Blood & Fur

Chapter Ninety-Three: The War In Heaven

Ingrid negotiated the prisoner exchange on my behalf, trading fifty of their warriors for fifty of ours. The Sapa didn’t prove too difficult on that front. Either their lack of currency impacted their ability to haggle, or they considered recovering their own citizens a better deal than feeding enemy warriors.

True to Sugey’s wish, the Sapa would inherit cuckolded husbands out for blood while we recovered warriors eager to avenge their earlier loss. The situation reminded me of a forest in the dry season.

A single flame could light forth an inferno, and I would do so with a bonfire.

I convened a war council the moment we left the meeting. I gathered every general worth their salt, and quickly glimpsed smiles on the lips of Chikal and Coaxoch. They sensed the blood in the water.

They could tell I was done with playing theater.

“We must prepare to overrun the Sapa camp soon,” I declared openly with my very first remark. “It is time to pluck the flowers of war and behead the enemy’s leadership while we still can.”

“Finally!” Coaxoch struck his chest in giddiness. “I thought Your Majesty would never give the order.”

Amoxtli, as always, advised cautiousness. “While this Flower War was only meant to buy us time and lower the Sapa Empire’s guard until our fleet could strike, escalating to a surprise attack would violate His Majesty’s agreements. Our word–”

My sharp tone silenced all opposition. I wasn’t faking anger and determination either; my mind was truly made up.

I only ever planned the war with the Sapa Empire to help me bleed out the Nightlords’ forces and provide me with an opportunity to take down my captors. I had tried to minimize bloodshed, both in the hope of securing an alliance with Inkarri and to spare the mountains the slaughter to come.

No more. I now knew that the Mallquis would never be my allies, and I couldn’t tolerate their own imperialistic system any more than I could stand Yohuachanca’s. Sugey constantly spat on my attempts to reduce bloodshed and suffering, making me look like a hypocrite rather than a reasonable monarch.

I simply had no more incentive to pull my punches anymore.

My best bet was now escalation, to strengthen the conflict between the Nightlords and the Mallquis in the hope that they would either wipe out each other or offer me an opening to take down Sugey.

The only fear I had was that of Quetzalcoatl’s judgment… but surely leaving the likes of Aclla in bondage would be as much of a sin as doing nothing. Or at least I told myself this.

“Our priority is to capture Emperor Manco alive,” I informed my generals. While his life was worthless to me, a puppet emperor was more valuable to me as a prisoner rather than a martyr. “The pride of the mountains is arrayed against us. To break it, we must capture as many of the highborn fools arrayed against us as we can.”

“The rift separating our armies leaves us in a very difficult position,” Cuauhteztli warned us. “This limits a land assault to two narrow corridors at the edges, and both will be easy for the Sapa to defend or survey. We would need overwhelming force to break through, and even then it would warn our enemies of the attack.”

“You forget one thing, general,” Chikal said with a cunning smile. “We can fly.”

My consort had read my mind. “I will petition the goddess to bless us in this fight and send her children to fight at our side,” I declared. “We shall remind the Sapa that the night is a time of terror.”

I would not be so bold as to speak in Sugey’s name out loud, but I had begun to understand her way of thinking over the past few days. She would relish the thought of falling upon the Sapa camp in an orgy of blood and violence; especially if she could participate. I suspected that she alone among the Nightlords wouldn’t back down from a fight.

For once, I hoped she would take part in the slaughter. Not only would the Sapa likely take out a few of her Nightkin—something Chikal was counting on when she made her suggestion—but it would let me assess the strength of a Nightlord’s sorcery in battle.

My words emboldened even the likes of Amoxtli, his cautiousness turning into shrewd planning. “If the goddess’ children were to assist us in this fight, then I would suggest a three-pronged assault,” he said, tracing a dark line representing the rift on our map. “The Nightkin will only have to cross the rift to fall upon the enemy scouts and slay them. This would free the way for two sets of cavalry forces to charge at both sides of the ravine and then fall upon the Sapa camp.”

“Should we march swiftly enough, then our trihorns will crash straight into the Sapa’s tents before they can organize a defense,” Cuauhteztli said. “Surprise and shock will carry the day. Our infantry will only have to clean up the rest.”

“Coaxoch and the Shorn Ones shall take command of one vanguard,” I decided. The warlord had been begging me for a similar task since the Flower War started. This would be a good opportunity to foster favor with him. “I will lead the other atop Itzili.”

Coaxoch’s smile boasted such sharp fangs, all too eager to taste blood. “I shall not disappoint Your Majesty’s faith in my skills.”

“Which leaves the question of our timing,” Amoxtli said. “It will take us some time to complete our survey, but waiting too long might alert the Sapa to our preparations.”

“Let us strike tomorrow night,” Chikal suggested. “I will have my amazons locate the enemy scouts during the day.”

“An attack on the fourth night of the Flower War would be most auspicious to the goddesses,” Tayatzin agreed. “It will bring us luck.”

Attacking on the fourth day served my plans well. It left me with tonight to both complete the ritual and warn Mother of the incoming assault. Forcing Sugey to deal with both the Sapa attack and Eztli’s ‘loss’ at the same time would also throw that vampire off her game.

I oversaw military planning and preparation until dusk, at which point I sent my generals away to remain alone in the tent. Darkness had barely descended upon the camp before Sugey visited me.

“I am cautiously impressed,” she said, her crimson eyes gleaming in the shadows. “I sense that your heart is no longer wavering. Have you finally come around to sharing my vision?”

I suppressed a scowl. Sugey’s opinion nauseated me, but we indeed both shared the same criticisms about the enemy. “I asked Ayar Manco how the Sapa valued human life.”

“As a number on a paper sheet, I would assume,” Sugey replied with disdain. “I’ve told you as much. They think like merchants, all of them.”

I wouldn’t even call them merchants. Merchants had ambition and an appetite for risk. They sought to explore unforeseen paths for growth. The Sapa’s Mit’a system instead glorified immobilism, stagnation, and control. They reveled in trying to control the future rather than to shape it.

“I cannot respect a state which denies human life its value,” I said without an ounce of insincerity. Whether it is my realm or that of another.

“On that, we agree. The state is a tool to exalt and refine human beings, not an end in itself.” Sugey sounded quite pleased by my decision. “Each crop of men ought to perform better than the last.”

And my greatest performance will be killing you, Bird of War. I answered with silence and kept my true thoughts to myself. Any state which enslaved its own people ought to be annihilated.

Part of me understood that despising the Sapa for sending Aclla and others to die was hypocritical, since I had done the same for less than noble reasons… but her situation hit too close to mine. She had been enslaved as a child by higher powers to serve as a living sacrifice in a greater game. Manco’s cold-blooded reaction only underlined that the Sapa considered this part of nature rather than an exceptional case; and that this cycle would repeat itself.

Closing my eyes on what happened to Aclla would be akin to condoning my own situation, and I would not—could not—accept that. I had to take my chance at changing things, whatever the cost.

“Will the goddess assist us?” I asked Sugey.

“I will. You have brought glory to our name and this theater has worn on my nerves.” Sugey rested her head on her fist. “The timing plays into our hands. Our fleet is a day away from striking the Sapa’s coast, and their sorcerers will fall into panic once the news reaches them.”

The issue with the considerable distance between land and sea was that we had little information about how our fleet fared. We had no direct lines of communication with our soldiers on that front of the war. I suspected Sugey used magic to see through the red-eyed priests’ senses onboard to check on them.

If she spoke the truth, then it would indeed seem that the Sapa weren’t expecting the coastal invasion. Striking at Manco’s camp at the same time would indeed paralyze the Mallquis, since they would struggle to defend themselves on multiple fronts.

The stars were aligned in my favor so far.

How long would that last, I wondered.

The promised night had come, and my body stirred with tension.

I retired to my bedchambers and pretended to nap for a moment, instead projecting my essence through the Legion skull placed in Eztli’s quarters. My former consort had taken it from its shelf and placed it in her room, where she seemed deep asleep in a bed surrounded by flowers.

A handmaiden stood at her side, tending to her. I did not recognize the woman, but her tense and haughty posture was more than familiar to me. When she glanced at the skull in the room, I could see the shade of icy blue hiding behind her brown eyes.

Mother was ready. Waiting.

Her soul was in our hands now, mine and Mother’s. The last part didn’t please me in the slightest, but I had no other choice. Mother’s assistance in the ritual would be critical.

The die is cast, I thought as I ‘awakened’ from my false slumber to find Necahual and Chindi walking into my bedroom. Both smiled for wildly different reasons; one did so out of blissful ignorance, and the other with trepidation born of knowledge. I have done all I can to prepare.

So many things could go wrong tonight. The slightest interruption would have disastrous consequences, and even success would carry its price.

“Has the master called us?” Chindi asked with bestial trepidation. She reeked of bloodthirst and anticipation.

I was right. Her kind might take the shape of others, but their cruel nature always shone through. Chindi couldn’t play nice for more than a few days before her vile and twisted instincts took over. How much of it was the influence of the Skinwalker’s curse? Or had she always been like this and her power only sharpened her innate cruelty?

Whatever the case, she was a true demon that the world would be better off without.

“I have,” I replied sternly, my eyes wandering from Chindi to Necahual. “It has come to my attention that the two of you do not get along.”

Chindi’s tongue clicked in her mouth. “I only disciplined the woman you gave me. Your so-called favorite should stick to her own affairs.”

“When a rabid hound bites, it must be chastised.” Necahual scoffed in amusement. “If Your Majesty had taught your pet better, I would not have to tighten her leash.”

“Careful, Necahual,” I warned her with a cold, sharp tone. It was only a bit of theater for spies who no doubt listened in. I had to ensure this ritual wouldn’t raise any alarm in their minds. “Disciplining my concubines is within your power, but my consorts stand on higher ground.”

Necahual straightened up. “I will bear whatever punishment Your Majesty thinks appropriate, if I have indeed overstepped.”

If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

“You have… but it doesn’t fall to me to decide how you shall be chastised.” I invited Chindi to join me in the bed. “Come to me.”

She did so with the eagerness of a rabbit who couldn’t see the fox’s jaws.

I welcomed her as she rested her head against my shoulder. My arm coiled around her back and pulled her closer until I sensed her skin against mine. I sensed her blood pulsating with warmth and life; all that which Eztli had been deprived of.

“What should be her punishment?” I whispered into Chindi’s ear.

A wiser soul would have advocated for a lighter sentence, or none at all. If Chindi had done that… I would still have gone through with my plan, but not with a clear conscience.

“I want her eyes, master,” Chindi whispered back, her own having been removed and bandaged by the Nightlords to prevent her from using her powers. “I will wear them once I finally remove these bandages from my face.”

Whatever doubts I might have had instantly disappeared.

I pretended to listen, offered her a nod, and then leaned on to whisper my answer in her ear too quietly for anyone to hear.

“Chindi,” I uttered her true name, shackling her will. “Surrender.”

My Word took hold in her mind, extinguishing her will of rebellion. I barely had time to see a glimpse of her terror before her body went limp in my arms, her mind now imprisoned in a shell of flesh. She had no power left to resist what would follow.

Let that be a lesson to all willing slaves, I thought. There is no such a thing as a kind master.

“Join us,” I told Necahual. “I can think of a way for the two of you to reconcile.”

Necahual appraised the both of us with wariness, recognizing my signal for what it was. She crawled into my bed behind Chindi, touching her shoulder, pretending to caress her in an intimate way.

I sensed the connection forming the moment she touched Chindi’s skin.

The soul-transfer ritual was an extraordinarily complex piece of magic. Mother’s sorcery only worked between compatible vessels sharing a powerful spiritual connection; in effect, it could only transplant a soul between close relatives or individuals bound by the same totem.

The Nightlords’ ritual bound Chindi and Eztli together tighter than any chain, but both were half a country away from one another. We required a rope to connect them, and she stood before me.

Necahual had fed her blood to both her daughter and Chindi over the past weeks; the former by storing it into bottles for her own consumption, the latter by spiking her drinks and food. She had become a living bridge between them, a pathway through which Eztli’s soul would travel in order to take root in its new vessel; a beacon for the mind.

The Ride spell didn’t allow Mother to cast her magic while inside another’s body, but she didn’t need to. Her role was to guide Eztli’s soul with whispers and words away from her body and through the bridge, which I would then lead to its new home.

I closed my eyes and focused on the chain which bound us all to the Nightlords’ ritual. My world became darkness barely lit up by Teyolia flames. Chindi’s malformed spirit lay within the palm of my hand, while Necahual’s blinding soul remained connected to me by the eternal bond between a Mometzcopinque witch and her patron. So many other chains yet loomed over all of us, their links bound by centuries of sacrifice.

My spirit grabbed one holding Chindi’s soul. I sensed Eztli’s spirit on the other end of it and soon began to pull under the light of Necahual’s Teyolia, like a fisherman bringing in their nightly haul under a lighthouse’s glow.

I immediately encountered resistance.

A terrible cold spread to me through the dark chain of the Nightlords’ ritual. I looked into the shadows beyond and faced an even greater darkness, a hunger blacker than a starless night. Its jaws clenched on the chain with the fury of a dog refusing to let go of its food.

The vampire curse itself resisted me.

I pulled harder with all of my will and strength. I heard Mother’s voice echo in the void, trying to guide Eztli’s soul out of the black tar that now drowned her in evil and corruption; but she was buried deep, and a centuries-old curse was not so easily repelled. It had entrapped Eztli for months and refused to relinquish her without a bitter fight.

I can’t pull her out! Panic and fear overtook my heart. I pulled and pulled, but the more I tried, the stronger the curse tightened its grip. The vampire in her won’t let her Tonalli go!

Worse, each pull of the chain let out a terrible noise that echoed across the shadows. It would not break—no man could break a binding that chained down a god—but its screeching resonated in the darkness. How long until the Nightlords noticed the disturbance and acted upon it?

New hands tightened around the chain and eased my burden.

I sensed Necahual’s spirit first, her grip second only to mine. A mother’s love and determination gave her immense strength when fighting to protect her child, the same way Father’s love for me allowed him to endure both the First Fear and the Legion. She helped me pull the chain with all of her zeal and desperation.

I detected Lahun’s presence soon after, her Mometzcopinque spirit answering her patron’s call for strength. Many more soon followed in her wake. Ancient spirits joined their strength with mine, pulling with feeble hands backed with determination.

“Do not give up, our successor,” I heard the previous emperors whisper encouragements; my father’s voice an echo among hundreds. “There is no curse that won’t bend to the power of human will.”

They were right. The curse fought fiercely, but its hunger had finally found its match.

Gathering all of my strength and magic, I stared into the abyss and challenged it.

Begone, shadows! My will expanded into the void, my Teyolia a purple blaze shining brighter than the stars. Recoil before my sunlight! Flee from the brightness of Cizin, the Lord of Terror!

My light erupted like a bonfire in the darkest of nights. I was only half a sun, but my brilliance remained poison to the undead. The sea of darkness swiftly recoiled and spat out Eztli’s Tonalli. Her fading spirit, once so bright and lively, was no little more than a colorless shade.

I didn’t have much time. I pulled Eztli’s Tonalli to me and then guided her into Chindi’s body. The chain which once bound them in twin torment now coiled around their spirits.

A Skinwalker’s Tonalli was little more than a broken mask of malleable flesh. I had seen it myself when I gazed into Chindi’s soul. A hole gnawed at the center of her very sense of self and constantly demanded new faces to satisfy its hunger. It wasn’t too different from the vampiric curse in that regard.

However, a Skinwalker’s power to steal the skin and flesh of others only let them take a piece of their victim’s Tonalli. Chindi had only ever feasted on shards of personality, yet I now pushed onto her all of Eztli’s personhood; all of her memories, all of her joys and sorrows. A Skinwalker’s soul was a house built on rotten foundations.

It could only collapse under such weight.

I didn’t hear Chindi’s last scream or pleas for mercy, if she uttered any. Eztli’s spirit melded with her own like a mold imposing its shape on a lump of clay. My childhood companion walked into her new house and settled there in an instant, her Tonalli overwriting that of Chindi, seizing her Teyolia for her own and taking hold of her flesh.

What was the value of a life to me?

I realized that I had asked Manco a question I couldn’t yet answer myself. I had hidden my doubts behind the Nightlords’ words, but now that I was extinguishing Chindi’s existence to save that of Eztli’s, I realized that I had taken upon myself the right to decide who would live and die.

What gave me that privilege?

I opened my eyes again to gaze at Chindi’s face. Only an instant had passed in the physical world, yet the time in which I waited for the Skinwalker to react felt like a lifetime to me. Her breath was short, her mouth wide agape. If she still had eyes beneath her bandages, I expected them to have been staring at the ceiling with a hollow will. Necahual watched the scene with concern and apprehension.

She had already lost her daughter once, and feared doing so again.

“Anaye?” I asked, when I meant to say, ‘Eztli.’

My consort inhaled and exhaled with a quiet rhythm, her hands slowly moving to her face. She touched her cheeks and stroked her hair like a child discovering themselves for the first time. I couldn’t see any hint of Chindi’s savage confidence in those clumsy and hesitant movements; and doubly so when her fingers moved to touch my own face.

They were so warm, and her touch so gentle, that I allowed myself to hope.

My consort then spoke with Chindi’s voice, but the words that came out of her throat belonged to another.

“What’s wrong, Iztac?” Eztli asked me with a bashful smile full of bliss and relief. “Has my beauty left you speechless?”

An immense wave of relief washed over me. All the tension in my body evaporated in an instant as I took her hands into my own and squeezed with all of my strength and affection.

“It has,” I replied, and for once I allowed myself a genuine smile; not a smirk of cruelty, but a bashful expression of happiness. I had experienced so few of those over the past few months that it almost hurt my lips. “As it always does.”

“Your hands are so warm… I had forgotten the sensation.” Eztli turned her head to face Necahual, somehow sensing her presence despite her lack of sight. My favorite gazed at her returned daughter without a word, clearly struggling to hold back tears and show weakness. All her efforts had finally paid off, but the Nightlords had denied her the right to show any relief.

Eztli opened her mouth. I knew she almost said ‘Mother,’ only to hold herself back at the last second for fear of warning our captors. Instead, she rested her head on Necahual’s bosom. My favorite forgot herself and embraced her daughter in a squeezing hug which she would not relinquish.

For the briefest of moments, we were happy at last.

Then came the darkness to ruin it all.

The chains holding my heart tightened like never before, choking my soul and life. A vicious chill swelled into my veins and turned them to ice. My breath turned to mist in my throat and the shadows grew sharper.

Necahual immediately sensed the danger through our bond, calling out my name. “Iztac?”

I tried to utter a warning, only for the taste of blood and death to fill my mouth.

My vision blurred, my mind seeing through a thousand eyes. I was myself one moment, and a legion the next. A thousand skulls I had, trapped in coiling darkness whose grip on us had tightened.

One of them gazed upon the nightmare I had once embraced.

Mother’s possessed thrall let out a cry of surprise that echoed through my palace. I watched through empty eyes as Eztli’s soulless corpse rose from its bed with pale white eyes devoid of half-life.

The Nightlords’ ritual survived the loss of Yoloxochitl by latching onto Eztli’s soul as a replacement, and the soulless corpse we had left at the palace couldn’t serve its purpose. That rotten pillar collapsed under the weight of the corruption gnawing at it from within, putting more stress on the remaining ropes holding the First Emperor chained.

But the seal had cracked, and evil leaked out of the gap.

We were right: the vampire curse remained with the body once we severed Eztli’s soul from it.

There was no mask of humanity left to keep its true nature in check.

Eztli’s corpse opened its mouth, but only a pitch-black abyss remained where there used to be teeth and tongue; and from within its depths, a terrible night stared back at me with a ghastly smile full of gnashing teeth.

̴̨̤̳̬̬͋̆̆͝͝Ṭ̴̡̼̐͒̿̅̀̾̂͒̈́̓̍͝͝h̷͇͓͍̟̗͈͈́̓͜ȩ̸͙̫̝̗̰̪̗̭͔͇̭͕̰̏̌̀̿̈́̃̎̾̕͘ͅ ̴̨̛̙̠͍̲̤̬͇̭̍͛̀̐́s̶̡̛̳͈̙̣̗̆̓͋̉̔̍͠ű̸̧̡̺̩̦͈̟͚̜̜̯̯̇͌̆̏̇͆̈́̍̔͝n̸̨͍͇̗̣̭͈̖͍̳̥͎̞̞͐̅̀͛̔̿̐̒̊̉͗͝͝ ̸̢̧̡̟͕̼̙̼̮̎̀̂̒̓̂͑̿̕̚͘ͅͅẘ̴̢͓͍̪̻͈̜͕̮͉͑̋̐̈́͊̎̇̇́͌͋͋͘e̸̡̩̦̲̠̖͖̒̉̈̃̔̇̋̑̕͝e̸͙̪̣̻̤̳͙̟̙̳͓͈̜͒p̷̨̣̼͇̄̉̚͘s̵̡̻̠̺͔̩̩̤̾̿̏̓͛̊̊͂͂́̃̈͝ ̷̡̠͚̭̺̗̞̼̲͇̦̯͒̆̿͆̀̏͠f̸̡̖̝̯̲̺̟͉̰͛́̃ỏ̴̡̢̖͔̲̳̺͓͂̋͋̔̋͌̍͘͜r̵͉̟̣̺͇̗̣̯̿̀́̈́̈́̋̆̓̚ ̸̛̝̅̅̈̀̈́̚̕͝y̵̼̫͊͆̌͒͑̈͒̓̃̿̐̑ơ̴̢͎̜̺̝̖̭̭͎̤̤̣̞̈́̂͑̐̋̃̿̽̈́̿̓͛͜ͅų̴̩̟̟̤̩͛͗̔͊̊̔͐́̓̌̈͋̚͠.̴̨̧͕̭̝̗̫̥̰̭̼͔̻͐̇̌͒͐̋͑̿̀̇̅̚̕̕͜ͅ ̸̧̠̦͖͍̱͐͂̎̂̆̿́̐̏̃̊͝͝

The darkness triumphed and the cosmos shuddered.

I sensed the First Emperor’s poison seeping into the fabric of reality, the wicked foulness that tainted the earth and sky. An invisible pulse surged from the depths of the Blood Pyramid, strong like a god’s heartbeat. It spread across the land and struck all living souls with the sharp kiss of fear.

The world had grown a little bit darker.

I saw a glimpse of Eztli’s corpse falling upon Mother’s thrall in a dash of speed and hunger. Ichtaca’s soul immediately vacated its host, leaving the handmaid alone to face her doom. She did not scream for long; the abyss swallowed tears and wails alike into its hungry stomach.

̸̢͚̞̜̫̞̲͎̹̗͛́̇̐̿̄̚͝F̶̧͍͚͈̦̼͔͗̔̆̊͌̂̈́̀̌̇̈́̏o̶͚̞̯̟̝̘̩͔̹͎̹̟̰̒̃͆͋̚ŗ̷̩̜̋̅̔̆̆͝ ̸̨̠̘̤̣̖̩̯̤͌́́͊̎̊̄͠͠t̸̼̣̥̬̄̅̑̓̕h̴̢̛͇̺̜̪̪͕̽̔̔̉͐̚͜ȩ̶̡̡͍̼̺̰̻͎͎͈̓͜͜ ̵̟͎̽̋͝F̴͇͍̲͓̙͗̆̇̂̾͋͌̀͊̓͂̋̈ḭ̵̠̿͋̃̇̋̀͂̌͊͒͗͠f̶̛̮̖̭̝̹͖͉̜̥̲͚͔͍̮͛ͅt̷̨̢͚̘̥͈͚͍̬̱̮̯̟̍̀̈́͛͌̓̍̕̕͜͝͝ͅh̶̨̟̦̞͈̺̦͍͚̫̏ ̵̝̦̞̯̬̖̜̼̽̓̇̊̊́̽̉̑͋͘͘N̷̛̰̩͖͉͚̲̝͊̎̽͒̌̎̾̊̀͠ͅį̷̢̰̘̙̣̮̫̪̳̮̔̑̒́̽͌͊̎͌̓̽̐͘̚g̸̛͓͚̜̝̰̈͗̾̀͗̉̍̆̓̾͋̇̈ḧ̵̳̬͈̬͖̣̦̹͚́̎͗͗̊͒͆ͅţ̵̛̰͎̱̪̝͓̪̬͚̥̬͉̓̇̅͆̈̔͑͒̆̾͋̕͜͜͝ ̷͚͖̪̥̜͙̅́́̌̔̓̀̆̽́͊́̕̕s̶̪̪̲̪̤͇̥͍̠͉̗̭̖̔̐͊̿͊͒̐̓͂̏̿ͅͅh̵̙̘̰̳̽̇͝a̶̛̻͖̺̫̪̜̩̘̹̥̤͊͐̓̃̀̆͆͒̽̌̂̍͝ĺ̷͖̰̥̠̲̀̋̋̉̚͜l̵̨̡̫͎͇͎̯͖̙͈̺̳̙͂̋̏͜͝ ̷̨̦̼̭̣͇̩̣̫͎̍̏̐̓̉̚͝͝͠ŝ̴̢̻̒̆̑ǫ̶͔̼̠̼̝̭̪̒̌̒̉̋͊͑͑͑͘ō̷̺̂͛̈́n̷̛̜͙̅̒̉͋̉̋̊̔͋̓̈̅̚͘ ̸̻͋͌̽̉̉̔̓̍̾̇͝b̴̦̪̲̹̳̿̉̿́͆͋̎̐͂́̽̈́̕͘͘ê̷̟̤͚̰͙͖͚̝͔̊̉̈́̐̽ ̸̹̻̜̦̣̦͙̈́͆́̔̑͋̕͜u̴͍̖̳̤͔͙͎̣̰̙͚̜̜͛̎͆͐̊̊́͆͑p̴̨̢̨͙͕̻̫̻̘͓̣̣̬͍͐͑̈̂̇̚ö̶̼̈̍̐̈ṅ̸͋̓͐͑̀̅͐̅̏͆͗̚͜ ̷̧̥̜̥̮̗̠̭̗̊̐̇̈̍̐͛̾̋̃̕͠ͅy̵̧̨͕̭͉͔̬͉͚͓͖̍̇͆͐̇͌̐͘ͅo̴̧͍̹͓̬̺̊̽̄̀̀̓̿͛͆͋͌̀̒̽͝ū̷̧̡̝͙̩̎̊͆̑͝͝.̴̰̤͇̇̓̓͒̿͘͘ͅ ̶̡͈̟͙̫͑̋

I had a stroke.

Or at least, it felt that way to me. My body went numb and my vision blurred. I briefly recalled falling off my bed with a searing pain pulsing in my chest, Eztli and her mother failing to catch me before I hit the floor. I could not understand their words, no more than I could focus on my own breath. A dark hand squeezed my heart with claws of ice and refused to let go.

I heard Itzili’s roar, shouts, and screams; all of them distant echoes ringing in the back of my skull. I felt strong hands grab me by the shoulders, though I couldn’t tell to whom they belonged. I was a prisoner in my own body, trapped between light and darkness. I faded in and out of consciousness, yet never too deep for me to fall into the Underworld.

I saw flashes of my camp. I saw glimpses of Jaguar Warriors and Eagle Knights escorting Ingrid, Nenetl, and my other consorts tending to me, followed by the brief sight of soldiers keeping something from breaking into my room.

The sky outside my window was dark and filled with red clouds raining down blood… yet I knew it should have been otherwise. I could tell, deep within me, that it should have been the day.

The Flower War’s fourth day never came.

In dawn’s place rose a dark crimson moon that obscured its radiance. It blocked the sun and reduced its light to a ring of fire in a sea of starless shadows; and for the briefest of instants, I saw the outline of a skull glaring down on me in the eclipse’s heart.

A day of darkness had fallen upon us all.

My world splintered like a cracked mirror, my vision dividing into countless pictures. I was myself and another, the first and the last, the half-light and the starless night; I couldn’t tell where the prophet ended and where the god began. We saw through a millions eyes and supped on warm flesh with a thousand mouths. We were a spirit. We were a wave. We were a flood of carrion infesting the flesh of the world and choking its vein rivers.

We were death.

Our will spread through our Nightchildren, crawling out of the dirt with rasping whispers and blackened nails. We were Sapan and Yohuachancan, beast and bird, man and woman. All corpses dried on the altars rose at our command on this dawnless celebration with a single purpose: to devour the life denied to us.

We were a tide of wood and obsidian crashing on a coast cast in dusk, painting the shores red with blood. We fed on a diet of war and chaos and rode the apocalypse wave all the way to the mountains to spit on our brother’s grave. We shepherded the meek towards an age of fear and terror.

We saw fire on the horizon, where the Sapa camp used to be; and in the pale glow of the flames we saw a great, twin-headed vulture’s shadow preying upon the living and the dead. Our treacherous daughter washed her skin with thick warm blood while clouds of bats cleansed away the rising smoke with the flaps of a thousand wings.

In our own camp, where we strangled warm throats with cold dead hands, we saw that wretch Tayatzin bash a prisoner’s head against a stone with a snarl of fury. A violent madness had seized that bastard’s brood. His mouth was watered with blood, as was ours, and the red in his eyes had taken on a dark shade of crimson. Other false priests raged amidst the fires with genuine zeal, their skin-deep veneer of humanity stripped away. They were half-dead ghouls rampaging among the living in an echo of our hunger.

We wore no mask, and we hated everything.

We loathed this world which only brought us pain and sorrow. We loathed that light which burned us, those living who celebrated our suffering, and those daughters who chained us deep below the earth. We craved the peace of a land without dawn, and the endless silence that would follow.

We sought an end to all things.

And as my mind recoiled from the First Emperor’s waning embrace, as I managed to untangle my soul from the all-consuming evil whose grip on the world I had strengthened, I was left with a single certainty: that by saving a life, I had condemned a thousand others.

I was a Godspeaker, and my words had brought the Fifth Sun one step closer to its end.