In the deepest depths of existence, below the foundations of the Earth, a boy and his dog huddled together as thunder echoed from above. The dog recalled a time in which she had been scared by such a noise, when the night sky filled with artificial fires lit by men in raucous celebration with little care for the sensitive ears of her kind. In those moments, when her heart raced with fright and her only instinct was to tuck her tail between her legs and hide under the kitchen table, the boy had always sought to comfort her, holding her close to his chest and whispering lovingly to let her know it would be alright. When the time for her own death came and the boy who was now a man had granted her the gift of mercy despite the pain that tore at his heart, she did not go fearfully into eternal rest – her master had been with her to the very end of her mortal existence, always there to keep her warm and safe. Now it was her time to do the same for him, to give him comfort in these dire moments when even death was threatened and the gods waged war for the fate of the Fifth Sun. She licked her master on the nose and let out a loving croon; they would face the end together once again.
Nearby, an owl whose plumage shone with colors that did not exist in the world of the living took flight. Its powerful wings soared through the windless void and passed over the multitudes that filled the halfmoon valley under the blue glow of the subterranean moon, over the numberless throngs of refugee souls who descended to the place of first existence guided by multicolored beasts who spoke with tongues of men.
"Walk, do not run! Keep moving!" The alebrijes said. "Remain calm! We are safe here."
Safe. A lie, but a necessary one to keep the masses from panicking and trampling the flowers that filled the Garden of Eternity with the promise of future life. A lie born not from malice, but from mercy, from love. In truth, no place was safe anymore: Mictlán was under siege, and if this bastion of eternal rest and freedom fell, then the world of the living would fall with it.
The owl alebrije landed on the shoulder of its liege and whispered in his ear:
"My Lord, the latest group of evacuees has settled down. We can start moving in the next one."
Very well, tecolotl, said the ancient ruler of the dead. Bring them in and summon Xolotl. I need word of what happens above.
The owl bowed and took flight again. As soon as it left, a great shadow manifested itself before the Lord of Mictlán, its canine form rippling with a rage it had not known for centuries, its empty eye sockets simmering with the blood of dying stars and its teeth crackling with the noise of incoming lightning.
I am here, Lord Mictlantecuhtli, said Xolotl. Command me, and it shall be done.
Mictlantecuhtli, Lord of Mictlán, Scatterer of Ashes, Keeper of the Dead, smiled a toothy smile and scratched the Lord of Monsters behind the ears.
Walk with me, old friend.
They marched through the multitude of refugees like giants through a field of wheat, the crowd parting as countless souls fell to their knees and praised the names of the two gods. Mictlantecuhtli was a sight both comforting and terrifying, his form clad in an armor fashioned from turquoise and blood as befits a war chief, his crown an eclipse that could swallow the sun. Beneath it, his fleshless bones shimmered with primordial energy that had only increased with the passing of ages, his immortal heart a drum that announced his intent: to defend the dead to the bitter end and tear down existence itself should he and the other gods fail.
How are things up there? Mictlantecuhtli asked.
The Ravens are trying to breach the front gate. We estimate five more hours before our defenses weaken enough to let the first wave through. Tzinacan and his bats speak of a large contingent of mechanical abominations along with regular troops at the ready; more will undoubtedly follow them.
This will not be the quick battle my beloved had hoped for, the god mused. Fierce and dirty, yes, but not quick. Have we received any word from the other gods?
Huitzilopochtli is at the frontlines, ready to annihilate whatever comes through. Lord Tlaloc has opened the gates of his domain to our refugees, as agreed. He will not get involved, however; it is the rainy season, and with so many mortals drowning, he is bound to attend to their souls. No word from Xipe Totec or Tezcatlipoca; it seems your assessment was correct, my Lord – they wish for you to extinguish the Fifth Sun.
The creator gods are divided once again, possessed by their own agendas. Always at odds, always conspiring against each other, seldom honoring their ties of brotherhood. Whether we lose or win this battle, they will try to come out on top.
Then we are lucky to have at least one of them on our side.
Indeed, yet I worry that Huitzilopochtli might be too eager to spill blood. The sun can burn us just as much as it can burn our enemies. What about Quetzalcoatl? Have there been any signs of his return?
Xolotl winced with discomfort as he thought about the whereabouts of his twin brother. The Feathered Serpent had been missing for millennia, and not even those closest to him had been able to find a single wisp of his presence.
He has not yet returned, the hound of the underworld said. Then he muttered: Sometimes I fear he never will.
Have faith, Xolotl. We are gods of the dead; you know as well as I do that those we love eventually find their way back to us. That is how I have endured this long separation from my wife, this never-ending ache to be reunited: by honoring everything she stands for. Have you not done the same for your brother's children? Have you not looked after their souls, guided them to eternal rest through the many tribulations of Mictlán?
I have, the canine god answered. And still I fear that it will all be for naught. If Mictlán falls and you shatter the Pillars of the Earth, what will become of these souls?
Did your brother ever tell you of the time he defeated me? Mictlantecuhtli smiled.
He bragged about it constantly. He said he had become wind between your fingers and slipped away.
That he did, but I think it was for the best. In that time, Xolotl, my heart had become hard and unyielding. I held no mercy or sympathy for humanity, for they had so sorely disappointed me again and again. I decreed no more humans would ever walk the Earth, and I refused to give your brother the bones of the previous generations when he sought to seed a new human race out of them. I told him, the ruins of the past must remain buried, for no more evil must sprout from them. How many times have you created mankind out of love? How many times have you destroyed them for their sins? Even you must see now that it will always end with their corruption.
Quetzalcoatl did not listen, nor did he heed my threats. He knew that I could tear him asunder, that I could chain him so he would never again see the light of day. And still he chose to risk it all for his children, for the humans he so loved. He stole the bones, so I chased him through Mictlán and sent my owls after him, broke the bones so he could not use them, yet still he persisted. Despite my efforts to thwart him, he created a fifth humanity to bask under the sun, to know beauty and hope through adversity and even death.
Mictlantecuhtli turned towards the Garden of Eternity and the blessed dead that filled it to the brim.
Should they fall, should we fail, I will honor them as your brother and my wife have done. They shall not fade in darkness: I will seed the reborn Earth with them, and they will see a new day.
And in this way, do we come out on top? Xolotl asked.
A loud echo made Xolotl raise his ears and look towards the infinite darkness above the Garden. Mictlantecuhtli smiled again.
With a little help, they will. Mictecacihuatl hopes for it, and so do I. The time has come for mankind to fight their own battles. And from the sound of it, they already are.
The upper layers of Mictlán were silent, the Tomb City devoid of any mirth or celebration, an empty capital where not even ghosts remained. Most of its inhabitants had fled deeper into the underworld, for they were never warriors in life and could not possibly be so in death; those who remained behind had been willing to lay down their lives once, and they now swore to lay down their afterlives if need be. No insects buzzed over the fields of cempasúchil, its golden flowers dull under a grayish sky where no sun shone, for the king aster had descended to the ground at the call of the Pale Lady, ready to defend the place of eternal rest.
Cristina held tight her macuahuitl and felt the sore caress of the shotgun hanging from her back. Her boots dug into the soft ground beneath her as she adopted a fighting stance and waited for the inevitable crumbling of Mictlán's front gate. The sounds of ramming, of shooting and cutting formed a discordant chorus against the roar of the assembled warriors who stood ready in the blinding radiance of Huitzilopochtli, Lord of the Fifth Sun, God of War, Ruler of the South, Left-Handed Hummingbird, Slayer of the Moon and the Stars. He had arrived on the eve of the invasion with his holy host of dead warriors – all of them sacrificed in his name or gloriously felled in battle – and joined the protectors of Mictlán as the first line of defense against the hordes of Ravens. Cristina had barely had any time to process his presence, but as she was bathed in his light, she felt like triumph was close at hand. Alongside her stood the might of both heaven and the underworld, the warrior souls of ages past and her close friends forged in blood and fire.
Baruch, the jaguar nagual whose claws were the vengeance of his clan and family.
Lorena, daughter of the Sun, an inextinguishable inferno.
Guadalupe, the righter of wrongs and bearer of redemption.
The Pale Lady, the Queen of the Dead and protector of mankind.
They would not go down quietly.
It is time. Huitzilopochtli's voice burned hot like the surface of the sun. Coils upon coils of muscle shifted under his blue skin as he signaled his warriors to prepare themselves, and his eyes shone with bloodlust. A swarm of hummingbirds, a living whirlwind of turquoise feathers, brought him the fire snake Xiuhcoatl – spirit form of the god Xiuhtecuhtli and the weapon with which the Lord of the South had slain the Moon and the Stars many eons ago. Huitzilopochtli clasped it with his feathered left hand, and the serpent writhed and transformed into a flaming macuahuitl. He then turned to the Pale Lady and beat his shield twice. Give the signal, Lady of Bones, so we may drown them in our blood.
Mictecacihuatl, the Pale Lady, stepped forward and screamed: "Atl-tlachinolli!"
Atl-tlachinolli! roared Huitzilopochtli and his warriors as an explosion rocked the earth and smoke and mechanical warriors began pouring through the shattered gate of Mictlán.
"Atl-tlachinolli!" screamed Cristina and her friends as they raced towards the first wave of invaders, as the two armies clashed with the force of a raging volcano, as the blood of gods and mortals drenched the fields of the dead.
Lorena crouched behind a wall, a wounded Guadalupe beside her. All around them, bursts of lead and godly fire were flying, warriors were screaming, and pandemonium reigned supreme. It had all started out so well: as soon as the first wave of Valravn soldiers came through the gate – armor-clad men and women alongside cyborg monstrosities – Huitzilopochtli had unleashed his power and incinerated them all where they stood. The sudden shock of seeing their fellow troops reduced to scorched silhouettes caused the unit that came behind them to hesitate, giving the defenders of Mictlán the opportunity to slaughter them. The third wave suffered a similar fate, their innards torn out by swarms of hellish bats under the command of the leathery god Tzinacan. By the time the eight wave came through, the colossal form of Huitzilopochtli stood knee-deep in gore, guts and ash, his fists clutching bouquets of crushed cadavers and wailing bodies who were unfortunate enough to still be alive.
More! MORE! Howled the God of War as he and his elite warriors dismembered and decapitated their enemies. His power, it seemed, grew greater with every new enemy that faced him, as did his battle frenzy.
"I think he's enjoying this a bit too much!" Guadalupe had screamed over the battle's deafening cacophony as Huitzilopochtli tore a man's head off with his teeth and drank his blood straight out of the mutilated neck.
"No one has been sacrificed to him for more than five hundred years!" Lorena replied as she set three Ravens on fire. "Let him have this!"
Although she had never relished violence, Lorena could not deny it was satisfying to watch the gods finally act against those who had once enslaved and massacred their people and now sought to do it again. The Ravens, so arrogant in their thirst for money and conquest, were no match for the rage of the Left-Handed Hummingbird – or hers. Ever since the God of War had arrived at Mictlán, she had felt her fire burning hotter than ever, a searing white thing that threatened to erupt from inside her if she did not set the would-be conquistadors aflame. The presence of the solar god seemed to empower her beyond her known limits, and she would use this new strength to its fullest.
As the battle progressed, Lorena shot down two Valkyrie units with a single shot of flame, their mangled and burned bodies quickly put to death by a pack of frenzied xolotls. At her side, Guadalupe pumped lead into any soldiers who tried to rush past the carnage and picked off those that tried to run away. In the distance, Baruch's jaguar form emerged from beneath the remains of a Chiron unit and slashed apart a Llorona before it even had time to scream. And next to the Pale Lady, slick with oil and blood, Cristina chanted a spell to cave in the hull of a Valravn armored vehicle and crush its occupants within.
In those moments, it seemed like the fighting would soon end in victory for Mictlán, for the Ravens' resources were not infinite and the cost of their campaign became increasingly steep with every casualty they suffered. It was then that Valravn's 25th Armored Division went into action. Huitzilopochtli, drunk with violence, struck them with his heavenly fire, but the men, women and cyborgs of the 25th did not instantly burn to cinders. Instead, they clanged together their weapons and hailed the god. A long-haired man with copper skin and green eyes stepped forward and raised his arms towards Huitzilopochtli.
"Hail, great Huitzilopochtli, slayer of gods!" He said. "We are the ones who follow in your path, the true inheritors of your holy war. We who once waged violence to feed the gods now wage it to feed the Free Market that consumes even the divine! Join us, Hummingbird! You can be worshipped once again and feast on the blood of those who oppose the march of progress!"
Insolent vermin! Huitzilopochtli growled with rage at the man's blasphemous words. You dare to call yourselves my followers, yet you know nothing of the sanctity of war! Where is your honor? Where is your duty to the balance of the cosmos? You sacrifice in the name of nothing, and to nothingness I consign you!
The God of War belched flame that was hot enough to turn sand into glass, yet when the smoke cleared the 25th remained unharmed, their stance oozing defiance in the face of the deity to whom they claimed consecration. The commanding officer, his grin sharp and arrogant, merely dusted a bit of ash off his armor.
Impossible…
"Ah, Hummingbird," the Raven commander responded. "Perhaps I did not make myself clear: the power that runs through our veins was once yours, yet now it bows to a greater calling. It is a shame that you do not wish to join our cause of your own accord, but no matter – you can serve in chains all the same."
A flash of light pierced Huitzilopochtli through the chest, a rain of ruby droplets arching through the air as the god fell on one knee and looked incredulously at his wound. For a moment, something resembling fear etched itself across the god's face, but it was quickly swallowed by an expression of unstoppable rage. The air around his body glimmered as oxygen ignited, the ground sizzling into a shrill scream. Huitzilopochtli rose to his full height and, with a roar that shook Mictlán down to its foundations, set the battlefield aflame.
Now the true bloodshed had begun, for the God of War had broken formation, leaving his warriors and the other defenders of Mictlán to fend for themselves against the onslaught of Valravn fighters who, taking advantage of the fiery champion's distraction, had renewed their assault. The army of the dead was forced to pull back as both alebrijes and souls fell to the unnatural weapons of the invaders, unable to die again but easily reduced to immobile husks to be processed and enslaved as new assets for the eternally churning machine of greed.
A bullet grazed open Guadalupe's left leg as they retreated, causing them to fall, their rifle clattering out of reach.
"Lupe!" Lorena screamed at seeing her friend injured. She dragged them to cover as bullets continued raining overhead. "Baruch! Baruch, where are you?"
The jaguar leaped from the corner of their eye, a Raven's severed arm still between his fangs. He looked at Guadalupe's injured leg and let out an affirmative growl.
"Can you hold onto him?" Lorena asked as she quickly dressed the wound.
"I can," Guadalupe panted through the pain. Then they pointed to the battlefield, their eyes wide with concern. "But I think we're gonna have bigger problems soon!"
Back on the frontline, Huitzilopochtli levitated over the carnage, his skin glowing white-hot. In his wake, the mutilated remains of Valravn's 25th Armored Division littered the crystalized ground. The surviving members swarmed him like hornets, trying to stay out of Xiuhcoatl's blighting reach. With their numbers quickly dwindling against the raging deity, all arrogance seemed to have seeped from their hearts; their attacks became ever more desperate, cutting the God of War and making him bleed streams of searing ichor, only to meet agonizing deaths when he retaliated.
Huitzilopochtli bellowed as he killed everything in his path, radiating more and more heat with every passing moment. By the time the wrathful god caught the 25th Armored Division's commander and pulled out the terrified man's intestines through his mouth, his body had become so hot that even the blessed dead began to burn. Around him, the god's stolen power leaked from the corpses of its usurpers, spreading the inferno and threatening to end the fighting in one fiery flash. Huitzilopochtli, Lorena realized, was about to make a supernova look like a firecracker.
"Baruch, get Guadalupe out of here!" Lorena said while the screams of the burning dead filled the air.
"Wait! Lorena, where are you going?" Guadalupe said.
She did not answer. Before her friends could protest, she sprinted towards the scorched killing field; the last thing she saw in the corner of her eye was the great feline pouncing to safety, Guadalupe's silhouette perched upon its back. Time to see if I really am the daughter of the Sun, she thought.
Despite having the blessing of two solar deities flowing through her veins, Lorena struggled to reach Huitzilopochtli. Every step closer to the god was like trying to dive past the surface of a star, her body aching even as she tried dispelling the heat to avoid becoming a pile of ash. She could feel her skin peeling, the water in her eyes and mouth bubbling as she forced her way towards the center of the firestorm. She smelled her own hair burning, felt the cruel caress of heavenly fire trying to embrace her, to consume her utterly. If she did not succeed, there would not be enough of her left for her friends to mourn.
"Lord Huitzilopochtli!" Lorena called out to the god. "My Lord, you must stop! Don't you see? You're going to burn us all!"
Huitzilopochtli did not heed her. Blinded by rage, made deaf by the rancorous destruction he delivered upon the Ravens, the Hummingbird cared for nothing but the absolute annihilation of those who had blasphemed against him. Lorena's flesh began smoking, her nerves screaming as she frantically tried to get the deity's attention. Please, she prayed silently as her tongue boiled, please listen to me. Do not let it end like this.
From deep within her heart, at the nexus of her blood, something fiery answered. A single word – so far unknown to her – made its way up her dry throat, down her boiling tongue and into a whisper.
"Tzintzuni."
The God of War turned his bloodshot eyes to the ground.
You dare… Huitzilopochtli mouthed incredulously. You dare to speak that name…
"Tzintzuni," Lorena said again. She knew what it meant as she spoke, the word gilded in gold and turquoise, tempered in water and black earth. "That is your name, the name given to you by Curicaueri, by your venerable enemy who became your friend."
A crack formed in Huitzilopochtli's rage. His heat diminished ever so slightly, but his light remained so bright that Lorena could not look at him without going blind.
He speaks through you, Huitzilopochtli whispered. I sense Curicaueri's fire within you, the same fire that warmed the hearth of the Purépechas and gave them metal to stand against my people.
"He was the only one who ever stopped you," Lorena said. "And now he helps me stop you once again. Look around you, my Lord: Mictlán burns under your wrath, friend and foe consumed alike. Even your warriors cannot survive this for long. We will all perish unless you calm your flames, your divine anger."
The Left-Handed Hummingbird gazed at the desolation he had provoked, at the souls who screamed and writhed under his fiery scourge, at the Ravens who cut them down while he raged senselessly, and he felt shame. His light dimmed and Xiuhcoatl transformed back into an obsidian serpent, the fire within its mouth reduced to embers.
"Lord Huitzilopochtli, defender of us all," Lorena exhaled with relief, her body about to give out after undergoing the duress of keeping itself from igniting. "We come to you not as enemies, nor to shame you into submission. We come to you as friends and speak these words to remind you that no victory is worth destroying that which you cherish."
What is your name, you who speak truth and burn with two divine fires?
"I am Lorena Soles, Viper and defender of Mictlán."
Then, Lorena Soles, child of Inti, blessed of Curicaueri, know this: I cannot stop the fire, not if I stay here. Too much of my power runs free, and when I take it back I will burn as hot as when I unleash it. When that happens, there may not be enough of me left to stand against the Ravens.
"Oh, no…" Lorena gasped as she realized what the god meant. "There has to be another way! Without you–"
There is no other way. I will not be the destroyer of paradise; I will not let my power turn Mictlán to ash. But before I leave, I must ask… will you protect them in my stead?
"To the death and beyond," Lorena answered.
A third fire grew within her heart, a flame of righteous anger, a light to guide the weak through the darkest night. Huitzilopochtli's blessing joined the unyielding voices of the Inca and the Purépechas, inflaming Lorena's spirit, proclaiming her rightful title – the Daughter of the Sun.
Make me proud, Lorena, Huitzilopochtli strained as jagged fissures began forming on his skin, the scorching light of the king aster seeping through them as his body began to unravel. Do not let it be in vain.
"What about you, my Lord? What is to become of the Left-Handed Hummingbird?"
He gave her a candid smile, more radiant than the fire that bled out of him. No fear or anger remained, only a steely determination amidst uncertainty.
Have no fear. Even against the blackest of nights, the sun always rises again.
Huitzilopochtli beat his chest twice to salute her and took off, his warriors and the deadly fragments of his usurped power trailing behind him like the tail of a great comet. Higher and higher they went into the darkness above, past the ceiling of Mictlán and the realm of the living, until the mighty sun was nothing but a flickering light in the distance and then disappeared.
Left alone on the battlefield, Lorena turned to the Ravens. She was exhausted, her entire body ached, and she felt as if she were about to collapse. Still, she stood firm one last time and grasped her last ounce of strength, the fire gifted to her by Tzintzuni, the oath she had sworn to him. With one deep inhale, the pyromancer stretched her arms out and grinned.
"Muy bien, cuervos hijos de puta. Let's dance."
