet his lips, finding his throat suddenly dry, but did not make himself a drink, “what did she want with the Lance?”

“I do not know,” Altaїr shook his head, “my research, study, and observation of the Lance told me that there were two ways of consuming its power. Its primary method is memories, but the exchange of years from a person’s life will suffice, whether it is from the person wielding it itself or otherwise.”

“That’s what happened between Stephen and Arden, isn’t it? And why she lost parts of her memories after Stephen was dead,” Desmond’s brow furrowed a little, “it’s why you wanted me in the Animus, right? Living the memories of many ancestors besides yourself so that I may be able to use the Lance to destroy every single Piece of Eden. Each time I do, it’ll take some of the memories of those ancestors, maybe even reversing the Bleeding Effect since I won’t remember their lives.”

“There is only one problem with that theory,” Arden’s quiet footsteps echoed across the small tiled floor that was around the kitchenette followed by heavier footsteps that also announced Ezio’s presence and Desmond nodded to his two ancestors who walked in.

He saw the look exchanged between Altaїr and Ezio as the former of the two flicked his eyes towards Arden. Ezio shrugged a little and Desmond wondered if the two were wondering over Arden’s health. He supposed that they were since he saw that she had a drawn look about her, her skin pale, the muscles that had been defined in the military fatigues she usually wore seemingly gone. He reached out and quickly filled the flute glass with a bottle of champagne he had found earlier while rooting around the kitchenette-bar before sitting it in front of an empty seat. He then took the empty tall glass he had been polishing and mixed another quick drink and set it in another seat, gesturing to his two ancestors seat themselves.

Ezio smiled gamely before sitting himself in front of the tall glass and drank a little of what he had been served. “Fruity…with bits of clover, no?”

“Shirley Templar,” Desmond shrugged and heard the tiny bark of laughter from Ezio at his clever naming of the drink he had created while he had been on the run. “You just have to get the right amount of gin in it so that it doesn’t overpower the cherry-flavor of the Shirley Temple.”

Ezio only made a noise of agreement as he drank some more and Desmond turned to look at Arden who was sipping her champagne exactly as he remembered her doing during her time in Victorian England. However, she surprised all of them by suddenly draining the whole glass and setting it down. “The Lance will take away years off of a life in lieu of memories, but it hungers for that which is most precious of memories,” she raised her arm a little and released the catch of her right bracer. Desmond immediately saw both Altaїr and Ezio resisting the urge to flinch and realized that it was only now that he could see the smaller details in the movements of his two ancestors.

Each time they were near Arden or near the Lance of Longinus, they had each covered their body’s involuntary movement to get away from it, no doubt influenced by the Apple.

“It takes away that which is most precious and leaves you with almost nothing,” Arden said, her voice tinged with bitterness, of the memory of love long forgotten and unable to be recovered.

“It gave you a son,” Desmond managed to push away the memory of Arden’s sudden sorrow that he had only recently experienced. Though he felt in control, he still could feel the occasional time when his ancestors’ strongest feelings would just Bleed into him. He supposed that it was a remnant of the Animus’ parting gift, or even perhaps having Nona or whatever was left of her locked inside his head.

“It gave me a son,” Arden echoed neutrally, twisting the empty glass in between her fingers.

Desmond stared at her for a second, wanting nothing more than to tell her about her lost memory the Lance had stolen regarding her life with Stephen after the ball and how much in love they were in. How heroic both of them were and how much was sacrificed to keep her safe. But he did not want to tell her with Altaїr and Ezio around, knowing that she would not want such private information disclosed, even to her former master and fellow assassin she considered a surrogate older brother.

Instead, he reached out for a clean cloth and placed it in front of her. “You’re bleeding,” he murmured quietly, noticing that she must have gotten a cut or something on her chest during their escape several days ago and her wound had not healed.

Her eyes shot up to him in surprise as she reached over to take the cloth and pressed it against her chest. It was also then that Desmond saw that both Altaїr and Ezio had stilled in their chairs, the latter of the two mid-drink. “What…”

“We do not see it,” Ezio’s eyes shot back and forth between him and Arden, his brow furrowing in concern.

“…What?” Desmond did not understand what was going on until he saw that the cloth he had given to Arden was now stained incredibly red. She was really bleeding…but looked up at him with a wan, ironic smile on her face.

“It seems that the Lance is truly the Piece of Eden destroyer and you are freed from the Animus’ illusions and attempts to control you through the Bleeding Effect,” Arden said before looking at Altaїr and Ezio, “There is an illusion over my form, much like it had with Tabitha.”

There was the barest tightening in Altaїr’s jaw as he stared at Arden who shrugged almost indifferently. “It seems when the Lance returns to whomever it is sustaining the life of, the original wound will appear and will never heal.” She lifted the cloth away from her and Desmond took it before throwing it into the garbage can. He saw that indeed, the blood soaking through her clothes was exactly where he had experienced her being stabbed by Jack the Ripper all those years ago. But the fact that only he could see it, not his ancestors surprised him.

“You are not surprised that the Lance destroyed the Animus, are you Desmond?” Ezio had been staring at him and Desmond saw the other two look at him. He could see the unspoken question in their eyes, wondering what had happened to him inside the Animus, and noted the tension in their posture. None of them felt easy around him, even with no enemies around them or at the innocent gesture of sitting at the kitchenette-bar and having drinks served to them.

“No,” he knew that he probably would never be ready to tell anyone what had really happened in the Animus; how he had nearly lost himself to the ghostly remnants of the Parcae that were a part of them, how he in turn, reversed the situation and taken over one of them instead of the other way around. He would never be ready to admit that he all but was mind-raped by them, assaulted to the point where it hurt and he had thought his body was on fire from the pain. His body had been in pain, both physically and mentally.

He wiped his hands on the cloth he had been cleaning their glasses with and rubbed his left eye absently, suddenly feeling the weight of what he had done fall upon him. It made him incredibly tired and it was only then that he realized that he truly had not had a chance to really cope and sleep on it. He had been too afraid during the times he did try to sleep since the Animus was destroyed, involuntarily tensing up, mental barriers and all, that prevented a restful deep sleep.

“What do you see?” he looked at the three, “really, what do you see?”

“…Darim,” Altaїr was the first to speak and even then Desmond heard the subtle pride, yet sorrow in his voice. “Myself…younger, brasher, more foolhardy before Al Mualim’s truth destroyed the wisdom I had found.”

Desmond felt the memory of Altaїr retreat a little to let Ezio and others of his line move to the forefront. He grasped at the undying loyalty of Giovanni Auditore and Ezio’s tempered brashness as his living ancestor tilted his head a little.

“Is that…”

“He’s proud of you, you know,” Desmond saw Ezio draw back a little in surprise before shaking his head.

“Possession?”

“No,” it was Arden who answered and Desmond turned to her, letter her see herself, the pride, sorrow, and most of all fierceness that defined her protective independent streak towards anyone she loved filtered in his consciousness. It was a little odd, he supposed, as it felt like part of his senses that was himself was muffled, yet at the same time, he was never more aware of his surroundings when he took the offered abilities. They did not take over him nor did he see the ghostly images that had muddled him for so long, but rather, he felt them seemingly co-existing within himself, a shared body that saw his own personality as the main dominant consciousness.

“It is mastery,” the corner of Arden’s lips flicked up in a small smile, “it does not control him, he does not control it. They co-exist…am I right?”

Desmond felt the memory of all of his ancestors retreat a little as he nodded, “Something like that. From what I could tell, the Animus reacted to the presence of the Lance in your memory. I guess for the lack of a better word, it freaked out and tried to take me over I think.”

“Possession by a Piece of Eden,” Altaїr’s golden eyes gave no hint of where he was going with his statement, but Desmond knew that he was thinking of what had happened to Jack the Ripper.

“Right,” Desmond blew out a breath, “and I think maybe since I was trying to fight it off, it didn’t realize that Tabitha was physically there and had no way of defending itself.” He nodded towards Altaїr, “Your theory that the Lance is the destroyer of all Pieces of Eden is right. The Animus isn’t the first Piece of Eden that was destroyed. Stephen Miles destroyed whatever was left of the sceptre Nikolai Orelov carried with him.”

“You knew something like this was going to happen, didn’t you?” Desmond knew that there would have been a time when he could have railed against being horribly used in such a fashion, but now, it seemed so pointless. He knew he should have hated the fact that Altaїr had been keeping such dangerous secrets from him, from everyone he supposed, but he could not blame him. He understood now, understood that in a way, Altaїr was himself was looking for relief from his long life, ready to die, yet still wanted to help people. His ancestor wanted the Pieces of Eden destroyed so that no one would be able to use them, that the war between Templars and Assassins for ideals that had long been forgotten and twisted so badly by others in power was pointless.

Desmond looked down for a second; his initial question had been answered with a positive, which meant his second question was valid and needed to be asked. If nothing, it was for his closure and affirmation. Taking a deep breath, he looked back up at Altaїr and stared hard at him. “Did you orchestrate my capture and imprisonment at Abstergo? Did you see that through the Apple just so it could lead to this?” he was surprised at how even and how toneless he had managed to keep his voice at, even without the support of the memories of his ancestors.

He saw Ezio straighten a little at his question, saw the slight spark of anger of fury at the implications. Desmond did not blame him for being so protective – he had realized that his Italian ancestor considered him like family, like a little brother of sorts, ironically much like Altaїr had done the same with Arden. It was touching, but Desmond knew that he could not stop Ezio from throttling Altaїr if his answer was less than satisfactory – a denial.

However, his Arabic ancestor just shrugged, swirling whatever was left of his second glass, “My answer would not convince you either way.”

Desmond had to nod at the simplistic yet utterly cryptic answer he was given. It was true, he supposed, if it was a negative or a positive, then it would not change a thing. What was done was done and it was the Creed that stood above it all – nothing is true, everything is permitted. What counted was that he had survived, he had fought his way to this, and he was set on the path he was to follow. The prophecy made by Minerva was pointless, the war was pointless. The memories of Adam and Eve gleaned from the hacking left behind by Subject Sixteen proved nothing and it only proved that the Pieces of Eden were dangerous objects and that no one should be able to use them.

“I’m getting some sleep,” he wiped his hands dry on the cloth before nodding his goodnights to the three of them and headed out of the kitchenette-bar. Altaїr had told him the truth, but he had also told him a very important lesson; he chose his own destiny.

* * *

Altaїr could feel the dangerous tension radiating off of Ezio as the other man sat next to him, the three of them silent against the sounds of the city of New York. Though Staten Island was a little bit away from the main Manhattan Island, there were still the occasional blaring of horns, sirens, and people shouting in the streets. Even the sounds of waves crashing against whatever passed for a rocky beach on the shore were a little loud.

He heard the slight muffled thumps of footsteps further into the garage-loft as Desmond settled himself for whatever sleep he was going to get until the morning sun woke him up. But perhaps with some of the burden that seemed to have been unloaded in their conversation, he would be able to get some restful sleep instead of the tense one he had gotten while they were driving up from the remnants of the enclave. Altaїr was not as heartless as he knew some of the others, Ezio included, thought of him. He was concerned for Desmond’s welfare, but he also understood the need and urgency for what laid ahead.

The sound of a glass setting down on the table followed by Ezio rising from his seat made Altaїr smiled inwardly. Here it came and he expected it no less. Perhaps Desmond knew it or maybe he did not, but his last question had been deliberately invoked to punish him for his deception.

“I would like to talk to you outside,” Ezio’s Arabic was impeccable, but he still heard traces of an Italian accent in the rolling words.

“As you wish,” Altaїr obliged the Italian man and stepped away from kitchenette-bar, following him out to the spacious white-marbled porch that showed the beautiful night skyline of New York City in the distance. He heard Arden following behind them, but knew that she would not interfere. He had felt a flash of fear and anger when Arden had said that she had an illusion over herself that had even fooled his eyes, but had pushed that emotion away – it was pointless. It would be over soon and perhaps the future of humanity would be free from what had driven them to fight each other in the aftermath of the First Civilization's destruction.

Ezio stood at the edge of where the marble met the grainy pebble-sized sand of the beach front, staring out at the skyline for a few minutes. Altaїr was content to wait behind him, his hands held loosely against him. So when the Italian man suddenly turn and grabbed him by his shirt front, twisting the fabric tightly against the hollow of his collarbone, he relaxed and allowed himself to be lifted a few centimeters off of the ground. The two of them were around the same height and nearly the same build and Altaїr knew that this was not the first time Ezio had hauled him upwards in anger.

“You fucking bastard,” Ezio snarled in anger, “you fucking manipulative bastard. You are like Al Mualim!”

“Did you prefer I sent Desmond to his death? Or were you so desperate not to make the mistake of his first namesake that you would willingly protect him from the slightest harm?” Altaїr countered quietly, forced to take a hissing breath as he felt his windpipe closing a little.

“You knew that Abstergo was going to go after him? That was why you risked exposing yourself to Amunet, to Iltani, to whoever the fuck just to supposedly rescue him?”

Altaїr narrowed his eyes – could Ezio be so blinded by his failure and his mistakes along with the desperate compassion he felt to be so overprotective of Desmond? He lifted a hand and pressed it down upon Ezio's own, forcing the man to lower him, but the Italian assassin did not release him and instead, tightened his grip. “This is war.”

“No, this is your war. Your fucking war against Iltani. You manipulated me, manipulated Arden, you knew all this time, all the centuries because of the damn Apple and only now...?!”

“Cold feet?” it was a goad and both knew it, but Ezio reacted to it anyway. Altaїr felt pain explode across his cheek as the punch knocked his head a little to the right.

“I knew I was being manipulated by you, ever since you had the gall to drop into my life after Rodrigo Borgia's death! I knew and against my better judgment I followed you. But Desmond, no you do not get to dictate destiny like that. You have no right, no right! Scheming, taking over the leadership positions that you have held, only to grab more power. For what?! For some notion of godhood? And then the remorse, I know its true, and I know you want to destroy the Pieces of Eden – God only knows I want that too – but here is the truth Altaїr Ibn la-Ahad: you are addicted to the power.”

Altaїr stayed silent as Ezio's eyes, a darker shade of gold than his own, became pinpoint slits, “You are addicted to manipulating everyone. Sure you may have been exiled and that set back the plans, but you could not help but manipulate everyone in that enclave. I want to think that William may have been right, but that would only reinforce your ego that you are untouchable that you think you are untouchable.”

“So what do you expect from me?” he asked as Ezio finished his rant.

“Compassion,” the Italian man spat before suddenly shoving a spherical object into his hand. Altaїr did not need to lift his other hand up to know that Ezio had given the Apple back, “though I suppose you lost that when your addiction killed Maria.”

As soon as the words had fallen from Ezio's mouth they both instantly knew that he had gone too far, but nonetheless Altaїr reacted. He tightened his grip on the man's fingers, feeling them creak under the pressure he was exerting. His other hand, holding the Apple came up blindingly fast and whipped across the other man's face before he was dropped to the ground and both of the stumbled back away from each other. Altaїr immediately turned on his heel and left them, headed back in. He did not expect an apology, but he knew that their conversation was over. What was done was done.

* * *

Author’s Notes:

Some more truths come out and most cards are on the table. Only a few more revelations so to speak, but this chapter has all been just about Altaїr. I was trying to find a way to stick in how Altaїr was deceived by Iltani and had the Lance stolen away from him, but I may write that as a side story to be published some other time. Here’s a general timeline regarding the Lance of Longinus:

1873 – Jack finds the Lance of Longinus

1874 – Elisabeth Allen gives birth to Arden

1888 – Altaїr saves Arden after Jack kills Elisabeth

1890 – Arden meets Stephen Miles and Ezio Auditore

1892 – Jack kills Arden; Stephen saves her life, binding her to the Lance of Longinus

1917 – Stephen Miles dies somewhere in southwestern United States. Arden is captured

by Templars lead by the ruthless scientist Aileen. The Lance is considered lost in the wastelands of the desert. Altaїr as Andrew is betrayed by Amunet and goes into exile

1994 – Altaїr finds the Lance of Longinus and tries to prevent the Oklahoma City

bombing

2004 – Altaїr tries to prevent the London bombings and tells Iltani about the Lance; she

steals it from him

2008 – Iltani gives the Lance to her apprentice Alexander Roche for safe keeping. One day after, Templars brutally murder his family in their cul-de-sac home and capture Alexander. He is brought to Warren Vidic and named Subject Sixteen. The Lance appears to revive Tabitha Roche whom Iltani takes into her care

I hope that helped. This is by far not the only timeline I have written for the whole story. When I post the final chapter, I’ll post the complete timeline of Apotheosis in all of its glory.

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Story:

Chapter 39 – Guilt

Amanda’s dead-eyed gaze stared past Desmond as he stood there, the blurred edges of the dream he was in fading in and out. He knew this was only a dream, a memory, yet he still could not tear himself away from staring at his dead little sister. It felt a little more than surreal, but he supposed it was the price he was paying for when he took Nona’s…essence, or whatever was left of the Animus into him, to help keep himself stable and sane.

“You need not worry,” Darim’s quiet voice spoke up just behind him and he felt his ancestor’s presence materialize in the dream.

“I know,” he replied as he knelt down and stretched a hand out to Amanda’s eyes, but did not close them. It would have been easy to imagine himself back in the Animus, or at least a facsimile of the Animus loading screen, yet he kept himself firmly anchored in this dream. His body was resting, he knew that, but he was still keen to explore what had happened to himself in this dream.

However, as soon as he had closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift off, Amanda’s lifeless body had appeared and it was all but Desmond could do to banish this memory away. He drew his hand back and let it hang by his side as he stared at her, tracing his eyes over her face. He had been a cruel brother to her, abandoning her for so many years only to return and keep secrets from her.

He had thought he had been trying to protect her from what had happened to him; much like their father had. A part of him did not miss the irony of that sentiment and it only added to the regret and guilt he had. He sighed and shook his head. “I should have told you the truth,” he whispered, “maybe you would have understood.”

He fell silent for a few minutes before noticing out of the corner of his eye the memory that was Darim fold himself up a little and sit down next to him. But Altaїr’s eldest son did not say anything. It was odd really; the edges of Darim seemingly blurred a little before sharpening and he supposed it was because it was a dream even though he knew that the memory of his ancestor was very much real.

“What was Sef like?” he suddenly asked as he reached out again and played with a strand of Amanda’s dark hair, still unable to make himself close her eyes. He felt a need to stare into those lifeless eyes, to punish himself, he supposed for leaving her, abandoning her, letting her die…

“You can easily delve into my memories-“

“That’s not what I asked,” he cut Darim off; “I want to know…without having to really…know. That didn’t quite make sense.”

“In a dream, nothing quite makes sense,” Darim replied.

“Just-“

“He was like you,” this time Desmond thought he saw the ghost of a smile appear on the assassin’s lips, “sometimes impatient, sometimes the most patient of all.” The ghostly image of two children playing in what looked like the sparring ring of Masyaf fortress appeared beyond Amanda’s prone form. There were the sounds of giggling and laughter, but it was faint and Desmond supposed he might have imagined it in this dream.

“For the longest time, it was Sef who acted like the older one of the two of us whenever our father was concerned. It was hard being the children of the Grand Master, especially for me. Everyone looked at me like I was to succeed Altaїr as the next Grand Master. It took the two of us a while to figure out that he was most likely to choose Malik al-Sayf as his successor than either of us. Father did not want us following in his footsteps and wanted us to live our lives the way we wanted to.”

A sprig of grass suddenly appeared in front of Darim’s crossed legs before he picked absently at it, “When the two of us realized that, Sef immediately went off and married. While I was helping him prepare in the ceremony, he made me realize that our father was proud of whatever we did and did not care if we had chosen lives outside of the Order or not.”

“Sef was the mature one,” Darim sighed, “and I, the foolish brother who did not act my part as the older one. It was only after when I was sent to Alamut to discover Sef’s whereabouts after we had returned to Masyaf following the Khan’s death that I knew I should have stayed behind. Sef should have gone with mother and father.”

“But his wife and daughters-“

“Sef always wanted to see the good in everyone. I learned from his wife that he had convinced Malik that Abbas meant no harm until it was too late,” Darim grabbed a handful of the grass that had appeared at his feet and held onto it tightly, “I failed my duties as a brother and as his best friend. He tried to protect me and I tried to protect him in our own way.”

The two of them fell silent for a few moments before Desmond started quietly, “Do you…do you wish-“

“No,” Darim answered just as quietly, “if anything, Sef’s death served as the most important lesson.”

“And that is…?”

“Responsibility. That your actions will have consequences, whether for yourself or everyone around you, you are responsible. The regret will be there, the guilt, and it will make you more cautious. However, if you look back and say to yourself that you regret not telling this, not telling that, not doing this, not doing that, you will forever be doomed to repeat your mistakes.”

“And repeat history,” Desmond finished for him.

“That was what happened to Father,” Darim went back to picking at the blades of grass, “and it took him a long time to figure it out.”

“I probably don’t have that luxury.”

“No, you do not,” Darim smiled a little before grabbing his hand and stretching it out for him so that he was touching Amanda’s eyes. He swiped them down gently and Desmond could feel the ghostly memory and himself closing his sister’s eyes, both in the darkened cavern and here in the memory.

“Mourn for her, but realize that if you are to do what you are going to do, bear the consequences of your actions,” Altaїr’s eldest son let go of his hand and stood up. Desmond followed suit as he saw Amanda’s dream form slowly fade away along with the rest of the dream.

“Thank you,” he nodded at Darim who was also fading away.

“Desmond,” he could feel himself losing the dream and only Darim's voice was a distant murmur, “...save my father...if you can.”

Desmond's eyes opened of their own accord as he drew in a sudden breath, the white ceiling of the garage-loft greeting him from his sleep. He blinked his eyes several more times before turning his head a little, feeling the sharp pain of a muscle pull in protest from where he had fallen asleep on the couch in the expansive den that had been set up as a sleeping area for the rest of them.

The bright morning sunlight already bounced off the spacious windows and walls of the loft, but it was not bright enough to make him squint. He supposed the design of the luxury house was what kept it nice and pleasant. He turned his head to his left and saw that a stack of pillows and blankets were resting on an armchair near the fireplace, signs that they had been used and folded back up. It was also then that he noticed there was no one else in the room save for one other person.

Bill Miles sat in a rocking chair placed near the foot of his couch, staring at nothing in particular, his gaze oddly contemplative. Desmond realized that his father did not even notice that he was awake and felt a little odd. If he had to guess, he suspected that his father had been watching him sleep and sometime before he had awakened had lost himself in his thoughts. He knew it should have been heartwarming, but Desmond could not bring himself to feel that way, not after all that had happened between them. All he felt was uneasiness.

He knew that he did not feel threatened by his father so close to him, especially after learning that he had been injected with some kind of drug back at the enclave by him. One of the memories of his ancestors would have warned him and he knew his hyper instincts, honed by so many ancestors, would have woken him up should any untoward movement be made against him.

Desmond took a moment to study his father. He had always seen the haughtiness, the pride that straightened Bill Miles’ spine whenever he walked, moved, or even talked to others. He had the posture of a leader, someone confident in their abilities, yet also the hint of a long forgotten, but never lost, practiced ease of a deadly killer. He knew that he could easily delve into the memories of his own father before his conception, but Desmond did not want to go there – it would have been too surreal.

He wondered what his father was like before he had children. If there was anything to go by, he suspected that perhaps his father was a scientist, or even on the forefront of the Age of Technology. He remembered waking up from the Animus and seeing his father cradling his arm, charred by what looked like electrical arcs which told him that his father had been working at Rebecca’s station.

Desmond glanced at his father’s hand and saw that it was covered in bandages, but the man did not seem too bothered by it. He knew that it could have meant two things, either it was not as serious as it had looked while they were escaping, or his father pretended he did not care it was a serious injury. Somehow, he suspected the latter explanation – the man was definitely very proud.

He looked again at the way his father sat in the chair and for the first time in a long time, felt a little sympathy for the man. The once proud posture was slumped in the chair, the pride seemingly gone and before him was someone broken. He suspected that it was due to Amanda’s death. There had not been time to properly mourn and Desmond had sought to bury the sadness he had felt by focusing on his mission, on the task at hand.

He saw Bill sigh a little noisily, rubbing his weathered hand across his face, brushing against days old stubble before turning his gaze towards him. Desmond met that gaze squarely and saw the sudden widening of surprise in Bill’s eyes before his father started a little as he realized he was awake. “Oh, uh…” his father suddenly stood up, suppressing a wince as his injured arm came in contact with the armrest of the rocking chair and hurried across the room.

“Uh, sorry, didn’t know you were awake, uh, Desmond. Uh…probably want to get changed and all. Mother’s making breakfast…” Bill looked utterly flustered, shuffling from feet to feet before deciding to leave. He suddenly spun on his heel and pointed vaguely towards the where the entrance was, “Hey, um, don’t go into the downstairs bathroom, Rikkin’s chained to the bathtub. Prison cell and all…”

Desmond blinked, a little bemused as he watched his father leave only to pop his head back in, suddenly subdued. “Hey Desmond…about Lucy…”

He did not want to think about Lucy, about how he wanted to rescue her-

“It’s most likely she’s been taken to Abstergo’s headquarters,” his father continued and Desmond turned his head away from him, trying to send the message that he wanted him to shut up. “Listen…I know about you and her…”

Desmond tightened his grip on the blanket covering him, glad that his hands were underneath it. He and Lucy? They had nothing…just…nothing… He had hurt her, and yet she had confessed her feelings for him.

“Abstergo’s headquarters is in New York City.”

Everything froze for Desmond as he heard those words. He barely heard the quiet shuffle of his father’s footsteps leaving the room before a few seconds later a door opening and closing. Silence descended upon the area and he forced himself to breathe. Lucy was in New York City…she was so close- His duty, his destiny. He needed to focus on that. Eliminating the Pieces of Eden came first. December 21^st was fast approaching and he needed to stop the Templars before they launched their satellite. Lucy…she was lost to him.

It took him several minutes before he pushed all thoughts about potentially rescuing Lucy from Abstergo out of his mind. Pushing his blanket back, he got up and saw that some relatively clean clothes had been left for him and grabbed them before heading to the upstairs bathroom. Quickly showering and dressing, he headed back downstairs, noticing that it was nearly lunch time already. As he entered the kitchenette-bar area, he smelled the wonderful smell of home cooking and saw his mother at the stove, making some omelets.

“Smells good,” he greeted her as she turned a smile on her face.

“Good morning Desmond, or should I say afternoon? You stayed up late again,” she teased him gently as he sat down at the bar before accepting a plate of what looked like peppers and sausage omelets.

“Bartending,” he shrugged before digging in.

“Shaun and Rebecca headed into the city to get some more foodstuffs. Altaїr left early this morning, I don’t know where. Arden went with Ezio to see about a black market dealer I think about some more weaponry,” Alice turned back to the skillet and poured some more beaten eggs where it promptly started to sizzle.

“I was thinking of also heading into the city, you know, to buy some flowers, freshen up the place… Maybe even go clothing shopping for the rest of you-“

“Mom,” Desmond interrupted quietly as he put his fork down, “I’m sorry.” He saw her turn a little, her cheerful façade dropping as her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

“Oh Desmond,” she shook her head before pouring out the scrambled eggs she had made onto another plate and turned to look at him. “Don’t apologize, okay? It isn’t your fault-“

“Yes it is,” Desmond said, “we could have given Amanda a proper burial-“

“It’s not your fault!” his mother’s sharp tone shut him up and he stared at her, realizing how close to hysterics she was. He felt a spark of fear fill him at the sight – he had only known her as calm, collected, a strong woman and equally strong mother in her own right. She had always been the steady rock he ran to when he did not understand why his father had put so many restrictions upon him on the Farm. Yet, she had never explained any of it and he had distanced himself from her as a result; but still respected her as who she was.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, “It is mine; my failure as a mother. I should have watched over Amanda, should have kept a closer eye on her.”

Desmond had to give a wincing smile, “She would have ended up like me, running away…”

Alice nodded, wiping a tear away, “Yes, she probably would have. I knew she was hanging out with the other apprentices late at night, but I didn’t say anything to your father. The two of you, such free spirits…so young…” She sighed again and he reached out, grasping one of her hands and squeezing it gently.

“We’ll get through this, okay? After I…” he hesitated, wondering if he should tell her, but decided not to in case things did not go as planned, “well, after I do what I have to do, I’ll go to Abstergo’s headquarters and rescue Peter, all right?”

His mother stared at him with a raised eyebrow, her red rimmed eyes still a bit teary, but it looked like her hysterics were passing, “Just Peter?”

“And Lucy, but not for the reasons you think it may be for,” he quickly added.

“Oh?” the ghost of a smile appeared on her lips as she withdrew her hand from his and grabbed a fork for herself before eating the eggs, adding some salad that had been sitting in another bowl to her plate.

“Listen, Mom, I…hurt her,” Desmond felt oddly like a child again, confessing all of his problems with girls, with life onto her and for some odd reason, he felt comforted by it. “I hurt her badly.”

“I’m sure she could-“

“No,” he held up a hand as he prodded his half-eaten omelet, his appetite long forgotten. “The Bleeding, when the Animus…” he grimaced, “when maybe Dad tried to cure me of the Bleeding or whatever, I don’t know; just something about it made me suddenly Bleed Jack as in Jack the Ripper who’s Arden’s father, really badly.” He propped up his head with a hand as he leaned against the countertop, “Arden’s the product of rape and I…I saw that…”

He looked up at his mother to see her with a subdued expression on her face and suddenly felt horrible. His mother should not know something like that about her own son and Desmond wondered if he should have even opened his mouth regarding Lucy. He wondered if he should have let her think that he would rescue her because he had feelings for her.

“The others,” his mother started after a few seconds of silence, “they told me that you mastered the Animus Piece of Eden. That you don’t need to worry about it-“

“It still doesn’t mean I have an ancestor somewhere in my head, in my blood that’s some psychopath like Jack,” Desmond shook his head, “I mean, I don’t think I’ll willingly Bleed them like I did before, but who knows what lurks in my bloodline? I mean, there is at least nearly 300 years in between Altaїr and Ezio and even longer between Ezio and Arden, with Jack right before her. I mean, what part of our line hasn’t been twisted somehow by the Pieces of Eden?”

He looked up and saw his mother staring silently at him, her face expressionless. For a moment, Desmond wondered if his mother was angry at him, but then she nodded once as if coming to a decision. “I…think you should talk to your father,” she said quietly, “I know you and he have had your differences, but I think you should talk to him.”

“Will he try to inject me with some kind of drug again?” Desmond groused, a moment of childish anger filling him.

She swatted him on his hand, “Your father regrets that-“

“Never heard an ‘I’m sorry’ from him-“

“And you never will,” Alice overrode him, “at least not the way you’re expecting it. You know by now that your father is a prideful man. Some call it cold arrogance, but it is pride that drives him. Pride and his sense of duty.”

“Some sense,” Desmond had not want to deal with his anger and fury over what his father had done to him; about the years of resentment and lack of information that made him run away. Yet his mother seemed to somehow know how to bring those feelings to the forefront. He had planned to ignore his father until everything was done, but his mother had a way with her words.

“Desmond, please, talk to him, all right?” his mother tilted her head to the side, “Just…just give him a chance to explain his side of the story. You don’t have to forgive him, but you should at least know why your father kept you, Amanda, and Peter in the dark for all these years. Why I kept my silence too.”

Desmond bit his lip. As much as he wanted to say no, a part of him buried deep within after Amanda’s death, still wanted closeness to his parents now more than ever. The loss of his sister had driven home how precious life was – not even Ezio’s memories of losing his father and two brothers had done that. It had taken the death of his own flesh and blood, his own sibling whom he remembered teasing and playing with that had opened up that void.

“You can’t tell me?”

“No,” she shook her head, “it is not mine to tell. Maybe, maybe this will also give Bill a sense of peace…”

It would have been easy for Desmond to say the callous words of ‘Dad doesn’t strike me as the type to have feelings’ but he also knew that it would have hurt his mother deeply. And he knew he was not that type of person. He sighed and poked his omelet a little more, “All right…no guarantees though. I still am expecting an apology.”

“That is all I ask,” his mother smiled a little before placing a small pepper shaker in front of him, “now stop poking your omelet to death and finish eating. I’m not cooking everyday so this is the rare brunch for you.”

“Yes mother,” a small smile appeared on his lips as he stopped poking his omelet and started to finish it.

* * *

It was a couple hours later that Desmond heard his father approaching the patio outside the garage loft. He had been staring aimlessly at the speck across the waters towards Manhattan Island, letting the cool fall breeze blow around him. It was a mild chill, the temperatures a little higher than average for what was late-November. But his hoodie was enough for him to wander outside in during the daylight hours. He turned as his father paused behind him and saw Bill shove his hands into his pants pockets, looking for all the world quite uneasy.

“We should take a walk,” Bill abruptly spun on his heel and started walking away and Desmond sighed a little before following him. He could see already that his father expected him to follow like any other apprentice on orders from his master and resisted the urge to say no. He had promised his mother he would let his father talk and if his father thought that by walking around the neighborhood then he would do so. The others had not returned yet, but his mother had assured him that they all had cell phones on them. She had asked if he wanted one, but Desmond had said no, too used to not having a means of communication while living off the grid.

Ezio’s garage-loft was located on the tip of Staten Island and not even remotely near any houses, though they were somewhat visible. So it had taken them walking past a second luxury beach-front home before Bill cleared his throat roughly and brought his hands out of his pockets, jamming them instead underneath his armpits. Desmond ambled alongside him, his heightened senses ever looking around him in this open area for anything that could constitute as a threat. He could feel the brush of Ezio in his mind reassuring him that he too would help him watch out, but for now did not see anything.

“I know I am an arrogant man,” Bill suddenly started, “you probably already know that though. And you won’t be the first one to accuse me of that.” His father rubbed the back of his head before glancing at him a little awkward, “I guess you’re probably wondering why I tried to drug you and what the hell was in that formula. I…was trying to stop the Bleeding.”

It was an effort for Desmond not to automatically punch his father in the face. He would listen to him, hear him out, he repeated to himself.

“I mean it would be easy to say that I read about the Bleeding effects from Lucy’s notes, but…that isn’t the case,” his father mumbled the last words before looking ahead as they walked, “it’s…probably my fault that you ended up like this in the first place.”

“Now you’re not making sense,” Desmond muttered shaking his head. He had no idea where his father was going with his circular reasoning and wondered if he was going to make any more excuses.

“Desmond,” his father sharp tone made his lips curl a little in anger before he saw the frustration and the troubled expression on the man’s face, “please this is hard enough.” He was a little startled that it was nearly the same expression that Altaїr had when he was telling him the truth last night. A part of him realized that his father and Altaїr were similar in respects that both men had an enormous amount of pride and were swallowing it in wake of tragedy; truths crumbling around them and because they each felt they had to lay bare their confessions. Confessions that felt awfully like last rites a part of him shuddered to think, yet somehow he realized that it was only weeks before Abstergo launched their satellite, before the theoretical end of the world.

And he wished he had a freaking drink right now.

Desmond was no stranger to being a sort-of-therapist, many bartenders were like that, watching as patrons became a little looser with their tongues and spilled their secrets or frustrations out to him. He supposed that his observation of his father earlier had been true, his father was broken, most likely by Amanda’s death and the realization that everything he had done to prevent his children from learning about the war between the Assassins and Templars was for naught.

His father pinched the bridge of his nose for a second before jamming his hands into his pockets once more. They had stopped by a rocky overlook, the distant dings of buoys in the mouth of the rivers ringing in the distance. Seagulls looking for meals cried high above them, but even then Desmond watched his father, for the first time ever since he had run away seeing his shoulders slumped, seemingly bowed before a heavy weight upon him.

“I met Alan Rikkin back when I was an undergraduate in college,” his father shrugged before flicking a hand at Manhattan Island, “Columbia, here in the city.” He shook his head, “Back then we only had some information about Abstergo and his name came up before I left for my studies. It was what it was, a little bit of spy work, but an honest to God good education, even though Abstergo was starting to get its hands into everything. The Assassins, we had figured that even with a twisted Abstergo educational system there was still the chance of changing society, little by little.”

“Rikkin was one of my professors back then, well, sort of. He was more of a teacher’s assistant then to one of my professors in neuro-sciences. But he did teach some of the undergrad classes like all T.A.s usually did. My professor, I definitely knew he wasn’t Templar affiliated, but he did have Abstergo connections because of his research funding.”

“You were sent to spy on them?”

“I told the Northeastern leader, but he sent Paul Bellamy to spy on them instead,” his father stared at nothing in particular, “Paul was one of our best ones and could have gotten into Abstergo a lot easier than I could because of recent law changes; racial equality and all of that.”

“So then…”

“I continued to work on my studies, after all, we did have alternate goals besides screwing over the Templars or learning their secrets,” his father continued, “my professor took an interest in my senior thesis and helped fund a few trips abroad to continue my research. Of course, we took advantage of those trips to plan other missions where I would be an asset.”

“You mean you killed people while you were also doing research,” Desmond found it a little hard to imagine his father just a few years younger than him wielding a hidden blade and killing people. He knew he had easy access to those memories, but he supposed it was the mentality of all children who only saw their parents grow old and could not quite comprehend them when they were young and in their prime.

His father turned his head a little and a crooked smile worked its way up his face, “Is it that hard to see me like that? Like your age discreetly eliminating people? Most of the time it wasn’t bloody, but mostly poisons or planted evidence to throw them in jail.” Bill shook himself a little before continuing on, “Besides going abroad, I was also partnered with another one of my classmates since we had similar, but independent theories.”

“He was a Templar?”

“No, not at first,” his father looked a little disappointed, “but I think the Templars lured him to their cause with promises of unlimited power and because I betrayed him.”

“Betrayed him?”

“I killed his wife,” his father rocked a little on his heels, “before she could kill me. At the same time I stole their child to be raised by us.”

Desmond blinked, not only because of the casual simple way his father had said those words, but also because of what he had done. “…What?”

“I am rather surprised he didn’t gloat over this when you had been captured,” his father said absently.

“Who Rikkin? No…wait,” Desmond had a nasty feeling that he knew who his father was talking about and shook his head, “no way…”

His father sighed, “Warren Vidic was one of my best friends and I stabbed him in the back.”

* * *

Author’s Notes:

A couple of emotionally heavy chapters coming up as lots of things are coming together and you’ll learn part of Bill’s back story – which right now I am also contemplating turning that into a small set of side stories. Oh, I also have the oddest crush on Darim from Revelations so he’ll probably be popping up more than often, but won’t be a main feature.

I want to take the time again to thank you for reading this story, reviewing it, favoriting it, and even emailing me with questions regarding it. Every one of you just make my day with each hit or review. Also just letting folks know that come about six weeks, early March, I will be taking a quick hiatus because of Mass Effect 3’s release. :D

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Story:

Chapter 40 – Betrayal

“Warren Vidic was one of my best friends and I stabbed him in the back,” Bill Miles sighed, looking older than he really was. “I was naively idealistic, foolishly arrogant, still probably am, and thought I could really just end this goddamn war. That there would be peace between the Assassins and Templars.”

“Vidic?!” Desmond barely heard the rest of his father’s words, too focused on the fact that the man who had forced him into the Animus, who had started this whole goddamned Bleeding in him, who would have had him killed if not for Lucy’s efforts…he was Bill Miles’ best friend?! And his father had done what?!

He saw his father give him a pointed look, “Yes Warren Vidic- oh fine, yes the same man who kidnapped you, Desmond I’m trying to-“ His father abruptly shut up and pinched his nose for a second, breathing out heavily before shaking his head, “Vidic must have been utterly gleefully out of his fucking mind when he realized he had you.”

Desmond stayed silent, resisting the urge to really slug his father across the face at such callousness. A part of him, a childish part still wanted to believe that his father cared for his wellbeing, but just listening to the man really blew that wish out of the water.

“He didn’t even mention a single thing,” he grounded out through clenched teeth.

“No, he probably wouldn’t have,” his father suddenly agreed quietly, “which probably means he’s still angry with me. I don’t blame him.”

“You killed his wife?”

His father looked away and absently rubbed his right forearm. For the first time, Desmond noticed that his blazer jacket was a little looser at the sleeves and realized his father was probably wearing a hidden blade underneath his right arm. It was hard for him to imagine his father wearing a weapon like that; he would have imagined him packing a handgun instead. “Kristen Vidic was the one who was associated with the Templars. But neither of us knew how deep until I realized she had only been assigned to seduce Warren to get closer to me to kill me.”

“Why?”

“Because of our research project that we’ve been working since undergraduate years and into our post graduate years. We were both on our way to earning our doctorates and the project, well…it was based on some research and an artifact we had found in the ruins of Alamut.” His eyes had a far away look, “I was the first to figure out the code in the artifact, a disc really, something that we should have noticed in hindsight. It looked like a futuristic modern equivalent of a CD disc, something that we didn’t consider.”

“Code…?”

“What would eventually become the basis for the Animus,” his father stopped rubbing his forearm, “it wasn’t quite a Piece of Eden, not in the sense that you nor I know of them, but it was definitely an artifact from the First Civilization, from Minerva and her people.”

“You know about Minerva-? Never mind,” Desmond realized that his father probably knew more about Minerva than he did.

“Minerva’s prophecy was a closely guarded secret in the Order,” his father stopped walking and instead scuffed a shoe against the ground, “only a few of us knew about it. I probably could say that I didn’t know about the name she had spoken through Ezio, but that would be another lie.”

“For the longest time we thought that the Pieces of Eden were the only things that were left from the First Civilization, that and the temples that they were housed in. We had teams scour the areas, studying the ruins and…glyphs is the best word for it, that housed the Pieces of Eden, but this…this disc…it was the first thing that was discovered that wasn’t related to a Piece of Eden. It was like finding a piece of pottery that belonged to the ancient Egyptians, a glimpse of the way they lived that didn’t involve falling into madness or possession by a Piece of Eden.”

“But that was a lie,” Desmond stared at his father carefully, reading regret in his body language, “the Animus-“

“That…was my fault,” his father’s shoulders slumped a little, “that was mine. I was experimenting with the artifact, scraping samples from it, testing it in all sorts of conditions, anything except save touching it. I discovered the code from it and experimented with that, translating it into ones and zeroes, splicing it with the latest in computer technology, using it to hack into various networks to test what it really was, and not realizing that all the while, it was…alive.”

“Alive?”

“Not quite flesh and blood, but not quite dead either. We didn’t realize it then, but the artifact acted like a living recorder to one of the last survivors before our race wiped them out.”

“But I thought a catastrophe-“

“This was after the catastrophe, when the two races still could not abide by each other and kept warring with each other. And yes, I know your next question is regarding the Pieces of Eden and how they relate to this – seems like in every race there’s always a semblance of order amongst the higher ups, but there will be someone who just doesn’t really toe the party line.”

“A rogue recording?”

“Except the young girl who had tried to imbue the artifacts with the same function as the Pieces of Eden seemed to botch a part of it. It didn’t quite act like the other Pieces of Eden, but it was a surprising different look at how the First Civilization acted.”

“A historian would find that very valuable,” Desmond commented neutrally.

“Leonius certainly found it interesting,” his father said nudging a piece of loose pebble from the crack in the sidewalk and absently kicked it away, “the others, not so much. They found the code far more interesting.”

“Why?”

“Because Warren and I had made it so that it could be compatible with today’s technology. It was something that had never been done, not even with a Piece of Eden. For the first time in both our Orders’ histories, we were not only able to study something from the First Civilization that was different than a Piece of Eden, but we were able to reverse engineer it.”

“So the Animus is not a Piece of Eden?” Desmond was now confused.

“Oh it is,” his father grimaced bitterly, “our reverse engineering made it into one. We fixed the botching…”

Desmond resisted the urge to rub his own face; resisted the urge to mutter ‘great’ and instead held his breath, counted to five before releasing it slowly. “Let me guess, the Templars decided your usefulness was over.”

A crooked smile worked its way up Bill’s face as he nodded once, “Predictable, isn’t it? I should have expected it too, I did expect it. I was just too…blind, too addicted to the knowledge of what Warren and I actually did to consider the possibilities. By then, we were both well into our doctorates and Warren was married to Kristen. They had already had their first child, a few months old, when Kristen was given orders to kill me. Maybe the Templars gave her a few months maternity leave, I don’t know. Maybe they expected Warren to be completely distracted before he realized his wife was a Templar agent and that I was an Assassin. I do know that everyone, myself included, expected Warren to be at the lab instead of unexpectedly coming home early that day.”

“…Jesus…Dad…” Desmond could imagine seeing the murky image of his father, of someone with his father’s build standing over a woman hidden blade in hand, blood everywhere, somewhere the crying of an infant echoing loudly. “Why…why did you-“

“Steal the child?” his father smiled bitterly, “because Kristen had told me that she was going to kill Warren after dealing with me. That he was a good for nothing scientist who always hung on my coattails and that he had outlived his usefulness to the Templars. That even though he was not an Assassin by affiliation, he was close enough to me that he warranted attention before any of this research could be divulged to the Assassins. I wasn’t going to let a child, even her child, grow up in a horrible environment like that. I was going to give the child a chance.”

“And you believed her?!”

Bill snorted, “Warren was my best friend, like a brother to me. Of course I believed her. After I dealt with Kristen, I was going to take their child and warn Warren. We were then going to escape to one of the safehouses where he would be hidden away with his child under our protection…”

“I was stupid to think that it was Kristen’s only plan. She had deliberately called Warren back early, either to tell him some lie over my dead body or to see her dead body and my blade covered in her blood. Either way…he saw me carrying his child…and…” His father abruptly shivered a little, “Alice, your mother, she had been sent as a back up several months ago on the pretense that we had been dating. She drove Warren back home not knowing what was going to happen.”

“Your escape route,” Desmond murmured quietly, seeing something akin to relief and a weight lift off of his father’s shoulders as he nodded wearily. For the first time, he could see how old his father looked, how weary he was of the world and of the war between Assassins and Templars.

“You’re probably wondering why I didn’t just put his child down and escape,” his father shrugged, “I promised myself that the child would have grown up free from the war, like what should have happened to Warren if Kristen had not been a Templar. But, like most promises, that was broken once they took the child out of my hands.” He crossed his arms across his chest, “So I made another promise, that you, Amanda, and Peter would never know what happened. That you would be able to grow up free from the war. I wouldn’t make the same mistake twice again and…tried to protect you the only way I knew how. I acquired the power I needed to try to shelter the three of you as much as possible.”

“Amanda…Amanda’s death,” his father hesitated a little, “that’s my fault. Not yours…not your mother’s. That’s…my fault.” Desmond watched his father neutrally as he closed his mouth and seemed to gather himself a little before speaking up again, “One mistake…out of so many…one of my greatest ones.” His father looked down for a second before a bitter laugh escaped his lips and turned to look at Desmond, unshed tears in his eyes, “I’m…sorry.”

Desmond blinked a little, a part of him wanting to suppress the sudden yearning for familial affection, to take the apology that was given to him. But the other part of him wanted nothing more than to rail against his father, against all that he had done, how he had made his childhood a living hell. He wanted to tell him that it had been difficult growing up and why he should not accept the apology… Through all of this, he realized that the greatest emotion he felt was overwhelming pity. Pity not for his father’s actions, but pity for the man that stood before him that he was not the only one to have a Piece of Eden screw up his life, but also the endless war.

And in the midst of that, Desmond realized that his father had long approved of him and his actions, but could not voice it, needed to keep in firm control, needed the illusion that he was protecting his family because if that was gone, then everything was lost. His father was looking for his approval, something to tell him that he had not failed as a parent, that he had tried his best with his children. Amanda’s death had thrown that failure into his face and Peter’s capture had only added to that. Bill Miles had seen his whole world collapse around him and was only trying to rebuild by throwing everything including the semblance of compassion out of the window.

Desmond knew it would have been easy not to accept the apology, to tell his father that he had failed as a parent, that everything he had done was for naught. It would have been vindictively cruel, and he would have been in the right to do so after all of the shit he had to put up with, not including being drugged by his own father.

But that was not him.

“All that’s good in me began with you,” the words came unbidden to his lips, sounding oddly familiar yet he could not recall from where, but he knew it was the right thing to say.

He saw his father’s lips tremble a little before Bill Miles abruptly turned away, nodding, the relief sagging his shoulders a little more. There were no hugs, no embraces, not even the shaking of hands, but Desmond suddenly felt a little more at peace and knew that he had taken the first step in understanding his father and his motivations. It was the first step in forgiveness, but the two of them also knew that it was not an exclusive excuse that Bill was forgiven for everything he had done to Desmond in his life. He saw his father turn again to stare out at the sun that was a little lower in the sky from their walk.

“What do you plan to do?” his father asked, his voice businesslike, but there was the hint of affection in it, affection Desmond had not heard before. It was surprisingly welcomed and he let it roll off of him.

Desmond turned towards the same direction his father was staring at, seeing the distant skyline of the main part of New York City looming. “What I have to,” he finally replied after a few minutes of silence.

“Destroying the Apple of Eden won’t be easy Desmond,” his father cautioned quietly and he nodded.

“Yeah…I know,” he scratched the back of his head, “that’s the easy part…”

“Destroying what is in front of you, breaking the illusion and ignorance,” his father murmured quietly as he rocked back on his heels, jamming his hands back into his pockets, “the Apple will have a powerful hold on him. He’s been carrying it for god knows how long, probably since…well…”

“Arden will know what to do. I’ll ask her,” Desmond said as a gentle breeze washed over them. He crossed his arms together, leaning more to his left side than his right, the comforting familiar weight of the hidden blade wrapped around his left forearm.

They stood in silence for a few more minutes before his father shifted his feet once more, “Desmond…the others…”

“I know,” he did not ask how his father knew of his plans, but rather accepted it.

“No, listen,” Bill shook his head, “listen…once this begins Rikkin will-“

“I know what I’m doing,” Desmond tightened the grip he had on his shirtsleeves. He could not say it, could not bring himself to say any of it. It had to work and it was their only shot. Altaїr was right, the Pieces of Eden needed to be destroyed, this war was utterly pointless. And this was the only way he knew how.

He heard a mirthless chuckle from his father and glanced over at him to see Bill shaking his head. “You don’t get it do you? Don’t consider it a mea culpa; just consider it for what it is.”

Desmond stared hard at his father, trying to keep himself impartial, to distance himself that this was not his father, but rather a fellow member of the Order. He had not explicitly asked nor had he revealed his plans, but his father, no, Bill Miles had picked up on what was needed. “You volunteering?”

“No, just informing. There’s no one else unless you don’t plan on breaching headquarters,” Bill stared back just as impassively.

There was a second that Desmond wondered if his father, no, if Bill had told him his life story just to elicit some sympathy or even a sense of forgiveness before dropping this bomb on him, but the thought passed just as quickly. It did not matter whether that thought was true or not, what mattered was that Bill was looking at him as the new leader of the Order, that whatever plan he had he was trusted to put his men in the right positions to strike at the Templars or whatever goal he had.

“Do what you will,” he finally answered before uncrossing his arms and walking past Bill, back to the garage-loft that was only a distant building.

He heard his father pause for a moment before following behind him as they made their way back, the sun dipping below the horizon. The dusky rays of the sunset lit up the sky and Desmond glanced up once, one more moment of doubt of whether or not he was doing the right thing. He banished those thoughts just as quickly before steeling himself – it had to be done, there was no other way.

* * *

Ezio had taken the last couple of days to convert his soundproof basement into a mini shooting range for the others to practice and Desmond had seen his mother guide both Shaun and Rebecca through the basics of firing a handgun. It was evident that Rebecca knew more than Shaun, but had commented in an offhand manner that she needed the practice. Weaponry culled from the various black market dealers in New York City and surrounding suburbs had provided some additional weaponry, but they were too potent to be used on a makeshift firing range.

Bill had taken it upon himself to stockpile medicines and compresses and it seemed that everyone sensed that there was a mission to be had. However, no questions were asked even though Desmond felt all eyes upon him whenever he was in their presence. He offered no answers save for the occasional greeting or small conversation struck up by the others. Altaїr had not even spoken two words to him since telling him everything that night and even Ezio was quiet, but still maintained his slightly jovial attitude whenever interacting with the others.

Alan Rikkin had been left chained to the makeshift bathtub prison he was in, but Desmond did not bother questioning him or even visiting him. He knew his father occasionally visited, but did not pry into his reasons why. He supposed Bill was perhaps either gloating or more likely looking for a type of closure from his former teacher’s assistant. Rikkin’s role in Desmond’s plan would come soon enough.

Two more days had passed before Desmond sought out Arden. He knew where she always went each morning, sitting out on the patio each day, watching the sun rise. She did not stare at anything in particular, but he knew that she was thinking upon her life and the memories lost. She wore the Lance across its familiar sheath across her back and for a second he was struck by the image of how forlorn and melancholic she looked, a lot like Stephen in retrospect. He had always thought her as a strong woman, a fiercely independent one, based both from the memories he had explored of her and also seeing her in person. But she now struck a completely different image, one he realized she had been hiding for a long, long time, perhaps even longer than she herself had realized.

“Ezio choose a good spot,” Arden spoke up as he approached. He noticed that her eyes were closed as a breeze lifted strands of her hair, tied up in a slightly loose bun on top of her head. “It reminds me of home.”

“Do you mind if I sit and meditate with you?” he asked, unable to tear his gaze away from the never-healing wound that bled a bright red spot both on the back of her woolen blazer jacket and on her shirt front. No one else could see it, not even after he had told Ezio and Altaїr about it days ago.

“Sit,” she patted the chair beside her at the small table without opening her eyes and he sat down, shifting a little to a more comfortable position. He saw her open a single eye to stare at him and nodded a little in confirmation to her silent question.

The eye closed once more and a sigh escaped her. He could see the instant change of her body language from one of melancholic to one of relieved hope. Desmond briefly closed his own eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He knew what he had to do, what he was asking of certain people, yet a part of him, the small part of him that still did not know how to quite make of what happened in the Animus quailed at the thought. The silence was only broken by the lap of waves against the pebbly beach, the cries of seagulls in the air, distant dings of buoys in the water and occasional muffled bang that told him Shaun and Rebecca were practicing with their guns again.

“You have committed to a path,” Arden suddenly spoke up and he opened his eyes to look at her, but she did not meet his gaze, her eyes closed as she adopted a more meditative stance. “Do not step off of it or else you will lose everything dear to you.”

“Is that what you did?” he asked, suddenly feeling old and weary. He hated all of this truth be told, but it needed to be done.

“I…do not remember,” her lips twitched up in a slightly sad smile.

“Do you…do you want to know?” it was putting off the inevitable, but Desmond realized he wanted one more moment of peace, one more moment where he was just Desmond Miles and not Desmond Miles.

“…Yes. What did I lose…to this?” she gestured vaguely to the Lance strapped behind her.

“A loving husband,” Desmond could feel the memory of Arden fill him once more and grasped onto it, using it as support as he spoke. However, he also knew that she did not want an altered or skewed view. “One who also knew what was going to happen to him. The two of you married, six years after…”

“After Jack…after my f-father-“

“You had a son,” Desmond could see her lips tighten a little as she struggled against the end of her memories before the birth of her son Alan.

“Alan…no,” she finally opened her eyes and looked at him as a wistful smile appeared on her face, “I had another one?”

“Joshua,” Desmond nodded, “he was seven when he died and you were a few months away from giving birth to Alan.”

“Oh.”

“You were…happy,” Desmond never really got to meditate on the actual feelings of the memories of his ancestors, except in cases of extreme emotion, like when Ezio lost his parents or had even cradled Christina’s body during the Bonfire of the Vanities. It was only now that he realized she had been her happiest married to Stephen, perhaps even in the few years when she had first met him before Jack had stabbed her with the Lance. That was her happiest moments even though she was not overt with her feelings. “I think the happiest even though you knew what was going to eventually happen to Stephen. He knew too, though he tried not to let it worry you all that often.”

“Why did I have children?”

“Because I think the two of you realized that eventually Stephen was going to leave you, no matter how long the two of you lived. You knew that he wanted you to be happy, to leave a token of his legacy,” Desmond had to duck as a smile came unbidden to his lips, “but you fought that. Oh boy…you were stubborn and you fought that. Stephen admired that and loved that in you, but you fought against the inevitable and you hated it.”

A small bark of laughter emerged from Arden’s lips as he shook himself out of the dark humor and sobered a little. “I’m sorry…it’s actually harder for me to describe this to you than all of the other sessions we had before. I’m beginning to think that the Bleeding Effect actually had a better purpose to make me live the memories than to actually be protected by them from the others in my head.”

“A dangerous thought,” his ancestor raised an eyebrow at him.

“Necessary though,” Desmond shrugged, “at least I know it.”

“That is true,” she agreed, “but nonetheless dangerous.”

“The two of you were sent by Ezio to find Nikolai Orelov, the man who had witnessed the Tuguska event, the destruction of a Piece of Eden by Nikola Tesla,” Desmond cleared his throat and continued, “and you spent a few years searching for him. You eventually found him and were on your way back using the rail system to get to Chicago when Templars ambushed you.”

Arden continued to stare at him and Desmond could clearly see that she had no memory of what happened. He knew it was true that the Lance stole years or months of memories preferring it over the years or months of a life, but had always held out a little hope that maybe it was not true. He suppressed a shudder, the plan needed to go ahead, there was no other way.

“You eventually figured out that Stephen knew and he knew because he was able to catch a glimpse of the future from the Lance. I don’t know what he gave up to see that future, but I think that he also knew it was inevitable. He knew it was the only way to protect you, but people and lives had to be sacrificed to ensure the future. I think he may have also seen what would happen now, but even I think that’s farfetched. You figured this out when you were captured by the Templars during that ambush. They let you live, even let you keep your hidden blades because I think they wanted your child; they wanted Alan.”

“Stephen…he…died?”

“Yeah,” Desmond nodded, finding it easy to push away the sudden surge of grief he felt from the memory of his ancestor. However, he just grasped the edge of that grief – knowing that if he didn’t he would just sound completely detached and cold and he did not want that. “He destroyed the partial leftover Piece of Eden Orelov carried, and killed him with it. He didn’t have to kill Orelov, but I think he wanted the others to think otherwise. Plus, I get the feeling that Orelov was also looking for some kind of closure. Stephen did know what would have happened if he didn’t destroy Orelov’s partial Piece of Eden, that’s for sure.”

“Possession…”

Desmond did not respond to her whispered statement and instead continued, “He sent the main body of the Lance away with Joshua, but he knew that your son would die in the attempt. I think he wanted the Lance gone, missing, lost like it was for so many centuries. Maybe he was postponing the inevitable or maybe he saw something that I can’t speculate about, but it definitely did piss off the Templars.”

She laughed a little, “That sounds like Stephen…”

“He loved you, you know. Loved you all the way until his dying breath and even then probably beyond the grave,” Desmond looked up at her and saw that her eyes had a slight sheen in them.

“I know,” she looked away for a moment and he took the opportunity to press a question he had.

“You didn't kill yourself...?”

“Do you not know the reason why?”

“I want to hear it from you. I...experienced the memories, but, I want to know.”

She looked at him, “For the longest time I wanted to die. But you already knew that. One could have seen my mother's death as serendipity. I was rescued by Altaїr from a future that would have ended with me selling my body like my mother did to support us. Perhaps if fate had not intervened, my descendants would have been different or even dead in the world wars. That...that was supposed to be my life. Not the posh comforts, the training, not everything that was done after my mother's death.

“But I was too cowardly to take my life,” she finished, “too wrapped up in the promise that I had made to a husband I did not deserve, to a father I never had, but always wanted, to a brother that looked at me like his own flesh and blood sister.”

“I want to say I understand, but that's probably platitudes, right?” Desmond saw a brief sad smile appear on Arden's lips as she nodded.

“It whispers,” she lifted her arm a little and stroked the vambrace hidden under the folds of her clothes, “and I was too weak to resist it.”

“But you weren't taken in by it-”

“Every Piece of Eden takes you in, Desmond, every one of them,” she suddenly interrupted him sharply, “even if you master-”

“No, I know that, I mean,” he shook his head, “you aren't a hostage to it as much as you are a guardian to the Lance.”

“Guardian?” she looked at him curiously and he nodded.

“Yeah. It doesn't have power over you even though you think it does. It's not the promise that made you stay your hand from committing suicide after Alan grew up, it's the fact that you know. Deep down, you knew what was coming. Maybe it showed you something like it showed Stephen, I don't know, but even if it didn't you know that something big was going to happen, that it was time. So you guard it against, you protect the knowledge, against any and all who would abuse it.”

“And your half-brother? Alexander?”

“I can't speak for him, but I'm willing to bet that he tried. He just...couldn't defy the Animus,” Desmond mumbled the last part.

“And you?”

“I have no fucking idea,” a small bitter laugh escaped his own lips as he realized that he was committed now, to his path. The small part of him that still did not understand what was going on hurdled into the abyss that guarded the Pieces of Eden. “At this point, I just want it to end. I'm sick of what's going on, of this war that I didn't even want to be a part of. I'm sick of being looked at as the next savior of mankind just because some alien-lady spoke my name to one of my ancestors in the Sistine Chapel. If people think I have the power to do something then fine, I'll take that power and do something.”

“Power cannot be given up so readily.”

“I know, and I could have just as easily walked away from all of this. Ezio offered me a chance to walk away while we were at the enclave and I said no. Because I know it's very easy to take that power and use it, but I wanted to help. Call it revenge, whatever you want, but I don't like leaving something unfinished that wasn't started by me.

“And if you fall?”

Desmond looked away for a second, his eyes scanning the city line in the distance, “...Lucy. She'll catch me...I know she will.”

“Are you sure?”

He looked back and saw Arden's face was set, steady, “No...but no one can be sure can they? Isn't that one of the fundamentals of life that they always try to teach you? I can only hope, right?”

His ancestor did not answer as she sat back, as if coming to a conclusion. She suddenly reached behind her and unsheathed the Lance. It did not glow, but Desmond found himself utterly repelled by it. He thought he heard a distant scream in the back of his mind before it was suddenly quieted. Darim and Altaїr's presence abruptly bloomed in the back of his mind and he realized that they had quieted the part of Nona he had taken into himself. The realization sent a shudder through him as he stared at Arden.

“It...says you are ready,” Arden held the blade in her hands, one hand on the pommel, the other flat across the length of the blade as she extended it towards him.

Desmond bit his lip as he stared at the Lance. He could feel an oily sensation crawl through him, like little knives trying to stab across his skin. That sensation grew in the back of his mind and he twisted his neck a little, trying to physically ward it away even though he knew it was mental and psychological. He lifted his left hand halfway before drawing it back. There was no going back once he had taken possession of the Lance.

He breathed out a little noisily through his mouth before reaching up again and just before his hand touched the pommel Arden drew her hands back a little, making him pause and look up at her.

“Desmond, you must be careful,” she cautioned.

“Yeah...”

“It will twist and warp your thoughts until you think they are your own. They may be your own, but they will be influenced by the Lance. The words I'm saying right now are suspect, but they are also true-”

“From a certain point of view,” he smiled a little and saw her nodded, her face still serious. A sudden sobering thought wiped the smile off of his face, “Are...a-are you sure you want to do this?”

Arden suddenly smiled; a beautifully sunny one that nearly took his breath away. The last time he had seen such a smile... He was suddenly overwhelmed by the memory of her, hugging Altaїr tightly in the hall of their Victorian house, the first time that both acknowledged the roles of father and daughter and how much they meant to each other. “When I do reach heaven, hell, wherever I go, I want to let Stephen know that the future was not set.”

“You're just doting-”

“Say old grandmother, great grandmother, and I will stab you with this before you even get the words out,” the brief moment of humor from her broke some of the tension before he laughed a little and wrapped his hand on the pommel of the Lance.

He immediately felt a power unlike the Animus surging through him and for a second thought that his arm was alive and alight with an unholy glow. There was a second of silence, blissful white silence before Desmond squeezed his eyes shut as the cacophony pounding of whispers roared in his ears, in his mind. They spoke in millions of voices, voices he vaguely recognized, some he thought were familiar, others not so much. The languages and words they spoke were a multitude of cultures of places. He thought he caught bits of Italian, some Arabic, but none of it was familiar.

He wanted to laugh, cry out in joy and pain as he could feel the knowledge, the incredible amount of information he suddenly knew about. He could change the world with it, could see himself standing with the glittering flashes of bulbs going off – photographs, he could-

No!

He saw images flashing across his vision, promises, seductive murmurs, of sensual pleasures and even violent ones that were promised. Of revenge, of passion, fights that could have been, fights that were not. It asked him what he wanted as blood seemingly spurted into his face and he tasted the coppery sensation. It was a delicious balm against the sudden rage he felt. The headiness sent him reeling and he spun in dizziness, trying to contain all of it. He felt a deep hunger for it-

He dangled, hanging off of a dangerous precipice and looked towards the abyss that was an endless roiling dark red mass. Stop it, stop it! He heard the distant shout and thought it sounded like someone familiar scream – he was screaming, but that voice was fading, had already faded. He felt something worming its way through him, alien, uncomfortable, yet at the same time felt so powerless to do anything. It was dark, it was midnight and oily. It promised him-

Desmond suddenly reeled as he fell to his knees – stop it! Stop it! – his screams reflected back to him with the abruptness of a hammer smashing against his head. He felt himself choking on the bile, the bitter acidic taste slicing through the dizziness in his mind.

He groped for a purchase and felt a hand grabbed his. Looking up he nearly lost himself again in overwhelming relief as Altaїr stared back down at him, the memory that was aware pulling himself up. A part of him hesitated, wondering if it was another trick, but the insistent tug from the four-fingered hand reassured him. As he shakily stood up, he felt another pair of hands steady him from behind and turned a little to see Arden, a grim smile on her face. Ezio’s weathered hand suddenly landed on his shoulder before he felt Darim beyond them and slowly saw the familiar yet blurred faces of his ancestors, the multitude upon multitudes of them that spawned his bloodline appear.

They knew, all of his ancestors knew. They had each fought off the Pieces of Eden and their presence reassured Desmond that he too had done what they had done – he knew how the Pieces of Eden worked and this one was no different.

Clinging onto that thought and with the help of his ancestors, he slowly quieted his mind, beating back the overwhelming influencing presence that was the Lance; quieting the sinister whisper as he felt it spread into the corners of his mind. It still searched; hungry for memories that he considered the most precious, but Desmond ignored it for now. There would be a way to combat that, he was sure of it. But now...

Desmond took a shaky breath as he opened his eyes, his hand still clutching the pommel of the Lance. Arden had removed hers in the few seconds he realized he had been fighting off the Lance's presence. That battle felt like hours, years even and he knew that had to keep his guard up. The Lance may have been beaten back with help from the memories of his ancestors, whom he realized acted less like memories and more like...personas that were aware; but it was the start of a never-ending battle he had taken upon himself.

Everything he did now was suspect to the influence of the Lance. But he could not let that worry him. This was what he wanted, the start of the end of the war.

Arden's gentle hand on his own made him look up at her and he realized he was trembling. He gave her a wan smile before nodding. “I'm...okay. I think...just...”

“It is angry,” she smiled a little before smiling at him, but he saw that her smile was in pain.

“A-Arden-”

“It only took something from me when it could not take something from you, do not worry. I will live,” she reassured him and he nodded. He wanted to say that he was sorry, but knew that she would not accept it nor would it mean anything. He had chosen this path and he needed to live with the consequences.

He stood up, his knees wobbling a little before her strong grip on his arm steadied him and took several deep breaths. The Lance felt sure in his grip now and he glanced down at it, flicking the blade back and forth as it caught the cloudy sunlight and reflected little beams of light everywhere.

“Is it done?” Altaїr's quiet voice spoke up and the two of them turned to see him approaching, Ezio oddly subdued, behind him.

“...Yeah,” Desmond breathed the word out. He still felt shaky, but could feel his equilibrium returning. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, breathing in and out as he felt his living ancestors’ gazes upon him. Opening his eyes again, he steeled himself and stared at Altaїr, “I'm ready...”

“Good, then perhaps you could tell us what-”

“Give me the Apple,” he cut the master assassin off who drew a half-step back in surprise.

“Desmond, what are you-”

“Give me the Apple,” he shot a glance at Ezio silencing him before looking back at Altaїr, “you want the Pieces of Eden destroyed, right Altaїr? Then give me the Apple.”

“You have the Lance, and with the Apple, too much power-”

“I don't want to hold the Apple-”

“Do you have the mental fortitude-”

“It's not going to make me crazy-”

“The Apple-”

“Altaїr!” Desmond shouted, cutting off their overlapping conversation, “give me, the Apple.”

Silence greeted his statement as he held his hand out towards Altaїr who was staring at him. His dark golden eyes were hooded and unreadable, but Desmond met his gaze squarely.

“Why...do you want the Apple?” his ancestor finally asked, his voice neutral, but quiet.

“Because I'm going to destroy it, like you said that we should do to all Pieces of Eden,” he replied, “it's the right thing to do. Let it go...you've had it for years, centuries and I know you want this as much as I do.”

“I do...” Altaїr suddenly looked down as he slowly drew the intricately carved sphere that was the Apple of Eden out of the folds of a pouch. Desmond gritted his teeth as he felt something akin to an alien feeling of pleasure pulse from the Lance as it reacted to the presence of the Apple. He thought he saw a shuddering twitch run through his ancestor's body, but thought that it was because Altaїr was probably just testing him, making sure he was committed. “I...do...” he heard the words whispered in Arabic.

“I'm ready,” he answered in the same language.

There was the barest of bobs from Altaїr's head that could have been taken for a nod as Desmond watched the master assassin's hand lift the Apple up. He could feel the distant curling hunger that defined the presence of the Lance in his mind as it anticipated the demise of the Apple. He pushed it away, but it pushed back and he could only frown at it. He supposed it was inevitably part of the Lance's nature. However after a few seconds, he wondered why Altaїr was not moving-

“Desmond!”

Ezio’s strangled shout was his only warning. Oh shit, Desmond reacted on instinct and activated the Lance's power with only a thought – protect! - as the Apple's unholy light burst forth. He staggered underneath the incredible power, squinting, trying to clear his vision, and only a screaming warning from his instincts made him activate the hidden blade in his left hand in a parry as he barely blocked Altaїr's blade against his own. Desmond brought his right arm forward with the Lance to slash at Altaїr before they broke apart, each breathing heavily.

He stared at Altaїr as he slowly straightened and froze at the sight of the golden eyes staring back at him. They were inhuman...and there was only one thing he could think of as he stared at his ancestor.

Possession by a Piece of Eden.

* * *

Author’s Notes:

Yeah…I’ll just leave it at that. :D See you next chapter.

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Story:

Chapter 41 – Pieces

Desmond rechecked his grip on the pommel of the Lance, feeling rivulets of cold sweat pour down his back even though the air was mildly warm for late November. This was not how he had hoped would happen. He licked his lips as he kept his eye on Altaїr who was standing motionless in the middle of the patio, the Apple of Eden still glowing eerily in his outstretched hand. The man was not even breathing hard and Desmond resisted the urge to shake his head.

He knew that as soon as he took his eyes off of Altaїr, his ancestor would strike. This has to be a dream, a fucking nightmare even, he thought, but the oily sensation in his mind from the Lance’s presence, coupled with his razor sharp instincts told him that it was anything but. The only reassuring comfort he had was that he could feel the strong presence of the memory of Altaїr supporting him, could feel the churning anger and outrage the memory apparently felt at seeing the living one act like this.

Desmond opened his mouth, but closed it after a few seconds. It was not that he could not say anything; there was nothing to be said. A plea for Altaїr to regain his senses to even just give him the Apple would fall on deaf ears. There would be no reasoning, nothing to dissuade him from his current course of action – and it was because he had experienced it. He knew what it was like to be possessed by a Piece of Eden, or at least severely affected. That was what had happened when he nearly lost himself in Jack's memories, when he had attacked Lucy and nearly raped her as Jack had raped Elisabeth.

There was only one course of action – get the Apple away from Altaїr and destroy it and pray that he did not have to kill his ancestor to do so.

He felt his hackles rise a little as a hair-raising whine filled the air and Desmond set himself, recognizing the whine as the prelude to an attack by the Apple. He could see the Apple glowing brightly and flicked his hidden blade out. He would only have one chance, one split second to strike before the power of the Apple hit him; the point between vulnerability and invulnerability. He did not need to utilize the Eagle Sense that he had refined to know when the point was and instead drew upon the years, lifetimes of experience from Altaїr- Now!

Desmond surged forth, as the whine became an almost painful hum in his ears. He had taken two steps forward before he suddenly twisted his body to the side, hearing the fabric of his clothing tear as a hidden blade passed through, nearly drawing blood. He stumbled away as he suddenly felt himself thrown off balance by the Apple's attack a second later before hastily bringing up the lance head in a weak parry. He barely deflected the second stab towards his abdomen from the blindside attack by Ezio. A curse flew through his mind as he had nearly forgotten about Ezio and had secretly hoped that his Italian ancestor had not also been possessed by the Apple, but it seemed like his assumptions were wrong.

He had no doubt that both of his ancestors had put up valiant battles against whatever the Apple was making them do, but he also knew that they both had been under its influence for a very long time and may have become a little too complacent in their mental defenses. He could feel the Apple's anger, spreading across the unnatural glow it exuded and also through the dangerous tension that had filled the air and area around the patio.

He did not get time to breathe or even put up a good defense as Ezio attacked him, his blade a sharp flurry of stabs and small cuts. Desmond found himself backing up, teeth gritted in an effort to try to deflect the multitude of blows. He seized upon the memories that he had experienced as Ezio and knew that these attacks were designed to throw him off, so that a killing blow could be landed. Blocking a flick of Ezio’s wrist to his right side followed by his left hand cutting across to block an opposite blow, Desmond was quickly reminded that Ezio wielded two blades to the one he had on his left arm.

It left him at a severe disadvantage, but he tried to compensate for the lack of a blade or armored wrist with his right hand awkwardly blocking the strikes that came with the lance head in his hand. Flashes of memories flitted across his consciousness as he saw bits and pieces of his training that he had with the other assassin during their time at the enclave, but Desmond reminded himself that this was not a training session – Ezio, or at least whatever possessed Ezio that also possessed Altaїr meant to either kill him or disable him. He was putting money on the former rather than the latter. He could feel the oily sensation come alive in his head as the Lance responded to the Apple’s presence and to the fight.

Go away! He mentally pushed against the rising sensation within him, trying to beat the Lance’s hunger back. He heard Arden shouting before the whine and pop of the Apple unleashing its power once more rendered the air in a hair-raising static field, but did not feel its power upon him. Desmond risked a quick glance to see his female ancestor engaging Altaїr with both of her blades out, pushing him back with furious blows. A sudden sharp pain cutting down his wrist made him hiss as Ezio drew a thin line of blood down the sleeve of his hoodie. It was a painful reminder that he was fighting for real, not in the training salle, not sparring, but for real. These were live blades and it looked like Ezio meant to kill him.

Get your fucking head in gear Miles! He mentally shouted at himself as he stepped back a few steps, throwing his hands up in a quick guard as Ezio pressed his advantage. The Italian assassin’s eyes were dark and expressionless, his white teeth bared in a mimicry of a grimace. Yet as Desmond ducked under the first slice that flew over his head and lashed out, punching Ezio quickly in the stomach only to twisted away from his second blade, he could feel something was wrong.

It wasn’t the fact that Ezio was attacking him was wrong, but there was something wrong with Ezio himself. Desmond dared not use his own blade to attack, instead, used the bracer as a means to block Ezio’s attacks and his other hand wielding the lance head to turn aside others. He knew he could easily disable or even kill his ancestor, the knowledge lingering at the edge of his consciousness, but Desmond did not want that.

The killer instinct of hundreds, if not thousands, of his ancestors tempted him to seize one, especially that of Ezio Auditore, and use it against the living one, but he could see where each blow would land, what would be the killing spot, the spot where he was supposed to stumble and then the viper-quick strike of death. Desmond danced back a quick step before shifting to his right as Ezio landed two blows, one skipping off of his raised blade, the other drawing another line of blood above his bracer. He gritted his teeth against the flare of pain, but shunted away just as quickly, the memories of his Italian ancestor helping him push away the pain. It was not a serious wound, one that was only meant to distract.

He twisted away again, aware of how close to the edge of the patio he was before bringing up the lance head once more to parry a quick scissor strike and twisted his wrist downward in an attempt to trap one of Ezio’s blades. He could already see his ancestor counter twisting out of the way, but was shocked when that vision promptly dissolved as he successfully trapped one of Ezio’s blades. It only took a split second for him to regain his focus, but Desmond saw a minute tremor of sorts in Ezio’s trapped hand before his ancestor freed himself by slamming his elbow into the soft part of the back of Desmond’s upper arm.

Stinging, numbing pain exploded up Desmond’s arm as he staggered back, gripping and massaging it quickly to try to get some feeling back into the shocked nerves. He looked up at Ezio and saw his ancestor circling around him slowly, his eyes still expressionless, the same bared teeth-

No…it wasn’t bared like a predator’s, he realized, it was bared in an incredible effort of pain; the pain that was not shown in Ezio’s eyes because Desmond could not see it until now. He looked, really looked, and saw that the darkness in them masked the very tiny subtle hint that Ezio was in incredible pain.

Ezio was fighting whatever the Apple was making him do. Fighting with every single fiber and being he had. He was mentally fighting it, challenging it, and it certainly explained why he had not been able to seriously wound Desmond in his first two attacks. Desmond had thought that while it was Ezio’s memories helping him fighting the living one, but it was also the living one’s attempt to not hurt him, to try to fight against the Apple’s influence to maybe even open up an opportunity for Desmond to strike against him.

That realization rocked Desmond back a few steps as he raised his hands up defensively once more. Ezio had been mentally fighting within himself to expose an opening Desmond could take advantage of; the experienced assassin would have never done so any other time. The Italian assassin could not stop his body from being taken by whatever inhabited the Apple of Eden and instead had tried his best to free himself from the lack of control. Desmond also realized that he had been able to see every single one of Ezio’s moves because the assassin had allowed him to – the memories and realization that his ancestor could have easily killed him within a blink of an eye told him that Ezio had been telegraphing his moves, trying to tell him when and where he would strike next.

Assassins were trained to stop their enemies quickly, in short one-two strikes, not for a protracted battle with one individual. Protracted battles with several individuals yes, but each one was felled with one or two moves before moving onto the next one. The shallow cuts he had received were only because Ezio had not been able to stop the damage in time, but at least had been able to mitigate it before redoubling his efforts to stop the Apple from controlling him.

Desmond dodged and pivoted on a foot to lash out with the flat part of the Lance head, managing to slap it against Ezio’s shoulder as the assassin slashed at him again before backing up once more. He could definitely see the mental struggle, the barest of tremors in the stiff, taunt body of his Italian ancestor, the twitching of fingers against the thin blades that were already extended.

“Come on,” he whispered as he brought his left forearm up to block a blow, feeling his bracer dig into the softer parts of his arm before releasing the catch of his own blade and let it skip downwards against Ezio’s arm. He snap-kicked with his right leg, trying to hit an inside nerve along the man’s thigh, but Ezio twisted his body out of the way before bringing his right elbow crashing down upon Desmond’s left arm. Desmond managed to dodge the blow before bringing up the lance head in his right to smack the flat of the blade again against Ezio’s shoulder, before shoving him off balance with it.

He twisted slightly as Ezio fell by the wayside, “Come on! I know you’re in there! Fight it!”

His only response was a pulse of frustrated anger that most definitely felt alien in his mind. However, it was the Lance’s immediate whiplash response, a burst of insatiable hunger, that made him a little nauseous. Desmond managed to push that feeling behind him as Ezio advanced again, but this time his steps were a little slower, unsteady.

“You fought it for nearly six hundred years! You always knew!”

He held his arms in a defensive position, ignoring the pulsing hunger the Lance exuded in his right hand. It was an effort on both his part and with the aid of the memories of his ancestors to keep the thing at bay in his mind instead of being overpowered by its all-consuming hunger and need to destroy the Apple. He heard Arden’s shout again followed by several grunts, male or female, he could not tell, but the whisper of the Lance’s hunger told him that Altaїr and the Apple were distracted by her. Good, he did not need to fight both of his ancestors at once…especially since he knew he was getting close with Ezio.

Desmond saw Ezio’s mouth open a little, the bared teeth forcing out his next words with considerable effort as sweat beaded his forehead. It wasn’t even a mild morning, with the bright sunlight beating down on them. He would have relaxed a little, but years upon years of experience told him to be cautious. “S-Stop…me…” Ezio’s voice, hoarse with effort, hissed out as he took another unsteady step forward. Desmond took one back, unwilling to close the gap between them.

He could see the opportunities, the points to strike, his mind calculating with the experience of hundreds of his ancestors. He could see where Ezio’s weak spots were, provided helpfully by the awareness of the memory. The memory of Ezio felt a spark of sympathy for the living one struggling before him, but still held a resolute firm grip to kill such a wounded animal and be done with it. The fact that it was the memory of Ezio feeling such things kept Desmond’s will resolute in not doing what the memory wanted him to do.

“…Kill…m-me…” Ezio took another step forward and Desmond’s eyes narrowed at the desperation, the pleading tone.

“No,” he dared not shake his head, dared not give the split second opportunity he knew the Apple-controlling-Ezio would use to strike at him. He saw something flicker in his ancestor’s eyes, a plain ‘why’ before it was shuttered behind the hooded blankness of the Apple’s influence. At this point, Desmond knew he could not tell whether or not it was Ezio’s wish or the Apple’s that made the request. For all he knew, it could have been Ezio, really wanting to die before he hurt anyone, but it could also have been the Apple tricking him into killing a man – though far from innocent – someone whom he felt a strong kinship to.

Everything was suspect when it came to the Pieces of Eden, everything.

“It’s what it wants,” he continued, stepping to the side and back again, avoiding the edge of the patio that led to the rocky beach. It placed his back squarely against where Arden and Altaїr were fighting, but he was willing to risk it to make sure Ezio came to his senses. He smiled grimly, “I’m not giving it what it wants.” He did not say that the Apple had to divide its concentration over two thralls and by killing Ezio; it would give it more control over Altaїr. He could feel a sensation of discontent that sparked in the back of his mind, the sense that he was wrong that he needed to make sure Ezio was dead.

Desmond resisted the urge to shudder at the feeling; it felt like his own thoughts and it was only the fact that he knew he could not kill Ezio no matter what that made him differentiate between the Lance’s influence and his own. The fact that the Lance was already trying to take advantage and worm its way into him, to twist his beliefs under its sinister influence made him suddenly wary and helped the mental block he felt his ancestors put towards it to try to contain it separate from his own. Arden was right…

The Apple also seemed to realize his plan as he suddenly heard a livid scream render not the air, but through his mind. He could imagine, no, he felt the high pitch static whine both in his mind and on his prickling skin just as he saw the flicker of movement from Ezio as made to attack him again, the Apple’s influence renewing and quashing all resistance from Ezio.

Everything suddenly slowed in Desmond’s mind as he saw things with startling clarity. He shifted his feet back a single step, flicking the blade out of his bracer as he felt and saw with his Eagle Sense Arden desperately lunging at Altaїr, a last ditch attempt to stop her former master. Ezio had only taken a half-step forward before something jerked him back a little and Desmond saw the true assassin within those golden eyes. He thought he saw the flicker of the real Ezio pushing with all of his effort against the Apple’s control over his body, to stop himself from attacking Desmond as the Apple refocused its attack back on Arden to prevent her from gaining an advantage while fighting Altaїr.

Desmond could see the slow murmur of the pulse in Ezio’s neck, the carotid artery, the place where he knew he could bury his naked blade and end it once and for all. His arm rose of its own accord, like a slow motion recording as he saw the sharp pointed end flying towards that mark, the swiftest strike yet before Desmond mentally shook his head. No…he would not do it…

Just before the ball of his hand slammed into Ezio’s unprotected neck, he flicked the catch on his hidden blade, drawing the blade back in and struck. Time sped back up for Desmond as he curled his fingers around the scruff of the shirt collar before the Italian assassin could even start to choke on the sudden bruising of his throat and threw him down towards the ground, knocking him out.

At the same time he heard a sickening high-pitched gurgled scream before the whine of the Apple exploded in a buzz that set his teeth on edge. Desmond choked, his head jerking back a little at the seemingly whiplash killer instinct he felt from the Apple. It was not directed at him, but he knew what had happened. He turned in time to see Arden’s body fall to the ground, one arm hanging by an overturned chair that she had been slammed into. Her head lolled at an unnatural angle and her eyes were glazed and glassy.

He immediately knew that her neck was broken and she was slowly dying from the lack of air, but he could not go to her aid, not when he saw Altaїr turn from her broken body to face him. There was an unnatural stillness in the master assassin’s movements as he slowly advanced towards him, his hand holding the Apple. The hooded dark golden eyes were most definitely inhuman and glowing from the Apple’s possession and power over him. For a second, Desmond wondered if Altaїr had been completely consumed by the Apple’s power, but pushed the thought away, he had to believe that the master assassin, like Ezio, was somewhere in there, fighting.

His breath came in small gasps as he tried to steady himself. He felt the stinging sweat mingled with small beads of blood drip down to his palms, making his grip on the pommel of the lance head slippery as he flexed his fingers a little. The coppery scent of the shallow cuts inflicted on him brought forth the memories of countless of battlefields his ancestors’ memories provided him with. It was an effort for him to push it away, feeling his mental barriers, even with the help of his ancestors fading against the onslaught of two active Pieces of Eden. Behind him, he was hyper aware that Ezio’s unconscious form twitched a little, and felt the buzzing disapproval of the Lance that the Italian assassin was not dead and still wanted Desmond to take his life. But that disapproval was nothing compared to the sheer hair-raising power he felt from the glowing Apple, the churning anger and irate fury.

Desmond versus Altaїr, round two, a small cynical part of him commented before it gave a mental ding-ding bell sound at the twitching tell Altaїr’s body radiated. However as Desmond reacted to the tell, he already knew it was too late – Altaїr had always been faster, stronger, and even with the Apple’s help, he was far beyond Desmond’s capabilities because Desmond was a reluctant user of the Lance’s powers, even if they were for defensive purposes.

It was as if someone yanked him from behind, grabbing the collar of his hoodie and Desmond opened his mouth, stabbing pain shooting into him as he gave a choked cry. He found himself hurling through the air before stars exploded in his vision as he slammed into the concrete wall of the garage-loft. He did not even get the chance to shake the stars and dizziness from his vision as he screamed, the stabbing pain digging deep into him, worming its way like no other thing had ever done so. The Apple’s mental and physical attack assaulted him. He wanted to rip his arms out, tear his hair, but he could not move, his muscle paralyzed his grip on the Lance tight enough that he felt his own knuckles creak and splinter a little at his body’s involuntary motion of trying to react to the pain by creating even more and tensing.

He could feel something sinister worming its way through his head, a heady feeling of delight and horror and tried to bat away at it. It pushed deep inside of him and Desmond wanted to throw up, choking as he felt himself slammed up against the wall again, though not as hard a small part of him blindly realized. There were faint pops followed by an odd pinging noise that he almost did not register, but his hyper-aware senses told him that they were there.

Gunfire, a part of him thought it as he stiffened again and cried out again, the lighting bolts of pain digging deeper. He suddenly choked as his breath was taken away, a pressure against his chest and lungs forcing him to instead draw a sliver of breath. Focus! The memory of Altaїr’s sharp voice pierced through his head as he snapped open eyes he did not know he had closed and found himself floating above the ground, hovering just below the second story level. It only took a second for Desmond to grasp the dark irony of the situation as he was enveloped in the unearthly glow of the Apple that was in Altaїr’s hands – exactly like how Al Mualim held Altaїr hundreds of years ago during their penultimate battle.

The memory of his ancestor muttered a few Arabic curses in his mind as he saw another pulse push forth from the Apple and the living ancestor look up at him, a humorless smile on his face. Altaїr’s lips did not move, but Desmond heard it all the same. It was a multitude of voices, feminine yet masculine at the same time. It spoke like the words of gods, but he refused to believe it. You will break and we will take what is ours, the words seared into him, snaking into his mind and tried to burn itself there.

He snarled, lashing out at the mental assault of the Apple. You are nothing! You’re just afraid! He could feel the pulse of the Apple respond in anger to his words and the humming devious pleasure of the Lance as it fueled his anger, but Desmond pushed away at that, trying to keep his focus as he heard the inhumanly mental scream pound his head before he suddenly found himself hurling towards the ground.

In that instant, he knew what the Apple meant to do to him and reacted on pure instinct. He pushed, harder than he had every pushed, at the Apple’s defenses, trying to break free of its hold over his body and felt the combined efforts of his ancestors as the joined in. Slamming himself against the mental defenses, akin to slamming himself into concrete wall, he hammered at it with everyone he had. Shock coursed through him as he felt the tiniest hairline crack before everything shattered and Desmond regained control of his body. But there was no time to digest the shock of his success as he twisted just before he smashed into the ground. He heard the sickening crack before pain erupted across his right shoulder blade as his nerveless fingers opened of their own accord and dropped the Lance.

Immediately the ravenous hunger and pressure in his head dimmed only for the instant fury of the Apple to claw at him, stronger now with the Lance’s quieted presence. He gasped as he gingerly propped himself up on his elbows from the impact he made and knew that his shoulder was dislocated. Better the shoulder than my head as a smashed melon, he gritted his teeth and without a second thought rolled to the side.

However, he did not roll towards the dropped Lance as he felt Altaїr leap upon him from behind, hearing the slight surprise-scuffle of feet that told him he had predicted the master assassin’s thoughts. Altaїr, or rather, the Apple-controlling-Altaїr had thought he would roll to pick up the Lance, but Desmond rolled away from it, and scrambled to his feet, activating his hidden blade in time to block the first strike towards his chest. He gasped, both in pain and from the lack of breath as he backed up, scrambling to keep his feet on the ground instead of stumbling about as Altaїr attacked with blinding speed.

Desmond could barely see the flashing glint of the hidden blade on the man’s left hand as he blocked clumsily with his right, but he knew he would only have one shot at this. He stumbled and nearly tripped over a potted plant as he felt Darim’s presence suddenly surge forth, overpowering the memory of Altaїr and immediately seized it, hanging onto it with barely contained desperation. Darim knew how his father fought, Darim was trained by him, he reasoned as he kept moving backwards. He heard a few more pops of gunfire, but they seemingly did nothing as the Apple glowed fiercely in the Arabic assassin’s right hand.

Darim’s immediate calm as he helped guide Desmond’s blade in defensive blocks forced Desmond to realize that he needed to calm down if he wanted to survive and not be skewered by Altaїr’s blade. He stepped to his left and turned slightly, blocking a low strike with the bracer on his left arm, the blade skipping over it before turning again to dodge a quick punch and kick. His right hand was now useless, and each time he moved, he felt lashes of pain travel from his numb fingers all the way up to his dislocated shoulder. Even the basic attempt to move his elbow from that arm hurt like there was no tomorrow – a very bad dislocation then.

That’s what you fucking get for getting slammed into the ground like a thrown doll Miles, he thought to himself as he twisted again, ignoring his own grunt of pain from his arm flapping semi-uselessly next to him. Unlike Ezio who had telegraphed his moves enough for Desmond to see, he could not even seen a single one of Altaїr’s and was blocking by both Darim’s help and his own warning instincts that screamed each time he was about to get stabbed. He suddenly leapt back a couple of steps as Altaїr lashed out, all the while somewhat aware that outside their little battlefield there were figures – his father, mother, everyone watching. He was vaguely aware of guns pointed towards them, but sharp mental reprimand from Darim and from the memory of Altaїr kept him focused back on the living one whose teeth were bared. It was not the grimace of one struggling against the Apple, Desmond knew that the Apple had all but given up on controlling Ezio, yet had not fully exerted control over Altaїr – because if it did, that meant that Ezio would have immediately woken up and joined in on their fight.

We will break you before you wield the Anathema, the Apple’s glow intensified and Desmond had to squint in order to see where Altaїr’s blade was going next. He felt Darim’s sharp tug and twisted to his right, but was unsuccessful in dodging a glancing blow to his ribs as he felt the blade cut him. He already knew it was a shallow wound and thus ignored it. He knew he could not get to the Lance, not like this, so then there was only one thing he could do.

Get the Apple away from Altaїr.

He felt the Apple’s sickening pleasure as it injured him and braced himself for another physical assault from the Piece of Eden. Like how he had dodged the Apple’s attack before, he only had less than a split second, less than anything else except the instincts that drove him to react. He felt both the memories of Darim and Altaїr’s instincts pinpoint that exact moment and struck, lunging towards Altaїr instead of dodging him and caught the flash of surprise that blazed across his ancestor’s features – no, across the Apple’s features that controlled Altaїr a part of him whispered, and grabbed Altaїr’s right hand with his left, flicking the catch on his bracer to sheath his own blade.

At the same time he twisted into the master assassin and lifted his injured right arm, the pain shunted away in a moment of adrenaline rushing through him. His right elbow slammed across Altaїr’s jaw, stunning him and even stunning Desmond as he felt an agonizing jolt paralyze him from the force of the blow that traveled from his dislocated shoulder across his whole body. However, his brain seemed to work independently from his body’s pain as his left hand twisted Altaїr’s trapped right one, the one holding the Apple, and applied the right amount of pressure in the soft part of the man’s thumb and index finger, right where a nerve cluster was located.

A strangled grunt emerged from Altaїr’s lips behind him as he also dragged the man’s right hand across the front of his body to add more pressure and saw the Apple drop from nerveless fingers. As soon as the Apple dropped to the ground, Desmond kicked the thing away, towards where Arden’s broken body laid before he felt Altaїr’s body tense against his back.

He braced himself as his momentum carried him all the way around, knowing that there was nothing he could do to prevent the next attack and only hoped that he could block Altaїr’s left arm, with his injured right one. But that was not the case as Desmond’s breath suddenly hitched at the sudden jagged smoothness of a knife sliding in between his ribs. He realized his mistake as he glimpsed the blade on Altaїr’s right arm embedded deep into his ribs.

Fuck. He had forgotten that in this day and age Altaїr wore two hidden blades, much like Ezio and Arden. He did not even get to think of anything else as he felt his own momentum rip the blade that was plunged deep into his side by Altaїr’s right hand drag the thin metal a few centimeters wider before suddenly breaking as it met resistance from his ribs. He grunted in pain as dizziness assaulted him followed by the smell of coppery blood that seeped from the deep wound. He barely caught himself as his knees buckled, landing heavily on his back, an involuntary cry emerging from his lips as his dislocated shoulder touched the concrete floor.

He tried to reach over to cradle his injury, his hand coming away slick with the stickiness of blood before it brushed over the sharp rough edges of the broken hidden blade in him. Each breath drew rivets of white-hot agony as his vision blurred a little and he blinked his eyes rapidly. He saw a shadow pass overhead and turned slightly, trying to pick himself up, to move before Altaїr struck again, but his body would not cooperate with him. The overwhelming pain that threatened to knock him out prevented him from lifting himself up even an inch.

Desmond hissed through his teeth as he brushed the wound again and bit his lip. Fuck it all, it hurt like shit, he thought as he saw through bleary eyes Altaїr not moving to finish him off, but rather was stalking a bit unsteadily towards where the Apple had rolled to a rest next to Arden’s body. He could hear the faint whispers of the Lance, the faint hunger as it pulsed somewhere beyond his vision, probably where he had dropped it after smashing his shoulder into the ground. He closed his eyes and grimaced; he needed to get up.

He was wounded, yes, but his ancestors had fought off hardier Templars with injuries worst that he had. Get up! He shouted at himself as he tried to sit up. But before he could do anything else, every single one of his muscles seemingly locked up as the Apple suddenly screamed. It wasn’t in anger like he had felt before, but rather it stood almost every hair on his body to the end and sent a shuddering twitch through him. It was a death knell cry, the screech of the damned and the dying.

Desmond’s eyes flew open as he twisted his head, ignoring the spike of pain as his shoulder protested the violent movement. He saw Altaїr collapse halfway to where the Apple was, his body shaking with tremors, as an unholy white light filled the area. He wanted to look away, but felt compelled to look, an urgent need to see what was happening. He saw the barely visible outline of Arden, bent and broken, a bloody smile on her face. Her right arm was hanging at an angle to where the Apple, the outline of her hidden blade stabbed deep into the Piece of Eden as horror filled Desmond.

He had forgotten she had Stephen’s sliver of the Lance in one of her hidden blades; had forgotten that it was part of the Lance itself. But most of all, had forgotten that she was willing to do anything to save her master from himself.

“No…” he croaked out, a part of him surprised at how dry his throat was, how raw it was, “No…” He shook his head a little even though he knew what she was doing. This was how it really felt, how Arden, how Ezio, how Altaїr, and countless others who wielded the Pieces of Eden felt when they saw loved ones, saw those they cared so much about sacrifice themselves to rid the world of an unnecessary evil. “A-Arden…”

His barely mouthed whisper must have been heard by her, or perhaps it was their shared connection to the Lance as he felt a sudden spike of pain rip through him, seemingly clawing at him but at the last moment turned away as if summoned by something else for it feed upon. She looked at him through the unholy glow, time seemingly slowing down once more and he saw the most beatific smile on her face.

It is up to you now Desmond Miles, he heard her voice in his head. Between them and the shuddering curled form of Altaїr, the Apple shrieked and roiled the air around them. The Lance responded with a humming pleasure as it drank and fed upon its fellow Piece. Arden’s blade sunk deeper, the unholy light becoming even brighter.

Desmond thought he was going to be blinded as he was unable to close his eyes. He heard Altaїr’s strangled voice somewhere to his left, either a denial or the Apple trying to desperately hold onto its influence over him, he did not know. He thought he heard the others beyond the white noise that roared in his ears, but he could not tell. He felt himself seemingly pressed into the ground, as the buzzing white noise grew, setting his teeth on edge once more. He could hear screaming everywhere, pressing upon him, could feel it in his bones, in his skin. It was damning and he wanted clap his hands over his ears, to try to stave it off, but nothing would move.

He wanted it to stop, but it would not and he felt something tear at him. Desmond instinctively shied away, but could not escape the phantom claws that ripped at him. He twisted, sending waves of fresh pain down his body, leaving him gasping as something wet touched his back, sticky and warm – his blood – he dimly realized, before he saw it.

Or rather…saw her.

She was smiling, a sunny one that brightened her face as she took his hand before the two of them faced the Father who was to marry them. The beams of sunlight cast an array of colors in the pews and he saw her glance at him, her smile becoming more impish as the Father droned on. A gentle nudge from her foot against his made him shake his head a little, both out of fear and out of what their respective masters behind them would have thought at the sudden display of childish affection.

It was a wedding for the love of- he cut the curse short, knowing that even of God, if he did exist, would not want his name blasphemed here on this sacred day. But she wanted to act like a child again, not a proper adult.

He flicked a look behind him to see Andrew with a slight disapproving frown on his face while his own master, Ezio, was valiantly trying to hide a smile behind his shirt collar. He wondered briefly what had happened to his master during his wedding. Pushing that thought out of his mind, he turned back to face his own bride.

The costume ball in Princess Beatrice’s honor had ended without a hitch and soon after, Stephen found himself traveling away from England. However, it was not the last he had seen of her as he and his master had returned on several occasions. It was one such occasion that he finally got the nerve to propose to Arden and she had readily accepted with a serious look. She deserved the happiness he thought as a beam of sunlight just hit her in the right spot, giving her a beatific, angelic glow-

The Apple gave one last shriek, a desperate cry of defiance, of sorrow, but most of all, of what was lost before Desmond was ripped from the possibilities of what could have been and found himself flat on his back gasping for air. His body ached and tears sprang to his eyes as he heard the faint whisper of Arden’s voice in his head, traveling across the link of the Lance that bound them. I go now, to my beloved. Do not cry for me, Desmond, but know that I have lived my life in full. She sounded so happy and as much as he did not want to cry, he felt tears tracking down his face as the unholy light slowly dimmed, leaving him heaving and staring up a blue, nearly cloudless sky.

For a moment, he heard the rasping of his own breath, hitching each time he inhaled and exhaled. He could feel the acute sharp stabbing pain of his wounds, of his dislocated shoulder, the seeping of blood from where Altaїr’s blade was still embedded deep into him. He could not move, only stare up at the sky, as he gradually became aware of more sounds around him. Several shadows passed over head and he thought he heard concerned voices around him before hands prodded at him.

He drew in a sharp breath at the sudden contact and tried to contain his tears. He could not cry for her, not for her sacrifice because it was what she wanted. No…it was what he wanted and he knew it. It was his responsibility and he knew. He was gradually aware of a new feeling that crawled across him, seemingly taking him inch by inch as a moss would grow over time. It felt alien, hungry, and ravenous.

Desmond wanted to open his mouth in a denial, to deny the Lance of Longinus its presence, but he did not have the strength anymore. Not after what had happened. No, he wearily tried to push the hunger away, and to his surprise, found that it did not resist his attempt. He realized that it was sated, for now; sated with the memory, the life of one Arden Allen who had sacrificed whatever was left of her to destroy the Apple of Eden. He wanted to shake his head, to say that it was foolish, it was for nothing, but that was wrong. It had been for something… The only for him to do now was to make sure that her sacrifice would not be in vain.

Desmond closed his eyes, hearing the muffled sharp spike of concern from the voices around him. He felt someone touch his neck, but ignored it as he retreated deep within himself. He finally knew what it was like to be alone; to be broken into tiny little pieces.

Lucy, I need you.

* * *

Author’s Notes:

Yeah, it was about a month in between this update and the last chapter, sorry about that. A little game called Mass Effect 3 is soon to be released and Bioware put the demo out. That’s where I’ve been hanging for the past few weeks, that and also finishing up all of my Mass Effect 2 runs. Anyways, I wanted to post this up before I go away for a week or two (or three..or a while) when Mass Effect 3 releases next Tuesday.

Also the announcement of Assassin’s Creed III setting in the U.S. Revolutionary War has gotten me a little more than excited – not because of the Americanism-centric thing (whatever, I can go on and on about that), but because of the storyline possibilities. Considering that Subject 16, as far as I remember, said that George Washington may have had a Piece of Eden to help him defeat the British, especially in the northern campaigns kind of makes me a little history-geeked out. Also with the multitude of nationalities involved in the Revolutionary War (not only just colonists and British mind you – there were lots of mercs and don’t forget the French), it seems to me that we will be traversing through the streets of old New York and most definitely Boston (which mind you in Colonial era, has pretty much similar architecture as cities like London and Paris – compact and great for free running).

The main thing is that this announcement makes me happy and at least makes me not think of the disappointment that was Assassin’s Creed: Revelations.

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Story:

Chapter 42 – Eve

The sparkling blue hues of the Animus program illuminated her face as she typed, her eyes scanning the lines, her mind calculating every variable, every inconsistency that appeared. She blinked and was a little surprised at how dry her own eyes were and blinked some more before sitting back, a soft sigh escaping from her lips. Lucy closed her eyes for a few seconds, rubbing them briefly with her finger tips before opening them again and stared at the lines of code.

The first order of business since she had agreed, or rather, had no choice but to agree was to upgrade the Animus 1.28. It had taken her a few days to take apart the code and rebuild it, with the help of Vidic, based on the knowledge she had from working with Rebecca’s Animus to what she had originally sent back when her loyalties were still conflicted.

She glanced behind her to see the two guards assigned to her standing stoically in their respective positions, having not moved since she had been in the room. As far as she knew, they were robots or silent sentinels, not even giving any hint that they were human. She shifted her feet a little, feeling them ache from standing for nearly seven hours straight without a single break. There had also been one bathroom break in that span and barely five minutes to eat the food that she had been given. Yet, Lucy did not complain even when Vidic had been present. She only showed her slight discomfort by shifting her feet or rocking her heels, and supposed that Aileen allowed that measure of comfort as the guards did not do anything nor did Vidic say anything.

Then again, her father, it was still weird to think of him like that, never said anything to her each time they worked together over the Animus. They communicated in silence or, rather, the way the recoding of the Animus worked. She would notice some of the upgrades he was implementing and piggyback on it with her codes. When he left for lunch, for meetings, for other things that required him to be out of the room, it had been assumed that she would continue her duties, falling back on the habits of organizing all of the day’s files and works, making notations of problem areas and where to fix them.

It happened with Desmond as he finished up Altaїr’s memories day by day and it happened with Subject Sixteen. And it always seemed when she was nearly done with the day’s work that someone, a random employee each day, would come into the room and order her to follow them. She had found herself escorted first to the bathroom where the employee would watch her as she did her business before escorting her back to the bare room that was her cell.

The first time she had been escorted to the bathroom had been somewhat humiliating and uncomfortable as the male employee made no attempt to keep the leer off of his face as she did her business. But since then, she had forced herself to ignore the looks, both male and female employees, and pretend that they were not in the room. It was better than the thought of waking up one day with throats slit all around her; better than the nightmare of seeing Shaun and Rebecca, lying in a pool of their own blood, and her standing above them. But most of all, it was better than the nightmare of seeing Desmond’s eyes, hard as ice, unwilling to back down as he fought her, still pleading with her to see reason before she killed him.

That nightmare had only begun the night before and it had left her incredibly shaken. She had always vowed that she would not cry, but just the dream of Desmond, so like how she knew him, willing to try to reason with her yet at the same time fight her, had left her sobbing silently into herself. She knew it was Aileen’s threats that were causing the dreams, causing her subconscious to doubt herself, to think that she was truly a double agent, a hidden one like Daniel Cross. She believed she was not, but she also knew there was the niggling doubt in her mind.

It would have been so easy for her to give into the despair gnawing at her, the self-doubt and fear that somehow from her food or even in the middle of the night, she had been drugged and changed into a deep cover agent. That Abstergo was only holding her like this because they wanted her to think she was still their prisoner. There would be some contrived escape or even a rescue would happen, and she would be grateful-

Stop it. Stop. It. She shook her head as she stared at the lines of code of the Animus. For one thing, no one outside of the Templars knew where Abstergo’s headquarters were; hell she didn’t even know where she was, just headquarters. The other thing was that she had a feeling that this was exactly what Aileen wanted from her, a vicious circle of self-doubt and fears; doubts about her reality, about her work, everything. She had to stay strong, had to hope that there was the possibility of a rescue, or barring that, a chance for her to maybe sabotage something in the headquarters that would strike a decisive blow for the Assassins, potentially even help Desmond as the days ticked by to December 21^st.

Escape was out of the question and she did not want to think of anything associated with that. Not with Aileen’s threat hanging over her head. Lucy was not normally a fatalist, but she already knew if she was to be Abstergo’s prisoner, forced to work on the Animus once more, forced to watch another person succumb to the Bleeding Effect, then she would do everything in her power to sabotage the Templars’ plans. She had already studied the halls that she had been lead to from her cell to the Animus room, trying to find easy access points where she could break something and use it as a weapon. The obvious uses of her utensils and plates that she had been given to eat off of were out of the question – her weapon needed to be something unexpected, like a broken shard of glass or even part of the wall if it crumbled.

Overtly sabotaging the Animus was also out of the question as it played right into Aileen’s threat and she had no doubt that Vidic would note a single line of code that was wrong or did not do as programmed. The main thing was to make sure that her efforts had the consequence of setting little Peter free. That he would be able to escape the building and hopefully hide somewhere where the Assassins would eventually find him. The boy was smart, precocious and most of all the son of Assassins. Peter already showed an intelligence that was greater than a child his age and Lucy had no doubt that it was due to the fact that Altaїr had called him ‘touched’ by a Piece of Eden.

It told Lucy absolutely nothing except that perhaps Peter perhaps gained far more knowledge or even memories, skills, something from a Piece of Eden. It certainly explained some of his behavior and his attempts to comfort her as he resided in the cell during the hours she was reprogramming the Animus. She hoped that Desmond’s younger brother found some way to entertain himself as she knew that isolation, especially for a child his age, would lead to some serious behavioral problems. She knew about children and isolation due to a term paper she wrote while she had been in college.

The door to the room hissed open, but Lucy did not look up to see who it was, knowing that it was nearly time for her to be escorted back to her cell. She was nearly done with the day’s work and typed in a few more lines, rubbing one of her eyes and stifling a yawn before finishing up. At least her working schedule had some regularity. Her sleep cycle though, was full of interruptions, whether the Templars woke her with bright flood lights or blared noise for a full half-hour before absolute silence. But even those had mysteriously stopped since yesterday when Vidic had nearly caught her sleeping at her station after a particular restless night full of bad dreams and sleep deprivation torture.

She would have liked to think that Vidic had something to do with it, but that was just wishful thinking. Her father had not even said a word to her nor had acknowledged their relationship, or lack thereof. Lucy mentally shook her head, whatever she had thought about Vidic was past; there was nothing more to be said, to be had, or to want from a father who was as callous with lives for the pursuit of science.

She finished typing and stepped away from the console, powering it down to stand-by mode before looking up to see who was her handler today. A young man, probably a little older than her was waiting by the door. She would have thought of him as just another Abstergo employee except for the wildness of his short-cropped blond hair, multiple piercing on his ears, and unshaven stubble that gave him an unruly appearance. He looked utterly out of place with the dress code she knew Abstergo had in place; perhaps he was an intern? Or someone they had plucked off the streets and gave him money to keep an eye on her and unsettle her at the same time, she supposed.

A sudden horrifying thought crossed her mind that nearly stopped her from approaching the man. Could Abstergo really do it? Her answer was an instantaneous yes, if it meant breaking her into tiny little pieces. But she was at least somewhat valuable, wasn’t she? Surely they would not consider the possibility…yet at the same time, she knew that it was hanging there, over her head… Lucy felt her knees wobble a little at the growing horror before she managed to hastily compose herself.

“Ms. Stillman?” she could not help but twitch a little at the man’s voice, surprised and scared out of her mind at how cultured it sounded and at the same time polite.

“I’m finished for the day,” she said quietly as she walked past him, ignoring the look he gave her. However, she could not help but see something oddly familiar about him, not that she recognized him from anywhere, but it was the way he held himself. Cool, confident, with an air that seemed like him, yet also like someone else at the same time. In fact, he reminded her a little like Desmond, she supposed as she followed the long-memorized route back to her cell, his step shadowing hers.

She stopped in front of the elevator as he reached over and pressed a button to summon it before stepping back, standing almost uncomfortably close to her. She refused to let his presence bother her, nor acknowledge it, but inwardly she trembled a little. She would fight if it came down to that, even though she knew that by fighting she would probably spell her certain doom and eventual conversion into a brainwashed agent of the Templars. But if Aileen thought that she was going to take the potential of being raped lying down, the woman thought wrong. There were limits to what Lucy could endure and she would not allow herself to be used in such a way.

She kept her gaze straight ahead, but every inch of her was tensed and ready to strike should her ‘escort’ get any ideas.

“You have an admirable fight or flight instinct, Ms. Stillman,” he suddenly spoke up, making her jump a little before he chuckled, a laugh that sounded so familiar to the point where Lucy realized there was a hint of an accent in it. But where she had heard the accent before, she could not recall.

The elevator pinged as it arrived and the doors opened. Lucy stared at the doors for a second before stiffly walking in, her escort following close behind her. If there ever was a spot and a place, the confined area of an elevator was surely it. She turned and faced the doors as they closed and the man pushed a button to take her to the floor where her cell was located. She had no doubt that Aileen and perhaps some of the other Templars like the man named Max was watching her every move.

She had expected the man to stop the elevator before making his move, but she did not expect him to move so fast. Lucy could not help but give a small whimper of fear as she suddenly found herself slammed up and pinned against the back of the elevator, the car shuddering to a sudden halt as the man casually reached over and kicked the emergency stop. All the while, he stared at her with a smile akin to a polite grin; a psychotic polite grin.

“You’re a smart girl – ah, no struggling now,” he suddenly twisted a hand that had been gripping one of her arms against the elevator sharply, stopping her from struggling or else risk a broken wrist. But that was not also why Lucy had stopped struggling as she recognized the move. It had been tailored specifically for the Assassins in secret and the way he moved…was the wild-haired man Assassin trained?

She stared at him, his face close to hers to the point where she felt his breath on her cheeks. Her mind buzzed with a whirl of information as she realized she knew the man; perhaps not personally since had they ever met, but every Assassin knew the face and description of the Traitor to their Order.

His hair had been longer twelve years ago as he visited every compound, every enclave before finding the Mentor. But Lucy remembered him because of the way he spoke, the confidence, and the polite affable friendly feeling he exuded. He had been a natural speaker, but in hindsight that was more likely the fact that he had the memories of dozens, if not hundreds of ancestors silently bolstering him, silently guiding him underneath the orders he had been given by the Templars.

She remembered talking to several of the other teenagers that were there when he had visited, giggling about how handsome he was and how lucky the young woman, perhaps just a little younger than he was, had been as she guided him from enclave to enclave. Hannah Mueller had been her name and with her name always came the one who had found him and taken him into their enclave, Paul Bellamy, and the name of the traitor himself.

“Daniel Cross…” horror filled Lucy as she saw his bright blue eyes widen just a tiny bit in answer to her whisper.

“You were always a smart girl, Lucy Stillman,” he smirked, applying the barest of pressure to her arm, but it was enough for her to wince and for her breath to stutter a little as sharp shooting pain spread from the trapped arm through her body. “Popular and pretty too…” He raked his eyes over her body and Lucy managed not to let the slightly pleased expression on his face disturb her. However, she did feel a slight bit of nausea reach her throat and swallowed the bile back down.

“W-What…do you want?” she wanted to fight, to do nothing more than slug him in the face and kick him several times, preferably in the balls, but the incredible fear of actually having Daniel Cross pinning her against the walls nearly chased the fighter part of her instinct away. There had always been rumors and stories that after Cross had fled back to the Templars, to headquarters, he had been subjected to the Animus. When she had infiltrated Abstergo and had been assigned to the Animus Project, she had tried to find out all she could regarding Cross, but was only able to confirm that the man was still alive and apparently at Abstergo headquarters.

“Raping you would be too easy,” his voice was velvet soft and again with a hint of an accent that she realized was a little bit of Russian. “No,” she flinched as he reached out with his other hand and traced a strand of free hair down her face, “no, the threat of one would all be needed just to keep you in line.” He grabbed the ends of the strands and twisted it gently in his calloused fingers and Lucy saw that he was wearing the familiar bracer of the Assassins on his arm.

“But you would think that by not being raped, there would be a measure of defiance, don’t you?”

She glared at him before staring beyond him, at the closed elevator doors, trying to ignore how close he was pressing upon her and how much her right arm started to hurt from the force applied to it.

“If you think that since you are a woman, that rape would be the most horrific psychological torture inflicted upon you then you are not the Lucy Stillman that Aileen has taken a serious interest in.”

“Should I really care?” she bit out.

“If you want to make sure that you aren’t turned into a double agent against your will,” Daniel laughed and she refocused her gaze to glare at him once more. “I can prevent that,” he yanked on the strand of hair hard, forcing her neck to bend a little closer to his own, so close that Lucy could feel the feather-light touch of his lips against her cheek and brush over her ears. She twitched at the sudden contact but dared not move another inch.

“You know that Aileen is looking to break you,” Daniel whispered into her ear, “I can help stop that.”

“What, by being your sex slave, no thanks. I’d rather chew glass, spit it out, and stab you in heart,” she gritted her teeth in anger as he yanked harder on the strand, nearly twisting her neck downward at an angle where she was starting to feel her muscles pull.

“Then consider this alternative, Ms. Stillman. You will do something for me, or else I will tell Aileen to make you betray your friends in the most horrific way possible and on top of that you will mindlessly serve me. She wants the subtle way of betraying your friends – I don’t care about that.” He chuckled, “Perhaps I will make sure that you will end up with your beloved Desmond and that you will kill him by ripping out his guts as he saves you from your self. You will be crying for him, telling him not to trust you, but he will trust you nonetheless and at the moment you will strike…how does that sound Lucy dear?”

“You’re fucking sick.”

She heard his irritated sigh before he released her hair and instead, yanked her head back so that she was forced to stare at him. “You of all people should know that, that is a mild example. I can do worst, much worst. Twelve years in the Animus, twelve years to explore every single one of my ancestors’ memories and perfect their lives. The tortures each had gone through, everything…that is only mild compared to what I can really do. I could have Aileen or even your father, Vidic, reprogram you so that you end up seducing Desmond and in the middle of your passionate love-making you kill him. Sound better? Or perhaps years upon years down the road, when you think the war has passed the two of you by, you kill him as you are both simply doing mundane tasks.”

“You’re insane,” she choked out as he pulled harder.

“Insanity is only a label to those who cannot comprehend the true power of the Animus and by extension, the Piece of Eden,” Daniel stated in a simple tone before letting her go. She coughed and wanted to rub her throat to ease the pain of her muscles, but he still would not let her go.

“So, here is your task. Aside from helping the old man reprogram the Animus, you will be helping me with a little pet project of mine that has been going on for several months now. We’ve captured a very important cell leader and you’re going to help us break him so he reveals all of the little itty, bitty secrets stored up in his mind.”

“So stick him in the Animus-“

“Lucy, Lucy, Lucy,” Daniel shook his head, “that’s not how it works. He has too much valuable information in there for us to go rooting around to find out who his ancestors are.” He smiled, the same simple, slightly psychotic smile, “You’re going to pretend to help them escape. Hell, believe it if you want, makes it simpler too. But here’s your catch. If you tell them that you’re a prisoner too, you will be reprogrammed and before that I will personally make sure that you are punished.”

He leered at her again and Lucy knew that the type of ‘punishment’ he meant was following through on his earlier threat of raping her. She had no doubt that he would make sure she felt the whole experience should it happened and realized that what he said was quite true. The threat of being raped was perhaps scarier than being raped – not that she wanted to experience either one of those things. Not after how Desmond, in the thrall of a twisted memory of Jack the Ripper had attacked her at the enclave. She had barely fought him off and had broken the memory’s hold on Desmond’s psyche.

Despair gnawed at Lucy as she tried to keep herself composed, tried to be strong, but she could feel herself cracking. Little by little, the threats, the pressure, but most of all, the unknowing threat of whether or not this was all part of a very horrific nightmare, or if she truly was a double agent just waiting to be ‘released’. She did not realize that Daniel had let her go until the elevators started up again and forced herself to relax a little, to unclench the muscles in her body that froze her to place, because of the all paralyzing fear that he had put into her. She wanted to cry, but forced the tears back. She couldn’t give Daniel the satisfaction of seeing her cry; give Aileen the satisfaction of seeing her cry over the cameras she surely had installed in the elevator. Crying, breaking down, meant that the Templars were winning, and told them that they were getting to her. She had to be strong, if not for herself, but for Peter; for the hope of escape, for the chance of a rescue even though she knew that she may not believe it when it happened – would fear it as a trap by the Templars when it happened.

She had to be strong at least for Desmond’s sake, even though she knew that the chance of not seeing him again was very high. She would probably die as soon as the Templars got what they wanted from Peter or if they determined that she would never break. But then, Lucy realized she was okay with that. She would fight, but if she had to die, she would die knowing that she did not break. A slight bubble of laughter nearly emerged from her lips, but she managed to keep it down. She finally understood what it was like for Subject Sixteen, why Alexander had stared at her with those sad, lonely, crazed eyes, yet why she had thought she had seen hope in them before he had bled out in his room, painting the walls a bright red.

She would take Daniel’s words to heart to do what he said, to actually plan an escape for the person she was supposed to deceive, because it was what it was – hope. The hope for a better future, for something that she could at least let others live for if not for herself. There would still be fear and she knew that she would fall into despair, but if she kept that little spark of hope up, not for herself, but for the Assassins and for Desmond to succeed in his mission, to destroy all Pieces of Eden as Altaїr had been subtly guiding him to do. That was the only way to win this un-winnable war.

The elevator’s ping startled her and she looked up to see Daniel staring at her, a slightly predatory smile on his face before he handed her a keycard and guided her out of the elevator. She wondered if he had seen her thought processes, but he made no comment except to guide her down the hall to where a seemingly random number of closed doors with panels next to them sat in the mostly empty hall.

“That door, over there,” he pointed the panel two doors away from where they were standing, “and remember, if you reveal that you’re a prisoner, bad things will happen.”

Lucy nodded, not trusting her voice before walking forward, her flat-heeled steps echoing along the corridor before she stopped in front of the door and stared at it blankly for a few seconds. Pressing her ear to the door, she tried to listen in, but heard nothing. A quick glance back where she had exited the elevator revealed that Daniel had disappeared, but she had no doubt that he was watching from somewhere. Fighting back a grimace, Lucy squared her shoulders and swiped the card down in front of the panel as the door hissed open.

“H-Hello?” she did not step in, still wary that perhaps Templars were waiting for her in the room, ready to inflict horrifying tortures upon her.

There was a few seconds of silence before a hoarse voice spoke up from the shadowy corners of the room, “Who’s there…?”

“H-Hello?” she glanced back, but no one else was in the corridor, “who’s in here?”

She thought she heard a whisper or even a whimper, but it was muffled before the hoarse voice spoke up again, “Turn around…I…know you…?”

Lucy turned back to face the dim darkness, her eyes slowly adjusting enough to see the outline of a man sitting on a bed, cradling another person’s head in his lap. Her jaw dropped as she saw more of the man’s face and shock filled her. “I…know you…”

“Lucy Stillman-“

“Paul Bellamy…” in the interim between Alexander’s death and Desmond’s capture, she had received reports to potentially prepare for another subject that was from Philadelphia. At the same time, she had learned that Paul Bellamy’s enclave, located in Philadelphia had fallen to Templar forces. The man was always considered a high priority target by the Templars since it was he who had allowed Daniel Cross full access to the Order and its secrets. “We…thought, you died…”

An undignified snort issued from the man’s lips as he shifted a little, “Oh, I’m dead; I just don’t know it yet.”

Lucy stepped in, letting the door hiss close behind her, plunging the room into a dimly lit darkness. It was not completely dark save for the bit of light that seeming came from the cracks in the walls around the bare room.

“You here on Daniel’s orders?”

Lucy managed to keep her face neutral; unsure of how much Paul could see. After all, he had a longer time to adjust to the darkness than she did. “Who?”

“Don’t play coy with me child. I know a trick when I see one-“

“I’m not, I’m…I’m working on the Animus Project with Dr. Vidic!” Lucy remembered Daniel’s threat and stuttered her words a little. She knew that one would have thought her a coward, but the fear, the all-encompassing paralyzing fear of what would happen to her coupled with the promise that she had made to help eventually free Peter from this forced the lie out of her mouth.

There was a soft moan from the person lying on Paul’s lap before Paul reached over and gently patted the person’s head, “Shh, shh…it’s all right. It’s not Daniel.”

Lucy watched as the person shifted, noting that in the dim light, her hair was matted and ratty looking, as if it had not been washed for several weeks. The person shifted again, turning her head over and Lucy nearly fell down in shock. “Oh my God…” she could not keep the surprise out of her voice, the genuine surprise, but she would recognize the face from anywhere. They all would…Paul was a well-known member of the Order, but the woman lying on his lap, was infamous. Many in the Order called her a traitor right after whispering Daniel’s name, but there were some who believed she was as hoodwinked as the others.

Paul leveled her with a steely look, “Hannah is as much of a victim as you are Lucy Stillman, if not more. If you are genuinely who you claim to be-“

“B-Bill Miles…he sent me here, a-after undergrad school,” the words tumbled out of Lucy’s mouth as she found it easier to lie with the shock coursing through her. Hannah Mueller, the woman who had found Daniel Cross and brought him into the fold of the Order was lying in the same cell as Paul. Her once, heart-shaped face was heavily bruised, hair matted to the sweat on her face and she looked like she had been tortured horrifically. She looked at Paul and saw that there was not even a single scratch on him which made her sickened to realize that they probably had him watch while she had been tortured just to try to break him.

“Paul…who is…that?” Hannah’s voice cracked even with her strained whisper.

“Lucy Stillman, little one, shh, shh…don’t move. Just…just rest,” something in the man seemed to die a little as he turned her head the other way and she shifted again before her once vibrant eyes closed and her breathing evened out.

Lucy felt sick as she raised her hand to her mouth, trying to suppress the sudden and real urge to vomit at the sight. That could have easily been her, she realized. That could still easily be her if she defied the strict orders given to her by Aileen and Daniel. She had thought she had witnessed horrors enough based on the memories of both Altaїr and Ezio, but that had been through Desmond’s time in the Animus and also it had a detached feeling to it; like watching a movie and not really participating in it. The fact that the room itself smelled a little sour and that Paul was sitting on a rickety bed, trying to provide some kind of paternal comfort to a fellow Assassin who had been horribly tortured meant it was all too real.

“I…I have to go,” she barely got her next words out, realizing that she wanted nothing more than to really flee from their presence, truth or information gathering be damned. “V-Vidic…he..he sent me…” She suddenly crouched and reached a hand out to Hannah, but did not quite touch her, her fingers curling against her palm at the last minute. “Oh God…Hannah…I’m…I’m so sorry…”

She looked up at Paul and saw him staring back at her, his face unreadable as she shook her head, tears spring to her eyes. “I…I didn’t know. I’m…I thought…she…Daniel…”

“I understand,” Paul finally replied, his voice rough and quiet, “you were not the only one, Lucy…but Hannah…”

“I-I really need to go, but,” she straightened once more, “let me…” She did not care that Daniel had mocked her by saying that she could even believe that she could free the two with an escape plan. She needed to believe it. Whatever Daniel’s threats were to her, she had to get these two out of here. If not only for the fact that Paul knew a lot of the secrets of the Order to rival even Bill’s mind within him, but for Hannah’s sake. The poor woman needed serious medical attention and it looked like the Templars weren’t going to give it to her. The first thing she could do is tell Daniel that if she needed the prisoners’ trust, then she would have to at least bring the semblance of some medical care. That would be a start…

“I’ll be back, please believe me. Just…please, hold on, all right? I’ll try to bring something, anything-“

She grimaced as she abruptly turned and fled, the door hissing open and closing behind her as she turned left and made a beeline back towards the elevator. She only got half way when she saw Daniel step out from another hallway, the same slightly psychotic Cheshire cat smile on his face as he sauntered over to her, his hands in the pockets of his pants.

Lucy stopped, staring at him before it dawned on her. “You knew!” she hissed quietly, anger filling her. “You knew that Hannah was injured, you knew that Paul was caring for her!”

“Silly girl,” the Templar laughed a little, “of course I knew. And I know that in order for you to earn their trust, you want medical supplies for Hannah’s injuries.” He muttered something in Russian that she did not understand, but lifted his hands out of his pocket and grabbed her roughly by her elbow. She nearly flinched at the sudden contact, but managed to steel herself.

“Hannah, is what happens when you try to cross me, Ms. Stillman,” he tightened his grip a little before leaning closer to her, “she defied me.”

She stared at him in horror at the implications of his words. There wasn’t just bruises on her face, there were probably bruises all over her body and the fact that she was curled in on herself, looking so dead for the world, so utterly broken… “How could you…? She’s…she was your friend!”

“Just like you are Desmond’s?” Daniel countered, “or did he not try to attack you when the memories sometimes were too much to handle? Is that why you intentionally let yourself be captured, using his younger brother as an excuse? That you knew somehow, he would never master all of those memories, pressing upon him, pressing upon your psyche to the point where you don’t know what’s real and what’s not real? That he ends up mistaking you as an enemy or even a lover that one of his ancestors had some fun with?”

“I did not intentionally allow myself to be captured-“

“Really…” Daniel’s voice dropped into a low growl, “because if all of that is not true, then why are you here, Lucy Stillman? We all know that you were an Assassin spy, but your familial love for your father-“ Here he laughed, a mocking one before staring at her with his icy blue eyes, “You wanted his affection, you craved it. You thought Bill Miles betrayed you by not letting you know your true origins. Oh yes, we know all about that, and we know that you were sending information to Vidic even while you were on the run with Desmond.”

He suddenly pulled her close and whispered, “I can be him, you know. I may not look like him, but I can be him. The memories of hundreds of lovers and the greatest pleasure you will ever know. Is that what you want?”

She sucked in a quick breath at the familiar lilting Italian accent in Daniel’s voice and realized that somewhere in the man’s ancestors was perhaps an illegitimate descendant of Ezio Auditore. How many times had she wondered in secret if she ever did have sex with Desmond would one of his ancestors suddenly take over during their lovemaking, and perhaps add years of experience that no other man or woman for that matter would ever have? No…she suddenly twisted in Daniel’s grip and punched him hard in the face, pain exploding across her knuckles, before backing away as he grunted and hobbled a little at her sudden attack.

“You’re sick,” she glared at him, her hands raised a little in defense. “I love Desmond because of who he is! Not because I’m some sex-depraved whore who wants his body. He’s a kind, gentle man who didn’t want this on himself, but even then is reliable, dependable, trustworthy, and most of all, honorable. Everything you aren’t.”

Daniel laughed, wiping a hand across the split lip she had managed to deal to him before gesturing with a hand and Lucy suddenly found herself restrained by two guards who appeared out of nowhere. She pressed her lips together into a thin line, knowing that she had probably condemned herself to whatever Aileen was going to inflict upon her, but felt a vicious sense of pleasure that she had been able to draw blood on the traitorous man’s face. “Take her back to her cell.”

She threw one more glare at him before she was marched unceremoniously back into the elevator. The last she saw was his icy stare on her, but she was not bothered by it anymore. Let them do whatever they wanted to her, she would be true to herself, not to the Assassins, not to the Templars. She would be true to Desmond.

* * *

Daniel gingerly touched his lip where Lucy’s unexpected left hook had split it. He had to admit, the woman had caught him off guard, but then again, he had not expected her to retaliate like that, not with all of the threats hanging over her. So that was Desmond Miles’ woman…and the twisted sense of nobility in him found it somewhat admirable that the two had pretty much never consummated their relationship. He would have thought that Desmond would have taken advantage of Lucy Stillman’s kindness and vulnerability, but it showed that one could not judge another with simple labels. He supposed that perhaps Desmond was not as…awakened to his Piece…as he was judging by what he had recently read about his counterpart.

“We’ll be releasing her soon enough if you wish to get your use out of her,” he turned to see Iltani, in the guise of Aileen, step out of a hidden office that had a seamless door made to look like it was part of the wall of the corridor.

“No,” he shook his head as he poked the minor wound again. The bleeding had stopped, but it had been a long time since anyone was able to hurt him or catch him off guard. “Physically breaking her would only add to her resentment and fuel her. Mentally, however…has its merits.” He sucked in a quick breath, “I don’t want her changed.”

“You don’t? You do not get a say-“

“I do,” Daniel looked at Iltani who had a pinched expression on her face, “because now, I’ve put that much fear into her, she’ll believe that she has been changed and then be afraid if a rescue comes. And a rescue will come…”

“You may be right about that,” Iltani smoothed her hair a little, “we’ve received unconfirmed reports that a bright light was spotted near here several hours ago. Judging by the direction it may be Staten Island or Liberty Island. Someone said it looked like fireworks in the morning sun, but since it was too bright to confirm it, I’ve sent agents out.”

“A bright light, huh?”

“You did not feel it?”

“Oh, I felt it,” Daniel grinned as a phantom twitch ran through him. The pleasurable hum of the Animus’ presence in his mind brought forth a few memories of a distant ancestor who had wielded a different Piece of Eden. He drank in the memories and savored it, feeling it invigorate and fuel him. It was so…addicting. “Just probably not as much as you do with you and that earring.”

Iltani made a small noise as she absently rubbed her earring before her expression morphed into a more businesslike manner, “Just be ready.”

“I will.”

* * *

Author’s Notes:

Back from my Mass Effect 3 hiatus and in time to read information regarding the latest DLC released for ACR, “The Lost Archives.” Yes, I am giggling like an idiot – I CALLED IT. Well parts of it. I’m still not quite convinced that Lucy is dead and really hope that she comes back for the AC3 just so I can see the shocked expression on Desmond’s face. Then there’s also rumors that AC3 may feature Daniel Cross himself which made me squee. If you can’t quite see it with this chapter, I’m slowly building up to the inevitable confrontation between Desmond and Daniel in my story (which I’m hoping will also be true for AC3).

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Story:

Chapter 43 – Architect

Desmond shifted and groaned as he opened his eyes. Everything felt fuzzy, not only his brain, but he could feel something pressing upon him, keeping his right shoulder immobile and a slight stiffened pain near his abdomen. It only took him a moment to remember why he felt like utter crap as he blinked his eyes several times to clear away the sleep and attempted to sit up. He noticed that he was in the main bedroom of the loft and used the headboard of the bed he was on to gain enough leverage to sit up, huffing out a breath as soon as he was done.

The blanket that had been covering him pooled down to his waist and gave him a very good look at the sheer amount of white and flesh colored bandages that covered him. His abdomen was wrapped up in several layers of gauze and Desmond reached over with his left hand to tentatively push against the part where the bandages were thickest. A sharp stabbing pain rewarded his efforts and he grimaced a little. Still wounded then, that was good.

He twisted his neck to try to look at his bandaged and immobile right shoulder, his right arm in a sling to further hold the shoulder in place. But his neck was not able to turn the full length and when he tried to turn further, his shoulder muscles pulled in protest. It wasn’t as sharp of a pain as his abdomen wound, but it was enough for him to stop his efforts. The bone must have been popped back into his socket while the muscles around it healed, he supposed. The fact that it still hurt a little, but not too much meant that the swelling was going down, but also meant that if he wanted to be back in a good fighting condition, he would have to go easy on the shoulder.

But there was no time to go easy as he glanced outside at the large open windows, the curtains partially drawn, but enough for him to see that it was late in the afternoon and the sun was already setting. Dusky orange-red rays of the fall made for a beautiful backdrop against the bits and pieces of New York City he could see. He glanced down at the clock by the bedside and saw that a day had passed since he had all but passed out from his injuries.

Definitely no time to go easy, he thought as he slid out of the bed and awkwardly padded to the bathroom that was connected to the bedroom and grabbed a large bathrobe that was hanging on the door. It took him some effort to put it on, but when he did, he could immediately smell and sense the owner of the bathrobe, but pushed those memories away. Of course he was wearing Ezio’s bathrobe; the only thing large enough to accommodate the bandages and sling on his shoulder without having to go through the effort of putting on a much slimmer hoodie or even a tee-shirt.

However, as soon as he pushed the memories away, he felt something alien making itself known in his mind and he grimaced again as he felt the source of it and glanced over to the other side of the bed’s end table.

It lay there, sitting rather innocuously in its sheath, a well-worn leather piece, and for all intents and purposes looked like a costume blade that was prettied up. But Desmond knew better than that and his grimace morphed into a glare as he roughly shoved the alien presence away. He felt it adopt a hurt sense, but ruthlessly denied it a second chance to worm itself into his mind. Stay out! He shouted it down before he could feel the alien presence slink away, sulking. However, he did not let his guard down, the whisper warning of Arden’s memories reinforcing the mental barriers and sent a wave of gratitude towards his ancestors for the help. He knew as well as they did, or perhaps he always knew due to the Animus’ Bleeding, that Pieces of Eden were masters of deception.

The fact that it acted like so made him even angrier, but he managed to keep the anger down, knowing that it was what gave it more opportunities to try to influence him. Hell, he knew that somehow it was influencing him even more, but shook his head against it. Paranoia was something he could not afford, not after what he had done. It was the right decision, the only one, and he knew that; believed in it.

He resolutely ignored the Piece of Eden and headed downstairs, his first few steps wobbly, but pushed away his fatigue and tweaks of pain. Soft murmuring voices echoed from the kitchenette bar that lead out to the patio as made his way there. A quick glance towards the bathroom where Alan Rikkin was still locked up made him wonder if the man had already did what he knew he would do. He shook his head, he could not dwell on what Rikkin would do or not do, he had to believe that it was already done. If not, Bill would surely have taken care of it.

When Desmond entered, he saw that almost everyone was hovering over the small dining table, staring at several maps and photos. He nodded to Rebecca, Shaun, and his mother as they spotted him when he entered before padding over to them. Neither his father nor Ezio looked up at him, both frowning at the map, but Desmond did catch separate quick once-overs as he stood in between Rebecca and his mother.

“What do we have?” he asked, smoothly inserting himself into the discussion. The maps were of various floor plans of Abstergo headquarters and the photos were mostly aerial shots, the time-date stamp telling him that they were taken just today; most likely from one of the local stations’ helicopters.

The only person missing from the group conversation was Altaїr, but Desmond spotted his ancestor sitting outside on the patio. He was staring out into the sunset skyline, not even bothering to contribute to the conversation, but he knew that Altaїr was listening in. There was a melancholic sense from the master assassin and he knew that his ancestor was most likely still mourning or in deep thought after what happened yesterday, perhaps even both.

“The easiest entry method is not through the helipad up on the roof, but rather through the front entrance, down on the ground floor,” Bill crossed his arms as he frowned and stared at the maps and photos, “looks like Abstergo got wise and put up some sniper nests up there.”

“I doubt the Templars will let everyday tourists past the second floor or even the mezzanine level,” Ezio commented quietly before pulling out a map of the elevator shafts that had been hidden underneath the main floor plan map, “what of the sewers?”

“I am not crawling through the sewers! I heard there are alligators-“

“It’s a lie,” Desmond shrugged in response to Rebecca’s protest, “but are the sewers a no go?”

“The sewers lead straight into the sub-basement flooring of Abstergo-“ Ezio pointed out before Bill shook his head again.

“No, I’ve already said that there’s a laser grid field there-“

“I can hack that-“

“That even I couldn’t hack it during my time there,” Bill continued, “So you couldn’t do so-“

“Oh yeah?”

“Hey,” Desmond glared at both Bill and Rebecca, “cool it. If it’s a no-go, then it’s a no-go.” He had a feeling that the laser grid discussion had been hashed out many times before he had woken up and come down stairs judging by how tired his mother looked. She only got that look whenever she was trying to play peacemaker between himself and his father.

“I meant it this time as a distraction,” Ezio also seemed a little annoyed by both Bill and Rebecca butting heads, “while the rest of us figure out another plan to head into the building.”

“That is a good idea,” Desmond nodded, the beginnings of a plan forming in his head.

“Good, then I’ll volunteer for it-“

“No, I need you for something else,” he cut Rebecca off and made to cross his arms, but when a sharp twinge of pain shot through his injured shoulder, aborted the attempt. He did not miss the slight looks of concern from all of the others, but resolutely ignored it. He was going to have to work through the pain, that was all there was to it.

“We were scouted today,” Bill spoke into the silence and Desmond met his father’s gaze, noting the seriousness in them. They did not have much time left…and it was something he knew would have likely happened after the destruction of the Apple of Eden.

“You think maybe a day or two?”

“At the most, a day,” his father replied.

“Ah,” Desmond did not say anything else as he stared at the maps, and photos, the idea growing a little in his head. His knowledge of New York City and its basic infrastructure coupled with the times and knowledge of emergency response team for certain boroughs and areas of the city were proving to be quite useful. He studied the maps a little longer; pulling out a couple of them that had been buried underneath before finally coming to his decision. It was risky, and definitely a long shot, but it was the only one he knew that the Templars would probably not be suspicious of.

“Okay,” he muttered before chewing his lower lip, “okay…” He turned to Rebecca who had her laptop open, “Rebecca, can you bring up a timetable of Metro North times for tomorrow?”

“Metro North?” she started typing into a search function.

“Yeah, the local commuter rail,” he pushed aside a couple of maps before glancing up at his father, “standard operations for a Templar sweep you think?” He could feel a distant memory of his father’s knowledge regarding Templar scouting procedures in the back of his mind. It was a little surreal, but at this point Desmond knew that he needed help from all of his ancestors, surreal or not.

“Probably,” his father gave no hint that he was essentially regulated to a backseat while Desmond took charge. Then again, he knew that Bill had volunteered and was most likely the only one who was able to guess the general overall plan, “they’ll do another sweep tomorrow and we’ll probably be compromised by then.”

“Are we moving?” Shaun asked, having stayed silent since he arrived.

“Yes and no,” Desmond took a deep breath and released it slowly, pushing the sudden sharp shooting pain in his ribs near his abdomen where he had been stabbed by Altaїr’s hidden blade. “How are you at flying?”

Shaun blinked, “E-Excuse me? As in flying something or flying, flying? I mean, I’m not Leonardo with a flying machine- sorry Ezio-“

“No offense taken,” Ezio smiled a little.

“I mean air sickness?”

“No,” Shaun shrugged, “why?”

“Can I borrow your phone?”

“Huh? Don’t you have one?”

“Old habits die hard,” Desmond reached out to take the cell phone from Shaun’s hand before flipping it open and dialing a series of numbers he had long memorized from his brief time in the city. He turned a little as he heard it ring several times before a gruff voice on the other end picked it up.

“Yeah?”

“It’s me,” Desmond fought to keep a slight grin off of his face at the familiar voice.

“Miles?! That you?! Holy shit…where the-“

“Remember that favor you owed me?”

“Oh, so this ain’t a social call then? Figures. You drop off the face of the planet for the last three months and then you decide to call asking for that fucking favor-“

“Same spot if you don’t mind,” Desmond overrode the voice, “and we’ll call it even after that.”

“Yeah…fine,” the voice sounded slightly distracted before Desmond heard the clear sigh of a woman over the phone and rolled his eyes.

“Lose the candy before you get there.”

The only thing he heard before the click of the line disconnecting was a rough laugh and he snapped Shaun’s phone close before handing it back to him. Before anyone could say a word, he asked Ezio, “Besides handguns, what else did you find?”

“At least one RPG, one or two basic hunting rifles, no FN P90s though,” Ezio shrugged.

“Any chance you can trade those back tonight for at least an extra sniper rifle?”

“What type?”

“M…24, right?” he was not too sure of the make and model and glanced to his father in time to see the barest hint of surprise gracing his features.

“The Remington 700 military and police version. That was made in 1987 and wasn’t mass produced until 1988,” Bill had a curious expression on his face, but Desmond declined to confirm that he had plucked the make and model directly from his father’s memories in his mind, well, actually from knowing that was what Alice Miles preferred. He dared not look to see what his mother thought about him and his sudden knowledge of sniper rifles.

“It will be hard, especially since it is military grade, but I will see what I can do,” Ezio nodded and Desmond caught the hint of a purplish-yellow bruise on the underside of the Italian assassin’s throat. It was right where he had attacked him in the fight yesterday and was mostly covered by the shirt collar he had buttoned up. He had no doubt that he, Altaїr, and Ezio were all injured to some degree and if he had his way, they would hold off this plan for a week or two, but there no time. They had to act now or never.

“I’ve got the times, where to?” Rebecca spoke up and turned her screen so that he could look at the timetables.

“New Haven, as local as possible. I think the first stop would either be Greenwich or Stamford after Harlem/125th Street,” he said and she clicked her mouse several times to get him the exact search function. He peered down at the timetables given, his mind calculating.

“Tickets are-“

“Won’t matter,” he found a train that he liked and pointed to it, “it’s the second train after the start of peak hours going to New Haven. We have this much time to get ready and move out of here.”

“So what’s the plan then?” Bill asked, crossing his arms across his chest.

“We hit them tomorrow night,” Desmond returned his gaze over to the maps and, leaned forward a little, “here’s what we need to do…”

* * *

If there was one thing that subways were good for, it was unintentionally stretching arm muscles; especially if one kept their feet loosely held on the ground and let the natural sway of the subway’s momentum pull the body along. Stopping or even starting with an abruptness that was similar to jerking back and forth in a New York City cab was enough for Desmond to roll his injured right shoulder around. Granted, it hurt like hell and he wished he had taken a couple of more anti-inflammation pills along with a painkiller, he still could not deny the subway’s effectiveness at stretching out unused muscles.

However, he could not keep the slight wince off of his face as gingerly rotated his shoulder as the subway slowed to a stop and opened its doors with a screeching hiss. Stepping off and onto the platform, he felt Shaun behind him, but the Englishman did not say a word whether in reaction to his pain or of their stop. Leonius had trained him well; Desmond smiled to himself as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and sauntered towards the exit.

It had been a few hours since he had explained his plan to the others before leaving with Shaun in tow to meet up with his contact. He had seen his father almost protest against the action, still itching to be in control when a glare from Altaїr who had sat outside on the porch the whole time, stopped Bill. There was no doubt from any of the others who was the leader now and while Desmond still felt a little untested to be thrust into such a position, he knew that there was no other way. Not after what he had done.

“Hey Des,” Shaun suddenly spoke up as they took the emergency exit gates, ignoring the annoyed look from the MTA guard as several other passengers who had exited also followed them, “why am I here?”

“Because I need you to recognize and remember who we’re meeting with,” Desmond replied, ascending the stairs and coming out into the slightly smelly, but cold air of Queens, New York.

“But I can’t fly a helicopter!” the Englishman hissed quietly as not to attract any unwanted attention. But Desmond did not care if they attracted the wrong sort of attention, he wanted them to think that they were formulating the plan and wanted them to know what part of it was. It would certainly make things a lot harder for them in the long run, but he also knew based on his ancestors’ experiences and from what he had inferred with his conversations with his living ancestors; this was the only way.

“Brad’s the one who will be flying it,” Desmond shook his head, “I just need you to do your part.”

“I can’t do a convincing American accent you know…”

“You’re the only one besides Rebecca who’s had any recent contact with the outside world, so at least you know how to act the part. And I need Rebecca for her part in the whole plan.”

“Doesn’t New York have like a no-fly zone? You know, where military jets will shoot you down-“

“They do, but not for news stations’ traffic helicopters-“

“We’re not going to be armed?!”

“You will be,” Desmond held up a hand to stall Shaun’s next protest as they entered the alleyway where he was supposed to meet his contact. His senses were all on alert, feeling and searching out in the inky darkness of the alleyway. The rancid smell of garbage pervaded the area, but the light chilly breeze blew the smell away, though occasionally it returned as the wind blew the other way. If the winds picked up tomorrow then the helicopter would also be affected.

“That second sniper rifle-“

“Shh,” Desmond grabbed Shaun’s arm and shook it to silence him as he sensed someone else in the alleyway.

“I thought it be only you Miles,” Desmond relaxed a little, but kept his finger on the trigger to release his hidden blade just in case as a figure stepped out of the shadows, dressed in a casual leather jacket and frayed jeans. The corner of his lip dipped up and down as he hung onto the remnants of a cigarette, tossing it out a second later and stubbing it with the heel of his sneaker. “Who’s pretty boy Brit?”

“Someone who’s going to be flying with you tomorrow,” Desmond shrugged, extending his right hand out and shaking the other man’s hand. “Good to see you Brad.”

“Likewise,” the older man nodded before a frown graced his features, “so what’s this about flying? You said nothing about flying.”

“Just routine traffic coverage, that’s all. Then a pick up on one of the helipads in the buildings and you can drop us off in Secaucus if you want,” he watched Brad carefully, but the man did not look that surprised, which was both good and bad in his opinion. Brad Nozzio was a helicopter pilot for one of the local TV stations in New York City, but also occasionally freelanced as a high-end guide for tourists who had a lot of money to burn.

He and Brad had met about a year after Desmond had arrived in the city and it was because the pilot had stumbled into his bar already drunk and looking to become even more shit-faced as the night wore on. Like any good bartender, he had refused service and wanted to call the cops to bring the man home to his apartment or even spend a night in jail, but he had been afraid that the Templars or even the Assassins would get word of him being in New York City. He had decided to let the man sleep away in the loft that he rented out with a couple of others in the area. The fallout from the morning was a bunch of apologies, bad assumptions of sexuality, and overall learning that the reason why Brad was so drunk. The pilot had just lost his young wife of two weeks in a horrific accident on the FDR to which he had reported from the air before realizing what had happened.

The days after that were one of recovery and Desmond attempting to help the newly wedded man come to terms with his loss as best as he could without a bottle. He had even locked Brad in the bar’s janitor’s closet for several hours during the hours he was working just to make sure that he would not even get close to a bottle. It was cruel, he supposed, but there had also been a hope in Desmond’s mind that perhaps one day he would like to go flying in a helicopter, something he had only read about in books. And since he could not readily afford a plane ticket nor get on any plane without tripping several security measures at airports and the like, a short helicopter ride with a familiar friend was the only other option.

It took Brad several months to come to terms and after that, had thanked Desmond for his efforts and even gave his offer of a free ride whenever he wanted it. Desmond knew he would have taken the offer if it were not for the fact that Abstergo had found him and kidnapped him. Now, though…now, perhaps he would be able to get that ride after all.

“Shaun Hastings,” Desmond pointed a thumb back at Shaun who hesitantly stepped forward and shook Brad’s hand.

“Hi,” the British man made neither a crack nor sarcastic remark, which surprised Desmond, but realized that he was probably assessing the situation like they all did with little to no information.

“So this isn’t just a free ride then?”

“No,” Desmond heaved a deep sigh, “it’s actually a little different than that-“

“You know that offer was just for you, kid?”

“I know, I know, and I’m asking you for a lot, but I’ve got a confession to make-“

“Aww, you love me, right? Sweet kid, but I’m not gay-“

Desmond rolled his eyes, “Brad, listen, can you just cover the afternoon traffic tomorrow and take Shaun with you? Then wait for my signal and pick us up at Abstergo’s helipad, all right?!”

“Abstergo- What the…? Are you visiting them or something?”

“Something like that,” Desmond grimaced.

“Kid, I don’t have clearance to land there and it is definitely on part of the no-fly zone if you don’t have the right clearance-“

“You’ll get your clearance,” Desmond frowned, “don’t worry about it.”

“You sure? Cuz last time the Templars-“

Desmond immediately froze, his head whipping around to stare at Brad who stopped talking as soon as he said the word ‘Templars’ and clapped his hands to his mouth. The audible snick of his hidden blade flicking out of its bracer broke through the night as he stared hard at the pilot.

“What did you say?” behind him, Desmond heard Shaun tense ready to either fight or flee quickly back into the subways. Neither of them carried any handguns, the risk of running into an NYPD officer or even gangs on the streets too great without drawing attention to themselves.

“Fuck,” Brad’s eyes were rooted down to where his blade was visible against the dim lights of the alleyway and streets. “Uh…listen, Desmond-“

“I never told you my name,” Desmond could feel the tension of his ancestors pressing upon his mind, but refused to let it snap. Brad was a good man, and he deserved at least some sort of chance to explain himself.

“I was, uh, working for this guy named Andrew, all right? He, uh, he said that he was an assassin and wanted information regarding the Templars in the City. Okay? I mean, what the hell, Templars and an ancient conspiracy, whatever, I don’t care about that. It was extra cash, enough so that I could propose and marry Leila, all right?”

Desmond did not relax his stance, but rather glared at Brad, letting him see the full golden-brown of his eyes, “Go on…”

“I mean, my job, traffic reporter and pilot, that kind of gives me access to some high rise stuff. Sometimes, Andrew would give me pictures of people and where to find them and I would give him what they had done at so and so time and what not. Sometimes, they’re just sitting in their car or even on their cells just talking. One was even having a blow job done to him while he was driving on the FDR. All I know is that most of the people he had me look up were pretty powerful people. I mean, that’s what the internet and wikipedia is for, right? Looking up people and shit and most of them were Abstergo related too! I think he’s crazy and shit for that whole Templar thing related to Abstergo, who isn’t these days after 9/11, but come on, two and two…” The pilot shook his head, “And now you’re asking me to do a pick up off of Abstergo…”

“That doesn’t explain how you know my name,” Desmond narrowed his eyes as he stared at him.

“Err…I heard pretty-boy Brit here…?”

“Bullshit.”

Brad sighed, shaking his head before gesturing to the blade, “Can you, um, at least, put away your switch knife? I mean…this isn’t frequented by the police and stuff, but really…this neighborhood does have a history of violence and gang related attacks-“

Desmond released the catch on his blade and let it slide back up into its resting spot in his bracer, but gestured for Brad to continue.

“I only found out about you after I made a random comment in a message to Andrew through another one of his contacts Enzo. Just small talk, that’s all. Lamenting about your disappearance from the bar three days straight. Some of your co-workers thought you had jet, just like you did in other jobs, so they didn’t care, but I was going to offer you that ride, you know and introduce you to my new girlfriend…”

“And…?”

“Well, Enzo, he didn’t exactly freak out, but more like become a lot more intense…you know, a lot like what you just did there. Super scary shit man, you really could give the guys I play poker with every Wednesday a run for their money-“

“Brad…”

“Anyway, he suddenly demanded everything that I knew about you and where you lived, even your habits. I told him that I wasn’t your boyfriend or keeper and left it at that. I got a message a couple of days later from Andrew asking the same thing. Enzo, I don’t trust that much, but Andrew, well, the man was good to his word every time I needed something and sometimes even when I didn’t need things. So yeah, learned a little about you through that. Traffic reporters do get some j-school training you know. We’re not just flying about unable to find a story and shit.”

Brad quieted down a little as Desmond pursed his lips. He could feel the alien presence a quiet murmur in his mind, the Lance having been left at Ezio’s garage-loft for the time being. The fact that it seemed like Brad had encountered Ezio meant that Ezio had been watching out for him while also doing his own mission in New York City. Also mentioning Altaїr, or at least his alternate name Andrew, and that Brad had given the master assassin all of the information about him corroborated what happened. It made sense that Altaїr had used the information given to him and had launched an attempt to either rescue or kill him while he had been in Abstergo’s clutches in a different city. Otherwise, he supposed if he had been housed in New York, it would have been Ezio launching the rescue attempt.

Desmond sighed, rubbing his forehead and shaking his head, “Are you okay with doing a traffic report and then picking us up from Abstergo’s helipad?”

“You believe me?”

“I trust you,” Desmond knew that even if he did not there was no other choice. Besides, if it did not work out, and Brad did betray him, it was still part of the overall scheme of things he was working on.

The pilot licked his lips before nodding, “Yeah…yeah, I can do that. Just routine traffic report-“

“There will be a specific accident on the lower east side on the FDR, parallel to where Abstergo is,” Desmond continued, “late afternoon. You and the others helicopters will probably be in the air to cover it. Shaun will be waiting in the lobby of your station and he must be with you.”

“Okay…I can probably get him a visitor’s pass or something. Overseas friend or something come to visit,” Brad’s eyes were staring at nothing in particular as he worked out the details internally.

“He’ll be bringing some gear with him-“

“Don’t tell me. Less I know, the better it’ll be for my conscience,” Brad held up a hand forestalling Desmond from saying anymore and he nodded.

“Backpacks allowed?” Shaun asked, still a little guarded, but otherwise seemed to be friendly towards Brad. Desmond figured it was probably because Shaun knew that he trusted the pilot and was not about to skewer him.

“Yeah, just…make sure it’s not overtly bulky. People get suspicious these days if you pack so much,” the pilot winced a little.

“Got it,” Desmond caught the quick puzzling look Shaun shot him, wondering what kind of gear he was bringing.

“So…picking you up from the helipad?” the pilot asked.

“At least six others. One of them is a child,” Desmond replied.

“Six?! Okay…um, well, it’s going to be a little tight,” Brad looked a little nervous, but nodded his head, “I’ll be able to do it. Secaucus, right?”

“If it’s not too much trouble,” he shrugged a little blasé in his reply.

“Okay…” the pilot rubbed his hands together, “okay…I can do this Miles. But…after this…”

“No more favors, I get it. And you’ll probably not see me again,” Desmond smiled a little sadly.

“Yeah…” the pilot didn’t look too happy with that prospect, nor did he say anything else. He knew he was being asked a lot and Desmond knew that he was potentially risking the man’s career if not life. But it had to be done and there was no other way. Because if there was, Desmond knew that he would not hesitate to take it.

* * *

Author’s Notes:

Supreme Phoenix King brought up a point in a message to me: will I be including Connor’s POV or memories in this story now that he’s revealed to be AC3’s protagonist? The short answer is no. The long answer is maybe. Connor essentially voids most of Arden’s storyline (and family history), but I made her storyline vague enough so that Connor could theoretically be her distant ancestor, perhaps great-grandfather or something. If I do end up referencing Connor and the American War for Independence, then it’ll be on the vague side and make no mention of his name. I still like Arden’s POV after all…even though she’s kind of dead in my story now.

Other little notes, more of slang words. J-school is a slang term used in my field of experience and means journalism-school. It’s something that I didn’t realize not many people outside my field would get until my beta reader pointed it out (and beta reader is not a j-school graduate). Metro North is one of the major commuter rails (besides the LIRR) out of New York City. FDR Drive (Franklin Delano Roosevelt) is one of the two major thoroughfares that encircle Manhattan Island (the other one being the West Side Highway) and runs on the east side of Manhattan next to the East Side River (the Hudson River is west side and both join right around where Staten Island is).

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Story:

Chapter 44 – Illusions

If Desmond closed his eyes and pretended hard enough, he could still smell the arid desert air and the thundering silence broken by the occasional howl of distant carnivores. But the howls were not really the howls of wolves and coyotes. The howls now were the sounds of distant sirens and gentle rushing noise of a city life. If he went deeper, he could remember the sounds that had punctuated the sooty night life of London and a sense of contentment filled him. Arden’s memory and presence brushed over his own, adding a bit of comfort as he sat huddled in his blankets out on the lonely patio of the garage-loft.

But that sense of comfort became an instant razor-thin edge of awareness as soon as he heard the invisible footsteps of Altaїr approaching from behind. Desmond shook himself out of both the contented memories and of Arden’s brief presence as he opened his eyes once more and stared into the glowing distant hues of Manhattan Island. The near-invisible tread stopped just about an arm’s length away from where he sat, but he did not turn to acknowledge his ancestor, knowing that Altaїr would speak when he wanted to. He was fully aware that he was incorporating some of his ancestor’s mannerisms into his own, but knew at this point the Bleeding, even if it was so-called mastered, was nothing compared to stemming the ever growing tide that was the oily Lance of Longinus.

He could feel a distant hunger gnawing ever so often and now was fully aware of each of his ancestors’ revulsion at that feeling and grasped onto that revulsion. The Lance was nothing more than a tool, a means to an end, and he needed to make sure that it stayed that way. The whispers would come soon enough, he supposed, perhaps taking the form of his dead sister Amanda; to tempt him into thinking things with a slightly different bent, a way to start to draw from himself. Altaїr certainly knew what was to happen and though a part of him wanted to rail at the master assassin, he did not fault him. Altaїr was a planner and probably had foreseen a lot of this since he set his plan in motion long before he was even born. The question was probably of when it could be enacted; the right person, the right time, or even the right situation.

But if there was one thing Desmond was pretty sure of, it was of Arden’s death. Judging by how the man mourned, and based off of his own memories of Darim, Altaїr had truly never expected Arden to die in such a violent fashion.

“Where is she buried?” he finally spoke up, shifting his body a little. His shoulder protested his movement by sending a sharp shooting pain through his body. The anti-inflammatory pills and painkillers were doing most of the job, but Desmond knew that it would be a long time until he regained full mobility in his shoulder; and even that, perhaps not full mobility – considering what he was going to pull tomorrow.

“Near Ellis Island,” Altaїr replied softly, “she was one of the first to pass through there after it was established in 1892. Ezio thought it be fitting for her body to be sunk near there.”

Desmond nodded mostly to himself, but also for the presence that was Arden within him who hummed her approval at Altaїr’s actions. “I’m glad…” He shifted again as silence descended upon the two of them, neither amicable nor hostile. He could feel the master assassin assessing him, or something; could feel the intense stare as he asked his silent questions and received whatever silent answers Desmond thought he had given. It was broken a few minutes later when something was dropped into his lap and Desmond pulled his hands free of the security of his blankets to pick up the object.

He rotated his shoulder a little to loosen the stiffness in his muscles as the cold air blasted his upper body. It was contrary to what his ancestors would reveal about their weaknesses, even to allies and friends, but it was something that Desmond knew he could not afford. Secrets and hidden pains were a practicality that was ancient and dead as the machismo in holding back discomfort for the sake of appearances. The only time he would do it was in front of an opponent and Altaїr was no opponent.

“She would have been the daughter you wanted if Maria and yourself had another child after Sef,” Desmond recognized the design of the bracer as the one which Altaїr had given to Arden before they had left for Princess Beatrice’s costume ball and the fateful encounter with Jack the Ripper after that.

“Yes,” was the quiet reply above him as he turned the bracer gently in his hands. He remembered each notch and faded silver filigree of the bracer, the hand-sewn patterns and intricate design. It was made by a master craftsman and given as a gift of a father to a daughter, of a master to an apprentice whom had made him so proud. Yet as he turned the bracer over to look at where the hidden blade hid, he instantly felt the alien, oily presence of the Lance pierce his mind. It grew stronger for a second as he brushed his fingers over where the blade nestled in its metallic sheath.

Desmond pressed his lips together, forcing the presence away as he continued his examination of the bracer, “The blade however, Stephen gave this to her on the train.” The distant memories of Stephen, old, frail, withering, handing Arden the bracer that he had kept on himself as he had known of the attack and effort to get either Orelov’s partial Piece or the Lance of Longinus. A sudden thought occurred to him as the puzzle in his mind started to click together. Stephen knew…Stephen saw.

“He knew,” Desmond whispered as he stared at the bracer now, his fingers clenching the armored leather plates tightly, “Stephen knew what was going to happen. He saw this moment…he saw…”

He craned his neck up to look at Altaїr his mouth opening and closing wordlessly as a flash of horror crossed his mind at the realization. “Arden…knew…” Her cryptic words had the ring of truth in it. There was no way that she did not know what Stephen had saw in his brief glimpses into the Lance. Both of them knew though Arden had not known until things had started to move towards the inevitable. And Desmond realized that somehow, he had known. He had known himself, but he had tried to deny it. He had started the path since he had agreed to master the Animus instead of taking the out that Ezio offered to him in the enclave’s cafeteria.

The Arabic assassin stared back at him with an unreadable gaze before nodding and looking away, “Perhaps. Perhaps not-“

“Altaїr, I’m sorry,” Desmond felt like he had to apologize, had to do something in light of this revelation within himself.

The master assassin shook his head, holding up a hand to forestall anything else he was going to say, “I do not accept your apology because there is none to accept.”

Desmond nearly flinched at the manner it was said, the ghostly echo of Malik of all peoples saying the same words to Altaїr who had tried to apologize for Kadar’s death. He did not know why those words affected him so much, but supposed that it was because it was in such similar circumstances.

“It was my arrogance,” the master assassin continued, his voice subdued as he stared out at the distant night lights, “age and arrogance; the youthful impulsiveness grown into the stubbornness of an old man who should by all rights been dead nine-hundred years ago.”

Desmond could feel Arden’s presence reaching out to try to tell her former master that it was not his fault, but held her back. Darim’s comforting presence rose up and helped him quell Arden’s worries. This was something in Altaїr that had broken, too many times, and instead of having it stubbornly repaired and dealt with on his own; the man had finally realized he had nothing else to turn to. There were no more excuses, no more Apple to blame, and it was the recognition that there was only him and him alone to blame.

“I knew I was addicted,” Altaїr crossed his arms as a breeze ruffled the grey duster he wore, “yet I also thought I knew I could control it. Perhaps it made me think I was in control when I was just a puppet the whole time. Now there are no more whispers, just silence and I realize just how addicted I was.” He looked down at his left hand as he extended it out, flicking the hidden blade outwards. “The arrogance of a life that could not die, the schemer that thought he grew out of his master’s shadow only to grow into it and master it.”

Desmond knew that Altaїr was referencing Al Mualim and the atrocities the man had committed while under the Apple’s influence. He wanted to say that Altaїr was a much better man than Al Mualim, having experienced the master assassin’s memories first hand, but at the same time, he could not help but know that he was right. Altaїr was no better than Al Mualim. And even compared to Bill Miles’ actions, especially in light of the words he had thrown at him in the enclave when he realized that Bill had drugged him, it was the same.

“It is my heartache, my pain,” Altaїr continued, “and I have no one to blame but myself. So blinded to what was in front of me, a chance of redemption only to lose it in the thralls of overconfidence of my self. Perhaps Ezio was right to stay away from the Piece, perhaps I was too greedy to realize that the Piece called to me, held me, and manipulated me for so long.”

“But you did redeem yourself,” Desmond could feel Arden’s urging to at least let her former master know that she had found happiness. After all this time, even from beyond the grave and living a ghostly life through Desmond, he could not help but feel for the young woman’s familial love for Altaїr.

Altaїr’s lips twitched at his answer before he finally turned to look at him, sheathing his blade with a quick snick. “She lives in you, but I know it all too well,” the master assassin looked at him, his golden eyes holding his own with that all-too ancient look. “You are the vanguard now, the spearhead. Everything that I am, that I was, everything that I could have been is now within you.”

Desmond nodded once, acknowledging the metaphoric passing of the torch. “What will you do?”

“It is past time I visited Maria’s grave,” the master assassin had a faint smile on his face, an almost wistful melancholic look, “perhaps travel the world once more – see it through my eyes instead of the world that I have come to detest and manipulate.” The smile grew a little as he tilted his head, “Do not worry, I will be by your side until this is over.”

Desmond had to laugh a little, jarring his shoulder slightly. “Good, because the one in my head is getting a little antsy that you’re going to go off and be a hermit or even worst kill yourself.”

“It will not be easy,” Altaїr dismissed his comment easily, “and there is a good chance she will know of your plans.”

“I know,” Desmond breathed out a quiet sigh before taking Arden’s bracer and strapped it onto his right hand. It felt comforting and easily familiar as he rotated his wrist back and forth, but did not activate the blade. “I’m counting on that.”

“Iltani will take the bait; she could never resist an opportunity to control those around her, control everything,” the man’s gaze turned a little inward and Desmond wanted to ask what had happened, but decided against it. It was Altaїr’s prerogative and whatever happened between him and Iltani to result in the Lance of Longinus being stolen from him and given to Alexander Roche, was his own.

“I hope to God that it works,” it was only after the words fell from Desmond’s mouth that he realized the irony of them. God did not exist, only Pieces of Eden and the remnants of a civilization who sought to control everything and everyone.

He looked up and saw Altaїr activate his hidden blade again, “If there had been any doubt, if there is any doubt, there’s only one thing I will still do-”

“Kill me,” Desmond finished for him. He understood the implication. It was like what they had discussed in the cafeteria of the enclave. If he fell into the madness of the Lance of Longinus, if he lost himself, then the master assassin would be there to stop him. At least that was one reassurance that Desmond knew he could count on.

* * *

Lucy was exhausted, both mentally and physically. It was through the sheer effort of forcing herself to stay awake that she was able to put one foot in front of the other as she and Peter were escorted to the Animus room. Peter’s reassuring chubby hand occasionally squeezed her own, unexpectedly jolting her awake at times when she zoned out on the short walk. She hated to admit it, but her paranoia got the best of her since she had punched Daniel in the face and was escorted back.

She had found herself lying awake in her cell, listening to Peter’s soft snores, wondering when the prick of a needle was to stab in her, when they were going to come for her and change her; when she was going to suddenly wake up and feel that nothing was the same when suddenly she would be given the opportunity to ‘escape’. That fear had kept her awake the whole time, refusing to doze off and shaking herself awake when she thought she had fallen asleep.

The hissing of the doors opening startled her out of her thoughts as she saw that they had arrived and let go of Peter’s hand. Vidic was already at his station as she approached, blinking the sleepiness and scratchy feeling from her eyes. She saw him look up as she approached and thought she saw his brow crease in concern, but it could have been a lack of sleep on her part that made her imagine things.

“Where do you want the child?” one of the guards spoke up as Lucy dutifully logged into her station next to the Animus. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Peter stubbornly drag his feet against the guard’s hold on his arm before being pulled towards the Animus. She wanted to open her mouth and say for the guard to stop hurting the young boy, but closed it. At this rate, even if she did speak up and defy Aileen’s orders, she would definitely not be able to fend off the guards and surely the needle and manipulation that was sure to come. She was too tired and the breakfast she had been given in the morning did not help her energy level. She had even hesitated in eating it, wondering if there was some kind of psychotropic drug in it, but in the end, her hunger won out her refusal to eat. It had also been Peter who had noticed her hesitation before reaching over and pretending he was a child to eat her food, to reassure her that whatever she put into her mouth was also going into his body.

She had felt horrible at that act of kindness, the realization that a child of all people, had been her taste tester and that her paranoia and fear had driven her to manipulate him into doing something like that. This was Desmond’s brother for crying out loud and she had promised to protect him!

“Robert, please stop hurting the child. It will do no good for the syncing if he’s traumatized by your yanking of his arm out of its socket,” Vidic suddenly spoke up and Lucy suppressed a sigh of relief.

“Yes sir,” the guard stopped whatever he was doing before releasing Peter’s arm and instead somewhat gently shoved him towards the Animus.

Lucy caught Peter turning around and sticking his tongue out childishly at the guard before marching up to the Animus and staring at it, a very adult expression on his face.

“Bad machine,” he whispered, sticking fingers into his mouth and sucking on it.

Was it Lucy’s imagination or did she suddenly see a spike of something within her readings that she had just brought up. She frowned and tried to capture it again, but it did not do anything. She wondered how a child who had been ‘touched’ by a Piece of Eden would react to a Piece of Eden.

“It is a good machine,” Vidic looked down at the young boy, “something you would not know.”

“Bad machine,” Peter took his hand out of his mouth and pressed it against the base of the Animus, “bad…control, cause hurt. Cause pain, cause too many futures, too many pasts. Artificial, bad.”

Everyone stared openly at Peter as he continued to stare hard at the Animus, his fingers white from pressing so hard against its base. Lucy wondered if Peter had seen what the Animus had done to Desmond, or if he had known what had happened. Those words were not the words of a four-year-old and most certainly not of a child who had not witnessed what the Animus had done to a person. In fact, he sounded a bit like Tabitha in such respects…except Lucy was pretty sure Peter was not a barely-kept alive rag doll.

“Hurt big brother…” Peter whispered into the dead silence, broken by the hum of the Animus, “I’m sorry…”

Peter had known, had seen Desmond in the Animus and all this time, had not said a word. Lucy wanted nothing more than to reach out to comfort the young boy, to tell him how strong he was and that his big brother was all right, but even she did not know if Desmond was all right. The last she had seen of him was him still held by the Animus in a collapsing enclave, still held in its thrall, the Animus refusing to give up what it considered rightfully its own.

“I do not pay you to stand around!” Aileen’s shout startled all of them from their funks before Peter was suddenly swept up in a whirl of arms and set down upon the conductive glass table of the Animus, hard enough to elicit a cry from him.

“Peter-“ Lucy reached out and froze as she saw who had boldly picked him up and set him down and saw Daniel grinning at her, daring her to make another move. Her hand that had been half-outstretched fell back to her keyboard as she saw Aileen brush past the guards, her heels tapping loudly against the floor.

“Now then,” the woman glared at everyone, “are you all done gaping like fishes out of water? Good. Then get to work.” She turned to Daniel and gestured roughly with a hand, “Sedate him.”

“Ma’am, I must protest-“

“Do you have anything to say Dr. Vidic?”

“The readings-“

“Surely you and Ms. Stillman would be able to compensate accurately?” Aileen sneered as Daniel produced a needle out of nowhere and expertly plunged it into Peter’s arm. The young boy had his face scrunched up in an effort not to cry, but could not help but give a very child-like hiccup as Daniel depressed its contents into him.

Lucy bit her lip, trying to restrain herself from rushing over and knocking the needle out of Daniel’s hands. They didn’t need to sedate Peter, he was only a child! But with this many guards watching and especially with Aileen in the room, she knew she could not do anything. She watched as Peter swayed a little as the needle was extracted from him, watch him blink his large baby-eyes in an effort to stay awake before he slowly succumbed to the sedative and sprawled out limply on top of the glass.

It was only then that Lucy moved from her station, ignoring the looks everyone was giving her as she gently rearranged his limbs to a more comfortable position. She was just about done when she suddenly felt someone grab her from behind. Every instinct she had wanted to lash out and fight, but she suppressed it as she turned her head to see one of the grim faced guards that was holding her.

Her arms and hands were wrenched painfully behind her as he locked legs with her, pressing himself close to her to keep her from moving and Lucy grimaced, trying to suppress every single instinct for her to undo the hold and fight her way out. She would not fight, she would not give them the opportunity to turn her-

“She looks tired, give her an adrenaline shot,” Aileen tsked and Lucy’s eyes widened in fear.

No, she could not have the adrenaline shot; she could not have whatever was in a needle, it was their way of turning her, the start of turning her into an agent. Her heart beat raced as she saw Daniel out of the corner of her eye approach with another syringe and needle and knew that whatever happened, she could not have whatever contents were in that thing in her. For all she knew, it could have been harmless adrenaline, to help her stay more awake, but she was sure that it was something designed for her to only think that it was just adrenaline.

“N-No,” she muttered as she tried to twist out of the guard’s grip and pulled to the left, trying to shy away from the needle point- The strangled cry emerged from her lips as she succeeded in wrenching her arm from the guard’s grip and promptly smashed her elbow into his jaw, feeling a crack of impact before reverse locking her own foot into his own and swept his legs from under him. She rolled with the impact as he fell to the ground and rolled away from him, freeing herself before standing at a defensive half-crouch as Daniel paused in his advance.

Belatedly, she realized that her arms were held up in a defensive position and lowered them, shaking her head. “I don’t need,” she tried to calm her racing heart, aware of how close she had been to having something injected into her, “the adrenaline…I…”

“Oh really,” Aileen stared at her, her eyes narrowed, making her look more shrewish if possible. “You did something that was contrary to what you were ordered, Ms. Stillman-“

“I…uh, I don’t want resources wasted. I am fine,” Lucy tried to force herself to speak normally as if nothing was wrong. “I think the adrenaline would be better suited for Peter if the sedatives make him too lethargic-“

“I know you’re not stupid enough to try that. Combining the medications within him will cause heart failure,” Aileen cut her off ruthlessly, “and don’t think we don’t know you care for the little boy.”

Lucy pursed her lips together before shaking her head, “Please… don’t…I don’t need the adrenaline.” She hated resorting to begging, but she really did not want anything within her. Refusing to meet the slightly open shock on Vidic’s face, she instead stared at Aileen, hoping that maybe the woman would relent. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the guard pick himself up from the floor, looking disgruntled before suddenly his head snapped around in a complete one-hundred eighty degrees and he fell back to the ground dead.

Beyond him stood Daniel who was shaking his head, glaring down at the dead body. “Incompetent,” the man muttered before gracing her with a wolfish smile, “see what you made me do Ms. Stillman?”

Lucy was unsuccessful in suppressing the shudder of fear as she stared from the dead guard’s body to Daniel and to Aileen. The woman stared at her for a few seconds before turning around and started to walk out of the room.

“You were right,” was all she said before the doors hissed closed behind her.

Lucy had a feeling that those words were not for her and saw Daniel cross his arms, a satisfied smile on his face before he gestured to her to head out of the room with his chin. “You have an appointment with our guests,” Daniel said before spreading his hands wide and away from his body. “Don’t worry your pretty little head off Ms. Stillman. You’ve proven your case for now.”

“But-“

“I’m sure Dr. Vidic can handle boy’s session for a little while before you are needed, right?” Daniel turned his gaze to Vidic who composed himself and nodded.

“As you wish,” Lucy was puzzled as to why it seemed like an effort for him to force those words out before he waved an absent hand at her, “you best be going now Ms. Stillman. All you’d be doing is incessantly worrying about Mr. Miles’ heath and I do not need you here to tell me he needs his rest.”

“Y-Yes sir,” Lucy stuttered a bit before walking towards the door, glancing once behind her as Daniel shadowed her, followed by the other guards. But all she got in return was just a seemingly innocent wide smile and hands spread out away from his body as if to taunt her saying that he was not holding anymore needles.

She ignored the taunt as they rode the elevator down to the prison levels and stepped out into the familiar area. “Do you wish me to say anything?”

“No, just remember your orders,” Daniel said in a cheerful tone before she walked away from him and towards the door that lead to where Paul and Hannah were imprisoned.

She keyed the door open and stepped in, letting it close behind her as her eyes adjusted to the dimness.

“Is that you Lucy?” Paul’s hoarse voice spoke from the near darkness until she saw his shadow move and the ratty old bed creak.

“It’s me,” she answered quietly as she saw Paul sit up and lean forward. Beside him, she saw Hannah’s feet shift a little before he patted her gently on a leg.

“Daniel only recently came by so if you’ll forgive me for being a little distracted and angry at the moment,” the heat in Paul’s voice was not lost on Lucy as she nodded. She could imagine what that sick crazed traitor had done to Hannah and it left her feeling disgusted.

“Vidic is currently occupied with the test subject upstairs so I thought to take the opportunity to come down here,” Lucy offered up lamely.

“Test subject?”

“Peter Miles,” she managed to keep her voice indifferent and saw Paul’s face darken.

“Fuck,” the man swore, “not Peter…”

“Who is-“

“Bill Miles’ youngest, that’s who the kid is,” Paul ran a frustrated hand through his short hair, “unless please tell me it’s not a little kid.”

Lucy shook her head, “It’s a child…”

“Fuck,” the man swore again, “fuck, fuck, fucking fuck.”

“What?”

“It means that Bill’s little secret enclave’s fallen and he was our best hope too-“

“You know Bill has a secret enclave?”

“I was one of the few who did. The rest, well, they’re all dead, but Bill established it right after his eldest son, Desmond, went missing. Told him he was paranoid, but he said that he wasn’t. We all thought he was dead or captured by the Templars when he sent a message only I would know telling me he was alive.”

“He could have been alone-“

“That’s not Bill,” Paul laughed, a bitter sound, “and you can tell your Templar masters that Bill-fucking-Miles is sure to kick their asses any time soon. He isn’t going to settle for his youngest getting kidnapped by the Templars and experimented on.”

“I don’t work for-“

“You may claim that, but I know better,” Paul stared at her, his eyes sharp and gaze calm. Lucy involuntarily stepped back a step at the fierce look he wore. It was so like the others, so like Altaїr, Ezio, Arden, and even Bill at times – the gaze of a master assassin who brook for no argument. But even as she stepped back, she felt a sense of confidence, stolen from her by Aileen and Daniel’s presence, return.

She made her decision and pursed her lips together, “I was coerced by Daniel to extract information from you.”

Paul sat back, a half-smile on his face as he nodded, “And there is the truth…”

“He knows that I am an Assassin which was why he forced me to try to gain your trust and question you,” Lucy confessed. It was not quite the truth, but it was close to it without breaking the orders that had been set down for her.

“And this promise of escape-“

“I will get the two of you out, I promise,” Lucy shook her head, “Daniel can go fuck himself if he thinks he can stop me.”

“What about Peter?”

“Vidic leaves his keycard and ID pen lying around every single time so it’ll be easy not to notice it,” it was the first thing that came up in her mind as she saw the slight hope fill Paul. She had to get these two out, even at the cost of her own freedom. They would be able to alert the others what was happening, would be able to at least get free. The only problem was that she had no plan, nothing that would be able to be executed without Daniel noticing the attempt. Or perhaps she could use that to her advantage…

“I need to go,” she made a show of glancing behind her before Paul nodded.

“Just…be careful Lucy. These Templars…they are far more devious than you can imagine,” he said and she nodded. She knew all too well how dangerous they were…

“I will,” she replied and just before she stepped out she heard Paul shift on the bed.

“Lucy, thank you,” the man said before the door closed behind her and Lucy breathed a sigh of relief. The peace was broken seconds later as Daniel sauntered up to her, hands jammed in the pockets of the ratty jeans he wore.

“You disobeyed my orders-“

“I did not,” she replied, staring at him.

“Oh really?” Daniel stared back down his nose.

“I only told them the truth, that you coerced me into getting information out of them,” she shrugged as if it was the most innocent thing in the world, “I never told them I was a prisoner.”

For a moment, Lucy wondered if she had crossed the line before Daniel’s face broke out into a smile as he nodded in acknowledgment of her manipulation there. “Clever girl.”

“I would like to return to the Animus room now,” she stepped back a step as he took one forward towards her. Daniel paused, a sardonic smile on his face before he nodded in acknowledgment.

“Of course,” he gestured with the grace of a gentleman towards the elevators and she walked stiffly past him. She would not put it past him to try to do something to her, but when she arrived back at the spacious room, untouched, not even a single word spoken to her, Lucy could not help but feel a sense of relief. She knew her paranoia was getting the best of her, but she clung onto the hope that perhaps she could try to do something, anything.

It was the only way she felt she could keep a grip on her sanity.

* * *

Author’s Notes:

Tidbit time! I usually use music to write my chapters to (sometimes even titling chapters with songs). I feel that it gives a sense of what I want to convey in a chapter or even in the story as a whole. For this story, I usually used a mish-mash of all of the Assassin’s Creed soundtracks and bits of other music from composers like Hans Zimmer, James Newton Howard, or Harry Gregson-Williams (I only use John Williams for any Star Wars or Harry Potter related stories). Then there’s this little group I discovered several years ago who compose a certain genre of music called “epic” music; or as they’re more known as trailer music.

I recently discovered Thomas Bergersen’s “Illusions” CD. The guy is one half of the group Two Steps From Hell which is one of my favorite epic music genre composers. Their music and this recently downloaded soundtrack is pretty good for listening to if you want to write some tension or even evocative scenes. Anyways, tidbit done.

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Story:

Chapter 45 – Operation

He slammed the magazine up into its home and rechecked the safety before stuffing the gun in the shoulder holster he wore. It was the only way to conceal the weapon in what was sure to be a very busy subway ride to Grand Central Station.

“Desmond,” his father’s voice made him look up to see Bill holding out a small concealed ear piece and took it, looping it around the outer edge of his ear before tapping it and hearing a clicking noise.

“It’s working,” Desmond said, hearing a slight feedback of his own voice in his ear. The latest in communication technology had produced a snug ear bud that could withstand the harshest of conditions and also of someone who was engaged in combat. It had been deployed on the front lines of Iraq and Afghanistan and utilized by private contracting militia groups over there as they fought the insurgents. It had also cost them a pretty penny on the black market, but it was the only way to communicate with each other without the obviousness of a Bluetooth headset or any other means of communication.

“We should get going,” Ezio said as he glanced around the loft.

“Yeah,” Desmond rotated his shoulder one last time before cracking his neck back and forth to release the tension that had built into it during the night and throughout most of the morning hours. He had forgone most of the bandages, only opting for a single Ace bandage that was wrapped up to give his injured shoulder some support, but it was only a cosmetic one if Desmond really got into a fight. His abdomen wound however, received far more attention and definite painkillers as his father had checked on his stitching before he had gotten ready, making sure that they at least would somewhat hold and not rip apart if he needed to fight.

Desmond was hoping not to fight at all, but he also knew the first phase of this mission required a little bit of hand-to-hand, and if he was lucky, the targets would go down easily.

He looked up at Bill who had a grim look on his face before extending his hand out to his father. Bill took it and shook it once, grip firm. He looked like he was going to say something, but then shook his head and only smiled. Desmond’s lips twitched in response, wanting to say something, anything, but nothing would come out. Bill knew what he was doing when he asked him during their walk. And there was nothing else to be said…nothing that needed saying even though Desmond wanted to say everything.

“We’ll see you at the pick up point Bill,” Rebecca also shook Bill’s hand before walking out, Ezio following her.

Desmond was about to follow them, before he paused, feeling the urgency of Darim in his head, telling him that he should walk out with no regrets, with everything said. A loud sigh escaped his lips before he turned back to his father. He licked his lips and opened his mouth, but Bill beat him to it.

“Go out there and do what you need to do. You have made me proud to be your father, Desmond. You never needed my approval, so I will not give it to you, but know that from one Assassin to another, you are the future.”

“…Dad…”

Bill suddenly engulfed him in a tight embrace, sending waves of pain through his body, but Desmond ignored it as he returned the hug. He felt like he was five-years-old all over again, being lifted upon the arms of his father, flying through the air, a giggle escaping his childish lips-

“Never regret this Desmond. Promise me,” his father whispered in his ear.

“I promise,” Desmond choked out past the horrible lump in his throat before releasing him. He managed to keep his emotions under control before nodding once and headed out of the garage-loft. As soon as he stepped outside, he regained control of his emotions and walked past both Ezio and Rebecca whom were waiting for him.

“Desmond-“

“Let’s go,” he ignored whatever Rebecca was about to say and ignored the slightly concerned look Ezio shot at him. It was not their concern he thought as he headed towards the ferry that would take them to the tip of Manhattan Island and from there the nearest subway station.

* * *

Bill Miles stared at the door his son walked out of for a moment, an odd sense of pride warring with regret filling him. Everything he had said was true and he wondered if he was getting soft in his old age. He pondered that thought for a few minutes before the gentle hand of his wife touched his shoulder, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“We should get going dear,” Alice Miles smiled gently up at him and he patted her hand. She did not know, no one else knew except for himself and Desmond. An unspoken pact made between two Assassins with no regrets in between. It would be a harsh lesson to learn, but Bill had no qualms that his son would survive it.

He made a noise of agreement before picking up the rest of the weapons and made a cursory examination of them. Ezio and Altaїr certainly knew how to pick the best ones on the black market. Of the two formerly immortal assassins Altaїr had already left a couple of hours ago with Shaun in tow, the two headed to the Empire State Building, acting like tourists before Shaun headed to the news station where he would meet Desmond’s helicopter pilot contact.

Altaїr himself would stay at the Empire State Building, timing an ‘incident’ of sorts to happen to have the building temporarily evacuated as he set up his sniper’s perch. Ezio and Rebecca were with Desmond who were going to waltz right into the front of Abstergo and from there get what was needed to ultimately stop this whole war while Ezio searched for Lucy and Peter.

Bill hoped that his youngest son was all right, but knew that he could not hold out much hope. As soon as Iltani saw Peter, he knew that she would know what he was and use that to her advantage. His only hope was that Lucy would perhaps be able to protect Peter as best as she could. He also knew that no one had told Desmond of Lucy’s wavering allegiance and Bill had even surprised himself by not revealing that fact. It was an unspoken agreement between all of them that Lucy was pretty much the only reason why Desmond was still sane and had not broken under the Animus’ influence, under the Apple’s assault, and even seemingly kept the Lance of Longinus at bay – though there was doubt in Bill’s mind as to how long Desmond could keep that up.

In a way, Bill truly hoped that Lucy had not turned, was actually telling the truth about her love for his son, because if it was anything else but that, then Iltani and the Templars would have won. He knew that Altaїr would have had contingency plans in place should anything befall Desmond, but he also knew that the man was hoping, desperately so; that this terrible war would be brought to an end – that he could finally die.

The only thing Bill wanted was his family to be safe.

“I’ll drop you off before heading to the FDR, okay?” he commented as she hefted her black backpack on her back. The second sniper rifle had been acquired late last night and Alice had taken most of the night cleaning it and polishing it up to her specifications. It was only after Bill had found her making minute calibrations to the scope that he urged her to come to bed and at least get a couple hours of sleep before the day dawned.

“You were always a sweetheart, Bill,” Alice touched his cheek, an impish smile on her face before heading towards the garage. He checked his own handgun and put it in his shoulder holster before opening the door to the first floor bathroom.

“Alan Rikkin,” Bill drawled out, feeling a slight vicious sense of pleasure at the man who had been his former professor, but also a thorn in his side. He blamed Rikkin for turning Vidic against him, for manipulating his former friend by using Vidic’s wife Kristen.

The older, balding, tubby man glared at him from the gag placed across his mouth. The unspoken venomous message was clear – fuck off, but Bill shook his head. “No can do this time Rikkin. You and I are going to make a little trip.” He tilted his head a little, letting a cruel smile appear on his face. Alice perhaps was the only one who knew, but even then she understood. No one, not even Altaїr or Ezio for all of their fabled aged wisdom and other bullshit nonsense, understood. And most certainly Desmond would not understand.

“But wait, there needs to be a slight decorative touch before we move you,” he saw Rikkin’s eyes narrow down to slits before the man tried to speak through his gag. Bill ignored the muffled sounds of what sounded half like protests, half like a plea and knelt down until he was eye-level with the man and grabbed his shoulder, pulling him forward.

“You should have begged when my daughter was being killed. Should have ordered your lapdogs not to shoot her on sight!” he growled out, glaring at Rikkin. “You should have never taken away the friend whom I saw like a brother. Should have realized that after all of this, your plan will never work.” He activated his hidden blade with an audible snick and rammed it into the man’s spleen, watching with a sense of vicious pleasure as Rikkin’s eyes bugged out for a second before his face scrunched up in pain.

Bill withdrew the blade just as quickly, but did not allow the man any reprieve and instead held him fast. “That was for Amanda you son of a bitch,” he growled out, fully aware that Rikkin was able to see the gold in his eyes, the golden hints the only marker of what bloodline he descended from. “My daughter whom I wanted nothing more than to keep her away from all of this and you and the Templars cruelly drag her into it.”

He wanted to stab more holes into Rikkin, but forcibly restrained himself as he finally let the man go, slamming him against the bathroom tile walls before Rikkin slumped over a little, trying to contain the obvious pain he felt. But Bill was beyond caring for anyone’s pain. Rikkin deserved what he got and if Bill had his way, then the man would have had his skin flayed from his flesh and all sorts of unimaginable tortures inflicted upon him before finally allowed to die.

The others would see it as an unnecessary cruelty and would claim it was contrary to the code, but Bill was his own man, was his own judge and advocate, and he just did not give a fuck whether or not people cared about that. Alice was the only one who was able to see that and even so, she was the only one to temper his fury. He had been hunting Rikkin for years and perhaps called it fortuitous that Desmond of all people had ended up luring Rikkin out of his hiding spot, even at the cost of the rest of the enclave.

He sheathed his blade before standing up and grabbed Rikkin’s shirt collar before boldly hauling him out of the bathtub and dragged him to the bathroom’s door. The man twitched feebly, but with his hands bound behind him, was unable to do anything. Muffled cries of pain accompanied each jolt before Bill saw Alice coming towards him to help him haul Rikkin to the van.

“Bill,” she frowned as she saw that Rikkin was bleeding profusely from his stab wound.

“Don’t say it,” he warned her, his anger abating somewhat in her presence. “He deserves far worst.”

“Bill you promised,” Alice’s frown grew deeper and Bill wanted to guilt to fill him, but pushed it away roughly. He looked away from Alice’s gaze, focused instead on the van.

“I’m not going to get another chance if Desmond’s plan works,” he muttered as he dragged Rikkin across the floor, down a couple of steps and dropped him at the foot of the back of the van. The plan would work, he had no doubt that of that – Desmond was a brilliant strategist, perhaps with the help from his ancestors swimming in his mind, but if not, then he was truly showing his mastery.

“What do you mean by that?” his wife asked as she shook her head at the streak of blood left behind from the bathroom to the van.

He ignored her question. “Don’t bother cleaning it up, it’s more evidence for them,” he said as she walked over and helped him lift the dying man up into the back of the minivan, dumping his legs unceremoniously against the sides. He ignored her question as he slammed the doors closed; silencing Rikkin’s muffled cries of pain. The tinted windows in the back would discourage anyone from peeking in and even then Rikkin’s injury would prevent him from moving in a vertical direction to try to call for help.

“Bill-“

“Let’s go,” he got into the driver’s seat, grabbing a long cylindrical-shaped bag that had been sitting near the front left wheel and stuffed it under the driver’s seat as Alice got into the front passenger side. Desmond had carefully packed it late last night before telling him and him alone where it had been placed for safe keeping. That was the lynchpin in the whole plan and Bill knew what his responsibilities were.

He started the van and pulled out of the driveway before heading towards the main roads and ferry that would take them to Manhattan Island. The ride was mostly silent, but Bill could feel his wife’s frown upon him as they made port and drove off, merging into the regular traffic patterns of the southern tip of the island.

“Bill…”

He sighed as he stopped by a stoplight, staring at nothing in particular. Beside him, a taxi inched closer to his mirror, the driver ready to pounce on the open space the van afforded with a half-second slower start. The driver was going to get himself into an accident one of these days Bill surmised. He could have been aggressive, but there was no need at the moment. “What…”

Alice’s gentle hand on his own nearly startled him as he quickly looked at her to see a smile on her face. He returned one of his own, unbidden, as he reached out and laced his fingers through hers; God how he loved her with all of his heart. She was the only one to keep him sane in the madness of the truth and the only one who understood. He held onto her hand as the light turned green and continued to drive until they reached the spot where she would start her part of the mission.

He pulled next to the sidewalk to drop her off and set the minivan in park, but did not turn the engine off. “Well…” suddenly Bill found it hard to say anything else as he realized this was perhaps the last time he would see her. Everyone believed that his part of the plan was to be the hub of communications, especially with the electronic and computer feeds he had activated in the van, and also to get Rikkin out of the city and to the safe house.

Shaun Hastings was perhaps the only one who knew the real part of Desmond’s plan involving the FDR Drive. Even then, he noticed that the Englishman had been shooting confused looks at the two of them, but wisely did not say a word. No one could know, not with what Desmond was trying to pull.

“It will work,” Alice reassured him, squeezing his hand for a moment before leaning over and kissing him gently on the lips. He returned the gesture, caressing her lined, but soft cheeks, marveling at how much she meant to him before they parted.

“I love you Alice,” he whispered, looking into her grey eyes as she smiled.

“I love you too Bill Miles,” she replied before getting out of the car, shouldering her bag once and headed down the sidewalk. He watched her for a moment as she joined the crowds of New York City, turning only once to wave a goodbye to him before the crowds swallowed her up.

Bill waited a few more seconds, steeling himself before setting the car in drive and pulling back out into traffic and headed slowly towards the FDR Drive. He had volunteered, he knew what he was getting into, and truth be told, it would be the finest moment in his life. The war would end and maybe, just maybe, he would be able to finally see a peaceful future.

* * *

It was easy to slip out of the guards’ notice on the top floors of the Empire State Building; the floor plans that had been examined last night along with a technical schematic of where camera placements were made it doubly so. With so many tourists, Altaїr was able to blend in with the crowds and slip away when no one else was looking. Shaun Hastings would wait at ten more minutes after he had made his initial disappearance before leaving the building and head towards his part of the mission. He had long sensed the hesitation, slight trepidation, and knew that this was perhaps the Englishman’s first big mission, one that did not involve looking at history books or researching information.

Leonius had chosen well in his opinion, but he had also chosen poorly. Shaun was not a man of action, and was more suited for the scholarly pursuits of perhaps a bureau master. In ways, the Englishman reminded Altaїr of the former Rafiq of the Damas bureau, all sarcastic cheerfulness. Perhaps that was why Desmond had seen that and put Shaun in the least critical role, least likely to seen action even though the man did not know it himself.

He glanced down at the watch he wore, hidden snugly under his right bracer when it was time to use the weapons he had carried with him for so long. The bracer did not fit quite right, but it was of no consequence for Altaїr. He had made some small adjustments to the straps, having fiddled with the design for nearly nine-hundred years. It was Arden’s blade and bracer that he wore, taken from her left arm while Desmond received the one on her right along with the sliver of the Lance of Longinus.

His own had been broken after he had gutted Desmond during their fight and truth be told, Altaїr did not want to see a reminder of that. He still was mildly horrified and angry at his own actions, at how deep his obsession and addiction to the Apple had gone. Ezio was probably the only one to realize how deep his reaction went, but even then the fellow assassin was too polite to comment about it. He could still hear the unspoken ‘I told you so’ hovering on the Italian man’s lips, but did not say anything.

The watch told him that it was nearly time and Altaїr flicked his wrist to cover the watch again. His internal clock would tell him the rest as he adjusted the pack he carried over his grey duster. “William?” he called out quietly.

“Looping feeds set up,” William Miles’ voice returned back through his earpiece. The soft sound of typing followed by several distant horns echoed over the earpiece, a sign that Bill was getting into the late afternoon rush hour traffic that always halted everyone on the FDR. “You’re clear for the next fifteen seconds, go.”

Altaїr was already moving even before William had told him that he was clear, rushing out of the alcove he had hidden himself in and charged up the emergency stairwell, taking two-three steps at a time. He saw two cameras as he surged past them, but they did not track him and he continued up the stairs, diving into another alcove five stories above the initial floor as his internal clock told him the fifteen seconds were up. He managed to close the door a little on the alcove as he heard footsteps come down the stairwell and steadied his own breathing.

He allowed himself a slightly predatory grin of triumph; it had been a while since he had executed anything like this – attempting to assassinate Desmond while he had been in Abstergo’s care not withstanding. That was a frontal assault, pure and simple; this…this was something else. This was a hunting ground in the modern yet so very ancient world.

“Hey guys,” he heard Shaun’s voice echo as he waited for William to set up his next run.

“Hey,” Desmond’s voice returned casually, the noise of New York traffic coming through, “what’s up?” Altaїr heard the relaxed way Desmond was bantering with the others.

“There’s one thing missing in America and its gothic architecture. I mean, come on…where are the spires?”

“St. Patrick’s Cathedral?” Desmond returned to Shaun’s complaint, but Altaїr could still hear the nervousness in the Englishman’s voice. He frowned…Shaun needed to relax.

“Really?”

“Yeah, come on, don’t worry,” he could almost imagine seeing Desmond patting the Englishman on the back, a sharp look that told Shaun that he was being too obvious and too nervous.

“All right, I’ll probably head there then. You sure you guys don’t want to come?”

“Nah,” Rebecca’s voice piped up, “I’ve seen it. It’s pretty and nice, but once you’ve seen everything in this city, there’s nothing else to see.”

“There are a lot of people in business suits,” Ezio’s voice casually broke over the channel that they all shared and Altaїr twitched a little. That clearly meant that they had picked up a tail or several tails that were Abstergo personnel.

“Altaїr five seconds,” William’s voice broke through the conversation.

“The nine-to-five crowd’s heading home. Come on, we probably should join them,” he tuned out whatever else Desmond was saying as he moved, taking the stairs up again another five floors before reaching the spot where he was supposed to set himself up.

“You’re cleared,” William confirmed after a few seconds and Altaїr gently closed the maintenance door behind him. The stiff cold wind that seeped through the various construction sets on this floor of the Empire State Building sent some tarps flapping loudly, but it was the perfect spot for him to do what needed to be done.

“Hey what the hell – stupid asshole! That’s not a spot you can stuff your car- you know what, never fucking mind,” William’s angry voice suddenly broke over the comm. before a very loud beep was heard and Altaїr rolled his eyes.

“Traffic?” Alice’s voice was mild, calm, and most definitely a contrast to everyone else’s tension. The corner of his lips twitched up in a smile at how professional and calm the mother of the Miles family was. Before she had met William Miles and had been his support, she had been one of the Order’s best snipers and hackers, paving the field for electronic warfare that had rose with the advent of technological advances. A calming force that only came from the years and years of training she had, she was also the only one who did not have an opinion about this war one way or another. Her needs were simple and that was to protect her family, protect her children. It was perhaps to the Templars’ doom that they had kidnapped and killed her eldest child Alexander, captured her second-eldest Desmond, killed her only daughter Amanda, and captured her youngest Peter.

He heard the calm in her voice, but also recognized the razor-thin edge of anger that was behind it. Alice Miles was furious, but would never let the anger show, unlike her husband.

“Fucking New York drivers,” William grumbled over the comm., “I hate them all.”

“The café is half-full, any visible tail?” Alice asked quietly as the sounds of people clinking their cups together filtered over her voice.

“Standby,” Altaїr replied back quietly as he put down his pack and pulled out the sniper rifle he had carried with him. It had not been easy to get it past the security checkpoint, having to disguise it in several pieces as camera equipment that he and Shaun had both carried past the checkpoint. He pulled a few of the unnecessary pieces apart and quickly put together the weapon. He checked to make sure that none of the scope adjustments had been altered before slamming a magazine home and walked over to a spot where a giant pylon would be able to provide some shelter in wake of the open construction area and also a way to support himself if need be.

“Windy much?” Shaun piped up, “good freaking God, its cold today. I thought global warming was supposed to make it more mild?”

Altaїr was too much of a professional to tell Shaun that he was only walking outside instead of being near the top of the Empire State Building where the wind and cold would make his part of this operation a lot more difficult.

“Shaun, stop complaining. You get to at least ride in a warm helicopter,” Rebecca chastised, her voice almost a whisper and almost inaudible over the screech of what was clearly the subway.

“Yeah, yeah,” the Englishman grumbled as Altaїr set his scope up and gently panned it down towards the café that Alice Miles was supposed to be hiding in. One unique feature of Abstergo’s headquarter was its unusual curvature architecture that clearly was distinct in a city of skyscrapers and modernity. After Alice did the first part of her mission, she was to take up her post on the second sniper’s perch on the opposite side of the curved skyscraper, designed to look like a flattened two-dimensional pyramid in ways, the two of them covering the entrances, exits, and windows for Desmond and his group. He checked the surrounding areas carefully, watching for any sign of a tail or any one who looked suspicious before pulling the scope up a little as he relaxed himself and settled himself against the large pylon. His gloved fingers were already a little numb along with the tip of his nose.

“You are cleared,” he said, “building is all quiet.”

“Thanks,” Alice replied, “be back in fifteen.”

“We’re at Grand Central,” Desmond’s voice spoke up, the screech of the subway dying out only to be swallowed by the roaring noise of commuters rushing from the subways up to the main station and from there to other lines or even the Metro North areas. “Set for twenty-five.”

“Got it,” William’s acknowledgment came over and Altaїr frowned. He had an inkling of what was the overall plan especially in light of his talk with Desmond late last night, but with William’s acknowledgment, it confirmed what he had been suspecting all along.

“Des-“

He could see in his mind’s eye Rebecca being held back by Ezio from asking what the hell was going on. The Italian man also had the same suspicions, but neither of them asked Desmond, knowing that whatever happened, it would happen. It was like he had said earlier to the young man, he was the future and all Altaїr could do was trust in him.

* * *

Desmond brushed past the rushing commuters that ran to and from the main hall of Grand Central Station. A few tourists abruptly stopped as they were wont to do when one entered the main hall and stared up at the huge cathedral ceilings painted with the green-gold constellations of the night sky. He had been to Grand Central several times during his two-year stay in the city, and had to admit, that it was rather magnificent and eye-catching. However, he nearly tripped over one of the tourists who had stopped to gap and excused himself roughly before heading to the ticket counter. He knew he could have gone to the automated ticket machines, but the lines were long and it was faster this way to buy the tickets.

“Four,” Ezio muttered behind him and Desmond nodded, digging into his pockets for enough money to pay for four one-way peak tickets to New Haven.

“Four tickets please,” he said as pleasantly as he could to the tired looking lady behind the ticket booth.

“Where to?” she sounded utterly bored, but then again, Desmond could see that she was nearing the end of her shift.

“New Haven,” he replied before shoving the money into the small bin. Seconds later he received the tickets he needed and headed away from the booth, making a show of handing them to both Ezio and Rebecca before looking around as if he was lost to find the ‘fourth’ member of their party. His movement allowed him to take a good look at the four Templars who had been tailing them since they met up and separated from Shaun.

These were the four that Bill had confirmed that had scouted them two nights ago since the destruction of the Apple of Eden.

“Let’s go,” he turned and headed to the track that was the one that Rebecca had found for them last night, the one that would have the longest ride without anyone getting suspicious. It was also the one that was just boarding so there would not be too many sitting in the train at the moment.

The three of them walked towards the train and Desmond flicked a look to Ezio who returned it and jogged forward to another car, Rebecca following him, while he suddenly ducked into the bar car, the bustle and noise of the main hub of Grand Central suddenly dying away at the near-silence of the car. Desmond walked forward, making his steps deliberate before he heard the pounding footsteps of at least two Templar agents enter the bar car with him.

“Fancy a drink guys?” he asked, staring at his own reflection in the window as he saw them slowly approach him, wary of a trap.

“Mr. Miles, we would like you to come with us,” one of the two spoke up, hands slowly reaching into what was probably shoulder holsters to bring out their guns. They were dressed in sharp business suits, unlike many others who worked in the city and thankfully, they were not wearing any sunglasses or else Desmond would have groaned out loud at the horrible cliché.

“What no threats?” he smiled a little, hands held loosely by his sides, “nothing like ‘oh, we’re federal agents, we’re here to bring you in’.”

“We’re sure that you know of the consequences,” the same Templar replied, “we only want to talk-“

“That’s good, cause I need you to send a message,” he whirled around before he even saw the glint of a gun being drawn and slammed the ball of his hand into the throat of one of the agents, choking him instantly as his other hand grabbed the gun arm of the second one. Before the man could get a firm grip of his gun, he ripped the loosened grip away from the gun and threw him to the ground, knocking him into one of the poles that was in the bar car.

The man staggered before falling, his head slamming into a small table where riders would put their drinks on. His eyes bugged out before he fell by the wayside, choking to death from a broken neck.

He turned to the other agent who was trying to get to his feet, staggering a bit as one hand was massaging his bruised neck, the other, trying to find a purchase to pull himself up. Desmond knew he could instantly end it with his hidden blades plunged deep into the man from behind, but there could not be any noticeable blood or injury on the men. There could not be any sign that these men died horrible deaths and so he quickly grabbed the man from behind, wrapping his arms around the man’s neck and pulled hard to himself.

The man flailed for a second and clawed at his arms before Desmond applied the briefest amount of pressure, his injured shoulder and abdomen wound protesting at the force he was using before he felt the snap of neck bones. The Templar went instantly limp and Desmond released the body, letting it topple to the ground before glancing outside to make sure none of the military guards or security personnel had seen any of that.

No one seemed to have noticed before he quickly thumbed a catch to the doors of the bar car at a side panel and closed it. As soon as the doors were closed, he started to drag one body towards the door to the next car over and unceremoniously dumped it into a seat. Quickly stripping the man of most of his clothing, he redressed him in a different suit and jacket combination that he had in a backpack. The click of a door unlocking at the far end of the regular car made him look up to see Ezio dragging another body in to place at the opposite end while beyond him, he saw Rebecca stuffing another body into the bathroom of that car.

“We ran into a complication,” Ezio shrugged as a way of explanation before lifting up one of his arms to show a slightly bloodied bracer.

“Tell Rebecca to lock it tight,” Desmond knew from both experience and memories that Ezio would have never resorted to such a method unless there was no other choice.

Ezio nodded before settling the body in a sleep-like position and placed a ticket on the man’s lapel. That particular body had already been stripped of its clothes and placed in different ones. Hopefully no enterprising commuter would steal the ticket before the conductor was able to check it, but it was something Desmond knew he could not anticipate. He went back and arranged his body into roughly the same position, taking care to strip it and redress it, before heading to the bar car again and picked up the second body and placed it in the far corner of the bar car. There were only one or two seats in the bar car itself, the car designed for commuters to stand and drink their day’s worries away before staggering home or to their cars. He arranged it so that the man looked like he was nursing a huge head ache, especially judging by the bump that had grown in the back of the dead man’s head.

Desmond checked to make sure that there was no other evidence that there had been a fight in the car before reaching down to the back of the bar itself and popped open the lock on the small refridgerator. Cheap liquor and some cans of beer were kept to sell to customers as he picked out what he needed.

Opening two of the three bottles of liquor he made sure to pour at least half of its contents onto the man sitting in the bar car itself before placing a half-emptied one in the man’s hand. His work done, he walked over to the other car, poured some of the beer into the man sitting near the door and placed it in his hand before tossing the second unopened can at Ezio who had returned with Rebecca in tow.

Ezio opened the can, sniffing the beer before pouring a small amount onto the man’s body and placing the can near his feet.

“Hey Desmond, there may be a slight problem,” Rebecca spoke up and Desmond glanced at her.

“What?”

“The clothes may be a little too big for me…” Rebecca said, holding up a shirt, jacket, and pants from one of the stripped Templars.

“I have a plan for that,” Desmond held up the last liquor bottle. He had hoped that at least one of the four Templar tails that had been following them was a woman so that he did not have to use this part of the plan, but it seemed like the Templars wanted the brawniest of their agents to bring them in.

“That better not be one of the cheap liquor bottles,” Rebecca looked a little unhappy but shook her head in resignation as they headed out of the train and back to the main hall of Grand Central Station. Desmond made a show of looking at the commuter rail board, looking like he had went to the wrong track before pointing in the direction of the tracks they were supposed to go towards. It was only natural with New York in such a heightened state of security that the guards were suspicious enough to wonder why a group of people they had only seen minutes ago had returned back to the main hall.

“Remember you’re supposed to dump that on yourself, not drink it because it’s happy hour,” Shaun’s voice suddenly crackled over the comm. and the three of them shared a tight grin at the levity. They made their way to the lower level of the station where even more people were crowded at the dining shops and hurrying towards other trains before heading to the bathrooms to change.

Desmond quickly changed into the clothes he had stripped from the Templars, glad that at least one of them was sort of his height. However, as soon as he stretched his right arm out to put on the suit’s jacket, he froze, blind-numbing pain traveling from deep within him and out to his arm. He bit his lip, suppressing a grimace and hiss of pain lest the others hear over the comm. Shit, if his shoulder was already giving him problems, even before he had broken a real sweat fighting, what did it mean if he had to fight his way out of Abstergo’s headquarters?

He shook his head as he finished dressing, gingerly rotating his shoulder downward as the pain subsided before rubbing it with his other hand and at the same time, pressed a few fingers against the stitching on his ribs. It didn’t hurt as much, which meant the localized painkillers were doing their work, but it was still bad. He reached down and repacked his discarded clothes before heading out of the bathroom. Ezio and Rebecca rejoined him outside of the bathrooms and he took their clothes and shoved them into the backpack before they headed back to the subways.

The suit jacket which he had taken from one of the bodies hid his bracers, but a quick flick of his wrist partially exposed one along with his watch. Ten minutes, good they were on time. He shrugged the backpack off of his shoulders and carried it by hand Ezio and Rebecca slipped their smaller ones into his to which he stuffed inside his own. As they got onto the subway and headed towards the stop that would take them to Abstergo’s headquarters, Desmond knew that there was no turning back – it was now or never.

* * *

Author’s Notes:

The start of the NYC mission and essentially one of the last major plot points before we get to the endgame of Apotheosis. I’m thinking maybe ten chapters left in this story (probably more or less). Anyway, just a little tidbit note: Metro North does have bar cars and they’re usually located at the tail end of the train and are mostly a place for commuters to stand and drink. However, they’re only in service during the afternoon rush hour commute and are definitely stocked with the cheap alcohol (and giant cans of Fosters for some odd reason).

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Story:

Chapter 46 – Doubts

Alice Miles gently lowered the grating on the manhole cover, hearing a quiet thunk before descending down the ladder. She flicked on her flashlight and proceeded deeper into the intricate tunnels that crisscrossed New York City. It was hot and humid down here, but she did not mind the temperature difference as she shouldered her bag made her way towards the secondary entrance of Abstergo. Her cellphone lit up part of her face as it displayed the sewer map, using its GPS to direct her to where she needed to go. It was a risk, but Alice hoped that with all of the other cellphone signals within the city, hers would get lost amongst the white noise.

She looked up as she heard the distinctive buzz of a laser field and saw indeed that she had arrived at her destination. At the same time, she heard Bill’s cursing about the traffic on the FDR over her earpiece and laughed softly. At least her husband was somewhat enjoying himself even though he showed it in a very unusual way. Bill always had a gleam in his eye when things were going according to plan and she could certainly imagine that gleam right now as he sat in traffic.

As a mother, she knew she should be worried about Desmond, especially with the slight sounds of grunting indicative of a fight happening, that echoed in her earpiece. But Alice was calm, collected, and most definitely not acting like a mother at the moment. If there was one gift she had, amongst those of the supernatural type that they had dubbed Eagle Vision, it was the ability to detach herself from her emotions. However, it had also been a long time since she needed to do it, but Alice knew that the mission was vital.

Her role in this operation had confirmed her suspicions that rescuing Lucy and Peter was a secondary objective and that Desmond was after something else. The fact that he wanted someone to hack into the sewers of Abstergo and either create an alternate escape route or even a distraction meant that Alice would be getting a very good look at the Templar's network. No one, not even Lucy would have been able to achieve such access. The Templars definitely kept their security and their mainframes separate, a smart move since the last time she was able to devastate their infrastructure back in the nineteen seventies.

The risk was high, but Alice dared not tell her son that. Desmond had too much on his mind, too much to consider and contemplate that she would not add to that burden. It was something she would be able to handle and she knew she could handle it.

“I'm here,” she tapped her earpiece and whispered into it, her voice echoing loudly in the tubes. She wiped her sleeve across her forehead and blinked the sweat from her eyes. “It's really hot down here. I'm surprised that the laser field was able to maintain this integrity.”

“Just tell us when and create a distraction, then get to your secondary point,” her son's cool, confident voice replied back followed by the screeching of the subway stopping and the doors hissing open.

“Hey...” Rebecca's voice sounded drunk over the earpiece and Alice managed to keep her expression neutral even though no one could see her down here. It was a bit of an improvisational genius on Desmond's part in anticipation that one of their tails would not have clothes to fit Rebecca's slim form. She was so proud of her son and wanted to tell him that, but she also wanted to protect him, to tell him let the others handle it; let Altaїr and Ezio handle it.

Desmond was her baby son, before Peter had been born. He was her one and only child after her first husband had refused to give her parental rights to see Alexander. That had been devastating as he laid out the ground work to the judge that she was a dangerous woman, one who was mentally unstable and should be in a military hospital under heavy medication than taking care of a child. The judge, who had no affiliation with either the Templars or Assassins had ruled in her ex-husband's favor and she had disappeared afterwards.

She knew she had made a terrible mistake then, having thought that she could have lived a life outside of the Templars and Assassins. She thought she could live with a husband who did not care about the secret war between the two ancient factions, that she could be a happy homemaker with a child on her hip and kisses to her husband when he came home from work each day. She thought she could juggle both with her cover-career as a traveling military engineer, using that cover to conduct missions for the Assassins. Her ex-husband had discovered her secret when she had come home late one night, thinking that he had either gone to sleep or was working late. Little Alexander had been asleep in his crib and she had not taken off the black fatigues that she had worn before checking up on him.

Her ex-husband had nearly bashed her in the head and it was only due to her own efforts that she had managed not to kill him either when she had been attacked. She had thought he would understand when she explained why she was dressed in black fatigues, a bloodied bowie knife sheathed in her boot, sniper rifle in her bag. But she had thought wrong as the very next day he had served her with divorce papers and told her that he could not live or even sleep with a woman who had so much blood on her hands.

He had won sole custody of Alexander and Alice had bid her son goodbye. The Assassins, even the Mentor had offered to get her son back, but Alice did not want to fight that fight. Her ex-husband was a good man and she had hoped that he would be able to raise Alexander with the best of care and perhaps find a second love. She had grieved by throwing herself into another mission and had found herself supporting Bill Miles as he worked tirelessly to discover the secrets of the Pieces of Eden with his best friend Warren Vidic and their Templar-affiliated assistant professor Alan Rikkin.

Her role had called for her to be Bill's contact and also his girlfriend, something she had reluctantly done, but over the years on the mission, she had found herself slowly falling in love and understanding what made Bill Miles so brilliant and regarded as one of the Order's future leaders. When the whole fiasco happened with Kristen Vidic and Warren, she had been as devastated as Bill had been.

It had been a surprise to her and Bill when Desmond had been born the year before everything went down with Kristen and Warren. They had even brought little Desmond around during the Christmas holidays so that the Vidics could meet them while also wondering about what gender Kristen's baby was going to be. Of course, it had caused a slight scandal at the university where Bill was working, but Bill had readily ignored it. And while it was true that she was never officially married to Bill, even after all of these years, she had taken on his last name and by common law, they were already married. Bill was never one to stand on ceremony and Alice was content to follow his lead.

So she had believed him when he said that they needed to hide after taking the Vidics’ only child away from the house; to raise her within the Order and perhaps in time reveal to her who her father truly was. Alice had initially been against; remembering her own separation with Alexander, but Bill had convinced her that the baby girl would only be used as a pawn against her father and perhaps thrown carelessly towards the Assassins as cannon fodder when she grew up.

But even Alice could not anticipate what would have happened to Lucy Stillman, the anger, the conflicting emotions, even the possibility that she of all people, would end up meeting her own son and the two of them falling in love. She was not a romantic at heart like Ezio, but even she understood the seemingly star-crossed love her son had for Lucy Stillman and vice versa. It was why she trusted Lucy with Amanda and Peter, trusted her to escort them out to safety. Bill and the others may not have quite trusted her, but Alice knew that Lucy was trying to make amends, trying to find her path in life; and most of all, trying to save Desmond from a terrible, terrible fate.

She considered herself an atheist, like many of her fellow Assassins and even the Templars. How could one stare at the face of God and demand an explanation for the Pieces of Eden or for the supernatural events that have happened? And as an atheist, though she did believe something was out there, she knew she could place most of the blame on those who had been made immortal through the Pieces of Eden; both Templars and Assassins. She could blame them for their complicated and intricate schemes; the schemes that forced her sons, her family even, to go on this twisted path.

She knew, and she knew that she was the only one who harbored this opinion, but she knew that perhaps this was Altaїr and Ezio's way of making amends. This was their way to try to right the terrible wrong of immortality that had been cast upon them. No one person had the right to live past their lifetime, that was one thing she believed in, and no one, especially those with that capability should manipulate events to suit them. The selfish efforts would turn even those with the greatest of intentions into monsters. And thus, she supposed it was the two Assassins' way of making amends, of trying to resist that temptation.

Bill certainly did not share her sentiment, but neither was he stupid enough to seize a Piece of Eden on his own and make himself God-like; to rise towards apotheosis.

But even if it was Altaїr and Ezio's way of making amends, she did not like that they had seemingly planned this from years before she had been born; had somehow manipulated the fates to make sure Desmond was the one to end the war. Yes, she wanted the war to end, but it was because she wanted her family back together – her children safe and sound. Amanda's death had ripped open a hole that had never fully closed after she had found out about Alexander's capture and death at the hands of the Templars. Her only daughter-

Alice grimaced as she focused back at the laser grid's panel which she had plugged her cellphone in to use its internal programming to hack parts of it. She could not let her thoughts go astray, not with her son and his team closing in upon the entrances of Abstergo.

The sudden tinned sound of an alarm blaring in her earpiece made her start a little before Altaїr's cool voice spoke over the comm. “Distraction successfully executed,” he said and Alice could imagine people being evacuated from the Empire State building, security guards securing all of the floors before SWAT and NYPD forces were sent in. That would give Altaїr plenty of time to make himself comfortable up on his sniper's perch. And like any mother, she wondered if he would be warm enough. She pushed that thought quickly out of her head – she did not need to mother anymore children, especially not an immortal Arabic assassin who perhaps was a distant part of her bloodline as well as the Miles family line.

“Hey Brad,” Shaun's voice cut through the soft blare of the alarms, signaling his arrival at the news station. “Yeah, good, good...this way? Sure yeah, right behind you.” There was scuffling sound followed by what sounded like the creak of doors opening and then Shaun's breath huffing a little as he seemed to be climbing stairs. “Oh...oh wow...that's...wow, I actually didn't expect that. Hmm? Oh...uh yeah, heh...okay, so how do I- Ah...okay...”

Alice returned to the task at hand, tapping her cell to bring up an internal schematic of the Abstergo floor plan and overlaid it with the lobby camera footage. She dared not hack deeper in incase she tripped a failsafe or something. Her earpiece suddenly rumbled to life with the sound of a helicopter rotor powering up before it was muffled.

“Sound damping, sorry Shaun, can you still hear me?” Bill's voice came over.

“Yeah, yeah- no, not you Brad, just...the others. Oh, well, hey Des, Brad says hi.”

The barest grunts was Desmond's reply as Alice brought up a camera feed that showed her son entering the lobby. “Bill, now...” he suddenly spoke up and Alice's brow wrinkled with puzzlement. What was Bill supposed to do? Her husband had been a bit callous towards Alan Rikkin; but even she had thought he was just to drive into traffic on the FDR and be the pick-up person for Altaїr on the Empire State Building after everything was done.

“Desmond-” she started, but was cut off.

“Sorry Alice, but it needs to be done,” Bill interrupted before she could say anything else and her eyes widened with shock at the sudden sound of a screech of tires squealing on the pavement, followed by frantic horns then a grunt of pain.

“Bill...? Bill...?” Alice whispered over the comm. her hands suddenly shaking as she knew something bad had happened. Her cellphone beeped a warning as the temperature in the sewers started to rise, but she did not hear it.

* * *

It took all of Desmond's will not to react to his mother's quiet hushed tone as she called over the comm for her husband. It had to be done, it had to be done, he repeated to himself as he set his face in stone and marched past the double glass doors and towards the security desk. People in the lobby skittered out of their way, their eyes wide with shock, fear, or even awe he could not quite tell. But the fact that people were whispering and pointing at them meant it was a good thing. Some even held their noses and made slight gagging noises at the cheap alcohol Rebecca's clothes reeked of while others could only stare agog.

“Sir, I'm going to need-”

Desmond threw the hapless guard his best glare, sending the balding man scurrying away before he began to apologize profusely for even asking them for the identifications. The message was clear, get out of these Templar agents' way because they had something important to report to the higher ups and everyone in the lobby knew that. He stalked towards the elevator and could not quite keep the edge out of his voice as he slowed his pace just a little.

“Alice...floor,” he muttered.

“But Bill-”

“Alice!” he hissed, turning his head into his jacket to prevent anyone from figuring out he was speaking not to Rebecca and Ezio behind him.

“...Right, on it,” Alice's voice snapped back to the professional cold manner he had been hearing before and he breathed an inward sigh, “sixty-seventh.”

“Got it,” he turned slightly to head towards the express elevators, bypassing the lobby where the elevators would only go up to the mezzanine to the fiftieth floor. Arriving at the right set of four elevators, he pressed the button before glancing behind him, “Alice, Bill knows what he's doing.”

His reassurance fell a little flat as a slight groan of pain came over the comm. that was quickly muffled, perhaps by Bill himself. A part of him wanted to know what happened, wanted to see what his order to Bill Miles had done, but his ancestors kept their presence firm, silently telling him that Bill was an Assassin; he knew what he was getting into.

“...We're almost there Alice, don't worry,” Shaun's slightly muffled voice came over the comm.

“Desmond-”

Rebecca abruptly shut up and Desmond could imagine Ezio shaking his head behind him as the elevator pinged open and they stepped in. He pressed the button to take them up to the sixty-seventh floor and just as the doors closed; he heard a ping of the elevator next to theirs open up to the lobby floor followed by the sounds of multiple feet stampeding out.

“Altaїr, there are several-”

“Escalades just pulled up to the front of the building,” the master assassin interrupted him in a cool, calm tone confirming what he had heard, “about a dozen, no, three men, two women in suits getting into two of the cars, the rest, at least eight, looks like private contracting military types, got into two other Escalades. One of them is saying...head to the FDR. William, they are on their way to you.”

“Fuck,” Shaun's swear cut through the comm., “Brad, hey can we, I don't know get NYPD-”

“I can head back downstairs and summon another Escalade to the FDR if you want me to-”

“No,” Desmond shook his head against Ezio's whisper, wanting nothing more than to authorize it, to tell Ezio to do whatever he could to save Bill from his foolish plan. But Altaїr reassurance last night that Iltani would fall for this saved those words from falling out of his mouth. “I need-” he swallowed past the lump in his throat, “I need you to guard Rebecca. If Iltani...if she's up there-” He closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath, wondering if this was what all of his ancestors had gone through while planning missions.

But none of those missions had the fate of the world riding on it, a small part of him said in a snide tone.

“No,” he repeated himself, “we can't risk it.” Those words fell easily from his lips and with a grimace, Desmond could not help but think that he was turning into his father; manipulative, withholding certain truths, and just plain lying about certain things. A well of disgust filled him and he wanted to do opposite of what he had thought when he felt the stern rebuke from both Darim and Altaїr in his mind and froze.

What if...

The horrific thought occurred to him; what if what he had wanted was all part of the Lance's wishes? He certainly could feel a bit of the oily sensation still trying to worm its way into his mind, but it felt muted and it was only the reassurance that he had the sliver cut by Arden's husband, Stephen's, hand, wrapped up tightly in his right bracer that he even felt it at all. No, he could not risk it. He knew what he was getting into and anything else was suspect to the Lance's influence.

“Alice, do you have camera access?” he asked before lowering his voice apologetically, “I'm sorry...Bill...Dad, if you can hear me, I'm sorry, but I can't send anyone...”

“Desmond, I can go, after I give you the camera access and finish up here,” his mother's professional tone was slipping again.

“Then who will cover the other side of the building,” Altaїr stated like a cold bucket of water thrown onto all of them, “Iltani is not to be taken lightly, Alice Miles.” The only information Altaїr had been willing to part about Iltani was the fact that her appearance could seemingly change, all part of her personal Piece of Eden and that was what made her extremely dangerous. She was also one of the Order's first and best back in the ancient times that she had been mortal before coming in contact with the Piece of Eden that had lead Alexander the Great to his victories.

The implication that she had years, centuries of experience on top of what each of them, Altaїr and Ezio included, could do was not lost on Desmond. If they faced Iltani at Abstergo, then she would be a force to contend with. There was also the matter of thousands of employees, some of whom perhaps were held against their will, but others, fanatical as ever. And those fanatics were the ones willing to kill or capture Assassins wandering in their midst. Abstergo headquarters was a warning; a Templar stronghold – the stronghold and the heart of the fortress that made up today's modern day enemies. Altaїr was right, they needed everyone and could not afford to divide their forces if one of their own was captured or killed. The only one that would run the risk of being rescued was Rebecca of all people and it was because of what her assignment was in this mission.

He had thought to ask Altaїr to be Rebecca's guard, but the Arabic man had declined, saying that he would be compromised should he encounter Iltani within the same room and preferred the sniper's position so Ezio had been assigned as Rebecca's guard.

“I...I understand,” his mother resumed her cool professionalism, but Desmond could hear the undercurrent of worry.

“We're at the...holy shit Desmond, you weren't kidding,” Shaun suddenly broke in, “Bill, Bill? Can you hear me? I can see a lot of smoke there – hey Brad any chance of going in closer – oh, no? Oh, air traffic rules, okay. Just...here, just hover up here and we'll try to lead you out Bill.”

“Shaun, any emergency response teams?” Desmond suddenly asked the doubt still there.

“Yeah, plenty mate,” Shaun sounded a little bewildered, but the fact that his voice still sounded muffled meant that whatever communication hack Bill had installed from his van's laptop through their frequency was working. It told Desmond that while his father was perhaps injured, he still had the mind to preserve the laptop and make sure that they were still all connected. However, Desmond knew that the connection was tenuous at best and that they did not have a lot of time. “Hey...looks like they brought you some time Bill. They're blocking the Escalades, there were four right Altaїr? Big huge ass black ones?”

“Yes,” was the curt reply before the Arabic assassin changed subjects, “I cannot see any movement on the sixty-seventh floor. I am being blocked by blackout blinds.”

“Shit,” that was a complication that Desmond had not expected as he felt the elevator slow. He reached in and pulled out the handgun sitting in its shoulder holster as both Rebecca and Ezio did the same, flicking the safety off and letting Arden's presence guide him in case he needed to fire the gun. Even though she had taught him the basics at Cheyenne Mountain, he still felt a little more comfortable letting her presence guide him. After all, it ensured that he would not waste bullets.

“Oh yeah...they're blocking them and the Templars are making some kind of stink about it.”

“Shaun, focus,” Desmond shook his head at the slightly sarcastic tone Shaun had adopted while he was watching from the air. “Alice anything on your end?”

“Shit...no, give me a second,” his mother's voice sounded a little strained and Desmond wrinkled his brow in concern, “no, nothing. You're clear.” Just as she said the words the elevator stopped and the doors pinged open quietly. Ezio was first out of the elevator, gun pointed down the hall as Rebecca followed him and Desmond brought up the rear.

“Clear,” his ancestor spoke up.

“Clear here,” Desmond saw an empty, but elaborate hallway. It was wider than an average office building's hall, and the furniture was much more decorative and evoked riches, money, and power. Even the plants, which were surprisingly real were meticulously groomed, and it looked like the floor where a CEO of a company would lounge about or conduct their daily business. Along the walls there was the occasional marble pillar and Desmond saw Rebecca reach out and tentatively touch one.

“Wow...its real marble,” she drew her hand back as if stung before Ezio glanced over to what she had touched.

“Italia, from the quarries in Tuscany if I'm not mistaken,” the Italian man mused, “very pricey these days...”

“Third office from the elevator,” there was a slight static hiss over the comm. as Alice's voice faded in and out.

“Alice?” he touched his earpiece.

“-is okay, Desmond. Let...know when linked,” his mother's voice suddenly disappeared and reappeared and a frown appeared on his face. He did not like this sudden static interference.

“Shaun, anything on your end?” he asked, wondering if the link his father had set up was losing its connection.

“Nothing, the crews are still trying to make their way to the wreck, I...still don't see any movement. Hey Bill...can you hear me? Wave something if you can,” Shaun replied.

“I'm surprised queen bee hasn't taken the corner office. Most CEOs usually do from what I hear,” Rebecca muttered as they made their way to where Alice indicated before Ezio took one side of the door while Desmond took the other. Rebecca crowded behind him before he glanced over to his ancestor and nodded once. Ezio quickly kicked the double mahogany doors open and charged in, Desmond quickly following him and covering his left side while he scoped out the right.

What greeted him was an empty office, dimmed by the blinds that blocked all sunlight from filtering through. What did get through the cracks in between the blinds revealed a very expensive and posh office that clearly belonged to one of the higher ups in a company like Abstergo.

“You sure this is the right place?” Rebecca asked as she stepped forward, towards the triple monitors that were sitting on a massive wooden desk.

The desk was the same color as the door, as was much of the furniture in the room from what Desmond could see. However, gold-filigree lined the edges and created beautiful patterns of leaves that accented the wood itself. Even the memory of Arden acknowledged that it was a rather beautiful piece of furniture before mentally tapping him to focus back on the mission at hand. He finished checking the room and walked over to close the doors when he peered at the plaque lining the side wall of the hallway next to the door.

“The office says it belongs to someone called Aileen, huh, no last name,” he could feel Arden's flash of concern at the name Aileen and shook his head. There could be no way that the Aileen that had captured Arden was the same Aileen to whom this office belonged to. The name was common enough that several others had the name so why would-

“Wow, she's kind of pissed looking in her company ID photo,” Rebecca called out and Desmond glanced behind him to see her sitting on the plush leather office chair, already at work.

“Don't hack past it yet, I just want to check out something,” he did not need Arden to be so unsettled at only one name and closed the double doors before hurrying over to where Rebecca had a few command prompt windows open and was about to start her hack into the system. Ezio was near her, but was not quite looking at the screen and instead seemed to be trying to find something near the windows.

“Ah,” was all that was said before the blinds started to whirl and retract from the office, flooding the room with the orange-red dusky rays of the setting sun.

“I have you on the scope,” Altaїr immediately responded, “no immediate threats in the offices next to you.”

Desmond gestured for Rebecca to bring up the photo and was about to mentally make a comment to Arden that there was nothing to worry about when he froze at the picture. “Oh fuck...” the words fell from his lips of their own accord, tinged with the hints of a British accent that even he did not mean to let it Bleed through him. But the dread Arden had been feeling magnified within Desmond as he stared at the photo.

“Desmond?”

“Keep...keep going, let me know when you're in,” he shook himself out of his little funk before shaking his head.

“Desmond?” Ezio's hand, though gentle, felt like a ton of bricks landing upon Desmond's right shoulder as he winced a little, his shoulder still stiff and sore from its injury.

“Aileen...Ezio, you remember rescuing Arden from that facility out in the middle of nowhere when she had been captured, right?”

“Yes,” Ezio nodded, “it was on the outskirts of Chicago if you must know-”

“That's the same damn Aileen that had captured her while she had been riding the train back. That's...Aileen...she's Iltani! She has to be. Which means, she's been looking for the Lance- She's- fucking hell...”

“Desmond calm down,” Ezio shook him lightly and the pain jarred Desmond back to reality before Arden's overwhelming memories of that fateful train ride with Orelov and Stephen could materialize in his mind. “So what if it is Aileen? We now know that it is confirmation that this is her office-”

“How did we know that before?” Desmond asked, staring plaintively at Ezio who after a few seconds realized the same truth.

“Alice,” he suddenly touched his ear and Desmond did the same.

“Alice, listen, Mom? Can you hear us?”

“-hard to hear...up?” the static was worst and Desmond thought he heard a cough over the comm.

“Where- how did you know that the sixty-seventh floor was the one we needed to get to?” he asked.

“I hacked in-usual, --why?”

“How long did it take you to do the hack?”

“Not that long,” his mother was definitely coughing, “shit...”

“I'm in Alice, you can head out,” Rebecca suddenly interrupted their conversation.

The feeling of dread started to well in Desmond as he started to realize that it was too easy. Everything had been too easy. “Listen, Alice, get out of there! Drop whatever you're doing and get out of there!”

“-can't...fog, condensation-”

“Alice? Mom?!” Desmond tried to keep his voice calm over the comm., but it was getting harder as he realized that his mother might have walked into a trap down in the sewers. If she had been able to easily hack in and bypass and get the information they needed, then it all could have been a massive trap set by Iltani to trap whoever was down there, meaning that she was hoping to trap all of them up here. “Rebecca, I need it now!”

“On it!” their resident hacker hissed.

“Movement,” Altaїr's quiet voice came over the comm., “unknown how many-”

“Fuck,” Desmond swore as he touched his earpiece willing his mother to make her escape, “Alice, abort your mission. Get to the FDR, save Dad. Okay? Save him!” The plan had called for one complication, and that was part of Bill Miles' plan. Alice Miles walking into a trap was a complication that he had not foreseen. But now...everything had been thrown into doubt. He did not know whether or not he was doing the right thing or walking everyone to their deaths.

Static answered him before a sudden piercing scream reverberated over the comm. Desmond froze, stopping where he had been pacing a little and stared down at the plush carpet in horror. “...Mom...?”

There was no answer.

“...Mom...?” he pleaded quietly, hoping that his mother would answer, say that she was all right. But the static continued on her end of the line and he could feel the despair crawling up him.

“Fifty-fourth floor Desmond!” Rebecca called out before he unshouldered the backpack he had been toting about and reached in to grab the thumb drive. He was kneeling on the floor when he saw Ezio's shadow over him and looked up to see the Italian man shaking his head.

“I am sure she will be fine, Desmond,” he said quietly in Italian and Desmond grimaced before glancing out of the windows towards the hulking form of the Empire State Building which took up a lot of the office's city-scenery. He could almost feel Altaїr’s frown from where the construction platforms were based around the building.

“The plan is solid. She will take the bait,” Altaїr chimed in, but in Arabic and Desmond closed his eyes, taking a deep calming breath. He needed to stay calm, needed to be a leader to this group of assassins. He could not have a moment's panic even if it was his mother who was in trouble. Like he had said earlier to Bill in their pre-agreed dialogue, the truth applied here. He had no one to spare a look down in the sewers and even if he did, he could not run the risk of the Templars knowing what they were up to. He could not run the risk of having Iltani figure out his plan.

Altaїr had warned that she was extremely clever and a formidable woman who had plenty of experience with her Piece of Eden. She was the opposite of Amunet's madness – she had either been consumed by her own madness that it had turned into devious genius, or she was far more resilient and like him, had mastered her Piece of Eden. The Arabic assassin had put it succinctly that if Amunet had been allowed to live perhaps several hundred years longer, to let the initial madness be washed away with several thousand lives thrown about, then perhaps there would be two wielders of the Pieces of Eden to contend with instead of the just one. But he said perhaps it was fortuitous for them that Iltani was the one pulling the strings and had eliminated a potential rival.

He nodded blindly as he opened his eyes again and stood up, setting the backpack next to where Rebecca sat, still typing away. The woman did not even look at it as she fished out her laptop and opened it with one hand before rummaging for a connecting wire and plugged it into the laptop itself. “You're right,” he looked at Ezio square in the eye and nodded. His ancestor returned his nod with a slight reassuring smile.

“The cameras are holding on the sixty-seventh floor,” Rebecca said, “I'm trying to see if I can patch into the fifty-fourth, but you may be on your own until you can get that thumb drive into the server machine.”

“Prioritize that. I can deal with the guards on my own,” he reached out towards his ancestors and grasped onto their calm, bolstering his own faltering one. He could feel their sympathy at what had happened, but on some level he knew that casualties were unavoidable. But the only thing that made him different from his father, even from Altaїr's cold calculations in all of this was that he was still human enough to try to make up for his mistake. “Rebecca, let me know what floor they may be keeping Lucy and Peter in. Also if you could, try to see if there are cameras on the sewer levels.”

“Got it,” the hacker replied.

Seeing that Rebecca was all right, he turned to Ezio and took the hand that was offered to him with a firm grasp. “Nothing is true,” he started-

“Everything is permitted,” Ezio finished in Italian, “go, the data will be in safe hands.”

“Radio Shaun when you about ready,” Desmond replied releasing his ancestor's hand and drew out his handgun once more before heading out of the office. He expected a crack from the Englishman to come as he made his way quietly back towards the elevators, but none came forth and Desmond supposed that Shaun was still concerned about Bill Miles’ position on the FDR.

“Alice...Mom, if you can hear me, I'm sorry...” he whispered the apology over the comm. as he entered the elevator and hit the button to take it down to the fifty-fourth floor. As the doors slid close, Desmond could not help but feel like he was falling deeper and deeper into an abyss that had no bottom. And there was no one to catch him.

* * *

Author’s Notes:

Apologies once more for the long hiatus. I’ve been rather ill for the past week and half and also real life has gotten a little busy. I will try to continue regular updates and hopefully finish this story before AC3 comes out in late October. Thanks for sticking with me!

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Story:

Chapter 47 – Chess

There was an unspoken worry that pervaded through the three assassins connected by one bloodline. Though none of them voiced it over the comm., it was still there and Desmond knew that his ancestors were thinking the same thoughts. Iltani, or rather, Aileen now that she had apparently shed her Dr. Sharif persona and taken on the same woman that had captured Arden nearly a hundred years ago, was not in her office; which meant they did not know where she was and that meant further danger to Rebecca and the others.

Desmond was confident that he could perhaps hold off against the formidable woman, but even he knew that he perhaps could not last as long. He did not know how Iltani fought, none of his ancestors, Altaїr included, provided any memory of Iltani. All of them had either encountered her in a non-combating setting, or if they had fought her, it was after they had passed on the memories to the next generation. His Arabic ancestor had been tight-lipped about his encounter with Iltani back in the 1990s, but provided no other advice.

“Rebecca?” he touched the comm. as he felt the elevator slow as it reached the fifty-fourth floor.

“Sorry Des, nothing I can do,” Rebecca sounded frustrated, “I've also tried to get camera access down where Alice is, but nothing so far. Maybe if you insert the drive-”

“Yeah, got it,” Desmond nodded mostly to himself as the doors pinged open and he stepped out, holstering his handgun back into its shoulder carrier at the same time. He adopted a cold, hard look on his face as he turned to his left, following the placards along the walls that said [TO SERVER ROOM].

“More movement,” Altaїr suddenly spoke up.

“Shit, the camera access loop went down,” Rebecca chimed in nearly at the same time.

“Hide under the desk, it will be strong enough to protect you from the bullets for a while,” Ezio's clipped order came through as Desmond continued down the spartan hallway, illuminated by generic fluorescent lights from above. Ezio knew what to do and would be able to hopefully hold off whatever was going to come up to Aileen's office in time for him to insert the thumb drive and for Rebecca to get the needed information.

“Yeah,” there was a scraping sound followed by several thumps as Rebecca heeded Ezio's order, but Desmond tuned most of it out as he rounded a right corner and came face to face with a security checkpoint.

“Excuse me sir,” one of the four guards stood up from where he was sitting, the guard next to him only giving him a once-over before returning to stare at the small television screen that was obviously showing the local Yankees game. “ID please.”

“Here you go,” Desmond gave the security guard a thin-lipped smile as he fished out his ID badge, expertly forged by Bill the night before, but without all of the security measures that was needed to access rooms and secure areas. “Anyone else here today at the checkpoint?” he asked in a slight conversational tone, hoping that Rebecca would pick up his urgent need to find a way through this security checkpoint, or at least get the secure doors opened while she was hacking her way through Abstergo.

“No sir, Mr., uh, Arlington,” the security guard had handed the ID over to his companion who was half watching the game now, and swiped the ID through. The other two guards were stationed beyond a metal detector, both of them grim-faced and brutish looking.

As Desmond had expected, the ID did not buzz through and an error message popped up. He adopted a patient look as the security guard stared at the ID for second, absently cleaning both sides with the edge of his shirt before running it through again. The buzz of a non-clearance came through again before the guard shook his head and stared at the other one, puzzled.

“I'm sorry Mr. Arlington, it seems that we may have a problem with your ID. Let me check with the supervisor on this,” the guard said before waving him to step to the side as he turned his back from two beefier security guards.

“Come on guys, you really need to check my ID? I mean, Aileen's going to be really angry if I don't get the information from the servers that she needs,” the reaction to having Aileen's name dropped in front of the guards was immediate as all of them froze and stared at him.

“A-Aileen? Uh...”

Though Desmond was a little surprised that they immediately knew who he was talking about, he was still thrown off by the fact that there was perhaps only one Aileen in all of Abstergo headquarters and it was enough to make the guards snap to attention. However, he knew his luck was not to last long as a beeping alert made the guard stare at the console where multiple camera feeds were located.

“Hey...uh, why are the elevators locking-”

“Alert just came through, there are intruders-”

Desmond heard the sound of a gun drawn out of its holster behind him and knew that one of the two beefy guards had drawn his gun and was approaching him from behind. He had to act fast and though he was reluctant to kill all four guards, he still prepared himself.

“Where are the intruders?” he asked, tensing a little, his hand going into where his gun rested under his armpit, but he did not draw it out.

“You didn't get the alert?” the same guard that had taken his ID now stared at him shrewdly.

“Lost my phone while pursuing a bunch of Assassins,” he thought he heard something muttered in Italian over the comm, but it was not clear.

“Mr. Arlington,” the hand that landed on his shoulder was heavy, large, and muscular and to Desmond's immense relief, it landed on his left one, instead of his injured right one, “we will have to escort you to the front desk. Procedure when there is an intruder alert.”

“But Aileen-”

“I am sorry, sir,” the guard standing behind him did not sound at all apologetic and Desmond knew that he could do no more with words.

“Your funeral,” he muttered mostly to himself before he took a quick look at the guards with his Eagle Sense. The sudden split second of muting greys highlighted what each guard was doing before Desmond's vision returned to normal just as the hand that gripped his left shoulder tightened.

He lifted his left hand and stabbed the guard in the chest with a backwards thrust, penetrating the bullet proof padded vest and felt a gush of blood spray across his hands and wrist before the guard choked behind him and the heavy hand fell away from his shoulder. But before he could fall to the ground Desmond was already on the move, drawing out his handgun and firing it at the guard by the cameras. The man slumped over on his control station, one bullet in between his eyes, instantly dead.

He turned, firing twice while moving slightly to his left at the other beefy guard who had slightly faster reflexes, catching the man once in the gut, and in the shoulder before spinning him around to the floor screaming in pain. A third bullet aimed at the man's head silenced him before Desmond suddenly extended his right hand out and flicked the catch to his blade, where the sliver of the Lance of Longinus acted as his second hidden blade.

The sickening squishing sound told him that the lone guard that had initially taken his ID had been stopped in his charge, impaled upon his extended blade and he turned to stare at the dying man, his eyes a golden-brown. “Release the doors and your death will be swift,” he said in a cold tone, watching as the man gasped and tried to pry himself away from the blade embedded in his chest, but found that he did not have the strength to do so.

“I-It's A34RE12 c-code,” the man gasped, “p-please...I...I have a family-”

“I'm sorry,” Desmond shook his head, “I can't allow you to live.” Before the guard could protest again, he pulled the blade out, and the man gasped once before falling limply to the ground, dead. He shook his head as he stuck his gun back into its holster and made to move towards the console to input the code.

However, before he even took a single step, he suddenly felt something oily invade his mind, nearly overwhelming him in its ravenous hunger and Desmond choked, falling to the ground as he grabbed his head. He tried to force it away, feeling the Lance of Longinus' presence growing stronger and belatedly realized that he had fed it by killing the guard with it. It had taken the life from the guard and wanted more. “No...” he muttered as he forcibly pushed it away, feeling the sensation of hurt within him, but resolutely ignored it. He would not wantonly kill with the blade on his right hand, he knew that now.

“Desmond, what happened? Are you all right?” Rebecca's voice came over followed by the sounds of something thumping against what sounded like wood.

“Yeah, fine,” Desmond found his fist was clenched as he stood up on slightly shaky legs and hurried over to the console. He glanced up once at the security cameras and immediately knew that he did not have time, “The Lance decided it was going to feed on a guard.”

“Be careful,” Ezio cautioned in Italian and Desmond snorted at the sentiment, but appreciated the concern nonetheless. “Altaїr?”

“Left door is the weak point,” was the cool reply before the sound of wind drowned out whatever else the other assassin was about to say from his perch.

Desmond once again tuned out whatever was being discussed above him as the door buzzed open and he hurried over to it, absently wiping his left hand on the inner pocket of his jacket, taking some of the blood with it before heading through the door. Immediately a cold blast of arctic-like air conditioning greeted him and he shivered a little as the door hissed closed behind him. He took a deep breath and let it out, watching as the heat from his exhalation sent crystallized water particles into the air.

The server room was large than he had expected and felt more like a mausoleum than a place that housed severs. Even though the pervading hum of fans whirling in their units buzzed the air, Desmond still felt unsettled as he stared at the vast space. Grey-blue hues of the electronic beating heart of Abstergo sat in various heights across the room, giving it a monolithic-like quality. A large column of sorts rose up in the middle of the darkened blue-grey room, stairs surrounding the column that went upwards towards an atrium-like setting he could not see from his vantage point. If he just imagined it strongly, Desmond thought he could perhaps practice his free-running skills here, but shook himself out of that wistful thought.

“Rebecca? I'm here. Which server?”

“Standby,” her strained reply came over before the sudden overwhelming sound of a gun firing across the comm nearly shattered his hearing.

“Holy fuck! What the-” Shaun suddenly burst over the comm.

“Sniper rifle,” Altaїr's tight reply cut Shaun off from his swear and Desmond realized that the Arabic assassin must have gotten double the feedback by virtue of being next to the rifle and hearing its loud report again over the comm.

“Don't you fucking have a silencer on that thing?!”

“A silencer is only good for scattering the distance of sound waves,” Ezio replied to Shaun's complaint, “contrary to what movies think these days.” The gurgling sound of someone screaming told Desmond that Ezio was engaged in combat, but also that Ezio had a handle on things. Which meant there was probably no sign of Iltani or her Aileen persona. He knew his ancestors well enough that they would announce her name to alert the others across the comm. if she was fighting them.

That was bad...if they could not locate her, then where was she?

“Shit Desmond they know you're in the server room and I think they've sent several guards towards you,” Rebecca came over, “I'm trying to find – ah ha, there you are you little bugger. Server 401! Right hand side!”

“That's helpful,” Desmond headed towards his right as he started to read the small drivel-etched numbers off of the black metal casings of each server and headed towards the direction of server 401. He winced as his earpiece rattled with the sound of yet another sniper shot fired. However, he knew he had to focus on his part of the mission and pushed aside the sounds of fighting interspersed with the muffled thrum of the helicopter rotor.

His heightened senses buzzed with the knowledge that there were guards coming for him and they would definitely see the bodies he had left out by the security station before coming in here. As he quickened his steps in anticipation, he let out a breath that fogged the cool air and glanced up at the spiraling staircase that loomed in the middle of the room. “Rebecca, there's an emergency stairwell up through the middle of the server room, where does it lead?”

“Hang on Des,” Rebecca's voice was slightly muffled before he heard a grunt from here followed by a popping sound, “dammit, Ezio I think they're coming from the room to the right-”

“I have them,” Altaїr's response was promptly drowned out by a successive three rifle shots that made Desmond pull half of his earpiece out lest be deafened by the noise.

“Found the server,” Desmond called over the comm after stuffing his earpiece back in. He flicked the catch on his blade and sliced through the thin locks before a panel popped open, revealing a myriad of wires, ports, and and blinking lights. Fishing out the thumb drive he slotted it into a USB port, “Rebecca, it's in!”

However, as soon as he said the words, his sharpened senses picked up the presence of several guards before he heard their distant shouts and looked over to where he had entered. Bouncing strobes of lights signaled that the guards had arrived at the security station before the lights grew in intensity, which meant that they were about to burst into the server room. He left his blade out and glanced over to the spiraling stairs. They were metallic and old, and definitely had a coat of brown-bronze rust on them, which meant that were once used, but perhaps no more. He could make a run for it, but it meant exposing himself to the guards when they came in; after all, it was the tallest and most visible thing in the room amongst the small black sever monoliths.

The uneasy feeling he had felt since entering the room was growing stronger. It did not feel like the oily sensation of the Lance trying to invade his mind, but felt oddly familiar somehow. He knew it was something he had felt before, but could not pinpoint it.

“Desmond go, I've managed to override the doors,” Rebecca's voice came back, slightly strained, “the stairwell, it should lead you too...I have no idea what level it is, but it should be near the prisoner levels I think.”

“You think?” he touched his ear as he closed the panel, jamming it in a little more forcibly so that it would stay close in absence of the small locks he had sliced, before hurrying towards the stairs in the middle of the column. He rotated his neck left and right, trying to get rid of the sensation, but knew that it was not a physical uneasiness, but rather mental. His shoulder protested his abrupt movement with a twinge, but he ignored it as he glanced back to see some of the guards body-slamming the glass doors before some cleared out as another guard fired his gun. He saw the bullets impact the glass before he heard the muffled popping sounds, but to his surprise and slight relief, the glass did not break.

It was like Abstergo to install bullet-proof glass in their server room and it served them right as he started his climb up the stairs. His part of the main mission was almost done, now he just needed to find Lucy and Peter.

* * *

Ezio withdrew his blade from the dead soldier's throat before raking his right hand across the eyes of another, making him scream in pain as he staggered back. He finished the man off by nicking him in the throat, cutting through the carotid artery. The blood sprayed a red fountain into the air as the man fell backwards, immediately dead in less than two seconds. The loud report of a sniper rifle shot exploded the chest cavity and out the other side of another man next the one he had just killed and though he knew Altaїr was a sure shot, having trained Arden herself, he still skirted a little farther away from the mortally wounded man than was necessary.

He had a feeling that if Arden had survived her fight with Altaїr and had not sacrificed the rest of whatever was left of her unnatural life to destroy the Apple, then she would have been in either her master's position or had taken up Alice's position. He worried for Desmond's mother, a good woman who tried to find a life outside of the war, but ultimately was taken back in, but also knew that this mission was perhaps the most dangerous of all missions. Even compared to the ones he had done before he attained the title of Il Mentore and even after that, boldly raiding the Templars' headquarters was considered suicide.

He knew that Desmond was not keen on saying it was a suicide mission, and instead treated it like any other infiltration mission, but the odds were considerably against them. Alice perhaps had already escaped and was waiting in her secondary position or perhaps she had died. Either way, he knew that Desmond had to focus on the goal, focus on the mission itself. There was no room for hesitation, no room for second guesses. Theoretically Ezio knew that he too could die, as he pressed his attack, killing two more guards and sending several backing away, some drawing out their handguns, but unable to shoot him or risk shooting their own.

He was still trying to reconcile the fact that there was no more whispers, no more promises made that was in Sophia's sweet tone or even Caterina's sultry purr. No more chances of having a silent conversation with Cristina or even his father. All of the voices now were imagined, were memories that should have distantly faded in the over four hundred something years he was still alive. He knew that the Apple would not keep him alive anymore and that would have made others pause with consideration and be hesitant, but Ezio was happy and threw himself into the ensuing fight with something akin to a bloodlust.

He spun and cut through another's defense, raking him across the back of his knees, severing tendons and making the man fall to the ground screaming before silencing him with a stab to the face. He had to admit, that it was the first time in a long time that he felt alive. It was not the blood, but rather the method of fighting, of close quarter combat where he had taken the initiative and fought offensively instead of defensively. The last time he had felt a glimmer of that was when Desmond had led them out of the caverns of William's secret enclave. But that was tainted by the Apple, tainted by the sheer hair-raising power that he commanded.

That sense of being alive was what kept him attuned to the fact that he could die and that razor-fine thought kept him alive as he waded his way through the guards that were starting to lose their morale. Two more cracks from Altaїr's sniper rifle felled two guards that had been trying to ambush him from behind. He turned slightly, a predatory smile on his face as he saw three guards back away, their eyes wide with fear at how effortlessly their fellow companions had been shot dead.

“Estimate five minutes until I am compromised,” Altaїr suddenly spoke up quietly.

“Head out in three,” Desmond's immediate reply returned, accompanied by a slight drawing of a breath. Ezio supposed he was climbing the stairs that he had been talking about since arriving at the server room. He wanted to ask if there was an escape plan for his ancestor, but knew that the question was frivolous and unnecessary. It was not that Ezio cared if Altaїr survived this suicide mission, he did care on some level; it was his curiosity at the kind of complex plan that Desmond had put together to achieve his goals.

He had no doubt that each one of them had been told individual parts of the plan and others kept in the dark, hence the “accident” involving William – though Ezio could only guess at parts of William's involvement, but for them to pull off this mission, he supposed that individual mandates were necessary in the greater scheme of things. It also provided less opportunity for their infiltration and extraction to be leaked to Iltani or the rest of the Templars judging by the reaction of the guards.

An idealist would have liked to not think that there were traitors within the Assassins, or even in a group like theirs, but Ezio was not an idealist. Especially in light of what he knew about Lucy Stillman. The potential of having Rebecca or even Shaun betray them much like Lucy had before her heart won out her mind, was not lost on Ezio, and though he and Altaїr both kept a strict eye on them, he also kept a strict eye on Altaїr himself. Amunet's descent into madness due to either her Piece of Eden consuming her very being or sheer age, or perhaps both, made Ezio infinitely wary of the same thing happening to Altaїr. He also knew that Altaїr did the same to him; the two of them watched each other closely for any signs of madness or the Apple consuming them and ultimately compromising their very beings.

It was the price of immortality. The price that they all paid and now to learn that Iltani, the oldest of them all, had fallen from grace for whoever knew for so long; it shook them to the core.

But paranoia was not his way, not if he wanted to keep his sanity intact. He had seen many Il Mentore after his time descend into madness because they leapt at shadows or kept seeing their family and allies as those who had potential to betray them. Some were betrayed by their flesh and blood, but Ezio knew that it was not his way. He had to have faith, and right now, that faith rested on Desmond. Though he had to admit, his faith in Desmond was tinged with a little trepidation; especially after the young man's first namesake of his family line.

But Jack's failures and his fall from grace was Ezio's own private hell. And it was memories for another time, memories that did not need to be reflected upon at this very moment. This was the here and now, and this was Desmond Miles' entrance onto the center of the battleground that had been plaguing the Assassins and Templars for ages.

“I-” Rebecca's voice sounded triumphant over the comm. and Ezio risked a split second look back to see the grin vanish from her half-covered face before she began to type furiously.

“Did you get it?” though he only had an inkling of what Desmond was looking for in Abstergo's server, he did observe the young man having a very frank and technical talk with Rebecca the night before, interjected with both William and Alice's input. It looked like the young hacker had written some kind of program into the thumb drive that was inserted into one of Abstergo's servers.

“Hang on,” was her distracted reply before Ezio's senses screamed a warning and he ducked, instinctively kicking out at the same time and his foot came in contact with the firm, yet slightly soft material of a guard's padded armor. He glanced up to see the trail end of a combat knife passing over his head before ramming his right hand into the man's sternum, stabbing him deep and feel the squish of blood pour over his hand. However, before it could completely coat his hands, he pulled the blade out and half turned to his left. He made short rapid cuts into another man's sides, making him twist and turn before finishing him off with a blade to his throat.

“We do not have much time,” he reminded Rebecca tightly as he saw some of the other guards drop their guns and go for their military-issued combat knives. At this point he supposed he could call them soldiers instead of guards considering that they were wearing all but military-grade armor and even had the dark black cut of military clothing. “Good, this will make your deaths easier,” he growled out in Italian as he felt the slightly heady feeling of anticipation. Knives were easier to combat than guns and it wasn't the range. It was because he did not have to worry about any stray bullets flying towards Rebecca.

He blocked the first blade with his reinforced bracer's arm, watching it skip down the segments before stabbing the guard quickly in the face. Pulling his right hand out, he spun and blocked another blade with a small clanging noise. He slid the block downwards and grabbed the man by the sleeve of his outstretched arm and pulled him towards him. However, instead of quickly finishing him off, Ezio broke the man's knee cap with a swift pointed kick to the side before stabbing the man in the head, cutting off his sudden scream of pain.

Two more cracks of Altaїr’s sniper rifle felled two more guards near the ones coming towards him, but he ignored the shots as he reached out and slashed another one in the chest, making her stagger back clutching at her wound as another guard took the wounded one's place. Before his vision was obscured, he saw the female guard he had wounded stumble just a split second before the crack of yet another shot from Altaїr echoed in his earpiece.

“I...got it!” Rebecca suddenly shouted, “Desmond I got it!”

“Good, get out of here then,” the hissed whisper of Desmond's voice was nearly drowned out by the simultaneous crack of another sniper shot followed by a guard's grunt that Ezio had mortally wounded with a stab to the man's skull. He grimaced as he roughly pulled his blade out, feeling it stick a little. Despite its advance construction, his blades would always get stuck if one pulled out at the wrong angle from someone's head.

“Heading over,” Altaїr's cool voice broke through before the sounds of machine gun fire echoed across the comm. and Ezio turned a little to see bits of muzzle flashes in the waning sunlight across where his ancestor had been sitting in his sniper's perch in the Empire State Building.

He thought he saw a glint of something before his senses warned him and he twisted away from another attack from a guard, noticing that the guard had eyes wide with crazed fear. However, he paid for his momentary distraction as he felt the blade cut across his arm. Ezio quietly hissed in pain as he knew the wound was not deep, nor was it shallow and immediately retaliated. He grabbed the guard's outstretched arm, noticing with some disgust that the man's face showed both fear, delight, and surprise at having wounded him. Pulling the arm sharply across his own chest in a way that it was not supposed to bend, he snapped the bones easily in the man's elbow, making him cry out in shock as his fingers dropped the now useless knife. But Ezio did not allow the man to scream much longer as he flicked the catch on both of his blades, retracting them before grabbing the man's head and snapping it to the side.

He let the body flop to the ground just as something flew by his head and embedded itself into the wall, simultaneously pinning another guard to the wall. A line was attached to the harpoon fired as it locked itself against the wall. “Left,” Altaїr's cool voice echoed over the comm, just as the line suddenly went taut and Ezio knew that the Arabic man was zip-lining over. He drew out his handgun and fired toward his left, just as the guards to his right started to fall, the faint pops of another handgun behind him followed by the loud crash of the window glass telling him that Altaїr had arrived. Rebecca's surprised squeak echoed in his earpiece and out of the corner of his eye, he saw her trying to duck back under the desk to avoid the shattered glass flying everywhere.

He sensed Altaїr behind him before the two of them advanced forward, finishing off the rest of the guards with precise shots to each guard's head, honed by years and years of life and practice. Seconds later it was all over and Ezio turned slightly to see his ancestor with a grim look on his face, but his eyes told a different story. Maybe the two of them were not so much different than one another as Altaїr on some level felt something about killing all of those guards.

But he would never say it, not if he wanted to live and right now, Ezio would like to live just a little longer to see how this all ended.

He turned a little to see flashes of color in the distance where the zip line connected this building to where Altaїr had been set up and reached up, flicking the catch to his blade and slicing through the thick rope easily. The line fell and it was only the grace of the wind that he heard the squawk of frustration from the other side.

“Oh man, they're pissed,” Rebecca was also looking across as she clutched something small in her hand while shouldering her backpack.

“We should go,” Altaїr spoke up and Ezio nodded as he gestured for Rebecca to hurry towards them, to prevent any of the military or police that had finally broken into the Empire State Building to set up sniper perches.

They had only taken a couple of steps out of the office when the sudden squealing sound across the comm. lines made them wince. Ezio opened his mouth to ask what happened, but no words came out as a new voice, a familiar voice, froze him in place and sent shivers down his back.

“Hello Iltani...”

“Hello, William.”

* * *

Author’s Notes:

If there is one person I sort of dislike, yet like at the same time writing about its Ezio. I love his POVs, but he has the nastiest tendency to go off tangent and muse a bit. I think I managed to reign in that musing for this chapter. Anyways, Iltani finally makes her appearance!

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Story:

Chapter 48 – Paralysis

It was the only saving grace of having Darim in his mind currently whispering to him what seemed like a sure route out of this bright-white maze that he managed not to stumble. He however, managed to calm the sudden spike fear that had struck him when he heard her voice over the comm. Iltani had finally shown herself and of all places... Calm, he needed calm. He knew what he was doing and had anticipated it. But he still could not help with the shock, both of the realization and of the somewhat luckiness of having her show up of all places.

When he had emerged from the top of the rickety emergency stairs from the server room, he had entered what looked like a really bad imitation of halls of white from Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey. The place was literally a maze and he wanted to ask Rebecca which way, but remembered that she said she could not pull up maps of wherever he had exited until he knew what floor he was on. He had not seen any marker to show what floor he was, nor did he see any sign of what seemed like doors except for the one that sealed behind him after he had exited the stairwell.

Darim had lightly suggested he focus on rescuing Peter and Lucy and he had done so before flicking to his Eagle Sense, muting at least some of the blinding white light that was the hallways. His path lit up in a bright golden yellow and he had followed it, switching between his unique ability and what his eyes told him, leading him around the white maze. He had been wandering for what seemed like several minutes before he had stopped in front of a seemingly blank wall, his Eagle Sense telling him that his destination was somehow beyond this wall.

That was when he heard his father's breathless voice announce Iltani's presence.

“Hello William,” her voice was deeper than Desmond remembered, both as Dr. Sharif and from Arden's memory of Aileen. She had to be in her true form, he supposed. Surprisingly, the centuries of life had left her with a faint, but noticeable accent that did not sound quite Grecian in origin, but was definitely not American either. “It is finally a pleasure to meet you.”

“Can't say the same, but I suppose the years have been kind to you, Iltani,” his father's voice was neutral, but laced with an edge of danger in them that Desmond vaguely recognized from a far-away memory of his father. It was one of his own memories, from his childhood where he had stumbled upon his father conducting a tense negotiation of sorts. He did not remember the details, but he did remember the same tone of tense danger.

“Took quite a wreck there William,” Iltani continued and Desmond shivered. Even without seeing her, he somehow could feel the power in her voice; the persuasiveness and compelling want to tell her anything. As he had met her when she was in her Dr. Sharif persona, he realized that she had not overtly used that power, and realized that he had been very lucky. He suspected that the sheer power in her voice was perhaps part of her Piece of Eden that kept her alive, but was not sure. “I see at least a broken fibula, two ribs, definitely internal bleeding, and your shoulder has been dislocated. You're also suffering from a mild concussion, did you know that?”

“Why thank you. I'm sure Dr. Sharif would have been proud of you,” the fact that his father sounded coherent, even though a bit winded and faint made Desmond squirm on the inside. It was an effort on his part and of his collective ancestors' mental glares that he told himself he knew what he was doing. That it was the only way.

But was it right?

The presence that was Altaїr's mentally rebuked him and told him that the hardest ways were not always right, but neither were the easiest way. He had chosen this hard path and he needed to see it through. Desmond breathed out a quiet sigh. He too needed to focus on his part of the mission. Otherwise, everything would be for naught and it would have been a wasted opportunity.

“Still in the mood to jest?” Iltani sounded a little surprised, “my, my, perhaps that blow to the head was far worst than I thought. Of course, we can't do anything for Rikkin now, but he played his part very well.” There was a sudden clanging sound followed by a muffled grunt and Desmond closed his eyes, pressing his fingers against them. He could almost see what was happening and knew that Iltani was torturing his father further just so everyone else could hear it. “What would your wife say? Alice, dear, I do hope you're listening-” Several more muffled and unintelligible thumps followed by barely held back grunts of pain echoed across the comm.

“What about your son, hmm? Desmond-”

“He doesn't care,” Bill replied sharply, his voice full of pain, but he laughed, a choking sound, “he doesn't give a fuck about me. You know the whole story, so why are you-ack!”

Desmond had not realized he was heaving in a gasping breath until he heard the faint voice in Italian over the comm., a mantra whispered over and over again. The same mantra whispered in his head and he seized upon the comfort that Ezio provided the assurance to turn away, to tune out the torture that Iltani was inflicting upon his father over the comm. and to focus.

The real Ezio was also doing the same thing as Desmond heard the same words repeated quietly over the comm. “Where other men blindly follow the truth, remember... Where other men are limited by morality or law, remember... We work in the dark to serve the light. We are Assassins.”

He opened his eyes, forcibly lowering his hands to his sides as he took several deep breaths. Ezio's quiet mantra continued over the comm. and Desmond opened his mouth, surprised at how dry his throat had become. He had thought himself strong enough to resist hearing his father's choked and muffled cries of pain. He even knew that his father was trying not to give into what Iltani was probably doing to his wounds that he sustained in the crash – all for his sake. You're a fucking coward Miles, he thought to himself, nothing but a fucking coward.

“...other men blindly follow the truth-”

“Nothing is true,” he whispered back in Italian, his voice a little unsteady, but he forced himself to ignore his father's grunts, ignore whatever taunts Iltani hurled towards him, clearly knowing that she could be heard and projected to the others listening in.

“Where other men are limited by morality or law-”

“Everything...” Desmond closed his eyes and let out a long breath before opening his eyes once more. He knew what he was doing. “Everything is permitted.”

“We work in the dark to serve the light,” Ezio finished and he felt the memory of his ancestor add to that warmth of reassurance to the living one.

“We are Assassins,” Altaїr finished in Arabic, his voice steady, calm, and Desmond nodded mostly to himself. He could not deal with what was happening with Bill. The only thing he could do was to trust in his father, trust in the fact that he knew what he had to do.

“Ezio, shouldn't we do something about Bill-”

“Bill knows what he's doing,” Desmond cut Rebecca's protest off, knowing that she too was thinking that with Iltani there, they should go rescue him. “Are you almost to the roof?” The fact that he had not heard a single word from his mother since her abrupt communications cut was worrying, but like the situation with Bill, he could not dwell on it. The only thing he could hope for was that Alice had heard his orders earlier to Altaїr to join up with Ezio and Rebecca and make their way to the roof.

“The stairwells have a few blockades,” Altaїr's voice came back before the faint sound of popping gunfire also echoed across the comm's feedback. “We will be ready.”

“Good. Let me know if you hook up with Alice along the way,” Desmond switched his vision to the muted greys of Eagle Sense and stared at the blank wall that his path had shown him to go towards. It only took a second, but he saw the faint outline of something against part of the wall; a small rectangular outline that he touched and saw it pop open, shining a bright white.

He could see a faint red fingerprint-like outlines on some of the number pads, but they gave no hint as to which number he should first press. His senses told him that he was safe for now, but he had a feeling that if he pressed the wrong sequence then the guards that had been pursuing him down in the server room would be instantly alerted to where he was. “Rebecca, I'm staring at a keypad here. Any idea what kind of numbers one might start with?”

“I like starting with fives and sevens,” Rebecca replied back, her voice slightly muffled, “nice shot Ezio.”

“Altaїr is not the only one able to snipe with a handgun,” Ezio replied back in a mild tone.

“All right,” Desmond stared doubtfully at the panel before pressing the five and started the random sequence afterwards. He had no idea if he was really pressing the right sequence of numbers, but when the panel suddenly beeped an affirmative to him, he pulled out of his Eagle Sense in time to step back as what had been a blank wall hiss open to reveal a sealed door.

He drew out his gun, pointing the barrel to the floor as he tentatively stepped in. “Lucy...? Peter?” he called out quietly, noticing the edges of a rickety bed with springs and what barely passed as a mattress in the cell. A rancid smell filtered past the door, but Desmond ignored the smell and took another step in.

“Who...who's there?” a male voice asked and Desmond saw someone shifting on the bed, but he did not point his gun at him.

“I'm an Assassin. I'm looking for Lucy Stillman and Peter Miles,” he said, “my name is Desmond Miles,” he replied. He knew that there was a chance he had walked into a Templar trap, but at this point, the Templars should have known that the Assassins were rescuing one of their own and it did not hurt to mention Lucy and Peter by name.

“Bill...Bill Miles' son?”

“...Yes...”

“My God,” the rickety bed squeaked and Desmond shuffled a slight step back as he saw the shadow of the man stand up. He lifted his gun just a little as the man stepped into the light that had fallen in the room. “We...we thought you were dead. You...you ran away-”

The man stumbled a little as he raised his arm to shield himself from the harsh light and Desmond got his first good look at the speaker. He had dark skin and white curly hair that was closely cropped to his head. His clothes were rancid and a little ragged around his thin frame. But his eyes were a piercing brown, hidden half behind the glasses he wore, taped up in various places. “Is it...really you? You do look a bit like your father...and your mother.”

Desmond raised his gun a little higher and the man stopped where he was, his arm half outstretched as if to touch him. “Do you know where Lucy and Peter are?”

The man stared down at his gun before looking up at him, “No, son. I do not. Lucy...Lucy stopped by I think only hours ago, but she did say that she had been coerced by Daniel to question us and gain our trust with the hope of an escape. I think she really wanted us to escape, but with you here-”

“Wait a minute,” Desmond's thoughts screeched to a halt, “Daniel? Who's Daniel?”

“Daniel Cross,” the man replied, “the one who started this whole shitstorm-”

“Daniel Cross is here?” Desmond felt a slight sense of dread forming.

“Is he sure?” Ezio's immediate response in Italian followed by a mild curse over the comm. nearly distracted him from what Paul was saying, but Desmond ignored it.

“You know about Daniel?” the man asked.

“Lucy gave me an abbreviated history when she broke me out of Abstergo a few months ago-”

“You were captured by Abstergo?!”

“I was known as Subject Seventeen-”

“Fuck. I heard rumors, even Hannah heard rumors, but we didn't realize...we didn't believe. Oh fuck, Bill's going to go apeshit at this-”

“Dad's here,” Desmond stared at the man as tried to visibly compose himself.

“He must have put together this rescue operation if you're here without any guards here judging by the passcode you used to unlock the door. Shit, I need to get in touch with Bill- Can I borrow whatever ways you have to communicate with the others-”

“Err...”

“I'm Paul Bellamy, son,” the man reached a tentative hand out and Desmond reluctantly shook it, “used to be head of the Pittsburgh and Philadelphia branches of the Order before we were betrayed. Hannah Mueller and I were captured ages ago. We've been prisoners here for a while now.”

Desmond did not know whether or not that this was really Paul Bellamy, but his father's sudden interruption put everything into light.

“...Paul...was captured. Get him out...” Bill's breathless whisper seared across the comm. and Desmond grimaced, forcing himself to push away the pain he heard, the continued sounds of muffled torture Iltani was inflicting upon him. “Paul can help you...Desmond.”

“What's wrong-”

“Nothing,” Desmond managed to compose himself as he glanced behind Paul to see that the rickety bed was occupied by another person. He had not seen her at first glance and realized that Paul had been shielding the woman on the bed; most likely Hannah Mueller.

“Hannah,” Paul noticed his gaze and turned a little, “Hannah, wake up. You don't need to be afraid. This is Desmond, Desmond Miles. He's Bill's eldest son.”

“I'm here with several other Assassins,” Desmond helpfully said, “we were trying to find Lucy and Peter and get the hell out of here, but-”

“I'm sorry; I don't know where Lucy is. She did say she was working with Dr. Vidic-”

“Vidic is here?” Desmond frowned, unpleasant memories of those seven days in his hands, perhaps even longer since he had first woken up within the Animus. God only knew how long he had been their prisoner before they had thrown him into the Animus. He supposed he had been drugged most of the time, which was why his memories were so fuzzy except for the first time he had tried to access the memories of Altaїr.

“Yes,” Paul had a confused expression on his face for a moment before he nodded, “according to Lucy, he is working on the Animus project and hoping to put your brother, Peter within it-”

“Not if I can fucking stop that,” Desmond growled out, the sudden swift anger filling him. He would never let Vidic do what he had done to him to his little brother. Peter was still only a child and did not deserve to have his brains scrambled into mush with five million voices clamoring to be heard. “I know they tortured you Paul-”

“Actually they didn't,” Paul replied before gesturing behind him with a sorrowful look on his face. The implication was understood and Desmond shook his head. They had tortured Hannah in front of Paul and he could only watch and care for her as best as he could within the rancid cell they had been thrown into. What kinds of monsters were the Templars?

“Does...does she know where I might find Lucy?” there was a vague memory of one of his ancestors who had been captured and brutally tortured before he made his escape, but he managed to push it away. He knew that a tortured person's psyche was the most delicate, but Desmond also knew he was on a time limit. Ezio, Altaїr, and Rebecca should be near the roof judging by the faint pops he heard over the comm along with the tortured breath of his father. There was still no sign of his mother, but Desmond could not worry about that right now, not with his recent discovery.

“Let...let me ask,” Paul nodded reluctantly before turning back and shuffling towards the bed.

As he did so, Desmond switched to his Eagle Sense and saw that both Paul and the outline of a woman curled up on the bed were glowing a faint yellow, though some odd reason Hannah's form was flickering into a more orange-yellow hue. He supposed that she had been tortured so much that she was hostile and defensive to everyone. The fact that they had not glowed an angry red, a sign of an enemy force, was somewhat of a comfort to Desmond, but he still did not fully trust that this was the Paul Bellamy and Hannah Mueller of the Daniel Cross Incident infamy.

The exchange was brief before Hannah slowly stood up and hobbled over to the door. The light from the hallway that he stood in shone down upon her and took Desmond's breath away. He could easily imagine Hannah as an average looking girl and vaguely remembered her from way back when she had traveled with a very handsome Daniel Cross across to each compound.

Now, bruises covered every inch of her body and her left eyes was swollen shut. Some had faded into yellows while others were still bright purple and angry looking. She was bleeding from several cuts and judging by the way she held herself, he realized that not only they had physically tortured her; they too had mentally tortured her. For whatever reason, he did not know, but he suspected that she had also been brutally raped during some of her torture sessions.

“I...I know where Lucy is held. Or at least maybe held there,” her voice was faint, but Desmond heard the undercurrent of strength in them and nodded. “There's...an Animus room where I saw Dr. Vidic go in. She might be in there...”

“Do you know what floor and how to get there?” he asked gently.

She shook her head, wincing at the sudden movement. It was only Paul holding onto her shoulders that she did not collapse to the ground. “I'm...not too sure. I can show-”

“You need medical attention. I can't have you-”

“Please...” she looked at him, “let me show you...I need...I want-” She suddenly went quiet and shuddered and Desmond grimaced. He knew by all rights he should send both Paul and Hannah to meet up with Ezio and Altaїr, perhaps even have one of the come down to escort them up to the roof, but there was no time. And Altaїr had said that they had encountered resistance on the stairwells. Which meant that there were probably more guards running up from the ground floor to trap them in.

But along the same token, he could not leave them there. Bringing them along would only slow him down, and if they encountered guards along the way, he did not know if he would be able to protect them very well-

Desmond let loose a low growl of frustration before handing over his gun to Paul. “Take this. I'm sure you know how to use it right?”

Paul nodded grimly, before hefting Hannah a little so that his right hand was free to shoot the gun while his left held onto her. “What about you?”

Desmond gave the older man a slightly crooked grin and flicked his hidden blades out before retracting them. “I'm good.” He turned to Hannah and looked at her, “I'm helping Lucy keep her promise, I'm getting the two of you out of here. Which way to where Lucy is?”

“That way,” Hannah gestured weakly towards more white walls, “there's an elevator about five hundred feet away from here. Press the second row of buttons, the left one. I think...”

Desmond nodded before gesturing for the two to follow him as they made their way towards where Hannah had pointed. It was to his surprise and relief that they did not encounter any guards as he rounded the corner and came face to face with an elevator just as she had said and summoned it. He glanced above and around him, wondering where the security cameras were hidden in such a floor as this, but saw nothing that would indicate where hidden cameras were. He wanted to see through his Eagle Sense, but it was frivolous and a waste of time. Lucy and Peter were the priority now. He glanced back behind him to see Paul shuffle up with a grim look on his face, but the man waved away his concerned look. He would not falter now, not with the promise of escape by a fellow Assassin.

“Hannah?” the older woman, however, did not fare so well as Paul and instead had beads of sweat plastered on her pale face.

“I'll...” she swallowed heavily, “I'll be fine. Just...need to...”

The elevator pinged its arrival he turned back and extending his blades as a precaution as Paul shuffled himself and Hannah behind him. However, when the doors hissed open, there was not even a single sign of a guard and Desmond frowned. It was easy, perhaps a little too easy, but who was he to look at gift horse in the mouth. “Where do you think Daniel Cross is?”

“Probably near Aileen,” Paul replied as he half-carried Hannah in. She gestured vaguely to the buttons with a slightly shaking hand and Desmond pushed the one she indicated was the one to take them up to the floor where Vidic's new Animus lab was supposed to be.

“Lapdog...” Hannah muttered before mumbling a few other things to herself that Paul had shushed her quietly about.

Desmond could only stare at the poor woman with pity, knowing that any words he said would not be able to comfort her. It was something a victim of torture had to come to terms with before accepting sympathy, pity, or even comfort from others around them. But he also took heart to what Hannah said and supposed that it was a good thing that Daniel was perhaps with Iltani at the site of the FDR crash. He did not really want to meet the man who had betrayed the Order as a whole.

The elevator took him up in a short silent ride, but Desmond could not help but grimace at the further sounds of torture from his father. He almost wanted to rip out his earpiece, but did not want to startle Paul or give him any indication that something was wrong. Also, taking his earpiece out was the coward's way and he needed to see his father's part in his plan through.

“We're near the roof,” Rebecca called over the comm. a minute later as Desmond felt the elevator slow, “I think about four more flights?”

“Four,” Ezio confirmed.

“Good,” Desmond replied, “Shaun, tell Brad to start his run. I should find Lucy and Peter here.”

“Are you sure Desmond? I mean, your father-”

“Bill is an Assassin. He knows as well as you and I do what our Creed is,” Desmond forced himself to be cold, but it was getting harder and harder even with the help of the memories of his ancestors. He realized that even if he had not quite forgiven his father for all that he had done; deep inside of him, he was still a child and perhaps not as stoic as he tried to be. If this was what it meant to be a leader...?

“But Desmond, he's your father-”

“That's enough,” he growled out, ignoring the concerned look Paul shot at him as the elevator stopped and the doors hissed open. He immediately stepped out, wary for any ambush, but no guards greeted him.

“No,” Shaun suddenly exploded, “that's not enough. Desmond, he's your father! Now, I don't care that you and he have issues, everyone does with their parents, but the fact that you're just going to let Iltani torture your father, your flesh and blood without any of us doing a single damn fucking thing?! That's bullshit.”

The Englishman heaved a sigh, but before Desmond could get a word in to shut him up he continued, “I refuse to believe that you planned this Desmond. This is fucking bullshit and we should do something to save Bill. For Christ sakes! I'm not sitting up there and watching Bill get tortured while I'm fucking listening to it over the comm.-”

Desmond had all but tuned out Shaun's rant as he came upon a set of familiar-looking double doors that hissed gently open as he approached and the instantaneous alien sensation filled him. He grimaced and twisted his neck back and forth as he approached, but what tuned him completely out of Shaun's rant was who was before him standing by a pristine looking Animus. Warren Vidic had frozen in the middle of whatever he was doing and Desmond noticed his younger brother clearly lying down upon the Animus. However, he turned his focus on the man who held Lucy hostage.

He held her in a choke-hold, his hidden blades clearly drawn and one was pointed at her jugular. An insane grin lit up the man's face as Desmond entered. The piercing on his eyebrow and ears told him that the man too had once led a life outside of the Order before he destroyed it all. Surprisingly, or perhaps not so much, the former Assassin still wore the familiar garbs of a member of the modern-day Order; a grey-white hoodie, casual jeans, even sneakers that were worn and comfortable.

His eyes were a bright blue, but it was the unspoken message in them that instantly had Desmond on alert, wary, and suddenly afraid. The very trickle of fear pervaded through his senses, even through the memories of his ancestors as they recognized this powerful presence that held Lucy Stillman hostage. There was only one name that Desmond spoke, but at the same time, he knew that this man was perhaps equal, if not greater than he was – a master of the Animus, a master of the Bleeding Effect.

He had never met him, had only glimpsed of him during his tour of the various enclaves back in the year 2000. But without knowing anything about him, and only knowing who was responsible for the Order's current condition, he knew that this had been an ambush set specifically for him. Everyone knew the name of the betrayer of the modern-day Order.

“Daniel Cross.”

* * *

Desmond's almost eerily calm announcement of Daniel Cross across the comm. was enough to shut Shaun up from his rant as Ezio adjusted his earpiece before firing two more shots, downing another soldier before he realized his gun had run out of bullets. Throwing the gun away, his clips already emptied from firing since they had entered the stairwell, he reached down and grabbed two more clips, stuffing them into the bandoleer he had stripped from another soldier and sighted down his FN-P90 that he had confiscated earlier.

Next to him, Altaїr calmly reloaded his gun and picked his next target, his accuracy with just a handgun eerily like Arden's precision. It was easy to see where the former apprentice had honed her skills in. Ezio fired a burst, downing two more soldiers and hurried towards the next pillar below the one Altaїr had been propped up against. He heard Rebecca following behind the two of them, watching their backs as she was not as skilled with the gun as they were.

They were not making their way up the stairwells as they had told Desmond earlier, but rather had been slowly making their way down. The three of them had come to a mutual silent agreement to join up with Desmond instead of just waiting at the rooftop for extraction even though Rebecca carried the necessary intel that they had initially raided Abstergo's headquarters for. With Daniel Cross' appearance, Ezio was glad that they had made that choice.

It meant that Desmond would clearly be distracted as he faced off with Cross and with the addition of both Paul Bellamy and Hannah Mueller, he was in no condition to be rescuing them; not with all of the rumors he had heard regarding Cross. His opportunity to rescue Lucy and Peter would be lost.

“Rebecca, can you grenade the three in the corner?” Ezio noticed three soldiers huddled in the corner that he could not quite shoot without exposing himself to the others below.

“Yeah, gimme a sec,” he felt a tug around his shoulders as he carried the backpack now, giving Rebecca a better opportunity to be a smaller target before something flashed past his eyes. He immediately tracked the grenade as it bounced off of an adjacent wall and towards the three whom promptly tried to scramble out of the way.

Ezio turned his head as a muffled bang resounded in the stairwell followed by several screams. He immediately turned back and fired into the general vicinity of the smoke, eliciting more screams. His vision turned into the muted greys as he picked his targets more carefully and fired killing shots into those he had initially downed before Altaїr brushed past him to take the next corner, firing into the smoke, killing several more.

“Clip,” he called up and Ezio moved to the side as Rebecca immediately pulled a clip from her belt and tossed it at Altaїr who caught it and reloaded his gun with one smooth motion.

Their efforts in the last few minutes had clearly demoralized a lot of the Templars and the sheer amount of bodies that they had stepped over as they made their way down the floors had sent some scrambling away, perhaps up a few more levels to ambush them from behind, but so far that was not the case. It was a combination of frightening ease and the anger that Ezio felt within him that made him easily dispatch many of the guards.

As soon as he and Altaїr had finished the guards in Iltani's office, Rebecca had summoned them over with a silent gesture and pointed a video that she had been able to hack once Desmond had inserted the thumb drive into the server. The video was clearly a feed of the security grids down in the sewers and it showed what Ezio had suspected since they had lost contact with Alice Miles.

She was dead; the first casualty in this whole operation.

Her skin was inflamed and her body looked a little bloated from where she bobbled half of her face down in the water, the other half staring lifelessly at the security camera. It looked like she had been boiled alive by an alternate security measure down there and Ezio had muttered a prayer in Italian for the woman. He and Altaїr had come to a silent agreement that something like this was not meant to be said over the comm., especially not after Iltani had confronted William. This had to be personally told.

The fact that Iltani had gone after William on the FDR confirmed in Ezio's mind that whatever William and Desmond had planned in this part of the operation, it had been planned with William's full cooperation. The accident that William got into was no accident and instead had been a lure for Iltani. Ezio still did not know what William’s true part in this operation was, but he also knew that Iltani would not suffer for prisoners and the man would be killed soon enough.

But like any insane sadist, Iltani knew that a communications network had been set up and also knew that Desmond was part of that and so deigned to torture William to distract him. The long-forgotten memories of his own father's death had immediately risen up to the surface and Ezio had immediately tried to bring Desmond's focus back to the mission, back to what was at stake.

It had worked to a certain extent, but Ezio knew that Desmond needed support from them. Even for all of his aloofness, Altaїr had a fiery anger burning in his eyes as soon as Iltani had started to torture William. Now with Cross' appearance, both of them knew that Desmond would not be at his fullest, not with all of the distractions around him.

“How close are we?” he called back to Rebecca.

“At least three more floors, I think,” the hacker replied. She had managed to pinpoint what floor Desmond was on, both by using the lack of guards in his area, and a very old schematic of the emergency stairwell that Desmond had apparently climbed up.

“And this Animus room?”

“That's where we're headed,” she replied back and Ezio grinned a little. Rebecca was smart enough to not direct them to the giant white hall that Desmond had said he had walked into, but rather towards where he was currently facing off against Cross.

“I told you to get to the roof,” Desmond suddenly hissed over the comm., his voice tight and controlled. However, there was something in the young man's voice that made the grin fall off of Ezio's face as he frowned. It sounded almost...pained.

“Des? You okay?”

There was a stuttering drawn breath that was clearly not from William, before Desmond's voice came back, if possible, even more controlled. “...Nona...”

“Who?” Rebecca looked confused.

Ezio saw Altaїr look back at him and shook his head. He did not know who or what this Nona was, but whatever it was, it did not sound good. “We're on our way,” he replied back over the comm., “hang on, Desmond.”

* * *

Author’s Notes:

Yeah, another cliffhanger; sorry about that, but if I did end up writing more in this chapter, it would have been an epically long 30+ page one. I’m sure all of you would have liked a break in between. Heh. But yes, slight off-screen character death for poor Alice Miles. And the potential of having yet another character die and Desmond might be struggling now with the reappearance of the Animus and Nona while facing off against Daniel Cross. This mission has now kind of gone south!

Chapter Text

Assassin’s Creed: Apotheosis

By: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

Assassin’s Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

Story:

Chapter 49 – Nona

When one Bled, concentration was the furthest thing from one's mind. But he at least made an effort to regain that focus; to regain that razor sharp edge of concentration. He knew his thoughts were disjointed as he heard the whispers in his mind. They were unlike anything Desmond had experienced before – not even when he had been fighting against the Parcae. A crippling pain accompanied them and he felt like his head was being squeezed into a very tiny vise; his brain matter shoved down his spine, unable to compensate, nearly bowing him to the ground as he tried not to show it on his face. Not to Daniel Cross who continued to stand before him, blade held at Lucy's jugular. Lucy's eyes were wide with horror, even fear, but did not know whether that fear was for him or for her own safety.

He turned his gaze back to Cross, noting the smile on the man's face. Cross knew what was happening to him and clearly enjoyed it. And with some degree of irony, Desmond realized that Cross was perhaps the only one who knew what was really happening to him – having been shoved into the Animus like he had been and had survived all these years. Desmond grimaced; he had to do something to end the stalemate, but the pain prevented from even moving an inch.

The second after he had identified Cross, something in the room had changed. What had been the uncomfortable feeling, not-quite alien, yet at the same time pressing upon him since had entered the server room burst forth. It was only then that he realized the twisted feeling had been Nona, who had bided her time, pretending to be grateful, to be a shadow of who she was to the barrier that prevented his ancestors from overwhelming him. It felt like he was Bleeding all over again as she screeched her fury and her freedom, apologizing yet at the same time wanting nothing more than to reach out to the presence that was Abstergo's Animus

She had battered his mental defenses once again, nearly shattering at them before he could compose himself, both mentally and physically. He realized that he had become complacent in the time between the attack by all three Parcae and now with his mental defenses, relying too heavily on his ancestors, on the seemingly benevolent ones of Ezio, Altaїr, and Arden to keep everyone else at bay. Even now, he could feel the combined efforts of the three holding his mental barriers up, but knew that they were only delaying the inevitable – that it was foolish. No! It was not foolish! He recognized the flash of familiarity of his denial to Nona's attempt to break through.

Cross was still grinning and Desmond narrowed his eyes a little. Cross knew what was going to happen, or rather, what had happened. He had deliberately set himself up in Vidic's new Animus room, deliberately holding Lucy hostage with Peter seemingly unconscious on the Animus. If Cross was a former Assassin with the training, then he could have ambushed him anywhere; from the server room to even in the white-Kubrick-like halls that he had found Paul and Hannah in.

But, no, Cross was here and it meant that he had fallen into a neatly arranged trap. And the only one who had said that she knew where Lucy was also had known that Cross was there. He knew it was too easy and yet he had not looked the gift horse in the mouth. The question was, whether or not she had been duped into doing it or was completely innocent from all of it. He turned his head slightly to stare at Hannah Mueller who had curled upon herself half hunched over, hugging her hands to her body.

“Ah, and he figures it out,” Cross called out and Desmond pinched his lips together, wincing as Nona screamed and battered his defenses once more. He could feel Ezio and Arden pushing against her sudden renewed strength. I saved you! He mentally shouted at her, but the avatar of the Piece of Eden ignored it.

He saw Paul step away from Hannah, his face pale with shock as he suddenly pointed the gun on her. “No...Hannah-”

Her laugh was a high-pitched broken sound, almost animalistic. Her bedraggled hair shook against her thin, bruised form, “I'm...I...s-sorry...I...” As she looked up at him, Desmond saw tears falling down from her face, marring her twisted smile. “I-I...love him...don't you see? I...would do anything for him? He...he...” She trailed off hiccupping a choked laugh that was half a sob.

“H-How long...?” Lucy's frightened whisper broke through the silence as Desmond turned from Hannah. He noticed that she had not moved, had not even dared to resist, but instead her eyes were rooted upon Hannah, as if there was something there she could not see, that she could not believe. He realized that Lucy was beyond frightened, she was utterly terrified of Hannah – no, not of her, but of what had been done to her. What did the Templars do to Lucy? If they harmed her, so God help them-

Desmond grunted a little as he felt Nona break through a crack in his mental shields before squeezing an eye shut against the renewed pain, determined to keep his other eye on Cross. He drew in a ragged breath, turning back to Cross. “So...you've got me at a slight disadvantage-”

“I think it's more than slight, don't you agree Desmond?” Cross grinned and beside him the Animus that had been softly glowing in the room suddenly pulsed forth a harsh light. The voices which had been a quiet roar in the back of his mind reacted to the pulse by growing louder in his mind, causing even more pain to him as he winced from the reaction. “And here I thought you mastered the Bleeding...” Cross tsked with a snorting laugh, “See Lucy? See how your efforts have cost him so much? This...this is your fault. This is what you did to him-”

“No...no...”

“I'm...fine,” Desmond forced out with some effort as he managed to stem the voices and looked up, his jaw hurting a little as he clenched his teeth together, “don't listen to him.”

The sheer amount of fear in Lucy's gaze troubled him as she stared, wide-eyed, at the situation. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Paul still holding a gun trained on Hannah, but even he looked absolutely bewildered by what was happening.

Hannah was silently giggling to herself, her eyes staring at her hands which were held up in front of her; staring beyond her hands at whatever had consumed her. The fact that she had betrayed them, betrayed him gave new meaning to what Desmond had seen of her while he had scanned her in Eagle Sense. Her red-orange hues were not of an enemy, but of a broken Assassin who had turned to the Templar cause – or at least in her case, had become absolutely loyal to Cross.

The fact that Hannah had confessed that she loved Cross all but confirmed in Desmond's mind that Cross was the one who had physically and mentally tortured her; tortured her to the point where she developed a severe case of Stockholm Syndrome. He had probably used his past close association with her to break her and it pissed Desmond off. The fact that he was so twisted to use this against her was both ingenious and hideous at the same time.

“Desmond-” Paul looked at him, unsure of what to do, but he ignored the man.

He turned back to Cross who had a frown on his face before shaking his head and smiling at him again, “Stronger than we had imagined. Vidic, you did well-”

“Leave me out of this Cross,” Vidic shook his head, hands up to ward off any words from Cross as he backed away from the Animus.

“Why?” Cross turned to stare at Vidic, “don't you want to see the fruits of your labor?”

“Cross-”

“I'm sure you'll love to see what twenty-seven years of revenge feels like, right? Twenty-seven years of watching Bill Miles live the life that you could have had, had children that you wished you had. I'm sure you started your revenge by doing marvelously with Desmond here,” the insane Templar suddenly threw Lucy to the side, who caught herself hard against the Animus. Desmond took a pain-filled, and slightly unsteady step forward, but was halted as Cross pointed his blade at her, “Stop right there Desmond if you really don't want her to be skewered.”

Desmond snarled, gritting his teeth. At the same time, he sheathed his blades, wondering how he could try to save Lucy. But before he could do a single thing, Cross pressed several buttons on a corner of the Animus' platform and a virtual screen flickered to life, hanging above everyone's heads.

“-frequency. You're online, Aileen,” a voice suddenly said just as the static of the screen resolved itself into a slightly blurry image. Desmond realized that it was a distant shot from a news camera that had zoomed in to the maximum to provide the footage. However, that was not what took his breath away and literally froze him in place.

He saw the battered form of his father, barely recognizable from all of the blood streaming down the side of his face. His peppered-grey hair was matted with soot, dirt, and all sorts of dirty things as he feebly flexed his fingers. “D-Dad...” the words fell from his lips unbidden as he stared. Horror mingled with the sudden swooping feeling of absolute guilt and anger filled him as he saw a woman dressed to the nines towering above his father's battered form.

She looked different than the memory of Aileen from Arden's life, but he still recognized the severe looking bun she wore and the waspish, narrow face. Was this Iltani's true form? Had to be, a part of him answered. He remembered from his conversation with Altaїr that she was arrogant and would take the bait. What better bait than what was with Bill Miles in the truck?

“Ma'am? He's flat lined,” a voice spoke up off-camera and for a second Desmond thought that his father had died, but Iltani only shook her head and gestured to something or someone off-camera.

“Put Rikkin's body in the truck. We can still use some of the information he may have collected during his time there. Make sure that the ocular recordings are not damaged and check his internal black box,” she directed in her cool strong voice and a second later, he heard the same words echoed over the comm. through Bill's connection with all of them.

“Daniel, I presume we have you to thank for the satellite upload?” Iltani did not look at the camera and Desmond saw Cross nod.

“The frequencies matched,” Cross replied, “and he is here-”

“You fucking sick son of a bitch!” Desmond realized that whatever Iltani had done on her end to give to Cross, she had also been deliberately waiting for him to fall into her trap by utilizing Hannah and Cross to lure him in – just so he could see all of this.

“Now, then. I have confirmation that your son is seeing this,” Iltani acted like she had not heard him curse, even though Desmond had a feeling that Cross was connected through a different comm. frequency like he and his group were. She must have heard his curse, but he was not sure. “So I shall dispense with the pleasantries.”

“They weren't pleasant to begin with,” Bill's words echoed in his earpiece on a slight time-delay as he saw his mouth move on the camera. The feed was very blurry judging by the distance, but Desmond could make out enough to see his father's sardonic smile and words.

Every instinct within him screamed for him to move to attack Daniel when this sick farce was happening, but he could not move. The pain was crippling in waves now and it took almost all of his willpower to stand upright as he cradled his head in one of his hands.

He had never felt so helpless. He was trapped in his mind and body when every single once of his instincts told him that this was only a show – that Iltani was smarter than this and knew that she would get an audience. The memory of Arden railed against the fact that she knew Iltani as Aileen and knew that the woman would never stoop to dragging out such a farce – this was to trap more people.

And with Altaїr, Ezio, and Rebecca disobeying his orders and coming to where he was they would surely be trapped too. “It's a trap...” he hissed over the comm., “get to the goddamn roof!”

“No,” was the cold angry reply from Ezio of all people.

“Ezio-”

“I commend you William, for trying to outsmart me,” Iltani interrupted whatever he was going to say, her voice grand and commanding. Desmond found himself forced to look at the blurry feed, seething as he stood stock still, Nona's mental attacks holding him in place. Even Vidic had a mildly interested look, but that was not Desmond's immediate concern. Deep down, he could feel the oily sensation that was the Lance of Longinus uncoiling at the presence that was the Animus, the ravenous sensation of insatiable hunger starting to grow. As much as he did not want anything to do with the Lance, he knew that perhaps it was the only way to break free of the paralyzing pain and act.

But he also knew that it was probably the Lance telling him that, which made everything suspect. Damned if he didn't, damned if he did.

“But I suspect that this was not your plan, was it?” she leaned down, roughly grabbing his father by his shoulder and Desmond saw his body twitch before a gasp came down the line. “No, no, this is the work of an amateur, isn't it? A grand complicated scheme to make it look like it was your doing, right?”

“...fuck off,” his father had lost all pretense of sarcasm and instead, his face was scrunched up in an incredible effort to stem the pain he was feeling. The sick swooping sensation made his stomach curl as Desmond felt like he was going to throw up. He pressed his lips into a thin line, biting on the edge of it to try to stem the pain of both Nona's continuous assault on his mind and of what he had done to his father. It was the right thing-

“Surely not one of Altaїr’s schemes? No...he would have positioned a way for any one of your cell to be killed off in case one was compromised. I know how you operate, isn't that right Altaїr?” Iltani's voice had dropped to a sultry purr, fantastically intimate yet so very sinister at the same time, “all these years and you thought you had found an ally. No, you only think of less immediate goals and only of how others could be killed off, Piece of Eden or no Piece of Eden.”

She laughed before her voice resumed its normal timbre, “Ezio would never think of something this complex. The man has lost all regard to leadership after Jack...dear poor, poor Jack. He had such promise. At least Amunet knew what he was even before he went mad. Oh Amunet...” A sigh escaped her lips before Desmond saw Iltani lean in a little more towards his father, one hand still pressing against whatever wound was there. Another pained gasp emerged from Bill's lips and echoed across the comm.

“Stop it,” he whispered to no one in particular, “stop...it. You want to kill him, then do so!”

His words must have been overheard by Cross' microphone as Iltani laughed, “Ah, the prodigal son speaks up. You really want me to kill your father? Or is it the fact that you cannot stomach the pain I am inflicting on him? This was your plan, wasn't it? And now you realize the gravity of your mistake.” She leaned in a little closer, and Desmond heard his father choke as the grainy image showed his body writhing, twitching with uncontrolled spasmodic movements. “You honestly thought that you could distract me by assaulting my base? You honestly thought that I would be distracted enough to stay there when I know where the real prize was?”

She looked at no one in particular, but Desmond caught her withering contemptuous look, “I have hundreds if not more than a thousand years of life above you Desmond Miles. I know what it means to plan, I know when I am being distracted and you...you will have nothing to show for this.

“You really thought that I would fall for the fact that you and your father were in conflict with one another?! No...I knew you reconciled, I know what is happening because I am aware – of everything. I could claim that your little lady love, your Lucy Stillman told me everything, that she was my spy within your ranks-”

Desmond could not help but stare at Lucy as she stood, frozen in shock by the head of the Animus table. She was staring down at nothing in particular, but her small body trembled. “That's not true...”

“That it was the discovery of her father, the man who captured and tortured you – oh yes, Dr. Vidic, is her father. She turned, Desmond, she turned and was a spy. Why did you think your escape from Abstergo was so easy? That there was barely any resistance and what resistance there was, was easily taken down by her? I am telling the truth and you know that from your memories, little Arden Miles' memories of when I captured her years ago, that I do not lie-”

Desmond could feel Arden's horror Bleeding into him as his vision suddenly swam. He thought he saw the ghostly images of a desert before him, before they were replaced by the metallic, industrial blue hues of the room he was in. He thought he heard the phantom voice of Arden screaming and crying for Stephen as he died. Just as suddenly those images were forced away as the memory of Altaїr and Ezio tried to contain the compromised Arden within a secondary shield. He could feel the cracks in his mental barriers growing, splintering...

But Iltani had not finished talking, “Knowledge is the best weapon any person can have, knowledge and the will to do something with it. You, Desmond Miles, thought that you could rally your fellow Assassins into attacking Abstergo? For what? For some location map of every Piece of Eden that had been launched into space? For those that are on the ground? What resources will you use to bring those that have already been launched? You think you could stop the satellite launch in December? No, the world will burn and you will burn along with it. Because you are too short sighted to realize that your plan has failed.”

Through the hazy juxtaposed images of cobblestones and the industrial metals of the room, Desmond saw her pick a small object up, wrapped up in a cylindrical-shaped bag. As she stood up, she shoved Bill hard, eliciting a yelp from him.

“The Lance of Longinus is one of the most powerful Pieces of Eden in existence and its true potential has been wasted on your kind, Desmond. Thank you for this exquisite gift,” she suddenly laughed and Desmond thought he saw her touch her left ear, “Do not worry, my love, you have served me well and I have served you well. This is only for insurance...”

“Holy fucking hell did she just pick up the Lance? The Lance was in the fucking van-” Shaun's words were drowned out by the sudden roar that had started up in Desmond's mind, seemingly consuming every other noise except for what Iltani was saying.

He had no idea whom she was suddenly talking to, but she knelt down next to Bill again, her voice almost turning into a motherly, kind quality, “You have done admirably, William Miles, for trying to keep this out of my hands for so long. But your accident was no accident. You knew I would come after the Lance if it was here and you told your son to take charge. Such...familial love you must have for him.”

The stuttering gasping sound that came across the comm. made Desmond grit his teeth, both in anger and renewed pain. “S-Stop it...” he said even though he knew his words were utterly useless. He had foreseen this – fuck it, he hated this.

“Shh, shh,” Iltani's blurry image showed her stroking Bill's cheek, “I know you are in a lot of pain and I will make this quick. You do not have to linger anymore-”

“I can't watch this...Desmond-”

“Shut up Shaun,” Desmond managed to growl out as he found himself staring at the screen, mesmerized at the sickening farce. He knew what was coming, knew that it was to happen and somehow expected a sound or something to indicate that his father was dead, but there was only a silent movement from Iltani before he saw his father's head loll to the side. A second later, he heard the last breathless exhale before silence reigned on the comm. He saw Iltani reach a hand out over his father's face and knew that she was closing his eyes before standing up, but then something odd happened and the grainy video feed seemingly had more static in it.

Something hollow inside of Desmond opened up and he thought he could fall straight into that pit with no one to pick him up. He thought he was falling into it as he found himself staring into the abyss. There were noise, sounds, something moving around him, something and someone screaming at him-

Desmond felt disconnected from his body as he blocked Cross' first attack with his right arm. He felt a shot of pain travel from his injured shoulder down towards his fingertips, but did not really register it as he stared at nothing in particular. He could feel someone guiding him, blocking Cross' every attack with short cuts and strokes, could feel the anger and desperation Bleeding into him, the fury and the howling despair at watching his father die – Ezio – a part of him murmured quietly.

But none of it mattered, at least not him at the moment. He had thought it was the right thing to do, that she had found the Lance on Bill – but the doubt ate away at him. Was he such a callous monster to sacrifice his own father, his flesh and blood that had given him one-half of his DNA of who he was to let her think she had won? But it was not over yet, was it? His mind raced at the possibilities, the disjointed thoughts that was his own, yet at the same time was not his own. Desmond felt himself falling deeper into the abyss and wanted to cast a hand out, to let someone catch him, but at the same time knew that he did not deserve it.

He was dimly aware that the aches and pains of his wounds sustained two days earlier was affecting him as he felt himself being jerked around, almost like a marionette. He thought he saw a reflection of his desperate face, teeth bared in an effort to block Cross' wild attacks; no a controlled attack that was meant to look wild, someone whispered. He thought he saw Vidic backing away a little from the Animus machine, the horror clearly etched onto his face. Was that horror of what had happened? Did Vidic really not know that his former best friend, that William Miles was going to die because of this war? Vidic was an idiot then, a part of him groused, but why should he care whether or not Vidic was an idiot? The man had captured him, had shoved him into the Animus and had made him Bleed.

He felt his body twisting again, and a grunt fell from Desmond's lips as Cross' blade had nearly skewered the same place where Altaїr had stabbed him in the abdomen. He had only missed the man's hidden blade and caught his bracer instead. But again, he was detached from this fight that his body was putting up – allowing the memory of Ezio to guide him. That was a good fuel for anger he aimlessly thought as he continued to stare down at the gaping abyss.

“Desmond!”

Desmond started a little, blinking as he thought he heard Lucy's scream from within the darkness. The pitch blackness he had been staring at flickered to the industrial metallic hues of the room and he suddenly ducked, kicking out with a sweeping foot and made Cross dance back a step, before everything disappeared from his vision once more.

What was that?

That was nothing, something said as he continued to stare at the abyss. That was nothing for him to be concerned about. The main thing was that he had let his father die. That he had thought his plan would work and while it did, he could not be even a human being by letting his father die in such a fashion. Ezio had done everything to try to save Giovanni Auditore, Altaїr had been betrayed by the man he had looked up to like a father, Al Mualim. Arden's father-

Jack the Ripper.

No...he had taken that name only when he had touched the Lance.

The Lance was the problem, but it was not his problem anymore. Iltani had taken it-

Because you knew she would not stop looking for it, Desmond blinked, suddenly finding himself staring at the sparkling blue-white hues of what looked like the Animus.

He opened his mouth and tried to speak, but nothing would come out. Where am I?!

You should know this as well as I do, a voice answered him, familiar yet at the same time sent tingles of fear through him. It was a breathy whisper and utterly cold, Very good, you fear me.

Who-

The image loaded as if it was a computer simulation, but somehow Desmond knew that it was not the case. He was not in the Animus, but rather hallucinating it. Nonetheless, he took a step back in horror as he stared at the fully formed image of Jack the Ripper.

He was dressed in the garb that Desmond remembered seeing while exploring Arden's memories. However, a stern yet insane look was on the man's face. You are so weak, Desmond Miles, Jack addressed him in a cold, yet kind tone, yet at the same time so strong.

What the fuck-

You are me, I am you. We are bound by the prophecy of Minerva. We are bound by the promises we had never made but had been made for us. We fight the fate and we strive to achieve it at the same time, the man's lips did not move, yet Desmond heard every single one of his words reverberating through the area.

You had a choice and you rejected it. You had a choice and you embraced it. You will do what I cannot do because you have a will and you control it. It does not control you.

The man's insane smile suddenly softened and Desmond thought he saw a flash of recognition in that smile. It was childish and small, some part of him processed, yet so very familiar at the same time. But as he reached a hand out, he sudden saw Jack's image dissolve into the familiar form of his little brother, Peter. Little Peter whom everyone had called a child that was touched by a Piece of Eden. Little Peter whom everyone thought was odd and dangerous at the same time.

“It was good to meet you, brother, even if we did not spend time together...” the voice sounded like a mixture of his little brother and Jack and Desmond realized where his ancestor's memory had really went. Peter Miles was Jack the Ripper, somehow reincarnated or reborn through the Animus in the oddest sense.

“Peter?” the words fell from his lips as he stared at his little brother. His eyes widened as Peter's form suddenly jerked before a thin blade protruded from his chest-

Desmond found himself back in the Animus room, hand outstretched in an attempt to block a fatal blow Cross was about to give him, but Cross had been stopped by the little boy who had awakened from the Animus and had made one last desperate lunge to latch himself onto Cross to stop him from killing his older brother.

He now hung onto the blade Cross had skewered into him, his small body unable to compensate as his muscles twitched their dying breaths, blood dripping down one side of his tiny mouth.

“...No...” he stared in horror as Peter turned his little head, his pudgy face curled up in a smile, his too-old eyes shining with unshed tears.

“...Goodbye,” he heard the barely mouthed whisper before Cross suddenly flung his small body across the room where it landed against the wall in a sickening crunch. Desmond heard Lucy, Paul, and even Vidic gasp in horror, but did not register it as much as the sudden widening chasm within him.

He had lost his father and brother.

He had lost Amanda...

And somehow, deep within him, Desmond knew that his mother was dead. She had not answered the comm. in all this time...

He could feel himself falling- the whiteness of despair, the gleeful cackling that was within his mind – Nona – about to lose himself-

It was as if a light was suddenly switched on within Desmond. He was not falling into despair, he was falling into anger, into rage; white hot, all-consuming, furious rage.

How dare they...

Everything suddenly snapped into an odd clarity for Desmond as he found himself staring at Cross, his face expressionless and blank. He mentally grabbed hold of Nona and shoved her deep into the recesses of his mind, but as he felt his ancestors clamoring to block her once more, he shook his head, grabbing each one of them by their metaphoric collars and mentally shoved them together. They were his rage now. They were his to command, and they would obey him. No more barriers. No more wondering what was right or what was wrong. No more self-doubts, no more second-guesses. No more hiding his true nature.

He was Desmond Miles and he was an Assassin.

“I'm going to kill you Daniel Cross,” he stated in a cold, calm voice, flicking his blades out. There were no Pieces of Eden, just the cold rage that fueled him. There was that and his opponent and only one of them would walk away this time.

Desmond fell, but he did not care.

* * *

Author’s Notes:

Yep…someone’s gonna get their ass kicked in the next chapter. :D And yes, I did kill off three characters in one chapter. Rikkin, Bill, and Peter. My beta had these words after she had finished reading the initial draft: “Poor Desmond, he’s worst off than Ezio…” Eh, I’d like to say that’s motivation now (though half of it is perhaps his fault).