Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Fire Dawn

The sacred fires died on the last day of the year. All but one.

For the first time since the Night of the Scarlet Moon, I was allowed to exit the palace under heavy escort. I spent it walking from one city temple to another and extinguishing the flames burning in their hearths with silver bowls of blood and blessed water. By the time the sun began to set beyond the horizon, I had single-handedly deprived the capital of its lights.

All of the empire’s citizens contributed to the task. Torches, hearths, candles, and all sources of light were put out under the pain of death. However, the purge did not stop at fires. On this fateful day, Yohuachanca’s inhabitants destroyed their most treasured possessions. They tore their favored clothes, broke their furniture, and buried their jewels. Even idols of the Gods-in-Spirit were hurled into the capital’s lake to be swallowed by the waves; only the statues dedicated to the Nightlords and the First Emperor would endure. Everything else had to go.

When a new year would rise upon Yohuachanca, the previous year’s sins would not taint it.

Or so I had been taught since I learned to speak and listen. Before I learned the lie. Now I hoped that the sins would endure. The Nightlords deserved to pay for their own. The dawn should not absolve anyone.

As the emperor of the world and chosen representative of the gods, common dirt could not sully my sacred feet. Henceforth, red-eyed priests carried me around in a luxurious litter of black wood, cotton cushions, and colorful feathers. I was only allowed to walk in temples and other sanctified places, and even then servants placed tapestries of cotton onto the floor to prevent my skin from touching the soil.

Once upon a time, people sent me dark looks when I walked the streets of the capital. Now none dared to glance at my face. Hundreds, if not thousands of citizens flooded the streets to honor my presence. They knelt, bowed, and prayed. Not for me, no, but for what I represented: a prop that would ensure the sun rose tomorrow.

The empire’s citizens would gladly celebrate my death next year. They cared nothing for my suffering or that of the countless people sacrificed at the altars. They would gladly close their eyes for illusory prosperity. I recalled all too well how these people acclaimed my predecessor’s brutal sacrifice.

Still, I couldn’t muster the strength to hate them. These people had been trained from birth to believe in lies.

The sight of a few maguey fiber masks in the crowd caught my eye. Pregnant women and children wore those to protect themselves from evil spirits that might run rampant on the final night. I had yet to see one, but I knew from experience that superstitions never required proof.

When at long last the sun set for the last time this year, darkness ruled Yohuachanca. Obscurity blanketed the empire except for the stars and the moon in the heavens above. All would hold their breath on this final night. All would pray for the new dawn.

All but me.

Eztli joined me in my litter and a silent procession took me to Smoke Mountain at nightfall. A group of masked guards and a cohort of red-eyed priests bearing the insignia of all the gods recognized by Yohuachanca escorted me. Tezozomoc walked among them with regal dignity. The rest of the procession included a hundred shirtless professional runners and messengers, each of them carrying carved pine branches. Once I lit the final bonfire, these men would bring back torches blessed by its flames to the sacred temples. A vast relay of messengers would then spread the fire across the entire empire. The citizens of the world would then dance and rejoice at the coming of a new sun.

As was customary, I traveled behind my predecessor’s beheaded corpse, like how the new year followed the old. By now, naught but shriveled bones remained of Nochtli’s mummified husk. The sulfur flame burned inside its open chest with a bright eldritch glow. I sensed its insatiable hunger from here. Four masked guards lifted the wood litter bearing the corpse.

How grim. The walking dead carried the sitting dead.

Only Eztli, as my consort in charge of religious affairs, was allowed to follow me to Smoke Mountain. She sat at my side with hollow eyes staring into the distance. She did not blink nor move a muscle, and her lack of breathing made her look stiff and dead.

The ritual forbade the entire cohort—emperor included—from speaking until we reached Smoke Mountain, and though I dearly desired to break this taboo I had no choice but to behave. I had noticed a few Nightkin flying above us, their jet-black wings barely visible under the starry sky. The Nightlords no doubt deployed them to ensure nothing and no one would disturb us.

So I did the best I could do for Eztli: I took her cold hand into mine and squeezed it tightly. Her fingers were stiff and more tense than bowstrings. I waited for her to squeeze back.

She never did.

Not even my warmth could offer her any comfort.

A gloomy silence hung over us from the moment we left the capital. I saw people gathering on the walls and nearby hills, their eyes pointing east to witness the new sun. We passed by my home village of Acampa. Though I had left it only a few weeks ago, its small houses and farmlands had become almost a distant memory to me. My captivity under the Nightlords had felt like a lifetime. I did not relish the thought of spending a full year under their yoke.

Only when our litter shook slightly did I ponder if my tenure would last that long.

We were halfway to Smoke Mountain when a small tremor hit the road. It lasted a mere few seconds and was hardly strong enough to cause a few men to stumble, but everyone noticed it nonetheless. My carriers stopped the litter for a brief moment, exchanged worried glances, and then carried on. Their twisted lips showed me how much they struggled not to break the religious silence and share their worries.

The air grew heavier the closer we approached Smoke Mountain’s base. Even the wind had stopped blowing and would not taunt me. The ominous smell of sulfur and rotten eggs hung over the countryside. Another tremor struck us as we reached our destination; one strong enough to cause one priest to fall to his knees.

Smoke Mountain being sacred ground meant I could walk on it. Now that we had reached our destination, I immediately broke my pointless vow of silence.

“What is going on?” I asked Tezozomoc, feigning ignorance and confusion. “Why is the ground trembling?”

“The earth holds its breath, Your Majesty,” the priest replied, rehearsing empty reassurances as he had been trained to. “The gods are watching you.”

I hoped that they did. I helped Eztli climb down from our litter—though she did little better than go through the movements—then checked on my Haunt. The cloud of doom covering the land had only grown thicker since I left. The air choked with gloom and maledictions. So far so good.

I could only pray my curses would prove stronger than the Nightlords’.

“Iztac?” Eztli whispered at my side, so low I barely heard her. “Who is my mother?”

My spine stiffened. I studied Eztli’s expression. Her skin looked so pale in the dark night, and her gaze so devoid of emotions. A sickness ate at my best friend’s soul.

“Necahual,” I whispered back.

“Neca… Necahual.” Eztli held her forehead as if struggling to recall. “Yes, I… I remember. That’s her name.”

My blood froze and my heart ached. If Yoloxochitl’s black blood clouded Eztli’s mind to the point that she forgot her own mother’s name, then further exposure might twist her beyond help. I squeezed her hand tighter than ever.

“It’ll be all over soon,” I promised, though I couldn’t guarantee that I could fulfill that oath. “Hang on just a little longer.”

Neither my words nor my warmth reached out to Eztli. She stared east with hollow eyes and soon confessed what I had long suspected.

“I am waiting for the sun,” Eztli admitted.

Not a sulfur one, I realized. The true sun whose radiance would burn her to ashes.

“If I forget, Iztac…” Eztli scowled in utter despair. “If I forget…”

“I won’t let you,” I replied firmly. “I won’t let you die.”

Not again. I refused to entertain the mere idea.

“I don’t want… I don’t want to forget.” Eztli let go of my hand and covered her face with her palms. Was she hiding tears from me? “I don’t want to live… I don’t want to live like this.”

“Eztli, everything will be fine.” I held her in my arms and hugged her tightly. I didn’t care for the looks the priests sent us, or the shadows of the Nightkin gliding above our heads. I simply held on to Eztli and let her head rest on my shoulder. “I am here for you. We will get through this. I swear to you, we will get through this.”

For a brief instant, I thought I had finally reached out to Eztli. Her skin remained terribly cold and her dead pulse was like a silent drum, but she allowed herself to hug me back. She decided to trust me.

Four shadows squashed my hopes.

My heart hurt at the Nightlords’ approach. The leashes holding my Teyolia hostage tightly reminding me of my own slavery. Eztli hurriedly repelled me and swiftly wiped away tears of blood, far too late.

“What torments you, my children?” Yoloxochitl asked with the innocence of the mad. “The promised time is at hand.”

“Nothing, Mother,” Eztli replied without emotion. The spark of hope I had glimpsed in her a few seconds ago died here and now, much to my sorrow. “Nothing at all.”

My fists curled in powerless anger. The Nightlords surrounded us in an instant, their flesh hidden under the hooded robes they wore on the Night of the Scarlet Moon and the upper part of their faces hidden beneath feathered masks of bloodsoaked wood. The priests knelt ignominiously before their false goddesses, their heads so low as to touch the ground.

Yoloxochitl responded with a sweet smile then welcomed Eztli into her dark embrace. The Nightlords’ arms enveloped my consort like a mantle and buried her inside a prison of possessive love and flesh. I suppressed a shiver of disgust as Yoloxochitl kissed Eztli on the neck, half like a daughter and half like a pet.

Eztli’s face once again began to turn east.

Soon. I managed to hide my malice behind a facade of composure. Very soon.

“Report,” the Jaguar Woman ordered, her tall frame looming behind me.

“The population of at least three villages around the mountain is missing,” Sugey replied. Was that a hint of worry I detected in her voice? “Investigations strongly point to violent massacres.”

It surprised me that they would speak of these matters in the presence of their mortal priests. Arrogance must have overcome their caution with victory so close at hand.

“Our priests recorded small quakes over the last two days too,” Iztacoatl added, her tone more subdued than usual. “I do not know what to make of that aura surrounding the site. It smells of death and calamity.”

“Father’s power overshadows this mountain,” the Jaguar Woman noted. “As it should.”

I suppressed a frown of confusion. They mistook my Haunt for the First Emperor’s work? Then again, the Parliament of Skulls shrouded my divine Teyolia from the Nightlords’ sight. Did they somehow manage to obscure my Haunt in a similar way? I wished I had time to confer with them before our departure.

“My gut tells me something has gone wrong,” Iztacoatl said. “We shouldn’t see signs so early.”

“Should we abort then?” Sugey asked with a frown.

The Jaguar Woman would not hear of it. “The power will go to waste if we do. We shall not ruin six centuries of effort on a hunch. We must go through with the ritual.”

Iztacoatl squinted in skepticism. “And what if it fails, oh sister of mine?”

“Then we sweep it up,” the Jaguar Woman replied, her tone as cold as ice. “And we try again.”

Her words chilled me to my core. Time meant nothing to the living dead. These monsters would rather wait for another cosmic cycle and threaten the cosmos again than accept failure. My counter-ritual would only bring the world an extra six-hundred years at best, or fifty-two at worst.

I would not live that long, but a year should be enough to turn my and Eztli’s fate around. I hoped.

“The ascent must begin, Godspeaker,” the Jaguar Woman said. “You will carry your predecessor’s remains to the summit and light the final bonfire.”

I looked at the road upward to Smoke Mountain’s peak. Obscurity blanketed the path ahead to the point the starlight hardly touched it. I had not seen darkness so thick since the House of Gloom.

“I can’t see anything,” I replied.

The Jaguar Woman’s smile showcased her shining teeth. “We shall guide thy steps.”

The only path was forward.

With no other choice, I cradled Nochtli the Fourteen’s remains in my arms. His mummified corpse felt hot to the touch, but its warmth offered me no comfort. The sulfur flame inside his chest reflected on my skin and bathed me in its malicious light. My heart hurt so much that I thought I would suffer a stroke and fall over. An invisible hand squeezed at it, crushing my lifeforce, smothering my hopes. I couldn’t sustain a spell anymore.

The corpse felt heavy in spite of its slim frame. Death, fire, and mummification had stripped Nochtli of all flesh save for the bones, but they might as well have been made of stone. The sulfur flame’s radiance hardly helped me see the path either. Its foul blue light did not illuminate the darkness, far from it. If anything, it thickened the obscurity.

The Nightlords, true to their words, guided me forward the way a wave pushed a stone onto the shore. They walked after me as I ascended the sloppy steps towards the summit. Eztli followed shortly after, ahead of the priest's procession. No one spoke a word.

Halfway to the summit, as the obscurity worsened, I dared to look away from the path and at the heavens above. An endless sea of blackness stared back at me, unblemished by light.

The stars had fled the night sky. The crescent moon alone remained, its radiance dimmed by thick shadows.

It was then, when I faced the death of light itself, that I began to doubt. Had the Haunt failed to halt the Nightlords’ ritual? Had Mother deceived me? Should I throw Nochtli’s corpse down the slope in a last-ditch effort to save the world from a sulfur sun?

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I sensed a warmth against my chest the moment the thought crossed my mind.

I mustered the courage to look down at the source of my discomfort.

Nochtli’s left hand moved on its own. The corpse’s bony fingers reached for my heart and pressed against my ribcage.

I am dreaming. I tried to lie to myself and failed. This is a Veil. An illusion.

I briefly wondered if the Parliament of Skulls somehow influenced the corpse from afar when the hand reached up my neckline. I immediately sensed the grip of its fingers closing on my throat. My skin burned where the bone touched it. Whatever force inhabited Nochtli’s remains was too weak and feeble to choke me, but what it lacked in strength it more than made up for in hostility.

Another man would have probably dropped the corpse in fear and horror. But after all I had gone through I simply looked down at the corpse and glared at the baleful flame in its chest.

After confirming the Nightlords couldn’t see anything, I spat into the cursed fire.

My saliva evaporated long before it reached the hungry flame. It didn’t even reach its edge. Still, I immediately sensed a reaction from the fire; a vague sensation of amusement, followed by the hand releasing its grip. Nochtli’s body went limp once more. No trace of its brief awakening remained save for the red marks on my throat.

Still, I took this brief interaction as a dire warning. More followed soon after. The screeches of the Nightkin first echoed above my head. Swarms of smaller bats erupted from the countryside and swiftly converged on Smoke Mountain, their numbers darkening the half-moon. Millions of these cursed animals gathered in a circle floating above the crater like a halo.

The closer I approached the crater, the more the landscape twisted. The barren cliffs and jagged ridges surrounding the caldera seemed to twist into obsidian teeth. A tremor sent boulders rolling down the slopes; they crushed a few priests into a bloody paste while miraculously avoiding the vampires and me. Fissures spewed sulfuric fumes and acrid vapors filling my nostrils.

The road ended as a rift splitting the crater in two. At long last, our final destination appeared before me: a bridge of gravel leading to a great circular platform of carved stone overseeing the crater’s depths. I couldn’t see the magma below the thick blanket of smoke covering it, but I sensed its heat rising from below us.

An immense pyramid of wood stood in the platform’s center, so tall that it loomed over me like a strong old tree towered over an ant. This was the final bonfire of the year. A stone altar shaped like a bed awaited in front of it. I felt Nochtli’s corpse growing heavier the closer I approached it.

I gathered my breath and invited smoke into my nostrils. The moment of truth had come.

I finally lay my predecessors’ remains to rest on the stone slab. The arms crossed on their own, each of the hands settling on one side of the exposed ribcage. The sulfur flame within his chest glowed brighter than any star.

The Nightlords soon gathered around me. “Cradle the flame in your hands, our Godspeaker,” the Jaguar Woman ordered, “And light the final bonfire.”

My chained heart skipped a beat. To touch the flame would be madness. It had consumed everything that touched it. Wood, stone, bones, flesh… even Sigrun. The cursed fire devoured indiscriminately.

“How craven,” Sugey mocked my hesitation. “What warrior falters so close to victory?”

Why don’t you touch the flame yourself then? I thought to myself. The Nightlords feared their creation about as much as they wanted its power.

Yoloxochitl attempted to reassure me. “The fire shall not harm you, Iztac,” she promised me with a soft, almost maternal tone. “You were chosen. You are blessed

.”

Blessed by whom?

I gazed into the sulfur flame one final time. A dark orb of blackness pulsated in a sea of baleful blue light: a hungry gullet of darkness inside a maw of fire; the pupil of an eye gazing into my heart as much as I stared into its own. I saw a hatred that transcended my own inside the ring of flames. My own Haunt reverberated its malice, amplifying it, cajoling it.

I received a vision.

I couldn’t explain it. An invisible lightning bolt struck my head and filled it with certainty. I knew that the Nightlords would bitterly regret this day forward. A sharp intuition guided the owl-fiend inside me. A voice in the very depths of my soul screamed that a terrible disaster would strike my captors should I proceed any further. Innocents and guilty alike would suffer greatly for it.

I was about to commit a heinous crime with far-reaching repercussions… and somehow, it felt right. I had the certainty that everything I had done since that fateful night when I refused to play the role of puppet emperor, all the mistakes I had made, all the sacrifices I had paid, had all led up to this moment. A great triumph rested within my grasp, beyond chaos; a true coronation in blood where I would shatter fate’s shackles and shape my own future.

“Go, Iztac Ce Ehecatl,” the Jaguar Woman said. “Fulfill your destiny.”

Once in a while, a liar might utter a kernel of truth.

I would indeed fulfill my fate as a Tlacatecolotl: to bring forth calamity to the world.

I fearlessly plunged my hands into Nochtli’s chest. The sulfur flame licked my fingers and its fiery fangs tasted my skin, but the evil within did not bite me in a supreme effort of will. Whether it recognized a kindred spirit or sensed the incoming disaster did not matter to me. The flames hurt to touch, yet they did not burn me. I excavated the sulfur flame from my predecessor’s corpse and held it high above my head. The Nightlords themselves remained speechless before this miracle. The sulfur flame which had consumed all that touched it now accepted me.

I held the seed of a cursed sun in the palm of my hands.

A small part of me wanted to eat it whole, to devour its embers and feast on the power within it until I could make it my own. My sense of caution warned me that such action would cause the sulfur sun to eat me from the inside instead of the other way around, so I held back the tide of my ambition for the sake of my revenge. I stepped toward the bonfire with the calm and steady determination of a victor, before placing the sulfur flame on the pyramid.

The flames spread the moment they touched their throne of wood.

I stepped back to observe my work. No normal fire would spread half as fast as this one. The sulfur flame set the pyramid ablaze in an instant. The shadow orb at its center gluttonously expanded to consume the entire offering.

“The flame!” The priests cried in joy and jubilation behind me, none louder than Tezozomoc himself. “The flame! The flame!”

I so dearly wanted to throw these snakes into the bonfire. If they worshiped the sulfur flame so ardently, then let it consume them. However, I forgave them. They did not know what awaited us.

The Nightlords gathered around me like vultures around a fresh corpse. Most of them didn’t bother to hide their glee, though Iztacoatl’s scowl showed at least one of them remained wary.

“At long last,” the Jaguar Woman whispered under her breath. “The final pyre shines before us.”

“Whatever happens now, I am proud of you, Iztac,” Yoloxochitl said, her cold dead hands settling on my shoulders and squeezing them in excitement. “You have opened the door to a new dawn.”

“Mother is kind,” I replied without meaning any of it.

I took a moment to glance at the only person in the assembly that I cared for. Eztli stood as far away from the Nightlords as protocol allowed. She alone didn’t stare at the sulfur flame with greed or religious zeal. Her lifeless eyes were firmly turned on the horizon and the deliverance beyond it. Her despair sank my good mood.

“I know what torments my daughter,” Yoloxochitl said. “She wishes to see the sun.”

My body tensed up. “The sun, Mother Yoloxochitl?”

“All of us long to conquer it,” Yoloxochitl said, utterly missing the point. For a so-called mother, she paid little attention to Eztli’s true feelings. “I have missed it so often on these lonely nights. Since Father…” Her expression twisted into a grim scowl. “Since Father took it from me.”

I looked over my shoulder at the madwoman. The mask covering most of her face prevented me from seeing much besides her crimson eyes and cruel mouth, but I immediately noticed a peculiar detail: a lonely tear of blood running down the pale wood. Her sorrow, raw and genuine, reminded me of Eztli’s own despair.

In spite of all she had put us through, for a brief moment I almost found Yoloxochitl pitiful.

“But thanks to you, we will now dance in the light once more.” Yoloxochitl wiped away the tear, her moment of vulnerability squashed by the tide of her ambition. “You truly were the most wonderful of sons.”

I wasn’t made to play the son. I offered Yoloxochitl a small nod then stared back at the pyre. The sulfur flame had consumed the pyramid of wood and now grown into an orb of fire the size of a small house. You will learn that soon enough.

The malevolent light of the unborn Sulfur Sun bathed the entire crater. I sensed its enslaved power, its bound magic, the might of a being as great as King Mictlantecuhtli bound by centuries' worth of sacrifices and devotion. The Nightlords’ wish for a subjugated world made manifest.

My Haunt resonated with it. Its calamitous power was a paltry shadow of the Sulfur Sun’s overwhelming radiance, but a small defect could quickly ripen into a greater disaster. A small crack opening in a wall. A tiny fissure spreading under a seemingly stable house. So did my trap manifest as it closed its jaws.

Whether it was the time or location, but in that moment where the cosmos stumbled, I found myself in tune with forces greater than myself. I breathed the fumes of destruction and danced on fragile ground bound to ruin.

The gods shaped the world from primordial chaos. They weaved the threads of existence, raised the earth from the sea, sowed the seeds of life, and put the sun in the sky. All things in this universe served a purpose in the tapestry of their creation.

But I was the Tlacatecolotl, the owl-fiend, bringer of sickness and misfortune. I existed outside the graces of the gods, true and false. My purpose was to tear down the work of the powerful, to break their chains and ruin their glory.

This was my time.

The Sulfur Sun ascended upward to the heavens. The priests and runners bowed and knelt in awe of this miracle. Its light did not burn the vampires where they stood. Instead, they acclaimed its rise. The Nightkin flying in the skies screeched in triumph, and their mistresses allowed themselves to smile in jubilation.

“Yes, foolish father.” The Jaguar Woman’s eyes burned with greed and malice. “Raise your flame to the heavens so we may never go hungry again! All shall worship us under the light of a Sulfur Sun!”

Were I not connected to my Haunt, I would have panicked. Instead, I patiently waited for the vampires’ celebrations to reach their apex, the moment when their hopes would turn to ashes.

Then I snatched the Nightlords’ defeat from the jaws of their victory.

I heard it, in my heart and in my soul. The snap of a string stretched too far. The crack of a bridge collapsing under its weight. The unlocking of a sealed door that should never have been opened. The ominous warning that preceded the collapse.

Over six centuries of metaphysical weight collapsed in an instant. The fragile equilibrium inside the Sulfur Sun wavered, the black orb at its center expanding to swallow the ring of fire imprisoning it. Darkness conquered the light. Once the blackened core had devoured the last speck of flame, it suddenly shrank into nothingness.

The Sulfur Sun died with a whimper. No trace of its existence remained, save the shocked silence of its worshipers.

I allowed myself a quick glance at the Nightlords and savored their expression. Yoloxochitl’s hope had turned into bitter despair. Sugey stared at the spot where the Sulfur Sun ended its ascent with a blank look. Iztacoatl remained ominously silent.

Most delicious of all was the Jaguar Woman’s expression: a delightful mix of impotent rage and shocked disbelief. She was too surprised for true anger.

I almost threatened to smile when my joy swiftly turned to dread.

It began with a sharp pain in my chest. The chains holding my heart had briefly loosened their grip, only for a chilling cold to fill my chest in their place.

Yoloxochitl sensed its approach before me. Her shaking nails sank into my shoulders so deep that they reached past the skin. My divine blood should have burned bright, but it turned to ice the moment it escaped my veins. The feeble light inside me could not shine in the presence of true darkness.

Foulness crawled its way inside my heart right after the rush of victory passed. A Tonalli of immense power and malevolence overshadowed the entire mountain. The very essence of ravenous hunger and insatiable evil filled the air. My Haunt, my greatest achievement as a sorcerer, was swept aside. An invisible presence drank my curses and stole the world’s warmth.

The priests and runners collapsed on the platform. From Tezozomoc to the youngest and fittest messenger, all fell at once with a quiet sound. Their skin turned into a pallid shade of blue and their flesh shriveled.

My eyes lingered on Tezozomoc, whose final expression was forever frozen in a morbid expression of shock and surprise. He hadn’t seen his death coming. It simply happened. The living were alive one instant and dead the next, their existence snuffed out like candles.

I alone was spared. For now.

Everyone knew. The silent Nightkins, the shaking Nightlords, my faltering self, we all knew. The worst that could have happened, happened.

“He is out…” Yoloxochitl’s hands trembled in fear, her voice wavering in abject terror. I sensed her transform back into her true abominable form, not as a show of strength, but as a desperate attempt to frighten the predator quickly emerging from its lair. “He is out, he is out, he is out…”

The chains binding the emperors to their fate had briefly loosened.

All of them.

“The seal is breached!” I heard the Jaguar Woman snarl behind me. I heard a sound similar to the one Nenetl made when her skin grew fur upon transforming, so I assumed the Nightlord had adopted her true nightmarish shape; I was too shaken to look back and confirm it. “Focus, my sisters! Bind the chains before–”

The crater’s smoke lifted to make way for evil itself.

The true sun did not rise. Dawn should have peeked beyond the horizon by now. It did not. A mantle of impenetrable darkness blanketed the earth and sky in its black embrace.

The crescent moon had turned sideways… or at least, I thought it was the moon, until I saw the black spikes closing on its edges into a twisted parody of a smirk.

Teeth.

The night had teeth, and it was smiling at us.

My mind burned inside my head when I looked at it. My skull threatened to split open as I struggled to fathom what I was looking at. Blood poured from my eyes and tainted my vision red.

Though I had consumed a dead sun’s embers, I remained a mere human in the end, unfit to stare at a god’s countenance. King Mictlantecuhtli and his queen had made the effort not to hurt me, for death was cold but never cruel.

The First Emperor Yohuachanca showed me no such kindness.

His chained spirit manifested in a form my mind could not fully grasp. A bat-shaped wound in the cosmos’ skin bled rotting miasma and darkness into the crater, centered around an eyeless maw full of teeth and rage. A colossal hand of black smoke surged from the nothingness and passed over me. I was an ant crawling among a buffet of meat, too small for consumption.

Yoloxochitl’s true form towered over me like an old hill over a house, but compared to the hand that seized her, she might have well been a child’s doll. A monstrous force lifted her above me and dragged her into the hungry night. A mountain of primal darkness opened its hungry maw of obsidian teeth.

M̶̢̪̩̼͓̜̭͔͇̮̩̠͕͛ͅͅŷ̴̧̙̝̞̗̝̤͕̼̬͔͉̥͒͐̏̔̑̂͆͑́̕͘͘ͅ ̸̧̛̺̯̼̯̘̘̘͖̊ģ̵̡̱̼̭̩̟̼͎̲͂͑͒͠u̵̞͚͉̽l̴͈̤̯̜͚̭͒̄l̷̨̗̘̣̻̬̙̗̻͍̓e̷̡͎̞̞̩̟͈̖̹͍͎̤̔̒̿̇͆ͅt̴̯͖͉̝͙̄́͠ ̴̺̰̳̱͍͑s̷͉̜̩̼̞͋̄̎̇̊͑͒̋̍͝ͅw̶̧͙̳̭̔̏͠ả̸̡̧̜̝̘̺̜̫̦̘̲̻̆l̵̙̤̮̜͕̼̽̈́̈͊͘̚l̴̨̡̺̦͈͕̣̫̪̙͍͖̊̉͌̐̈́̈͂̑͊̔͘ͅȯ̵̡̗̱͔͈̻̹̪̦͎͎͓̃̽̓w̵̰͙̳̼͖̰͙͔̟̳̄̃̊͊̽͆̈́̌͆̿̔̈͑͝͝s̴͖̘̭͚̝͇͍͇̄͂͑̄͂̈́̀́̒̄͋̚͝͝ ̷̡̢̥̯̝̲̫̗̪͔͚̣͆̿̊̉͠a̷͇̳͈̣̓̈́͌̑̒͂͗̐̿l̸̨̥̖̼͓̪͍̯̻̻̥̖͎͕͓̔̉̍̃͒͐̄ḻ̸̞̈́̏̏͊̒.

“Father, please…” Yoloxochitl begged and cried tears of blood. Her abominable vegetal form, which had frightened me to my core, shrank in the face of a far greater evil. “Please, I beg of you… Father… Father, please…”

È̷̠͈̰͚͚̯̳̝̻̭̹̰̓̃̀͂̈́͝v̸̧̨̨̛̛͉͚͙̤̻̮̬͕͚̙̖̭͌͛̄͛̿͌̔̅̈͗͠e̴̮̗͉͍̐͗́̓͊̋́̏́͘͘͠͠͝͝n̸̢̠̜̟͚͇̰͈̳͉̈͌̈́͆͑̾͐̈́̂̊́͘͝ ̷̢̺̣͚̮͈͔͍̝̌̓̍͗̋̍͐͑̇̄̀̈̕s̶̢̧̨̨̼͕̬̙͍̙͚͕̺̈́̌͊̓͛͘͜ͅc̵̨̤̤͔̭̠͉̰͉̞̥͚̳̈ͅr̶̡͓̪͈̞̺͎̈́̉̓̐͊̈́̚ę̷͙͎̤͎̘̺͎̪̝́̽͗̈̂̂̎̇̔̄̚̚͜͝͝ǎ̸̧̛͉̠̗̘̗̩̮̮͚̦̲̻̟̰̌̎̾͐͑́m̵̨̢͉͍̱̱̤̈́̌͂͌͜͜͜s̷̡͕̫͚̼̝̣̪̦̙̲̩̿̐̂̅̂̀͒͝.̸̪̞̻͔̪̝͆͌̓̈̈͂̊̀̒̍͑͗̂͜͝

The father devoured his daughter before my eyes.

It had taken two bites for Yoloxochitl to eat my guards the night she revealed her true form to me, but the First Emperor proved far more voracious. His maw only needed one bite to consume a Nightlord whole.

His fangs gnashed her flesh and pounded Yoloxochitl’s bones into a fine paste. She cried and screamed all the way into his gullet, and her thick black blood splattered all over me. It stuck to my skin like hot tar yet it felt colder than winter’s waters. I heard Iztacoatl shrieking in fear behind, Sugey roaring in anger, and the Jaguar Woman barking panicked orders, but I was too terrified to care.

I was too frightened to move.

Yoloxochitl cried. She cried and screamed like a frightened child in the face of death, until she didn’t. A gulping noise mightier than any quake silenced her forever. The maw spat her cold black blood at me, the same way I had spat into the sulfur flame earlier. My skin and robes were anointed in death.

Then came the sweet kiss of freedom.

A pressure tightened on my chest before vanishing in an instant. One of the four leashes binding my soul shattered with the demise of its owner. An invisible burden was suddenly lightened.

She was dead.

Yoloxochitl was dead, dead, dead.

Tears ran down my cheeks, far too warm to be from fear. Tears of joy and happiness.

I cried even as the hands of darkness rampaged around me, snatching fleeing Nightkin out of the sky for the maw to consume in its indiscriminate hunger. I saw the glimpses of great and terrifying beasts rush from behind me to wage war on their wicked sire: the shadow of a great bird, the blur of a jaguar on the hunt, and a serpentine shape with great wings. The three came together to avenge the fourth and protect their own unlives.

I hardly paid attention nor cared for the battle’s outcome. I was too frightened to move, yet too happy to care. I basked in the blissful chaos, in the dark joy of the cruelest victory.

The banquet of death ended before it could truly begin. The remaining Nightlords pulled at the leash of my soul and dragged their Dark Father’s spirit back into his prison, wherever it might be. The maw devoured itself, but the harm was done. One of the four locks was gone forever, the door to destruction never closing as tightly as it once did.

The seal slammed shut with an earthquake.

The ground trembled beneath my feet. The warmth of the crater returned stronger than ever. Red light surged from the earth’s depths, the boiling blood of the land roaring to its surface. Smoke Mountain, the birthplace of the world, stirred in anger at those who sought to enslave it.

Strong claws closed on my shoulders and lifted me above the ground. My feet dangled above the ground and swirling fumes. The sudden change in scenery snapped me out of my daze and caused me to look up at my savior.

Eztli.

She had grown bat wings out of her arms and talons out of her feet, but she looked happier than I had ever seen her. She was crying tears of blood too. Tears of joy and relief at her newfound freedom.

The vampires and bats fled the crater in a hurry. Though I couldn’t see them, I knew the three surviving Nightlords were among them; their chains still bound me. Eztli carried me above the countryside right in time for the explosive finale.

Smoke Mountain erupted in fire and fury.

Its roar boomed like a war horn. A wave of hot air and dust spread across all of Yohuachanca, uprooting trees, splitting the earth, and sweeping some of Yoloxochitl’s blood off my robes. Smoke Mountain vomited up a column of smoke that wouldn’t disgrace Tlalocan’s raging volcanoes. It rained ashes and stones upon the land, while magma poured out of its caldera like blood spilling out of a wound. It would descend upon the countryside, setting forests on fire, destroying villages, and boiling rivers.

The dawn, at last, threatened to rise beyond the horizon; a red dawn of fire and devastation. I stared at the cataclysm I had unleashed, at the empire I had cursed, at the land I had condemned to the flames.

I gazed upon my work and I laughed. I laughed until my throat started to hurt.

Smoke Mountain’s roar echoed my own dark joy. Fire rained down from the sky in great arrows of flaming stones that set forests ablaze. A sea of pyroclastic smoke flowed down the slope, burying villages and my cursed sins with them. The land itself cried from the blaze of my revenge!

I had shattered the empire and buried its corpse under a tide of smoke!

“Wonderful… absolutely wonderful…” I whispered under my breath, before screaming my triumphs to the heavens. “I am the fire dawn! I am one with desolation!”

The Nightlords had prophesied that my reign would herald an age of blood and darkness for the empire.

They were right.